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white hot forever- oneshot

a/n: HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII song inspo here xoxo

-> daniel ricciardo x female! reader, no physical descriptions of reader

masterlist

warnings: reader is depicted to be uni-aged in this, so probs an age gap?, alcohol consumption

word count: 1,404 words

You're convinced that you're having a mid-life crisis.

Your friends disagree, and hope to coax you, saying "it'll get better," and your parents think you're overdramatising.

So, of course, the most logical thing you could think of doing once the Summer break came knocking at your door was to flee to a place you'd never been to. Like ever.

No family there, just some distant family friends who had offered you a place to stay on their farm during your sabatical-holiday. So, yeah. Off to the airport you were, on a long ass flight, to a family friend's house that you'd never met, and their farm which you'd never been. Sounds great.

Nevertheless, the two people who come to pick you from the airport, whos' names you learn are Joe and Grace, are perfectly welcoming and are smiles all around. They make chit-chat on the way to the farm, asking about your degree, and telling you about their family farm on the outskirts of West Australia. They tell you that they have a son too, Daniel, who's coming back home after wrapping up some work. But for now, it was just you and the happy couple.

They insist you don't have to, but you feel obliged to help around the house and on the farm too. You love the quiet serenity that the farm life brings you. You help Joe clean up around the farm, and you help Grace inside the house, whether it be in the kitchen for quiet dinner nights, or just generally tiding up around the house.

When Daniel comes into your life, he comes in like a whirlwind tornado. That's a pretty good decription of him, and his character.

At first, you're sort of nervous. Frankly speaking, if the two of you couldn't get along, your holiday would basically be ruined, and you'd have no choice to go back home, mostly because you wouldn't want to interrupt the Ricciardo's family time if Daniel didn't like you.

One morning, he comes banging on the door, and when he barged into his family home, he comes with a wide grin, a smile so wide that it looks like that it might even hurt, and you realise that he has his mom's smile.

"Daniel," he extends a hand towards your direction, "You must be Y/N. I've heard so much about you." "All good, I hope." you tease, shaking his hand in return. "Hah, no," He nudges, "No, you're the most heinous person, like, ever."

Then on, you knew that the two of you would get on just fine.

The night he comes home, Joe and Grace bring the two of you into downtown Perth for dinner.

"To a blossoming friendship," Joe offers a toast, and you and Daniel sheepishly smile at each other as the four of you clink your glasses together.

You spend the remaining few weeks of your summer break in utter bliss. Daniel's more than good company, and he's a complete gentleman.

"Come with me," he cocks his head to the side, gesturing to off-road truck, "I want to bring you somewhere." "Are you trying to kill me?" You tease him while he opens the passenger door for you, eventually making yourself comfortable. "Yep." He beams, firing the ignition and fiddling around with the radio.

The two of you stay in relative silence, with Daniel humming in the background, and you peering out the car's window, admiring the beautiful views of Perth. What you don't notice is Daniel looking at you from the driver's seat. But hey, you don't need to know that, right?

Eventually, after a decently long drive, he pulls over and parks the car. He helps you down from your seat, and holds your hand as you follow his lead. You see a beautiful beach, with white sand, clear water, and a beautiful sunset. It's only now that you notice that Daniel has a beach bag in hand, and he sets down a beach blanket for the two of you. You make yourself comfortable on the blanket as he pulls out a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

"Cheers." He smiles, clinking the two of your glasses together as you take a sip of the wine. He has good taste. The two of you mindlessly babble as you watch the sunset. You talk about nothing in particular, but that's what Daniel's good at. He can talk to you about anything, and not make you feel stupid, even if you're talking about the most mundane or nonsense topics. You eventually rise from the blanket, taking a walk on the shore. Daniel trails close by behind you, and you hear the shutter of a camera. "You brought it with you?" You ask him, flashing a smile as you ripple the water beneath your feet. "When do I not?" He chuckles, catching up to walk beside you. You don't answer that question, because he has a point.

Sooner or later, the two of you return to your nest of a blanket. There's still half a bottle of wine left, but as soon as the two of you finish that, Daniel reveals a bottle of whiskey concealed in his blanket, and he takes a swig. He offers you some too after he's done, and so do you.

By the end of the night, you're slightly tipsy. Daniel's a little tipsy too, but he has a pretty good tolerance, plus, someone needed to drive the two of you home.

"I like your hair." You give Daniel a slanted smile, running your fingers through his curls. "Thank you." He smiled. "I like your smile." You rest your hand on his cheek. "You're beautiful, you know that?" He runs his ringed hands through your hair, "I hope you remember this tomorrow, because I don't think I'd have half the balls to do this again," You only smile, but you run your fingers over his lips. "Can I do this?" He whispered against your lips, as the scent of his now familiar cologne invaded your senses. You only nod as he presses his lips to yours, and although the two of you have known each other for the matter of weeks, kissing him is something that comes to you easily, and you swear that you could do it forever.

That night, after Daniel drives the two of you home and you've settled him, you creep down the hallway and sneak into his room to slip under his sheets and curl into his embrace as you fall asleep in his arms.

On the days which Daniel has to attend to unspecified 'work obligations', you spend your day just... waiting for him. Before you knew him, it was never like this. You'd spend your day being productive. But it just wasn't the same without him there. You watch the door for his broad smile. His tattoed arms. His warm embrace. And when he finally, and inevitably does, he tells you, "You feel like home."

So obviously, when you have to go back to university, you're dismayed. You wish that you could stay with Daniel forever. "One more year, love," He whispers into your hair one night when you're in his arms after you've snuck into his room, "then you can come with me." "Where to?" You mumble tentatively. "Monaco, baby. My apartment." He strokes your hair, placing a kiss on the side of your forehead. "Monaco?" You question, the word sounding foreign on your tongue. You could get used to it, though. "Monaco." He promises.

So the following year, he's front row at your graduation, surely the loudest in the crowd as you walk across the stage, and of course, his camera is capturing the moment.

When you proudly present your diploma to him, he gives you a tight hug and an affectionate smooch and tells you how proud he is of you. He helps you pack up your stuff, and the next week, you're flying off to Monaco with your entire life in a few suitcases.

The apartment is stunning, and it's so... him. You don't really know how to explain it, but the windows are ceiling to floor, and it's simply stunning in its simplicity. You call it home.

Every summer, the two of you still go back to Perth, the place which started everything, and you still go back to that beach, with a bottle of wine and a bottle of whiskey.

Hi! Can I request for a Max Verstappen x Reader?

His girlfriend is a Swiftie, eventually Max found himself humming all the songs without realizing it until other driver point it out. Maybe they could ended up going to the Eras Tour? Just major fluff.

Thank you!

end game- oneshot

a/n: OH MY GOD MY FIRST ASK I LOVE yoUUUUU!!!!!!!! also this is so goofy lol i luv it

-> max verstappen x female!swiftiereader, no physical desc of reader

masterlist

word count: 832 words

Honestly, it's kind of subconscious when it happens.

Obviously, Max isn't a 'Swiftie'. One, that's your thing, in fact, you've coined it to be yours, and two, he doesn't even listen to music.

Yet, every time he's back home for the meantime, and you have the aux, it's always Taylor Swift playing.

"Seriously?" He deadpans, quirking an eyebrow at the radio. "What?" You furrow your eyebrows and ask innocently, despite completely knowing what he means to say. "This again?" You simply give him a knowing look, and he decides not to push the matter any further. To be honest, it isn't even that bad. Most of it is tolerable, anyway.

Frankly speaking, he's quite concerned when he receives a frantic phone call from you. For one, you've never been one to disturb him during race weekends, and although he wouldn't mind you doing so, you just let him concentrate anyway. You only ever call him when it's really important. "Max." You speak into the microphone, sounding slightly distraught. "What's wrong?" His eyebrows furrow in concern. "I didn't get Era's Tour tickets." You complain, a disappointed sigh leaving your lips.

He takes a moment to digest the information you've just told him. "Let me make a few calls." He reassures you, and although you tell him that it's fine, and you wouldn't want to be a hassle, he insists, only because it makes you happy. After a few conversations with multiple Amex clerks, he gets the two of you tent tickets for when he would be off season. Hey, perks of having a black card, right?

As much as he tries to deny it, your listening habits have definitely had some sort of impact on him.

He doesn't even realise it, but he's started humming. And not just anything, he's started humming Taylor Swift.

He'll admit it. He's a big fan of the 'Reputation' album. Specifically, the track 'End Game', mostly because it just reminds him of you.

It's during a Driver's Briefing when Max is humming it to himself, and Charles is the first to point it out.

"Mate, what the hell are you singing?" Charles laughs, and quickly grabs the attention of the drivers' nearby. "What?" Charles' questions rudely interrupts his trance. "What's happening?" Alex asks, slightly intrigued by this entire ordeal. "Max was humming something..." Charles is now akin to Sherlock Holmes, on the case to find out what Max was humming. "Can you reenact it?" Daniel asks, wiggling his eyebrows with a grin on his face. Charles hums it, perfectly in tune. Musician's ear, right? "Hey, that's Taylor Swift!" Daniel point out, slapping Max's shoulder. Max only rolls his eyes. "Yeah, it's End Game!" Alex adds on, with an expression that made it seem like a lightbulb lit up above his head. "What now?" Charles asks, slightly puzzled. "Yeah, End Game is the song! It's a collab she did with Ron Weasley and Future!" Alex exclaimed. "Mate, how the hell do you know this shit?" Charles gives him a slightly judgmental stare. "Hey, my girlfriend listens to it. Besides, shouldn't you be asking Max the same question?" Alex gestures towards the World Champion's direction. Thanks a lot Alex, Max thinks to himself. "Alex and I are on the same boat." Max says, in a tone which indicated that he would no longer elaborate on the matter. Later on, when he's back in his hotel room and recounting the ordeal to you via Facetime, you're practically laughing your head off.

It's the end of a great season, and you and Max are in the tent of the Era's Tour. You were absolutely ecstatic when Max had proudly presented the tickets to you as soon as he got home from Abu Dhabi, saying that it was a gift for you.

Anyway, you'd be dammed if he wore a stupid Red Bull polo to the Era's Tour. You chose his outfit for him, and although he put it on reluctantly, he seemed to be fine now. Or maybe that was because he'd had 5 too many Gin Tonics. Anyway, that doesn't really matter.

Obviously, you're pretty shocked when Taylor decides to sit on that ever elusive piano stool and starts to press a few keys.

You're beyond overjoyed when she begins to play End Game. Your jaw drops, and you turn to Max and excitedly squeal before turning back to focus your attention on the performance.

However, much to your own shock, probably out of pure drunkenness, Max begins to sing along during Taylor's verse.

Honestly, this is pretty out of character for him.

You conclude that it's the Gin Tonics.

Nonetheless, you grin at him, and wrap your arms around his waist, and the two of you sing along together.

The next morning, Max is so hungover that he can't remember anything.

It's fine though, because by the next morning, videos of Max Verstappen, 3 time World Champion, are circulating of him singing with his heart and soul at a concert.

ur Grammy piece is sosos good!!!! May I request a Charles x actress reader for the Oscar’s?? Thankuuuu

thank you so much 💘 I’ll write a small blurb since my phone is dying, but thanks for requesting! Requests are open (Charles, Lando, George, Max… whoever you want)

AND THE OSCAR GOES TO

“Are you sure you want me to walk the red carpet with you? It’s your moment,” Charles asked you, his girlfriend, while his stylist fixed his tie.

Yes, the stylist was a must-have if he wanted to go with you to awards ceremonies. Both your managers agreed, much to Charles’ dismay.

“Yes, please stop asking me,” you snapped a bit, but immediately realized. “I’m sorry, Char. I’m just so nervous I want to cry and throw up,”

“Please don’t” your make up artist said while studying your face for any flaw on his work.

Everything went by quickly, as a black SUV picked you up, Charles tightly holding your hand as the both of you were dressed by Valentino from head to toe. You were trapped on a line of the same cars, screams from reporters and photographers could be heard even two blocks away.

“Bebé, did you bring your speech?” Charles asked, watching you down a glass of champagne, courtesy of Hollywood lifestyle.

You gulped: “I didn’t write it,”

“What?!” Charles asked, his accent getting thicker while his voice raised. “Chérie, what if you go on stage and forget what to say? We should write something now,” he started patting his pockets, even though he knew he wasn’t carrying anything.

“Honey, we both now I’m probably not gonna win. What am I even doing in the same category as Angela Bassett? How am I supposed to look people in the eye after I lose?” You said and Charles noticed you were really hyperventilating.

“Okay, okay… look at me” he squeezed your hand and carefully placed his thumb and index fingers on your chin. “You can win or lose, and you’re still gonna be the best, it doesn’t matter if you win,” he softly kissed your lips. “Why is it named the Oscars, anyway? Who was Oscar?” You laughed loudly at his question.

“I have absolutely no idea” you answered and now it was his turn to laugh, leaving one last kiss on your glossed lips.

“Why is this burning?” He asked placing a finger on his lips.

“Oh shit, baby this is a lip plumper, I’m so sorry” you laughed as he pouted and tried to rub it of.

—————————

“Here are the nominees for Best Supporting Actress,” Pedro Pascal smiled to the audience while the nominees appeared on the screen. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), Women Talking”

You felt the camera on your face, but the only think you could focus on was Charles very tightly holding your hand, giving you his best smile, his eyes connecting with yours as the camera stopped focusing on the two of you for a couple of seconds

“I love you” he whispered, almost touching your lips as the attention returned to the presenter and the camera was on you again.

“And the Oscar goes to…”

accidentally referencing them as "my" with max please!

what are we doing here? - MV1

The only clear thing between you and Max is that neither of you knew what you were.

Friends? Very close friends? Situationship? Love each other but afraid to make a move?

So many ways to describe it, but still moving between blurred lines, where you snuck out of his hotel room before someone came knocking on the door to wake him up or brief him as he got ready to leave, going out with your friends to a bar where you'd start acting as close friends, but as alcohol started burning your throats and clouding your judgement, his arm found home around your shoulders and your head nuzzled on his neck, loving how he shivered and smiled whenever your lips curled up at something you said or left a quick kiss on his neck.

Everybody knew there was something going on, and no, your friends knew it wasn't just kissing and sneaking around, it was deeper, something that neither you nor Max were willing to accept and act on it.

Months went by and it didn't change. You were exclusive, the thought of looking at someone else didn't cross your mind, but the mere idea of Max sharing time and space with beautiful women from all around the world, it was mind boggling for you.

Unbeknownst to you, Max felt the same rush of blood to his head whenever someone in the paddock started a conversation with you, standing a little too close for his liking, knowing his male equals enough to be sure they wanted to have you to themselves, and he couldn't do anything to stop that.

Well, he could do one thing, but for him it wasn't even a possibility, not wanting to leave the small paradise you had created, with no problems, no labels, no feelings... he'd be damned if he vocalized that it was a problem not having you to himself every day with no excuse, just calling you by your name like he was any other man in your life, and if he expressed his feelings were beyond a simple friendship, he wanted it all.

And so did you, you wanted to walk hand in hand with Max and it being familiar, not getting surprised looks. you wanted for him to claim you just like he had claimed your heart and body. you craved for him to look for you after a race, holding his helmet and symbolically kissing his lips in front of every camera, every screen who was watching.

All those thoughts were wandering as the both of you were talking before the race, with his fireproofs hanging low on his waist and you trying to fix a loose strand of hair, not caring that it was futile since he'd be putting on his helmet in no time.

Then, a woman you had barely crossed paths with came along, giving Max a tight hug and wishing him good luck, telling him to not go too crazy on the track for the sake of her husband.

Huh.

"Oh, i have seen you so many times before and we haven't been introduced! Max what are you waiting for?" Geri Halliwell, beautiful and elegant as ever, asked Max who was caught off guard.

The words left Max's lips without a second thought, a worry, and it felt so natural: "This is (Y/N), she's my girl,"

My girl.

He didn't even flinch, placing his hand on your waist as Geri kept commenting you were such a good looking couple, complemented each other so well, that you must be so proud, and you really were, everyone could see it.

"I'll leave you both, but I'll find you sweetheart on the garage when the race starts and the boys go do their thing, okay?" Geri said to you, leaving you a bit dumbfounded but agreeing to what she said, leaving you and Max.

His hand didn't leave you waist, it only changed its position as you turned to face him.

"I'm your girl?" Your head tilted a bit, trying to read his expression.

His cheeks flushed and he was insecure for the first time, his blue eyes avoiding yours, but lovingly accepting when your hand found its place on his cheek. "I like it, how it sounds,"

In the middle of loud noises, screens full of statistics and people calling for Max, you took his hand in yours and left a chaste kiss on his lips before sending him off to get ready and get in the car.

For the first time, Max wanted the race to be over as soon as possible, adrenaline rushing but not because of the vibrations of the car and crowds cheering, but because of what was waiting for him after the finish line.

his girl.

RYAN GOSLING and MARGOT ROBBIE react to Pedro Pascal's SAG Win

— daniel ricciardo being a simp for you.

he has such a unique and pure way of making you laugh; with silly jokes, exaggerated imitations of characters or people you don’t like, tickling you until you’re out of breath, leaving kisses all over your face while holding you as close to him as possible… he’s a ray of sunshine in your life.

he always makes eye contact with you as you speak; it doesn’t matter if you’re just rambling about your day or telling him some funny story from your childhood, he looks at you intently while caressing your hand. he wants you to know that he is paying attention to everything you are saying, that he is listening to you and everything you say is important to him.

when he needs to leave early because of work, he tucks the blankets around you and leaves a kiss on your forehead, then lightly caresses your cheek. he prepares your breakfast and leaves a note beside it; an explanation of why he needed to leave early and when he comes back. (he also draws two birds on a tree branch with a heart around them both. the biggest bird - that’s him - has heart eyes as he looks at you)

he buys all your favorite things; he ensures that your house always has those favorite beauty products of yours or those sweets you love the most. and he also likes to spoil you; he buys things he thinks you’ll like and things you’ve looked at in the shop window or on the internet. you think he forgot about it, but you’re delightfully surprised to see him with a bright smile as he hands you a gift package when he gets home; he just hugs and kisses you, saying that you deserve so much more than this gift.

he writes important things and puts them on a magnet on the fridge; like birthdays of your mutual friends, date nights —and he puts a heart around the date to demonstrate that it’s your day — and even appointments with dentists or doctors so you don’t forget.

he always plans a date for the two of you to have some time together. he plans everything perfectly because he wants you to feel as happy and comfortable as possible, so everything you like and admire the most will be there. and he doesn’t let anything or anyone get in the way of this night, because it’s all dedicated to you and only you.

he loves spending time with you and moments like that are so precious and unique to him. he doesn’t care if you’re just lying down caressing each other while watching some bad movie on netflix or going for a fun walk around town, any time with you is perfect for him.

when you go out and you’re carrying lots of bags, he’ll take them out of your hand and hold them for you until you get home.

he is the type of boyfriend who will use your purse as if it were his and he loves that. but when you go to buy a new purse, he wants you to buy one that suits him.

he has a space in his backpack that are just things for you; meds, band-aids, your favorite candies etc. and he also always has a hair elastic on his wrist just in case you need it; and in fact it is he who ties your hair for you - he loves taking care of your hair.

he always comes home with something for you; your favorite flower, that book you’ve wanted for a while, your favorite food or candy.. he always wants to please you.

before leaving the house he hugs you tightly, leaving a kiss on the top of your head before taking your face with both hands and kissing your forehead and finally your lips. you have to remind him to go otherwise he will be late; he just can’t stop leaving soft kisses all over your face. and, with a smile, he says “i love you, i’ll be back soon, love” before finally leaving.

he has a necklace with your initials and he never takes it off - or hides it. in every photo or interview he appears with your initials and his proud smile says enough.

— masterlist.

˒ ⌕ General!

protective gestures f1 boys do

attractive things f1 boys do

making out with f1 boys

f1 boys pulling you in their lap

things f1 boys do that make people think you’re dating

moments f1 boys realized they were in love

soft moments in the car with f1 boys

how f1 boys would act when crushing on someone

little moments of f1 boys yearning for their best friend

mundane little moments of love with f1 boys

moments that made you fall in love a little more with f1 boys

the ones you catch staring at you vs the ones that catch you staring at them

different ways to say ‘i love you’ with f1 boys

moments that made f1 boys look at you and go “damn, they’re so pretty”

the ones who’d kiss you to shut you up vs the ones you’d kiss to shut them up

whispering sweet nothings with f1 boys

f1 boys apologizing after a fight

things f1 boys do that give you butterflies

f1 boys giving you the partner privilege

f1 boys as your boyfriend

things you do that f1 boys think it’s attractive

little things about a relationship with f1 boys

moments that break f1 boys after the break up

f1 boys reacting to their crush setting them up with someone else

christmas with f1 boys

habits f1 boys developed in your relationship

candid photos f1 boys would take of you

˒ ⌕ Lando Norris

lando falling in love with you

lando being a simp for you

soft moments with lando

˒ ⌕ Daniel Ricciardo

daniel ricciardo being a simp for you

˒ ⌕ Carlos Sainz

soft moments with carlos sainz

carlos being a simp for you

carlos falling in love with you

˒ ⌕ Charles LeClerc

soft moments with charles leclerc

the 1 (angst)

˒ ⌕ Lewis Hamilton

lewis as your boyfriend

˒ ⌕ Oscar Piastri

champagne problems (angst)

˒ ⌕ Max Verstappen

on the rooftop (fluff)

Joel Miller Masterlist

* indicates smut. 18+, minors do not interact.

one shots:

Tailgate*

-> your best friend drags you to a tailgate party, and you end up being introduced to one very attractive miller brother.

A Forever Thing

-> you and joel have been trying for a baby since the night you two married, but haven’t had any luck—until you do.

Help Me Forget*

-> joel and tommy stumble upon an unexpected body in the snow on their patrol, and they bring the person back to jackson with them.

Pout*

-> joel’s noticed you’ve been working a little too hard, and he misses you. he decides to use his all-consuming charm to coax you to relax… in more ways than one.

Forbidden Fruit*

-> you return back home from college after graduating with your master’s degree, and joel miller is surprised to see how much you’ve really grown up.

Shotgun*

-> you and joel smoke together for the first time.

Ride, Cowgirl*

-> you tell joel one of your fantasies that’d been on the back burner, but he encourages you to bring it to life.

Love Me Tender

-> after a terrible mental week, joel checks in on you and makes sure you’re taken care of.

Something in the Orange

-> you and joel enjoy a peaceful autumn morning together.

Ring*

-> tommy teases joel about you and him having marriage problems when he notices you aren’t wearing your wedding ring.

Mask*

-> joel throws his annual halloween party, and you’re both determined to settle your aching need for each other.

Mystery

-> tommy drags joel to a club which he detests to, until he sets his sights on you.

Checkmate – blurb*

-> screwing your dad’s best friend shouldn’t feel this good.

Checkmate – one shot*

-> you and your dad’s best friend play a dangerous game, and one of you ends up losing faster than you both anticipated.

Nobody Does It Like You Do*

-> good girls always get rewarded.

Birthday Girl*

-> joel gives you a sweet surprise on your birthday.

Traditions*

-> you and joel make holiday traditions in your new home.

Sweet Thing*

-> the most unlikely pair in jackson just can’t get enough of each other.

A Merry Little Christmas

-> christmas morning at the miller household is always chaotic in the sweetest way possible.

Dawn’s First Light*

-> joel tells you he loves you for the first time.

A Burning Desire

-> you meet a handsome firefighter on a day where everything just feels… different.

Hiraeth*

-> the most invigorating and intoxicating drug you’ve had in your life is completely forbidden—and then there’s weed.

Real Love, Baby

-> joel has a bad day at work, but seeing you dancing in the kitchen makes it all better.

An Ode to Forever*

-> after an arduous day, joel draws a bath to help you both relax.

or

an ode to how much you love joel miller, and he, you.

The Hills* (coming soon)

-> drugs. sex. fame. joel miller. something about hollywood or other. it all seems to become a blurred line when you get invited to an oscars after party at a house in the hills.

series:

Fate, After All*

-> your mom thinks it’s a bright idea to keep setting you up on blind date after blind date. none of them work in your favor—until one unintentionally does.

Law of Attraction (ongoing)*

-> you and your criminal law professor have an undeniable attraction toward each other. it’s only natural that you both explore that attraction—but navigating a dynamic like that is never as simple as it seems.

Rose Thorn Blues | pt. 5 (final)

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Masterlist

Summary: Spider-Man saved everyone he could. But this time, you have to save him — and yourself.

Word count: ~10.4k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! (We're finally to the lovers part <3) Canon-level violence. Swearing, blood, injuries. Angst. Fluff and more fluff!! Love confessions!!! And smooching ;)

A/n: Today's my birthday, so here's a little birthday present to all of you :) Thank you all for your patience with this story. It's the longest one I've written, and I'm grateful for everyone that's read it. Your comments mean the world.

I'd be happy to write an epilogue or little snippets of their lives during or after this story if anyone would be interested. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy <3

Pain. Unrelenting pain settling deep into your body was the first thing you noticed. Your closed eyes squeezed shut harder as the back of your head pounded, a shaky exhale leaving your cracked lips. You could feel dried tears stuck along the planes of your cheeks.

When you tried moving your arms, you found you couldn’t — not with them bound behind you to the chair you sat in, and not with the deep ache stretching from your shoulders down to your wrists. The skin there felt rubbed nearly raw by rope holding them together. Even your chest and ankles were tied to the chair. 

Despite the ache in your ribs, you forced yourself to take long, deep breaths. Each one shook through you. Blinking slowly, you let your blurry vision adjust. The bright fluorescents were now dimmer than before, only half of them on. You shivered slightly, goosebumps raising across your skin in the cool temperature of the warehouse. 

Forms of people here and there began to come into focus in front of you. They seemed to be packing things into large boxes, the same wooden ones you’d seen before. And as you took in the tall windows and many shelves, you saw that you were in a shadowy corner of this godforsaken warehouse.

You could’ve screamed if your throat wasn’t so dry and your head wasn’t swimming. Your jaw ached as you clenched your teeth together over and over again. Panicked, uncontrolled thoughts flew through your hazy awareness. No matter how hard you tried to swallow them back, you couldn’t ignore the worry festering in your stomach — one uneasy idea decomposing into another.

Where was Peter?

A thin breath punched from your lungs as you remembered the hurt in his voice over the phone. He’d never allowed you to see him like that before, but still, you could picture his face twisting and the blood staining his suit dark. The image floated on the edges of your vision as you scanned the people moving throughout the warehouse.

Somehow, no guard stood watch over you. If what Will had said before about his horrible suit being missing, his workers must have been scouring the city — stretching his people thin and unable to be everywhere all at once.

With a possible window of opportunity open and beckoning you to take, you shifted your wrists, testing out the rope around them. Wiggling your arms made the binding a tiny bit looser. Each movement stretched them out but brought burning pain with it. It wouldn’t get you anywhere but tired and too hurt to function.

Like Peter, desperate and hurt. Who tried to keep you from walking into your demise… using secrets and lies. You clenched your teeth, hoping the pressure of it could shove away these half-feelings twisting and knotting around themselves.

So, you looked around, careful not to turn your head too abruptly in case any workers looked over. Though, even from afar, all of them looked terrified to do anything but hastily pack. Orders from Will himself, you were sure of it.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of a jagged metal beam broken and sticking out from a beat-up shelf. It looked dull, but it came to a point. It’d have to do.

As silently as you could, you used your feet to inch the chair backward — timing each push with the sound of people shouting at one another or loudly loading up a crate. Your ears rang and your rapid heartbeat dulled your focus, distracting you with each intense spike of your nerves firing off.

Over several minutes, you positioned your bound hands to the piece of metal shelving and began to rub the rope across it. You paused at each lull, each possible moment that you might be caught. It gave you temporary relief from the strain pulling in your shoulders as you continued sawing away at the rope.

Sweat beaded across your skin as time passed — how long exactly, you weren’t sure. But eventually, the strands turned thinner. They felt as tight and ready to snap as your resolve. But when the rope loosened, becoming big enough for your hands to wiggle out, it instead filled your body with quenching relief.

The rope had barely pooled along the concrete floor before you began working on the binding stretching across your chest to hold your torso to the chair. It was tedious and forced your aching arms in horrible positions, but you pulled and pulled at the binding, squirming around to even gain an inch of room.

It kept catching on the bunched-up fabric of your clothes, but it moved. So, so slowly, it moved. It was an effort to keep your breaths silent when you wanted nothing more than to just shout for anyone to come help you. But Peter wasn’t here to help, so you sunk your teeth into your lip and kept quiet as the rope loosened.

Pushing your elbows out, you slipped the rope over your head. You allowed yourself only one unrestrained inhale before bending at the waist and working on the knot tying your ankles to the chair. Your fingers worked quickly, your eyes constantly trained on the workers as you moved. But the sight of that rope falling from your body made you blink away stinging tears.

Your best bet would likely be looking for a back exit and hoping you could sneak by anyone there — or fight your way out if it came to that. On unsteady legs, you raised yourself up, ignoring the wave of sharp pain pulsing at the back of your head and down your spine.

But before you could even take a step, get a real breath of freedom in your lungs, a sharp blade appeared at your neck.

“Going somewhere, sunshine?”

Within an instant, William Beaumont appeared next to you, and had he not held a tight grip to your upper arm, you might have collapsed. Though the blade pressed against you, your body instinctually writhed to get away from him. But even in the dim lighting, you saw the darkness that clung to him, the stillness in his eyes, the heavy weight he held. This wasn’t the Will you met before.

“Or Rose, is it?” he asked, his voice cold and calculated.

He pulled you forward and yanked your arms behind you. Your throat felt tight, your chest ready to rip open as you felt a zip tie tighten around your wrists — the plastic rubbing right where the rope had been just minutes ago. It had been too easy. Did he give you that hope on purpose? Just a lion toying with its food? A wretched feeling of fear shot through you at the thought. 

Will shoved you back in the chair, a labored grunt shooting out of your lungs and a dizziness hitting you. Once he was sure you weren’t going to get up again, he took a step back, careful to keep the long blade pointed at your throat. 

You dully registered a piece of wood rolling to your feet as Will aimlessly paced before you, kicking scattered debris. Sweat coated his skin, his hair damp against his forehead. For a minute, he just wordlessly walked back and forth, his eyes staring unfocused toward the ground. But you couldn’t look at his face for long, not with the sunken shadows settling into each curve of his expression. He almost looked sickly. Your gaze instead dropped to the handgun tucked into the back of his waistband; then you looked to the sharp piece of metal in his hand, recognizing it as one of the wrecked pieces from the Green Goblin’s glider.

When he paused, your breaths stopping too, he turned to stare at you. “Where’s my suit?” he asked, simply and without room for negotiation.

Despite the nearly deafening roaring of your heartbeat, you held his stare and willed your voice to come out steady. “Where’s your father?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you wondered how you hadn’t ever seen the similarities between those two before — the eerie air around them. 

“Ellis is a bit busy at the moment. Why? Want to snoop around his mansion some more?” He tilted his head, pursing his lips just slightly. The look brought an anger next to your fear — anger and frustration that they could do good with what they had and keep their promises, but they were just adding more filth to the city.

He came closer then, squatting down so he was nearly eye level with you. You could barely stand to look at him this close, but you did your best not to flinch away. It was just another character you had to play. 

Almost unnoticeable, you saw him wince in pain as he lowered. Watching him, you swallowed the fear trickling down your spine and asked, “Feeling sore?” At his unimpressed look, you merely squared your shoulders, raising your chin.

A breathy half-laugh escaped his lips. He stared down at his hand as he flexed it.  “Jus’ some growing pains…” He shrugged. “ No change comes without a cost.”

“And is the cost worth all this?” you asked, your eyes motioning to the wreckage of the warehouse behind him.

“I’m just living up to the Beaumont family name. We’re cutting through endless miles of red tape with a snap of my fingers. I think you know the answer.”

“Your fingers?” you questioned. “Ellis is making you do all the dirty work?”

Will just rolled his eyes, his grip growing tighter on the blade. Letting out a sharp breath, he stood up, his body wavering just barely as he did so. Still, you went rigid as he towered over you. “Where’s the suit?”

You shook your head, trying to stay calm. But your resolve, this mask, pulled in all directions. “You said you wanted to educate people. What kind of change can be worth whatever you have planned? Worth a super suit and bodily experiments?” You remembered the way he’d bent the shelving’s metal like it was nothing.

“I prefer the term enhancements actually. Because they have made me better. Made it easier to ‘negotiate’ with clients. To educate the city on who really controls things around here.” He stared down at you, letting his words sink in.

Your tone rose, a tightness taking hold of your throat. “And who controls it? It’s certainly not you if your daddy’s bossing you around.” Despite the cold anger flaring behind his features, you continued. “Who says he won’t just keep you as his little lackey to do his bidding forever?”

His jaw twitched, his hand gripping the blade harder. You fought the terrified waves of nausea sitting in your stomach as he said, “Shut your mouth. You know nothing about the empire he’s planned for me.”

Your voice lowered with venom pooling around your tongue, one eyebrow raising. “Oh, and he’d never lie for his own personal gain, right? Even at the harm of others?”

“Where’s the suit?” he gritted out.

“I don’t know.”

You jolted backward as he slammed the metal blade against one of the shelves. The echoing clang of the hit made you curl into yourself, the blood draining from your heart.

His hand raised high, clenched above his head, before it slowly unfurled. He pressed his fingers into his temples. “I’m not in the fucking mood for this.” Punctuating each word with a step closer, he said, “Where. Is. The. Suit?” 

A pulsing vein appeared along his neck, his breathing coming harder. Your hope of getting out of here dwindled with each second he got closer to losing it. 

Trying to keep your voice calm, you said, “Will, I swear I don’t know.”

He charged toward you then, gripping your chin in his hand despite the yelp you let out. “You’ve come to this warehouse before. You’ve been in our house. You stole blueprints. And you think I’m going to believe you?”

You let out a shaky exhale, muscles twitching and screaming at you to get away from him. “I never broke in here. I wouldn’t be able to take all those boxes of the suit by myself, not without being seen. I don’t know where it is.”

His gaze considered you, roaming across your face like he was listing all the ways to torture the information from you. “Then you had help. Maybe that little ‘husband’ of yours knows — he might talk more than you when we find him.” He paused, his hold on you growing a little tighter, making you wince. “And that spider will talk when we string him up and force it out of him.”

Your expression dropped, your eyebrows tightening together. So they didn’t know Peter was Spider-Man, at least not yet. And if you could get out of here alone, it could stay that wa-

A flash of red flew past the windows near the warehouse’s ceiling. Any sense of calm, no matter how forced, dissipated into uncatchable smoke. No, he couldn’t be here. He couldn’t bring himself right into the waiting mouth of the beast that was hunting him. Silently, you pulled at the zip tie holding your wrists. 

“Speaking of cutting through red tape…” Will muttered as a thud on top of the roof had his gaze shooting upward. Silence covered the entire building — all of the workers immediately stopped their movements. 

You could barely slump forward when Will let go of your chin before he brought the blade back to your neck, his body standing behind you. His words echoed as he called out, “Come on out, Spider-Man! I promise we’ll let her go…”

Your eyes squeezed shut as the pain in the back of your head pounded harder, tears threatening to pool on your eyelashes. You whispered, “And then what? Where does this end, Will?” 

A jagged smile was evident in his words. “Who says the fun ever has to end?” His hands forced your head to turn, your gaze pointed toward the warehouse entrance. “Isn’t that right, father?” Will asked loudly, calling to the man walking toward you both with a gun at the ready.

The sight dropped a deadening weight into your stomach. Ellis looked wild, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His usual well-kempt look was forgotten, his suit ragged and hair free from its slicked-back style. More guards continued to enter the warehouse after him, and you couldn’t stop your entire body from shaking.

“Or maybe the fun’s just beginning,” Will said into the curve of your ear. It made you stretch to get away from him, but that only pushed your neck further into the blade — pain prickling along your skin.

You revolted against the dread, the horrific realization, that you may watch Peter die here — while he was trying to save you. It took everything in you to not let it incapacitate your ability to think or even function.

Ellis directed the guards this way and that. You watched with unfocused attention as he followed the large group up toward the roof. Normally, you would say he was sending them to their demise with Spider-Man up there. But an injured, desperate Spider-Man? That struck icy fear into your veins.

And you’d never known Spider-Man to have a noisy approach — careless enough to make noise and draw the enemy’s attention to himself. He’d have to play it smart, which became evident a few minutes later when Will yelled to one of his guards… and got no response. Peter was picking them off one by one in here while they searched for him outside.

Will’s free hand gripped tightly to your shoulder, his body continuously moving in small twitches. You could feel how on edge he was, and you wondered just how dangerous this family could be. Full power over the city, and all they needed now was to remove the one man stopping them.

You fought to keep your breathing even, your mind clear, so you could stay calm. And it worked to ground you just as a web shot from the sky. At blinding speed, it hit Will’s arm, sending the blade flying away from you. It clattered across the floor, the sound the sweetest thing you’d ever heard. Before he could fully realize what had happened, you lifted your foot and brought it down against his knee using every bit of strength you had.

By the time he’d crumpled to the floor, you’d run the other way. His scream froze your heart, but you knew he wouldn’t be down long with whatever experiments were coursing through him. Weaving between shelves with your hands still bound behind you, you tried to find somewhere safe — maybe the back entrance you’d planned to go to before.

But there were sure to be more guards outside now, and you couldn’t get far with your hands tied together. Your steps slowed, trying to become silent as you looked around for something sharp. Among the debris were ammo, rope, chemicals… but nothing to cut the zip tie. 

Will’s words sounded far enough away, but that didn’t stop your head from whipping in his direction as he yelled, “You’ll fucking regret that!” Without so much as a breath, you took small steps backward away from the threat.

You only got a few feet when a gloved hand wrapped around your mouth. Before you could even scream, you were lifted into the air. The warehouse passed in a blur, but relief broke through as you felt summer night air hit your skin — as you recognized the sounds of the man swinging you both a few blocks away.

The two of you landed in a different alley, this one empty and finally safe. A second later, you felt the snap of the zip tie, and your wrists came free.

“Thought you might need a han-”

He only spoke those few words before you turned around to lunge into his arms. A quiet grunt shot out of him as you hugged him until your arms shook. You sniffled back tears budding up, your fingers clenching tight onto his suit. You breathed in him.

“Peter,” you whispered against him.

“Uh… I’m not sure who that is. The name’s Spide-”

“Shut up,” you interrupted, shaking your head as you pressed in closer to him. You could have sobbed when his arms wrapped around you too. To have him here, real, and breathing felt like the aching quiet after waking up from an unending nightmare, like the first rays of morning sunlight peeking above the horizon.

But the memory of when the two of you last spoke washed over your senses in an unrelenting tidal wave. You pulled back, your hold on him tightening as you looked at him. Your breath fizzed away like bubbling remnants of the crashed wave.

Blood splattered across his suit, broken up by dirt and rips along his body. His chest rapidly rose and fell, tired in a way you’d never seen the superhero. He’d pulled his arms from you— one of his hands rested against the building, using it to hold his weight. His other hand wrapped around his left side where blood-coated webs held together what looked to be a bullet wound. But what stole the breath from your lungs, what grabbed you and forced you to come to terms with all that’d happened, was his face. 

A jagged tear in his mask stretched from his cheek to his forehead, leaving one of his bloodshot eyes exposed. The skin around it looked marred with cuts and aching bruises. At the top of the rip, pieces of his shaggy hair stuck to his forehead. He was barely recognizable. Your bottom lip trembled, no matter how hard you tried to stop it. But before you could open your mouth, Peter brought you back in against him, hugging you tight. He whispered, “Thank God you’re okay.”

Pressing your hands against his chest, you created a little bit of space despite how your body protested. “Peter… are you okay?”

His exposed eye traced across your face, the soft brown looking paler than usual. “I’m fine. I got the suit out — and hidden. That’s what matters.”

You gave him an exhausted look because that was not all that mattered, not as he stood there looking like that, but you didn’t argue further. He was here. And stubborn.

So you just allowed yourself to do what you hadn’t done before the fundraiser. Raising your hand, you paused for a brief moment before gingerly fixing his hair. You tucked the strands back under the mask before swiping a thumb across his forehead. 

His hand came up to grab your wrist, lowering it from his hair but not letting go of you.

“How are you doing?” he asked. His fingers were gentle against the marks on your wrist.

You blinked against the throbbing in your head but nodded, breathing out, “Uh… yeah. I’ll be okay.”

And too many other things to say passed your mind, some you wanted to tell him and others you couldn’t. With a hoarse voice and downcast eyes, you settled on, “You came.” 

You hoped he heard all you meant underneath those two words.

And you didn’t have time to register his answer — “of course” — as he moved his grip from your wrist down to your hand. He squeezed once then let it return to your side.

“Okay, I need to head back,” he said, raising his arm to shoot a web back in the direction of the warehouse, “please head to the hospital, and stay safe. I’d bring you there myself, but–” He gestured to his injured side, his face wincing in pain.

Instantly, your face twisted, a dizziness coming over you as any relief you had shattered to the ground. “You’re not going back in there. Not like this,” you nearly pleaded, your words coming out faster. “You’ve done enough. Call- call the police, and let them handle it.”

He shook his head. “I already called them. But with Will’s powers, it’ll be a massacre. I’ve got to go.” He said it with such certainty, with no room for argument. He tried to step past you, his gaze stoically not meeting yours. 

“Then I’m coming too.” You stepped to the side with him. You hurriedly explained, “Something’s not right with Will, like his body is struggling with whatever’s coursing through him. So I think if we-”

“What? No. I mean, yes,” he told you. “Will is using DNA from supervillians, and I think his body’s rejecting it. But no, you’re not coming with me.”

“Could we somehow increase his symptoms then, or speed them up?” Your palms came up to rest against his chest. His heartbeat pounded rapidly beneath your touch.

“I mean, probably. If we incubated it with heat or lights maybe, but…” He cocked his head. “Stop talking like we’re doing this together. We’re not.”

Turning your chin up at him, you argued, “Well the plan where you get yourself killed sucks.”

“Well I happen to like the plan where you get killed a lot less, so you’re staying,” he said, raising an arm to shoot out a web again. He held stern, but you heard the exhaustion coating his words, how tired he really was. 

Spider-Man always had a plan, Peter always knew what to do. And now it seemed his only plan was to stop Will at all costs — even at the cost of his own life. You shoved away the emotion that thought brought bubbling up your throat.

You clenched your hands into fists, refusing to let him go so easily. “Peter, you’re not leaving me in the dark anymore. The secrets and hiding have to stop here.”

You watched his eyebrow sink into a frown, his voice becoming more serious than you’d ever heard. “Secrets and hiding? Yeah, I have to keep my identity hidden, but don’t you get why I did all of this?” He asked as if it was the most obvious question. His hands gestured out to the side as he took a step back — your own hands falling away from him.

He turned his head away from you, and you could only watch his jaw clench and unclench with each passing second. The silence rang in your ears, until he breathed out, “It was to keep you safe. ‘Cause all this? It does no good if… if you’re gone.”

You held your breath, feeling your heart beating wildly throughout you. Heat crawled up your body at his words. Quietly, you asked, “What does me being gone have to do with stopping Beaumont?”

Shaking his head, Peter breathed out the ghost of a laugh. In an instant, he stepped so closely that it nearly gave you whiplash. Slowly, the tips of his fingers slipped under his mask to pull it above his mouth. He shifted even closer, his lips merely an inch from yours as his hands cupped your jaw. His body overtook all of your senses. He whispered, “Christ, are you this dense on purpose?” 

With that, his lips pressed against yours, your eyes fluttering shut on instinct. At first, you didn’t move at all — afraid that it would break whatever moment you somehow found yourself in. Thoughts and emotions yelled for your attention, for you to analyze what was happening, but none were quite as loud as the feeling of his body melding against yours. That familiar warmth of him enveloped you, and all you could do was melt with him.

It wasn’t like the hurried kissing at the fundraiser, all teeth and tongue and newness. This almost felt familiar, as if you could come home to this every day. Your hands snaked up, holding onto his shoulders as he dulled your senses into a fuzziness. You felt your mind nearly go blank — but not completely.

With waning will power, you pulled away, trying not to relish in the soft noise that escaped his throat as you did so. You both caught your breath — the yearning exhales mingling in the small space between you. And with the way his hands still held onto you, now dropped down along your body to find a home on your hips, you knew there was no way he’d let you go with him.

“I… you, uh, need to get back” you began with a long, heavy breath. Swiping your tongue across your bottom lip, you took a resistant step backward. He kept one hand on yours as you moved. “Just, Peter, please be safe.”

He slowly nodded, and you watched every movement as he grabbed his mask and brought it back down. His thumb rubbed along your skin. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. And after…”

“After?” you asked, smiling at him.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “After. Let me take you out.”

“After,” you promised. You swallowed, wrapping a hand around his forearm and squeezing once. But before he could move away, you said, “Wait! Do you have anything I could use? To defend myself, I mean. I’d just feel safer — in case I happen to run into their guards on my way to the hospital.” You offered a closed mouth smile, one that told him not to worry too much about you.

“Uh, yeah…” he said, patting along his suit and up to his wrists. Removing part of his left webshooter, he set a small metal piece into your palm. You thought it looked almost like a flash drive as he curved your fingers over it.

“It’s not ideal, but it’s the best I have right now. It helps control my electric webs, so you can use this part as a sort of taser if someone comes at you,” he explained, waiting until you nodded before pulling you into a hug. It crushed your body, feeling like a hug you’d give someone you might not see for a long time. Or ever again.

So, you whispered, “Good luck,” and watched as he stepped away and swung away slowly. One of his hands still held tight to his side.

You waited there for a minute, bringing a thumb up to your lips. You felt how they still tingled and how they curved into a smile. But as soon as you were sure Peter had made it back to the warehouse already, you began making your way there with quick steps.

Maybe you were in over your head. Peter would probably call you stupid or reckless. But if he couldn’t handle if something happened to you, then he’d have to understand why you weren’t leaving him to go in there alone.

So you found yourself marching back to the place you never hoped to return to. Intense pounding went through your head with each step. Your palm felt slick with sweat, but you held tight onto the makeshift taser until your knuckles began to ache.

You were glad the warehouse was so secluded — hopefully no passerbyers would get caught in the fray. Or hear the commotion coming from inside. The muffled noise came from the far side of the building, near the front, so you hugged the opposite side of the alley as you made your way to the back. You guessed that they all concentrated on where Peter must have made an appearance, which only left one guard standing at the door.

Eyes flicking to the ground, you caught a glimpse of rock sitting in the cracks of the alleyway. Silently picking it up and pressing yourself into the shadows, you took a steadying breath that did little to calm your nerves in the midst of this insane idea. Still, your shaky arm reeled back to throw the rock up and over the guard, making it land on the other side of him.

As soon as he turned away from you, gun trained on the strange noise, you stepped from the dark and crept toward him. You gave yourself no time to second guess yourself before coming up behind him. Your internal monologue repeated, Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god as you raised the taser.

But as you went to press the taser into the guard, he turned back around in shock — throwing his elbow into your cheek in the process. A silent groan sat in your throat as your mouth hung open, a loud ringing going through your head. Pain bloomed outward from your face, and it took a moment to push past your swimming vision. Using all your strength, you lunged at him again and shoved the taser into the flesh of his neck.

In an instant, his body began convulsing. You did your best to try and let his weight down gently, but he just slid to the ground alongside you, unconscious and still twitching. Pushing him off, you sat on your knees and tried to catch your breath. You let the pain slowly dull with each passing second.

As you sat there, a glimpse of white against his dark uniform caught your eye — an ID badge hanging off his hip. It worked perfectly against the card reader at the back door, unlocking with a soft click for you to slip through. And there you were again, stood in the mouth of the beast once again.

In the back hallway away from the open floor, you could hear crashing and yelling coming from across the building. You only made it a few feet before footsteps sounded from the end of the hallway. Deep voices echoed off the concrete walls, each word louder than the next. You didn’t move or breathe until eventually, finally, they began to grow quieter.

From where you stood, heart still in your throat, you could tell the warehouse lights were still dimmed. So you searched along the walls, ears always listening for anyone coming back. You opened up the door after finding a circuit breaker, tracing a finger down the length of it. None of the switches were labeled, so after a moment of consideration, you flipped them all on — washing the building in bright fluorescents.

And just a few feet down the hall sat the thermostat. It was set to 65 degrees, but your hand quickly turned the dial up to the 89 degree mark. Within a few seconds, you heard the heater turn on and rumble through the vents. 

You nodded, hopeful that this could begin weakening Will enough for Peter to take him out. While bleeding and injured. While dozens of guards also tried to kill him. How could you let him come back here? How could he come back here and make you come back here to help his ass?

You began to turn around to go find him when a heavy hand landed on your shoulder.

“Freeze-”

A gasp caught in your throat as you whipped around out of instinct and fear, immediately shoving the makeshift taser at the woman. It connected with the bottom of her jaw. With wide eyes, you watched as her body shook and fell to the ground just like the other guard. Your hand came up to cover your mouth while you stared. You didn’t think you would ever get used to that.

Slowly, you backed away down the hall. You did manage to grab her gun and hide it on a shelf when you made your way out there — rather than take it and risk shooting yourself or Peter, even if he did have superpowers.

Superpowers that you almost began to resent as you stepped into the open area of the warehouse — and the man himself immediately dropped down in front of you. You placed your hand over your mouth and swallowed the yelp that threatened to escape. Instead, you watched Peter as he guided the both of you behind a shelf. 

His chest rose and fell much too quickly, his stance wavering and unsteady. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to affect his attitude though, as he came closer and angrily whispered, “What the hell are you doing here? I can’t believe you did this.”

You gave him a soft, disbelieving look, a closed-lipped smile on your face. “Yes, you can.”

He brought his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose. A long sigh left his mouth. “Alright,” he said, “I can believe it. But you need to leave now.” He tried weakly pushing you toward the back door again.

You didn’t budge. “Oh, okay. Yeah, now that I’ve snuck in to help — by electrocuting two guards into unconsciousness, by the way — I’ll just go on my merry way,” you whispered back, twisting your face into a mocking expression. “How about you shut up and just let me help?”

“That’s why you asked for the weapon?” He quietly groaned before looking at you again, his head cocking. “Two guards? That’s not bad.”

“Thank you. Now, I’ve turned up the heat and lights. So let’s go.”

For a moment, he considered you. His eye covered by the mask looked expressionless, distant. But his exposed eye made you pause — his gaze feeling resigned, desperate in a way that made your heart twist. You didn’t want to imagine the other compromises or sacrifices Spider-Man has had to make over the years. And you didn’t have time to. So you swallowed those thoughts and simply grabbed his hand, entwining your fingers with his to pull him farther into the warehouse.

As you slowly moved down the aisles, you whispered, “Give me one of your web shooters.”

You already knew his answer from the blank stare he shot sideways at you. “I’m not giving you one of my web shooters. I need them.” Part of his words told you he really did need them to get you both through this. The other part said he didn’t trust you to not accidentally shoot him with his own webs.

“Well don’t you have an extra one or something?” you shot back.

“Do you see this suit? Where could I even keep an extra web shooter on me?” he quietly asked, his free hand raising outstretched and exasperated.

You let your eyes trail across the suit per his suggestion — until Peter said, “Okay, that’s enough ogling.” And even for the briefest of moments, it felt good to smile with him. 

But at another crash several aisles down, he stiffened. You felt his rapid heartbeat pulse against your skin as he held up a hand. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

You tried to squeeze his hand, to give him some sort of mention to be careful or to not get himself killed out there, but his fingers slipped through yours as he instantly swung away. Your palm radiated leftover warmth as you hid, thinking through the plan. Hopefully, the two of you wouldn’t have to wait long for Will to show symptoms, which would just leave many guards and Ellis. Peter seemed confident that they couldn’t fight their way out of this.

But under the commotion of guards around the warehouse, yelling and fighting coming from seemingly everywhere, you didn’t hear the heavy footsteps until they were too close. Whipping around, you saw Ellis appear at the end of the aisle, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. He raised his gun, aiming it right at you as he said, “Found you now.” His voice sounded colder, void of any of the charm he had when speaking to the public.

Instinctively, you backed away from him — from the man that made cold dread creep through your body and steal the breath from your lungs — but your steps stuttered when a web came from the ceiling and yanked the gun from Ellis’ grip. It flew upward, but you didn’t wait to see Ellis’ reaction before silently thanking Peter and sprinting the other way.

Only to be met with Will standing on the other side of the long aisle. 

His twisted smile and disheveled hair falling into his face fueled the icy weight dropping into your gut. His bloody fingers tightened around the end of the blade he held in one hand. The other gripped a pistol.

You turned to look back at Ellis to see him fighting against more webs. As Will approached with heavy steps, his arm shaking as he aimed his gun at you, you forced your body to move.

Without thinking, you ducked and crawled past boxes sitting on the large shelf and emerged into the next aisle. You couldn’t think about the thudding sounds of bullets hitting metal around you.

You knew he’d be on you soon, his mutated powers making him too powerful. So you crawled across to the next aisle, pushing aside scattered equipment before throwing yourself through that shelf too. You went through a few more aisles and shelves to create at least a little distance. In the last shelf you passed, you hid yourself between the boxes. You stilled just a second before you heard him enter the aisle.

Clamping a hand over your mouth, you squeezed your eyes shut as his footsteps grew louder with each passing second. Your other hand began to ache from gripping the taser between your fingers.

“Run all you like. It won’t change how this all ends,” Will seethed, his voice becoming closer to you. A raggedness filled his words, and you hoped that meant the plan was working.

Still, Peter’s name repeated over and over in your mind, a silent prayer for him to come help. But you could hear more guards approaching, each one feeling like an extra shovel digging your graves.

The guards seemed to be coming to find the commotion, but from the sounds, it seemed like Peter was holding them off. You could only imagine the exhaustion and pain riddling his body as he never stopped fighting.

And you hoped he wouldn’t stop as a shaking, powerful hand wrapped itself around your arm and yanked you from the shelf. No sound could escape your mouth — every inch of it went dry in the face of Will’s bloodshot eyes. 

One hand reached to claw at his grip while the other brought the taser up to his neck. But he knocked it away before sending you flying from the aisles into the open space. You heard a growl rip from his throat before it disappeared under the ringing in your ears, a breathless groan dribbling from your agape lips, as you fell against the concrete.

In between slow blinking and painful winces, you caught sight of Peter coming down and fighting against Will. Even with the sweat starting to bead along your skin, the extra heat and lights weren’t enough yet to weaken him. You saw how fast his punches were, how slow Peter was to dodge them.

Your arms trembled as you pushed yourself onto one elbow. Gritting your teeth, you ignored the ache throbbing behind your eyes. You began to stand up again only for a blow to knock you back down and sliding across the floor.

“God, I’ve just had fucking enough of you. Stay down for once, sweetheart. Okay?”

Past watery vision, you raised your head to see a bloody Ellis pointing a gun down at you. You held your breath, not daring to move as nausea and fear turned to sludge in your stomach. His knuckles look torn and raw, his suit ripped along his shoulders and arms. One hand of his ran through his hair, leaving a smear of blood along his hairline.

Just as you were to silently call for Peter again or to close your eyes and wait for this all to be over, a strangled groan echoed throughout the warehouse. A second later, Peter’s ragged body flew from the shelves and hit the ground, sliding until he slammed into the building’s wall. A cry escaped your mouth at seeing his limp form, and you only breathed again once you saw him beneath the debris and dust. Blood dribbled from his shoulder. More rips spread along his suit. But weakly, slowly, you could see his chest continue to rise and fall.

Before you could try to crawl over to him, Will emerged from the aisles — his smile victorious even as his muscles shook. From where you lay, you couldn’t see any more guards. Peter must have gotten them all. Now you just needed a little more time.

“His current state is going to make it harder to get answers out of him, William,” Ellis said. He stretched his neck side to side as he continued to train his gun directly at your heart.

Will let out a breathy laugh as he made his way closer. “I was just having some fun testing out my powers.” He flexed his hands in front of him, his heartbeat visible in the raised veins just beneath his skin. “Besides, I’m sure there are ways to get him to talk…”  

His gaze rose to connect with yours.

He dropped the end of his blade to the ground, letting it drag against the concrete with each step. The slicing sound may as well have been the blade itself running along your throat.

You began to shuffle backward, needing to get as far away from him and his torture plan as possible. Your teeth dug so far into your cheek that you began to taste blood. Fresh tears pooled along your eyes as you called out, “When were you going to tell him, Ellis?”

Still several feet away, Will paused for a moment, the blade hanging looser from his grasp. His eyes flicked to his father’s.

Ellis' shout echoed across the building, making you flinch. “What are you doing? Grab her. We need to leave.”

You didn’t let either of them think before blurting out, “When were you going to tell your son that his body’s rejecting the DNA? That they’re going to kill him?”

Ellis nearly growled out his next words as he stalked closer. “Shut. Up. You don’t know anything, you worthless girl.”

You scrambled back farther, your hands searching for anything along the ground. Your fingers grasped a broken shard of glass, bringing it in front of your body. It looked so miniscule, so useless, trembling before him.

“Is that true?”

Will’s words broke through, and for a brief moment, you recognized him again — he was the man you danced with. Only this time, he looked empty.

The question made Ellis stop this time, his eyes squeezing shut for a second.

“Father?”

You saw how Will’s skin looked red and blotchy, how his breathing became harder with each passing second. He knew something was wrong.

“Tell him, Ellis. Tell him why he’s becoming weaker by the minute.” You tried to keep your voice steady, and though it wavered and scratched, it still struck the tense thread holding them together.

For too long, no one spoke. You fought to not look away from Ellis’ stare that pierced through you. Every breath, every tiny move he made, you watched him from behind the broken glass.

Will pleaded, shouting,“Dad!”

Finally, Ellis broke from the trance and dropped the gun just slightly, turning toward Will. You took the brief moment to glance to Peter. In… out. In… out. He was here. He was okay. He would be okay.

You turned back when Ellis let out a resigned sigh, refusing to fully meet his son’s gaze. “We are working on a cure… a treatment to stabilize your body’s reactions. There was no use in worrying you before we found it.”

“Except that tiring his body worsens it — it kills him faster,” you gritted past split lips, despite flinching when Ellis aimed the gun at you again.

“Shut the hell up!” he yelled, gripping the gun’s handle until his knuckles turned white. You raised your chin higher.

“Is she right?” Will asked.

“I…” Ellis began, groaning and dropping the gun to his side. He reached his other hand toward Will, turning toward him completely. “It’s…” And for once, you heard Ellis Beaumont have nothing to say — no lies to spew. Still, he approached Will, trying to embrace him.

But Will backed away, his tripping over one another. “You did this to me,” he whispered, almost in awe. Then, his voice rose with each word until he was shouting. “You used me as some lap dog and knew that it was destroying me from the inside out?”

Ellis approached again. “Son–”

“No! Get the hell off me,” Will screamed, pressing his hands into his father’s chest and shoving with all his strength.

Ellis stumbled, and you relished in the way his mouth opened and shut without saying anything. 

“No. Don’t say another goddamn thing. No more telling me what to do like I’m a child,” he paused, his jaw clenching. His irises seemed to glow a sickly green, his voice becoming deep and alien. “Like I’m just some tool to get you your money.”

What lit the awaiting wick, though, was Ellis — in all his confidence and cowardice for his own safety — raised his gun at his son. You swore you saw the instant Will lost all semblance of control.

His body surged forward, tackling his father to the ground. Ellis yelled out, but it cut short when he hit the concrete. Any noise he made disappeared under the sound of Will’s fist hitting his dad. An animalistic growl rang out, and for a moment, you sat entranced, watching the pain pass across both of their faces as they battled. 

You stared at the tears flying from Will’s eyes until your arm could no longer hold up the shard of glass. Its sharp edges pressed into your skin, but as they continued fighting, you dropped it to crawl toward Peter’s body.

Your eyes stayed on the two men while you passed over debris and the occasional webbed-up guard. You pushed away the wreckage despite the aching fire licking across every part of your body. Glimpses of red peaked through as you uncovered Peter. Immediately, you felt his chest for a pulse, for his ragged-but-stable breaths. A gasp escaped your mouth as you felt it dimly beating. You then moved to put pressure on the bullet wound on his side. 

The pained groan he let out choked your heart. On the tip of your tongue, his name stood begging to leap off the edge and surround his body until he was okay again.

Instead, with darting eyes and trembling lips, you whispered, “Spidey.”

When he didn’t respond, you took hold of his arms and shook him slightly. Tears dripped down your cheeks, your voice becoming more desperate. “C’mon. We have to go. You have to get out of here.” You pushed his exposed hair back under his mask again. He barely stirred.

“Please,” you cried out, pulling on him, prepared to try and drag him out of there. “You can’t ditch me, asshole. I’m not doing this alone.”

Beneath the yelling of Ellis’ pleading and Will’s incessant punches, you heard Peter murmur something. You didn’t dare breathe, only whispering for him to repeat.

“You’re… an… asshole,” Peter grumbled, his face twisting as he opened his eyes. His head lolled to the side, a dry swallow passing down his throat. If he wasn’t in so much pain, you might’ve thought about hitting him for that. Instead, a splitting smile overtook your face.

But you didn’t have time to stop when Peter’s hands tensed around you. He moved just slightly to look toward the Beaumonts, prompting you to whip your head in their direction again.

You looked just in time to see Will wavering above Ellis, his eyes blinking slower and slower. A second later, he slumped forward and off of Ellis’ body onto the ground. Will appeared to be breathing still, but he was weak. 

Any momentary relief you felt vanished as Ellis sat up, that wild look back on his face. Your hold on Peter tightened, your body thrown back into desperate fear. Ellis reached a few feet out to grab the blade Will had before training his eyes on you — like a predator locked onto its prey.

“You little-”

Grabbing Peter’s nearly limp arm, you repeatedly pressed down on his web shooter’s trigger before Ellis could finish his sentence. Webs flew out and encompassed the man, wrapping him and sticking him to the floor.

“Thank you,” Peter muttered. “He was giving me a headache.”

You were sure it was the multiple head injuries doing that, but you appreciated the humor while your heart rate returned to normal.

“C’mon. We’re leaving,” you urged him. With all of your strength, you did your best to support Peter’s weight as he slowly stood and staggered onto you. You could hear the groans he continued to bite back.

You held onto him tight, keeping him balanced. “Okay, do you have your phone on you?”

“Yeah…”

You waited for him to fish it out from a slim pocket. Using your free hand, you took several pictures of the Beaamonts lying there and the ruined warehouse. Your investigative heart wanted to take a hundred images from every angle, but your rational mind told you to leave. It took all your effort to move on. Trying to ignore the dizziness in the corners of your vision, you wrapped an arm around Peter’s side and walked to the back of the warehouse.

You both passed through the back door, out over the threshold of that place — finally out into the night for good. He’d be okay.

Along the warehouse’s high windows, flashes of police lights reflected down onto Peter’s face. He gritted his teeth and raised his arm to the skyline, staring into your eyes. “Ready, sunshine?”

You let yourself be pulled in closer to his side, blinking away the stinging tears.

And from this angle, with cascading cherry and violet lights raining down onto Peter’s profile, you found that you didn’t mind red and blue so much anymore.

Nodding, you slowly drew your eyes to his. “Ready.”

—

Your words spilled through gritted teeth, your jaw clenched tight. “I hate you so much, Peter.” 

Your palms were sweaty as you forced yourself to stay focused despite that rage building in your chest. It continued up your body, crawling along your throat.

“Really? After all I’ve done for you?” Peter asked, his tone incredulous. You could feel the waves of heat rolling off of him.

Your expression sinking into a frown, you muttered, “It’s only fitting, considering that you lie and hide secrets.”

“Oh come on…” He scoffed, holding up a hand. “That’s low. And if you think about it, it was really only one secret!”

“That you lied about multiple times!”

He sat back next to you against the couch cushions, the weight of him drawing you closer. “You’re just a sore loser, and you’re angry that I whooped your ass in Mario Kart. Again,” he said, and you finally turned your gaze from the screen to look at him.

Light streamed in through his apartment’s window, the afternoon sun dancing across his face. His eyes turned to a soft caramel under its attention. His hair was undone, feathering along his forehead. Slowly, he grew closer, raising one eyebrow as if daring you to tell him he’s wrong.

Crossing your arms, determined not to be affected by his stare, you told him, “I literally beat you in the last game.”

He rolled his eyes. “Cause you cheated!”

“Look who’s the sore loser now,” you laughed out, your mouth turning into a gentle smile.

The two of you were face to face on the couch, breaths mixing together. A moment of silence passed, Peter’s softening eyes roaming across you. His thumb reached over to brush along the outside of your thigh. “You’re lucky you’re adorable.”

You didn’t try to fight your wide grin or the heat rising to your cheeks. In a whisper, you asked, “You think I’m adorable?”

His only answer was a slight huff as he leaned forward, kissing you. It only lasted a moment, your lips chasing his when he pulled away. “I’m gonna grab a drink, don’t sabotage my controller while I’m gone,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Want anything?”

“I’ll take whatever’s on tap,” you said, laughing when he rolled his eyes.

Slowly, he rose from the couch, taking heavy breaths as he winced. His healing injuries — mental and physical — were better, but they weren’t gone altogether. Neither were yours. 

They probably wouldn’t be for a while. Though, after waking up panicked and breathless from repeated nightmares, it helped having someone there to bring you back down. It helped having someone take care of yourself when that seemed impossible. And it helped knowing you weren’t alone in this.

You watched him make his way to the kitchen, rummaging around in the fridge. In these past days since the warehouse incident, it sometimes scared you how easy this was. Staying at his apartment together, helping one another recover. Your things sat scattered around his place, like they belonged. You wondered when he was going to say something, to ask you to go back home and tend to your wounds alone. When you both healed, would it all go back to how it was?

When a notification sound came from Peter’s phone, your eyes drew down to it for a second. Not knowing whether it was urgent Spider-Man business — not that he should’ve been doing it given his state — you called out, “Your phone dinged!”

Head still in the fridge, his words muffled, Peter called back, “Can you check it for me?”

You paused for a moment, letting a feeling of warmth settle in your chest before grabbing his phone. Just from the notification preview, you could tell what it was.

“Add another tally to your offers to interview for a job,” you told him, shaking your head — a smile evident in your voice. “This one’s for a junior photographer position.”

“What does that bring us up to now?” he asked, closing the refrigerator. He brought a glass of water and what you assumed was Dr. Pepper that’d gone flat.

“I think we’re tied at three each — though they’re just asking us to apply and interview.” You let out a sigh, trying not to get your hopes up. “It’s no guarantee of a job. They’re just interested in our story.”

Peter pointed a finger at you from around the glass. “Our story that kicks ass and put the corrupt city manager and his son away. That’s a piece that belongs on something bigger than The Daily Bugle.”

“You really think so?”

You looked up at him, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Sunshine, the greatest compliment Jameson could spit out was that it’s a ‘mighty fine’ story — before obviously yelling at us for not getting more pictures of Spider-Man during it… and that our injuries were no excuse, of course,” he told you with a wry sarcasm as he set the glasses down on the coffee table. Sitting next to you, his expression softened. His hand wrapped around yours. “But now you have the chance at something bigger.”

You grinned back at him. “But how could I ever pass up a job with… how’d he say it? ‘Minimal benefits and guaranteed maximum overtime’?”

Peter’s laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating a comforting rhythm against you. Next to you, your phone buzzed this time. Picking it up, you told him, “Oh, another one! It’s 4 to 3 now — I’m in the lead.”

His grin made yours even wider, and you were unable to fight it as his hands cupped your jaw, his fingers careful to avoid the bruises along your cheekbone. “You see? You’ve got the whole world in the palm of your hand.” His eyes pulled you in, begging you to fall into him completely as he pressed his lips to yours once again.

You could’ve stayed there forever, sitting on that ripped couch in Peter’s apartment that you swore to never return to. Your fingers twisted in the ends of his hair pulling him even closer. The rest of the world melted away for at least a little while, leaving just the two of you in this bubble. When you eventually pulled away, your foreheads rested against one another, your nose nudging against his.

“Oh!” you said, leaning back, “I almost forgot. I picked up a frame while out grocery shopping — I couldn’t help myself.” You stood up, grabbing a bag from the dining table and pulling out a cheap picture frame. The story you’d already cut out from the newspaper felt smooth between your fingers as you carefully placed it in the frame.

You kept it close to your body while looking around for a good spot to hang it up, not that the walls had much — or anything — really on them. Deciding on a nice place between the door and living room, you asked, “Want to do the honors?”

Fishing out a nail from his tool drawer, which was really just a kitchen drawer full of scattered household items, you held it out to Peter along with the frame. It took some willpower to not gasp as he merely pushed the nail into the wall without a hammer and hung up the frame.

Straightening it just right, he stepped back and wrapped his arm around your back. You took it in, the first real decoration in his apartment — the story that brought the two of you together framed against the pale walls. Your names shone clearly at the top, next to the large letters spelling out, “Fundraiser or Fraud? The Beaumont Empire Falls.”

Leaning into him, your palm rubbing circles on his lower back, you asked, “Do you like it?”

His voice came out soft, the words curling around the ends of your body. “It’s perfect.”

It wasn’t, not with the ill-fitting frame or the story that likely needed further digging and refining. But right now, with Peter, it was perfect. You let your mind run through everything you two had gone through together, how you’d ended up here.

After a minute of thinking, though, something kept drawing your attention. Pursing your lips, you turned back to him. “Hey Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“I just have a quick question. When we were trying to get into the fundraiser, you said you ‘knew a guy.’ Did you just mean yourse-”

“Myself? Yeah. I’m the guy,” he told you, nodding repeatedly. Nonchalantly.

You scoffed, slightly laughing. You really were insane to have gone in on this project with him. “And then you made fake IDs and gave me some fake wedding ring so we could sneak in…” you said in disbelief.

Turning to grab his drink from the table, he furrowed his eyebrows. “The ring you borrowed? ‘S not fake — do you still have that, by the way?” he asked, taking a sip. “Need to return that.”

You took a beat staring at him wordlessly. Your mind crossed several things to say that you decided to hold back. “Peter, what do you mean it’s not fake? That giant rock on my finger was real?”

“Yeah, I borrowed it as a favor from a jewelry store. I saved the place from robbers breaking in.” He shrugged, the flannel his wore swaying around his body.

This relationship was going to take years off of you… 

Your fingers pinched the bridge of your nose. “I’m going to kill you,” you half-heartedly murmured. Your eyes raised to meet his, your finger pointing at him. “You know, you’re so careless about all this. I fucking knew you were Spider-Man for so long.”

“Oh, bullshit,” he laughed out, walking closer to you. “Now you didn’t. And as long as we’re being honest, I was going to give you the Daily Bugle job offer at the end of the internship the whole time. So really… you didn’t have to do any of this.” His face morphed into a teasing cockiness that sparked a fire in your chest.

The two of you stared at one another, eyes alight but mouths fighting back smiles. All at once, a calm washed over you. “Are we done bickering?”

Peter rested his hands on your hips. He nodded softly, sweetly, as if nothing but you filled his mind. “Yeah, we’re done.”

You leaned forward, kissing him once before whispering against his lips, “Great, now grab the controller — ‘m gonna kick your ass in Mario Kart again.”

@dil3mma @hollandweather @reidslovely @a-lumos-in-the-nox @keepingitlokiii @thedevax @sincericida @agent-tempest @olivezgalore @qwintlimon7 @eddieslooneymoonie @aheadfullofsteverogers @bitchy-bi-trash

Imagine being the first 'Plus Size Barbie' in Barbie Land HC's

───────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────────

𖦹 when you first arrived everyone was so excited, for years there's only been slim/skinny/stereotypical types of barbies but here you are!

𖦹 barbie was so happy to see you, she immediately planned a party and a sleepover.

𖦹 the kens were all amazed, this barbie was so different.

𖦹 one ken was a little bit more of amazed...shh

𖦹 prepare for hours of worship!

𖦹 tailor barbie instantly began creating more and more outfits for you, barbie can't only have one outfit!

𖦹 since plus-size barbie was brand new, she didn't have a ken yet, but don't fret! there were tons of ken immediately offering themselves.

𖦹 when you wore new outfits all the barbies were super happy and loved everything you wore, and so did the kens.

𖦹 barbies loved the idea of a fashion show, show casing all the barbies amazing clothes

𖦹 tailor barbie was also very happy.

𖦹 going to the beach was awesome! kens all loved cheering you on when you play volleyball for the first time, a born natural!

𖦹 every night at a sleepover the barbies would gush about how happy they were and how happy they are to have made more progress in the real-life world.

𖦹 after a party a ken would come up to you, immediately wanting to give himself to you, well you are barbie.

𖦹 yet being the only plus size barbie did take somewhat of a toll on you, but don't worry that was only the beginning

𖦹 being a barbie, size didn't matter. every barbie was beautiful.

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Homecoming Masterlist

Summary: You and Frankie are Santiago’s closest family in the world, and after years of running to the ends of the world, he finally come homes to be with you both. The polyamorous adventures of 🚛 🍑 x 🐱x 🚁🍆🧃

STORY ARCS

HOMEBOUND

Home is something Santiago Garcia left behind a long time ago. But on a short visit to his hometown, he rediscovers that home is not a place, it’s the people you love. | Series of stand alone one shots set in the main timeline of the Homeoming-verse

HOMESICK

A prequel series of stand alone one shots set pre-Homecoming, before the trio finally get their shit together, telling the story of how you and Frankie met and found each other through Santiago.

Miscellaneous Drabbles

Guest-star writers

Not very smart, very stupid games | 7.5k words | by @thirstworldproblemss

Soon | 900 words | written by @radiowallet

The Party | written by @frannyzooey

Hello Sunshine, Won’t You Stay? | written by @romanarose

Fanart

The Trio by @mjpens

Santiago, Frankie and their wife by @nobodys-baby-now

Santiago and Frankie and Spider by @kenobiwanx

Competitive Streak by @frying-panties

Competitive streak gif set by @pedropascalsx

Three of them in three parts by @songsformonkeys

my fav fics/fic recs

Joel Miller

Seams by @fuckyeahdindjarin

I’m Starving, Darlin’ by @me-and-my-bullet-journal

Cowboy Take Me Away by @alt-verara

Elementary by @guess-i-have-to-go-model-now

Joel masterlist by @toxicanonymity(TW)

Joel masterlist by @chaotic-mystery

Breaking the Girl by @cinematicgf

how to treat a girl by @whrsmym1nd

Jealousy, Jealousy by @atinylittlepain

frisk-y by @bits-and-babs

birthday gift by @adelliet

one day ill feel alright by @joelscruff

one bed by @frannyzooey

friendly neighborhood handyman by @juletheghoul

youre my sunshine by littlelou22

My haven could be you pt1 and 2 by @pascalisbaby

this series by @pascalisbaby

Javier Peña

Perfectly Intoxicating by @gracieispunk

Es Tarde Y Te Nesecito by @gar6agef1r3

Bambi by @mendessi

swipe his nose like a credit card by @tightjeansjavi

say my name by @palioom

all work no play by @loquaciousferret

mi luz series by @pedrostylez

separation by @lokischocolatefountain

just a little game by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

Din Djarin

I Only See Daylight by @millersdjarin

A Fresh Start by @theidiotwhowritesthings

Nightmare by @sofasoap

Unexpected Visitor by @livyjh

Javi Gutierrez

we reached the moon by @jazzelsaur

beautiful boy by @psychedelic-ink

not bored by @radiowallet

villa with a view by @starlightmornings

on the right flight by @prolix-yuy

Frankie Morales

homecoming series by @astroboots (when i tell you i am OBSESSED with this whole series. i have literally themed my whole phone around this series and even made a Pinterest board dedicated to it.. im another level of delusional rn and its all this series fault. thank you.)

SPECIAL GUEST — one shot

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

MASTERLIST.

NOTE: this is inspired by the wonderful idea of @thatsdemko!! florence is the loml and i’ve been dying for an excuse to make a fic with her😭 i actually really liked writing this, anything daniel related is always so nice to make. also, this is coming out of my drafts sooner bc of danny’s bday!!!! i wish him a great day, lots of love and a hug 🫶

liked by danielricciardo, harrystyles and 3,852,047 others

yourusername cooking with y/n has gone to vogue… so to celebrate i will be doing another episode sometime this week!

view all 57,680 comments

ynfan1 i used to pray for times like this

ynfan2 nah we’re getting fed fr

haileesteinfeld i better get invited one day…

⤷ yourusername you’re always welcome!! 🫶

ynfan3 YAY!!!!! MORE COOKING WITH Y/N CONTENT

danielfan1 daniel… why are u lurking around here…

user1 i’m so proud of her

ynfan4 TELL US WHO THE MAN IN YOUR VIDS IS

ameliadimz You need to come over asap

liked by yourusername, chickenshopdate and 157,483 others

⤷ ynfan5 OMG??

liked by ynfan21, danielfan21 and 27,105 others

dr3updates Daniel seen with rumoured girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, strolling around in Australia!!

view all 407 comments

ynfan22 WHAT

danielfan22 daniel rizziardo strikes again

danielfan24 him taking his camera everywhere😭

⤷ user21 it’s kinda cute ngl

user22 they ain’t slick… this is 100% staged

danielfan25 NOT THIS HAPPENING AFTER HE MESSED UP IN THAT INTERVIEW

⤷ ynfan23 DON’T FORGET Y/N’S INTERVIEW

⤷ danielfan25 Y/N AND DANNY IS TOO MUCH POWER IN A COUPLE

ynfan24 her wearing his merch 🫶

yourusername has uploaded an instagram story!

danielricciardo responded to your story!

Daniel Ricciardo

Excuse me?

Y/N Y/L/N

i’m in the next room😭

Daniel Ricciardo

Idc

It’s almost my birthday and this is how you treat me 😔

Y/N Y/L/N

sorry not sorry

but please continue the princess treatment

🙏🙏🙏

Daniel Ricciardo

Mmm…

Just because I kinda like you

Y/N Y/L/N

don’t even

you love me

liked by maxverstappen1, willpoulter and 4,527,830 others

yourusername happy birthday to this menace and also my boyfriend!! 34 never looked so good on someone! i love youuu, sweetheart 💛🎉

view all 63,867 comments

danielricciardo Aww… so will you let me be your first and special guest on cooking with y/n or…

⤷ yourusername someday, mr ricciardo, someday…

ynfan31 EXCUSE ME

danielfan31 not even a hello, how are you… nothing

danielfan32 they’re too cute

maxverstappen1 Ok.

⤷ ynfan32 IM CRYING

⤷ danielricciardo You know the truth, Max ❤️

⤷ yourusername THE ONE TIME I MAKE A CUTE POST

ynfan33 sat for cooking with y/n ft daniel

user31 how did they keep this a secret for over a year😭

redbullracing We need you in the paddock!!

liked by yourusername and 274,639 others

ynfan34 THIS IS SO SPECIAL TO ME YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW

danielfan33 oh i hate them sm (i love them more than my parents and i don’t even know them)

Sweet Like Grenadine

Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You love weddings. However, you don’t love being stuck by yourself at a wedding, a plus one to a boyfriend who’s too busy for you. Enter Daniel Ricciardo, your knight in shining armor.

Word Count: 5.6k

a/n: thought of this concept and couldn’t get Danny out of my head. He’s soooo guy you flirt with at a wedding and will probably never see again coded

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, mild sexual content (heavy makeout? idrk how to tag this stuff), one (1) shitty boyfriend

The table in front of you is draped with a heavy white tablecloth. At the center is a large bouquet of flowers, the number 19 stuck haphazardly in the middle of it. Not last, but certainly low on the list. You can’t blame them- you barely know the bride and groom.

You’re only here because your boyfriend is a groomsman. A plus one. You love weddings, so of course you’d agreed, but you hadn’t really considered how lonely an event like this could be. The only person you really know has been busy all day. You can’t complain, won’t complain, you know that’s why he’s here, but…

You’re sitting at a table full of strangers. It’s not exactly fun. There’s still hours left of this. Dinner hasn’t even been served, there’s still speeches and cake and dancing and honestly, you’re already exhausted. You need a drink, but the bar isn’t open yet. You need to take off your heels, but you’re pretty sure that would be frowned upon. You need to talk to your boyfriend.

He’s busy, though. He told you as much when you found him between the ceremony and the reception. There’s a pang in your chest still at the way he brushed you off, the way he told you he didn’t have time to chat. You get it, you really do. You’re not going to get upset about it.

The seat to your left has been empty since you sat down, but someone collapses into it, letting out a heavy sigh. You turn to look, hoping for some sort of familiar face or at least a friendly one, and you’re met with-

“Hi. ‘M Daniel,” he says, sticking his hand out to shake yours.

The thing is, Daniel is a familiar face, but not for any of the reasons you’d hoped for. You know Daniel because your boyfriend is obsessed with Formula 1. You try to keep up so you can take part in his conversations, but it’s never really been your thing. But you know enough to know Daniel Ricciardo.

“Yeah, I… I know,” you say, before you slap your hand over your mouth. “Shit! I’m sorry. That’s weird. S’just- my boyfriend’s a huge fan-“

You swear his face drops slightly, but he plasters that grin right back on before he says, “and you’re not a fan?”

“I’m not not a fan,” you say. “He’s just the bigger fan. Of the two of us.”

Daniel nods. You finally shake his hand. He never stops looking at you, never stops smiling. You tell him your name, and he repeats it back to you, his accented version making you smile.

“Well, is he here? I’d love to meet the bigger of the two fans,” he says. “We talking, like, box fan, industrial blower, air boat fan? How big?”

You laugh, his hand squeezing yours as you lean over the table. He’s laughing, too, then, before he lets go of your hand. You want to crawl out of your skin, want to run and hide in the bathroom, because you’re definitely making a fool of yourself, but-

“Oh, he’s busy,” you say, waving your hand in the air dismissively. “He’s one of the groomsmen, got a lot on his plate. I don’t wanna bug him. He’s the one with the sunglasses on,” you say, pointing at him at the head table.

Daniel looks where you point and quirks his brow. “Guy like that has a girl like you and you’re the one worried about bugging him?”

You stare at him with wide eyes. He collapses into a fit of laughter again, and you follow suit. You don’t know what else to do. Then he nudges your knee with his, under the table, and juts his chin towards the bar.

“D’you want a drink?” He asks.

“The bar isn’t open yet,” you say.

“So?”

“So, how are you going to get a drink?”

He shakes his head and purses his lips. “Oh, sweetheart, you just watch and learn. What’re you having?”

You shrug. “A soda, I guess. I’m the designated driver for at least three of the groomsmen.”

Daniel sighs heavily. “You poor thing. You keep making me feel worse and worse for you. Alright, I’ll get you something.”

He strides his way up to the bar, which has a very obvious “Closed” sign on the countertop. There’s a single bartender behind it, and he’s cleaning glasses. You watch with entertainment as Daniel leans on the counter, exuding confidence and charm. The bartender shakes his head. Daniel counters. The man behind the bar shrugs and nods. Then he steps through a door for just a moment. When he returns, he has two drinks in his hands- one that’s obviously a beer, and one that’s bright pink. Daniel smiles, thanks the man, and walks the cups back to you.

He sets it down in front of you with a flourish before he takes a seat.

“I told you, I’m DD,” you remind him.

He nods, taking a sip of his beer before he says, “Shirley Temple.”

“Oh my god,” you say, a grin washing over your face. You pick up the cup and take a sip, sighing at the sweet taste of ginger ale and grenadine. “How did you know?”

“Everyone loves a good Shirley,” he says, elbowing you lightly. “And you can’t drink just plain soda at a wedding.”

They announce dinner shortly after that, and the waiters start bringing plates out. You’re starving, having been up early to help with last minute wedding things at your boyfriend’s request. You hadn’t had time to eat lunch. You chat with Daniel through the meal. The two of you talk about the food, about the wedding, about the decor. There are other people at the table, but they’re all incredibly boring in comparison. Daniel, on the other hand, could hold your attention forever, probably.

You sneak glances at your boyfriend, surrounded by his friends at the head table. He’d promised to sneak away as soon as he got a chance. He hasn’t even looked your way. You're trying to ignore the hurt deep in your chest. Daniel is sneaking glances at you sneaking glances at the bridal party. You’re trying to ignore that, too.

“How long have you two been dating?” Daniel asks.

“About 6 months,” you say with a smile.

It feels forced. Frankly, the last thing you want to talk about right now is your boyfriend. They’re clearing the last plates. He’s at his table, three beers in by your count, not a care in the world. He promised. Daniel opens his mouth, likely to ask another question about your boyfriend, but you speak first.

“So wait, are you here for the bride or the groom?” You ask.

“The bride,” Daniel says , a soft smile on his face. “An old family friend. I’m representing the Ricciardos.”

You smile. “That’s sweet.”

Before he can say anything in response, someone is tapping on a microphone. It’s time for the speeches. You know your boyfriend isn’t making one, which is good. He’s not exactly the best public speaker, especially when he’s been drinking. You and Daniel settle in to listen.

He sneaks away between the maid of honor and the best man, patting the back of your hand and whispering about being right back. He returns a few moments later, another beer and a Shirley Temple in his hands. You smile gratefully at him, and he waves you off. Then the next speech is starting, and you’re rolling your eyes at the way the best man talks about marriage like it’s some awful idea.

“He knows this is a wedding, yeah?” Daniel asks out of the side of his mouth, leaning towards you.

You shrug. “That one started drinking at 9am. I’m not sure he even knows what year it is right now.”

Daniel starts laughing, then. Luckily, the rest of the crowd does too- apparently, the best man has just made an extremely funny joke. Daniel is only looking at you, though, and you can’t help but laugh just because of the look on his face.

When the first dances are over and the music starts, you sink low into your seat. Your boyfriend has still not made an appearance. He definitely knows where you’re sitting, he had told you so earlier. You’re sure he’s busy, but you’d looked away for too long, talking to Daniel, and now he’s disappeared from the head table. You scan the crowd, hoping to see his face. All the while, you can feel Daniel watching you.

“We could go dance,” he suggests.

You sink lower in your seat. “I don’t really like dancing.”

That’s a lie. You love dancing, especially at weddings. You love the cheesy songs they always play, you love the atmosphere, you love watching the bride and groom have fun and getting to be a part of it. But you know how it would look if you went out on the dance floor with Daniel, and your boyfriend definitely won’t be joining you. As frustrated as you may be with your him, you don’t want to cause drama at someone else’s best day of their lives.

“I think I might try and find him,” you say, picking up your drink.

Daniel nods. “Want me to come with you?”

You look around at the rest of the table and find it empty. You shake your head and lean towards him, close enough that you almost knock your foreheads. Nobody’s watching the two of you or trying to listen anyways, but it’s more fun this way.

“He promised he’d find me before dinner,” you whisper conspiratorially. “That obviously didn’t happen. So I’m not bringing you to him as a reward for bad behavior.”

Daniel sits back in his chair and smiles at you, one brow raised. “Atta girl!”

You stand up from your chair and hope he can’t tell that your face has grown hot from that comment alone.

Even if you can’t find your boyfriend, it’s probably best that you get some space from Daniel. Through the last hour or so of your conversation, you’ve been catching yourself leaning towards him and then reminding yourself that you have a boyfriend. It’s just that he’s being so nice, and that you’re feeling so down about the whole thing. He’s comforting, which is fine. But it can’t be more than that.

You find your boyfriend at one of the bars, leaning on the counter and talking loudly with one of the other groomsmen. He’s drunk already- he should really slow down if he wants to last the night. You walk over to him, forcing a soft smile onto your face. You can’t confront him now, not in front of his friend and all the people waiting for drinks.

“Hey, babe,” you say, tapping his shoulder lightly as you walk up.

He turns. You wait for him to smile at you, but it never comes. Your stomach sinks.

“Hey,” he says, nonchalantly. “D’you need something?”

Your palms feel clammy. “Oh, no, I’m good! Just… wanted to say hi. S’been a bit.”

He nods. “Yeah. I told you I’d be busy tonight.”

His friend just stands there and listens. Your skin feels hot, and your eyes begin to sting.

“I know,” you say. “I’m not trying to bug you, I just- I was just walking by. Just. Yeah. That’s all. I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’ll come find you in a bit, baby,” he promises.

You don’t bother believing him this time.

Daniel doesn’t comment on your red eyes or the tear tracks on your cheeks when you return to the table. He just squeezes your arm and disappears for a moment, then comes back with yet another Shirley Temple. You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so you just take a sip of the drink instead.

“You don’t have to sit here with me,” you say to Daniel. “I’m definitely pulling down the mood.”

“Are you joking?” He says. “You’re the best thing at this party.”

You laugh, then, because the statement is so ridiculous that you can’t help it. He sounds so serious, and when you turn to look at him there’s no hint of teasing on his face. He just elbows your arm lightly again.

“Come on, we don’t have to dance but we’re not sitting here all night,” he says. “Let’s go wander.”

He stands from the table and tugs at your chair. You give in and stand up too, taking your drink from the table. You follow him as he weaves through the throngs of people. You like wandering. Wandering is a perfectly sensible thing to do with the guy you just met. At the wedding your boyfriend is a groomsman at. What else are you supposed to do, anyways?

He leads you past the dance floor, which you try not to look at forlornly. There are large glass doors at the back of the hall. He swings one open, holding it for you, waving you through with a flourish of his hand. Outside, it’s lit up with string lights. There’s a wide rolling lawn of grass, with fire pits and chairs spread out everywhere. There are lawn games, too- beanbags and horseshoes and a giant version of Jenga.

You can burn a lot of time out here. You barely even notice when Daniel slips his hand around your wrist to gently pull you with him. You should feel guilty about it. Your boyfriend is somewhere inside. But that same boyfriend has also been ignoring you all night. Daniel is just being friendly. You follow him to one of the fire pits with a smile on your face.

You and Daniel are nearly two hours into wandering when someone calls your name. You look up from where you’ve been staring at the beanbag board, trying to line up your throw just right. You’d been on the verge of winning for the first time. For an Australian, Daniel is surprisingly good at American lawn games. Frustratingly good, even.

It’s your boyfriend, calling you from the doorway of the reception hall. You sigh and drop the beanbag onto the ground near your feet. Two of the other groomsmen are hanging off of him, looking worse for the wear. One of them has something down the front of his shirt- you pray it’s not vomit.

“I think that’s my cue,” you say, nodding towards the building.

“You could always put them in a cab and hope they figure it out on their own.” Daniel says. You give him a skeptical look. “Kidding, kidding.”

“It’s tempting,” you admit.

Daniel bends over and picks up your heels from where they lay in the grass. You’d kicked them off as soon as you stepped into the soft grass outside. You slip the shoes back on and wince. Then you stick your hand out to him, palm open.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you,” you say, as he shakes your hand once more. “Thanks for not leaving me all alone.”

Daniel laughs. “I will be your ‘I-know-nobody-at-this-event-‘ partner anytime you want, sweetheart. Just give me a call. I’ll be there.”

You know what he’s trying to do. The opportunity is right there in front of you. He’s telling you to give him a call- this is where you ask for his number. But you have a boyfriend. You can justify hanging out with him, especially considering you had nothing else to do, but asking for his number feels a step too far.

You smile softly and drop his hand. “Goodnight, Daniel.”

You turn and make your way towards your boyfriend. He’s already complaining before you’re even within ten feet of him, about how he’s tired and he looked everywhere for you and how could you disappear like that? You apologize, just to quiet him down. You usher the three men inside before you turn to look at Daniel one more time.

He’s standing there, watching you, a sad smile on his face.

“Who was that guy?” Your boyfriend asks later, from the passenger seat of the car.

You look at him, at his eyes. The light is gone- he’s blacked out, there’s no way he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“Daniel Ricciardo,” you say.

It’s a testament to how drunk he is that he doesn’t even react.

You get all three guys into bed, including your boyfriend. You lay down next to him, as much as you don’t want to. There’s not really anywhere else to sleep in the little hotel room, and you’re not sleeping on the floor. When you close your eyes, you can’t fall asleep, plagued by thoughts of if you’d made the right choice, unable to erase Daniel’s sad smile from your memory.

…..

You love weddings. You remind yourself of that over and over again as you pin a dress in place for the hundredth time that day. Your best friend Natalie is a bridesmaid, it’s her sister who’s getting married, and you’re here to help in any way you can. So far, that’s included safety pinning, making a run for alcohol, checking on the floral delivery, checking to make sure the groomsmen are where they’re supposed to be, and comforting a bridesmaid who was crying in the bathroom. Her boyfriend had broken up with her the night before.

“Men are shit,” you’d told her in commiseration.

By the time the ceremony rolls around, you’re relieved to have a chance to sit down. You check on the bridesmaids one last time and head into the church. The pews are packed with people, so you find a spot near the back and sit down. You sigh in relief.

The music starts playing, and you finally take a chance to look around. The pews are decorated with flowers, there’s bright light streaming through the large windows. The groom waits up front, eyes already watering. You love weddings. You say it like a mantra in your head.

As the procession starts, you scan the crowd. You know more people at this wedding, having been friends with the family for a while. You’ll at least have some company at your table. You spot a couple friends from high school, a cousin you’ve met a few times, some mutual friends who you’ll definitely have to catch up with later. And then, in the third row on the groom’s side, you see dark curly hair that looks terrifyingly familiar.

It can’t be him. That would be absolutely insane. There’s absolutely no way Daniel Ricciardo is attending a second wedding in the US, for a couple who are no more famous than the previous wedding you’d seen him at. It would make absolutely no sense. And yet, you can’t stop staring at the back of this man’s head, the slope of his shoulders beneath his dark suit. You remember that wedding, months ago, resting your hand on his shoulder for balance as you took off your heels. He’d joked about having to cut you off, holding your Shirley Temple in his hand.

When the bridal procession begins playing, everyone stands. You keep your eyes on him. He turns, and your heart skips a beat in your chest. It’s Daniel. It’s impossible, it’s irrational, but it is him. You’d recognize him anywhere.

You force yourself to look away, to turn towards the bride. She looks beautiful, perfect, the picture of elegance. The flowers in her hands, the ones you’d checked on that morning, are perfect too. You breathe a sigh of relief. She really should’ve hired a wedding coordinator. Maybe you should be a wedding coordinator.

When you go to sit back down, you sneak a glance at Daniel. He’s looking over his shoulder at you, eyes wide. You meet his gaze and your cheeks feel hot. That wide, bright grin breaks out across his face. You grin right back.

When the ceremony is over, and they’re officially Mr and Mrs, the whole wedding disperses out onto the lawn of the church. There are shuttles to take you to the reception, but everyone seems content to mingle outside in the fresh air. You’re one of the first ones out, but you’re quickly swept up in the crowd. You search for Daniel in every face that passes. You find Natalie first, though.

“Nat,” you say frantically. “Does your sister know Daniel Ricciardo?”

Her brow furrowed for a second. “What?”

“Danny Ricciardo,” you repeat, keeping your voice low. “The F1 driver. He’s here.”

“Oh,” Natalie says, brows raising. “Yeah, he’s like, friends with her fiancé- oh, her husband! Shit, I forgot that you watch that stuff- or, you… did? I can probably try and introduce you-“

“No, we- we’ve met.” You admit. She’s the first person you’re telling about this. “At that wedding like 6 months ago.”

She tilts her head at you. Her eyes go wide. She says your name in a bewildered tone.

“Are you telling me that the mystery wedding man, who you definitely should’ve dumped your boyfriend for, was fucking Danny Ricciardo?”

“Keep it down!” You shush her.

“Oh my god,” she says, a conspiratorial smirk crossing over her face. “And he’s here.”

Someone calls your name. You know that voice- it’s haunted you since you left that wedding. You turn over your shoulder as Natalie grabs your wrist and lets out a squeak.

“Danny,” you breathe, like a sigh of relief. “Hi.”

He strides up to you, handsome as ever, grinning so widely it looks like it hurts. “This is fucking insane.”

An elderly aunt glares at him. He makes an apologetic face before turning back to you and shrugging. He steps into your space, so close you can smell his cologne. He’s staring down at you through his lashes. The look in his eyes is so soft and warm that you think you’re melting.

“The bride is my best friend’s sister,” you explain, gesturing at Natalie. “This is Natalie.”

“I’m friends with the groom,” he says, reaches his hand out and shakes Natalie’s hand. “I’m Danny, nice to meet you.”

She nods, and suddenly you’re very afraid. Natalie doesn’t have much of a filter, especially in high pressure situations. Especially when she’s been forced to be prim and proper all morning.

“You must really like American weddings,” she says, and you wince. “I hear this is your second one in 6 months.”

Daniel smirks, raises his eyebrows at you. “Huh. Wonder what else you’ve heard about me.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but you shove her shoulder. “Nat, aren’t you supposed to be taking family pictures?”

She’s so busy staring at Daniel she almost doesn’t hear you. Then her eyes go wide. She swears loudly, earning a glare from the same aunt. Then she drops your wrist and takes off through the crowd.

You turn towards Daniel. “Sorry about her.”

He shakes his head. “No need. She seems sweet.”

You smile. “She is.”

“Makes sense, since she’s friends with you,” he says. “The sweetest of them all.”

You laugh, shove at his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Behind him, people are starting to get on the shuttles. He’s leaning towards you, eyes still lit up.

“I honestly can’t believe this,” he says.

“Neither can I,” you admit. “It’s.. it’s really good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you,” he echoes. “Feels like a sign, doesn’t it?”

You open your mouth to agree, to tell him what you’ve been thinking the past 6 months, but Natalie is calling your name. You and Daniel both turn to look at her, and the look on her face tells you she’s so sorry. You sigh and shrug.

“I have to go,” you tell him. “That bridal party is a mess.”

“Worse than the last one?” He asks.

“No,” you say. “And I don’t have to drive any of them home, so that’s a bonus. But I think I’ll be billing them for wedding coordinator expenses after this. Or at the very least, drinking enough at the open bar to make up for it.”

Daniel laughs. “Atta girl. Should I save you a seat on the shuttle?”

You let out a puff of air. “I’m riding over with the bridal party.”

His face falls in disappointment. “Okay. Find me when you get there, yeah? I’ll have a Shirley Temple waiting for you.”

You nod. “Make it a Dirty Shirley, would you?”

He nods eagerly and squeezes your arm.

You don’t actually make it into the reception until nearly an hour later. There’s an emergency with a groomsman’s tux, and the girl who was broken up with the night before is crying again. Nothing that can’t be fixed with safety pins and tequila, but it still takes time. You check your name on the seating chart, sigh at the sight of the name next to yours, the seat that will stay empty. You find Daniel’s seat, too, a few tables over from yours. You head there first.

Daniel is sitting, a beer in hand and a very watery Shirley Temple on the table in front of him. He’s chatting with the man sitting next to him, who looks a bit starstruck. He perks up when he sees you, reaching for your drink. You take it happily and have a sip, tasting ginger ale, grenadine, and vodka, too.

“The ice is a bit melted,” he says with a sigh. “But good news! Ian here has offered to switch seats with you.”

Ian is looking between you and Daniel, eyes wide. You’re sure he did offer, likely after Daniel had told him the whole crazy story, or at least enough to convince him. You watched him charm bartenders at the last wedding- he has a way with words. Ian starts to stand up.

“That’s really not necessary.” You say, and Daniel’s face falls. “There’s an empty seat at my table.”

He lifts his brows, grinning again. His brown eyes stare deep into your own. He stands up without waiting another moment, handing you your drink and holding his own.

“Ian, nice meeting you,” he says. “I’ll still get you those paddock passes,” he promises, and you bite back a laugh. “See ya ‘round, mate.”

He follows you to your table. There’s a setting with your name on a little card, and the empty setting next to it with another name on it. You grab that card and crumple it in your hand, shoving it into your purse. He quirks a brow but sits down anyways as you greet the others at your table- cousins of the bride and friends who you’ve met a few times.

“So. How’ve things been?” You ask, and he launches into a story that has you listening with every bone in your body.

Somehow, the two of you make it all the way through dinner and speeches and the first dance before the subject of your boyfriend even comes up. You wonder if he’s been waiting to broach it. You’ve been waiting for the right moment.

He nods towards the dance floor. “You have to promise me you’ll dance to at least one song tonight.”

You blink and shrug. “Easy. I love dancing.”

He stares at you. There’s the beginnings of another wide grin on his face.

“That is not what you said last time.”

“I lied,” you admit. “Because my boyfriend hated dancing.”

Daniel nods. “Hated. Past tense?”

“He’s not dead,” you deadpan, making him laugh. “But he’s also not my boyfriend anymore.”

Daniel’s foot nudges against yours under the table. “No?”

“No,” you say with a shrug.

Daniel nods. “Pretty girl like you, you must’ve moved on pretty quick,” he says.

His tone is light, teasing. He’s testing the waters. You shake your head and pretend you don’t see the way his shoulders sag in relief.

“I’ve sworn off dating,” you tell him. Your tone is teasing, too. “After he left me on my own at a wedding, I decided men are shit.”

You’re taunting him now. The conversation has gone from feeling each other out, from digging for information, to circling each other like sharks in the water. Your heart is beating steady in your chest. His eyes are locked on yours.

“You poor thing,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Let me prove you wrong?”

The tension crackles in the air. His knee nudges against yours and you swear you’re going to combust. You down the rest of your drink in one gulp, set the glass down, and reach for his suit jacket. You run your finger down the lapel, then back up, adjusting his collar.

“I swore off men,” you repeat, leaning forwards, keeping your voice low. “But this feels like a sign, doesn’t it? Like the universe sent me back to you.”

He nods. He reaches up, captures your wrist in his hand and holds it against his chest.

“So maybe you should go get me another drink,” you suggest. “And I’ll meet you on the dance floor.”

You lean even closer, then, close enough to press your lips to his cheek. Then you stand up and walk away towards where people are beginning to gather, to where the music is loudest. You don’t turn back to see if he’s watching. You already know he is.

…..

You have a fleeting thought, later, that maybe you should’ve switched to a drink with less sugar in it at some point in the night. The grenadine feels like it’s stuck to your tongue. Danny doesn’t seem to mind the taste, though.

He’s got you up against the wall in a back hallway of the reception venue. You back is pressed to the cool surface, your arms around his neck, his hands on your hips. His lips are on yours, and he’s kissing you deeply, like he’ll never get enough. You’re feeling the same.

His knee slots between your legs, and you’re a goner. His hand slips from your hip and cups your ass, hauling you closer with ease, tilting your hips away from the wall and into his. You break away for air, gasping for it, and he moves his lips to your neck. It feels heavenly, trapped between him and the wall, his hands all over you, his lips trailing lower and lower. He reaches up and brushes the thin strap of your dress off one of your shoulders. You shove your hands under his suit jacket and press them against his toned abdomen through his shirt. He lets out a groan, the noise vibrating against your neck. You throw your head back and laugh between gasps.

You wonder if he’d have his way with you right there. You wonder if you’d let him.

There are footsteps, then, clicking their way down the hall. You scramble to push him away as someone rounds the corner, but you know it’s painfully obvious. You turn your head, already feeling mortified, and come face to face with Natalie.

“Oh, thank god,” both you and your best friend say at the same time.

Daniel pulls away and looks between the two of you. You can’t look at him for more than a few seconds. His lips are red and puffy, his eyes half lidded. You distantly wonder if there’s beard burn on your face, if your lips are just as red. Then you start to wonder how his scruff might feel on other parts of you.

“I didn’t know where you’d gone,” Natalie says, laughing. “I heard noises, I thought…”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, and she nods in agreement.

“I’ll say,” she teases.

“Nat!” You hiss.

“You’d better take good care of her, Ricciardo,” he says, and your face grows hot all over again. “I don’t care how famous you are, I’ll fuck you up anyways.”

“Nat!” You hiss again.

“I will,” Danny promises, squeezing your hip and nodding. “I’m on a mission. Trying to prove not all men are shit.”

“Good luck,” Natalie says drily. But when she walks away, she’s smiling.

He turns back to you, and this time he places both his hands on the wall on either side of your head. You look up at him, licking your lips. You still taste the Shirley Temple, and you can taste him, too, now. He groans softly and closes his eyes. It’s nice to know you’re having an effect on him, too, nice to know you’re not the only one feeling worked up. You reach up and tug on the lapels of his jacket. You brush your lips against his jaw.

“We should have one more drink,” you tell him, humming happily. “And then you should take me to your hotel.”

He swallows. You press a kiss to the center of his throat.

“I’ve never heard a better plan in my whole life.” He says.

…..

At every wedding you go to afterwards, you order the same drink. Well, really, Danny orders them for you. You’ve thought a couple times about asking for wine or seltzer or even beer. You think it might break his heart, though. It’s a tradition now, and the pink sugary concoction will always taste like that very first night. Like bare feet in the grass, the thud of beanbags against wooden boards. Like Daniel’s laugh in the middle of the best man’s speech. Like you, alone at a table, and Daniel collapsing into the seat next to you, his hand extended to shake yours.

The same hand that’s wrapped up with yours now, resting on his knee. You never want to let go. You’re pretty sure he’d be okay with that.

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams

Blackbird

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

Masterlist

Summary: You’re a bartender at a mountain lodge. When Danny shows up, you’re determined to keep your distance. It doesn’t really go to plan.

a/n: definitely inspired by this moodboard I made for the lovely @shootingstar-scuderia for my 1k celebration!

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: alcohol, mild sexual content

People come and go at the lodge, but they don’t stay for long. That is, except for you and your coworkers. They’re the only consistent people in your life. The customers, the guests- they pass through like ships in the night. They tell their stories, share their adventures, and then move on. It’s half the fun, really.

You should’ve known he’d be different from the very start. Most of them come in, sit down at the bar, and are eager to tell you all about themselves. They want to impress you, want to prove that they’re the biggest adventurer in the whole place. And sure, the road to the lodge is rough and steep and half the time it’s washed out. But most of them arrive in vehicles driven by guides, and they tote their expensive luggage through the lobby, decked out in brand new hiking gear bought special for this trip. When he shows up at the bar, he’s in a threadbare t-shirt, a pair of loose shorts, and a worn down pair of hiking boots.

He’s flanked by friends, ones who have genuine smiles on their faces and are dressed much the same. He seems to be the ringleader. The first thing you really notice about him are the tattoos scattered up and down his arms. He rests his elbows on the bar, looks utterly at home there. You wander down to take their order.

“I’ll have whatever beer you’d recommend,” he says, Australian accent shining through.

You get a lot of people with accents in the bar. They come from all over. You’re not surprised at the accent, though you might’ve guessed he was American from looking at him. You nod and pour him a glass of your current favorite before taking his friend’s orders and doing the same. He takes a sip and sends you a wide grin, one that seems genuine. People smile at you a lot, trying to get a discount on their drinks or look good in front of their friends or sometimes, more than that. But this just seems… real. Like he always smiles that brightly.

“That’s good,” he says, nodding eagerly. “A woman after my own tastes.”

You laugh and nod. “You’ve got good taste, then.”

He preens over that, runs his hand through his hair. Then he sticks the other one out to you, over the bar. “I’m Danny.”

You shake his hand, the way you do each time someone introduces themself to you. You try and commit his name to memory, because he’ll likely be back a few times before he leaves the lodge and they always tip better if you remember their names. He repeats your name back to you, like it’s not written plain as day in your nametag, like he actually cares.

He tilts his head towards you. “So. How’d you end up here?” He asks.

You raise a brow at him. “Normally I’m the one asking that question.”

He laughs. He folds his hands on each other and rests his chin on them.

“Exactly. You must hear about a billion of the same stories, rich people on their vacations, roughing it in the woods,” he laments. “So come on. What’s your story?”

You’re not sure why you tell him. Looking back, in the interest of self preservation, you probably should’ve lied. But at this angle, he’s staring up at you through thick, dark eyelashes. He has the prettiest smile you’ve seen in months, maybe years, maybe ever. So you look down the bar, make sure nobody’s waiting on you. Danny and his friends are early, so you don’t have much to worry about.

You shrug. “Graduated high school. Decided college wasn’t for me.” You pick up a rag, rub at a spot on the bar just to look busy, just to avoid looking right into his eyes. “I’ve been on the move ever since. I landed here about a year ago- cheap room and board, good tips, and,” you jerk your thumb towards the large picture windows looking out over the valley and mountains. “The view’s not so bad.”

Danny laughs at that, and his gaze flickers to the windows. The sun is just barely beginning to set. Soon the tourists will pour into the bar and restaurant, hungry and thirsty from their days full of adventures. But right now it’s quiet. The calm before the storm.

“Nice,” he says. “Bet you’ve got a lot of cool stories.”

You shrug, though you smile a bit at the thought. “Yeah. Hasn’t been a bad life, you know?”

He nods. Someone sits down at the bar, and you head down to take their order. Soon enough, you’re too busy to stop and chat with Danny, having to limit it to quick drink requests and offhanded remarks. You swear you feel his eyes on your the whole night. He closes out the tab a little before 9:00, pays for everyone and leaves a big tip. For a second, you remember that he’s probably just some big wig exec from some tech company, cosplaying as an outdoorsy man for the weekend. And that’s fine, you’ll support it as long as he’s nice to you.

He tosses a grin over his shoulder as he leaves, and sends a little wave your way. You swear he winks. And really, it was that moment that you should’ve known that Danny was going to be a problem for you.

…..

The employee cabins are in a secluded spot on the property, but you prefer to have your morning coffee on the back porch of the main lodge. It’s got the best view, the coffee is free, and at this hour, there’s nobody else up. Nobody, that is, except the man from the bar the night before. Danny, you remember. Huh. Usually it takes longer for the name to stick.

You watch over the edge of your book as he comes jogging up the path. He’s shirtless, skin glistening with sweat. It’s early morning, the sun barely poking up over the horizon, and it’s not that warm yet. Either he’s been working hard or he’s out of shape. From the glimpse you catch, you decide he’s definitely not out of shape. You force your eyes back to the book as he makes his way towards you. You won’t be caught staring at the shirtless guest. That would be a bad idea.

Said shirtless guest walks right up to you, though, and sticks his finger into the spine of the book, tugging it downward. You quirk a brow and look up at him. The audacity to interrupt your reading- you’re not sure how to even react. Your face betrays you as a smile crosses your lips.

“Good book?” He asks, nudging the cover.

You shrug. “It’s okay. I’ve read almost everything good in the library here.”

Danny wrinkles his nose. “You said you didn’t like… you know. Academic stuff.”

“I said college wasn’t for me,” you clarify. “I like reading.”

He nods in understanding, that signature smile on his lips. “So what’s this one about?”

You blink up at him. “Dragons.”

“Sounds fun.” He looks to your cup of coffee, sitting on the table in front of you. “S’the coffee any good?”

You nod. He takes a couple steps towards the building. “Can I sit with you? None of my friends are up yet.”

“Well it is 6am, and you’re on vacation. Can’t say I blame them.” You say, dancing around the question.

It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him. In fact, you have a strong urge to lean close and learn everything about this man. But he’s a guest and you’re an employee. They encourage you to be friendly with the guests- it helps them feel at home, your manager says- but not too friendly. Besides, Danny will be gone in a few days, and he’ll forget all about you the week after. It’s how it goes.

But he turns and raises his brows at you, and you sigh and nod. “Yeah, you can join me. But I want to read, so…”

“I’ll be so quiet,” Danny promises.

He scurries off to get coffee. You let out a long breath and pick the book back up. You’re definitely going to regret this decision. Danny doesn’t seem like the quiet type.

In his defense, he manages to stay quiet for about ten minutes. He sits down in one of the chairs next to yours, leaning back and sipping his coffee. From the angle, you can peek up over the edge of your book and sneak glances at him. He has his eyes closed, or at least close to it. He’s still shirtless, though you can see the t-shirt he must’ve been wearing hanging from the waistband of his shorts. You’re not looking at him, really- just trying to tell if he’s looking at you.

Then he starts to fidget. First he crosses his legs, then uncrosses them. He stretches his arms above his head, fingertips spread wide. Then he slouches in his chair and lets out a heavy sigh. You meet his eyes over the top of your book.

He raises his eyebrows. “What are you doing up so early, anyways?”

You should be irritated. This is your quiet morning- he’s interrupting your personal time. You come out here to drink coffee and read and listen to the birds, not some rich man trying to talk your ear off. But. He’s so genuine about it. Like he actually wants to know. Be friendly to the guests, you think.

“I’m a morning person,” you tell him, resting your book on your lap. “And I love it here before everyone wakes up for the day, you know? Like it’s just me and the world.”

He nods in understanding. He props one foot up on the chair, bends his knee close to his chest. His shorts slide up to reveal a whole mess of tattoos on his thigh. You tell yourself not to stare.

“That’s how coming here feels for me,” he says, softly. “Nice to be away from people for a bit.”

You’re starting to wonder if maybe he’s different.

“Like a breath of fresh air,” you suggest. “But for your mind and heart, too.” You pause and roll your eyes at yourself. “Sorry, that’s a bit hippy of me to say, but-“

“No, I agree,” he says, softly.

Someone opens the door to the lodge and calls out his name. You swear his face drops. He turns over his shoulder and nods, and then pushes himself to stand up.

“Well. See ya ‘round,” he says, voice soft.

You nod and pick up your book again. “See ya.”

…..

You get to know him, bit by dangerously intriguing bit. He works for Red Bull, apparently. Doesn’t give many details past that, so you assume it’s boring. He does know Scotty James-

“There was a guy who came here last winter, a snowboarder, he had a Red Bull helmet-“ you say, snapping your fingers. “Scotty something, wasn’t it, Will?”

Will, your coworker, is cleaning glasses at the bar. He raises his brows at you, and his gaze flickers to Danny, and then he says “Scotty James.”

You nod and turn back to Danny. “You know him?”

Danny laughs. “I was in his wedding.”

Danny also has a ranch in Australia where he rides dirt bikes in what he refers to as the ‘off season’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. He shows you a video, and honestly, you’re not one for adrenaline but it looks pretty fun. You suggest they talk to your boss about taking the ATVs out on the trails, and he perks up at the sound of that.

Danny tells you about his family, too. About his parents, his sister, his nephew and niece.

“M’trying to teach them good music,” he tells you on the back porch one morning. “None of that little kid shit.”

You laugh. “None of the educational shit, you mean.”

“Music’s not for your brain,” he scoffs. “It’s for your soul.”

“There’s at least 100 scientists who would definitely disagree,” you tease.

You agree with him more than you’ll ever let on.

When he walks into the bar one evening and you have his drink already waiting for him, you start to wonder if you’ve grown a bit too attached.

…..

Your boss, Michael, calls you up to the main lodge early the next day. He’s bent over the front desk, crossing off names and writing new ones down. He looks up at you with wide eyes, brows furrowed.

“Hey. I know you’re not up on the rotation yet, but d’you think you could cover an overnight camping trip?” He asks. “Sadie’s out sick, and Billy’s got a family emergency.”

Though your main job is in the bar, all of the staff take turns taking guests on overnight trips in the mountains near the lodge. You hike out with them, help set up all the gear, start the fire, and then help pack up the next morning and hike back. Depending on the group, it can be fun. When they’re not too high maintenance, you can sit around the fire and tell fun stories and get paid to do it. Other trips, you end up setting up all the tents and doing all the work and then you get ignored for most of the night.

“It’d be you and Will,” your boss adds.

Will’s one of your favorite coworkers. The two of you get along great. Michael knows this, and you wonder for a moment if he’s already talked to Will, or if you’ll be a bribe to get him to agree, too. You lean over the counter and sigh.

“Are they gonna be annoying?” You ask. “Like. Are they the type who’re wearing the brand new gear, or no gear at all, or are they somewhat okay?”

He juts his chin towards the back porch, and you follow his gaze. Danny’s out there, throwing a football back and forth with one of his buddies. You quirk a brow and turn back to Michael.

“He didn’t ask for me, did he?” You ask quietly.

Michael’s brows furrow. “No. Is he making you uncomfortable? You know you can tell me-“

“No,” you insist, shaking your head. “He’s nice. Just, you know, checking.”

Michael nods. “So? What d’you say? You’d leave tomorrow, come back the next morning. Quick out and back.”

You shrug and nod. “Got nothing better to do.”

The guys are missing from the bar that night. You see them come in later, arms around each other, probably just back from some sort of expedition. One of them- Blake, you think his name is- is trying to corral all of them, reminding them of their big hike the next day. They disappear into the elevator. Just before the door closes, Danny looks straight at you and gives you a wide grin.

When you meet them in the lobby the next morning, his grin stretches even wider.

“No way,” he says, eyeing your hiking backpack and the boots on your feet. “Not only are you the best bartender, you also do guided hikes?”

You nod and smile. “Only one at a time, though. Unfortunately I’m not very good at making drinks in the backcountry.”

Danny shrugs. “We’ll survive.”

You clap your hands and look around at the group. “Alright, campers, you ready to hike?”

They all nod and chime in with various agreements, so you pick up your bags and head for the doors. Danny falls into step next to you near the front, while Will takes up the back of the pack. You run through your usual spiel that you do when you lead a hike, and then you’re off.

It’s peaceful for a few minutes. Like the guys are all trying to act like good naturalists, like they’re trying to soak it all in. And then Danny trips over a rock, and someone teases him for it, and it’s all downhill from there. It’s entertaining, really- the way they pick on each other. You can tell they’re genuinely friends.

You take a break for lunch at a perfect spot overlooking a valley. Danny whistles lowly when he sees the view, and he elbows you lightly.

“You take all the guys to this spot?” He jokes, wiggling his brows at you.

You roll your eyes and elbow him back. “Just the ones who are stupid enough to follow me deep into the woods.”

That earns you a full bellied laugh, one that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges. You’re struck again by how genuine he is, how his walls are down or maybe even nonexistent. It makes your chest ache.

You eat lunch together, and you point out the mountains by name from the little overlook. They’re all great at playing along. They ask how the peaks got their names, which one is your favorite, if you’ve ever made it to the top of any of them.

“That one,” you say, pointing at one of the smaller peaks. “Mount Mirlo.”

“Mirlo?” Danny asks, testing out the word.

You nod. “I think it means… blackbird? Yeah. In Spanish.” You nod your head towards the mountain. “Anyways. They drag everyone up there the week they first get hired. It’s a hazing thing.”

“It’s not hazing if it’s fun,” Will chimes in, and Danny laughs. “Admit it. You had a good time.”

“I got bit by so many mosquitos and very sunburned,” you deadpan. Then you grin. “But yeah, it was sick.”

You set back off on the hike after lunch. Eventually, you come to a log bridge over a river. Danny peers over the edge as you wait on the other side, brows raised. There’s a little spot where the water pools there.

“Looks like a good spot to jump in.”

You laugh and wrinkle your nose. “That river is absolutely frigid. It’d be like an ice bath.”

He shrugs and grins at you. “Just saying.”

The camping spot isn’t far from the bridge. Once you arrive, you begin to unpack the tents to get them set up, while Will starts getting things ready for the fire. You unroll the tents, lay out the poles, and then-

Danny’s next to you, hands on his hips. “How can we help?”

You blink up at him from where you’re crouched near the ground. “Oh, you don’t have to… usually we do the set up.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “We came here to go camping,” he says. “Tell me what to do.”

They all get started setting up the tents, and you’re amazed at how much quicker things go when there are more people actually doing work. The camp is set up in record time, and someone helps Will gather firewood. Danny insists on helping to make dinner, too, and soon everyone’s sitting around the warm fire and eating happily.

“No food in the tents,” you warn, looking around the group at all of them. “It goes in the bear box. You don’t want a bear to come looking for breakfast in your tent.”

Danny nods in agreement with wide eyes. As everyone finishes dinner, they start chatting. You sit down on the dirt and stretch out backwards, staring up at the purple hues sky. The sun is setting, and when you lay down fully on the ground, your back aches. Danny, who’s sitting next to you, lays down too and lets out a long groan. You laugh.

There’s something about the proximity that has your heart racing. His hand is next to your on the ground. If you reached out just a little you could touch his warm skin. Nobody would even notice.

A bird lands in the tree. You pull your hand away to point at it instead.

“Blackbird,” you say, and Danny nods.

“Mirlo, right?” He says. You nod in response.

The bird starts singing. You mimic the sound by whistling, albeit not very well. You drop your hand back to the ground next to you as you do, and Danny laughs affectionately, attempting to whistle too. You swear you feel his pinky touch yours, and your whistling falters.

Will pulls out the marshmallows soon after. Everyone gets excited over that. You all wander around to find good sticks to roast them with, and then meet back at the fire. You watch in absolute horror as Danny takes his marshmallow and sticks it directly into the flames. It lights on fire mere seconds later, and by the time he pulls it out with a panicked noise and blows on it frantically, it’s charred and black. He gives you a sheepish look. You sigh.

“You’re so bad at this,” you say, shaking your head.

He nods in agreement. “Always have been.”

His friends try to give him instructions, but it’s no use. By the time he’s on his third burnt marshmallow, everyone else is on their second s’more. You take pity on him- before he can char another one, you take the stick from him and roast it for him. You stare in concentration, finding just the right spot and turning it carefully until it’s roasted perfectly golden brown. Will helps you assemble the s’more, and you hand it to Danny with a soft smile.

“Here,” you say, quietly.

He takes a bite, then lets out a soft moan that has you heating up in a way you shouldn’t be. “That’s amazing,” he says. There’s melted chocolate stuck to the corner of his mouth, and your fingers itch to wipe it away for him. “I crown you queen of s’mores.”

You curtsy, nodding your head at him. He laughs and nearly drops the treat. You spot the issue before he does, and your fingers bump clumsily against his as you try to assist him. His hands are warm, and probably sticky from the marshmallows. You don’t let your touch linger long enough to find out.

Eventually, everyone heads off to bed one by one. Will gives you a questioning look when it’s just the two of you and Danny left up. One of the guides always stays up until all the guests go to bed- it’s a safety thing. You nod to Will, and he stands and stretches and heads for bed. The two do you are sitting on a sideways log next to the fire, and once Will goes into his tent, it’s just the two of you, the flames, and the dark expanse of night.

“Spooky,” Danny says quietly.

You nod. “You get used to it, after a while. The dark gets a little less scary. The quiet, too. When I first got here, the quiet was so…”

“Loud?” He says.

You laugh, but he’s right. “Yeah. Loud.”

He nods in understanding. “It still feels like that for me. My day to day life is so noisy, you know? The quiet is a little overwhelming.”

You nod and nudge his shoulder. “That’s gotta be good for you, though. Healthy, I think, to take a break from the noise.”

His shoulders drop, and he leans against you, just barely. “You’ve got no idea, little mirlo.”

You laugh and lean into him, too. He’s warm and firm against you. You could reach out, could touch him, could tuck yourself right into his side. He’d probably wrap his arm around you, probably pull you close. You bet he smells good, like sweat and smoke and laundry detergent, and maybe vanilla, or something spiced and warm, or…

His pinky bumps against yours on the log. You sick in a breath and look up at him. There’s a question in his gaze, one that has you nearly choking on thin air before he even asks it out loud.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, nearly a whisper.

And you want to say yes. God, you want to say yes. But-

“Look, Danny,” you say, keeping your voice low. “You’re a sweetheart, really. And you’re cute-“

“Perfect, so-“

“But I don’t date guests,” you say, leveling your eyes at him. “Or, like- I don’t do hookups, or get close with guests. It’s against the workplace rules, and it’s a recipe for disaster.”

He smiles softly- you think somewhere deep in your heart, you knew he’d react like this. With kindness, understanding. He tilts his head, and he squeezes your knee gently.

“Okay,” he says, softly. “I’m not going to push you on this, because I don’t want to be a creep. But if you change your mind-“

“I won’t,” you say. You’re not sure if you’re trying to tell him or yourself.

“I know,” he agrees. You think he’s lying, too. “But if you do, promise you’ll let me know?”

You snort out a laugh and stick out your pinky. “Promise.”

He goes to bed soon after that. You stay up until the fire goes out, staring at the coals, wondering if you’ve made the right choice.

….

When you wake up the next morning to a shuffling noise outside your tent, your first thought is that the bears have finally come for you.

Your second thought, when you hear Danny’s laughter, bright and loud, is: why the hell is he awake? You can tell from the light outside that it’s barely morning. You hadn’t been planning on waking up for a few more hours, really. You hear him whisper your name loudly, and you groan, reaching to unzip the door to your tent just slightly.

He’s crouching in front of your tent, wearing a wide smile. “Wanna come jump in the river?”

You wonder for a second if this is some insane, weird dream. You blink and rub your eyes, but no, he’s still there.

“What?” You ask, voice scratchy with sleep.

“We’re gonna do a cold plunge,” he says. “Wanna join?”

“I thought you were a bear, you know.” You say, and he grins impossibly wider.

He makes a low growling noise. Behind him, near the fire ring, you hear one of his friends laugh. He rolls his eyes and reaches his hand out, tapping on the door of the tent.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he says.

“I didn’t bring my swimsuit,” you say. “And I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call a cold plunge fun.”

Somehow, though, you find yourself following him, and his friends down to the river. You’re not surprised to find they haven’t talked Will into joining- he promises to have hot coffee waiting for all of you. You’re in a pair of spandex shorts and a baggy shirt- the same clothes you’d worn to sleep. Danny’s reassured you that none of them have real swimsuits either, and you figure you can let the clothes dry by the fire while you make breakfast when you get back. The morning is quiet as you all hike to the bank of the river, other than the sound of water getting louder and louder. There’s the bridge you crossed over on the way, and the little pool that Danny had said looked like the perfect spot to jump in.

“You know, when you mentioned jumping in yesterday, I thought you were joking,” you tell him. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

“Health,” he deadpans.

You stare at him, wide eyed, waiting for him to expand on the statement. When he doesn’t, you roll your eyes and kick off your shoes anyways. He picks his way down the riverbank, peering over the edge into the pool of water. You follow along, wanting to get it over with.

He turns over his shoulder, grins at you, and then jumps in feet first.

He emerges from the crystal clear water with that same stupid smile on his lips. He wipes droplets of water from his face as he treads water, letting out a loud whoop. You want to scold him for scaring off any potential wildlife, but then he’s waving you in, calling your name. You sigh and brace yourself, consider chickening out for a moment, and then jump in after him.

The icy water shocks your senses so badly that you have to remind yourself to not breathe in underwater. It feels like needles all over your skin for a few moments, then uncomfortable numbness. When you emerge above the surface, you do so with a sharp scream, and to the sound of Danny’s laughter. You shake your head wildly and try to brush the cold water off your face with shaking hands. Then you swim for the bank.

“Gotta stay in,” Danny calls out, and you turn to look at him. “No health benefits if you just jump right back out. Give it a few seconds.”

You glare at him, teeth already chattering. “I think you’re full of shit.”

Even if he is, you stay in the water. You find a spot where your feet can at least touch the bottom. The rest of his friends jump in, too, splashing each other and Danny. You laugh as you watch them, watch the pure joy of a bunch of men turning back into children again. Finally, Danny swims for the bank and reaches for your hand to help pull you out. Your whole body shakes and shivers, and there are no towels to dry off with, because this wasn’t in the plans. There are wool blankets, however, and Danny picks one up and holds it out wide. In a moment of weakness and extreme cold, you let him wrap you up in it. There’s water glistening on his skin- you try not to stare. Nobody’s around to see other than his friends, anyways.

The whole group trudges back up to the campsite, where Will has a fire roaring and water for coffee heating up. You duck into your tent to change into dry clothes, and you take everything other than your underwear back out with you to dry. You’re not ready for the guys to see that this early in the morning.

You sit down on one of the logs, bundled up in a hoodie and sweatpants. Your wet hair drops cold water onto the back of your neck, and you shiver. The guys are still in their tent, and you can hear them chattering with each other. Will is eyeing you warily.

“I really didn’t think they’d talk you into it,” he says, quietly.

You shrug and muffle a yawn into your elbow. “He’s persuasive.”

Will quirks a brow. “Yeah?”

You close your eyes and drag a hand down your face. “Not like that.”

He hums. “The dude obviously has a crush on you.”

You pull your knee up to your chest. “I know. We talked about it. I told him… you know. It’s against the company policy-“

“You do remember how I met my wife, right?” He asks, quietly.

You keep your eyes closed, mostly because you don’t want to see the look on his face. “Yeah. Shut up.”

“Just saying,” he says, softly.

Before you can respond, there’s a commotion from the tent. You open your eyes to Danny stumbling his way towards the two of you, now dressed in a fuzzy sweatshirt and a pair of shorts. He saunters over to you and stops short, warming his hands on the fire.

“Well? Feeling the health effects?” He asks.

“I feel like a drowned rat,” you state, glaring up at him.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Will chimes in. You elbow him harshly.

“Mm, no, cuter than a drowned rat. Maybe a drowned koala. A drowned puppy?” Danny suggests, then frowns. “Alright, never mind, that felt morbid.”

The three of you laugh. One by one, his friends make appearances. Will hands out coffee and asks about the river, and you smile at the retelling of events. Eventually, you pack up all the gear- with help from everyone, a happy change from most groups, and head down the trail once again.

You know Danny will forget about you after he leaves, but you wonder if you’ll ever be able to lead another camping trip to this spot without thinking of him.

…..

Danny sticks to his word- he doesn’t make a move again. He does continue to spend time with you. You’re not exactly complaining, but it doesn’t make your decision any easier. He finds you on the back porch the next morning after the camping trip and resumes your morning coffee tradition. You put the book down fully this time- slip the bookmark into your page and close the cover. Your time may be limited with him, but you’re going to soak up every second.

You’re trying desperately not to get attached. It’s not working. He’s telling you a story about Australia, about his ranch there, about the dirt bikes and his parents and everything in between. And you sit there and regret ever telling him he couldn’t kiss you.

You know it was the right choice. Know it’ll only cause you heartbreak. But he’s so attractive, and sweet, and he loves his mother- his mum, even the way he says it is cute. You want to tell him you changed your mind. You sip your coffee instead.

You’ll be able to survive the rest of the week. Danny and his friends leave on Saturday. It’s Thursday now. That’s only a few more interactions, if you’re lucky. Only a couple more back porch morning coffee meetings, a few more drinks at the bar. You’ll survive, he’ll leave, and you’ll both move on. He probably already has.

Then you’re in the break room and you hear someone mention the Friday bonfire and Danny’s name in the same sentence, and your heart drops.

You and your coworkers have bonfires down by the employee housing every Friday. People who are working join after their shifts, and you all rotate the early Saturdays to make sure everyone can have a good time at least once a month. It’s your way to unwind. It’s supposed to be employees only, and sometimes a couple people’s friends. The only guests who’ve ever attended a bonfire since you started working at the lodge were a girl named Britt and her friends, and now Britt is married to your coworker Will.

“So Danny actually said they’d be at the bonfire?” Will asks, and you turn to stare at them.

Maybe he’s not talking about your Danny. You shake your head, knowing that calling him yours, even in your head, is stupid.

“Danny?” You ask. “Like- Danny?”

Will nods.

“What happened to no guests at bonfires?” You ask, turning towards the coffee maker to start another pot.

Tony, one of the kitchen staff, laughs. “Yeah, sure, but it’s a bit different when it’s Danny Ric, isn’t it?”

You shake your head in confusion and turn back to your two coworkers. “Have you even met him, Tony? Why are you out here calling him nicknames?”

Tony blinks widely at you. “That’s what everyone calls him.”

“Everyone.”

Tony nods and shovels a forkful of pasta into his mouth. You grimace. Will watches the two of you, an amused smile on his face. Someone calls Tony’s name, and he goes racing towards the kitchen, leaving his pasta abandoned on the table. You turn your stare to Will. Suddenly, you realize something.

“He’s like…” you sigh and sink down into a nearby chair. “He doesn’t just work for Red Bull, does he?”

Will laughs. “He told you he was in Scotty James’ wedding and you really thought he was just some company exec?”

“Will, I barely know who Scotty is!” You snap. “You should’ve told me.”

Will shrugs and pats your shoulder when he walks past you. “It was more fun this way. Besides, if he didn’t tell you, bet he didn’t want you to know.”

“What does he-“ you cut yourself off. “I mean, is he an athlete, then?”

Will is scraping food from his plate into the compost bin. “You ever heard of Formula One?”

You pick at your salad. “It’s like NASCAR, isn’t it?”

He makes a coughing noise. “Okay, maybe don’t start with that. I’ll give you a basic rundown.”

When you do see Danny the next morning, bright and early, you choose to start with, “good morning, Danny Ric,” instead.

He pauses halfway across the porch, hands at his sides. His skin is glistening with sweat. You’re wearing sunglasses- the perfect chance to let your eyes wander, just a little bit. He wipes at his brow and cocks his head.

“You don’t just work for Red Bull,” you say, and he chews on his lower lip. “I mean, understatement of the century.”

He laughs at that and takes a few steps towards you. “Yeah. Sorry.”

You shrug. “You could’ve told me, you know. I wouldn’t have treated you any differently.”

Instead of going for his normal spot in the chair next to yours, he stands in front of you. If he moved just an inch farther, his knee would touch yours. He sighs.

“I know. It wasn’t that. Honestly, I just figured you wouldn’t care,” he says with a shrug. “Like. You must get so many people here trying to convince you they’re not boring. It’s gotta get exhausting.”

You laugh at that. “Yeah, but your job is actually interesting,” you say. “You know, it does explain all the running. And all the adrenaline chasing.”

He finally sits down- you breath a sigh of relief. You weren’t really sure how he’d feel if you brought it up, but you hated the idea of knowing something about him without him knowing. You stick to your word- you don’t treat him differently. You pick your book back up and read for a bit until he gets fidgety, until he decides he wants to tell you another story. And then you listen with a smile, because it’s Danny. The joy is infectious.

…..

“You ever been to Yosemite?” He asks you later that afternoon.

You’re working the lunch shift at the bar. Danny had been wandering through the lobby, spotted you, and sat down for a drink. He’s having a mocktail, something you came up with just for him. You wonder how long it’ll be before one of his entourage comes looking for him. His phone has been buzzing repeatedly on the bar, and he’s been ignoring it.

You shake your head. “Not yet. It’s on my bucket list,” you say.

He nods. “That’s where we’re headed next. Spending a week there, and then it’s back to work.”

You blow out a long breath through pursed lips. “Your life is so difficult,” you say, teasingly.

He grins and shakes his head. “Wanna come with?”

You laugh as you scrub at a spot on the bar. You wait for him to echo the sound. He doesn’t. You look up at him, wide eyed. He should be laughing, he always laughs at his own jokes- it should be annoying, but it’s sort of endearing, the way he can’t finish a sentence sometimes, how he doesn’t make it to the punchline.

But he’s not laughing. “I’m being serious,” he says.

“Danny,” you say with a soft sigh. “We have a policy-“

“As friends,” he interrupts. “I promised I wouldn’t pressure you. That’s not what this is. You’re just… really cool, and we’ve got room in the car, and… I could really use your s’mores skills. Blake is shit at it.”

You cock your head at him. “I have to work. Not all of us get week long vacations in the middle of tourist season.”

He lets out a long sigh. “Right. Yeah.”

“Sorry,” you say, realizing you’re being a little harsh. “And thank you. The invite is really sweet. I just…”

I just can’t look at you without wanting to kiss you. The words are there, at the forefront of your mind and on the top of your tongue. It’s becoming a real problem, because he’s about to leave and you’re going to be stuck here, waiting and hoping he comes back. And he’s sitting here, asking you to go to a national park with him, and you want to say yes so badly because you think that maybe kissing him would be the best thing you’ve ever done. That maybe letting him in might be the right choice.

But he’s a guest, it’s against the rules, and he’s leaving. He sighs and nods, downs the last of his mocktail. He finally picks up his phone and raises his brows, then gives you a sheepish look.

“Gotta go,” he says, softly. “But I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

You nod. “See you tonight.”

…..

You take your time getting ready for the bonfire. It’s difficult- usually you wouldn’t think twice about what you’re going to wear, or what you look like. But Danny’s going to be there, and suddenly everything’s different. You have a thin line to walk- go all out, and your coworkers will notice and tease you. Don’t put in enough effort, and maybe Danny won’t even look your way tonight.

You eventually settle on a pair of jeans and a crew neck sweatshirt. The sun has just gone down, and there’s already a chill in the air. You make your way down to the bonfire area, following the well worn trail and the smell of smoke.

Danny’s already there, standing around near the firepit. His friends are all scattered with the rest of your coworkers, eating hot dogs that were cooked over the fire and chatting. Someone’s set up lawn games, far enough from the firepit to keep anyone from getting injured. You grab a drink from the cooler and make your way towards the group, trying not to stare at Danny.

He calls out your name, though, in front of everyone, which gives you a valid excuse to make your way towards him. You weave through throngs of people and end up right by his side. He’s been chatting with Will and Britt, which you think is probably a dangerous combination for your sake.

“Bout time you showed up,” Danny says brightly. “I’m in s’mores withdrawal, and once I’ve had one of yours, I can’t go back.”

You laugh and kick your toe at the ground. “I told you, I did absolutely nothing different.”

“Nah, he’s right,” Britt chimes in, and you throw a glare in her direction. “You’re a s’mores magician.”

You sigh and roll your eyes, and then you turn to Danny. “You get me the supplies and I’ll make you a s’more.”

He bounces away eagerly. Both Will and Britt are watching you with knowing looks. Feeling childish, you stick your tongue out at them. Will manages to look vaguely offended, while Britt just laughs.

Danny returns with a roasting stick and all the s’mores ingredients. You take them without complaint, watching his hands as he gets the crackers and chocolate set up. He follows you closer to the fire as you search for just the right spot.

“He kept burning his to a crisp on the camping trip,” you tell Britt, a teasing lilt to your voice. “That’s why I made him one. He was helpless.”

Britt laughs. Danny jabs at your side, and you let out a yelp. Your drink is hanging from your other hand, and you take a sip before you stick the marshmallows over the fire. Across the fire, Tony, the guy who called Danny Danny Ric, is watching you with wide eyes and whispering to one of your other coworkers. This is what you were worried about- get close to Danny, and people will start talking. But he’s leaving tomorrow, and you can’t bring yourself to care.

“See, it’s not about the flames,” you tell Danny, who leans closer to listen. You gesture with your beer. “It’s the coals. You find the right spot, and then you gotta have patience. It’s a slow process.”

He lets out a hiss. “M’not good at patience. Or slow.”

You roll your eyes and smirk. “I’m sure you’re very fast.”

He gasps in mock hurt and digs his fingers into your ribs again. You squeak and bat his hand away.

“You’re gonna ruin the marshmallows!” You warn as he reaches for you again.

He pulls his hand back and smiles innocently. You take a sip of your drink and stare up at him through your lashes, the same way he does to you when he’s sitting at the bar. You wonder if it has the same effect on him as it does on you. From the way he swallows, you think it might.

…..

You’ve only had a couple drinks, because as much as you’ve said you’re going to forget about him, you really do want to remember every last moment. It gets late far too quickly. The stars are out, and the moon too, casting everything in a silvery glow. The moonlight paints one side of Danny’s face- the fire, the other. Warm and cold at the same time.

More than half the people who started the night there have wandered back to their rooms and cabins. Danny’s friends all went to bed a while ago, gave him stern instructions to join them soon. They’re leaving early tomorrow, getting up with the sun and heading out. He needs sleep.

Instead, he’s sitting next to you on a log next to the fire. Your knees are touching, shoulders brushing with every movement. He’s nursing his second beer of the night. You stare at the rose tattoo on his hand and fight the urge to trace the inked lines.

He nudges your shoulder lightly. You stare up at him, face warm, not from the fire.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head?” He asks, voice low.

You shrug. You can’t tell him. I want to kiss you. I want to feel your hands on me. I want to read the tattoo on your chest, trace the lines of all of them. I want you. I changed my mind. Except, really, you’ve wanted this the whole time.

“Just tired,” you say instead, rubbing your thumb against the can in your hand. “I know it’s your last night here and all, but I might head to bed.”

It hits you like a sucker punch as you say it- if you go now, you’re saying goodbye. You could get up early and see him off, but you think that’d be a bit much. He seems to realize it too- his face drops.

“I’ll walk you back,” he offers.

“You don’t have to,” you answer.

You want him to. But you know what you’ll do if you make it to the door of your cabin and he’s standing next to you. You know the choice you’ll make. You’ll regret it in the morning when he’s gone and already forgetting about you, when you’re just the girl he hooked up with at the lodge on his vacation, when he goes back to his life of luxury and supermodels and-

“I want to,” he says, softly. “There’s bears here, you know.”

He growls lowly, right near your ear. You giggle to cover up the way it makes you feel like you’re on fire. When he stands and holds out his hand to help you up, you let him. He says goodbye to a couple people. You avoid Will and Britt’s gazes. Then the two of you set off down the path.

He keeps his distance. I’m not going to push you on this, because I don’t want to be a creep. But if you change your mind… You reach out, bump your hand against his. Knuckle to knuckle. He echoes the touch. Then you wiggle your fingers against his, desperately hoping he gets the message. When he tangles his fingers with yours, something slips into place.

There’s this energy thrumming in your body when you make it to the cabin area. You’re sure you’re shaking with it, even more sure that he’s noticed. You head for your cabin and squeeze his fingers. It’s dark here, nothing but the light of the moon to see by. You walk up to the door, his hand still in yours.

“D’you wanna come in for a drink?” You ask, trying desperately to sound nonchalant.

He squeezes your fingers. You turn over your shoulder and meet his eyes. They’re half lidded and dark. Like he knows where this is going.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he says. “That’s not what this was about. I don’t-“

“I know,” you say with a nod. “I know.”

He nods, ducks his head. You push open the cabin door and step inside, hand still linked with his. He takes a deep breath.

“I won’t be offended if you don’t want to,” you say, softly. “You can change your mind, too.”

His eyes slip closed, and he shakes his head. Then he follows you in through the open door.

He’s the one to shut it. And then his hand slips from yours and falls to your hip, pulling you close. You wrap your arms around his neck. Your heart is racing in your chest. You wonder if his is too. You blink up at him, watching the way his jaw clenches.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks again, for the second time in a week.

“Please?” You ask, softly.

It’s like all his resolve disappears with that one single word. The night fades around you- it's just you and him. Nothing else matters.

His lips are hot and insistent against yours. When his hands fall to your hips, they’re even hotter and more insistent. He walks you back towards the bed, shoving at your sweatshirt and the t-shirt underneath it. You do the same with his hoodie, hands scrambling underneath, searching for skin. The skin you’ve been looking at all week, wishing you could touch- you can, now.

He’s in your room, in your space, and he backs you up to the bed. Your knees hit the mattress, and you fall back, away from his kissing, with a soft laugh. You stare up at him through your lashes, your whole body on fire. His hand falls to your knee and draws a slow line up your thigh. You reach up and tug on the hem of his sweatshirt, chest already rising and falling rapidly.

He leans over you, and you know your hand in the neck of the fabric, trying to pull him closer. He has himself propped up over you with one hand, eyes lit up like firelight, lips parted.

“Kiss me,” you whine, as his palm falls to your hip and squeezes. “Danny-“

His lips meet yours again, and it’s frantic after that. You shove his shirt over his head- yours follows it to the pile on the floor. He steps out of his jeans after you undo the button and the zipper, and then he’s tugging your pants down your legs, breath catching in his chest as he gazes down at you. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting down, and you trace fingers up the ridges of his abdomen. He traces a line from your navel up the center of your chest, presses his thumb to your lips, and you whine.

“Please, Danny,” you breathe.

His eyes slip shut. “M’trying to prove I can be slow and patient.”

You gasp as his hand cups your jaw. “Yeah- well- I can’t, so-“

He laughs lowly, and with his other hand, he hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties. “C’mon, little blackbird,” he says, and you writhe on the bed underneath him as he runs a thumb over your core, pressing into the wetness there. “Sure you can.”

When he sinks to his knees and buries his face between your legs, you thank the stars you didn’t let him leave without getting a taste of this, of him.

…..

After, the two of you lay spent in your bed. You’re tracing lines on his bare skin, both still naked. There are marks all over your bodies- hickies and fingerprints and bite marks. You’ll be feeling him inside of you for days, you’re sure. You run your finger under the words on his chest. Of Love And Life.

You know the song, so you start to whistle it. His laughter rumbles under your ear, deep in his chest, and then he starts to sing along with your whistling. It’s silly. If you told any of your friends about it, they’d cringe. But you feel the vibration of the words under his ribs and wish you could stay like this forever.

Eventually he stops singing, and you stop whistling. His hand sweeps up your bare back, fingers drawing shapes on your spine.

“Your cabin is cute,” he says.

You pick your head up and rest your chin on your hand that lays flat on his chest. “Thanks.”

He nods towards the poster on the wall. Yosemite is written in big letters, and you sigh.

“Offer’s still open,” he says, quietly. “No pressure. But.”

You let your eyes fall closed. “Danny.”

He cranes his neck up to press a kiss to your cheek. “I know. Sorry. I just don’t want to say goodbye yet.”

“We won’t say goodbye then. We’ll say see you later,” you suggest. It’s cheesy, but it feels right. “And you can stay the night, if you want.”

You expect him to say no. You’re sure his friends are going to panic when they realize he’s not in the room. But he just nods and pulls you close, and you rest your head on his chest again, and soon enough, you’re falling asleep, just like that.

You wake up the next morning before the sun is even up. The alarm on his phone is going off, and he’s doing a very bad job of muffling his swearing as scrambles out of bed to search for it. You tug the blankets over your head and groan until he shuts the noise off. You hear his footsteps, heading back to the bed. He tugs the blanket down so he can see your eyes and leans close.

“I gotta go, baby,” he says, quietly. It’s like it pains him.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, feeling like it pains you just as much.

He kisses your forehead and pulls the blanket down farther. He sits down on the edge of your bed and plants on hand right next to your head. You turn your face, press your lips to the inside of his wrist. Then you wrap your hand around his bicep and sigh.

“Thank you,” he says. “I had an amazing time this week. Wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

You laugh and squeeze his arm. “You just liked the s’mores.”

“No, I-“

“I know. Me too. Thank you,” you say.

He kisses your lips one more time. You press your hand to his cheek and try to burn this into your brain. Then he kisses your forehead again and stands up with a long stretch.

“See you later, mirlo,” he says, sounding more unsure than you’ve ever heard him.

“See you later,” you echo.

You watch him leave. Watch him walk to the door, watch the slope of his shoulders under his sweatshirt. Something awful twists in your chest.

“Hey, Danny, do me a favor?” You call out. He turns, brows raised.. “Try not to forget me, yeah?”

The corner of his lips tugs up into a half smile. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

You close your eyes so you don’t have to watch him leave. You hear the latch of the door and bury your face in your pillow, resisting the urge to scream. You’d have at least three of your coworkers at the door if you did. The last thing you need is to alert anyone of Danny’s presence in your cabin, though they probably already know. You don’t want to give them any sort of confirmation, though. You roll over in bed and open your eyes, and you’re met with bright blue fabric, folded neatly on top of the other pillow. Danny’s t-shirt, left behind. Deliberately, it seems, from the way it’s folded. It’s some souvenir shirt from a ski chalet you’ve never heard of. He’d been wearing it the night before- you took it off of him. He left it on purpose for you to find. For you to have. In your moment of weakness, you grab it and press it to your nose and breathe in. That’s when you realize you’re absolutely never getting over him.

And then, you think. He left his shirt. He wanted you to have something to remember him by. In all of this, maybe you’re not the only one afraid of being forgotten. He’s larger than life, he’s a damn celebrity, but he’s leaving a little piece of him behind so you have a reminder. Like he knows you’ll put the shirt in your drawer and feel that feeling in your chest every time you reach for a different one. The bright blue is permanently burned into your brain.

Feeling especially self pitying, you reach for your phone, knowing that your camera roll from the past week is filled with pictures of him. May as well wallow in it, right?

…..

Danny throws the last bag into the trunk of the car and sighs. Blake slaps his shoulder, heavy handed, so hard it almost hurts. Maybe he needs that.

He’s been looking all over for you. He’d thought maybe you’d come to see them off, or that he’d at least see you once more before he left. But you’re not on the back porch reading, and you’re not in the restaurant, and you’re not in the employee break room, either. He thinks about going to your cabin and then realizes that would be crazy, and probably a little creepy. You’ve already said goodbye- or see you later, but still.

Someone starts the car. He drags a hand down his face. “I need coffee,” he says, and Blake nods.

Danny jerks his thumb towards the lodge and then walks in to grab a cup to go. He’s only delaying the inevitable, really. If you were going to show up to say goodbye, you’d already be there. He should just be happy with what he’s had. Happy that you let him in the way you did. He should’ve known it would only leave him wanting more, but it’s a bit late for that now.

He walks back outside, cup of coffee in hand, a frown on his face. His friends are packing the last bags and climbing into the car, and Blake is-

He nearly trips over his own feet, nearly spills his coffee down his chest. Because Blake is talking to you. You’re standing there, a book in one hand, his blue t-shirt in the other. His gut twists. Blake sees Danny and backs away to give the two of you space. Danny’s heart is racing as he walks up to you.

You hold the shirt out to him. “You left this.”

He left it on purpose, and he thought that was pretty obvious. Maybe that was unfair. Maybe it was selfish of his to want to leave a reminder of himself for you. He frowns and reaches for the shirt, tries to take it from your hand. You don’t let go when he pulls on it, and he looks at you in confusion.

“You left it on purpose,” you say, quietly.

He nods and swallows. “I didn’t want you to forget me, either.”

You nod back. You’re staring up at him, this knowing look in your eyes that has him frozen right in place. His heart skips a beat in his chest. You tilt your head towards the trunk of the car- there’s another bag sitting there, on top of all the rest of them.

“Blake says that seat’s still open,” you say, and he holds his breath. “And Will texted me this morning and said they’ve covered all my shifts for the week, for some reason.” He shrinks under your gaze, knowing that’s probably because he mentioned the Yosemite trip, and his inviting you, to Will. “So.”

“So,” he echoes, a little bit scared to believe that what he thinks is happening actually is.

You shrug and shoot him a bright, sunny smile. “I’ve always wanted to see Yosemite. And you need a s’mores girl. Still want me to come along?”

When he sweeps you into a big, dramatic kiss, right there on the front lawn of the lodge, you don’t complain. You just wrap your arms around him and kiss him back. In the trees above your heads, a blackbird sings.

for posterity’s sake please let it be known that i mostly finished this on January 31st, 2024, and then woke up to the news that Lewis Hamilton is going to ferrari in 2025. I feel like that is an important detail to be known. I decided to post it anyways. Thanks for reading the longest fic i have ever written i hope you enjoyed 💛

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully

Not So Secret Santa

javier peña x fem!reader

this is a part of the @pedrostories gift exchange!!

summary : you get the only person you didn't want for your offices secret santa.

warnings/tags : 18+ mdni, enemies/friends to lovers, canon divergence, steve is your boss/close friend, reader and javier have a complicated relationship, reader is insecure, brief mentions of alcohol, porn with plot, smut, light angst, javier and reader fight physically but it's very light with no actual injury, masturbation, semi-public sex, p in v, idk how to properly tag this but javi likes boobs in this so he touches boobs, unprotected sex (don't do this, wrap it this holiday season), use of a makeshift gag, rough yet very loving sex because it's christmas and christmas magic means i can write what i want.

tldr : you and javi have sex in his office and you put his tie in his mouth to shut him up.

word count : 4.4k

✦ : merry christmas @taro-666 !!! i'm your secret santa !!! i hope you're well this holiday season and i hope you enjoy this fic !! i haven't written much peña, despite how much i love him so i hope i did him justice and i hope you have a wonderful holiday <3 <3 (also sorry this is a little late (20 minuetes left before midnight so we're good). i was out with family all day and was only just now able to get to my laptop, i promise i didn't forget about you lmao)

no use of y/n, reader has hair and painted nails & javier sort of half picks her up at one point, nothing else is described besides clothing.

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Please, Steve, I’ll give you a week's pay.” You lean across his desk, genuine desperation in your voice after an hour of begging. 

“Not gonna happen.” He doesn’t even bother looking up from his computer.

“A month.” Your voice is starting to pitch up, something similar to anguish in your tone. Your offer finally gets a reaction out of him as his eyes widen, head tilting up.  

“Jesus, you can’t be serious.” He’s examining your expression, trying to determine the sincerity of your claim. 

“My entire Christmas bonus.” 

“Okay, stop.” He sighs, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re not allowed to switch.”

“When did you become such a stickler for the rules?” You cross your arms in front of your chest. 

“It’s just a secret Santa. He’s our friend, whether you like it or not, you two are close and this shouldn’t be this big of a deal, now go, please, I need to finish up here so I can leave at a reasonable hour.” He loosens his tie as you sigh. 

“It’s not just a secret Santa, Steve. It’s an opportunity for him to tell me that I once again didn’t do something right. No matter what I get him, it isn’t going to be good enough.” Even as you’re saying it you can see that he isn’t going to change his mind about this. 

“He’s a dick to everybody. That’s inevitable, it just means he’s comfortable with you.” He’s already turning back to his work. 

“Please, Steve.” 

“No.”

You glare down at him, giving him your angriest look as his gaze tilts back up to meet yours. 

When it’s clear that he isn’t going to switch you turn and leave, slamming his office door in the process. 

“Don’t forget, I need you here early to help set up for the party!” His muffled voice seeps out into the hall as you walk away. 

Once you’re out in your car and far away from prying eyes you unfold the damned slip of paper you’d drawn earlier today. 

Javier P. 

Of course, you got stuck with fucking Peña, a nickname you’d given him a few months ago. He absolutely hates it but the entire time you’ve worked for the DEA he’s gone out of his way to bother you. Sure, he’s your “friend”, in a strange, complicated way. But he still drives you up the wall with his constant need to one up you and the way he’s constantly making passes at women around the office. 

And it’s not like you have any problems with him sleeping around, lord knows you’ve had a fair amount of one night stands, but he just has to hit on every woman you work with. 

Every single woman, except you. 

You’d never admit it of course but a part of you will always be self conscious about that fact. It doesn’t help that Javier absolutely adores bothering you at every possible moment. He loves nothing more than to pester, annoy, and mock you, spending nearly half his day leaning over your desk despite the million complaints you’ve sent Steve about his persistent partner. 

He’ll sit on your desk, doing an endless amount of things to cause you distress. Like crowding you with his cigarette smell and vanilla cologne as he tells you you’re filling papers wrong, or telling you what colors to paint your nails, or solving your cases before you can even get to them, or teasing you about your shitty car. Today he wouldn’t stop bothering you about your weekend plans like he doesn’t already know exactly where you’ll be. 

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” He’d asked with that devastating smirk and eyebrow raise combo. 

“I have to go buy my secret Santa gift, just like everyone else.” You’d turned away, avoiding eye contact as he scoffed. 

“What about Saturday?” He continued to pry, you wanted nothing more than to shove his perfect ass off your desk. 

“The Christmas party, Javi. Just like everyone else.” You had sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose as Emilia had walked past your desk. Javier immediately forgot your entire conversation as he turned to her. 

“I love your nails.” He’d pushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand out to take hers, getting a closer look at the well manicured designs. 

You had tuned out after that. Not wanting to be involved in the exchange as you went back to typing. Acutely aware of your own nails. 

Red chipped paint. 

You couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to be the object of his affection.

It wouldn’t matter if he did hit on you, you would probably reject him anyway. 

Probably. 

It doesn’t matter, it’s never gonna happen so why let it bother you? 

With a sigh you toss the paper into your cup holder, reaching to turn on the radio, maybe some Christmas music will make you feel better. Of course nothing happens as you turn up the volume knob but it makes you want to scream regardless. 

Stupid fucking Peña. 

Stupid broken radio, stupid shitty car. 

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath as you shift into drive.

Before you know it you’re back in your car in the DEA office parking lot, this time a few things are different though. 

You’re dressed nicer, trading your slacks in for a skirt and your dress shirt for a sweater. And of course you now have a small wrapped box in your lap. 

Since you had yesterday off for the holiday you spent your Friday at the mall, searching for a gift for Javier. Eventually you had settled on three little things; Nicotine gum, mostly because you’ll get more work done if he isn’t constantly dragging you outside for his smoke breaks. He complains too much about going alone and it’s always been easier not to argue, now he can stay at your desk with his gum. Beard oil, the fancy stuff he always insists on using in his mustache. You’d bought him the wrong kind last year for his birthday and you still haven’t heard the end of it. And a lighter, you had to beg the shop owner to make an exception and do a same day engraving of his birthday. 

Jesus. 

You know way too much about him. 

You arrived two hours early as requested by Steve to help him set up. With the wrapped box tucked under your arm you anxiously tap the patterned wrapping paper with your freshly manicured nails. 

“You should paint your nails green, I love green.” He had said through a drag of his cigarette. 

Why did you let that idiot's opinions influence this decision? You feel foolish. The green chrome polish shimmering in the street lights in the parking lot as you step into the building. You had extra time while you were waiting for the engraving and you just couldn’t help yourself when the salon was just a few stores away. The image of Javier holding your hand and examining your painted nails while telling you how nice they looked was just too tempting. Maybe he’d even ask if you did it just for him, and you could drag him into a closet at the party, the exact situation you watched unfold last year. Except in that scenario you weren’t the lucky lady he’d run off with that night. 

There’s no time to be thinking like that.

You shake off whatever filth you were imagining as you look around the hectic mess of garland and glitter.

Steve is already stressing, setting up tables as you set your gift under the tree before getting to work. The office is already mostly decorated but with his new position as supervisor Steve is insistent that everything be perfect his first Christmas in charge. So you plate food, and you mix drinks exactly as he wants them, and you hold the ladder steady when he insists on putting more lights up. When you’ve got about a half an hour before guests start arriving you’re finishing up and last minute touches, the two of you crowded around a drink tower. 

The tension from your conversation yesterday seems to have fizzled out as you become engrossed in your work, when you’ve both finished he gives you an appreciative look.

“Thank you, seriously, it means a lot.” You help him adjust his tie as he straightens out his shirt. 

“Anytime, although I’m surprised you didn’t just ask Javier.” You pat his shoulder as you finish, brushing a stray blonde hair out of his eyes. 

He laughs, a nervous chuckle that makes you raise an eyebrow but when you open your mouth to comment on it he lets out a relieved sigh as the first of your coworkers arrive.

More people show up than you could have expected. 

You stay near Steve for most of the beginning until he gets dragged away by one of the higher ups who had made an appearance, leaving you alone to sip your drink against the back wall. You hum along to a Christmas song that plays loud enough to drown out any conversation you might eavesdrop on to entertain yourself in his absence, your eyes scan the crowds as you try to match up the people you work with with their spouses. 

You’re getting ready to find another group to talk to when you catch a glimpse of him standing against the opposite wall, talking to Bonnie, the woman who works in the cubicle next to yours. 

Fucking Peña. Dressed in a stupidly tight green dress shirt. 

You should leave them alone, especially if he’s trying to make a move on her. But you can’t help it as you make your way around the room towards them, a vague sense of jealousy settling in your stomach. 

String lights twinkle across the ceiling of the office, creating a warm ambience throughout the space, just as you’re about to tap him on the shoulder you overhear their conversation. 

“I had to beg Steve to switch with me, took an hour of convincing and a week's paycheck but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.” His back is to you as he leans in closer to Bonnie. 

He’s probably talking about one of the other women from the office. Steve probably had someone Javier was trying to impress and that’s why Steve didn’t want to trade with you, he had already promised his pick to Javier. 

Whatever, you can’t be too bothered about that. It does make you want to return to your spot on the other side of the room but you don’t get the chance to as the music is turned down rather suddenly.

One of the secretaries, Benjamin, stands on a chair, making an announcement that it’s time to do the secret Santa. You manage to twist through the crowds so Javier never sees you, finding his gift and bringing it to where he now stands, simultaneously keeping an eye out for your own gift.  

You hand him the box, watching the way his face lights up. 

“You picked me?” He grins as you nod, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper as you feel a tap on your shoulder. Benjamin waits behind you, leaning in to whisper while you watch Javier open his gift. 

“It was short notice so we didn’t have time to get you a back up gift but your secret Santa told us at the last minute that he forgot to get you something, he promised to bring in something after New Years, I’m so sorry.” You feel a little disappointed as he murmurs but it isn’t that big of a deal, it’s a busy time of year and people can forget things. 

“No worries, do you know who it was? I’d like to at least tell them it’s fine.” You turn away from Javier as he smiles at the nicotine gum, Benjamin's eyes flicker from your face to Javier’s before he gives you a sympathetic look, walking away. 

Javier traded for your name? 

As your head tilts to look at him now you can see the smirk he’s now sporting. 

“ …but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.”

Javier had made a conscious effort to get your name just so he could not get you something.

Huh.

That doesn’t feel great. The look he gets to see on your face is betrayal and then just sadness. You don’t really care what the reason for his decision is, you turn and walk away from him regardless. If he tries to say something to you it’s drowned out by the music that starts once again. 

Why are you so upset over some stupid joke? If it had been anyone else you wouldn’t have cared, you’d have brushed it off as a harmless accident but this wasn’t an accident. 

Maybe he didn’t really think of you as a friend. 

Maybe all of the teasing and one-upmanship really was from a place of animosity and you were just too blind and too infatuated to see it. You want to cry but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so you sift through the bowl of keys, searching for the Star Wars keychain attached to your lanyard but you can’t find it. The combination of the blaring Christmas songs with the frustration you’re currently feeling only makes you more emotional.  

You don’t want to go to the bathrooms where you might run into someone and you can’t go to Steve’s office because he might be talking to his supervisor, so you go to the only place you know there won’t be people. 

Javier’s office. 

You walk as quickly as you can, slipping inside as you slam the door shut behind you, clicking the lock in place before turning around, resting against the door as you feel tears spilling from your eyes. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your head snaps up.

Today is just not your day.

Did he know you’d come here? How the hell did he beat you here? He’s fidgeting with the lighter you bought him, watching it light and go out as he sits with your keys in his other hand. 

Your face feels hot as you take in the sight of him. 

“Give me my keys.” You hold your hand out, wiping your eyes with the other as you wait. Of course he doesn’t hand them over, that would be too easy and today is insisting on being difficult. 

“I really liked your gift. Seriously, this is… outrageously thoughtful.” He murmurs, seemingly unaware of your mood until he takes a closer look at you, his expression shifting as he realizes your eyes are rimmed with red. “Why are you so upset? What happened?” He slides open a drawer, tossing your keys into his desk while you consider calling a cab. 

What a foolish question. 

How could he possibly not know?

“I want to leave, I’m sick of this party.” You turn to leave, maybe Steve can drive you home. 

“Come on, the parties barely started.” He’s on his feet, he doesn’t try to corner you, if anything he sets himself against the wall. 

“And I want to leave.” When you reach for the doorknob he grabs your wrist, holding it as he stares at you, a look of impatience crosses his face. 

“Don’t tell me you’re mad about the secret Santa.” His brows furrow. 

“This isn’t about a stupid secret Santa.”

“It sure seems like it is.” He’s still holding your wrist, why is he still holding your wrist?  

This isn’t about the secret Santa. It’s a lot more than that, and after ages of keeping your thoughts to yourself in front of him you just let it out. 

“This is about the fact that you don’t even care about me enough to make any sort of effort. I know you deliberately chose me, you specifically chose to do this to me and I don’t care that it’s just a stupid prank. It still- It’s still a shitty thing to do.” Your voice starts cracking half way through and you can feel your eyes welling up again but it doesn’t matter anymore, you were wrong, the two of you aren’t friends. 

“So this is about the secret Santa.” 

Of course he wouldn’t get it. 

“You’re an idiot.” You finally pull your wrist from him. 

You aren’t sure what else to do so you shove him, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud as you push past him to get to his desk, hoping to grab your keys but he catches your waist first. 

“Can you stop being so stubborn for five seconds and just let me explain myself?” You can tell his patience is wearing thin, his voice is strained as he pulls you back against him, caging you against his chest with his arms. 

“Fuck Javi- let me go-” You try to kick his knees but he anticipates it, shifting his legs to avoid you.

“Just wait- listen to me.” He swings you around a bit as he tries to still you, you can feel his breath hitching, the buttons of his shirt digging into your back. The two of you thrash around for another moment until you freeze, feeling something poking your hip. When he realizes why you stopped putting up a fight he lets you go in an instant. “Shit- I-I’m sorry.” He stammers as you turn around towards him, eyes wide. 

You never thought you’d see Javier Peña flustered yet here he is. When you take a step back his cheeks are burning red, his fingers twitch nervously at his side, and as much as you try to ignore it, his pants are tighter than usual. (And considering how tight they usually are this is quite a feat.) He won’t look you in the eye. 

“It- It’s fine, Javi.” You adjust the hem of your skirt, trying to fix your hair. You just can’t catch a break today. “It was an accident, there was a lot of- of friction and it happens. I think I should just go.” You stutter a bit trying to find the right words. This entire evening has been catastrophic, and you’re more than ready to call it a night. 

“It’s not an accident.” He mumbles, finally looking at you, not bothering with subtlety as he adjusts himself. “You should probably go.” 

If it’s not an accident you don’t want to go. 

You want to stay and keep making accidents, starting with rushing forward into him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. Which is exactly what you do. At first he doesn’t react and you worry you read the situation wrong but when you pull away, just an inch, his hands envelop you. 

Hips, waist, back, shoulders, hair. He’s everywhere, all consuming as his teeth graze your lips, in an instant your backside hits his desk.

When he finally does remove his lips from yours his are slick and a tiny bit swollen, his pupils swallow his irises whole. 

“I loved your gift, I wasn’t joking, it’s perfect and the last thing I want is for you to think that I don’t care about you. Of course we’re friends, you-” As he rambles on you ball up the end of his tie, unceremoniously shoving it between his teeth. 

“Talk later, this now.” You grab the bottom of your sweater, pulling it up over your head, watching his jaw tense at the sight of your chest, his hands playing with the strap of your bra as you hop up onto his desk. Hiking your skirt up, he slots himself between your legs, your own fingers push your panties to the side as he reaches behind you, easily twisting the clasp of your bra to release it, tossing it to the side as his enormous palms engulf your breasts. 

You dip your fingers into the wetness between your legs, briefly taking a moment to wonder how you found yourself here. Just moments ago you were ready to leave and consider your friendship with Javier over, yet now you’re spread out on his desk, on display for him as you sink your fingers into your eager cunt. 

You don’t get to linger on the thought for long because he groans into the fabric of his tie and you’re pulled back into the moment. 

Jesus you’re soaked. 

You have no trouble pushing two slick digits into yourself. You can feel the outline of him against your thigh and you know that you need to warm yourself up to take him. He’s too engrossed in your tits to do it right now and you’ve waited too long for this, you don’t want to wait, you just want to have him. 

He’s tender at first, squeezing and softly tracing the outline of your areola until he seemingly can’t control himself any longer and he pinches, rolling your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as your whine. Back arching of the oak of his desk as you curl your own fingers. Even through the tie his moans are still somehow louder than yours, you’re briefly worried about someone hearing as you let out a whimper while he tweaks your nipple but the music’s so loud at the party you can hear Mariah Carey from here. 

You don’t stop for a second, putting your focus on reaching the peak that you find yourself already getting startlingly close to. You can feel yourself pulsing as you pick up the pace, reveling in the way his eyes devour the very sight of you. You’re agonizingly close when he grabs your wrist, removing your fingers carefully as you try and resist, wanting to finish what you started, you’re about to whine when he begins unzipping his pants. You can feel your pussy clenching at the very sight of him, of course he isn’t wearing any underwear under his dress pants so the second his zipper is fully down his cock springs free.

Javier fucking Peña has a gorgeous cock. 

Standing stiff and proud without either one of you even having to touch it. Pretty and pink on the tip, already leaking down the shaft. And heavy, as he takes it in his hand, his other hand gripping your waist as lines himself at your entrance. He takes a moment, eyes scanning your face, silently asking for permission. 

You can’t nod fast enough but the second that you do he slides into you. 

You could never conjure up something this good in your fantasies. The way he fills you, stretching you open as he whimpers into the fabric of his tie, you like that he listened, that he kept it in his mouth this long. His strokes are needy and fast, like he’s been waiting for this for so long and now he can’t help but be ravenous. You were already painfully close before he filled you with his perfect cock, it takes only a few minutes for you to be right back there. His fingers dig into your waist so hard that you’re certain he’ll leave marks as he slams in and out of you, pulling out almost entirely with every thrust. 

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of his trinkets rolling off his desk and onto the floor. 

“Javi, Javi, Javi.” Between gasps you chant his name, the sound encouraging him as he pushes in deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit until you see stars. Your cunt clenching around him as your orgasm is ripped out of you. Messy and loud and blurry, he fucks you through it. You’re so blissed out you can barely focus on the persistent pounding into you until you manage to come back to your senses and his hands leave your waist, instead intertwining with your fingers as his hips twitch forward and you feel him hastily pull out of you.

He spits his tie out, opting to instead bite your shoulder as he comes, the groan that leaves his throat is obscene. Raspy and filthy as he collapses down on top of you, the two of you sweating and gasping amongst the paperwork and pens now scattered across his desk. 

Did that really just happen?

He manages to collect himself first, leaning back and tucking himself into his pants before quickly tending to you. He grabs a few tissues, wiping your stomach where the product of your activities lay, before redressing you, slipping the flats that had slipped off, back onto your feet, pulling your skirt back down to cover you as he slides your panties back into place, and retrieving your bra and sweater, lifting you into a sitting position as he redresses you, kissing your cheeks, nose, and forehead the entire time. 

“All good?” He whispers, gentler than you’ve ever heard him as you nod, grinning. 

“Good enough to make me forgive you for not getting me a present.” You reach into his drawer, grabbing your keys before sliding off of his desk. 

“Maybe this was your present.” He tilts his head, kissing you again, smiling all the while. 

“That was the perfect gift then.” Probably the best you’ve ever gotten.

“Are you gonna stay for the rest of the party?” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin. 

“I think I need to go to bed after that.” You laugh as you jingle your keys, turning towards the door as he catches your lips in another kiss. 

It makes your heart flutter. The continued affection makes you think this isn’t a one time thing. You want more. You want conversations about feelings, and to talk about what just happened, you want to feel him inside you again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you’re going to get all of that. But right now you’re tired, so the rest can wait. 

“Can I walk you to your car?” You nod as he murmurs.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, walking you out of the building towards your car, opening the door for you and giving you one last kiss with a promise that he’d call you tomorrow, before you watched him walk back into the building.

Your phone buzzes as you turn your key in the ignition, the sound of Wham! fills the car, Last Christmas playing softly. You take your phone out of your pocket, checking the text notification from Javier. 

[ i forgot to tell you how pretty your nails are. merry christmas hermosa ]

Your head turns up in surprise as you realize your radio is working. A new radio system is installed in the center of your dashboard, with a little green bow taped to the top, and a paper tag with Javi’s familiar messy handwriting. 

from : your secret fucking santa

a/n : happy holidays everyone!!

Hi, hope you're alright. I came up with a story idea: the reader is married to Gasly's/Daniel's close friend but their marriage is hanging by a thread. The driver invites her to a few races so she can change the environment, they spend some time together and unexpectedly become lovers. And maybe later her husband is trying to fix their marriage but she and the driver can't stop thinking about each other

His Best Man || DR3

A/N: I took some creative liberties with the plot but I think it does this request justice 💕 ps: never condone cheating, it's horrible and this is purely fictional

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, alcohol, cheating, smut WC: 7.6k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Daniel’s Reaction

Dinner with James was a quiet affair, though it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Why would your anniversary be any different when his indifference was the only constant at this point?

You watched as he smiled at his phone, something you hadn’t been able to elicit from him in months, before he locked the device and placed it facedown on the table. The sigh that wanted to exhale from your flared nostrils barely remained silent as you focused on shifting the food around your plate, your appetite gone like the connection to your husband. 

“Daniel sent us some passes to the race in Melbourne next month. I thought we could go, make a little holiday out of it?” 

There was no excitement in your tone, it was more a question borne out of politeness because he would have seen the paddock passes sitting on the kitchen side if he ever looked away from his phone. The blasted device vibrated again and his fork clattered on his plate in his rush to read the incoming message. 

“Well?” you asked as his thumbs flew across his screen. 

“Can’t. Work project is going to keep me busy until the deadline,” he answered without looking up. “Take one of your friends, have a girls trip.”

Friends…those people you never saw anymore because James hadn’t liked them, though he never outright said it, those friends who had warned you that you were marrying a narcissist. 

“It’s our anniversary,” you reminded him. “You know, falls on the same day each year.”

“Mhmm, yeah,” he nodded, clearly not listening. “Sounds good.”

You propped your elbow onto the glass tabletop and dropped your chin onto your palm as a familiar burn of resentment simmered in your soul. “The mailman gave me a pearl necklace.”

“That’s nice. Put it on my credit card.” He reached into his back pocket and tossed his wallet across the table, narrowly missing the glass of rosé. 

You opened it and saw the polaroid from your wedding day no longer sat in the clear card slot but was stuffed behind his drivers licence. You shouldn’t have felt hurt after months of being ignored but the pain still surprised you, almost as much as the condom that you found with his cash. He hadn’t bought a box of condoms in at least three years, not since the wedding when you started trying for a baby - something that was probably best that it didn't happen.

“He must eat a lot of pineapples because it tasted delicious,” you murmured as you took his cash and the platinum credit card too.

James nodded and pushed his empty plate away. “Yeah, tasted good, thanks. Need to finish this project.” He rose from the table with his phone and started to make his way down the hall to his office. “Don’t wait up.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” You had a trip to plan. 

You weren’t going to have a girls weekend but you were going to Melbourne. He may have been James’ friend first, but no one had the ability to turn a bad day (or year) around like Daniel could. 

When you arrived in Perth you hadn’t expected Danny to be the one personally waiting at the airport. It was impossible to miss him with the amount of people that surrounded him, asking for pictures and autographs before he spotted you stepping out of customs. 

You didn’t need to read lips to see him apologising to everyone as he made his way towards you, holding up a large welcome sign for ‘Roo’. You rolled your eyes at the nickname he had given you after one drunken night that ended with you tangled in a hammock, your head poking out of the material like a joey in a kangaroo pouch. You were only grateful he hadn’t nicknamed you Joey since the name had stuck over the years.

Your greeting turned to a peal of laughter as he dropped the sign and swept you into a hug that lifted your feet off the ground to spin you around. 

“I’ve missed you, you beaut!” Danny’s smile was contagious and even when your feet were securely back on the ground he still kept his arms around you. “A shame James can’t come, but we can totally make his jealous as fuck for ditching us. One week, you, me, road trip to Melbourne.”

Day One - Perth to Kalgoorlie “I hope you know where we are going.”

Daniel laughed and just winked from the driver's seat of his Ford Ranger. It had been three hours of driving on the highway and you had not passed one town in the dusty landscape. 

“It’s not far, just down the road a little more,” Danny said for the third time. “We still have half a tank of gas and a crate of Vitamin B, we’ll be fine if we need to camp.”

You quirked an eyebrow up as you looked in the backseat and saw the green box of Victoria Bitter beer strapped with a seatbelt.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to camp anywhere,” you scoffed, tucking your knee up as the song changed to another country song from his endless playlist. “Spiders, snakes, dingoes, and your snoring. I think not.”

Daniel laughed and indicated to pull off the road despite there not being another soul within what felt like hundreds of kilometres. 

“I’m sorry I said you snore, please don’t leave me here.”

His laugh only intensified as he turned the engine off and turned to face you. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Roo.”

“Then why have you stopped?” You tested the window but it had powered off with the engine. “It’s a freaking sauna in here.”

“Because you haven’t been yourself all day and there’s no cell reception out here so there’s nothing to distract you.” He took the useless device from your hand and tossed it in the glove compartment. “What’s going on with you and James?”

“Nothing,” you muttered as his brown eyes narrowed. “Seriously, there’s nothing going on with him. We hardly speak anymore and he sleeps in his office when he’s not out of town on another ‘business trip’. It’s just…nothing.”

Daniel’s brows pinched together in confusion as he sucked a lungful of air through his teeth. “But…what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” you exclaimed as you threw your hands in the air, just as clueless. “What do you want me to say? That he’s having an affair, or that one day he just stopped caring, or both?”

You turned away as it wasn’t a bead of sweat that rolled down your cheek when you sighed in defeat. Unable to withstand the heat without the air conditioner, you tugged the door handle and checked the dirt for any unwanted animals before jumping down from the running boards. 

Daniel was already getting out his side and circling the bullbars before you could wipe the tears away but the sob you had tried to suppress clawed its way out when he pulled you against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured softly as he rubbed your back and let your tears soak into his shirt. “He can be a bit of a cunt, but I never thought he could do that to you.”

“He did and it’s done,” you admitted with a raspy voice that was still strained from the emotion choking each word. “I moved my stuff out last week, not that he even noticed. I thought I could have a break to get away from it all and deal with a divorce when I get back.”

“That fucking idiot,” Daniel said as he pulled his shirt up to wipe your tears away. “He just lost the best thing in the world and he doesn’t even know it.”

Day Two - Kalgoorlie to Caiguna It was another long day of driving but after the broken sleep spent tossing and turning you weren’t much of a companion. You had eventually drifted off to sleep to the country music that Daniel loved so much and dreamt of crawling through fields of watermelons but the paddock soon turned to mud and you sank under the suffocating weight with it filling your lungs. 

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re alright,” Danny soothed as you startled awake, his quick reflexes throwing his arm out to catch you from hitting the window. You could still feel the filthy fluid on your skin and shivered as you changed the song over and took a shuddering breath. “Bad dream?”

You rolled your shoulders and twisted your stiff neck, groaning at the crick that had come from using the seatbelt as a pillow. “Just weird.”

His eyes darted away from the endless road ahead and saw you trying to massage your neck before he brushed your hand aside. There certainly were perks to his strength training because his fingers were a godsend as they erased the knots that had formed.

“Hmmm, thank you,” you sighed deeply and his lips tipped up at the sound.

“Anytime. Hope you got the rest you needed, there’s a stop ahead and these guys know how to throw down.”

You narrowed your eyes at the horizon that was blurred by heatwaves and tried to see what lay beyond but gave up after a few seconds. “Throw down what?”

“Huh?”

“What are they throwing down?”

“Throw down,” he said slowly as if it would somehow make you understand but you were still confused. “Party, drink, dance. Throw down.”

“Oh, throw down, why didn’t you just say that?”

He laughed at your sarcasm and squeezed your knee. “You could definitely do with a drink or two and loosen up. Then I can get my old Roo back.”

“As long as I’m not expected to sleep in a hammock again.”

The motel was a little rough and run down but it had four walls and the bathroom was clean enough to last one night. Daniel had barely given you enough time to get changed into fresh clothes before he was knocking on your door ready to escort you next door to the bar. Coincidentally, the bar was also the restaurant, service station and grocery store all rolled into one.

You and Danny were by far the youngest people in the place but it didn’t stop the warm welcome from everyone. If any of the patrons knew who he was they hid it well because they treated him just like any other stranger passing through.

“Where ya from?”

“Where ya headed?”

“Watch out for ol’ Deloris, she’ll try take a bite out of ya.”

The questions came in quick succession and you looked around the room trying to figure out which of the ladies was Deloris only to find the name on a plaque beneath a huge crocodile head suspended from the rafters.

“Fuck me,” you gasped as you took a step back, bumping into Danny as he laughed along with the bartender.

“Gets ‘em every time,” he chuckled as he placed two large bottles of beer onto the well worn bartop. “Looks like ya sheila could use something a little stronger.”

Daniel’s large hands landed on your shoulders and started to massage the tense muscles. “There’s no crocs ‘round here, isn’t enough water,” he whispered to calm your nerves. “Deloris was probably a pet.”

“Who in their right mind would keep that as a pet?”

“Probably someone not in their right mind.” His warm laugh tickled your ear before he turned you back to the bartender to grab your drink. “Cheers.”

Daniel found a small table in the surprisingly busy restaurant space and it appeared as if most of the locals were keeping the economy running in the place. It was strange to think that the faded walls decorated with old photographs of the glory days gone by felt more homely than the one you had built with James.

You could easily see yourself placing a coin on the pool table to save your place in the queue or ordering the fresh market fish off the menu without questioning how it was fresh so far from the sea. You could see yourself walking in to see the same faces at the end of a long week and the barman would listen to your complaints as he poured your usual without needing to be asked.

You took a generous gulp of beer that Daniel swore was ‘the good stuff’ and hummed at the hoppy flavour as it quenched the thirst that hadn’t stopped since you stepped foot in the country. It was no wonder why they liked their beers so much, they needed whatever they could to cool their bodies down.

“I like this place,” you said with a smile that Danny returned with pride.

“Thought you might, and tomorrow’ll be even better.”

“Where are we going tomorrow?”

Daniel shook his head and occupied his lips with the bottle so he could keep you in the dark a little longer. You didn’t mind this type of surprise, knowing he wanted to make you smile and was planning everything could to make that happen on the road trip.

The doldrum tune that was playing from the corner of the bar was interrupted as a coin was slotted into the jukebox and Josh Turner’s Your Man came on the machine. Couples around the bar and restaurant left their belongings and made their way to the dance floor. Where you came from no one would do that, and if they did their belongings wouldn’t be there when they returned.

Beneath the table you could feel Daniel’s foot tapping in time to the beat and his fingers drummed on the long neck he lifted to his lips. He caught the longing in your eyes as you watched a grey haired man holding his wife, slowly swaying together like you had imagined you would with James in 40 years.

“Come on, Roo,” he invited as he pushed his chair back and held out his hand. His palm was cold and damp from the beer bottle but it was refreshing on your skin with the heat that still lingered with the setting sun. Leading you to the edge of the dance floor he pulled you close and curled an arm around your waist as he started to sing along. “I've been thinking 'bout this all day long, never felt a feeling quite this strong, I can't believe how much it turns me on, just to be your man. I know you know the words, don’t be shy.”

It was impossible to feel embarrassed with him, even if you butchered the song he would still smile like he was listening to his favourite artist live. So, you placed your hand in his and the other rested on his shoulder as you started to sway and sing along.

“There's no hurry, don't you worry, we can take our time. Come a little closer, let's go over, what I had in mind.”

Daniel let go of you and your head fell back with a laugh as he spun you away and pulled you back. You could only giggle as you returned out of step and ended with your back to his chest instead of face to face but he adapted quickly and held your waist instead.

“Baby lock the door and turn the lights down low,” his voice was deep and rich in your ear, intimate and full of promise that hit you unexpectedly. “And put some music on that's soft and slow. Baby we ain't got no place to go, I hope you understand.”

You were glad you weren’t facing him as his words affected you in a way you couldn’t remember feeling for over a year. The very air seemed to thicken in your lungs as you felt every inch of his body fitting against yours. You could feel the veins on his hands as you laced your fingers with his and guided them down to your hips.

This was the first time the lines had blurred throughout the years of friendship and you allowed yourself to feel wanted, if only for a song.

Day Three - Caiguna to Yalata The pounding in your head turned out to be banging on your door and you somehow found the strength to answer it. Bright sunlight flooded in through the crack and you groaned as you covered your eyes.

“Good morning sunshine,” Daniel greeted brightly as he stepped inside. “It’s 7am on another stunning day here in Straya.” 

You playfully shoved Danny and he rolled with it to splay across your bed, the blankets still tucked in from collapsing atop them last night. 

“7am is too early,” you complained as you climbed into the small space he left on the twin sized bed, curling onto your side and throwing your arm over your face to block out the light. “Let me sleep.”

“You can sleep in the car.” His fingers danced teasingly over your ribs and you jutted your elbow back into his hard abs before he could properly tickle you. “Ouch, you’re not very nice in the morning.”

“This isn’t morning, this is still night,” you grumbled as his arm draped over your waist instead.

“The sun is up.”

“Tell that to the people of Norway. It can be sunny at midnight there.”

You could feel him silently laughing at you as it shook the bed. “But we aren’t in Norway.”

“Shh,” you murmured as you snuggled closer to him. “Let me go back to sleep.”

“Fine,” he conceded, making some adjustments to the pillow before shoving his arm under your head, “but just because I’m comfortable now.”

The hangover was gone by the time you woke naturally and you felt refreshed as you stretched lazily. Rolling over in Daniel’s arms you found his eyes closed and his lips parted slightly with soft snores. You raised your head a little to see the alarm clock that was probably considered vintage in the 80’s and saw it was well past check out time. Luckily it didn't appear that the No Vacancy sign was ever used, so there was no rush to leave.

The small movement was enough to wake him and your stomach clenched at the smile that brightened your day more than the blistering sun outside when his honey brown eyes opened. 

“I can’t believe this,” you tutted as you let him pull you closer against his chest. “I was ready to go at 7 and you just went back to sleep…so lazy.”

“How rude of me,” he chuckled. “I’m sure I can find a way to make it up to you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Woah,” you whispered breathlessly as the truck bounced to a stop on the hard sand of the tidal line. “It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it just,” Daniel grinned as he opened his door and looked across at you. “Coming in?”

You bit your lip as your eyes feasted on the picturesque scene. Big barrel waves crashing out in the bay and white sand welcoming bare feet on the shore, it was a sight pretty enough to make angels cry. Hopping out, you rounded the four wheel drive ute and sat on the metal bar running across the front, distracted by the breathtaking view. “What about sharks?”

Daniel’s door shut and you turned to the sound in time to see him pulling his singlet over his head and tossing it through the backseat window before unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans off too. It was impossible not to stare at the hard planes of his chest or the definition of his abs, and then the thick thighs that were barely covered by his boxers. 

“The chances of a shark attack are less than…” His words trailed off as he looked up and caught you blatantly staring, his teeth sparkling as a big smile grew on his face. “The view is spectacular, am I right or am I right?”

“You or the beach?”

“Spectacular is pretty high in the standards of compliments,” he said as he started to flex his arms, “but if you think I’m spectacular then I would accept that.”

You closed your eyes from the harsh sunlight and tipped your head back to feel the rays on your cheeks as you laughed. “You’ve never had to worry about your ego, have you?”

He sent you a playful pout as he walked towards you, his thongs flicking up golden sand behind him with each step. “It would take a hit if you didn’t come swim with me.”

You hadn’t realised quite how many types of heat there was until that moment. There was the heat of the bonnet from hours of driving beneath you, the heat of the sun in the sky above and the heat of his hands that landed on your knees. It was the heat of his hands that seeped into your blood and spread throughout your body, increasing to boiling point as they slowly ran up your thighs.

Your knees unconsciously parted for him and he stepped into the space so you were eye to eye and his tongue rolled across his bottom lip. “There’s nets out past the reef, you’ll be safe with me.”

You took a sharp intake of air as his fingers caught the hem of your shirt and his knuckles grazed your skin. “Well?” he asked quietly. “Trust me?”

You swallowed deeply as you nodded and he rewarded you with another of those smiles you had come to love before he lifted your shirt up and left it on the hood of the truck so he could grab you around the waist and haul you over his shoulder.

“Daniel!” you yelped as the world was suddenly upside down and he kicked his thongs off before jogging towards the water. “Don’t you dare dunk me.”

You expected the next sudden shift when the water reached his knees but as quick as he tossed you up off his shoulder he caught you again with a booming laugh. His arms were bound around your thighs and your hands planted on his shoulders as you looked down at his amused face. 

“I wouldn’t dare,” he promised as he eased his grip, your body sliding down his until you were once more eye to eye. “I just want to make you smile.”

Day Four - Yalata to Port Lincoln  As much as you had found yourself enjoying the historical rich motels in the outback, you were just as happy to find the accommodation in Port Lincoln was a five star resort on the waterfront. The sun was just starting to set when you arrived at the hotel and checked into the two bedroom suite with a gorgeous view of the harbour. 

“I never knew driving could be so exhausting,” you said as you dropped into the swing chair on the large balcony. 

“Don’t worry, tomorrow’s a rest day so you can recover from all that driving you didn’t even do,” Daniel pointed out with a smirk, taking the spot beside you and taking over the leg exercise of swinging it back and forth. “We can do whatever you want, just can’t miss the boat to Adelaide tomorrow night.”

It was nice spending so much time alone with Daniel on the road, comfortable conversations rolling like the tires on the highway, but a change of pace would be welcomed. “What is there to do?”

“Hmm,” he frowned and stood up. “Let me go see.”

Daniel disappeared out of the room and returned a few minutes later with a stack of brochures that he had taken from the tourist stands in reception and you met him on the couch inside where the pleasant offshore wind couldn’t whip them away. Together you flicked through them, separating them into three piles of yes, no and maybe. 

“Sure you don’t wanna cage dive?” he teased as you threw that particular brochure across the room. “You could get up close and personal with a Great White. Once in a lifetime opportunity right there.”

You snorted and shook your head. “Once in a lifetime because it would kill me. Not happening.”

“Here, that’s a yes for you.” 

You took the advert for a farm park where you could hand feed the animals and added it to the yes pile. “Maybe next year we can go to your farm…unless James gets you in the divorce.” Your lips turned down at the idea and you realised you had hardly thought of your husband, but now that you had he had disturbed your peace even though he was thousands of miles away.

Daniel reached over the coffee table to the stationary set, grabbing a hotel engraved pen before pulling his shoe off. “It’s just like Toy Story,” he said as he waved the pen in your face. “Put your name on me first.”

You managed a small laugh as you took the pen and clicked the nib out. “Should tattoo it so it doesn’t wash off.”

Daniel squirmed on the couch as the pen tickled his foot and you grabbed his ankle so he couldn’t move too much but he started to giggle uncontrollably as the nib ran over his instep. “How long does it take to write Roo?”

You laughed and kept going before he wretched his foot free and crossed his leg over his knee to see your full first and last name on it - maiden name, not married.

“For legal purposes,” you said as you clicked the pen nib away and tossed it on the table.

“Fair enough.” He grinned at the writing everytime he looked at his crossed leg and draped his arm over the back of the cushion as you returned to the seat. “You can come by the farm anytime, don’t have to wait for next year.”

“Except for shearing season,” you smirked as you remembered that mistake where you were roped into helping the jackaroos round the sheep up and shave them. “I have no interest in losing all feeling in my arms again.”

“Earned that beer though,” he said with a chuckle as he started to massage your neck. “I was so proud, you weren’t afraid to get stuck in and help. I kinda thought you were a bit of a princess ‘til then.”

Your nose crinkled at the endearment James used to call you. “Well I’m glad I got rid of that image. But, out of curiosity, what do you think I am now?”

The smile could only be described as devilish as his hand spread across your nape and guided you closer to him. His eyes held you captivated and his lips parted with his answer but it was silenced by the sound of ringtone breaking the tension and like a puppet whose strings were cut he fell back into his seat. The emotion in his eyes was erased with a blink and you reached blindly for your phone, answering the call without needing to see who it was from.

“Hey, isn’t it like midnight?” you asked as you lifted the device to your ear but there was no answer at the other end. “Hello? James?”

“Fuck, yeah, just like that baby. God, Laura, you’re so perfect.” The phone slipped from your grasp as you heard the muted but unmistakable sound of James’ voice.

Daniel frowned as he picked the phone up from your lap and lifted it to his ear, shock registering before it transformed into anger and he hung up the phone without breaking the screen with the force of it. He discarded the phone and pulled you into his lap in the same instance but you didn’t hear what he said as you buried your face in his neck and grappled onto him for dear life.

Day Five - Port Lincoln to Adelaide You didn’t feel like doing anything other than staying in bed and sleeping the day away but Daniel wouldn’t let you waste another minute of your time because of James. In a way you could understand the logic and as a big ‘fuck you’ to him you were going to get your shit together and go and have fun.

Daniel worked even harder to get a smile or a laugh out of you and kept his camera on hand to capture the moments he succeeded. The animal farm did make you feel a little better and holding a joey as you bottle fed it was finally enough to break through the invasive cloud that had hung over you. 

“Roo and Roo Two,” Danny commented as he moved around taking a million shots of you.

“Need a hand?” a passing couple offered after watching Daniel try and extend his arm enough to get in the shot too.

“That’d be a dream,” Daniel nodded and he handed his camera over before sitting down beside you and curling his arm around your waist. The joey was almost asleep from drinking all of the milk and Daniel grinned at you as he stroked its neck. “Looks like you when you sleep.”

You grinned back, forgetting about the camera. “Cute, right?”

“Yup, that’s, uh, exactly what I was thinking.” He cleared his throat and scratched his neck awkwardly before laughing when your elbow connected with his ribs. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You’re a cutie-tootie when you sleep…it’s another story when you’re awake.”

His laugh was loud enough to wake the joey when you nudged him again with an offended look. “What? You’re beautiful when you’re awake.”

“That’s totally what you meant,” you said sarcastically before rolling your eyes. “Just look at the camera and smile like a normal person.”

He tipped his head to yours and smiled brightly for the camera, but he couldn’t resist whispering, “Bold of you to assume I know how to be normal.”

Day Six - Adelaide to Portland It took a moment to recollect the events from the night before and it wasn’t because of the many wine tastings you had gone to around the Port Lincoln area. Perhaps that had a little bit to do with it, but mostly it was because you had fallen asleep in the truck to the gentle rocking motion of the ferry but now you were tucked into an unfamiliar bed. 

“Danny?” you called out as you tossed the covers back and found you were still in yesterday's clothes. You could hear some sounds outside of the room but Daniel hadn't answered your call so you picked up the coat rack from the corner and quickly opened the door.

“Jesus Christ.” Daniel jumped back as you waved the long pole his way. “What the fuck?”

You sagged in the doorway and dropped the makeshift weapon to clutch your chest. “You gave me a fright.”

“I gave you a fright?” he asked incredulously. “You gave me a fucking heart attack. What were you going to do with this?” He swiped the coat rack off the floor and couldn’t stop himself from laughing at it. “Please don’t give me a concussion before the race.”

“But any other time is good?” you quipped as your lips tipped up now that your heart rate was returning to normal. “How did I get to bed?”

He flexed his arms with a cocky grin. “I tried to wake you up but you were dead to the world. And now that sleeping beauty is awake, how about we go out for breakfast? There’s meant to be a huge market that sells a bit of everything that we could check out after.”

You held a finger up as you looked down at your clothes and heard your stomach rumble, answering the question of whether to shower or not first. “Just give me one minute to change.”

Daniel had obviously been awake for a while being an early bird so he was ready and waiting at the door when you reappeared, his hand held out and waiting for yours. The lines between friendship and more were getting blurrier each day but it no longer felt wrong as you laced your fingers with his and stepped outside.

“Are you limping?” you asked with a frown as he kept his weight on one side the entire walk to the market.

“No, just got pins and needles in my foot.”

An hour later he was still favouring his right foot so you steered him back towards the hotel so he didn’t make it worse before you got to Melbourne. “You should probably see a doctor.”

Daniel dropped onto the couch and stole the remote to choose a movie, patting the space beside him so he could kiss your temple after joining him. “You worry too much, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re quiet,” Daniel commented as he turned off the tv. “What’s got you thinking so loud?”

You chewed your bottom lip as he called you out. He was too observant, or you were too easy to read. “It’s our last night together.”

“You’re still going to stay with me for the weekend, right?” He shifted in his seat to face you and stroked your cheek with the back of his hand as he waited for an answer.

You nodded and he relaxed a little only to freeze as you spoke, “But you’ll be busy, we don’t have time to hang out.”

“I’ll always make time for you,” he promised as he pulled you into his lap. “This week with you has been…spectacular.”

“Spectacular is pretty high in the standards of compliments,” you reminded him, much to his amusement.

His smile softened as his fingers trailed along your jaw and down your neck to trace your collarbone. “Which is why it’s reserved for very, very good things.” 

You were almost certain he could hear your heart racing like thunderous hoof beats in a quiet desert. The blood was pumping around your body carrying the oxygen you needed to replace but couldn’t seem to draw the air into your lungs as he leaned forward.

“You were his best man,” you whispered with the last of your breath as you felt the heat of his lips so close to yours.

“But I’ve always been the best man for you.”

The first kiss was softer than the wind, tentative and testing as you learned how your body responded to the caress before hunger yearned for something deeper. A deep moan rumbled from Daniel’s chest as your tongue rolled across his lips that parted for you and his arms encircled you to hold you tight, as if he were clinging to the spell so it couldn’t be broken.

“Please, Danny,” you sighed longingly as his hands slipped under the summer dress you wore and his thumbs teased you with painfully slow circles on your thighs. “You have never been a patient man, don’t start now.”

His quiet laugh heated the skin of your neck that he kissed with such tenderness you wanted to cry. It had been so long since you had been touched in such a way that you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Please,” you begged as you rolled your hips over his cock that was straining against his shorts. You moaned as the hard length brushed over your panties and a reciprocal sound came from Daniel before he stood up abruptly. 

“Fuck, I wanted to take my time with you,” he murmured against your lips as he blindly walked to the closest bedroom. 

“Later,” you promised. “Right now I need you to get me out of this goddamn dress and fuck me.”

Day Seven - Portland to Melbourne “Oh, fuck off,” you growled as your phone rang on the bedside drawers. You rolled back into Daniel’s embrace and wrapped your arms around his waist as he saw at the voicemail notification before it started to ring again. 

“He’s just going to keep calling,” Daniel said with a sigh that turned to a yawn after the late night spent getting to know each other's bodies intimately. “You’ll have to talk to him at some point.”

“I know, I just want to savour this moment before the drama starts. I can’t remember the last time I woke up like this, happy and content. I’m not ready for that to end.”

“What makes you think I’ll let this end?” he teased as he rolled you onto your back and trailed wet kisses down your neck. “I might just write my name on your foot too and call you mine.”

The warmth of the blankets disappeared as Daniel made his way down your body, kissing the entire length of you before settling between your legs as the phone rang again.

“Answer it,” Daniel ordered as his fingertips delicately traced the stretch marks across your hips, committing every inch of your body to his memory. “Or he won’t go away.”

You tried to find any hint of resentment in his face as you reached for the phone but there was only an air of smugness as he made himself comfortable, resting his head on your thigh.

“I think we have been robbed,” James said without even a hello as you answered the call on speakerphone. “Everything in the guest room is gone.”

A huff of amusement bubbled at the image of him standing in the empty room, his face crumpled in confusion as he scratched his head. “It’s at my apartment.”

“What apartment? What are you on about?”

“The apartment I rented before I moved out two weeks ago. The one I will be living in when I get back.” Daniel’s fingers traced the waistband of your panties and your breath hitched as they slipped beneath the lace.

“Bullshit,” he laughed but there was a hint of uncertainty in the sound. “Just come home and talk about this before you make any rash decisions. I know I have been busy with work lately-"

“More like busy with Laura.” The air that hissed between your teeth could have been mistaken for anger but it was entirely from the devilish look in Daniel’s eyes as he bit the soft skin along your inner thigh.

“Laura’s my assistant.”

The laugh turned to a gasp as Daniel pushed the lace aside and ran his tongue through your folds, his eyes rolling up to watch your reaction, the phone falling from your hand as you reached for his hair.  You tugged the strands as his tongue circled your clit and you couldn’t stop the moan from escaping as you arched your back at the growing pleasure.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that baby,” you begged shamelessly and he chuckled as he felt your walls flutter around the fingers he curled into your cunt. “God, Daniel, you’re so perfect.”

A round of expletives filled the air as James heard a real orgasm take over your body but they fell silent as he realised why the words seemed so familiar. You weren’t just accusing him of fucking Laura, you knew. And you were using his best friend to show him.

“Some friend you are, sack of shit,” James growled as you whimpered with the aftershocks of the orgasm.

“Some husband you were,” Daniel snickered as he tore your panties off and climbed up your body to kiss you, sharing the taste of your pleasure on his tongue before he picked up the phone. “You lost the best thing you had, mate. I won’t make the same mistake you did.”

Daniel ended the call stared down at you in wonder as a slow smile started to spread across his face. “I don’t think he will be calling back.”

It may have been the high of the orgasm, or it could have been the knowledge that after a year of enduring the decaying marriage, but you were free - either way, you were giddy with joy as you wrapped your legs around Daniel’s hips and pulled him closer. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” you giggled as you hooked your fingers into his boxers and pushed them over his hips. 

“He had to know who you belong to now, he had his chance.” His voice was pure decadence in your ear as he ran the tip of his cock through your folds before stretching you wide as he thrust forward and stilled. He gave you a moment to adjust to his size and brushed a gentle kiss across your lips before captivating you with his golden brown eyes. “Still want to know what I think you are?”

Your fingers ran softly down his back, feeling each bump on his spine right down to the twin dimples at the base. “Tell me,” you whispered as your hands grasped the firm muscles of his ass, your nails digging in to spur him into moving.

“Mine.”

Melbourne Grand Prix - Race Day The screams of Daniel’s home crowd were intoxicating and you couldn’t help cupping your hands around your mouth and joining in as he parked front and centre of the pitlane having won his home race. Climbing out of the car, stood atop the halo and threw his fists in the air before tearing his helmet off and holding it up too, tapping his finger on the large number 3.

You couldn’t help but notice how he still favoured his right foot after he jumped off the car and rushed towards his team, grappling them into strong hugs that probably crushed the air out of their lungs - not that they cared as they ran on adrenaline after the race.

“Wow, Daniel, what a race! You were absolutely flying!” the interviewer praised after he took his microphone and joined her in front of the Sky Sports camera. “Looking at some of those high speed corners, it looked like you were fighting to keep the race line.”

“I couldn’t brake hard if I tried,” he laughed and combed his sweaty hair back through his fingers. “Got a fresh tattoo and it’s still a little tender.”

“On your foot?” Naomi asked as she pointed to his Red Bull boot. 

“Yeah, glad it wasn’t on my throttle one or I don’t think I’d be up here,” he joked.

“I’m certain I am asking on behalf of everyone when I say, can we see it?” A cheer from the crowd confirmed her statement and your fingers gripped the metal barrier as goosebumps broke over your skin.

“No way,” you mumbled under your breath as you shook your head to get rid of the ridiculous thought you had.

“Sure, I’ll need this off for my shoey anyway,” he said as he pulled the boot off along with his sock. Turning around, he bent his knee so the sole of his foot could be seen and looked over his shoulder, grinning as he found you at the barrier with his team. 

“Aww, look at that, it’s adorable,” Naomi gushed as she saw the basic outline of a kangaroo on the sole of his foot. “What a way to pay homage to your nation!”

You bit your lip from smiling too hard when he started to laugh as she completely misunderstood what the picture meant. “Of course!” 

He excused himself quickly and hopped towards you, not wanting to get the days old tattoo dirty on the ground. 

“You’re actually insane,” you gasped as you slapped his chest playfully, still in disbelief that he had the word Roo tattooed on his foot beneath the picture. 

He leaned in closer so he could talk without fear of being overheard and you inhaled the purely masculine scent of him enveloping you as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “It was your idea, and if you didn’t sleep so much you would have been awake to come and get it done with me.”

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face as his hot hands came to rest on top of yours. “I must admit, I’m a little disappointed that it isn’t my full name.”

“Do you know how ticklish that was? I would have wet myself trying to get your whole name.”

You smirked at him, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening with his growing smile. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Does anyone have a marker pen?” Daniel asked loudly and about half a dozen were thrust his way in an instant. 

“What are you doing?” you asked as you took a step back but the crowd was so tightly packed there was nowhere to go.

“Foot,” he said as he tapped the barrier, “up. It’s not a tattoo…yet.”

“You’re insane,” you laughed as you shook your head but instead he dropped to his knees and caught your ankle under the barrier.

“And you’re mine, I just need to…stop wriggling,” he complained as he pulled your shoe off and bit the cap off the marker before inking your sole. Twisting your foot about you saw his driver number covering the skin and bit your lip at the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he flipped the pen in his hand. “There, that’s better.”

“Is it?” you joked as you slipped your shoe back on. “I would have said spectacular.”

You were always surprised that his smile could somehow brighten, even when it seemed like it couldn’t possibly grow any more. But his smile grew as stepped closer and his hand reached for the back of your neck, pulling you to meet him as much as the barrier allowed.

“Spectacular?” he echoed before crushing his lips to yours until you were breathless and forgot where you were. “Yeah, that’s more like it.”

Daniel's Road Trip Playlist: Cruise - Florida Georgia Line Watermelon Crawl - Tracy Byrd Your Man - Josh Turner You Make It Easy - Jason Aldean Right Now the Best - Zach Bryan Over For You - Morgan Evans Live Like You Were Dying - Tim McGraw Die A Happy Man - Thomas Rhett Butterflies - Kacey Musgraves

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this hurt me.

august

─── august slipped away into a moment in time... 'cause it was never mine

daniel ricciardo x fem!reader warnings; just sad. 17.8 k words

Everything with Daniel came easy. It came naturally, beautifully, and all at once. It was a good thing.

You met him in August, under the scorching summer sun and bottomless margaritas. Between glasses of mango and lime, you bumped into him. He smiled, you smiled too, and the rest wrote itself. You were drunk– a little too drunk for three in the afternoon, but what was summer for? You stumbled on your feet,  toes slipping through the straps of your flimsy shoes as you staggered for your own balance. And in a failed attempt to keep yourself upright, you reached out for a chair but instead found your fingers gripping onto the white linen of his shirt. His hands were quick to find their place on your torso, like it was always meant to be there, like he’d done this a million times before. Daniel helped you find your balance, knees bent so that he’s at your eye level. His smile was sobering, knocking the air right out of your lungs. Thank you was caught in your throat, even if your lips were parted to give them way. But you were rendered speechless. 

“You alright?” He asked, the warmth of his hands seeping through the thin material of your sundress. 

“Y-yeah.” You finally managed, putting your weight back onto your feet. “I’m alright.” 

“Good. I’m Daniel, by the way.” 

He let you go, and you missed him. He held his hand out of you to shake, one you gladly take as you tell him your name. He repeated with a smile. You were the first to pull your hand from his. “Could I buy you a drink? As a thank you, for saving me?”

He obliged. And after another strawberry– or was it watermelon? You couldn’t distinguish the details by then. All you could remember is that Daniel sat at the bar with you and  laughed at jokes you’re sure made no sense. You have a vague memory of the party ending, of having to bid adieu even if you weren’t quite ready to say goodbye to your new friend. But that’s when your memory goes spotty and the next thing you know you’re waking up in yesterday’s clothes with a pounding in your head. The sun beckons a new day, your last day in Mykonos begs you to fight through your hangover to enjoy your last twenty-something hours in paradise. So you do. You rinsed all your mistakes under the cool water, flashes of honey brown eyes and a smile so wide it hurt your cheeks thinking about it. 

Two texts sat waiting for you when you stepped out of the shower. 

Unknown   9:19 AM Hey, it’s Daniel.  Care to join me for breakfast? 

You weren’t sure when you had given him your number, but you silently thanked your drunk-self for doing something sober-you could never muster the courage to do. By then, your friends had already gone on their final adventure, leaving you to recover in the hotel room. You had no plans for your last day, so you replied with a quick sure, and got ready. 

Daniel is already sitting at the table when you make it down. He’s seated at the far corner of the hotel restaurant, nursing a cup of coffee as he read something on his phone. The nerves rattled your chest with every step you take, hoping silently that he would look up at you so you wouldn’t have to awkwardly announce your presence. And he did, setting his cup and phone down the closer you got. Hey you he says softly, standing from his chair to greet you with a hug. 

He was warm, smelled of rain in the spring, of the happy earth after a downpour. He smelled like a backyard of freshly watered flowers, of home and comfort. You tried not to let yourself drown in it, but you know it would be something you’ll be chasing for the rest of your days. 

You sat across from him, allowing small talk of the weather to unravel into a two hour conversation. You talked about work, about your best friend’s bachelorette party– the reason you were in Mykonos in the first place. You told him about your hopes and dreams, the silly ones and the serious ones. And he spoke of the world, of the places he’s traveled, the people he’s met. He made life sound so exciting, He speaks of life so happily, you were almost envious of him. His eyes glistened with every word, every laugh, every ounce of hope you could ever wish for yourself. 

“So when do you leave?” Daniel asked, sipping on his water. 

You blew out a sigh, “Tomorrow morning.”

It was the first time you saw him frown. A deep frown that had his lips curved down and brows furrowed. That’s too soon he complained. It was. It was far too soon, but you didn’t have the heart to admit it outloud. So you nodded, a soft hum buzzing past your closed lips as you brought your hot tea up to your mouth. 

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” You shook your head. “Would you let me take up your time then?” 

You could feel your cheeks turn red, heat rising to the tips of your ears. Daniel smiled, eyes wide and bright like they knew what your answer was going to be. How could you deny him? 

Daniel didn’t have much of a plan, but it didn’t matter. You enjoyed his company, you enjoyed the laughter and the way he looked at you. You walked the streets, played tourist with him. You walked in and out of shops, convincing each other you needed this little knickknack and that tacky magnet. And by the end of it, you had handfuls of cheesy souvenirs to remember the day by. 

The last stop was the gift shop in the hotel lobby. You followed each other up and down the aisles of the little store, past overpriced snacks and toiletries. Sneaky glances and smiles after catching the other, you and Daniel play cat and mouse throughout the store till you part ways. You found yourself spinning the display of touristy jewelry. Leather straps, tarnishable chains, with beachy charms attached. Flowers, a turtle, even a single wave. You stole a glance at Daniel who looked up at the shirt selections, flipping through the sizes in search of his own. A bit of sadness settled in your chest as you came to realize that the end of your day– of your time– with Daniel was coming slow & torturous. You ached at the thought, biting on the inside of your cheek as you crouch down to get a better view of the adjustable bracelets. 

You met him at the register with an exchange of sad smiles. You paid for your stuff, he paid for his. And as you stepped out of the  gift shop, your heart lacked a heaviness you had been expecting. The sadness was there, but no dread. You stopped with a soft stomp, turning on your heel to look up at Daniel. He stared down at you with a certain kind of softness, the smile maybe a bit dampened by the incoming goodbyes that you were yet to exchange, but you had an inkling that it wouldn’t be the last time you were going to see him. 

“Thank you for today,” You said softly, “I had a lot of fun.” 

“Me too.” 

Silence. Shifty feet. An unwillingness to say farewell. 

You looked down at your small gift bag, pushing around the crumpled receipts to pull out a bracelet. It had black, adjustable straps, looped through dark blue beads. You held it out to him, “For you. Something to remember…” 

Remember what? You couldn’t say. But Daniel understood. He took it, ripped apart the plastic and slipped it on. He shook it on his wrist, smiling up at you like a kid who did something right. Then he was fishing his bags until he pulled out his own little gift to you. He held it out in his palm, a silver keychain with a photo of the windmills in the middle of it, uttering the same words you had moments before. Something to remember. You took it with a soft thank you, holding it tight in your fist. 

This was it, the impending goodbye, the inevitable end to it all. Neither of you wanted to say it, to end the chapter– close the book. 

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” He asked hopefully, the grip on his bags suddenly tighter. 

You smiled. “I’ll visit you in Monaco.” 

“I’ll visit you in London.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

One breath. Inhale. Exhale. 

You threw your arms around him, savored the way his own found solace around your middle. You tried to memorize the way it felt to be in his arms, the smell of the fresh rain– the feeling of home. You’d known the man for twenty-four hours and yet, all this came easy. Melting into him, picturing the rain, promises of flying country to country, it all came so easy. 

His hands rubbed your sides as you pulled away from him. Safe travels, doll. 

You too Danny. 

Maybe walking away wasn’t the easiest thing, to turn your back on him while silently wishing he would stop you. You wished you lived in a movie where the guy impeded your travel plans. Because truth be told, if Daniel asked you to stay a little longer, you might’ve done it. But you made it to the elevator all by yourself, turned to catch a final glimpse of Daniel, who stood in the same place you left him. He lifted his hand, waved one more time before the doors shut. You huffed a sigh, tried to turn your focus to repacking your luggage. Your friends were all back in the room, pestering you on your whereabouts. But you smiled, shrugged your shoulders as you let the day behind you play in the back of your mind.

You finished packing most of your things by ten that evening, promptly falling asleep as the exhaustion from walking all day swallowed you whole. Your dreams were filled with fantasies of a boy with curly hair and honey brown eyes, and his warmth engulfing you. It was pleasant, comforting, homey.

And in the middle of all that good, your eyes sprung open. You had a sudden burst of energy, unable to fall back asleep even if your flight wasn’t for another five hours. You tossed and turned, trying to find a sweet spot that would allow you to slip back into a slumber. But to no avail, it’s three-thirty and there was no hope in falling asleep. You sighed, sitting up and reaching over to grab your phone off the nightstand. Your phone pinged. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Daniel   3:32 AM Are you awake? Please say you’re awake

You smiled, biting down on your bottom lip. 

You   3:33 AM I’m awake.

Daniel   3:33 AM Good. Meet in the lobby. PJs mandatory. 

You’re giddy, slipping out of bed as quickly and quietly as you can. You grabbed your room key and cellphone, slipped on your slippers, before taking the elevator. The doors slid open, revealing Daniel standing in the same place you left him. His smile was contagious, making your cheeks hurt as you took quick steps over to him. He held his hand out, palm facing up as he mocked a bow while whispering a soft m’lady.

You grinned, taking his hand and letting him whisk you away. You walked the length of the hotel beach, up and down, chasing your shadows given by the warm lamps that illuminate your path. Your toes dug into the wet sand, leaving an imprint of yourself with every step. You bumped shoulders with Daniel, exchanged sleepy smiles, all too happy to bask in the other’s company for a moment longer. Finally, Daniel pulled you down on the sand by him, higher up the property, but still close enough to the threat of the tide. The stars glimmered, twinkled down at you. 

“Why were you up?” You asked, turning to look at him. You traced the arch of his nose as he stared up at the sky, traced the curls that lay on his forehead. Daniel blew out a breath through puckered lips, shrugging. 

“Why were you?” 

The question rested in the air above them, leaving the other to assume the answer. Another comfortable silence, accompanied by the ocean coming and receding. Fingers unknowingly inch closer and closer, begging to be laced between each other. But they danced on the sand, pinkies brushing but never linking. 

It’s Daniel’s turn to look at you. His turn to trace the curve of your lips, the curl of your lashes, to commit you to memory. “I want to see you again.” 

You smiled, coughed a laugh. “I leave in a couple hours Daniel.” 

“Yeah I know. But… we could meet again.” 

You turned your head. You searched for the joke, for the punchline, the goofy smile followed by light-hearted laughter. But all Daniel did was smile. Lips touching, dimples deep. His eyes read with so much hope, it sent your heart into a frenzy. 

“We could.” 

He grinned. “We could.” 

You nodded, teeth digging into your bottom lip to hide the dopey smile that threatened to peek through. 

There weren’t many words exchanged for the remainder of the hour. You memorized the placement of the stars in the night sky, the sound of the tide rolling to and fro. You remembered the night exactly as it was: just you, Daniel, and the world quietly watching. 

The fifth hour rolled around, forcing you on your feet. Your hands found themselves in Daniel’s, giggling as you tried to pull him up onto his feet with you. You brushed away the sand, shook out your hair. You looked up at Daniel as he did the same, smiling over at him when he looked at you. The walk back to the lobby was slow, filled with small talk about the weather and travel plans. He rode the elevator up to your floor, walked you to your door, just as a gentleman does. He tucks your hair back, chuckles softly. 

“I’ll text you.” 

“And I’ll respond.” 

He smiled, taking a step backwards, “I’ll see you soon.”

Another step back, and another, and another until he’s at the end of the hall and waving at you. You stood at your door, watching him leave, waving back before he turned the corner and disappeared. You tapped your key against the door, unlocking it and shut it softly. With your back pressed against the hardwood, you exhaled softly. Head in your hands and a hole in your chest in the shape of Daniel. You felt crazy, maybe a little delirious. Another huff, another hopeful sigh as you pushed yourself off the door and got ready to fly home.

The morning flew past you. Between security lines and scrambling to buy some coffee, you barely had a moment to breathe. And when you finally did find the time, all you could think of was Daniel. Of his laughter, the smell of his cologne, the sweet promise to see each other soon. You slipped your phone out of your pocket, a bit disappointed at the lack of a text. But it was half-past seven in the morning, the man must’ve been asleep… right?

You boarded the plane, buckled yourself into your seat minutes before eight. Still not a single text from the Australian. Your fingers hovered above your keyboard, thumbs shaking as you searched for the words to say to him. 

You   7:56 AM Don’t forget about me.

And after four hours, when the plane touched down in Heathrow, you took your phone off airplane mode. Notifications come rolling through, emails from work, a missed call from mom, and one text from the man himself. 

Daniel   10:05 AM Never

You learned how much Daniel loved Monza in September. He found victory in his despair there, saw the triumphs and falls of so many racers before him. Daniel loved Monza. 

Daniel   11:03 AM The energy is great, you should’ve come out. 

The invite was on the table, he had asked you two weeks ago if it was something you’d be interested in attending. You should’ve said yes– any sane person would’ve. But you couldn’t, as much as you wanted to see him again, to be able to talk to him in person and just be with him, you couldn’t say yes. You’d never be able to explain it, other than the fact that you were shy, and holding onto a bit of your Mykonos fantasy. You liked living in a world where your friendship was only something between you and Daniel. You liked the bit of distance, found comfortability in it. At least for now. 

So you opted to keep up with him through text and the telly. You exchanged messages until he had to set his phone down, then watched each session, each day. Practice. Qualifying. Race Day.

You   12:01 PM Good luck. I’ll be here for the debrief.

The debrief was a series of texts, mostly from Daniel. It’s every broken hope, every could’ve, should’ve, would’ve that ever crossed his mind. It was you trying to console a broken spirit, to reignite something in him that was already dead. He took your words with grace every time, even if you both knew he didn’t believe a single letter of it. 

You   12:02 PM You’re gonna do great.

Daniel   12:04 PM It’s gonna be great.

You smiled at the optimism, at least you hoped that’s what it was. You sat back on race day, watched every second of coverage– from the driver’s parade to the pre-race talk. You saw glimpses of Daniel, of the beloved honey badger. And oh how everyone loved Daniel. Everyone rooted for Daniel, to bring glory to a gloriless team like he had just one year prior. Oh how everyone believed in Daniel too, even if he didn’t quite believe in himself. 

Daniel loved Monza, even if  Monza didn’t love him back. 

It was a painful watch, the final lap of the race was coming into view… and then his car sprung a leak. And that was it, that was the end. Goodbye to the glory, goodbye to the hope. 

You didn’t expect to hear from him that night, so it was to your surprise when your phone pinged as his name appeared on your screen. You set your little late-night snack aside, leaning back into the couch as you open the message.

Daniel   9:00 PM Wish you came anyways. Would’ve made the weekend worth its while

You smiled. 

You   9:01 PM Next time. Promise. 

Daniel   9:03 PM Next time &lt;3

Daniel facetimed you for the first time in October. It caught you off guard. You had been exchanging texts with him since you had seen him last, an occasional voice note from you or him, but it was never anything more than that. 

You were cooking dinner. Your hair was up in a disarray, looped carelessly through an elastic in hopes to cool your body down from the heat in your kitchen. You had marinara sauce on the collar of your old high school t-shirt, and you looked less than flattering in the maroon basketball shorts from an ex-boyfriend long long ago. But he was calling, his name and face occupying your screen. He was interrupting a video you were watching because he was calling. 

You swiped your phone across the screen, holding it up to give a view of your shoulders to the top of your head. Daniel smiled, wet curls stuck to his forehead. He was clad in black hoodie, airpods tucked into his ears. You hadn’t seen him so happy post-race, the string of bad results and over all bad luck had been wearing him down. You knew it, he knew it, hell the whole world knew it. But here he was, smiling like he had won the whole damn thing. 

He said your name like it tasted sweet, dripping like honey from his lips. “Did you watch?” 

You propped your phone against the towel holder, shaking your head as you do. “No, I was working on a project. I meant to watch the highlights while I ate dinner.” 

“What are you cooking?” 

“Pasta.” You felt your cheeks heat up. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“This is the third night in a row.” 

“I just need something quick. Pasta’s always quick!” You defended. 

He rolled his eyes playfully, biting back a smile. You saw it in the way his cheeks began to round, lips pursed. “Well hurry up. I’ll be your highlight reel for dinner.” 

True to his word, Daniel gave you the brief play-by-play of his race in Singapore, the whopping fifth-place finish– best finish he’s had all year.  You listened intently, shoveling penne pasta and red sauce into your mouth. You listened and listened, even if he repeated the same moment over and over, with the same excitement, same enthusiasm like he was back in the moment. There was a twinkle in his eyes, the slight inflection in his tone as the words spilled from his mouth. It made your heart soar for him, it made you happy to see him. 

But then someone flipped a switch, the mood suddenly dampened as his eyes trailed off camera and his smile slowly began to fade. You pushed your empty bowl aside, pulling your phone closer to you. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

He sighed, “I just wish it was always like this, you know? Miss feeling this… this good after a race. God and it’s almost ridiculous how happy I am for P5. P-fucking-5. But it feels like I’m on the podium. I just wish I had felt this all year.” 

You didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? You couldn’t exactly relate or empathize, and you know that the last thing he needed was your sympathy. He’d been getting sympathy since he had lost his seat, and the last thing he needed was to hear it from you. So you hum, pulling his gaze back to you. 

“I’m proud of you.” 

“You say that all that time.” He scrunched his nose, a teasing expression almost as if he didn't believe you. .

“Maybe because it’s true.” You snarked back, biting back a smile.

A brief pause. You watched his honey brown eyes dart around the screen, staring at you. At every freckle and beauty mark, surely the smeared mascara under your eyes or the faded color that stained your lips. But he wore a smile, wore a bit of adoration and… god you couldn’t identify what that ‘and’ was, but it was nice. 

“Thanks.” 

He kept you company for the rest of the evening, even sat on the phone staring at your bedroom ceiling while you showered and got ready for bed. And when you finally rolled into your duvet, hair brushed and skincare, Daniel was snoring softly on the phone. It was four in the morning in Singapore, the weekend had finally worn him down. You only indulged in the serenity for a moment, before whispering a quick goodnight Daniel and hanging up. 

He called again when he got to Japan, showed you the tiny hotel room he had in Tokyo, gave you a list of places he and Lando planned to visit. 

He called before he flew out to L.A. When he landed. When he traveled to and from and across the States until COTA weekend came around. 

Daniel never stopped calling, and you never hesitated to answer. 

Daniel gave you a nickname in November. You argued about it over the phone, while you packed your work bag for the following Monday. You had him propped up on your nightstand, phone leant up against your lamp. He laughed at your reaction, the grimace on your face as he called you again.

“Oh come on toots, I think it’s cute.” You shook your head, “Why not?”

“I’m not toots Daniel.” You slipped your new pens into the little pocket in your purse, “Look at me, do I look like a toots?”

He laughed. It’s the kind of laughter that’s from deep in his belly, the kind that fades out a bit with every syllable. He fell back into his bed, sinking into his gray pillow case as he held his phone over his head. He watched you pack the rest of your bag before slipping into bed yourself. It was the first time since meeting him that you were in the same time zone. He was back in Monaco, and you in London where you had always been. There were only two races left in the season. Two weekends left of Daniel in the car.

He was calling more often than not. And maybe you could blame the short break before Brazil and Abu Dhabi, but you knew Daniel a little more than that. You didn’t make a comment about it though, just accepted the opportunity to talk to him more. 

You turn in your bed, setting Daniel up against the pillow by you. It was a good kind of quiet, a comfortable silence. The kind that brings about a certain… domesticity to the feel of your home, even if he was just on your phone. You liked having him there, even if really wasn’t there. 

“How ya feeling?” You asked softly, pulling the covers under your chin. 

He huffed a breath, “It just doesn’t feel quite real, if I’m being honest. My brain knows it’s happening but my heart… I don’t know. It’s cheesy. It’s weird.” You hummed in acknowledgement, shifting a bit in your place. “But it’ll be good. It’ll be fine.”

“It will. It will. You will.” 

He smiled, nodded. “But you know what’ll make it better?” You raised your brow, a soft hm buzzing from behind your lips. He grinned cheekily, “If you came and watched me in Abu Dhabi, toots.” 

Your heart swelled even if you scowled. Daniel hadn’t bothered to invite you to a race since Monza, which is fine. You were busy with work, and there really wasn’t a break long enough for Daniel to get an invite together for you. And plus, you had already declined him once. 

“My family is coming out, close friends too. But the entourage wouldn't be complete if I didn’t have you in the garage.” 

You pulled the blanket over your face to hide the way it turned red. And much to your surprise, he didn’t tease. No playful comments or layers of compliments to make your cheeks tinge red. No knowing laughter, or gentle chuckle. Just soft, patient breathing, waiting quietly for your answer. Your heart, however, was beating out of your chest. It was so loud you could hear it in your head. It echoed, bounced off the curve of your skull. You tried to steady your breathing, tried to ease the uneasiness that resides in your chest. It was the nerves, the threat– a mere opportunity to make all this real. 

Three months and some days had passed since you met Daniel. Three months and some days had passed since you said goodbye. Three months and some days spent dreaming of the smell of fresh rain, warm hugs, and honey brown eyes. Three months and some days. 

“Absolutely no pressure. But it would mean the world to me if you did.” 

Seeing Daniel in person would mean that you are more to him than some girl on the phone. It would mean that all this was more than the twenty or thirty something hours together in Mykonos three months ago. Flying out to Abu Dhabi would mean the world to him, and a galaxy to you. 

You pulled the covers off your face just in time to see Daniel run his fingers through his frizzy curls. He works his fingers over his head, stuffing it between him and the pillow behind him. The muscles in his arms bulge, stretch the sleeve of his athletic t shirt. You wondered if your cheeks got redder. His eyes move off screen, humming a soft tune that barely makes the airwaves to you, but you can hear it just under his shuffling about. He pulls up the covers, you see the edge of his gray sheet come into view. You watched for a few seconds more, watched him settle into his space, snuggled under the covers, before his eyes come back up to meet your gaze. 

He smiled. You smiled. It was nice. It was good. 

“So… when do I fly out?” 

Abu Dhabi was a spectacle, buzzing with energy for the final race of the season. It was impossible to escape that kind of excitement, even outside of the paddock. You heard the buzz, the excitement of who was going to win the race, even if the winner was already spoken for. You enjoyed the optimism, the smiling faces, the feeling of being there in that moment. It was a last for Daniel for the foreseeable future. You were privy to the toll the last couple of years have been on him, the stress, the sadness, the disappointment at the results he continued to produce. But the end was finally here, his final race in orange before a much needed break. It was sad, but it was good.

The hotel was swarmed with fans, waiting for the opportunity to meet their favorite driver. There were heads of bright orange and red, contrasting against the black and navy. The entrance was crowded with people, it was damn near impossible to get through and check in. But you managed with the help of a young busboy, who complained and pushed through a group of crazed fans. It wasn’t long from there, and soon you were flopping onto the queen bed of your hotel room with a loud sigh. Nearly seven hours on the plane had wiped you out, and if it weren’t for the fact you promised to meet Daniel, you would’ve fallen asleep right there. 

But alas, you forced yourself out of bed, stood in the hot shower to wash away the dirty air. You were cleaner, and in turn much more nervous. Have you scrubbed enough? Did the scent of your shampoo stick? Oh god how did you have enough time to do your hair? Will it dry in time? 

You couldn’t stomach finding out the answer. 

You pocketed air in your cheeks as you paced to and from the mirror to your unzipped luggage. You had overpacked– of course you did– and had about half the items strewn across the floor as you tried and failed to find an outfit worth meeting Daniel in again. A dress seemed a bit much and somehow every single pair of jeans you packed squeezed on your stomach a little more than you’d like. You huffed after the fourth outfit, soured mood as you stepped into sweat shorts and an old sweatshirt from college. You were meant to meet Daniel in less than an hour and you were stuck at square one: your hair a ratty mess, make-up strewn across the bathroom sink (untouched), and your luggage exploding with clothes you suddenly hated.

You stood, stared at yourself in the mirror as you gripped on your hairbrush, running it through tangles and an otherwise unruly mess. You dragged and pulled until your hair was smooth. But even then it wasn’t smooth enough, you just didn’t have it in you to care. Your makeup was dragged across your face. You went through the motions, all muscle memory and not a thought about the colors and products. And even at the end of all that, after getting yourself to look less haggard and have your hair somewhat presentable, you still couldn’t stand to look at the mess you’ve made in your room. 

You went back over your options, moving through the motions of retrying combinations, mixing and matching, and then putting them away when you concluded you didn’t like the choice. By the end of the hour, you had gotten your room semi-presentable but were still stuck in your loungewear. 

And then there’s a knock. 

You scratched the back of your head, a little more nervous and a little more irritated. A soft whine escapes you as you stomped your way to the front door. You yanked it open without even bothering to look through the peephole, mind far from any clue as to who it might even be. 

But who else could it be?

Daniel smiled with his hands stuffed into his pockets, Enchante hoodie hanging loosely on his shoulders. His curls sit atop his head, messy, flopped over his forehead. His stubble has grown, or maybe it just appears thicker in person. But he stood there, smiling in the hallway, lips parted and ready to greet you if you had given him a chance. 

You jumped into his arms like you belonged there, like a magnet pulled to metal. You held on for dear life, arms wrapped tightly as you stuffed your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled just as you remembered– smelled just like home. Slowly, one arm finds its rightful place around your torso while the other comes up so that his free hand could hold your head securely against him. His hold is firm as he lifts you off your feet, squeezes you so nicely you never wanted him to stop. You could’ve stood in that hallway like that forever, if it was ever an option. 

Daniel inhaled deeply. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I missed you more.” Your voice seeped into his skin– hot, meaningful, and everything else left in you to give. 

He put you down, but you didn’t want him to. His hands come up to hold your face in his hands while his eyes scanned every bit of you. No words, just a gentle hold. You stood there, head heavy in his hands as you stared right back up at him. His tan had faded a bit, his hair much more kempt than you remember. And his hands, oh his hands are rough, loved so well by the life he’s led and yet they move with so much care, so much tenderness. The dim hallway light reflected off his wrist, off blue beads tied together by a black straps. Your heart jumped, warmed at the bracelet you bought him all those months ago around his wrist.

“Looking good toots.” 

He laughed loudly as your face contorted into a grimace. Your hands come up to his chest to shove him off, a blow he takes with a grin as he takes a step back. And in succession, his slender fingers wrap around your wrist to pull you back into him. 

“I don’t like that nickname.” You swatted his chest, palm and the back of your hand colliding with the soft material of his hoodie, over and over until he’s holding your wrist still while muttering I’m kidding over and over.

You rolled your eyes as you removed yourself from his hold. You invited him into your room, taking quick steps to shut your open luggage before he had a chance to see the carnage of it all. Daniel closed the door behind him for you before he followed your lead into the small hotel room. He plopped himself onto your bed, kicking off his shoes before pushing himself further up. He watched as you folded up the bit of clothes that you had left out sitting on top of your closed luggage before sitting across from him. You smiled, he smiled. Just how it’s always been. 

Things sort of unraveled from there. Plans were canceled, phones tossed aside– nothing really mattered anymore. He asked about your flight, you asked about his. He asked about your work, you asked about his. It was back and forth, back and forth, jumping from one bit to the next until three hours had rolled by and Daniel had taken notice. By then you rolled onto your back, hair handing off the bed and legs lounging on top of Danny’s. He’s leant up against the headboard, arms crossed across his middle as he hum contentedly. You looked over at him, reaching over to squeeze his arm. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” 

His hand removed itself from underneath his arm, placing it over yours. “Thank you for coming.” 

November in Abu Dhabi was not as hot as you expected it to be. For once you were grateful for over packing because otherwise you would’ve been miserable and slightly embarrassed by the initial four outfits you deemed as enough for the trip.

You met Daniel’s family on Friday. They were just finishing breakfast when you walked up to the McLaren building. Daniel was quick to stand on his feet, hand resting on the small of your back as he gestured to each family member with his free hand. You were introduced as a friend, shook the hands of his relatives with a tight smile as you went down the line. They were sweet, offered to sit with you while you ate breakfast. But you were quick to decline, having already eaten before getting to the paddock. 

There were a few familiar faces amongst Daniel’s friends, if your drunken memory serves you correctly. You were greeted with enthusiastic hellos and semi-awkward side hugs. You stood with them in the garage, arms crossed tightly around yourself as you stood around waiting for the man himself. The garage was chaotic, multiple bodies moving too and from and all at once, trying to ready for the two practice sessions of the day. Your headphones were tuned to the live broadcast, so you spent the next fifteen or so minutes of commentary about Red Bull this and Ferrari that, Max this, Charles that. But then you hear it. Here comes the Honey Badger, about to hop into the car for the first Practice session of his last weekend with McLaren– his last weekend in Formula 1. 

Your head turned to look up at the screen just in time to see Daniel smiling at the camera, tuning out the conversation about Daniel between commentators. He waved into the lens before turning to Michael. They exchange a few words, the camera just zooming in before switching back to the Ferrari garage. You avert your gaze back to the present, the bodies clearing to make way for Daniel to climb into his car. The loved driver walks down the line of his friends, exchanging fistbumps and a bit of laughter before finally standing up before you. 

You could feel the stares, the careful watching to see what you two were about to exchange? A couple of light hearted jokes? A fistbump? Maybe even a hug?

You tried to ignore it, looking up at him with a smile you hoped resembles the bit of faith you had in him. “Have fun out there.” Your hands fiddled with each other, nervous nails picked at the skin of your cuticles. 

“Thanks. I’ll see you for the debrief?” 

You blew out a breath, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you.” 

You didn’t see him until after the round of press after both practice sessions, but of course it was only for a fleeting moment. He had his arm wrapped around your shoulders to give you a gentle squeeze as he asked about you– always you. And then, with much reluctance, he allowed you to return to the hotel while he stayed back for another briefing. 

Quali day proved to be even more energetic than the last. People moved faster, time ticked louder, and the cars pushed and pushed. You enjoyed the smell of burnt rubber, of the adrenaline that ran through the track. You held your breath for most of the day, eyes trained on the times put up, jaw clenched as Daniel clawed his way to Q3. The air in the McLaren garage is light, happy, hopeful, as the boys stroll back into the garage. Rough pats to the back and loud words of encouragement roll through. Daniel was followed by a crowd of people. They all spoke atop each other, trying to get the last word in and trying to get a response from the driver before he disappeared. But he was already gone the moment he laid eyes on you. He waved the people away. Later, later he mumbled, offering them a smile before speeding up the pace and leaving the people to wait on later. You stood when Daniel approached, allowing him to wrap one arm around you in a quick squeeze. 

“Congratulations Danny,” You looked up at him, smiling widely as you leaned into his hold. 

“Thanks sugar.” There was a pause, allowing the nickname to sink in before he scrunched up his nose and shook his head. You burst out in soft giggles and he grinned widely. “Somehow that’s worse than toots.” 

“Definitely worse.” 

Race day was exhilarating. It was a rush, even if you were only sitting in the garage. You had your legs crossed over each other, muscles tense the entire time. You couldn’t relax, not while you held out for a bit of hope in Daniel’s race. Maybe no one expected much from him these days, but you expected nothing short of greatness. You sat in your chair, silently praying that Daniel would find that sweet release, the sweetest satisfaction in that car. You gripped the lanyard of your pass tightly, leant forward towards the screens as if it would make him move faster. You spoke to him, even if he couldn’t hear you through the turns of the circuit. 

And then it happened. The checkered flag was waved, the race had been won, the champion continued his reign. The night saw multiple ends, the night closed on the last of the honey badger in McLaren. While everyone jeered for Max, applauded for Sebastian, bid adieu to Nicky and Mick, you held your heart for Daniel. Your eyes watered as he spun the MCL36 in circles, sending smoke and his love to the crowd as they said their goodbyes. Quietly, you slipped back into the McLaren Hospitality, sat around by the door of his driver room as he got done with the last of press. You watched on the screens, like you always do, watched the laughter, the happiness, the adoration exchanged between Daniel and his comrades. All the hugs and see you soons, all the hope every single person held for him and his return. 

Daniel was a friend to everyone, beloved by everyone, and that included you. You felt a bit of pride at the thought, but maybe a bit of emptiness at the potential. Daniel was your friend, albeit your best friend. He had become your person, even if you had spent most of your time getting to know him through the screen. But that didn’t negate the fact. It didn’t change the affection you had for him, the adoration and respect you kept for Daniel in your heart. It didn’t change the fact that maybe, just maybe, you felt more for him than you’d ever admit. But that was a little secret between you and your bedroom ceiling. 

Daniel returned to you by himself. No crowds of people begging for a second of his attention, no staff reading off his agenda, not even Michael trying (and failing) to make Daniel laugh. He was all by himself, tired, disheveled, shoulders slumped and his face expressionless. You stood at one end of the room of the McLaren Hospitality and Daniel at the other. You stared at each other, unsure what was left to say after everything that happened in the hours behind him. 

And then you see it– the water brimming in his eyes, the quiver of his bottom lip. You saw the frown that curved into his lips, the way his chest puffed shakily as he drew a breath. He was stuck in his place, stuck in the sadness that had finally settled in his spirit. So you met him where he stood, arms wrapping around his frame so that he could finally, finally, let go. His hands held you close to his chest, the pads of his fingers pressing into your shoulder blades. He buried his face in your shoulder, squeezing you so tightly that you found it hard to breathe. 

“It’s really over.” 

You pulled his face from your skin to hold in your hands, pouting as your thumbs collected the sadness that spilled onto his cheeks. Left to right, up and down, you scanned his face– every freckle and wrinkle, the way his bottom lip protrudes in a pout. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s all gonna be okay. It’ll be good. Okay?”

He nodded, head shaking quickly in your grasp as his hands scramble to pull you back into him. He held you like you were going to slip away just as every single good thing in his life had this last year.  His hand comes up to the back of your neck, holding firm and warm, as he inhales deeply. “ It’ll be okay. It’ll be good.” 

It’ll be good. 

Daniel sent you flowers in December.

An arrangement of yellow and orange poppies arrived at your door two days before Christmas. They were waiting for you when you arrived from last minute shopping. You picked up the vase, cradled it in your arms as your keys jingled into the keyhole. The windmill keychain from August twinkled in the dim hallway lighting, reminded you of the day spent with your favorite person. 

You set the flowers down on the counter, all other belongings forgotten at your feet. You picked at the small envelope that sat in the middle of the vibrant flowers. Inside, a note– typed, but the sign off was enough to tell you who had sent them. 

𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝙿𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚢. 

-𝟹

Your heart swelled. Swelled so big you were sure it was going to burst underneath you. You bite down on your bottom lip, hard, trying to fight the awe-struck– no, lovestruck, smile that creeped onto your face. You tried to swallow those feelings down, just as you had for months now. Forget the butterflies and what they symbolize, or the way you jumped at the sound of your phone pinging or ringing. Forget, forget, forget.

Except that you can’t forget. You can’t forget or ignore or pretend like you haven’t fallen for this… this… for him. It’s not doable, and you had been fooling yourself thinking that if you pretended for long enough, that those feelings would cease to exist. Instead they festered, grew into a monster that held you tightly. In between blue and gray text bubbles, after hour long facetime calls, you found yourself falling for him. It was hard to admit to yourself because you felt silly at the notion that you could feel that way for someone you talked to on the phone. But it wasn’t silly, it was so fucking real. You were consumed by the smell of fresh fallen rain and curly hair, consumed by chasing the feeling of him gnawing at your heart. You were all consumed by Daniel. Him, him, him. 

You took a photo of the flowers, sending it as a text. 

You   5:24 PM Poppy, huh? 

His response was almost immediate. 

Daniel   5:24 PM You like it? 

You smiled. Smiled so wide your face ached. Daniel was halfway around the world. Fourteen something thousand kilometers away from you. He spent Christmas in the warmth, surrounded by his family while you were bearing it in bitter cold London. Thousands and thousands in distance, and still he makes you smile like he was sitting in the room with you.

You   5:25 PM Love it. Thank you Danny 

Christmas came and went as it always does. And in the week between then and the end of the year, Daniel called you. His face occupied your phone screen, that stunning smile plastered on his face. It was ten in the morning on the 27th of December, you were in the middle of a book– one you had been putting off because of work and traveling and enjoying the reality with Daniel in it. So you were reading, but then he called and the passage was forgotten. 

He claimed he had no reason to call you, that it was just because. It made your heart do flips, stupidly and erratically beating at the notion just because. You smiled, hummed as a response as you set the book aside. You asked about his holiday, he asked about yours. And just as easily as it has been before, the conversation sprouted into hours on the phone. You had slowly retreated into your bedroom, under the covers, had Daniel propped on the pillow just like he belonged. It was space reserved for him, even if he’s never laid in your bed before. God you left so much room for him in your life, he didn’t even know the half of it. He had become part of your equation, part of every what if that came across your mind– it was truly terrifying. 

Daniel quieted around twelve for you. He was sitting back on his couch, phone resting in his palm as he held it up high enough you had a view of his face. His gaze was soft as he stared at you, smiling sweet. 

“What?” You asked softly. 

“Nothing.” 

Another pause in the conversation. A brief moment of silence with an unasked question hanging in the space between you. You almost wanted to pry, but he beat you to the punch– answered the impending what you were about to whine.

“I’m flying back to Monaco for New Years… and I was wondering if you wanted to come.”

You raised a brow. “You miss me?”

“I always do.”

Your heart screeched, cheeks ached with another smile. God you couldn’t stop fucking smiling. 

You shook your head, “Silly.” 

“Not silly. Just true. Come to Monaco. Please?”

How could you ever say no to him? How could you ever allow yourself to miss an opportunity to see Daniel again?

So on the 29th of December you flew the two something hours to Nice, took the train to Monaco and jumped straight into Daniel’s arms. He held you like it's all he ever knew, arms wrapped so tightly you’re sure you’d be stuck to him even if he let go. Your face is pressed into his sternum, his scent consuming you with a sharp inhale. Fuck, you would never get tired of this. 

December 30 was quiet– the calm before the storm. You were glued to the couch, Daniel’s hip attached to yours, while you watched movie after movie. In the first hour your legs were on top of his, then you switched the next hour. After the second movie, you were tucked into his side while his fingers twirled a lock of your hair. Round and round, a semblance to the way your mind circled him. Your thoughts ran in circles around Daniel, about what it would be like to be able to live that reality for longer than the week you were spending with him. You allowed yourself to imagine more Friday’s spent lazily with him. 

Daniel looked down at you as the credits rolled. “Thanks for coming out. I haven’t said it, and I should’ve the moment you landed.” 

You hummed, leaning into him further. He tightened his hold on you, it made you feel safe. “Anything for you.” 

Truly, anything for him. You would do it all, all Daniel had to do was ask. 

You woke up later than normal on the last day of the year. You laid in the guest bedroom of Daniel’s Monaco apartment, alone, tangled in sheets that regrettably smell just like him. The sound of glass clinking and heavy footsteps moving about the space travels into your room, muffled by the shut door. And as easily as you fall into a state of bliss at the sound, your mind rolls in daydreams about what it would be like to wake up to it over and over and over again. You were losing yourself, you knew that, but there was nothing stopping you from doing so. You free fall into the imagination of domesticity with Daniel and how easy and good it would all be. 

Three soft taps. Are you up? 

“Yeah, come in.” You sit up in bed, doing your best to comb down your bed head with the palm of your hands. Daniel poked his head through first before his body followed. You watched quietly as he made his way around the room, rolling into bed right next to you. He laid his head down against the pillow and you fought the urge to lay with him. Instead, you lean against the plush headboard and stare down at him. 

“Happy New Year's Eve,” His voice is hoarse, thick with sleep. Surely he’d just woken up.

You rubbed your eyes, smiled all the while. “Happy New Year's Eve.” 

He turned over, smiling into the fabric of his pillow case as he threw his arm over your thighs. Like it’s normal, like he’d done it before. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to get breakfast, but I think I could use another hour of sleep.” 

Your fingers twirled his curls, round and round, as you nodded. “Sleep then.” 

“Wake me in an hour? Then I promise we can go get breakfast.” 

“One hour. Gotcha.” 

Your fingers grazed his scalp, massaged his head of curls as he quickly fell back asleep. His body was limp next to yours, hot breath beating down on your skin. 

True to your words, you shook him awake an hour after he fell asleep. It’s been an hour. He groaned softly, arm tightening around your legs and pulling himself against the soft skin of your flesh. Five more minutes. You didn’t have it in you to pry, so you let him fall back asleep. Soft snores fill the space of the guest bedroom, and you sit there for another five minutes. You shook him once more, but he was a goner, lost in a deep sleep and dreams you could only wish to know. 

Slowly, gently, reluctantly, you pulled yourself from Daniel’s hold. You padded your way through his apartment, getting yourself acquainted with where things belong, in search of breakfast because while Daniel was too tired to care, you were hungry and needed food sooner rather than later. 

You cooked an omelet, made use of the last of his eggs and the veggies that were in his fridge. You could do without bacon for now– well you had to because he didn’t have it. You allowed the soft sizzle in the pan to lull your nerves to a sort of calmness you haven’t had since being here with Daniel. You tried to find a bit of clarity for yourself as you made breakfast. And right when you think you’re okay, that the daydreams and the yearning mean nothing, he’s in the room with you. 

He hadn’t said a word yet, but you knew the sound of his feet shuffling. He leaned up against the counter, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand before watching you expertly flip the cooked egg over. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I promised you breakfast.” 

You shook your head, taking a quick glance up at him with a smile. “That’s okay, Danny. Want one?” 

He nodded, moving around you as he reached for the cupboard above your head. The kitchen was large, spacious, so clearly put together for a bachelor who didn’t spend too much time there. But despite the space, you found yourself bumping into Daniel, feeling the way his fingers trailed along your back as he moved behind you. You moved in sync, bumping into each other was just part of the dance. That’s what it felt like with him, a dance to music only the two of you seem to hear. It was always a dance, of pushing and pulling, going round and round until your head spun. It was beautiful. It was good. 

You didn’t get ready until much later. The sun had just begun to touch the ocean, painting the sky shades of orange. You watched from the guest room, legs crossed while your make-up laid sprawled out on the bed. And while you swiped brush after brush, a pat of a sponge here and there, you grew to envy the ocean. How lucky it is to be kissed, to be loved so badly that the sun returns to it every day. You yearned for the same, to have such warmth sink beneath you and make you feel whole. But most of all, you yearned for Daniel. 

You felt a little ridiculous. You felt stupid, insecure, so goddamn undeserving of the way your heart ached for him. You felt crazed, your head was a mess of thoughts of curly hair and the comforting smell of rain after a drought. You felt ridiculous because Daniel seemed to consume you, and you aren’t even sure if you consumed him in the same way. That’s when the fear settled, the need to run in the opposite direction because my god, what were you doing here? 

You had to stand from your spot on the bed, make up half done and not set, to pace the room. You tried to shake off the way every nerve ending fizzled with this… you couldn’t say it. You couldn’t admit it. Because how could you? Why should you? 

Maybe you hadn’t fallen, maybe this was a misplaced infatuation. Give it a couple more days, maybe even a couple more weeks and he would be nothing more than your friend, nothing more than a person who made life a little easier. Nothing less, nothing more.

But the tears cloud your vision, your hands shook, bile was climbing up the length of your throat. You felt so fucking sick. 

You sit back down in the bad, blowing out a breath through pursed lips. Inhale, exhale. Breathe in, breathe out. You flopped onto your back, tubes and compacts of make-up clattering against each other as the bed rippled your movement. Inhale, exhale. Breathe in, breathe out. It was fine, you were fine, everything was okay. 

Right? 

You aren’t sure how managed to finish getting ready, truth be told the last hour or so were a blur. But you were ready, buckled into the front seat of his McLaren 720s, trying to pace your heart with the heavy bass song playing through the speaker. Daniel was oblivious to your sudden mental turmoil, more than excited to see his friends and celebrate the end of one of the worst years of his life. He had expressed multiple times just how excited he was to let loose, to pretend like his reality isn't real, even if it was just for a couple of hours. 

The club was bass heavy, so loud that you could hear it as Daniel’s car slowed to a stop. Valet opened the door for you, stuck his hand out to help you exit the rather low sports car. Daniel grabbed the ticket before resting his hand on the small of your back and led you into the club. 

It was packed, filled to the brim with people who were probably so drunk they wouldn’t make it to midnight. You followed the bouncer’s lead, along the perimeter of the club and into the section behind the DJ booth. You recognized a few faces, some who were in the garage with you, others who drove the car. You were introduced, reintroduced, Daniel shouted your name over the blaring music. This is my best friend! 

Best friend. Best friend. Best friend. 

You smiled, tight lipped and polite, even though the panic had begun to return. You shouldn’t be there, you shouldn’t have come. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You needed a drink.

You needed several drinks– and several were served to you. Vodka this, vodka that. Oh a round of shots, why not? You had begun to lose yourself to the booze and the music, the nerves and the panic long forgotten. All that mattered was that you were moving along to the bass and that you felt good. You couldn’t feel the way your toes screamed in pain, begging you to sit down, even for a second. 

You only stopped because you had taken another shot and the world suddenly tilted to the left. Daniel met you on the sofa, arm resting on the back of it as he leant down to talk into your ear. “Slow down Poppy, we still got an hour til midnight!” 

You looked up at him with wide eyes, leaning into him because god you just needed to feel him. His hand fell onto your shoulder, holding you firmly. His lips mouthed something. Water? It must’ve been. You nodded, throat suddenly dry. You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth in a feeble attempt to get rid of the cottonmouth. Daniel handed you a glass, and you sipped. You sipped until the ground leveled and your mind didn’t spin in circles. Sipped on the glass until Lando pushed it out of your hands and replaced it with a flute of champagne. Ten minutes! Fuck had that much time pass you by already? 

Slender fingers slipped onto your waist as you stood from the couch, the pads of his digits pressing firmly into your flesh. You felt secure, safe. Your mind still teetered between sobriety and inebriety, but you knew you’d remember the following moments for the rest of your life. 

Ten minutes turned into five, turned into one. And then you were counting down the seconds. The club was loud, the excitement building as you ticked closer to one. Daniel’s arm moved from your torso to hang over your shoulder. He pulled you into his side, squeezing tighter and tighter as he counted down. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Happy New Year! The crowd erupted into a mess of cheers, of heavy bass and the pop of streamers. Lights flickered, and you caught brief glances of hugs and kisses, of happy welcomes and excitement of what 2023 was meant to bring. And oh how you wished that it was you. That you were a person in the crowd being kissed, even if it was some cheesy cliche. You just wished it were you. 

You made the mistake of looking up at Daniel, of letting curiosity get the best of you to see if he was seeing what you were. You wanted to know if he had the same desire written on his face as it was on yours. But instead, his gaze was already on you. Your cheeks burned, and you thanked the heavens that the lights distracted from the fact that you were blushed. Daniel smiled widely, removing his hand from your shoulder to rest on the side of your head. He pulled you into him, lips pressing into the soft skin of your temple. Once, twice. Then he craned his neck, pressed a kiss to your cheek before letting his lips hover over your ear.

“Happy New Year, Poppy.” 

You smiled, turned your head again so you could selfishly look into his honey eyes again. And maybe you knew that in doing this, your face would only be mere centimeters apart. All it would take is a simple lunge, an accidental shove. So close, so fucking close. You silently wished that he would, that he’d give into the cliche and kiss you. Your brain was screaming, begging. Kiss me! Just fucking kiss me! But all he did was smile. Dimples imprint themselves into the soft skin of his cheeks, his gaze so soft you wanted to vomit. He looked at you in a way that made you dizzier than all the liquor you consumed that night.  His hand comes up to cup your cheek, touch just ghosting your skin before planting firmly on the junction of your neck and jaw. Kiss me! Please kiss me! Won’t he do it?

You felt his fingers leave your cheek, creep to the back of your head and once again he’s pulling you in to kiss your forehead. 

You sighed, spirit deflated, even as you shut your eyes and leaned into the kiss once more. 

He cupped your cheeks again, both hands this time, squishing the soft flesh as he forced your  gaze up at him. He couldn’t see the disappointment in your features, too distracted by the lights, the music, by everything else. He smiled. He always smiled. “I love you Poppy, I love you, I do!”

Your heart flipped, rattled your ribs, beat loudly in your fucking head. You bit back a smile even though all you wanted to do was grin. You scrunch your nose, feigned disgust even if you were elated. He loved you, he loved you he did. 

You fell in love with Daniel in January.

Though, you’re sure that you had loved him for much longer. January was when you fully admitted it to yourself. No more denying, no more panic. Pure acceptance for the fact that you were in love with Daniel Ricciardo. 

You left Monaco on the second, much to your dismay. If you had it your way, you would’ve stayed forever. But work had resumed and your boss only let you take off an extra day and nothing more. So Daniel drove you to the train station, dragged your luggage out of his car and walked you all the way to the gate. Your ticket was clenched tightly in your first as you looked up at him, a bit of wind blowing at the stray hairs that couldn’t be held back by the elastic. He reached out, tucked a hair behind your ear before resting his hand against your cheek. It was warm, reeked of generic hand sanitizer. You leaned into him, smiling even if your chest ached. 

“Wish you could stay longer.” He muttered. 

“Wish you would just come with,” You countered. With me, you wanted to emphasize but… the statement seemed too intimate. With me. Come with me, please. 

He hummed, fingers hooking around the back of your neck to pull you into him. Your face collided with his chest in a soft thump, nose dug deep in the plush material of his t-shirt, just above his sternum. His hands readjust themselves around you, conforming to your frame against his body. Like a puzzle tab finding its perfect nook. He hugged you tightly, planted a kiss to the top of your head before flattening the hair in the same spot. You’d miss this, you thought to yourself, the few kisses given, the plethora of hugs exchanged, you were going to miss this. You were going to miss him. 

You’re the first to step out of the embrace, blinking away tears that had just begun to blur your vision. You coughed an awkward laugh, smiled, tried about anything to hide how sad you really were in the moment. But Daniel saw right through you, clicked his tongue as he nudged your chin playfully. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t cry.” 

His words had the opposite effect, pushed the tears over the brim of your waterline. You tried to laugh it off, mock yourself and the ridiculous splay of emotions. You shook your head and swatted his hands away as he reached out to you again. “I’m fine, I'm fine. If you hug me again, I’m afraid I may just end up staying.” 

Daniel’s reflexes were quick, right hand jolting forward to latch onto yours. He easily pulled you into him, quick enough so that you could catch the way his body rumbled with a chuckle beneath your touch. “I don’t see why that’s such a bad thing.” You indulged, melted right back into him, inhaled the sweet sweet smell of his cologne, committed every node to memory. 

You wondered what the travelers walking to and fro, squeezing past you without an ounce of politeness, were thinking of the two of you. Could they see it? Could they feel it? Or were you just two losers standing in a train station delaying a needed goodbye? 

Daniel pressed a gentle kiss against your cheek, soft lips catching you by surprise. His head dipped into your neck, arms squeezing you tightly. “I’ll miss you my little wildflower.” 

You grinned, stifled a little laughter at the cheesy nickname as you inhaled deeply, “You’re getting really good at this nickname thing,” You teased, fingers coming up to play with the short hairs on the nape of his neck. “I like Poppy more.” 

His body vibrated in a quiet chuckled, nodding against your shoulder. Noted. 

You pulled away again, eyes flickering to the clock for a brief moment before your fingers latched onto the handle of your luggage. Daniel sighed, tilted his head in a sad smile. You caught the way he flexed his fingers at the release of your own, rings glinting in the light. 

“So… goodbye?” You shrugged and he grinned, “See you soon?” You bit back a smile, “Arrivederci?” 

You giggled, nodding your head, “See you in London.” 

His lips part, a playful and breathy ah falling from his mouth as he nodded. London, London, London he says softly. “I’ll see you there Poppy.” 

You had a multitude of responsibilities waiting for you in London, your boss made that perfectly clear with the two lengthy emails sent to your inbox as you sat on the train. There were unfulfilled plans with friends, a declutter day penciled in for the following Friday, and dinner with your parents. You had a million and one things that needed your attention, and for whatever reason, the five or so hours of travels back home, you spent in thought of Daniel.

His kiss, his touch, his everything was stamped onto you, it was as if it were all happening in that moment.  It made you miss him even more, made your heart ache as you continued to move further and further from him. In the bits of sleep you found in your travels, your mind was consumed by him. Always him. You imagined that this was love, it was the only logical explanation. And so on the plane, while watching your flight path on the screen ahead of you, quietly and honestly, you admitted to yourself that this was love. You were in love. 

And you were terrified.

London greeted you coldly, the wind biting at your cheeks as you lugged your luggage from the Uber to the warm lobby of your complex. The doorman greeted you with a smile, wished you a happy new year as you passed him by. Exhaustion had you by the talons, gripped at your body and spirit and forced you into bed. You crawled underneath your covers, pulled a pillow to your chest as you let sleep take over you. And in your slumber, as you drowned in the fantasy of Daniel and all the what ifs, you miss his call. You missed the first, the second, the third, and then finally the soft ping of his text tone. 

Daniel   8:53 PM Are you awake? Please say you’re awake.

And another.

Daniel 8:55 PM You should’ve stayed. I wish you stayed. 

Daniel flew into London from New York in February. After he had fulfilled every press, interview, tiktok, whatever kind of  obligation being a third driver entailed– he hopped on a plane and flew straight to you.

What was meant to be a surprise turned out to be spoiled by his slight recklessness. He accidentally sent his pinned location to you instead of his friend, and in turn showed you that he was standing in the middle of Heathrow Airport. Then half an hour later, with excited text after text sent and a frenzied cleaning of your apartment, he was at your door and you were jumping into his arms. He laughed, walked you back into your home with one hand wrapped around your torso to keep your feet off the ground, and the other dragging his suitcase. 

You’re here you mumbled into his hoodie, arms squeezing tight. 

I’m here. 

Being with Daniel at home felt good. It felt normal. It felt right. And the longer he stayed, the longer you watched him fit himself in your life, the harder you fell. There was a small part of you that wished he didn’t mold into your routines so well, that a bit of awkwardness had struck and maybe even cured you of this hopeless feeling that clenched your heart so tightly. You wished that his place in your life didn’t make sense but it did. Daniel sitting across from you for breakfast, nursing a second bowl of cereal made sense.  His fingers looping your hair messily through a scrunchie while you cooked dinner made sense. The smell of fresh rain imprinted in every corner of your home just made sense. 

Daniel, walking into your room and sliding into bed next to you while you read a book, made the most sense. You didn’t flinch at the dip in the bed, or the way his shoulder leaned onto you, or the smell of his shampoo in his damp hair. Ignoring your sporadic heartbeat was a challenge, but being here with him was easy. You hummed in acknowledgement, resting your head on his shoulder as you finished out the chapter. You see the glow of his phone screen, the flicker in color as he taps through stories and posts, leaving them all on mute as a courtesy to you. You flipped through a couple more pages before tucking your bookmark in and shutting it. The book falls on your night stand with a soft thud, discarded and forgotten as you turn your attention to Daniel. 

“So I was thinking,” He mused, tapping something on his phone before setting it on his lap, “I leave in three days, so I think it’s only right we have a real sleepover.” 

Your heart did flips. Back flips, cartwheels, a double back handspring with spin and perfect landing. Danced its way all the way to the top of your throat, supported by the nerves and the intent of his proposal. “You tired of the couch?” You teased, stabbing your index finger into his bicep playfully. He chuckled. 

“Only a little. But I’ll gladly sleep on the floor if you’re too chicken to share a bed.” 

You swung your pillow over at him, smacking him in the chest. Shut up, you stuttered, sinking deeper into your bed. You try not to let his loud laughter tinge your cheeks red, to make the tips of your ears heat up as you silently wish the world swallowed you whole. You were being dramatic, maybe. He was teasing, of course you knew he was. But fuck the accusation could not be any truer. You were fucking terrified of sharing a bed with Daniel, how it would blur another line of your friendship, confuse you further, and in turn making saying goodbye in three days time infinitely harder. But you were a little dumbstruck when it came to your affections for Daniel, a little self-indulgent and allowed your little heart to take the reins of all your decision making. 

So that's how you end up lying dangerously close to the edge of your bed, watching as Daniel moved your pillows around to make a little more room for himself. Daniel. Making room for himself. In your bed. 

You were gonna be sick.

He didn’t take too long to settle into his side, pulling on the duvet over his abdomen. Pillows had been thrown to the floor, stuffed animals perched nicely on your desk after you so kindly asked him to. The mattress was bare between the two of you– no pillow wall or some imaginary line established. No claims to a side, or a little jab to remind the other to stay on their side of the bed. Just the plain sheet and a bit of space rests between you. 

Daniel clicked the lamp on his side of the bed off, darkness engulfing the space immediately. It took a minute or two for your eyes to adjust to the dark, to finally be able to trace the silhouette of Daniel’s features against the streetlight bleeding through your curtains. You trace the curls resting on his forehead, the bump on the bridge of his nose, down to the curve or each lip, and the point of his chin. 

“You’re staring,” He muttered. 

“No I’m not.” Yes, you were.

He didn’t comment, just turned onto his side so that he could look at you. Daniel tucked his hand underneath his pillow, pulling it flush against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The space between you was gaping, large and awkward, begging to be occupied by the warmth of a body– maybe yours. He noticed, pulled the covers down before patting the cream sheet softly. 

“I’m not gonna bite Poppy.” 

You scrunch your nose, reaching out to poke him with your index finger. “How can I be sure?” 

A single poke, pushing the tip of his nose inward before he juts his chin upward, catching your index finger between his teeth. 

“You can’t.”

You turned your face into the pillow as you flexed your hand open, using the force of your other four fingers to push against his face. His laughter rumbled against your palm, lips wet and leaving a stamp of him in the middle of your hand. You feel his slender fingers come up around your wrist to pull your hand away and push it back into your chest. The warmth that emitted from his skin stayed with you, molded into your skin lest you forget how Daniel felt against you. 

You didn’t budge from your position on the bed, and neither did he. Two people with an unreasonable amount of space between them– it was almost laughable. You wondered if he was as scared as you were to cross this line drawn in the sand. You wondered if he was afraid he’d get addicted to holding you, that he might never want to leave. Because you were afraid. You were afraid of losing yourself to a man you had no claim over, and falling so deep into him that you’d never find a way out. So you kept the bit of space, forced a bit of restraint on your heart that seemed to be reaching out to him. 

Sometime between hushed whispers and the soft sounds of sheets rubbing together as you adjusted and readjusted yourself in your place, you fell asleep. You dreamt of the rain, the way it kissed your skin, kissed the Earth and all that is in it. You dreamt of a garden filled with poppies, of bright colored petals that poked out of the grass. You dreamt of familiar smiles, the sound of laughter. God, you dreamt of happiness. 

The sun seeps through your curtains, golden light flooding the room. It shines the brightest between the curtains, peeking through to pull you from your slumber. You groan softly, burying your face deeper into warm skin, pulling the duvet over your shoulder. Toned arms shift around you, hold you tighter before mumbling incoherencies and drifting back to sleep. 

Without the cologne, Daniel  smells like citrus scented soap. Bright, sweet, stuck to his skin even after tossing and turning all night. You almost envy the way he never seems to smell bad, how beautiful smells like peeled oranges or rained-on flowers stick to him. You envy the way he snores softly, clutching on to sleep better than you ever could. Because now you’re awake, mind racing against your heart as you wrap your head around how you laid: tangled up with Daniel. 

You lay stiff, terrified out of your fucking mind as Daniel holds on to you for dear life. He’s so warm. The kind of warmth that compared to the sun beating down on your skin on a cool spring day. The kind that relieves you of goosebumps, of chilly fingertips and the feeling that the tip of your nose might just fall off. Daniel was like the sun in a lot of ways, you conclude. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force yourself to return back to your dreams. But it burns where your skin meets Daniel’s– hot, sticky, melting together. You can feel the dips of his muscles against you, the firmness to them even if he held you so softly. His arm lays over your torso, curled in towards you to keep you close to him, while his chin rests on the top of your head. Your face is positioned between his collarbones, tip of your nose just ghosting the supple skin there. You try to turn your head, find a place in which you didn’t drown in him, but no matter where you turned, you were comfortably stuck to him. 

Daniel groans above you as you try to turn your head again, squeezing you tighter. “You move too much in your sleep.” Sleep weighs down on his voice, makes it heavy and gravely, rough with exhaustion. You smile, humming as you stuff your face back into his chest. 

“Sorry.” 

He hums, “Morning.” 

“Morning.” 

You lay with Daniel quietly, stuck in the position you woke up in. No one moves, no one speaks, just enjoying the soft lull of steady breathing and the world starting its day without the two of you. Cars pass by your street and birds converse outside your window– you imagine they were talking about the sun. You lay wrapped in Daniel until he shifts, pulling his arm from your torso to rub his sleep-riddled face. You look up, chin resting in the middle of his chest. You watch his lips stretch into a yawn, the way his index finger and thumb come up to wipe the tears that brim at his eyes. And then he cranes his neck, points his chin downwards so that he can catch a glimpse of you. 

And he smiles. 

“Told you I don’t bite.” 

Daniel leaves in three days. He reminds you over breakfast, biting into a piece of toast like it isn’t a big deal. Three days left of this, of breakfast in the mornings and his face before bed. You smile sadly into your oatmeal, mixing the fruit around the slurry before spooning it into your mouth. Silverware clatters against porcelain, it echoes against the walls of your home. It makes your heart miss him before he’s even gone. 

The days blend into the other, no memory seemed to have a cut off. Daniel’s last three days with you were a lump sum of memories, colliding, meshing into each other, dependent on the hours before so that the now made sense. And in every moment, all the laughter and smiles, the almost-touches and almost-kisses, the larger the space in your heart grew for Daniel. Your mind let you wander treacherously through the what-ifs, the maybes, and the could bes. What if we. Maybe we. We could be. We, we, we. 

The night before his flight, you took him to a work thing. That’s how you described it as you helped him pick between two polos. You point at the striped one before flopping onto bed. “It’s just this weird game night. It’s supposed to boost morale, help us bond. It’s been a rough couple months in the office so this is corporate’s way of building– well, rebuilding the peace.” 

Daniel nods, pulling off his shirt before shrugging on the navy striped button up over his shoulders. “So what is it… like poker? Black Jack maybe?” 

You ignore the way his abdomen flexes as he readjust the shirt, the buttons still undone and swaying with his movement. “Maybe. I dunno, I heard someone from accounting was gonna bring scrabble.” 

He laughs like you were joking. But low and behold, as he walked into the pub behind you, three people were already seated at a table elbow deep in a game of scrabble. Tiles scattered the board as two of the three players argued about the validity of the word. Cards were thrown around, smacked on the table to show off a good hand. Poker chips clatter as they’re pushed across the tables, and littered in all that mess is booze being bought left and right. Between the bustling of bodies and the sweet buzz of conversation, you can just hear the bass of some EDM mix playing on the loudspeaker.

You and Daniel make your way to the bar, immediately greeted by the people who work in your department. They smile up at Daniel, wide-eyed as they shoved you playfully. You didn’t tell me you were friends with the Daniel Ricciardo! You mouth a quick I’m sorry as phones are thrusted in his direction– all of which he takes gracefully, taking selfie after selfie. And after maybe the tenth one, you reach into the crowd of people, gripping his wrist tightly as you pull him to you. 

“Alright guys, he’s meant to be on break, leave him alone now.” You wave your hand in the air, shooing away coworkers who just grin and nod, a sea of thank yous sent his way his wrist slips from your grasp to offer them a wave. Daniel grabs the beer set out for the two of you, before slinging his arm over your shoulder and pulling you to a table top in the far end of the bar. He sets the beers down before pulling your chair out for you, hand out for you to boost yourself up onto the lifted chair– a hand you gladly take.

Daniel sits to your left, fingers snaked around the neck of the amber bottle as he brings it up to his lips to take a sip. You watch quietly, spinning the bottle between your index finger and your thumb, eyes fixated on the way his adam's apple bobs up and down as gulps his beer. He doesn't seem to notice– or maybe he just doesn't care. Instead he leans in towards you, eyes fixated on the crowd ahead of him, the hands reaching over tables and the soft slaps of cards being shuffled. “So, what do you think, Uno or Cards Against Humanity?” 

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, sucking in a gust of air between your teeth. “I don't know, as appealing as playing Cards Against Humanity with my coworkers and in turn finding out a little too much about their personal life is, I think Uno might just be our safest option.”

Daniel laughs at your sarcasm. Nodding as he slides out from the table, hand out for you to take. C’mon then, he hums as he encloses your fingers in the warm grip of his hands, tugging you between tables and passer-bys, plopping down at a table of five. You recognize one other person at the table, the dealer, who smiles at you as she deals you and Daniel in. It was meant to start as a friendly little game, with lighthearted laughter and maybe a bit of peaking over at the other’s cards. But between the third and fourth deal, people had begun to throw quid on the table, then all of a sudden you’re down twenty and Daniel was happily collecting the bills on his end. You scowl over at him, nudging his leg with the toe of your shoe. 

“You don’t need all this money.” 

“Not my fault you suck.” He puckers his lips, sends a kiss over to you in the space between you two. 

“Bite me,” You sneer, picking up your new set of seven cards, organizing them by color. 

You catch a whiff of his cologne as he leans in. You pull your hand close to your chest, pressing the cards flush against your being as he lines his mouth up to your ear to whisper, “Careful what you wish for.” 

Your cheeks flush, bright pink though no one at the table seems to catch it under the dim lighting of the pub. Another game, you’re sure you’ve got the upper hand this time around but then Daniel drops a skip… and then another… and then he stacks a draw two… twice. By the end of the game you had about half the deck of cards in your hands and Daniel counting about forty quid in his hands. You’re scowling again, and he laughs at your misfortune. 

You excuse yourself from the table, running up to the bar to get yourself another beer. Stacy– you think her name is Stacy anyway– slides next to you, picking up a bit of conversation. It’s small talk, surface level shit until she’s asking about the boy you had been stuck to all night. She teases you, refers to him as the boy, it makes you feel giddy. To one person in this room, Daniel was your little secret. And it felt nice. It felt good. But you shook your head, the blush taking over your face again as you took the beer that was handed to you, mumbling how he’s just a friend. But Stacy– or is it Sarah? She smiles and shrugs, taking her cocktail as she hops off her bar stool, red straw placed between her coco colored lips to take a sip before stepping back. 

“All I’m saying… friends don’t look at friends the way you two look at each other.” 

She leaves you at the bar with a sentence equivalent to fuel to a fire. It burns, oh it festers. Your mind reels over every moment, every second you’ve spent with Daniel, trying to figure out how he looked at you. 

Your eyes scan over the crowd, the mess of chatter tuned out as you look for a mop of curls which you spot towards the front of the bar. He’s laughing– he’s always laughing. You might’ve been meters away, but you could hear him, the joyful ha has over the multitude of conversation. And for a moment, like every cliche written and produced, the room stops. Suddenly the crowd disappears, the music is turned down, and it’s just you and Daniel. The lamp over the table beams, reflects over his golden skin as he deals the cards down on the table. His fingers are quick, counting quietly to himself as he goes around the table. And when he’s done, he sets the left over cards down in the middle of the table in a neat stack. Before he picks up his set, he reaches over to your seat, pulls the cards together neatly and pats it down before picking up his own. You watch as his slender fingers pick at the cards– that one goes at the end, oh and this one between these two. He picks and pulls, slots cards by cards til he’s satisfied with his line up. Then he squeezes the cards into one stack, setting down on his thigh below the table. 

His head turns, you see the soft swing of his curls as he looks around the bar. He looks and looks and oh, relief. Daniel’s shoulders drop when he catches sight of you, a smile so wide your cheeks ache for him. His hand goes up in the air, waving at you to return to your seat. Hurry! You aren’t sure if he actually said it, but you know his lips moved that way. He smiles, his eyes are warm and bright, this sultry kind of brown that you could distinguish from miles away. You miss it as he turns away to immerse himself in a conversation you didn’t care to know about. You smile, just enough so that your cheeks round a bit and your eyes squint in just the slightest. You smile in a way that a girl watches a boy she loves from across the way, watches as he melts into her life. And he melts so well, sits so comfortably without you as he awaits your return. He has his arm slung over your chair, nodding over at someone you could care less about. He laughs at jokes, makes some back, and– god you just couldn’t stop staring. You couldn’t stop watching him. Him, him, always him. 

You walk back over to the table, setting a hand on Daniel’s shoulder as you lean down to him. His hand comes up to rest over yours, head turning ever so slightly so that he can see you. Your heart is in overdrive, your body overheating. You try to ignore it. You try, try, try. 

“I’m gonna go get some air.”

“You okay?” His brows furrow with concern. You nod, and he doesn’t seem to relax. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Daniel. I’m fine. Just stuffy in here.” 

“Well, let me come with.” 

He goes to get up from his seat, but you push him back down. “No, no no I’ll be fine.” You smile– you think you do. “I’ll be back. Win this round so you can buy me a drink after.” 

He looks unconvinced, eyes scanning your face for a morsel of doubt, for a twitch of lip that would beg him to accompany you. But you keep your expression fair, squeeze his shoulder again, and he concedes. He nods, patting your hand again. “Okay okay, deal.” 

Your hand comes up to his cheek, and he leans into your touch as it slips away. He turns his head, watches you walk out the door while the game starts. You feel his eyes burning in a hole in the back of your skull and it only makes you walk quicker. 

The cool London air blows the door open, bites at your skin and fights against the warmth pooling with the booze. You wrap your arms around yourself, rubbing your palms against your arm, squeezing the flesh there. Your eyes fall shut, inhaling deeply as you try to center yourself, trying to get ahold of your heart, trying to get it to slow down. Tears were threatening you, choking you. 

You didn’t want to say bye. You don’t want all this to end, to have Daniel pluck himself out of your company and back to his normal routines. You don’t want to go back to the facetime calls, and debriefs over texts. No you want to smell the rain, you want the cheeky laughter and fighting over who gets the rest of the cereal. You want late night drives to Taco Bell, and early mornings to get coffee because you were too lazy to run your own. But most of all, you want Daniel. You want the good, the bad, all the highs and all the lows. You want every single moment between now and an indefinite future. 

And you felt crazy for wanting such a thing. 

You hear the door creak behind you, a bit of the conversation escaping with him before he shuts the door with a soft thud. 

“Hey, come back inside. You’re missing out on the game.” Daniel bumps his shoulder with yours, a smile so wide it drives fear into your chest. You look up at him, take all the strength left in you to smile– and you hope that you do it well. His smile, bright, excited, so reminiscent of the Daniel you bumped into some time ago. He’s tanned, hair curly, muscles bulky, he’s back to who he was before a string of bad luck wore him down. He was this new Daniel that you had fallen so head over heels for, and it hurt your heart not to say it.  

The words sit in your throat, run it dry and make it hard to breathe. You were getting all choked up with a secret you couldn’t bear to keep.

He bumps your shoulder again, “What? Are you scared to lose again?” 

God you were so afraid to lose. But maybe you had already lost more than you could ever admit to yourself. 

Daniel says your name. 

“I’m in love with you.” 

You had a dream about this moment. It happened in the rain, colorful poppies potted in a flowerbed by a house, and oh how the world smelled divine. You could still hear the laughter, still see the smile that graced his face. You dreamt about the way he would wrap himself around you, allow you to bury yourself in his warmth and the scent of fresh fallen rain. In every universe, you imagined the way the words would sound coming from his mouth. You imagined the simplicity, the good in the moment. 

But then you see his face run pale, lips parted without the words to back him up. You see how he scratches the back of his neck before it comes around to rub his stubble. And then his fingers are running through his hair. He takes a step back, and there’s this space between you that wasn’t there before. Your name rolls off his tongue, sounds so despondent it twists your heart. It sounds so…

“I-I-I-” You stammer like it would mend the situation, “I’m sorry but… I couldn’t keep it in. Couldn’t continue to pretend like my heart didn’t wanna beat out of my chest everytime I see you, so I just had to– I had to say it.”

You see his chest begin to rise with each breath he takes. It’s slow, but deep. His eyes are wide, they’re panicked, they look so fucking afraid. 

“Daniel I–” “What are you doing?” Your lips fall shut. What are you doing? You bite down on your bottom lip, palms pressed together as you rub them in front of you to distract from the tears that were already beginning to cloud your vision. Daniel lets out a breath, hands coming up to run through his hair– again. “Why… why would you say that?” His hands rub his beard, again. “Fuck, Poppy why would you say that?” 

The air is caught in your throat. The words on your tongue melt away, daydreams dissolve. You were left with your skin and a heart that continues to shatter because Daniel stares at you like you’ve done something wrong. And all you could, all you had the strength to do, is smile. You smile because that’s all you had left to give. A smile that made your lips quiver, cheeks tremble and wet with your sadness. You don’t know what else to do, so you smile. 

“I just needed you to know.” 

Daniel drops his face into his hands, shaking his head into his palms. You watch him, watch as he mumbles to himself. You watch in tears, your shattered heart at your feet as you wait for the change in tone, wait for a moment you’ll never live to see. He lifts his gaze back up to you, the panic gone and replaced this kind of pity that makes you wish you never said it in the first place. 

He says your name with a bit of remorse, and yet it still sounds beautiful. “I… I can’t. Poppy I’m sorry.” 

You let out a breath. It’s your turn to turn away, hands coming up to push your hair back as you tried to control the sobs that threatened to take over you. Another shaky breath, another drop of tears onto your cheeks. You couldn’t let him see you so broken, you can’t let him have that. No, you refused.

“Poppy–” “Daniel, please.” “Poppy you mean so much–” 

“Daniel,” You turn around, hand out to motion him to stop, “Please don’t. Please.” 

“You are the greatest friend–” He continues anyway, torturing you with the right thing to say– the most reasonable thing to say, “–I could ever ask for. You don’t know how much I appreciate that. How much I–” 

“I don’t want that Daniel I–” “–How much I appreciate you.” 

He reaches out for you. You should’ve pushed him away, you should’ve stepped back, but god you are so weak for him. So you bask in the warmth of his hand, the way he squeezes it like he was trying to stitch back that hole he left in your chest. You let yourself rest in the false sense of security for just a second. You stare at the point your skin touches, the way his skin contrasts yours, fingers holding onto yours so tightly. It’s warm. It’s good. 

It’s good for all of two seconds, and then you’re crying and pulling yourself from him again. You wipe your face with the back of your hand, shaking your head and smiling. Daniel says your name, desperate to get to you again. But you shake your head, take another step back. 

“You don’t know how much you mean to me.” His voice is a whisper, nearly overpowered by the gust of cold wind. “Poppy–”

“Daniel, it’s okay.” Your voice breaks because it’s not. But you pretend that it is to save face, to pretend that you can walk away from this moment with your head held high. 

He calls your name again, craning his neck so that he can meet your gaze, and you try to avoid it but he comes into view. His hand comes up, chin tucked in his index finger and thumb to lift your face. “But it's not. I can see it on your face.”

“But it has to be, right?”

You clamp your lips into a tight line, tugging your face out of his hold. It’s quiet, tense, and you’re so fucking miserable. For the first time, there’s a sense of dread. In the months you’ve grown to know Daniel, to fall in love with him, in the time that brought you to this moment– you now feel that dread. It sits heavy in your chest, squeezing your heart so tight you think it might pop. If someone had asked you all those months ago if you could picture walking away from Daniel, your answer would be a resounding no. You could never picture yourself doing it– and even if you could, you could always picture running straight back to him.

But now, now you’re forced to reckon with the reality that you have to walk away and never look back. That if you want to hold on to the very little dignity you have left, you should say your goodbyes and walk away. But where was the good in this goodbye? It was just a promise that this is the end, that the next time you see him would not be of your intention. You would have to accept that the only good in this farewell is that it’s permanent. 

So in February you walked away with your heart in your hands and a gaping hole in your chest shaped like Daniel. You walked yourself to the underground railway and sobbed because it was the only thing left for you to do. You clutched onto your chest because it hurt so fucking bad. 

Daniel collected his items from your apartment the next day while you cried in your bedroom. He knocked on your door, twisted the knob only to find that it’s locked. He said he’s sorry through the door, he said it over and over you had to pull the pillow over your head. 

I don’t deserve you Poppy, his voice is muffled but so fucking clear at the same time, I’m sorry Poppy. I… I’ll see you soon.

And then it was over. Daniel was gone– easily, tragically, and all at once. All the memories that mesh together melted into your sadness. It kept you in bed with the blinds drawn shut. Darkness and despair always paired well together. 

Your phone pings, the screen lights up and illuminates the bedroom. But you don’t have the heart to look, because you know who it is. You could see his contact photo, you can see the letters spell out his name. So instead you bury yourself deeper into the pillows and blankets, bury yourself deeper into your hopelessness. For just a moment, you wanted to forget that he existed, that he was every part of your life, that you ever poured your heart to him thinking for a second that he would feel the same way. 

Daniel 4:33 PM Please don’t forget about me

You’ll never forget him and everything he was to you. Never.

February blends into March. March into April. April to May, June, July. And suddenly it’s August again. 

You lay on the beach in Mykonos, nursing another strawberry margarita. You love  strawberry margaritas. But this time around, you stay away from the bustling movements of the bar, instead choosing to lounge by the pool in hopes to catch a tan. After all, what was summer for? 

You try to ignore the obvious, what the Mykonos was to you a year prior. The memories it gave the person it brought to you. The laughter. The ease. The smell of fresh fallen rain. All the good in Daniel clung onto you and you clung right back. A year ago you met someone who changed your worldview, caught a glimpse of your soul, before shattering your being. He was the best and worst thing that could’ve possibly happened to you. 

August… August and all the months that followed slipped away in a moment in time. It fell to the back of your mind, laid to rest so that you’d find a bit of peace. You hope Daniel is well, wherever he is in the world. You hope that he hasn’t forgotten about you, like how you haven’t forgotten him. 

Another sip of your strawberry margarita, drinking down the remnants of slush in the glass before setting it down and laying it back. And the sun disappeared, a shadow took its place. But you were warm, you were comforted, you felt at peace. You felt good. So you smile, hand coming up to block the bits of sunlight that peek behind him. You catch a glimpse of messy curls and a smile so wide you’re sure it hurts. 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

d rambles. . . hey girl hey. i haven't put out a fic in fucking ages, sorry bout that. but yay, new blog, new fic!! this turned into a MONSTER, but i think im happy with how it all came together. was the ending a little rushed? maybe. but in my defense, this whole fic turned out soooo much longer than i initially planned. anyways. i hope you liked this one & as always, feedback is always always appreciated.

The Pilot and his Girl - complete

Series Master List

Frankie Morales in The Last of Us AU

Frankie Morales meets the love of his life and starts creating a new life for himself, her and his little daughter. But things are about to change in ways no one could've imagined with the outbreak of the cordyceps infection.

Warnings (contains spoilers)

I finally finished this monster of a fic and I've been overwhelmed by all the love it's been given! I love you all for bearing with me and reading through my monster chapters of angst, heartbreak, grief and two fools very much in love. Don't send me your therapy bills! 😅

I love hearing from you all, even if you think you're cringe or embarrassing or the fic is too old to comment on, if you like the fic, please let me know! It will make my day! Comments, reblogs or asks are always welcome! ♥

No age gap, our reader and Frankie are the same age, no use of Y/N, no physical descriptions.

Chapters with ** contain smut

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 **

Chapter 6 **

Chapter 7 **

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 **

Chapter 10 - part 1 **

Chapter 10 - part 2

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13 **

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17 **

Chapter 18

Chapter 19 **

Chapter 20

Chapter 21 **

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25 **

Chapter 26 **

Chapter 27

Chapter 28 **

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32 **

Chapter 33

Chapter 34 **

Chapter 35 **

Chapter 36 **

Epilogue

You're My Only Hope for Heaven

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: oh bitch I'm having a fucking blast with this dynamic the slow burn is slow burning

Summary: An unlikely patron saunters into your bar [3.5k]

Warnings: one (1) creepy guy, one (1) fake marriage, lots of flirting that’s not flirting but it’s not not flirting, one (1) kiss

You try not to make it a habit of picking up bar shifts during the week. Not only is it almost always slow, and you barely make any money, but it's hard to go from teaching for eight hours directly to another job. You'd much rather be at home, grading or doing something for yourself for the first time in weeks. But you couldn't say no when Katie called you, almost in tears, begging you to take her shift so she could deal with a burst pipe in her house. You don't regret doing her a favor, but you do regret other things as you stand behind the mostly empty bar as whatever game is happening plays on the screen above your head. You think it's a UT game. Or maybe A&M. Or any of the other SEC Texas schools with an absurd football budget. 

You're basically yawning your way through your shift and working through your newest painting in your head, trying and failing to not think about school until absolutely necessary. Principal Martinez is cracking down on the stupid minutiae the school board demands of its teachers, and you spent most of your afternoon writing student objectives on the board. On top of that, your art club kids have been begging you to plan a field trip to the local art museum for weeks. You finally relented, but the paperwork is mind-numbing and requires much more work than you thought. Between working, making art, and trying to live your life, you barely have time. 

Another reason you hate working weekdays is the creepy regulars. Normally, you can ignore them on a busy Saturday night, but it's harder when it's as dead as it is. You have no idea how Katie deals with them on a regular basis. It started with a guy at the bar, you think his name is Steve, asking you progressively invasive questions. "How old are you?" "You gotta boyfriend?" "What time do you get off?" One right after each other, even after you made it clear you're not interested. Fake laughing and making excuses to run to the back or change a keg don't throw him off. 

"Keep it up, and I'll cut you off." You finally threaten after he asks you why you're being a bitch. You roll your eyes when the bell above the door rings, probably admitting yet another asshole who's gonna make your night hell. When you turn toward the door, the words leave you before you can stop them. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Now, is that any way to greet your customers?" Joel chuckles, and you sigh as he sits down in front of you. Thankfully, his brother is not in tow, and you can save yourself a little embarrassment. "I didn't know you worked here."

"I don't," you say. "Whatcha drinkin'?" 

"Looks like you're workin' to me." He smirks and you shoot him a look.

"You wanna free drink or not?" 

"Shiner," he answers quickly. You hum in acknowledgment, not even bothering with the POS system and going right to the fridge to pull a bottle out for him. You pop the cap off and place a napkin under the beer before sliding it to him. "Are you bribin' me?"

"You've gotta be faster with your questions, Miller. You've already accepted it. Might as well enjoy." You say, and he laughs. 

"Well, alright, then," he says, raising his beer to you before taking a quick sip. "So, what's this, then? You moonlightin' as a bartender?" He asks, and you fight yourself on how to answer. What if word gets back to parents? Administration? They couldn't reprimand you for that, right? You know plenty of other teachers with second jobs, so it can't be that taboo. Still, you're hesitant to open up to Joel. Out of all the people who could've walked into your bar tonight, it had to be him.

"Something like that." You settle on, wiping a sticky spot on the bar to avoid his gaze. If he feels anything negative about you having a second job, his face doesn't show it. He has a soft smile on his lips and a slight sunburn across his nose, highlighting the freckles living there that previously went unnoticed. You want to tease him about not wearing sunscreen, but the joke dies in your throat when he rests his elbows on your bar, showing off those stupid biceps you can't not look at. He catches your eyes lingering near the short sleeve of his shirt and opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but a grating voice from the other side of the bar cuts him off.

"Excuse me, sweetheart! You've got other patrons over here!" Steve yells, and you feel your eye twitch at his attitude. Joel notices.

"What's wrong with him?" He asks quietly, leaning forward over the bar to get closer to you. Looking into his brown eyes and confused expression, an idea forms.

"Pretend you know me." You say, and his eyebrows knit together, every emotion visible on his face. 

"I do know you."

"No, I mean," you sigh. "That guy over there is a regular on Wednesdays, and the girl who usually works is married, so he doesn't try anything with her, but I won't give him my number, and he's making me fucking miserable. So, just... pretend to know me." Joel is bigger than Steve. Much bigger. Probably a whole head taller and much broader than the man on the other side of the bar. One word from Joel, and he might actually shut up or, better yet, leave altogether so you can finish your day without any more hiccups.

"Okay," Joel agrees, and you reflexively reach out to touch his thick forearm and squeeze. You don't even realize you did it until he smiles like he won a staring contest or something.

"Thank you," you say before turning and bracing yourself to deal with Steve. "What can I do for you, sir?" You ask, but before you can even finish your sentence, he holds up his empty beer bottle and waves it in front of your face like you're stupid. 

"Another beer." He says, and you bite your tongue. 

"You got it."

"Finally," he groans. "You'd think for such an easy fuckin' job, you'd be better at it." 

"What the fuck is your problem?" You ask, refusing to move from your spot to get him his beer, and he scoffs.

"My problem is that you're bein' a fuckin' bitch and ignorin' me when I didn't do nothin' wrong." He's slurring his words together at this point, and you wordlessly go to the POS system to close his tab and send him on his way. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you!" He yells after you.

"Hey, man, why don't you leave her alone? She's just tryna do her job." Joel speaks up from the other side of the bar, and Steve straightens up in his seat as he assesses Joel. 

"This isn't any of your fuckin' business. Stay out of it."

"It's my business now. That's no way to speak to a lady. I think you owe her a mighty big apology." 

"I don't owe her shit," he spits, and you look over to see Joel setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders. "Why's this even matter to you, big shot?"

"That's my fuckin' wife you're mouthin' off to," Joel says without hesitation, and you quickly school your expression. Wife? You asked him to play along, but you didn't think he'd say that. "So, if you wanna keep the rest of your teeth, I suggest you apologize to her, leave her a nice, big tip for dealin' with your sorry ass, and get yourself a ride home." 

Steve is silent as you take the empty bottle away from him— just in case things get really ugly— and slide him his card and bill. He eyes Joel carefully for a few tense seconds before picking up a pen, signing his check, and leaving without another word. The second he's out the door, you feel a weight lift off your shoulders and sigh at the relief. You scrub a hand down your face and look over at Joel.

"You okay?" He asks gently like you're a spooked horse, and you nod. You take a few minutes to get yourself together, putting in Steve's 30% tip and cleaning off the empty bar before returning to Joel. "What?" He asks when he catches you smirking.

"At least buy a girl dinner before you call me your wife." You say, and he laughs, shaking his head. 

"You said the other girl is married. I just took it and ran," he says. "And I already tried to take you to dinner, but somebody said no." 

"School regulation says it's unethical." 

"Well, we're not at school now, and you're certainly not a teacher right now." He says smoothly, vaguely gesturing to your all-black outfit, and you give him a look. "What time d'you get off?"

"You're gonna get me in trouble." You whisper, and he leans forward across the bar. 

"All I did was ask you a question." He whispers back, playfully mocking you. It could be the smile on his face, the relaxed humor behind his eyes, or the fact that he stood up for you because you asked him to, but you glance between him and the clock and take a deep breath. 

"I get off at 12. Unless it stays dead like this, then I'm closing early," you say, and his smile grows. "But this is not a date." 

"'Course not." He chuckles, and you raise your eyebrows at him. 

"I'm serious. I need you to say it's not a date, so I know you won't come after me if your kid fails my class." 

"Is my kid failing your class?"

"No, she's amazing. But for my own mental well-being, I need you to say that this is not a date." You say, and he grabs your wrist to stop your anxious wringing. 

"Let me buy you a drink. That's it. Nothin' more," he says, squeezing you. "This ain't a date." 

"Thank you." You sigh, and he nods. 

You spend an hour or two idling between conversations with Joel and trying to look busy for any manager who might care enough to check the cameras. You're pretty much done with all your closing duties by 10:00, and you wait until it's been a full hour since anyone else came in to flip the closed sign and do a few last-minute things. When the bar is completely clean, empty, and ready for the next shift, you slink back behind it to make yourself and Joel a drink before sitting beside him. 

"You feelin' proud of yourself for getting us here?" You ask as you clink your glass against his and take a sip. 

"Yeah, I've got the prettiest girl in the whole place sittin' by me," he says, and before you can even scold him, he throws his hands up. "Not a date." 

"Not a date." You repeat.

"Still true, though."

"Don't make me regret saying yes to you, Mr. Miller." You say, and he gives you a look. You like teasing him, especially since you can always see exactly how he's feeling. He's not particularly subtle, contrary to what you're sure others think about him. 

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Joel?" 

"As many times as it takes, I guess," you shrug. "You also clearly have an aversion to being called Mr. Miller."

"My dad was Mr. Miller." He says, and you roll your eyes, groaning and half-folding in on yourself dramatically. 

"Oh, my God, do you know how many men have said that to me since I've become a teacher?"

"Well, it's true!" He says. "Are you sayin' other people are tryna tell my wife to call ‘em by their first names?" He asks, and you laugh. 

"Believe it or not, you're not the first single parent to ask me out." 

"Am I the first one you said yes to?" 

"So far." 

"So far?" He asks, raising his eyebrows, and you hum. "I'll take it." 

Unsurprisingly, Joel is really easy to talk to. He asks questions about your life outside of work, where you went to school, and what made you want to be a teacher. You ask him about his job and family and, somehow, end up talking about the latest cheesy action film he's seen. When both your drinks are empty, the glasses sit there, the ice slowly melting as you talk into the night. Every time a hint of anxiety creeps up your spine, he makes you laugh or tells you an interesting story from his past and distracts you from it. You lose hours sitting there, and you don't even realize it until your phone pings you with a reminder, and you suddenly see it's past midnight.

"Oh, shit," you mumble, showing Joel the time. "I gotta lock up."

"And you have school tomorrow." He says, and you groan as you stand and grab your glasses. 

"Don't remind me. I've got like five million things waiting to get done there." You say. He watches you step behind the bar, leave them in the sink for the opener to find, and no doubt send a catty message in the group chat asking who closed the night before. His eyes don't leave you even when you reach up and grab your bag, your sleeve falling down just enough to reveal a nasty bruise.

"Woah, that looks like it hurt," he says, gesturing to your arm. "How'd you get that?"

"Promise you won't laugh." Your response does nothing to clear up his confusion, but he raises his right hand and makes a cross over his heart.

"I promise." His tone is gentle and even, but you're still hesitant to actually admit it.

"I fell off a table." 

"I told you!"

"Hey!" You scold. "You promised you'd be cool about it!"

"I promised not to laugh." He says, and you roll your eyes. "They still haven't come to fix it for ya?"

"Would I be climbing on tables if they did?"

"Fair enough," he shrugs. You find the bar keys at the bottom of your purse and walk over to where he's still sitting, your hand resting on the back of your chair. He shifts forward until he can catch the edge of your sleeve and roll it up to see the bruise in all her glory. His fingers are warm, and his touch light as he traces the edge of it, not firm enough to make it ache but enough that you feel the pads of his fingers. You freeze like your stillness will be enough for the feather-light touches to continue, your eyes meeting for a split second. He clears his throat and rolls your sleeve back down for you, drawing his hand back. "Tell you what," he says. "I gotta buddy who gets me a good deal on some spare parts. Let me see if I can track down the part you need, and I'll come fix it myself. Free of charge."

"You don't have to do that." 

"And let my wife fall off tables?" He asks, a smirk pulling on his lips, and you shake your head. "It's the least I can do for the free drinks and, ya know, teachin' my kid." 

"Fine, but don't make it a thing. The maintenance people already don't like me. I can't imagine seeking outside help will make them like me." 

"I won't make it a thing," he promises, leaning back in his chair as his eyes travel up and down your body. He sighs heavily and sucks his teeth like you're suddenly too much, and you smile. "It's a damn shame this wasn't a date."

"What'd you do if it was?" The question borders on dangerous, but you can't take it back now that you've said it. It seems to have piqued Joel's interest, too, because he raises his eyebrows at you.

"You really wanna know?" He asks, and you nod.

"I really wanna know," you say. "How does Joel Miller end a successful date?" He gets a little bashful at the question, a blush creeping up his neck, and you knock his knee with yours to get his attention. "C'mon, don't get shy on me now."

"Alright, alright," he grumbles. "If this were a date, and we were gettin' ready to go out separate ways, I'd walk you out to your car, open the door for ya 'cause a lady should never open her own doors," his voice is slow and low, and he watches your face as he speaks. "And I'd kiss you. Nice and slow so I don't scare ya off or anythin'. I might put a hand on your waist or bite that pretty lip or somethin'. And right when I can feel you wantin' a little more, gettin' a little desperate, I'd stop, say goodnight, and walk back to my truck." His words have a devastating effect on you, and you can't look away from him. The heat rolling off him in waves makes you too warm and flustered. His gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips, his own tongue darting out to wet his plump bottom lip, and you have half a mind to think he's looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. You have half a mind to let him. 

"You're right," you finally breathe. "It's a shame this isn't a date." He nods and stands, his broad chest grazing yours as you look up at him. You're not a science teacher by any means. If you were, you might be able to explain the magnetism you feel toward Joel or what stupid chemical in your brain makes you wonder what tricks he keeps up his sleeve. But you're not. You're an art teacher. So, the only thing you can focus on is the deep brown of his irises and the heavy lashes and crow's feet that frame his eyes. And the swoop of his salt and pepper curls, the tint of his slightly pink forehead and strong nose. You want to capture his image in the dim lighting of the bar, but you settle for committing it to memory to scribble in the margins of your notebook for the rest of the week. Why couldn't you have been a science teacher?

Neither of you says anything as he finally steps away, giving you the space to turn off the last of the bar lights and push through the haze he created in your mind. He lingers by the door and opens it for you when you go to the front and step into the humid Austin night. You lock the doors and give him a small smile when you turn around to see him rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

Then, just as he said, he walks you to your car and opens the driver's side door for you. His truck, the only other car in the parking lot, is parked a few spaces away from yours. It would've been so much easier to just ignore you, get in his car, and drive away, but here he is, being the gentleman he's always been toward you. You step into the space created by the open door and throw your bag in the passenger seat, but don't get in the car. Not yet. He sighs heavily, like he's in physical pain, when you meet his eyes again, and his hand flexes around the edge of your car door. 

"Thanks for my not date." You mumble, and he nods. You're close (and weak) enough that brushing his lips would just take a strong breeze. It freaks you out how okay you are with the idea of "accidentally" kissing Joel Miller. You should be panicking. Alarm bells should be sounding in your head, but the only thing filling the cavernous space is the echo of his voice explaining what he'd do if this were a date. Idiot.

He leans on your door a little more, and your heart quickens, thinking he might actually be the one to make the move. His head ducks just a little, and you get a strong whiff of his cologne, your eyes fluttering shut at the scent. Your throat is suddenly dry, and you're all but pushing up on your toes when he swerves past your lips and presses a chaste, firm kiss to your cheek. His beard scratches your soft skin pleasantly, and you keep your eyes closed until he pulls away, looking like he just won a prize.

"Get home safe." He says as he steps back, still holding your door open. You sigh and fight a smile as you look at him— cocky, vindicated, and knowing exactly what he just did. 

"Goodnight, Joel." You manage to get out before sitting down and letting him gently shut the door for you. You wait until he gets in his truck to roll your window down and shout his name until he does the same. "I'm gonna get you back for that."

"Oh, I'm countin' on it, darlin'."

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3

strang3lov3’s masterlist

I do not give consent for anyone to copy, plagiarize, translate, or post my work elsewhere for any reason at all. Always ask permission of writers if their work sparks inspiration, and give credit where credit is due.

One shots

The Unexpected Perks of a Flooded Apartment (dbf!joel) - while staying in Joel’s house while your apartment is being repaired, you and Joel share an unexpected moment in the shower.

Lookalike - Joel finds your dirty mag and makes you get off in front of him.

Everyday I’m Shufflin’ - Joel is horrified to find out that you cannot shuffle a deck of cards, so he teaches you in a rather unorthodox way.

A Learning Process - When it rains, it pours. Shit hits the fan the first day you’re alone with your infant son, and Joel comforts you.

Tis’ But a Scratch - Too stubborn and proud to admit your mistakes or that you may need Joel’s help sometimes, Joel decides to teach you a lesson.

For Science - Joel helps to alleviate your period cramps. You know, for science.

Sleeping Beauty - Joel realizes you’re dreaming of him and wakes you up in the best way possible (his head between your thighs)

Self-Indulgent Tendencies - (dbf!joel) Joel finds you skinny dipping in his pool, and gives you two options. He can call the cops on you or he can punish you himself. You choose the latter of the two.

Phone a Friend - a story of two assholes and how they resolved their sexual tension (alternatively, Joel is sick of hearing you masturbate night after night)

Death by Flirting - five times you made Joel blush, and when he finally did it back to you.

Cup of Sugar - (dilf!neighbor!Joel) Joel catches you rifling through his belongings when you’re frantically searching for batteries after your vibrator dies.

Joyride - (dbf!joel) when your car breaks down, Joel decides to give you one of his. He just has to make sure you can handle a stick first ;)

Have your cake and eat it too - (brat tamer!joel, mean!joel, dom!joel) when you make joel bust in his favorite pair of jeans, he makes you clean your mess.

Erotic City - adult store owner! Joel helps you learn to make yourself come

Cream (horny husband!joel x reader) Joel is insatiable. He convinces you to get it on at his aunt's house on Thanksgiving. He's also got a lot of dirty Thanksgiving jokes he thought of last year that he's been saving to annoy you.

Fighting Fair - Joel doesn’t know what or who started this fucking thing, but he’s finishing it. Tonight.

Series:

Mall Rats(complete) Joel keeps track of you as you search your way through an abandoned mall. You don’t make his job easy. First stop is Victoria’s Secret Part one, part two, part three, part four, halloween special, part five part six, part seven

Thunder(boyfriends dad!Joel, complete) a hot and sexy and heartbreaking story about sleeping with Joel Miller, your boyfriend’s father. Part one, part two, part three

Brain Scramblies (complete) after sustaining a concussion, you tell Joel how you really feel about him. You don’t remember a thing the next day. Part one, part two

Updated 1/9/2024

Fighting Fair

Joel doesn’t know what or who started this fucking thing, but he’s finishing it. Tonight.

Tags: impish activities, soft dom!joel sorta aggressive joel, forced proximity, cock grinding, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie (always), teasing, dirty talk, almost somnophilia (they’re sleep-teasing each other unconsciously) sexually frustrated morons, good ol' fashioned "we have to get naked and share body heat to stay warm" trope

A/N: I had to drag myself kicking and screaming into writing this fic that put me through the fucking ringer!!! Thank you @theywhowriteandknowthings @merz-8 and @beefrobeefcal for the general fic help and encouragement! And I think also @noxturnalpascal and @tightjeansjavi and ESPECIALLY @notjustjavierpena who talked me through this fic a couple weeks ago and gave me the push I needed to finish it when I was stuck. You guys all rock ❤️

It’s too cold tonight, even indoors and with a fire burning. He moved the large sectional couch as close as he could safely get it by the fireplace, gave you his jacket, and you’re still hoarding the blanket. Joel tries to gently tug on the blanket that you’ve wrapped around your body, see if maybe you can spare to lose a few inches of fabric. You don’t budge. Joel sighs, “Y’can share, ya know.”

“This is sharing.”

“It’s not, actually. I’m the one sharin’ here. I gave you my coat, you can quit hoggin’ all the blanket,” Joel tugs harder on the blanket, it’s old and kind of scratchy, worn out by the years. “C’mon. Let up.” 

“You can have this much,” You mumble, giving Joel a small amount of the fabric. 

“How generous of you,” Joel mutters sarcastically before pulling the blanket entirely off of your shoulders. “Thank you. S’very kind.”

“Hey,” you whine. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says. He covers his body in the blanket, making sure to cover your legs and feet as well. His hands brush over your own and he winces at their ice cold temperature. “Jesus, girl. Gimme these,” he mumbles, taking your hands into his own and holding them tightly. “Hands feel like icicles.”

“This fucking sucks, Joel,” you complain. 

“It does,” he agrees. Joel’s been dreading this point in the year. He’s eased up on his ‘no fires’ rule for the most part, but fire doesn’t help when it’s as cold as it has been. Tonight, he’s grateful you spotted this old house from afar, even more grateful it has a fireplace. But it’s especially cold tonight, maybe even nearing below zero temperatures. Even with a glowing fire and a shelter preventing the chill of the wind piercing you to the bone, he’s not sure that’s enough to keep you both warm. Joel shivers, “This shit’s not workin’.”

You shake your head no. It’s not. 

Joel’s not quite sure how to offer up his idea. It’ll be fine, or at least, it should be fine. What needs to happen is you and Joel need to get cozy and share body heat, the real way, with both of your bodies completely bare and pressed against each other.

Most of the time, you and Joel fall asleep separately. Occasionally, however, Joel will wake up in the early hours of the morning with your body inexplicably tangled in his, your head laying on his chest. The first time it happened, Joel was annoyed. “Get off of me,” he grumbled. “Not your fuckin’ teddy bear,” You whined in response, and when Joel tried to move you from him you clung to his body tighter. “Jesus,” he mumbled to himself. 

After about the fifth or sixth time of waking up with you clinging to his body, he stopped trying to fight it. In fact, he even started to hold you closer, stroke your hair. Sometimes he’d wake up holding you, other times he’d wake up with your arms wrapped around him and your tummy pressed against his back. It was nice, mostly. 

Mostly. You have the most uncanny ability to tease Joel in your sleep. Your hand will mysteriously travel from his side up to his chest, your thumb rubbing over his nipple. Other times, it’s your leg that brushes against his crotch. Or your ass, wiggling against his morning wood. After you wake, he’ll leave you alone for a few moments to quietly take care of himself, stroking his member to the thought of your naked body, your soft curves and smooth skin. Sometimes he’s not able to sneak away in the mornings and he’ll be hard as a rock and miserable the entire day. It’s unbearably frustrating. He’s never brought this tendency of yours up to you and he never will, because you’re not doing anything intentionally, at least he thinks. Though, there was one time after a particularly excruciating night of teasing, he thought he saw you smirk as he left to take care of himself. It was probably nothing. 

That’s what he’s worried about. Your body, naked against his, teasing him. His arousal won’t be so easy to hide without the protection of clothing, not to mention he may not even be able to fall asleep. It’s not gonna be an easy night, but it’s the only option at this point. 

Joel clears his throat, “We’re gonna try somethin’ different tonight,” he starts, “An’ we’re not gonna talk about it. Ever.”

“Okay,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this. 

“You trust me?” he asks. You nod. “Good,” he says, “We’re gonna share our body heat. An’ it works better with skin to skin contact, which means we’re both gonna get naked and close under the blanket, but we’re not gonna talk about it. Not tonight, not ever. Can you do this?”

“I can,” you tell him. You’re not totally surprised by Joel’s idea, but you’re glad he was the one who brought it up. Truthfully, it’s been something you’ve been thinking of doing with him for quite some time now, since the weather’s been getting so cold. You’ve pictured it, rubbing your bare feet against his legs for some warmth. He’ll probably kick you away, complain that he’s cold too. You’ll tell him too bad. 

“Okay,” he mumbles awkwardly, “Okay, s’good. I’m gonna turn around and get to it then, f’ya wanna…” 

“Yeah, got it.”

You and Joel separate, he places the blanket at his end of the couch as he begins to unbutton his flannel. You remove his coat from your body then shimmy off your pants, leaving them crumpled on the floor. You catch a glimpse of Joel’s back, the firelight dancing on his toned and broad muscles, the scars and stretch marks decorating his skin like art. Quickly, you avert your eyes and begin to remove your shirt. You don’t notice Joel stealing a peek at your body, the blush creeping up his cheeks when he sees your bare breasts. 

“Ready?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, but you’re anxious. You’re not sure how it happens, but you’ve been waking up with Joel here and there. Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night with his limbs inexplicably wrapped around you, his chin resting on your head. The first time it happened, you were confused. You tried to shrug him off of you, but Joel only held you tighter, sleepily mumbling in an annoyed tone. 

After about the fourth or fifth time of waking up with him holding your body, you stopped trying to fight it. In fact, you’d back yourself into him, even scratch his forearms to relax him. There’d be times you’d wake up being spooned by him, other times you’d wake up spooning him, with your arms wrapped around him and your tummy pressed against his back. It’s nice, mostly. 

Mostly. Joel has this inexplicable habit of teasing you in his sleep. His hand will mysteriously travel from your side up to your breasts, his thumb catching on your nipples and rubbing them softly. Other times, he presses his cock against your ass, nudging you and gently grinding against your ass. When you wake, you find somewhere quiet to touch yourself, rubbing your clit to the thought of his body, his warm eyes, the groaning noises he’ll make when he stretches in the morning. Sometimes in the mornings, you can’t sneak away and you’ll be soaked all day, miserable as your core pulses and aches for him. It’s god awful, unbearably frustrating. But you’ve never brought this tendency of his up to him and you never will, because he’s not doing anything intentionally, at least you think. Though, there was one time after a particularly excruciating night of him teasing your nipples, you felt him touch you a little more intensely, like there could have been conscious thought behind the action. It was probably nothing. 

This is what you’re worried about. His body, naked against yours, teasing you. It’s gonna be a difficult night, but you know it’s the only option.

Joel reaches for the blanket, spreads it out as he inches back towards you on the couch. “You can lay on your side like that, facin’ the fire,” he offers, and you follow his suggestion. Joel slots himself behind you and tucks the blanket around both of your bodies, then pulls you closer to his body. “Yeah, good girl. You got it. M’gonna hold you tight like this,” he tells you. 

Good girl. His words send desire flooding your veins. Sweet talking in your ear, his hands holding you close and tight. God, this is trouble. 

“Just need to scoot a little closer, like–” you back your ass into his crotch, “M’just so cold, Joel.”

Fuck. Joel can feel his growing arousal pressing against your ass. “I know you are, hon, just–don’t move like that on me,” He keeps you as close as he can against your body, pressing the length of his arm against your torso to keep you warm. His hand brushes against your breasts, thumb caressing your nipple. You gasp. 

“Need you closer, though,” you mumble, wiggling against his crotch once more. His length hardens fully, prodding against your ass. His breath hitches, “Ignore it,” he grumbles, now annoyed. How many hints does he have to drop? Or are you doing this shit on purpose?

You’re annoyed too, honestly. He’s not directly groping you, but his fingertips have not left your nipples, lightly grazing over them and setting your skin on fire. Do you need to spell it out for him, what he’s doing to you? Surely it’s intentional on his end. Has to be.  

There’s a moment where you’re quiet and so is Joel, both of you tired and confused and sexually frustrated with the other. Maybe you’re looking for a fight, but something’s gotta give. Fuck it, you’ll be the one to instigate. “Ignore what, Joel?” you ask, voice incredulous and laced with sarcasm. 

“I’m–my–fuck,” Joel stammers. He feels your body move with your stifled giggles. “Knock it off.”

“It’s all for me, isn’t it Joel?”

“Dammit, just–shut up,” Joel stiffens as he feels his face and neck begin to warm. “And mind your business. S’not for you. S’not for anyone,” he lies, cringing internally for his defensiveness, definitely overcompensating. He rolls his eyes, knowing he was right. Five minutes into sharing body heat with you and it is not going well at all. You twist your hips once more. “I said ignore it,” he grumbles, his hand finding your hip and holding it firmly in place. “Not rub your ass on it. Now sit still. You’re testin’ my patience.”

“I can’t help it, Joel. I’m just trying to get comfortable,” you lie. 

“Yeah, whatever. You’re gettin’ me in trouble is what you’re doing. Now for the love of god, quit it.”

Ten minutes go by without an incident, and Joel is focusing on trying to sleep with your naked body pressed against his. He’s certainly beginning to warm up but at what cost? He’s breathing in your scent, feeling your warm skin under his hand, which is hard enough to deal with. And then you fucking do it again, because his fingers are still lightly touching your sensitive nipples. “What did I just say?” Joel flips you on your other side so you’re facing him, then holds your jaw between his fingers. “Look at me,” he tells you. “Knock it off. Quit your squirmin’, quit wigglin’ your ass on my–” You can’t hide the grin that forms on your lips at his accusation. You purse your lips in an attempt to hide the amusement you’ve garnered from your payback, but Joel sees it. “Why’re you fuckin’ with me?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You know exactly what you’re doin’. Why are you fuckin’ with me?” 

You shrug, “You started it.”

“I never fuckin’ know what you’re talkin’ about,” Joel complains through a deep sigh, exasperated.

“The teasing,” you explain, “You snuggle me and end up teasing me, playing with my tits and whatnot. You know what you do,” you accuse, “So I’m getting you back. Fair’s fair.”

“So you get worked up and you retaliate by givin’ me a hard on. Charming,” Joel grumbles, “And you’re one to talk about wanderin’ hands. Do you know how many times I’ve woken up with your hands in places they shouldn’t have been? Shouldn’t even be fuckin’ sleepin’ together.”

“You never complained about it before,” you retort, referring to the accidental snuggles that take place between Joel and yourself. 

Joel wears a confused expression for a moment, then glares at you. He narrows his eyes at you, completely misunderstanding what you meant. In his head, he’s thinking that you’ve just admitted all of that accidental teasing–it has been fucking intentional on your part. He knew it! “Before? You’re tellin’ me this is a hobby of yours?” he spits, “I knew you had ulterior motives with that late night cuddlin’ of yours. You’ve been gettin’ me hot an’ bothered on purpose, haven’t you?”

You sigh, “No, I’m talking about—” and then you realize, if Joel thinks you’ve been intentionally getting him worked up all this time, he’s been doing the same shit to you to retaliate. “Only because you did it to me first,” you accuse. 

Joel scoffs. “I don’t believe this,” he scoffs, “I don’t care who started it, I’m finishin’ it right now.”

Your heart pounds as desire pools in your gut, a warm, sticky feeling. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talkin about,” Joel whispers in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. “I’m gettin’ you out of my system once and for all. You’re fuckin’ ridiculous. We’re done with this.”

Joel shifts his arm, reaching for his cock. You watch as he wraps his palm around his member, thumb swiping over his red and swollen tip. His soft belly bulges against his arm that’s pressed tightly against himself as he strokes his member slowly, patiently. When you reach for his cock to replace his hand with your own, you’re in disbelief as he swats your hand away. “Joel,” you whine, confused.

“Was never really teasin’ ya, by the way. Think you’re a little selective in that way. Seein’ and hearin’ what you want to.” Joel accuses in a gentle tone as he continues to massage himself, “And even if I was, you don’t fight fair.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, sweetheart, all that shit you do to me, I’m gonna do right back to you,” Joel reaches for your leg, grabs the back of your knee and hikes your leg over his hip, pulling you closer and exposing your pussy to him. “Not going to go easy on you sweetheart, you sure you want this?” he asks, giving you an out. But you nod anyway, your tummy fluttering with desire as your mind begins to race, wondering exactly how he’ll retaliate after being pent up like this for so long. “Good,” he says. 

Holding his cock in his hand, he guides the tip to your center, collecting the slick pooling at your entrance and taps the thick head against your clit. He pulls you closer and begins to drag himself through your folds. “Joel,” you gasp, “What are you doing?”

“Tryin’ out your modus operandi,” he breathes. “Isn’t this whatcha were just doin’? Rubbin’ up on me?”

“I wasn’t–mmmm,” you hum as he continues to rub the head of his cock against you, “Wasn’t like this.”

“You’re full of shit,” Joel groans as goes up and down, up and down, notching his tip ever so quickly inside of you to gather your increasing arousal and dragging it through your folds, paying special attention to your clit. You’re pulsing, clenching around nothing as he teases you agonizingly. “You’re makin’ a fuckin’ mess. S’all for me, isn’t it?” he taunts you, using your words from earlier. “God, you don’t take much at all. Soakin’ me, sweetheart.”

He notches his tip inside you to collect your wetness once more and you cry out, “Just fuck me.”

“You’re not gettin’ it,” he breathes, “Told ya, you’re gettin’ your comeuppance.”

You feel like you’re gonna burst. He rubs the head of his cock over your clit in circles, listening to your whines of displeasure when he pulls away from you to focus on his own pleasure. When presses himself against you again, he focuses his tip only at your clit, your slick helping him to slide up and down with ease. When he begins to roll his hips for added pressure, you bite into his shoulder to contain your cries. This is agonizing and so fucking delicious all at the same time. 

You adjust your hips, simultaneously reaching for Joel’s cock to guide him to your entrance. You need him now. “C’mon, now. You mind your manners,” he chides you, “S’not any way to get what ya want.”

“Please, just fuck–need you inside me.” 

“Sure thing,” he says in a honeyed tone. He replaces his cock with his fingers, leisurely dragging them through your slick folds before dipping first one, then two fingers inside you. He finds that delicious spot inside you, but curls his fingers lazily, not yet providing you with what you need. You’re throbbing, aching, hungry for more. 

“Joel, not–”

“Shoulda been more specific, then,” he interrupts. Bastard. When you try to argue, Joel flips you on your back and guides his cock to your entrance, notching his tip in you again, this time not leaving. You whine eagerly, wrapping your legs around him and pressing your feet into his ass, trying to pull him closer. You need him inside you, now.

“Not all at once,” Joel purrs as he enters you at a glacial pace. He pushes inside you gradually, letting you feel every inch of him, stopping momentarily to adjust the blanket over his shoulders to keep both of your bodies enveloped in warmth. Joel bottoms out inside of you and pulls back out, then enters you again, so fucking slowly. You’re not sure how he manages to tease you while fucking you, but he’s doing it. You just need more, need it faster, harder, more. You reach for your clit, but Joel pins both of your hands under one of his own as he fucks into you. Tears of frustration begin to build in your eyes. “You can cry all you want, sweetheart,” he coos, “You made your bed. We’re not done with this yet,” he continues, “But, maybe if ya sweet talk me, apologize for startin’ somethin’ you couldn’t finish…”

“M’sorry, Joel,” you apologize quickly. All your fire, your mischief, Joel’s now extinguished like a flame.

“I knew you’d be sorry,” Joel murmurs. Knowing how badly you need to release, Joel snakes his other hand between your thighs and circles your sensitive clit with his thumb ever so lightly. Torturing you, taunting you with what you could have and never giving you more. 

He’s fucking you at a steady pace now, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot. It’s not enough. The wet, gushing sounds of your cunt and the way Joel’s skin feels against yours has you feeling dizzy. Joel’s savoring the way you’re squirming under him, straining your wrists against his locked grip. He knows you’re aching for release, but he’s determined to teach you a lesson, even if that means torturing himself. 

Yes, as pleasurable as this is for Joel to watch you fuck around and find out, it’s misery for him too. Fucking his fist with the tip of his cock kissing your pussy was no easy task, and neither is holding back from how he truly wants to fuck you. Because, truthfully, he wants to fucking ruin you. Show you just what he thinks of these stunts you’ve been pulling. Show you just what he thinks of your wandering hands and your innocent ‘adjustments’.

“Please,” you gasp, “Just make me come, Joel.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. M’not feelin’ particularly generous at the moment.”

“Please,” you whine, “Been needing y–this for so long.” 

“Ahhh,” Joel hums, “And the truth comes out,” he groans as he rolls his hips against you, “S’that what all of this is about? Been needin’ me?” you nod quickly, “Tell me how long you’ve been needing me.”

“Fuck, Joel, I don’t know. Forever,” you cry, “I need to come now, please. Need to come on your cock, fuck.”

“F’ya said somethin’ earlier instead of toyin’ with me like you’ve been doin’, we wouldn’t be in this mess, sweetheart.”

You don’t know how much more you can take. Tears of frustration trail down your cheeks, each of his thrusts hitting deep and massaging your insides, intentionally, powerfully. 

Joel’s right there with you, struggling as well. He wants nothing more than to keep fucking you without allowing you to finish, having never seen anything before so erotic and beautiful as your squirming, writhing body. Your soft body, those sweet noises, that frustrated face of yours. And it’s all at his hands, he’s the one  responsible for turning into this mess. 

“Fuck,” he whispers through a shuddering breath, “Not gonna–”

“Joel,” you cry, the only word you know anymore being his name.

“Let’s be done with this,” he decides, fucking finally. He circles your clit steadily now, finding a pace and a pressure that has you letting out breathy gasps and moans as your orgasm approaches. “Want you to come for me,” he says.

His words are all you need. That warm, sticky feeling in the pit of your stomach builds quickly and releases almost instantaneously, sending pleasure erupting through your veins. You feel it everywhere, the back of your thighs, deep in your gut. Wave after wave of pleasure rocks your body as Joel’s thrusts quicken as he fucks you at a now frenzied, sloppy pace he chases his own release. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, coming with a deep, stuttering moan of your name. His muscles jerk and tremble as his cock pulses inside you, painting your insides with thick ropes of his spend. He pulls out of you groaning, his hot, slick release making your thighs sticky. He places a gentle kiss to your lips and then to your forehead, the action a stark contrast to his previous demeanor. All's right with the world now. Sexual frustration solved.

He takes his place behind you again, pulling you close to his chest for the last time and making sure the blanket is covering you both. You’re certainly warmed up now. A little too warm, even. But you’re not complaining. 

“Still not talkin’ about tonight,” Joel reminds you, “Ever.”

“Nope,” you agree.

Another quiet moment passes. For shits and giggles, you rub your ass against his crotch. “But I take it we’ll be doin’ this again, won’t we?” he says, defeated as you continue to tease him.

“Definitely.”

“Good god,” Joel sighs, “Get back over here, then. You drive me fuckin’ nuts,” he adds, pulling you back for round two. He was right, it’s a long night ahead of him.

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. viii

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chapter summary: Both you and Joel feel there is no use in keeping secrets anymore. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 5.4k chapter warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY. References to absent/abusive parents, alcohol and marijuana mention. A little angst but mostly fluff. As always please dm if you have questions. a/n: If you got notified I posted this at 3am accidentally, no you didn't. this isn’t even a long chapter but i fought with it so much because i was terrified it wouldn’t live up to the hype. Like….everything has been building to this one and I don’t know if it feels right. I love crippling self-doubt. I love being insane! I’m fine. 

-July 9, 2003-

Joel is falling in love. 

He doesn’t know it yet. That’s how love works, right? No one can really pinpoint the exact moment it happens. Most of the time, it’s recognized in hindsight.

What he does know is that you love Sarah. Do you love him? He’s not sure yet. Right now, it almost doesn’t matter. Of course you would love her first. He imagines – he knows – how easy it is to love her. So, he can’t fault you for that. And it’s all that matters. Every other relationship he’s been in has lacked this one critical element. Including his relationship with her own mother. 

Now, he feels there is no use in keeping secrets. He can trust you. He knows Sarah likes you. It all makes sense. 

But he is worried about you. It’s been a few days since the fair, and he hasn’t heard from you. He had seen something from you that so rarely surfaced. Vulnerability. As much as you had tried to hide it behind clenched fists and a sharp tongue – you had been scared. Not just in the moment, but after. Scared to show any weakness, scared to let him in. Maybe you were ashamed, and maybe he’d pushed you too far afterwards. But all he wants is for you to realize that with him, you are safe. 

Joel gets out of his truck and slams the door shut, looking over at your house out of habit. The blinds are shut, your garage closed. It’s six o’clock. He’s home earlier than usual, but he’s used to a different view. Front door hanging open, with warm light beckoning through sheer curtains. He has stood in this very spot and watched Sarah from a distance as she comes back home, the sounds of your combined laughter reaching his ears even from across the street. Where have you been? He wonders. 

Once he’s inside, he doesn’t bother getting too comfortable. Sarah’s at a pool party, and he has to pick her up within the hour. It’s not enough time for him to bother with showering, but he does make himself a peanut butter sandwich for dinner. All that’s left of the loaf is the two end pieces. He needs to go to the store. 

He sits at the kitchen table to eat. Sarah’s only gone for the day, but he wonders why his house feels so big and empty without her. For two weeks she had been away at camp, and he hadn’t felt this lonely. It takes him a moment to realize it’s because he had spent all his time with you. 

The sound of the phone ringing interrupts his sulking, and he answers without checking the caller ID. It’s probably a vendor. Another delayed shipment. “This is Joel.” 

“Hey, Joel.” It’s you. 

“Hey,” Even though you aren’t physically here, he straightens up, wipes his mouth with the paper towel he’s using as a napkin. “How’s it going?”

“I’m good,” you say, your voice sounds….light. Normal. He hears phones ringing in the background. “How are you? How is Sarah doing?”

“I’m good,” he says. “And she’s good.”

“I’m glad,” you begin. “Listen, I uh, I feel like I’ve been MIA the last few days. Work’s been crazy, I’m actually still at the office right now. But I wanted to call you….I’ve uh….I’ve missed hearing your voice.”

Joel feels his shoulders sag in relief. “I missed hearin’ yours.”

You hum softly. “Are you around this weekend? I’d like to see you.”

“I’d like that.” Joel sighs. “I’ll be around. I could make you dinner.”

You don’t answer right away. Joel strains to hear, but all he can make out is keyboards clacking faintly in the distance. “Can….can you make dinner? Like physically. Is that possible?”

Joel looks down at his half-eaten, all-crust peanut butter sandwich. It’s not a very good indicator of his abilities. Maybe you’re right. Nevertheless. “I’ll have you know, I make a mean macaroni and cheese.”

“If it’s from a box, that doesn’t count.”

‘It should, though,” Joel defends. “That’s basically all Sarah and I eat.” 

“Oh, god,” you laugh. “Have you had your blood tested for nutritional deficiencies? Because I’m concerned for your health.” 

“Yeah, actually, I have and I got an A…plus.”

The line is silent again for much longer. Joel thinks the call might’ve dropped, so he says your name. “Hello?”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Of course I’m joking.”

You giggle. “Okay, just making sure,”  you sigh, then add. “We have the same blood type.”

“Guess that’s serendipity,” Joel says. 

“Well, I think you’ve made me go soft….“ you groan. “But I’ll eat your boxed macaroni and cheese if it makes you happy.” 

“It will.” 

Joel leaves the conversation feeling reassured. Truthfully, he’s not sure what he’d call you, if someone asked. He’s never asked you to be his girlfriend, but he knew you were only seeing each other. There had been that other guy, whose name he didn’t care to remember, but Joel had asked you about him in a moment of weakness while Sarah was away at camp, and you hadn’t hesitated. There’s no one else. It’s just you. A confession whispered while you were laid bare and pliant beneath him, his hand resting lightly, but still possessively – over your throat. 

This dinner is reasonably the next step. It’ll be a good opportunity to let you know he’s going to tell Sarah. To make sure you are on the same page. And then he can sit down with her and have the talk alone. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey Dad, can I ask you something?” 

It’s later in the evening, and Joel is mindlessly flipping through channels on the TV when Sarah enters the living room from the kitchen. She stands with her hands clasped, shifting from foot to foot. Noticing her body language, he leans forward and hits the mute button. 

“Yeah, what’s going on, babygirl?” 

“Before camp….you went on a couple dates. Are you still seein’…whoever that was?”

Joel hesitates a minute. This is a conversation they’ve only ever had a handful of times before, but rarely initiated by Sarah. “Uh, yeah…sweetheart but uh….it’s been a little. We’re both busy people.” 

Sarah studies him for a moment, and it’s hard to recognize the look in her eyes. “What makes you ask?” Joel prompts. 

“Just curious,” she shrugs. “You uhm…you seem…happier. More relaxed.”

Joel’s face feels warm. “Yeah, she’s….she’s pretty great.” 

“Will I get to meet her?”

You already have, he wants to say. And he should just tell her now. Get it out of the way. But if he tells her the truth without letting you know first, it feels like it will make the already messy situation even messier. “Eventually,” he nods. 

“Cool,” His daughter smiles at him, but he sees the way her shoulders remain slumped. Sarah crosses the room to sit next to him on the couch. “Can we watch a movie?” she changes the subject.

“Sure,” Joel gets up to look at their collection of DVDs, thumbing over them and listing off some of her favorites. “Let’s see….Scooby Doo, Bend It Like Beckham, Clueless….” When she doesn’t answer right away, Joel looks over his shoulder to see her curled up,  head turned to stare out the front window. “Sarah? Any of those sound good?”

“What?” she turns back towards him. “Bend It Like Beckham? I haven’t watched that in awhile.”

Joel pulls the movie from the shelf and puts it in the DVD player. When he sits back on the couch she lies down and puts her head on his knee. He knows she’ll be out within minutes.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-July 11,2003-

Standing on the front porch of Joel’s house, you realize you feel more calm in this moment than you have all week – and you haven’t even seen him yet. The prospect of spending time with him alone is enough. 

You don’t even need to fake your smile as the door wins open – it happens on its own accord. But as soon as it comes, it falls away when you are met with – 

“Sarah?” 

It’s her name, but it sort of sounds like it’s a question. You force the smile back onto your face because looking shocked is the opposite of what you want to do. Where is Joel? Are you early? Incredibly, incredibly late? Your heart rate picks up, as you rack your brain for something to say. Some kind of excuse, some kind of explanation. 

“Uhm…I uh, I was wondering if I could uh, borrow a….drill? I’m uh….assuming your dad has one, right? I have this picture….that I’m hanging.”

“Oh yeah,” Sarah nods, lets you step inside, but she only backs up a few steps, and stays facing you. Her chin tilts, giving you a once-over. It’s then you remember what you look like. You’ve styled your hair, you’ve put on makeup. She crosses her arms. ”You look pretty.”

“Oh, thanks,” you nod. “So do you.”

“Are you goin’ somewhere after you hang your picture?”

You shrug, like you don’t know what she’s getting at, and then shake your head. “Maybe.”

Her eyes narrow, but her lips curve up just a little. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” 

“I’m sorry…” you play dumb. “What?”

“My dad’s date. It’s you.”

The thing is, you’ve been so tied up in keeping the secret from Sarah, and feeling guilty about keeping the secret from her, that you haven’t really thought of what could happen when she found out. And when you did, the idea of the worst case scenario – her rejection, made you feel sick to your stomach. 

Directly in front of her, she looks at you dead-on. Everyone has a different definition of what lying is. Deflecting, dismissing, are fine in your eyes but….denying? Especially when the question being asked is so….direct? That would be lying. And sure, you’re not even above that sometimes. But you can't lie to Sarah, regardless of the consequences.

You take a deep breath. “Look, Sarah I wanted to tell you, but-”

“Oh my god, I knew it!” she punches your arm at first. You reach to quell the ache it leaves behind, but before you can, she throws her arms around your neck and squeezes you tightly. 

“Thank God it’s you.” Slowly, your arms raise to return the hug, but you’re really at a loss of words. Her voice is muffled against the shoulder of your shirt. “I’ve never wanted to be right about something so bad in my life.”

“Sarah,” you hear Joel’s voice call from upstairs, and she pulls back. “Is that you I hear downstairs? I thought Emily was supposed to pick you up a half hour ago!” 

Sarah keeps her eyes on you, grinning widely as she answers. “She’s running late.”

“Well, babygirl, I’ve gotta-” Joel’s footsteps pause on the landing, and you look up to see him staring at you both. He looks like a deer trapped in headlights, and you see his expression shift through every possible emotion – concerned, fearful, regretful, apologetic, but by the time Sarah turns to face him with her arms crossed, it’s gone blank.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Dad?”

Joel looks at you, as if you can somehow get him out of this situation. All you have to do is raise your eyebrows. She knows. He rolls his shoulders back and looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep inhale, then drops his gaze to his daughter. “I was gonna tell you soon. Probably later tonight I had to talk to-” he gestures to you, then pinches his temples. 

“I knew it,” she repeats herself.

Joel makes a skeptical face, easing the rest of the way down the stairs. “No you didn’t.” 

“No, I did,” she smiles. “I always thought you had a crush or somethin’, and then I saw the way you were looking at her last weekend, and you were so weird yesterday when I brought up the fact that you were going on dates, and you’ve kept the house way too clean, and-”

“Okay, fine!” Joel cuts her off, and you see his cheeks flush slightly, like he’s embarrassed. “You knew it. I believe you.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Sarah elbows you.

“I asked her not to,” Joel defends. “We were figuring things out.” 

She backs down, then looks between you. 

“Everything good?” Joel asks. “Everyone happy?” 

Sarah nods, then grins. “Good.” Joel wraps an arm across each of your shoulders and pulls you against his chest. Then he plants a kiss on the top of both of your heads. 

Outside, a car horn honks. 

“That’s Emily,” Sarah mumbles, her cheek smushed up against Joel’s bicep, and he loosens his grip, but still keeps you both close. “Will you be here when I get home?” Sarah asks, looking at you.

“I can be.” 

“When’s curfew?” Joel asks. A test. 

“Ten-thirty,” Sarah says confidently. 

“Good,” he says, patting her shoulder. “Have fun. We’ll see you when you get home.”

Sarah grins and gives you one more quick hug before bounding outside. Both you and Joel watch her get into the car through his screen door. You turn to him first after the car backs out of the driveway. 

“Well,” you cluck your tongue. “So much for sneaking around.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Joel covers his face with his hands and groans. “You don’t understand. I had this whole plan tonight to cook you dinner and talk to you about this. I wanted to see if it was okay before I told her but I had no idea her friend was running late and I should’ve-”

“Joel,” you interrupt.

“I just wanted to do one thing right.”

“Joel,” you repeat his name, reach out and put a hand on his arm. “Best laid plans. It’s alright. Really.” 

“You’re not mad?”

You shake your head vehemently, give him a gentle smile. He pulls you back against him and kisses you tenderly, hands on either side of your face. “I’m just glad she’s not mad,” you confess. “I thought she’d hate me once she found out.”

“I knew she wouldn’t.” He chuckles. “She loves you.”

If he had known she wouldn’t be upset, you wonder why Joel would want you to keep it a secret? What revelation did he have that suddenly made him okay with it? Maybe he’s trying to tell you something right now. Without saying it. So do I. 

Before the kiss gets too heated, Joel pulls away. You’re led into the kitchen, where he pours you both glasses of chilled white wine, and you sit at the counter, chatting with him about his day while he cooks you chicken alfredo.

“I felt like if I was going to talk to you about this….kind of serious thing, we shouldn’t be eating a meal made primarily for college students and five-year-olds,” he explains. There’s a piece of hair falling onto his forehead. You gravitate closer to him, sipping your wine and leaning back against the counter to study him carefully.  

“Dang,” you reach out, pushing his hair back away from his face. “This whole week I kept seeing traffic cones and craving boxed macaroni.”

“Well you might still get to eat it,” he laughs. “Because I have no idea how this is gonna turn out.”

“I’m sure it will be alright,” you assure him. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.” He gives you a sweet smile in response, and you relish in it – press your cheek against his shoulder, and hold it there for a moment, looking down with him at the stovetop.

It’s a milestone, of sorts. Sarah knows about you. And from everything Joel’s told you, not everyone he is with gets that privilege. Even if he’s asked you for nothing else, this means something. To him, and now to you in turn. There’s a version of yourself from not long ago that might’ve run for the hills at the implication. But you’re tired of running. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-August 14th, 2003-

You’re roused awake by the feeling of the mattress dipping beneath the weight of another body next to yours.  Being the light sleeper that you are, you get bits and pieces of the unfamiliar room you are in through bleary eyes. And it’s cold. Somewhere during the night, you'd kicked off the fluffy duvet and comforter, and now you’re completely nude underneath nothing but a sheet. 

“You still sleepin’?” It’s Joel. Even though sleep still obscures most of your base-level functioning, you recognize his low, easy drawl. He tugs on the thin layer of fabric that covers your body. Your fingers curl, fisting into the gauzy fabric tucked under your chin. 

“Please don’t,” you croak out, shivering. “I’m freezing.” 

Joel tuts lightly, and slides under the covers to join you. His skin is slightly damp against your own – he’s just gotten back from his morning run. With anyone else, you’d be disgusted, maybe even snap at them for soiling the sheets. But somehow, he smells fucking incredible like this – all salt and sweat, and so warm. 

Pressed against him, you thaw. His hand slides over the dip in your waist, paws at your thighs. “Joel,” you whisper, but it’s not at all a protest. You’re used to this, all handsy in the morning and especially after he works out. 

“I need you,” he murmurs into your ear and you feel him, already hard and grinding against the flesh of your ass.

You hum your affirmation, and that’s all it takes. Joel shifts behind you, probably pushing his shorts down, before lifting your thigh and lining himself up with your entrance. You groan at the feeling of him stretching you open. One of his hands clasps over your mouth, the other holds your hips in place as he drives himself as deep as he can go. You moan louder. 

“Shh, shh, baby,” he murmurs, voice still raspy from lust and sleep. “Don’t want to wake anyone else up.” 

Right. You aren’t alone. Tommy and Sarah’s rooms are just across the hall. The knotty pine walls of the cabin start to shift into focus. With this in mind, you do your best to stay quiet as Joel starts up a callous pace that you think for a second might be a little too aggressive, until the sound of his needy panting in your ear makes you reconsider. You can’t help yourself. 

That’s all this, being with Joel – is. You keep giving more and more of yourself over to him. You can’t stop, you don’t want to. It feels good, the surrender. However slow it may be.

Your body thrums to life before you know it, and then you’re overly sensitive and desperate in-kind, clenching around his length as he ruts into you. 

Joel’s hot mouth trails sloppy, wet kisses along your neck. “Always feels so good, pretty girl. Like you were fuckin’ made for me,” his words buzz against the shell of your ear, fall down where they break at the base of your spine, a hundred shards shattering upon impact. Whatever expletive that leaves you comes out, muffled by his palm. “Hard to stay quiet, huh?” 

It’s already too much. You’ve gotten sinfully wet within minutes. And when you grind back against him involuntarily, that pulls him farther forward. “Touch yourself, darlin’,” he commands. “Not gonna last long.” 

You can feel him throbbing, right on the brink, so you reach down to circle your clit with two fingers as Joel movements grow sloppy, and uncoordinated. The feeling of him spilling deep inside you is the catalyst for your own orgasm, and Joel manages a few more thrusts to work you through it, his grip tightening over your mouth to hold back the noise.

He doesn’t pull back right away, just strokes your hair and peppers kisses on your shoulders. You listen to his sweet nothings, and savor the thump of his heart against your back. 

“I should hire you as my personal alarm clock from now on,” you say, voice hoarse, once you catch your breath. You feel the evidence of what he’d done to you, and press your thighs together at the sensation.

Joel chuckles. “You wouldn’t have to pay me. I’d volunteer.”

“So selfless,” you quip, and he drags his nose up the middle of your back, dazed and content. “Okay,” you wriggle from his grip to sit up. If you don’t leave the bed now, you don’t think you will ever find the strength again. “I need to shower.” 

“Can I join you?”

“Sure,” you say. “But you’re not allowed to distract me.”

“We’ll see about that…” Joel tickles your waist. 

“Joel,” you say, sternly. “I have shit I want to do.”

“Oh, really?” he seems unconvinced. “You’re finding tasks on vacation?”

“I wouldn’t call them tasks,” you explain. “But Sarah and I were gonna walk to that coffee shop in town.” 

“Coffee shop? Without me?” 

“I mean….last night you and Tommy promised to make breakfast,” you ruffle his hair affectionately, and he wrinkles his nose. “So I think we’re expecting it. But I’ll bring something home for you.” 

Joel grins, and pulls you in for another kiss before letting you retreat first to the bathroom, before following after you dutifully. 

He had driven the four of you a couple hours to some wildlife reserve you’d never heard of for a long weekend before Sarah went back to school at the end of the month. It’s your first trip together, and while you were excited to get out of the suburbs, it was a far cry from the vacations you had been used to growing up, and renting out a cabin had been a compromise, instead of straight-up camping. 

Still, you make the most of it. You and Sarah walk to the lake, and lay out on towels reading books and laughing until the sun dries out your skin. Tommy tries to teach you both to fish, but you’re too grossed out to touch the nightcrawlers he buys so you can’t even bait the hook. Joel takes you hiking and Sarah nearly breaks her foot trying to climb a tree. In her defense, you tell Joel it looked very climbable. 

Sarah demands to do a photoshoot when she finds the digital camera you brought, much to Joel’s dismay. He grumbles under his breath and rolls his eyes when you pick pink wildflowers and tuck them in his curls, then behind his ears, before you and Sarah do the same for each other. You snap portraits of each other – you and Sarah, then Sarah and Joel, then Tommy and Joel, and so on. 

When you get the pictures developed, and you see the photo on the top of the stack, you nearly return them, thinking there’d been a mistake. It’s one Sarah took of you and Joel. He’s kissing your cheek, arms encircling you, and you’re laughing so hard that your eyes are closed. The woman in the photo doesn’t look like you….she’s so happy.

Each night of the trip, you take turns on dinner duty – usually something that involves a grill. And the dad in Joel cannot help but hover around whoever is the chef, giving them pointers until he ends up taking over the meal entirely. The weed you brought mysteriously disappears one night after Tommy’s leaves to ‘go for a walk’, and you make s’mores over a fire. It’s so normal.

On your last night, you lay on the hammock next to Sarah, the mosquitoes unable to penetrate the protective circle of citronella candles and incense you’ve surrounded yourselves with. The cool breeze rustling through the trees is a reprieve from the unforgiving heat and humidity of the day. You’re making progress on The Da Vinci Code, even though Sarah is reading The Hobbit and periodically interrupting you to ask questions. 

The back door slams and you hear shoes approach, crunching over gravel. “Hey girls,” Joel stands over you with his hands on his hips. He gives the hammock a push that sends it into motion, swinging back and forth gently. You laugh, but Sarah wrinkles her nose, clearly disturbed by the movement. “Room for one more?” 

“No,” Sarah lifts her arm to try to keep him from climbing beside her. “Get a chair.”

Joel huffs, but doesn’t argue, pulling up the folding chair to sit next to you both. “It’s a nice night, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you answer. Sarah puts the book closer to her face, gives a mumbled yes.

“Sarah, honey, have you enjoyed yourself?” 

“Did you not bring something to read out here?”

“No, I thought I’d come talk with you both because I was gettin’ bored all alone.” 

“Maybe you should go get your guitar,” Sarah suggests. 

“Where’d Tommy go?” you ask. 

“Met some girl who’s stayin’ two doors down,” Joel raises an eyebrow at you. 

You shake your head. “Incredible.” 

The night is loud, but ambient, crickets chirping. “It’s definitely starting to get dark earlier,” Joel observes. 

Sarah lets out a long sigh at that, shuts her book with a satisfying snap, and shifts to sit up. “I’m going inside.” 

“You don’t have to go, babygirl,” Joel reaches to steady the hammock and keep you from flipping out of it. 

“I’m tired,” she says. “And I gotta pack my stuff up.” 

“Do you want me to-”

“No, please, Dad, just…let me be.” 

Joel frowns, and he stares at her dejectedly as the door slams shut. He turns back to you. “Did I do something wrong?” 

You smirk, shake your head. “End of summer blues.” 

“Should I talk to her?”

“Maybe give her some time….check in later.” 

Joel sighs, stands from his chair, and takes Sarah’s place next to you on the hammock with incredible grace, considering the task. Smooth motherfucker, you think to yourself. 

“Tell me how you know more about parenting than I do?” he asks, rolling onto his side and propping himself on an elbow. “Sometimes I feel like you’re better at it.” 

To be fair, Sarah had been hinting at it all week, but you didn’t want to pry until she said it outright. Plus, it’s a familiar feeling. “I guess it helps that I was once a teenage girl. I used to get angsty before school started up every year.”

“How’d your dad handle it?” You realize that Joel is asking the question completely innocently, without thinking, but the second it leaves his mouth he realizes his mistake, and you can see the apology written in his features. 

It’s nothing, you shake your head. “Do you…” you trail off. “Do you want to know?”

Joel nods carefully. 

“Well,” you bite your lower lip. “He didn’t really handle it at all. I didn’t like being sent away. The one time I came to him in tears over it, he told me to quit being a crybaby and sent me to my room. So after that, I just never bothered him about it again.” 

Almost twenty years ago, but it’s like you’re there, in the dim light of your bedroom, biting on a corner of a frilly pink throw pillow and not bothering to wipe the tears that track down your cheeks and stain the embroidery. It wasn’t the first time. And it wouldn’t be the last.

“How old were you?” Joel asks. 

“I don’t know,” You pick at the corner of your book, avoiding his eyes. “Younger than Sarah. Nine or ten?” 

You wait for Joel’s expression to shift to one of pity. But it never does. There’s only something steely in his gaze. He winds an arm around your waist and brings you up against him. “I’m sorry.”  

“It’s okay,” you assure him, because it wouldn’t be opening up if you didn’t feel the need to immediately downplay everything you had said. “My brother ended up sneaking me out and taking me to get a milkshake.” 

“I’m glad he was there.”

“Me too,” you nod. “He was- is a good brother. Things are just….complicated now that we’re older.”

“I know that feeling,” Joel strokes your hair, runs his hand up the side of your waist absentmindedly. You find his quiet empathy – the space he holds for you – incredibly rewarding. That wasn’t so bad.

After the moment passes, he tugs on the collar of the flannel you’re wearing over a tank top. “This my shirt?” he asks. You nod, give a cautious smile. 

“Hope it’s okay,” you said. “I was cold. I didn’t think it’d get this cold at night.”

“It’s more than okay,” he mumbles, nosing past your hair and pressing his lips to your throat. You shiver. “You always look so pretty. But being out in nature really suits you.”

“Okay,” you say sarcastically, and don’t believe him for a second.

“You should really let me take you camping sometime. Proper camping,” he continues. 

“Joel, we talked about this,” you recall the conversations leading up to this trip. “If I am not within walking distance of an actual shower, I will die.” 

Joel laughs. “I’m not being dramatic. It would kill me.” 

“Don’t say that,” Joel scolds. “You’d be fine.”

“I’m not built like you. I’m a City Girl.”

“You’re not at all curious about the idea of having sex in a tent?”

“We have sex in a bed just fine. Why do we need to do it in a tent? Wouldn’t that just make it worse?”

“It’s a change of scenery.” 

“Okay so if that’s all it is, just hang a different picture in your room or something.”

Joel laughs again. 

“Look, I’m open minded about a lot of things, but if you took me camping, properly, out in the wilderness, you would hate me by the end of it.” 

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Joel answers. “I bet I’d still think I’m a pretty lucky guy.” 

You roll your eyes, pick your book back up and scan the pages, none of the words hitting. “You have too much faith in me. Truly.” 

“I’m serious,” he mumbles, hand under your chin. “Look at me, just let me sweet talk you for a second, alright?” 

Sighing, you let the book fall on your chest and clasp your fingers over it, turning to face him. “You’re so good. To me, to Sarah. Even to Tommy, although that’s not very important,” he smirks at his joke, almost like his brother could hear him. Quickly, he focuses back on you. “You fit in so well, and you don’t even have to try. I’m just so….happy.” 

Joel isn’t a poet or anything, but it’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said to you. And it means more since it’s from him. You give him a gentle smile. “Me too.” 

But before anything can settle, you’re made aware of the deep ache within you. All you’ve ever wanted, all your life, is to not feel like a burden. To be cared for, paid attention to, without having to do anything to earn it. Do you really deserve this? Him? Sarah? How long will it be before it gets taken away, like it always has.

You feel like a toddler. A shiny toy is being dangled in front of you, but the second you reach for it, acknowledge how much you want it, it’s pulled away. You’re so uncoordinated, you fall on your face.

“Are you with me?” Joel asks, and you realize you’ve been staring absentmindedly at your feet. You nod. “What’s on your mind?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do.” 

You scrape your top teeth together for a second. “I’m really happy. I am, Joel,” you promise him. “But for me, good things don’t usually last.”

Joel’s hand circles yours, brings it so it’s pressed against his heart. “This will.”

You chose to believe him.

------

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texas sun - joel miller x f! reader - vol. v

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | photo cred

chapter summary: You knew yourself, and the way that you could get hung up on the right kind of person. Joel was that kind of person. But you don’t like how formal this feels. So real. -- In other words, Joel takes you on your first date. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 8.6k chapter warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY (it's happening, folks!) - unprotected sex, please dm if you want specifics but I’m not trying to spoil too much. If you don't want to read the smut, it doesn't happen until about halfway through the chapter. Crying after sex. Angst. FLUFF. Mentions of anxiety & self-doubt, alcohol consumption.  a/n: Help! I can’t stop writing fit checks into this story!! This ended up being insanely horny but also shockingly sweet. I worked way way way too hard on it so please say nice things to me. Might need to take a couple days off because I'm really feeling burnt out. So please enjoy in the meantime.

-May 16, 2003-

Joel doesn’t like lying to Sarah.

Although, he’s not sure that he’s lying to her as much as he is simply….omitting information. Depending on who you ask, that could still be considered lying.

He’s fresh out of the shower when he steps into the living room, fishes through the catch-all basket located just inside the front door, and pockets his wallet and keys.

“Where are you going?” 

Sarah’s lounging on the couch, on her back, one of her hands slung behind her head. There’s a book opened on her lap, but she’s not reading. “You’re all dressed up.”

Joel looks down at his green flannel shirt, tucked into a pair of dark jeans. Truth be told, he’s a little ashamed he doesn’t have anything nicer in his closet. It’s not like he ever has any occasion to dress up, but he’s already feeling self-conscious and being (most likely) underdressed isn’t helping. Based on the very limited information he knows about your past relationships, you’re probably accustomed to crisp dress shirts, ties, blazers. He doesn’t own any of those things — he did, at one point, have the tux from his wedding, but he’d gotten rid of it after the divorce. Every time he saw it in the back of his closet, it made him sick. Regardless, tonight he’d done the best he could otherwise - showered, trimmed his beard, and even dug through his medicine cabinet for an old – probably expired – bottle of cologne. Hopefully it was enough. 

“I’ve uh….I’ve got a date.” Joel says. 

The theme song from That’s So Raven is blaring through the living room, but it immediately cuts out as Sarah presses mute and sits up entirely from her spot on the couch. “Really?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Joel says. “Your uncle is coming over, though, he’s gonna drop me off and then he said he’d take you to the movies.”

As if on cue, he hears Tommy’s truck pull into the drive. “Yes!” Sarah leaps up from the couch. “I have to change first.”

“Hurry up, babygirl, I’m already runnin’ behind,” Joel calls after her. 

Tommy knocks twice on the front door before letting himself in anyways. 

“You’re late,” Joel informs, shutting the door behind him. They should’ve left five minutes ago, and the last thing Joel wants is for you to think he’s not punctual. To be fair, he’s not, and almost never is. But you don’t need to know that….yet. 

“Hello to you, too,” Tommy trails after him into the kitchen. Joel is tempted to chug a beer, or fish the half-empty bottle of whiskey he’s got in the cabinet out to take a shot — just to take the edge off. But he refrains. It wouldn’t be a good look to show up smelling of booze.

“So…who's the lucky lady?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, Tommy presses. “Come on, Joel, who is it?” 

He contemplates telling his brother the truth, but he doesn’t want to give him the idea that he had taken his advice. He didn’t. Well maybe he did, but he knows Tommy will become insufferable if he finds out. 

“Is it who I think it is?” Tommy asks. “It better be.”

Unfortunately, Tommy knows him too well. They’re brothers, and really, Joel’s first and oldest friend. The answer is written all over his face. 

Tommy grins. “Fucking finally. Oh my god, dude, I thought you’d never-”

“Alright, alright!” Joel interjects, eyes darting nervously up the stairs, where he hears his daughter shuffling around in her bathroom. “Keep your mouth shut, I haven’t told Sarah yet.” 

Tommy raises his hands in defense, but at least seems to understand how serious Joel is. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna say anything. Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” Joel looks down at the countertop, and is compelled to be honest with his little brother. “I’m uh….I’m a little nervous, though. Been awhile since I’ve done anything like this.” 

Tommy grows serious. “Do you want my advice?” 

“Yours?” Joel feels like whatever advice he has to offer is likely questionable, particularly with someone like you. “No thanks. I’d rather make a good impression.”

His brother ignores the subtle dig. “You sure? Because unlike you, I actually go on dates. I mean, it’s been what, like….ten years?” He crosses his arms, pretends to think. It’s probably only been a couple of months since the last time Joel took someone out, and Tommy knows it, but he loves to dramatize. “I mean at this stage, you’re basically a born-again virgin. Do you even remember how to put on a condom?” 

Joel crosses his arms and glares at his brother, who begins giggling at his bad joke. “I knew I shouldn’t have fucking said anything to you,” he shakes his head.

“Oh come on Joel, you’ll be fine,” Tommy says. “Really. She’s into you. I could tell when we were all together the other night. Even when I was dancing with her, I kept catching her lookin’ your way…”

“Yeah, well….” Joel rubs the back of his neck to play off the surge of warmth he gets from this information. “Thanks.”

Sarah’s bathroom door opens, and he hears the staccato beat of her sneakers coming down the stairs. Joel points at Tommy one last time. “Not a word, understand?” 

Tommy nods just as she rounds the corner.

“Uncle Tommy!” Sarah raises her hand to give him a high-five, which they both purposely miss so they can collide palms on the downswing, grab each other’s hands and then begin a secret handshake so complex that Joel, who has seen it a thousand times, still doesn’t think he could execute correctly if he tried.

“How’s my favorite niece?” 

“I’m your only niece.” 

“Touche,” they shoot at each other with finger guns before she wraps him in a hug and Tommy presses his nose to the top of her head. Despite the fact that their little routine is costing Joel precious time, almost all the annoyance he’d been feeling with his brother dissipates at the sight.

“We all ready?” Tommy asks her, then points at him. “Don’t want to make this casanova late.”

“Yeah, of course not,” Sarah looks over at Joel with a smile that doesn’t seem entirely sincere. When she was younger and he’d gone on dates, she always had a lot more questions. Who is it? What is she like? When can I meet her? Is she pretty? Over the years, however, she became less and less interested. It was because she was smart, and had caught onto the pattern - he’d go on a date, maybe one or two more, then there’d be a long period of nothing before the cycle repeated itself every couple months. It rarely developed into anything that would concern her, and Joel always kept the details to himself.

While they’re en route to the restaurant – a little French bistro that had opened up recently — Sarah and Tommy bicker about what movie they want to see.

“I wanna see Holes. I just read the book.”

Tommy grimaces. “What about Matrix Reloaded? It just came out.”

“I already told dad I’d go to that with him.”

“So?” he looks between Sarah and Joel. “Why can’t you just see it twice?”

“No,” Sarah says emphatically. “I have to see it with dad first. It’s not fair.” 

Tommy groans, mutters under his breath. “I can’t believe you let her watch that crap,” as if he wasn’t about to do the same thing.

“She likes it,” Joel shrugs.

“All the more reason to see it tonight.”

“Tommy,” Joel warns. 

“Fine.”

“I don’t really like it, though. I just like to keep dad company so he doesn’t have to see it alone.”

“You’re too nice,” Tommy takes a beat. “Are you sure you aren’t adopted?”

“Shut up,” Joel and Sarah answer at the same time, and Joel holds his palm behind him for his daughter to slap. 

Tommy acquiesces, his truck jolting as it pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant. Joel’s heart rate picks up immediately. The car rolls to a stop and Joel turns to look at both of them. “Alright, I’ll be home by midnight.”

“Sounds good,” says Sarah. 

“Have fun,” Tommy raises his eyebrows, winks, and thankfully Sarah doesn’t see it, because she’s getting out of the truck to take Joel’s spot shotgun. He makes sure she’s settled with her seatbelt on before he shuts the door.

He isn’t trying to waste time, but Joel watches them pull out of the lot and back onto the street before he goes inside the restaurant. Really, he just needs a minute to collect himself. There’s no good reason for him to be as anxious as he is, he’s already kissed you once, and you had seemed to like it — quite a lot too. For the past week the feeling of your body pressed up against him, legs around his torso, was pretty much all he thought about when his mind wandered. Mostly at night before bed, and even today, in the shower when he was getting ready - just to try and calm down. Even now, the idea leaves him flustered.

Nevertheless, this probably isn’t even technically a first date. He hasn’t had issues speaking to you in the past, so this should be easy. Right? But what if you change your mind? And what if it dawns on you that he’s not your type? Even worse, what if you realize he’s just not good enough? 

Joel forces himself inside before he talks himself out of this. When he enters, he sees you first. You’re across the room, leaning over the small bar where a few other patrons are. Greedily, he takes you in, and it’s easy to trace your figure in the tight black shift dress you’ve got on, sheer black tights underneath. It’s sleek, stylish - not that Joel knows much about that. As usual, you stand out in stark contrast to every other person in the place. He likes it. But he feels underdressed. He’ll look ridiculous standing next to you, and he briefly considers turning around, leaving, and saving himself the embarrassment.  

That’s until you move, angling yourself towards him and scanning the restaurant, an elbow resting on the bar, a hand on your knee. You’re looking for him, waiting for him, and finally, you’re rewarded when your eyes catch. Suddenly, Joel doesn’t care about what he’s wearing. He doesn't care that he’s not good enough. At the very least, he doesn’t have to guess if you’re interested in him anymore, not with how you’re gazing at him — a soft smile and narrowed eyes that betray your enthusiasm. Sure, he's not good enough, but he decides if he’s going to go down in flames, he’ll do it trying to convince you otherwise.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Maybe I should’ve eaten a proper lunch, you think to yourself. You’ve barely touched the drink in your hand, but you’re already starting to feel it. And even though you are the designated driver tonight, for now, the slight buzz is welcome, working to soothe. 

Over the years, you’d been on your fair share of first dates. Unlike most…you don’t hate them. For whatever reason, getting to know new people had always come easy, particularly if they were the right person. Being a lawyer, you had a knack for talking yourself into or out of almost anything. So it was just as easy to let someone know if they weren’t the right person. The best part of first dates, however, was that they lacked all the things you hated — promises, expectations, and conversations that went deeper than general pleasantries. 

So all things considered, you shouldn’t feel as tense as you do right now.

There’s a few factors that might have something to do with it, and your brain turns them over,  biding your time until your date arrives. 

First is the text that sits opened on your BlackBerry.

Dad’s home from the hospital. Doing better. Call when you can. - Vince

Your father has been in and out of the hospital for the last month or so, his health rapidly declining. But every update from your brother, however innocent they may be, feels like veiled threats. You should be here. You should know this. I shouldn't have to text you about it. I can’t believe I’m the only one looking after him. A part of you wants to believe that Vincent wouldn’t play that sort of game with you, but as you’ve gotten older and grown apart, you’d gotten worse at deciphering his motivations. Vaguely, you acknowledge that you could just be projecting, and you are the only one trying to make you feel bad. 

And then there’s Joel. 

He’s running late, you hope, or he’s stood you up. And you have already promised yourself that you’re only gonna wait ten more minutes before heading home with your tail tucked between your legs. The thought of that makes you regret agreeing to this in the first place. You’d already embarrassed yourself the last time you were together, practically begging him to take you on the kitchen countertop, but he’d insisted on doing this right. You should’ve pushed harder because you’re starting to think that maybe, just maybe….a zipless fuck would’ve sufficed. Oh, who were you kidding? You knew yourself, and the way that you could get hung up on the right kind of person. Joel was that kind of person. But you don’t like how formal this feels. So real. 

He knows you better than most first dates do. You’ve told him more about your family, about your fucked up childhood, about your aversion to committed relationships more than any friend you’ve made since moving to Texas. And he listened. It should make you feel better. He knows what he’s getting himself into, and he asked you here anyways. Maybe he’s having second thoughts. 

For what feels like the thousandth time, you check your emails and take a sip of your dirty martini – your preferred vehicle for alcohol consumption. Ultimately, you like the idea of a martini more than the actual taste, but you appreciate how direct they are. You scan the restaurant one last time, doing your best to look casual, like you don’t really care. Like you’re supposed to be there alone. 

But when your head turns towards the entrance, Joel is standing across from you. 

He gives you a bashful smile, one that makes your stomach flip, and makes his way over – though he doesn’t seem to be in a rush. It’s like he knows you’d sit and wait for him for as long as it takes – you would, you will, you are. 

When he finally lands in front of you, one thumb hooked in the belt loop of his dark-wash jeans, he leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek for the briefest moment, and pulls back, looking you up and down. 

“It’s good to see you, darlin’,” he murmurs softly. The term of endearment makes your ears feel hot. You're shocked at the effect he has on you, almost can’t believe it. It scares you, too, but you want to chase the feeling. “You look great.”

“So do you,” because you’re not one to lie. He does. As good as always, but he might’ve trimmed his beard for the occasion and maybe….put on cologne? It’s hard to tell, and in your brief experience being so close to him, he’s always smelled good regardless. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes. “Can’t count on Tommy to get me anywhere on time.”

“It’s alright,” you say casually, like you hadn’t had your whole exit strategy planned out just minutes ago. “I got to have a drink while I wait. You want something?” you gesture towards the bartender. 

“Sure,” Joel answers. “How about an old fashioned?” There’s no room for him to sit, so he leans next to you, arm on the bartop, invading your personal space while you wait for your table. Your skin buzzes like you’ve never been this close to a man before in your life. Pathetic. 

He orders his drink before he speaks to you again. “Have you been here before?” he asks. 

You shake your head no. “I was planning on coming a couple months ago but….never got around to it.”

“It’s good,” he says. “I’ve been a couple times.”

“Is this where you take all the girls you go out with?” you raise an eyebrow, grateful that your voice sounds even despite the way your blood is fizzing, your heart pumping so fast you can feel it in your ears. 

Joel shakes his head no. “That’s down the street.”

“Oh?” you nod, sip your drink. Whatever buzz you’d been feeling is gone in the wake of adrenaline. “So….why didn’t you take me there, then?”

“It’s not as nice,” Joel smirks, leaning in a little closer – if it were possible. His lips are practically touching your ear, and his voice is raspy for what comes next. “And I’m trying to impress you.” 

“Right,” you can’t help but smile, pulling back so you can lock eyes. He’s so sincere you can’t even think up a clever quip in return. “How thoughtful.” 

He gives you a cheeky grin. You want to touch him, want to hold him, want to fist the front of his shirt or tug on the hair at the back of his neck and stick your tongue down his throat like you aren’t surrounded by an entire restaurant of patrons. 

It’s going to be the longest fucking dinner of your life. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You survive. 

But at a cost. 

And you don’t learn anything new about Joel, except for the fact that your memory hasn’t exaggerated how charming he is, how charismatic, how thoughtful. All the times you’d allowed yourself to daydream about him didn’t hold a candle. Enjoying the meal is difficult, because you just want to get him alone. He can sense it – you’re pretty sure, because he orders himself a coffee after dessert, and sips on it ever-so-slowly, smirking at you over the rim of the mug.

When dinner’s over, you offer to drive Joel home, since he’d gotten a ride here. By this point, the martini is long gone from your system and you sort of want to pour yourself another when you get home. Even if you don’t drink much, the nerves have resurfaced. 

He walks a few paces behind you as you leave the restaurant, taking his time, and you step to your side of the car, making to unlock it – until something grabs your bicep – briskly – and spins you around. 

It’s Joel. He snuck up behind you, you hadn’t heard, and he’s right in front of you now, pinning you between the car and his body, surrounding you entirely. He lifts a hand, cups your cheek, and kisses you. It happens so fast you let out a whimper of surprise – directly into his mouth, but he swallows it down, and cradles you so gently, but still firm. Resolute. I’m not letting you go.

When he pulls back, you notice his cheeks are flushed, ever so slightly. It makes you wonder what you could do to see them get even redder. Your arms have found their way to rest on his shoulders, and you’re boxed in, the handle to your car door digging into your ass. Without a word, just a cheeky grin, he retreats to the passenger's side of the car and gets inside. 

You settle in the driver's seat beside him, and he looks over at you. “Hope that was okay, I couldn’t wait…” he says, almost apologetically. “But I was tryin’ all night to be good.”

“Yeah, well….not much use in that anymore,” you tilt your head. “Do you want to….hang out at my place?”

“Yeah, we can ‘hang out’ at your place,” Joel quips.

Scoffing in mock offense, you offer a retort. “What would you rather me have said? Come over for a nightcap? That’s a little cliche.”

He grimaces, as if he’s in agreement. You continue. “Or would you rather I be more direct? Joel, why don’t you come over so we can have sex?”

That makes him laugh, loudly, and it’s such a warm, comforting sound, you wish you could find a way to capture it and hear it over and over again. “Oh, is that what’s going to happen?” he asks. 

“Guess we’ll find out,” You shrug, trying to play it off, in case you overstepped. Then you focus on putting the keys in the ignition without fumbling. 

It’s not a long drive back to your place, but Joel seems determined to make sure it feels like it is. Either that, or he’s trying to get you to cause an accident. First his hand is resting on the back of your neck, brushing through the hair at the base of your skull. Then it’s on your shoulder, his thumb pressing into your taut muscles. You actually have to bite your tongue so you don’t moan. It’s not even sexual, really, but it just feels good to be touched, especially by him.

Eventually, you hit a stoplight, and while you’re waiting, his hand continues to wander…and comes to rest just above your knee. His hands are fucking huge, first of all, which maybe you’ve noticed before, and there are a few scars and scratches on the backs of his knuckles. It's the weight of it, the warmth of it, the way he’s settled it so casually like it’s nothing – like it belongs there, and he doesn’t even have to ask. Of course he doesn’t. And the confidence, the cockiness. It feels like someone’s taken an arrow to the pit of your stomach, and something thick and hot starts curling down, down, down….

You swallow hard, and he’s looking at you. He doesn’t speak right away, just stares, something dark and unfamiliar in his eyes. 

“I hope I’m doing alright,” voice raspy, low, but still smooth as ever.

Shaking your head, you’re able to surface just enough over the haze of arousal. “You want a performance review?” you tease, giving a small smile. “We should hold off on that until later…” 

That makes Joel laugh again, your stomach flips, and his thumb begins to stroke your kneecap, his fingers kneading into the soft flesh, inching forward to clasp farther inward, nearly grabbing at you, squeezing. The only thing separating his skin from your own is a thin pair of stockings that end dangerously close to where his hand is working. If he finds out that he’s just a few centimeters away from meeting bare skin, you’re afraid of what could happen.

“Joel,” you warn.

“What?” he asks, voice light and innocent.

“You’re distracting me.” 

“You want me to stop?”

No. The light turns green, and you have to hold back the impulse to break every traffic law if it means you’ll get to have him just a second sooner. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“--my room is–” Joel cuts you off with another searing kiss, and it takes a second before you can conjure the self control to pull away again to finish the thought. “--down the hall.” 

“Yeah?” 

He’s got you crowded back against the entry closet of your house, hovering over you, one of his hands bracing itself beside your head, and the other slowly dragging down your body, his lips following….moving down your neck. 

“Uh-huh,” you barely can get it out between strangled gasps for air. 

And then he’s hooking his hands behind your knees. “Are you sure you don’t want, like-” Joel lifts you, and you lock your legs around his torso. “An amaretto or something?”

“No,” he’s gripping on to you so tightly it hurts, but you don’t mind. 

“I could put on….a record-”

“No,” he repeats, and you’re being carried down the hall. 

You hadn’t expected him to pounce on you the instant that you came in through the garage door. Not that you minded. It’s just that usually you’d play it a bit more coy. You’d set the mood, light a candle, have a chat. But, you suppose you don’t need to do anything to get you in the mood. You’re already there. 

Joel’s mouth never separates from you, not until you’re in your room. He’s so sure of himself, you think he might be the type to throw you into the mattress, climb on top of you and rip at the zipper on the back of your dress. But he doesn’t. You’re laid down delicately, like you’re made of glass, and he’s being careful not to break you. 

He weaves his thumb and forefinger around both your wrists, then pulls them up so they’re pinned above your head. This way, you’re completely at his mercy. When he lowers himself between your legs, and you feel the weight of his body pressed against you, you groan, fighting against the restraint, desperate to touch him. So you do the best you can and wrap your stocking-clad feet around his waist, trying to get some leverage, to bring him closer.

“Just wanna take my time with you, darlin’,” he murmurs softly, like he can read your mind. You’re starting to think he can – how else can he be so irresistible on his own accord?

Joel makes good on his promise. With you all docile beneath him, he takes the opportunity to kiss every inch of exposed skin available – even though you’re still fully clothed. Each press of his lips has you breathing unevenly – sighing, then gasping, then sharp, short inhales. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, you can’t help but giggle and quirm. 

Joel huffs in response, releasing you from his hold, and he tilts his head to whisper in your ear. “Do you have any idea how much I like hearing that? Knowing it’s because of me?” Immediately, you lower your hands to cup his cheeks, to regard him. He can’t be serious. 

“You’re too sweet,” you mutter. 

“So are you,” he answers, and ducks his head to return to your neck. “So sweet, and so fucking pretty, too…” His hands begin wandering, one of them cupping your breast, thumb finding a peaked nipple even through the fabric of your dress and your bra. The words he’s saying are too much, you’ll do anything to make him shut up, arching your back so you can feel him – already hard – against your clothed core. 

“Joel-” 

“God, I want to see you-fuck!” he pulls back, rolls you over, and you shift your weight so he has access to the dress’ zipper at your side. He makes quick work of it, and brings you to a seated position, helping you remove it all the way before kissing you again, then abruptly stopping. He wants you so badly….but he’s trying to savor the moment. “Let me look at you for a second.”

He takes you in, the stockings you’re wearing and the matching set of black lace you’d picked out beforehand. Of course, you’d thought about this. You always did for occasions like this, but Joel had stumped you. What would he like? This….was pretty understated, but he seemed like a salt-of-the earth guy. Not what you were used to. It probably wouldn’t make a difference whether or not you were in full-on lingerie. And even if you knew he wouldn’t care, you still had wanted to impress him. All the more reason to try.

“This for me?” he asks, hooking his finger on the inside of your stockings and snapping the elastic. 

“Yeah,” you nod, honest. “I want you, Joel.” And there’s more to it, too. You’ve thought about just how badly for months. It kept you up at night, then helped you fall asleep when you couldn’t shake his image from your head. For now, you are going to keep that to yourself. But it doesn’t mean it’s not gonna slip out. Not when he’s looking at you like this. 

“Yeah?” he says, steps forward, towers over you. “I want you, too, so fuckin’ bad. So fucking pretty, baby,” Dropping back to your elbows, you feel…small. Any other time, you might sit up, try to feel some kind of control, but for whatever reason, you stay where you are.

Joel wasn’t exaggerating when he said he wanted to take his time. It’s frustrating. It’s torture. He worships you, makes sure his mouth is on nearly every part of your body before he finishes undressing you. Your ankles hook over his shoulders, his hands grazing, dragging thin nylon up and off each leg. He kisses your calves, the inside of your knees, your thighs. He uses one hand to unhook your bra and pulls it away. He spends what feels like hours with his mouth on your breasts – sucking, licking, nipping – hands cupping, grabbing, pinning you down. The whole time, he’s telling you how badly he wants you, how pretty you are, how good you’re being for him. He’s either touching you too much, or maybe not enough. It’s hard to say. Only after he’s reduced you to an incoherent, whimpering mess do you somehow find the strength to fight back. 

By this point, you’re lying in the middle of the bed, your leg hooked over his hip, the waistband of his jeans digging into bare skin. He’s still got all his fucking clothes on, which makes everything so much worse, because it’s clear whose in control here, and it’s certainly not you. 

The button of his flannel is where you start, and then you work downward. Joel doesn’t stop you at any point. You think he might, just because of how things have been going. But he’s as easy as you are, and you take him in all the same after you’ve shucked off his jeans, and he’s closer to your state of buff.

To be fair, you’ve spent enough time lingering by the windows – when he’s outside mowing the lawn shirtless, or picking up his newspaper in the morning, or doing workouts in his garage with the door open (such a tease!) – to have an idea of what to expect. He’s not ripped by any means but neither are you – and you’ve never liked that anyways. But it’s not hard to ascertain that he spends all day in the sun, lifting and hauling things around. His muscles are defined, rippling lightly under his skin with each panting breath he takes. Joel’s a spectacle – broad and tan, a line of dark hair dipping from his belly-button down into the waistband of his dark-gray briefs. You can make out the way his cock is straining against the fabric.

Once you’ve appraised him as best as you can – you can see that he’s studying you, almost like he’s anxious, like you might not like what you see. As if he doesn’t know. Ridiculous. You aren’t going to leave him guessing. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Joel,” you shake your head. “You’re a fucking stud.”

Joel’s face breaks out in a grin and he yanks you back so you’re on top of him, legs on either side of his chest. And finally, finally, you can touch him like you’ve been wanting. His skin is warm – it’s kind of hot in your room, you’d forgotten to turn on the A/C, so you’re both a little sweaty. But and it’s unclear if it’s because of the heat or just how worked up you are. It doesn’t matter, because it only turns you on even more. You trace the broad plane of his chest, hand snaking down…all the way to his boxers, but he stops you. 

He’d let you undress him, allowed it, but this…it crosses a line. Joel hooks his hands behind your thighs and begins to drag you up, up, up, while he shifts lower. It takes a second to register what he’s doing, and when it does, you try to stop it.

“Joel, wait I-” 

“I have to taste you darlin’, that okay?” His dark hair is fanned out around his head, resting on your floral pillowcase. In the dim light, his pupils are so blown out you can barely see anything else except black. “I’ll give you whatever you want, but you’ve gotta let me taste you first.”

It’s not that you don’t want it, but he’s taken you off guard, and you’re already overwhelmed by how intimate all this has been, gentle and languid while he whispers honeyed words into your ear. His mind seems already made up, and you don’t really want to tell him no.

“Alright,” you manage, and you grip the top of the headboard. 

It’s embarrassing how wet you already are. It started with his hand on your knee in the car, and you have spent the last hour clenching around nothing, squeezing your legs together and searching for friction. Anything. Well, you are about to get it.

Joel’s lips press to the insides of your thighs, once more, dangerously close to where you’re weeping for him. His nose bumps your clit when he turns his head, and you whine – hips sinking to seek the contact that he’s been denying you, and then immediately pulling back in a moment of clarity.

“No, no,” Joel’s hands immediately land on your hips to hold you in place, bringing you lower. “Stay right there for me.”

You don’t dare move. 

Finally, his mouth finds you. You think he might tease for a little bit, go slow, because he’s been doing that all night, and it’s become infuriating. But he doesn’t. He eats you out, laves at you. A hot, velvet tongue that works up a steady rhythm. It’s interrupted only by the vibration of his moans every so often, which only add to the pleasure. For a moment, you miss how he’d been talking to you before, but you’re so sensitive, so eager, that you think you’ll sacrifice anything if it means he’s not going to stop. Joel keeps you still with a bruising grip on your hips. All you can do is let him have his way and whimper his name over and over, listen to him groan in response. 

Being consistent is key for you. And Joel is nothing but. Practiced, but feral….like he’s been holding back all night. It’s been a long time, or maybe he’s just that excited, it’s hard to tell. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Can’t bring yourself to care about much more than him, the man below you working you over with just his mouth. 

“I’m…Joel, I’m-” you try to pull off again, it’s too much, but he doesn’t allow it. Even if the position he’s in is compromising, he’s managed to find a way to assert himself. The coil inside you has wound so tightly that almost every muscle in your body is tense. Now, can’t even move, not even if you wanted to, and he keeps going, your words have only made him more determined.

The coil snaps. You cry out, using the headboard to stifle your noises – not worried that it will probably leave a mark. If you get nothing else from Joel, then at least it will serve as a reminder that he was here, beneath you, lapping up everything you have to give him. The orgasm leaves you weak, trembling, but he holds you up, works you through it until the waves begin to cease, and then you’re so overstimulated, so sensitive that you start to feel lightheaded. “Fuck, Joel, I can’t-” You tug on his hair, hope he’ll get the hint and release you, but he doesn’t. If anything, it only spurs him on.

His mouth is white hot on you, his tongue damp, firm as it circles your clit and drags downward. He gives you nowhere to go, no opportunity to come down from the high, so within minutes, or seconds – at this point, you’ve lost track of time – he’s worked you up to the precipice of release, and you’re coming again, crying out to him.

At last, he eases off, lets you relax. You do, carefully, and so does he, gradually removing his mouth from you while your hand untangles from his dark curls. Joel holds you steady as he sits back against the headboard, keeping you splayed across his lap. You don’t waste your time saying something stupid like “you didn’t have to do that,” because you’re not gonna pretend you didn’t love every second, but mostly because you’re not sure you’re capable of speaking just yet. His hand catches your jaw, and he looks at you – innocently, like he hadn’t just done what he had done, like his fucking beard, and chin, and lips weren’t still wet with you. But the ornery glint in his eyes gives him away. “You liked that?” he has the audacity to ask. 

A shaky hand comes to pinch your eyebrows as you let out a weak laugh, nodding. “Yeah, Joel….yeah.”

“Good,” he answers. 

“I was right about you,” you manage. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs, and his hand skates up your arm, the other settling on your waist. It’s grounding, reassuring as your heart attempts to steady its beating. 

“You’re trouble.” 

“Yeah,” Joel murmurs, and he leans in close. “Only for you, pretty girl.” 

Your hips jolt back at the term of endearment, so much so that you feel the length of his cock, hard against your ass. It’s your turn to take care of him, but it shouldn’t be difficult, because your arousal is already building again. It’ll be much, much, easier to come again, specifically around him. Plus, right now, you are willing to do just about anything for him. You kiss him, and it’s sloppy, lick the taste of yourself out of his mouth. Heat curls again in the pit of your stomach, and you grind yourself down on him through his underwear.

Joel’s head falls back, bonks the headboard, and the thud of impact is overshadowed by his agonized moan. You reach down between your bodies, let your touch land over his clothed cock. He pants out your name. So many things you could do – with only your hand, or your mouth, but before you can decide, he speaks again.

“Wanna be inside you,” he grits out. “So fucking bad.” 

“You don’t want me to-”

“No,” he cuts you off. “No, no. I need you.”

“You can have me,” you nod, leaning forward to kiss his neck, pushing down the elastic of his underwear. Joel lets you, his hips stuttering, until he freezes. “Shit.” He reaches out to halt your movements.

You look up, his eyes are wide. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, I uh, I left my wallet in the car,” Joel’s voice is pinched, palms leaving your body to press against his eyes, frustrated. “I brought condoms, but they’re - I’ll have to go get them.”

“I have some,” you pipe up, nodding towards your bedside table. Joel reaches for it, but it's your turn to stop him. “But I mean, I’m clean,” you say. “...And I have an IUD, so…” 

Joel pauses, stares at you under thick lashes. “You sure that…” So tentative. “....That’s okay with you?” 

You feel yourself smirk a little as you look at him. It’s not something you’d allow anyone to do. But you’re feeling a little lost in the moment. The part of your brain that usually tells you to run for the hills whenever things get too real has turned off. It’s not the first time he’s caused that, and you sort of enjoy the delusion. There’s no question. It’s Joel.  “Oh, yeah.”

The words ignite something in him that you weren’t entirely prepared for, and he’s pulling you hard against his mouth with one hand, while the other pushes his briefs down the rest of the way. You don’t get the chance to see him, to feel him, before he’s lining himself up with your slick cunt. 

It’s a soft glide of sensitive skin across sensitive skin, and you shake with anticipation. You don’t even know you have your eyes closed, focusing on the sensation, until you hear Joel’s voice. 

“Open your eyes,” he commands. “Please just-” he swallows hard. “I wanna watch you. So fucking pretty.” 

You obey, and he guides your hand to replace your own. It’s not until your hand wraps around him that you’re aware of just how thick his cock is, throbbing and leaking, and it makes you all the more eager. Slowly, you start to sink down, but it’s too challenging to take him all at once. So first, just the tip, you roll back to ease the sting, then gradually sink lower and low. 

Joel moves closer to you, holding his breath, guiding you along, propped back against the pillows. “That’s it, so fucking good, baby…”

You understand why he was moving so languidly earlier. This is meant to be enjoyed. After some time, and lots of praise, your hips settle flush with his own, and he’s seated fully inside of you. It’s a delicious stretch that your body isn’t fully ready to accommodate, but it has your toes curling and mouth hanging open, bearing down on him involuntarily. Under Joel’s watchful gaze you feel terribly, terribly exposed. 

“Keep going,” Joel encourages. So you move. It’s experimental at first, small ruts against him, getting used to the way it feels. It doesn’t take you long to find the spot that makes you abandon eye contact, throw your head back, and –

“Oh, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and he sounds strained, pinched – he’s holding back, but still enjoying every second. “That feel good?”

You nod furiously. He lets you find a rhythm that works for you, lets you take your time, and once you do, he starts to match your pace. His hands don’t stay in one place for very long. First, they’re resting gently on your ass. Then they’re cupping your tits, watching them bounce as they sway with your movements. He brings his knees up behind you, pressing his feet into the bed, and uses the leverage to fuck himself deeper each time you lower yourself onto him. 

At this point, you’re unaware of what types of noises you must be making, and you’re thankful that you’re alone so you can be as loud as you want. His cock is hitting places inside you that you didn’t know existed, and rolling across the same spot over and over and over. 

“You feel so perfect for me,” Joel says, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling. “So, so good, baby, so fucking pretty.” 

“Mm-hmm,” is all you can answer, nodding furiously and feeling yourself grow wetter and wetter with every thrust. 

You’re too easy for him. And you were too worked up to begin with. “Joel, I can’t-”

He slams his hips up into yours so hard you cut yourself off with a choked gasp. Then he does it again. “You gonna come for me?” he asks. “I can feel you, baby, I know it’s close.” 

“Y-yeah,” he’s got you stammering on your words. You’re clamping down onto him so tightly it hurts. But you’re so desperate to come, to feel what it’ll do to him, that you don’t stop.

“Come here,” he murmurs, hands around your waist, pulling you down so your lips are nearly touching. “Stay close to me.”

“Oh, fuck, oh-” The warmth of his body so close to yours, your hands bracing themselves on his chest, the comfort of his arms around you, all coupled with one vicious rut of his hips has you right there. Joel tilts your head back just enough so you’re forced to look directly at him – and then you come undone. 

You want to close your eyes, turn your head, but you’ve got nowhere to go, and he’s right in front of you. Joel’s touch slides up your back, draws you even closer, and you ride out your third orgasm of the night while pressed entirely against his chest, forced to be vulnerable in a way you’ve never been with anyone before. “So good, baby, so good. Such a good fuckin’ girl for me,” he praises you through it, works you through it, until you’re all but melted in his arms, and he still hasn’t pulled his eyes away.

Utterly spent, you know, distantly, somewhere, that he has to come. However, Joel takes over, flips you both so you’re underneath him, and presses himself deep into the cradle of your pelvis. He’s heavy on top of you, but the weight is somehow soothing.

“I thought about you,” you murmur, hoping it’ll help. His jaw is set, solely focused on his own release. “How good you’d feel.”

“Fuck, really?” he grunts. “I-I- did too.”

“Yeah?” you ask, feeling flush at the admission. “I thought about….letting y-you use me.”

Joel groans your name, curses loudly, ruts into you even harder. You can feel him throbbing, so fucking close, and you arch yourself up to meet him, pleasure already building again, even though you thought it wasn’t possible. 

“It’s so much better, Joel, you’re so much better–” 

Than I imagined. But you don’t have to finish the thought. The idea of you, thinking of him, seems to be enough as it is, and you feel him pulsing, warmth blooming and spreading out as he groans, throws his head back and spills himself impossibly deep inside you. If you weren’t utterly spent, the feeling of him coming – and nothing between you, probably would have set you off again. For now, it’s enough.

His whole body goes limp as he relaxes his arms from where they’re braced on either side of you, his head falling into the crook of your neck. You hear him take a few, haggard breaths once it’s over, and then a deep chuckle vibrates in your ear. “Fuck, baby.”

You rub his shoulder lightly to soothe him, and his lips find the underside of your jaw, kissing lightly his beard scratching your cheeks. For an undetermined amount of time, he remains there. Normally, you’d probably check his watch, but you’ve noticed that the one he always wears is broken, and really….you feel content.

Finally, Joel pulls away, cursing under his breath and withdrawing from you. He runs his hand through his hair, and flops on his back by your side, and you feel horribly empty. After he’s cupped your cheek, turning you gently to look at him – he gives you a tender, affectionate smile. 

It hits you like a freight train. 

He was not the type of man you dated. The men you dated liked to slap, choke, withhold. That had always been what you’d gotten off to. The more frenzied, the more impersonal – the better. That wasn’t to say Joel hadn’t been passionate. But you’d never experienced anything like this before.

You tear away from his gaze, focus on the ceiling. Heart pounding, threatening to break through your ribs, you feel your mouth dry up, your eyes burn and fuck – you’re about to cry. Try to turn yourself away from him, but he sees it. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just uh-” your voice catches on the lump forming in the back of your throat and cracks audibly, raw. 

“Hey– ” you hear the mattress shift, he’s moving closer, and you start to scramble. You’ve gotta leave. Get to the bathroom, compose yourself. “Where are you goin?”

“Joel, I just need to-” but his hand circles your wrist, and you don’t have the power to resist him. The bones of his hand press firmly in your cheek, turning your head so you have to look at him. There are tears in your eyes.  

“What’s wrong, baby? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Up close you can see that his eyes aren’t brown – they’re hazel. Mesmerizing, long lashes – gold and green rimming his irises. How had you not noticed that before? 

“No, no not at all it was just…” you’re talking so fast, not even sure where you’re going with the sentence. “I’m sorry, I liked it I just-I don’t know,” you stutter. Shaking your head, you cover your face. You don’t want to feel this way with him here. “I’m not used to-” 

Joel, who has never seen you at a loss for words, frowns, draws you against him. “Come here.”

“It’s okay,” he lets you press your face just below his jaw. He’s being so soft, it makes everything that much worse. Tears slip down your cheeks, landing on his skin. He strokes your hair, holds you so tightly, firmly, "It was intense, huh?” 

You want to resent the way he’s speaking to you – like you’re a child who fell off her bike and skinned her knee, and not a grown ass woman realizing how disconnected she’s felt with every other partner until now. But unfortunately, it’s kind of working. You murmur an affirmation in response. ”I’ve got you, it’s okay,” he promises. 

He holds you until the tide of emotion swells, settles, lips against your temple, his fingertips tracing up and down your spine, and gives you the time to compose yourself.

“That was really nice, I promise,” you say, eventually. And then, because he’s been so gracious, you’re honest. “It’s just been…a long time…” Forever, really. “Since I felt…”

“I know,” Joel nods. “Me too. It’s alright.” 

“Yeah,” you bob your head. He holds your face reverently, and pulls you in for a chaste kiss before tucking you back against his chest. You close your eyes, nestle against him. He strokes your hair while you listen to the steady beat of his heart.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next thing you know, you’re being gently shaken awake. Somehow, you’d fallen asleep. 

“Hey, baby,” Joel murmurs softly. 

“Mmm?” you groan in response, exhaustion clinging to your limbs. 

“I’m sorry, I gotta get going.” 

You scoff into his neck and make a noise of protest, still not entirely roused, he’d woken you too delicately. When he speaks, his lips brush against your forehead, hands still tracing up and down the lines of your body and making you shiver. “I told Sarah and Tommy I’d be home by midnight.”

“Right,” you mutter, finding the strength to push yourself off of him and stretch. Joel sits up, very tentatively releasing you from his grip. 

“I’m sorry I had to wake you, I can see myself out.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “No, please. Do you need anything?”

“Can I use your bathroom?” 

“Of course,” you point towards the ensuite. 

Joel collects his discarded clothes off the bed, then the floor, and disappears. You hear the sink running, watch the shuffling shadows he casts in the crack below the door. While he’s doing that, you slip into your robe and run your fingers through your hair, taking in the disheveled state of your bed, before deciding to clean up in the extra bathroom down the hall.

On your way back, you run into Joel, who looks better than ever, tanned skin glowing, a soft smile on his face. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hey.” 

“This was nice. I had a really good time.” 

“Me too.”

“Will you…” he trails off, rubs his jaw. “Will you be okay? I don’t want to-”

“I’m fine,” you say, dismissively. “I just had a moment.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.” Joel studies you carefully, and you’re prompted to continue. “I promise. Joel. This was nice.”

“It was,” he grins. “I’d like to see you again.” 

“Me too,” you don’t even think before you answer, despite everything. It surprises you, how willing you suddenly are.

“Good.” He kisses you, slow and lingering. “I’ll give you a call.” 

“Okay.”

-

part vi

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