#I love her and I won’t take her slander

[mrsfancyferrari]

We're Saved

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay. PT 3

Song: Let The Light In - Lana Del Ray

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4

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. Unfortunately this will not be the finale! The FINALE is officially in part 4! 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.

Word count: 27.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

"I’m innocent! I was cheated on by Y/N with Max Verstappen! She left me for this other guy. It’s all her fault. She slept with him when we were dating! I'm innocent! Please!" His voice, frayed with desperation, sends shockwaves through your system.

You feel your heart racing, an uneven rhythm that reverberates in your chest, drowning out the echoes of the world around you. The bowl of popcorn slips from your fingers, scattering pieces across the living room floor.

You blink rapidly, the words blaring from the TV like a siren wailing through the night. Jake stands there, disheveled yet defiant, claiming innocence while slandering your name.

“Y/N, calm down, breathe,” Christian implores, his own voice laced with worry as he pauses the TV. He steps in front of the screen, blocking your view of Jake’s dramatic claims.

The concern in his eyes cuts through the fog of anxiety descending over you. “It’s okay. It’s just Jake. You know he’s lying.”

You shake your head, the reality of his words spinning through your mind like a tornado. “But, how can he just say that? People will believe him!”

“Hey,” he takes a step closer, his presence a steady anchor against the rising tide of panic. “Listen to me. You know the truth. You didn’t cheat on him. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just him trying to save face.”

“But what if they don’t see it that way? What if they think I really did—”

“They won’t,” Christian interrupts softly, his eyebrows knitting in concern. “You’re not going to let some headlines dictate your worth, are you?”

Taking a deep breath, you fight against the tide of emotions crashing over you. It wasn’t just Jake’s words that hurt; it was the betrayal, the way he twisted your love story into something ugly.

“I just don’t understand,” you finally whisper, feeling the weight of the world pressing heavily on your shoulders. “Why would he say something like that?”

“Because he’s angry and scared,” Christian replies. “He’s lashing out because he knows he messed up. But you’re stronger than this, Y/N. You didn’t cheat. You ended a toxic relationship. We both know that.”

The flicker of hope ignites momentarily within you, but it quickly dims as that familiar pang of uncertainty tugs at your heart. “I never wanted things to end like this. Did I really mean that little to him?”

Christian places his hands on your shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. “You meant a lot to him once. But people change, Y/N. Sometimes they become someone you no longer recognize. It sounds like he’s trying to rewrite history because he can’t accept the truth of his mistakes.” His words wash over you like a soothing balm. You nod slowly, attempting to absorb his encouragement.

“Have you thought about confronting him?” Christian asks. “Not on TV, of course, but in private. He needs to understand the ramifications of his words.”

You shake your head, the very thought of Jake and his betrayal makes you feel exhausted. “I don’t know if I can,” you admit. “Just seeing his face makes me—”

Your voice catches, and Christian pulls you closer, enveloping you in an embrace that feels like home. “Then don’t confront him. Focus on what matters right now—yourself. Your peace of mind. We can figure this out together.”

“Can we—can we just turn the TV off?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. The thought of hearing Jake’s voice again fills you with dread.

“Absolutely,” Christian replies, pushing the button on the remote, the screen fading to black. It feels like a weight has been lifted. “What do you want to do now?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, feeling defeated. “Maybe just distract myself? I can’t think about this right now.”

Your phone buzzes against the coffee table as it lights up, cutting through the haze of despair. Christian glances at the screen, squinting at the name flashing across it.

“It’s Max,” he says, his brows furrowing slightly. “Do you want to talk to him?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice, relief flooding through you at the thought of speaking with him. Max always knew how to make you laugh, how to pull you back from the edge of your spirals. Christian takes the call, speaking softly into the phone.

“Max, do not, under any circumstances, talk about Jake. Y/N is not ready for that now. Just take her mind off it.”

“Of course, I understand. Can you give the phone to Y/N now?” Max’s voice, warm and buoyant, crackles through the line.

“Okay, but remember,” Christian warns as he hands you the phone.

“Hey schat!” Max’s voice floods your ear, bringing with it an instant warmth that begins to thaw the tension coiling around your heart.

“Hey, Max,” you reply softly, trying to match his enthusiasm. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, just wanted to tell you that the cats are missing you,” he says, and you hear a distant meow in the background, a confirmation that in their own way, they too are longing for your presence.

You chuckle, trying to hold back the mass of emotions threatening to rise within you. “Of course they do! I’m their favorite after all.”

“It took me so long to get them to like me and you did it in three minutes. Oh—Sassy, stop! Schat? Do you mind going on video call? They really want to see your face.”

“Of course, Max,” you say, feeling a soft smile break through the tension.

Christian watches you, his heart swelling with hope. Just seeing you smile, even slightly, is a relief. After a moment, you hear the familiar ringing tone on your phone as the video connects, and suddenly, you see Max’s face beaming back at you, framed by the chaos of your shared lives.

“Look who’s here,” he says in a mock-serious tone, gesturing dramatically toward the camera. Then, just outside the frame, two furry figures leap into view.

“Hey, you two!” You coo, leaning closer to the screen, your spirit lifting as the cats vie for your attention. “Missed you so much!”

A sudden giggle escapes you as one of the cats gets distracted, pouncing at something invisible offscreen. You can’t suppress the smile that spreads across your face, and in that moment, Christian knows he made the right call in bringing Max into the situation.

Meanwhile, in another room, Christian picks up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he finds Geri’s name. Her voice always managed to calm him, a soothing balm to the chaos of parenthood and life.

“Hey love,” she answers on the second ring.

“Hey, Y/N had seen the news about Jake, and I think she just had a panic attack,” he explains, worry lacing his words.

“What! I told you to not show her just yet! Where is she?” Geri’s voice is sharp, full of concern.

“Don’t worry, she’s calmed down,” he says, glancing into the living room where he can still hear your laughter.

There’s a pause on the other end, and Christian can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “Is that her? She sounds fine to me.”

“She’s talking to Max. I told him to cheer her up,” he replies.

“Sounds like it’s working miracles! I heard that a loved one can help panic attacks,” Geri states matter-of-factly.

“Love,” Christian warns softly.

“What? They love each other,” she says, disbelief threading her tone.

“But she may still like Jake.” His voice is a whisper now, almost a prayer that you’ve moved on.

“After this? She’s probably forgotten about that bastard now she’s speaking to Max,” Geri says with fierce confidence.

“Honey, no cursing, I’m with the kids,” he chuckles lightly, trying to lighten the mood.

A few moments later, squeaky yet bright, and it’s Montague, their little one. “Hi Mommy, love you!” he chirps.

“Hey, baby! Love you too! I’m coming home soon,” Geri replies, her own voice turning softer, more maternal than ever.

“Dear? I’ll speak to Y/N when I get home; just keep her distracted, okay?” Geri adds, a hint of authority in her tone.

“Of course, love, I’ll keep her entertained,” Christian promises, a smile creeping on his face as he glances back at you.

You’re still deeply engrossed in Max’s antics, and he can see it’s working wonders.

As the call continues, laughter and lightness fill the room, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. For the first time in what feels like weeks, you're allowed to forget the chaos outside—if only for a moment.

Christian watches you, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this is the first step toward healing. Amid the blankets of pain Jake left you buried under, your laughter is a fresh thread, weaving you and Max closer, and as the minutes slip by, you know that this is where your heart wishes to be, in the company of those who truly care.

Time passes, and the shadows cast by your past begin to lighten, revealing new paths forward, ones that glimmer with potential and hope.

You don’t have to think about Jake anymore—not right now, anyway. You’ve found solace and comfort in friends, and maybe soon, you’ll find a little love too.

You went to sleep after dinner, the phone call with Max had calmed you down for now, but now all you wanted was sleep. Unfortunately, sleep didn’t want you back. After what felt like an hour of tossing and turning, you heard a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you said, sitting up on your bed, the sheets pooling around your waist.

The door opened slowly, and Geri walked in, closing the door behind her. “Hey, Y/N,” she said sweetly, her voice warm and motherly, like you were one of her children. It felt that way sometimes, especially in moments like this.

“Hi, Geri,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Geri sat down on your bed, her presence calming in a way that was both comforting and suffocating. “I heard about what happened today. Are you alright?”

You looked down, avoiding her gaze, a lump forming in your throat. “No,” you said, honesty spilling out before you could think better of it. You didn’t feel like lying to this woman who had always been a source of support.

“And that’s alright,” she replied gently, her hand reaching out to squeeze yours. “You’re allowed to feel that.”

“Geri, I don’t even know where to start,” you confessed, your voice cracking. “He… he just turned everyone against me. People I thought I could trust. They’re all believing him.”

“Not everyone, from what I heard. Max still believes you,” Geri said, her eyes sparkling with a glimmer of hope.

Your heart skipped at the mention of Max. You felt a flicker of warmth in your chest, but it was quickly extinguished by the cold reality of the situation.

“But what does that even matter? Jake was on national TV! He lied about me. He said I cheated on him, Geri! Everyone is hearing that, and all they see is him, crying over how I betrayed him. I can’t compete with that.”

Geri leaned in, her eyes earnest. “Y/N, people who know you will see through the lies. You’re not that person. You didn’t cheat on him.”

“I thought I knew him. I thought he cared about me,” you said, tears spilling down your cheeks. “How could he do this to me?”

“He’s scared,” Geri replied softly. “People do crazy things when they’re afraid. It’s easier for him to deflect the blame than to face his own issues. You know that.”

You nodded slowly, but the hurt was still fresh, like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. You felt exposed, raw, and utterly devastated by the public humiliation.

“You know something like this happened to me a long time ago,” Geri said gently, moving to sit beside you on the bed. “Shall I tell you about it?”

You nodded, desperate for a distraction, for the comfort of shared experience.

“I had a boyfriend called Kyle. I thought he was the one for me until one day, after the concerts with the girls, he told everyone I knew I had cheated on him with one of the backup dancers. Word got out and it became a scandal,” Geri started, her eyes clouding with memories.

“What happened after?” you asked, intrigued. You leaned in closer, wanting to absorb every word.

“I didn’t know what to do. No one other than my friends and family believed me. The press was calling me a cheater. My manager said to forget about it and write a statement on social media about the truth,” Geri recounted, her voice steadying.

You felt a flicker of hope. “And did you? Did you write a statement?”

“Sort of,” Geri replied with a smirk. “I took a break and decided to take some time for myself. Friends suggested that I go to a Formula 1 race, and that’s when I met Christian. He helped me through the dark times. Just like Max is doing for you.”

“Max…” you murmured, a soft blush creeping up your cheeks. You didn’t want to think about how much you liked him, especially now.

“He’s been really supportive, hasn’t he?” Geri asked, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You two have this incredible chemistry. It’s nice to see you smile again, even if it’s under these circumstances.”

You sighed, your heart heavy with conflicting emotions. “I don’t want to drag him into my mess. What if Jake twists the narrative again? I can’t let that happen to someone else.”

“Max cares about you, Y/N. He’s not just going to abandon you because of what Jake said. Trust me, he sees who you really are,” Geri encouraged.

“I know, but it just feels so complicated right now,” you confessed, pulling your knees to your chest. “What if it gets worse? What if I end up hurting him?”

“Love is complicated, but you don’t have to face this alone,” Geri reassured her. “You can lean on Max, just like I leaned on Christian. It’s not a sign of weakness; it’s just how relationships grow. And trust me, no one who truly cares about you is going to abandon you because of someone else’s lies.”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth. You knew Geri was right, but her heart was a battlefield, torn between past affections and the promise of a better future with Max.

“What if I lean onto Max and he thinks I’m just a mess?” your voice cracked. “What if he sees me as broken?”

“Y/N, you are not broken. You’re human, and you’re allowed to feel hurt and lost after everything that’s happened. But if you push him away because of that fear, you might miss out on something beautiful,” Geri urged.

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke, “I just need a moment. I’m so scared of getting hurt again.”

Geri nodded, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay to be scared. Just remember that Max has shown you kindness and support. It’s a risk worth taking.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” you said, earning a gentle rub on your shoulder from her. “But what should I do now? This scandal is not going to disappear.”

“Talk to your manager and I’ll ask Christian for advice,” Geri suggested, her brow furrowing in concentration. “We’ll talk in the morning. Good night, okay?”

You nodded, your mind swirling with thoughts. As Geri stood to leave, you called out, “Geri?”

“Yeah?” Geri turned back, her expression open and warm.

“Thank you. For everything,” You said, your voice steadier now.

“Anytime,” Geri smiled before disappearing into the hallway. . . .

You woke up to the sound of hushed conversations drifting up from downstairs, an unfamiliar mix of voices that hinted at urgency and unease. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pushed back the covers, feeling a mix of anxiety and dread wash over you.

You took a moment to collect yourself before deciding to face the world beyond your bedroom. The soft morning light spilled into your room, illuminating the racing memorabilia that decorated the walls.

You rummaged through your wardrobe, searching for something that would help you regain a semblance of confidence amidst the turmoil.

Finally, you settled on a crisp, fitted polo shirt paired with tailored black jeans. You wanted to project strength and professionalism, even if your heart was in turmoil.

As you stepped into the living area, the chatter ceased momentarily, and all eyes turned toward you. The room felt charged with a palpable tension.

There, gathered in the living room, were Christian, Geri, your manager, and a Red Bull staff member you didn’t recognize. They all bore expressions of concern mixed with an eagerness to discuss the recent scandal.

“Good morning, did we wake you up?” Geri’s warm smile felt like a small comfort amidst the chaos.

“No, you didn’t. Did I interrupt a meeting?” you replied, your voice steady, even though your heart raced.

“Oh no, actually this meeting is for you,” your manager said gently, his brow furrowing slightly as he gestured for you to take a seat. “We were discussing the news of yesterday.”

Christian leaned forward, his eyes searching yours. “This is Rebecca, Red Bull’s Public Relations Manager,” he said, gesturing toward the young woman standing by the table.

She was poised and confident, her blazer sharp against her athletic frame. As she stood to shake your hand, you noticed her expression was one of sympathy.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” you said, squeezing her hand firmly. “Can I drink some coffee before I join the meeting?”

“Join us whenever you’re ready,” Geri replied, her voice soothing as she motioned toward the coffee machine in the corner of the kitchen.

You walked into the kitchen, your heart pounding with uncertainty. You could hear snippets of conversation as you waited for the coffee to brew.

When the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, you poured yourself a steaming cup and took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves before rejoining the group.

As you returned to the living room, you found the atmosphere had shifted slightly, the weight of the discussion palpable.

“So,” you began, trying to sound more composed than you felt, “what’s the plan?”

Rebecca cleared her throat. “We’re here to strategize your public response. The situation with Jake has escalated, and we need to manage the narrative before it spirals out of control.”

You set your coffee down on the table, the cup trembling slightly in your grip.

“I didn’t cheat on him, you know that, right?” You felt the urgency to clarify, to assure them of your innocence. “I’m not sure why he’d say that.”

Geri nodded, her expression one of understanding. “We know, and we’ll make that clear. But we need to address the media first. They’ll be relentless.”

“Could you please tell us in detail what events happened prior to know how to strategize?” Rebecca asked, her voice gentle yet firm.

You looked at Geri, seeking her reassurance. She nodded, her presence grounding you. Taking a deep breath, you began, “Jake had been getting more aggressive with me ever since I joined Red Bull. He said he didn’t want to lose me, but he would hit me, break things in the house… and then he’d apologize for being angry. I thought it was normal. I forgave him until the Austrian Grand Prix.”

You paused, the memory flooding back—laughter and cheers from the crowd, the thrill of victory, and then Jake’s face, twisted in anger.

“I won the race, and he was really furious for some reason. He hurt me… saying I cheated on him with Max. I didn’t. Max then came in and stopped him.”

As you recounted the incident, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The tension hung like a heavy fog. You could see the disbelief in Rebecca’s eyes, but there was also a flicker of understanding.

You stare at the table, your heart heavy with shame. “I still have some bruises and scars if you don’t believe me,” you mutter, ashamed to meet Geri’s gaze.

“Oh, honey,” Geri whispers, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We believe you. You deserve so much better than this.”

“I just don’t understand him anymore,” you say, shaking your head, your fingers brushing over the faint marks that Jake left on your skin.

Rebecca, your team manager, cleared her throat, drawing your attention. “We need to handle this carefully. The media is already buzzing, and we have to prepare a statement. But first, let’s talk about your safety. Have you thought about what you want to do regarding Jake?”

You looked down at your hands, heart racing as you contemplated the question. Fear and liberation wrestled within you. “I—I don’t know. I still love him, but I know I can’t go back to that. I don’t want to be that person again.”

Geri sighed, a mix of sympathy and frustration evident in her eyes. “Love shouldn’t feel like a prison. He put you in a terrible position, and you don’t deserve it.”

“I know,” you murmured, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. “But he’s always been a part of my life, and it’s hard to just... let go.”

Rebecca shifted in her seat, her expression softening. “What about Max? Do you like him?”

A flush crept up your cheeks, and you bit your lip. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted. “I mean, he’s always been there for me, especially during races. He’s so talented, and he respects me as a driver.”

Geri raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “That sounds like more than just teammate admiration, love.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at your lips despite the gravity of the situation. “You’re ridiculous, Geri. It’s not like that. I’m just… trying to get through this mess with Jake.”

“But is it a mess you want to get back into?” Rebecca pressed gently. “What’s your heart telling you?”

Your heart raced as you pondered the question. The truth was, part of you craved the affection and validation Jake had once given you, but another part craved something deeper, something healthier.

“Well, I think the best thing to do is write your statement on social media, seeing as it will reach more people,” Rebecca suggested, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“Do I really have to? I mean, what if I make it worse?”

“Nothing can be worse than what Jake has already done,” Geri interjected. “You need to take control of your narrative, and you can’t let him dictate your life.”

You nodded slowly, knowing deep down that they were right. You grabbed your phone and opened your social media app, hesitating as your finger hovered over the screen. What could you say? How could you explain something so complex in a simple post?

“Just be honest,” Rebecca encouraged, leaning closer to you. “Let people know the truth. You can’t let them believe Jake’s lies.”

Taking a deep breath, you began typing. “I want to address the recent events. I am deeply hurt by the accusations made against me. My focus has always been on my career and my passion for racing. I never cheated on Jake. The truth is, I deserve to be respected and loved without betrayal.” You paused, your heart racing as you added, “I hope to navigate this situation with grace and find a way forward.”

Once you hit “post,” an unexpected wave of relief washed over you, but it was quickly replaced by anxiety. What would the backlash be? How would Jake respond?

Max’s comment reads, “You deserve the world after all this 💙.”

Your heart skips a beat. You knew it would look like flirting to the public, but you couldn't care less. Max had always been the guy who treated you with respect, unlike Jake.

Rebecca notices your reaction. “Well, at least that’s the first step done. The next will be what you’re going to say in the press,” she states, her tone shifting to that of a strategist.

As a driver, you’ve always had a passion for racing, and this unexpected break has given you the chance to reflect on your upcoming press conference in Las Vegas in just two weeks.

The support you’ve received on social media has been overwhelming, with many women expressing their gratitude for your representation in a sport that often lacks it, even though that was never your intention.

“I want to see you as soon as possible,” he had said, his tone serious yet tender.

You had told him that you would be tied up babysitting Geri and Christian kids tomorrow night while they enjoyed their date night. He had agreed, a hint of concern lacing his voice.

“Don’t be nervous,” Geri teases, applying a final touch of lipstick. “He’s just a friend, right?”

“Geri, don’t,” you groan, rubbing your temples. You know she means well, but the flutter of emotions within you is a tempest you’re struggling to control.

The thought of Max brings you a sense of comfort, but also an undeniable tension. Your heart races just thinking about how he’d react to Jake’s lies.

The doorbell rings, shattering your train of thought. You jump up, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, and barely hear Geri chuckle as you rush to the door.

You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself as you swing the door open.

Max stands there, his familiar figure cutting a striking silhouette against the evening light. For a moment, you both just stare at each other, taking in the sight. It feels surreal that after more than a week apart, he’s here.

You can see the concern etched on his face, mingling with a flicker of relief that he’s finally found you.

“Max,” you whisper, feeling a rush of emotions bubble to the surface. Without thinking, you step closer and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.

He freezes for a moment, and then you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in tighter. It’s a crushing hug, and you need it more than anything in that moment.

The world fades away, and it’s just you and him. “I missed you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice slightly muffled.

You pull back just enough to look into his eyes, searching for reassurance. “I missed you too. More than I can say.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, knowing that he doesn’t need to say his name for you to understand.

You nod, pushing your face back into his neck. You didn’t feel like talking about it. The last week had been tumultuous; you had lost your job, and the burden of uncertainty weighed heavily on you. But for now, you just wanted to bask in Max’s presence.

He seems to sense your hesitation. Instead of pressing further, he rubs your back in circles, grounding you with each gentle movement.

“Sorry to bother your reunion, but me and my wife need to go,” you hear a voice behind you. You let go to turn and see Christian, looking both happily and slightly irritated.

Geri comes out of nowhere, carrying her bag before playfully hitting her husband on the shoulder. “Oh, don’t be so sour, love! Don’t disturb young love,” she chides.

Max’s face turns crimson, and you can’t help but chuckle at his embarrassment.

“Oh, hello Geri and Christian,” Max says politely, but there’s an undercurrent of nervousness in his voice as if he hasn’t known them for years.

“Hey, Max, it’s been a while! I hope you don’t mind taking care of the kids,” Geri says, gesturing to her two children watching Moana, blissfully unaware of the adult world swirling around them.

“I don’t,” he replies quickly, a bit too quickly, as though he’s eager to impress.

After Geri and Christian bid goodbye to the kids, Geri pulls you into a warm embrace. “Don’t forget about the kids when you’re with him,” she teases, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I won’t,” you assure, a smile spreading across your face as you pull back.

You wave as they enter their car and drive off, leaving you alone with Max. The quiet of the evening settles around you, a comfortable silence that feels right.

You turned back to see Max still lingering near the entrance, his eyes darting around, a shy expression plastered on his face.

“I’ve never seen you this red before; is something the matter?” you teased, stepping closer to him, feeling a strange thrill at the proximity.

“Nothing is wrong,” he muttered, though the way his cheeks flared made it hard to believe him.

Before you could respond, Olivia’s voice rang out from the living room, “Y/N! The movie stopped!”

You quickly walked to the living room, with Max trailing behind you. Upon entering, you found Olivia and Montague staring at the blank screen, their eyes wide and expectant.

When they noticed Max behind you, Olivia jumped to her feet, an expression of curiosity and surprise painting her face.

“Who is that?” she asked, pointing at Max, her eyes sparkling with interest.

“That’s Max Verstappen, your dad’s driver and my teammate, remember?” you explained, stepping in between the two children and Max, who was waiting for them to process the information.

Slowly, Olivia approached Max, her little brows furrowed in concentration. Montague, on the other hand, hid behind your leg, peeking out shyly.

Max, sensing the little girl’s hesitance, knelt down to be on her level, his warm smile making him more approachable.

“Hey there, Olivia,” he said softly, “I hear you like racing.”

Before he could say more, Olivia squealed, “Maxie!” and rushed to envelop him in a tight hug.

Max looked taken aback for a moment, surprise flickering in his eyes before he returned the hug, clearly relieved that she recognized him.

Montague peered from behind you, his gaze curious. You nodded encouragement, and the three-year-old cautiously waddled over to Max.

“Can I hug you too?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course!” Max replied, opening his arms wide. Montague dashed into his embrace, a shy grin breaking through his earlier timidity.

“Wow! You’re really strong!” Montague exclaimed as he pulled back to look at Max, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

Max chuckled, “You know it! But you’re a strong little guy too.” He ruffled Montague’s hair affectionately.

The room filled with warmth and laughter as you watched the unlikely trio connect. “You’ve got a great way with kids, Max,” you remarked, leaning against the couch, feeling a swell of fondness for him.

Max shrugged, a modest smile creeping across his face. “I guess they’re just a bit like racing—just need to know how to make them feel comfortable.”

Olivia, still bubbling with excitement, chimed in, “Can we watch Moana now, Max? Please?”

Max stood, dusting off his knees, “Absolutely! But only if you promise to sing along with me during the songs!”

“Deal!” Olivia declared, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. Montague nodded vigorously, and the two rushed back to the couch.

As Max settled in beside them, you felt an unexpected flutter in your chest watching him interact so effortlessly with the kids.

It was a sight you never knew you needed to see, and somehow, it made the day feel even more special.

You shook your head to clear your thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. With the TV remote in one hand and a big bowl of freshly popped popcorn in the other, you navigated the living room and prepared to join the trio on the couch.

As you walked back in, you couldn’t help but marvel at the picture before you—Olivia and Montague snuggled up against Max, their faces alight with excitement as they chatted about the adventures of Moana.

Max was the only one who noticed your presence at the doorway. “Hey, you’re missing the best part!” he teased, his voice warm and inviting, gesturing with his hand for you to come over.

You chuckled and placed the popcorn on the table before joining them on the couch. As you settled in, you felt Max's arm rest casually behind you, a simple gesture that sent a thrill down your spine.

Montague then decided to plop himself down on your lap, grinning from ear to ear.

“Can I have some popcorn?” he asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Of course, little buddy!” you replied, scooping a handful of popcorn and offering it to him. He giggled, delighted.

As the movie began, you found yourself lost in the vibrant animation and the infectious songs. The familiar tunes filled the room, and soon, Olivia was singing along, her voice loud and enthusiastic.

Max joined in, his deep voice blending harmoniously with hers, and you couldn't help but smile.

“Isn’t this the best?” Olivia shouted over the music, her little hands dancing in the air.

“It totally is!” Montague agreed, leaning back against you. “Moana is my favorite!”

As you sat there, enveloped in the laughter and song, you couldn’t shake the thought that this moment felt like a family—your heart warmed at the idea of it. You looked at Max, who was entirely focused on the kids, his face lit up with joy.

The thought of a family with him, of laughter, love, and shared moments, flickered in your mind. You didn’t hate the idea; in fact, you found it rather comforting.

Max must have sensed your distraction because he leaned a little closer and whispered, “Don’t think for now; focus on the movie.”

His voice was low, a playful grin on his face as he nudged your shoulder with his hand.

You nodded, attempting to push the thoughts away, immersing yourself instead in the colorful world of Moana. But it was hard not to feel that flutter again as Montague snuggled deeper into your lap, and Olivia continued to sing her heart out.

Time slipped away, and when you finally woke, you found yourself fully lying on the sofa, a soft blanket draped over you.

As you blinked awake, your eyes adjusted to the sight of Max cross-legged at the table, Olivia and Montague by his side, helping them with their homework. They were distracted, giggling softly as they tossed playful glances at each other.

You decided to keep quiet, wanting to listen to their innocent chatter.

“So Maxie! Do you like my sister?” Olivia asked in a tone that was surprisingly confrontational for someone so small, though no one could mistake it for intimidating.

“Who?” Max replied, his brow furrowing in feigned confusion.

“Y/N! She’s basically my sister,” Olivia declared, her expression matter-of-fact, as if the truth of the universe had just been revealed.

Max’s eyes darted to you, and you felt your cheeks warm. “Oh, Y/N, it’s complicated,” he said, shrugging in a way that made you feel he was hiding something.

“Love can’t be complicated! If you like my sister, then you two should date! I think you two will look cute together,” Olivia stated matter-of-factly.

“I do like Y/N,” Max began, a smile creeping onto his face. “She’s pretty, and she makes me feel happy—”

Olivia’s squeal interrupted him, a piercing sound that made Montague cover his ears dramatically. “So you do like her!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

You could feel your heart race, a mix of embarrassment and delight. It was one thing to think about your feelings for Max; it was another to hear him admit them so openly, even if it was to a seven-year-old.

You stretched, stretching the blanket away from your body, pretending to wake up. “What are you guys yelling about?” you asked, your voice thick with feigned sleepiness.

"Nothing," Max said, hastily shushing Olivia as she burst into giggles.

“Oh, uh, just some kid stuff,” Max said, his cheeks slightly pink as he averted his gaze from yours. You noted the small, shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and your heart raced again.

You had always liked Max. But tonight, hearing him confess to Olivia that he liked you stirred something deeper within you, a mixture of hope and fear that made you hesitate.

Olivia looked at you with wide eyes, the kind that meant she knew more than she should. “Y/N, Max said you’re pretty! And that you make him happy!”

Max's face turned a bright shade of red, and he quickly covered Olivia's mouth with his hand. “Okay, that’s enough of that! Let’s focus on your homework!” he said, trying to redirect the conversation.

You slipped off the sofa and moved to sit with them at the small dining table. “Let’s see that homework then,” you said, suppressing a smile.

As the three of you tackled Olivia’s math problems, the air was filled with laughter and the occasional playful bickering.

Every time Max’s hand brushed against yours while reaching for a pencil, electricity shot through you, making it hard to concentrate on the numbers sprawled out on the page.

After dealing with the homework, you decided to watch another movie as a reward for concentrating that long.

The atmosphere turned lighter, and as the movie started playing—Toy Story 3, an old favorite of theirs—Montague was already dozing off, snuggled against you.

You smiled, gently pushing his hair back as he slept.

Max leaned closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re really good with them,” he said, his gaze earnest.

You felt your heart flutter, and you turned to meet his eyes. “Thanks, Max. I really enjoy spending time with them and you too. It’s nice to take a break from everything else,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual even though you felt the weight of his words.

As the movie played on, Montague shifted in his sleep, and Olivia was slowly getting drowsy as well.

Max helped you tuck them into bed, his hand brushing against yours as you carried Montague upstairs. In the dim light of the hallway, you caught Max watching you, a soft smile on his face.

After you tucked Montague in and turned off the light, you returned to find Olivia snuggled under her blanket, her big eyes heavy with sleep.

“Goodnight, Y/N. And Max, too!” she mumbled, her voice fading into slumber.

Max turned to you, a warm smile lighting up his face. “You really are amazing with them. They adore you,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “I love spending time with them. They’re like little sponges, soaking up everything.”

The evening had flown by, and you were pleasantly surprised by how easy it felt to be with him. You thought he would leave, but to your surprise, he headed to the living room, starting to clean up the popcorn mess from earlier.

“Are you not going to go?” you asked, your brow furrowing slightly as you watched him gather the scattered kernels.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he replied, looking up at you with those warm blue eyes that always seemed to find a way to melt the edges of your heart. “But if not, I’m going to clean this mess and then we’re going to talk.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding at the thought of what he might want to discuss. “Talk about what?” you asked cautiously, trying to mask your nervousness.

Max set the popcorn bowl down and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he regarded you.

“About Jake, what you’re going to do about it, and everything else,” he stated plainly.

You froze, the air thickening around you. You had thought that was a conversation you could avoid for a while longer to be face to face.

“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s just typical Jake, you know? He loves to stir the pot.”

Max sighed, clearly unconvinced. “It’s more than that, and you know it. You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.”

“Why are you so invested?” You couldn’t help but challenge him, crossing your arms defensively. “It’s my mess to handle.”

“Because I care about you,” Max replied, his voice softening. “And I can see it’s bothering you more than you’re letting on. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You looked away, heart racing. You liked Max—really liked him—but the idea of him getting too involved in your drama felt like a lot to ask. “It’s just… complicated. I don’t want to drag you into my issues.”

“Too late,” he said with a slight grin, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m already knee-deep in popcorn and Jake drama. Might as well make a mess of it together.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a small, genuine smile breaking through. “That’s one way to look at it.”

After a moment of silence, you helped him clean up the mess of popcorn that had spilled onto the floor. As you gathered the stray kernels, he made you sit down and wait for him to finish cleaning. When he finally returned, he was holding two glasses of water, the cool liquid glistening in the light.

He handed one to you before sitting down beside you, his knees brushing against yours. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a moment, you forgot about the chaos surrounding Jake.

“So why do you want to talk about it?” you asked flatly, wishing he would drop the subject.

“Because I really needed to see if you were okay,” Max stated, his gaze steady. “I know we already talk about it on the phone, but you could have been lying.”

“What if I lie right now?” you challenged, a hint of defiance in your voice.

“Then I’ll know,” Max replied simply.

It was true. Max had a way of seeing through the facades you put up, his perceptive nature both comforting and unnerving.

“So what do you want to know?” you asked, taking a sip of water to buy yourself a moment.

“Are you really okay?” Max asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.

You stared at him, momentarily taken aback by the sincerity in his eyes. “Honestly?” you sighed, finally allowing the vulnerability to creep in. “No, I’m not okay. Jake’s always been dramatic, but this… this is just too much. He’s painting me as the villain in his story.”

Max nodded, processing your words. “And it hurts.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, feeling a knot form in your throat. “It feels like everything I built with him is unraveling, and I’m left to pick up the pieces. I didn’t cheat on him, but no one’s going to believe me when he’s the one on TV.”

“People will believe you,” Max reassured you. “I believe you. I’ve seen the way you are, and it’s not like you to betray someone. Jake’s just trying to shift the blame.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, your heart warming at his support. ���It’s just so exhausting.”

You never thought it would come to this—a therapist’s office, the sterile smell of freshly cleaned upholstery, the soft hum of the air conditioning.

“Hello Y/N, I’m Dr. Sullivan. I’ll be your therapist. I’m sure Mr. Horner told you about me,” the woman said as she stood up to shake your hand.

“Good afternoon, yes, Mr. Horner told me about you,” you replied, your voice slightly wavering. You felt small, yet determined. You had made the choice to be here, to reclaim your life.

Dr. Sullivan gestured to her couch, and you took a seat, trying to find a comfortable position in the plush cushions. It felt strange to be here, talking to a stranger about the most intimate parts of your life.

“Why don’t we start by talking about what brought you here?” Dr. Sullivan suggested, her eyes gentle but probing.

You took a deep breath. “I… I’ve been struggling ever since my relationship with Jake ended. He wasn’t just my boyfriend; he was… he was everything. But he became controlling and abusive. I thought I could handle it, but… now it’s all falling apart.” You swallowed hard, feeling tears welling up in your eyes.

Dr. Sullivan nodded. “It’s normal to feel this way after leaving an abusive relationship. Can you tell me more about the abuse?”

You hesitated, the memories flooding back. “He would get angry over small things, like how I dressed or who I hung out with. At first, I thought he was just protective, but then it became suffocating. He would shout and belittle me. I felt like I was walking on eggshells all the time.”

Dr. Sullivan maintained a compassionate expression. “That sounds incredibly difficult. It’s understandable that you feel scared and anxious. This is not just about your past; it’s about your future, too. What do you want to feel instead?”

“I just want to feel normal,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to go out without feeling like everyone is judging me or thinking I’m a liar. I don't want to be having panic attacks when I see someone who looks shady because I think it's him.”

Dr. Sullivan leaned forward slightly. “It’s important to understand that what he said doesn’t define you. You are not a liar, and you did not deserve the treatment he subjected you to. We’ll work through these feelings together.”

As the session continued, you slowly opened up about everything—the fear, the shame, the isolation you felt after the breakup. Dr. Sullivan listened intently, offering small affirmations that helped you feel validated.

“Tell me about Max,” she said softly. “How does he fit into this?”

You felt your heart skip a beat at the mention of his name. Max was your teammate, a kind and encouraging presence in your life. “Max has been my friend for a while now. He’s supportive and always encourages me to be better. I’ve never seen him as anything more than that…until recently.”

“Do you think there are feelings there?” Dr. Sullivan probed gently.

“I don’t know. I mean, after everything with Jake, I’m terrified of getting hurt again. But sometimes, when Max looks at me, I feel safe. It’s strange… like I can breathe for the first time in months.” You smiled slightly, lost in the thought of him.

“Exploring those feelings is an important part of your healing process,” Dr. Sullivan advised. “You don’t have to rush into anything, but acknowledging that you can feel something for someone again is a positive step.”

As you left the office that day, the air felt lighter. You were still plagued by Jake’s accusations, but you began to understand that his words didn’t dictate your worth.

You made a promise to yourself: to heal, to grow, and to allow yourself the chance at love again, even if it scared you. . . .

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The paddock buzzed with excitement and nervous energy as the sun cast long shadows over the grandstands. The atmosphere was charged, as if everyone could feel the weight of the headlines swirling outside the circuit.

As you made your way through the bustling paddock, you felt a steadying presence beside you. Max walked with a casual confidence, his Red Bull cap pulled low, shielding his eyes but not his smile.

You couldn’t help but grin at the sight of him; despite the chaos of the past days, he always had a way of making everything seem more manageable.

“So, you think you’re going to be okay with the questions?” Max asked, taking a swig from his can of Red Bull as you both entered the hospitality room.

You sighed, the tension creeping back in. “Yeah, but you know they’re going to shoot so many questions. I’m not even sure what to say.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, giving you a reassuring nod. “I’ll help if it gets too much. Just look at me and I’ll step in.”

You shot him a playful glare. “I think that would just assist the rumors. The last thing we need is for people to think we’re a couple now, too.”

Max chuckled, a warm sound that lifted your spirits. “Well, that might not be the worst thing,” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly. “But seriously, just stick to the facts. Ignore the drama.”

Before you could respond, a staff member approached, signaling it was time for the press conference. Your heart raced as you followed the staff into the room, where a group of journalists awaited, cameras flashing and questions ready to roll.

You took your place on the sofa, flanked by Yuki, Charles, and Alex. Max settled beside you, giving you an encouraging thumbs-up.

“Right, so let’s start now,” the interviewer said, eyes focused on you. “First question: What are your thoughts on the allegations made against you?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the microphone. “Well, I think it’s important to clarify that—”

“Are you currently in a relationship with Max?” a journalist interrupted, his tone cutting through the air like a knife.

You looked at Max, who raised an eyebrow, silently asking if you wanted him to step in. You shook your head slightly, determined to handle this on your own.

“No, I’m not in a relationship with Max,” you replied, your voice steady. “He’s my teammate and a great friend. The rumors are just that—rumors.”

Another journalist chimed in, “What do you have to say about your ex’s claims? Do you think they’re rooted in jealousy?”

A flurry of questions followed, each more intense than the last. But with every inquiry, Max’s steady presence calmed your racing heart. Every time you looked at him, you found reassurance in his supportive gaze.

The questions came flying at you like a barrage of arrows, each one aimed to wound. “Why do you think Jake would say something like that?” one reporter pressed, while another shouted, “Are you saying he’s lying?”

Taking a breath, you replied, “Jake is going through a lot right now, and I can’t speak for him. But I can tell you this: I have never cheated on him, nor would I. We broke up for reasons that were our own, and I wish him no ill will.”

You could tell Max was getting restless as they pressed further, so you decided to change the subject.

“Can we talk about the upcoming race instead?” you interjected, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m really looking forward to the challenges this circuit presents. It’s a fantastic track, and I think we have a great chance to show our skills.”

Max jumped in seamlessly. “Absolutely. I think our team has made some significant improvements since last season, and I’m excited to see how we can push each other on the track.”

The journalists seemed momentarily distracted by your shift in focus, jotting down notes and exchanging glances.

After a few more questions about racing and strategy, the conference finally began to wrap up. As you stood to leave, a reporter called out, “One last question! How do you feel about your ex’s accusations?”

You took a moment, glancing at Max, who was watching you intently. “I feel like it’s time to move on from that chapter. The truth will always come out, and I’m excited to focus on my career and the people who truly support me—like Max.”

As the press conference wrapped up, you stepped away from the cameras, the weight on your shoulders feeling a little lighter.

The chaos of the last few days—the headlines, the rumors, the betrayal—was still echoing in your mind, but at least now you felt like you had a little control over the narrative.

“You handled that really well,” Max said, his voice warm and encouraging as he fell into step beside you. He flashed a genuine smile that sent a flutter through your chest.

“Thanks,” you replied, a hint of shyness creeping into your tone. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Max’s support had been a lifeline.

“It’s nothing, really,” Max said, shrugging off your compliment as you both approached the conference room door. “I just hope it makes them shut up.”

He opened the door for you, and as you walked into the meeting room, you immediately felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. The team was gathered around the large conference table, and their expressions ranged from concerned to curious.

“Sorry we’re late,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you sat down in one of the seats. Max took the spot beside you, his presence calming. Christian was already there, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Good to see you both,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I watched the press conference. You did an incredible job.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I just tried to stay calm.”

Max nudged you playfully with his shoulder. “You were calm like a pro. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were born for the spotlight.”

You chuckled, trying to shake off the nervous energy. “I think the spotlight is the last place I want to be right now.”

“Totally understandable,” Christian said, glancing between you and Max. “It’s a lot of pressure. But you two handled it like champions.”

You nodded, but inside, your mind was racing. The press conference had felt surreal.

The meeting shifted to strategy for the upcoming race, but you found it difficult to concentrate. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Jake’s betrayal, the hurtful accusation that hung in the air like a bad smell.

You glanced at Max, who was animatedly discussing the course with Christian. His passion was palpable, and in that moment, you felt a tug at your heart.

You liked him. A lot. More than you had dared to admit.

“Okay, what do you think?” Christian asked, breaking through your reverie.

“Uh, sorry, what?” you replied, your cheeks flushing as you realized you had completely zoned out.

“About the race strategy,” Max said, smiling gently. “We’re thinking of tightening the turns on the first lap. You know, give us a better chance at the inside track.”

“Right, sounds good,” you nodded, trying to catch up. “That could definitely give us an edge.”

“See?” Max grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “You’re back with us!”

As the meeting continued, you found yourself stealing glances at Max, a smile creeping onto your face whenever he laughed or made a point. The warmth between you was undeniable, but guilt lurked in the back of your mind.

How could you feel this way when your past was still hanging over you like a storm cloud?

When the meeting wraps up, you stand to leave, but then you hear Christian’s voice. “Y/N, can you stay back for a minute?”

Shit. That’s what you get for daydreaming during a meeting.

Max catches your eye and tilts his head, concern etched on his features. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just a quick chat,” you say, forcing a smile, but inside, your stomach churns. You watch as he exits the room, leaving you alone with Christian.

“What’s up?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

Christian leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, his arms crossing over his chest, a gesture that always seemed to amplify his imposing presence.

He regarded you for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before speaking, his tone smooth as silk, yet somehow it didn't reassure you. “I heard you went to Dr. Sullivan, how is she?”

The unexpected question caught you off guard, making you pause for a moment. You mentally retraced the events of the past couple of weeks, remembering Christian’s subtle recommendation of her after you had opened up about needing help navigating through your toxic ex.

“She’s helped quite a bit, actually, thanks for advising her to me," you replied, your voice a touch softer, a touch more genuine than you had intended.

He was trying, wasn't he?, you thought, even though the knot in your stomach stubbornly remained, a reminder of all that had happened.

A beat of a pause, then Christian stated, "Good, just so you know she will tell me if there is something serious going on," he warned, a playful seriousness lacing his tone.

A genuine chuckle escaped your lip, a small burst of the old you that you hadn’t seen in a while, "What? Are you my dad or something? I think I'm old enough to go talk to my therapist." you joked, your eyes sparkling in laughter. 

“I might as well be the closest to it,” he replied, a quiet tenderness coloring his features. His lips curled into a small smile, a fondness you hadn’t seen in a long time.

The roar of the crowd was a distant hum as you peeled off your racing gloves, the leather still warm from the day's practice. Friday had been a revelation.

You’d practically glided around the track, the car feeling like an extension of your own body. No jitters, no second-guessing, just pure, unadulterated speed.

You’d attributed it to the release, the feeling of all the mounting stress finally draining out of you, leaving you light and free. You’d finally found your rhythm.

“Good run today,” a voice rumbled from behind you. You turned to see Max, his usual calm demeanor etched across his face. He leaned against the garage wall, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, it was…good,” you echoed, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

You liked seeing him like this - relaxed, confident, not burdened by the weight of expectations. “Felt like I could finally breathe out there.”

“You looked like it,” he chuckled, pushing off the wall and walking towards you to look at the data. “You were practically flying.”

You blushed, a little embarrassed by his observation. “Well, someone had to put on a show,” you teased, throwing a playful punch at his arm.

His gaze met yours, a flicker of something undefinable sparking in his usually placid blue eyes.

“You always put on a show, don’t worry,” he said softly, as he turned away, the comment hanging in the air between you, leaving you breathless and confused.

Saturday was an entirely different beast. The pressure had returned, tangible and heavy. It was in the air, in the hushed tones of the team, in the nervous energy buzzing around the paddock.

Max, however, seemed unfazed. He’d stormed through qualifying, each lap faster, more precise, culminating in a blistering pole position. You, on the other hand, had struggled to match his pace, despite your best efforts.

Third place wasn't bad, but it felt miles behind him.

The team, of course, was ecstatic. This was it. The culmination of years of hard work, the potential for a historic double victory hung heavy in the air.

If Max won tomorrow, he’d secure his second championship. And if you managed to finish in the points, Red Bull was so close to clinching the constructors’ title.

It was a monumental task, a pressure cooker of emotions.

"Mate! I swear you are so in love with her," Charles declared, leaning back against a wall, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Max's face flushed, a telltale sign that his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance was crumbling. "No, I'm not. I just... care for her," he stammered, avoiding Charles's gaze.

He busied himself with holding the red bull in his hands , anything to distract from the intensity of his friend’s scrutiny.

Charles chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "Right, 'care'. Do you think about her too often?"

Max hesitated, his mind flashing to recent moments: her reaching for something on a high shelf, the way her hair caught the sunlight as she walked across the paddock, the way she’d smiled after he'd helped her with the data.

He felt a heavy knot settle in his stomach. He let out a breath, resigned. "...Yeah," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

"Do you think you're protective of her?" Charles continued, pressing his advantage.

Max frowned. The word felt too strong, too possessive, not that that’s not exactly how he felt. “Not protective, but I like to be by her," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the ground as if the answers lay hidden in the cracks of the pavement.

He didn't want to be protective, he just wanted to be someone she could rely on, someone she could turn to.

Suddenly, Charles’s voice boomed, startling Max, “Oh hey, y/n!” he said, waving enthusiastically at someone behind Max.

Max's head snapped around, a strange mix of hope and panic surging through him. He nearly twisted his neck, trying to see if y/n was actually there, his hand instinctively moving to cover a nearby potted plant as he turned.

When he finally turned back, he found Charles doubled over in laughter, clutching his stomach.

"I swear, you almost snapped your neck!" he gasped, tears forming in his eyes.

"Mate, not funny," Max grumbled, his cheeks burning hotter than before. He tried to ignore the way his heart was still pounding, a frantic hummingbird caught in his chest.

Charles wiped the tears from his eyes, his grin still wide. "But hey, I just did some tests on you, and I found out…" he paused for dramatic effect, raising his eyebrows.

"Found out what?" Max asked, his curiosity piqued despite his irritation.

"That you love her too much," Charles declared, his grin now bordering on mischievous. "You're a book, my friend. All the symptoms are there: the blushing, the constant thinking, the almost-neck snapping… It’s clear as day."

Max felt a knot of apprehension tighten in his chest.

He didn’t want Charles, or anyone else for that matter, to see the truth that was slowly coming to light. . . .

The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, a wave of sound that crashed over you as you unbuckled your helmet. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and hot metal hung heavy in the air of the parc fermé, a stark contrast to the champagne that would soon be flowing.

You pushed your helmet off, shaking your hair free, and your gaze immediately sought him. Max was already out of his car, his dark blue jumpsuit a beacon in the throng of team personnel and photographers.

His face, usually so tightly controlled, was lit with a grin that could rival the floodlights overhead. He’d done it.

Another championship secured.

A surge of warmth, something akin to pride and something more complicated, bloomed in your chest. It wasn't your win, but still, the sight of him like that—unburdened and triumphant—it was a sight you cherished.

You’d finished second, a bittersweet position after Lando's heartbreaking crash had bumped you up. The race had been a rollercoaster of emotions — tense overtakes, strategic tire changes, and then the shock of the yellow flags followed by the red.

You’d been locked in a tight battle with Lando, then suddenly, you were fighting to keep yourself in the second position. It felt hollow, a win by default.

But this was Max's moment, and you couldn't let the disappointment of your near-miss dull his shine. You pulled off your gloves and pushed through the crowd, a smile firmly plastered on your face.

Your eyes met his the moment he turned, and you noticed the flash of something akin to relief cross his features.

He pushed through the few team members still trying to reach him, making a beeline directly towards you.

“You did it!” you exclaimed, your voice a little higher than usual, the adrenaline still coursing through you. “Two-time champion! That’s incredible, Max!”

He engulfed you in a bear hug, his familiar scent of aftershave and something indefinable that was purely his filling your senses. He smelled like victory.

"Thank you," he said into your shoulder, his voice roughened by exertion.

"It was... it was a good race.” He pulled back, his hands still resting lightly on your arms. His blue eyes, usually so sharp, were filled with an uncharacteristic softness.

"You were fast out there, too. Second place after Lando… that sucks. But you did amazing to pick up the position so quickly.”

“It's okay,” you said, shrugging, though a small pang of disappointment still lingered. "It's your day, though. You deserve all the celebration.”

He shook his head. "No, not just mine. You fought hard. We both did.” He stepped closer, his voice lowering.

“You always do.” The way he said it, so intimately, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost as if he was saying something more than the literal words.

The photographers closed in, cameras flashing, and the moment was broken. Team members swarmed around Max, pulling him away for interviews and podium preparations.

You reluctantly stepped back, watching as he was swallowed by the throng. Your heart gave a funny little flutter, a feeling you tried to ignore, chalking it up to the adrenaline.

You were herded towards your own team, receiving pats on the back and words of encouragement. You went through the motions, half-listening to the congratulations, your eyes still straying towards Max.

He had finally broken away from Christian's chatter and was standing beside the race engineers, a small smile playing on his lips as he listened intently to their debrief.

You saw something flicker in his gaze when he caught your eye, a moment of shared understanding in the chaotic aftermath.

Later, during the post-race press conference, you answered questions distractedly, your mind still replaying Max's words, his touch.

You managed to give coherent answers, but the only thing you could remember was his voice resonating in your ears - “You always do.”

The podium was a blur. You remember the flash of the camera lights, the sea of upturned faces, and the deafening roar of the crowd. You stared at Max out of the corner of your eye as his national anthem played, his expression a mix of pride and exhilaration.

He looked utterly invincible, a king on his throne. And then it was your turn. The second place you took made you happy, but you felt like you could have done better.

Your own anthem played, and you tried to soak it in, but your eyes were drawn to Max again.

The champagne spraying was chaotic, a shower of bubbly and laughter. You decided to target Max first, aiming your stream directly at him, catching him in the chest.

He laughed, the sound loud and genuine, and retaliated in kind, soaking your jumpsuit in the sticky liquid. It was playful, a moment of shared joy and release, and you couldn't help but laugh with him.

The roar of the crowd was still a physical presence, thrumming in your chest even as the lights of the Las Vega circuit began to dim. It was a cacophony of joy, fueled by the sheer adrenaline of the race and the history that had just unfolded.

Max, his face flushed with victory, stood beside you, the sweat still clinging to his dirty blond hair, his breath coming in slightly ragged pants. Around you, the Red Bull crew was a sea of red and navy, their faces lit by pure, unadulterated elation.

You stood shoulder to shoulder, each of you holding one end of the banner that proclaimed "2X Champion Max P1 Y/N P2." You couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride despite coming in second.

The banner was a testament to your shared journey, the countless hours you both had poured into this season, culminating in this euphoric, unforgettable moment.

"Alright everyone, let's get this photo!" an admin yelled, their voice barely audible over the lingering cheers. "In 3, 2, 1!"

The number one was still hanging in the air when, with a collective roar, everyone erupted, and suddenly, a downpour of champagne came from nowhere. It cascaded down on you and Max, the cold liquid instantly soaking through your fireproofs, leaving you shivering and laughing at the same time.

You and Max, without a word, instinctively turned and ran, the wet track presenting a new, slippery challenge. It was pure chaos, a beautiful, ridiculous mess of laughter and celebration.

Just as your feet were about to slip out from under you on the slick asphalt, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back and steadying you. It was Max, his face close to yours, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Careful now,” he chuckled, his voice warm and low and suddenly, too close for your heart’s liking.

And then, the rest of the crew descended, a joyful, champagne-soaked mob, trapping you both in a giddy, bubbly circle. They all cheered, spraying you mercilessly, their laughter adding to the symphony of the night.

You found yourself looking into Max's eyes, a small smile mirroring his own. In that crowded, chaotic moment, it felt like it was just the two of you. The world melted away into the blurry, bubbly frenzy.

You had grown to admire him, his unwavering focus and talent, the genuine kindness that he often hid behind his competitive façade. You enjoyed his teasing, his relentless drive, and the rare, unguarded moments when his vulnerability surfaced.

You were brought back to reality as the champagne deluge began to subside. You were both drenched, your hair plastered to your scalp, your clothes clinging to your skin.

“Well that was… intense,” you finally managed, laughing, the bubbles still tickling your nose.

Max’s arm was still around your waist, his touch sending shivers not from the cold. He finally released you, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “Intensely fun, I’d say. You know, you almost took your own personal dive out there.” He grinned, playfully nudging you with his shoulder.

“Almost,” you retorted, shoving him back, a playful smile gracing your lips. “You weren’t much better. I saw you sliding like you were on ice.”

“Hey,” he protested, a mock hurt look on his face, “I recovered, didn’t I? Showed my champion agility.”

“Sure, champion agility while grabbing my waist so I won’t fall,” you teased, “I think you were just trying to feel me up.”

Max’s eyes opened wide and a small blush tinted his cheeks. “Hey, I was only trying to be a gentleman. You’re the one with the dirty mind.”

You laughed again, shaking your head, the sound echoing in the near-silent garage. “Yeah right. You just wanted an excuse for an embrace.”

“Well, you’re not rejecting it are you?”

“No,” you mumbled under your breath.

“Did you say something?” Max asked, leaning closer to you with a smirk playing on his lips.

“No, I said, let’s get out of these wet clothes,” you said quickly, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Good idea. I'm starting to feel like a drowned rat," he said, running a hand through his now-soaked hair.

He walked away and you followed behind him, your heart beating faster with every step closer to the driver’s room where you could finally dry yourself up.

The walk back was a bit surreal. It seemed like just moments ago, the tension had been so thick you could cut it with a knife. Now, there was this quiet ease between you two, a strange, comfortable bubble of celebration.

You found yourself stealing glances at Max, his still-damp hair forming tiny curls on his forehead, his shoulders relaxed, the weight of the race finally lifted.

He caught your gaze once, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips, and you quickly looked away, your cheeks burning.

"You’re coming to the party after this, right?" he asked as he veered towards his driver’s room door, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, a little rough, but the easy tone sent a flutter through your stomach.

“The party?” you repeated, pretending to be surprised, even though you knew about it.

The team always celebrated after a big race, but for some reason, the idea of being in the same room as him, surrounded by the celebratory energy, was a little overwhelming.

“Yeah, the team’s hosting a private party. Everyone is invited, including you, so you better come,” he stated, a hint of playfulness in his tone. He paused, looking at you, his bright eyes sparkling with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"I don't know..." you started, your fingers nervously fiddling. You were desperate not to sound too eager, not to betray the feeling he had evoked so easily.

Your mind was a whirlwind of "yes, of course" and "no, it's too much", with the scales of indecisiveness tilting back and forth.

"That's not the right answer," Max said, his smile widening. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking your path, making it impossible for you to just brush it off, and your heart skipped a beat.

He was so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, and your brain seemed to have shut off, making it near impossible to form a coherent response.

"After a win like this, you should be celebrating with us. Besides," he lowered his voice, "I want you there."

The confession sent a shockwave through you. He wanted you there? Your mind reeled from the casual yet charged statement.

Was it just a friendly gesture, or did that small ‘want’ mean something more? You desperately hoped it was the latter, but pushed the thought aside so you wouldn't get ahead of yourself.

"Okay," you said, the word barely a whisper, and you felt a blush stain your cheeks. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine.

"Great," he said, finally stepping aside and opening his door. "I’ll see you there then. Don't take too long getting ready." He winked and disappeared inside, leaving you standing there with a pounding heart and a stupid grin.

You finally made your way to your own room, the encounter playing over and over in your mind. He wanted you there. Those words kept echoing in your head. You tried to tell yourself it didn't mean anything, but deep down, you knew it did.

At least, you wanted to believe it did.

You stood in the bathroom, the steam from the shower wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You replayed the final buzzer in your mind, the roar of the crowd, and most importantly, the triumphant grin on Max’s face.

You hurried through the shower, your mind already racing to the night ahead. You quickly dried off, pulling a simple yet elegant black dress from your closet. It was the kind of dress that made you feel confident, yet effortless.

You smoothed it down, adjusted the delicate straps and quickly put on a pair of small heels; a last-minute addition to make it feel more celebratory.

Then, as you were putting on your lipstick, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Max, a single line: ’Club Zenith. See you there’ followed by an address. You grinned, your heart fluttering at the thought of seeing him again.

You grabbed your keys and bag, rushing out of your apartment and hailing a taxi. The ride felt like an eternity, each traffic light a cruel delay. You kept glancing at your reflection in the side window.

You hoped the dress was ok and worried about whether it made you look too overdressed.

Finally, the taxi pulled up in front of Club Zenith. The bass thrummed even outside, a low vibration that resonated through you. Taking a deep breath, you paid the driver and stepped out, the city lights creating a dazzling backdrop to the building.

The party was already in full swing when you arrived. The club pulsed with a chaotic energy, a symphony of music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You scanned the crowd, your eyes searching for Max amidst the throng of people.

And then you saw him, across the room, surrounded by a boisterous group of his teammates. He was laughing, his head thrown back, and you couldn't help the little surge of emotion that coursed through you.

He looked genuinely happy, relaxed, and a wave of affection washed over you. You took a deep breath and started to make your way towards him, feeling a little out of place amidst their triumphant celebration.

He spotted you almost instantly. His face lit up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He excused himself from his group, making a beeline towards you.

“There you are,” he said, his voice a little louder to cut through the music. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you said, offering a small smile, surprised at how calm your voice sounded when inside you were a whirlwind of nerves and excitement.

“Good,” he said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment. “Come meet some people.” He gently placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you further into the crowd.

The touch was brief, but it sent an electric current through you, and you found yourself struggling to focus on the new faces and introductions he was making.

You were acutely aware of his proximity, the warmth of his skin, the subtle scent of his cologne.

The rest of the night was a kaleidoscope of conversations, laughter, and stolen glances with Max. You were introduced to his team members, their partners and friends who had flown in to see his victory.

He kept you close, making sure you were included, offering you a quick smile when he caught your eye across the room. He seemed so comfortable, so at ease, and his presence had a strange calming effect on you. You found yourself relaxing too, finally letting go of the nervous energy that had plagued you all day.

As the night wore on, the crowd thinned slightly, and the music became a little less frenetic. You stood by the bar with Max, the flashing lights reflecting in his eyes making them seem even brighter.

“So, how does it feel?” you asked, leaning against the bar, a playful smile on your lips.

“How does it feel?” he echoed, tilting his head as he thought about it. “Pretty awesome, actually. A bit surreal. All that work, all those hours... and it paid off.”

“You earned it,” you said, nudging his arm with your shoulder. He deserved this, every single cheer, every congratulatory hug. You knew how hard he’d worked. “You did an amazing job.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You did a great job too.”

You laughed, a warm, melodious sound that filled the space between you. “Thanks Max.”

He glanced over to the bartender, quickly catching their attention. “Do you want a drink?” Max asked, having already grabbed a glass of virgin cocktail for himself.

“What, like a gin and tonic?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. He always joked about how predictable your choice of drink was to his.

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made your heart flutter. “Sure! I’ll make it if you want?” He was grinning now, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Really?” you asked, feigning surprise. “You, mixing drinks? I’m not sure if anyone is ready for that.”

“Hey!” he protested, playfully shoving your arm. “I’m a man of many talents. Bartender extraordinaire is just one of them.”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” you said, trying to hide a smile. “Surprise me.”

He grinned, turning to the bar and asking the bartender for the necessary ingredients. He poured carefully, a concentrated look on his face, as if he were performing brain surgery rather than mixing a simple cocktail.

You watched him, your heart swelling with a strange mixture of affection and admiration. You liked him, more than just a friend. You always had, but you tried to just push it aside and appreciate his friendship instead. Tonight, that felt harder than usual.

He finished the drink, sliding it towards you with a flourish. “Ta-da! One custom-made gin and tonic, served with the finest victory vibes.”

You took the glass, a light smile playing on your lips. “I’m impressed,” you said, taking a sip. “Not bad, Max. Not bad at all.”

He leaned closer, his arm brushing against yours. “Only the best for you,” he said, his voice dropping to a low hum.

The proximity made your skin tingle and you found yourself focusing on the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light.

You glanced around, realizing that most of the other partygoers had started to leave. “It’s getting late,” you said, your voice a little breathless.

“Yeah, it is,” he murmured, his gaze locked on yours. “But we don’t have to go home just yet.”

There was a pause, a silent question hanging in the air between you. You knew what he meant and a thrill ran through you. Your breath hitched slightly, your heart fluttering like a trapped bird.

You took another sip of your drink and decided to just go for it. "No," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music. "We don't."

He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes. He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, sending another shockwave through your body.

"Then let's not," he said, his voice soft and intimate.

You'd made your rounds, offering sincere praises to the team, sharing in the collective joy, but your eyes kept drifting back to Max. He was sitting on a plush, low-slung chair, a small island of relative calm amidst the boisterous revelry, waiting for your return.

You felt a peculiar pull towards him, an audacity bubbling beneath the surface that you couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was the celebratory atmosphere, the heady mix of adrenaline and alcohol, or perhaps it was something else entirely.

You weren't sure. You just knew you wanted to be closer to him, to break through the polite camaraderie and truly connect. As your conversation with a team mechanic finally wound down, your gaze locked with Max’s.

A small, almost hesitant smile graced his lips, and something in you snapped. Impulsively, you walked towards him, your movements feeling both deliberate and strangely detached.

You settled onto his thigh, facing him, your gaze unwavering. His eyes widened, a flicker of surprise – and something else you couldn't quite name – registering in their deep blue depths.

You saw his jaw clench slightly, a subtle reaction that only fueled your newfound audacity.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

It was a gentle question, laced with amusement and a hint of something more.

"Nope," you grinned, your heart beating a little faster. You leaned closer, the scent of his cologne, a crisp, masculine fragrance, filling your senses.

"Are you?" you teased, your voice a low murmur, your eyes locking with his.

His reaction was immediate and utterly captivating. You watched as a subtle panic flickered across his features, a blush rising to his cheeks. He looked away for a split second, trying to regain composure.

"No, I'm driving you to mines, Christian orders," he stated, his voice laced with a kind of frustrated urgency that made you want to laugh.

"Oh," you said, a playful smirk twitching your lips. "So, you're the designated driver for the night's festivities?"

He nodded, his gaze returning to yours, a hint of amusement replacing the initial panic. "Something like that."

The air crackled between you, charged with unspoken words and a palpable electricity. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, toying with a man who held a significant spot in your heart, and the fact that he was so close was making your heart beat faster.

You leaned in a little more. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. It was an action you wouldn't have considered if it wasn't for how you were feeling at that moment.

"And what if I didn't want to go home just yet?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the din of the party.

His eyes narrowed, their blue depths swirling with something akin to confusion and desire. He swallowed hard, the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Then what, exactly, would you propose we do?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper, tinged with a raw edge that made your pulse race.

You took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne filling your lungs and somehow making you feel braver than you had any right to. “Can I kiss you?” you dared to ask, the words tumbling out, a little too quick, a little too raw.

Max looked shocked. His jaw went slack, and his eyes widened in surprise, a comical contrast to his usual cool demeanor. He glanced around at his team, a quick sweep of the room, his fingers drumming nervously on the armrest of the couch.

“What if it gets out? I don’t want to have another rumour for you to deal with,” he said, his voice strained with concern.

The mention of the tabloids and the gossip columns made your stomach twist. You hated the way they hounded him, invading every aspect of his life.

“They won’t, it’s a private club, everything that happens here stays here,” you muttered, willing yourself to be confident, willing him to believe you.

He looked back at you, his gaze searching yours, trying to gauge your sincerity, your intentions. Then, he sighed, a mixture of resignation and anticipation in his posture.

"Just…one," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You barely registered his words before you leaned in, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, your thumb caressing the line of his jaw. The feather-light touch on your lips sent a jolt through you, a feeling that was both electrifying and incredibly comforting.

His lips were warm, soft, and tentatively seeking. The kiss was gentle, a tentative exploration, a silent question. It was the first time your lips were meeting, but you immediately knew that it wouldn’t be the last.

When you moved back, Max was completely red under the lights, a blush that spread across his cheeks, traveling down his neck. He looked like a teenager caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his ears flushed a deep crimson.

He quickly tucked his head into your neck, his arms wrapping around you, holding your back from not falling off his lap.

You chuckled, a soft, gentle sound, while rubbing his exposed neck, the skin warm and velvety to the touch. “See, it wasn't that hard,” you said, your voice light and teasing.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Max muttered, placing a kiss on your neck, his lips leaving a trail of warmth against your skin. His grip on you tightened, as if afraid you would disappear.

You smiled into his hair, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the club's temperature.

You didn’t notice the rest of the team watching from afar, their faces lit up with knowing smiles. They’d seen the way you looked at each other, the way you moved together, the way you were drawn to each other like magnets.

They had all quietly placed bets on when you two would finally get together. As you kissed, they all knew that tonight, finally, their wait, and yours, was over. . . .

You didn't see the rest of the team observing, their faces conspiratorial in the dim light, their eyes flicking between you and Max like they were watching a tennis match.

They saw the subtle shifts – your body angling towards him, the lingering touch of his hand on your arm, the way your smiles seemed to mirror each other. They saw the unspoken tension, the pull that was as undeniable as it was unspoken.

Bets had been placed, whispered predictions of when the inevitable would finally occur. They watched, breaths held, as Max's face drew closer, as his gaze locked onto yours and, finally, as he kissed you.

The rest of the team exchanged triumphant looks and knowing nods. Tonight, they thought, it was finally happening.

But the next morning, everything was different. Or rather, nothing was. As you walked into the office, the memory of the kiss felt like a dream, fuzzy and distant.

You greeted Max with a casual "Hey Max," and he responded in kind. The ease of the club had vanished, replaced by a self-conscious awkwardness.

The team, however, their eyes full of expectation, watched you both carefully, a sense of bewilderment slowly creeping into their expressions. They’d been so certain.

The weeks that followed were a masterclass in miscommunication wrapped in a cloak of hesitation. You and Max acted as if that night had never happened.

There were stolen glances, moments of near-confession, but always, someone would pull back. It was torture to watch, the team felt. A silent, agonizing dance of ‘what ifs’ and unspoken desires.

You walked into the conference room for what you assumed was a regular weekly meeting, only to find the team looking at you with an odd mix of excitement and exasperation. The air was thick with tension, but not the same, nervous tension you were used to. This was more akin to a pot about to boil over.

Then came your birthday.

The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, washing over you in waves as you stood there, the sun beating down on the asphalt. You held onto the haphazard collection of presents, a ridiculous tiara perched precariously on your head, a bright pink sash proclaiming you "Birthday Girl" draped across your shoulder.

Lando had a knack for finding the gaudiest tiaras, and George and Alex… well, they were always the purveyors of ridiculous humor. The balloons were back in the paddock, along with the suspiciously large cake Carlos and Fernando had promised, but at least these little tokens of affection were portable.

“How does it feel racing here on your birthday?” The interviewer’s voice cut through the noise, microphone hovering near your lips. You tried to smile, knowing the cameras were trained on you, the world watching.

“It’s… surreal,” you admitted, adjusting the tiara that threatened to slip over your eyes. “It’s always surreal to race, but on my birthday it’s… heightened, I guess.”

You laughed, a nervous sound, and gestured to the gifts you clutched. “It’s pretty special. I’m definitely feeling the love from the whole pit lane today.”

“The fans call you the grid’s princess, how does that make you feel wearing all these gifts from the grid?” they pressed, their pen poised above their notepad.

You felt your cheeks flush, a familiar warmth spreading up your neck. The “grid princess” moniker was a bit embarrassing, if you were honest, but it was also… endearing. “It’s… it’s kind of funny, actually,” you said, the word catching in your throat.

“I definitely don’t feel like a princess, especially not today in my race suit with my helmet. But I appreciate the sentiment. I think some of the guys might be taking it a bit too literally,” you added, glancing at the sash with humor in your eyes.

You could see Max speaking to Carlos in the distance from where you stood. You knew he was probably watching, the cameras probably on him too as he waited for his turn on the interview, observing.

He hadn't given you a present, not in the public eye anyway. He'd just given you a quick nod, a small smile at breakfast, then he'd gotten straight back to his pre-race routine.

You knew he was focused, that he wouldn't be distracted, and you respected that massively.

The interviewer asked one more question about your expectations for the race. You rattled off the usual platitudes about doing your best, about hoping for a clean race, about the challenges of the circuit.

But your mind kept drifting back to Max. His silence. His focus. You wanted to know what he was thinking.

Finally, the interview wrapped up, and you were released back into the controlled chaos of the grid. You made your way through the throng of people, the tiara feeling increasingly ridiculous, the sash a reminder of your self-proclaimed princess status.

As you approached the garage, you saw him. He was standing by his car, his back to you, but you recognized the set of his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head.

You took a deep breath, smoothing down your racing suit with a slightly trembling hand. "Hey," you said, your voice a little softer than you intended.

He turned, his gaze momentarily snagging on the tiara before meeting your eyes. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Happy birthday,” he said, his voice low, a rumble that vibrated somewhere deep inside you.

"Thanks," you replied, feeling a nervous flutter in your stomach. You felt self-conscious now you had closed the distance and were near him.

You didn't want to be just the grid's princess, you wanted to be seen by him. You subconsciously adjusted the garish pink sash, feeling your cheeks warm again.

"I almost didn't recognise you," Max said, his eyes flicking back to the tiara. He was trying to be light, you could tell, but you were still hyper aware.

You were desperate to not talk about the race. The pressure of the constructors hung heavy in the air, a silent weight that clung to everyone.

“You haven’t given me a present. Did I do something wrong?” You tried to sound as light and joking as possible, trying to hide the undertone of insecurity in your tone.

“I don’t know, did you?” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile anyway. He always managed to make you smile.

"Maybe," you replied, matching his playful tone, "but I'm going to assume it's because you're holding out for something really special."

His smile widened, a genuine flash that made your breath catch in your throat. You'd known that smile for years; the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the slight lift of his lips that could make your heart feel like it was about to beat out of your chest.

"I'll give it to you after the race if you do good," he said, his gaze holding yours. The promise in his voice, the way he said it felt like more than just a casual comment.

You felt your cheeks flush. "You're being mysterious," you accuse, trying to sound unimpressed. But the truth was, your heart was pounding.

You knew he wasn’t a particularly sentimental person, but the anticipation of a gift from him, something chosen specifically for you, was intoxicating.

"Maybe," he said again, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Or maybe I just haven’t figured out how to wrap it yet."

You laughed, the sound light and free. With him, you found yourself capable of being yourself, something you appreciated so much.

“I hope it’s not a giant stuffed panda,” you quipped, referencing a childhood incident involving a particularly large stuffed animal and a rather embarrassing photo that still surfaced at family gatherings.

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. It was a sound that was both familiar and yet still managed to set your stomach fluttering.

"No pandas, I promise. It's something a bit more…fitting." He let the words hang in the air, his gaze lingering on you.

The conversation was interrupted by the final call for the race. A wave of nervous energy coursed through you. You could feel the adrenaline starting to kick in.

You knew you needed to focus, put everything aside and race, but the thought of his ‘present’ after the race was intoxicating.

“I should go,” you said, a touch of reluctance in your voice. You wanted to stay, to keep talking, to continue basking in the warmth of his smile.

“Good luck,” he said. “I expect you to be fast out there.”

“Only if you are,” you retorted, a competitive edge creeping into your voice. “Wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of having it any other way,” he replied.

He watched you walk away, a smile playing on his lips again, his eyes lingering on you as you made your way towards your car.

The roar of the engine is a symphony in your ears, a familiar comfort in the chaos of the race. The world is a blur of color and motion, the other cars mere obstacles in your relentless pursuit of the finish line.

But there’s something else today, something that ignites a fire in your belly, a drive that transcends the normal ambition. A birthday present, he’d called it, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The way he’d said it—the husky tone, the knowing look—had sent a shiver down your spine, a thrilling anticipation that has nothing to do with the race itself.

You glance at the rear-view mirror, more out of a subconscious need than any real tactical advantage. You know he’s there, somewhere behind you, always pushing, always a threat.

It’s a dance you’ve performed countless times, a delicate balance of rivalry and respect, but today, there’s something more. Today, there’s an undercurrent of something… warmer.

You can almost feel him, a presence that is both challenging and strangely comforting.

Your engineer, Joseph, crackles in your ear. “Pace is good, you’re opening the gap. Stay focused, you’re looking strong.” You acknowledge him, but your mind is elsewhere.

You steal another look at the mirror and can just make out his car, a flash of red in the periphery. His presence on the track is a tangible thing, a constant hum of energy that vibrates through you, as if he’s tethered to you by an invisible string.

The laps blur, each one bringing you closer to the finish, closer to the promise that awaits. You push harder, the engine screaming in response, every fiber of your being focused on the road ahead.

The final lap. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a frantic rhythm that matches the engine's roar. The checkered flag waves, a triumphant black and white blur.

You cross the line, a surge of adrenaline and relief coursing through you. You did it. You won. And on your birthday, no less.

You pull into parc fermé, the roar of the crowd a deafening wave. The team is waiting, a sea of familiar faces, cheering and clapping. You are surrounded by hugs and congratulations, the energy infectious.

You're grinning, almost giddy with the win, but your eyes are searching, looking for one particular face. He's not here yet. You know he's coming, he's been in the car behind you the whole time and the thought is not as frustrating as you thought it should be.

Max is a few minutes behind, which is strange. Typically he’s right there.

You pull off your helmet, the noise of the crowd becoming a little clearer. You feel a hand on your shoulder. "You were incredible out there today," Joseph tells you, still wide-eyed from the race.

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside of you. "I had to be, after all." You glance to the side to see if you can see Max anywhere.

The next few minutes pass in a whirlwind of celebrations, wild yelling, team members patting you on the back and laughing. The victory is sweet, especially on your birthday.

You keep your eye on the road where Max will arrive, and finally, you see his car pulling it. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the giddy fluttering in your chest.

He pulls up to the stall next to you, and gets out of the car, pulling off his helmet. He looks a little frustrated, but when he sees you he smiles. It's a small smile, not the ones he does for the cameras.

It's a smile that makes your heart soften a bit. He walks over, his eyes sparking with something that seems suspiciously like amusement.

"Second place isn't bad, eh?" he says, his voice a low rumble that sends another shiver down your spine.

You raise an eyebrow. “Second place for you is like admitting defeat, isn't it?” you joke, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

He chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that makes you want to hear it again. "Only when I'm behind you,” he says, his eyes locking with yours.

The words hang in the air, charged with an undercurrent that you can’t ignore.

Before you could formulate a response to his suggestive comment, another car pulled up. It was Lewis, a smile on his face. He seemed happy enough with his third-place position.

“Great race,” Lewis said, dabbing you up with his fist. “Also, happy birthday,”

“Thanks, Lewis,” you grinned before letting him go. You chugged down some water, and placed the Red Bull hat on your head, making sure the logo was front and centre, before making your way over to the interview area.

"Y/N! how does it feel winning on your birthday?!" Nico asked cheerfully, holding the microphone up to you.

"It's amazing! I'm so incredibly happy, what a way to celebrate!" you said, the smile on your face was honest and you knew it was genuine. Winning a race was always an incredible feeling, but winning on your birthday was an extra special type of happiness.

"Have you gotten everything you wanted?" Nico asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Well, I've gotten everything I could ever want. A win, lovely fans, and a great car! I'm expecting a gift from Max though, he might not give it to me because he lost against me," you teased, glancing to your side to see Max grinning at your comment, giving a thumbs up.

Your heart did a little flip as you made eye contact with him.

"Well, I'm sure he will get you something," Nico chuckled before turning back to you. "So, talk me through the race, what was the turning point?"

You went on to talk about the race, the specific moments where you pulled ahead, the strategies that had paid off. You could feel Max’s eyes on you as you spoke, making it difficult to concentrate, but, you managed to get through it. You smiled at the camera as Nico finished the interview and thanked you.

Suddenly, amidst the cheering of the crowd, a familiar melody filled the air. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..." The crowd started singing, their voices a wave of happy noise washing over you.

Your eyes darted around, a smile spreading across your face. This was such a beautiful moment, you felt overwhelmed with joy.

You looked over to see Max looking at you, and he had a soft gaze, which made your heart melt. He mouthed 'Happy Birthday', and you felt a small blush rise to your cheeks.

After the official ceremonies, the post-race frenzy began to settle, you found yourself heading towards the Red Bull hospitality area, the buzz of the celebrations still clinging to you.

The air was thick with the smell of champagne and victory, a potent cocktail of exhilaration. You were just about to grab a drink, to raise a toast to the day, when you felt a hand on your arm, gently turning you around. Your eyes met a staff member, her smile warm and inviting.

"Hello, Y/N," she said sweetly, her voice cutting through the remaining noise, "Christian told me to come get you."

A small knot of curiosity tightened in your stomach.

You nodded, a slight question mark hanging in your eyes, and followed her.

She led you away from the main throng, down a corridor you hadn't noticed before. The air grew quieter, the noise of the celebration fading with each step. You found this space intriguing.

Then the staff member pushed a door open and you stepped inside a dark room, a confused frown creasing your forehead. Before you could even form a question, the lights went on.

"SURPRISE!" a chorus of voices yelled. You blinked, suddenly blinded by the brightness, before your vision adjusted and you took in the scene.

There they were, all of them: Sarah, the engineers, the mechanics, even some of the other drivers, their faces alight with laughter and excitement, all shouting “Happy Birthday!”. It was almost too much to take in.

A wave of warmth spread through you, a warmth that had nothing to do with the recently illuminated room. This was… incredible. You’d been so focused on the race, so caught up in the pressure of the weekend that you'd almost forgotten about your birthday. To see so many people, people you worked with, people you considered friends, all gathered here, just for you... it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Christian stepped forward, a hand landing heavily yet affectionately on your shoulder. "We've been planning it for a while now," he said, his grin infectious. "We knew the race fell on your birthday, so we figured a little surprise was in order." He paused, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Thought you deserved something special."

You couldn't stop smiling. You knew he was right, this was something special. You spent the next little while weaving through the crowd, making small talk, thanking everyone profusely for their efforts.

From the enthusiastic pats on the back from the mechanics to the genuine smiles from the engineers, every moment was a balm to your heart. You received a thoughtful gift from Sarah, a personalized scrapbook with pictures of the both of you since you two started being friends, and shared a laugh with a few of the drivers as they teased you about how old you were getting.

Every gesture, however small, made you feel appreciated and valued, more than just a driver on the team. For the first time all week, you felt completely at ease.

But then, a nagging question began to form, a question you couldn't ignore. Amidst the cheers and congratulations, one face, a face you’d been hoping to see, was conspicuously absent.

Where was Max? You searched the room again, your eyes scanning the crowd, but he wasn’t there.

Finally, when you felt you could politely excuse yourself from the crowd, you found Christian standing by one of the tables. You approached him hesitantly, a hopeful lilt in your voice.

"Hey, Christian," you said, "this was amazing, seriously. I, uh, just had a question. Do you know where Max is?"

Christian's grin widened, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Max is doing something in that room," he said, his voice a low murmur, pointing to a door at the far end of the corridor.

Then he winked, a gesture that made your stomach do a weird flip. "He said he had a 'special project' going on."

Your heart pounded in your chest. A ‘special project’? You nodded slowly, thanking him with a smile, but inside, anticipation was building. You began to walk towards the door, your steps feeling lighter than usual.

As you passed the others, you noticed their eyes were on you, their faces lit with knowing grins. Did they know something you didn’t?

A flush crept up your neck, your cheeks warming as you imagined what ‘special project’ Max could be working on.

You found yourself standing before the door, your hand hovering over the handle. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter in your chest. 

You had no idea what to expect on the other side of this door, but the feeling of nervous excitement was almost overwhelming.

The anticipation had twisted your insides into a tight knot, but you decided you weren’t going to stand here all day. You turned the handle, and stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, only a few scattered tea lights illuminating the space. The change from the bright, harsh lights of the paddock was disorienting for a moment.

You could hear soft music playing, something instrumental and calming, a melody that seemed to wrap around you like a warm hug. And in the center of the room, stood Max. He was facing away from you, his broad shoulders tense, his posture almost rigid.

He wasn't wearing his usual Red Bull shirt, instead opting for a simple black t-shirt. It was jarring to see him out of his racing suit - he looked almost vulnerable.

“Max?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. He turned around, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. He was holding a bouquet of vibrant red and blue roses, the colours stark against the soft light, and his face was… soft.

Not the usual hardened mask you were used to seeing on the racetrack, the intense focus replaced with something almost childlike. He looked nervous, almost hesitant. It was an expression you had never seen before.

His eyes, usually so intense, held a different kind of fire, a nervous vulnerability that made your heart do a strange little flip.

“Y/N!” he said, the usually booming voice tight with what you realized was panic. “These are for you,” He offered the bouquet, his hands trembling slightly.

You reached out and took them from him, your fingers brushing against his. The contact sent a shiver up your arm, not unpleasant, but definitely unexpected.

“Really? No one’s ever bought me flowers before,” you muttered, your voice a breathless whisper as you inhaled their sweet perfume.

The roses were a beautiful mix of classic red and a deep, almost electric, blue. It was unusual and completely fitting of the man who stood before you.

“Yeah, and there’s more,” he said, fixing his cap, a nervous gesture you recognized, though you couldn’t remember him ever being nervous before.

“Really? This is more than enough, you know,” you replied, feeling a tear prickle the corner of your eye. Not because you were sad, but because this unexpected gesture felt like something out of a movie.

Did this really happen to people? Did this happen to you?

“Nothing, of course, is enough for you, Y/N, you should know that,” Max stated with a small, genuine smile that sent a bolt of warmth right through you. His gaze was intense, locking onto yours, making the room feel smaller, more intimate.

You felt your cheeks flush once more, the warmth spreading across your skin. “I… I don’t know what to say.” You looked down at the roses, suddenly feeling flustered.

It was one thing to work alongside Max on the track, but this? This was completely different territory.

He stepped closer, and you looked up, your eyes meeting his. He was closer than he had ever been before. “Say you like them,” he said softly, his voice a husky murmur that echoed in the quiet room.

“I… I love them, Max. They’re beautiful,” you confessed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. The sincerity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat and you felt that butterfly feeling flutter in your stomach.

You looked down at the bouquet again, the vibrant colours a stark contrast to the soft atmosphere of the room.

“Good. Cause I picked each one of them,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. He reached out and gently touched your arm. “Look, I… I’m not good at this. This whole… thing.”

You chuckled, a soft sound that echoed in the room. “You’re doing a pretty good job so far, Max,” you said, finding your voice as you looked up into his eyes again. “Flowers, soft music, dimmed lights… it’s all very… thoughtful.”

He let out a soft relieved exhale, his shoulders finally relaxing. “Thoughtful? That's good,” he said, “I was hoping for thoughtful. The guys told me I needed a ‘good vibe’ and they weren't specific of what that vague term meant."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking endearingly flustered. “Okay so… this isn’t just about flowers, Y/N.” His gaze intensified. “I asked you here… because… because I wanted you to know… that I like you. A lot. More than I like fast cars, maybe even more than winning. Which is saying something.”

Your breath hitched. The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected, and your mind scrambled to catch up. It wasn’t as if you hadn't felt something between you two, a subtle pull that resonated every time you were near, but to hear it spoken aloud, so candidly, so… him… it was a shock.

“Oh. Oh no, no no, you don't-” you stammered, your hand flying to your mouth.

“What?” Max said, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“You don’t want to like me, I am no good,” you blurted out, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

The admission felt like a confession of a dirty little secret you’d been holding onto for far too long. But it was true, look at what happened to Jake.

“But I do,” Max said, his gaze unwavering. He leaned forward slightly, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and concern.

“Yeah, no, I’m sorry, I can’t- you can’t,” you insisted, shaking your head, trying to force some sense back into the situation.

You could feel the panic rising in your chest, a familiar feeling you hadn’t experienced in a while, but now this.

“Why?” Max asked, his voice laced with genuine confusion. The easy laughter that usually danced in his eyes was completely gone.

"Because I said – I am no good!" you said, your voice rising with a touch of desperation. You wanted him to understand, you needed him to understand.

“What do you mean? I can’t just stop liking you because you told me to!” Max said, there was a glint of annoyance now, a sign that he was not going to give in easily.

He was the kind of man who went after what he wanted and that was becoming more apparent than ever.

“Well, you will have to! Because I don’t- I’m not doing this. You don’t get to just...throw this at me!” you said, your hand moving wildly in the air, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“W-what, now you’re just being mean, if you don’t like me just say so,” Max said, the confusion morphing into hurt, and it hurt you to see the hurt in his eyes as they looked into you.

“I do! -like you… And- and that’s the problem,” you whispered, the admission ripped raw and honest.

You hated how vulnerable you felt in this moment, how naked your emotions were, laid bare before him.

“What are you even saying, I don’t get it,” Max said, his voice laced with frustration. This conversation had taken a turn he certainly hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m saying we can’t, not right now, hell, not ever,” you said, the finality of the statement solidifying the fear that had been swirling in your stomach into a concrete truth.

You walked over to the nearest table and placed the bouquet down before walking to the door, your hands shaking as you reached for the door handle.

You could feel his gaze burning into your back, the weight of his confusion pushing down on your shoulders.

“Y/N, wait!” Max’s voice was behind you, but you kept walking faster now. You couldn’t let him see the tears that were threatening to spill, the vulnerability you guarded so fiercely.

You had to get away. You had to escape this room and the feelings it was causing, before you broke down completely.

“Please,” he said, his voice softer now, his steps quickening till he was right behind you, his gaze unwavering, “Just… explain. Tell me what’s going on. I… I don’t understand.” He was close now, almost too close, and you could feel yourself start to crumble.

You stopped, your hand still on the doorknob, and turned to face him. You searched his eyes, saw the genuine care there, the utter confusion. You knew you owed him that much, at least.

You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to find the right words, the ones that could convey the turmoil inside you without completely breaking down.

“Max,” you began, your voice raw with emotion, “You… you’re amazing. You’re kind and funny and… and ridiculously talented. And that’s… that’s the problem.” The words felt inadequate, like they failed to capture the depth of your internal turmoil, but it was the best you could do.

His brow furrowed further. “But… I don’t understand. You’re saying I’m too… good for you? That’s ridiculous, Y/N.” He moved closer, his hand hovering near your arm, unsure if he should touch you.

“No, it’s not that!” You insisted, your voice cracking. “It’s… it’s me. I’m… messed up. I’m… a disaster waiting to happen. I ruin everything I touch, everything I care about.” You felt your throat tighten, your eyes burning with unshed tears.

“I can’t… I can’t do that to you. You deserve better. You deserve someone… someone who is not me.” The confession was like a dam breaking, the words pouring out, unfiltered and raw.

You’d finally said it. After weeks of agonizing, of rehearsing lines in your head, of second-guessing every feeling, you’d admitted your insecurities.

You’d spilled the messy truth about how you felt undeserving, how you believed that he, Max – kind, intelligent, and impossibly handsome Max – could, should, find someone better than you.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering, taking in the vulnerability that you were so desperately trying to hide. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, gentle, almost a whisper.

“Y/N,” he started, his own vulnerability showing through, "I don't understand where this is coming from. I know you are the kindest and most amazing woman I know." He paused, taking your hand in his, as though wanting to give you his strength. "I don't want better, I want you, just you."

“But…” you started, but the words caught in your throat, the weight of your fears and insecurities still present, but somehow… smaller, diminished by the way he spoke, the vulnerability he showed and how gently he held your hand.

“No buts,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips, that nervous, sweet smile that made your heart twist.

“Just… tell me what to do. Tell me what I need to prove to you. Give me, give us, a chance. Please.” His eyes sparkled with hope, pleading with you to just… trust him. Just a little bit.

You looked into his eyes and you knew that you couldn't walk away. You knew that this would most likely end up breaking you, hurt you in ways you couldn't imagine, but his eyes, they held you captive.

You had only one answer so you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to organize your thoughts, to be as transparent as possible.

“It’s not that I don’t want this, Max. I do.” You say, your voice is soft, hesitant. “I like you, I really like you so much that it scares me, a lot.” The truth hangs in the air, vulnerable and raw, and you brace yourself for his reaction. Any reaction but the one he gives you.

He doesn't flinch or pull away. Instead, he squeezes your hand and smiles, that disarming, melting smile. "I think, if we work through it together, we might just make it. I think, that if we try, you will see, that whatever you are going through, you don't have to go through it alone. I want to be there for you, through it all."

His words are like a balm, soothing the anxieties that have been gnawing at you. It's not just the words themselves, but the way he delivers them, the sincerity in his voice, the unwavering look in his eyes.

He's not promising you a fairytale, he understands that the reality will come with challenges. But he’s offering you companionship, partnership, in navigating those challenges together.

A small smile plays on your lips as you look at him, hope blossoming in your heart. Maybe this would work out. Maybe you could finally be happy. But the fear still lingers, a quiet voice whispering in the back of your mind.

“But… what if I mess it up? What if I’m not good enough?” Your voice is barely a whisper, the insecurities finally bubbling to the surface. You feel so vulnerable to his gaze and the way he carefully holds your hand, like you are a precious glass.

Max’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, a gentle, grounding motion. “Y/N, you are more than good enough. You are amazing. And we all mess up. That’s part of being human. The point is, being able to say you're sorry, learn from it, and continue to move forward. Besides, we’ll make mistakes together, learn and grow together.”

His smile widens, adding, “And who knows, maybe those mess-ups will be some of our best memories.” He chuckles, a sound that always makes your heart flutter.

You felt like crying again, a mix of relief and overwhelming emotion flooding through you. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, seeking comfort in his warmth.

“I'm sorry for trying to push you away,” you muttered against his skin, the words muffled.

Max rubbed your back, his touch light and comforting. “Don’t apologise after what you’ve been through. I, of course, was never going to let you go,” His voice was quiet, his sincerity palpable. You pressed closer to him, feeling incredibly safe in his arms.

The fear was still there, a low hum in the background, but it was now overshadowed by his presence.

You pulled back slowly, your cheeks flushing slightly. The boldness of the previous confession had temporarily left you, and suddenly shyness enveloped you.

You felt the flutter of your eyelashes, the nervousness of the moment. "Can... can I kiss you?" The question was soft, barely audible, but it hung in the air between you.

Max grinned, a radiant, dazzling expression that made your heart skip a beat.

"Of course, schat," His response was immediate, filled with affection. Schat. It was a term of endearment he often used, a Dutch word meaning "treasure" or "darling," and it always made you feel safe and cherished.

You moved towards him, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow and tender, a silent promise of forgiveness and understanding. It wasn't a passionate, desperate kiss, but a soft exploration, a gentle reaffirmation of the connection that had always been there, humming beneath the surface.

When you pulled back, your gaze locked with his, and you felt a warmth spread through you, dispelling some of the lingering fear.

“I like you, Max. A lot,” you said, your voice a little shaky, your cheeks still warm. You felt vulnerable, laying your feelings bare like this, but it also felt incredibly right.

He reached up, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I like you too, Y/N, more than you know,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with affection. He had waited patiently for you, had given you the space you needed, and had never once wavered in his affections.

You knew, without a doubt, that he was someone who would always be there, no matter how difficult things got.

A nervous energy seemed to buzz around him as he took in another breath, the kind that a teenager would have before asking his crush to prom.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked, his voice laced with a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

You didn’t hesitate. You nodded, your smile widening as you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend,” you replied, the words flowing easily and naturally.

It felt as if that had always been the plan, like everything had been leading up to this very moment.

A relieved sigh escaped him, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his touch sending a wave of warmth along your skin.

"Great," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "Because your second present would have been awkward."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, silver object. It glinted in the dim light – a key.

“Max…” you started, confusion and a touch of incredulity mixing in your voice.

“It’s my house key, of course. You need a key to get in when I’m doing something else, like sim training,” he explained, his tone casual, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He offered the key to you, his eyes filled with an innocent earnestness.

That was the tipping point. The dam broke. You felt a lump form in your throat, and tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You were crying. Not the dramatic kind of crying, but the quiet, choked-up kind that comes from being overwhelmed by emotion.

“Schat! I’m sorry! Don’t cry,” Max said, his voice filled with concern. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. You buried your face in his neck, letting the tears fall freely.

His embrace was grounding, his hand gently stroking your back, a soothing rhythm against your trembling form.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, his voice soft and reassuring. "What is it? Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to make you cry."

He sounded genuinely panicked, and a part of you felt guilty for making him worry.

You pulled back slightly, wiping away tears with the back of your hand. "No, no, it's not you," you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s just… it’s a key, Max. And it’s such a... you thing to do.” You chuckled slightly, the sound shaky and watery.

He looked at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. “But you need a key to get in. I mean, what if you wanted to come over and I wasn’t home yet? I wouldn’t want you to be waiting outside.”

“That’s… exactly what I meant,” you said, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. “You just… you think of everything.” The fact that he had already considered you needing the key, the fact that he was already thinking about you coming over and feeling safe… it was all just too much.

He looked at you as if he couldn't comprehend why you'd be crying at that, and that was the most endearing thing you had ever seen.

“I thought you wouldn’t like it,” he admitted, his voice small. “I wasn’t sure if it was too much, too soon. But… I really wanted you to have it. So you can feel like… you can feel like a home when I’m not home.”

His confession was raw, honest, and laced with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

You reached up and cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing gently against his cheekbones. "I love it, Max. I really love it," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "It's... it's more than I could have ever asked for."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes searching yours. “You’re not upset?” he asked, his voice still tinged with worry.

You shook your head, a genuine smile finally breaking through. “No, I’m not upset. I’m… overwhelmed. In the best way possible.” You paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, letting the reality of the moment sink in. “You’re amazing, Max.”

He mirrored your smile, his own eyes lighting up with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “So, the key?” he asked, holding it out again.

You took it from him, the metal cool against your palm. “It’s perfect,” you said, your gaze locking with his. “Thank you, Max.”

He pulled you close again, wrapping you in a tight, comforting embrace. "You're welcome, schat," he whispered, his voice muffled against your hair. "Does this mean you'll try my cooking for dinner this time. Since you'll have the key and all?"

You chuckled, leaning into his embrace. "Only if you promise not to set the kitchen on fire."

He pulled back, a playful glint in his eyes. "No promises, but I'll try my best," he said with a grin.

The dim room no longer felt oppressive, but warm and safe. The fear, the uncertainty, all seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a sense of belonging, of love, of home.

You held the key, not just a key to his house, but to his heart, and suddenly, everything felt right.

You reached the doorway and stepped out, the bouquet leading the way. You expected the hushed silence of an empty hall, perhaps the echo of distant conversations. What you didn't expect was the wall of faces that greeted you.

The entire hall, which you had assumed was deserted, was lined with people, their eyes all fixed on the corner where you and Max had emerged. Their expectant gazes, a mixture of delight and curiosity, made your cheeks flush with heat.

Silence hung heavy, thick with unspoken questions, then, like a dam bursting, the cheers erupted. Shouts, whistles, and clapping filled the hall, their collective voice a tidal wave of delighted celebration.

You felt your face grow hotter, and your grip tightened on the bouquet, the stems pressing into your palm. This was not how you envisioned this moment. You had expected the awkwardness to occur in the small room, not right here, under the scrutiny of a hundred pairs of eyes.

You turned, your gaze searching out Max behind you. He was a study in sheepish charm, his cheeks flushed a shade darker than yours, his eyes wide with a mix of apprehension and something that looked a lot like exhilaration.

He shuffled his feet for a moment, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, before meeting your gaze with that familiar, gentle smile of his.

"They helped me confess," he said, his voice a quiet murmur that barely reached your ears over the continuing cheers, "I… I didn’t think I could do it alone.” He looked away for a brief moment before looking back into your eyes. "They knew you were in the room."

The pieces clicked into place. The hushed whispers you’d overheard earlier, the strangely insistent nudging toward the small room, the seemingly innocent way to get you to Max – it had all been meticulously orchestrated.

Your first instinct was to feel embarrassed by the blatant manipulation, but the warmth in Max’s eyes melted your irritation away. They had done it for him, and for you.

They had recognized something before you had even allowed yourself to truly believe it.

"I... They did?" You managed, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt the bouquet tremble in your hand, its vibrant colours suddenly feeling like a spotlight on your face.

He nodded, a faint grin spreading across his face. He straightened his posture and looked at you with an earnest look on his face, "Yeah. I told them how I felt about you, and they all decided that I needed a little push."

He took a small step closer, his hands coming out of his pockets to gently rest on your arms. "I know it's kind of awkward right now but..."

"Awkward?" You laughed, a surprised sound that cut through the noise. "Max, the entire office is watching us, and they're practically throwing a party. This is beyond awkward."

He chuckled softly, his thumb gently stroking your arm. "Okay, maybe slightly more than awkward, but I wouldn't change it for anything. Not now that I can finally say that I���ve been completely and utterly smitten with you for months, now that you know, and now that you… well…”

He trailed off, his eyes shifting to the flowers you held before meeting your gaze again. “You said yes. In the room. Right?"

You felt a giddy warmth spread through your chest. You did say yes, didn’t you? It had all happened so fast, the nervousness, the confession, the kiss.

Your mind, still reeling, struggled to keep up with the rapid turn of events. You hadn't really processed the magnitude of it all, not yet, not with so many eyes on you.

"Yes, Max," you said, your voice steadier this time. "I said yes."

A grin bloomed across his face, lighting up his features. It was a grin you’d seen countless times, but this one, this one felt different, more intimate, reserved just for you.

"Well you can thank them if you want to," Max grinned, gesturing vaguely to the throng of people gathered behind him.

You heard laughter and some shuffling through the crowd before Lando and Charles appeared in front of you, their grins equally wide. Their appearance, and the knowing looks in their eyes, sent a fresh wave of bewildered warmth through you.

"Hey Y/N! I'm guessing he finally did it," Lando teased, nudging Max playfully in the ribs.

"No way! You knew too?" you asked, surprised. You had genuinely thought Max’s clumsy confession and the subsequent proposal were a spontaneous act, an outpouring of feelings he could no longer contain.

The revelation that it had been a calculated performance added another layer of bewilderment.

"Of course, I did! I helped with it the most," Lando declared proudly, puffing out his chest slightly.

Charles immediately scoffed. "No mate, I did," he said, matching Lando’s posture with narrowed eyes. He crossed his arms, clearly in the mood for a playful argument.

"Actually it was Daniel that thought of most of it," Max corrected, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched his friends bicker.

"Daniel?" you repeated, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Daniel Ricciardo? The notoriously jovial Australian was the mastermind behind this entire thing?

You were beginning to feel like you were living in some bizarre, slightly surreal rom-com.

Just then, the door opened from the other side of the room and a familiar voice boomed, "Heya! Am I too late?"

You turned to see Daniel standing in the doorway, his signature grin plastered on his face.

"Nope Daniel, you're just in time," Max yelled back, his voice full of genuine joy. The room was suddenly buzzing with life, with laughter and light, and you felt a strange sense of belonging, of being caught up in something bigger than just you and Max.

You took a shaky breath, grounding yourself in the reality of the moment. He was yours, and you, in a dizzying but wonderful twist of fate, were his.

"Okay, so here's the thing," Daniel started, clapping his hands together in a way that demanded attention. "Max came to us, months ago, practically begging for help. He was a lovesick puppy moping about how amazing you were and how he was too scared to actually do anything about it."

Your cheeks flushed crimson, the image of the usually confident Max reduced to a moping puppy both adorable and hilarious.

You glanced at him, a playful smirk forming on your lips. He just shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face.

"We tried subtle hints, we tried blatant pushes, we even tried a completely ridiculous interpretive dance,” Charles interjected, his face scrunching up in a grimace. “That was… not our finest hour."

"Oh god, please don't remind me of that" Lando said, cringing slightly, "we were terrible"

"And finally," Daniel continued, "after months of agonizing, Max decided he was going to pull out the big guns so to speak." He winked at you. "Hence the very public, yet very romantic, proposal."

"It wasn't that public!" Max protested, but his voice held no real conviction. "Only like, half the paddock knew about it."

"Yeah, half the paddock who all happen to be great conversationalists," you said, laughing.

You wrapped your arm around Max's waist, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours.

"So, you knew?" You looked at Max, a hint of accusation in your eyes.

"I… might have had a little bit of help," he admitted, his gaze locking with yours. “But the feelings, those were one hundred percent mine, Y/N. Every single smitten, completely ridiculous, hopelessly in love bit of them. I just…” he paused, his gaze searching yours for something.

“I really wanted it to be special. For you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He was looking at you, the way a person looks at home, with a mixture of comfort and longing.

The room faded into the background and it was just you, and him, the weight of everything that had just transpired, and the overwhelming happiness swelling in your chest.

"Well, it was special," you said softly, and then, just for him, you added. "It was perfect."

He leaned in and kissed you. It was soft, gentle, like the first kiss all over again, but with a depth that the first hadn’t held. He pulled away, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"So, you really said yes?" He asked again, a playful lilt in his voice.

"Yes, Max," you laughed. "I really said yes. And you can thank your friends all you want but I was saying yes to you, to us. Not them."

You looked at the friends, still standing there and smiling and you could see that, despite the playful teasing and back and forth, they all seemed genuinely happy for you.

And in that moment, you knew that this room, those people, this bizarre and wonderful moment, was where you belonged. You were surrounded by people who loved you, who cared for you, and who were just as excited about your future as you were.

But most importantly, you were with him, the man who had made you feel like the most cherished person in the world. . . .

The worn floral print of Christian and Geri’s spare bedroom felt a little too familiar, a little too much like a childhood bedroom you’d long outgrown. The chipped paint on the windowsill, the baby blue coloured walls – they all seemed to be silently judging the contents of the open suitcase on the floor.

It was a suitcase, you realized with a sigh, that Olivia, a tiny force of nature with bright eyes and a stubborn chin, was currently using as a rather uncomfortable throne.

“No!” she declared, her voice small but firm. Her little legs, clad in rainbow-striped leggings, were splayed across the suitcase, effectively barring any further attempts at packing. “You can’t leave!”

You fought the urge to smile, a knot of tenderness and exasperation tightening in your chest. You loved Olivia like she was your own niece, which she was in all but blood.

You’d spent countless evenings reading her stories, building Lego castles, and braiding her unruly hair. It was going to be hard leaving, harder than you’d anticipated.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning beneath you. “Why can’t I leave, Liv?” you asked, your tone gentle. You already knew the answer, but you needed to hear her say it.

Her brow furrowed, a miniature version of Geri’s expression when she was deep in thought. “Because… you make the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation. “And you always let me pick the movie.”

It was a weak argument, but it was hers. A genuine, heartfelt argument against your departure. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“I taught you how to make your own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, remember?” you pointed out, teasing lightly. “And I promise, Max and I will invite you over for movie nights. We just won’t have this giant, comfy bed.”

Her eyes widened, the argument about sandwiches forgotten. “Max’s house has a giant bed?” she asked, her voice filled with awe.

“Well,” you said, chuckling, “It’s big enough for him and me, but maybe we can squish you in sometimes.”

You immediately regretted it when her face lit up, all thoughts of your departure suddenly focused on whether this “giant bed” would be a good place to jump.

You were about to derail the entire thing, even before you’d managed to pack a single pair of socks.

Olivia bounced off the suitcase, her earlier resistance seemingly forgotten. “Can we go now?!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining with anticipation. “I want to see Max’s giant bed!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Not yet, sweetie. I still need to pack, remember? And anyway, you'll have to ask your mom and dad if you're allowed to go over to Max's.”

The thought of Max, his warm smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, always warmed you from the inside out.

Moving in together felt like the most natural thing in the world, a gentle step forward in a relationship that had blossomed so effortlessly.

“Oh, okay,” Olivia said, her enthusiasm slightly dampened but still there. She plopped down on the bed next to you, her back leaning against you. “But you can’t forget to pack the sparkly socks you let me borrow!”

You reached out and ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry, they're not on my packing list,” You said, hoping she wouldn't notice how your hand was shaking a little.

It had felt like an eternity since you'd found the little courage to break from the "safe" life you'd built, the one where you were just their 'friend' who lived at Christian and Geri's.

It had felt like an eternity since you'd allowed yourself to feel this happy.

She was quiet for a moment, her little face serious. “I’m going to miss you, you know,” she said in a small voice. It wasn’t a whiny statement, but it was filled with a heartbreaking honesty that tugged at you.

You leaned in and hugged her tight. “I’m going to miss you too, Liv,” you mumbled into her hair, the scent of strawberries and sunshine filling your nose.

"But it’s not goodbye forever. I'll still be around. We’ll have so many sleepovers. And I'm not all the way gone yet. We can bake cookies and do crafts and watch shows together. Okay?”

She nodded against you, and the silence stretched for a moment, the only sounds the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the low rumble of a car passing on the street outside.

You could feel her small hand gripping the edge of your t-shirt, her grip surprisingly strong despite her size. You were so grateful to have her. What would you do without them all? The thought of leaving now seemed more daunting than it had an hour ago.

“You like Max, right?” Olivia asked, finally breaking the silence.

You tensed. You hadn't expected that question. It caught you off guard, though you knew she wasn’t going to pry. She was just a kid, trying to understand the changes happening around her.

“Yeah, Liv. I like Max a lot,” you admitted, your voice soft. You wondered if she could hear the smile in your voice. It was a simple statement, but it carried so much weight.

It was more than just liking him. It was the easy way he fit into your life, the way he understood your vulnerabilities and supported your dreams, the way he made you feel like the most important person in the world. You loved him.

Olivia nodded, her gaze fixed on her hands. "He's nice I guess," she conceded grudgingly.

Her head snapped up, her eyes widening. “Really?” Her voice was full of surprise, a spark of genuine interest finally flicking to life behind her eyes.

“Yeah! He said he wanted to do it for all of your friends, like a big group thing as a surprise.” you beamed at her.

The tension in the room seemed to lessen slightly. Olivia’s shoulders relaxed, her small frown softening. She actually looked… curious.

“He’s doing that?” she asked, her voice laced with a hint of disbelief. “That’s… nice.”

“See?” you said, a playful tone creeping into your voice. “He is! He’s not just some random boyfriend, Liv. He’s actually pretty amazing.”

She finally looked up at you, a small smile playing on her lips. “I guess. It's just… it’s going to be really different without you here.”

“I know,” you said, your heart clenching slightly at the thought of leaving your shared space. “But it's not like I'm moving to another country. We can still hang out whenever you want.”

“Yeah, I know,” she mumbled, picking at a loose thread on her skirt.

“And,” you added, hoping to lighten the mood further, “Max said we could do movie nights at his house after the season is over. Your movie pick would be first.”

“Really?” Her smile grew a bit wider. “He said that?”

“Yep! He’s actually really excited to have you all over. He thinks you’re cool, you know.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly. “He does?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, Liv. He’s not some monster trying to steal me away. He just… makes me happy.”

She sighed, the last vestiges of her earlier frustration seeming to melt away. “Okay, okay. I get it. He sounds like a decent boyfriend. And a big Moana fan.”

“He kind of is,” you said, grinning. You picked up another outfit from the wardrobe. “Hey, do you want to watch Peppa Pig while I finish packing? Or do you have a better suggestion?”

Olivia's face brightened. “Oh yes please! But only if we have pizza after you finish.”

You laughed, relieved. “Deal,” you said.

The melody pulsed through you, a vibrant current that mirrored the excitement fizzing in your stomach. “Ik sloeg mijn ogen open, knipperde wat en de lucht leek helder, hij wil dat ik hem geloof nu…” you sang, the Dutch words rolling off your tongue with a practiced ease.

You weren't fluent, not by a long shot, but you'd been diligently working on your pronunciation, fueled by a secret desire to impress Max.

Your phone, perched precariously on a stack of books, continued to belt out the infectious pop tune by a Dutch artist you'd discovered.

You grabbed the last stray top from your drawer, a soft, faded blue, and made your way back to your suitcase, which lay open and waiting on your bed.

“Als ik schrik van hem, kom ik niet meer zo dichtbij als ik zou willen,” you continued, a small smile playing on your lips.

You envisioned Max’s reaction, the surprise in his eyes, maybe even a chuckle, when he heard you singing in his native tongue. You'd been teasing him about learning Dutch for weeks, a little game to keep the anticipation of this visit high.

You carefully folded the top, fitting it neatly into the already packed case. The song reached its crescendo, a final flourish of synth and pounding drums before fading out.

The silence that followed felt… different. Too sudden. You were about to reach for your phone, to put on something else, when the sound of slow, deliberate clapping startled you.

Your heart leaped into your throat, and you spun around, a gasp escaping your lips.

There, leaning against your bedroom doorframe, stood Max. His arms were crossed over his chest, a knowing smirk playing on his face.

He looked effortlessly handsome, like he had just stepped out of a magazine. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

“Max!” you exclaimed, your hand flying to your chest. “How long have you been standing there?” Your face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and sheer joy.

You hadn't expected him until much later in the day, and the element of surprise was nearly overwhelming.

He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into your room, his gaze lingering on you. “Long enough to witness a very impressive performance,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“Your Dutch is… well, it’s coming along.” There was a teasing note in his voice, but also something else, a hint of genuine admiration that made your stomach flip.

“Oh god,” you groaned, your cheeks burning a fiery red. “You heard all of that? It was awful, probably.” You started to fidget with your shirt, feeling terribly self-conscious.

Max chuckled, a sound you loved. “Awful? I thought you sounded like a natural.” He walked closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You know, ‘ik schrik van hem, kom ik niet meer zo dichtbij als ik zou willen’ is quite a romantic line. What does it mean?”

Your mind raced, trying to translate the words without sounding like a bumbling fool. “Uh, it’s… it’s something like… ‘if I am scared of him, I won’t come as close as I would like to’,” you mumbled, your gaze dropping to your feet.

He stopped in front of you, tilting your chin gently up with his finger. His touch sent a jolt through you, making you forget, for a moment, how silly you probably looked.

“Scared of me?” he asked, his voice softer now, laced with a hint of concern.

You shook your head quickly, “No, of course not! It’s just the song. I was just trying to get the pronunciation right.” You felt your face growing even hotter.

“Well, you were certainly dedicated,” he said with a smile. “And I must confess, it was rather charming.” He stepped around you to look at the open suitcase.

"You're almost done?" Max asked, turning back to you with that smile that always made your heart flutter.

You nodded, still slightly dazed, thinking, how did you even get in?

As if reading your mind, Max let out another chuckle. "Your sister let me in and gave me a 10 minute lecture of how to take care of you, I already feel like a better boyfriend," he said with a smile, a playful glint in his eyes.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Olivia peek her head in before getting caught and running off, a stifled laugh echoing from the hallway.

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. Olivia and her dramatic theatrics were a constant in your life.

“She’s ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.

He held your hand delicately, his touch sending a familiar warmth through you. His fingers intertwined with yours, a silent reassurance.

"Are you sure you're ready to move in with me, schat?" he asked, his voice soft, laced with a tenderness that always made your heart melt.

A wave of emotion washed over you, a mixture of excitement and a slight trepidation. Officially moving in with Max was a step, a big one, and the reality of it finally sank in.

This wasn't just a casual dating thing anymore; it was a commitment, a joining of lives, a leap into the unknown with the person you loved most.

“Ik ben meer dan klaar om met jou te leven,” you responded in Dutch, the words flowing smoothly, a secret language just for the two of you. I am more than ready to live with you.

Max grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He loved the way your native tongue sounded, the way the words rolled off your tongue, the intimacy of a language he didn't quite understand but felt deeply.

"God, you have to speak more of it later, okay?" he muttered, his voice low and slightly husky, a look of genuine adoration in his eyes. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

“Of course, Liefje,” you smiled, leaning into his embrace, the word darling slipping naturally off your tongue.

His scent, a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely his, filled your senses, and you felt safe, secure, like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You tilted your head back, looking up at him. "I can't believe this is actually happening," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. "Me neither," he confessed, "but I’m really excited. We're going to make a home together."

You laughed, the tension easing from your shoulders. He had a way of making even the most daunting things feel like an adventure. "I can already see the chaos unfolding," you joked. "And I actually can't wait for it."

"Good, because I have a feeling it's going to be one hell of a ride," he replied, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

He released you from the hug but kept your hand in his, guiding you towards the door. "Come on, let's get out of here. I’ve already loaded the other suitcase and Geri is waiting with lots of snacks for the road. Plus, I’m sure Olivia has something dramatic planned as your departure performance.”

As you walked out of your room, the weight of the move, the finality of it all, settled in. You glanced back at the empty space, a small pang in your chest.

It was a chapter closed, a book put back on the shelf, ready for the next story to begin.

Downstairs, Geri engulfed you in a hug, a mixture of sadness and happiness in her eyes. Olivia was holding a tissue to her face, fake sobbing, dramatically letting the tissue fall to the floor as she pretended to faint.

“Oh please,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes.

“This is a great occasion,” Geri chuckled, “A bittersweet one. I’m so happy for you two, truly, but seeing you leave is definitely a change.”

“Don’t worry, Geri, I’ll come back whenever you need me,” you said, giving her another hug. “And you can always visit.”

“Of course,” your mom said softly. "I’ve already planned the Christmas dinner to be at your new place. I expect you two to work hard making it a home,”

You laughed and turned to Max. "Ready to go?" you asked, a genuine smile lighting up your face.

He squeezed your hand, a silent reassurance. "Always," he said, his eyes full of affection.

You took one last look at your home for a few months, a place filled with memories, both good and bad. Then you turned away.

The future was here, waiting for you, and you were ready to embrace it, hand in hand with the man you loved.

The car ride was filled with laughter and excited chatter. Max’s hand rested on your thigh, a comforting weight that grounded you. You listened to him talk about his plans for the apartment, how he envisioned you both filling it with your personalities.

He told you about painting the kitchen walls and adding some of your favorite books. Your heart swelled with affection.

It was going to be perfect.

Arriving at the apartment, you were greeted with the sight of Max's place, and it was better than you had imagined. It was filled with light and open spaces, with a balcony overlooking a small park. This space, your space, was waiting for you to make it a home.

You took a deep breath, the feeling of anticipation and joy bubbling in your chest.

Max looked at you. "What do you think?" he asked, his eyes filled with a touch of nervousness.

You turned to him, your heart overflowing. "It's perfect," you said, your voice soft, filled with love. "Absolutely perfect."

And you knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within your soul, that this was where you were meant to be. This was the start of your next chapter, and you couldn't wait to see where it would take you.

As Max took your hand and pulled you inside, his smile telling you everything you needed to know, you knew, that this was home.

The key turned in the lock with a satisfying click, and the door swung inward, revealing the entryway of your new life together. Sunlight poured through the large windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, eager spirits.

You stepped inside, and for a moment, everything else ceased to exist. It wasn't just a house; it was a testament to shared dreams, a physical manifestation of the love you and Max had carefully cultivated.

Your gaze immediately lifted, drawn to the soaring vaulted ceiling, the exposed beams a rich, dark wood that contrasted beautifully with the soft, off-white walls. You ran your hand along the smooth plaster, marveling at the craftsmanship.

Your feet carried you forward, deeper into the house, your suitcase forgotten by the door. You traced the curve of an archway that led to what you assumed was the living room, then peeked into a cozy nook tucked away near the kitchen, already imagining long evenings curled up there with a book.

You explored each room as if it were a precious artifact, finding beauty in every detail. The kitchen was a chef’s dream, with a large island, gleaming countertops, and a pantry that seemed to stretch on forever.

Sunlight streamed through the large, almost floor-to-ceiling windows in the dining area, promising sun-drenched breakfasts and candlelit dinners. You could already picture yourselves here, laughing and creating memories in the home that belonged to both of you.

You were so thoroughly captivated you hadn't even noticed Max watching you from the entryway, his eyes filled with an adoration that made your heart melt. He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

Finally, you completed your impromptu tour, circling back to the entryway practically vibrating with excitement. You turned to him, your eyes wide, a genuine smile lighting up your face.

“What do you think, schat?” he asked, his voice soft, laced with anticipation.

You didn’t hesitate, your heart full to bursting. “Liefje, it’s amazing,” you breathed out, the Dutch term of endearment rolling off your tongue with ease. It was more than amazing; it was everything you had ever hoped for, and more. It felt like coming home.

He pushed himself off the doorframe and came towards you, his hand reaching out to take yours. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, his smile widening. “I knew you would. I’ve spent weeks picturing you here.” He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Picture me here?” you teased, tilting your head. “Doing what?”

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through you. “Reading in that little nook, probably. Or cooking up a storm in that kitchen. And dancing, maybe? We have plenty of space for that now.”

You laughed, imagining the possibilities. “Dancing, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, playfully challenging him. “Are you going to finally teach me the tango?”

“Maybe,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “But first things first: we need to get your suitcase inside before someone mistakes it for an abandoned piece of luggage.” He gestured towards the forgotten suitcase with a playful wink.

You blushed slightly, realizing how completely you had gotten caught up in the moment. “Oh, right.” You turned to grab your suitcase, but he was already there, easily lifting it as if it were weightless.

“Let me take care of that,” he said, his voice gentle. “You’ve been exploring; I’ll be your pack mule.”

You followed him further into the living room, placing your case near a large, plush couch. He placed his suitcase next to yours, the gesture a small symbol of the life together you were building. “So, what’s next?” you asked, feeling a jolt of excitement run through you.

“Well,” he said, turning to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I was thinking we could unpack? Then maybe open a bottle of wine? And then…” He paused, drawing out the word. “Then we officially break in the house.”

You laughed, playfully nudging him with your elbow. “Break in the house? What does that exactly entail?”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Well, I was thinking… we could christen each room. One by one.”

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson as you caught the meaning behind his suggestive tone. “Max!” you exclaimed, with a mixture of embarrassment and delight, your heart rate picked up from his words.

He laughed again, the sound warm and comforting. “What? It’s a big house; it needs to be properly inaugurated, don’t you think?”

“Maybe after we pack...” you began, your smile matching his mischievous one.

The next few hours were a flurry of activity, filled with unpacking, laughter, and the occasional stolen kiss. You found yourself working seamlessly alongside Max, each of you knowing exactly what to do, a testament to the quiet harmony you shared.

You unpacked your clothes, placing them side by side in the spacious wardrobe; you organized your things in the bathroom, your toiletries now lined up next to his. It was amazing how quickly this space was becoming a home, a reflection of the life you were building.

As the sun began to set, casting long, golden shadows across the house, you collapsed onto the sofa, finally allowing yourself to relax. Max joined you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you close. You nestled into his side, the warmth of his body a familiar comfort.

He opened a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses. He handed one to you, and you clinked them together. “To new beginnings,” he said, his eyes locking with yours.

“To new beginnings,” you echoed, taking a slow sip of the wine. The taste was rich and smooth, a perfect complement to the moment.

You looked around the living room, now slowly filling with your presence. It was cozy, inviting, and overflowing with possibilities. Soon it would be filled with the sounds of your laughter and the echoes of your life together.

You turned to Max, his face illuminated in the soft glow of the setting sun. “Max,” you said, your voice filled with emotion, “thank you. For everything.”

He smiled, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart swell with adoration. “You don’t have to thank me, schat. This is just the start.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss. “And I can’t wait to see where this journey takes us.”

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. . . .

[pinkskiessss]

LACY - chapter 5

Paige Bueckers x oc

Warnings: internalized homophobia, mature content

A/N: I feel like alot of the last few chapters have been about Layla really struggling with coming to terms with identity/sexuality. Which I wanted to write because I wanted to show the process of really coming to terms with being queer and how it isn’t just something you immediately accept in one night, based on my own experiences personally ofc. So with that being said, I hope someone else can find comfort in her character or relates. (Also forgot to write this in, but for anyone wondering, Layla has been involved “romantically” with guys in the past, but I think it’s just a realization now for her that it was like a cover up for who she actually is, because she’s feeling emotions she’s never felt towards a man, towards a woman if that makes sense. Basically she’s gay lol hope this helps! Which like same girl) Anywayssss sorry for the rant, enjoy loves!

—

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the folded note on my bedside table.

I hope you feel better. Text me when you get up.

I exhaled slowly, the events of last night still swirling in my mind. Her low voice, her subtle touches—it made my skin crawl, the way I feel when she touches me. Even if it’s only for a second. The way it made something stir inside me that I couldn’t ignore, but couldn’t accept either.

I grabbed my phone and texted her, my fingers shaking slightly.

Me: Hey, I just woke up. Thanks for taking care of me last night. I’m sorry for being such a mess.

Her reply came quickly, almost like she’d been waiting for me.

Paige: Don’t trip. You’re good. Seriously.

Paige: You feeling better?

Me: Yeah, a little. Thanks again.

There was a short pause before her next message came through.

Paige: Can we talk? In person, if you’re not busy?

I hesitated, biting my lip. I didn’t want to see her, not right now. I’d rather save myself the embarrassment. But I couldn’t avoid it forever.

Me: Sure. You can come over if you want. I’m heading to the gym soon to practice, though.

Paige: Volleyball grind? Big game coming up, right?

Me: Yeah, it’s the regional final this weekend. If we win, we’re in the Final Four.

Paige: No pressure or anything

Me: Tell me about it lol

Paige: Can I come practice with you for fun cause why not? I won’t distract you to much I swear.

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her trying to play volleyball.

Me: Ok sure, if you insistttt

When Paige arrived, she was dressed in basketball shorts and a black tee, her hair pulled into a messy bun. Somehow she always looks perfect like all the time. It’s crazy actually.

—

We set up the net, and Paige was already messing around with the volleyball like she had no idea what she was doing. I tossed her the ball.

“Alright, ready?” I asked.

She caught it but didn’t seem to know what to do next. “Uh, sure. Can’t be too hard.”

Her first attempt was… not great to say the least. The ball went flying across the gym, and she just stood there, looking at it like it had betrayed her.

“Okay, so let’s just act like you didn’t see that,” she said, laughing at herself.

I couldn’t help but laugh too, the tension easing just a little. “Maybe try not to hit it like you’re dunking a basketball.”

“Yo I didn’t sign up for this kind of slander, not to much on me,” she said with a grin. “But fine, I’ll try again.”

We kept going, and she got a little better—or at least, less terrible. But I couldn’t focus. My mind kept drifting back to last night, what I asked her in a drunken haze. How awkward it feels that I got drunk and slipped into a vulnerable state where I felt comfortable enough to ask her how she knew she was gay. Like come on Layla, why do you always have to make shit weird.

I tried to push it out of my mind, but when she stood beside me, her shoulder brushing mine as we took a break, I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. The kind of knot that made me want to run. To escape this feeling.

“Layla,” Paige said softly, breaking the silence. “You okay?”

I glanced at her, swallowing hard. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She didn’t seem convinced. She took a step closer, her eyes searching mine. “You sure? You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine if it’s not, you know this.”

I shook my head, looking down at the ground. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Paige. I don’t even know why I asked you what I did. It just… felt like something I needed to say. I was really drunk and confused I guess. But now, I just feel… weird.”

Paige’s expression shifted, a flicker of something defensive in her eyes. “Weird how?”

I was silent, except for the sound of my breath, heavy and uneven. I could feel the weight of Paige’s words pressing down on me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside me was breaking. I didn’t know how to fix it.

“I just don’t get it, Layla,” Paige said, her voice a little shaky but firm. “Why are choosing to continuously hurt yourself by denying the facts.”

“I’m not. I just—” I paused, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want people to look at me like it’s all they see when I play. I don’t want to be judged. People already say enough disgusting stuff online about queer people. Imagine what they would say if they found out an athlete they looked up to secretly liked the same gender. It would hurt my career so much if people found out Paige, you don’t get it.”

Paige’s face tightened, her blue eyes flashing with anger. “What the hell, Layla? Are you seriously forgetting that I’m gay myself? I would get it. People speculate about my sexuality all the time, and yeah, it’s obvious. Everyone knows it. Sure, there’s a small percentage of people who hate on me for it, and I see it. But if I let that control my life, I’d be a pretty shitty person. People always have their opinions, and most of them are garbage, but you can’t let them define how you see yourself. You’re letting people on the internet make you think you’re wrong for feeling how you feel. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

I flinched at her words, the anger in her voice cutting deeper than I expected. I didn’t answer, my heart pounding in my chest. She was right. She knew exactly what it was like to feel out of place. But I couldn’t help the way I felt.

“I’m sorry,” Paige says quietly, her voice suddenly soft, regret seeping into her tone. “I shouldn’t have said that the way I did at all. I shouldn’t have gotten that mad, I just hate hearing you talk about yourself like that.”

My hands were shaking now, and I wiped at my eyes, feeling the tears I’d been holding back start to fall. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t stop any of it.

Paige saw me crying, and her expression softened instantly. She stepped forward, reaching out to gently grab my arms, pulling them away from my face. “Layla, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I looked up at her, my chest tight. “It’s not you, I just don’t know what to do, Paige. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know how to make this go away.”

Paige’s eyes softened as she held my arms. “You don’t have to make it go away, Layla. You don’t have to figure it out right now. But please, don’t hate yourself for it. You’re not disgusting, or weird. You’re… you’re perfect just the way you are.”

Her words hit me like a wave, and for the first time, I felt like I could breathe. Like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as lost as I thought.

“I really care for you,” Paige continued, her voice low and sincere. Hearing you talk about yourself like that—it hurts me. It hurts to see you think you’re not worth it. You are. You really are.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a surge of warmth in my chest. I stepped closer to her, not sure what I was doing but knowing I needed to be near her. “I’m sorry, too,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

She smiled softly, her hand brushing against my cheek. “You don’t need to apologize. I just want you to know you’re not alone in this. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

I felt a pull in my chest, an undeniable connection that I couldn’t ignore. I leaned in slightly, my breath catching in my throat. I was close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, to see the way her blue eyes softened, the way her pink lips parted just slightly. My heart raced, the air thick with unspoken words, with everything we hadn’t said yet.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop. The world around us faded, leaving just the two of us in this fragile, suspended moment. I could hear the soft sound of her breathing, the way it matched mine, both of us caught in the tension that had been building between us.

I barely registered that I was moving closer until our noses were almost touching, the smallest breath between us. I could feel the heat of her body against mine, the way her cologne lingered in the air, intoxicating and all-consuming. I could feel the pull, stronger now, undeniable, and it was like something inside me snapped.

I couldn’t stop myself. I leaned in, closing the space between us, and my lips brushed against hers in the softest kiss. It was tentative at first, a question, a hesitation, but it felt right. Her lips were warm and inviting, soft as velvet, and I couldn’t help but press into her, deepening the kiss just slightly, my hands finding their way to her neck, pulling her closer.

Her lips moved against mine with a gentle pressure, and I responded instinctively, my body leaning into hers, craving more. There was no fear, no doubt. Just the rush of the moment, the way her touch made everything else fade away. It felt right.

But then, just as quickly as it started, I pulled away, breathless, my chest heaving. I looked at her, my heart pounding in my ears, and I saw the same intensity reflected in her eyes.

“Paige,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “I—”

She didn’t give me a chance to finish. Before I could say another word, she pulled me back to her, her lips crashing against mine with a hunger that took me by surprise. This time, there was no hesitation, no softness. Her hands were on my waist, pulling me even closer, and I could feel the urgency in her kiss, the way she needed me as much as I needed her.

I kissed her back with everything I had, my hands threading through her hair, pulling her even closer, if that was even possible. I could feel the heat between us, the way our bodies pressed together, desperate to feel more. It was a kiss that left no room for doubt, no space for anything but the raw, overwhelming undeniable connection between us.

—

Taglist:

@unadulteratedcyclepaper

[precious-little-bhaalbabe]

[beloveds-embrace]

so i have a habit of calling be love/babe/darling as a term of enderament (even in friendships) and was wondering how the dukedom guys would react to being called love or darling by the reader for the first time? I grt it probably wasnt as socially acceptable back then but the thought still plaques my mind

Historical accuracy who? We don’t know her shhh

Original post

But they’d love it! At first, you had tried really hard to stop yourself and semi-succeeded by only calling your maids like that. Your parents always hated that habit of yours, a leftover from your nanny’s own habit. They had warned you again and again and again to not let your tongue run, to keep your words polite and demure, only fallen women working in brothels would speak so freely.

And you did keep it under control for a good while; with your interactions few with John, you could remind yourself not to let your tongue loose and call him honey right off the bat when he simply calls you by your name. It’s harder with Kyle, you almost slip and call him darling, same with Johnny. With Simon it’s easier because on the times he visits, you leave him to his meetings with John and don’t bother them. (Or what you thought were business meetings at that time lol)

But once they start getting closer to you, it’s inevitable that the nicknames start slipping out.

“Kyle, darling-“ you are rushing today, and the words slip out before you realize. You just spare a thought to wonder why he’s frozen solid like that. “Where is my hairpin? I was so sure we left it on my vanity?”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you say to Johnny when he brings you a platter of fresh deserts while working, not lifting your head from the papers in front of you other than to flash him a quick, grateful smile. You don’t notice how long it takes before Johnny stutters out a ‘welcome, m’lady’ and leaves you be.

“Simon, honey?” You ask on another occasion, voice too worried to notice what you’d called him. No maids around, and no one would question you calling you husband’s ‘close friend’ by his name in your home. “Is your leg okay? You are leaning on it too much, shall I call the doctor?” His silence is typical to you, but too busy fussing over his leg, you don’t see his face. Until you look up, eyes widening at his averted eyes and red-tipped ears. “Are you sick, Simon? You should be resting instead, you know?”

And at last… “John, love,” you sigh softly, controlling the tremble of your limbs. You look away from the newspaper, though you believe it should just be called a glorified gossip magazing, and close your eyes. Duke Price’s Duchess remains barren of a child! Is a divorce in their future? “It’s alright, it is what it is-“ you try to calm him.

Up until now, from the moment you’d both read the headline, John had been fuming. He wasn’t loud in his anger, but it was clear in his ticking jaw and clenched fists. So you expect him to continue in his anger.

“…I will deal with it.” John promises, voice low but no longer a rolling thunder. He sits down calmer now, when you finally open your eyes to look at him. He’s simply gazing at you, and his hands clench in the air before he sets them down on the table. “They won’t be slandering you any longer, wife. I promise you.”

You wish you could pinpoint what soothed him, but alas. Though you know he will try his best and maybe this news agency won’t make anymore comments like this about you, others will still continue to do so.

“It’s alright.” You repeat, but the words ring hollow and the smile on your face is empty. You push your plate away. “Now, if my husband permits it, I don’t believe I can stomach much more.”

“You never need my permission for such things,” he tells you; a sentiment he’d told you from the very first day. His face softens. “Go rest. Today, I will take care of everything that needs to be done.”

Darling, sweetheart, honey, love… they wonder if you know how much those words repeat in their minds.

[pucksandpower]

Clickbait

Toto Wolff x Ferrari team principal!Reader

Summary: in which a reporter learns not to mess with the power couple of Formula 1 … the hard way

Based on this request

The bustling newsroom of BusinessF1 magazine hums with activity as Graham Lowell, a junior reporter with more ambition than scruples, hunches over his laptop. His fingers fly across the keyboard, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he types out what he believes to be the scoop of the century.

Conflict of Interest in the Pit Lane: Ferrari and Mercedes’ Love Affair

Graham leans back, admiring his handiwork. He’s certain this article will catapult him to journalism stardom. Little does he know, he’s about to learn a harsh lesson in the dangers of sensationalism.

As the article goes live, the Formula 1 world erupts into chaos. Social media platforms light up with speculation and outrage. Within hours, the story spreads like wildfire, reaching the very subjects of its scandalous claims.

In the Ferrari motorhome, you stand before a group of wide-eyed team members, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “I assure you, these allegations are completely false. Our team’s integrity is not, and will never be, compromised.”

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, but you ignore it. You know who it is, and you know you’ll need to face him soon enough.

Across the paddock, in the sleek confines of the Mercedes garage, Toto Wolff paces like a caged lion. His usually calm demeanor is nowhere to be seen as he barks orders into his phone.

“I want our legal team on this immediately,” he growls. “This is slander, pure and simple. They’ve gone too far this time.”

As the day wears on, the pressure mounts. You find yourself fielding increasingly hostile questions from reporters, their microphones thrust aggressively in your face.

“Is it true that you’ve been passing Ferrari’s secrets to Mercedes?” One shouts.

“How long have you been manipulating race results?” Another demands.

You maintain your composure, but inside, you’re seething. The blatant sexism in their questions is not lost on you. They seem all too eager to believe that a woman in your position must have achieved it through nefarious means.

As you push through the crowd, a familiar voice cuts through the chaos. “That’s enough!” Toto’s commanding tone silences the mob instantly. He strides forward, placing a protective arm around your shoulders.

“My wife and I will be making a statement shortly,” he announces, his steely gaze daring anyone to object. “Until then, I suggest you all refrain from spreading baseless rumors.”

The crowd parts reluctantly, allowing you both to escape to the relative quiet of a nearby hospitality suite. As soon as the door closes behind you, Toto’s fierce expression melts into one of concern.

“Are you alright, liebling?” He asks softly, cupping your face in his hands.

You lean into his touch, allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability. “I’m fine, Toto. Just ... frustrated. They’re so quick to believe the worst of me.”

Toto’s jaw clenches. “It’s disgraceful. But we’ll fight this, together. I promise you, they won’t get away with it.”

A knock at the door interrupts your moment. Toto’s assistant pokes her head in. “Sir, the lawyers are here.”

What follows is a whirlwind of legal jargon and strategy discussions. You listen intently as your shared legal team outlines the plan of attack.

“We’ll issue cease and desist orders to every outlet that’s republished the story,” the head lawyer explains. “And we’ll be filing a defamation lawsuit against BusinessF1 magazine and the reporter responsible.”

Toto nods approvingly. “Good. I want them to feel the full force of our response. This ends now.”

As the lawyers file out, you turn to Toto, a hint of worry in your eyes. “Do you think this will be enough? The damage to my reputation ...”

Toto takes your hands in his, his gaze intense. “We will rebuild it, stronger than ever. I won’t let them tarnish everything you’ve worked for.”

Meanwhile, back at the BusinessF1 office, Graham Lowell is beginning to realize the gravity of his mistake. His editor storms into the bullpen, face red with fury.

“Lowell!” He bellows. “My office, now!”

Graham follows meekly, his earlier bravado evaporating with each step. As he enters the office, he sees his editor isn’t alone. A grim-faced man in an expensive suit stands by the window.

“Sit down,” the editor growls. Graham complies, his legs feeling like jelly.

The man by the window turns, fixing Graham with a steely glare. “Mr. Lowell, I’m representing Mr. and Mrs. Wolff in this matter. I’m here to inform you that you and this publication are being sued for defamation.”

Graham’s mouth goes dry. “But ... but I had a source! They told me-”

“A source you failed to verify,” his editor cuts in. “Did you even attempt to get a comment from either party before publishing?”

Graham’s silence is damning. The lawyer continues, his voice cold and precise. “The damages we’re seeking are substantial. Your reckless journalism has caused significant harm to my clients’ reputations.”

As the full implications of his actions sink in, Graham slumps in his chair. His dreams of journalistic glory crumble before his eyes, replaced by the stark reality of legal consequences.

Outside, the F1 paddock buzzes with new excitement. Word of the impending lawsuit spreads quickly, and suddenly, those who were so quick to believe the scandal are backpedaling furiously.

You and Toto stand united before a sea of cameras, your hands clasped tightly together. Toto speaks first, his voice resonating with controlled anger.

“The allegations made against my wife and me are not only false but malicious,” he states. “We have always maintained the highest standards of professionalism and integrity in our respective roles.”

You step forward, your head held high. “I’ve worked tirelessly to earn my position as Team Principal at Scuderia Ferrari. To suggest that my success is due to anything other than my own merit is not only insulting to me but to every woman fighting to make her mark in this sport.”

The press conference continues, with you and Toto presenting a united front against the baseless accusations. As you field questions, you can see the tide of public opinion beginning to turn.

Later that evening, in the privacy of your hotel suite, you finally allow yourself to relax. Toto wraps you in a warm embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You were magnificent today,” he murmurs. “I’m so proud of you.”

You smile up at him, feeling the tension of the day start to melt away. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

Toto chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eye. “The best. Although, I must say, I’m almost disappointed we don’t actually have any juicy secrets to share. It might make things more exciting.”

You playfully swat his arm, laughing despite yourself. “I think we have enough excitement in our lives, thank you very much.”

As you settle into each other’s arms, you know that whatever challenges come your way, you’ll face them together. The storm may rage outside, but in here, in this moment, all is calm.

And somewhere across the continent, in a small, cluttered apartment, Graham Lowell stares at his laptop screen, watching his career and reputation crumble in real-time.

Social media is ablaze with backlash against him and support for you and Toto. As he scrolls through the endless comments condemning his shoddy journalism, one thought echoes in his mind.

“I am so, so screwed.”

[ramonathinks]

Fuck it, Guess We Both Ain't Shit — GOJO

summary: as meg said, “quit asking when imma leave my n*gga, knowin’ you still with your bitch”

cw// 18+, MDNI cheating, sex, fingering, oral, risky sex, geto slander, squirting, choking, slight impact play, sappy moments,

tagging -> @satorubi @sunasbon haha. dividers by @/cafekitsune word counter: 1.1k just a little thirst/drabble :p

“he’s your best friend” this was a conversation almost twice a week, with him on his knees looking right at your puffy clit, spreading your legs wide enough so he can fit through, though just barely.

“and she’s your roommate” he huffs out a laugh, kissing the bud and you flinch back, legs trembling.

“ah– fuck… fuck you.” even with saying that, you open your legs more, waiting and wanting for him to have his fill of you. his fingers, his tongue, his cock was all you could think of most days and you hated yourself for it.

“me and suguru always loved to share our toys. but you just want me all to yourself right? only me, hm? so why not just break up with him?” gojo’s fingers are on your clit but they roam, teasing your slit — almost inside but steadily running up and down, your breathing hitched and shook as you spoke. 

“why not break up with her?” you counter, grinding your hips to his palm. you hated how he always made you fight to get a touch from him.

“nah baby, tell me… humor me? make me understand or I’ll stop,” he looks in your eyes, stares deep into them until all you can see is blue surrounding you. “i won’t let you cum.” he’s doing the thing now to tempt you…sliding his fingers inside, curves them just well enough that you can taste your orgasm and pull away.

“he’s just …” your throat closes up but he slows his pace, he wants to know the truth… the rivalry he and Suguru had was always different, something twisted in his head; best friends but deeper and worse. it wasn't hatred and it wasn't that he even wanted to be him, but he wanted everything that suguru had and it was torture... evident that he was still a child at heart. a selfish needy child.

“he can’t make me cum, okay? especially…” you’re gasping. “especially like you do, satoru. he’s not as big and he just doesn’t feel right… i..--”

he’s shoving his face into your pussy, slick and saliva sliding down his face as he eats you out. throwing your leg over his shoulder for a better taste. “actually, i don’t think i can wait any longer, need to be inside you.”  his shirt's on the floor and he's smiling at you, sliding the head of his cock around your slit.

"so why me over her?" you ask, gasping when he settles inside of you and he hisses feeling your tightness around him.

“this fucking cunt is the reason, so fucking pretty and perfect.” he says, with you squeezing him tight he feels like he’s going to cum, his cock twitching and your juices sliding down his length, sinking himself lower and fucking inside of you hard. you’re swatting his chest, overwhelmed at him hitting a particularly gooey part inside of you. “c’mon baby, i know you can take it for me. you always do, come on.” pressing his hand against your stomach to feel himself inside of you, you both smile. “fucking stuffing you, aren’t i?”

he sped up his pace, dragging himself in and out of your pussy so slow that it almost hurt whenever he slipped out and it made you wrap your legs around his waist and to hold him close against your chest. he slips out, slides in and his cock strokes your inner walls at a dangerous pace, his hand on your hip. he moves to kiss your lips and  you turn your head, away from him.

“still won’t let me kiss you? that’s too far for you, hm? can’t be cheating if i haven’t kissed those pretty lips, is that what you think?” he’s laughing and it makes your chest hurt a bit at how mean he’s being. “those pretty lips suck my cock and you dirty those knees for me, but can’t kiss me… scared you’ll fall deeper?” his thrusts are harder and deeper, you’re gasping until he wraps a hand around your throat. 

he slaps your throbbing cunt, once and watches the clear waterfall of your squirt drip like a faucet with a smirk, tapping the head of his cock on your slap, fascinated at how more comes out. there’s a smile on his lips as he fucks more of it out of you, rolling his hips enough that it angled his cock to a new position, the tip nudging that spot again and fucking it ever so slightly. your moans breathy and loud, as if you didn’t care who heard which made me laugh at you. 

you’re dizzy and your body is humming, your mind so light that your thoughts are clouded with fantasies that won’t come true; him taking care of you and providing, not even just sex but more… your heart is thumping with excitement and awe, a droopy smile touches your lips. “do you really want me?” you sound far away and muffled, your tongue heavy. “or am I just another conquest for you, sa–toru..”

he sounds close, you can feel his body radiating heat against yours, a laugh on the tip of his tongue: “i never wanted anyone as badly as i want you, suguru has good taste, but i plan on making you mine.” he kisses the palm of your hand, peppering kisses up your arm until he’s at your shoulder, licking up your collarbone. his lips graze yours but he pulls away. “will you let me kiss you this once?”

“just this once.”

neither of you hear the bedroom door open, neither of you realize suguru is there, standing there and looking until he laughs. “here i was trying to be a good boyfriend and bring your favorite snacks since you've been sad all week and here’s satoru, who comes to see you before he even announces that he made it back from his trip and…” he laughs again, throwing the food on the floor. “and, you were only this sad because he was gone so why am i surprised that you’re fucking him?”

“sug–” you didn’t mean to, honestly… you regret not ending things but regardless if you did, getting with satoru after being with suguru would only raise the same questions. 

“no.” he’s leaving, moving fast trying to get out of the door. 

“please, suguru just listen.” it’s satoru who’s talking now and for a moment he does stop, turns around and he scoffs.

“he’ll break you, you know that? like he does with all the girls he’s been with.” he’s talking to you, looking over satoru’s shoulder and looking you in your eyes with a deep look of disgust and disappointment. then he’s looking at satoru, “you make me sick.” he’s huffing away, slamming the door when he leaves.

the permanent weight in your chest subsides and a rush of happiness comes for a split second, you even see satoru’s shoulders slump.

 until your roommate comes in.

no part two.

[ellievickstar]

Bloodied Bonds

A/N: This was...fun. I wanted to fit it all into one part but it was getting too long sooooo yeah.....have fun :)

Summary: When hanahaki disease festers in your lungs, how will your family help you while you hide it from your mate?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader, Rhysand x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Elain slander, dying

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

There they were again.

Azriel smiled at Elain with those eyes…those eyes. And in your soul you felt the bond writhe with pain and clench in your chest. You remained still as you immediately brought your eyes to look at the ground beneath you. This hurt. This really hurt. A part of you wanted to deny it, wanted to believe that Azriel would remain faithful to you always, that he would stay true to the mating bond, something he desperately used to want before we got together.

Now, you were not so sure.

“Sweetheart…,” Cassian said from behind me, startling. He knew what you was seeing, saw it in his own brother’s eyes. Azriel may have always been a mystery to everyone else outside the inner circle, but his eyes — his beautiful hazel eyes — showed you everything you needed to know.

“I’m fine,” You waved Cassian off, bringing down shields on the bond, shutting out his emotions, the pain from it, and shutting yourself in as a stray tear slipped down your face, “I’m really fine,” You repeated.

Truth to be told, Cassian did not know what to say to you. After you had defended Azriel since you were kids, brought him to you and Rhysand’s mother, convinced her to take him in. Cassian did not know what could come over Azriel to internally betray you in this way. However as you began coughing Cassian was alarmed when you raced towards the kitchen sink and coughed out flower petals, one after another.

“What the hell-” He started, moving to pull back your hair as he observed what you had coughed out. Blood and petals coated the sink and as you choked them out one by one, slowly calming down, you waved your hand magicking it away. And it was then it hit him.

You were dying.

“Explain. Now.” He demanded. Looking away you mumbled.

“A few weeks ago after I first realised he loved her, I started coughing up flowers and my tears, my tears turned a gold colour. I asked Madja what was wrong. It’s a soul disease called hanahaki, caused by the betrayal of the heart and unrequited love. The tears were caused by the same thing, a unique symptom that is because of my magic due to being the High Lord’s sister. She said the flowers in my lungs will continue to grow until it suffocates me and I die. The star tears are just a symptom that causes physical pain, she doesn’t know if there will be any repercussions from it,” That’s all you managed to ramble out before you doubled over and heaved again, blood dripping out of your gaping mouth as you choked and coughed on the flower petals making their way up your throat.

Cassian was at a loss of words, on one hand he wanted to be angry, angry at you for keeping this from him, for not telling him sooner so he could beat the crap out of Azriel. On the other hand he was…devastated. You had always been like a sister to him, since he first met you as a kindred and fierce spirit when you were seven years old. The three of them had been twenty and Cassian had fell to his knees before the little girl with such a bright spirit, who dared to scream in Devlon’s face when he said females belonged in the kitchen.

Cassian had sworn to protect you.

And now, against a disease he felt helpless.

“Is there a cure?” He asked.

“Madja said there were two ways, either Azriel proves that he still loves me, which we both know won’t happen when he won’t stay away from Elain for more than a few hours, or I could have the flowers cut from their roots and removed, it’s a risky procedure and even successful all my feelings towards Azriel will be removed entirely, given the mating bond, she thinks it will be stripped from my soul. I….I wanted to wait.”

“So you either have your emotions robbed from you, make Azriel realise he’s an idiot, or die?”

You nod.

“Tell Azriel,” “I can’t!” You hissed, “We both know I can’t. He loves her, Cassian, I can feel it, I can see it, everytime he looks at her it’s like she’s the one who hung the stars and moon while when he looks at me that light dies!” You bang your fist on the table.

You point to where Azriel and Elain was far out in the gardens. His shadows no where to be seen, both blissfully unaware of what was going on inside with you and Cassian.

“He acts like she’s the one who went through countless of interrogation, of torture, when she got captured by enemies. He acts like she was the one who protected Velaris with Rhysand when she went under the mountain to be taken advantage of, when Amarantha held me down and tried to force answers out of me,” You let out another pained cry as you slid to the ground, “I have done everything for him, been through hell and back with him. And even after everything he still wants her, still wants to be with her, still doesn’t want me.”

Cassian brought you closer to him as he sat next to you and let you cry on his shoulder.

You cried and cried, and cried until there was nothing left. Cried until you couldn’t cry.

And when you finally fell asleep from exhaustion, Cassian glanced out the house to the gardens where his brother trailed Elain, and Cassian made a decision.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

“You told my brother!?” You shrieked. Rhysand and Cassian was now sitting around you in Rhys’s study.

“You told Cassian before me?” Rhysand shot back. You rolled your eyes as you scoffed, “Oh please I didn’t tell him anything I was throwing up flowers in front of him, not much I could do except explain.”

Shaking his head, Rhys sighed as he glanced at Cassian and they both shared a look. Narrowing your eyes, the tendrils in your mind crept towards your brother and the general, and surprise coated your face when you realised they had shut you out.

“Let me remind you what I do is my choice.”

“Not when your life is at stake,” Rhysand retorted.

So he had decided something against your will already. Of course, your brother who wanted to help everyone, your brother who thought you were his responsibility, his burden to bear. Your brother who claimed to value your opinion oh so much but then never, not once, ever considered how you feel in anything that had to do with you.

“He doesn’t care. I haven’t even been actively hiding it from him, it’s just that he’s never around to notice,” You said bitterly, “Did you know he missed my birthday? You all did. Because usually he’s the one going around reminding everyone the week before. Did you know our anniversary passed and I had waited for him all day just to realise he was with her?” Stray tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to hold them back.

Crying meant that you were weak.

And you hated being weak.

That was when Cassian spoke, “Have Madja remove the flowers.”

Rhysand shot a look at him.

“She won’t survive otherwise. Even as we discuss this now she is running out of time, Rhys. Azriel’s infatuation with Elain is unforgivable and at least this way we can save her. Their relationship might never be the same but if Azriel is truly in love with Elain as she feels, then it is possible this way everyone wins.”

“I don’t want the male who almost killed my sister in my court,” Rhys bit out.

“Convincing Azriel that what he is doing is wrong will take too long. Maybe we should have interfered when it first started but now it’s too late. We can still save her, really save her. Not their relationship but at least she’ll live,” “And live with a bond that will eventually diminish into nothing?” “Maybe it’s better that way.”

Glancing between Cassian and your brother, your own inner turmoil seemed to be playing out in front of you as they discussed everything that you had not been able to come to terms with yourself. A part of you could still hardly believe that Azriel would do something like this, hurt you in this way when he himself swore that he would be loyal for eternity.

Mates.

A sacred connection that determined your equal, your partner in everything.

But your parents were mates too…and that did not work out well. So maybe it was time for you to let your mate go.

However, as you opened your mouth to agree with Cassian, to agree that maybe the best option would be to remove the flowers directly, the consequences of your feelings being stolen be damned, a cough climbed up your throat.

And as you coughed out bloody petals onto Rhysand’s office floor….everything went dark.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

It had all happened quickly, too quickly for Rhysand’s liking.

One moment he was debating with Cassian how they would save his sister’s life, the next moment as she was about to say something and he watched in horror as blood came out instead of words. Her eyes drooped and he raced to catch her from hitting her head on the hard wooden floors, and as his ears started ringing, holding his sister’s lifeless body in his arms, as he watched golden tears stream out of her eyes, he noticed there was someone screaming.

And it was not until his throat hurt, until his own throat burned, that he realised he was the one screaming, crying out loud for his sister who’s body seemed as lifeless as the one he had lost all those years ago.

“Get Madja!” He roared at Cassian, “Get her NOW!”

Less that a minute went by when Morrigan and Feyre came into the room, Feyre let out a horrified gasp as Mor took in the scene, freezing as she realised her cousin, her best friend, her only companion during the times after Eris and Keir, was in Rhysand’s arms, still and lifeless even as blood trickled out of her mouth and gold spilled form her closed eyelids.

Madja came shortly after, and Y/N’s body was moved to a different room for Madja to work, Cassian explaining what happened and the illness in Y/N’s body that was causing this. Morrigan took a few steps back, before she crashed into the wall of the hallway and let out her own sob.

And for the first time after Rhysand and Y/N had returned from the mountain, Morrigan wept.

Two days passed, and Y/N did not wake.

Madja estimated that they would have to make a decision within the week whether they would tell Azriel, or cut the flowers out.

And in those two days Azriel did not come.

It was only after Rhysand had asked him to meet, told him about Y/N did Azriel finally realised he had not seen his mate in days. That he had not even spent more than fifteen minutes with her in the past few months.

It was only after Rhysand said that Y/N was dying, did Azriel reach down the now cold and empty bond, and realise he had shut her out. And when he let his walls down, experienced the agony, the pain, the grief she felt even in her unconscious state, did Azriel regret.

“Why didn’t she tell me…” Azriel whispered.

“Because she heard you when I told you to stay away from Elain. I looked into her mind and I realised the day her disease started she went to find you, and you had been in my office, yelling at me that the cauldron had made a mistake, that you wanted Elain,” Rhysand laughed coldly. Even Rhys in all his beauty, his eyes were now red from sobbing, his voice hoarse from how he had cried, and cried.

“Good job, Azriel,” Cassian said from the doorway, “You got what you wanted. Your bond will no longer exist once she awakes…that’s if she survives even.”

“No….I don’t,” Azriel muttered, “Rhysand…what conversation?” Rhysand furrowed his eyebrows, “Are you really playing this game with me now? My sister is DYING! AND YOU WANT TO PRETEND LIKE YOU FORGOT WHAT YOU SAID!?”

Azriel’s eyes looked back and forth between his brother’s….when did he…when did he even get here?

Where was his mate?

Why did it feel like something just cleared from his head?

That was when Elain stepped in, holding a mug and what looked to be tea.

“Azriel, i heard your distress, drink this it will make you feel better,” She said softly, but as Rhysand’s eyes narrowed on the mug, it was Cassian who snatched it out of her hands, brought it to his eyes and shattered it on the already ruined hard wood floors.

“That was not just tea.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

And as Cassian lifted his head he declared, “As General of the Night court, I arrest you for illegal possession and use of aphrodisiacs. You are charged with attempted murder of the Princess of the Night Court. You are charged with manipulation and forced betrayal of the court’s spymaster,” And with a menacing grin Cassian said, “And you are charged because you bloody annoy me and you…what you have done today makes me want to rip you to shreds.”

A beat passed.

“That is….” Cassian continued as he glanced at Azriel, with each blink clarity seemed to return to the shadowsinger as he processed everything, as he remembered everything Elain made him do, as he remembered how he had hurt his mate, “That is if Azriel decides he doesn’t want to kill you first.”

Elain let out a scoff, looking down at the spilled tea and broken pieces of ceramic in disgust, “Azriel loves me. Azriel should love me not that disgusting slut of a female, she might be a princess but she is-,” “Mine.” Azriel interrupted.

“She was mine before you interfered. She was mine before you made me break her.” Azriel turned, no doubt to go find Y/N.

“Start counting your days, Elain, because now they are numbered.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Azriel taglist: @kemillyfreitas @going-through-shit @chessebookgirl

Part 2 here!!

Love, Ellie.

[fandomhopped]

first love/late spring

pairing: fwb!logan howlett x fem!reader; 2nd person pov

summary: logan and reader have been sleeping together for a while with an unspoken rule to keep it casual, but that goes to hell when logan catches feelings. however, reader is an independent boss bitch and hates men<3

warnings: heavy swearing, hella mentions of sexual situations, substance abuse, brief sexual content(nothing serious fr), creepy guy in a bar, blood, bar fight, mentions of sex trafficking and resulting trauma, daddy issues, fluff, angst asf, lowkey scott slander (i dont mean it i love him)

word count: 9.1k

a/n: reader has light manipulation abilities but theyre not mentioned that often lol, also reader takes a lotta shots at jean just cuz she pisses me off. side note: idk the true meaning of the song i used as the title, there are many different interpretations. i found the song after i had alr written the story and the lyrics resonated pls don’t jump down my throat if it doesn’t align <3

there’s not a millimeter of space between you and logan as he holds you against his body. you’re sleeping soundly, and he watches you breathe all night, not bothering to even think about sleep for himself. the sun came up three hours ago, he felt it on his back.

when you drink, you always wake up early the next morning. you two drank a lot together last night. and like every time you drink with logan, you ended up in his bed.

he tries to block the sun from your face with his body so it won’t wake you up. he knows when you finally do, this little illusion that you're his will all be over. everything you said last night won’t matter. you’ll go back to your room. he’ll stay in bed. you’ll both go back to acting like it never happened.

you always leave him swiftly. you always go downstairs and drink coffee from the same mug and act like nothing happened. without a stutter, it’s a routine.

since he moved into the mansion, he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that the female teachers were attractive. and, of course, he was first drawn to jean. he won’t deny that he still harbored some feelings for her when you came to his room all those months ago, but she made it abundantly clear that she loves scott.

then one night, you slipped a bottle of whiskey into the mansion and invited him to join you in drinking it. you said some things that made him sit closer to you. that was just the beginning. he woke up the next morning to an empty bed but distinctly remembers you falling asleep next to him, so he assumed you woke up and left.

logan is a pro at acting like some things never happen, but he wasn’t expecting you to act the same. he dismissed it as a one-off, drunken night.

then it happened again… and again and again, and you continued to act like it never happened.

which, he was fine with. this wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a with-benefits situation, but there’s something different about you. you’re badass. you’re beautiful. he really respects you. you fit him perfectly.

and you’re mean. you don’t smile all that much, really only when you’re drinking is what logan soon found out. you’re not always outright mean to people, it’s usually deserved. you don’t take anybody’s shit. you’ll let people know when they’re in the wrong or they’re pissing you off. you’re sarcastic and rudely witty.

that was just another thing that attracted him to you. but, God, were you the meanest in the mornings, especially when you’re hungover.

unfortunately for logan, he has developed a small, tiny, itty bitty, barely-there crush on you. just catching a scent of your perfume has him rolling his eyes in the back of his head and white-knuckling whatever is directly in front of him.

the thoughts of you under him, on top of him, in front of him, on your knees for him plague his mind all. day. long. then last night, you had him rock solid from just a few drunken words.

“you’ve ruined all men for me,” you said as he kissed down your neck.

“hmm?” he hummed as his hands roamed your body under your shirt.

“nobody could ever fuck me like you do,” you told him, pulling at his hair roughly. he lets out a deep groan at the feeling.

he’s never picked up his pace of getting someone’s clothes off so quickly. he ripped your favorite pair of pj shorts in the process, mumbling that he’ll buy you a new pair.

with him deeply inside you, one hand wrapped around your throat and the other sending you over the edge with his mouth leaving marks all over your chest, you say breathily, “fuck, you’re perfect for me.”

the moment hasn’t left his mind since.

“i’m hot,” you mutter, pushing the sheets from your legs. “you’re hot.”

“oh, yeah?” he whispers in your ear, his lips turned up.

“i’m about to have a heat stroke,” you return, squirming around and shoving his arms from around you.

he lets go of you and gives you some space, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. a deep sigh leaves him.

“i’m gonna throw up,” you tell him, groaning and curling up into the fetal position.

“are you serious? don’t puke in my bed,” he says, leaning up to look at you.

you roll your eyes. “no, i’m not serious,” you snap at him.

“‘you wanna take a shower?” he asks, his lip curling up at the thought of you ruining his sheets (and not in the way he usually prefers).

“i feel like shit right now, logan. i don’t want to fuck you in the shower,” you tell him roughly, sitting up and glaring over at him.

he watches you stand up out of his bed and put yout shirt on. “‘s not what i meant,” he grumbles, looking away from her. he throws the sheets off his body and grabs his jeans from the night before.

he runs his hands down his face and then looks up only to see the door closing behind you as you leave him. again.

“whew, late night?” ororo asks you as soon as you walk into the kitchen, changed into some presentable clothes rather than the ripped shorts and oversized tshirt you walked back to your room in.

you ignore the woman as you open the cabinet to grab your mug. the same one you use every morning.

but it’s not there.

“where’s my mug?” you ask, glancing around the kitchen to see it’s not just ororo but also jean and scott there.

“is this yours?” scott asks, holding up the mug in his hand.

your gaze darkens. “yes,” she grits out, tightening her jaw.

“that’s my bad. i didn’t know this was yours,” he says, standing up and walking over to the sink. “i’ll wash it and you can use it.”

you feel your skin crawl as he turns on the hot water. “stop,” you say lowly, walking to him and turning off the water. “you can’t—.” you stop yourself as you breathe heavily. you rip the cup from his hands.

“hey, it’s just a mug,” ororo says to you, “what’s up?”

“it’s not—,” you cut yourself off again and take a deep breath, shaking your head. you turn on the cold water from the sink and carefully wash the mug.

“seriously, what’s going on with you?” jean asks as scott rejoins her side.

you roll your neck. “i’ve been here for years, and you don’t know which one is my mug?” you ask scott, not looking anywhere but your mug until you’re sure it’s clean.

“i never noticed before, ‘sorry,” he says then turns to jean with a shrug.

the light beaming in through the window shines a little brighter as you continue to shake your head, muttering things under your breath that the others can’t make out.

“it really is just a mug,” ororo says carefully, looking over your figure in concern.

“except it’s not,” you retort, attentively drying off the ceramic with a towel. you then pour some coffee into the mug and hold it close to your chest, turning back to the other mutants.

“what—,” jean begins but logan walks into the kitchen just as she starts and she stops herself.

her surveys everyone’s demeanor then looks at you. “what’s wrong with you?” he asks, walking to the cabinet and grabbing whichever cup is closest to his hand when he reaches in. he pours himself some coffee and turns back to them expectantly.

“scott was using my mug,” you tell him, leaning against the counter.

“why?” he asks scott, eyeing the man.

“to drink coffee. why does it matter?” he asks in return, scoffing.

“it’s hers,” logan returns, his stare hardens and he looks at scott like he’s an idiot.

ororo laughs humorlessly. “what does that mean? it’s just a mug,” she asks, looking between you.

you glare at her. “it was my father’s and now it’s mine.”

“the same father that sold you?” jean asks, her face contorting. you shift your weight uncomfortably. “why would you want that?”

“why don’t you just back the fuck off, bitch?” you snap at her, stepping toward her.

“woah, girl, calm down,” ororo intervenes, holding her hand toward you like you’re a wild animal. you scoff. “we get it. it’s special to you. that’s all you had to say.”

you roll your eyes at them. you leave the group and return to your room. logan watches you go then turns back to the others with his eyebrows raised. “did you say sold her?” he asks jean.

“when he found out she was a mutant—,” she begins.

“jean,” ororo interrupts her, shaking her head at the girl.

jean continues, “—her father sold her into a mutant sex trafficking ring,” she reveals, looking only at logan, “that’s where we found her and then brought her here.”

his face contorts, and he looks down into his coffee. “shit,” he comments.

“she doesn’t talk about it to anybody, and, out of respect, we don’t talk about it either,” ororo says pointedly at the telepath.

logan is seething all day over the new information. he hates to think you went through that for God knows how long.

after the incident, logan doesn’t see you for a while. he doesn’t know how. you’re a teacher and you live down the hall from him, yet he still doesn’t even catch a whiff of your perfume.

“logan, meet me in my office,” he hears charles’ voice in his head. he obeys and within a minute, he’s standing before the professor. “you should leave her alone for a bit.”

her brow furrows. “come again?”

charles says your name and logan clenches his jaw. “she’s destructive right now. you should let her be.”

“is she okay?” the wolverine asks, concern growing in his stomach, and it makes him feel sick.

“she’ll be just fine. this happens from time to time,” he tells him, pressing his lips into a thin line. “you know of her circumstances.”

“her circumstances?” logan growls, scowling down at the old man, “you knew what she went through and didn’t think to tell me? you know what’s going on between us and didn’t think maybe i needed to know that? what if she had a breakdown when we were together? i wouldn’t have known what was happening.”

charles’ lips turn down into a small frown. “that’s not my information to tell.”

logan storms off in a huff, muttering under his breath.

that friday, he’s smoking a cigar in his bed, looking out the window at the moon, which is shining rather bright tonight. he hears a few quiet knocks on his door. he opens the door, expecting it to be a student.

“hey,” you say, waving a bottle of jack in his face before pushing past him into the room. “'hope you don’t mind, i got started without you.”

“you always do,” he comments, closing the door, putting out the cigar, and following you to sit on his bed. “listen —.”

“i think i like that vodka more than this. this one makes my mouth taste weird,” you tell him, taking another sip out of the bottle before handing it to him.

he holds it and sighs. “look, we should—.”

“—take our clothes off?” you finish his sentence, smiling darkly at him. “i mean, it’s a little early, but i agree.”

“that’s not what i—.”

“—was going to say?” you guess his words, cutting him off again. “look at us finishing each other’s…” you trail off, looking at him expectantly. he sends you a deadpanned glance. “this is the part where you say ‘sentences.’ i think i’m better at this game than you are.”

he takes a long sip from the bottle before he looks at you. “can you be serious for a second?” he asks.

you scoff and take the bottle from his hands. “i don’t come to you like this to be serious, logan,” you say, putting the whiskey to your lips again.

“why do you come to me at all?” he asks quietly and gruffly.

you take another sip and place the bottle on the floor, scooting closer to him. “because you’re hot,” you say in a sultry voice, putting a hand on his thigh and slowly dragging it up, “and you call me ‘princess’ and ‘darling’,” you continue, reaching for his belt buckle. he doesn’t do anything to stop you, “and your hands.” you push the buckle out the way and unbutton his pants, dragging down the zipper slowly. “and your tongue.” you reach your hand into his pants. “and this.”

he breathes heavily, completely lost in the euphoria that is you.

he forces himself to snap out of him and shakes his head. he pushes your hand away and stands up, taking a few steps away.

“what’s wrong?” you ask him, grabbing the bottle and standing also. “do you need some more?” you ask, holding the drink out for him, confusion written all over your face.

he holds his hands out in front of him as if to deny the offer. “it’s…,” he trails off, pushing a deep breath through his nose.

your shoulders drop along your face. you tilt your head in disbelief. “oh, my fuck. they told you,” you conclude. you turn around and sit back down on the bed. he stays silent, just looking at you. “okay, so what now? you don’t want me anymore ‘cause i’m used up?” you ask, slurring your words a little.

“no,” he denies without hesitation.

your sober personality is back even though you’re still drinking the whiskey like you’ve been in the dry desert for weeks without water.

“then what is it, logan? you don’t wanna do this ‘cause my hair isn’t blood red?” you ask next, raising your brow and looking at him expectantly.

his face contorts. “what’re you talking about?” he asks gruffly.

you chuckle at him. “i’m not a fucking idiot, old man. i know you want jean so bad, but she doesn’t want you so i'm second choice” you say, then you shrug with one shoulder. “i’d’a gone with ororo, to be honest. have you seen her? i’d show her a good time,” you add.

“that’s not what this is,” he tells you, taking a step forward but not within arm's length of you.

“then what is it? just fucking tell me,” you say loudly, the room lights up as the moon shines brighter. “d’you want me to tell you ‘bout how i was a good, little daddy’s girl until i almost blinded my brother when i first got my powers? how about how my dad gave me away like he didn’t love me? d’you want me to cry in your arms about how i was passed around by mean men like a blunt when i was 14? why do you think i can only let you fuck me when i’m drunk?” you ask him sarcastically, but your voice breaks on your last words. you let out an unsteady breath. logan watches you cautiously, unsure of what to do. “is that what you want, logan?! you wanna be the big, strong man here?!” you ask him, crying now as you yell at the man in front of you.

your body slumps forward as you let the tears drop from your eyes, and you grip the bottle in your hands like a lifeline. you feel the bed dip beside you and the bottle pulled from your hands. you move your hands to your face, trying to pull yourself together.

you feel his big arms envelope you and pull you into his chest. that’s when the waterworks really break out.

logan’s never been to best with tears. he hasn’t had to deal with them too much, but his first instinct was to hold you as close as you would let him. he hates to see you like this. in all honesty, he wants to hunt down every man that ever put a finger on you and rip them to shreds. but, for now, he’ll hold you. as long as you would let him.

you wake up with araging headache. you’re hot, burning up, actually. you kick the blankets from your legs and turn over in the arms of the incredibly attractive man in bed next to you. you look at his sleeping face and sigh.

this is the part where you leave, but this time, you just snuggle into his chest and fall back asleep.

logan wakes up later than he usually does after nights like the last one. it’s normally the sound of the door closing wakes him up. but, this time, he sees your cute face smushed against his pec. he doesn’t fight the smile on his face.

you stir quickly after he wakes up. you rub your eyes and look around the room, then to logan. “i’m gonna puke,” you tell him, the remnants of the smile fall from his face. you pull away from him as your face blanches. “seriously,” you add and sit up quickly.

he reaches for the trash can beside his bed and holds it in front of you just in time. he holds your hair back with a look of absolute disgust while you clutch the bin close to your face and your body jerks with each gag.

once you're done, you wipe your mouth with the bottom of your shirt. you groan loudly and stand up from the bed. “i’m gonna take this with me,” you tell him, holding the can in your arms and moving toward the door.

“keep it,” he remarks, his lip curled up.

monday morning rolls around quicker than anybody wants. you walk into the kitchen and grab your mug, pouring coffee and looking around at others in the kitchen.

they’re talking amongst themselves, mentions of grading papers and some stupid answer a kid put as their answer on an assignment.

you just listen and sip your coffee peacefully. that is, until logan walks in. you move from in front of the coffee pot for him to get some. he nods in thanks as he joins your side.

“this coffee is awful,” you comment, pouring it out in the sink next to you. he chuckles at your comment but doesn’t say anything. “scott, did you make the coffee this morning?” you ask him. the three look over to you, almost as if they didn’t see you come in.

“yeah,” he answers.

“don’t do it again,” you tell him, filling the mug with water and leaving the kitchen.

as you watch a group of students take a test, you see logan walk back in his jacket he usually only wears when leaving campus.

“hey,” you call out. all the students look up at you. “keep taking your tests. i’m going to the hallway for a second,” you tell them and move into the hallway. “logan,” you call and he turns around, walking back toward you. “where are you going?”

“to pick up some more cigars,” he answers, gesturing over his shoulder.

“will you pick me up a pack of cigarettes?” you ask him, reaching into your pocket for some money.

his brow furrows. “you smoke?” he asks.

“sometimes, yeah,” you reply, handing him $20.

he shakes his head. “i’ll cover it,” he answers.

“thanks,” you reply, placing a hand on his forearm before returning to your classroom.

he looks down to his arm and blinks. that’s new.

“brad, i know you’re not talking during a test. are you begging for a failing grade?” he hears you say before he turns back toward the front door of the mansion.

logan returns a while later, after the school day is over and the students are training. he finds you in your classroom, grading papers.

“hey,” he greets. you look up at him.

“hey,” you return, eyes dancing all over his body.

“these are for you,” he says, holding out the page of cigarettes.

“right, thanks,” you say and reach for them, your fingers brushing his as you grab them.

“‘you need any help?” he asks, looking at the papers before you.

“do you know anything about math?” you ask him, pursing your lips.

“uh, no,” he answers, shaking his head. “don’t you have an answer key or something?”

“i have to check their work to make sure they didn’t just get the answer from the person beside them,” you reply, looking back down to the papers. “some of these kids are dumbasses.”

he chuckles. “no kid wants to do math,” he comments.

“how would you know? weren’t you born before there were schools?” you ask him without looking up. there’s a beat of silence before you eventually glance up at him. “was that insensitive?” you ask instead.

he just shrugs. “i’m not that old,” he says, sitting in the desk in front of yours.

“sure,” you respond and go back to grading.

the two of you sit in without a word as you grade, and he watches you in complete admiration. after a while, he stands up and walks toward the door.

“you’re leaving?” you question.

“‘didn’t think you wanted your room smelling like cigars,” he replies.

“i’ll join you,” you say, grabbing the pack he bought you and putting the tests in a drawer. he doesn’t object and you two walk outside, to a bench in the gardens, away from the students.

the two of you sit in silence as you inhale smoke and slowly release it from your lungs.

“i’ve never seen you smoke before,” he comments after a while.

“i only smoke when i give up drinking, i only drink when i give up smoking,” you answer, tossing the burnt cigarette onto the ground and stepping on it, then picking another one from the pack.

you pick up your lighter and flick it a few times but it won’t light. you put your head and lighter inside your shirt to block the wind, trying again and failing again.

“motherfucker,” you mutter as you try to cover the lighter.

“here,” he offers his lighter with the fire shining brightly above it. with the cigarette between your lips, lean toward the lighter, looking up into his eyes as you do. he meets your eyes and clears his throat, closing the flame into the top of the lighter and shifting his eyes to the cigar between his fingers. you let a small smile rest on your face afterward.

“so you’re not drinking anymore?” he asks you.

“figured i should go on a sobriety cleanse for a bit,” you reply, “‘t’s probably for the best.”

“probably,” he adds and silence takes over again.

he glances over at her for a second and he sees you bite at the skin of your bottom lip the way you always do when you’re thinking, contemplating. he’s tempted to ask what’s on your mind but before he can break the silence, you let out a hard sigh.

“i don’t apologize for things,” you begin and pause, biting at your lip again.

“okay…?”

“i don’t apologize for my actions or words because i stand by every decision i make,” you continue and pause again. he’s looking at you and you’re looking directly ahead of you. “i’m not good at apologizing,” you sigh again, “but i’m…sorry for some of the things i said the other night. there’s no excuse. i apologize. take that how you will.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he replies.

you huff. “so i just said all that for nothing? you could at least accept the damn apology,” she snaps at him then rubs the crease between her eyebrows out.

“you called me an old man. i don’t know if i want to accept your apology,” he teases with a crooked smile. you send him a look that turns into a hint of a smile before turning your head away.

“i need to get back to grading those tests. i’ll see you later, logan.” you stomp out another cigarette and stand up from the bench.

“see ya, sweetheart,” he says lowly but you still hear it.

as you look over tests, ororo enters your classroom. “ooh, what’s got you all smiley?” she asks as she strolls in.

the previous smile you didn’t even realize you were wearing falls when you look up at the mutant. “huh?”

“don’t try to deny it. i saw that smile,” she says teasingly. you just roll your eyes lightheartedly. ororo’s brow furrows as she sniffs the air. “are you smoking again?”

“yeah, i quit drinking,” you answer, “what’s up?”

“i was coming in here to ask you if you wanted to go out with the rest of us friday night. we’re planning on going that bar we always go to,” she says, “but if you’re not drinking, i don’t wanna make you go.”

“yeah, no. that’s okay,” you decline the offer.

“alright, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to join us. sober or not,” she adds before leaving out.

the week drags on painfully slow. it’s a week of tests and starting new units in all your classes and you really just want to bang your head against a wall and tell the kids class is canceled.

by the end of it, you actually do want to join your colleagues in going out to that bar in town that they love so much. you offer to be the designated driver, not trusting anyone but yourself to drive you anywhere.

“are you going with us to the bar?” you ask logan as he rummages around the cabinets for something to eat.

“no,” he answers, opening the fridge, “are you?”

“yeah, i’m driving,” you tell him. there’s a beat of silence before you add, “you should come.”

he turns toward you at your words with a crooked smile. “oh yeah?” he questions, “why? ‘you want me there?”

you scoff with no heat behind it. “i was just trying to be nice,” you say.

“you? nice?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“what? you don’t think i’m nice?” you ask him defensively, crossing your arms.

“no,” he replies, not skipping a beat.

“i’m very nice,” you counter.

“no, you’re not,” he denies again, also crossing his arms.

in his white beater, crossing his arms makes his arms flex and you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the veins of his biceps.

“you have nice hair. there, nice,” you compliment, then add right after, “you’re not balding or anything, which is quite common for men your age.”

“you’re not good at this,” he tells you, looking at your plate to see what you're eating.

“do you want some?” you ask him. you hold your plate across the counter for him to pick off of. he grabs one of your chips and eats it.

“thanks,” he mutters.

“look at me being nice,” you comment and he chuckles deeply.

“shut up,” he returns playfully.

the five of you go to the bar that night, logan joining at your request. he sits at the bar, ordering drink after drink and scanning the bar every so often to make sure you’re alright.

you spend most of your time at ororo’s side. before long, you’re accompanied by a couple of men. you and ororo share side-eyes as they continue to tell stupid jokes. ororo excuses the both of you to go to the bathroom only to move next to logan at the bar.

“having fun?” he asks sarcastically, looking at you then glancing to ororo.

“they could’ve at least been funny, but they weren’t. there terribly unfunny,” you tell him, sitting next to him on a barstool and ororo laughs.

“yeah, that was awful,” she comments and sips her drink. “oh, i see jean and scott. i’ll be back later.” she leaves the two of you. you order a club soda and turn to logan, who is hunched over his drink.

“you have really bad posture,” you tell him as the bartender hands you your drink. he just shrugs and refills his glass with the bottle the bartender left in front of him. you dig your finger into his spine and he straightens up, looking at you wildly.

“why?” is all he asks.

“it’ll help you look more presentable. you’re not looking for anybody tonight?” you ask and glance around the bar for women.

“no, i’m not,” he answers and slumps back down. you dig your finger into his back again and he looks down at you. “stop,” he says seriously.

“oh, what’re you gonna do? stab me?” she asks him challengingly. he looks back down to his drink and shakes his head dismissively. “oh, come on. you’re good-looking, you’re good in bed, you’ve got this hot, animalistic thing going on. why not look for somebody?”

“‘cause i don’t want anybody,” he answers. “did you say i’m good in bed?”

“well, yeah,” you confirm with a one-shouldered shrug.

he stares at you for a beat. this is the first time you’ve ever mentioned it before. you don’t talk about the things you two have done. ever.

“i would know,” you add after he stays quiet.

“you would know what?” ororo asks as she rejoins you, along with scott and jean. they all stand directly behind the man, looking at you expectantly. logan’s waiting for you to make up a lie.

“that logan’s good in bed,” you answer, gesturing to the man next to you. his eyebrows raise and he looks directly in front of him, a smirk playing on his lips as he drinks down all of what’s left in his glass and refills it again. you surprise him more and more every day.

“he’s what?” ororo questions, shock written all over her.

you roll your eyes. “you don’t have to do the clueless bit. jean reads minds and i know she’s told you two,” you state, pointing between ororo and scott.

“what? i haven’t—i didn’t—,” jean stutters over her words, laughing through them.

“liar,” you clock it in a high-pitched tone, sipping your drink. “i’ve heard you talk about it before. i’m just surprised you haven’t mentioned it yet.”

the three of them exchange glances. “okay, yeah, we knew. we thought you would deny it anyway so we didn’t bring it up,” ororo admits.

logan stays silent, drinking like he’s been thirsting for days. why are you doing this? “so…you two are…,” scott trails off. you shrug as your answer. “hmm.”

“hey, sweetheart, you never came back,” the guy from early comes up behind you and wraps an around your shoulders. you tense up at the feeling.

you remove his hand from you. “don’t touch me, and don’t call me sweetheart,” you tell him. he laughs and looks at your colleagues.

“why not? looks like everybody’s got a matchup here but you. let me help you fix that,” he says and runs the knuckles of his finger across your collarbone. he points at scott and jean, then logan and ororo. “i can make you feel good,” he whispers in your ear.

“seriously, don’t touch me,” you tell him firmly, pushing his hand off your shoulder and shifting your seat away from him.

logan doesn’t watch the encounter but he’s squeezing the glass in his hand so hard it’s about to shatter. he feels the red-hot rage crawl up his neck as he does every time he encounters some asshole in a bar.

“don’t be like that, sweetheart,” the man continues and reaches for the strap over your shoulder. chills cover your arms and legs and a shiver runs down your spine. you grab his hand roughly and shove it away from you.

“touch me again and i’m gonna break your fucking nose,” you tell him.

“ooh, i got a feisty one,” he comments to the rest of your group, laughing. “i like that.”

scott takes a step forward. “you need to lay off, man,” he tells him, trying to keep this civil and contained.

the man only laughs harder. “what are you gonna do, glasses?” he asks him and slings his arm over your shoulders. “come on, baby, let’s get out of here. i got a real nice spot for you in my bed.”

“she already told you not to touch her, bub,” logan chimes in, still looking straight ahead and not sparing the boy a glance. there’s a tightness in his shoulders as he uses all his self control to stay in his seat.

“woah, tell your bodyguards to stand down,” he says to you but your only response is to rear back and deck him directly in the nose.

he stumbles back, holding his nose as blood drips into his hand. “you dumb bitch—,” he lunges toward you but logan whips around and grabs him by the front of his shirt, shoving him up against a wall.

“what’d you say?” the mutant asks him lowly, a growl deep in his throat.

“hey, take it outside!” the bartender yells at the man.

“why don’t we do that? you wanna take it outside?” logan asks the scared man in his grasp, shoving him harder into the wall.

“logan, let’s go,” ororo tells him as she walks with you toward the door. he doesn’t move. “logan!”

he drops his hold on the man and turns his back to him. he doesn’t even take a step before the dumbass says, “yeah, listen to your bitch.”

logan turns back around and absolutely socks him in the jaw. the man falls to the ground. logan walks after his friends, rolling his shoulders.

when logan gets out to the car, he sees you in the driver's seat, holding your hand closely to his body. he sits in the passenger seat and looks at you.

“are you okay?” he asks you carefully.

“did you kill him?” you ask him flatly without meeting his gaze, and he shakes his head. “you should’ve,” you say coldly and start the engine, driving out of the parking lot and back to the mansion as quickly as possible.

when you arrive, logan accompanies you to the lab for jean to look at your hand. he wasn’t going to say anything but watching you cradle your hand makes him change his mind. “are you alright?” he asks you.

“fine,” you reply sharply, clenching your jaw tightly. he watches you bite at your lip.

“speak your mind,” he tells you, just outside the hidden elevator. you just shake your head at him. “if you don’t, you’ll take it out on jean.”

“why can’t i just do that?” you ask lowly.

“‘cause she doesn’t deserve it,” he reasons.

you take a deep, frustrated breath. “what happened tonight was stupid,” you say, “dumb fucking men thinking they can get whatever they want whenever they want. now my hand might be broken because i couldn’t—,” you cut yourself off and take another deep breath to steady yourself. “i’m done talking about this,” you say and open the door to the hidden elevator.

he blocks your path. “no, you’re not,” he says and waits for you to continue. that’s when the dam really breaks and you last out at him.

“it’s stupid. all of this is fucking stupid. i could’ve handled myself back there. i didn’t need you to step up and be my big, strong savior,” you tell him angrily, voice rising.

“i know,” he returns.

you’re shouting now, “then why couldn’t you just let me do it? i could’ve stopped him. i’m stronger now. i know how to fight now. i don’t need anybody to save me. i can save myself. i don’t need you. i don’t need any of you.” your voice cracks as the anger starts to shift into the feelings you hate to feel. “i’m not gonna let anyone take advantage of me ever again. and i’ll break every bone in my body before i let some drunk narcissistic man ever put his hands on me again,” you say your peace and breathe heavily and unsteadily.

there’s a long pause, the weight of your words hanging between you. logan doesn’t interrupt, giving you the floor to get it all out.

“i know,” he repeats himself deeply, “but you shouldn't have to.”

you feel that familiar ache in the back of your throat as tears threaten to spill out. you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, pushing all the emotions back down. “my hand really hurts,” you tell him quietly, not trusting your voice. he puts his hand gently on your back and leads you into the elevator then into the lab.

by the time you’re in front of jean, you’ve pulled yourself together and let her examine your hand. you did break your hand. she wraps it up for you and sends you to your room with some pain meds.

logan doesn’t leave your side until you’re at your bedroom door. “i don’t want you to come inside,” you tell him quietly. he stays silent. “it’s just that you’ve never seen my room before and this is mostly where i use my abilities and it’s messy right now and—.”

“‘t’s fine,” he interrupts your rambling. “i don’t have to come inside.”

“right,” you mumble, hand gripping the doorknob. “good night.”

“‘night.” he doesn’t make his way to his room until you slip into yours, locking the door behind you.

the next mid-morning, logan walks into the kitchen to see jean scolding you like a child. he’s surprised you’re just sitting there and taking it without a word.

“i’m serious,” jean says, finishing her tongue lashing.

“i know,” you mumble before jean offers logan a soft ‘good morning’ as she leaves.

“what was that about?” he asks you, moving over to the table where you sit with paper spread in front of you.

“i need to grade these papers but my hand is broken and dr grey told me it would only cause more damage,” you explain, sighing heavily and holding the pen in your healthy hand.

“let me help,” he says, snatching the pen from your fingers and the paper from in front of you. the numbers on the sheet are all greek to him. he doesn’t know what the hell he’s looking at.

“you can’t,” you tell him, pulling the paper from his hands. “you don’t know how to do it.”

“then tell me,” he offers, moving his chair next to yours. “tell me what’s wrong and i’ll write it down.”

you shake your head a few times before giving in. “fine,” you cave and look over the student’s work. you place the page in front of the man and point a certain part of a problem. “okay, so he should’ve foil’d here but he didn’t so the rest of the work is wrong. put a line through it and write ‘foil’,” you instruct him and he follows your orders.

“like that?” he asks, showing you. you nod in approval.

“your handwriting actually isn’t that bad. i was expecting a lot worse,” you comment, leaning into him as you look over the next problem. “that one’s right, so put a check,” you tell him and he follows.

the process continues on. every time there’s a gap of silence as you examine the math that he would never even try to understand, he watches you in complete admiration. there are practically hearts in his eyes while the gears turn in your brain.

as the next few days progress, you and logan spend more time together than you ever have. whether he’s in your classroom during your free period or you watch whatever movie’s on tv together on the couch, if someone’s looking for logan, you’re right beside him and vice versa.

of course, the others have taken notice of it. it’s new and after you confirmed you had been sleeping together, they draw their own conclusions about the two of you.

“‘y’know what i would like to see?” you prompt logan as you watch a show with a lumberjack in it.

“what’s that, darlin’?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“you chop wood,” you tell him, looking up at him from your spot under his arm.

“chop wood?” he questions.

“yeah, like, axe, wood, outside, shirtless, sweaty, and muscly, chopping wood,” you tell him, “lumberjack style.”

“lumberj—.”

“with the cigar,” you add excitedly, cutting him off. “maybe add in a little dehydration too.”

“i think you’re drooling a little bit,” he tells you, pointing at your mouth as a lazy smile rests on his face.

“probably, that’s hot,” you tell him, looking back at the screen.

as the credits roll, logan looks down to see you sound asleep with your head resting on his chest. he carefully picks you up in his arms and carries you to your room.

he opens the door and pauses his movements, eyes dancing across your room. there are no personal touches on the walls or shelves. it looks exactly like his did when he first got to the mansion. well, except for one obvious difference.

your room looks completely dilapidated, like an abandoned home that the sun and time have destroyed. the dark color of the wooden floors and furniture has faded, every surface dry and brittle. in some parts, mostly near the window, the wood is completely bleached of its color.

he lays you in your bed and covers you up, taking in the room once more before he leaves.

“why don’t you have another name like everyone else?” he asks as you sit next to him on the bench where you now regularly take your smoke breaks on.

“like a last name? i do have one,” you answer, flicking the butt of your cigarette onto the pavement.

“scott has cyclops, marie’s got rogue,” he elaborates, glancing over at you. you’re sitting right beside him, his arm thrown over the back of the bench in a way that your head rests on it.

“i don’t know. i guess i never understood why i have to change my name just because i’m a mutant. i am who i am, human or mutant,” you answer, messing with a loose thread on your pants. “plus, seeing the way you made fun of the others when you first got here for their names—i’d never even try to think of one now,” you tell him, making him chuckle. you smile proudly at making him laugh. “you looked so cute when you first got here.”

“are you saying i’m not cute anymore?” he asks in mock offense, looking at you sideways.

“i mean, when i first saw you, you had that big jacket on and you were so clueless. a little less muscle too,” you recount, poking his toned stomach to which he curls to the side. your jaw drops. “are you ticklish?” you ask him, a smile growing on your face.

“no,” he replies sharply and gruffly, straightening his posture.

“oh, my fuck. you so are ticklish,” you accuse and dig your fingers into his ribs, attempting to tickle him.

a deep laugh leaves him, and he grabs your hand in his, his facial expression dropping quickly. “stop,” he tells you in warning. you just laugh in his face, reaching toward him with your other hand, cigarette still between your fingers. he grabs your other hand before you touch him, cigar between his fingers. “no,” he denies you.

you look toward the mansion and see the sun reflecting off a window. you bend the light so it’s shining directly in his eyes, almost burning them. he shuts his eyes tightly and brings one of his hands up to his face. as quickly as you can, you reach back into his side.

he quickly stands up and looks down at you. “enough,” he says and points a finger in your face.

you stand up also, but you’re shorter than him so he’s still looking down at you. you decide to stand on the bench, now a little taller than he is. you don’t say anything, just look down on him with a straight face.

logan can’t help the smile that breaks his scowl. “you’re an idiot,” he tells you, raising his eyebrows at you.

you mimic his gesture then flick the cigarette butt onto the ground. “you are cute, wolvie,” you say and ruffle his hair. “i get the whole towering over people know. this is a power trip for sure,” you comment.

“oh, really?” he questions and puts the cigar between his lips. he grabs you around your waist and throws you over his shoulder like you’re as light as a feather.

you let out a surprised squeal as he walks away from your bench with you in his hold. “put me down. bad boy, bad dog,” you chastise him hitting his lower back. he doesn’t listen so you just hang over his shoulder as he drags you into the mansion.

you grab his ass abruptly and he stops in his tracks. he places you on the floor and tilts his head as he looks into your eyes, taking the cigar from his mouth. “‘bad dog’?”

“yeah, wolverine,” you say, gesturing to him.

“a wolverine’s not a dog,” he tells you, smiling down at you.

your brow furrows. “yeah, it’s like a small wolf, right?” you wonder and feel like an idiot when he laughs at you.

“no,” he answers, shaking his head.

“liar,” you accuse.

he tells you, “go to the zoo. there’s some there.”

you look up at him in disbelief. “you’re fucking with me,” she states and he shakes his head in complete amusement. “if you’re lying to me, i’ll—.”

“what? try to blind me again?” he asks, cutting you off.

“maybe i will,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

he pauses for a moment, considering. “maybe i want you to,” he says and his tone drops, like, two octaves when he says it.

you’re suddenly aware of how close the two of you are, how his hands gripped your waist just a moment before, how effortlessly he carried you. the playful atmosphere shifts and you feel heat creep up your neck and across your cheeks. you don’t blush, especially not around him.

“logan,” is all you say softly. he notices the change in tone. he notices everything about you, every detail, every flaw, every perfection.

for a moment, neither of you speak. the air between you is charged. your eyes travel all over his face. he really is such an attractive guy. and when you peel back the tough guy layer, he’s a sweetheart.

“thanks for the ride,” you say lightly, trying to break the tension.

he nods, gaze still locked on you. “anytime,” he remarks, his voice rougher than it was a moment before.

you both stand there for a few more seconds, not really sure where to go from here. his eyes shift from yours to your lip as you chew on it. his jaw tightens and he looks away from you, taking a step back to give you some space.

your heart pounds against your chest unfamiliarly. everything about this feels so new to you.

“see you around, pup,” you say, your voice back to its teasing tone.

“yeah,” he adds, watching as you turn away and walk back toward the mansion.

more days pass and you spend more time with logan. he notices that you make fun of him more, teasing him for small stuff.

it’s only when he’s in the laundry room that ororo catches him alone. “hey, logan,” she greets. he mumbles something of the same. “so…you look pretty cozy with a certain mutant.”

“huh?”

“you know what i’m talking about,” she says, leaning against a washing machine.

“it’s nothing,” he tells her, starting the machine he threw his clothes into haphazardly.

“‘doesn’t look like nothing,” she returns.

“leave it alone,” he grumbles, turning to leave the room.

ororo steps in front of him, placing a hand on his chest. “please, don’t hurt her, logan,” she requests.

“she doesn’t want me the way you think,” he tells her.

“you can’t seriously believe that,” she says, looking back and forth between his eyes.

at that very moment, you turn the corner and your eyes widen. you ignore the sting in your chest as you let out a loud “woah.” ororo quickly turns around and takes a step away from logan. “i didn’t mean to interrupt,” you tell them with your hands up in surrender, but that was exactly your intention when you spoke up.

“you weren’t interrupting anything,” logan tells you, watching you move past him to grab a laundry basket.

“i’m not judging,” you reply, walking back to the door. you turn back last second and look at ororo. “hey, if he asks you to wear a red wig, say no,” you tell her with a wink before leaving.

“i never—,” logan cuts himself off, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. “i never did that,” he says to her.

“God, i hope not. what the hell,” she remarks, shoving his arm. “she was jealous. you need to go tell her nothing happened.” he sighs deeply and takes a step forward. “‘you really still think she doesn’t want you?”

he doesn’t reply and follows after you. you’re walking as quickly as you can up the stairs when he catches up to you. “hey,” he calls after you.

“don’t worry, buddy. secret’s safe with me,” you tell him, picking up your pace as you reach the top of the stairs but he keeps in step with you.

“there’s not a secret. we were just talking,” he says.

you place a hand on your bedroom doorknob. “really, you don’t have to defend yourself to me,” you say and open your door, slipping inside. before you can shut it, logan stops the door with his hand. you look at him through the crack in the door, pushing your lips into a thin line. “uhm…”

“there’s nothing going on between me and storm,” he tells you.

“i’m not gonna tell anybody,” you return, frustration rising in your tone. you push against the door but your strength is in no way comparable to his.

“i’m serious,” he tries again, almost pleading. “i don’t want her, i want—.”

“jean? look at that, finishing each other’s sentences again,” you cut him off with a false laugh.

“come on, darlin‘,” he says, tilting his head to the side.

you groan. “i just thought—,” you stop yourself, sighing. “it doesn’t matter what i thought.”

“it does matter,” he tells you, pushing the door a little wider. you move into the space between the doorway and the door, trying to block his view into the room. “tell me,” he encourages, getting closer to you.

“i thought you weren’t a whore,” you retort, giving him a hardened look.

“that’s not what you were gonna say,” he states lowly, looking deeply into your eyes. “what was it?” you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting into the skin. he reaches his hand to your jaw, his thumb pulling the lip from between your teeth. “don’t do that. you know it drives me crazy.”

“i thought maybe you wanted me for more than sex,” you admit, feeling embarrassed as the words slip out. you clench your jaw, preparing for the rejection. a smirk slide onto his face and you drop your head. “okay, bye.”

you move back and push against the door again, but this time he pushes the door all the way open. your eyes widen as he takes a long stride toward you and pulls you back to him by the back of your neck. he presses his lips against yours feverishly to which you obviously reciprocate.

he pulls away and rests his forehead against yourself, breathing heavily. “i want you in every way possible, sweetheart,” he says.

you swallow thickly, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him away. “you don’t want me,” you tell him. he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back into him, your chest pushing against his.

“i do,” he counters.

“you don’t,” you respond.

there’s a beat of silence. “i do,” he says again. you just look up into his eyes. “i want you. i’m not the best person for you, i know that. i’m older and unhappy and i probably can’t be there for you emotionally,” he lists then shakes his head at you, looking at you like you make the world go round. “but i want you, i want every part of you—the good, the bad, the hot and sexy, and the rude and snappy. everything.”

you’re quiet. you don’t know what to say, what is there to even say? in your head, he’s always wanted jean and you were just a place filler. you’ve been under the impression that you caught feelings and he didn’t reciprocate them at all. maybe you’re wrong just this once.

“i want you too,” you tell him in a whisper. he watches your brow furrow as you look away from his eyes. his face falls. “but—.”

“no ‘but.’ don’t say ‘but’,” he begs, loosening his grip on your waist.

“logan, i can live with you not being there for me emotionally, but i don’t know if you can live with me not being for you sexually,” you tell him. dread takes over your body. this beautiful, morally grey, perfect-for-you man is in the palm of your hand and you’re letting him slip through your fingers.

her visible confusion deepens. “you’ve been perfect for the past few months,” he tells you, misinterpreting your words as insecurity.

you shake your head. “i meant it when i said i can’t fuck you sober,” you tell him slowly, avoiding his gaze completely. you feel his hands move from his loosened grip to a hover over your hips. you can’t read his mind like you usually can. logan wears his thoughts on his face, perfectly readable when he’s mad or happy or just his normal grumpy. but now, it’s like trying to read a book in a language you didn’t know existed. “i’m sorry,” you add when his silence becomes too much.

“i don’t care,” he tells you as soon as you finish the last syllable.

“you know i don’t apologize for shit and you don’t care that i’m sorry?” you ask him. you go to push him off again but he pulls you back in, this time wrapping his around your neck, smothering your face in his burly chest.

“i don’t care about sex,” he tells you as he rests his head atop yours. you return the embrace and hold him around his ribs. “i don’t care if you never touch me again. i love you.” your eyes widen and he feels your body tense up. he chuckles, pulling away and smiling at you. “too soon?”

“a little,” you tell him, nodding. you then smile back at him.

———

a/n: i haven’t written in a long time . pls don’t rip me up if u hate this🙏

[webbluvrsugar]

Lie To Girls — Spencer Reid x exbau!reader

slightly based on the song sharpest tool by Sabrina Carpenter but it’s more like the song would fit them right (love me some angst, had to do it.)

cw: angst with fluff at the end, no use of y/n, passes a little bit after JJ confessed her feelings for Spencer. - this isn’t a jj slander, only serves for context.

Spencer sweared to you he was over JJ. The blonde had just confessed her feelings for him in a case, and really, you guys used to be fine, at least until he found out his crush of years actually liked him all this time that passed, that he could’ve had a chance all this time if there was no miss communication between them. God, he didn’t even want to tell you, not that he was afraid with the way you’d react but that he knew it was… wrong, in some way, it was. You took it pretty well, but then he confessed he’d been thinking about it more than usual and that just wouldn’t cut it. Which led to the both of you arguing in the living room of his apartment.

“I — I don’t know what you want!” You shout, a mess of tears, he’s been trying to explain that he didn’t really mean anything he said previously. “Sure, you had a chance, but am I not enough?”

It breaks Spencer’s heart to see you like this — so emotionally distressed because of something he said, something stupid and reckless, and it doesn’t seem like it will get better soon.

“No, I’ve.. I’ve never said that, you’re more than enough to me, I just thought—“ he tries to speak, but he’s cut off by you.

“Thought what?” You take a step closer, you’re so sad that he wishes you hadn’t done that. “She’s married! Jesus — she has kids!” You sniff, his head clenches.

“I know.” He admits, ashamed, head hung low.

“I don’t know what happened between you two but there’s no way of fixing it!” Your words are bitter, and they hurt, but he understands why you’re acting like this, he won’t blame you.

He doesn’t respond to that, you can see the look in his eyes, as if he’s heartbroken, and really you don’t know if it’s because of you or Jennifer, it’s hard to tell, and maybe that is exactly why you hurt him even more with your next words.

“If you want me to leave, I will.”

You take another step closer, Spencer gulps, and when he stays silent, you start crying incessantly, hands up to your face as if you’re ashamed of him seeing you like that — you shouldn’t be, he realises how much he really messed up. He’s hurt, confused, but he didn’t realise how this would affect you, and if anything, you’re both to blame.

Spencer’s a nice guy in your eyes, the perfect boyfriend even through his flaws, you don’t know if it’s because of his personality or really because you’re just madly in love with him, but even now, you can’t see malice in the way he acts. He would never need to lie to you the way he did when he said ‘I don’t love her anymore.’, he would always be a saint to you.

He approaches you finally, pulls you into a tight hug at his chest, places a kiss on top of your head and grips you like you’ll fly away if he doesn’t hold you.

“I’m sorry, okay, I just made a mistake,” he whispers, resting his chin over your hair. “I don’t need anyone else.” He breathes.

“Was just a stupid mistake.”

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely!! i love your writing sm, was wondering if i could request poly! marauders x shy! reader!! like they try to fluster her whenever they can, maybe leading to smut? totally okay if not, just thought i’d ask, hope you’re well <3

Thanks for requesting!

poly!marauders x shy!reader ♡ 625 words

“He-llo, gorgeous,” Sirius says as you walk into the boys’ dorm, and you know instantly that it’s going to be a trying afternoon. “Who gave you permission to look that good on a Tuesday, huh?”

You feel blood rush to your face, but you put all the severity you can into one word as you sit on Remus’ bed, far as you can get from your smirking boyfriend. “Quit.” 

You should have known it would only encourage him. Sirius arches one eyebrow, smile spreading like a blight across his pretty face. “Oh I see. Feeling bold today, are we? Wanna repeat that, pretty girl?” 

You don’t, actually. Your daily quota of boldness has hit its limit.

Sirius is downright gleeful at your silence. “Aw, come on. I love it when you boss me around, sweetheart. Moony, isn’t she cute when she tells us what to do?” 

“I wouldn’t know.” Remus’ voice is quiet behind you, lilting in that way it gets when he’s particularly amused. “She never does it with me.” 

James laughs from where he’s digging through his wardrobe, fishing out a pair of sweats to change into from his robes. “Only you, Pads. You’re the only one who pushes her that far.” 

“Mm, but she gives up too easily.” You can hear the pout in Sirius’ voice, can feel his stare boring into the top of your head, but you don’t look up from where you’ve begun picking your nails. 

“Hey.” Remus’ hand wraps around yours, shielding your fingertips from one another. You tense. “Don’t do that.” 

“Sorry,” you say, but the word is barely audible, barely more than breath. 

“What was that?” You can feel him shifting around you on the bed. When you still won’t look up, he slides to the floor, crouching in front of you to capture your eyes. “Look at me, darling.” 

You do, for the half of a second it takes for him to smirk, and then you realize his game, the sneaky bastard. You can feel your heartbeat in your face. You know you have to be red as a stop sign, but neither Remus or Sirius will heed you. 

You look to James, your softhearted angel, for help. Remus chuckles, hand flattening against the side of your knee to rub soothingly, but you know better than to fall for that now. After a few moments of silence, James glances over. His eyes soften into warm brown mush when he sees the plea on your face. 

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, forgoing his search for a shirt and opening his arms as he comes your way. “Are they being cruel?” 

You’re not ready to commit to slander, but you accept his hug readily. He steals you from Remus’ grasp, taking you into his hold and scrubbing a hand up and down your spine while he laughs. 

“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” he teases the other boys, palm steadfast on your back. “Ganging up on our poor girl like that.” 

“Hey, I just wanted her to know that she looks nice,” Sirius says, and without removing your face from James’ neck you can picture his don’t-shoot gesture. “Anyway, it seems like she got what she wanted in the end.” 

James’ laughter starts up again, a low rumble in his chest that has you tensing warily. “Ah, I think I understand,” he says, voice turning smooth as velvet. “You just wanted to feel me up while I’m shirtless, is that right, sweetheart?” 

You make a quiet, miserable sound, slumping against him despondently as his shoulders shake underneath you. 

“You little pervert,” James goes on, teasing tone at odds with the steady patting of his hand on your back. “Lucky for you I’m willing to be objectified, you freak.” 

[hellodarling1357]

Hello! Heard your requests are open so could I please request a cassian x f!reader fic where the reader is a babysitter for cassian's baby girl (maybe less than a year old). cassian is a single father so as time goes on and cassian sees reader bonding so well with his baby, he starts liking her more and more. eventually asks her out and they end up getting together and all❤️

Tiny Toes

Thank you so much for the request! I had the best time writing this, it honestly could’ve gone on forever

A/N: sorry for the slight Nesta slander, I really do love her as a character but needed to have her do this :(

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 6.6k

You didn’t think you would be babysitting at this stage in your life but with your boss firing you because you refused to sleep with him, and then refusing to put in a good word for you when potential employers contacted him for a reference, it seemed like the next best, and your only, option. If anything, it was a means to an end in terms of supporting yourself whilst you got back on your feet and sorted something else out; the fact that you absolutely adored babies and children was just a bonus perk of the job.

When your close friend Elain told you that she knew someone who would really appreciate your help, you jumped at the opportunity. However, what you weren’t expecting was to come face to face with the General of the Night Court’s armies, crying baby in his arms and a distressed expression of his face.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, hi…” You trailed off, unsure how to address the male in front of you. General? Lord? But he didn’t seem to notice your hesitancy as he gestured you inside.

“Hey, I’m Cassian. Seriously, thank you so much for agreeing to this. I know it’s last minute, but somethings come up and I just… Well, I really need the help, so thank you.”

You smiled at him, taking the time to look around the open layout of the house as he tried to settle his crying daughter. You couldn’t help but cringe a bit at the state of the place. There were baby clothes and toys everywhere, plates and dirty laundry piled up, not to mention the daggers and knives that seemed to be scattered throughout the place.

“This,” Cassian said as he walked back into the lounge room, the babe now happily looking around, “is Otilia, or Ottie. Ottie, this is Y/N, she’s going to be looking after you while Daddy is away. You’re going to be a good girl for Y/N?” Ottie just smiled up at him as though he were her favourite person in the world, making happy little noises as she kicked her feet and grasped at the front of his top.

The sight had your heart melting. If you didn’t already know who Cassian was, there was no way in a million years you would’ve guessed that the male in front of you was the infamous General, the Lord of Bloodshed.

With Ottie still is his arms, Cassian moved around the room, gathering items, and trying to clean up what he could before leaving.

“I’ve left a note in the kitchen, just with all the general things like nap times, where the baby food is, where the nappies are, what her favourite toy is. But she’s a pretty happy baby so hopefully she won’t be any trouble.”

“I’m sure she’ll be perfect, won’t you, sweetheart?” You cooed at the little girl as she watched you with wide eyes. “Here, do you want me to take her so she can get comfortable with me while you’re still here?” You offered, as she wrapped her small hand around your finger.

“If you don’t mind. Don’t be offended if she starts crying, she usually takes a few minutes to warm up to new people,” Cassian passed her over, helping her settle in your arms, a protective hand cupping her cheek as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Well, look at that, you’re clearly some sort of baby whisperer.”

Smiling down at her, you gently tickled her with your pointer finger, grinning as her feet started kicking, her sweet melodic laugh filling the room. Cassian hurriedly pulled the rest of his gear together, sending lingering looks over to the pair of you as he did so.

“Everything alright?” You asked as you sat on the green velvet couch, Ottie still in your arms. You knew how hard it could be for the parents, having a complete stranger looking after their children, so you tried to give Cassian the chance to ask any questions or dispel any concerns before he left.

“Yeah, yeah sorry of course. All fine.” He seemed to hesitate before leaning against the table as he watched Ottie, a loving smile gracing his features. “Sorry,” a sheepish expression replaced that smile as he met your eye, “it’s the first time I’m leaving her, and I can’t seem to make myself walk out the door.”

You softly laughed, trying to ease his tension as you said, “That’s completely normal. If it helps, is there a way I can get in touch with you while you’re out? That way you’ll know straight away if something happens?”

He gave you a grateful smile but shook his head, “No it’s nothing like that. After everything I’ve heard Elain say about you, I trust you with her completely. It’s more so that I just don’t want to be away from her, don’t want to miss anything, you know? Even if it’s just the same smile I’ve already seen a hundred times,” He chuckled as he got up to press a kiss to the top of her head, then her cheeks, then her tiny, clenched hands. “Trust me, I know how pathetic this sounds, I don’t even know why I’m telling you, but I just really love hanging out with her. It’s just been the two of us against the world, especially after everything that happened with…” He suddenly stopped, as if catching what he was about to say.

“Anyway, I should be off. I’m already half an hour late and have had Rhys mind yelling at me for the last 15 minutes. Thank you so much, Y/N. I should only be gone a few hours.” With a final kiss to Ottie’s cheeks, Cassian walked out the door.

"Well now, what are we going to do today, sweetheart?" You asked the small baby in your arms. She just fixed you with another smile and burst into giggles.

*****

You had spent the better part of an hour playing with Ottie, hoping to tire her out so that she would easily go down for her nap. You plan miraculously worked, after wrapping her up in a blanket and running a soothing hand over her stomach, she fell fast asleep without even the smallest fuss. Cassian was right, she was a happy baby.

You quietly closed the door behind you and headed down to the kitchen. With nothing else to do, you figured you would help by cleaning the place up. With the dishes washed and drying, the benches wiped, and rubbish taken out, you started on the piles of laundry, however, a small painting tucked behind a chair in the corner of the lounge room piked your interest.

You picked Cassian out of the painting immediately, the telltale red Siphons and overall uncanny accuracy making it an easy conclusion. You tensed upon looking at the female painted beside him. The similarities between her and your High Lady were all too familiar, this was clearly her sister, Nesta.

Quickly putting the painting back where it had been hidden you felt guilt course through you; you hadn't meant to snoop. You knew what had happened between Cassian and Nesta. Everyone knew what had happened. They had been mated for just five years before falling pregnant then two weeks after the baby, after Ottie, had been born Nesta had simply left. It was all the people of Velaris could talk about, wild rumours and stories spreading about what had happened. Eventually, the truth came out; she had left Cassian, left her baby, for Eris.

Elain had explained to you the pressure her sister had felt and had realised she was only with Cassian because everyone had said that was what the mating bond required. But she wasn't actually happy with him, and Cassian hadn't been happy with her either. Then there had been a visit to the Autumn Court, and something had sparked between Nesta and Eris. She had felt torn and confused but a baby was never something she wanted, and Eris was offering her a life where she could be her own person, not someone shadowed by her High Lady sister, according to Nesta.

Given all of this, you were surprised by how put together Cassian seemed. You couldn't imagine the conflicting emotions he would've felt with his mate leaving just days after they had had a baby. But he seemed to have picked up the pieces and, no doubt, had the support of his family during that time, but you supposed there did reach a point where his duties to the court had to be met again, and you were more than happy to step in and help where you could.

*****

Several hours later, you had just finished giving Ottie her lunch when a piece of paper appeared on the table in front of you:

Y/N, Cassian has asked that I let you know he is going to be later than anticipated and that he is very sorry for the inconvenience. However, if this doesn't work, let me know and I'll have someone over to watch Ottie as soon as possible - Rhys

You blinked.

Rhys? As in Rhysand, your High Lord? Just casually sending you a magically note? You blanched at the thought of him even knowing you existed, which, you supposed made sense, seeing that you were friends with his wife's sister.

You didn't mind staying longer to look after Ottie, but you had no way of conveying that to Rhysand or Cassian. As if your thoughts had been sent out into the abyss, a pen appeared atop the paper as if in answer to your question.

Hesitantly, you picked it up, unsure how to even start a note of this manner that would be read by your High Lord.

It's not a problem, High Lord. Please tell Cassian that I can stay as long as required - Y/N

You didn't have a chance to read over the message before it was whisked away by magic. But, shit. Cassian had introduced himself to you as Cassian, but should you have referred to him as General in your note? Had you been too informal or improper. Before you could mull over it any further, the piece of paper was back in front of you:

Lovely.

By the way, just Rhys is fine - Rhys

Well, that settled that matter.

*****

You had given Ottie her dinner and put her down for bed with little fuss. There had been a few tears once she sensed that Cassian wasn't there, but you had managed to coax her back to her happy little self by quietly singing and rubbing soothing circles across her dark mass of hair until she fell asleep.

Now you sat curled up on the couch with the makeshift dinner you had prepared and a book that had been on the bulking bookshelf that sat in the corner of the room. You were sure that Cassian wouldn't have minded your rummaging through the pantry but had made enough for him to eat once he came home just in case.

An hour or so later, you had been so engrossed in your book that you didn't hear the front door open or the heavy footsteps that padded down the hall.

"Hi," You looked up with a slight jump, having been startled by Cassian's sudden presence. He was leaning against the doorway and looked absolutely exhausted. "Y/N, I am so sorry. I was up at some of the Illyrian camps and, well, things were worse than I anticipated... I won't bore you with all that, but I am so sorry for keeping you here."

You brushed him off, noticing the tension somewhat leave his body upon realising you weren't bothered by it.

"It's fine, I promise. The High Lord... Rhys," Cassian grinned at your correction, clearly privy to the notes that had passed between the two of you, "said you were going to be late. If it wasn't going to work, I would have let him know."

Cassian offered you another grateful smile as he slumped into the armchair opposite the couch. "How was she? Not too difficult?"

"She was perfect. A few tears at bedtime but we managed to sort that out. I think she was just missing you." You could have sworn his eyes twinkled at your last comment.

"Before I head off, I cooked some dinner and left a bit to the side for you in case you were hungry when you got back. I hope you don't mind?"

"Mind? Y/N, you are honestly cauldron sent. You also cleaned? All whilst looking after Ottie. Thank you."

You felt your cheeks heat up and preyed he wouldn't notice your slight blush.

"It was nothing, seriously. I had nothing else to do while Ottie was sleeping so thought I would help out. Why don't you go up and see her? I'll get dinner heated for you."

Cassian sent another grateful smile your way before leaving the room, you laughed to yourself as you heard his steps pick up in pace as he bounded up the stairs towards his daughter's room.

*****

He came back 10 minutes later just as you were putting on your coat and collecting your belongings.

"I've left your dinner on the stove to stay warm." You said over your shoulder. He really did look exhausted.

"Thank you, you have no idea how much of a life saver you were today." You brushed off the compliment as he led you towards the front door. "Oh, before you go, we never spoke about payment? How much do I owe you?"

Honestly, you hadn't even thought about payment, it had completely slipped your mind.

"Right. Don't worry about that now–"

"Y/N, I'm not going to not pay you for today."

"No, I know. But you look like you're seconds away from passing out, no offence. So go back inside, finish your dinner then go to bed. We can sort the money part out later."

"Okay, only if you're sure? Thank you again, so much. Get home safe, alright?"

"I will. Night, Cassian."

You had barely made it to the front gate before the door was opening again.

"Y/N? Before you go, would you mind looking after Ottie again in a few days? Rhys is needing me to get back into my work, so I'll need to have someone watching her while I'm away. You're so good with her, so if you wouldn't mind..." He trailed off.

"Of course, she's an absolute angel. I would love to look after her again. Let me know when you need me."

"Okay, Goodnight. Thanks again."

*****

Over a year had passed since you first met Cassian and Ottie. After the first few weeks, Cassian had sat you down and asked if you would be happy looking after her on a more permanent basis, so you had decided on four days a week while Cassian was busy helping out Rhys and the Inner Circle. Sometimes you would stay until later into the evenings if Cassian came home with piles of paperwork, helping with Ottie's bedtime and cleaning up the house, despite Cassian's protests that it was his mess to deal with.

"Y/N?"

You had just finished feeding Ottie her dinner when Cassian appeared in the doorway. You looked up at him, waiting for him to continue as you wiped the food away from her chubby cheeks.

"Ottie is turning two on Saturday, and I was just wondering, if you weren't doing anything, if you wanted to come to her birthday party? It won't be a big thing, but she adores you and it would be nice to have you there," You smiled at him, delighted that he even considered you important enough to be there to celebrate, but before you could reply, Cassian hurriedly continued, "Of course, there's no pressure. You probably want a break from us, it is your day off after all…"

"Cass, I would love to be there." His face lit up as your response.

"Good. Okay. Great," He remained in the doorway, still softly smiling as he watched you pick up Ottie from her highchair, "Well I better... Still got some work to finish off, so..." He gestured back towards his office and then made his way out of the room.

You were caught off guard by the momentary awkwardness that seemed to radiate from him, not used to seeing him in any other way but the confident and playful General who was absolutely smitten with his little girl.

*****

Standing outside Cassian's house, you lingered on the doorstep as you hyped yourself up to knock on the door. It had only just dawned on you as you walked over that the guests at Ottie's birthday party, weren't going to be any old day-to-day fae. No, you were about to spend the afternoon with your High Lord and Lady, and their inner circle. Not a daunting prospect in the slightest.

As luck would have it, you weren't given a chance to psych yourself out before the door opened, revealing a grinning Cassian and Ottie who merrily clapped and said your name when she saw you, arms reaching out for you to hold her.

"Hello, Birthday Girl. Don't you look beautiful." She giggled as you cooed at her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Hi, thanks for inviting me." You looked at Cassian now who was fondly watching the scene in front of him playout.

"Thanks for coming," Cassian opened the door wider for you to come inside, taking the pink gift bag you had brought with you that contained Ottie's birthday present. "Fair warning, everyone here has a bone to pick with you."

You froze, body tensing at his words.

"What?" You would have cringed at the stutter in your voice had you not been so worried. But Cassian just laughed and led you further into the house, a hand on the small of your back.

"Well, apparently since you've come along, Ottie doesn't have the time of day for anyone else. She was fussing all morning until she saw you walking up the road through the kitchen window. You seemed to have gotten lost somewhere between the gate to the door with how long you stood out there, so we thought we would see what you were doing, didn't we Ottie?" Cassian gave you a knowing smirk, clearly aware of your nerves towards who you would be spending the day with.

"Come on, I'm just joking. They're all dying to meet you."

Right on queue, a female, who you knew without needing to be told was Morrigan, jumped up from her seat as you walked into the room.

"Y/N," She squealed as she bounded over and pulled you into a tight hug, Cassian quickly grabbing Ottie out of your arms. "It's about time we all finally get to meet you. First Elain kept you all to herself, and now Cassian? If you had said no to coming today, I would have gone over to your house myself and forced you to be here."

"Mor..." Cassian's tone was laced in warning, but you immediately felt at ease in her presence.

"Come on, let's introduce you to the others."

*****

To your absolute delight, the rest of Cassian's family welcomed you into their group with open arms. Elain had jumped up and refused to leave your side once she noticed you had arrived. Having been away with Lucien for some time, it had been a while since the two of you had been able to catch up.

After the presents had been opened - Ottie had adored the fluffy bear you had gotten her - everyone was lounging outside, watching as little Nyx sat with his younger cousin in his lap, showing her all of the presents she had received and telling her the best way to play with them in order to have the most fun. Clearly the ever-destined High Lord in the making, you had grinned, already seeing the type of male he would become as Feyre and Rhys watched on sharing content smiles.

It was only then that you realised that Cassian was missing from the group. You excused yourself and headed back inside, searching the house until finally finding him in Ottie's bedroom.

"Hi," You voice was quiet as you made your presence known, unsure if he had just forgotten something up here or if he needed a moment to himself.

"Hey," He turned to face you, looking as though he had just been pulled out of some sort of trance. However, his lopsided smile was quick to return as he said, "sorry for leaving you out there with that lot."

Letting out a laugh you walked into the room, "They're really not that bad. Imagine what the other courts would think if they ever saw the High Lord of the Night Court dressed up in a pink tutu with a fluffy matching crown on his head."

Cassian laughed at that, smile widening as the voices and shrill giggles from outside echoed through the bedroom window, but that reserved expression was quick to reappear.

"You alright?" You quietly asked, already having a sense of what was eating him up.

"Yeah, fine." A glance at your unconvinced expression had Cassian letting out a low sigh before continuing. "I thought she would've at least shown up today. I know she wants no part in this, but it's still her daughter’s birthday. For Ottie's sake, I thought she would've shown. She needs her mum."

You let out a sigh of your own now, crossing the space between you and wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

Pulling away you said, "Cass, I get it. Believe me I do. But Ottie is doing just fine. You're absolutely amazing with her and it's so special watching the two of you together. And in terms of her needing her mum, look at all the amazing females Ottie has in her life: Mor, Feyre, Elain, Amren. There's no short supply of love for her, if anything, Nesta is the one missing out on this."

The words had rushed out of you without being able to truly process what you had said. You and Cassian had never directly spoken about Nesta, it had always been an unspoken awareness that you knew what had happened and that was enough. Looking at the ground, you could feel yourself tensing with worry at the thought of having overstepped.

"And she has you."

"What?"

"And Ottie has you. You were listing off the amazing females she has in her life but missed the one who she spends the most time with. The one who she loves the most."

There was no stopping the blush that crept over your face as you stared back at Cassian.

"Cass-"

But the sounds of hurried little footsteps running up the stairs interrupted whatever you had been about to say.

"Uncle Cass, Uncle Cass," Nyx burst into the room, dramatically taking in deep breathes as he waved up at you.

"What is it, bud?" Cassian shot you a bemused glance, still somewhat laced with the intensity from before, then knelt in front of Nyx who lifted his arms and placed his little hands on Cassian's shoulders.

"It's cake time. Come on." Then he was running out of the room again.

"You'd think it was the end of the world with the entrance he just made." You let out a laugh but before you could respond, Nyx was bursting back in.

"Come on." He yelled, grabbing you and Cassian by the hand, and forcing you down the stairs to where Elain had just finished lighting the candles on top of the cake.

*****

The rest of the afternoon raced by, so fast, in fact, that you didn't have time to process the moment you and Cassian had shared until you were home. The intensity in his expression as he stared at you and the implication of his words... Your heart was racing at the mere thought.

Letting out a groan you tossed and turned in your bed, unable to settle your racing thoughts at the realisation that you had, somehow, without even being aware of it starting, had begun to fall for Cassian. To make matters even worse, you had no idea where you truly stood with him. Despite the closeness and friendship that had formed, he was technically still your boss.

You had a whole day before you were due back to look after Ottie. A whole 24 hours to figure out how you wanted to move forward in the wake of this realisation.

*****

Monday morning arrived much too quickly for your liking. It wasn't until the door opened and Cassian greeted you on the other side of it that you decided you weren't going to do anything about your feelings. He had been emotional the other day, grieving what he thought was missing from his daughter's life and, honestly, you thought to yourself, he probably hadn't even intended it to come out the way you had perceived it. He wasn't wrong, you did spend a lot of time with her. But you were paid to do so, so did it really count?

"Morning, Y/N? Have a good rest of you weekend?" Oh, sure it had been fantastic. Just a nice dose of inner turmoil. But of course, you didn't say any of that.

"I did," You smiled at him, acting as though your insides weren't currently screaming out. "Did Ottie have a good birthday? It was so nice meeting everyone."

As Cassian got ready to leave, your usual chatter filled the space as you made yourself a coffee, but you couldn't help but notice that his usual, carefree smile didn't quite meet his eyes, and that he seemed to be watching you as though waiting or assessing something.

"Alright, well I might be home a bit later tonight, if that's alright?" You brushed him off, of course it was alright, it always was. You sat down next to Ottie as she continued to happily munch away on her breakfast. "Okay, bye Ottie, you'll be good for Y/N today?" He pressed a kiss to her cheek before turning back to you, "See you later, yeah?"

"Mhm," You replied, "have a good day."

"You too." Then he was leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek as well before standing up and leaving as though nothing had happened.

What. The. Fuck.

You stared at the empty door frame he had walked through, only half hearing the front door close as he took off.

Again.

What. The. Fuck.

You turned to look at Ottie, as though she would provide you with some sort of explanation as to what just happened, or to confirm that it had even happened in the first place, that it wasn't just something you had imagined.

But she provided you with no deeper insight as she sat in her seat, happily kicking her little feet and giggling to herself. Upon noticing you watching her, she gave you one of her big cheesy grins you had grown to love and offered you a piece of the fruit Cassian had cut up for her.

*****

What. The. Fuck.

Cassian's heart was racing as he flew up to the House of Wind. What had he done?

Clearly you were more than happy to ignore his complete lack of control from the other day, when he all but said you were basically like a mum to Ottie. He was surprised he hadn't scared you off, especially when all you had signed up for was to be her babysitter, which was a harsh truth in itself that Cassian found himself constantly having to remember whenever he watched you and his daughter interact and he felt his heart stammer in his chest.

And then to turn around and kiss you on the cheek before leaving for work - as you turned up for work, he had to remind himself, again - as though it was a normal morning, between a normal little family...

He felt sick.

He had really screwed up.

"What's wrong with you today?" Azriel asked as Cassian landed with an ungrateful grunt next to the training ring located on the roof.

"Nothing."

"You sure?" Rhys now asked, sensing Cassian's inner turmoil even through the steadfast mental shield he had up around his mind.

With a grumble, Cassian lowered said shield, giving Rhys a look at what had occurred that morning. Scowling even deeper when Rhys let out a bark of a laugh. The snicker that followed from Azriel as Rhys showed him what had happened sent Cassian marching into the training ring, readying himself to forget his stupidity as Azriel approached to spar with him.

*****

He hadn't even got half an hour into his training before pulling up short, his mind was too distracted.

"Should I have stayed?" He blurtedly asked.

"What?" Unbeknownst to Cassian, Rhys and Az had been having a silent conversation whilst he had been spaced out.

"This morning. With Y/N. Should I have stayed and, I don't know, talked about it?"

He missed the glance his brother's shared.

"Well," Rhys started. "What would you have talked about?"

"I don't know, what is there to talk about?" Cassian snapped back, frustration and worry getting the better of him the more he thought about what he might now lose.

"Would you have tried to pass it off as a joke, or explain it away?" Rhys cautiously asked, trying to judge which direction Cassian's mind was heading in.

"Or would you have stayed and finally admitted your feelings to her?” Azriel interjected.

"My feelings?"

"Yes, you idiot. And the fact that you're in love with her."

"I'm not in love with..." Cassian trailed off though. He was, he absolutely was, and there was no point in denying it.

Azriel scoffed, "Please, you're in love with her. We've never seen you like this before with anyone."

"Well, Nesta-" Cassian tried to counter but Rhys cut him off.

"Nesta wasn't love. That was the mating bond, you've said as much to us multiple times so don't try to deflect now."

Cassian let out a deep sigh, he wasn't expected home for a few hours and a plan was starting to form in his mind.

*****

You had been surprised, but pleased all the same, when Feyre turned up with Nyx.

"Y/N! Hi, how are you?" You still weren't quite used to the casualness that surrounded the rulers of your court but did your best to act as though being in their presence wasn't one of the most intimidating things you had ever experienced.

"I'm good. What are you doing here?"

"Well, it's such a lovely day, Nyx and I thought it would be nice to get you and Ottie over to ours for the afternoon."

"Oh, thank you. Are you sure though?"

"Of course, we can walk back now. Go along the Sidra if you'd like?

"Easy, let me just grab Ottie's things."

Feyre shut the door behind you, Nyx already running over to where Ottie sat with her toys and planting a big kiss to her cheek.

"There's no need to grab much. Cass bought double ups of basically everything and has them stored at ours for when we look after her. Just yourselves will do."

You smiled warmly at her before scooping Ottie up, "Do you want to go play at Auntie Feyre's with Nyx?

Her excited squeals were enough of an answer, still, she excitedly said "yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," as you headed out the door, watching as her and Nyx ran ahead of the two of you.

*****

The afternoon spent with Feyre was the perfect distraction from your racing thoughts after what had happened with Cassian that morning.

The two of you chatted outside until the sun started to set, watching Ottie and Nyx run around across the grass.

"Well, hello, Feyre, Y/N." Rhys greeted as he walked out to join you, still dressed in his leathers, clearly having just got home.

You said hi back, watching with a laugh as Ottie caught sight of who now stood with you.

"Uncle Rhysie." She yelled, her little feet pounding across the grass as she leapt into his arms.

"Hello, princess. How's my favourite girl?" Ottie giggled at the nickname and hugged into him even tighter, "What do you say to a sleepover tonight, Ots?"

Turning to you, Ottie still in his arms, Rhys said, "Cass is fine with it. I think he needed you to head back at some point before going home tonight though."

"Oh, alright. Well, I might head off now then. Bye Ottie." She looked around at you, eyes wide as she wriggled out of Rhys' hold and ran over to you.

"You're not staying?" Her lip started to quiver so you quickly wrapped her up into a hug before the tears started.

"Not tonight, sweetheart. But we can play all day tomorrow, yeah?" She seemed to contemplate this for a moment before deciding it was acceptable enough and planted a kiss on your cheek before running back over to Nyx.

Feyre and Rhys were both smiling at you, clearly watching, and overhearing the entire interaction.

"What?" You asked with a laugh.

"Nothing, you're just really good with her."

"Oh, well..." You trailed off, not sure what to say as Rhys' words from before struck. Cassian needed to talk to you about something and, well, shit, clearly you were about to get fired, or, more kindly, were about to be told your ‘services were no longer required’.

"I'll see you both later. Goodnight." You missed the conspiratorial grin they shared behind your back, Rhys letting his thoughts drift over to Cassian's mind to tell him you were on your way.

*****

The house was dark when you got back, the only form of light was coming from the study and, from the looks of it, the backyard.

"Cass?" You called out as you closed the door behind you.

Hurried movements sounded from his office, then Cassian was quickly walking towards you.

"Y/N. Hi."

"Hi."

You felt as though your entire body was on guard. You needed to explain that you could easily put your feelings aside, but losing the chance of being in Ottie and Cassian's lives was something that filled you with dread, you would be happy to stay on in whatever capacity you could.

"Do you... Do you want to talk?" Cassian's nervousness was unsettling, yet you followed as he led you towards the couch.

"What are you doing tonight?"

That wasn't the question you were expecting.

You hesitated before answering, "Just going home I guess."

He seemed to contemplate your answer, looking so much like Ottie did earlier when you were saying goodbye.

"Dinner?" His voice was strained, leaving you even more confused.

"Um, yeah I'll be having dinner."

"No... Ugh this isn't working." He leant his head against the back of the couch, running his hands over his face.

"Cassian, are you alright?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." You were stunned, maintaining your silence as Cassian continued. "This morning, Y/N, I'm sorry. I don't know what that was, it just happened without me thinking about what I was doing. And then everything I said at Ottie's birthday. And now, fucks sake..." He trailed off again, leaving you just as confused as he blurted out "I need to have dinner."

"Oh, sure," You felt as though you were waiting for the other shoe to drop, as if his bizarre behaviour was some sort of test. "Did you want me to heat something up? I think there's still some frozen pasta from the other night." You went to stand but Cassian placed a hand on your knee to stop you before quickly pulling it away.

"No, it's alright. I've got it sorted." Then he was standing, offering you his hand as he guided you towards the back door.

You froze at the sight before you. Candles flickered across the table and the deck, a table set for two, lined with trays of food and a bottle of wine which sat in the middle of it all.

"Cass?"

"Look, Y/N, I get it if this is completely out of line. If it is then I am so sorry. But I needed you to know that this, whatever this is between us, means something to me."

You couldn't move, you were stuck on the spot as Cassian continued, the flickering lights casting a shadow across his handsome features.

"It's not even because you're so good with Ottie. I mean, you are, you're amazing with her and she adores you, so, so much. But it's how you treat me. Even that first time you looked after her, I was so close to crumbling. I felt so torn, between staying home and looking after my baby girl, but also knowing I needed to step back into reality and my responsibilities. It wasn't fair on the others that they had to pick up my slack."

You tried to interject, to say something about how the others wouldn't have minded, not one bit, especially with everything Cassian had been going through at the time, but he was already moving on.

"Not going to lie, I was reluctant when Elain first told me about you. It was nothing to do with you," He quickly clarified, "But more so because you were a complete stranger to me, and as much as Elain vouched for you, I still felt wary."

"Then you walked in and that first time you held her; I swear my heart skipped a beat. Even with Elain and Feyre, it took them ages to be able to hold her without Ottie bursting into tears. But with you, it all just seemed to fall into place." His voice was beginning to shake, and you silently wiped the tears from your eyes as he kept talking.

"But if anything, Y/N, it's the way you make me feel. Before even knowing me, you had me convinced that I wasn't completely failing at being her dad, that even though everything was well and truly fucked up, she was doing just fine. You helped me realise that I was going to be fine as well."

Cassian approached you now, calloused hands reaching up to your cheeks as he wiped away the rest of your tears with his thumbs. "So, I guess what I'm trying to say, and what I'm not doing a very good job of getting across, is that I love you?"

A watery laugh left you at the overall Cassian-ness of the statement, the sound making him grin lovingly at you.

"I love you, Y/N. And I am so thankful for the day that you walked into our lives and changed them for the better. And, assuming I haven't completely misread the situation, and assuming that those are happy tears," He laughed, his own eyes beginning to well. "I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?"

With his hands still on your cheeks, you brought your arms up around his neck and pulled him down so that his face was level with yours.

"I thought you were going to fire me." You whispered.

A cheeky smile passed over Cassian's face, "Well, technically, I suppose I am? I can't have my...whatever you are to me now, being paid to look after my kid now, can I?"

"How romantic. Being fired then called your 'whatever'."

"We'll figure that out later." Cassian murmured against your lips.

"Yes, I suppose we will." Then you were leaning forward, lips pressing to his, feeling as though you were finally home.

*****

Part 2

There are so many opportunities for bonus spin-offs that I’m excited to write but if you want to see any particular scenario, let me know 🥰

[fluentmoviequoter]

As Oblivious as You Think

Requested Here!

Pairing: Deacon Kay x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: Your team thinks you're oblivious about your feelings for Deacon, so they try to push you together. Their plans fail because you already have a boyfriend, and you're not as oblivious as they think.

Warnings: fluff, uninvited flirting, Rocker slander, quick joke about shooting r (Street)

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Hey, do you want to spar?” you ask Deacon.

“Right now?” he responds.

“Why not?”

“Because I was kind of enjoying what we were doing before.”

You smile and lean forward to kiss Deacon again. He hums into the kiss as you raise your hands to cup his jaw. It’s been several months since you started dating Deacon, and moments like this, where you can express your love for him without worrying that one of your teammates will see, are your favorite.

You pull back slightly to inquire, “Then you’ll spar with me at work tomorrow?”

“Whatever you want,” Deacon mumbles before he places his hand on the back of your head and pulls you back in.

You smile against his lips and forget about your question when Deacon murmurs that he loves you.

“C’mon, Deac, you can do better than that,” you taunt from your side of the boxing ring.

“This is getting hard to watch,” Street grumbles. “Can’t you just make them kiss or something to put us out of our misery, team leader?”

Hondo rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. Your feelings for Deacon and his feelings for you are obvious to everyone in the station. Yet, you both seem just oblivious enough that you never do more than tease or engage in some harmless flirting. It’s getting tiring for everyone around you.

“Deacon, just hit her!” Street yells.

“Yeah, Deac!” you agree. “But note that he did not say hit on her. That’s for later.”

Deacon shakes his head as he steps forward and dodges a rear hook. Luca and Chris join Street and Hondo beside the ring as you spar with Deacon.

“Are we going to do anything about them?” Luca asks Hondo. “Or just let them figure it out the hard way?”

“They’re playing the long game,” Chris says.

“Then let’s hit the gas for them before this slow burn kills me,” Street suggests dramatically.

“Slow burn?” Chris repeats. “Time to take away your TikTok access.”

“Bookstagram.”

“Okay,” Hondo interrupts. “I actually agree with Street.”

“You have a bookstagram?” Street asks.

“No, playboy. I agree that we need to find a way to… nudge them closer.”

“Team ‘em up,” Luca says. “If they’re together on enough raids, eventually they’ll be ready to admit that they care as more than teammates.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Chris interrupts. “If they get together, they have to tell Hicks. He may not let them stay on 20-David together.”

The rest of your team turns to look at you and Deacon together. It’s easy to see your feelings, and Hondo decides it’s worth the risk. He cares about you as people, friends, first. So, if one of you has to transfer to be happy, he’s willing to replace one of you, though it won’t be easy.

“I vote we send Deacon to Rocker’s team,” Street whispers to Chris. “He’ll be running the show in ten minutes or less.”

“Street, you’re with me on A-side. Chris, Luca, you’re breaching the B-side with Black Betty,” Hondo announces. “Deacon.”

“C-side limited entry?” he guesses.

Hondo nods before he looks at you. “You’re with Deac.”

“Got it,” you reply.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

You follow Deacon to the C-side and adhere a small explosive device to the door. On Hondo’s cue, you’ll blow the door open and enter the residence to find your fugitive. You’ve been paired with Deacon before and have enough experience separating your professional life from your personal one to work side-by-side without endangering yourself or your team.

“Three, two, one, breach!” Hondo radios.

You detonate the explosive, then follow Deacon into the shotgun-style house with your gun positioned against your shoulder.

“LAPD, on the ground!” Deacon yells.

You move to his right to cover him as he tackles the man to the floor and keep your eye out for other hostiles in the small living space.

“Devon Patterson?” you ask the man as Deacon handcuffs him.

“Lawyer,” he mumbles against the floor.

“Is that your given name or did you change it?” you joke.

Deacon nods before he pulls the man to his feet.

“30-David, one in custody on the C-side,” Deacon alerts Hondo.

“Deacon,” you call, gesturing with your chin to an empty spot on the counter.

“What was there?” Deacon asks Devon.

“You tell me,” he replies. “Your girlfriend’s standing in it.”

You and Deacon look down at your boots at the same time. The soles are bright green and glowing, and you tilt your head as you squat to get a better look.

“20-David, we’re code 4,” Hondo calls.

“Not so fast, Hondo,” Deacon replies. “Be careful,” he tells you.

“Turn off the lights,” you request.

Deacon does as you asked, and your footprints become visible in the dark. There’s a large puddle of green fluid beside the kitchen cabinets, and you see where you stepped in it upon entering.

“So, Space Kook, is this phosphorous going to melt my boots or is it just reacting to the heat?” you ask Devon. “And before you answer, know that if these are melting, the DA will not be as nice to you.”

“It’s just the heat,” he mumbles. “It can’t get through the rubber.”

“Fantastic,” you reply with faux enthusiasm. “Hondo, we’re code 4.”

Deacon shakes his head as he leads Devon out of the house.

“Your girlfriend’s kind of hot,” Devon says as they exit. “And she watches-“

“Shut up,” Deacon interrupts. “You don’t have to talk to me, or anyone until your lawyer arrives.”

“Right.”

After Devon is placed in a transport van, you smile at Deacon.

“What?” he asks.

“He was right about one thing,” you explain, leaning toward Deacon.

“Being?”

“I do watch Scooby-Doo.”

Deacon releases a breath as you walk toward Black Betty. He’d wondered if you were about to admit to being his girlfriend with your team so close by, but you continue to surprise him despite knowing you so well.

“The criminal saw it, but they can’t?!” Street exclaims as he watches you walk away from Deacon.

“We have to step this up if we want them to realize quickly,” Luca says. “What if you sent them off alone?”

“They’d be too embarrassed or worried about repercussions to tell us if anything did happen,” Hondo answers. “Although…”

“Spit it out,” Street encourages.

“Deacon has to be in court on Monday. We could send her, call it presence for the jury, whatever. That way, they’re together, but there’s no field danger or anything.”

“Don’t push them too hard too fast,” Chris reminds Hondo as she joins them. “If they catch onto us before they realize they’re supposed to see each other, it won’t end well.”

“There is one other option that lets Deacon do most of the heavy lifting,” Luca points out.

“Don’t say shoot her and let him save her,” Street responds.

“We could-“ Luca stops to look at Street and asks, “Why would I suggest we shoot her?”

“You said heavy lifting, I don’t know.”

“Anyway, if we got one or two people to hit on her, maybe he’d realize that he didn’t like that. Push him to admit something that way.”

“It’s not a terrible idea,” Chris agrees. “But Deac could just get a little jealous and keep that trapped inside. He’s done it before.”

“Both,” Hondo says suddenly. “We’ll do both. Send them out together, but we wait for the flirting thing to happen naturally.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Luca asks.

“Look at her, man,” Street replies. “It’ll happen. It probably already does, and we just don’t see it.”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll recruit some guys from the station,” Hondo adds. “Let’s hope this works.”

“Hondo said you’re joining me in court?” Deacon asks as you accompany him to the locker room.

“Yeah, he said the jury might like to see two SWAT officers there, just a presence thing, no testifying,” you explain.

“Alright. What are you doing tonight?”

You look around quickly before you answer, “Being cooked for, I hope.”

“Yeah, I can do that. What do you want?”

“To eat or in general?” Deacon raises his brows, so you tell him what you want to eat, then drop your voice to add, “And affection.”

Deacon shakes his head, then pushes you away and toward your own locker as he begins to change. Spending the day with him sounds like more fun than waiting around HQ for a call that may never come.

“Rocker! We need to talk to your team,” Hondo calls.

“About what?” Rocker asks.

“Deacon.”

“You’re trying to get him to admit his feelings?”

“How’d you know?” Street asks.

“They’ve been together every time I see them. I didn’t think they’d do that willingly.”

“If Rocker can see the obliviousness, this might be easier than I thought,” Chris mumbles to Luca.

“What do you need?” Rocker inquires.

“We want some guys to hit on her, ask her out,” Hondo explains.

“So, he’ll get jealous and tell her the truth. Not bad. I’ll let my guys know she’s finally free game.”

“Finally?” Chris asks.

Rocker raises his brows as he drops his head toward his right shoulder. “50-Squad would’ve been flirting with her since she started, but I told them not to.”

“Why?” Street interjects.

“Deacon scares me a little bit,” Rocker admits. “We’re in, though. Let’s get those two on the same page.”

When you return from court, with no evidence that you held Deacon’s hand the whole time you were seated, you go straight toward the locker room to change.

“Hey, you’re 20-Squad, right?” one of Rocker’s guys asks.

“I am,” you answer. “What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you’d like to get a drink some time. We could share SWAT stories or just hang out, whatever you want.”

“No, thanks.”

You nod as you continue past him. It’s the first time you’ve been asked out at work, but you know he’s not new, so you’re unsure about why he's asking now. You see Deacon’s locker and forget about the unwarranted date proposal.

By the end of the week, you’ve been asked out once more and flirted with several times. You’ve concluded it must be a dare or some strange betting pool. When you walk out of the locker room on Friday afternoon, preparing for a date with Deacon and a relaxing weekend, you’re surprised by Rocker’s call of your name.

“Hey,” he greets when you smile at him. “Do you have plans this weekend?”

“Not really,” you answer, suspicious about where this is going.

“Do you want to grab dinner tomorrow?”

You furrow your brows before you ask, “Aren’t you married?”

Unknown to you, Deacon is standing in a doorway just a few feet away and barely contains his laughter at your questioning look.

“Well, yeah, but I- I’ve got this buddy, you know. He’s single, and maybe we could double date or something. Or not! But I was asking for him, not for me,” Rocker rambles.

“No,” you answer as you step around Rocker. You see Deacon and ask, “What is going on?”

“You seem to be in high demand,” he jokes with a wink.

“Not anymore.” You climb into the boxing ring and call for everyone’s attention. 20 and 50 Squads are preparing to leave, and you’re glad they’re all gathered together. “I don’t know what is going on with any of you but stop flirting with me.”

“Why?!” Street yells.

You raise your hands in question at his response but can’t reply before Luca steps forward.

“You have to do something!” he calls. At his side, Street nods as he agrees.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

“Girl, just go out with Deacon!” Hondo yells from the back. “You’re oblivious if you can’t see he has feelings for you!”

“Well, that’s embarrassing,” Deacon quips beside the ring.

“Why else would you have turned all of us down?” one of Rocker’s guys inquires.

“Listen!” you yell over the murmured agreements of the other men who have approached you this week. “I’m turning all of you down because I have a boyfriend.”

The room silences briefly after the word boyfriend until everyone begins yelling. Deacon is quiet beside you, a smile on his face when you look over at him. Street climbs into the ring with you and gestures for everyone to quiet before he turns toward you.

“Who?!” Street demands. “I’ll run a background check.”

“Hicks already has,” Deacon answers for you. “Hicks, I’m clear, right?” he calls toward Hicks, who is watching the show from his office door.

Hicks sends a thumbs up, and you look around at your fellow SWAT officers, most of which have slack jaws at the news that you’ve been dating Deacon, that you’re serious in that relationship.

Deacon extends his hand, and you take it happily as you leave your speechless friends behind. As you step out, the men inside begin talking about you and Deacon… loudly.

“That was fun,” you say sarcastically.

Deacon turns and uses his free hand to tilt your chin up so he can kiss you. He pulls back, brushes his thumb over your cheek, and asks, “How could they think I’d ever be oblivious of you?”

“You did shove me out of the way in the locker room,” you argue.

“Do you always have to bring up violence when we’re kissing?”

“Maybe I’m just oblivious to your feelin-“

You stop short when Deacon leans in to kiss you again, losing yourself in him until 20-Squad exits the building and speaks over one another to ask questions.

[breadbrobin]

skipping stones

clarisse la rue x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

summary: it’s been a rough day for you, and clarisse doesn’t know how to help, as much as she wants to try

warnings: none really, just fluff and a little sad slander oops, oh and maybe slightly ooc clarisse as always

word count: 783

(hiiii it’s been a minute. i wrote this after skipping stones at a river for like an hour while my friend sat around next to me and i wanted someone to support me in my skipping endeavours so here we are)

————————————————

clarisse could always find you skipping stones.

you weren’t good at it. hell, you were even bad at it. but that never stopped you.

you’d told her once that it kept you closer to your family, since you hadn’t been able to get back to them since coming to camp two years ago, and you missed them more than words could describe.

she wasn’t even sure how it happened; how you became her best friend at camp, and she became yours, despite your differences.

where she was hard, you were soft. where she was cruel, you were kind. and where she was cold, you were as warm as any fire she’d ever known. warmer, even.

she didn’t even know when those feelings had shifted—from indifference to care, from friendship to love—but it didn’t really matter. what did matter was she could always find you skipping stones. and that’s exactly where you were.

she sat next to you on the shore, staring out at the long island sound ahead of her. you were looking down at the rocks, no doubt searching for your next ones to skip. your knees were bent and pulled to your chest with your arm under your thighs to lean forward. she couldn’t help but smile. if anyone saw she’d be made fun of, but with you, she didn’t care too much. she picked up a flat stone by her foot and nudged you.

you looked up at her with a smile, taking the stone and preparing to skip it. “thanks.” this one skipped maybe three times. she wasn’t really paying attention. her eyes were on your face, mapping your features, the light freckles, the crease between your eyebrows as you searched for another stone. she was watching your hands as you weighed two up before choosing one. she was staring at your lips, seeing them pout, press together, curl into a slight smile as the stone skipped.

“what’s wrong?” she asked.

“do you wanna try?” you extended a flat stone to her, about half the size of her palm. she was tempted to take it and put it in her pocket.

but she shook her head. “i’ve never had enough patience to learn to skip stones. you know that.”

“i do,” you nodded, your lips pressed together again. gods, what she wouldn’t give for those lips to be pressed against hers. “worth a shot.”

you skipped it, pouting as it crashed through a small wave and disappeared into the sea.

“what’s wrong?” clarisse asked again. “you can’t avoid the question forever, n/n.”

“yes, i can,” you said, skipping another rock.

“no. i won’t let you. what is it? did someone mess with you? i’ll kill them—“

you cut her off by laughing. “no, clarisse! no one messed with me, and please don’t commit any crimes in my name.”

“yours is the only name i’d ever commit crimes in,” she said firmly. you believed her. “now, tell me what’s wrong.”

you sighed and looked out at the grey horizon. it wasn’t a beautiful day, but it was warm for early spring and it hadn’t rained yet. “my dad called camp. he wants me to come home.”

“i thought your dad didn’t know where you were.”

“so did i.”

it was silent.

“so, what? he sent you away? that’s bullshit!”

“yeah,” you didn’t drag your eyes from the horizon. your knuckles were tight around a stone in your grip. “it is.”

her red-hot anger died in her throat as she saw your face and the blatant hurt on it. she wasn’t good at comforting people. she was actually really bad. it was easy to comfort clarisse: just let her yell about it and punch things until she feels better. but you… she’d seen you upset before, but never defeated. you looked defeated.

she was stumped.

“do you… do you need, like, a hug?” she offered awkwardly.

a snort escaped your lips. “a hug?”

“yeah! i mean… what do you need? how can i help you?” she asked, trying to save face.

you paused, turning your gaze to look at her face. “a hug would be nice, yeah.”

she scooted closer and wrapped her arms around you. she was worried it’d be awkward, that you’d both be tense and uncomfortable and it would be terrible, but you settled into her arms like you were made to be there. and god you were warm. it was like hugging someone who’d just gotten out of the drier.

“and if this doesn’t help we can throw rocks in the sea and yell about how angry we are,” she suggested after a moment. “that always helps me.”

she took your laughter as a good sign.

[am-i-interrupting]

Could you do Vox, Lute, Alastor, Velvette, Lucifer, and Husk with a S/O who they love to spoil and constantly give the princess treatment (regardless of gender)? For example, someone messed with their S/O, they make sure they aren’t seen again.

Alastor

You rarely have to lift a finger when you’re with Alastor. At least, for certain things.

He’ll insist that you’re the only person who can make his coffee correctly but he makes dinner, he cleans, he buys all the things you’ll ever want or need.

He lets you dress him up. He wants you to match. He wants people to look at you both and know who you belong to.

That’s why it’s so rare for someone to do something.

All it takes is one slip up.

One moment of the slightest disrespect and Alastor is there, neck snapped, eyes dialed, and voice distorted.

“I beg you’re pardon?”

Husk

When he was an overlord, you got dressed to the nines 24/7.

Dressed to match him with golden accents and placed in his lap so no one could mistake you for anyone else’s.

His hand on your thigh as he plucks one of his cards from your hand and lays it on the table.

He’ll wrap his arms around your waist and drag you even closer, his face half hidden behind your shoulder as he wins yet another round.

Back then, it was easy to show who was boss.

Now under Alastor it was a bit harder.

Now he defends you with the power of a sheer disgusted tone, magical cards, and broken glass bottles.

Lucifer

You get the ultimate Queen treatment from Lucifer.

Breakfast in bed, massages, expensive dinners and soft dances.

It takes a lot to get him defensive.

It’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s that he knows you can take care of yourself.

He’ll be upset, of course, but unless you ask, he won’t do anything.

Then when you do, all it takes is a moment for people to be reminded that he was the first being to ever set foot on Hell’s soil.

Red eyes, large horns, a flame between them, four spread out wings, and an anger to go with it.

Lute

You get treated so sweetly in private.

She’ll randomly drag you into kisses and you’ll find so many things you never bought with your things.

With the people in heaven, there’s rarely any reason for her to get defensive of you.

The winners are not much of a problem but the other angels. . .

Adam once made a comment about you and quickly found himself on his back with a spear at his throat.

“It is only out of respect that I do not end you right now, sir.”

Velvette

You are Velvette’s little plaything, her dress up doll.

You’re by her side always.

In her clothing always.

You labeled with her name, quite literally.

It takes someone very ignorant or very stupid to not know that you’re hers.

It’s very rare that she ever has to show her power.

If someone makes some comment towards you, then their reputation is permanently slandered.

There was one singular time she disappeared for a moment and came back covered in blood.

A video was uploaded later that very day that showed everyone why Velvette was an overlord.

Vox

You have a personal assistant who doubles as a bodyguard. You never need a thing. You never want for a thing either.

He always has his eyes on you if not his hands.

Something always happens to someone who talks badly about you.

Normally a little device in their pocket electrocutes them with more electricity than it should be capable of having.

If you like what I’m doing, consider helping me pay for school.

[santanasaintmendes]

singapore lovin’ had me a blast 

part2! to the cosmic girl records

¡Cosmic Girl Records!

summary: going to Singapore to support your boyfriend, stealing Alex’s girlfriend and beefing with lando, nothing’s changed really 

olliebearman x reader & platonic!grid x reader

fc!: gorgeous girls and couples on pinterest all credits go to rightful owners of the photos used below 

a/n: also the timeline and the whole universe in what these smau’s are based in are very different to irl, ollie’s in f1 already and he drives for ferrari, lewis is still in mercedes because it made more sense kind of? I’ll fill in the gaps as we go lol

disclaimer!: there may be some sensitive jokes that may be hurtful to some people, they are all there just for the humour and to make the story more enjoyable, please don’t come after me 😭

also i’m sorry for the english and french slander against lando and pierre it’s purely for humour😔 please don’t take the comments to heart

a/n: the lovely @yawn-zi gave me the courage to post the second part to the cosmic girl records, i hope you didn’t get in trouble for laughing during portuguese class! and a big thank you to @nichmeddarso who rebloged part1 with all those tags it was greatly appreciated!

here you go, enjoy!

liked by landonorris, olliebearman, georgerussell64, lilymhe, alex_albon and 3,849,383 others

unfortunatelyy/n: next stop, Singapore! btw, the sunset was a paid actor ❤️

tagged olliebearman 

view 2,473,282 comments 

 landonorris: for anyone who asks, it was traumatising sitting next to the two of them on the flight

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 unfortunatelyy/n: so bitter damn 

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 landonorris: BECAUSE WE MISSED OUR PLANE 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: NOT MY FAULT 

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 landonorris: IT WAS MOST DEFINITELY YOUR FAULT 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: OKAY I’M SORRY I LEFT MY PASSPORT IN THE TAXI BUT STILL 

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 landonorris: mhm, sure 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: “mHm sUrE” 🇬🇧🤓☕

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 landonorris: DIE.

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 user1: NAH SHE DID HIM SO DIRTY 

user7: always count on y/n to keep an aesthetically pleasing instagram page 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 olliebearman: you wouldn’t be able to guess how many times she made me retake that first pic 

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 landonorris: i can 🙄

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 unfortunatelyy/n: BOTH OF YOU SHUSH 

 user2: does she actually have a job or does she just follow ollie around 😐

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 user3: yes she has a job???

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 user4: it's called taking a vacation, google it?

 lilymhe: can’t wait to see you soon bb 🥰

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 alex_albon: you have a boyfriend???? me??

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 unfortunatelyy/n: @alex_albon stop being so delusional you sound crazy 

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 alex_albon: @lilymhe are you really going to let her bully me 😰

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 lilymhe: . . .

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 alex_albon: 😦

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 unfortunatelyy/n: the man was too stunned to speak 😱

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 alex_albon: 🖕

 user5: it’s not a y/n insta post without y/n and lily terrorising alex in the comments section 

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 user6: and y/n and lando bickering like the 5 year olds that they are 

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, georgerussell64, charles_leclerc, olliebearman and 4,489,383 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: some sightseeing and exploring before the weekend with my wifey and . . .  boyfriend?

tagged olliebearman and lilymhe 

view 3,682,838 comments 

 user1: Ollie’s officially the third wheel now 😔

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 user11: a moment of silence for another fallen soldier 🫡

i

user2: HELP THE FIRST AND SECOND PIC HAVE ME ROLLING ON THE GROUND 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 lilymhe: loved exploring with you. . . and your friend Steve!

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 user3: HELP

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 unfortunatelyy/n: it’s okay! he won’t be a problem after this weekend 😃

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 olliebearman: 😦

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 user4: homie’s traumatised 

 alex_albon: . . . it’s okay really. I’m fine. I’m fine.

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 user5: not alex going through all 5 stages of grief 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

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 user6: I can’t tell which one he’s up to 

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 user5: . . . neither can i. 

 user7: she’s STUNNING, Ollie better sleep with one eye open tonight 

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 olliebearman: 😰

 user8: ollie on any of y/n’s insta posts after reading the comments: 😮😰😔

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 user10: literally anyone really 😭

 alex_albon: @charles_leclerc @georgerussell64 when does it end 😭 please, i’m a desperate man 

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 georgerussell64: we lied 😔

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charles_leclerc: it never does. 

 user9: where’s lando, it’s not a y/n post without him commenting something absurd 

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 landonorris: i have been summoned. 

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 user9: WHAT DID I DO 😰

 landonorris: oh so now you have a boyfriend AND a wife? 🤨

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 unfortunatelyy/n: i thought i could finally post something without you attacking me in my comments section. I WAS WRONG. 

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 landonorris: 🤷‍♂️

liked by olliebearman, landonorris, lilymhe, georgerussell64, charles_leclerc and 5,728,282 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: as long as i'm with you, I've got a smile on my face 

tagged olliebearman 

view 4,282,992 comments 

olliebearman: ❤️

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

user3: couple goals fr 

 user5: THE FIRST PIC I CAN’T DECIDE WHO DO WE THINK WON GUYS 

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 user6: y/n, duh. 

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 olliebearman: unfortunately, that is correct 😔

 unfortunatelyy/n: that’s me flipping off lando in the distance in the second pic by the way 

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 landonorris: i should be getting paid for taking all these yucky photos of you guys and this is how you repay me?

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 unfortunatelyy/n: guys what do we think? Has being single finally hit him?

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 landonorris: that’s it, i’ve had enough, i’m releasing THE video 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: OH YOU WOULDN’T DARE

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 landonorris: oh yes I would, watch me. 

 user1: HELP WHAT ARE THE CHILDREN TALKING ABOUT 

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 user9: IDK BUT I CAN’T TELL IF THEY’RE JOKING OR NOT 

user10: this turned into a war zone so quickly 

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, pierregasly, danielricciardo and 11,749,383 others

unfortunatelyy/n: and due to personal reasons, a human by the name of Lando Norris shan't be getting mentioned in any future posts, so enjoy ✨

tagged landonorris 

view 12,483,372 comments 

user1: SHE DID NOT HOLD BACK

user2: he’s such an icon fr 

user3: he’s never beating the babygirl allegations after this i'm afraid 😔

user4: “thank you y/n” they all said in unison 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 landonorris: I SAID I WAS SORRY LIKE 50 TIMES WHAT MORE DO U WANT 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: i only accept apologies in cash 

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 landonorris: well damn no apology for you then 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: YOU’RE LITERALLY A MILLIONAIRE??? |

 landonorris: and your point?

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 unfortunatelyy/n: i hope you accidentally get a fish burger next time you go for takeout 

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 user10: oop she really went there 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: and i hope you realise after it’s too late 

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 landonorris: GASP. HOW DARE YOU

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 unfortunatelyy/n: 😃

 carlossainz55: *saves photos to camera roll 

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 landonorris: wow. 

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 carlossainz55: for memories, you know?

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 landonorris: “fOr mEmOriEs yOu kNoW?” SHUT UP YOU MUPPET, YOU’RE REALLY NO HELP YOU KNOW

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 carlossainz55: so aggressive geez 

user5: lando’s fighting for his life in the comments section

 pierregasly: lando in the third pic: UWU

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 landonorris: I- SHUT UP YOU FRENCH HO HO HO BAGUETTE BABY MAN

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 user8: absolutely violated 

unfortunatelyy/n: i’ve sworn to secrecy but since SOMEONE CAN’T KEEP A SECRET, i guess I can’t too. The second pic is me when i forced lando to cook fish for me, hence the disgusted face. it’s safe to say he did not talk to me for 6 months straight after 

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 user6: Y/N, professional exposer 

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 landonorris: HOW COULD YOU, YOU PINKY SWEARED I HATE YOU

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 carlossainz55: @unfortunatelyy/n: teach me your ways 🙏

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 unfortunatelyy/n: a magician never reveals their secrets, but i’m no magician so sure 

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 user 7: HELP STOP EXPOSING LANDO 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: never 😤

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 landonorris: 😭

liked by olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 7,483,832 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: always and forever proud of you 🐻

tagged olliebearman 

view 6,382,392 comments 

 olliebearman: oh so that’s why you wanted that photo ☹️

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 unfortunatelyy/n: sorry love! ❤️

user1: as i clicked into the notification, i thought “at last, a normal sensible post from y/n” i have never been more wrong, WHAT IS THAT SECOND PHOTO Y/N

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

user2: a relationship like theirs, it's a need not a want 

user3: from spilling pasta on her to becoming her man, talk about upgrades 😌

 kimi.antonelli: @unfortunatelyy/n what about the photo I sent for your post

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 olliebearman: WHAT PHOTO 

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 kimi.antonelli: . . . there’s no photo i have no idea what you’re talking about there’s no photo ahaha

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 arthur_leclerc: @unfortunatelyy/n what about MY photo of Ollie

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 dinobeganovic_: @unfortunatelyy/n and mine?

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 maya_weug: @unfortunatelyy/n mine?

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 olliebearman: Y/N ANSWER THEM WHAT PHOTOS 

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 unfortunatelyy/n: . . . there’s no photos are you crazy ahahah

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 user4: the gaslighting goes hard 😭

a/n: thank you everyone for the love that part 1 got! I really appreciated all the likes and reblogs that the post got, i hope you enjoyed part 2 to the cosmic girl records universe. This part was a bit shorter than the first and I have 3 more parts that i’m working on that should be out soon. Thank you and bye for now! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

also should i make a tag list for the series? 🤔

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── HOW TO DROWN A CROW

Synopsis: Saturday rolls around, and Karasu finally takes you on that date he promised you. Continuation of Five Ways to Kill a Crow! (part three here!)

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.9k

Content Warnings: reader and karasu are sickeningly down bad for one another but that does NOT stop them from bullying each other when necessary, karasu is never beating the simp allegations though, lowkey hiori slander (in line with the light novel), reader has a protective father, karasu is a good bf tbh, crow boy is thrown into the water (affectionately)

A/N: KARASU ANON THIS ONE IS FOR YOU!! i will post the rest of your requests once i write them hehe i love this man so trust i will be getting all of them done asap.

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own. now closed!

Staring at the pile of rejected clothes by the foot of your bed, you groaned, burying your face in your hands. It was Saturday, and Karasu was supposed to be at your house in an hour, but for the life of you, you could not figure out what you wanted to wear on your date. It didn’t help that he was being so secretive about where you were going; when you had texted him asking about the dress code, he told you that anything was acceptable and then refused to elaborate. Apparently, according to him, you looked fine in whatever you wore and you were stressing out for no reason.

“Stupid Karasu,” you muttered, picking up your phone and deciding it was time for your absolute last resort. You hadn’t wanted to go to her, because if you asked for her advice, you’d also have to listen to the speech that would inevitably accompany it, but at this point, you were out of options. Before you could chicken out, you clicked on your best friend’s contact, video calling her and waiting for her to pick up.

She did so almost immediately, though she was very clearly in the middle of a workout, judging by her red face and the sweat dripping down her forehead. Recently, she was going through a phase where she spent at least half an hour on the treadmill everyday, and it seemed you had caught her at a bad time. Regardless, she grinned at you.

“Hey, Y/N!” she huffed out. “I was just about to text you, actually, so this is good timing.”

“Not now,” you said. “I’m having a code-red emergency.”

“What’s up?” she said. “Will going bowling with us and a couple of the guys later tonight help with it? That’s what I was going to invite you to. Don’t worry, Karasu already said he can’t go, so things won’t be awkward or anything.”

“Unfortunately, I’m busy tonight,” you said. “I’m going on a date — that’s why I called you, actually. I need outfit advice. I’ve never been on a date before, so I have no idea what to wear!”

“A date?” she shrieked before looking around, obviously embarrassed that she had reacted in such a way at her public gym. “I mean, a date? With who? Is it that guy I was telling you about, the one who thought he might have a chance with you now that you and Karasu had ‘broken up’ or whatever?”

“No,” you said. “Please, I have standards. You may think they’re absurdly low, but they do exist.”

“Then who?” she said. 

“So, funny story,” you said, wincing and bracing yourself for the incoming lecture. “It’s actually with Karasu.”

There was a silence, but you knew that it was deceiving. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to react; rather, she was gathering her thoughts, processing the information she had received, and preparing her reaction.

“Karasu?” she said. “Like Tabito Karasu? Soccer player Tabito Karasu? Your ‘mortal enemy’ who you’re ‘so glad is finally leaving you alone’ Tabito Karasu? The one who you refused to talk to because you found him immature? You’re going on a date with him? And it’s tonight?” 

“Spot on,” you said. “That’s why I need your help picking my outfit—”

“No, no, hold on just a second. How long has this been going on?” she said.

“Look, I don’t have time for this. He’s going to be here in an hour, and I’m just standing around in a bathrobe!” you said.

“Okay, show me the options while you talk,” she said. Figuring you weren’t going to get out of it, you flipped the camera so she could see the few choices you had settled on as you began to speak.

“One of his soccer teammates came to me on Wednesday and helped me realize what I had done wrong. Then he invited me to their game that evening, so I went to watch them. Once the game was over, I found Karasu and apologized to him, after which he asked me to go to dinner with him on Saturday — meaning, today,” you said.

“You’ve had plans with Karasu since Wednesday and you didn’t tell me? Also, option two is my favorite. It’ll highlight your figure the best, I think, but it doesn’t look like it’ll be super uncomfortable, and it doesn’t give the impression that you’re trying too hard. Perfect for a first date! Although, considering he’s only really seen you in the school uniform, I’m pretty sure anything you could wear would impress him,” she said.

“You make it sound like I lied to you about it! I just wasn’t sure if I should tell you or not. I mean, it’s not like we’re officially going out or anything. It’s just one date, and it could go horribly wrong. Most likely it will, considering how things between us tend to go,” you said. “Also, thanks! That one was my favorite, too, but I needed the second opinion, and I wasn’t about to go ask my parents for help.”

“Sure, anytime. So what, were you planning on only mentioning it after the fact?” she said.

“Pretty much,” you said.

“You’re so annoying. I need live updates as they happen, not days later!” she said.

“Okay, okay, I promise I’ll keep you posted from now on,” you said, setting your phone down so you could get changed. “Happy?”

“Super happy. I can’t believe you’re going on a date with Karasu, though. No, actually, I can, because I’ve been shipping you guys together from the start, but it’s unreal that you’re finally giving in and doing it! It’s like a dream come true,” she said.

“You’re seriously strange,” you said. “Like I said, don’t expect much. The most I’m hoping for is a free meal.”

That was a lie. You really, really wanted it to go well. You just thought that, if you squealed and gushed about it with your best friend, you would, in a way, jinx it. And you couldn’t afford that, not when you had only just gotten him back, so you did your best to maintain a nonchalant exterior, even though internally, you were freaking out.

“Uh-huh, sure. If you guys get married, I better be the maid of honor! I have such a good speech planned. You’re not ready,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m fucking not! We haven’t even gone on one date yet, why are you already planning our wedding?” you said.

“I’m a bit of a romantic,” she said with a dreamy sigh. “Hey, if things work out between you two, do you think that you can set me up with one of his soccer friends? Besides Karasu, there’s no one attractive at our school, and of course he’s always been yours, so I’ve never even looked twice at him, but I’ll really be jealous if you have a boyfriend and I’m all single and lonely!”

“Sure,” you said. “I’ll talk to him about it, though, you know, even if it doesn’t work out, you could probably ask him yourself. Aren’t you guys kind of friends?”

“Not close enough for me to ask him to set me up with anyone, and definitely not close enough for me to keep talking to him if he wrongs you in any way!” she said.

“What if I wrong him?” you said, only half-joking. You were more terrified of that, of wronging Karasu, than anything. After all, the last falling out had been your fault, and although he had assured you that he didn’t hold it against you, you still worried that you might one day say something that drove him away from you forever.

“Nah, that’s impossible. You’re always right, Y/N!” she said. “Don’t worry so much. Go have fun! Like you said, you’ll get a meal out of it either way. Whatever else happens, happens. How about this — tomorrow, let’s get brunch together. That way, if things go badly, you still have something to look forward to, and if they go well, you have someone you can ramble to.”

“That sounds good,” you said.

“Yay! Okay, see you then! Don’t text me too many details unless it’s an emergency; I want to be surprised tomorrow by the full story,” she said.

“Thanks for the help,” you said, blowing her a kiss through the screen. “Enjoy the rest of your workout!”

“Will do!” she said, hanging up and leaving you with just enough time to finish getting ready before Karasu was supposed to arrive.

When you got downstairs, the first thing your mother did was clap. This gained the attention of your father, who nodded at you in a crisp, paternal way which meant he approved but was too emotional to say it. 

“You look beautiful, honey!” your mother said, pretending to wipe away a tear. “I can’t believe my baby is going on her first date.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you said, rubbing your arm. “Do you really think I look nice?”

“Yes,” your father said, pausing the soccer match he was watching. “What’s that young man’s name, again? Kimitsu? I expect him to come inside and greet us before taking you out, like a proper gentleman would.”

“It’s Karasu,” you said. “And no, why would he waste his time doing that?”

“Nowadays, the youth just text one another once they’ve arrived,” your mother said sagely. “I watched a video about it on social media.”

“That’s appalling,” your father said with a sneer. 

“He’s not an appalling guy, father, it’s just more convenient that way,” you said. 

“If he can’t even push aside his own convenience to do something so simple, then how can he be a proper boyfriend?” your father said. “You deserve someone who goes above and beyond.”

“That’s true,” your mother said. “But social conventions and whatnot have changed. You can’t expect him to do something he doesn’t even know that he should do.”

“He should’ve been born with the knowledge,” your father griped. You rolled your eyes.

“Father, please just give him a chance,” you said. “Anyways, it’s only one date. There’ll be plenty of time for whatever you’re talking about later, if it even progresses to that point.”

Your father opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a firm knock. Your parents exchanged looks before glancing at you in surprise; you shrugged, equally as taken aback as they were. All three of you crept towards the foyer, your mother shoving you forward and then drawing back to stand beside your father, giving you an encouraging thumbs up as you brushed yourself off and then opened the door. 

Karasu was waiting there, a bouquet of pale pink and white tulips in his right hand. When he noticed you standing before him in shock, he blushed slightly, shoving them into your arms and thumping his fist lightly atop your head in reprimand.

“I brought these for you, idiot,” he said. “I hope you like them. I had my sister help me pick them out so that they were perfect.”

The thought of him going to buy flowers with his older sister was oddly endearing. Maybe it was the fact that he had gone to such lengths for such a simple gesture, or maybe it was the way he was standing so stiffly, like he wasn’t sure whether you’d be pleased or not, but something about the gift made you relax upon its receival. He was nervous, too; it wasn’t just you who was scared about messing up. You and Karasu, you were in this together, and you thought that it was a little bit easier to stomach if it was like that.

“They’re really pretty,” you said. “I love them. Would you like to come inside while I put these in a vase? If you want, you can meet my parents. They’re kind of intense, though, so apologies if they say something strange.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, stepping in behind you. Your parents immediately pretended like they hadn’t been eavesdropping, your mother busying herself with rubbing at an imaginary smudge on the mirror propped up against the far wall, your father straightening one of the paintings hanging by the door. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. L/N. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tabito Karasu.”

“Kimitsu, eh?” your father said, puffing out his chest threateningly. Unfortunately, given Karasu’s height and impressive musculature, it was incredibly hard for almost anyone to seem threatening compared to him; thankfully, Karasu did not point this out, only smiling politely and offering your father his hand to shake.

“No, sir, it’s Karasu. Like the bird,” he said. Your father shook his hand warily, and before you could die from the secondhand embarrassment, you escaped to the kitchen, pulling out a vase from one of the cabinets and filling it with water so that you could put the flowers in it.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself quite a catch there,” your mother said, joining you in the kitchen. “He’s handling himself quite admirably in front of your father. And he even brought you flowers!”

“He did, didn’t he?” you said, admiring the splayed out bouquet. “They really are nice.”

“He did a good job picking them out,” your mother agreed.

“Him and his sister,” you corrected her. She tilted her head.

“It’s nice to see that he values her opinion. That tells me that he’ll probably value yours, too, if things between you two ever get serious,” she said.

“They’ll never get serious if father chases him off right here and now, though,” you said, taking one last look at the flowers and smiling to yourself. “I should probably go rescue him.”

“Agreed,” your mother said. 

You were expecting the worst when you returned to the foyer, but to your surprise, it was a heartwarming scene you walked in on. Karasu was leaning against the door, telling your father some story with great animation, and by the looks of it, your father was completely invested in the tale, his initially hostile posture replaced with his typical laid-back slouch. As soon as he noticed your re-entrance, Karasu paused, prompting your father to look over at you.

“Y/N!” your father said. “Karasu here was just telling me about how he started playing soccer. You didn’t tell me he was the captain of Bambi Osaka!”

“I didn’t think that it was relevant,” you said. In hindsight, maybe you should’ve mentioned it; your father loved watching soccer, and there was no doubt in your mind that he would’ve been much more receptive to Karasu if he had known that the boy was so talented at his preferred sport.

“We’ll have to continue this conversation at another time, sir,” Karasu said. “And please, if you ever want to come to one of our games, let me know. I’ll make sure you get good seats. Captain’s privileges and all.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” your father said, though he was obviously delighted by the offer.

“I insist. Anything for Y/N’s family,” he said. You made a face at him behind your father’s back; when your father turned to look at you, you schooled your expression into a sweet smile, discreetly flipping Karasu off when he responded in kind and stuck his tongue out at you.

“Have a great time, alright?” your father said. “Don’t get back too late.”

“Text us if you need anything!” your mother said.

“Will do,” you said. “Come on, Karasu, let’s go, or else you’ll be stuck talking to my father about soccer for hours.”

You dragged him over to his car as he waved at your parents, who waved back. Only when the front door of your house was shut did you allow yourself to flick him on the forehead, causing him to whine and clutch the affected area dramatically.

“What was that for?” he said, opening the door to the passenger side and motioning for you to get in.

“You’re such a suck-up,” you said. “I can’t believe you talked to my father about your soccer journey for that long.”

“I want them to like me!” he protested. “Anyways, your dad’s a pretty cool guy. I can’t lie, I was kind of intimidated at first, but I think he warmed up to me in the end.”

“He definitely did, and you’re some kind of magician for that,” you said, still in disbelief that he had managed to charm both of your parents so thoroughly and in such a short time. “Also, flowers, really?”

“You said you liked them,” he said. “Did you not?”

“Of course I liked them!” you said. 

“Then why are you complaining?” he said.

“I’m not complaining. I’m just taken aback, that’s all. Sure, I’ve never been on a date or anything before, but from what I’ve heard from my friends who have, the first ones tend to not be quite so…nice? Nice, yeah, I think that’s the word,” you said.

“To be fair, their first dates were probably also their first times actually meeting their partners,” he said. “On the other hand, we’ve known each other for years, so it’s a little different. More importantly, what do you mean when you say you’ve never been on a date?”

“I guess this is why you’re not number one in Modern Literature,” you said with an over-exaggerated sigh. “You see, when I say I’ve never been on a date, what I mean by that is I have not, in fact, gone on a date with anyone before. Should I explain it in simpler language so that it’s more on your level? Me no date. Me single forever.”

“That’s embarrassing,” he said.

“Okay, Mr. Playboy,” you said. “What, do you go on dates every weekend or something? Next you’ll tell me you buy all of them flowers, too. And here I was, feeling special.”

“Nope, I’ve never been on a date either, but it’s different,” he said.

“Why?” you said.

“Because I’ve just never asked someone,” he said. “I’ve liked the same girl since middle school, so I didn’t see the point in going on dates with anyone else. For you, though, it’s just because no one ever asked you.”

“How do you know I didn’t just reject everyone that asked?” you said.

“Did you?” he said.

“No,” you admitted. “No one asked.”

He snorted. “Like I said. Embarrassing.”

“Hey! It’s your fault, so quit it with the smug act,” you said.

“How is it my fault?” he said. “Oh, wait, is it because of the rumors that we’ve been dating for years now?”

“Yup,” you said. “People were way too scared of you to approach me.”

“Good,” he said with a smirk. “That means I did my job well.”

“Hold on,” you said, his earlier comment finally registering in your mind. “Since middle school? Who the hell have you liked for that long, and why didn’t you just ask her out sooner? It’s a little sad that you didn’t.”

“You’d think, given your grades, that you’d be bright in real life, too, but I can see that that’s not the case,” he said. “Obviously, I’m talking about you. Why else would we be going on a date right now?”

“Oh, right,” you said. “Holy shit. You’ve liked me for that long?”

He turned redder and redder with each passing second, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he slunk down in his seat. You watched him in amusement, finding the shyness — which contrasted so harshly with his typically loud personality — to be sweet, in the same way a baby animal learning to walk was.

“Shut up,” he said.

“You should’ve said something,” you said. 

“Considering how set you were on hating me, I don’t think that it would’ve done much if I had. Ironically, as hurtful as it was for you to fall all head over heels for that Yukimiya guy, it was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me, because it somehow made you realize that you don’t absolutely despise me. I’ll have to thank him if we ever meet,” he said.

“You do that,” you said, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder. “Although, if you’re in the business of thanking people, you should reach out to Hiori first. He did you a favor, even if he had an admittedly unorthodox method of going about it.”

“He’s kind of an interesting little guy, don’t you think?” Karasu said. “Like, I want to study him and figure out how his mind works.”

“Aw, don’t be mean,” you said. “He was really sweet.”

“I’m not saying it in a bad way! Besides the fact that he pretty much hates soccer, which is ironic given that he plays for one of the best youth clubs in the country, he’s relatively harmless. It’s just that the way he goes about things is so peculiar, and I feel like I need to know what the thought process behind his decision-making is,” he said.

“That’s fair,” you said. “He told me he’s been observing you.”

“He tried to follow me home one day,” he said. “It was freaky. I thought I was going to get robbed.”

“No way! I thought he was going to rob me, too!” you said.

“Guess that’s an alternative career path for him, if being an athlete doesn’t work out,” Karasu mused.

“You’re horrible,” you said. “Maybe he has a rough home life and doesn’t know any better. You should be kind.”

“What? I am kind! I’m super kind! Why do you think he’s so interested in me? It’s because of the kindness that radiates off of me in waves!” he said. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye in disbelief.

“That’s not kindness radiating off of you, that’s the scent of your hair gel,” you said. “Speaking of which, Karasu, I bet you’d look so handsome without it. Please stop. For me.”

“Just because you said that, I’m going to put on even more the next time I see you,” he said haughtily. “And for your information, it is hair wax. Not gel.”

“Right, because the difference between the two is astounding,” you said. “My deepest and sincerest apologies. I’ll do better next time.”

“Good,” he said.

“So,” you said after a moment. “Where are we going, exactly? You refused to tell me, so I had to make an educated guess with my outfit. I hope it’s okay.”

Luckily, the light turned red, so he could stop and look you over with a critical eye. He must’ve been satisfied by whatever he saw, as he hummed in approval and returned his attention to the road, just in time for it to turn green again.

“Yeah, you look pretty,” he said. “And I didn’t tell you because it’s a surprise. You’ll like it, though.”

“I hope so. I turned down a bowling trip for this,” you said.

“I turned that trip down, too,” he said.

“True,” you said. “Oh, wait, this is only tangentially related, but since we’re on the topic of our friends…are any of your hot soccer buddies single?”

“What?” he said, voice turning high-pitched momentarily. “Why would you ask that?”

“My best friend is in the market,” you said.

“I see,” he said, once again speaking in his normal tone. You blinked in confusion before deciding it wasn’t even worth questioning him. “Most of them are single, but they’re not the type I’d let within fifty feet of any girl I knew, so it’s your call whether or not that’s the kind of person you want to set her up with.”

“Absolutely not,” you said.

“I’ll keep an eye out in the future, though,” he promised you. “Wanna play music?”

“I can. What do you like?” you said.

“Anything you like,” he said. Not up to arguing, and also having a sinking suspicion that his music taste was probably something obscure and nigh-unlistenable, you decided you might as well put your own playlist on shuffle in the hopes that he at least liked some of the songs.

The two of you were driving for a while, mostly listening to the music you were playing and occasionally commenting on whatever interesting things you zoomed past. Sometimes, if a song you both recognized came on, you’d scream the lyrics at one another, each trying to outcompete the other for who knew the song best, but it was a lighthearted form of disagreement, more fun than anything. 

In fact, you were actually sad when you reached the parking lot and he pulled into a spot, turning off the car and getting out so that he could open your door for you. You had enjoyed the drive so much that you had forgotten you actually had plans to go to dinner, so you could not help feeling a little disappointed — well, right up until you looked around at the scenery and let out a gasp.

The restaurant was by the ocean, and the seating was in an open patio, the ceiling lined with twinkling lights and flowers blooming in hanging pots. The tables were covered in white tablecloths, and the water was so close that you could hear the steady way it lapped against the sand, the soft hush-hush sound far superior to any random pop song you could’ve turned on.

“I don’t know what to say,” you said as you followed Karasu into the restaurant. He offered you his hand, and you took it immediately, your fingers fitting perfectly between his. “How did you find this place? I thought you hated the ocean.”

“Believe me, I do,” he said with a scoff. “Excuse me? We have a reservation for two. The name is Karasu.”

“Right this way,” the hostess said, beckoning you after her, leading you both to a secluded table in the corner, which was decorated like the rest with a candle and a rose in a jar serving as the centerpiece. You sat across from Karasu and accepted the menu that the hostess handed you, leafing through it and considering what you wanted to order.

“If you do, then why’d you pick here of all places?” you said.

“Because. Do you remember last year, when all of us were eating lunch together and we had that debate about what the best first date would be like?” he said.

“Vaguely?” you said, wracking your brain, trying to pinpoint the exact day he was talking about. “Oh, wait, yeah!”

It was uncharacteristically warm out, and so your friends had insisted on eating in the courtyard. Sadly, this meant that you had to beg Karasu and his group to let you sit with them, as they always managed to get the best tables before anyone else could. That day, it seemed that you were in luck — Karasu only glanced at you before nodding and telling you that it was fine if you wanted to join them.

Somehow, the conversation turned to dating and romance. One of Karasu’s teammates was going on a date for the first time, and now all of you were giving your two cents about what you thought the perfect first date ought to be.

“Definitely not a movie,” your best friend said adamantly. “You can’t get to know someone if you’re watching a movie the whole time. It’s totally unromantic and an absolute turnoff. If a guy asked me to go to the movies with him on a first date, I’d say no.”

“Harsh, but fair,” one of Karasu’s friends said. “Going out for coffee is pretty popular nowadays, isn’t it? It’s easy to leave, too, so if things aren’t going great, you can just pay and get out.”

“Getting coffee wouldn’t be horrible,” your best friend said. “Though I feel like it shows a lack of planning and effort.”

“I agree,” you chimed in. “I would like to go for a nice dinner. It would be really special if it was by the ocean — I mean, I love the beach, so I think a guy taking me there would show me that he’s really serious about me and pays attention to the things I say.”

“How would he pay attention to the things you say if you’ve never met before? This is a first date, remember?” your best friend said.

“I can’t see myself dating somebody without being friends with them beforehand,” you said, shaking your head. “I’d want to know what kind of person they are before ever agreeing to pursue something further. So, given that constraint, they should know things about me like my fondness for the sea, and if they don’t, then they obviously aren’t someone who I’d want to be with.”

“You aren’t even friends with any guys,” Karasu said, speaking up for the first time in that insufferable voice of his. You scowled at him; he grinned and held his hands up in the air. “Just saying. Where do you think this magical dude who knows you like the ocean and wants to take you to dinner is going to manifest from? Outer space?”

“I’m sure one day I’ll meet someone who fits my criteria, and then things will go splendidly. You see, for me, it’s a scarcity issue — there just isn’t anyone around here who I’d ever want to date, so I don’t even bother hoping it’ll happen,” you said.

“Nobody? There’s not a single guy at this school you’d go out with?” he said.

“Not willingly,” you said.

“Jeez,” he said. “Tough customer. You need to be prettier to have standards like that.”

“Ugh, you are just the worst!”

“You told me I wasn’t pretty enough to have standards as high as mine are,” you recalled. “Rude.”

“That’s the only thing you can think of? Really?” he said.

“Well…” You bit the inside of your cheek, acting as if you were fascinated by the menu. “I seem to have said something about wanting to go for dinner by the beach for a first date.”

“Mhm,” he said. “You said it would show you that a guy is really serious about you and pays attention to the things you say if he did something like that.”

“Are you?” you said.

“Am I what?” he said.

“Really serious about me,” you said. “Obviously you pay attention to things I say, but what about the first part?”

He furrowed his brow at you. “No, not at all.”

“Huh?” you said.

“I’m joking,” he said, nudging your leg under the table with his own. “Do you think I would’ve gone to all of this trouble if I wasn’t? Hurry up and pick what you want to eat. It’ll be so weird if the waitress comes and you don’t know what you want.”

You would’ve argued, but you were too busy feeling giddy about his confession, so you complied with his instructions for once. Karasu seemed surprised, so you shot him a smile over the top of your menu, earning you a blush which spread from his cheeks to his nose and the tips of his ears.

The food at the restaurant was as good as the atmosphere, and to your surprise, it was easy to talk to Karasu for the duration of the entire meal. You had been afraid that you would run out of things to say, but whether it was due to your shared history or Karasu’s naturally outgoing personality, you found that there was no end to the conversation.

When the waitress came with the check, Karasu immediately slapped his credit card on it, glaring at you so fiercely when your fingers inched towards your purse that you actually felt cowed.

“It’s really alright,” you said.

“I’ll come over there and hold your hands down if you try to pay,” he warned you, wiggling his fingers at you threateningly. You wrinkled your nose.

“If you’re going to be so stubborn about it, then fine,” you said. “Can we go down to the beach once she comes back with your card?”

“Do we have to?” he said.

“No, of course we don’t have to, I just thought that, since we had come all of this way, we might as well,” you said. 

Karasu’s lips pursed into an uneasy expression, but he nodded. “Okay, we can.”

You beamed at him. “Thanks! I know it’s not your favorite, but I promise it’ll be fun if we go together.”

“Sure,” he grumbled. “Whatever you say.”

As soon as he had his card back, you left the restaurant behind, traipsing towards the sand until you were on the beach proper. The sun had set already, and the moon’s reflection on the water was like a silver blot, seeping into the sparkling waves and melting amongst the pinpricks of the stars. As you gazed out at the horizon, Karasu intertwined his fingers with yours, and when you turned, you saw that he was looking at you in much the same way that you had been looking out to the sea.

“I want to go in,” you said. “You don’t have to! I just want to dip my feet.”

“Alright,” he said softly. “We can do that.”

“Aren’t you afraid?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. “But I’ll try anyways.”

You smiled, kicking off your shoes and watching him do the same before he leaned down, refusing to let go of your hand as he rolled up the cuffs of his pants so that they did not get wet. Then, tentatively, he stepped forward, screwing his eyes shut as the tides splashed against your ankles.

“Why are you scared of the water?” you said, urging him deeper with a squeeze of your hand. He followed you willingly, though he did not open his eyes. 

“I hate it,” he said. “I just do. I can’t explain why. When I was a kid, my sister took me to the pool and tried to teach me how to swim, but I cried and I cried, so she gave up. Pretty mediocre, don’t you think? But I can’t bring myself to get over it.”

“Do you think you’ll drown?” you said.

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe not. It’s the uncertainty that drives me crazy. When you’re in the water, you’re completely at its mercy, and I don’t like that. I don’t like trusting anyone but myself.”

Of course. The ever-independent Karasu, who was always so self-assured and arrogant…no wonder he hated the water. It was the one force which even he could not rise above, which could kill him if it wanted to, which he was powerless to resist. Being at someone else’s mercy went directly against his nature — so why, then, did he always give himself up for you? Why was he telling you this, when you could be quite sure he had never told anyone else? Why was he chasing after you as you pulled him further and further into an unknown territory?

By the time the water reached his knees, the currents swishing about around your legs playfully, he was all but trembling, though he did not otherwise protest. Working your hand free from his death grip, you waited for him to open his eyes, which he did with a swiftness that left you reeling.

He had an arresting sort of stare, you thought, especially in the moonlight — a kind of dancing wildness which defied explanation. There was not a trace of his typical mischief in his blown pupils when they landed upon you, only fear and awe in equal measure, mixing into a writhing shade as dark as the sky at midnight. An impatient breeze whipped against your face as he reached for you, and for some reason, that moment was what made you very, very certain that you liked him. You liked him more than you had ever liked anyone before. You liked him more than should be possible.

The tips of his fingers dug into your waist as he held onto you for dear life, and slowly, carefully, you allowed your arms to snake around his neck. Besides flinching whenever the water splashed particularly high, he did not move a muscle, though he swallowed when you leaned closer to him.

“Karasu — Tabito,” you said. “Tabito, it’s okay. Even in the water, I’ll be there for you. I was first in the class for swimming, right? So I’ll never let you drown. As long as I’m with you, nothing will happen. Do you believe me when I say that?”

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

He was reaching his limit, though, and you could tell because he was shifting from foot to foot, eyeing the water warily, his jaw clenched at every ebb and flow. You nodded firmly and then twisted so that you could pick your way back to the shore.

“Let’s go home,” you said.

“Not yet,” he said. In an unexpected role reversal, he yanked you back, extending one hand to steady you when you stumbled and then, before you could comprehend what was happening, tangling the other in your hair, crushing his mouth against yours without abandon.

It was rough and tasted like sea salt, the way he kissed you, all messy and shaky and heady and furious. You were left breathless and clinging to him so that you were not swept away, his shirt bunching up in your fists, his hands roaming up and down your sides like a current. 

“Now we can go,” he said, pulling away and flashing you that same cocky grin he always wore, though it was more hesitant than usual, which was either a product of the water’s presence or yours. “Yeah? I think I’ve had more than enough of the beach for the rest of this year.”

“Yeah,” you said once you had regained your wits about you. “Yeah, my parents, I don’t want them to worry, so we should probably — we should probably go.”

“Hm,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. “A couple more minutes wouldn’t hurt though, right?”

“No,” you said immediately. “Not at all.”

“Then what would you say if I asked if we could spend just a little longer here?” he said.

“I think I would say yes,” you said. “Yes. For as long as possible, I want to be here.”

“You’d say that to anyone,” he teased as you walked towards where your shoes lay on the dry sand. You shook your head.

“No,” you said. “Not to anyone. Just you.”

“Is that so?” he said. “Man. It’s hard to be around you when you say stuff like that. It’s hard to listen to, I can’t lie. If anyone else said something so overly sweet, I’d make fun of them.”

“As if you wouldn’t make fun of me,” you said.

“Normally, I would,” he agreed. “But I’ll make an exception this time. It’s our first date, after all. I have to act like a gentleman so you agree to go on a second one.”

“I’ll go on a second one,” you said. “And a third, if you want. A fourth and a fifth, even.”

“That many?” he said. “I must’ve done something right today, then.”

“You did a lot of things right,” you said. “It almost made up for the lifetime of assholery you have led up until this point.”

“I tried,” he said with a wink. “So. Where do we go next time?”

“How about you pick? You did everything I wanted to today, so it’s only fair if I return the favor,” you said. 

“I’ll think about it and let you know,” he said. “Oh, and hey, Y/N?”

“Yes?” you said, looking up from where you were putting on your shoes.

“I didn’t mean what I said back then,” he said.

“Back when?” you said.

“Every time I called you ugly or whatever,” he said. “I didn’t mean it. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“I didn’t mean it, either,” you said. “You know, when I told you there wasn’t a single guy at our school that I’d go out with. Turns out there’s one.”

“Lucky fellow,” he said. “Getting to have the Y/N L/N as his girlfriend and all. He hit the jackpot.”

“That he did,” you said. “So I’m your girlfriend, then?”

His eyes widened. “Ah. I mean, only if you want to be.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I want to be.”

“Then I guess you are,” he said. You were planning on responding in a romantic way, but as you tried to come up with something to say, you happened to notice the time on your phone.

“Oh, fuck! My parents are going to kill me if we don’t leave right now!” you said.

“Not on my watch! I finally got you to be my girlfriend. There’s no way I’m letting you die now!” he said, grabbing your arm and taking off in a sprint towards the parking lot. You did your best to keep up with him, though it was difficult when you kept doubling over with laughter at his urgent pleas for you to hurry so that he didn’t lose any of the favor he had curried with your father.

Maybe your best friend hadn’t been so far off the mark, after all. Once you were settled in the passenger seat of his car, you pulled out your phone and texted her, knowing that she was probably waiting anxiously in her room for an update.

‘date went well. get started on that speech.’