#I DIDN'T KNOW SHE'S TRIED TO LEAVE HIM BEFORE??

[erwinsvow]

you'd never really put this much effort in at other houses. while you're scrubbing the countertops to remove every last bit of evidence that someone—anyone—had made a mess there, you think about the other houses you used to babysit for.

used to, since there was no need to babysit anymore. mister cameron, who will always remain mister cameron—no matter how much he reminds you to call him rafe—actually pays you double what your other families did. he's a busy guy. you know this for a fact—single dad and some big business guy that people in town used to talk about all the time when you used to listen—so he'd have last minute emergencies and random business calls all the time.

his exact words had been something along the lines of "don't wanna share you with anyone else," but even thinking about that encounter makes your face burn with so much intensity that you think you're going to collapse. that's not what he meant, obviously, he was trying to tell you in nicer words that it was annoying when you replied to his texts explaining how another family had booked you already for that night. so when he upped your rate and said that he'd even pay to say no to others, just in case, you would have been really stupid to say no.

you don't hear much about him anymore, when you're out and about. you spend so much time at the cameron house that your own little apartment seems like nothing more than a bed and a place to get ready before leaving. you practically eat three meals a day with the baby, so even your grocery shopping is in that part of town—all organic, expensive places where you talk to the baby and try to get her opinion on which vegetable puree she'd like to try this week.

it's kind of like playing pretend. no, it's really like playing pretend. you used to dress in the normal, comfortable clothes that were sufficient for babysitting every other family—overalls and sneakers—but now you don't fit in unless you're in a pretty dress and nice sandals. you stay in one outfit from when you show up before mister cameron leaves to when you drive home at the end of the night.

that's the other thing—your car. you've made it work with the same one since you could first drive. it's a little rusty, a little dinged up, but safe as can be. it's nothing fancy but it got you around. but now you do other things for rafe that you never did for other families—grocery shopping and errands and the occasional doctor's appointment if rafe really, really can't make it. you don't mind at all—it's fun to play pretend and you love her like she's your own, but mister cameron tries to make it to every appointment himself, because he really cares about his daughter. it's admirable because you don't see it in every single household.

you hadn't thought there was anything wrong with your car until one day you couldn't get the air conditioning to work, and the back window got jammed and the baby looked so uncomfortable that you had to skip out on whatever you were supposed to do that day. when mister cameron came home that night you apologized so much that you started crying—because really, you never thought there was something wrong with your car and you didn't want to make the baby drive in the heat, just in case. you think he'll be mad, there's no groceries and his suit is still at the cleaner's, and the lotion that you use every night after bathtime has ran out and there'll be none for tomorrow—but he's not.

he's not mad at all. he seems... tired. he seems worried. the first thing he asks that night is if you and the baby are okay. when you nod, afraid that this is the calm before the storm, he sighs.

"good. that's all i care about," and the way he says it—you believe him right away. maybe that's the night your little crush on mister cameron started forming. it'd always been there in the background, you'd be an idiot of massive proportions to deny it. but it felt different somehow, watching him roll up his sleeves and pulling out whatever ingredients there were left over to make dinner with, something that you normally tried to have done every night for him, while telling you to take a seat.

that night he asks about your car—how old is it, when'd you get it, how many miles. do you like the model? would you want bigger, smaller, a different color? it's just conversation—he probably likes cars with the way there's a really nice in the garage under a sheet and a nice but safer one that he takes to work everyday.

(while he's cooking pasta and cutting vegetables, you try to get up and help, but he meets your eyes and shakes his head. wordlessly, you obey and sit back down.)

that's the first night things felt different. you drove home a little giddy, later than normal, stomach full and heart a little too happy that you found it in yourself to finally have a real, nice conversation with mister cameron. you're as shy as they come but your interactions with him are limited—before work, a phone call at lunch (though recently, his first question hasn't been about the baby... it's been how are my girls?), and after work before you leave.

it feels good to know that you're doing something right, that you're good at this even on your bad days. you make a point to leave your place extra early that week, stopping at the pharmacy and picking up the lotion so it's one less thing to worry about. your window still won't roll down and you'll have to figure out how to get the groceries delivered, crossing your fingers that it doesn't cost that much more.

you show up a couple minutes early and go inside to sort out the stuff for the baby before she wakes, when you find mister cameron in the nursery.

"good morning," you say quietly, though it comes out a little above a whisper. she's still sleeping, even though you haven't glanced in the crib, you know her schedule like the back of your hand.

"hey, kid," he says, and your heart starts to thud a little faster. mister cameron's nicknames for you don't make an appearance everyday but for some reason, it has today. he hovers over the crib, watching the baby's chest rise and fall with each breath. you go over to join him, placing the lotion on the dresser. he notices the bottle and turns back to you. "you didn't have to do that."

"she needs it," you reply quietly. "it's the only one she likes. and i was up early anyways."

"thank you." it comes out with such sincerity that you're a little taken aback.

"of course, mister cameron. it's nothing," you smile up at him. he glances back at you, smiling and then turning to his daughter again. "i'm gonna go start on her breakfast."

you make your way to the door when he says your name.

"there's keys on the kitchen counter, and the car's in the garage. i'd like it if you started using that car instead."

and really—how are you supposed to respond to that? you stammer out an 'of course, mister cameron' and go downstairs, crossing your fingers that he made a mistake, or that he wants you to drive his car until you fix yours and he'll take the nice one tucked away in the garage.

but when you make it to the counter, and then head to the garage, your eyes nearly fall out of your head. a brand new pair of car keys, to match the brand new car in the garage. your arguments fall on deaf ears—this is way too much for anyone. yes, you're pretty much throwing money away by still paying rent and the cost of getting your car fixed could probably be enough to start paying for a better one, but this is too much. way too much. it's not normal. right?

but you have no one to ask. the baby's not old enough for playdates, and the girls who replaced you at your old houses are pretty much all high school seniors. on mister cameron's side of town, there's only nannies and au pairs, and they'd probably think you're crazy for turning down such a nice gesture.

and it is a nice gesture. mister cameron listens to every word you say, even when you're not paying attention to your own sentence. the car is exactly how you described—the color you wanted, the size you said would be nice one day incase there's ever a playdate or another baby or whatever the case may be. it's shiny and brand-new and completely undeserving of you. but he doesn't listen.

somewhere along the next month, you realize you could get really used to this. mister cameron does have a point—you're taking care of his daughter every day, so it only makes sense to make sure she's as safe as can be. you make a mental note that if you ever—for whatever idiotic reason—choose to leave this perfect job, you'll make sure he gets the car back.

there comes a point where the relationship... makes its way to the next level. at the end of every week, you have to settle the bills. co-pays at appointments, grocery receipts, the invoice from the gardener that didn't go through so you had given him your own cash so mister cameron wouldn't have to deal with it from work. it adds up, so once the baby is asleep on saturday night, the two of you eat dinner and go through everything.

but this time, he hands you a card instead. a shiny black credit card that spells out his name on the back.

"makes it a bit easier, right? just use this instead. we won't have to settle every week anymore."

"right," you agree, your smile fading quickly. you try to put on a front, a false expression so he doesn't notice your disappointment. saturday nights with mister cameron—him with his beer and you with a glass of wine—once the baby is asleep, sorting out bills and making conversation that almost felt like you belonged here, had unknowingly become your favorite part of the week. sometimes it would go until midnight, talking about things that were neither here nor there.

it's how you learned why he's a single dad, what he does for work, how he feels about his job and how much time it takes away from his daughter. it's why you started sending him photo and video updates everyday so he wouldn't feel like he's missing out on as much, it's why you make sure to craft the baby's bedtime routine around him coming home, so they have their time together.

"somethin' wrong?" he asks, after taking another sip of beer. you're snapped out of your thoughts, focusing instead of how rafe looks today. tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, fingers curled around the beer bottle.

you don't know how any woman on earth could have walked away from this.

"n-nothing. no. thank you, mister cameron, this is great. i'll make sure-"

"it's rafe from now on—remember, kid?"

"yes. sorry, i-"

you couldn't get out of there fast enough that night. it's almost a subtle reminder from the universe—you're not part of that family. you're the nanny who got too attached, who pretended that she fit in too much to a family that's not hers.

you still wear your nicer clothes, you still drive around his nice car. but you try to remind yourself every now and then that this isn't your real life.

the next day, it's like the universe has decided that it's mad at you for coming to this conclusion.

pouring rain the second you get into the car. your raincoat and umbrella and a sensible pair of shoes remain inside your apartment, and if you sit in idle any longer, you're going to be late to mister cameron's. he'll want to leave early since it's raining, so he's probably expecting you any minute.

the roads are a mess—it's monsooning for no reason and people forget how to drive. you honk no less than three times at idiots on the road before getting scared that someone will road-rage you. when you pull into the garage—because yes, mister cameron insists that you park inside and that he can park outside— you're frazzled and sweating and your day hasn't even started yet.

rafe's almost ready to leave, which is another damper on an already bad morning—if he has time, the two of you eat breakfast together. you tell him to drive safe and apologize for being late when he rushes past you, leaning in to kiss your cheek and telling you that he might he home late today, and to have a good day. you don't realize what's happened until he's gone, the door closing behind him.

you stand in the foyer with your mouth open until you hear the baby monitor. from that point on—it's one thing after another. the baby is fussy today, which is the most unusual part of the day. she's never like this, and you conclude that she must be getting sick or something. it's just as well, because there's no reason to go out or to take her out in this weather. she cries, and you try to help, even cave and put on some episodes of little bear to see if something would distract her. but the poor thing just doesn't feel good, and has no way to tell you how.

the hours fly by, and your head even hurts a little from the crying and the overthinking about the kiss from this morning. in all the rush, you eat about two bites of lunch before the baby needs something else.

and then at the end of the day, right around when rafe should be coming home, he doesn't.

you feed the baby and rock her to sleep. she fusses ten minutes later, and spits up all over you and your hair, and then knocks out. you even spend twenty minutes hovering over the monitor, making sure she's okay while drying your hair. rafe's still not home, so you get dinner ready and warmed for him, eating yours alone in the silence. and as if you could handle another thing, you spill sauce all over your dress while trying to put away the leftovers.

you were going to wait until you were back home, safe in your tiny apartment to cry and shower and scrub your skin raw from the day you've had, but it can't wait any longer. you take the monitor into the bathroom with you at full volume, and decide to shower in the bathroom closest to the baby's room just to be safe.

it's not until you're naked, wrapped in a soft towel and waiting for the water to get scalding hot, racking your brain for the location of the extra clothes you had once brought here that you realize the shower closest to the baby's room is the shower in rafe's bedroom.

you haven't been in here before—looking around at the expensive cologne on the counter and the dark blue towels and the hamper full of yesterday's dress shirt. it's not a good idea to be in here, but you need to shower and you can't wait another minute. for all you know, mister cameron could come home in another two hours. your dress is spinning in the washer—and your plan is set. throw it in the dryer, find something to wear for the next fifty minutes, and leave as soon as he's home even though you can hear the raindrops on the roof and the thunder outside.

the shower is what you have been needing all day. you wish you had your body wash and shampoo, but his aren't too bad. you inhale deeply, realizing you're submerging yourself in his scent. you could stay in there forever, but you don't—he's gonna be home any minute or the baby could start crying, and you need to go home.

but he smells so good. you've noticed it before, it just feels amplified now. the towel you wrap yourself in is his, meaning he's dried himself with it before. all the clothes smell like his cologne, and the house is a little cold and your clothes are still washing, and though it's probably the worst idea you've ever had, when you get out of the shower, you head to his dresser and pull out the first clean t-shirt you can find.

it's big on you, you knew it would be. it's soft and warm and smells undeniably like mister cameron. you're completely clueless, exhausted because the baby barely napped and you barely got any sleep yourself, and it's way past your own bedtime right now. he might not even come home, you think, with how the storm sounds. you check your phone but there's no messages, just a flood warning.

yesterday's socks and underwear are still spinning in the machine—how long does this thing take? what setting had you put it on?—and you begrudgingly leave rafe's warm bedroom with the baby monitor in one hand, and his navy blue towel in the other, drying your hair. you turn on the television, watching whatever's on while you pat your strands dry, bending over to wrap your hair into the towel so you can sit for a couple minutes, when you hear the door open.

you snap back up, looking at rafe's face stare back at you—he's drenched, hair wet and suit dripping, wiping his forehead with his hand when he looks you up and down. oh god, you don't even know what he just saw, you were bent over and-

"is that my shirt?"

[poguehearted77]

rafe with pogue!reader with a mouth. she’s so sweet unless you don’t deserve it. and we all know rafe has done some things to get him in the dog house. she’s not afraid to put anyone in their place. but he finds that bending her over id the best way to shut her up.

mmfff. I love this ask.

Pairing: Sweet Girl! Reader x Rafe Cameron

a/n: answering some requests bc i'm finally back lolll

Rafe considers himself a lucky man to have a girlfriend like you--the luckiest, some would say, and he wouldn't disagree. You're sweet, kind, empathetic and probably too good for him if he's being honest.

You're the girl who bakes fresh bread and brings it to the nursing home on the weekends and volunteers her time at the local food banks whenever you have the chance.

It's a stark contrast to your stone-cold boyfriend who was rarely caught smiling in the presence of others except for his closest friends, but even they had a hard time making plans with him.

He's hard to get a hold of, and no one understands that more than you do at this moment. You're currently sitting at the elegantly set table in a reserved section of the Italian restaurant Rafe had booked just for the two of you.

Your diamond-embroidered watch which was a valentines gift from your overbearing boyfriend receives another frustrated glance from your intense stare. With precision the minute hand strikes, signifying the top of the hour and the end of your patience.

You couldn't believe Rafe had stood you up, despite your efforts to call him and the few gentle reminders you sent to his number. They were all in vain.

"Would you like more bread, ma'am?" The waiter comes back for what you guess is the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. Your cheeks rose over at the repeated question, realizing you'd have to admit that there was no one joining you any time soon.

"No, I'm alright thank you. Just the check will be fine." Your words paint a perplexed expression on the waiter's face before he visibly understands what's happened.

The waiter is sweet when he returns with the bill, "He's an idiot."

You didn't quite catch what he whispered under his breath, "Pardon?" His shoulders relax as a small smile graces his lips, "The guy's an idiot for standing you up." It's said thoughtfully, not with any ulterior motives, and you agree, feeling what was just surface-level disappointment morph into a simmering bitterness.

Rafe was going to deal with a bitch at home.

-

You found yourself stirring your freshly blended smoothie behind the kitchen island as Rafe continued his desperate attempts to get back in your good graces. "I'm so sorry, baby. The meeting went long and I couldn't get out of it." His hand tries to wrap around your waist from behind and you smack him away.

"Don't even, Rafe." The words come out through clenched teeth. He's startled but not surprised. He's seen this side of you before, though only once when a rude cashier had been insulting to your mother at the store.

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry? The meeting ran longer than-" You don't even give him a chance to finish when you interrupt, "Oh my god, Rafe. Leave me alone!" You scoff, trying to push past him with your drink in hand but he holds you at the waist, cautiously taking the cup from you and placing it on the counter behind him.

He holds a stern gaze as he talks down to you: "Listen, I get it. You're upset, but you're not even giving me a chance to expl-" He tries to reason with you, but you don't want to hear it from him.

"Shut Up." You make dead eye contact, his towering height not intimidating you in the slightest. You're pissed off and now Rafe is too. Within the blink of an eye Rafe had you pinned down to the cool marble of the island with an arm behind your back.

"Ow~ Rafe!" You whine and he chuckles. "M'sorry baby. Am I hurting you?" He tightens the hold he has on your pinned arm, pressing his hips into the fat of your ass giving you a vivid understanding of where your attitude was taking you.

"You're such a fucking-" With his other hand he forces your head back down against the counter roughly but making sure not to hurt you. "Don't you dare." He warns from behind and you bite your tongue at the harsh tone he was using. He was not in the mood to play around.

"I'm sick of you avoiding me. I'm tryna talk to you-- tell you I'm sorry and you're not fuckin' listening." He curses as he lets your arm go, now moving its way under your dress the caress your ass.

He leaned forward, ensuring the breath of his words would tickle the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Such a shame too, you're usually such a good listener. A good girl." An icy chill runs down your spine as you feel him flip up the fabric of your dress.

There's a laugh, one of amusement.

"No panties? Thought I was supposed to be going to dinner with my girlfriend, not a whore." Your lip is tucked between your teeth when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. "Huh? Where's all your backtalk now, dollface?" You whine, arching your back up against your boyfriend.

"Rafe please-" He doesn't let you beg before he's sliding himself between your soaked folds, letting himself be overcome by the wet, hot sensation of your contracting walls. "Tell me you forgive me," He all but purrs in your ear. His words paired with the way his cock stretched you so good, you almost said it.

Almost.

"Fuck you."

He made you eat those words. The way he pistoned his hips into yours over and over with no remorse filled the kitchen with the lewd sounds of flesh against flesh. Your acrylics scratched against the marble tops desperately searching for something to hold on to.

"Say it." He grits and you shake your head, pathetic moans slipping with each thrust he gives you. "N-no!" He angles his hips, the head of his cock perfectly hitting the sweet spot. "Oh fuck- Rafe! I'm-"

"I won't let you finish until you say it-"

"I forgive you, fuck! I forgive you. Let me cum, please please-"

He gives you everything you need to stumble over the edge of ecstasy and more, he finishes soon after you. His weight leaning on your back, feeling his chest heave as he catches his breath.

"The waiter called you an idiot, you know." You mumble, cheek still pressed against the counter. "I am an idiot. I'm sorry, baby. Let's put this gorgeous dress to good use and let me make it up to you."

[svetamillss]

Headcanons: Your joint cooking🥞🤍

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Kang Dae Ho x Reader(f), Gang No Eul x Reader(f), Nam Gyu x Reader(f), Le Myung Gi x Reader(f)

A/N: I hope you like it!

🤍🤍🤍

Cho Hyun Ju

You and your girlfriend cook very often, except in the morning, because she always wakes up earlier than you, so she cooks breakfast for yourself and for you.

For you, cooking is like a way to spend your dates. Only there is one but: she is great at cooking, and you... you try, but most often you don't succeed, especially complex dishes. Because of this, you sometimes have arguments, the reason is that Hyun Ju tries to teach you and tells you how to do it right, but you don't like it.

- Hyunnie! Don't tell me! I'm not small! I can do it myself! - you shouted when she told you again that you were cutting vegetables incorrectly.

- Baby, calm down, I just want to help. You cut vegetables coarsely, and you need smaller ones. - she explained, the girl was always calmer than you, so she didn't agree to provocations.

- So, if I don't do it like that, then do everything yourself, I won't interfere! - you threw a knife on the table and were about to leave, but Hyun Ju gently grabbed you, gave you back the knife and also took it, helping you cut correctly.

- Shsh, baby, don't be angry, now we'll do everything together. - she carefully guided your hand and you calmed down, noticing it, she kissed you on the lips.

- I love you, Hyunnie.

- And I love you, baby, and now don't be distracted.

Kang Dae Ho

The guy grew up with four older sisters, who taught him to cook very well. You also knew how to cook well, as you have been fond of it since childhood. Since you both work, the two of you cook only in the evenings and on weekends. While cooking, you joke a lot, bask like two kittens and argue a little, but the guy knows how to calm you down at this moment. He will gently kiss you and you will become like a silky.

- Honey, what do you want for dinner today? - he asks when he finally came back from work, you were always waiting for him, because you didn't want to cooking without him.

- I want chicken for dinner, I even thawed it while I was waiting for you.

- Oh, and I didn't notice her! Then let's start, because I'm hungry. - you can also cook to different music, sometimes dancing in the process.

Fun fact: you have a pair of funny aprons that you bought for your anniversary.

Gang No Eul

Before meeting you, she had never cooked with anyone, she was used to doing everything alone and in silence. Therefore, when you offered to cook dinner together, No Eul did not want to agree, but under your sweet eyes she gave up and in the end you cooked with her. Although the first time it didn't turn out very nice, as the girl often grumbled at you because you bothered her a little, you liked it. We spent time together after all. Your girlfriend also liked it quite well, she didn't even pay attention to the fact that she sometimes swore during the process, she just got used to working alone.

Since she liked it, now she often began to invite you to join the cooking, and you are only happy about it.

- Come with me. - she said briefly, the girl was not a master to talk much. Everything is short and to the point.

- Why? - although you asked, but you still followed her and when you came to the kitchen, everything became clear to you.

- I want to cook dinner for us now, so I want you to help me. - she said with a small smile, you only shone brightly at it.

The evening promised to be very nice.

Nam Gyu

The guy didn't know how to cook at all. Instead, he ordered all kinds of home deliveries or hoped for you, as everything turned out very tasty. But one day he peeped that it was very romantic when a couple cooks together and decided to offer you, you agreed. But it was a mistake.

The guy literally dropped everything out of his hands. You understood that he was not on purpose, but your patience is not rubber. The last straw of yours was that he didn't look the steaks, they burned, very much.

- Oh.. I didn't want to! - he began to justify himself, quickly turning off the stove, you boiled with anger.

- That's it! I eat regular sandwiches, and you eat these steaks yourself! And don't come to me with help during cooking anymore, otherwise you can burn the house. - you replied angrily. The guy really ate these burnt steaks through tears.

Nam Gyu still likes to offer his help to you, but you refuse outright, although sometimes you give him tasks, such as setting the table for dinner, fortunately, he copes well with this work.

Le Myung Gi

You have a great couple. Both don't really like to cook. Your boyfriend suggested not to worry about it and just order food delivery, but you told him that it was very harmful to health and said that both would cook dinner together. He was not sure of the correctness of your decision, but still agreed.

It was hard, a lot of quarrels and screams. In most cases, you shouted when the guy was confused in the little things, and he shouted in response to you, because you are not a chef yourself.

- Well, pancakes will burn! Make the fire smaller!

- Don't shout under my arm! I'm going to ruin everything because of you!

- Ah, because of me! - you wanted to lightly hit him in the shoulder, but changed your mind when you saw that the guy still managed to make a pancake normally.

Still, you need to trust him more and shout less.

🤍🤍🤍

[secret-moonstruck]

PLEASE COMEBACK TO ME | K.SN

— Pairing: sunoo x fem!reader | (Masterlist)

— Synopsis: Y/n and Sunoo broke up because of his jealousy. But even though Y/N ​​was angry, she ended up surrendering to him.

— Genre: smut

— Warnings: unprotected sex, cum inside, making out, clit play, begging, hickeys, overstimulation.

It had been almost a month since Y/N and Sunoo broke up, all because of a stupid fight after he got jealous and ended up offending her, about how she couldn't be so stupid as to not notice that Jungwon, her ex, still liked her.

Y/N was still angry with Sunoo, so she was furious when she saw him arriving at the party he was going to have for the residents of the building and Y/N was one of those responsible for organizing the event, he knew that so he didn't miss the chance to go, he needed to apologize, but she was avoiding him.

During most of the event she managed to avoid him despite him continuing to follow her, but when one of her neighbors stopped her with the excuse of talking about her twin children that Y/N always stopped to play with, Sunoo was unable to keep her distance. he pulled her in the middle of the conversation.

- What the fuck do you think you're doing? - She screamed at him when he dragged her to a room where there were some things that would be given at the end of the party.

- You've got to be kidding me. Don't you know the nonsense he said about you out there? I don't want you anywhere near this guy again, who knows what he might do.

- What, what does it matter to you? We're done, in case you forgot. You have nothing to do with who I talk to. And he was just talking about the babies, you're so paranoid.

- The babies? Okay, you seem to really like babies. - He said sarcastically.

Y/N opened the door to leave, but he slammed the door shut again, before hugging her from behind.

- Wait…Y/N forgive me. Not just for now, but for that day too. I shouldn't have offended you like that, please forgive me.

As he spoke he kissed her neck, she tried to let go, but he continued, and she wasn't really trying, he knew very well how to provoke her, how to manipulate her, she was already melting in his arms.

When he didn't receive a response, he turned her around and kissed her, she responded and then he intensified the kiss as he guided her to the back of the room, pushing her on the table, knocking everything that was on top of her.

He moved away to take off his shirt while she did the same. Y/N pulled Sunoo back by his belt to finish taking off his clothes, who soon did the same to her. He kissed her again while her hands went straight to his penis, spreading the precum that already covered the tip, he moaned into the kiss, how he missed her.

A shiver ran throughout Y/N's body when she felt his beautiful fingers against her wetness. He broke the kiss smiling at her.

- You missed me too, there's no denying it, look how you're already dripping for me. - Sunoo said before licking his fingers. - How I missed that.

Sunoo couldn't take it anymore, he lined himself up rubbing the tip against her entrance, she twitched in anticipation when she felt it rub against her clit.

- Go soon Sunoo. - Y/N was clinging to him with her face in the crook of his neck.

- So hurried, always so desperate. - When he said that he penetrated her at once, hitting her deep.

Y/N's nails were digging into his shoulders as she felt him give strong deep thrusts, he was punishing her for depriving him of fucking her in the last few weeks.

As he quickened his pace he made Y/N straighten up, holding her face he wanted to see her expression of pleasure, he missed seeing how fragile she was when he was inside her. Taking his other hand to massage her clit making it squeeze around it before cumming, he groaning seeing her beautiful face full of tears as he continued pounding her sensitive insides, he wanted so badly to cum inside her soon but he tried to prolong it as long as he could to continue seeing her expression of despair being overstimulated. When he finally came she clenched around him it felt like he would never stop filling her with his sperm, she ended up having another orgasm as he continued his movements, he smiled before finally stopping his movements. A victorious smile that irritated her. She knew that expression, he did that when he planned something, but she didn't understand what.

While getting dressed, Y/N cursed him, but she also cursed herself, not believing that she had given in so easily.

- Don't think I've completely forgiven you, let's talk later, I need to take care of the event.

Y/N was setting up the toast table when she saw Jungwon talking to someone, she approached to say hello, after all even if it was her ex they still maintained a certain friendship.

- She's a manipulative bitch, she's cruel, no one could stand dating her. - Jungwon said to his friend.

She thought he was talking about her so she gave him a dirty look as soon as he saw her. But to her surprise he smiled when he saw her and approached her.

- Y/N, it's good to see you. - Jungwon said excitedly.

- I heard what you were saying, I hope it wasn't from me. - She scolded him.

- Of course not, you are perfect; A crazy girl has been following me. That's who I was talking about.

While they were talking, Y/N saw Sunoo staring at them, he looked upset and angry, after all Jungwon was the reason they broke up.

Soon she was called by another resident saying that they needed her, so she said goodbye to Jungwon.

Y/N would have to present a new space that they would open in the building for pregnant women and newborns.

When she finished explaining about the place and everything that would be available there, she saw Sunoo smiling at her, but ignored it. While checking if everything was ok at the tables she felt arms around her waist, it was Sunoo hugging her.

- This new space is great for future moms. If it's up to me you'll enjoy it soon, if everything went well I've already left a gift in you. 

Y/N turned around immediately, when she saw that smile on his face again she understood exactly what he meant, and the meaning of that smile earlier.

— Notes: I'm new to this writing thing, and English is not my first language. Sorry for not writing so well, I wish to improve and bring better and well-written stories

[trevorsgodmother]

𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓭 (M.S 🌧/☁️)

☞ Masterlist Warnings: Angst, swearing, PERIOD PAINNNN 😍, crying, sobbing, did I mention pain? POV: First person (reader) Summary: It's that time of month! Excruciating pain! IT FUCKING HURTS, and ur boyfy Matty B helps comfort you 🥰

We're laying down in his bedroom, Matt hugging me from behind, breathing quietly in my ear. He's sound asleep, dead to the world around him, while I'm fading in and out of a light doze.

His bedroom door opens, and in comes his older brother Nick. The light flicks on, interrupting the somewhat comforting darkness of the room. I squint, suddenly blinded.   "Hm?" "Sorry to wake you up sleepyhead, I was just gonna see if Matt was awake" Nick says, walking in further. I shake my head to tell him that he's not, and he nods. "Turn the light off" I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut.

Nick sighs in amusement, turning it off. "All three of you are like vampires, I swear." He chuckles, referring to me and his two brothers. A wave of pain crashes into my abdomen, making me flinch. Nick's smile wavers. "Hey, you ok?" I nod, burrowing further down into the soft blankets. “Hurts” Nick nods sympathetically. “Do you need more painkillers?” I shake my head because I’d already taken some a few hours ago.

We talk for a few more minutes, but it’s mostly him yapping to distract me while I fail to get comfortable (I need Nick as my bestie so bad).

I keep shifting against Matt, and he groans in his sleep, getting slightly roused (not aroused SLUTS). He, half-asleep, clamps a hand down HARD on my stomach, pulling me backwards into him so I stop moving around. I wince, and Nick carefully pries Matt’s hand off, muttering under his breath about how his brother doesn’t know personal space.

“That idiot. He has no sense of his surroundings when he’s asleep.” I chuckle a little. “Yea, he moves around a lot.” Nick softly starts rubbing my stomach, trying to soothe the cramps. His palm is warm. "How's that feel..? Am I helping?" He asked. He was worried that nothing was working to make the pain go away. "Yea, thanks but it still-" I wince again. Because of our murmuring and my restlessness, Matt wakes up.

He slowly opens his eyes and groans, looking over at us two. "What's going on...?" He questioned, voice still groggy with sleep. "She's hurting a lot." Nick says, looking worried "And your dumbass kept hitting her in your sleep." Matt looks confused for a moment, before glancing down at where his arm is pushed off my stomach, and grimaces.

"Shit- sorry babe. I didn't realize I was doing that.." He looks guilty for his unconscious actions. I shake my head, reassuring him. "It's ok, you didn't do much. It's killing me though" Matt looked even more worried then, and he gently placed his hand on my stomach, feeling how much it hurt for himself. "God.. it feels like your stomach is on fire.. and the pain killers aren't doing anything?" He questioned, gently rubbing my stomach just like Nick had been doing. I shake my head, feeling more waves of pain wash over me.

It was too much. Nick leaves to make some tea, and my eyes fill with tears. Matt's widen, and he looks alarmed. "Hey hey hey..! It's okay, alright? Don't cry." He quickly tried to comfort me. The tears spill over, and the combination of pain and hormones make me start sobbing into his chest. He pulls me in closer, stroking the back of my head while whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

Matt helps me calm down, my cries slowing down to hiccups. The cramps had dulled down to a throb, just mildly uncomfortable at this point. Nick comes back in, grinning a bit sheepishly, and places a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table. "Sorry that took so long (like this fucking fic)" I sniff and shake my head, smiling to lessen his guilt.

"It's ok. Thank you." Nick nods and leaves, casting Matt a half-joking look of anger for his earlier actions. Matt rolls his eyes, and turns his attention back to me. He continues running his fingers through my hair, helping me relax. "Damn, this month's being a bitch, huh?" He mumbles. I don't reply, too exhausted by my outpour of emotions and the pain.

We stay like that for a bit, my stomach settling while he continues to comfort me. He turns on a movie and we cuddle under the sheets. His warm body is pressed against mine, while my head is tucked under his chin.

Matt is humming slightly, his breath tickling my head and making me giggle. A wide smile breaks out on his face, the mood instantly lifted. "Why're you getting so giggly huh?" He asks in mock-confusion. I shake my head fondly, lightly pushing his chest. "Shut up, dumbass" "Hey, this dumbass made you feel better. Also, i'm pretty smart." I roll my eyes "No you're not, idiot"

A/N: If you can't tell, it's my shark week 😔 AND IT HURTS SM OMFG. I need a cuddle from Chris rn. There was also a little throwback at the end (ogs will get it) TL: @hearts4werka @stvrnzcherries @spaghetti835928383 @pvssychicken @snowysosturn @sturnmeovr No shtealing Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws <3 -Ropitipop 👁👅👁

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed opened his mouth to protest, but Sam was down the hall before he had the chance. Sam did have a point, at least about having someone else to make sure Ed didn't have any other unwanted guests, though it still felt weird and a bit like they were coddling him.

Reluctantly, he cradled Eve in his arms, and tried to listen to whatever bits of the conversation he could catch.

He looked up at Sam as he reentered. "Oh," he responded after Sam explained. His voice was rough from sleep and disuse.

Of course fCon tried something last night. He'd been awake for less than an hour, and already there were fires. At least they weren't Mackey's. And the issue of breakfast was solved.

Though he supposed that fire was already out. He was just... not FEMA, in this case, but... Ed had no idea what his role was in this one, though he would refuse to be a bystander.

"Alright. If Yori's not with the birds, maybe she's out back or checking in with Tron?" Ed suggested. His house was small enough that disappearing in it was a considerable feat, though Ed did know several spaces one could tuck themselves into if they wished not to be found. Though he doubted Yori would intentionally go hiding.

"Speaking of... She and Tron will want to be in on this one too."

And Eve. If Eve was awake at this point, Ed would offer a shoulder for her to ride on to the living room. If not, Ed would attempt to wake her as gently as possible.

While he was brave enough to wake his sister, he most certainly wasn't brave enough to attempt waking Tron. He'd leave that to Yori or Beck, assuming the monitor didn't wake from the commotion on his own.

Ed pushed himself to his feet and shuffled through the hallway toward the living room.

"Good morning, Beck, Dyson," he greeted each in turn. "Thank you for coming. I understand this is not a social visit, but can I get either of you something to drink?"

Ed blinked awake to the early morning sunshine streaming in through his window, a very physical--yet comforting warmth and weight on his chest and feathers tickling his cheek. There is another familiar weight next to him. His brother and sister.

So that hadn't been a dream. The events of the day prior still didn't feel real, and Ed dreaded facing the consequences of them in any form.

For now, he could avoid consequences, at least until his siblings wake up.

He had guest. He should make breakfast. Ed had no idea who was still at his house besides Eve and Sam. Yori, most likely. And Tron. But. Jet? Beck? He doubted Alan stayed. And thinking of breakfast... Ed had no idea what he had to make breakfast with. They'd talked about Jet and Beck doing groceries, but Ed couldn't remember if they ever went.

Ed glanced at the clock on his nightstand, and attempted to decipher the blurry numbers, trying to calculate how long would be acceptable to stay in bed before he actually had to get up and solve the issue of breakfast. Until Sam woke up should be acceptable, though he might have to wake up Eve for breakfast since she would sleep until noon if anyone let her.

And then after breakfast, he'd have to face the consequences of everything that had happened the previous day.

[mrsfancyferrari]

My Saviour

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay. PT 4 - Finale

Song: Pyramids - Frank Ocean

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. I hope you got your popcorn ready for this finale! I made this the best ending I ever could. I've loved writing this series and hoped you loved it too. Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Taglist: @ahhhhhm, @daniskywalkersolo, @friendshipis-magic, @tellybearryyyy, @lanadelray1989, @owl778, @almostuniversallyface, @maluzets55, @dying-inside-but-its-classy, @noooway555, @unknownmystery22, @forensicheart, @a-beaverhausen, @moonstruck-poet, @mendes-bae, @czennieszn, @widow-cevans.

Word count: 27.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The news hit you like a rogue wave, leaving you gasping for air. "My mom and sister are coming over in two days," Max had said, his voice casual as he stirred the pasta sauce.

He hadn’t looked at you, too focused on the simmering pot, and for a moment, the kitchen seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. Two days.

That wasn’t enough time, not nearly enough time. You stared at the chipped tile of the kitchen floor, the image of Max’s father’s clenched fist flashing behind your eyelids. The last time you saw it, he had been so angry, his face contorted with a rage you still didn't quite comprehend.

Now his mother and sister were coming to this house. The house you’d built together, brick by brick, or rather, box by unpacked box. The house you had slowly and tentatively been turning into a home. The thought of them seeing you, of them judging you, sent a shiver of dread down your spine.

You didn't answer Max, and he finally turned from the stove, a questioning look on his face. "Hey," he said, gently, reaching out to touch your arm.

His touch, usually a source of comfort, felt like a brand, reminding you of how utterly vulnerable you’d felt that day, and how hard he’d fought to protect you. “You okay?”

You managed a weak smile. "Yeah, just...two days. It's fast."

He moved closer, his brow furrowed with concern. "Is it too fast? I can push it back if you want."

You shook your head, the lie forming on your lips. You couldn't ask him to push it back. It would be rude. It would be cowardly.

“No, no, it’s okay. I just want everything to be perfect.” You hated how your voice trembled almost imperceptibly.

“Perfect?” He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. “It doesn’t need to be perfect. They’re just my mom and sister. They’re… I mean, they’re good people. You’ll like them.”

You tried to believe him, tried to summon up some of the excitement he clearly felt, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach refused to loosen.

“What if they don’t like me? What if…what if they’re like your dad?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and laced with the fear that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.

Max’s face darkened. His hand dropped away, and he took a step back, his eyes clouding. "They're not like my dad," he said, his voice low and firm. "They're not even remotely like him. You know that.”

But you didn't know. All you knew was the lingering memory of his father's face, the vitriol in his voice, the power in his fist. You felt so ashamed of yourself.

You didn’t want to bring this baggage to his family, and you had just done that. "I just...I'm still a little shaken up about what happened with him," you confessed in a small voice.

He reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Look at me," he said, his gaze direct and unwavering. "My mom is… she's kind. She's funny, she's warm. And my sister, Victoria, she's... she's a bit of a free spirit. You'll get along with her, I promise. And neither of them will ever be like my father."

He squeezed your hand, his grip strong and reassuring. “I won’t let them be, not ever.”

You wanted to believe him, to let his words wash over you and erase the fear. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability, the knowledge that you’d seen a side of Max's family, a dark and ugly side, that you couldn't unsee.

“What about him?” you asked, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Will he be here?”

Max’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing dangerously for a moment. “He is never welcome in our house, ever. My mom and sister despise him, you don’t have to worry about that.” He pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to be. They’re coming here to meet you. They’re excited to meet the person I’m dating, the person I…care about very much.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and his own unique, comforting smell. "It's just...I don't want to mess things up for you," you mumbled, your voice muffled against his chest. "I don't want them to think I'm not...good enough."

He pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up so he could look you in the eye. "You're more than good enough. You're amazing. And anyone who doesn't see that isn't worth your time. Including my family. But trust me, they will.”

He smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile. “And if they don't? Then I'll deal with it. Okay?”

You nodded, a small, hesitant nod, but it was a start. He had the power to ground you, to calm the storm within you. You wished you had that power yourself.

"Okay," you said, your voice a little steadier now. "Okay, I can try."

He kissed you then, a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of hope and reassurance. "That's all I ask," he murmured against your lips. "Just try."

The next two days were a flurry of activity. You cleaned the house until it shone, you planned a menu that you thought would please his family, and you even ventured into the field closeby to pick some wildflowers to put in a vase. Max helped, of course, but mostly he seemed focused on keeping you calm, his eyes constantly searching yours for any sign of distress. The morning they were due to arrive, you felt your stomach drop into your boots. You stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing your outfit, second-guessing every decision you’d made.

You changed your top three times before Max came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, kissing the back of your neck. “They’re going to love you.”

You turned in his arms, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one about to be interrogated.”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “They’re not going to interrogate you. They’re just going to try and steal you from me.”

You smiled, finally feeling a small flicker of genuine excitement. “Don’t let them,” you teased, a bit of your old confidence returning. "You're the one who said I'm your favorite person."

"Definitely my favorite person," he agreed, giving you a quick kiss on the lips.

The doorbell rang, shattering the comfortable bubble of the moment. You took a deep breath, trying to settle the butterflies in your stomach.

“Showtime,” you said, a mix of excitement and trepidation in your voice. Max squeezed your hand, giving you a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this.”

He opened the door to reveal Sophie, her warm smile radiating familiarity, and Victoria, who had inherited her brother's playful charm. Both women stepped inside, their eyes wide, taking in the space you’d so carefully curated.

“It’s beautiful!” Sophie exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “You’ve done an incredible job.”

Victoria echoed her mother's sentiments, adding, “It’s just as Max described, only even better in person.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you. Max has been…rather vocal about how wonderful you are.”

You laughed, the tension easing a little at their warmth. “It’s wonderful to meet you both too. Come in, come in. Let me show you around.”

The next hour passed by in a flurry of introductions, compliments and laughter. You guided them through the house, pointing out the features you were most proud of – the carefully chosen artwork, the cozy reading nook, the spacious guest room you’d set up.

At one point, while you were showing Victoria the herb garden on the back patio, Sophie cornered Max, her voice a low murmur.

You watched, a fond smile playing on your lips as you tried not to eavesdrop, though you did catch the tail end of her words in Dutch. “… so happy for you, Max. She’s wonderful.”

Lunch was a relaxed affair, you’d prepared a simple pasta dish, one you’d perfected over time. The conversation flowed easily, shifting between Formula 1, your respective families, and shared travel experiences.

Victoria, who was close to your age, was particularly interested in your life as a driver, asking pointed questions about the pressure, the challenges, and of course, the exhilaration.

You found yourself opening up, sharing anecdotes about grueling training sessions and the unwavering support you'd received from your team, and, of course, Max.

You even recounted a particularly comical pit stop mishap, earning a burst of laughter from everyone at the table.

“She handles herself so well under pressure,” Max said, a note of pride in his voice, as he looked at you across the table. “It’s one of the many things I admire about her.”

Sophie beamed, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “We do, too, Max. She’s incredibly impressive.”

Later, after lunch, as the afternoon light began to mellow, you found yourself alone with Sophie in the living room. Victoria and Max had retreated to the back patio, their laughter drifting in through the open windows.

Sophie turned to you, her expression serious, but kind. “You’ve made our Max very happy,” she said simply. “It’s a good thing. He deserves to be happy.”

You felt a lump form in your throat. “He’s made me incredibly happy too, Sophie. More than I ever thought possible.”

She nodded then turned serious, bowing her head low. "I heard what their father had done to you. I'm extremely ashamed of his actions," she said, her voice now soft.

A shiver ran down your spine, as if the chill of the day you had tried so hard to forget had returned. You hadn’t wanted to burden Max’s family with the memory, especially today.

You had hoped, perhaps naively, that it wouldn’t come up. You shifted uncomfortably.

“Sophie, it’s okay, really,” you responded, trying to keep your voice even. “It was just… a moment. It’s in the past.”

She looked up at you, her eyes filled with concern. “No, it isn’t okay. It’s never okay to lay hands on another person, especially not in anger. What Jos did was inexcusable.” Her voice held a steel edge, a stark contrast to her usual warmth.

You looked down at your lap, tracing the pattern of the rug with your finger. The memory surged back with a visceral clarity. The heated argument, Jos’s face contorted in fury, the sudden, sharp pain in your ribs as his fist connected.

The way your breath had been knocked out of you. The memory was still vivid.

“He was mad,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was trying to find Max but I found him instead. I tried to leave him but he just had to say something bad to me, we argued and then he...”

“He hit you,” Sophie finished for you, her gaze unwavering. “He heard something he didn't want to hear. You are brave for speaking your mind to him." Her voice was almost a sigh as she admitted this.

You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t blame her for being angry, and you certainly couldn’t justify Jos’s actions. You knew, deep down, that you would never fully forget the moment, that it would always be a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind. Jos would never admit he was wrong either, and that was what hurt the most.

“Max knows?” Sophie asked, her voice gentle.

You nodded. “Yes, he stopped Jos. He was really… upset,” you said, choosing your words carefully. "And still is" you added under your breath.

Sophie reached out and took your hand, her touch surprisingly strong. “He’s angry for you. He loves you, you know that?”

“I do,” you replied, a genuine smile finally reaching your lips. “And I love him.”

She squeezed your hand. “Good. Because he needs you. And you deserve to be treated with respect, always. No one has the right to hurt you, ever.”

Your eyes welled up, not from sadness, but from an overwhelming sense of gratitude. You had never expected to find such an ally in Max’s mother, and her unwavering support meant more than you could ever say.

“Dank je wel, Sophie. Dat betekent veel voor mij.,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. Thank you, Sophie. That means a lot to me.

Before she could even react from your sudden Dutch, the back door slid open, and Max walked in, a perplexed look on his face. “Everything okay in here? You both look a bit serious?”

Sophie released your hand and smiled at her son. “Everything is perfect, darling. Just making sure that she knows how lucky you are.” She winked.

Max looked at you, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything alright?”

You smiled reassuringly. “Everything’s fine. We were just… talking.”

He still looked unsure, but he didn’t press the issue. He knew when to back off, when you needed space. He stood beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. You leaned into the embrace, feeling his warmth seep into your soul. He placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

"Max, you didn't tell me that Y/N speaks Dutch?" Sophie said, a hint of surprise in her voice.

Max grinned proudly, which made your heart do a funny little flip. “I did mention it a while back, Mom, when we first started dating. You must have forgotten. She’s been practicing a bit.”

You hadn’t been practicing a bit. You’d been learning the language voraciously for months, a secret project born out of your love for Max and his heritage.

It was the same with Sophie, the occasional Dutch idioms she would use, her native language was like a piece of her. And you wanted that connection, a shared language with them both.

"It's still a work in progress, though," you admitted, a little bashfully. "But I’m trying."

"Well, I'm impressed," Sophie said, clapping her hands together. "I knew there was a reason I liked you so much. You're full of wonderful surprises. You should speak Dutch more often, it sounds charming on you.”

Max kissed your temple again. “I agree. It suits you.”

Later that evening, after Sophie and Victoria had left, you and Max were curled up on the sofa, the house quiet and calm. “What did you and my mother talk about?” he asked, his voice low.

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to be honest. “She asked about… your father.”

Max stiffened beside you. “And?”

“She was angry. She said what he did was inexcusable,” you told him.

He was silent for a moment, his jaw clenched. “He doesn’t understand,” he said finally. “He never will.”

You turned to face him, your hand cupping his cheek. “It’s okay, Max. I understand.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with so much love and tenderness that your heart ached. “I wish he hadn’t hurt you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“It doesn't matter, it was a long time ago, I’m fine," you assured him.

“It does matter. You deserve better. I deserve better. I will never allow anyone to treat you that way again,” he said, his voice fierce. You knew he meant it.

You leaned in and kissed him, pouring all your love and gratitude into the embrace, making up for the words you couldn't find. His arms tightened around you, his lips moving against yours with desperate hunger.

You had each other. And that, you realised, was all that truly mattered.

The hum of Max's private jet was a low, comforting thrum against the anticipation buzzing through you. In a few days, the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix would be upon you, the last race of the season, and the pressure was palpable, even at 30,000 feet.

You were nestled between Max, who was engrossed in reviewing some documents on his tablet, and Charles, who was idly scrolling through his phone, a small smile playing on his lips. Lando, of course, was the catalyst of the chaos, sprawled out on the opposite couch, a mischievous glint in his eye.

A staff member, a young woman named Maya, approached you all and asked if she could take a quick picture for social media. You always needed to keep the public engaged, and a photo of the three drivers plus you, the public's new and exciting addition, was definitely good content.

Max briefly looked up, gave a small nod, and then returned to his screen. Charles straightened up, and Lando struck a dramatic pose, leaning back into the cushions and throwing up a peace sign with a goofy grin. You felt a little awkward, but you did your best to smile naturally as Maya snapped a few shots.

"Okay, perfect!" she chirped, showing you the picture on her phone. You all looked pretty relaxed, albeit slightly posed. "Thanks everyone! Enjoy the rest of the flight."

As soon as Maya was out of earshot, Lando, of course, had to open his mouth. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and gave you a very knowing look. “So,” he drawled, his voice full of amusement, “How’s the couple doing?”

Your cheeks warmed immediately. Max finally looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow as he glanced from Lando to you, his hand instinctively reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you on about, Lando?” he said, his tone a low rumble.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Lando said, his eyes widening innocently, “Just observing the… lovebirds. You know, the picture just screamed ‘power couple’ to me. You guys are practically glowing.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Charles chuckled, burying his face in his hands, but you could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. You shot a glare at Lando, who only grinned even wider, and then looked over at Max who was watching you closely, a gentle smile softening the sharp lines of his face.

“We’re doing fine, thank you,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, although you felt like your heart was doing a little tap dance. Dating Max was still new, a thrilling, somewhat surreal experience.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Max echoed, his hand now resting on your knee. The simple touch sent a shiver down your spine. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, you know,” Lando said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's been all the gossip, hasn't it? Max Verstappen finally settling down. The world is in shock."

He pretended to faint dramatically against the seat cushions, earning a louder laugh from Charles.

“Oh, come on, Lando,” Charles said, shaking his head. “You’re just jealous because you’re still playing the field.”

“Hey!” Lando exclaimed, feigning offense. “I’m… strategically assessing the options!”

"Strategic, huh?" you said, finally finding your voice amidst the gentle teasing. "Or is it just that you can't commit?"

He gasped dramatically. "How dare you! I'd have you know I'm just waiting for the perfect woman..." He paused, looking at me with a theatrical expression. "...or man. Whatever."

You all burst into laughter, the tension from the earlier conversation dissipating. Even Max cracked a small smile, shaking his head at Lando's antics.

“So, onto more important things,” Charles said, clapping his hands together. “Anyone want to discuss sector times?”

You four spent the next hour dissecting the data from the last practice runs, the atmosphere shifting from playful banter to serious strategy. Even Lando fell silent, his usual boisterous energy replaced with a focused intensity as they discussed the intricacies of the track.

As the flight wore on, the conversation drifted again. You talked about moving in together, the places you had visited over the short holiday, and the pressures of life under the spotlight.

You found yourself more and more comfortable with Max, your connection growing stronger with every shared laugh and gentle touch.

Later, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cabin, Lando and Charles were sleeping peacefully with the exception of occasional snores from Lando.

You felt Max’s hand gently tracing patterns on your arm. It was a simple gesture, a touch that sent a jolt of warmth through you, a silent acknowledgment of the secret bond you shared.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, the rumble of it vibrating through your body.

“Yeah,” you murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder, the scent of his cologne filling your senses. “Just thinking about… everything.”

He moved his head slightly, his cheek brushing against your hair. “Everything?” he repeated, his hand continuing its soothing pattern on your skin.

You nodded into his shoulder. “Everything. This race. The pressure. Us.” The confession was out, a soft exhale, the truth you had been holding onto now released into the space between you.

He went still for a moment, his hand stopping its gentle tracing. Then, he turned his head to look at you, his gaze soft, reassuring. “Us?” he echoed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “What about us?”

You lifted your head, meeting his eyes, the vulnerability in your chest exposed. "It's all so… precarious, isn't it? One wrong move, one slip up, and everything could come crashing down. The media, the scrutiny, our careers… I just… I don't want to lose us, Max."

His expression softened even more, his thumb now tracing your cheekbone. "Lose us?" he repeated, the words a soft question. “That’s the furthest thing from my mind.”

He paused, then added, his voice even quieter, “You think I would intentionally do anything to lose you?”

You shook your head. "No, but…" you trailed off, unsure how to articulate the fear that gnawed at your insides. "The pressure can get to anyone. And we both know how unpredictable this world can be.”

He took your hand in his, his fingers intertwining with yours. "I'm not anyone," he said firmly, his voice laced with a confidence that seemed to seep into you. "And you're not just anyone either. You're the most incredible, amazing woman I know, and you think that because of the craziness of this world I would let anything ever happen to us?”

He paused and then looked directly into your eyes, the honesty in his gaze almost overwhelming, “I won’t let anything happen to us. I promise you that.”

You stared right back at him for a moment, feeling your heart bloom – it always did every time you were with him, every time he looked at you with such raw affection. “You say the right things, you know that?” A smile now bloomed on your lips.

He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “I only mean the right things when it comes to you.”

You could feel your cheeks flush, your breath catching in your throat. “You’re going to make me cry.”

He chuckled, the sound a warm rumble that vibrated against your ear. “I’m not going to make you cry. I’m just stating the truth. You worry too much,” he squeezed your hand slightly, “I know that, and I hate that because you never need to with me.”

Your fingers tightened around his. “It’s hard not to when everything is so… big. This race… this season… all of it.”

“I know,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “But try to focus on me. Focus on us. Just for a little while. Let all the other big things be big later.”

A small smile played on your lips. “Easy for you to say, Mr. 3x Formula One Champion.”

He grinned, a flash of mischief in his eyes. “I am pretty good at what I do.”

You laughed softly, the sound genuine and free, a stark contrast to the anxiety that had been swirling within you just moments before. “You are. Okay. I’ll try. But only because you asked so nicely.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear again. “I have other ways of convincing you, you know.”

You shivered at his words, a thrill running through your veins. "Oh, really?" You whispered, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze.

His eyes darkened, a promise smouldering within them. "Oh, really."

The roar of the jet engines finally subsided, replaced by the gentle hum of the cabin’s ventilation system. Outside, the sun beat down on the tarmac of Abu Dhabi International Airport, a stark contrast to the cool, manufactured air surrounding you.

You stretched in your plush leather seat, feeling the residual stiffness of the long flight slowly begin to fade.

You glanced in front of you, where Lando was curled into a seemingly impossible ball, his head lolling precariously close to the aisle. On your right, Charles was a picture of elegant slumber, his dark hair perfectly tousled across his forehead.

A small smile played on your lips.

A sudden, sharp shove sent Lando tumbling forward, his muffled yelp echoing through the cabin. Max, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, was grinning down at him.

"Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!" he said, his Dutch accent thick with playful teasing.

You gently reached out, shaking Charles’ arm. "Charles, we’re here," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

He blinked sleepily, his hazel eyes focusing on you with a disoriented charm.

“Already?” he mumbled, stretching his arms above his head. “It felt like I just closed my eyes.”

"Time flies when you're sleeping," you quipped, earning a tired chuckle from him.

You watched as Lando rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his usual lively energy quickly returning. “Not cool, Max,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat in his tone. “Almost made me faceplant into the floor.”

Max just laughed, a low, rumbling sound that resonated through you.

"Come on," Max said, clapping his hands together, "let's ditch this flying sofa and get to the hotel."

As you moved to gather your things, your fingers brushed against Max’s. A spark, small but undeniable, ignited between you.

You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat as his blue eyes met yours. He gave you a subtle, almost imperceptible wink, and a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks.

A small army of hotel staff swarmed the plane, efficiently unloading luggage and ushering you towards a fleet of waiting cars. It was a familiar scene, the controlled chaos that preceded every race weekend, a strange comfort after the long hours spent suspended in the artificial stillness of Max’s private jet.

You followed Max, Lando and Charles into the hotel, the lobby a dizzying spectacle of polished marble, towering floral arrangements, and the hushed murmurs of staff. The receptionist, a woman with a warm smile and efficient hands, greeted Max by name.

You shifted your weight, feeling the fatigue of travel settling deep into your bones. You were so used to this pre-race routine that you could perform it on autopilot.

The adrenaline of the upcoming race, the pressure of qualifying, it was all still to come, and for now, a quiet hotel room and a long nap seemed like a distant paradise.

“Mr. Verstappen, Ms. L/N, here are your keys,” the receptionist said, sliding the cards across the polished counter.

You thanked her with a polite nod, your eyes already searching for the elevator. Lando and Charles, keys in hand, had already disappeared into the throng of people. You and Max made your way towards the elevators, the chatter of the lobby dimming to a background hum. Max, his usual energy subdued by travel fatigue, muttered, “Room 312,” as you both stepped into the elevator.

You leaned against the mirrored wall, your eyes closed, letting the subtle hum of the elevator carry you upwards. You couldn’t even be bothered to check your key card.

All you wanted was to crash on the bed. The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and you followed Max down the hallway, the carpet thick and plush beneath your feet.

Finally, you stood before room 312. Max stopped, his hand already on his key card. He turned to you, a brow raised. "Which room are you in?" he asked, his voice quiet, a touch of the Dutch accent coloring his words.

You finally looked down at your key card. Your eyes widened in disbelief. "It's… 312," you said, your voice a mix of surprise and amusement. "How is it 312?"

Max’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Well, that's a surprise.” he chuckled. He held up his own key card, and as he flipped it you could make out the number, it was indeed 312 too.

A laugh escaped you. “What are the chances of that happening.”

“Guess they really wanted us together” Max said, looking at you with his intense blue eyes, making your heart skip a beat.

“Guess so,” you murmured, your gaze lingering on his face. You felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest.

"Well, are we going in or are we going to stand here all night?" Max asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You shook your head, a smile playing at your lips. He had a way of bringing you back down to earth, always. You swiped your key card, the light flashed green, and the door clicked open.

You stepped inside, the room instantly enveloping you in its cool, quiet embrace. It was a spacious suite, tastefully decorated in neutral tones with dark wood accents. A king-sized bed dominated one side of the room, and a seating area with a plush couch and a small coffee table occupied the other. A balcony overlooked the glittering cityscape, providing a mesmerizing view of the sprawling metropolis.

Then he spoke, his usual calm demeanor settling in. "You're taking the bed," he said, already moving towards the sofa.

Your heart sank, a sharp pang of disappointment echoing in your chest. Two weeks. Two weeks of dating Max, and in those two weeks, despite living in the same house, you never once shared a bed. He had always opted for the couch or the guest room - never yours. The pattern was starting to feel deliberate, and a nagging insecurity began to take root.

Did he not want you? Was this a sign? Was all this too fast for him?

The questions, like tiny needles, pricked at your confidence. You knew he wasn't the most emotionally expressive person, but this felt… more than that. It felt like a polite, yet firm, rejection. You weren't going to let the uncertainty fester any longer.

You moved quickly, cutting him off before he could fully settle on the couch, your body a tangible barrier in his path. He stopped, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Max,” you said, your voice even, trying to project an authority you weren't quite feeling.

He blinked slowly, his gaze studying you, those intense blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that always made your pulse quicken, even now, amidst your anxiety. "Yes?"

You took a deep breath. "Why?"

He frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "Why what?"

“Why are you taking the couch?" You knew you sounded more demanding than you intended, but you were done tip-toeing around this.

He looked down at the couch, then back at you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. "Because… you’re taking the bed."

"Yes, I know. But why aren’t you?"

His jaw tightened slightly. "I just... I'm more comfortable on the couch."

The answer, so simple, so easily spoken, only served to infuriate you further. "Comfortable? Really, Max? Or is it something else?"

He shifted on his feet, his gaze darting towards the balcony, a nervous tick you had noticed when he was uncomfortable. "It's just… I sleep better on the couch. It’s… smaller.”

“Smaller? What does that even mean?” You crossed your arms, unable to keep the frustration from creeping into your voice. “We’re dating, Max. Don't you... want to be closer to me."

You tried to keep the hurt from showing on your face. "This isn't about sleep, is it? Is this about… me?"

He finally met your eyes, a flicker of something unreadable in their depth. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, forcing the words past the lump forming in your throat. “Usually couples sleep in each other's arms, and well, I don't get that. It's okay if you don't like that or feel uncomfortable about it, just tell me now because I feel like you don't want me,"

The vulnerability was raw, exposed, but you had reached a point where you needed the truth, whatever it may be. You had held back for so long in fear of rejection, but you realized it was time to stop.

Max waited patiently for you to finish speaking. When you did, you stared at the floor, the floral pattern of the rug suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. Other than your ex, you didn't have much knowledge in relationships, so you didn't even know if sleeping on the couch was a normal thing.

You wondered if you were reading too much into it, but your past experiences had taught you to trust the nagging feeling in your gut.

Max sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of unsaid things, before he crossed the room and pulled you in for a hug. His arms wrapped around you, warm and solid, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“It's not that,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper, thick with something you couldn't quite name. “It's… I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You blinked, surprised. The statement was so unexpected it almost knocked you off balance. You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, his face a mask of concern.

"Uncomfortable? Max, you're my boyfriend. How could you sleeping in the same bed as me make me uncomfortable?" You were completely baffled.

You wanted him there, close to you, not across the room. You saw his face turn a shade of red, his cheeks flushing a vibrant hue. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture you were beginning to recognize.

"People say that I'm really clingy when I'm asleep or hardly conscious," he muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable in the night so I decided to keep myself away. I do want to be closer to you and I do want you," he rushed the words out, as if finally admitting something he’d been trying hard to suppress.

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Clingy? Was that the reason? He thought he was protecting you by sleeping on the couch when all you wanted was to be wrapped in his arms?

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth wash over you. He wasn’t pulling away, he was trying to be considerate.

It was a level of care and thoughtfulness you hadn’t expected, especially so early in the relationship.

"Max," you said softly, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. His skin was soft beneath your touch, and his gaze met yours, vulnerable and filled with an earnestness that made your heart ache.

"I'm not going to be uncomfortable. In fact, I'd probably be more uncomfortable sleeping alone after having you just a few meters away. We're dating. This is what couples do, right? We’re trying new things and we’re not alone in this experience, if you're clingy in your sleep, I can just… push you off with my mighty strength and you’ll learn eventually!”

You couldn’t help but smile at how adorably insecure he was. All this time, you had thought he wasn't interested in you physically, but it turned out he was just worried about being too much.

A small smile touched his lips, and for a moment, the tension seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet understanding. “So… you’re okay with… the clingy thing?” he asked, a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

You chuckled, “I’m more than okay. I actually find it pretty endearing. But you’re going to have to show me how clingy you really are.” 

He nodded, a blush still coloring his cheeks.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, a flicker of uncertainty still lingering in his eyes.

You nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. "I'm sure. And maybe, just maybe, we can figure out this whole sleeping-together thing, together." You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. 

The hot water pounded against your skin, a welcome assault after the long, cramped flight. You let out a sigh, the steam swirling around you like a comforting embrace. Your muscles finally began to unwind, releasing the tension that had been coiled tight like a spring.

here you are, clean and fresh, ready to begin this new chapter. Well, almost ready. You couldn’t help but replay the image of Max from earlier.

Just before you'd stepped into the bathroom, you'd seen him fidgeting by the bed, his usually confident posture replaced with a nervous energy. He’d been running a hand through his already tousled dirty blond hair, his eyes darting towards the closed bathroom door.

You’d even caught him taking a deep, shaky breath before you had shimmied into the shower.

A soft smile curved your lips. It was endearing, this vulnerability he was showing. You knew he was excited, just shy. You found him utterly adorable.

You turned off the water, the sudden quiet amplifying the gentle sounds filtering in from the rest of the apartment. A shuffle of feet, the quiet clinking of glass – probably him getting a drink of water – and then, silence again.

You wrapped a towel around yourself, taking a moment to smooth it over your skin before stepping out of the shower stall and catching sight of your reflection. Your hair was damp and slightly wild, your cheeks flushed from the heat.

You took another moment to run your fingers through the tangles, trying to give it some resemblance of order. You had a feeling Max wouldn’t mind the little disarray.

He seemed like the 'messy hair is sexy' type.

You opened the bathroom door, your eyes immediately finding Max at the foot of the bed. He was perched on the edge, his back to you, but you were sure that he had been looking at the door.

His shoulders straightened with a slight jolt as he heard the door click open. He turned around, and that familiar, slightly nervous smile returned to his face.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little lower and huskier than usual.

"Hey," you responded, your own voice a gentle purr. You moved towards him, the towel making a soft rustling sound as you walked.

You could feel your own heart thumping with anticipation. You noticed there were two mugs on the bedside table, warm drinks likely made while you were in the shower, which warmed your heart.

He stood up as you approached, closing the distance between you. You were finally close enough to feel the low thrum of heat radiating from him, his eyes looking directly into yours.

You took it as an invitation, reaching out to gently cup his cheek with your hand. The stubble on his chin scratched at your palm, and you couldn't help but give a soft sigh.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your thumb gently caressing his skin.

He swallowed, his gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah, just… yeah.” He chuckled, the sound a little nervous, but no less endearing.

You smiled, your own nervousness melting away under the warmth of his gaze. “You seem a little tense,” you teased, your voice laced with affection.

He ran a hand through his hair again, the gesture making you giggle. “I’m just… excited,” he admitted. “And maybe a little… overwhelmed. This is… nice.” He gestured between you with his hand, his eyes softening on you.

“Nice?” you asked, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

He nodded, a soft blush creeping up his neck. “More than nice,” he corrected, his voice barely above a whisper, “Amazing. Terrifying. But like, in a good way?” He could finally meet your gaze head-on, a genuine warmth replacing his earlier trepidation.

You laughed, the sound echoing softly in the room. "I know exactly what you mean.” You took a step closer, your body almost touching his, and looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Terrifying in a good way too, huh?”

He mirrored your smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out and took your hands in his. His fingers were a little rough against yours, a comforting contrast to your soft skin.

“Absolutely," he said, and he finally dared a small tug, bringing your body closer. You were finally close enough, your legs finally tangling together, your breaths finally in sync.

“So, uh,” he continued, his voice a little rougher now, “Now what?”

"Now," you purred against his lips, your eyes sparkling with adoration, "you take a shower, you stink," you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

His eyes widened, a confused look replacing the earlier nervous warmth. "I do?" he said, sniffing at his own arm. You couldn’t help but laugh, a bright, melodic sound that seemed to erase all the awkwardness of the past few minutes.

“I’m kidding, silly.” You reached up and gently pushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “You smell like planes and nervous energy, but you don’t stink, not really.”

He relaxed slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Oh. Right." He chuckled quietly. "I was about to say, I showered this morning."

“I know, I know,” you said, your tone softer now. “But seriously, the shower is nice. You’ll feel even better.” You tugged his hand gently, leading him towards the bathroom. “And besides, you’ve been doing absolutely all the work setting up the hotel room and everything while I've been showering, the shower is the least I can get you to do."

He let you guide him, his earlier nervous energy replaced with a playful smirk. "Wow, such a hard worker. You wound me, truly."

"I know, I'm terrible," you said, giving him a mock pout. "You're just lucky you're cute."

He chuckled, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, watching you. “And you’re… well, you’re something else.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your look. “Oh? Something else, huh? Is that good or bad?"

He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist, pulling you gently into his embrace. “Definitely good,” he murmured, his lips finding the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Very, very good.”

“Good to know,” you whispered back, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer still. "Now, go take that shower. I can already tell you smell like lavender, you really went overboard with the perfume."

He groaned playfully, pulling back slightly. "You're right, I got carried away." He stepped into the bathroom, throwing a roguish grin over his shoulder. "Just wait for me.”

“I will,” you said, leaning against the doorframe, watching him in the reflection in the mirror, a soft smile gracing your face. You listened to the sound of the water starting again, a calming rhythm that seemed to echo the contentment settling in your heart.

Leaning back against the wall, your thoughts swirled. It was funny, how just a few weeks ago, Max was a friend and a teammate. Now, he was this endearing, slightly awkward man, who got flustered at the idea of cuddling.

It felt so natural, you knew that this was something special, this connection you had with him. You wanted to know everything about him. Every bad movie he liked, every quirky habit, every childhood fear. You wanted to be there through every high and low.

The rhythmic drumming of water against the shower tile was starting to feel less like a comforting lullaby and more like a countdown.

You shifted on the edge of your bed, the soft cotton sheet beneath your fingers feeling like a life raft in a sea of butterflies. You’d picked out the softest pajamas, a pale lavender set you’d bought specifically for this occasion, thinking they were a subtle nod to the romantic, blushing anticipation you were feeling.

Max had been adorable, a bundle of barely-contained nerves, when he'd packed his suitcase, a shy smile playing on his lips as he’d pulled out a grey hoodie, claiming it was his "coziest."

The water sounds had been going on for what felt like an eternity. You bounced your leg, a nervous tick you’d been trying to control. You picked up your phone, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, barely registering the pretty faces and perfectly curated lives.

You put it down again. This was ridiculous, you thought. Why were you so worked up? It was just cuddling. Just holding someone close while you slept.

Except, it wasn't just cuddling. It was Max cuddling, and that was a whole different ball game.

You started to imagine it. His arm around your waist, the warmth of his body pressed against yours... your breath hitched. A shiver, not entirely from cold, ran down your spine.

You got up and walked over to your dresser. You opened the top drawer and stared down at your perfume bottles. Should you put some on? Something light and floral? Or something warmer and more seductive?

You hesitated, pulled back your hand. It was just cuddling. Don't be ridiculous.

The water stopped. The silence that had followed felt amplified, like a sudden, pregnant pause in a conversation. Your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat echoing in your ears.

You heard the gentle squeak of the shower door opening, then the soft thud of bare footprints against the bathroom tiles. You quickly sat back on the edge of the bed, trying to school your expression into something resembling casual composure.

He emerged, a towel wrapped low around his waist, water still beading in his dark hair. He looked good. Ridiculously good. He caught your eye and a soft, hesitant smile spread across his face.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little husky. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Hey," you replied, trying to sound calm and collected. Instead, your voice came out a little breathier than you intended. You cleared your throat. "Took you long enough to get clean." You teased.

He let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, sorry. I uh... I might have been... procrastinating a little."

You couldn't help but smile. "Procrastinating?" You raised an eyebrow playfully. "What could you possibly be procrastinating?"

He walked towards the bed, his eyes on the floor. He reached for his bag on the floor, avoiding eye contact. "Nothing," he mumbled. "Just, you know... towels are interesting."

You laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Interesting, huh? What are they saying these days?"

He looked up, a sheepish grin forming. "They're... telling me to put on clothes." He grabbed his grey hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.

"Good idea," you agreed, your gaze lingering on his bare chest for just a moment too long. You turned your head away to not make it awkward.

You could tell this was a big deal for him despite it seeming so casual to the rest of the world.

He finally settled onto the edge of the bed, a noticeable space separating him from you. You could feel the tension radiating off of him; his leg was bouncing in a silent rhythm against the mattress.

He was practically vibrating, a human tuning fork about to go off-key. Your heart did a little flip, it was actually kind of cute seeing him like this.

"So, are you ready?" you asked, a playful lilt to your voice, trying to ease the tension.

"I, uh..." He hesitated, his eyes darting to yours and then away again, focusing intently on some abstract point in the far corner of the room. "I've never... really, you know... done this before."

A small laugh bubbled up, completely involuntarily. You reached out and gently touched his arm, the warmth of your hand contrasting against the coolness of his hoodie. “Max,” you said softly, your voice a soothing balm, “it’s just cuddling. It’s not that big of a deal, is it?”

He turned to face you, his eyes wide and a little panicked. "No, I mean... yes? I don't know! I just... I really like you, okay? And I don't want to... mess things up."

The honesty in his voice melted your heart. You'd only been dating for two weeks, but in that short time, you'd come to truly appreciate Max’s genuine nature, his shy smile, and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You understood his hesitation, the fear of doing something wrong, especially with someone he cared about.

"Hey," you started, squeezing his arm gently, "you’re not going to mess anything up. Just relax. This is supposed to be fun." You patted the space beside you invitingly, “Come here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he shuffled closer until you were side by side. It was a bit awkward at first, this careful dance between two people still getting to know each other's rhythm.

You decided to take the lead, your earlier confidence resurfacing. You maneuvered so your head was nestled comfortably on his shoulder, one arm lazily wrapping around his torso, and then you casually swung a leg over his.

You felt his body tense, then slowly relax.

The silence that fell wasn't uncomfortable, but rather a comfortable lull, the quiet hum of two people finding their space together. You knew Max was still a little on edge, you could feel the slight tremor in his chest beneath your cheek.

"Should I sing that Dutch song to calm you down?" you muttered, your voice muffled by his hoodie.

He laughed, the sound rumbling against your cheek. “Please,” he said, his voice almost pleading.

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You started, your voice soft and low, the words of the silly little Dutch song rolling off your tongue with practiced ease, a tune you'd picked up during your semester abroad and used ever since to calm your nerves.

“Kleine bloempjes, gele blaadjes, dansen in de wind…” you sang, the melody lilting and playful. You felt him relax ever so slightly beneath you, his breathing becoming a bit more even.

You continued, your hand tracing gentle patterns on his arm. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling, his heart was as loud as a drumbeat in your ear.

When the song was over, the silence that followed was different. It was a comfortable silence, a shared space of warmth and quiet affection.

“Better?” you whispered, your breath tickling his ear.

“Much,” he admitted, his voice still a little hushed. He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours, and you got lost in the deep blue of them all over again.

"I think I'm starting to like everything you do," he admitted, his voice low and a little husky. He shifted slightly and rested his hand on your back, a light, tentative touch.

"Well, I am pretty amazing," you teased, enjoying the way he blushed. Then, you grew serious. "But seriously, you don't have to be nervous, Max. I'm not some fragile flower that will break if you touch me the wrong way."

"It's not that," he rushed to explain, "it's just that... well, you're… you. And I want to make sure I'm doing things right."

You lifted your head a bit, looking directly into his eyes. “Doing what right, Max? You know how to cuddle me, right now.”

He swallowed, his eyes dancing with an unspoken depth. “I guess I was more nervous about what happens after cuddles.”

You laughed again, this time a genuine, heart felt laugh that warmed you. “What could possibly happen after cuddles?” you mocked. “The snuggle monsters will come and steal our socks?”

He laughed too, the sound lighter than before, and you felt a wave of happiness wash over you. Being able to make him laugh always seemed to be a highlight of your day.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he said, his hand moving a little more boldly across your back, his fingers tracing soft circles. "I just want to make you happy, I really do.”

“And you do, Max.” You leaned back down, tucking your head under his chin. The position was perfect; you could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear. “You make me really happy.”

He tightened his hold slightly, and suddenly the nervous tension was gone, replaced by something warmer, comfortable, soft. You both were finally just enjoying each other’s company.

"Do you like this position?" you asked, your voice sleepy. The warmth of his body, the weight of his arm around you, was making you feel incredibly content.

It occurred to you just how easily comfortable you were with each other.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice thick with sleepiness. "Yeah, I really do."

You stayed like that for a long time, a comfortable silence enveloping the room. Occasionally, one of you would shift slightly, adjusting to be a little closer.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your head, and the soft scratch of his hoodie against your cheek. The quiet was punctuated only by the occasional sounds from outside, a car driving by, the laughter of distant voices.

Later, as the sky outside began to darken, you felt yourself drift off, the events of the day melting away. You didn't even register when Max shifted, pulling the soft duvet over you both.

Only when his arm tightened a bit more, pulling you closer to him, did you stir slightly.

"Are you still okay?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

"More than okay," he replied softly, his lips brushing against your hair. "This is perfect."

And as you drifted off to sleep, his words echoing in your mind, you knew he was right. It was perfect, this first awkward, beautifully hesitant cuddle, the beginning of something real, something special. And you couldn't wait to see what else would come.

Later, you were still drifting in that blissful space between sleep and consciousness when you felt a weight on your side.

You opened your eyes slightly and saw Max, his face buried in your neck, his arm thrown possessively across your waist, and his leg tangled between yours. He was practically clinging to you, his body pressed flush against yours.

You smiled, this was definitely a clingy sleeper. He was your clingy sleeper.

The golden afternoon light, a warm, honeyed blanket, spills through the gaps in the curtains, painting stripes across your face. You stir, a deep contented sigh escaping your lips.

It's the kind of sleep that wraps you in a soft cocoon, the kind that leaves you feeling like you've been reborn anew, refreshed and light. You stretch, a slow, languid movement, and that's when you realize something’s amiss.

Or, rather, two somethings. Two very solid, very warm somethings.

Your eyes flutter open, and the first thing you see is the curve of Max's arm, draped possessively across your waist. His fingers are tucked into the hollow of your hip, pressing you flush against the length of his body.

Another arm, equally insistent, is wrapped around your chest, his hand curled just below your shoulder blade. You’ve forgotten, in that blissful, post-nap haze.

You’ve forgotten the reason you slept so well. It’s the first day you and Max shared a bed together.

A soft laugh bubbles up in your chest. You'd known Max was a cuddler, a natural contact-seeker, but ‘clingy sleeper’ felt like a vast understatement staring at you, quite literally, across the bed.

He’s a human koala, apparently, and you’re the eucalyptus tree.

You turn your head, careful not to jostle him (or, more accurately, to displace his carefully curated system of limbs) and find him still asleep. His face is relaxed, the usual playful crinkle around his eyes smoothed out.

A stray lock of dark hair has fallen across his forehead, and you're struck by a wave of tenderness so strong it almost physically hurts. You reach out a finger, tracing the line of his jaw, the slight stubble that always feels like the softest sandpaper to your touch.

You’ve always admired him, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way his smile could light up the darkest room.

Now, seeing him so unguarded, so vulnerable, a different kind of admiration, something deeper and richer, blossoms within you.

You watch him breathe, the slow rise and fall of his chest, a steady rhythm that somehow grounds you. It feels so natural, so right, to be here, tangled in his limbs.

The room, bathed in the warm, golden glow, seems to hum with a soft, content energy.

But the urge to move, the need to stretch properly, becomes too much. You decide to attempt an escape, a careful, calculated manoeuvre meant to free you from his embrace without waking the sleeping beast. You slowly, painstakingly, ease his hand from your waist. He murmurs something, a low, incoherent sound, and tightens his grip.

“Max?” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

He hums again, his face nuzzling into your shoulder. “Mmm, five more minutes?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

You smile. He's absolutely adorable, and your heart does a little flip. “Max, it’s the afternoon.”

He shifts slightly, his eyes cracking open, revealing the warm, ocean blue that you've grown to love. He blinks a few times, as if trying to focus, and then a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face.

“Oh,” he says, his voice still husky, “did you sleep well?”

“I slept wonderfully,” you reply, your voice warm. “But I'm trapped.”

He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against your body. “Sorry,” he says, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“You’re not, though, are you?” you tease, your fingers playing with the soft hairs at his nape.

He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Nope. Not even a little bit.” He lifts his head to look at you, his expression turning serious, almost vulnerable. "Is it...is it okay? That I’m like this?”

You feel a wave of affection wash over you. “Okay? Max, it’s more than okay. It’s… nice.” You reach up and cup his cheek in your hand. "You're like a human weighted blanket."

He smiles, his eyes sparkling. "I'll take that as a compliment." He pauses, his gaze searching your face. "You’re not… uncomfortable, are you? I know I can be a bit much."

You lean in slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Never. You’re perfect.”

His smile widened, a genuine, beaming smile that always made your chest ache. “Good, now let’s go back to sleep,” he muttered, nuzzling his head back into your shoulder, his arms tightening around you again.

"Max!" You let out a small gasp, a laugh bubbling in your throat. "Didn't you say you planned something today?"

He buried his face in your hair. "We can push it back," he replied, his voice muffled. "This is much more important.”

You knew there was no winning this battle. Max was, as you had quickly discovered, a hopeless romantic and a very clingy sleeper – and a very clingy morning person. You sighed, a mock exasperation in your tone, but secretly you were thrilled.

“Okay, but we’re not staying here all day. I’m starving.”

He pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I can always order something, you know.”

“No, we’re getting up. I need to move.” You gave his arms a slight push, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp. He didn’t budge.

“Not yet,” he said, pulling you back into his chest. “Just a little bit longer.”

You sighed again, giving up the fight for now. “Fine, but you have to tell me what you were planning.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your ear. “I was thinking of taking you to that fancy museum restaurant you were talking about.”

Your eyes widened. “The one with all those modern sculptures?”

“The very same.”

“Max, that sounds amazing! And why are you only telling me now?”

He shrugged, an apologetic smile on his face. “I wanted it to be a surprise. But I guess I’m not very good at surprises.”

“You’re adorable, is what you are.” You leaned up and kissed him again, a lingering kiss that made your heart beat faster. “And yes, we are still going. But we absolutely need to get out of this bed first.”

“Fine, but I get one more kiss,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

You laughed, shaking your head, but you didn’t deny him his kiss. Several kisses, actually. It took a while, and some gentle, but firm, reminding him of the day ahead, but eventually, you managed to extricate yourself from his embrace.

Max, however, decided not to get up – at least not yet. He sat up in bed, watching you with those sparkling blue eyes as you started digging through your drawers for clothes.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said suddenly, his voice soft, earnest.

You paused, your hand hovering over a dress. You turned to him, a shy smile playing on your lips. “Thank you, but I’m sure I look like a mess.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t. You always look beautiful.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You’re sweet.”

He grinned. “I try.” He then stretched out, long and languid on the bed. “But seriously, you’re like a ray of sunshine in the morning, even if it’s the afternoon now.”

“And you’re like a big, fluffy bear,” you retorted.

He laughed. “A fluffy, clingy bear.”

“Very clingy.” You turned back to him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Are you going to get up, or are you planning on staying there all day?”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine, I will get up. But only because you’re making me.”

He finally pushed himself up, and you let out a laugh, the sound light and airy. It was the start of a beautiful day, a day that had begun with unexpected warmth and affection, a day that was a testament to the connection, the love, that you and Max shared.

And as you watched him stretch, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, you knew that this was just the beginning of many more mornings, and afternoons, spent together, in each other’s arms.

And you couldn't wait.

The cool, silken fabric of your dress glided against your skin as you adjusted your earring, the small diamonds catching the light. You knew the dress was a statement, a bold choice for a first date, but you felt confident, powerful even.

Max, you knew, would be waiting. He'd been pacing the apartment for the last hour, his anticipation palpable even through the closed bathroom door. You’d heard the rustle of his perfectly tailored tuxedo as he checked his reflection in the hall mirror, the soft hum he subconsciously made when he was nervous.

Taking a final glance at yourself, you decided you couldn't delay any longer. You pushed the door open and strutted into the living room, your heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

"How do I look?" you asked, your voice a playful purr, as you fastened the delicate clasp of your other earring.

Max, lounging on the sofa, swiveled around to face you. You watched as his eyes traveled down your form, taking in the low-cut neckline of your dress, the way it hugged your waist, and fell elegantly over your hips.

His mouth parted slightly, his usually composed demeanor shattering for a moment. "I-uh- You look- You look great," he stammered, his gaze lingering on your décolletage, a hint of color rising in his cheeks.

You laughed, a soft, knowing sound. "Yeah okay, let's keep our thoughts innocent," you said, shaking your head with a smirk. The way he looked at you, captivated and slightly flustered, was intoxicating.

He blinked, looking up to meet your eyes, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Right. Innocent. Of course," he replied, clearing his throat. He stood up and offered you his arm. “Shall we, then? Or are you going to make me stare at you all night.”

You slipped your arm through his, the fabric of his tuxedo jacket smooth beneath your fingertips. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it,” you teased, as you walked towards the door, his hand resting possessively on your lower back.

The ride to the museum was a symphony of nervous excitement bubbling beneath the surface of casual conversation. Max filled you in on the details of the museum, explaining that it was a private collection, hidden away from the public eye.

His enthusiasm was contagious, and you found yourself leaning closer to him, drawn in by his passion.

Arriving at the imposing, unmarked building, you were a little surprised. It looked more like a bank than a museum. As you walked inside, the cold, marble floors reflected the dim lights of the main hall.

You were greeted by a dapper older man in a dark suit who looked like the kind of man who wouldn't break a law, but would bend them if needed.

"Ah, Mr. Verstappen, pleasure to see you again," the man said, his voice a low rumble. "And you must be the delightful…." he trailed off expectantly, his eyes on you.

"This is…" Max started, placing his hand on the small of your back again, “This is… this is my companion for the night.” He gave you a brief smile, “This is Y/N.”

“Ah, wonderful, a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/N, Mr. Verstappen has exquisite taste I must say,” the man smiled. “I will leave you to your tour. Feel free to wander as you wish, and if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”

As the man left, you turned to Max, a small smile playing on your lips. "Exquisite taste? Really?" you teased.

He blushed, the tips of his ears turning a delightful shade of pink. "Well, I do, don't I? I mean, look at you," he said, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.

The museum was a treasure trove, the kind you could spend days exploring. Ancient artifacts, forgotten masterpieces, and strange, unexplainable objects filled the dimly lit rooms.

You walked hand in hand, Max pointing out his favorite pieces and telling you the stories behind them.

He was a wealth of knowledge, and you loved seeing his eyes light up with passion.

You can’t help but feel as though you’ve been transported to another world, a world where only the two of you exist.

"This is amazing, Max," you say, your voice soft. "I’ve never seen anything like it."

He turns to face you, and his gaze holds a warmth that makes your heart flutter. "I wanted to share it with you," he says, his voice a little lower than usual. “I knew you’d appreciate it.”

You smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling. The quiet intimacy of the museum feels perfect, a secret world built just for the two of you.

Eventually, the setting sun begins to cast long shadows across the museum, painting the walls in hues of orange and gold.

Max guides you toward the outer restaurant, a haven of modern elegance that contrasts sharply with the old-world charm you've just explored.

The restaurant's large windows offer a breathtaking view of the sunset, the sky ablaze with vibrant colors. You instinctively reach for your phone, wanting to capture the moment.

You start recording, the lens catching the fiery hues of the setting sun, the silhouettes of the surrounding landscape, and finally, you pan the camera towards Max, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches the sunset.

"Oh, sorry! Did I ruin the video?" he asks, his brow furrowed with worry.

You shake your head, laughing lightly. "No, Max, you made it better," you assure him, your gaze lingering on his face. “You just added the main attraction to the video.”

He grins, relieved. “Okay, good.”

The warm light of the sunset turns his eyes to crystal blue, and you can’t help but stare for a moment. You snap some photos of him, his features illuminated by the golden glow, his smile a captivating mixture of shyness and genuine joy.

After showing him the photos, you guide him on how to take pictures of you. He takes a few, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to capture the perfect angle, following your playful prompts.

You giggle when you see the final result - he's a natural.

"Okay, one for ourselves." Max suggests, pulling out his phone and extending his arm.

You lean into him, your cheek brushing against his, and take a selfie. You both glance at the picture, a visual record of the shared joy in your eyes.

The public wasn't ready for this relationship, not yet anyway. This moment, this happiness, was meant for just the two of you, a secret you guarded like one of the treasures hidden within the museum.

“This whole day has been amazing,” you say, tucking your phone away.

Max’s hand finds yours on the table, his touch sending a pleasant shiver through you. “It was perfect,” he says, his gaze locking with yours. “And it’s only just beginning.”

A playful grin spread across your face. "Good, because I need more pictures for when I have to soft-launch this relationship," you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

You watched his brow furrow slightly, a charming look of confusion that made you want to laugh.

"What's a soft-launch?" Max asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb caressing the back of your palm.

You tilted your head playfully. "Oh, you know," you drawled, "it's when you start dropping little hints, subtle clues that you might be seeing someone without explicitly saying it. Like posting a picture of a restaurant we went to, but not showing our faces. Or maybe a shot of your hand holding a wine glass, and mine is just barely in the frame. It's all very strategic," you added with a wink.

Max laughed, a low, resonant sound that made your stomach flip. “Strategic, huh? So, you’re already planning our big reveal, even before our first date is over?” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Well, a girl has to plan ahead,” you replied, your tone light but sincere. “This whole thing, with keeping it a secret for a while… it’s exciting, but it’s not sustainable forever, right? I think our friends are starting to suspect something."

Max took a moment to digest this, his gaze thoughtful. "I guess you're right," he said finally. "It's been nice, having this just for us. Like we have our own little secret world in the middle of all the chaos."

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, your fingers intertwining with his. “And when we do decide to tell everyone, we get to decide when and how. The soft-launch is just a little… prologue to the main event, I suppose.”

“I like the way you think,” Max said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “So, what kind of pictures are we going to take tonight to fuel the soft-launch?”

You giggled, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Well, seeing as we’re surrounded by so much beauty, I think we have a lot of choices. Maybe a silhouette against the city lights?” you suggested, turning your head to admire the twinkling skyline.

“Or perhaps a shot of our hands together, holding an ancient artifact? Something artsy and mysterious.”

Max’s smile widened. “I’m in. You’re the expert. But," he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I have one suggestion of my own.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Let’s take a picture of us kissing, in front of that ancient Egyptian mural. Something that screams passionate romance, but that we keep private, for now, just for us. Something for us to look back on when this is all public and we want to remember what it felt like when it was just us in our secret world.”

Your breath hitched. The idea was undeniably thrilling, a delicious secret between two people who were navigating a very public life. “That,” you whispered back, your heart thumping in your chest, “is a brilliant idea.”

And so, you spent the next little while taking seemingly innocuous pictures, careful not to give away the intimacy of your relationship, while knowing the picture you were both looking forward to was safely stored away on your phone.

You laughed, you whispered, you reveled in the space between you both. You were no longer just living in a secret, you were thriving in it.

You were a team, making tiny decisions on how you would slowly show yourselves to the world. It was a shared excitement that buzzed through you both.

As the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the museum’s terrace, you realised that the night had flown by. The museum, once an unfamiliar and grand space was now somehow warm and comforting.

It held the secrets of you and Max, a space where you both could be yourselves, a space that gave you both this intimate peace.

“I think,” Max said, his voice soft and contemplative, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between you, “that I’m going to enjoy this soft-launch process more than I thought. And,” he added, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat, “I’m really enjoying being able to share this with you.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Me too," you whispered, pulling back to gaze into his eyes. "More than you know."

As you walked back through the halls of the museum, hand in hand, you knew that this was only the beginning. Your relationship, like a rare and precious artifact, was just being unearthed, and you were both ready to share it with the world, in your own time, at your own pace.

The secret had been sweet, but the future, you suspected, was going to be even more extraordinary, a journey of love and discovery that you were both eager to embark on together.

And you had the perfect, secret picture to carry with you, a reminder of every moment leading up to this one. . . .

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yourusername posted a story

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maxverstappen1 just posted a story.

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The harsh studio lights beat down on you, reflecting off the polished table separating you from the rest of the Formula 1 pack. You could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a scalpel.

The interviewer, a woman with a carefully constructed smile, had just asked you, "Y/N, do you think that Red Bull will finally win the constructors this week?"

The question hung in the air, a blatant attempt to ignite a feud between Red Bull and Ferrari, the two teams locked in a bitter battle for the championship.

Your heart hammered a bit faster, not from the pressure, but from the awareness of Max, sitting just a few feet away. He was your best-kept secret, your forbidden pleasure, and the man you were now forced to appear coldly professional towards.

"Well, looking at the data and the car," you began, your voice smooth and practiced, "I think there's a high percent chance to win it." You kept your gaze fixed firmly on the interviewer, the practiced calm of a seasoned driver radiating from you.

You refused to even glance in Max’s direction, knowing that a single flicker of recognition could expose your secret.

The interviewer, clearly disappointed by your diplomatic answer, quickly moved on to Charles and Carlos, peppering them with similar questions, their responses just as measured and professional.

You could feel Max's eyes on you, a warm weight on your skin, and the urge to meet his gaze was almost overwhelming. You focused instead on your fingernails, the glossy paint a small anchor in a sea of chaos.

The questions kept coming, each one designed to stir up controversy, to extract a juicy headline. They asked about car development, track strategies, and the pressure of the championship, and you answered them all with the same practiced detachment.

You had learned to compartmentalize, to separate your personal life from the brutal honesty of the racing world. It was how you kept your relationship with Max safe, a delicate balance between public rivalry and private passion.

During a short break, you reach for your water bottle, the plastic crinkling loudly in the sudden silence. You feel a slight brush against your hand, and your eyes flick down to see one of Max’s discarded pens.

He's watching you from the corner of his eye, a small, playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You want to laugh, to reach out and touch him, but you simply pick up the pen and gave it back to him, your face a mask of indifference.

The interview continued, and you found yourself becoming numb to the constant probing. You noticed in your periphery that Max has started to subtly moved closer to yours, an inch at a time.

You almost smiled at his audacity, his need for you, but you kept your composure. The interviewer, sensing the subtle shift, tries to steer the conversation towards the relationship between teammates.

"Y/N, you've been battling Max neck and neck all season. What's it like, being such a close rival?"

Your mind raced. You couldn’t tell them the truth – that you and Max had been battling not only on the track, but in your own hearts, trying to reconcile the demands of the sport with your growing affection for each other.

You settled on a careful, albeit vague response.

"It's a challenge," you said, your voice measured, "we push each other, and that's ultimately good for both of us." You felt Max's gaze intensify, and you finally allowed yourself a brief, almost imperceptible glance in his direction.

He was watching you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

The questions continued for another agonizing thirty minutes, and you began to feel like a puppet, your words carefully chosen, your emotions buried deep beneath the surface.

"Y/N, two more question. What's your prediction for this weekend’s race?"

Max looked at you, his eyes sparkling with an unspoken challenge. You knew what he wanted, the thrill of the race, the sheer audacity of hoping to beat him on the track.

He wanted you to openly admit, within the confines of your professional persona that you were coming for him. You almost laughed at the audacity of that situation.

You straightened your back, a confident smile playing on your lips. "I intend to win," you said, your gaze unwavering.

It was a statement of intention, a promise to yourself and a silent acknowledgment of the silent game you were playing with Max, the push and pull of your hidden romance.

A low chuckle rumbled from beside you. You could feel Max’s amusement, his thrill at your audacity. It was a reaction you understood well, a kind of shared language only you two could speak.

“Okay, and the last question,” the interviewer continued, a glint in their eye, “how does it feel, this being your last race in Red Bull, since Perez is still registered to race next year?”

The words landed like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. Your face fell, a flicker of surprise and hurt momentarily taking over.

You hadn't discussed it with Christian, not officially, not in a way that would solidify your position within the team. You had been focusing on the race, the chance to prove yourself, to earn your place. You hadn't wanted to think about the possibility of leaving, not yet.

The interviewer had gotten the reaction they wanted, the crack in your otherwise impenetrable facade.

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile back onto your face. “Well, depending on my performance this week, you might be seeing me more often,” you joked, trying to keep the lightness in your tone.

The interviewer, however, looked unconvinced. The air still felt heavy with the question.

The interview wrapped up shortly after, leaving you feeling like you’d just completed a grueling qualifying session. The lights were still too bright, the tension still too thick.

You wanted to escape, to find a corner where you could just breathe.

“You okay?” Max’s voice was low, his hand brushing against your arm as you stood up. It was a fleeting contact, a whisper of affection in public, but it was enough to send a shiver through you.

“Yeah… just a bit blindsided by that last question,” you admitted. You moved away from the cameras, walking towards the quieter corner of the room. He followed, always the gravity to your orbit.

You both found solace in the small, closed off corner, the noise of the media room fading into a dull murmur.

“You said you wanted to win,” Max stated, his voice laced with the teasing note you’d grown so fond of. “You confident, are you?”

You leaned against the wall, folding your arms. “I always am, Max.” You met his gaze, the unspoken connection between you bubbling to the surface.

“Even against me?” He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you.

“Especially against you,” you whispered, the words laced with a secret challenge.

He chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that always made your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he said, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous light. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The conversation shifted, as it always did, away from the public eye and into the realm of your carefully guarded private world. “Did you see Christian after the qualifying? He was in a mood. I think they expect something big from both of us this weekend,” You began, trying to shift the focus away from the news.

Max let his hand graze your arm again, a fleeting touch that sent a wave of warmth through you. "I did," He took a cautious look around the corner before continuing, "He seemed very uneased which is very unusual for our boss."

You both shared a silent laugh, the understanding of your complicated situation binding you closer.

"I'm going to see Christian now," you said determined for your future in Red Bull.

The studio lights were harsh, reflecting off the polished table separating Christian Horner from Toto Wolff. It felt like a battlefield, not a talk show set.

Christian shifted in his seat, a forced smile plastered on his face, while Toto, ever the picture of composed elegance, offered a curt nod. Sky Sports, in their infinite wisdom, had decided this was good television – pitting the two most dominant, and arguably most antagonistic, team principals against each other for a season-review segment.

"Hello, this is Sky Sports, and I'm with Toto Wolff, the team principal of Mercedes, and Christian Horner, team principal of Red Bull," Steve Jones announced cheerfully, oblivious to the simmering tension.

"Red Bull is currently leading in the constructors, and Max has already secured the drivers' championship. Mercedes is third, but if they perform exceptionally well this last weekend, they could potentially snatch the constructors from Red Bull and Ferrari."

Christian bit back a sarcastic comment about the ‘exceptionally well’ part, focusing on the fact that Ferrari was also in the mix. They were here to be subjected to a parade of carefully selected clips from the season – highlights, lowlights, and everything in between.

It was a cruel exercise in reliving the year’s triumphs and tribulations, especially when shared with the man who had been his constant nemesis.

The first clip flickered onto the screen, a montage of Max Verstappen's dominant wins. Christian couldn't help but smile genuinely.

It had been a phenomenal season for Red Bull, a testament to the hard work and dedication of his entire team.

"Max really has been on another level this year, Christian," the interviewer prompted.

"He has," Christian replied, his gaze flickering towards Toto, who remained impassive. "The whole team has worked tirelessly. It's been a well-deserved championship." He made a point of subtly emphasizing ���well-deserved”.

The next clip was a Mercedes pit stop blunder, a chaotic few seconds that cost them valuable time during a race early in the season. Toto’s jaw tightened slightly, though his expression remained remarkably controlled.

“Toto, that looks like a pit stop you’d rather forget,” Steve said, a hint of mischievousness in his tone.

“These things happen in racing,” Toto said, his voice cool, “It’s a complex sport, and mistakes are inevitable. We learn from them and move forward.” His tone suggested the conversation was closed. Christian, however, was far from finished.

"Indeed," Christian said, leaning forward slightly, "though, some mistakes seem more… recurring than others." He offered a polite, but undeniably pointed, smile. Toto's eyes narrowed, a barely perceptible flicker of anger behind the carefully crafted facade.

The clips continued – a Red Bull mechanical failure, a heated moment from a team radio message, a Mercedes podium celebration following a rare victory.

Each clip served as a new opportunity to poke, prod, and subtly undermine the other.

The show was nearing the end when a clip of Christian celebrating a win showed up. He was laughing heartily, his arm around Max, a picture of pure elation.

“You seem genuinely happy there, Christian,” Steve said.

“We had a good day. There have been many good days this year,” Christian said. He glanced at Toto who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

“And you Toto, how does it feel to watch your rival celebrate?” Steve asked, clearly trying to stir up some drama.

“It’s part of sports,” Toto said diplomatically, “They were good this year. We will be ready next year.”

They were both masters at this game, the subtle jabs masked by polite smiles and carefully worded platitudes. Christian had to admire Toto's coolness, even if he hated the man.

The segment continued, a carefully curated dance of veiled antagonism, going over their season highs and lows, the victories and the defeats. Until the screen flashed a video clip, a stark shift in tone.

It was from the press conference, just hours ago, the forced cheerfulness replaced by a raw vulnerability.

The interviewer's voice cut through, "Okay, and the last question," he continued, a glint in their eye, “how does it feel, this being your last race in Red Bull, since Perez is still registered to race next year?”

The camera zoomed in on Y/N's face, her smile faltering for just a moment, betraying the hurt she was clearly trying to hide.

She took a deep breath, forcing the smile back onto her face, the lightness in her tone almost too practiced, "Well, depending on my performance this week, you might be seeing me more often," she joked, trying to keep the lightness in her tone, though a hint of steel was there too.

The clip ended there. It had been a great final race, one of her best which made the question all the more hurtful.

Christian felt a pang of guilt, watching Y/N's forced smile. He knew why she looked mad. He still had to make an important decision, a decision that was tearing at him.

Perez was the seasoned veteran with consistency, but Y/N, the rookie with speed and an audacity that lit up the track, was a force to be reckoned with.

Toto, ever the opportunist, decided to strike. A wide grin spread across his face, the kind that made Christian want to punch him.

"Oh Christian, you're letting go of Y/N, right? Perfect! I'm sure George will be happy about finding his new teammate," he purred, his eyes gleaming with a calculated malice.

It was a low blow, and Christian knew it. Everyone knew Lewis was having a bad season, but to suggest so openly that they would kick him out for a great rookie, was cruel.

He knew that would get to Christian and it did.

“Wow, so now you want both of my drivers? That’s called being greedy,” Christian shot back, his own placid demeanor cracking under the pressure.

He had been perfectly happy with Toto's veiled insults but this was too far. He was coming for his drivers.

"Just stating the obvious," Toto simply replied, giving a small shrug. It was a blatant attempt to unsettle him, to make him doubt his own decision. And it was working.

“You’re forgetting there’s another driver in Mercedes,” Christian retorted, forcing a chuckle, “are you ready to throw your champion out?”

“He will be back, do not worry, just like you’re going to stick with Perez next year,” Toto said, his tone oozing with a false sympathy. “Let me tell you, you will regret not having Y/N, that girl will be a champion one day.”

He looked straight at Christian. “When she wins, don’t come crawling back to us to get her.”

"Who said I'm letting her go? She's already a big part of Red Bull's family and it's going to take a lot for her to go away," Christian said, his voice now raised.

Toto smiled at him. “Excuses, excuses. I’ll make sure to add you to my speech of how you helped her at the start,” he said with a sly smile.

Christian gave the mic to a staff member before leaving with Y/N. They walked in comfortable silence, the noise of the paddock fading away with each step.

She knew Christian was waiting for her to say something, to make a decision, but she wanted to process everything in her own space, away from the prying eyes and endless negotiations.

As they entered his office, a space that reflected his organized yet focused persona, Y/N finally broke the silence.

“An hour, Christian?” she said, her voice still carrying a hint of amusement. “Really? You couldn’t have wrapped it up in 30 minutes?”

Christian chuckled, leaning back against his desk. “I was enjoying baiting Toto. You have to admit, he takes the bait every single time.”

“I think you both enjoyed it far too much,” Y/N retorted. “You know that whole scene is a performance, right?”

“Of course it is,” he said, his eyes meeting hers, “But it’s an important performance. We need to show the world why Red Bull is the best option.”

“And what about what I want?” she asked. “Is that considered?”

Y/N didn't hesitate. The words were out before she could even fully form them in her mind. "I want to stay in Red Bull," she stated, the statement ringing with conviction.

There was no room for doubt or second-guessing. Despite the allure of Mercedes and the challenge of a new environment, her heart was firmly rooted here.

Christian raised an eyebrow, a small smile returning to his lips, a mixture of surprise and relief flashing through his features. “Are you sure?” he asked, the question almost rhetorical.

“Yep,” she replied, her voice firm, a genuine smile finally breaking through her earlier tension. The relief was palpable, washing over her in a warm wave. A decision, finally, made.

Christian nodded, a satisfied expression settling on his face. “Okay, I'll see what I can do. You will know by the end of this week,” he said, his tone indicating the discussion was over and he was moving onto the next item on his never-ending list of tasks.

He settled back into his chair, turning his attention to the paperwork strewn across his desk.

You lingered for a moment, your mind buzzing. You had spoken your truth, laid your cards on the table. Now, it was a waiting game.

You made your way out of the office, heading back to the garage.

Max was there, his engineer deep in discussion with him, the usual debrief in full swing. He caught sight of you and gave you a quick, almost imperceptible nod, a subtle change in his expression indicating he knew something was up.

You two might be discreet in public, but you had an understanding, a silent language spoken between two people who shared so much, not just a team, but a life.

Later, back at your hotel room, after both had showered and changed, you finally found the words to break the silence that had settled between you.

"I spoke to Christian," you said, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Max as he paced in front of the window.

He turned, his blue eyes meeting hers, a flicker of something akin to anxiety in your depths.

"And?" he asked, the single word laden with questions.

"I told him I want to stay," you stated simply, watching his reaction carefully.

The tension that had been coiled within him seemed to unwind, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. A small smile played on his lips as he walked over and sat next to you.

"Good," he whispered, taking you hand in his.

"Good?" you echoed, tilting your head, your eyebrow arched in amusement. "That's it?"

Max chuckled, squeezing your hand. “What else is there to say? I’m glad,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I want you here.”

"I know," you replied, your own smile widening.

"This whole thing has been... annoying," Max admitted, his usual confident swagger replaced by a flicker of vulnerability. "It's not like you're not good, you're amazing, I don't want you to leave, but I also don't want you to feel like you have to stay. It has to be your choice, not because of me."

You understood. He had been walking a tightrope, wanting you to stay, desperately, but also knowing it had to be you decision, not influenced by your relationship or the pressure of the team.

“I know, Max,” you said, squeezing his hand back. “It’s my choice. And I choose to be here.”

"Then that's all that matters," he replied, pulling you into a hug, burying his face in your hair.

You stayed like that for a while, the silence comfortable, a shared understanding passing between you two. You were both drivers, both driven, but together, you were something more. . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The roar of the crowd is a physical force, vibrating through your bones, through the very air you breathe. It's a familiar sensation, one you've learned to both crave and ignore. Today, though, it feels different.

More…intense. This isn't just another qualifying session; this is it. The final showdown, the battle for pole position. You're in the cockpit, strapped in, the familiar scent of fuel and hot rubber filling your senses.

Your hands grip the wheel, knuckles white, the leather warm against your skin. This is your domain. You are one with the machine, a perfect symbiosis of human and engineering.

Your eyes flick to the timing screen. Okay, you’re P2 heading into this final run. Your teammate is some distance back. Max's name glares at you from the top spot, a bright, taunting beacon. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

He's fast, no doubt about that, the fastest today in fact – but you're not about to let him take it without a fight, especially not when you know you have the pace.

Especially when you want to make him work for it.

You take a deep breath, the tension in your chest a knot you need to unravel. ‘Ok y/n just focus,’ Joseph, a calm voice amidst the chaos, crackles over your headset. ‘Tyres are warmed, engine temp okay. Let’s go show them.’

You acknowledge with a nod, although he can't see it, and grip the wheel tighter. The green light snaps on, and you’re away, the car launching forward with a brutal, exhilarating surge of power.

The first corner is a dance of precision, every input deliberate, every movement calculated. You apex perfectly, feeling the tyres bite into the asphalt. The G-force presses you into your seat, a heavy hand forcing you to stay locked in.

You’ve been working hard to perfect that corner all weekend. This is your track, you know every bump, every camber change. You’ve poured every ounce of your energy into this run.

You shift up through the gears, the engine screaming behind you like a furious beast. You throw the car into the next chicane, the tyres protesting with a high-pitched squeal, but you're in control, a masterful conductor of speed and precision.

The car feels alive beneath you, surging forward in a symphony of mechanics.

You push, and push harder, daring to go right to the limit, every inch, every hundredth of a second, matters now. You see the sector times flashing on your steering wheel. Purple. Purple. Purple.

A surge of adrenaline floods your veins, a heady mix of excitement and focus. You’re on a flyer, everything is falling perfectly into place.

You navigate through the hairpin, the car teetering on the edge, the slightest misstep and you could be in the wall. You dance with the car, balancing it on a knife's edge. And you nail it.

As you accelerate out, your eyes flick to the timing screen again. You're on course, right there, on pace with Max. The final sector is your strength, the fast, flowing curves where the car is allowed to breathe.

You push the car to its absolute limit as you begin to glide through the section, each corner a blur of colour and speed. You flow through the corners effortlessly.

You power out of the final corner, pushing the pedal to the floor, the engine roaring in protest. You feel the car give its all, vibrating as if it could explode under the pressure. You shoot across the finish line, the car shuddering to a stop.

The pit wall explodes in chatter. Your engineer's voice rings loud in your ears. ‘Y/N, that was incredible!’.

And it was. You can feel it.

You take a deep breath, hands still gripping the wheel, waiting for your final time to register. It appears on your steering wheel. Your jaw drops. You've done it! But then… your heart sinks a little.

You’re in second. Max has gone faster. By just a fraction.

You plastered a fake smile on your face, attempting to engage with the journalists.

You answered their questions with practiced ease, praising the team, thanking the sponsors, and saying you tried your best, before rushing into the Red Bull building, desperate to escape.

After your debriefing, you retreated to your drivers’ room, locking the door behind you. 

You didn’t want to see anyone, especially not Max. You felt like a failure. You thought that, today, you would beat him in qualifying, and it was just not happening, no matter what you do. 

A soft knock echoed through the room, and instinctively, you knew who was on the other side. “Y/N?” Max’s voice filtered through the door, a gentle rumble that was usually enough to make your heart flutter. 

Now, it just felt like another layer of pressure. He knew you too well. 

“Go away, Max,” you called out, your voice surprisingly rough. 

You didn’t want to talk, not right now. Especially to him. Not in this state. 

“No,” he replied simply. That was the thing about Max. Once he wanted something, or to talk to someone, he was persistent. 

Usually, you loved him for that. Today, however, it just made you feel more irritated. 

“Please, just leave me alone,” you said, your voice laced with that irritation. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.” He knocked again; this time, the sound had a gentleness to it, almost pleading. “I just want to talk to you.” 

You sighed, leaning your head back against the door. “What is there to talk about, Max? You won, I lost. Again. You’re better than me, end of story.” The words were sharp, laced with the bitterness of disappointment. 

A moment of silence passed before Max spoke again, “That’s not true, and you know it. Qualifying is just one part of the weekend. I know you pushed. I could see it.” 

You scoffed softly to yourself, “Oh really? Could you ‘see it’ from pole position?” 

“Don’t be like that, Y/N. I know you’re upset, but I’m not trying to rub it in. I’m here because I care about you.” He let out an audible sigh and you heard him lean against the door. “Can we just talk?” 

You knew you should just open the door, you wanted to open the door. He was your boyfriend after all, even if it was a secret to the rest of the paddock. 

But that just made it worse. You knew that you could be vulnerable with him, but the constant competition and him being better was just eating you alive. 

“No, Max. I don’t want to talk.” You could hear the plea in your own voice. 

“So you’re going to stay locked in there? You need to get some rest, we have the race tomorrow,” he said with a sigh. You could hear the worry in his voice. 

“I will. Just not now.” 

“Fine.” His voice was low now, defeated. “But I’m not going far. If you need anything, I’ll be here.” 

You heard his footsteps walk away, and you felt a pang of guilt with his tone and words. You didn’t want to hurt him or make him feel as if he was the reason you were upset. He was the one of the reasons you were okay. 

You sighed once more and got up to open the door. You knew that if you let this linger, it will keep eating at you, and with the race tomorrow, you wanted to feel better. 

You softly opened the door and his eyes met yours instantly. He hadn’t gone far after all. Standing there in his racing suit, and his hair slightly messed up, he looked more handsome than ever. 

You knew, deep down as you looked at him, that even though the competition was difficult, what you had with him was worth it. 

“Hey.” You said softly, and in an instance, he had stepped between the doorway and pulled you into a hug. 

“Hey,” he whispered back, his face buried into your hair. “I’m sorry you feel this way. You were amazing today.” He pulled back slightly to look at you straight, his blue eyes concerned. “And I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” 

You shook your head gently and snuggled into his chest again, “I know, Its just… I wanted to beat you today.” 

He let out a soft chuckle and pulled you into the room, shutting the door behind you. “I know that too.” 

“It’s just… this competition… it’s relentless,” you admitted, finally letting your guard down.  

He held you tighter and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. “I know. But you have to remember why you do it.” 

You shrugged. “I don’t even know anymore. Maybe I’m just not good enough.” 

He quickly pulled back and raised his eyebrow. “Don’t you ever say that. You’re incredibly talented, Y/N. The best in the paddock. Even better than me.” He smiled gently at you. “We both know I just got lucky today.” 

You looked up at him, not believing his words. He knew you well and he knew that you always doubted yourself. “Sure.” You said, rolling your eyes jokingly. 

“I’m serious, you know? You have so much potential. And to be honest, I love the competition with you. It makes me better.” He took your hands and looked at you dead in the eye. “And you will beat me one day. I know it.” 

You smiled, feeling the tension ease away. “You really think so?” 

“I do.” He grinned and squeezed your hands. “Now, how about we get some food and just relax before the race tomorrow?” 

A smile spread across your face. “I like the idea.” 

He kissed you softly, and you forgot, for a brief moment, the pressure of the competition, the frustration of losing. All that faded away with the touch of his lips.

As you pulled away, you knew, deep down, that as much as you desired to be on the top step, the most important thing was what you had with Max and that was something more special than winning. 

You would never give that up. And you knew, as you looked into his eyes, that you would indeed beat him one day.

But until then, you were happy to just try. Together. 

You followed Max out of your room, towards your shared space, and you knew, that as long as he was by your side, you could face anything. Your competition, with him and against the rest of the grid, would push you. 

But your love for Max would make you stronger. . . .  

The roar of the crowd is a distant hum, a low thrumming against the frantic rhythm of your pulse. You grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, the leather slick against your palms.

The air in the cockpit is thick with anticipation, the scent of burning rubber and high-octane fuel a heady, almost intoxicating mix. The red lights above the start line blaze, each one a hammer blow against your already strained nerves.

You’re acutely aware of the weight of the moment - the last race of the season, the last race of your career if you don't pull this off.

“Lights out and away we go!” David Croft's voice explodes through your headset, a sudden, almost jarring jolt. You react instinctively, your foot slamming down on the accelerator, the car lunging forward like a caged beast freed.

The world becomes a blur of color and motion. You’re in second, to your left, is the crimson and navy blur of his car. Max.

The first few laps are a brutal ballet of speed and precision. You weave through the pack, battling for position, your heart pounding against your ribs. There's a crash behind you, the sickening sound of tearing metal and screeching tires.

The safety car is deployed, bunching the cars together, a brief lull in the chaos. You exhale deep, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

The safety car pulls in, and the green flag flies again. The race explodes back into life. Max accelerates, pulling away slightly. Your eyes narrow. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.

This isn't just about the race anymore; it's about proving something to yourself, to everyone who ever doubted you. And maybe, just maybe, to him.

You push your car, inching closer, taking every corner with calculated risk. You can feel the heat radiating from your engine, the vibrations of the tires screaming against the asphalt.

You’re glued to Max’s rear wing, calculating every move, searching for an opening, a single mistake that might give you the edge.

The laps tick by, each one a grueling test of your skill, your endurance, your will. You’re breathing hard, sweat stinging your eyes, your muscles aching.

You’re pushing yourself beyond the limit, chasing the tail of his Red Bull, the finish line growing closer with every agonizing lap.

You see an opportunity on the next corner, the perfect turn, the perfect braking point, the perfect chance. It’s a risky move, one that could easily send you spinning into the wall if you miscalculate.

But you have to try. This is it.

You lock your brakes, your tires screaming in protest, and cut to his inside, your car lunging forward. Your heart is in your throat, the world narrowing to the car in front of you and the sliver of asphalt you're now occupying.

You’re neck-and-neck, your wheels inches apart, the air thick with the tension.

There's a moment of pure, raw speed, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You are pushing yourself and your car to the max. This is it; the final corner, in the final lap, of the race, before the end of your career

You hear Joseph’s voice, sharp and urgent, “Y/N, be careful!” He knows the risk you’re taking.

You don’t reply, your focus laser-sharp. You keep your foot on the gas, your knuckles white as bone, and then, you do it. You’re ahead, the nose of your car inches into first place, the finish line a blur of colors and emotions.

You cross the line, the world exploding in cheers and the deafening roar of the crowd. You’ve done it. You've won.

Your mind struggles to catch up. You barely register the immense relief that washes over you, the adrenaline still flooding your body. You glance to your right and through the fence you see a sign being held aloft.

Your team.

And it reads, just as you hoped, ‘Y/N P1, Max P2, and Constructors' Champions.’ The confirmation you’ve been longing for, the culmination of a season of dedication and teamwork.

You pull into the pit lane, your heart pounding, your hands shaking. As you unbuckle your helmet, you can barely believe what you’ve just accomplished. You and Max were the champions. You’ve won it.

You run, not walk, to the pit wall, your team is already celebrating. Christian stands proudly in front of the crowd, and as you reach him, his face breaks into a fatherly grin.

You embrace him tightly, a hug that holds more than just victory—it’s a lifetime of shared dreams and unwavering support.

"You did it, kid," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "You absolutely did it."

You pull back, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “We did it, Christian,” you correct, “All of us.”

He chuckles, a warm, rumbling sound. “Aye, we did. You just went and made sure of it, didn't you?"

The crowd is chanting your name now, a rhythmic wave of sound that washes over you. You want to soak it all in, every single second of it.

As the celebrations continue, you scan the crowd, your eyes searching for a familiar face. Max.

Max approaches you, his eyes wide with a mix of admiration and disbelief. He pulls you into a tight hug, his body trembling against yours.

“You were incredible,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Absolutely incredible.”

"It was a wild one," you say, still catching your breath. He pulls away slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his eyes searching yours.

“You scared me, Y/N. That move was…insane.” There's a mixture of concern and affection in his expression.

“I had to,” you say, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. “I wasn’t going to let you get away with it.”

“I know,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “You never do.” He leans in, his lips a breath away from yours, the tension suddenly building between you in this very public space.

The air crackles with unspoken tension, a magnetic pull that draws you closer. The roar of the crowd recedes further, replaced by the roaring in your own ears. You want to kiss him so badly, to taste the victory on his lips and share this moment of triumph.

But you know, with a sharp pang of reality, that thousands of cameras are trained on you. The world is watching. Your private romance is anything but.

As if on cue, the team swarms around you, a joyous cacophony of cheers and backslaps.

They engulf you and Max, creating a human shield, obscuring you from prying eyes. It’s a coordinated effort, a protective circle forming around you two.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” they chant, their voices a chorus of encouragement. The sudden change is disorienting, the privacy you had for a moment now replaced with raucous enthusiasm.

Your heart hammers in your chest, a mixture of nerves and excitement flaring through you. You glance at Max, who is looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He raises an eyebrow, a silent question passing between you.

You take a deep breath, knowing he reads your every expression. The world might be watching, but the only opinion that matters right now is Max’s. You nod once, a small, decisive motion.

With a grin that could light up the entire paddock, he leans back in for what feels like the longest kiss of your life. There is no hesitation, no reservation as your lips finally meet. It tastes of victory and relief, the culmination of weeks of tension and pressure.

His hands move from your face to clutch the back of your neck, as if to pull you deeper. The kiss is everything you imagined, fierce and tender, a perfect blend.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. The team is in uproar, cheering as if you’ve just won another race.

He nuzzles his face within the crook of your neck, his voice a low murmur, "Well, that was something."

You giggle, the tension finally starting to ease out of your body, "I think we just gave them a show."

"They've been wanting it for a while though," You can hear the grin in his voice.

The team started to separate, a sign that the interviewers would be waiting for you both. You subtly pulled away from Max, the silent agreement to continue with the charade still in place.

Nobody could know, not yet anyway. Max headed off first, giving you a small wink before disappearing into the waiting crowd. You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips.

He was such a tease.

Your time came soon after, you took a deep breath and smoothed down your fire suit and walked out into the fray.

The cameras flashed, the voices of the interviewers assaulted you, but you kept your smile plastered and your answers as vague as you could manage.

The interviewer, a woman with a microphone the size of your fist, was already beside you, her bright smile a stark contrast to the sweat clinging to your brow.

"Absolutely incredible race, you just won the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix," she began, her tone a blend of excitement and professional poise. "How does it feel to finish the season with such a monumental victory?"

You managed a grin, the corners of your mouth stretching tight with the effort. "Honestly," you breathed, your voice still raspy from exertion, "it feels incredible. It's been a short season for me yet a tough season, and to end it like this… it's just… wow."

“You seemed to really pull it through in the last part of the race, what was going through your mind when your closest competitor was right behind you?” she asked.

“I was just trying to stay focused, that’s all.” You responded, smiling.

The questions kept coming, but you were well versed in keeping the conversation on the racing and not on you.

You knew you couldn't slip, not out here, not yet.

"So has there been an official talk about next year? Will you be replacing Perez, or going to a different team?" the interviewer asked, a knowing grin plastered across his face.

You were waiting for this one, the inevitable question that skirted the edge of your secret.

"Yeah, there has been, but I'd rather not say until the announcement is made. Red Bull is my family after all," you stated, your tone light, casual, but your inner voice was screaming.

The truth was more intricate, more nuanced, than any simple team transfer. Your future wasn't just about a car or a team; it was inextricably linked to a man.

The interview moved on, finally deeming you squeezed dry of any revealing information.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you make your way to the cool down room. It's a sanctuary, a place where the pressure of the race can begin to dissipate before the long night of media duties and debriefing.

The door slides open, revealing Max and Charles already settled on the plush sofas, their eyes glued to the monitor on the wall. The race replay is unfolding, a ghost of the events that just transpired.

"There you are," Charles says, tilting his head in acknowledgment as you enter. He offers a small, genuine smile, one that reaches his eyes. "Congratulations, you were absolute dynamite out there."

"Thank you," you reply, settling onto the empty sofa opposite them. Your gaze slides towards Max. He's watching the screen intently, his jaw clenched slightly, a telltale sign of the intensity that still lingers.

You know him so well. You see the pride swimming beneath the surface, the subtle tightening of his shoulders. It’s a different kind of pride than if you were someone he saw as a rival.

It’s the pride of someone who loves you.

"Insane drive,” Max finally says, turning his attention to you, a genuine grin spreading across his face. “You were untouchable.”

"Thanks,” you say, your heart doing a little flip-flop at the way he's looking at you, a mix of admiration and something deeper, something only you would recognize.

It’s a look that makes the exhaustion start to fade, the adrenaline beginning to settle into a warm comfortable thrum. “It wasn’t easy though.”

The replay on the screen has reached the crucial point in the race, where you made that daring overtake, the move that sealed your victory.

Re-watching it now, it still takes your breath away, the sheer audacity of it all.

"That move," Charles murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief, "I still can't believe you pulled that off."

"Calculated risk," you say, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"You’re sure it wasn’t just blind luck?” Charles laughs, and you roll your eyes playfully. “It really was amazing though, you were on fire all weekend."

"Maybe both," you say, turning serious for a moment, “I’ve been working real hard this whole season to be able to do those kind of moves.”

Max shifts his position slightly, leaning back on the couch. His eyes meet yours once more, and a silent understanding passes between you.

In that brief, unspoken moment, you feel a wash of comfort, a sense of belonging that comes from sharing a secret with someone you love.

The knowledge that he sees you, truly sees you, is almost a greater reward than the victory itself.

The room settles into a comfortable quiet as the race unfolds on the screen, the commentary filling the space. The tension from the track begins to release, replaced by a quiet camaraderie.

You steal glances at Max, the easy familiarity between you like a warm blanket on a cold night. It’s always like this when the two of you are around Charles.

You’re both relaxed, and while you are not displaying it, there is a clear feeling of warmth between you. It’s the kind of relaxed feeling that you’re sure Charles can’t help but notice.

"So," Charles says, breaking the silence, his gaze moving between you and Max, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Big celebrations tonight? Champagne showers?"

You laugh, a genuine laugh that echoes in the quiet room, "Probably, if the team has anything to say about it."

Max snorts, a sound of quiet amusement, "They usually do."

"I know what I'm going to do," Charles continues, his eyes twinkling, "I'm going to party until tomorrow."

"I could say the same," you said. “We’ve got celebrate the whole night."

The end of the race replay starts to come to a close, and Max shifts his attention from the screen to you, his lips twitching into a teasing smile.

"So, who’s going to make the drinks for the post-race party tonight? Surely the race winner has to."

"I'm sure there's someone more talented than me in that department," you say, your eyes meeting his challenge, a playful energy dancing between you. "I’m sure that you will do a better job."

“Oh I’m sure I will,” Max says, standing up and offering you his hand to help you to your feet, “but the champion needs to practice being a gracious host.”

You accept his hand and let him pull you up, a smile playing on your lips. Your touch sent a rush of excitement through your body, a silent signal that always passed between the two of you.

The walk to the podium felt like wading through a dream. The air crackled with energy, a symphony of cheers, whistles, and camera flashes. You saw the podium ahead, three steps waiting for their occupants.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, building the anticipation. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! For third place, representing Ferrari, please welcome Charles Leclerc!”

The crowd erupted as Charles, with his signature charming grin, stepped onto the lowest tier. He waved to the masses, his eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and good-natured defeat.

Then, it was Max’s turn. “In second place, representing Red Bull Racing, your champion, the one and only Max Verstappen!” The roar intensified, a wave of orange crashing through the air. Max, ever stoic, offered a small nod of acknowledgment before taking his place.

He caught your eye, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and gave you a quick wink. Your heart skipped a beat.

Finally, the announcer's voice reached its crescendo, "And now, for the winner of the final race in first place… Y/N L/N!!" You could barely hear your name being yelled over the collective scream of joy.

You felt a surge of adrenaline, a second wind fueled by the sheer adoration of the crowd. You took a deep breath, a smile stretching across your face, and stepped onto the top step of the podium.

The bright lights felt hot against your skin, but you barely noticed. You raised your arms in victory, taking in the magnificent sight of thousands of people cheering for you. It truly was magic. The national anthem started and you felt a beautiful sense of pride fill your heart. 

The champagne bottles were popped, and the podium was engulfed in a spray of bubbly liquid. You laughed, brushing the droplets from your hair, your eyes meeting Max’s across the small space.

After what felt like an eternity, the podium celebrations came to an end. You were being ushered towards the press area when you felt a hand grasp your arm.

You turned to see Max, his eyes a mix of impatience and amusement.

“Meet me in my room later,” he whispered, his voice low.

You nodded, a warm sensation spreading through your chest. “I’ll be there,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The rest of the evening was a blur of questions, flashing cameras, and polite smiles. You answered the questions with practiced ease, your mind drifting back to the quiet intensity in Max’s eyes.

The constant chatter of journalists faded into background noise as you yearned for the peace of your garage and the promise of Max’s company.

Finally, the interviews were over. You could feel the exhaustion pulling you down, but a surge of anticipation kept you moving. You quickly made your way back to the garage, the place where you felt most at peace when you weren’t on the racetrack.

You found the door slightly ajar and with a gentle push, you entered the dimly lit space.

He sat on the small, worn sofa, his head tilted back against the cushion, eyes closed. You paused just inside the doorway, watching him. He looked relaxed, the tension that always seemed to coil within him seemingly absent.

He looked, in that moment, utterly vulnerable.

You cleared your throat softly, and his eyes snapped open, focusing on you with an intensity that always managed to make your breath catch.

"You're here," he said, his voice a low murmur, a hint of relief coloring his words. He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners.

You walked towards him, the silence between you comfortable and intimate. You sat down beside him on the sofa, the worn leather yielding to your weight.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, content in the quiet intimacy of the space.

Then, Max reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand, sending another warm shiver through you. He laced his fingers with yours, the contact both grounding and electrifying.

“You were incredible out there today,” he said, his gaze locked on your eyes, his thumb stroking the back of your hand.

A flush of pleasure warmed your cheeks. "So were you," you countered, a smile playing on your lips. "You were pushing hard."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that always made your heart skip a beat. "Someone had to try and keep it interesting," he teased, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief. “But you stole the show, as usual.”

You glanced down at your interlocked hands, a surge of emotion flooding your chest. Despite the public persona, the competitive edge, there was a tenderness in him, a vulnerability that only you seemed to see.

It was a side of him that you cherished, that you protected fiercely.

He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear again, just like it had been before the interviews.

“I have to admit,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, “I’m really glad you won today. It means I finally get you all to myself. No more cameras or journalists.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, the warmth spreading through your entire body. He could always make you feel this way, with just a few softly spoken words.

You leaned in closer, mirroring his movement. “You know, it’s funny,” you said, your voice barely a breath. “I thought I was coming here to celebrate the win. But all I really wanted, was just to be here with you.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “You mean that?” he asked softly, the playful teasing gone.

You nodded, the honesty in your heart plain for him to see. “Always.”

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was resting against his shoulder. The comfortable silence descended once more, this time even more intimate than before.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

A small, almost hesitant smile touched his lips, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a touch so tender it sent a jolt of warmth through you.

He kissed the top of your head, his touch feather-light, and a small contented sigh escaped your lips.

“God, I’ve missed this,” you murmured into his shoulder, the tension finally leaving your body.

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated against you. "Missed what?" he teased, his voice a smooth caress.

You pressed closer to him, nuzzling your face into the warmth of his neck. "This," you whispered, "just... this."

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was resting against his shoulder. The comfortable silence descended once more, this time even more intimate than before.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, grounding you, reminding you that you were real, that this was real.

He pressed a small kiss to the top of your hair before shifting slightly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

You could feel his shy smile curve against your neck as he peppered small kisses there, each one sending a fresh wave of warmth through you. You turned your head slightly, offering him more access to your damp skin.

The shyness in his touch was endearing, a stark contrast to the confident racer the world saw. It was this side of him, only for you, that made your heart swell.

"We're going to party so hard," Max muttered, his voice a low purr against your skin. "We deserve it."

You chuckled softly, the sound muffled against his neck. “We absolutely do," you agreed. "I think I can finally feel all the tension leaving my body. I was so nervous before the race, I was practically buzzing.”

The roar of the crowd was still a tangible thing, vibrating under your skin and making your heart thump like a hummingbird's wings. The confetti, a glittering storm of victory, tickled your face.

You held the trophy aloft, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of the moment, the weight a solid reassurance of the triumph you had just achieved.

"3.. 2.. 1..!" the team admin's voice boomed, cutting through the din. Then, the collective roar, a joyous, guttural yell that vibrated in your bones.

Champagne erupted, the sweet, sharp tang filling the air, soaking into your racing suit, adding another layer of sensation to the already overwhelming experience.

Max, standing beside you, mirrored your pose, his own trophy gleaming under the stadium lights. He caught your eye, a familiar warmth flickering in his gaze before he offered a wide, celebratory grin to the cameras.

You both knew the drill. Hold the trophies high, look ecstatic, spray the champagne, and be the perfect picture of sporting camaraderie.

The flash of cameras punctuated the moment, capturing the manufactured joy. Smiling until your cheeks ached, you followed Max’s lead, swigging from the bottle and spraying the effervescent liquid with abandon.

Later, the team announced the location for the after-party. Not the usual quiet bar, but a nightclub big enough to hold the entire grid. A place that promised a night of uninhibited celebration.

A genuine space for everyone to let loose.

As exciting as the prospect was, you found yourself craving a moment of quiet before the storm. You caught Max's eye across the throng, a silent understanding passing between you.

He offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, a promise of sanctuary. You both made your excuses to the team, promising to meet them at the club later.

The short drive back to the hotel was filled with a comfortable silence, the earlier adrenaline slowly giving way to a calm satisfaction. In your shared room, the relief was palpable.

You kicked off your shoes, your clothes feeling suddenly cumbersome.

"That was… something," you said, your voice husky.

Max chuckled, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “Something is an understatement. You were incredible.”

His eyes, so often serious and focused on the track, held a warmth that always made your stomach flip. “But yeah, shower?”

“Definitely shower,” you agreed, already peeling off your clothes.

The hot water was a balm to your tired muscles, washing away the grime and stress of the race. As you stood under the cascading water, you couldn't help but smile.

You’d won, you’d done it, and you had him, waiting for you on the other side.

When you finally emerged, a towel wrapped around you, Max was dressed, looking utterly devastating in a simple black top and trousers. His hair, still damp from his own shower, was styled just so.

And then, the detail that made your heart skip a beat - a silver chain nestled against his collarbone.

"Wow," you breathed, unable to stop staring. "The chain. You actually wore it."

He smirked, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. "After some serious persuasion," he admitted, a playful edge to his voice. "You look good, too," he added, his gaze lingering on you.

"I figured it was only fair," you said, heading to your suitcase and pulling out an identical black dress, pairing it with tailored black heels.

Max watched you as you changed, a silent appreciation in his gaze that made you blush. Getting dressed was always easier when he was in front of you, admiring you openly.

You had fallen for him hard, and the private world you shared, hidden from the prying eyes of the racing world, made your love feel all the more precious.

Downstairs, Max's car was already waiting. The short drive to the club was filled with a sweet anticipation. The bass from the music vibrated through the car, a promise of the chaos to come, but also a reminder of the secret you both shared.

The nightclub was even more enormous than you’d imagined, pulsating with strobe lights and the throb of electronic music. The air crackled with energy as drivers, team personnel, and their plus-ones mingled on the dance floor.

You spotted your friends already in the thick of the party, their faces flushed with excitement.

Max took your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a low murmur against the noise of the club.

You squeezed his hand. "As I'll ever be," you said, a thrill coursing through you.

The night unravelled in a blur of music, laughter, and celebration. You danced with your teammates, you toasted with the other drivers, but always, your eyes sought out Max.

His presence was a constant anchor amidst the chaos. You occasionally met his gaze, a shared smile, a silent communication that spoke volumes.

You were laughing at something Sarah had said, her arm slung on your arm, when suddenly you felt a familiar heat against your back.

Max’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The soft press of his chest against your back sent a jolt through you, a spark that had nothing to do with the strobe lights.

“You know you can drink as much as you want, it’s your party and I’m driving,” he murmured into your ear, his breath sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. “Are you sure you can handle me?” you teased, turning to face him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief under the club lights. “I’m pretty sure I can handle anything you throw at me.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Especially a race winner who’s celebrating a season well-won.”

You could feel your cheeks flush. Even after months of stolen moments, his gaze still had the ability to make your heart race.

You leaned against him, enjoying the feel of his arms around you as he talked to some people from his team. You knew he was the leader, the one everyone looked to.

He was charismatic, a natural in front of the camera, but here, in the soft light of this lounge, you saw a different man.

A man who was quieter, more thoughtful, more…yours.

"Hey, you," a voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned to see Sarah, her bright pink dress a stark contrast to Max’s dark suit.

She was already holding a bottle of champagne, and you knew that look in her eyes – it was a look that promised a night of unadulterated fun. "You just made history! We need to celebrate properly."

You laughed, "Sarah, I think I've had enough champagne to last me a lifetime."

"Nonsense," she scoffed, already popping the cork. "Tonight, we drink like champions! And I have a feeling you're not going to be the only ones celebrating, there is a certain someone celebrating on the sidelines." She threw a playful glance at Max, who chuckled.

"Go on," Max murmured, leaning against the lounge’s velvet wall, "Have some fun. I'll be here." He winked, that flash of playful mischief again.

You knew he wasn't genuinely worried, he knew how close you and Sarah were. He also knew how much you deserved to let loose after the pressure of the season.

You allowed yourself to be pulled away by Sarah, laughing as she poured you another glass. "To the future legend," she declared, clinking her glass against yours. "And to finally kicking that season into the dust."

The rest of the night was a blur. You drank, you danced, you laughed until your sides ached. You and Sarah traded recent stories, some old, some new, some best left untold. You talked about the season, your favorite moments, the times you almost gave up.

Hours later, the room had thinned out. You were sitting on a plush velvet sofa, your head resting on Sarah's shoulder, both of you giggling over some ridiculous inside joke.

You were definitely drunk, your thoughts a little fuzzy, your speech a little slurred.

"You are the best," you mumbled, nuzzling closer to Sarah. "Best friend ever."

"And you are the best driver, ever," she replied, squeezing your hand. "You deserve all of this."

A shadow fell over you. You looked up and saw Max, his expression a mixture of amusement and mild concern. “Okay, ladies, I think it's time to wrap it up. You’ve both had enough excitement for one night."

You blinked up at him, your vision a little blurry. "But…but we were having fun," you protested, your words slurring.

He chuckled, kneeling down beside you. "I know, schat, but tomorrow is going to be a long day. Remember how bad your hangover gets?".

“Oh, right,” you mumbled.

"Come here," Max said softly, helping you to your feet. His touch was gentle, steady, a stark contrast to the chaos that had begun to swirl in your head.

Sarah was grinning, a knowing look in her eyes. "Alright, love birds," she teased, "I think I'm going to grab a taxi home. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you," you mumbled, leaning heavily on Max.

He nodded at Sarah, then guided you out of the lounge and towards the back exit. Your head was spinning, the alcohol making the world tilt precariously.

But when Max's arms were around you, you felt a sense of calm settle in your chest.

As you stumbled into the cool night air, you felt his hand slip into yours. You squeezed it tightly, grateful for the warmth and the strength he exuded.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yeah," you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Just a little…fuzzy."

He chuckled, pulling you closer. "I figured. You and Sarah were having quite the party."

"She's the best," you said, a small smile playing on your lips. "You know, she’s like...my sister."

"I know," he replied softly. "And I'm glad you have her."

The silence that followed was comfortable, the quiet hum of the city surrounding you. You walked hand in hand to his car, the cool night air slowly beginning to clear your head.

Once inside the car, the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminated his face. You looked at him, really looked at him, and a wave of affection washed over you.

Even after all the champagne, all the laughter, all the chaos, he was still the most beautiful person you had ever known.

“Thank you, Max,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “For…for everything.”

He smiled, a soft, gentle smile that melted your heart. “You don't have to thank me. You earned this. All of it.”

He started the car, and as it rolled out of the parking lot, you leaned back against the headrest, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. The city lights blurred into a vibrant streak of colors as he drove.

You knew in that moment, as Max drove you home, that the victory was so much more than a trophy, it was the moment you knew you had someone who would always be there to celebrate the highs and navigate you through the lows.

He led you towards a small, unmarked door, the entrance to a private elevator used for discreet entrances. Inside, the metal walls reflected your image back at you: flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a victorious but tired smile.

But it was Max who held your attention. He stood beside you, his presence filling the small space. He was too damn hot. The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins. But it now mixed with a different kind of energy, a desire that was making your face flush with heat.

You could feel your body temperature rising, a warm sensation spreading from your chest to your face and beyond.

You stared at him, your heart hammering against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed the earlier roar of the race.

He shifted slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and you knew he felt it too—the silent tension that crackled between you.

“You’re staring,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you.

“Am I?” You asked, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out breathy.

He took a step closer, his body almost touching yours. “Yes. Like you want to eat me.” His eyes held a playful glint, but there was something else there too, something hungry.

“Maybe a little," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. You felt your cheeks burn redder. “You’re just…well, you’re very distracting right now.”

He grinned, a slow, sensual smile that sent another wave of heat through you. “Distracting? Is that a problem?”

“It could be,” you said, your gaze dropping to his lips, imagining the feeling of him kissing you.

The elevator doors slid open, and for a brief moment, you forgot where you were. It was just you and him, two hearts beating in time, wanting so much more.

He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Let’s not worry about it here,” he whispered, pulling you out of the elevator and into the dim hallway. “There are better places to be distracted.”

He led you towards the suite, the luxurious space a far cry from the sterile atmosphere of the paddock. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamps creating a sensual ambiance.

He closed the door behind you, the soft click sounding like a promise.

The weight of secrecy lifts subtly, a permission granted to be solely yourselves. You turn to face him, your heart hammering in your chest, his eyes are dark, pupils dilated, mirroring the intensity you’re feeling.

He steps closer, his body heat radiating towards you, and the tension in the air thickens like honey.

“You were incredible today,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Absolutely incredible.”

"So were you," you admit, your voice barely a whisper, though you know he didn't place as high as you.

The humility in his eyes when he came to congratulate you was endearing, your victory was as much his as it was yours.

He leans in, his eyes locking onto yours, and your breath hitches in your throat. It's not just the victory, or the adrenaline, it’s the pull, the magnetic force between you that has always been there, simmering beneath the surface of stolen glances and whispered conversations, now unleashed.

His lips brush against yours, a featherlight touch that makes you tremble, and then they are on yours, a heated claim, a silent demand for more.

The kiss isn't gentle – it's urgent, hungry, fueled by the pent-up desire you’ve both held captive for too long. Your hands find their way into his soft hair, tugging gently as you deepen the kiss, not caring about being careful.

You can taste the champagne on his tongue, the lingering sweetness mixing with the heat of your passion. His hands roam, finding the bare skin of your arms, sending shivers down your spine as they trace the curves of your body.

He nibbles on your lower lip, a playful bite that makes you moan, and the sound is like music to his ears, a melody that only he is privy to within the four walls of this room.

There is a heavy breathing against your neck and you match him in rhythm.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes filled with a desire that ignites a fire within you. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he murmurs, his voice husky with want.

“Me too,” you admit, the words a breathless sigh against his lips.

He moves then, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body. The wall, cold against your back, makes the heat of his body feel even more intense.

He braces his arm above your head, trapping you with his gaze, his eyes dark and intense. You tangle your fingers in his hair again, pulling him closer for another heated kiss.

He tugs at your dress, his touch sending sparks along your skin, and you reciprocate, your fingers finding the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head. He breaks the kiss and begins kissing down your neck, his teeth gently grazing your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Your head falls back against the wall and you gasp quietly as his hands explore your body, mapping the curves and valleys of your skin with a practiced intimacy.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear, his hands leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You’ve seen him at his worst, sweat-soaked and frustrated after a bad race, and at his best, confident and triumphant. But here, in the privacy of this room, he’s simply Max – yours.

He pulls away just enough so he can look at you. His eyes roam your face, taking you in, and there’s a raw hunger in his gaze. He leans back in, his body pressing against yours.

His legs went between yours and you moaned, the sound catching in your throat.

“Max,” you whisper, your voice husky and low, your hands reaching for him, pulling him closer to the wanting ache that had been begging for release ever since the race had ended.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your nails scoring the skin. “Please,” you beg, needing his touch, craving the shared release that only came when you were both wrapped up in each other.

He hesitated, his body still as he moved his hands down, cupping your face between them. “You’re drunk,” he says, his voice a low rumble. It’s not a question, but an observation, a gentle reminder that you’re not entirely in control right now.

The words break through the fog of champagne and adrenaline a little, and you realize he's right. You were a little tipsy, the victory buzz mixing with the after-party atmosphere had left you wanting, but hazy.

You reach up, your hands capturing his against your face. “I am,” you admit, your fingertips tracing the lines of his face, the roughness of his stubble. “But I still want you. So much.”

The intensity in his gaze deepens, and for a moment, it's almost frightening. He wanted this too, you could feel it in every fiber of his being. He steps back, his hands releasing your face, his eyes now searching.

“We can’t,” he stated, his voice firm but laced with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “You are still drunk and I want you to be sober when we do it.”

“Please,” you repeated shamelessly, your leg moving instinctively, humping against his. The brazenness you wouldn’t usually allow yourself felt entirely natural in this moment.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Don't worry schat," Max muttered, his eyes sparkling with that familiar glint, "I can please you in other ways."

With surprising ease, he scooped you up in his arms, his strength a comforting reassurance. You let out a small yelp of surprise, but quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face against his warm skin, inhaling the scent of him.

The room spun for a moment, but with Max holding you tightly, you felt grounded, safe. . . .

The harsh, fluorescent light of your bathroom felt particularly cruel this morning, mocking the throbbing in your skull. Last night’s celebratory party – or, more accurately, the aftermath of that party – was a monster you were still wrestling with. You squinted at your reflection; dark circles underscored your eyes, your hair was a tangled mess, and the faint smell of stale champagne clung to you like a persistent ex. Today was the day. The day you found out if you'd be back for another season on the racing circuit. The weight of it settled in your stomach, heavy and cold, a stark contrast to the residual warmth from the alcohol.

And then there was Max.

He was currently draped over you like a particularly affectionate koala, his arm a dead weight across your back as you tried, and failed, to tame your unruly hair. “Don’t go,” he mumbled into your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “Stay here.”

You sighed, a sound that was half-exasperation, half-affection. “Max,” you said, your voice still rough from sleep, “I have to, you know, function. Or at least try to.”

He shifted, nuzzling his face further into your neck, his grip tightening. “But you smell so good,” he purred, his voice thick with a morning-after huskiness that always made your heart do a little flip. “And you’re warm.”

“You smell like a brewery and I’m probably radiating regret,” you retorted, finally managing to wrestle yourself free enough to reach for your toothbrush. You squeezed a generous dollop of toothpaste onto the bristles. “Besides, I have an appointment.”

"Oh," he said, his earlier playfulness dissipating, replaced by a hint of anxiety. "The... the thing?"

You nodded, your mouth full of toothpaste. The ‘thing’ was the dreaded meeting with team management. It wasn't just a formality; it was the culmination of your season, the final judgment on whether they saw potential in you, or if your time with the team was over.

You rinsed your mouth and turned back to face him, leaning against the sink. He looked like a lost puppy, his usually vibrant blue eyes clouded with concern. "It'll be okay, Max. Either way, it'll be over."

He frowned, pushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. "But... you're amazing, you know? You're the best. They'd be stupid not to keep you."

You knew he meant it, his unwavering belief in your talent always a comforting constant in your life. It was one of the reasons why you'd fallen so hard for him, the hidden depths behind his public persona. “You’re biased,” you said, managing a small smile. "And thank you. For everything."

He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, his touch reassuring. "I just... I don't want to see you upset. Not today."

You rested your head against his chest, inhaling his familiar scent of engine oil and a hint of expensive cologne. It was a comforting chaos, a reminder of the world you both occupied, a world of adrenaline and speed and relentless competition.

"Then wish me luck," you murmured, pulling away. "And maybe make some coffee while I get dressed?"

He grinned, the anxiety momentarily banished. "Coffee? Coming right up. Anything for the best damn driver I know."

The drive to the team headquarters felt like entering a pressure cooker. Every street sign, every red light, felt like a countdown, each second ticking away towards either elation or heartbreak.

You parked the car, the engine ticking in protest as it cooled. Taking a deep breath, you smoothed your clothes, trying to project an air of calm you didn’t feel. You walked through the familiar halls of the headquarters, the silence amplifying the nervous flutter in your stomach. Each step felt heavier than the last.

You reached the conference room, the door standing ominously closed. You paused, your hand hovering over the handle. There was no going back now. Taking another deep breath, you turned the handle and went in.

Helmut Marko was already seated at the long table, his expression unreadable. You sat down, your back ramrod straight, trying not to fidget. He offered a curt nod, his eyes, however, didn't meet yours.

“So,” he began, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Let’s get straight to it.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

He spent the next twenty minutes discussing your performance throughout the season. He highlighted your strengths, acknowledged your weaknesses, and spoke in a monotone that offered no hint of his final verdict. He referenced stats and figures, each word further tightening the knot in your stomach. You listened, nodding occasionally, your mind racing, trying to decipher his cryptic language.

Finally, he stopped, the silence that followed almost deafening. He looked at you, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his eyes. “So, here it is.”

You held your breath, your heart thudding in your ears.

"We have decided... to offer you a seat for next season."

The relief that washed over you was so intense, it almost made your knees buckle. You let out a breath, a quiet, almost disbelieving sound. “Really?” you managed to say, your voice a little shaky.

He nodded, a rare, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your potential is undeniable. There are things to work on, but we believe you have what it takes.”

You felt a grin spread across your face, a genuine, unadulterated smile of pure joy. “Thank you,” you said, your voice overflowing with gratitude. “Thank you so much.”

The rest of the meeting was a blur of contract details and future plans. You nodded, agreed, and signed, your mind still reeling with the good news. You practically floated out of the room, the weight that had burdened you for so long finally lifted.

You pulled out your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed a message to Max. "I got it!"

His reply was instantaneous. “Finally! You had me worried. I’m buying you pizza to celebrate tonight!”

And just like that, the world seemed brighter, the hangover a distant memory. You made your way back to the car, a smile playing on your lips, the prospect of seeing Max again filling you with a warmth that had nothing to do with celebratory drinks and everything to do with love. You couldn't wait.

The soft glow of dawn hadn't quite conquered the darkness yet, but it was enough to paint the room in a gentle, hazy light. You stirred, a slow, languid stretch rippling through your body. A warm weight pressed against your back, a familiar comfort. Max.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the gentle heat emanating from his body, and it was the most perfect thing to wake up to on Christmas morning.

You turned carefully, mindful not to disturb him, and faced the man whose presence had transformed your life in the most wonderful way. His dark hair was tousled against the pillow, a stray strand falling across his forehead. His face, usually animated with laughter, was placid in sleep, a peacefulness that tugged at your heart. He looked younger, somehow, more vulnerable, and you couldn't resist the urge to reach out and trace the line of his jaw with your fingers.

Your touch must have been more than the softest feather, because his eyelids fluttered open, revealing sleep-hazed brown eyes. He looked at you, the corners of his mouth curving upwards into a sleepy smile that made your stomach flip.

"Merry Christmas," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Merry Christmas," you whispered back, your voice equally soft, "Did I wake you?"

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours, "Just the perfect way to wake up." He reached for you, pulling you closer, and you settled against him with a contented sigh.

"We should probably get up," you said after a moment, even though all you really wanted to do was stay tangled in his arms forever, "Presents, remember?"

"Presents can wait," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, full of warmth and affection, a silent promise of all the love you shared. You kissed him back, your hands cupping his face, savoring the moment, the feeling of his lips on yours.

When you finally broke apart, you were both slightly breathless. You managed a small laugh, a nervous flutter in your chest. "Okay, presents it is then." You reluctantly pulled away, the cool air hitting your bare skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you’d just known in his embrace.

You both padded barefoot into the hallway, the scent of pine needles and cinnamon from the Christmas tree in the living room filling the air. It was the first Christmas in your shared home, a landmark you’d both been looking forward to with a mixture of giddy excitement and nervous apprehension. Would it be as magical as you’d both hoped? So far, it was proving to be even more enchanting.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, its branches laden with shimmering ornaments, each one a tiny reflection of the light, and of the love you’d built together. There was a small pile of beautifully wrapped presents under the tree, each carefully chosen and thoughtfully placed.

You both stood there for a moment, just taking it in, the magic of the day settling around you like a warm blanket.

"This is...perfect," you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Max slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side, "It is, isn't it?" he said, his voice full of tenderness.

You both sat down on the rug, your legs touching, the warmth of his body a comforting anchor. You began to carefully unwrap the presents, each one a small gesture of love and understanding. He gave you a soft, cashmere scarf in your favorite shade of blue, a leather-bound journal with a quote from your favorite author engraved on the first page, and a delicate necklace with a tiny silver charm of a star.

You, in return, gifted him a vintage record player he’d always talked about wanting, several new records by his favorite artists, and a handmade, knitted beanie in his favorite colour. You'd spent hours carefully making it, a labor of love that you'd hoped he would appreciate.

He pulled it out of the box, his eyes widening as he instantly recognised what it was. "You actually knitted this?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and delight.

You nodded, a shy smile playing on your lips, "I did. I hope you like it."

He pulled you closer and kissed you again, a long, lingering kiss that spoke more than words ever could, "Like it? I absolutely love it. Thank you," he whispered. You snuggled into his arms, a sense of contentment washing over you.

"I'm starving," Max said after a few minutes, pulling away and ruffling your hair playfully. "What do you say we actually make some breakfast instead of only giving gifts?"

"Sounds perfect," you replied, getting to your feet. You followed him into the kitchen, the familiar sounds of clanging pans and sizzling bacon filling the air.

While he cooked, you poured the orange juice, the two of you working side by side, a comfortable rhythm developing between you. You felt a sense of belonging, of home, in this shared space, in this shared life.

As you ate breakfast, the morning light streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the floor. You looked at Max across the table, his face lit up by that signature smile, and you felt a rush of love so deep it almost took your breath away.

"This is the best Christmas," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you, his eyes twinkling with happiness.

"It is," he echoed, reaching across the table for your hand, his fingers lacing through yours, "And it's just the beginning."

You squeezed his hand, his words sending a shiver of excitement through you. You knew that this was just the start of your journey together, a journey filled with love, laughter, and the soft comfort of shared moments like this.

This first Christmas with Max, in your shared home, was a beautiful promise of the magic to come. And you knew, without a doubt, that you were exactly where you were meant to be. . . .

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maxverstappen1 It's been a year, a full revolution around the sun, since I first fell head over heels for you. A year of laughter, whispered secrets, and building a world together, a world that feels so uniquely ours. And yet, despite this beautiful year, there's still one mystery that eludes me: what exactly is a "hard launch?" Happy birthday, schat. Thinking back to this day last year, it makes my heart swell to remember I was so bold as to ask if I could be yours. To be invited into your amazing world, to share life with such a remarkable woman – that's been the greatest gift. Happy birthday again, and yes, for those who might be wondering, I am dating Y/N, and she's everything I had never imagined wanting and so much more.

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yourusername Another year older, and this one feels extra special! It's my birthday, and I'm beyond lucky to be celebrating it alongside our first anniversary. Max, this past year with you has been more incredible than I could have ever dreamed. Every moment, every laugh, every shared experience has meant the world to me. You make life an adventure, and I’ve loved every second of it. Feeling so grateful for today and for you. Here's to many more birthdays and anniversaries together! 💙

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[nboa13466]

I think people never say it out loud when ch 7 out but i will say it now

If you're a Lilia or Malleus fans i wouldn't suggest reading this because this rant is full on snide on both Lilia and Mal.

Lilia, this is the 2ND time you made overblot happen and this one is on purpose. If i were you i wouldn't to be so smug about it, you will jinx something and you did.

"B-but, Leona almost tried to hurt Malleus, Silver and Sebek-"

Okay i get it, you mad, but with Leona being show being a mess even before this i wouldn't be so upfront about it. Especially when i heard someone Overblot not to long ago too.

And look what happen when leona actually overblot.

Mf didn't look like he regret or atleast concerned, his face show the "see? I told you so" kind of face. Atleast the in game sprite make you look worried or concerned but this actually kinda like he is showing he is right and then ch 7 happen.

I know malleus fans will go after me but i will say it even if i have to shout it

You can't tell me Malleus deed isn't like him throwing tantrum cause he doesn't want lilia to leave.

Okay i get it he feel lonely, he doesn't want the person who keep him company all this years doesn't leave, but that's where the problem is.

Malleus never taught of what to do when someone dear to him or someone he know left.

That sh- supposed to be something that being taught especially since he is supposed to be the KING and and if we follow how old fashioned his kingdom and senate is, he will not allowed to show weakness like tears, sadness, etc. This ofc include loneliness, and since we know the draconia effect the weather from their emotions alone, wouldn't this actually something THEY need to learn and practice? Malleanor is one thing because we know she can't be held down, but Malleus, if you look at it, can be taught because we know that Lilia isn't with him all the time and the senate has power to make him lied to mal.

Also he forget there's literal silver over there who is Lilia's son and also the one cry in silent so lilia wouldn't see him sad when he is leaving and want to repay everything.

Even worse, what Malleus did literally can engulfed the entire world if left alone and because he can keep taking magic from nature, his overblot may stay for years, even worse than Leona.

He is lucky that only briar and S.T.Y.X know about what happen, if not this may instigated another fae vs human war again but this time more like Fae vs all other races, with how this can actually effect the entire world. Also Mal can't be forced to forget his throne cause he is the sole heir to the throne.

Is he still a king? Yes.

But is he a true king? I don't think so.

So him saying that Malleus is a true king kinda like jinxed that his would also done it.

"B-but Leona doing something bad and he mean it, while Malleus did it but he mean good"

Whether he mean good or not is it even matter? If anything Malleus is acting selfishly here and didn't even ask other opinion regarding of what he tried to do, much like when he teleport the dorm leaders in his dorm card Vignettes. If he only include the diasom 4 inside, he still safe, But he include everyone in sage's island to this and even may purposely expanding to the entire world. Which isn't what a "true" king do. A true king wouldn't involve their subject to something bad intentionally, only bad and greedy one do, so i wouldn't say he is a "true" king like Lilia describe him.

That's all from me, have a nice day.

[rafeysdeer]

imperfect for you (aka insecure reader x comforting rafe)

kook!reader x rafe cameron

prompt: a party that was supposed to be relaxing and to clear the head goes terribly wrong, leaving a very anxious and insecure reader, good thing she has her very caring boyfriend who knows exactly how to take care of her.

a/n: okay, that's the first time i write for rafe, i really like obx and rafe, so i tried my best in here, but i didn't really like it, i think it's bcs it's my first time writing about him. english is not my first language, i hope you guys like it 💗

You weren't exactly excited about going to this party, but you knew your boyfriend was, and you didn't want to be a party pooper, and at least you'd be with him, nothing bad would happen if you gave up and went to a party, right?

Well, you were wrong, terribly wrong, even though you were a kook, you never exactly fit in, you never got the right friends, and even though you were pretty, guys just didn't seem to be interested in you.

That was until, Rafe Cameron laid eyes on you, in your little sundress, having a drink at the club, just looking for some peace, you looked almost ethereal in his eyes, and he just knew you were meant to be together, it took a while to convince you of that. You spent most of the talk thinking it was some bad joke, because there was no way, Rafe Cameron, the king of kooks, was there, talking to you, interested in you and not on your hot friend, or literally anyone else.

You two get along almost instantly, his charm had you wrapped around his finger, and you loved it.

It had been months since you two started dating, but you still didn't feel like you fit into his social circle. So when, the first moment he separated from you at the party, a girl purposely bumped into you, spilling her drink on your short dress and whispering 'Whore' in your ear, you were sure.

Rafe didn't get it why you suddenly looked so upset, but he wanted everything, but to see his girl upset, so when he suggested for you, that you two go home, you happily headed towards the truck.

"Sweetheart, you need to talk to me. What the hell happened that you suddenly look like a kicked puppy?" and it only took his playful words for you to burst into tears in the passenger seat, it wasn't just the girl or the stained dress, everything looked too much, and you looked so small, a girl being an bitch was all you needed to lose it.

Rafe immediately looked at you with his blue eyes filled with concern. "Hey, love, I was just kidding, you don't look like a kicked puppy, I swear." he says trying to understand what happened to make you break down.

You looked up at him, your pretty eyes shining with tears. "I just-, I don't feel like I fit in, Rafey, like i fit right in with you, but i'm just unwanted by everyone else," she says, her voice cracking with tears. "I tried to fit in, but I've been around these people my whole life, and they've never liked me, and now I feel like I'm holding you back, or making them look down at you"

Now, he looks like a kicked puppy as he looks at you with a worried expression. "Honey, you don't have to fit in, those people at the party, they don't like me either, they look at me like shit too and that's not your fault, not at all, you don't need to fit in with them because you think you have to because of me, the only person I need by my side, is you."

She blinks her bright eyes at him, as if the words had run away from her mind. The car stops in front of the house, and he gets out, opening the door for her, greeting her with a kiss before the words even come back to her. "I love you, no matter what any of those assholes think, because you're the one who's here for me, not them."

She looks at him, looking almost wonderstruck, a smile breaking across her face, wrapping her arms around his neck. "The only person I need is you, Rafe," she says, knowing that the feeling was mutual. "What do you say we go inside, put you in some comfy clothes, and watch Sex and the City?" She laughs at how well he knows her as they walk into the house, his hand around her waist.

"Sounds perfect."

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 10

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 4806 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together. 

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazonians' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

'Y/N.'

Y/N didn't look back, too busy focusing on what was in front of her as she made her way from the empty courtyard towards the palace. Her armour clinked; her footsteps bounced from pillar to pillar; the screams of her fallen sisters still rung in her ears.

'Y/N, wait a second.'

As she made her way inside, Y/N found the halls filled with the wounded, bleeding, dismembered, many crying and many covering their fallen in respectful white cloths. Many turned to her as she walked by them, red-rimmed eyes pleading at her.

'Princess,' they murmured as she walked past them by way of acknowledgement, but also with misplaced hope. All Y/N could do was keep walking but she could never escape their sorrowful eyes, their bloodied hands they held out to her.

This is all my fault. This is all my fault.

'Y/N, hold up.'

So she turned her head forward and increased her pace, avoiding anymore contact from the helpless and damned because what could she offer them but more empty promises and death?

The cold reality that the Amazons might not win against Echidna settled cold and deep inside her, and that spurred her on towards the Strategy Room.

'Y/N!'

Y/N was finally forced to a halt when a hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her to a stop. Having finally stopped, Y/N noticed they were at the top of the same set of stairs that they'd argued with each other on that second night Dick was on Themyscira.

Begrudgingly, she turned around to face Dick, who looked up at her with concern and worry in his eyes. 'Hey, he said softly, taking a step upwards. 'You okay?'

'I don't have time for this,' Y/N said with a strained voice and tried pulling away. She wanted to be anywhere but there in that moment.

'Yes, you do,' Dick insisted, tightening his hold on her wrist and forcing her to face him again. 'I mean, come on, you just saw your friends die before you. You have to be feeling some sort of way.'

'Yes, thank you for reminding me of my failures, Dick,' Y/N spat back. 'Thank you for reminding me that I just killed all those women and young girls. That I lead them to their deaths and did nothing to save them!'

Dick finally let go of her wrist, but his disbelieving gaze held her in place. She never could escape those big blue eyes of his.

'It's not your fault, Y/N,' he said slowly, carefully. 'You're not the one that killed them.'

'Didn't I though?' The faces of the fallen flashed behind her eyes, and the begging of the young girl pounded in her ears. 'I incited this war with Echidna; I made those women believe we could win, that they would live. And when they begged for my help, begged for that power from last night...'

Y/N hiccuped as she felt tears well in her eyes. But she swallowed her sobs, held the tears back. She had no right to cry, to feel sad. She wasn't among those slaughtered and burned alive.

She wasn't dead.

Once her resolve had returned, Y/N said to Dick in a clinical voice, 'I refuse to lead anymore Amazons to their deaths. There will be no more bloodshed from our side.'

'But how are you going to ensure that, unless...' Realisation dawned on Dick's face and Y/N hated the guilt that arose in her from the sight. 'No, you can't just give up. You can't just surrender to Echidna.'

'What other choice do I have, Dick?' Y/N argued. 'There is no defeating a hydra of that size and ability without losing hundreds more. There is no defeating Echidna when she can just summon more of her monstrous children. I was a fool to think otherwise and it has cost us hundreds of innocent and good warriors.'

'You can choose to fight!' Dick said, his tone exasperated. 'You can choose to stand your ground and defend your home, your family.'

'At what cost, though? I have led too many to their deaths already. Calliope was injured greatly just now and I couldn't stand it if... if you...' Y/N didn't even want to finish the thought, so bit her tongue and looked away.

Dick remained silent for a moment and Y/N hated to think of what he might be thinking. 'If there is anything I have learnt from being here, it is that an Amazon would rather die than give up.'

It might've been the truth, but all Y/N felt was hurt and betrayal. 'Are you saying I'm not an Amazon?' she asked pointedly.

'Not a true one at the moment, no,' Dick answered.

'How dare you!' Y/N stepped closer to Dick until her finger was so close to his chin she could feel his haggard breath on it. 'I am the Princess of Themyscira. I am doing what is best for my people to ensure their survival!'

'At what cost, though?' Dick asked, seemingly unbothered by her finger. 'You would abandon your values and thousands of years worth of Amazon glory and sacrifice in one moment of fear?'

'What, like you abandoned the team when you were scared?'

Dick's face darkened at the low jab, but Y/N couldn't care. She was hurting, and she would make him hurt too.

Y/N dropped her finger and took one step closer. They were eye level now despite Dick being the step down from the landing. 'You don't get to judge me, Grayson,' Y/N hissed, never breaking eye contact with him. 'I am doing what is in my people's best interests the best way I know how to right now. And if you can't get around that, then I suggest you swim your way back to the mainland and pray you don't get eaten because you are of no further use to me.'

They glared at each other for a few moments longer, both of them breathing laboriously. Y/N knew whoever broke first would concede the fight and Y/N was sick of losing to Richard "Dick" Grayson.

Eventually, Dick looked away defeated and Y/N released a small sigh of relief.

'That settles it then,' she murmured, then turned to continue her journey to the Strategy Room.

'If you think you can strike a deal with Echidna that will spare the Amazons, then that is what makes you a fool,' Dick called out to her just before she turned the corner, his words tainted by anger and disappointment.

Y/N paused at the corner, frozen by the implication of his words. Coward. Pathetic. Weak.

If only he knew this was all for him too, she thought as she turned to face him one last time.

'Call me what you want,' she said weakly. 'I don't find any merit in the words of a hypocrite.'

It was a low blow, she knew, and it twisted something inside her when she saw Dick's face drop with shame and betrayal. There was no going back now, though. And so she took her injured heart and rounded the corner, leaving Dick standing wounded on the steps for a second time.

Once she rounded another corner, Y/N finally allowed her tears to fall. She allowed herself to feel her guilt, to feel her grief. Hopelessness and shame threatened to swap her at the thought of what she was going to do.

But what other choice did she have?

She couldn't answer that question, as she arrived at the doors to the Strategy Room. Y/N took in a deep breath and dried her eyes as best as possible before opening the doors.

Upon entering, she found the other generals except for Calliope standing around the round map table, her grandmother among them. Their discussions paused as they saw her, and by their expressions she didn't look to be in a good state. Y/N went to speak, went to bring up her warrior facade so that she may address them, but she couldn't do it.

The silence broke when Queen Hippolyta said softly, 'Everybody, please excuse me and my granddaughter. Now.'

The generals rushed to leave, all of them giving Y/N a gentle pat on her shoulders in slight comfort as they did. Y/N didn't respond. She didn't take her eyes off her grandmother, even when the doors closed and it was just them.

Slowly, Queen Hippolyta made her way around the table to stand in front of Y/N. Y/N only realised she was shaking when her grandmother gently took her hands into her own. Only then did she looked down to her grandmother.

'I sense a heavy burden has fallen upon you,' Queen Hippolyta said, her tone sad. 'What is it that troubles you, my dear?'

'I fear we will not survive this war, Grandmother,' Y/N admitted, her words strained as she resisted crying again. 'Echidna... I was too bold to think we could fight a god.'

Queen Hippolyta lead the two of them to a nearby lounge where they sat and held each other's hands. Y/N was grateful for the reprieve on her legs. She hadn't realised how tired she was until then.

'So, what do you plan on doing next?' Queen Hippolyta asked.

Y/N took a deep breath before explaining. 'I plan to confront Echidna... and make a deal with her to spare us.' Her grandmother's face darkened with offence and just as she opened her mouth to protest, Y/N interrupted. 'And before you argue, yes I know that this is the coward's choice. But I see no other way for the Amazons to survive unless we call for some kind of truce.'

'And what do you plan to offer her in order to achieve this?' Queen Hippolyta huffed with indignation.

'Myself,' Y/N answered. 'I will offer my life up so that she spares everyone else's. Gods love their deals.'

'Yes they do. But they also love breaking them,' Queen Hippolyta said, her tone frustrated. 'What's to stop Echidna from killing the rest of us when you are killed, huh? surely not their conscious, or should I say lack there-of. Who will be there to stop her from wiping us when she wipes you from this earth completely?'

Y/N went to argue but found she had nothing to argue with. She was naive to think a god as nefarious and vengeful as Echidna would ever uphold a deal made with a mere mortal.

'Then what am I to do, Grandmother?' she pleaded. 'I see no other way out of this mess that doesn't end up killing most if not all of us.'

'Then we will die,' Queen Hippolyta said, her grip tightening over Y/N's hands. 'But we will die as the warriors that Athena made us to be. Not the cowards Echidna thinks we are.'

Tears rolled down Y/N's face and sobs threatened to suffocate her as reality hit. 'Oh my dear,' the Queen cooed and pulled Y/N into her arms as the tears and sobs overtook her.

'I just... I just wanted to save them,' Y/N said as she clutched onto her grandmother. 'They don't deserve to die. All those girls out there... I couldn't help them.'

'You cannot save everyone, Y/N. You should know this better than anyone.' The Queen pulled away from the hug and Y/N sat up straight, looking at her grandmother wide-eyed. The Queen reached out to Y/N's cheek and wiped the remaining tears away.

'But all is not lost yet. You still have some warriors, you still have that boy of yours, and you still have your power.'

Y/N gave the Queen a confused expression but all her grandmother did was smile knowingly. 'News travels fast, you know. I heard what happened on the beach. It was quite impressive what you did.'

'But it's not my power,' Y/N countered. 'And when I asked for Athena's help again just now, nothing happened and I couldn't help those girls.'

'You think the power belongs to Athena?' the Queen asked, an amused laugh escaping her briefly.

'What? What's so funny?' Y/N asked, completely confused now.

'Athena is our creator, dear, but like most gods she does not help her children,' her grandmother explained. 'That power you used on the beach was not from Athena, but yourself.'

'From me?'

The Queen nodded. 'Your mother tapped into her power around your age, as did I, and my mother before me. We come from a long line of women who are able to tap into their inner strength, a magical gift from Athena's DNA. Not only do we posses her strategic mind and knack for combat, but we are blessed with her strength and power. It usually arises in a time of great need. But it only comes when the warrior is fully aware and accepting of they are. A True Warrior.'

The Queens squeezed Y/N's hand and smiled proudly at her. 'You have the makings of a True Warrior, Y/N. But you let fear and doubt influence your decisions too much. You fear loss and a broken heart, but I can tell you right now that none of those women who have died today or even millennia before that regret their decision to fight. Not a single person outside of this room, including that boy of yours, isn't willing to fight for this island and fight with you. All you have to do is lead them.'

'But what if I all I lead them to is their deaths?' Y/N asked quietly, almost too scared to hear the answer.

'All empires must come to an end, and maybe this time is ours,' her grandmother replied, 'but we will go out as warriors defending our homes... and the ones we love.'

She said that last part very pointedly and pang of guilt surged through Y/N. 'He's not my boy,' Y/N said, wiping a stray tear away. 'Not now anyways. If he ever was to begin with, that is.'

'Of course he is,' her grandmother interjected. 'When you love someone, you don't give up on them so easily.'

Y/N stared at her grandmother shocked. the implication of her words had Y/N's thoughts turning around so fast she could barely think a single thought except for one.

'Dick loves me?' she asked.

Her grandmother sighed in frustration. 'I love you, but you are more oblivious than your mother some days. Of course he loves you. He wouldn't have sailed the world's oceans trying to find an unfindable place otherwise. He wouldn't have helped train the other warriors if he didn't. And he wouldn't have stayed to fight this evil, knowing full well that he might not live long enough to see home again, if he didn't feel that way about you.'

Y/N could hardly breathe as her grandmother piled the evidence up. For so long she had believed he felt nothing romantic for her, but her grandmother was putting forward a convincing argument.

'But- But he's never indicated that he feels that way,' Y/N tried arguing, although she couldn't help the little flutter of excitement in her heart.

'Trust me, dear, he has. Whether he knows it or not yet, he loves you. And I think you better tell him how you feel in case this war goes further south. Don't you?'

Y/N sat with her thoughts for a moment. It was hard to comprehend that Dick Grayson, her best friend and the love of her life, actually reciprocated her feelings. But whether she accepted it or not, her grandmother was right about one thing.

'I will,' Y/N said, her mind clear, her resolve strong. 'After we come up with a plan to get rid of that hydra outside and then Echidna.'

'You've changed your mind?' the Queen asked.

Y/N nodded. 'You're right. If we die, we die as who we are, not as Echidna wants us to be. But we are not dead yet, and we are Amazon warriors, meaning we have the tactical minds of Athena herself.'

'Meaning?' her grandmother asked.

Y/N smirked. 'Meaning... I am sure we can come up with a plan or two to send Echidna and her monstrous children back to the hell in which they came from.,'

Her grandmother embraced Y/N once more and squeezed her tight. 'That's my girl.' When they pulled apart, she asked, 'Now, what did you have in mind?'

~~~

Dick sat in the infirmary beside a resting Calliope whose hands were bandaged in the hopes they would heal in time for the next wave of attacks from Echidna. All those who laid in the infirmary were hopeful to rejoin the fight. But as Dick sat there, looking around at the bleeding, the dismembered, the dead, he couldn't help but think they all were wishful thinkers.

'It's alarming, isn't it,' Calliope from her propped-up position on her cot. 'How quickly a battle can go south. How so many people can end up in a place like this after just one day of fighting.'

'I've been in battles before,' Dick replied, though his voice felt distant when he spoke, like it was coming from someone else. 'I've dealt with casualties before, just... never to this scale.'

Calliope huffed with weak amusement. 'Then you are a lucky warrior. But I guess we are lucky too. For a time, this was our people's normal. We train here most of our lives and never see battle. The younger ones crave it, but us older ones know to be grateful. War is not something I wish to experience my whole life.'

Dick hummed in agreement, reflecting on his own life. Since he was ten, he'd known violence. Befriended it in a weird way. Back when he was with the team - and even when he left - he always craved action. But Calliope was right; he should've been more grateful for the quiet times, the times of peace. That's what the Justice League and the Young Justice team were for anyways.

To fight against injustice, and keep the peace.

Breaking his thoughts, Calliope rested a bandaged hand upon his own that rested on her bedside. 'It does not do one well to dwell on the past,' she said, a knowing smile softening her usually stoic features. 'But I guess it is hard to look to the future when the past is constantly around you.'

She gave Dick a pointed look, and Dick sighed as he pulled his hands away from hers. 'My relationship with Y/N doesn't matter right now.'

His heart dropped as he recalled their earlier fight. How desperate and frightened she'd been but wouldn't let him in. It hurt him to think he couldn't help her, but everything she'd thrown at him, he knew she'd meant it. Perhaps she'd finally allowed herself to say the things she'd never allowed herself to say about him until then.

Deep down, under all her armour and strength, she hated him. She hated him for leaving, for abandoning the team.

'In fact,' he continued sadly, 'I don't think I have a relationship with Y/N anymore.'

It broke his heart to think of all the years they'd been together, all the triumphs they'd shared and all the failures they'd had to rise from together. To think that all of that was gone just because he got mad at her for trying to do the right thing by her people? He was a fool, a damn fool.

'That's the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, mortal,' Calliope injected so matter-of-factly that Dick looked up at her like a stunned mullet.

'Excuse me?' he questioned.

'Are all mortal men as deaf and blind as you are?' Calliope asked, rolling her eyes as gently wiggled herself into a straighter seating position. 'You and the Princess might have gotten off on the wrong foot when you first arrived here, but I can tell she cares for you deeper than you realise.'

Dick shook his head. 'I don't think so. We had a huge fight just before. I don't think she'd care if I walked out of this palace right now and got smoked by the hydra.'

'Sure she would!' Calliope argued. 'Look, people have fights all the time. That doesn't mean you love them any less for it. I've seen the way she looks at you when you're not looking, like you hung the very moon and stars that look over us right now. That kind of admiration, that kind of love doesn't just vanish because of one measly fight.'

Love. Dick was stuck on that one word as Calliope kept talking. He deconstructed it and put it back together over and over again and yet it remained ever-present.

'Well... of course we love each other,' Dick staggered for words, for reasoning to battle against his warring heart and mind. 'We've known each other since we were ten. We've been through everything together.'

Calliope just sighed and slumped back in her pillows. 'You exasperate me, mortal. You will die with regrets you do not even know of. And for that I feel sorry for you.'

Dick stared at her befuddled. 'What are you talking about?'

Before she could answer, the doors to the infirmary opened and Dick was surprised, delighted, and annoyed at the sight of Y/N walking through the giant doors. She greeted and hugged all she could as she made her way down the aisle towards Calliope's bed. Dick was half-hoping, that she would just keep walking past. But she did not, stopping right at the end of Calliope's bed.

'Friend, how are you?' Y/N asked gently, a genuinely regretful expression on her face.

'I am fine, Princess,' Calliope answered, raising her bandaged hands towards Y/N. 'It is just a flesh wound. Our healers will have me out pf here in time for the next attack, whenever that will be.'

'Good,' Y/N said, and Dick saw her put on a front - the front of a general. She stood slightly taller, held her head higher, spoke more confidently. 'We will need you ready for tomorrow's plans.'

Dick and Calliope both looked at each other confused. 'Plans?' Dick asked, standing from his seat.

Y/N nodded at him then addressed Calliope. 'Once you have healed, meet us in the Strategy Room. There we will discuss the plan.'

'Yes, Princess,' Calliope answered.

Y/N turned to Dick then and tilted her head back to the infirmary's entrance. 'Would you like to join me and the others in the Strategy Room? I would like to discuss the plan with you.'

Dick held Y/N's gaze for a moment, unsure of what she was doing. Only a few hours ago she told him he was useless, a waste of space. But now she was asking for his help?

He turned to Calliope, who nodded her head as if giving him permission to leave her bedside. 'I will join you both as soon as I am able,' she said, and with that Y/N lead Dick out of the infirmary.

They climbed the quiet staircase silently, walked many hallways without speaking. Dick wanted to speak, but what to say. He felt Y/N was holding back something too but seemed to be hesitating as well.

Finally fed up with the metaphorical chicken game, he let out an exasperated sigh and said, 'Okay, what changed your mind?'

Y/N didn't answer for a few more steps until they rounded another corner and she stopped and sighed. Finally she turned back to him, regret reflecting in her E/C eyes.

'You mean what made me realise I was being a coward and not a true Amazon warrior?'

Dick winced at the half quoting of his words she'd used. But as he opened his mouth to apologise, she raised her hand to silence him. 'It's okay, I understand. You were upset, and you had a right to be. I wasn't thinking like a warrior. I let my fear and my own pride lead me down a path of cowardice and shame. But, with some help, I realised... you were right.'

'I was?' Dick couldn't believe what he was hearing. For years, she'd always been the smarter one, always been the wiser one of the pair. This was new territory for him.

She nodded her head. 'Amazons don't hide or make deals to ensure their survival. They fight for it, they earn it, and if they die trying, and that is a worthy warrior's death.' She offered him a small smile. 'We win together, or we die together. Including you.'

Dick wasn't sure where Y/N was taking this, especially as she stepped closer to him. The firelight of the hallway torches made her hair ripple like fire and mad her eyes seem molten, alive. She was mesmerising.

'I'm sorry if I made you feel you had to prove yourself to me,' she said, her voice tight, apologetic. 'The truth is, I was just scared I would lose you again because of something I dragged you into. I wanted you gone... because I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I'd gotten you killed.'

Dick's heart hiccuped with Y/N's honesty. In that moment, he saw the ten-year-old girl he'd met all those years ago. How vibrant and brave and strong she was. Then he thought of the time they picked their vigilante names out for one another, and all the times they fought battles and trained and laughed and cried and it him then the legacy she'd taken on. The pressure she felt to live up to her mother's success - and it had all started at the age of ten.

And it was all coming out now, along with the tears that trickled down her face. Immediately, Dick reached hand out to wipe her cheek, and that seemed to make her realise she was crying and then she was full on sobbing.

Dick didn't think twice as he pulled her into his comforting arms, as he pressed her as close to him as he could so she could feel his heartbeat, to let her know he was there. For her.

'I'm not gone, Y/N,' he murmured into her hair. Damn, he'd forgotten how tall he'd grown since he last saw her. 'I am right here. I am not laying out there among the dead, I am here.'

She trembled in his arms, and his heart shattered just a little bit more. 'Yes, but you could've been,' she said, her voice all muffled as she continued crying into his chest.

'But I'm not, Y/N.' Once she'd calmed down until she was just sniffling, he pulled away to look down at her, his hands gently resting on her shoulders. 'I promise, Echidna would have to burn me to ashes and then burn them again in order to take me away from you. Do you hear me?'

Y/N, with wide eyes rimmed red, just stared up at him with an expression he didn't quite recognise. It was hopeful and full of admiration. And there was something else there, something that had Dick's heart skipping a beat with the possibility that it might be what he thought it might be.

'You had a chance to leave Themyscira,' Y/N said softly, never breaking eye contact. 'You had a chance to live and forget all about this and me... Why did you stay?'

The question struck him so hard in the chest he lost his breath, thus lost his ability to think and function. It was the easiest and the hardest question to answer. It was easy because the answer was staring him right in the face, but he found it hard to say because what if he was wrong? What if he was reading this whole situation wrong? And what if he ruined the best thing that ever happened to him if he opened up his mouth?

'I stayed... I stayed because... because...' It was right there on the tip of his tongue, all he needed to do was be brave enough to say it.

The doors to the Strategy Room banged opened and Y/N and Dick jumped apart to see Queen Hippolyta standing at the entrance. 'I'm sorry, have I interrupted something?' she asked.

Y/N quickly wiped the remaining tears on her cheeks away as she stood up tall once more and replied, 'No, we were just about to come in and discuss the strategy for tomorrow.'

The Queen eyed the two of them, and Dick thought she looked slightly disappointed. But she gestured for them to come in, saying, 'Well, by all means, let us discuss.'

Y/N and Dick spared each other one more look before heading towards the Strategy Room. Dick's heart was practically beating out his chest and he wondered for a moment if Y/N could hear it.

Focus, Dick, he reminded himself as he entered the room with the generals and the Queen. We have a war to win first.

~~~

Tag List:

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[frakts1ya]

let you break my heart again ft. xu minghao

💔 -> or, minghao realizes what he did wrong and wants to try again || wc : 1k.

☆ song recs! : let you break my heart again - laufey ; cold love - the8 ; darl + ing - seventeen ; real man - beabadoobee ; try again - jaehyun, d.ear

You and your ex both remember the break-up day like it was yesterday. A year together, 365 plus days filled with laughter and tears, which were all gone. Your ex, Minghao didn't know why he really did it, why he broke up with you. He just woke up one day and lost feelings.

You spent a week crying in the arms of your friends. You loved Minghao, and even if you tell yourself you had gotten over him, a little piece of you still wants him.

"...after that I literally- y/n? you good?" Danielle asks, noticing your shift in demeanor. There, out of the corner of your eye, you see Minghao, your one and only ex, the love of your life, hanging out with his friends. “That bitch.”

“Dani, it's… it's fine,” You say, still staring at him. His gaze meets yours, and your eyes widen. 

You sheepishly wave to him, which he hesitates before raising his hand back at you. 

Your phone then buzzes. Minghao is on the phone, so you're guessing it was from him.

 come over here.

“He's telling me to come over, I'll be back.” You run over to Minghao, and the friends he's with take this as a sign to leave.

“Hello, y/n.” Words you haven't heard in so long. It warms your heart, even if he doesn't like you anymore.

“Hi, Hao. How are you?” The conversations you've had all those years ago, forgotten about. From the early getting-to-know-each-other icebreaker talks to the late night deep conversations, you miss all of it.

“I'm good. You?” Minghao's heart skipped a beat. It's been so long since you've called him Hao.

“I've been good. Why do you still want to talk to me?” Such a mood killer, y/n. You know, but something inside you needed a conclusion.

“I need you.” Even Minghao wasn't expecting those words to exit his mouth.

“Huh? Hao, what do you mean?”

He exhales, already unsure if he wants to say what he has in mind. “I regret everything. It's been 6 months since we broke up, yet I can't stop thinking about you. I thought I lost feelings, but seeing you again today made me realize how much of an asshole I was to you. So please, y/n, give me another chance.” 

After he finishes, he watches your expression shift, eyes softening and darting away from his figure. “I don't know. You already broke my heart once. I was sad for weeks, Hao. I don't know if I could do this again.”

“I'll do better. I won't hurt you like I did last time.”

You stop for a second to think. Minghao was looking at you with the same expression he had when he first confessed to you. 

“Let's go get some coffee together, okay? We'll see what happens.”

“That drink looks disgustingly sweet. You're going to have a heart attack.” Minghao comments on the caramel frappuccino you ordered.

“You’re the one who ordered plain tea! Let me taste,” You took his cup and sipped the tea, scrunching your face up at the bitter taste.

In response to your reaction, Minghao took your drink and tried it, also making a disgusted face after swallowing. The two of you both laugh like you were still together. 

“I missed you,” You mutter ashamedly. 

“Yeah, I did too. I'm really sorry for breaking up with you. I-” Minghao stops mid sentence.

“You..?”

“I tried dating someone else for a bit. It didn't last. She said I was too hung up on my ex. I told her she was wrong, but I don't think she was.” Minghao holds your hand, his thumb tracing circles in the space behind your pointer.

“Oh, Minghao…” You pout, using your free hand to brush stray strands of hair out of his face. “Then, why did you do it?”

“I didn't think I was good enough,” He admits, barely audible for you to hear, “You deserved better than me, and I don't think I was ready then. It's different now. I've improved. Started meditating, taking better care of myself, you know.”

“You were always good for me, baby.” The whole café disappears as your lips approach his, bringing him in a soft kiss. 

“Shit, I didn't mean to-” You apologize, running off before Minghao could say anything. 

“Yeah, I fucked up bad!” You rant to Danielle, who's intently listening the entire time you recap your encounter.

“Did you see his face?” Danielle inquires, “Maybe he liked it?”

“I don't think so. He's going to hate me now. I thought we could restart, but, fuck!” You exclaim exactly as thunder hits the ground, making you jump. “This world hates me.”

The doorbell of yours and Danielle’s shared apartment rings, and Danielle glances over at you. “Want to go get it?” You shake your head, and Danielle goes to open the door. You hear incomprehensible chatter before Danielle goes back to your room to tell you: “Y/n, someone's waiting for you.”

You go to the door, where a very wet Minghao stands.

“Um-”

You can't get any words out before his hands are harshly gripping your cheeks and he's kissing you.

“Payback for leaving me in the café after you kissed me,” Minghao pants.

“Why? You're soaking wet, did you not bring an umbrella?” You fret, hands grabbing onto his damp button-up.

“Didn't have one. I needed to see you as soon as possible, my love. Let's start over.”

His forehead is pressed against yours, you could feel your heart beating out of its chest. “No, let's pick up from where we left off. I loved you then, I love you now, and I'll love you in the future.”

“Okay…” The two of you are quiet for a hot second, before Minghao asks, “Can I come in and dry myself?”

“Of course. You know where the bathroom is.” You let him in and close the door behind you. As he makes his way over to the bathroom, you watch with the same eyes you watched him with when he first came over, or when you had your first kiss with him.

Though you knew (or, at least hoped) he wouldn't repeat his mistake, you would let Xu Minghao break your heart again.

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | 11.5

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 0.8k

—chapter content/warnings: not much!! something a lil more tame lol, prob one of the 0.5s that takes place right after the chapter beforehand, i promise there is no ill intention behind what's happening here - they're both equally torn about everything as san's good friends/colleagues

namjoon: you got a minute to meet up today? sorry for the last minute request but it's kinda urgent.

jongho: sure. i'm wrapping up. can meet you in the next 15 mins?

namjoon: i'll come to you.

jongho: alright then, boss.

Jongho continues typing away at his desk, responding to all the emails that came in today while he was off doing interviews for the new open faculty role in the electrical engineering department. He makes a mental note to submit his review sheet for the first round of interviewees and to review the applications for the next round tomorrow. He doesn't realize how quick 15 minutes flies by until Namjoon is swinging his door open mid-email. He continues to type away, but his eyes shift to Namjoon's figure as he fixes his blazer and takes a seat with a loud sigh.

"Long day?" Jongho cracks a small smile, typing up the last few details before sending it off and shifting his attention to Namjoon in front of him.

"Kinda." He nods towards his computer. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt or delay you from leaving."

"All good. Didn't really have plans, anyway. What's up? You seem a little flustered."

"Well, catching Yunho, Iseul and San arguing in a conference room wasn't exactly on my agenda for today."

"What?" Jongho cocks his head back a bit in disbelief, brows tightly knitted together as he tries to make sense of what he just heard. San had been giving him a bit of the story here and there and knowing Iseul, he wasn't exactly surprised this is how things were playing out.

He's just not sure why Iseul thinks it's her business to air this all out.

"You tell me."

"As much as I would love to help, I honestly have no idea what's going on.”

"Jongho."

"What? You know how Iseul is. She somehow still thinks she has a grip on San even after they've divorced and gone through all of that. Can't stand her, if you ask me."

"You don't have to tell me twice. But, why? Why is this a thing right now?"

"Beats me." Jongho tries to brush it off even though he can see the look on Namjoon's face, his eyes trying to study him like a damn book. He hates being in the middle because as much as he loves and supports his bestfriend, he also has the utmost respect for Namjoon and knows the guy will always be on their side regardless.

"That's the first in a very long time that I've seen San react that way at the happy hour event."

"Okay, to be fair, the guy was getting super disrespectful. I think any of us would've reacted in one way or another."

"Right, I agree. But, I know there's a story behind it. I know his anger was fueled by something else." Jongho sees the way Namjoon is going about this. He's prying for the answers he already knows, but he needs the confirmation and Jongho can give him that. 

It's just a matter of when.

"What if it was just a bad day?"

"Okay, you know what?" Joon leans onto the arm rest of the chair and gives him a look. "I'm just gonna go headfirst with it." Jongho cocks a brow up. "Is there something going on with San and his rotation student? Y/N specifically." He sighs.

"I figured."

"No, you knew." Namjoon chuckles a bit.

"I don't know. I really can't tell you because I don't know anything." Jongho says he knows nothing when he knows everything.

"Jongho." Joon repeats.

"Joon, swear." He says, even though he tries to sit as still as possible. Good thing Namjoon can't read his mind right now.

It started gradually before it took off completely. Jongho knows about the last minute meetings San has had to take, Jongho has seen the subtle glances, the subtle actions, the mood changes when you're around. Jongho remembers seeing you slip out of his hotel room very early that morning during the NAS conference. Jongho remembers seeing the polaroid slightly tip out of the wallet case mid-breakfast and seeing a tiny slip of your face in his peripherals. San quickly adjusted the polaroid and continued on like nothing, wishing for the best with that one.

And he doesn't have to be told to know you've been over multiple times. All the calls that have gone curt and short, the distraction easily laced in San's voice on the other line. He remembers the faint trace of your perfume in his home, the little post-it notes you've left on San's office desk.

Good thing Namjoon can't read his mind right now.

Cause, yes.

"I can hear your thoughts."

Well, shit.

"I don't know what to say."

"I need you to tell me yes or no, that's all. I need to make sure I'm going about this correctly even though I heard a lot today alone." Jongho sighs and sees how torn Namjoon is. They both are. They obviously want what's best for San, and they both want him to be happy. He is deserving of good, genuine love. He is deserving of genuine happiness because he always rides for the people he loves, goes the extra mile for them. He acknowledges and learns from his mistakes, he apologizes when he knows he's at fault.

He's deserving of all good.

So, they both hate that it has to come to this because it's not even you that's the problem. It's the situation, and they both don't know how to approach it with enough sensitivity and care.

Even though it's good to San, it doesn't necessarily mean it could be good for San.

"Yes."

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[mercurysmicrowave]

A Shoulder to Cry On

Paring: Nanami Kento x reader

Wc: 1.1k

Includes: angst, hurt/comfort, spoilers for the Shibuya Arc

Two months had passed since the massacre at Shibuya. You were obviously shaken up by the incident, but you found solice in your boyfriend Nanami Kento. Late nights were filled with texts of him reassuring you that he was okay and that he has once and for all quit being a sorcerer.

At first the texts were comforting, but you missed him. He never went out of his way to check on you. Like really check on you. He used to go to your house with flowers and cook for you after a bad day, but now when you really need him. Nothing. He hadn't even called.

You debated over and over to go to his house. Make the first move, show him how you could be the shoulder to cry on. But Kento wasn't one for surprise visits, and anytime you offered to come by, he would turn you down. He made the excuse repeatedly that he had work to catch up on, but when you called his office, they said he was using his vacation days.

A heavy feeling gathered in your chest and made it hard to think. You tried calling Satoru, maybe he had been in touch with Kento. Nothing. You called Yuuji. All you got was a rushed response with no clear answer. Who else did you know? Shoko maybe?

"Hello?" Her voice seemed distant. "Is everything alright?" It was a reasonable ask for the first thing to say. You and Shoko were never close. As much as it hurts to admit, you only ever called when you needed something.

"No, actually," You laugh dryly. "It's about Kento. I...He's...is there anything you can tell me?" On the other side of the phone, Shoko sighs.

She takes a drag of her cigarette before answering. "The mission was hard for everyone. He's no exception." You're silence encouraged her to continue talking.

"What can I say? He got injured. It comes with the job. At least he survived, yeah? Best outcome anyone could hope for"

"Yeah, okay," You try to smile. At least you had some kind of answer. "Thanks." You hang up. You chew on your thumbnail before going to text Kento. You asked if you could come over, and of course, he made up an excuse about needing to finish a report. Now you were angry. You wanted to be a good partner, give him space, but at the same time, you felt the strong compulsion to be by his side. You could obviously tell that he needed comfort, something that could only be properly given in person.

The next morning you are determined to see Kento. You drive to his house. You notice his car in the driveway and frown. Sure he could be working from home, but that has never been a reason for you to not come over before. You take a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. Silence. You ring again. And a third and a forth. Before you can ring a fifth time you hear cursing and the sound of footsteps approaching the door. The door swings open. For the first time in months, Kento stand before you. Though, you can barely see his face, or any of him for that matter. Despite the warm weather, he has on a grey hoodie pulled over his head, black gloves and long sweatpants.

"(Y/N)?" His voice is raspy, as if on the verge of going away.

You smile "Hi." You attempt to step inside, but he blocks you with his arm.

He furrows his brows "What are you doing here?"

"I came to check on you," You say confused. Did that really need an explanation?

"I told you I was fine"

"Obviously, you're not," You voice comes out rougher than you intended. "I just...Can I come inside?" Kentk stares. He stays silent for a while longer before wordlessly moving out of the way. You offer a small 'thanks' before stepping inside. The interior was nice, of anything it was cleaner than the last time you were here. Has he been stress cleaning? Kento keeps his distance. He seems on edge, like he can't wait for you to get bored and leave.

You clear your throat. "I was talking to Shoko the other day." You weren't really saying this to him but rather thinking out loud. "You got hurt. You didn't tell me you got hurt." Kento rubs his arm almost instinctively. You notice.

"I always get hurt," Kento replied.

"Yes, but you always tell me." You retort. "I know I'm not a sorcerer but you never keep me out of the loop. What changed? Do you...not want to be with me anymore?"

"What?" Kento finally raised his head to look at you.

You clench you jaw. "Has it been too hard to be with me?" Your voice cracks and you feel like crying. "I thought I was understanding of your other duties. I never fussed over missions or berated you with a million questions about being a sorcerer. So why? Why push me away now?" Kento was quick to walk up to you and wipe your tears with his gloved hand.

"That's not it at all," His voice is quiet, gentle.

"Look Kento, or maybe I should call you Nanami," You move his hand away from your face and head to the door. "I'm just happy I could see you one last time." You turn to offer him a half smile, but instead you face falls in shock. Your hands come up to cover your mouth as you gasp. Kento pulled down his hood. Half of his face was burned and covered in scars. He had an eyepatch over his left eye.

He looks down. "Shoko did what she could, but, well..." He slowly drifts off. "I've always tried to make my job as a sorcerer, better than it was. I thought that if you saw me like this, I'd scare you off. And as selfish as it was, I couldn't be without you." He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and stop himself from crying.

You don't say anything. Kento's heart pounds in his chest and rings in his ear. His gaze focused on the floor. Did you leave? You probably did. He didn't-couldn't- blame you. This is was literally the ugly side of being a sorcerer. This is why Kento didn't want a love life. This is why-

You arms come up to wrap Kento in a tight embrace. Your hand moves to let Kento's head rest on your shoulder. His arms wrap around your waist and for the first time since Shibuya. The first time since seeing Gojo taken away. The first time since finding out Haibara died, he cried. He cried until his voice was hoarse, but this time he had someone there for him. This time he had a shoulder to cry on.

[howi99]

Circus Light chapter 5

Jaune: *sigh* I know it's probably a cultural difference, but why are there so many people smoki- *Cough, trying to swat away the foul smoke* -this is worse than Vacuo, and drugs were legalised there!

Peter: *shrug* It's a dog eat dog world. *Hit Jaune, his aura protecting him from the blow* You got that fancy armor to heal and protect you, they got opium to cope with the pain.

Jaune: *put his scarf in front of his mouth and nose* I doubt getting high is helping anyone. *Sigh* If it was physical pain, i could help at least-

Peter: *rolling his eyes* Can you stop with your savior complex for one second?

Jaune: Sorry...

Peter: Tsk, you're even more of a pushover then Doll, and she's a 15 year old girl for god's sake!

Jaune: *frown* Isn't she 16?

Peter: *shrug* Does it really matter? *Shaking his head with a sigh* Anyway, how did you find the black market so fast? I thought you were a complete goodie two-shoes.

Jaune: *perplexed* Where did you think i sold my armor, a pawn shop?

Peter: *surprised* You're telling me you found it in a night!? How?!

Jaune: *point at his face* I literally look like the perfect victim for a mugging. I just had to twist the guy's arm a bit to get some information.... That and seeing a man shrug off a bullet to the head really makes them more talkative. *Sigh* Anyway, i'll go get my papers. *Look at Peter, worried* I know you are an adult, but are you sure you want to get supplies by yourself? There's been an awful lot of kidnapping and-

Peter: *annoyed* I can keep care of myself, Shine. I don't need a weakling like you to be my "savior".

Jaune: I know, but-

Peter: *bringing up a knife* I can defend myself, i know how to fight.

Jaune: ... *Sigh* Fine, sorry... *Leave Peter alone*

Peter: ... Tsk, that guy should stop putting his nose where it doesn't belong. *Chuckle* The brat would be sad if he were to die.

_ _ _

Doll: *looking at Jaune's papers* They ain't bad, but really? Jean?

Jaune: *shrug* It made sense to have a "french" sounding name, since i do have a slight accent. And what were the odds of having a bunch of them living under the British Crown?

Doll: So now your name is Jean, you come from the dominion of Canada and... *Perplexed* You studied medicine? Why did you put that?

Jaune: Hey, if i want to heal people, it's better if they think i'm an actual practitioner... Though i did put that i didn't finish my studies. *Smirk* i'm only 17 after all.

Doll: Huh, i guess that make sense.

Jaune: *smiling* Oh, i also found some information about the kidnappings!

Doll: *trying her best to keep her face straight* Is that so?

Jaune: *nod, picking up his notes* The disappearance mostly happens during the night and most of the time, the children are from different part of the city.

Doll: *nervous* Meaning?

Jaune: Well, either they are perpetrated by different individuals that aren't connected, which would be surprising, or a group of persons all working together.

Doll: *sweating bullets* It's probably just a coincidence, right?

Jaune: *still not looking at her* I would have agreed if 12 kids didn't disappear the same night. *Sigh, shaking his head* Sadly, it doesn't tell me where they are sent or why they were kidnapped... It's horrible to say, but i almost hope they were just killed.

Doll: ... Why..?

Jaune: *placing the notes on the table, looking sadly outside* Because, without any demands or ransom, it would be either that or... *Sigh* well, i think you get the point...

Doll: ... *Feeling sick from the guilt* I-i-

Jaune: *look at Doll, worried* Freckles?

Doll: *tries to go outside, but only manage to step one foot out before vomiting*

Jaune: *panicking* F-Freckles!? *Get next to her, placing his hand on her back* Are you ok?!

Doll: *trying to move away* S-sorry, i- *tear up* I need to go! *Start running away*

Jaune: Freckles, wait i'm- *sees her disappear in the mass of people* Damn it! *Sigh* At least she knows the way to the infirmary... *Shaking his head, talking to himself* Of course she doesn't want to hear about that! *Hit the ground with his fist* She was an orphan! She's probably worried sick for them, idiot!

_ _ _

Doll: *crying* I can't do this anymore! Please, Joker!

Joker: ... *Sigh* Dagger, we'll take the east road. I'll tell Father that the authorities are onto us and that we need to lay low for a time.

Dagger: How long?

Joker: ... I'll try asking for a year, but we might only have a couple of months in front of us. *Looking at Doll* And in the event that we are to continue afterwards, i won't ask you to participate.

Doll: *sniffle* Thank you... *Leave the tent*

Joker: *sigh* I never should have asked her to come in the first place.

Peter: *annoyed* She's the one who wanted to help, not your fault if she's weak-willed.

Jumbo: She's just a kid-

Peter: And so were we. *Crossing his arms behind his head* We are killers, not a bunch of sentimental idiots.

Beast: *rolling her eyes* Of course you'd think that.

Peter: *looking at her* Am i wrong? Because i know well enough that we could have said no at any time.

Wendy: But the orphan-

Peter: *annoyed* Could be dead for all we know! Heck, i don't even remember the last time we visited the place. 3 years? 5?

Jumbo: 6...

Peter: *rubbing his eyes* 6 years, and we haven't received a single news from them since. We took those kids from their homes without even knowing if the one we are trying to protect are fine. *Scratching his head* Do we even know what Father wants them for?

Joker: *shaking his head* I have no idea. He didn't tell me, but i guess i'll know once I talk to him...

[kunareads]

kiss it better

sukuna x reader

when your ex shows up unexpectedly, your boyfriend reminds you exactly who you belong to

wc: 4.5k

partly based on a true story </3

content: brief mention of emotional abuse (not from sukuna), slight anxiety, spanking, unprotected piv sex, oral (f! receiving), fingering, dom/sub dynamics kinda, general filth, fluffy aftercare (!!!)

18+ please i block children <3

you're out with sukuna and your mutual friends, laughter spilling out in waves as you all shuffle into the restaurant. the place hums with energy, clinking glasses and soft murmurs blending with bursts of hearty laughter. you take your seat across from him, his gaze settling on you with an intensity that's both comforting and unreadable, a subtle reassurance of his presence.

everything feels easy at first. the conversation flows, the food comes out steaming and fragrant, and you're immersed in the warmth of the group. gojo is mid-story, grinning mischievously as he leans forward. "last week, utahime tried to parallel park for like… twenty minutes. twenty. minutes."

"shut up, gojo," utahime snaps, her glare piercing. "the space was tiny!"

"the space could have fit a truck," gojo says, holding back laughter. "there was a crowd cheering her on by the time she finished."

"at least i didn't hit anything," utahime fires back. "unlike you last month."

"let's not get sidetracked. this is about you," he retorts with a wink.

"you're insufferable," she mutters, crossing her arms.

"you're both ridiculous," you say, grinning and shaking your head as you take a sip of sukuna's drink. the banter swirls around you, warm and familiar.

and then you catch sight of someone two tables down. your breath catches before you can stop it, heart stumbling over itself as your ex-boyfriend's gaze locks onto yours for the briefest second. you look away quickly, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation surrounding you. you don't say anything.

you lean over to sukuna, your voice low to keep from interrupting the group's laughter. "have to pee. i'll be back in a minute," you say. his eyes flick to yours, searching, and his hand lightly squeezes your arm.

when you enter the bathroom, the mirror glares back at you as you lean forward, palms braced against the sink, eyes burning. flashes of the past hit you—the way he would twist your words, make you question your own reality. the nights he'd pick fights out of nowhere, his voice cutting sharper than any blade. how you'd leave arguments feeling like you'd done something wrong, even when you hadn't.

your breath stutters as you force the memories back, swiping liner and gloss across your lips to steady your shaking hands. a quick touch-up, a calming breath, and you're heading back out.

sukuna notices immediately. of course he does. his eyes linger a second too long as you settle back into your seat, the faint crease of his brow betraying his concern.

recognition sweeps his expression when he looks toward the table where your ex sits. he knows exactly who the man is and what he's done to you, knows the full weight of the memories you carry, cradled you through them long before this relationship even started. his jaw tightens, and his fingers drum once on the table.

choso, observant as ever, notices and leans in slightly, his voice low and steady as he murmurs, "focus on her, not him." sukuna's shoulders relax just a fraction. he smooths his features back to their usual calm. he doesn't say anything as he grabs your hand over the table, just looks at you reassuringly. he’ll let you talk about it if you want to, the way he always has.

+++

it’s easy to lose yourself in the night as it goes on. the group hops from one bar to another, each stop adding to the warmth in your chest. sukuna is at your side, doting on you in ways that feel instinctive. he’s making sure you have snacks, that your drink is always topped off, even pulling you onto the dance floor for the songs he knows you love.

"come dance with me," he requests, extending his hand toward you as a new song starts. his smirk softens as he leans closer, his voice quieter now. "come dance with me," he murmurs, his tone steady, almost reassuring. "i've got you."

his demeanor leaves little room for argument, and you let him guide you to the floor, his touch warm and steady. it's impossible not to laugh as he spins you around, his moves teasing but surprisingly smooth, pulling you further into the moment.

"did you see her moves?" gojo teases as you both make your way back to the group after a few songs, breathless and laughing. "i think you might have a future in interpretive dance."

"shut up," you giggle, swatting at him.

sukuna smirks, handing you a glass of water. "ignore him. he's jealous he can't keep up."

"jealous? of that?" gojo shoots back with mock indignation, throwing a hand over his chest. "please, i'm a national treasure."

"you're a national headache," utahime mutters, sipping her drink. "but at least you're consistent." the group erupts into laughter, the warmth of their camaraderie making you forget everything else. the food, the drinks, the jokes that make your cheeks ache from smiling so much. you're happy, you realize.

at the third stop of the night, your phone buzzes. you glance down and see a text. from an unsaved number that you recognize too quickly.

so u not gonna say hi?

you're drunk now, and the edges of your vision blur just slightly as you try to focus on the words. your stomach twists, the alcohol amplifying the unease that settles heavily in your chest.

but you school your features, slipping the phone back into your pocket with a shaky hand. it's a problem for tomorrow. you're not going to let it ruin this night.

+++

the following day, everything's back to normal. sunlight spills through the windows as you lounge on the couch, nursing a slight hangover in sukuna’s shirt and panties, watching some shitty reality tv that's more noise than entertainment.

the text from last night barely crosses your mind. it feels like a distant, unimportant thing. sukuna's in the next room finishing up some work. your phone is in there with him, left charging on his desk. you haven't even thought to check it.

his voice calls you in, low and casual. "c'mere," he says, leaning back in his chair with an air of effortless confidence. you step into the room and he's waiting, one arm over the armrest, the other reaching out to pull you closer.

"took you long enough," he begins, looking up at you with a faint smirk. "thought you forgot about me."

"it's only been a minute, ‘kuna" you counter softly, letting him draw you in. his grip is firm but not demanding, his touch grounding as ever.

"i love you, you know that?" he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing along your jaw, smiling when he feels your nod.

"you're mine," he says, the words low and sure, not a demand but a statement, a claim. his lips press against your jaw, praise slipping out between kisses. "you're fucking perfect, and you're all mine."

a tension you hadn't recognized before snaps, his movements losing their gentleness as he claims your attention completely, the air electric with the shift.

his hands guide your movements until you're bent over the edge of the bed, your breath hitching in anticipation. he runs fingers up your spine, his touch making you shiver.

a hand comes down hard against your ass, the slap echoing in the silence, pain blooming under his palm. it catches you off guard, a yelp escaping as your body jerks, reflexes scrambling to process the sudden sensation. the sting fades quickly, leaving a deep warmth in its wake.

you can hear him chuckle behind you. his fingers trail lightly across the redness on your ass. "so responsive."

a hand rests at the small of your back, warm and steady, before another sharp, unexpected sting blossoms against your skin. this spank is harder than anything he's ever given you before.

"what—" you start, but your words falter as heat spreads through you.

he leans down, his voice low and smooth in your ear. "the text," he states, his tone calm but laced with unmistakable authority. he pulls your phone into your line of sight, the screen lighting up with the message you didn't open. "you weren't going to tell me?"

"it wasn't important," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

"hmm," he muses, his palm sliding over the curve of your ass, soothing the spot he spanked. the motion makes you tense, a hint of nervousness settling in the pit of your stomach now.

"he's nothing," he says harshly. "you don't hide things from me. especially not about him. you know that." his words make your breath catch, the atmosphere shifting to something unfamiliar. the air between you crackles, his possessiveness undeniable and exhilarating.

he connects a hand to your ass again, a sharp slap that sends another spark of pain through you. he keeps a steady rhythm, strikes coming hard and fast. the ache builds, his palm leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

you can't help the noises that escape your throat or the tears that prickle at the corners of your eyes.

a sob slips out, and his hand pauses. his other hand slides up your side, his thumb wiping a stray tear from your cheek.

"you're okay, pretty baby," he soothes, his tone gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness just moments ago. his lips press against the small of your back.

"'m sorry, 'kuna," you sniffle.

he hums, his hand rubbing over the redness on your ass, the sensation making you whimper. "i know."

your body moves instinctively as he soothes your ass and admires his work, pressing back against his crotch as a new sensation washes over you, an intensity that feels raw and real.

"fuck," he groans. the sound makes heat pool low in your core, the ache building as the pain bleeds into something more, a strange mix of pleasure and discomfort that leaves you desperate. "you take it so well," he praises. "everything i give you."

his hand slips between your legs, brushing over your clothed clit. a spark shoots through you as you inhale sharply, pleasure coiling at the contrast between the sting of his hand and the tenderness of his fingers.

you can hear the smirk. "and you're soaked," he says, his voice laced with approval. "did that turn you on?"

"y-yes," you manage, barely above a whisper.

he chuckles darkly, his breath hot on the back of your neck as he pushes your shirt over his head and starts pressing kisses down your spine.

you whimper, your mind struggling to process as the sting lingers and desire ripples through you, the contrast delicious.

he kneels behind you, pressing kisses to the welts now forming on your ass. his tongue is soft against the sore, sensitive skin as he strokes over your panties, gentle at first, then more insistent. you exhale, leaning into his touch. the contact is maddeningly light, and it's not enough.

"more, 'kuna," you gasp.

"you'll take what i give you," he replies, his tone unyielding.

the words send a shudder through you. the ache in your core is so intense that it's almost painful, your body throbbing with need.

his fingers trace the lace edges of your panties, slipping under the fabric to feel your soaked pussy. the touch makes you moan, your hips arching as you press back onto his hand.

"is this what you need?" his voice is low, his touch gentle as he slowly slips two fingers into you.

"yes," you gasp, grinding against his hand. his thumb presses down on your clit, and it's too much. "please," you pant. "i need it. please, 'kuna"

his hand lands on your ass again, the crisp slap followed by the sound of your yelp. "you're going to cum on my mouth," he instructs. "and if you're good, i'll let you cum on my dick."

your heart thuds at his words. he pulls your panties down, exposing your dripping cunt.

he turns so his back is to the bed with you still bent over the edge. his face dips between your legs and he wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs, pulling you onto his face. he wastes no time licking a broad stripe over your cunt. his grip on you tightens as he groans, the vibration sending a jolt through you.

"'kuna," you whimper, pressing down against him, needing more. he laps at your cunt hungrily, his tongue dragging over your clit, and you can't help the loud moan that escapes your throat.

he spreads you open for himself, fingers grazing the swelling pink welts as he slurps at your dripping pussy. he's sucking your clit and fucking into you with his tongue, the pleasure overwhelming. the sound is filthy, and it only adds to the ache building inside of you.

"fuck, 'kuna," you gasp. "please don't stop."

he hums and presses a finger into you, and you gasp, clenching around him. his lips close over your clit, sucking as he slides another finger in, pumping them slowly.

"oh fuck," you moan, gripping the bedsheets. his slow pace is unbearable, and your hips buck, searching for more.

his grip on you tightens as he pushes deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur.

"fuck," he groans, pulling away. "always taste so fucking good."

your eyes squeeze shut. "please," you moan.

"please what?" he asks, and you can hear the mocking grin on his face.

"please let me cum," you gasp.

he pauses his movements and you whimper.

"do you deserve to cum?" his voice is low, almost a purr.

you whine, your head spinning. you don't know how to answer, and his hand comes down, the sound ringing out and stinging your already sore skin.

"i asked you a question."

"i don't kn—"

"yes, you do," he cuts in, his tone firm. "always such a perfect girl for me. you deserve to cum."

he picks up his pace and the pressure builds, the ache coiling deep inside of you as you grind down against his mouth, chasing the pleasure.

his fingers curl, hitting that spot over and over until your vision blurs and the room spins. the heat is intense, and the pleasure coils so tight you feel like you're about to explode.

"fuck," he breathes, his lips brushing over the spot where your thigh meets your pussy. "such a pretty little thing when you're desperate. want you to cum all over my face."

he sucks at your clit again, maintaining the steady pace of his fingers, and you're right at the edge. you feel his lips turn up into a smile against you, and he curls his fingers, hitting that spot again.

"cum for me, pretty baby."

"i'm gonna — 'kuna, i'm—"

his hand comes down again, landing with a slap. the feeling tips you over the edge and your words falter as the orgasm hits, bliss crashing over you, your thighs clamping down around his head. it's intense, your muscles spasming as time slows. his biceps flex as he holds you in place, and he keeps working his fingers, his pace never slowing despite the way you clench hard around him.

he doesn't let up, his tongue lapping at your oversensitive cunt, his fingers continuing their assault.

"wait, wait," you gasp. "'kuna, please, please, i can't—"

"you can," he says, his voice a low growl.

the tension in your core is so tight that it's almost painful, each brush against your clit making you shudder.

"that's it, sweetheart," he breathes. "fuck, i can feel you getting close again." his words send a rush of heat through you, and he doesn't let up, his touch driving you mad.

"c'mon, sweet girl," he coaxes. "be good for me."

your toes curl, and a moan rips from your throat, the tension snapping as another orgasm hits. the sensation is intense, fire licking at every part of your body.

his tongue slows, dragging over your folds lazily. he presses a few soft kisses there before he pulls back. he grins with slick lips, lifting you onto the bed from underneath.

you're trembling, barely able to move as he turns you on your back, sliding a pillow under your head. the room is spinning slightly and your limbs are heavy, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you.

he lays next to you, studying you as you catch your breath, face caught somewhere between lust and obvious concern.

"okay?" he asks softly.

you nod. "just... need a minute.

he gives you space, stroking your hair, feeding you water from the bottle by the bed and cooing when it dribbles down your chin.

once your breathing returns to normal, you look at him to find that his expression has changed again, something predatory creeping into the lines on his face.

"who do you belong to?" his voice is steady, his tone unwavering.

"you," you breathe.

"say it."

"i'm yours," you say, meeting his gaze.

"again."

"i'm yours, 'kuna."

"mine," he repeats, his fingers sliding into your hair and gripping tight. "all mine."

your breath catches as his lips crash into yours. the kiss is hot, urgent. you whimper against him, the sound muffled, and he breaks away, leaving a trail of bites along your jaw. his hands are firm on your body, and his touch burns, the ache building again.

"tell me how bad you want it," he says.

"need you," you gasp as he moves down to suck on a nipple, and he chuckles.

"not good enough."

he presses a hand against the base of your neck, fingers splayed. his grip isn't tight, but the threat of his strength is undeniable.

"what do you need, sweetheart?"

"need you to fuck me," you reply, face burning hot with shame. "please."

he smirks, pupils blown wide with lust.

"so polite," he says, his voice thick with arousal. "my sweet girl."

he stands and sheds his clothes, the fabric landing in a pile on the floor before he gets back on the bed to kneel before you.

he's rock hard and your mouth waters as he wraps a hand around his dick. his grip is firm and his strokes are quick and smooth, his tip leaking.

"i'll give you what you need," he says, his eyes locked on yours.

"thank you, 'kuna," you whisper.

"you're welcome, pretty baby," he murmurs.

he studies you, shifting forward to run his tip over your swollen clit. the touch is gentle, making your back arch, a whine escaping your throat.

"shh," he coos, his hand coming up to stroke the side of your face.

"'m sorry," you whimper.

he shakes his head, his expression softening. "no need," he comforts, shifting closer, lining himself up with your entrance. "let me make you feel good."

you can't respond, the words lost as he pushes into you. the stretch is eased by your previous orgasms, but the weight of him makes you moan, the sound low and guttural.

he pauses, letting you adjust, his breath catching as your cunt flutters around him. "fuck, there we go," he says, his voice thick. "take me so well."

he shifts, wrapping his arms around your torso, his thrusts slow and deep. his movements are deliberate, and each push feels like heaven. his touch is tender, his kisses soft, his body warm and comforting against yours.

he pushes the hair away from your face, soothing you as you start to lose yourself in his arms.

"my sweet girl," he coos, pressing kisses to your face. "so good for me."

he rolls his hips, each stroke slow and deliberate. the drag of his dick against your walls is exquisite, and the friction sends a shock of pleasure through you, your back arching, eyes rolling back.

"'m yours," you whimper.

he kisses along your jaw, his touch firm but gentle, his praise steady.

"so beautiful," he rasps.

"'m yours," you repeat.

"yeah, sweetheart," he breathes. "all mine."

"yours," you whisper.

"and i'm yours," he says. "only yours."

you're shaking, the words making your heart pound.

"i love you, 'kuna," you whisper, meeting his gaze with teary eyes.

"i love you too, sweet girl" he replies, his voice hoarse.

"so good to me," you mumble, burying your face in his neck.

"always," he replies.

he keeps his pace steady, his thrusts shallow and slow, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple. you feel safe like this, wrapped up in his arms, his steady thrusts making you tremble.

"'m close," you whimper.

"i got you," he breathes. "let go, sweetheart. let go for me."

your eyes slide closed, his words pushing you over the edge, the pleasure white-hot and intense, his touch anchoring you. the orgasm is drawn out by his slow movements, and he doesn't stop, fucking you straight through it.

"fuck," he groans. "so fucking good."

he leans back suddenly and puts your ankles on his shoulders. the angle allows him to push even deeper, and the shift makes you moan loudly, his thrusts harder and faster now. his movements are measured, his gaze locked on yours, the intensity between you palpable.

"tell me who you fucking belong to," he demands, his voice rough.

"you, 'kuna," you gasp.

"who the fuck's making you feel good?"

"you," you pant, the sound broken and raw.

"fuck," he groans, his pace picking up, his thrusts faster now, his movements more erratic. "so fucking perfect."

the words make you whimper, and you squeeze around him, the pressure making him moan.

you feel your mind go blank. the only thing you know is his touch, his command, the feeling of him filling you.

"'kuna," you gasp.

"i know, pretty baby," he breathes.

his hips slam into yours, his grip around your thighs unforgiving, his pace brutal now, the room filled with the slap of skin on skin.

he watches the hearts form in your eyes, that distant stare, the look of blissed-out submission. his gaze is intense, lips turning up in a feral grin.

"there's my good girl," he growls, his voice dripping with pride. "fuck, look at you, taking my cock so fucking well. my perfect little slut."

you clench around him with a dazed smile, his words sending a jolt through you. the coil in your core is tightening, the ache so strong that it almost hurts.

"'kuna," you whimper.

"that's it," he growls. "such a good girl."

he pounds into you, his movements relentless, his grip tight.

you’re not thinking, only able to focus on the sensation of his dick inside you.

"'s too much," you gasp.

"no, sweet girl," he replies. "you can take it. be good for me."

your hands reach for his face. he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his hips moving in sharp, deep thrusts. the change in position has your thighs up against your torso now, the force of his thrusts almost bruising.

"p-please," you stutter.

"just a little more," he breathes, his thrusts slowing slightly.

"fuck," you gasp, your nails digging into his skin.

"come on, sweet girl," he coaxes, his pace picking up again.

you squeeze around him again and he moans, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering. he shifts, adjusting so his lips are pressed against your ear.

"love watching you take me," he pants. "my perfect girl."

his words send a shudder through you, and the coil in your core threatens to snap.

"'m gonna — 'kuna," you stutter, and another orgasm crashes over you, your vision blurring.

"yes," he hisses, his movements losing their rhythm. "fuck, fuck."

his grip on you tightens as his own climax hits. his eyes roll back, and he thrusts into you twice more. he groans into your neck, his movements slow now, the room filled with the sound of his moans, your soft whimpers. his chest is heaving, and his arms are shaking slightly.

"i love you, sweet girl," he tells you, kissing your face.

"i love you, too," you whisper, voice cracking.

"you're everything, my love."

"always gonna be yours, 'kuna," you sniffle, and he presses another kiss to your forehead.

he holds you for a moment, silence enveloping the room as his heart rate slows, the sound of his breath quieting. he pulls out slowly, and a rush of warmth pools between your legs. his cum drips from you, the sensation making you blush.

"don't move," he murmurs, sliding off the bed and heading into the bathroom.

the sound of running water drifts from the open door, and a moment later, he returns carrying a damp washcloth. he gently wipes the sticky mess between your legs, the cloth soft against you.

"thank you, 'kuna," you murmur, and he kisses your forehead before tossing the cloth onto the pile of clothes on the floor.

the intensity is gone now. the room is quieter, but your senses remain heightened, details amplified in the aftermath. sukuna shifts into a softer rhythm, the sharp edges of his earlier demeanor melting away entirely.

he moves with care, his fingers brushing damp strands of hair from your face with tender precision. his touch is grounding, his presence an anchor as he steadies you.

"didn't hurt you too much, did i?" he asks, his voice low and filled with a quiet vulnerability. his thumb grazes your cheek, the touch warm and reassuring as his eyes search yours for any sign of discomfort.

"no," you manage, your voice soft and your lips turning into a small smile. "i'm okay."

his shoulders relax visibly, and a faint smile tugs at his lips as he leans forward to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "good," he whispers, his breath brushing against your skin. "you're everything to me, you know that?"

he shifts carefully, reaching for the blanket draped at the edge of the bed and wrapping it around you. he pulls you against his chest, his arms encircling you in a protective hold, his steady breathing matching the rhythm of your own as it slows.

"you did so good," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm in the stillness of the room. "always so good for me." his lips press against your temple, his praise flowing steadily, each word deliberate and grounding. his hand moves gently along your back, his touch careful, as though reminding you of his devotion.

you feel tears burning in your eyes, not from negativity but because of how loved you feel, have always felt, by him. a few trickle down your cheeks, and his grip tightens slightly.

his heart pounds and you can feel the way his chest rises and falls as his breathing hitches, a shaky exhale falling from his lips. he knows exactly how much you need him.

"'m right here, sweetheart. you're safe," he says softly, his tone carrying the certainty you need. he rocks you back and forth slightly. "i've got you. always."

your senses gradually settle as the weight of the moment shifts into something calmer, safer. one of his hands strokes softly along your back while the other remains firm around your waist, his voice threading into the quiet with reassurances.

as the quiet deepens, the room feels softer, almost sacred, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. your eyes close slowly, the weight of his words and the steady rhythm of his heart drawing you into a space of perfect calm. his hold is unwavering, a reminder that here, in his arms, you are completely safe.

[op-dumpstertruck]

Ahh I sent that before I was done!!! Do you also have a timeline of events? I love that you jump around but it is a little confusing >~<

Oh yeah, I know, oopsie! Since I had that question a few times I'll try to give you a timeline under the cut, but I'm really not a writer:

Sanji leaves Germa as a kid, deeply insecure about being an omega. Sora tried to hide it first, but when it came out Judge was furious. It adds an extra layer of disdain he has for Sanji in this AU; but it was also the only thing that increased his value somehow, in Judges eyes. I think even as young as he was, Sanji did realise that whatever the plans were Judge might have had for him, they were.. not good at all. Omegas don't really exist on Germa, but if they do, they are seen, not heard. Even as a kid Sanji heard some really degrading, overtly sexist comments from his brothers. When he ran away, Sanji learned to hide that part of himself.

Zeff definitely knows, but he's the only one that does. Sanji is a extremly skittish kid when it comes to that, that alone has cost Zeff years of his life (he worries all the time, but they also never talk properly). Worldbuilding wise, I think male omegas are very, very rare. In the context of how the cooks talk to each other, Sanji definitely has heard a lot of very crude jokes about himself.

As old habits die hard, Sanji didn't tell the crew when he joined. With scent suppressants he easily seems like a beta - and even if they run out here and there (which he desperately tries to avoid) with all the smoking he does you can barely smell him anyway.

Zoro and Sanji happened. Neither of them expected that.

Zoro knows Sanji is an omega, probably even long before they got together, I'm not completely sure yet. He's the first one to know and is the only one that does for a long time - Kureha didn't tell Chopper on Drum Island, but he'll eventually be the next one to know.

Sanji gets pregnant (to his own horror) and has to deal with that. Because they are actually functioning quite well at this point as a couple (who would have thought) Sanji tells Zoro as soon as he suspects what's up. They find out together, but don't immediately tell the crew, since they are unsure how to proceed.

thriller bark happens and Sanji looses his mind in the aftermath for a hot minute. (he'll eventually tell the crew in the aftermath.)

close to sabody and marineford (or parallel to it) Sanji gets kidnapped. Omegas are often sold into slavery there, so the crew is on the wrong track for quite a while. As other things are happening simultaneously, and plot happens, the strawhats are sweeped up in chaos. (I might come back to those details later)

the world is made to believe that Sanji died. It is Judges doing, but the timeline plays into his hands: it fits the narrative of the navy retaliating and punishing the strawhats for both what happened at Enies-Lobby and marineford perfectly. Since the strawhats don't know about Sanjis family, they fall for it.

Kuina is born in Germas prison. Sanji does everything he can to convince Judge to keep her alive. He knows Judge has plans for him and threatens to kill himself, should Judge do anything to her. She continues to be the bargain chip through the next few years, to make Sanji to comply to do things. They don't even need to threaten Zeff here.

Sanji gets married off. It's not a happy marriage, but of big political interest for Judge. (This time, there is no one to stop the wedding.)

Kid two and three are born (I don't know their names yet).

It takes them nearly nine years, but Reiju and Sanji get Kuina out and send her on a journey to find the crew. Sanji doesn't see her for more than a year, before the strawhats are back and all hell breaks loose.