#I’m so ready for this sport to miss him

[earthchica]

You Are My Joy

terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader

summary: you and Terry celebrate your son's 1st birthday and go on the journey of watching him grow from toddlerhood to preschool. The talks of another baby cause some tension.

warnings: FLUFF, daddy/mama, dilf! terry, milestones, birthdays, mention of baby talk, time skips, domestic life, nicknames [ baby, sweetheart, baby girl & more ] words: 5k

note: hiii, we're back with this story. Please enjoy, but there may be some errors.

sequel to { funny how time flies } mini-series masterlist chapter one { everything I ever wanted } chapter two { make it right }

It was a bright Saturday afternoon, and the house was excitedly buzzing. Balloons in shades of red and blue floated lazily from the ceiling while a giant Elmo banner proudly declared.

"Happy 1st Birthday, Elijah!" You glanced around the living room, marveling how Terry and you had transformed the space into a mini Sesame Street wonderland.

Terry was in charge of the snacks, and he had pulled out all the stops.

“I got these cookies shaped like Elmo’s face, and trust me, they’re gonna be the show star!” he proclaimed, gesturing dramatically as if announcing the headliner at a concert.

You chuckled; he always knew how to bring the excitement. The doorbell rang, and without missing a beat, Terry darted to answer it.

He swung open the door to reveal his family—his dad and mom, his siblings, and Auntie Marisa, who was already sporting an Elmo t-shirt.

“Hey…family. Y’all ready to Celebrate Elijah?” Terry shouted, his voice booming with infectious enthusiasm.

Auntie Marisa rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile. "Oh….child, it’s a 1-year-old’s birthday party, not a concert!"

“Look at this Elmo cake!” You chimed in, bringing out the showstopper. It was a beautifully decorated cake with Elmo’s big, friendly face on top.

Your mom, who was holding Elijah, the unofficial family baker, beamed with pride. "That's so cute!"

“Ooh honey, that cake looks sweeter than Terry’s dance moves!” Auntie Marisa teased, making everyone burst into laughter.

“Hey now, my dance moves are classic! Just wait until the ‘Baby Shark’ song comes on! I’m about to hit y’all with the moves you didn’t know you needed to see,” Terry shot back, throwing a playful smile at Elijah, who giggled at his daddy.

As the guests settled in, you noticed your mom trying to balance Elijah on her knee.

“Oh, look! Elmo loves little kids just like you!” she exclaimed, pointing toward the TV where an Elmo special was playing.

Elijah’s eyes went wide; he was utterly entranced, babbling in his baby language as the cheerful music filled the room.

“Is it just me, or does he look like Elmo right now?” You joked as he wiggled in my mom’s lap.

Terry leaned in closer, “He does! All we need is a red onesie, and we have an Elmo right here!”

“Let’s not go that far; I’m not ready to be overwhelmed by my son’s cuteness!” You laughed, shaking your head.

As the party continued, it was time for the gifts. Family circled up, and you and Terry started pulling out brightly wrapped presents.

“Let’s see what we got here!” Terry announced, opening the first gift.

“Elmo plushies? I see we’re all feeling the theme!”

Terry's brother said, “At this rate, Elijah's gonna be the coolest kid on the block like he’s the mayor of Sesame Street!”

The laughter flowed endlessly as Terry attempted to reenact Elmo's laugh.

“Ahh, ha ha ha! You gotta give it your all!” Auntie Marisa exclaimed, her laughter filling the room as he clumsily tried to mimic Elmo.

“Can’t forget, 1 year means we gotta show off those baby dance skills! Come on, Elijah!” Terry said, lifting him into the air while doing a little shimmy.

Elijah laughed—whether he knew what was happening or just enjoyed being twirled around, both of you never knew.

The party wrapped up with cake, and everyone gathered for a slice.

“Elijah, this is your special day! Just remember, you gotta share this sugar with your fam!” Your dad said while sneaking a second slice for himself.

“Yeah, and if you’re anything like your dad, you’ll miss out on cake because you can’t stop dancing!” You joked, nudging Terry, who pretended to be offended.

As the sun began to set and the laughter echoed through your house, you couldn’t help but feel incredible gratitude.

Watching both of your families come together, surrounded by love and joy, made Elijah’s first birthday a day to remember—a beautiful celebration fueled by laughter, smiles, and, of course, a lot of Elmo!

-

Weeks later, the memory of Elijah’s birthday still lingered like the faint scent of vanilla frosting. The days had stretched into a rhythm of baby giggles, diaper changes, and late-night cuddles, but today was different.

Today, something extraordinary was unfolding right before your eyes. You and Terry were lounging on the couch, sipping coffee and discussing the latest episode of a reality TV show you both had reluctantly gotten hooked on.

The room was bathed in soft morning light, and Elijah was sitting on the floor, surrounded by his favorite toys—a mismatched collection of colorful blocks, a squeaky rubber duck, and, of course, his beloved Elmo plushie.

“Babe, did you see how she came for him at the reunion?” Terry said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Shit, he had it coming though.”

You chuckled, setting your mug down on the coffee table. “Oh, he definitely did. But let’s not act like she didn’t bring her own drama to the table. Chile, everybody in that room was messy.”

Terry grinned, leaning back against the cushions. “True, true. But messiness makes for good TV. I can’t wait for next season.”

Before you could respond, a sudden movement caught your attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Elijah wobble to his feet, using the edge of the coffee table as support. His chubby little hands gripped the wood tightly as he steadied himself.

“Oh my God, Terry, look!” you whispered, your voice trembling with excitement.

Terry turned his head, his eyes widening as he saw Elijah standing there, his tiny body swaying like a reed in the breeze. “No way… is he about to—?”

Before Terry could finish, Elijah let go of the table. It seemed like he might topple over for a moment, but then he took a step—a wobbly, uncertain step, but a step nonetheless.

His little face lit up with determination and surprise as he shuffled forward, his arms outstretched for balance.

“Oh my God!” you gasped, clapping your hands together. “He’s walking! He’s walking!”

Terry was on his feet now, crouching down a few feet away from Elijah. “Come on, little man! You got this! Walk to Daddy!”

Elijah giggled, his drool-dampened lips curling into a wide grin as he took another step.

Then another. And another. Each one was shaky like he was navigating a tightrope, but he kept going, his tiny sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor.

“Look at him go!” you said, your voice rising with each step. “Terry, he’s doing it! Look at our baby; he’s really doing it!”

Terry’s face was lit up with pure pride; his hands outstretched as if to catch Elijah if he stumbled and encourage him forward.

“That’s right, lil man! You are a whole walker now! That’s my son!”

Elijah wobbled again, his little legs trembling slightly, but he pressed on, his focus laser-sharp. It was like the whole world had narrowed to this moment—this tiny human taking his first steps into a bigger world.

“Come on, baby boy,” you cooed softly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “You got this. Come to Mama.”

Elijah’s face scrunched up in concentration, his chubby cheeks puffing out as he took one more determined step. And then another. And then—he was there, tumbling into Terry’s arms with a squeal of delight.

“Aye! That’s my boy!” Terry whooped, scooping Elijah up and spinning him around in the air. Elijah’s laughter filled the room, pure and unfiltered, like little bells ringing out a victory song.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe it,” you said, wiping at your eyes as you stood up, your heart swelling with pride. “Our baby just walked! Like, for real walked!”

“Man, look at him,” Terry said, putting Elijah down and letting him walk again, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s going to be running before we know it,” Terry said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“We really need to baby-proof the house. And I mean really baby-proof it.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, your heart swelling as you watched Elijah take brave little steps toward you. “But right now, let him enjoy this. This is amazing!”

With each tentative step he took, your hearts soared. At that moment, nothing else mattered—just the pure joy of watching your baby discover his world.

Elijah, giggling, managed to stumble forward and grasp your leg for support. You scooped him up, showering him with kisses as Terry joined in, his laughter ringing through the room.

“You did it, Eli! You walked!” Terry said, beaming with pride. “Before we know it, you’ll be running off on adventures of your own. Just promise us you’ll always come back to us, okay?”

“Yes, promise,” you added, your heart full.

-

Terrible Twos, “Mama! Dada! Wake up!” Elijah chirped, his voice high-pitched and bubbling with a joy that seemed to radiate through the room.

Just turned two years old, he reveled in his newfound independence, a charming phase that primarily involved an exaggerated refusal to wear pants.

His curly afro hair stuck out every which way, and his hazel eyes were lit for the day's excitement ahead.

Terry groaned, cocooned in the sheets, pulling the covers over his head as if they could shield him from the cuteness assault.

“I can’t handle this level of cuteness before coffee,” he mumbled through the fabric, his voice muffled but teasing.

“But he’s too cute to ignore!” you playfully countered, stretching your arms and feeling the residual warmth of the covers slip away as you bounced out of bed like a coiled spring released.

Elijah spotted you and emitted a delighted squeal, arms up as if asking to be picked up.

Watching Terry lumber out of bed, disheveled and squinting against the morning light, you couldn’t suppress a laugh.

“You look like a sexy zombie. Add some sunlight and breakfast, and you might wake up!”

“Ha! Very funny, you know I lose a little melanin in the wintertime, girl,” he retorted, rolling his eyes but grinning as he ruffled Elijah's hair.

Deciding that a family breakfast was required to kickstart your energy-filled day, you entered the kitchen. Elijah was launching a mini treasure hunt, rummaging through cabinets with glee.

“Terry, do you think he’ll sit still long enough to eat?” you joked, pouring a glass of bright orange juice into a sippy cup. With a swift, unexpected move, Elijah flung a cereal box off the table.

“Not a chance,” Terry replied, reflexively catching the cereal box mid-air with one hand, a gesture that almost seemed rehearsed.

“Ever since he started walking, he’s got too much hustle in those little legs. I swear, he’s part rabbit!” you mused, smiling as Elijah bounced around the kitchen.

His infectious smile lit up the room while he tried to keep breakfast from morphing into a chaotic battlefield.

Elijah darted past, squealing, “Mama! Dada! Race me!”

“Oh boy, here we go!” you said excitedly, apprehensive.

“Ready, set, go!” Terry shouted, and just like that, the three of you were caught in an impromptu race that had you all dashing through the kitchen, navigating around furniture, and back to your seats, laughter echoing through the house.

"I won…!" Elijah cackled, throwing his arms up in gleeful triumph, his little face glowing with pride.

“You know he’s gonna be a little athlete,” Terry grinned, already pouring himself a hefty cup of coffee. “Like a mini Usain Bolt!”

“Or a high-speed whirlwind!” you added, shaking your head and smiling as you glanced at Elijah. “But either way, we need to get him to eat something today.”

While Terry distractingly wrestled Elijah into his little chair, you hurriedly prepared a plate of scrambled eggs and colorful fruit.

The calm was short-lived; in an instant, Elijah’s tiny fist shot out with surprising strength, flipping the plate off the table with theatrical flair, and it clattered to the floor.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the spectacle. “Yooo! Who taught you to do that?” you exclaimed, covering your mouth in delight, unable to believe the sheer drama of the moment.

Elijah’s giggles filled the room, his laughter so contagious that it drew chuckles from Terry, who was wiping a tear from his eye.

“Not me! Although that was quite impressive! He got his daddy’s strength,” Terry joked, puffing out his chest in exaggerated pride.

“Okay, daddy’s strength! But who’s gonna clean this mess up?” you shot back, crossing your arms with a playful smirk.

“Looks like it’s all on me, huh?” Terry responded with a mock sigh, grabbing a towel and kneeling to collect the food remnants with exaggerated care, making a show of it for Elijah’s entertainment.

“It’s a good thing I’ve been working on my Olympic cleaning skills,” Terry joked, pretending to lift invisible weights as he gathered the shattered pieces.

“Hey, while you’re down there giving the floor a full spa treatment, I’m gonna try to get this little munchkin to eat something,” you said, turning back to Elijah, who was busy inspecting his dad's cleanup efforts with curious, wide eyes.

“Elijah, baby, how about we eat some food? You’ve got eggs and fruit waiting for you!” you said in your sweetest, motherly tone.

“Nooo!” Elijah declared resolutely, shaking his head with the fervor only a toddler could muster.

You rolled your eyes but felt a smirk creeping onto your face. “What if we make it a game? You know how they say superheroes eat fruit for strength?”

His eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Superheroes?”

“Yep! You wanna be a superhero, right?” you asked encouragingly.

“Uh-huh!” Elijah nodded enthusiastically, clearly intrigued.

“Alright then! Superheroes gotta eat their super fuel!” you held up a bright yellow banana-like magic. “Banana for super strength! And how about some eggs for super speed?”

Terry chuckled as he stood, towel in hand, watching your antics with genuine admiration. “Man, you’re good at this! If only I could distract him like that when it’s my turn to get him to eat.”

“Just wait ‘til I whip out the secret weapon—yogurt!” you declared, your motherly instincts fully engaged. You carefully set another plate in front of Elijah and kept your gaze pinned on him like a hawk, ready for any sign of resistance.

Your tactic proved fruitful; with some coaxing and playful encouragement, you finally got Elijah to eat breakfast. As he took a bite, his eyes widened in wonder, as if he had just discovered a culinary treasure.

“Mmmm!” he exclaimed, savoring the taste.

“Yes, is it good? That’s right! Now, a couple more bites, and then we can explore!” you encouraged, unable to contain your delight as he surprisingly took a bite of the egg.

“Look at you go!” Terry exclaimed, pride swelling in his voice as he flopped back down on a chair beside you. “Our little champ is besting his breakfast like a true athlete!”

“Just wait ‘til he runs circles around the park,” you replied, watching Elijah chew thoughtfully with a slight grin.

“Speaking of the park, are we ready to give this little one a walking tour?”

“Only if you promise to keep up with him. You know he’ll take off like a rocket,” you replied, both of you chuckling as you readied yourselves for what the day had in store.

-

“Pfft, please! I got him!” Terry scoffed, flexing his arm like he was preparing for some epic showdown. “I’m the king of parenting in this household!”

Elijah finished his breakfast, clapping his hands in triumph. “Yay!!”

With that, the exit was on the horizon. You all bundled up, and the world outside awaited. The sun shone brightly as you stepped outside, and fresh air welcomed you like an old friend.

“Come on, buddy! Let’s show the world who the real champion is!” Terry called as Elijah took off, running down the driveway without a glance back.

“Wait up, Speed Racer!” You laughed, but you loved watching him explore. Elijah darted towards the park, his little legs pumping with pure joy.

As you reached the park, Terry caught up to him, hoisting him into his arms.

“Okay, champ! What’s our plan? Do we play tag, chase squirrels, or climb to the top of Mount Mama and Dada?”

Elijah squealed, wiggling in excitement. “TAG!”

“Alright then, you can’t catch me!” Terry shouted, leading the charge more profoundly into the park.

You shook your head, grinning at the sight of your two favorite people tearing through the grass, laughter trailing behind them. It was a morning full of chaos, laughter, and more love than you ever asked for.

Fast-forward to the afternoon, and we were knee-deep in the glorious jumble of diaper-changing time. Elijah had developed a habit of wiggling like a fish during this process.

“Alright, little man, let's get you sorted out!” you said, trying to hold him still.

“No diaper! Noooooo!” Elijah squealed, laughter echoing off the walls.

“See? This is why we can’t have nice things,” Terry joked, trying to wrangle Elijah’s squirming limbs. You both exchanged a glance, a mix of exasperation and delight.

“We can get it done; just follow me!” you said, and you broke into a silly song about changing diapers, which made Elijah giggle uncontrollably.

“Just when I thought parenting couldn’t get any more…interesting, we need to potty training him,” Terry quipped.

After the successful change, Terry stood up and looked at the clock.

“Alright, little one, time for your beauty sleep. Or should I say beauty naps? Your cuteness needs to get recharged,” he said, lifting Elijah into his arms.

“Good luck getting him down! I’ve got faith in you,” you called after him, watching as Terry gently rocked him back and forth, whispers of “time to sleep, my little athlete” pouring from his lips.

Once the door closed behind them, you sank onto the couch, feeling a wave of relaxation wash over you. You grabbed the remote, flicked on your favorite show, and let the noise wash over you like a warm blanket.

Not long after, Terry returned, catching you in blissful tranquility. He leaned against the doorframe with a teasing grin, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Look at you, lounging like a goddess. Did I mention how beautiful you look today?”

“Oh really? I’m just in sweats and an old tee?” you shot back with a smirk, stretching your arms above your head.

“Baby, please! You could be in a potato sack, and you’d still be finest as hell in the room,” Terry replied, walking over and plopping down onto the couch beside you.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You keep talking like that, and I might just believe you!”

Terry leaned in a little closer, a playful glint in his eye. “I’m dead serious. You light up my whole day, even when I'm half asleep.”

“Okay, okay, Mr. Richmond,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. “What’s on your agenda? Trying to get some kitty while our son's napping?”

“Maybe, never stopped us before,” he said, walking over to you. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “But first, how about we take advantage of this rare silence? I’ve got a few ideas.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Oh? Do tell.”

Before you could react, Terry’s hands were on your sides, tickling you mercilessly. You burst into laughter, squirming to escape his grasp.

“Terry! Stop!” you gasped between giggles, trying to push him away, but he was relentless.

“Nope! You’re mine now!” he declared, his laughter mingling with yours. The two of you tumbled off the couch in a heap, still laughing uncontrollably.

Finally, he relented, collapsing onto the floor beside you, breathless and grinning like an idiot.

“You’re terrible,” you said, swatting his arm lightly. “What if Elijah had woken up?”

“He’s out cold,” Terry replied confidently. “Besides, I needed to remind you who the fun parent is here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the fun one. But I’m the one who negotiates for him to eat his breakfast,” you shot back, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Terry laughed, shaking his head. "True, You're mama bear, I’ll give you that.” He stretched out on the floor, his arm brushing against yours.

“And you’re amazing. I don’t know how you do it.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through you at his words. “We do it. Together. Team Richmond, remember?”

“Team Richmond,” he echoed, his voice soft. He turned his head to look at you, his expression serious momentarily.

“I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else. I love you, baby, so much.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat but swallowed it, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Me neither, Terry. I love you too.”

For a moment, you just lay there, the silence between you comfortable and familiar. Then, Terry’s mischievous grin returned.

“Alright, let’s see if we can take a quick nap before the little man wakes up.”

You chuckled, letting him pull you to your feet. “Go ahead; I’m gonna catch up on my favorite show.”

Terry smirked, grabbed a blanket, and came to lay his head in your lap. "Suit yourself," he teased with a smile before getting comfortable and closing his eyes.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face as you began caressing his hair. "Yeah, yeah, enjoy your nap."

As Terry’s breathing evened out, you turned your attention back to the TV, though your mind kept wandering.

At this moment, you wouldn’t trade for anything. The laughter, the chaos, and the love all felt like the perfect little life you’d built together.

-

Preschooler, Before you and Terry knew it, Elijah was five years old and about to start preschool. Where did the time go? One minute, you and Terry were chasing him around to make him eat his breakfast, and he grew since then.

“Okay, what if he doesn’t make any friends? This is a huge deal!” You fretted, stuffing crayons into the bag.

“Sweetheart, he’s a sweet kid. I think he'll do fine!” Terry reassured, peeking at Elijah.

“Yeah, but what if he gets overwhelmed? Or worse, what if he gets bullied?” You asked, imagining the possibilities.

Terry chuckled, “I’m not worried about him being bullied or anything like that. We've taught him how to defend himself.”

"Look, Mama, Look, Daddy!" Nerves fading, both of you turned back to him, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the two of you had a little superhero astronaut in your hands.

Elijah was trying to turn the living room into his spaceship. The cushions were scattered everywhere, and he was wearing a cardboard box on his head.

"I’m takin’ off!" Elijah shouted arms stretched wide, running at full speed towards the wall.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Eli, be careful. I don't want you to crash into the wall! No time to patch up no spaceship!"

Terry chuckled, adding, "If he’s anything like you, he isn't ever flyin’ straight. Need a pilot’s license to get in that box!"

"Ha! Look who's talkin’! You were the one who thought you could parallel park that big ole SUV in a tiny spot last week!"

"Hey, I got that baby in there; it just took a couple of tries!" Terry replied with a laugh, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"But back to Eli," you said as Elijah started reenacting what looked like a dramatic countdown. "We need to get him ready for preschool. How do you feel about all this, babe?"

Terry sighed, “I’m excited but low-key sad. Our baby boy ain’t no baby no more.”

“Tell me about it! Next thing you know, you blink, he's in college, and he gonna be off dating and all that!”

Terry put on his best dramatic voice, “I can already see him comin’ home talkin’ ‘bout, ‘Mama, I met this girl…’”

“Wait, what? Nah, don’t even play like that ‘fore I gotta put him in bubble wrap!” You joked, rolling your eyes.

Elijah’s spaceship—ahem, box—finally reached its destination against the couch, and he let out a triumphant “We landed on Mars!” before collapsing into giggles.

You and Terry exchanged a look, both of you thinking the same thing: this kid would run y’all ragged, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Alright, Captain Eli,” you said, scooping and spinning him around. “Time to fuel up the spaceship crew. What’s for dinner?”

“Chicken nuggets!” Elijah shouted as if it were the most obvious answer in the universe.

Terry smirked, “Chicken nuggets? Again? Eli, you gonna turn into a nugget at this rate.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?” Elijah asked innocently, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“Nothin’, baby,” you said, caressing his fade waves. “But how about we mix it up tonight? Maybe some regular chicken nuggets and some mac and cheese to go with it?”

Elijah considered this for a moment, then nodded solemnly. “Okay, Mommy, but only if it’s the kind with the squiggly noodles.”

“Squiggly noodles it is,” Terry said, heading toward the kitchen. You followed Terry into the kitchen, still carrying Elijah like your little koala bear.

"Alright, team," you announced, setting him down on the counter.

"Let’s get this dinner movin’. Eli, you’re on cheese duty. Terry, you handle the noodles. And I’ll season the chicken nuggets so they don’t taste like they came straight outta the freezer."

Elijah clapped his hands excitedly. "I’m gonna make the cheesiest mac and cheese ever! It’s gonna be so cheesy, it’s gonna need a passport to cross state lines!"

Terry burst out laughing. "Where he get that from? That ain’t my genes!"

"Please," you shot back, grabbing the seasoning shaker. "You, the one who said the spaghetti last week was so saucy, it needed a chaperone. Y’all two got jokes for days."

As you all worked together in the kitchen, the banter kept flowing. Terry started doing his best cooking show host impression, holding a wooden spoon like a microphone.

"And here we have Chef Elijah, master of the cheese shredder—do not underestimate his power! Watch closely as he transforms this block of cheddar into a cloud of deliciousness!"

Elijah giggled uncontrollably, holding the cheese grater like a prized artifact.

“And now, for the grand finale!” he announced, dramatically sprinkling cheese over the pot of noodles like he was casting a magic spell.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched them. “Y’all better not be messin’ up my kitchen,” you warned, though your grin gave you away.

“I swear if I find cheese in places it ain’t supposed to be…”

“Cheese is supposed to be everywhere!” Elijah declared, still giggling.

“It’s the law of the universe!”

“The law of the universe, huh?” Terry said, raising an eyebrow. “Well, when you grow up and become president, you can make that official.”

Dinner was ready, and you sat at the table, digging into your feast. Elijah insisted on narrating every bite of his chicken nuggets like a food critic.

“Hmm, this one has a crispy exterior with a tender interior—10 out of 10! And this mac and cheese? A symphony of squiggles and cheese—perfection!” Elijah giggled.

“You watchin’ too much Food Network,” Terry teased, shaking his head.

After dinner, you all settled on the couch for movie night. Elijah was practically bouncing with excitement as you scrolled through the options.

“Ooh, what about this one?” Elijah said, pointing to a colorful animated movie about a talking dog. “He looks funny!”

“Alright, funny dog it is,” you agreed, hitting play and leaning back on the couch. Terry grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over all three of you, creating a cozy family cocoon.

Halfway through the movie, Elijah’s giggles slowed down, and his head drooped. When the dog in the movie had his big hero moment, Elijah was utterly out, snoring softly like a little bear cub.

You glanced over at Terry and nodded toward Elijah. “Guess somebody’s had enough fun for one night.”

Terry chuckled softly. “Man, he fought sleep hard tonight.”

“He always does,” you whispered back, carefully sliding out from under the blanket so you wouldn’t wake him. “I’ll get him ready for bed.”

But just as you reached over to pick him up, Elijah stirred slightly and mumbled, “No… I want Daddy to do it.”

You froze for a second, then smiled. “Alright, baby. Daddy’s got you.”

Terry’s face lit up like he won the lottery. He scooped Elijah up gently, cradling him like the most precious treasure in the world.

“Alright, little man, let’s get you to bed,” Terry whispered, his voice soft as a lullaby.

As they headed down the hallway, Elijah mumbled sleepily, “Daddy, can I have a baby sister or brother? I want someone to play with.”

Terry’s steps faltered momentarily, his heart doing a little flip-flop in his chest. He glanced down at Elijah’s sleepy face, those big hazel eyes barely open but still filled with hope.

“You wanna play with a baby?” Terry asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah,” Elijah murmured, his head resting against Terry’s shoulder.

“I’d teach ‘em how to shred cheese and everything.”

Terry laughed softly, his chest vibrating against Elijah’s tiny body.

“Sounds like you got it all figured out, huh?”

“Mhm,” Elijah replied, already drifting back to sleep. The little boy was out cold again when Terry reached Elijah's room. Terry laid him down gently on the bed and pulled the covers to his chin.

Terry sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, watching Elijah’s chest rise and fall in the soft rhythm of sleep. The stuffed dinosaur Elijah insisted on sleeping with every night was tucked under his arm.

He caressed Elijah’s forehead, his heart feeling so full it might burst. “Man, what am I gonna do with you?” Terry whispered to himself, shaking his head with a smile.

Terry stood quietly and turned off the bedside lamp, leaving the room bathed in the moon's soft glow through the window. Back in the living room, you were tidying up the remnants of movie night.

Popcorn kernels scattered on the couch, Elijah’s juice tipped over on the coffee table, and the blanket in a crumpled heap on the floor.

You were humming softly to yourself when Terry walked back in.

“He’s out cold,” Terry said, plopping down on the couch beside you.

“Knocked out.” He added, and you laughed, handing him a pretzel you’d just found under the cushion.

“Here, snack for your troubles.” you joked, and Terry took it with a mock bow.

“Much obliged.” He leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling momentarily before turning to you.

“So….,” Terry started, scratching the back of his neck like he always did when he was about to say something that made him nervous.

“Elijah hit me with a little somethin’ on the way to bed.”

You raised an eyebrow, tossing another pretzel into your mouth. “Oh yeah? What’d he say this time? He wanna be an astronaut, superhero chef who only cooks mac and cheese in zero gravity?”

Terry chuckled but shook his head. “Nah, nah. It was… different this time.” He paused, biting his lip like he was trying to figure out how to phrase it.

“He asked if he could have a baby sister or brother.”

You froze mid-reach for another pretzel, your hand hovering over the bowl. “Wait, what?”

Terry nodded, his expression a mix of amusement and mild panic.

“Yeah. Said he wanted someone to play with. Even said he’d teach ‘em how to shred cheese.”

You burst out laughing, nearly knocking the bowl off the coffee table. “Shred cheese? That’s his selling point? That’s what he led with?”

Terry shrugged, grinning despite himself. “Hey, don’t knock it. The boy’s got vision.”

You leaned back against the couch, shaking your head with a smile, though your heart was doing somersaults.

“Another baby, huh?” you said softly, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers written on it. “That’s… a big ask.”

Terry nodded, his grin fading into something more thoughtful.

“Yeah, it is. But… I mean, he’s not wrong. It’d be nice for him to have someone to grow up with. Someone to share all his cheese-related wisdom with.”

You snorted, elbowing him lightly. “You’re really leaning into this cheese thing, huh?”

“Hey, it’s a cornerstone of our family culture,” Terry replied, mock-serious. “But seriously… what do you think?”

You sighed, tucking your legs under you and turning to face him.

“I don’t know, Terry. It’s not like we haven’t talked about it before. We always said maybe someday, but… is someday now? Are we ready for another baby?”

Terry reached over and took your hand, his thumb tracing circles on the back of it.

“We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?” he said, his voice soft but steady.

“Elijah wasn’t exactly planned, and look at him. He’s the best thing that ever happened to us.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “True. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard....it still is but Late nights, diaper changes, the endless questions about why the sky is blue… Can we do it all over again?”

Terry leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours. “We can. Together. And this time, we’d have Elijah to help. He’d be the best big brother. Plus, he’s already got the cheese-shredding tutorial ready to go.”

You laughed, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room. “Oh my goodness...you really won’t let that go, will you?”

“Never,” Terry said with a grin. “But seriously… I think we could do it. I think we should at least talk about it. Not because Elijah asked, but because… maybe it’s what we want too.”

You sat there for a moment, letting his words sink in. The idea of another baby—a tiny person who would look like Terry, you, or even Elijah—was thrilling and terrifying.

“Can I have a few days to think about it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I need to wrap my head around it.”

“Of course, baby” Terry said, squeezing your hand again. “Take all the time you need. It’s not like we’re deciding tonight. Just… think about it, yeah?”

You nodded, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. The two of you sat there in comfortable silence. The minutes stretched on, and eventually, Terry let out a long yawn.

“Alright,” he said, standing up and stretching his arms over his head.

“I think it’s time to call it a night.”

You chuckled, standing up and gathering the last stray popcorn into your hand. “Yeah, and you know he’s going to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

Terry groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “Why do kids have so much energy? Like, where does it come from?”

“The cheese,” you joked, tossing the popcorn into the trash. “It’s the secret fuel.”

Terry laughed, shaking his head. “You’re probably right. Alright, let’s go.” The two of you made your way to the bedroom.

The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards. As you climbed into bed, Terry turned to you, his expression soft in the dim light.

“Whatever we decide,” he said, his voice low and steady, ���we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

You smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Yeah, we do. Goodnight, Terry.”

“Goodnight, baby,” Terry replied, his voice heavy with sleep. He turned off the lamp on his nightstand, plunging the room into darkness.

You lay there for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, your mind still swirling with thoughts of another baby.

TAGS

@saturnville @kisssssssssssss @grlsbstshot @nayaesworld @onherereading @blyffe @duhitzkay380

@milktert @sefiya0x @urgirlygoddess @honeytoffee @cocooned-butterfly

@vivaalenaa @m1sk1n3 @blackpinup22 @writingsbytee

@peachbuttetfly @ayeeeitsmiracle @fakxmbj

[starredblood]

NOWHERE GIRL

PART TWELVE

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: when ji-yeong goes missing you and sae-byeok go on a fever dream goose chase.

wc. 4.1k

warnings: a bit of physical altercation and the usual angst TT

(nowhere girl masterlist)

Your first day after cutting ties with your parents officially was dull. But in the best way. Your entire day was just waking up to head to school and then you headed straight to the art gallery. The workaholic trait both your parents have finally rubbed off on you, it’s addicting to stay away from home so you can’t bear the thoughts that try to consume your mind.

But now that the day is officially over, you enter the apartment. It’s so quiet and dark once you enter, it frightens you all the time.

You groggily remove your shoes and rip off the buttons on your button-up shirt, ready to let sleep overtake you.

When you finish doing to night routine and put on your comfiest pajamas you throw yourself onto the bed and let your muscles finally get some rest.

It was only eight o’ clock but were so tired that you didn’t even do your usual phone scrolling down a social media rabbit hole tonight.

The loud banging coming from the entrance door distrusted your half lulled state. You gasp yourself awake and press your palm to your beating chest. At first you thought you were experiencing a nightmare but the banging continued. It was like whoever was standing on the other side wanted to tear the door open.

As you descended down the stairs you take a deep breath before looking into the peephole. You cross your fingers hoping that danger isn’t lurking next to your apartment.

Your heart skips a beat when you see that it was Sae-byeok all along. Without further thinking you open the door with a great speed.

“Hey, are you—“

“Ji-yeong never came home since she left yesterday.” Sae-byeok says, her voice shaking horribly.

Her body was stiff, pale in the face, and she looks like she had seen a ghost.

Your stomach twists up hearing the news. “W—What?”

“Please, help me.” she begs, her deep voice replaced by something small and desperate.

“Yeah, of course.” you say without further hesitation. “But, Cheol—?”

“I dropped him off with my neighbor.”

You nod. “Let me get my jacket.”

It takes you less than a minute to head out the door. You didn’t put too much thought into the fact that you still had on your pajamas or that you were sporting your indoor slippers.

“Can you track her on your phone?” you ask her once you both ran out the building.

“Yeah, but it says she’s offline.” Sae-byeok says, running her hands through her short unruly hair in exasperation. “Fuck, I’m scared what if Deok-su actually got to her?”

“Come on let’s think before we jump into the worst conclusions.” you reassure her, reaching to grab her arms to prevent her from ripping her hair off of her scalp. “You said she had to do something important yesterday, right?”

Sae-byeok’s eyes move around rapidly, trying to collect her thoughts quickly as possible. “She went to visit her dad in Daejeon prison. I—I called but they said she left last night.”

“Maybe she got lost or something and could be wandering near the prison?”

“Could be.” Sae-byeok says, breathily. “But Daejeon is a big city how the hell are we going to find her?”

“Let’s think of a way to get there first and we’ll move on from there, okay?”

Sae-byeok, who’s at this point hyperventilating, doesn’t seem convinced but she doesn’t have a better plan than that so she just nods.

You pull out your phone to find the directions to the prison. “That’s a pretty far commute. We have to take the subway then the bullet train. That’s the only method of transportation she could take to go that far.”

“I—I can’t afford a twenty dollar ticket.” Sae-byeok mutters.

“Just pay me back by buying me a meal one of these days, okay? Let’s go!” you say, yanking Sae-byeok’s arm and running on foot to the nearest subway station.

After the twenty minute subway ride, you got dazed by the complicated maze that was navigating the railway for the bullet train. Running around like headless chickens, Sae-byeok finally figured out the location of the bullet train that was departing in five minutes.

“I should’ve brought water bottles.” you say, out of breath. You sink down in a seat after successfully making it the last second inside the bullet train.

Sae-byeok’s heavy breathing was loud beside you. She presses the back of her head on the seat and stares at the ceiling possibly still in fight or flight mode.

“It’s an hour train ride what if—what if we can’t make it on time?” Sae-byeok whispers, her eyes shinier than usual.

You’re in disbelief that her of all people would cry so you convince yourself that it was just the reflection of the light perfectly hitting her irises.

You check your phone’s map again. “We could look around any late night spots near the prison like…like restaurants, or motels, or convenience stores. Oh, do you have a recent photo of Ji-yeong?”

Sae-byeok is unresponsive. You shot your head up and saw that her eyes are shut tightly and her lips quivering. So you go and place your hand gently on of top of one of her trembling ones, waiting for her to look at you.

“If we can’t find her tonight we will report her missing to the police but let’s stay hopeful, okay?” you reassure her. “Ji-yeong is strong and resourceful.”

Sae-byeok still remains silent, the stress of losing her best friend is overwhelming. You understand that this is a weight too unbearable to sit on and that Sae-byeok isn’t going to be rationally thinking until Ji-yeong is found safe and sound.

Your head began throbbing due to dehydration and the stress of coming up with a thousand scenarios to what might’ve happened to Ji-yeong.

Back in high school, Ji-yeong was always known as a rebel child often defying her elders. You would often hear stories about how she used to like wandering around the neighborhood in the middle of the night smoking and drinking because her home life was unbearable. There was a point in your life when you judged her for it. But when she came to your doorstep the summer before senior year, you welcomed her in after seeing the look of distraught on her face. Like she witnessed something unimaginable to the human psyche.

Ji-yeong never revealed why she ran away from home but you had the rumors and the various hints she left. And with the piece of viable information Sae-byeok gave you, you probably have a few assumptions never to be spoken aloud. It astounded you how much grit and determination she had to keep trudging forward. And you are sure that if she truly got lost in the streets of Daejeon, that she would find a way to maintain herself. But you just hope that she isn’t scared shitless right now.

“This is it.” Sae-byeok low voice breaks you from your looming thoughts. She nudges you in the ribcage to get off your seat.

“The prison isn’t far from the station. So, I guess we can start looking around here.” you say a once you both get off the train station. “Maybe she’s in a train lobby or somewhere with customer service.”

After an hour, you guys searched every section of this large train station. You knocked out on very stall and talked to any workers that were still around this late at night but not a single sign of Ji-yeong was seen. Your legs are cramping up but you try shaking the feeling away.

You could visibly see the hope in Sae-byeok’s eyes die down with every minute that passes by. That’s when you suggest to look around the nearby areas.

The streets of Daejeon was bustling with activity as it was a Friday night and it was time for partygoers to arise from hibernation of the weekday. However, it wouldn’t be too hard for Sae-byeok to spot her with her height difference compared to yours. Her eyes dart around the crowds of people like an eagle.

After last nights rain, the air was hot and humid and you already began sweating profusely not to mention being surrounded by other peoples clammy bodies. You were feeling delirious and your heart couldn’t stop racing but try to hold it together. Deep down you know Sae-byeok needs you to be the calm one in this situation.

“There’s a motel nearby, let’s go ask there.” you suggest and lead her to where the map is suggesting you should go.

A ten minute walk lead you guys to the small motel secluded in this bright lively city.

“Hi, ma’am,” you greet hurriedly at the clerk. “our friend is missing, do you know if you’ve seen this girl possibly rent a room here?”

Sae-byeok whips her phone out and shoves the picture of Ji-yeong at the clerks face, startling her.

“Sorry, I haven’t here and I’ve been here since noon.” the worker says after inspecting the photo carefully.

“Fucking hell.” Sae-byeok groans.

“Thank you, ma’am.” you quickly bow and lead Sae-byeok out the motel, ignoring the scowl growing on the motel workers face.

“What’s your great plan now, huh?” Sae-byeok scoffs.

“Hey, I know this is a high stress situation but don’t lash out on me right now, okay?” you snip and go back to your phone.

Sae-byeok paces back and forth in front of you while your fingers rapidly type other possible motels nearby you can ask.

That’s when you hear Sae-byeok mumble your name and tug the hem of your sleeve. You look and question at the person she’s pointing at.

“Is that Ji-yeong’s purse?”

Sae-byeok’s face turns stone cold, but her dilated pupils tell a different story. She looks like she’s ready to pounce on whoever she’s glaring at. You swallow thickly peering ahead and look at the homeless man lying against the wall of a closed shop. He’s layered in multiple blankets and beside him is a bright orange flap purse you vividly recall seeing before.

“It—It looks like it.” you mutter. Now, it was time for you to panic.

Next thing you know, Sae-byeok is on the other side of the street and on top of the man who desperately tries calling for help.

“Sae-byeok!” you cry out and run in the middle of heavy traffic to get across. When you make it Sae-byeok has her pocket knife pressed on his neck.

“You’re seriously asking for help right now when you stole my friend’s purse?!” she bellows, her grip on his coat getting tighter as she shakes him violently. “What did you do to her?!”

The man starts vibrating in fear, his eyes popping out of his skull. “I—I—I stole it earlier today from a lady at—at—“

“Hurry up and say it!”

You glance around nervously, a few people in their cars and passerby’s are throwing looks and you’re scared one of them might get the police involved.

“At the train station!” he answers fast.

Sae-byeok adds more pressure to the pocket knife on his skin. “You’re lying, fucker.”

“No, I swear! I ran—she chased me all the way to the supermarket but she ended up losing me there. I—I swear please!”

“Is it, Local Food Farmers?” you ask him after searching the nearest supermarket.

“Yes, yes that one! That’s the last place I seen her yes!”

Sae-byeok throws him back on the ground with mighty force, making him land with a thud. She snatches the purse back and pulls you to run away from the scene she just caused.

“I don’t see any cash on here.” Sae-byeok growls, rummaging through Ji-yeong’s purse. “I should go back and—“

“Hey, stop it!” you hiss, pressing a firm hand on her chest to prevent her from turning back around. “Fighting a homeless man isn’t going to help us find Ji-yeong faster.”

Sae-byeok sighs in defeat and continues walking, still inspecting every item in Ji-yeong’s bag.

Of course, the supermarket was closed a long time ago and nowhere around the vicinity were there any signs of Ji-yeong as all the surrounding shops had been long closed as well besides a club down the road. While you were biting your nails, anxiously trying to find a solution on your phone maps, Sae-byeok’s sinks down on the edge of the sidewalk and burys her face on her hands.

“She’s nearby, Sae-byeok. You have her purse so we know she has to be here.” you say reassuringly, bending down to pat her back. “It’s so obvious now what happened. When she left she got mugged just as she was about to go to the train station and I bet her phones probably dead too so she’s trying to find a way to contact us.”

“If her phones dead wouldn’t she ask for someone else’s to call me?” Sae-byeok says muffled as her face was still covered.

She was right but you didn’t want to agree to make her more nervous. So, you pry her up and suggest walking around the block one more time. You didn’t want to admit it but you were also starting to lose hope.

“It’s midnight.” you sigh. “Should we go to the police?”

Sae-byeok removes her hands off of her face and becomes expressionless, like she was trying to dissociate from the situation. It was starting to worry you more.

“I think it’ll be more beneficial if we go—“

You stop mid sentence and gasp at the feeling of a cold sticky hand touching slight skin on your waist.

“What’re you doing out here in your pajamas, hon?” slurs a drunken man. You whip around to face a business man whose outfit is sloppily thrown on. He stumbles backwards to eye your entire body before skidding to get closer to your face. “Looks like you’re trying to make it to the bedroom quicker.” he reaches over to grab your arm.

Your flight or fight response kicked in and you use all your strength to hit him square in the face. Immediately, you felt awful watching how he stumbled backwards and landed on his rear end. You don’t know why your brain made you feel so guilty, he deserved it.

“Fuck that hurt!” you wince clutching your bruised knuckles.

“You little bitch I think you—you fucking broke my nose!” he stammers, dropping his bottle of alcohol to clutch his nose. The club goers down the block began watching and recording the commotion, you could hear their murmuring. “I’ll teach you—!”

The man tries getting back up to lurch towards you again until Sae-byeok goes and kicks his chest causing him to fall back down on the sidewalk. She grabs your non injured hand and quickly drags you both away from the scene.

“Where are we going?” you whine, your knuckles still throbbing in pain.

“A convenience store to get an ice pack for that.” she says, throwing you a quick frown. “I think I saw one down here.”

“But the police station is on the store side!”

“You’re injured—!”

“We are going to waste time, Sae-byeok!” you say, putting your foot down. She scoffs at your stubbornness. “Hey, don’t look at me like that! The pain will go away—“

“Your hand is all red!”

“It’s not like I broke any bones!” you protest and start walking the opposite way and hope that the man you just punched isn’t still there. Sae-byeok tries to pull you back but you swat your arm back. “Stop it! If it still hurts after we go to the police station then we will go to a convenience store, okay?”

“Ugh! Why are you being like this?” she barks back. “You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.” she grumbles lower but you heard it clear as day.

You huff in frustration and keep marching to the police station with her stomping angrily behind you.

There was heavy tension between the two of you the entire walk to the police station. You felt bad for throwing a fit when Sae-byeok was trying to help, but her last comment to you pained you a little and got in the way of you apologizing.

“Hello ladies, how may I help you?” says the police officer unenthusiastically at the front desk.

You send Sae-byeok a glare, hearing her mutter how annoyed she was with you again. But you quickly clear your throat before speaking.

“Hi, sir, we’d like to report a missing person. Her name is Park Jiyeong and she was last seen near here last night after getting mugged by a homeless man.” you explain, forcing a tight lipped smile.

The officer doesn’t respond right away and gives you an odd look. He turns around in his swivel chair and whistles over to one of his co-workers.

“Hey, Officer Lee, didn’t you arrest a young lady last night named, Park Ji-yeong?” he calls out to the worker.

“What?!” you and Sae-byeok say in unison.

The co-worker, in the middle of his meal, pauses mid-chew and nods casually before going back to eating.

“What did she do?” you say, appalled.

“Fought a homeless man and injured one of our officers—accidentally I think is what my partner said but let me figure that out.” he says with a sigh and stands up from his seat. You and Sae-byeok exchange worried glances. “To bail her out one of you needs to fill out the paperwork. Take a seat in the waiting room first and I’ll have you fill it out.”

When you both sat down in the waiting room, Sae-byeok starts shaking her legs uncontrollably, clearly freaking out. You bite your lip trying to decide whether you should try to talk to her or not. But you decide against it, feeling like you’ll only irritate her more than she already is. At least you stopped thinking about your swollen hand.

When the officer comes back you stand up to go fill the paperwork.

“Do…” you hesitate speaking as you read over the paperwork. “Do we have to pay any bail money?”

“Although she elbowed the officer by accident. However, legally speaking she needs to await trial,” he explains. That’s when your body starts leaving your soul. “but it’s been a long day so just fill that paperwork out and…stay out of trouble.” he raises a brow at your bruised hand which is of course your dominant one that you’re singing the paperwork with.

“Oh my god, yes of course officer thank you thank you we will!” you beam and deeply bow before finishing off the paperwork grinning ear to ear.

“Ji-yeong!”

After twenty more minutes of waiting, Sae-byeok throws herself on top of Ji-yeong once she arrived at the waiting room, squeezing her tightly. This reconciliation made tears brim from the corner of your eyes, you couldn’t believe it just yet.

Ji-yeong looked a mess. Her mascara completely smudged, her hair was tired up messily and she had a faint scratch mark on her chin. However she had a huge smile of relief seeing you both in front of her—you are sure she thinks you two are a figment of her imagination as well.

“About fucking time.” Ji-yeong sighs in relief. “I can’t wait to charge my phone and catch up on my—“

“Why the hell didn’t you call me?!” Sae-byeok queries loudly. Your breathing pauses when you actually saw a tear roll down the stone faced girls cheek.

“I don’t know your phone number but I asked the officer to look up your bakery and call them but no one answered and I could only make one call!” Ji-yeong whines, rubbing the sides of her temples. “My dad is a heartless monster, I got robbed, they threw me in jail and now you’re yelling at me…So, can we just go home so I can go to my room and cry?”

“Have you eaten anything yet though?” you frown. “Do you want to get something here on me?”

“No, let’s get out of here I want nothing to do with Daejeon anymore!”

“You’re fucking unbelievable.” Sae-byeok hisses, wiping her tears furiously with the end of her sleeves.

“I’m sorry,” Ji-yeong frowns. “to both of you. Thank you for coming for me though. I—I was starting to believe for a second that no one would actually come looking for me.” she mutters softly. You can’t even imagine to have the braveness Ji-yeong possesses. She starts sniffling but trying her best not to become teary like you two are. “Can we go now please?”

No one muttered a single word the entire ride back home. It was hard to process the events that unfolded and every so often you would check up on the girls who sat in between you, dazed in their own thoughts. You are sure they both share the same migraine you are suffering through right now.

By the time you all arrived at their apartment it was three o’ clock in the morning. The girls didn’t question your presence once you entered inside with them. It was like you never left back in March.

Sae-byeok enters two minutes later with a groggily Cheol who she was cradling like a baby over to their room. You hear Ji-yeong slam the door to her room loudly while you were heating up water on a pot to make tea to help calm any unsettled nerves.

“You still remember where everything is?” you heard Sae-byeok’s faint voice behind you. You turn and see her leaning against the doorframe of her room.

“Nothings changed here.” you mumble. “You want tea right? I’m making for three.”

Sae-byeok nods and starts approaching you. For some strange reason, your muscles start to get tense when she leans against the kitchen counter getting awfully close to you.

“I don’t think, Ji-yeong will want anything right now.” she says, looking sullen again. “We should give her space—she went through a lot.”

“Yeah, you’re right…”

You quietly pour the boiling water into the mugs and dip the tea bags inside.

“Your hand…is it still swollen?” Sae-byeok asks, timidly.

After remembering the small argument you two had earlier, your heart sinks. The hurt you felt by Sae-byeok’s words came back.

“A bit but it’s nothing.” you mumble and then sigh in defeat knowing that there’s no way around avoiding the awkward tension. “And I’m sorry—“

“Do not even finish that sentence. I’m the one who should be sorry. We were both frustrated and scared and I said things I didn’t mean.” Sae-byeok says firmly. “So, I’m sorry.”

“…You’re forgiven.” you say quietly and you hear Sae-byeok let out a breath of relief. Did she think you weren’t going to accept her apology?

“And you’re sleeping here tonight, right?” she asks you after you pass her a mug.

You finally look at Sae-byeok and notice how her eyes shifted now. What was once a look of fright and desperation is now replaced with security and comfort. They’re completely softened over.

“You’re finally letting me stay here? I never thought I’d see the day.” you say sarcastically and she rolls her eyes playfully. “Joking. But yeah if that’s okay with you? It’s already late so...”

“I’ll get you a blanket and pillow then.” she announces quietly and heads back to her room.

When you made your way to the living room couch, you managed to hear Ji-yeong’s muffled cries making your stomach knot. You wanted to head over to her and try to soothe the pain she must be in, but Sae-byeok knows her better and if she says to give her space then you need to do that.

A minute later, Sae-byeok comes back with the pillow and blanket. You mutter a thank you and was ready to call it a night but to your surprise she sinks down beside you. She takes a few sips of her mug before clearing her throat.

“By the way, you can take a shower and borrow something of mines for now I know we both did a lot of running and sweating tonight.” she says in her casual flat tone of voice. “I know you hate my taste in clothes but—“

“I never said hate. I told you to experiment.” you scoff with a playful smile on your lips. “I would love to take a long hot shower right now so thank you for offering.”

Sae-byeok nods and finishes the rest of her tea to your bewilderment as yours was still piping hot.

“I…don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t there to help me. So, thank you for that.” she says, sincerely.

You are too nervous to look at her. Thats when your stomach began to flutter with butterflies, a common sensation you began feeling nowadays. “Of course.” you gulp.

“And it was admirable seeing how calm you handled—well everything.“

“Admirable?” you laugh.

“I don’t know that’s the best way I could describe it.” she shrugs, scratching the back of her head.

“I punched a guy so I don’t know if calm is the best way you should describe of my behavior.”

“That pervert deserved it.” she says, scoffing when she replays that moment in her head. “Also, was that your first time ever punching someone?”

“Yeah and hopefully my last because that seriously did hurt at first.” you say, pouting at your slightly swollen knuckles.

Sae-byeok snorts a your comment and rises up from the couch. “Okay, I won’t keep you up any longer I’ll go get you the clothes and a towel.” she pauses abruptly to look down at your feet. You look at her, puzzled. “By the way, nice bunny slippers.”

“Oh, fuck off!” you hiss, your face turning bright red.

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6 @kissedberries @bitchybananaflower @laurenkenss @saebyeokbliss @everly-summers-solace @we1rdth0ughts

[sirjaketkiszka]

Jake Kiszka One Shot: Best Friend’s Brother

When your boyfriend breaks up with you, your head falls on the nearest shoulder; Jake’s.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Mentions of heartbreak, self-doubt, a hint of angst, fear of loneliness, sweet Jake <3, fluff, and that’s all, folks!

(Let me know if I missed any!)

Disclaimer: Apologies for any potential spelling errors and grammar mistakes.

a/n— Here’s to my fluff lovers! Apologies to the individual who requested this one shot nearly three weeks ago, I hope I did your request justice! Shoutout to the beta readers who provided feedback and reassurance so I could finish quicker. Enjoy!! <3

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

You had nowhere else to turn.

The tears sting your eyes as they keep falling, blurring your vision while you lift your closed fist, gently pounding on the door of your best friend’s apartment. A moment of doubt passes, realizing how late it is and that you haven’t even bothered to call before showing up unannounced. 

Your body shivers in the cool breeze of the late-summer air, your arms crossing over your chest as you wait patiently, with your back slightly hunched to preserve all remaining body heat. Rushing over here, you hadn’t thought to wear a heavier jacket, and honestly, you didn’t know it would be this cold. Without thinking, you knock again, letting your arms rest at your sides as your fists grip anxiously at nothing. This was a mistake, you thought to yourself.

The surrounding stillness is deafening; a gentle swish of wind blows past, carrying the dewy scent of the quickly approaching fall. In the distance, tires tread across the gravelly roads, the muffled crunch becoming white noise. The melancholy symphony of crickets is a reminder of the sleeping world around you; a reminder that Josh is, in fact, asleep. Reluctantly, you cut your losses, ultimately giving up and taking a mental note to return tomorrow. 

Just as you take a step back from the door, you perk up and stop your movements when you hear the faint footsteps behind the heavy wood. Thank God. 

However, your optimism fades when the door swings open, revealing the last person you would want to see at a time like this. Quickly wiping the streaming tears from your blotched cheeks, you fix your posture, sniffling and peering over his shoulder. You don’t bother to greet him, having all manners fly out the window. 

“Is Josh available?” You rush out.

“No, he’s asleep right now–” Jake’s voice is irritated, understandably so, but his mouth shuts when he dissects your appearance; flushed cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and a nose that would beat Rudolph in a competition. He’s equally disheveled, most likely having just woken up from your knocking. His hair is tousled, and he’s sporting a pair of gray sweatpants and a thoroughly worn t-shirt with a stretched neckline. His eyes are squinting, likely adjusting to the overhead light of the outside hallway. “Is everything okay?” His eyes soften, along with his tone. 

“Oh, um,” You divert your gaze from his watchful eyes, “I’m fine.” You should’ve known Josh would be asleep by now, it’s nearly 3 am and he has work in the morning, but you still feel disappointed by the information relayed. While Josh would 100% want to be woken up, and would willingly stay up until the sun rises, you’re unwilling to put that responsibility on him. If there’s one thing about you, you refuse to be a burden. Sure, Josh has never made you feel like one, but regardless, you’re willing to wait to avoid messing with his sleep schedule.

Jake pulls you from your thoughts, “Are you sure–”

“Just tell him to call me when he wakes up, please.” Cutting him off, you turn away, ready to make a run for the flight of stairs to your right. 

“Hey…” Before you can step away, his fingers wrap around your wrist, halting your movements. “What happened?” His voice is as interrogating as it is concerned, and his face is stern, pushing for more information than you’re willing to give. 

“Just…” Your eyes focus on his unwavering hand, keeping you in place. Hesitating, you consider telling him. “I’d rather speak with Josh– I’m sorry for bothering you this late. You should go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure?” He repeats, “You’re no bother, I promise.”

“I’m sure, Jake.” You dismiss him, unfamiliar with his sudden concern. While you’ve been friends with Josh for years, you and Jake never got around to getting to know each other. So, his insistent apprehensiveness is new to you. It makes you skeptical– unwilling to confide in him, even though you probably should. “It’s nothing, really.” 

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” His tone is bordering on vexing and his persistence maddens you. Why does he want to know so badly? 

“Jake.” Your voice wavers, attempting to be a warning, but nearly cracking like the front you’ve put on. The warmth of his palm pierces through your already heated skin, and while your thoughts contradict the words that leave your mouth, you haven’t pulled away just yet. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not with you.” 

“I just want to help–”

“I’m fine, Jake!” Your raised voice startles both of you, his eyes wide and mouth parted, unable to respond. With your heart pounding in your chest, your pulse blares in your ears from the rising heat that settles in the crooks of your neck. Silence falls and a tinge of guilt settles in your lower stomach. “I’m sorry, that was… rude of me.”

“No. Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head, dropping your wrist and stepping back a half-step. “I shouldn’t have pried. I’m sorry.”

“Jake–” You step closer, and for a reason you can’t quite place, you don’t want him to leave you just yet. 

“I’ll let Josh know you stopped by.” He’s closing the door now, his eyes locked on yours for a moment before drifting to the floor. 

“Jake, wait.” You plaster your hand against the door, preventing him from closing it. He stops, looks at you, and waits for you to continue. His features are unreadable; relaxed, but simultaneously tense. Letting out a deep sigh, your eyes find the ceiling of the apartment hallway, unable to look him in the eyes. “My boyfriend and I broke up.” 

“Oh,” His face softens, and he opens the door fully again, making your hand drop to your side, “I’m so sorry.” The look on his face disturbs you. It’s a look you never thought you’d receive from him; pity. He actually feels sorry for you. Sure, Jake isn’t a complete asshole, but you’re not close. This is odd. And yet, you feel the comfort radiating off his stature.

“Yeah, well, he broke up with me.” Your name rolls off his tongue in an empathetic whisper from your further elaboration and clear upset in your tone. Without a second thought, Jake steps through the threshold and wraps his arms around you, engulfing you in a consoling hug. The force of his affection causes a small oof to huff out of you, and it takes a moment of initial shock to pass before you reciprocate. Despite the unfamiliarity, you welcome his warmth and feel the tension in your muscles melt as you allow yourself to slump against him. His arms adjust, gently pulling you against him in a firm hold, providing support to your trembling frame. 

Your hands interlock behind him and you take a deep breath, your eyes involuntarily closing as tears threaten to resurface. But, when you inhale deeply, his attractive scent fills your senses and overcomes you. It only adds to his solace; manly, musky, smoky, and vaguely of cinnamon and various spices. You fight the urge to hum when it infiltrates your lungs.

“Come inside.” His voice vibrates against you, pulling you from your racing thoughts. “We can talk about it.” 

“Oh, that’s okay, really.” You chuckle nervously as you lean back to look at him, still holding onto him. He doesn’t let go either. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Please?” He reasons with you, tilting his head, his eyes begging, “At least sleep over and wait until Josh wakes up. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

The offer is appealing. And he is right— you shouldn’t be alone and certainly don’t want to be. You genuinely enjoy this side of Jake; caring, worrisome, and considerate. It’s not that he’s never been those things before, but he’s simply your best friend’s brother. You question why you never considered being his friend as well.

“Fine. I’ll stay.” It truly didn’t take much convincing. You’d either decline and return to an empty apartment for the rest of the night, or accept and potentially spend time with Jake. It’s better than being alone, so you clearly opted for the latter. 

He smiles softly at your submission, unwrapping his arms from around you, and guiding you into the apartment. Stepping aside to let you walk in, he shuts the door behind you. You’ve been in this apartment thousands of times, some even without Josh present, but you can’t shake the awkward feeling overcoming you. Usually, you and Jake coexist, not acknowledging each other. That’s not an option now, as he steps around you and walks over to the couch, taking a seat. 

“Come here.” He pats the spot next to him.

Without any protest, your body gravitates toward him, sitting next to him with just mere inches of space between the two of you. His eyes are watchful; aware of every micro-expression, muscle twitch, and breathing pattern. You feel… seen.

“Jake, I appreciate you letting me in, but really, you don’t have to do this.” You assure him, letting him know there’s still a way out of this conversation. “I’m okay with waiting for Josh.”

“I know I don’t have to… I want to.” His expression is serious, his eyebrows furrowed with determination, to let you know that he’s genuine, “You’re Josh’s best friend and, by extension, I care about you. Josh would do the same.”

He’s not wrong. Josh wouldn’t have let you leave even if you tried to run, though, Jake wouldn’t be that extreme. 

Your shoulders slouch and your bottom lip begins to quiver, remembering the traumatic events that occurred just hours before. It doesn’t take much persuasion for you to pour your heart out to Jake; laying out every single minute detail of your boyfriend— well, ex-boyfriend— breaking your heart.

Jake looks horrified with his eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared in pure indignation. He doesn’t interrupt you, though. Instead, he silently listens, letting you essentially word vomit. It isn’t until you finish talking that you realize tears have gathered just below your chin from the constant stream leaving your watering eyes. 

“I’m sorry, that was a lot.” You let out a small chuckle, using the sleeve of your sweater to wipe away the trail of tears. 

“Don’t apologize.” He reaches out to rest a hand on your knee. His form of comfort seems to be physical touch—he and Josh are similar in that way. “So, you’ve told me everything, but how are you?”

“I’m—” You have to think for a moment. Angry? Yes. Sad? Absolutely. “Disappointed in myself.” 

“Oh, come here,” His voice is gentle as his hands land on your shoulders and pull you into him. He scooches closer so your head can fall onto his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head. His arms wrap around your shoulders, holding you close, while his hands cradle the back of your head. “Why?” His tone is curious.

“I don’t know, it’s just…” You sigh, closing your eyes and hiccuping into his chest. Great, here come the tears again. The fabric of his shirt soaks every fallen drop, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “What if there was something I could’ve done better?” You whisper.

Jake mutters your name, his arms constricting to hold you in a firmer grip, “Listen to me, him breaking up with you… that is not a you problem. Do you understand?” His low voice rumbles in his chest, emanating a comforting vibrating sensation against your cheek. 

“But—”

“There is no ‘but,’” His stern words cut you off, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him from your immediate defense, “I know you. You’ve been nothing but kind to him. And I know him.” You forget that Jake has met your ex-boyfriend a few times. Mainly through passing, but it never takes anyone long to realize how shitty he was. “He never deserved you.”

“It’s just…” You think of your next words, feeling embarrassed by the vulnerability you’re presenting to Jake. He stays silent, letting you collect your thoughts, and you sigh, “What if he’s right…?” Your trembling voice is barely audible.

“What?” Jake shifts, leaning back so you’ll look at him. His face is blurry, courtesy of the tears that gather on your waterline, but his features are riddled with concern. 

“What if…” You sigh again, and your shoulders slump in a silent sob, “What if no one wants me?” 

It’s a real fear you’ve dealt with for, well, however long you were with your ex. The beginning of your relationship was pure bliss, as all honeymoon phases are. However, by the one-year mark, arguments became a daily routine. Then, your second anniversary came around, and well, you had hoped it would get better. It never did. 

Josh did try convincing you to break up with him. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to notice how unhappy you were with him. However, the longer the relationship lasted, and the more your self-esteem dwindled while being with him, you figured… no one else would ever love you. Not like him. If you can even call it love.

You’ve been out of the dating pool for years now, and the idea of having to restart frightens you. You started dating your ex when you were young, but now that you're fully into adulthood, the dating scene is different. 

“Someone will want you.” Jake’s voice is unyielding. His expression is serious. “And someone is going to love you. The way you should be loved. Okay?”

“Okay…” Surprisingly, his words do provide a sense of relief. He seems so sure when he tells you these things; as if he knows personally that they will happen— like he’ll make them happen.

“Good.” His hands move to the sides of your face, and your pulse quickens when he leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead and placing a soft kiss against the creased skin. The intimate gesture startles you, but a gentle wave of disappointment settles in your gut. What were you expecting? You chalk it up to your overwhelming emotions and incessant need to forget this night ever happened— a night where your heart has been shattered by a man who never deserved the chance to begin with. “Do you want to lay down until Josh wakes up? He’s working an early shift, so he should be awake fairly soon.” Three hours to be exact.

You gently nod, your face still cradled in his hands; they’re soft and warm, despite the callouses that formed as a result of his passion, and they’re just barely applying pressure to your tear-stained cheeks. Lowering his hands, he stands up and waits for you to do so as well. 

“What?” 

“Just follow me, please?” When you hesitantly stand up, he places his hands on your shoulders, shifting you in the direction of the bedrooms and bathrooms down the hall. He guides you toward them— the main bathroom is at the end of the hall. You assume he’s taking you there, so you can freshen up and rid your face of the drying tears. And you’re correct.

Stepping into the bathroom, he turns the light on and you’re met with your reflection. Jeez. Somehow, your hair is a mess and your eyes are beginning to swell from the sheer force of crying. Your overall appearance is… puffy. 

“I look terrible.” You say in disbelief, letting out a pathetic chuckle. 

“Oh, stop it.” He looks at you through the mirror’s reflection, “Sit.” He gestures to the bathroom counter.

Doing as he says, you turn around and hop onto the counter, sitting beside the sink and facing Jake. He steps forward, crouching down into the cabinet beneath the sink, grabbing a washcloth, and soaking it with cold water. You expect him to hand it to you, but he steps before you, standing between your open legs. The position is intimate, and entirely compromising if Josh were to walk in. With pure focus on his face, he brings the washcloth up to one of your cheeks and gently wipes the tear-stained skin. The coldness of the cloth soothes your flushed cheek and your eyes flutter close from how nice it feels. His breathing is shallow and he’s close enough that you can hear the air exhaling from his nose. He continues to the other cheek, making sure to swipe the cloth along your jawline, nose, and chin. You’ll never understand what has warranted such care from Jake, but it’s best not to question it now.

When his actions stop, you open your eyes and nearly jolt when you realize how close he is. His expression is conflicting, and his eyes scan your features, but he steps back when he finally makes eye contact with you. 

“All done.” He clears his throat, giving you enough space to slide off the counter. Turning to look at yourself, your face is much less red, and even a little less puffy. It makes you wonder how many crying girls Jake has had to comfort, and unfortunately, it’s a thought that surprisingly discomforts you. Coming up behind you, his hands gravitate to your hair and his fingers softly run through the strands, being careful not to tug. He flattens any imperfections and pulls it all behind your shoulders, “See? Not terrible at all.”

His eyes catch yours again, and your eyes hold his for a moment before you smile, “Thank you, Jake.” 

“Anytime.” He returns a smile, “How about some sleep?”

“I am pretty tired.” You admit, turning around to face him. Jake nods knowingly, snaking his hand behind you and resting it on your lower back. You’re entirely capable of heading to the couch yourself, but who are you to deny a helping hand? 

Jake guides you out of the bathroom, turns the light off, and walks with you down the hall. You’re sure to be quiet when you walk past Josh’s room, feeling unsettled by the fact that he has no idea you’re even here. While you’re coming closer to the living room at the end of the hall, Jake turns you to his bedroom. Before you can utter a word of protest, you’re walking through the threshold and Jake is flicking the switch to turn on the lamp in the far corner of his bedroom. 

The bedroom is dimly lit– the covers in slight disarray from him leaving his bed to answer the door. Like Jake, his room is dark, comforting, and, for lack of a better word, mysterious. The decorations on the walls and surfaces don’t give away much about him, other than the fact that he’s fascinated by pirates, oddly enough. In the opposite corner of the lamp, there are guitars presented on stands, and an amp just beside them. You’re stunned, feeling as though you’re intruding on a private part of his life. 

To you, your bedroom is your sanctuary. Only a select few are permitted to tread such confidential territory. It’s not like Jake has a “Stay out!” sign attached to his bedroom door, but still, this feels like a rite of passage. A look into his life outside of what you’ve always known.

“Jake—”

“Relax,” he chuckles from behind you, figuring how you might interpret this gesture. “You can stay in here while I sleep on the couch.”

Well, that’s awfully generous. “Jake, that’s kind of you, but you’ve already done so much for me. I can sleep on the couch— I promise it’s fine.”

He waves you off while stepping around to approach the bed, as a way to say “Don’t be ridiculous.” Fixing the covers, he pulls them back and motions to the open spot. “You deserve comfort. Not the couch.”

Your feet shuffle in his direction, gravitating toward the plush mattress. “Okay…” You’re uncertain, but Jake’s expression softens you, “Is it really that comfortable? I’d argue that the couch is pretty damn close.”

“Only one way to find out.” He smirks, happy to see sparks of your snide self coming to the surface. Playfully rolling your eyes, you kick off your shoes and sit on the bed, turning to push your legs under the covers and lay back against the soft mountain of pillows. 

“Oh my…” The words shutter from your lips, genuinely surprised. The sheets are still warm from his previous laying in them, and it only adds to the overwhelming comforting sensation. 

He chuckles, his lips flashing his satisfied smile from your involuntary reaction. 

The air from the pillows and mattress deflates, creating a molding sensation, and hugging your every curve. It’s… heavenly. Perhaps all that crying made your body incredibly sore and tired, but that’s quickly a distant memory when you're practically melting into Jake’s bed. 

Jake pulls the covers over you, engulfing you in a heavy plush comforter that’s saturated with his scent. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you nuzzle deeper into his pillows and grip the edge of the comforter, pulling it up just below your chin.

“What’d I tell you?” He laughs, his eyelids relaxing to admire how comfortable you look in his bed. 

“You were right.”

“Music to my ears.” He teases, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, “Get some sleep, okay?” 

“Okay…” While you can sleep, and you are tired, you hate watching Jake turn to leave, reaching for the light switch and sparing you one more glance. “Jake–” He freezes, his fingers resting on the switch, looking at you over his shoulder. “I’m not tired.” You lie.

“Oh.” His hand falls, and he turns around, stepping toward you, “But you said– Is there something wrong?”

“No, I–” You what? “Can you stay with me?”

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. You feel stupid for asking such a question. This entire situation felt unreal; when you came here, you had hoped to confide in Josh, but here you are. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” It was a ridiculous request, he’d never agree. “You don’t have to–”

“I’ll stay. Scoot over.” His words frantically cut you off and his legs move in stride, making you move over quickly. He pulls back the covers and slides in effortlessly. Although, when he settles underneath the comforter, he only leans against the headboard. His legs lay before him, and he peers down at you, “Come here.”

Without thinking, you shift closer, watching him cautiously as he uncovers his lap and pats his thigh. It’s a position you’re familiar with, especially with Josh. The two of you would take turns resting your heads on each other’s lap to rant about various topics. It’s your form of therapy. Though, this feels entirely different with Jake. It is as if you’re entering unknown territory, one you can’t return from.

Still, you rest your head against his thigh, which happens to be pleasantly muscular. It takes a moment before you both relax, silence deafening the room and amplifying your steadying breaths. You hadn’t thought this far before foolishly asking him to stay, but you were unwilling to return to acquaintances with Jake.

“Thank you,” you cut through the silence, your voice quiet, “for being so kind.”

“Of course.” He stares down at you, his eyes settling on the side of your face while your cheek rests against him. You can hear his hand shuffling, although you’re unsure where until you feel his soft touch glide along your hair, pushing the strands back from your face. The act is soothing, your eyes closing to revel in the feeling. His fingers drag along your scalp, applying gentle pressure and a quiet hum settles deep within your chest.

Confliction pulls at your thoughts; just hours ago you were being broken up with and now you’re lying in another man’s bed. Truthfully, a man you hadn’t paid much attention to in the past years. To be fair, it was never on purpose. Your ex-boyfriend was never fond of male friendships; Josh was hardly an exception. You silently curse yourself for missing out on Jake. He’s just as sweet and kind as his twin; selfless, generous, and attentive. All traits he’s presented in just one hour. You imagine the years you could’ve spent experiencing it first-hand. If only you hadn’t spent them pushing him away for the sake of your ex. 

“I’m sorry, Jake.” You mumble. 

“Why? For what?” His movements halt, and your eyes open, your head turning to look up at him. His eyebrows are synched, riddled with concern.

“Not being your friend sooner.” You confess, now reflecting on all the times he obviously tried, but you were dismissive. “Listen, if I was ever mean to you–”

“Don’t.” He stops you, shaking his head and resting his hand against the cheek that once rested on his lap. “Don’t do that. You’ll only upset yourself further.” 

“But–”

“There is no ‘but.’” He repeats his earlier phrase. “We’re friends now. We have time.” 

Although he and Josh are certainly twins, they feel so… different. The connection that’s forming with Jake frightens you; it’s unknown and uncharted. With Josh, your friendship was immediate and effortless. With Jake, however, this newfound friendship doesn’t feel very friendly. Something tells you that the way you both say the word “friends,” it’s foreign and not entirely what you want.

Think realistically, you tell yourself. Perhaps sleep deprivation is manipulating your thoughts. For God’s sake, you’re emotionally vulnerable and the wounds are still bleeding. 

“I know, but,” Despite his disapproval of the word, you use it anyway, “we could’ve had more time.” And had Jake been fully integrated into your life sooner… Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe if you had met Jake before him…

“Hey.” his voice softly protests, and he lifts your head from his lap, moving to your level and laying right beside you. He lays face-to-face with you, examining the hills and curves of your face, accentuated by the dim lighting from his warm-toned lamp. He sighs, absently bringing his hand to your face and brushing the loose hair behind your ear, “I promise, it’s okay.” 

You nod, taking his word for it, even though you still feel unease and uncertainty. Sliding his hand just behind your head, he guides you to rest on his chest as he turns onto his back, staring intently at the ceiling. Your cheek molds against him, his body heat reddening the soft flesh, no doubt. Chasing comfort, you sling your arm over his waist and you’re surprised by how natural the position feels. Your leg intertwines with his, settling between them, as his arm wraps around your shoulder. His heart pounds in his chest, and regardless of his calm demeanor, his pulse is racing. 

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

“I wish I knew you were this great sooner.” You laugh weakly against his chest, feeling him pull you in closer. 

“Me too.” He admits with a sigh, subtle disappointment lacing his tone. 

A comfortable silence falls, the only sound being the faint pounding of his heart and gentle exhales through his nose. Your eyelids grow heavy, your mind only focusing on the pattern of his breathing and the beat of his heart. A large yawn overcomes you, and you sigh deeply as it exits your lungs, your eyes settling on the open door. 

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

“The door’s open.” You point out.

“That’s okay.” He turns to follow your gaze.

“What if Josh sees us like this?” With some explanation, he wouldn’t care, but a heads-up wouldn’t hurt either. You can only imagine how disconcerting it’ll make Josh feel if he were to walk in on his best friend cuddled up with his twin brother. If you had given it more thought, and hadn’t let your emotions dictate your every decision tonight, you would’ve been more cautious. However, Jake shuts down that thought. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I’m not moving.” He decides, and when you look up at him, his eyes are closed. You decide to do the same, paying attention to the way his heart rate slows as he relaxes and, in turn, relaxes you. Jake’s arm holds you firmly, and your hand slides from his waist to his chest, resting against the solid flesh. Sleep follows shortly and engulfs you both in a comforting embrace.

Thump-thump.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Taglist & tags:

@hailthegodsong @demolitiondanchipsversion

[rickybaby]

Ugh that article came off so condescending and gross? Him dismissing anyone buying tickets to see Daniel in a VCARB….”more impact out of the car then in it” leeches til the end

These people will never understand why so many of us first became fans of Daniel in 2022, why we stuck with him through all the difficult times and why we would still have shown up to see him get P16 in a vcarb because he raced with as much passion in a midfield car as he did in a top car.

They’ll never understand Daniel’s true impact on this sport, but the one thing they understand is money. And they will see the impact of his loss on their bottom lines. While it’s infuriating to see how this guy only sees Daniel as a show pony, I’m going to feel vindicated when in a few weeks, when all the media and Red Bull have exhausted all the ways they could dismantle his career, there’s going to be quantifiable proof of his loss to this sport.

Money is the only thing that matters in this sport, and it’s about to hurt them where it counts the most

[pucksandpower]

Critics and Lovers

Max Verstappen x journalist!Reader

Summary: how would the paddock react if they knew that the woman writing scathing critiques about the reigning world champion weekend after weekend was the same woman who whispers sweet nothings in his ear at night?

“Did you really go to school for half a decade to get your journalism degree just to ask if I think I’ll win?”

Max’s voice cuts through the bustle of the press room, drawing the attention of a few journalists milling around with their notebooks and recorders. He leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, his smirk more amused than annoyed. His blue eyes — always so intense under the brim of his cap — lock onto yours, daring you to respond.

You raise an eyebrow, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at him. “I’m asking the questions the people want answers to, Max. It’s my job, remember?”

“Your job is to provoke me, apparently,” he counters, leaning forward slightly, his smirk widening. “But you know, you could at least pretend to be creative. Ask something that might surprise me for once.”

“I wasn’t aware you had the capacity to be surprised,” you quip, your pen hovering over your notepad as if ready to jot down his response.

Max lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Touché. But if you’re expecting me to give you a soundbite for your next article, you’ll have to do better than that.”

The exchange draws a few chuckles from the nearby journalists, but they quickly refocus on their own tasks, used to the banter between the two of you. After all, it’s no secret that you’re Max Verstappen’s biggest critic.

Week after week, your articles dissect his performances with surgical precision, never shying away from pointing out his flaws, his temper, his moments of questionable judgment. To everyone else, you’re just doing your job, holding one of the sport’s biggest stars accountable. But to Max — well, he seems to take it in stride, brushing off your critiques with the same ease he shows on track.

What no one else knows, though, is that this verbal sparring is just another part of the complicated dance you and Max have been perfecting for years. A dance that begins in front of cameras and microphones, and ends in private, where the lines between your professional rivalry and personal relationship blur into something neither of you can fully define.

“Okay, fine,” you say, pretending to think hard about your next question. “How about this: what’s your plan for today? Any new strategies to surprise us with?”

Max raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “That’s almost worse than your first question. Did you really think that would get me talking?”

You sigh, exasperated. “Maybe if you gave me a straight answer for once, I wouldn’t have to keep asking.”

He leans in closer, lowering his voice just enough so only you can hear. “Maybe if you asked me something off the record, I’d actually consider it.”

“Off the record doesn’t sell papers, Max,” you reply, your tone equally low but tinged with something more affectionate, something that would be impossible to miss for anyone paying close attention.

Max’s smirk softens into something more sincere, his eyes flickering with the warmth that you’ve come to associate with the quiet moments you share away from the track, away from the scrutiny of the world.

It’s a look that says he knows you’re playing a role, just like he is. That despite the biting comments and the professional jabs, there’s a mutual understanding between you. A connection that runs deeper than anything either of you would ever admit in public.

But here, in this crowded room filled with reporters who’d kill for the kind of scoop only you could provide, that connection has to stay hidden. Because if anyone ever found out the truth — if they knew that you, the woman who writes those scathing critiques of Max Verstappen, were the same woman who shares his bed at night — it would be the end of both your careers.

And so, the game continues, with both of you playing your parts to perfection.

“Next time, try asking me something interesting,” Max says, his voice returning to its usual volume as he straightens in his chair, signaling the end of your private moment. “Otherwise, I’ll start thinking you’re getting lazy.”

You give him a look that’s meant to be stern but can’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Lazy? I think you’re confusing me with your performance last weekend.”

The jab earns you a mock glare from Max, but he doesn’t take the bait, instead giving a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll see who’s lazy when I’m on top of the podium later.”

“Confident as ever, I see,” you remark, jotting down a few notes that you know you’ll never actually use.

“Just stating facts,” he says, and for a moment, you can’t help but admire the way he carries himself, the ease with which he navigates this world of high stakes and even higher expectations. It’s one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, back when neither of you had any idea where this relationship was heading.

“Well, good luck out there,” you say, finally stepping back to let the next reporter have their turn. But as you move away, you catch the briefest flash of something in his eyes — something that tells you he’s not just thinking about the race ahead, but about the conversation you’ll have later, away from prying eyes.

As you find a spot at the back of the room, your phone buzzes in your pocket. A quick glance tells you it’s a message from Max, sent under the guise of a work-related email, as usual.

You know I’m going to make you pay for that lazy comment later, right?

You bite back a smile, typing out a quick response.

Promises, promises.

The rest of the press conference goes by in a blur of questions and answers, none of which capture your attention the way Max does. You’re barely listening when the moderator finally wraps things up, and the drivers start to file out.

But before Max can make his exit, he pauses just long enough to catch your eye, giving you a look that’s all too familiar. It’s the same look he gave you the first time you met, back when he was just another driver on the grid and you were the new journalist determined to make a name for yourself. A look that says he’s already planning what he’s going to say to you later, when the cameras are off and the real conversations can begin.

You follow the crowd out of the room, blending in with the other journalists as you make your way toward the paddock. But your thoughts are already drifting to the end of the day, to the moment when you’ll finally be alone with Max, free to drop the pretense and just be yourselves.

Because despite the roles you play in public — the critical journalist and the cocky driver — in private, you’re something else entirely. Something that neither of you can fully explain, but neither of you wants to give up.

“Heading back to the media center?” One of your colleagues asks as you step outside, the midday sun beating down on the paddock.

“Yeah, I’ve got a deadline to meet,” you reply, forcing your mind back to the task at hand. But even as you say it, you know that your thoughts will be elsewhere for the rest of the day. On Max, and the secret you both share. A secret that, for now, is safe.

But how long can it stay that way?

The question lingers in your mind as you head back to your desk, the usual chatter of the paddock fading into the background. You’ve always known that this arrangement couldn’t last forever, that eventually, something would give.

The world of Formula 1 is too small, too tightly knit, for secrets like this to stay buried forever. And when the truth finally comes out — because it’s not a matter of if, but when — you know that everything will change.

But for now, you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the article you need to write. It’s what you’re good at, after all — crafting narratives, shaping stories. And today, the story is about Max, the driver who never fails to surprise you, both on and off the track.

The press room is quieter now, most of the other journalists having moved on to other tasks. You sit down at your laptop, the screen reflecting your determined expression. The cursor blinks at you, waiting. And as you begin to type, the words flow easily, the story taking shape with each keystroke.

It’s a story the world has seen before — another race, another analysis of Max Verstappen’s performance. But underneath it all, there’s a subtext that only you can see, a hidden layer that tells the real story. The one that will never make it to print.

The one that belongs to just you and Max.

Hours pass in a blur, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you lose yourself in the work. It’s almost too easy to write about Max, to analyze his every move, his every decision. You know him better than anyone, after all — better than any other journalist in this room, better than most of the people in his life. It’s a knowledge that comes with a price, though, a price you’re all too aware of.

But as the final paragraph falls into place, you sit back, satisfied. The article is done, the narrative complete. And with it, the day’s work is finally over. You stretch, glancing around the empty press room, and for a moment, you allow yourself to relax. To let go of the role you’ve been playing all day, and just be yourself.

Your phone buzzes again, pulling you back to reality. Another message from Max.

Meet me in the usual place?

You don’t hesitate before typing out a reply.

On my way.

The media center is almost deserted as you make your way out, the soft hum of electronics the only sound filling the room. You slip your laptop into your bag and sling it over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the day lift slightly as you step into the paddock. The evening air is cooler now, a welcome relief after the day’s heat, and the sky is streaked with shades of orange and pink as the sun dips below the horizon.

You walk with purpose, navigating the familiar maze of trailers and motorhomes, heading toward the secluded spot where you and Max often meet. It’s tucked away from the main pathways, a place where no one would think to look for you, and that’s exactly why it works. You reach the spot and pause, taking a deep breath before stepping around the corner.

Max is already there, leaning against the side of a trailer, his cap pulled low over his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Took you long enough,” he says, his tone teasing.

“Had to finish that article you’re so eager to read,” you reply, stopping a few feet away from him, just outside the reach of his hands.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s a glowing review of my abilities,” he says, pushing off the trailer and closing the distance between you in two strides. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer, and you don’t resist. Here, in this quiet corner of the paddock, the walls come down, and the roles you play for the cameras melt away.

“Glowing might be a stretch,” you say, allowing yourself a small smile as his hand lingers on your waist. “But it’s fair.”

“Fair is good,” he murmurs, leaning in so his forehead rests against yours. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re going easy on me.”

“Maybe I am,” you admit, your voice softening. “Or maybe I just think you deserve a break every now and then.”

“From the criticism? Or from you?” He asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Both,” you say, giving him a playful shove, but he doesn’t budge, his grip on you firm yet gentle.

“You know I’d never take a break from you,” he says, his voice low, serious now. His thumb strokes your side, sending a shiver up your spine.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. It’s these moments you treasure the most, the ones where it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure. Just Max and you, stripped down to the simplest version of yourselves.

“I know,” you whisper, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. “I’d never let you.”

His smile turns tender, and he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says simply, before closing the small gap between you and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, unhurried, a stark contrast to the fast-paced world you both live in. It’s a reminder of what you have, what you’ve built together despite the odds. And as you kiss him back, you feel a warmth spread through you, one that has nothing to do with the lingering heat of the day.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours again, he lets out a small sigh, as if he’s been holding his breath all day and can finally relax. “I hate this,” he admits quietly.

“Hate what?” You ask, your fingers playing with the edge of his shirt, needing the physical connection to anchor you.

“Hiding,” he says, the word heavy with the weight of months, years of secrecy. “I hate that we have to keep doing this, sneaking around like we’re doing something wrong.”

You feel a pang in your chest, because you hate it too. Hate the way you have to pretend to be something you’re not in front of everyone else. Hate the way you have to watch your words, your actions, every time you’re in the same room as him. But more than that, you hate the idea of what would happen if the truth came out. The scrutiny, the backlash, the way it would change everything.

“I know,” you say softly, your fingers stilling on his shirt. “But it’s the only way right now. We both knew that going into this.”

“I know we did,” he replies, his voice tinged with frustration. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No,” you agree, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “It doesn’t.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and for a while, neither of you says anything. The silence is comforting, a shared understanding that words can’t always convey. It’s moments like these that make the rest of it bearable — the stolen kisses, the secret glances, the knowledge that, no matter what happens, you’ll always have each other.

Eventually, Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softer now, the frustration replaced with something gentler, more resigned. “I just wish it could be different,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” you admit, your heart aching with the truth of it. “But we’ll get through this, Max. We always do.”

He nods, though you can see the doubt lingering in his eyes. “Yeah, we will,” he says, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. “And when we do, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

“Together,” you echo, holding onto the word like a lifeline.

He leans in to kiss you again, and this time, it’s slower, more deliberate, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail, every sensation. And you let him, because you’re doing the same, savoring the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his hand cradles the back of your head like you’re something precious.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, and the world feels a little less heavy, a little less overwhelming. Max rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breath warm against your skin.

“I love you,” he says, the words so simple, yet so profound in the way they ground you, remind you of what’s important.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady, certain.

He smiles then, that slow, genuine smile that’s just for you, the one that makes your heart skip a beat every time. And in that moment, everything else fades away — the doubts, the fears, the uncertainty of what the future holds. Because right now, in this quiet corner of the paddock, it’s just the two of you, and that’s enough.

For now, it’s enough.

“Come on,” Max says after a moment, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get out of here before someone comes looking for us.”

You nod, and together, you slip out of the shadows, making your way back through the maze of trailers and motorhomes, hand in hand. The paddock is quieter now, most of the crew having called it a day, and the sky is a deep, dusky blue as night settles in.

As you walk, you can’t help but glance at Max, the way his profile is lit by the dim lights of the paddock, the way his grip on your hand never wavers. It’s moments like these that make it all worth it — the sacrifices, the secrecy, the constant balancing act between your public and private lives.

Because at the end of the day, it’s not the criticism or the articles or even the races that matter. It’s this — being with him, knowing that no matter what, you’ll always have each other.

And as you slip out of the paddock together, unnoticed by anyone, you hold onto that thought, letting it carry you through the darkness, through the uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring.

Because for now, it’s enough.

And that’s all you need.

***

The Hidden Truth: Why I Kept My Marriage a Secret

By: Y/N Y/L/N

For as long as I’ve been a journalist, I’ve prided myself on one thing: honesty. I’ve built a career on asking the tough questions, on digging for the truth even when it’s uncomfortable, and on holding the powerful accountable. That’s why, as I sit down to write this, I find myself in an unfamiliar position — one where I’m the subject of my own scrutiny.

Over the past few years, I’ve become known as Max Verstappen’s biggest critic. I’ve questioned his decisions on track, his attitude off it, and his approach to the sport we both love. I’ve written article after article dissecting his every move, never once pulling my punches. And, in doing so, I’ve created a persona that many have come to recognize — a journalist who isn’t afraid to speak her mind, no matter who she’s writing about.

But there’s something I’ve kept hidden. Something I’ve chosen not to share, not because I’m ashamed of it, but because it’s deeply personal. And now, it’s time to tell the truth.

Max Verstappen is my husband.

Yes, you read that correctly. The man I’ve spent years publicly scrutinizing is the same man I wake up next to every morning, the same man who knows me better than anyone else in this world. We’ve been married for two years, together for even longer, and our relationship is something I hold incredibly dear.

I can already hear the questions — how could I, a journalist dedicated to transparency, keep such a monumental secret? How could I write so critically about the man I love, knowing the impact my words would have? The answers are complex, but I’ll do my best to explain.

When Max and I first started dating, it was easy to keep our relationship private. We were just two people trying to navigate the chaotic world of Formula 1, and neither of us wanted the added pressure of public scrutiny. But as our relationship grew more serious, we both knew that revealing it would come with consequences — not just for us, but for our careers, our reputations, and our personal lives.

So we made a choice. We decided that our relationship was something we wanted to protect, something we wanted to keep just for ourselves. And yes, that meant keeping it a secret from the public, from our colleagues, even from some of our closest friends.

But the secrecy wasn’t about hiding. It was about creating a space where we could be ourselves, away from the cameras, the interviews, the constant analysis of every move we made. It was about having something that was ours and ours alone, in a world where so much is shared, dissected, and often distorted.

Now, as for the criticism — many of you will likely wonder how I could write so harshly about the man I love. The truth is, when I put on my journalist hat, I’m not Max Verstappen’s wife. I’m not Y/N, the woman who loves him. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the journalist who has a job to do. And that job is to report on the sport objectively, to ask the tough questions, and to hold everyone — including my husband — accountable.

Max knew this from the beginning, and he respected it. In fact, he encouraged it. He didn’t want me to go easy on him just because of our relationship. He wanted me to be true to myself and to my profession, even if that meant writing things that were difficult for both of us. And yes, there were times when it was hard — when I wrote something that hurt him, when we had to have difficult conversations about where to draw the line between my role as a journalist and my role as his partner.

But through it all, we’ve managed to keep our relationship strong, because we both understand that what happens on the track, what’s written in the press, isn’t the full story. The full story is what happens behind closed doors, away from the public eye, in the quiet moments we share when it’s just the two of us.

And now, the secret’s out. I know this revelation will come as a shock to many, and I’m prepared for the questions, the speculation, and yes, the criticism that will inevitably follow. But I want to make one thing clear — I’m not sorry.

I’m not sorry for keeping our relationship private. I’m not sorry for protecting something that means the world to me. And I’m not sorry for continuing to do my job with integrity, even when it meant writing things that were difficult for both of us.

This is our truth. It’s messy, it’s complicated, but it’s ours. And now, it’s out there for the world to see. I’m not asking for understanding or approval, because I know this will be a difficult pill for some to swallow. But I am asking for respect — for my choices, for our relationship, and for the fact that, at the end of the day, we’re just two people who fell in love in a world that’s anything but ordinary.

Max and I are still the same people we were before you knew about us. He’s still the incredible driver you’ve come to admire, and I’m still the journalist who will continue to ask the tough questions, no matter who’s on the other side of them.

The only difference now is that you know the full story.

And I’m okay with that.

***

The Other Side: Why We Chose to Keep Our Love Private

By: Max Verstappen

I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, whether on the track or off. Racing is in my blood — it’s what I’ve known and loved my entire life. But writing? That’s a whole different race, one where I’m definitely out of my comfort zone. So, when Y/N suggested I write this article, I wasn’t sure if it was such a great idea. But she convinced me — like she always does — so here I am, trying to find the words to explain what’s been one of the most significant parts of my life, one that I’ve kept hidden from the world until now.

As you’ve probably read by now, Y/N Y/L/N, the journalist who has been my harshest critic, is also my wife. Let that sink in for a moment — I know it took me a while to get used to the idea too. Not the fact that she’s my wife, but that the world now knows something we’ve kept private for so long.

When Y/N and I started dating, we had no idea where it would lead. We were just two people who happened to find something special in each other, despite the chaos of our worlds. But as our relationship deepened, so did the challenges. How do you navigate a relationship when one of you is in the spotlight 24/7, and the other’s job is to shine that light as brightly as possible, even when it’s uncomfortable?

We quickly realized that what we had was too important to let the world dictate how we lived it. So, we made a choice — a choice to keep our relationship private, not because we were ashamed, but because we wanted something for ourselves, something that wasn’t up for public debate or scrutiny.

People will ask why we did it, why we went to such lengths to keep it a secret, and the answer is simple: because we had to. Being a Formula 1 driver means living your life under a microscope. Every move you make, every word you say, is analyzed, criticized, and often misunderstood. It’s a pressure cooker, and adding a public relationship into that mix was something we weren’t willing to do.

It wasn’t an easy decision. There were times when I wanted to scream from the rooftops about how much I love this woman, how much she means to me, and how proud I am of her. But I knew that doing so would open us up to a level of scrutiny neither of us wanted or needed. And so, we kept it quiet, we kept it private, and we built something strong and real away from the cameras.

That���s not to say it was without its challenges. Y/N’s articles about me — some of which were less than flattering — were hard to swallow at times. But I respected her too much to ask her to change the way she does her job. She’s a journalist, and a damn good one at that. She has a responsibility to her readers, to the sport, and to herself to be honest, even if that honesty stings.

Did it hurt when she wrote something critical about me? Of course, it did. But I also understood that what she wrote came from a place of integrity, not malice. It was her job to ask the tough questions, to hold me accountable, and to do so without bias. And I loved her even more for it.

You might wonder how we managed to keep our relationship strong despite the secrecy and the criticism. The truth is, we did it by being honest with each other in ways we couldn’t be with anyone else. We talked — about everything. About the articles, about the pressures we were both under, about our fears and our hopes for the future. We made sure that, no matter what happened on the track or in the press, we were solid in our relationship. And we were.

But now that the secret’s out, I know things will change. People will have opinions, and they’ll want to know every detail of how we made this work. They’ll want to dissect our relationship just like they dissect my races. And that’s fine — we knew this day would come eventually.

What I want people to understand, though, is that our decision to keep our relationship private wasn’t about deception. It was about protection. We wanted to protect what we had, to give ourselves the space to grow as a couple without the pressures of the outside world bearing down on us.

I’ve always been a private person, and that’s not going to change just because the truth is out. But I’m also incredibly proud of what Y/N and I have built together. She’s my toughest critic, yes, but she’s also my biggest supporter, my partner, and the person I trust more than anyone else in this world.

So, why write this now? Because I want to set the record straight. I want people to understand that our relationship is real, that it’s built on love, respect, and a shared understanding of what it means to live in this crazy world of Formula 1. We didn’t hide it because we were ashamed — we hid it because we wanted to protect it, to keep it safe from the chaos that surrounds us every day.

And now that the secret’s out, I’m not afraid of what’s to come. I know there will be challenges, but I also know that we’ll face them together, just like we’ve faced everything else.

This is our story. It’s not perfect, and it’s far from simple, but it’s ours. And now, the world knows it too.

***

The sun hangs low over the paddock as you walk beside Max, your hand nestled comfortably in his. The usually bustling environment feels different today, like the air has thickened with anticipation. You can feel the eyes on you — hundreds of them, some curious, some incredulous, all hungry for the next piece of the puzzle that is you and Max Verstappen.

You’ve written about this very paddock more times than you can count. You’ve captured its energy, its chaos, its unpredictability. But today, for the first time, you’re the story.

Max squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance, and you glance up at him. He’s calm, or at least he appears to be. You know him well enough to see the subtle signs of tension — the set of his jaw, the way his eyes scan the crowd with a little more intensity than usual. He’s ready for whatever comes next. So are you, or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice low, meant only for you.

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply, managing a small smile.

The first few steps into the paddock are deceptively quiet, almost serene. But then, as if someone has flipped a switch, the cameras flash, the microphones extend, and the questions start flying at you from every direction.

“Max! Is it true you’ve been married for two years?”

“Y/N, why did you keep it a secret?”

“How does this change your dynamic on the grid?”

“Will you be writing about Max differently now?”

You and Max exchange a glance, a wordless conversation in the middle of the media frenzy. His hand tightens around yours, a steady anchor in the chaos. You can feel the eyes of your colleagues, the other journalists who are now looking at you not as one of them but as a subject. It’s a disorienting feeling, like the world has suddenly shifted and you’re standing in a place you no longer recognize.

Max leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Welcome to my world.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, a sound that cuts through the tension like a knife. It’s absurd, this whole situation. You’ve spent years writing about him, criticizing him, analyzing his every move, and now you’re on the other side of that scrutiny.

You straighten your shoulders, drawing on every ounce of professionalism you have. This is what you signed up for. You’ve spent years dissecting the lives of others, and now it’s your turn to be under the microscope. It’s only fair.

But Max isn’t letting you go it alone. He steps forward, his presence commanding as he addresses the swarm of reporters. “We’ll take questions, but let’s keep it civil,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The first question comes from a reporter you recognize, someone you’ve shared more than a few press rooms with. “Max, how does it feel to have your relationship with Y/N out in the open?”

Max glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It feels good. We’ve wanted to keep this part of our lives private, but now that it’s out, we’re ready to move forward.”

Another reporter jumps in, this one more aggressive. “Y/N, how do you expect to remain unbiased in your reporting now that everyone knows you’re married to Max?”

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I’ve always strived for objectivity in my work, and that won’t change. My relationship with Max is separate from my role as a journalist. I’ll continue to ask the tough questions, just as I always have.”

It’s a carefully crafted answer, one you rehearsed in your head a dozen times before stepping into the paddock. But you can see the skepticism in their eyes, the doubt that you can truly keep your professional and personal lives separate. It stings, but you knew it was coming.

Max’s voice cuts through the murmurs. “Y/N has always been one of the best in the business, and that’s not going to change just because we’re married. If anything, she’ll probably be even harder on me now.”

There’s a ripple of laughter, a brief moment of levity in the tension-filled space. But it’s short-lived. The questions keep coming, each one sharper than the last.

“Max, do you think your performance on the track will be affected now that your marriage is public?”

“Y/N, do you regret keeping this a secret for so long?”

“What about the other drivers? How do they feel about this?”

You’re starting to feel the weight of it all, the relentless pressure of the cameras, the voices, the questions that seem to dig deeper and deeper. But Max is by your side, unwavering, and that gives you strength.

“I don’t regret anything,” you say firmly, your voice cutting through the noise. “Max and I made the decision to keep our relationship private because it was what was best for us. We wanted to protect something that mattered to us, and I don’t think anyone can fault us for that.”

Max nods, his hand still wrapped around yours. “We knew this would come with challenges, but we’re ready to face them together.”

There’s a moment of silence, a pause as the reporters digest your words. But you know this isn’t the end of it. The scrutiny, the questions, they’re not going to stop anytime soon. You’ve become the story, and that’s something you’ll have to live with.

But as you stand there, side by side with Max, you realize that you’re okay with it. You’ve spent years writing about other people’s lives, their triumphs and failures, their relationships and rivalries. Now, it’s your turn to be in the spotlight, and you’re ready for it.

“Max, Y/N,” a voice calls out, one of the more seasoned journalists you’ve always respected. “What’s next for you two? How do you plan to navigate this new chapter?”

Max looks at you, his eyes softening. “We’re going to keep doing what we’ve always done. I’ll keep racing, Y/N will keep writing, and we’ll keep supporting each other every step of the way. This is just another challenge, and we’re more than ready to face it.”

You nod, feeling a surge of confidence. “We’re not going to let this change who we are or what we do. We’ve always been a team, and that’s not going to change now.”

There’s a finality to your words, a sense that you’ve said all there is to say. The reporters sense it too, the questions starting to taper off as they realize they’re not going to get anything more out of you today.

Max squeezes your hand one last time before turning to the crowd. “Thanks, everyone. We’ll see you in the media pen.”

With that, he starts to lead you away, but not before you catch the eyes of a few of your colleagues. There’s a mix of emotions there — some understanding, some curiosity, and yes, some judgment. But you don’t let it get to you. You’ve spent your career building a reputation, and one revelation isn’t going to tear that down.

As you walk away from the crowd, Max’s arm slips around your waist, pulling you close. “Not so bad, huh?” He murmurs.

You laugh softly, leaning into him. “Speak for yourself. I think I’ll stick to writing the articles, not being the subject of them.”

Max chuckles, his breath warm against your temple. “Now you know why I’m not a fan of the media. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” you echo, smiling up at him.

The paddock is still buzzing with energy, the usual pre-race preparations in full swing. But you and Max walk through it with a new sense of purpose, a newfound clarity. The secret is out, and while it comes with challenges, it also comes with freedom — a freedom to be yourselves, to love each other openly, without the burden of secrecy.

You know the road ahead won’t be easy. There will be more questions, more scrutiny, more judgment. But as long as you have Max by your side, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.

[euphoricimagination]

𝓗𝓪𝓲𝓴𝔂𝓾𝓾 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓴-𝓶𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵

Feat. Nekoma & Inarizaki -> Part 2 [Aoba Johsai & Fukurodani]

Premise: You had to do something else for a week and a half, leaving the boys alone for that period. Although they told the coaches that they could survive without you, the coaches ask a girl to help them out instead. They weren’t particularly excited, which got worse the more they spent time with her

Nekoma

You arrived later than you expected, just on time for the club, So you didn’t get to see your dear team until much later

When you enter the gym, you see a…strange view

No one in the team was happy

Yaku and Kai didn’t have any expressions on them, Lev was pouting aggressively, Fukunaga had a frown, Yamamoto was mumbling words and Kenma was nowhere to be seen.

The girl that was supposed to replace you for the week was walking besides a very annoyed Kuroo, who was pushing the cart with the balls

Weird, considering that doing that was the basics for being a manager

They were so out of it that none notice the sound of your shoes, weird considering how attentive they are

“Ah Kuroo senpai, thank God you helped me! I’m so small and weak that I wasn’t able to push it over” you heard her say, making you cringe at the sentence

“Yeah, whatever” said a disinteresting Kuroo

And that’s when you confirm that something was really wrong, Kuroo was never this dismissive

“What’s happening? Everything ok?” you asked making Kuroo turn around with a relief smile on

“Oh hi, Kuroo senpai was just helping me since you know, I’m so small and weak” says fluttering her eyes at him

“It’s just pushing the cart. It has wheels on it…” You gave a disbelief look to Kuroo, who just rolls his eyes “it’s not that hard”

“Maybe for someone as big as you it wouldn’t be so difficult!”

That was it for Kuroo, who quickly move to your side giving you a hug

“Well, guess you can leave now that our manager is back. Bye”

"Kuroo-senpai!! Stooop! I can stay here too!” says stomping her feet

The whole commotion cause everyone to look at you, and you swear you heard a collective sigh full of relief

Quickly enough you felt a bunch of arms around you, a bunch of head pats and a ton of screams of your name

Which quickly was interrupted by a loud scream by the girl “KYANMA!!”

You look at the stairs where Kenma was standing shaking slightly with big eyes. The girl tried to get close to him, yelling “They are being mean, Kyanma!” but he just runs away towards you

Yes. Run. He hated her, she was so loud and desperate, Kenma literally couldn’t stand her.

“You’re back” says Kenma hiding behind you, showing more happiness that you ever have seen from him

So happy that he went to hug you tightly, he really missed you

“Anyways, now that our team is finally complete you can leave. Please go out” says Kuroo

“Agh! Fine! I’m way too good for you anyways!”

She sends you a look full of venom, but you didn’t really notice it

After all, you had a clingy Kenma hugging you tightly and the rest of the team waiting for one

Inarizaki

After your small break reached an end you finally were ready to go back to your boys

They were having a small hangout in the Miya household

They tried to be sneaky about it, not wanting to invite the girl that was replacing you

But sadly for them, she somehow knew and crash into them before you could arrive

She’s the first person you see when you enter their house with the spare key they gave you

“Who are you?” she asks with her eyebrow raising

“Ehh…I’m Yn, their manager. You helped them while i was out?” You ask back, confused at her sudden presence

“Yes…I actually think I should be the new manager! After all I play like 17 sports and definitely know more than you about sports. What do you think this is? Cheer? Not like it’s a sport, but whatever” she says with a overconfident smirk

In the meantime the guys that were already in the house starting to appear into the hall, confused at how loud her voice was being

“Anyways! Why don’t you leave? A girl like you probably doesn’t even know a thing about sports! We’re gonna play videogames while you probably just want to paint your nails or whatever!”

“Who says you’re staying?” Atsumu says, frowning

“Ha Ha, you’re so funny Atsumu! Of course I’m staying” she says nervous

“No, you’re not” Osamu adds

“I’m sure we can all hang out tog-” you try to say

“You shut it! I bet you don’t know anything about the sport!” She says to you despite you trying to help her

“Really? You barely even know what we play, you just join because you wanted to see hot guys” a voice behind you says, Suna entering the house as he passes his arm through your shoulders

The girl immediately went pale, stammering the next sentence “well…well, I mean, of course I know!”

“Sure, that's why you asked 'if we knew' the rules of basketball yesterday. Just leave, nobody wants you here anyway”

She scoffs annoyed, looking at the rest of the team as if asking for help, which she doesn’t receive. She scoffs one more time, walking towards the door and leaving as she shoots a glare towards you

“You guys are so mean” you say, receiving a chuckle

“She deserved it, if anything she just hinder our practice” Osamu adds

“Besides, nobody talks about our beautiful manager like that” Atsumu hugs you along side Suna

The rest of the team also comes to hug you, and while they were a bit rude, you knew that they only had good intentions

You love this foxes too much

----

Note: a little something about my boys, also, I cringed way too much while writing this

[daycourtofficial]

Azriel’s Girls

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 2.6k | warnings: none

Summary: you overhear a conversation between Azriel and his brothers that has you second guessing your boyfriend’s faithfulness. What will you find when you follow him out one night?

Author’s note: two fics one day! This is crack lmao I wrote this in a blur this afternoon from a silly convo with @milswrites @prythianpages and @ninthcircleofprythian lmao

You and Feyre came into the River House giggling over the amount of paint that covered the both of you. The two of you stop laughing long enough to look at each other, before devolving into fits of giggles once more. One of the boys in the studio had insisted on today’s topic being finger painting, which led to the children essentially dipping their hands into paint before smearing it over all of your clothes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to shower here?” Her voice is soft and kind, a slight rasp to it from talking to the kids all afternoon.

“Thanks Fey, but I’d rather shower at home so I can slip into my pajamas and go to sleep.” You look away from her, as if you could see him through the walls. “Maybe I can even convince Azriel to rub my back. I shouldn't have given some piggy back rides.”

Feyre hums, a soft ‘told you so’ on her tongue, but you give her a pointed look and she keeps it to herself.

“Well, I’m going to go wash up. Good luck finding the boys.”

Her voice floats down the hallway she takes, and you start thinking about where to look - the most obvious place being Rhys’s study. Your feet pad through the halls until you start to hear three loud laughs coming from the cracked study door.

You keep moving towards the source, ready to make your presence known, when you hear Cassian say, “when will you see them again?”

Your boyfriend responds with a soft, “tonight”, eliciting raucous laughter from his brothers. You still, pressing yourself towards the wall, tilting your head in contemplation.

Azriel had told you he had plans tonight, that he was doing something important for Rhys. Had he lied to you?

Cassian’s voice cuts through your train of thoughts, “I’m sure the girls at Rosehall have been missing you.”

Rosehall?

You scrunch your eyebrows, trying to remember if you had ever heard of Rosehall. Was it somewhere in Velaris? Was it a pleasure hall? Who were these girls Cassian spoke of?

Had your sweet Azriel been sneaking around, and his brothers were aware of it? Had they been condoning it?

“I haven’t been able to see them in a while, they’ll be glad for the company.”

“I’m sure they’ll be crawling all over you, brother.”

Their laughs were knives in your heart. Did everyone know? Were you nothing more than a fool to them? Nothing more than a mere joke to these males? Your mind was racing, not paying any mind to the rest of the conversation as you ran down the hall into the kitchens, getting yourself a glass of water. You chugged it, the cool liquid giving your racing thoughts something else to focus on. Like a plan to figure out the truth.

After a few minutes of allowing yourself to seethe and panic, you retraced your steps towards Rhys’s study with your plan in tow: get to Rosehall, find out who these girls are, and yell and scream at Azriel and his brothers for playing you for a fool. As you approach, the males within were now speaking of some sporting event you were not the slightest bit interested in. Azriel’s face brightens as you knock and enter, pushing the door that was slightly ajar. You hate the way your heart picks up a bit at seeing him, at seeing how his face lights up at your presence, your cheeks heating at his attention.

He’s a lying, backstabbing, good for nothing-

“How was painting with Feyre?”

The attention from all three of them pulls you from your thought spiral and you choke on your own spit, coughing a bit. Azriel’s smile turns into a look of concern as he watches you, but Cassian chuckles. “Did you eat the paint by accident?”

Rhysand’s low tone chimes in, “I believe she’s wearing half the paint in Feyre’s studio, and I’m sure my mate’s wearing the other half.”

You chuckle, “uh yeah, Feyre was heading to shower when I left her.”

Rhys dips his head, “that's my cue to leave. BRothers, always a pleasure until better things come along. I’ll see you all later.”

Cassian laughs as Rhys disappears in front of you all, “horny bastard.”

Azriel glares at his brother, “and the pot calls the kettle black.”

Cassian scoffs, flicking his wrist in the air, “pish posh, Azriel. The past is the past.”

“Your past was last week when everytime I came back to the House of Wind for two weeks I got front row seats to your ass.”

“Well, it's our house. And I have a fantastic ass.”

Cassian flexes his thighs, as if Azriel just had to see it to mitigate his annoyance.

“I live there too.”

Cassian shrugs, as if this was a matter of opinion to just accept differences over.

Azriel looks back to you, his eyes making you feel warm, just as they always did. But the warmth was quickly devolving into a ball of anger and sadness, warming your stomach with jealousy and annoyance.

You slap a smile onto your face as you look towards Az, taking in his lazy grin as Cassian slaps him on the back. “I’m off to see Nes. You kids have fun!”

Cassian walks toward the balcony, taking to the skies. Azriel turns toward you, offering his hand so the two of you could embark as well. You accept his hand in yours, a little part of your mind telling you this is the last time you’ll do this. You laugh, pushing the thoughts to the side as you allow Azriel to pick you up, the two of you shooting up into the air.

Azriel flies you back to your apartment, his wings expertly moving over the streets of Velaris. You can’t help the smile on your face as you two fly through the air, watching the people below you until he lands right in front of your home.

You open the door for the both of you, and he follows closely behind. He chuckles at your paint covered clothes, and you fidget slightly, wanting him to make the move to leave.

The clock in your living room chimes, and his gaze moves towards it. “It’s getting late, I have to go. Will you be okay?”

You nod, your arms tightening around yourself. He takes your nervous energy as your hatred for sleeping alone, not wanting to upset you further by making you speak about it.

“How long will you be gone?”

He ponders for a moment, “I should be back tomorrow or the day after.”

He turns toward the door, but you shoot out your hand to grab his wrist. “Can I have one of your shadows? To keep me company? I like having them around.”

One shadow in particular dances at your words, coming from behind Azriel, practically spinning in the air as it immediately rushes to you.

“I hope you like that one because I don’t think it’ll let a different one stay with you.”

You giggle as it weaves through your hair, picking it up into a ponytail before dropping it.

“Perfect, so I’ll have someone to be witness to my antics.”

You giggle, but his face is solemn as he looks at you, something feeling so off about your behavior.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

His words are so soft, and every part of you wants to tell him no, I’m not okay, because you are seeing other women who will be crawling all over you once you leave from here.

Instead you nod, making up an excuse about your eyes being tired from all the painting. He kisses your forehead, his lips soft and light against your skin before pulling away and stepping out of your door before winnowing away.

You count your breath for a few beats before turning to the shadow, “do you know where Rosehall is?”

-

Of all of your terrible ideas over the years, this one was perhaps the worst. You had asked the shadow where Rosehall was, expecting it to be somewhere in Velaris, likely in the parts of the city you were less familiar with. You did not expect the black wisp to wrap around your wrist and begin tugging you away from Velaris very forcefully.

You had started getting nervous when it kept pulling you towards the outskirts, but you were in it now, and you were going to see this ridiculous scheme through to the end.

The shadow had been pulling you for hours it seemed, across landscapes, your feet killing you as you walked, and somewhere several miles away from Velaris, the shadow’s hold loosened on your wrist, opting to move up and down your arm, as if telling you this was your destination.

“Are you sure this is right?”

The shadow danced all around you as if it were confirming your statement. You looked at the gated entrance, the estate so lush and green and not at all what you had expected, it took you by surprise.

This was where he brought women? To do scandalous things and have nights full of debauchery? Was this some beautiful and well-tended pleasure hall? Before you can debate going through the gate, the shadow moves forward, unlatching it and pushing it open for you.

You sigh, thinking to yourself no going back now.

You enter through the gate, preparing yourself to hear the sounds of females giggling, perhaps even moaning, but you are completely taken aback at the chorus of meows you hear, followed by a door opening, and Azriel’s soft voice calling out, “if you’re here for my mother, she has stepped out-”

His voice stops as he takes in the sight of you, the two of you standing before each other across the lush estate. His eyes swim with confusion, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him at such a loss for words or the situation before. He continues to look at you, before realizing he’s carrying a tray of various raw meats and fish. He takes no notice of the dozen or so cats circling him, several trying to climb up his legs toward the food he carries.

“You- what are- how did you get here?”

You lift up the shadow that was entwined with your arm before it skitters off to join the other shadows playing games with the cats who weren’t paying attention to Azriel. You try not to wear the confusion on your face, hoping desperately to have some upper hand here.

“Is this Rosehall?”

Azriel sighs, setting down the food as one of the cats lunges to bite at his arm, missing and falling back into the pool of cats at Azriel’s feet.

“Yes.”

You puff up your chest, confusion seeping through your features as you ask, “and where are the females? The girls?”

“The girls?” His voice is incredulous, and you want to roll your eyes at it.

“Yes, the girls. The ones who wish to climb all over you because you haven’t been paying them attention.”

His long legs start to make their way across the front garden, the sea of cats at his feet parting as he makes his way through them. “The girls who climb over me?”

You sigh, exasperation evident, “must you repeat my words? Yes, okay fine. I overheard Cassian speaking of your plans this evening with ‘your girls’. Now why don’t you bring them out and show me to be a fool?”

A deep, belly laugh comes from his mouth, and you are utterly offended.

“Azriel, I came here to put you through the ringer for stepping out on me, and you find it funny?”

He steps forward, trying to put his arms around you but you step away from his embrace. His laughing continues as he asks, “you walked all the way here?”

“Yes.”

You stick out your chin, determined to look strong and confident.

“You walked all the way from Velaris to here, to find out I had cats?”

“Why yes, I did walk all the way here to find out-”

Your words die on your tongue as you look around, not seeing any other females anywhere. You picked up the scent of one, but the scent smelled so much like Azriel, they had to be related in some way.

He watches your nose twitch, separating out all the smells beneath the ever present smell of cat.

“My mother lives here.”

He coughs, the joyous look from his laughter gone, his hands moving behind his back. He rocks on his feet, and you found it quite endearing.

“With my cats.”

“Your cats?”

“Yes, but they’re not really mine. They just show up.”

“Your cats show up? What does that mean?”

“It means, if I spend any time in Illyria the cats seek me out. I’ve already fixed the stray cat problem in Velaris.”

He opens his arms wide.

“They’re all here. Problem solved, I suppose.”

You blink, slightly convinced Rhys had finally broken your mind and made up the most ridiculous scenario he could imagine. You feel one of the cats rub against your legs, and you bend slightly to nuzzle its face. It was pitch black with bright green eyes. It was so little, you couldn’t help but pick it up despite its verbal protests.

“You have cats.”

“Yes, and Rhys and Cassian despise the cats. Rhys says he’s allergic, but I think he’s just too worried about his damn furniture.”

“And Cassian?”

“Cats hate Cassian.”

He says this as if it’s an uncontested fact.

“How can all cats hate one person?”

“He likes to swing them by their tails.”

You nod, “okay, maybe all cats can hate one person.”

As the two of you spoke the shadows had lifted a cat up onto Azriel’s shoulders, where it stood meowing and pawing at the black wisps. You watched in bewilderment, unsure if the shadows were playing pranks or not, when the cat slid from his shoulder into the crook of his elbow, nuzzling into the warmth there.

You cross your arms, heat blooming in your cheeks at your rash decision making. “So there aren’t beautiful females here?”

“There’s one.”

“I knew i- oh. You meant me.”

You deflate once more, letting the adrenaline seep from your body. You were exhausted, well and truly. He nodded before putting the cat down, watching it scamper off into the grass. “I shouldn’t have lied about where I was going. Several dozen cats are just… a lot to spring on someone at once.”

You look to the ground, fingers scratching the ears of the kitten you were holding, “and maybe I got a little…. carried away.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “you picked the wrong shoes to hike out here from Velaris.”

You looked down at your sneakers, chuckling, “uh yeah, I definitely need to soak my feet for a bit.”

“Do you want to come inside?” He watches you hesitantly before asking, “Or I could take you home?”

You look toward the beautiful estate before peering back down at the wiggling kitten in your arms, before deciding that you did want to see Azriel’s mother’s home and to hopefully meet her. “Are you going to tell your mother about how I got here?”

He chuckles, slow and soft, “of course I am. She’d be endlessly amused.”

“Do you have any black felt? I’d love to make this little guy some wings.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes as he puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you inside. “While you play arts and crafts, I can formally introduce you to all of the other cats.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @ninthcircleofprythian

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading ❣️

[vettelsvee]

YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACE | Sebastian Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x Pregnant Wife!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb's wife is pregnant, but she hasn't told him yet since she doesn't seem ready. However, after he almost crashed pretty badly during a Free Practice session, she can't help but tell him in not the best way possible ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Okay but can you imagine Sebs wife being pregnant but she has not told him yet. He does some dangerous and bold move on a drive and she gets mad and scared and just some fluff when he finds out :)

WORD COUNT: 1804

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of anxiety, overthinking about Formula 1 crashes (?), pregnancy, Ferrari Seb in general (if you know, you know)

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @herdetectivetheorist @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Hi guys! Finally back to posting fics! This year I don't only want to write more, but also establish some kind of writing routine because I've been dealing with anxiety over Christmas for some personal problems family related and found out that I missed distressing with writing. Also, thank you so much for all the support you've been showing me lately! Appreciate it a lot since I wasn't feeling very comfortable with my writing. Let me know your thoughts on this one <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Despite being quite far from the pit lane, you could hear nothing but the deafening roar of the engines, the clatter of tools on Kimi's car, and the curses of the race engineers at the constant stunts Seb had decided to pull during the free practice session.  

Your husband's red car seemed not just to race but to fly around the track. FP2 had started barely twenty minutes ago, but Seb had already come within inches of crashing into the walls far too many times after going off track more often than you could count.  

You couldn't deny that you had loved watching Seb race ever since you met and you learned he was a driver in one of the most dangerous sports in the world. Today, however, luck was not on your side, and anxiety was consuming you. The nausea, uncontrollable on its own, felt even worse than usual. Not to mention, you felt on the verge of a panic attack.  

"Are you okay?"  

You turned at the sound of Riccardo Adami’s voice, Seb’s race engineer. The Italian removed one side of his headset and covered the microphone to ensure the driver wouldn’t hear anything.  

"Yes, yes, of course," you replied hastily, forcing a smile and suppressing the urge to gag as you felt it rising in your throat. "I’m just a bit more nervous than usual today, that’s all."  

"Seb knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry about that."  

You nodded, but as soon as Adami turned his attention back to his screen, you rolled your eyes and did the same.  

"You know, sometimes he thinks that he’s a cat and has seven lives," you muttered under your breath. "Someone should remind him he’s in an actual Formula 1 car, not in a simulator."  

"Don’t worry, I’ll remind him in the post-session briefing," the engineer joked, flashing a smile before immersing himself back into Vettel's driving.  

You didn’t pay him much attention. Once again, you were entirely engrossed in both your husband’s onboard camera and the telemetry, even though you didn’t understand much aside from the fact that he was setting purple sectors, which was undoubtedly a good sign.  

You didn’t know much about the inner workings of the cars, but after so many years with Seb, you knew that the faster his times were, the higher the risks became.  

You were also acutely aware that your husband was pushing himself too hard in those moments.  

You began to tremble slightly, fidgeting with your hands in an attempt to calm your anxiety, but it didn’t work. Instinctively, and trying not to draw much attention, you placed your hands on your belly and prayed that your child wouldn’t give you any scares like his father was giving you.  

"Sector two in purple as well, Seb!"  

Even though the garage erupted into cheers and applause, you remained motionless. Instead, you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, which now showed your husband’s car in full view.  

Your panic peaked the moment Seb lost control of the rear of his car and went off the track. You swore that if it hadn’t been for the sudden braking, he would have ended up in the barriers with a wrecked car and himself heading to the medical center because the crash would have likely exceeded the G-force limits.  

When Seb didn’t respond immediately, your heart stopped.  

"I’m fine, I’m fine..." Seb finally said in a disappointed tone. "But I can’t say the same for the car. I think it’s more damaged than it looks."  

"Can you bring it back, Sebastian?" Riccardo asked in a tone that was a mix of irritation and disappointment.  

"Yeah, no problem. Coming back. Sorry, guys."  

Just as no one on the team said anything to you, you, who had forced yourself to sit down because your legs were trembling too much and you felt dizzy, also remained silent until your husband returned and got out of the car.  

Seb removed his helmet, revealing an expression that was hard to decipher. You stood up carefully and approached him, trying to keep your composure. Without giving him a chance to say anything, you grabbed his hand and led him toward his driver room, ignoring Britta's protests to talk after interviews were done.  

"It could have been worse, right?" 

Sebastian closed the door behind him and turned to face you. You stood there with your arms crossed, visibly upset. Your glare alone was enough to tell Seb he was seconds away from one of your infamous scoldings.  

The problem? He had no idea why. You had never acted so strangely over something as common as a collision during a race weekend.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you exploded, your voice filled with frustration. “Fuck, Seb, can you explain what that was all about?!”  

“What do you mean, what was that? I was... racing, like I always do, babe,” he replied cautiously, still clueless about what he'd done wrong.  

You, however, didn’t know what was bothering you more: your husband’s calm demeanor or the sight of a few Ferrari team members peeking through the window to catch the drama unfolding between the two of you.  

“You were so close to slamming into a wall, Sebastian, that’s what happened!” you shot back, yanking the curtains shut and flipping off the nosy onlookers. “Are you out of your mind or what?!”  

“Come on, love, I had it under control. What you saw on the onboard might’ve looked bad, but I swear it wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed.”  

“Not as bad as it seemed? Are you seriously telling me that?” you retorted, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you think driving is just like playing a video game now? Do you have any idea what it would’ve meant if you hadn’t reacted in time? Do you know what it would’ve meant for me and for—”  

You stopped yourself mid-sentence, refusing to continue.  

You knew your emotions were running wild because of your pregnancy hormones, but you forced yourself to calm down. Getting so worked up would only lead to a pointless argument with Seb and wasn’t good for you or the baby.  

“For who, Y/N?” Seb asked, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his.  

“For... me! Who else?” you replied quickly. 

Sebastian didn’t know how to respond. He’d never seen you so distressed about his racing, and while he tried to stay calm, inside he was battling a storm of worry and confusion.  

“This stress isn’t good for me or for the situation you and, well... you’ve gotten me into,” you said, your voice cracking.  

“Y/N, babe, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. Fuck, I’m pretty worried about you right now with all this shit, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on—”  

“Damn it, Seb! I’m pregnant!”  

You looked down, tears streaming down your face. You clenched your fists tightly, furious at yourself for revealing such big news in such an emotional, unplanned way.  

Sebastian, meanwhile, stood frozen, his eyes wide in shock at the unexpected news. Slowly, everything started to make sense: your morning sickness, falling asleep all the time, constantly complaining about being tired, and the flimsy excuses you gave for not drinking wine, something you normally loved.  

He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner and for believing your weak justifications about bad leftovers being the cause of everything.  

“You’re... pregnant?” His voice was barely audible, almost afraid to say the words out loud because they didn’t feel real.  

You wiped your tears and sniffled, doing your best to meet your husband’s gaze without feeling ashamed.  

“Yes...” you said timidly. “I wanted to tell you in a special way... you know, by giving you a baby onesie in a box with the positive pregnancy test inside, but...” You shook your head and finally looked him in the eyes. “I thought you were going to die out there today and leave your child and me alone. The thought of losing you, now of all times, just...”  

“You’re really pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?”  

You nodded, and Seb couldn’t hold back his tears. He pulled you into a tight embrace and began kissing you tenderly. You melted into his arms, feeling an immense weight lifted from your shoulders.  

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admitted. “I swear I wanted it to be special, but seeing you out there today, thinking something could happen to you...” Your voice broke again. “I was terrified, Seb, like never before watching you race.”  

“I’m so sorry, love. I really am,” he said sincerely, cupping your cheeks gently and kissing you over and over. “If I’d known, I would’ve been more careful. God, love, this is incredible... This is the best news I’ve ever received.”  

“You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you sooner? You should’ve seen your face earlier...”  

“Mad? That you didn’t tell me sooner?” You shrugged, your insecurity showing despite your years together. Seb tilted his head, understanding this was one of your rare but extreme moments of doubt. “I’m just... in shock. I can’t believe we’re going to be parents...”  

Sebastian hesitantly touched your stomach, and you burst into fresh tears at the tenderness of his gesture.  

“Now you have to promise me something, Seb,” you said, playing with his hair as he knelt before you, leaving kisses on your belly.  

“Anything for you and our little one.”  

“You need to be more careful from now on. Stop thinking so much with your adrenaline and testosterone, and start using your brain more,” you said, trying not to sound too harsh. “I know Formula 1 and racing is your whole life, but I don’t want you risking it when we’re bringing a new one into the world. I’m eight weeks along, and we still have 32 to go assuming everything follows the perfect pregnancy script.”  

Seb stood and gazed at you, trying to convey the calm you both could only find in each other.  

“Love, I promise,” he whispered softly. “For you, for the baby... I love winning, but today, and even more so when our child is born, I’ll have won the second most important race of my life.”  

You frowned, confused.  

“If that’s the second, what’s the most important race of your life then?”  

He chuckled and scooped you into his arms, kissing you again as he laid you both on the couch behind you.  

“The race I ran for so many years to win your heart,” he murmured between slow, deliberate kisses that said more than words ever could. “After all those years trying to get you to go out with me in high school, and now we’re eight months away from having a baby... what else could it be, mama?”  

[sturnmeovr]

♡‧₊˚ Babydaddy!Chris x Sweetheart!Reader - Indecisive

Your grip firm on the handle of your babydaddy’s passenger door, you take a deep breath before pulling it open, the thick scent of black ice mixed with a hint of weed wafts over you, nearly making you lightheaded. Your face crunching in disgust, “have you been smoking?” you ask him before dipping down into the passenger. Chris sits reclined back in his seat, one hand on the steering wheel, and his elbow propped up on the center console, “what – no!” he spits out defensively.

You knew he was lying; he was quick the lie. You decided to bite your tongue for the sake of what you were about to tell him. The next topic of conversation would ruin his night, much like the topic of him texting another girl behind your back that played like a broken record in your head, ruining every night and day for you since you found out. You crack the car window a bit, “I don't care,” muttering before turning to Chris with slumped shoulders, “just make sure you don’t do it around Bear when he gets here.”

A gummy smile makes its way across his face, “you took my name suggestion,” he coos, reaching a hand out to smooth over your belly, your son making sure to kick as soon as he feels Chris’ hand. As much as you missed the comfortability of being around Chris, you weren’t ready to go back home with him, seeing him every day would just cause you more heartache. Seeing his car parked outside of your best friend's house everyday like clockwork already hurt enough. Your pregnancy hormones were raging, and you were more emotional than you had ever been. 

You blink away tears, giving him a toothless smile, “I really like it. It’s fitting,” you tell me, looking down at his hand still placed on your belly. It was bittersweet, Bear wasn’t even here, and he made it known he missed Chris almost more than you did. Chris lets out a chuckle, feeling the light kicks against his hand, “yeah?” he questions, looking up at you, those icy blue eyes burning deep holes into your figure, “can’t wait ‘til you're back home.” Your smile fades at his words, telling all that was needed to be told. Chris’ face crunches in confusion which ultimately makes you continue, “that’s uhrm — that’s kinda why I wanted to talk to you,” you chime in, looking away from his intense gaze. His eyes alone would make you crack under pressure any second, giving into whatever his wishes were, which is why you stayed as far away as you could. Chris was a dangerous type of man.

He clears his throat, “what is it?” looking back down at your baby bump like he’s reluctant to pull away. He missed the little butterfly kicks from his son almost as much as he missed seeing you waddle around the house with a jar of jiffy peanut butter in one hand and a spoon in the other. He sported bloodshot eyes, you couldn't tell if it was due to lack of sleep or if he was smoking too much weed, the dark bags underneath of them didn’t do him any justice either. Pressing your lips together, you didn’t want to tell him, but you knew it had to be done, “I think I might stay here for a little while longer — I’m not sure how much longer,” your voice comes out small and brittle, like it could break at any moment.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, emotion lies thick in his voice, “wha – what do you mean?” his Boston accent peeking thru subtly. Tears fill his eyes to the brim, and you watch as he blinks them back, scrunching his face before letting a stray tear stain his cheek. He quickly wipes it, looking out the front windshield like he's trying his hardest to find his next words. Staying strong was so hard when Chris was on the verge of an emotional breakdown in front of your very eyes. You had a soft spot for him, and you feared it wasn't going away anytime soon. It took all of you to not crawl into his lap, run your fingers thru his brown locks, and pepper his face with kisses while he cried into your chest. He was a ray of sunshine; seeing him sad was heartbreaking. You couldn’t help but wonder if he really felt as bad as you did or was it all an act to get you to come back home to him. Either way, his emotional state left you feeling gutted – just like the revelation of him cheating made you feel. 

Chris sniffles, making you pick your head up to look at him, “you don’t want to be with me anymore?” The question that had been running loops thru your mind the last three weeks. Did you want to be with Chris? Of course you did. That wasn’t up for debate. The real question was - could you go back to normal with Chris, raising a newborn without dwelling on the fact that he cheated on you? You couldn’t say for sure.

“I didn’t say that,” you croak out, tangling a hand in your hair. You let out a breathy sigh as your hand drops to your bump, “I just need more time, m’sorry, Chris.” Bear was going backflips at the sound of his dad's voice, or maybe it was your emotions doing the work. A light scoff, filled with hurt leaves his lips, “I’ve been giving you time. It’s been weeks,” he says, tugging another hand thru his hair as he looks at you, biting on his bottom lip to keep it from quivering. 

His sad puppy dog eyes are too heart wrenching for you to handle, so you look away. “I know that, but you’ve been parked out here every day,” you tell him, letting out another sigh. He’d never understand the turmoil and pain he caused you. He’d never understand that you’d never forget what he did. You were at your most vulnerable state, your body was going thru so many changes, you were constantly nauseous or vomiting, and you were keeping your pregnancy from the world. Regardless if Chris only had one conversation with another like he claimed, it hurt, and you didn’t deserve it. 

“M’sorry — I miss you, I don’t know,” he blurts out, turning his body towards you to show you have this full attention, “Bears gonna be here soon and I don’t want anything happening while we’re apart.” You don’t dare to look at him until he places a hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. His touch sends tingles up your spine, as touch starved as you were. You missed his touch more than anything, “I just want to go back to normal; to us. you’re pregnant and —.” His hoarse voice getting cut off by yours, “exactly, Chris — I’m pregnant.”

Tears sting your eyes, a few escaping as you attempt to fan them away. Chris hangs his head low, and you can see his tears make water marks on the center console, “I fucked up, I know,” he manages, the words getting stuck his throat a bit, “I can make it better – I promise I will.” 

You were at a crossroads. You didn’t know if you could believe him, you couldn’t trust him after all. You couldn’t trust the person you created a life with; it was crazy to think. The thought makes you lose control of your emotions. The waterworks start and light sobs leave your lips as Chris pulls you into a tight embrace, rubbing his hand up and down your back in a soothing manner. His own tears soaking a wet patch into your hair, you can feel his chest rise up and down as he breathes staggered breaths. It was comforting in a way; the person who caused all your pain cared enough to console you, he cared enough to cry with you.

“Jus’ please come home,” Chris hiccups, making sure to keep his grip tight on you, “I’ll sleep on the couch. I can fix it, okay? Jus’ let me fix this,” he rambles on as he smooths your hair down with the palm of his hand, repeatedly pressing light kisses to your temple as your sobs fade out. 

You pull away from Chris, tugging your sleeves over your hands and bring them up to your face to collect the leftover tears, “I don’t want — want Bear to grow up in a split up home.” The thought of having to coparent instead of having your son grow up with two active parents who love each other, and him, chokes you up. You and Chris both had two married parents who raised you, it wasn't fair that you son might not get that before he was even born. You fail to keep your composure, sob erupting from your chest, “but I don’t see us working if you can’t change your act.”

Wc - 1499

♡‧₊˚ Cheys Note - Big thanks to everyone who helped me reach 600 followers!! I love every single one of you so, so, sooo much!🥲🥰 I changed my handle, no longer m00nl1ghts1vt - I am now sturnmeovr! You guys are eating these angsts up and I'm not mad at you😋🫣 I made this one a bit longer, sorry about the delay! Send me asks or suggestions about Babydaddy!Chris & Sweetheart! <3

Masterlist

Babydaddy!Chris Masterlist

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[neferaskingdom]

♡ Closetgate: The Max-tastrophe | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader [Face Claim: None]

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Summary: Max finds himself in a very tight situation—literally. Lando is summoned for an emergency extraction, Charles serenades about honor, Y/N fights for her life trying to prove that nothing happened and the boys plan Max's funeral, but hey at least they finally kissed?

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Part 4 of my wheel-to-wheel but still in denial series: Masterlist

Y/N never expected this to happen. One moment, she was causing chaos on Instagram with that elevator pic—harmless fun, right? But Max’s confession came out of nowhere, and now she was standing in her apartment, heart pounding.

She barely had time to process the fact that she’d just invited Max over, let alone get ready. Y/N looked down at her oversized, mismatched pajama set, which sported a giant, ridiculous “I Paused My Game to Be Here” T-shirt. Definitely not the “I’ve just confessed to liking my childhood rival” look she was going for.

She barely had time to question her life choices before there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, Max stood there, leaning against the doorframe like he wasn’t about to change everything. He gave her that classic smirk, but something felt different tonight—softer, more uncertain.

“Did you run here or teleport?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

“I might have broken a few traffic laws,” he joked, walking in like he hadn’t just sprinted across town. He glanced around her apartment, then at her, still wearing her gaming shirt. "Nice shirt, by the way," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Verstappen. I didn’t expect you to break the sound barrier to get here.” Max chuckled, plopping down on her couch like he belonged there. "You texted, I ran. It's the natural order of things."

"You actually came," she blurted, mostly because she didn’t know what else to say. The second the words left her mouth, she realized how ridiculous they sounded. "You told me to," Max shot back, stepping inside without missing a beat. "What, did you think I’d say no?"

"I don’t know! Maybe?" she stammered, closing the door behind him. "This whole thing is weird!" 

"Weird how?" Max turned to face her, looking genuinely confused. "Because I confessed or because you didn’t see it coming?"

Y/N groaned, throwing her hands up. "Both! Max, we’ve spent most of our lives arguing over who’s funnier and which one of us sucks more. And now you’re telling me you like me? You don’t just drop that bomb and act like everything’s normal!"

Max shrugged, trying to act casual, but there was something in his eyes that made Y/N’s stomach flip. "I’m not saying it’s normal. I’m saying it’s real. We joke around because that’s us. But I like you, Y/N. I’ve liked you for years. I just didn’t want to mess up what we had."

Y/N’s mind was racing. She couldn’t reconcile the Max in front of her with the one who used to relentlessly call her out on social media. “So, what? You’ve been secretly into me while roasting me all these years? And I’m just supposed to be like, ‘Yeah, cool, let’s date now?’”

Max smiled, but it wasn’t his usual cocky grin. It was softer, more vulnerable. "I get it. It sounds insane. But I’m serious. When I saw that post, Y/N… I thought you had someone else. And it hit me harder than I expected. I realized I didn’t want to just be the guy you bicker with online. I wanted more than that."

She stared at him, still processing. "So, you’re telling me this now because of one random photo?"

"It wasn’t just the photo," Max said, stepping closer. "It was the idea that I’d waited too long. That I might have missed my shot."

Her heart skipped a beat. This was getting real, fast. Y/N crossed her arms, more to protect herself from the flood of emotions than anything else. "Max… I don’t know what to say."

Max chuckled lightly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck—a nervous habit she’d noticed over the years. "You don’t have to say anything. I just couldn’t keep pretending anymore."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was something so raw and honest about him right now, and it was messing with her. This was Max—her partner in social media wars, her favorite person to annoy. And now, he was standing in her living room, confessing feelings that she didn’t know how to handle.

Finally, she let out a breathy laugh. "You’re really bad at timing, you know that? I was just getting used to us hating each other."

Max’s smile widened. "We never hated each other, Y/N."

"Sure felt like it sometimes," she muttered, though there was no bite behind her words. She was too busy trying to sort through the tangled mess of emotions in her head.

"Come on," he teased softly. "You know we’ve always had a thing."

"A thing?" Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so insulting each other in public and trolling each other on Instagram was just our way of flirting?"

Max stepped closer, and this time, there was no teasing in his voice. "For me, yeah. That’s always been part of it. But it’s more than that."

Max says with a shrug. “I like you because you're chaotic and you keep me on my toes. Plus, I figured all the teasing was basically foreplay.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?!” She grabbed a throw pillow and launched it at him. “That is not how that works!”

Max laughed, catching the pillow and tossing it aside. “Hey, if it’s not, it should be! We’ve been bantering for years—it’s basically flirting with extra steps.”

She facepalmed, letting out a frustrated groan. “This is so not how I expected this conversation to go. You’re taking all of this way too casually!”

Y/N’s heart was beating so loud she was sure he could hear it. "Max, this is a lot. I didn’t… I didn’t expect this."

"I know." His voice was soft now, almost unsure. "But I had to tell you. I’ve been holding it in for so long, and I thought—"

"That you’d shoot your shot now?" she cut in, trying to lighten the mood even though her head was spinning.

He grinned, finally relaxing a bit. "Exactly. You can’t blame me for that, right?"

She bit her lip, trying to hide a smile. "I guess not. But… Max, I—"

He raised a hand, stopping her. "You don’t have to say anything right now. I just wanted to be honest. For once."

Y/N sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her. "But here’s the thing… I kinda, sorta like you too." The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she immediately wanted to crawl into a hole.

Max blinked, then his smile widened into something she’d never seen before—completely genuine and warm. "Kinda, sorta, huh?"

She rolled her eyes, though her heart was flipping. "Don’t make this weird."

"Too late," Max said, stepping even closer, his voice playful but soft. "You’ve already made it weird."

Y/N groaned. "You’re impossible."

"And you like me anyway," Max shot back with a grin, his face just inches from hers now.

Y/N sighed, her defenses finally crumbling as she looked up at him. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Y/N sat down beside him, feeling the weight of the situation settle in. She looked at him—his stupid grin, his messy hair, his absolute lack of any chill—and suddenly it all clicked. This wasn’t some weird joke or prank. Max actually meant every word.

"Okay," she said slowly, still processing. "But I reserve the right to make fun of you for the rest of our lives."

Max grinned, scooting closer. “Deal. But you should know, I’m not backing down. Now that I’ve made my move, I’m all in.”

“God, you’re so dramatic,” Y/N muttered, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Well, you kinda like me that way,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” she rolled her eyes. But deep down, she knew he was right.

Before she could say anything else, Max leaned down, his lips brushing hers in the softest, most unexpected kiss. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that swept her off her feet or made fireworks explode, but it was perfect. It was exactly what she didn’t know she needed.

When he pulled back, he was still smiling, his hand lingering on her cheek. "Told you we’ve always had a thing."

Y/N was too flustered to argue, her mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. "Okay," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. "But don’t think this changes anything. I’m still gonna kick your ass at karting ."

Max chuckled, pulling her into his arms. "I wouldn’t expect anything less."

They kissed again, and this time it was longer, more intense. Y/N felt herself melting into Max’s arms, his hands gently resting on her waist as he pulled her closer. She could feel the warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips as her hands slid up to his chest. His lips were soft but insistent, and there was a tenderness in the way he kissed her, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than she had imagined.

Her hands slipped up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and Max responded instantly, deepening the kiss in a way that made her head spin. For a few blissful seconds, all the banter, the teasing, and the chaos of their lives disappeared, leaving only the two of them and the unspoken tension that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface.

When they finally pulled apart, slightly breathless, Y/N looked up at him, trying to steady her pounding heart. Max's lips were still curved into a small, satisfied smile, and his thumb absentmindedly traced the side of her hip.

“You know,” she started, trying to regain her composure, “if you’re going to stay, I could, uh, make some space on the couch.”

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning in full force. “You want me to spend the night?”

Her face heated instantly, but she refused to let him see her squirm. “Don’t get too excited, Verstappen.” She poked him in the chest, narrowing her eyes playfully. “No funny business. It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a last-minute confession for me to invite you to my bed.”

Max chuckled, his laugh low and sending a ripple of warmth down her spine. He leaned in, his voice dropping to that maddening, teasing tone she was starting to realize she might actually like. “Oh, I wasn’t planning on funny business, Y/N.” His lips brushed her ear, making her shiver slightly. “I’m gonna wine and dine you, take my time. By the time I’m done, you’ll be begging me to come to bed.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at his words, and she smacked his arm, trying to play it cool, though her heart was practically doing somersaults. “Begging?” she repeated, a disbelieving laugh escaping her. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”

Max, completely unbothered, grinned like the cat who caught the canary. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“God, I’m going to regret this,” Y/N muttered, though a smile tugged at her lips.

“Only if I don’t get the chance to prove you wrong,” Max shot back smoothly, his arm casually wrapping around her waist as if they’d done this a hundred times before.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through her. “Fine. You get the couch. And maybe—maybe—we’ll see about that whole wining and dining thing later.”

Max leaned back, stretching out on the couch with that same cocky grin. “Challenge accepted.”

Text Message between Y/N and Lando:

y/n: LANDO I’M GONNA DIE. y/n: LIKE ACTUAL DEATH. COME TO MY APARTMENT NOW.

lando: huh??? lando: it’s 8am, woman chill lando: also why is this my problem

y/n: CHARLES IS HERE y/n: HE SHOWED UP AT 7AM AND HASN’T SHUT UP FOR AN HOUR y/n: He’s on a WHOLE monologue about "family honor" y/n: I AM GOING TO JUMP OUT THE WINDOW IF YOU DON’T HELP ME

lando: and again lando: why… is this my problem? 💀

y/n: BECAUSE MAX IS HIDING IN MY CLOSET, LANDO y/n: IF CHARLES FINDS HIM HERE, I’M GONNA NEED TO WRITE A EULOGY y/n: HELP

lando: … lando: hold up HOLD UP MAX IS WHERE NOW???

y/n: CLOSET. MAX IS IN THE CLOSET. y/n: LIKE. LITERALLY HIDING IN MY CLOSET RIGHT NOW BECAUSE CHARLES IS RANTING ABOUT THE ELEVATOR PICTURE

y/n: AND IF CHARLES FINDS HIM HERE HE’LL LITERALLY COMMIT MURDER!!!

y/n: HURRY UP AND GET HERE I NEED A DISTRACTION y/n: HE’S GOING TO KILL US BOTH AND THEN DRAG OUR BODIES THROUGH THE STREETS OF MONACO

lando: LMFAOOO NOT MAX HIDING IN THE CLOSET LIKE HE’S IN A TEEN ROMCOM 💀 lando:  YOU AND MAX?? 

lando: Wait so like. Did you two… y’know? 👀

y/n: NO NO NO IT’S NOT LIKE THAT, I SWEAR. y/n: WE DID NOT HOOK UP. NOTHING HAPPENED. y/n: but if charles finds him he’s not gonna believe that, you KNOW how dramatic he is

lando: Then why’s he in your closet, huh?

lando: You’re telling me you two were just doing nothing at 7am, and now he’s hiding from your overprotective brother??

lando: This is sus af 💀

y/n: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD NOTHING HAPPENED. y/n: He came over to… uh… talk? y/n: BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT!! HURRY THE HELL UP BEFORE CHARLES GOES FULL "BIG BROTHER PROTECTOR MODE" AND THINKS THE WORST

lando: Soooo Max just "talks" now? Sure, sure. Just casually talking at 7am at your apartment. lando: I bet he was gonna give you a "lecture" of his own, wasn’t he? 😉

y/n: I’M GOING TO BLOCK YOU IF YOU DON’T STOP.

y/n: HURRY UP, LANDO.

lando: yeah your brother’s gonna yeet Max into the Mediterranean Sea 💀 lando: this is absolutely gold lando: I’m grabbing popcorn, one sec

y/n: STOP JOKING I’M SERIOUS LANDO y/n: CHARLES IS GOING ON ABOUT “RESPECT” AND “TRADITION” LIKE WE’RE IN A DAMN PERIOD DRAMA y/n: HURRY UP AND GET HIM OUT OF HERE. CHA IS LITERALLY OUT HERE RAMBLING ABOUT "RESPECTING FAMILY HONOR."

lando: Fiiiine, I’m getting out of bed. lando: But seriously, Max? Who would have guessed? That’s hilarious. You could’ve picked a better hiding spot tho 💀

y/n: YOU THINK I HAD TIME TO COORDINATE A BETTER PLAN WHEN CHARLES SHOWED UP OUT OF NOWHERE???

lando: You could’ve gone with like… under the bed? Maybe pretend he’s a delivery guy? 😂 lando: Closet’s too obvious, mate. Rookie mistake.

y/n: OKAY, SPYMASTER LANDO, HOW ABOUT YOU FOCUS ON GETTING HERE AND NOT ON MY HIDING STRATEGIES?

lando: wait sooooo lando: MAX REALLY STAYED OVER?? 👀 lando: I’M TELLING YOU, I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING BETWEEN YOU TWO. YOU DON’T HIDE IN CLOSETS FOR JUST ANYONE, SIS

y/n: WE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING LANDO. I SWEAR TO GOD. y/n: BUT IF YOU DON’T GET HERE, CHARLES IS GONNA ASSUME THE WORST AND START DIGGING A GRAVE

lando: fine fine I’m coming 💀 lando: this is too good tho, I’m never letting you live this down lando: if Charles finds Max it’s gonna be like “sooo, Max, wanna explain why you’re hiding in my sister’s closet like a serial killer?”

y/n: LANDO. I WILL BLOCK YOU. y/n: JUST GET HERE NOW, BEFORE I HAVE TO FAKE MY OWN DEATH TO ESCAPE THIS SITUATION

lando: can’t wait to see you try to explain why Max is suddenly living in your closet 😭😭 lando: tell Charles Max is helping you with a home renovation or some shit 💀 lando: I’ll be there soon to save your ass

y/n: IF YOU DON’T HURRY, IT’LL BE MY FUNERAL YOU’RE COMING TO. y/n: I’M NOT KIDDING, LANDO. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

lando: Yeah yeah I’m on it.

lando: But if Max survives this, I wanna be best man at the wedding 🥂

lando created a group

lando added Y/N, max, daniel, george and alex to the group

lando has changed the name of the group to “Drive to Survive: Closet Edition”

lando: EMERGENCY GROUP CHAT. STOP EVERYTHING. 🚨

george: Bro, it’s like 9AM. What now??

alex: Bro, what is it this time?? Did you lose your keys again? 💀

daniel:  Lando, I swear to God, if this is about you locking yourself out of your car again, I’m leaving the group chat.

lando: NO. BIGGER. MUCH BIGGER. lando: I had to save Max’s life this morning. 😳

max: lando, if you even—

lando: MAX WAS HIDING IN Y/N’S CLOSET THIS MORNING.

y/n: LANDO, I SWEAR TO GOD—

george: HOLD ON. Max was hiding in what now?? george: MAX. HIDING. IN Y/N’S CLOSET?! 💀

alex: WAIT WAIT WAIT. MAX?! IN HER CLOSET?? alex: Sounds like an F1 driver version of "Narnia." 🦁 alex: But instead of a lion, you found… Max?

daniel: Wait, hold on. HOLD UP.

daniel: Max was hiding? In Y/N’s closet?

daniel: Were you two… busy? 👀

daniel: This is starting to sound like the setup to a very different kind of movie, if you know what I mean… 

lando: RIGHT?! Closet boy Max out here sneaking around at 7AM.

y/n: NOTHING HAPPENED. y/n: CHARLES SHOWED UP OUT OF NOWHERE AND MAX HAD TO HIDE OR HE’D BE DEAD.

lando: She’s underselling it. Charles was out here talking about "honor" like we were back in medieval times.

max: she’s not wrong, charles had murder in his eyes talking about Y/N’s hypothetical boyfriend

george: So, you’re telling me Max was hiding in Y/N’s closet because big bro Charles was about to lose his mind? george: LMAO Max, mate, you were this close to becoming roadkill at the next race.

george: This is gold. Max, you hiding like a teenage boy sneaking out of a girl’s room?! How much were you sweating?

max: look, it was either the closet or death by leclerc

alex: Soooo... you were hiding because…? 👀

alex: If Charles finds out, he’s definitely running Max off the track next race. alex: Or worse, he’ll crash right into him. 💀

daniel: Run him off the track? Charles would straight-up crash into Max next race, no questions asked. 💀

george: Mate, can you imagine? Lap 20: "Verstappen crashes after mysterious contact with Leclerc." 🤔

george: "Sources say Charles Leclerc was last seen revving his engine and screaming about his sister’s honor."

daniel: Bro, I can already see the headlines: "Verstappen DNF—Cause: Leclerc Rage." daniel: Max would be like, "I’m innocent!" while Charles just revs the engine like, "Try me bitch."

lando: Charles would be all smiles in the press conference like, "It was an unfortunate incident…" lando: Meanwhile, Max’s car would still be smoldering in the background.

max: ngl, he’d probably reverse just to make sure it’s done right 😬

alex: "Accident," sure, Charles. I’m sure brake checking Max into the wall was totally accidental.

daniel: Sooo… why were you hiding, Max? 👀 daniel: Closet redecoration? Or were you two getting cozy? 😏

lando: Oh, come on, there’s no hiding in closets unless something was happening. Let’s be real here. 👀

max: look, i was just… you know… max: avoiding death by overprotective brothers. that’s all.

george: Sure, Max. Just avoiding "death"… by hiding in her closet. Sounds innocent. Totally.

alex: Did you fold her clothes while you were in there, or just admire the view? 😂

daniel: Oh, we’re calling it "admiring the view" now, huh?

max: you guys have dirty minds, jesus

lando: Bro, you were literally in her closet. This is peak suspicious behavior.

y/n: NOTHING HAPPENED. y/n: STOP MAKING THIS WEIRD. 🙃

lando: Y/N, babe, you don’t just shove someone in your closet for no reason. There’s something here.

daniel: Yeah, like… what were you two really doing before Charles showed up? 👀 daniel: C’mon, no one hides someone unless they’re in the middle of… something.

y/n: I swear to god, if one more person suggests anything—

max: maybe i was just there to give her fashion advice 🤷‍♂️

george: OH, so that’s what they’re calling it now? "Fashion advice." Sounds steamy.

daniel: So what’d you suggest, Max? "Less clothes"? 😏

y/n: I’M LITERALLY GOING TO MUTE THIS CHAT. NOTHING HAPPENED.

lando: Uh-huh. Sure. lando: You don’t just casually invite Max over to give you "advice" in the early hours of the morning unless something’s going on. Just saying. 😉

daniel: I mean, I’d hide Max too if he showed up like that… 👀

alex: "Like that"? Sounds like Max was already halfway to being undressed. 💀

y/n: YOU GUYS ARE THE WORST.

max: you get used to it after a while

lando: Okay, okay, jokes aside… are you two, like, officially a thing now?

max: yeah, y/n and i… we’re seeing where this goes. officially.

george: OMG, IT'S HAPPENING. MAX AND Y/N ARE OFFICIALLY A THING. 🎉

lando: SOUND THE ALARMS, EVERYONE. lando: We’ve got ourselves a new grid couple. 👀

daniel: Ahhh, the "closet inchident" seals the deal. Love it. You Leclerc’s sure do love your Inchidents

alex: Soooo… have you told Charles yet? Or do we get to keep this secret and watch the chaos unfold?

y/n: ABSOLUTELY NOT. NONE OF YOU SAY A WORD. y/n: Do you WANT Max to end up in a wall at Monza?!

george: Max already looks like he’s preparing his will. 😂

max: pretty sure charles will crash into me on lap 1 if he finds out too early

daniel: I mean, Charles is gonna "accidentally" forget how to brake if he finds out Max’s been sneaking around his sister. 💀

lando: Yeah, next race? You’re gonna see Charles giving Max the death stare before they even get to Turn 1.

max: I’ll be lucky if I don’t get run off the track before lap 10

alex: Charles be like, "Oh sorry, did I cut across your line? Total accident, mate."

george: Imagine Arthur joining in, double-teaming Max on the straights. 💀

alex: "Sorry mate, but family’s family."

daniel: Max, if Charles finds out you were in her closet, he’s coming for you both on and off the track. No question.

lando: I can see it now—Max and Y/N in the paddock: "Charles, listen, it’s not what it looks like!" Meanwhile, Charles is just revving the engine, ready to take you out. 😂

max: and here i thought the danger was over when i left her apartment

alex: Bro, the danger just began. Charles is about to add "track rage" to his skillset.

daniel: "Oh, Max? Never heard of him. My car just had a mind of its own today." daniel: RIP Verstappen 1997-2024 💀

lando: You’ll go down as a legend, Max. "The man who was brave enough to date a Leclerc and live to tell the tale."

max: that’s if i make it past monza

y/n: YOU’RE ALL DRAMATIC.

george: Dramatic? Us? No way. george: I’m just saying, you better have a solid excuse ready when Charles finds out.

y/n: We’ll tell him eventually. Just… not now. y/n: And until then, if any of you open your big mouths, Max’s blood is on your hands.

daniel: So, what’s the plan? Keep hiding Max in your closet until you tell Charles? 💀

y/n: technically, yes.

y/n: But until then, NONE OF YOU SAY A WORD. LET ME HANDLE THIS.

lando: I mean… if I accidentally let it slip, is that on me or on the fact that Max was literally hiding in a CLOSET? 🤔

max: thanks lando, really appreciate it

daniel: Don’t worry, Max, we’ll make sure your funeral’s nice. Real classy. 💐

alex: I’ll bring flowers. Something dramatic, like roses. 🌹

george has changed the name of the group to “Max's Funeral Planning Committee"

george: Should we do slow-mo highlights of Max’s best overtakes at his funeral? Maybe some sad violin music?

lando: I’m picturing Max’s ghost standing next to Charles, watching the replays like, "Really? This is how I go out?" 💀

y/n: YOU’RE ALL INSANE. STOP JOKING ABOUT THIS.

george: We’ll make sure it’s an open casket. But, you know, open… after Charles crashes into it.

y/n: I’M BLOCKING ALL OF YOU.

lando: Can’t imagine how you'd even explain Max’s sudden appearance in your wardrobe to Charles. "He’s just helping with interior design, bro!" 😂

max: okay okay, enough. max: but for real, don’t tell charles anything yet.

daniel: Sure, we’ll keep the secret. For now. But we want front-row seats when you break the news.

y/n: Let me handle it before anyone here decides to run their big mouth.

lando: Big mouth? Me? Never. 😉

george: You know, this whole "keeping it secret" thing feels very Romeo and Juliet.

lando: Yeah but without the poison, please.

daniel: More like, Romeo hiding in Juliet’s closet while her brother lectures her for an hour. 😂

alex: "Romeo, why are you still in that closet?" alex: "Shhh, Charles will kill me."

max: i hate you all

alex: Don’t worry, Max. We’ll be at the next race, just in case Charles accidentally loses his brakes. 😂

y/n: You’re all the worst. 🙄

lando: Max, you better not be hiding in anyone else’s closet anytime soon. lando: Or else this group chat’s gonna have to upgrade to "Max’s Closet Chronicles: The Sequel."

y/n: Don’t give him ideas.

george: Max: Professional F1 Driver by day, Closet Houdini by night. 😭

max: i hate you all

y/n: Welcome to the club.

daniel: This is gonna be legendary.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[inkdrinkerworld]

season 11 spencer after he bulks up a little with his 3 piece suits and broad shoulders but he still has a baby face is so special to me.

i know he gives the best cuddles and he could talk me off a literal bridge with his sweet voice

Ugh when he comes out of prison I’m just 🤤🤤🤤 mention of reader having had a stomach bug but it's just a passing comment.

“What’s with that face?” You're laying in bed, in one of Spencer's boxers resting low on your hips and your sports bra that expose his favourite parts of you..

"I'm tired and you woke me up early with no kiss, Spencer." You try for as petulant as you feel, pouting all the while your boyfriend smiles from the doorway with a mug of coffee in his hands.

"I asked you to come join me outside for breakfast, the vitamin d will help with your cabin fever."

You and Spencer have been at home for the last couple of days because you had caught a very nasty stomach bug and Spencer had insisted on helping with the case from home. He still isn't ready to leave your side yet.

"That's no reason to begrudge the love of your life a good morning kiss." You roll off the bed, snatching your latest obsession- crossword puzzle books- off the nightstand and stomping to your boyfriend.

"Good morning," he says quietly, his free hand settling on your hip, his thumb dragging along the stretchmarks and moles that litter the skin there. You tip your chin up on your own accord, your nose bumping Spencer's as you eagerly reach for his face in a kiss.

Spencer leads the kiss easily, tongue and teeth exploring your mouth slowly before he pulls away. Your eyes are still closed as you chase his lips making him chuckle.

"Hi," you say breathlessly, your hands dropping from his face to his shoulders. "What did you make for breakfast?"

Spencer slots his fingers through yours, leading you to the kitchen to collect a tray filled with both your favourites.

"A bit of everything, c'mon sweetheart." Spencer sits first on the porch swing first, holding the tray with one hand before reaching for you with his other one.

You let yourself be arranged in his lap, your legs over his, your cheek to his shoulder and the tray over both your laps. Spencer smells like home, lavender and clean cotton and warm like he's made especially for spring time.

"You can have your coffee after, it's not recommended to have it on an empty stomach." He cuts up a crepe and tops it the way you like- with fruit syrup and whipped cream and gives you a bit before you can muster the energy to complain.

With a content sigh, you chew quietly, opening up your crossword book and tapping your pen on your lips. "What's a seven letter word for, 'devotion or tenderness.'" you ask Spencer as he hands over your mug to you.

You're so focused on the book, that you miss the way he looks at you, all the keenness and devotion bared in his eyes and the way they soften as the answer comes to him.

"Cherish," he kisses the crown of your head as you scribble, a smile on his face as you lean down and press a sticky kiss to his wrist.

[wcters]

𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘, 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗜𝗡 𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘

paring: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

summary: you and daniel’s life after he leaves formula one

warnings: established relationship, pda, angst (daniel leaving 😭), crack humour | here’s a twist to daniel’s leaving of f1 to help us cope 😔

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris, and 560,283 others

yourusername to my danny boy. you breathe life into everyone you meet. you bring out the most in me and everyone else. your laughs and smiles are contagious, and you never hesitate to lend a hand. when i met you, i was lost in the world. now, i am found, and always have a home to go back to. words are not enough to let you know how much i love you. formula one will never be the same without you. love you forever and always 🤍

view all 14,647 comments

danielricciardo love you so much honey ❤️

↳ yourusername love living life with you 🤍

landonorris ❤️❤️

user1 brb crying myself to sleep

user2 not ready to not see daniel or daniel and y/n on the paddock anymore 😭😭

alexandrasaintmleux will miss seeing you both 💗

↳ yourusername you too alex! we’ll need to get together soon 🤍

georgerussell63 miss you both ❤️

oscarpiastri wishing you both well

user3 i’m crying my eyes out again

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton, and 3,205,846 others

danielricciardo i've loved this sport my whole life. it's wild and wonderful and been a journey. to the teams and individuals that have played their part, thank you. to the fans who love the sport sometimes more than me haha thank you. it'll always have its highs and lows but it's been fun and truth be told i wouldn't change it. and most importantly, thank you to y/n for staying by my side through everything. you helped me stay myself in a world like this one. until the next adventure, excited to see what the world has in store.

view all 66,936 comments

yourusername love you so much baby 🤍 so proud of what you’ve accomplished!

↳ danielricciardo thank you for being by my side ❤️

oscarpiastri congrats on everything you’ve achieved daniel 👏

lewishamilton it’s been an honour 🤝

user1 y’all don’t talk to me i’m mourning

user2 this is so sweet 🫶🏻

georgerussell63 going to miss you daniel 😔

user3 sad to see him go, but hope we see more y/n and daniel content

user4 you deserved such a better send off 😢

↳ author daniel deserves so much more fr

danielricciardo

liked by georgerussell63, yourusername, and 197,354 others

danielricciardo much needed getaway

view all 180 comments

danielricciardo has limited comments

georgerussell63 cheers mate!

yourusername very much needed ☺️

landonorris make sure you take good pictures and focus the camera 😭

lilymhe you two are so cute ❤️

↳ yourusername we need to plan another double date

↳ lilymhe yes!!

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1, and 75,937 others

yourusername quiet life ⛰️

view all 2,621 comments

danielricciardo stealing my job

↳ yourusername i’m just such a copycat 🐈

maxverstapppen1 beautiful views! wishing you well

user1 my girl knows phoebe bridgers

user2 i’m so jealous of them 😭😭

landonorris 📸📸

alexandrasaintmleux who needs pinterest when you’ve got y/n’s feed??

↳ yourusername says you 🤭🤭

f1gossip

liked by user1, user2, and 54,596 others

f1gossip daniel ricciardo and long term girlfriend, y/n y/l/n were seen in nova scotia, newfoundland, visiting friends and family and reportedly engagement rings on their fingers! what do you think?

view all 1,035 comments

user1 is y/n from canada?

↳ user2 yeah! she also has friends and family there

user3 why are we all up in their business??

user4 it’s about time

↳ user5 i know, they’ve been together for long enough

user6 he was probably planning this for soooo long

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris, and 1,074,027 others

yourusername you guys sure do have a keen eye. yes, me and daniel are engaged. i am speechless. i’m going to marry my best friend. i love you so much danny 🤍 can’t wait for forever of matching sandals, travelling together, playing harmonicas, dancing in the kitchen, playing board games when the power goes out, and having fun with friends with you 🤍 forever and always, and what ever else is left.

view all 22,045 comments

danielricciardo can’t wait lovie ❤️ forever and always

↳ yourusername we should get a fish, start our family early

georgerussell63 i better be invited to this wedding

↳ yourusername of course! can’t be a party without you george 😌

lilymhe time to start planning!!

landonorris congrats you two! no need to ask, i’ll be the photographer

 ↳ danielricciardo big ego norris

charles_leclerc congratulations 🥳

user1 y’all…… i’m not ready

user2 mom and dad are getting married!!

user3 her dedication to him 😭😭😭

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1, and 2,973,872 others

danielricciardo last photo is my reaction to when she said yes. getting you that fish right now 🐟 can’t wait for married life. you lose some, you win some

view all 45,829 comments

yourusername so unserious 😭 but we are in the car rn, on the way to get the fish. he keeps his promises

landonorris you should name the fish dave

↳ yourusername this is why you’re not allowed to name things . . . but i honestly like it

alexandrasaintmleux soo happy for you both ❤️🥰

↳ yourusername love you alex 🤍🤍

maxversteppan1 guess this is officially over for us 😔😔

↳ danielricciardo never baby, i always have room for you ❤️

↳ yourusername 🤨🤨🤨

user1 poor y/n, always going to third wheel with max and daniel

↳ yourusername i’ve accepted it at this point

georgerussell63 omw to plan my outfit

user2 i can’t wait to see them married

user3 i wonder what their weddings going to look like . . .

[cllightning81]

Best Friends [OP81]

Summary : You and Oscar are childhood best friends and maybe a little more but that's something the grid has missed

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Wife!Reader, Logan Sargeant x reader, F1 Grid x Reader

Warning/s: None

Word Count: 1.6 k

Masterlist

Oscar Piastri Masterlist

You and Oscar had started out as childhood best friends. You even moved to England with him because you just couldn’t be separated. As Oscar went through the different ranks of motorsport you decided to do a Sports Science degree and when Oscar got signed for Prema he made sure you were his personal trainer and you’d just follow him into his F1 career.

You and Oscar were now walking through the paddock with his arm around your shoulders. It started as a habit when he started his rookie season to calm his nerves with your warm body, and it gave you comfort at the same time. When he started his rookie season, you were still only best friends. Neither of you had confessed how you felt, but now you had yet, everyone still believed you were still only best friends. 

It hadn’t been on the top of either of your lists to correct people when they called you best friends because even though you were more than dating now, he was still your best friend. Walking into the Mclaren garage, Oscar spoke to a few mechanics. 

“Osc we’ve got to get you warmed up” You smiled, and you both walked through to his drivers room. As Oscar got changed into his fireproofs and race suit, you grabbed the equipment to get him warmed up. When you turned around, his race suit was resting on his waist before you talked him through some stretches. After Oscar warmed up, you moved out to the main garage with him. Mclaren had some guests in the garage that Zac wanted Oscar and Lando to talk to and maybe do some training in front of them.

“Let’s use the bands to stretch your arms” You smiled, handing him one of the bands, and he nodded. You grabbed your headphones, resting them around your neck. Your hands are coming up to his back a little bit for comfort and a little to correct his posture. 

“You okay?” Oscar asked, and you smiled 

“Yeah, just correcting your posture while doing this” you hummed, walking back around so you stood in front of him

“You’re gonna do great today. You’re starting in a great position, and the car is brilliant” You smiled, resting your hand on his chest. You and Oscar had always been touchy for as long as people knew you both. The only person knowing the truth about your relationship was Logan and maybe Arthur. He seemed to be good at finding out relationships between random people. Oscar took your hand, holding it in his own larger hand. 

“I’m gonna do even better because you’re wearing this thing” He whispered, running his hand over your engagement and wedding ring. 

“Well I’m fed up with watching random women flirt with my husband” you hummed, rubbing his shoulders as you walked behind him. He was stressed about today. His home race meant he wanted to do really well, and you could feel the stress in his shoulders

“Relax baby” you whispered, massaging the knots out of his shoulders and necks. Soon, Oscar was getting ready to get in the car. You smiled, standing next to him. 

Mclaren social media team had a camera recording Oscar so they could post some behind the scenes of the garage. Oscar handed you his hoodie, and you folded it up, placing it upon the pile of his clothes. Oscar pulled his race suit up and onto his shoulders, turning to you so that you could zip it up something that you’ve been doing since you first became friends all those years ago.

Handing Oscar his balaclava, he pulled it on his head and tucked his hair into it, sending you one last smile as he stepped out of frame to press a kiss to your lips. He took his helmet, placing the HANS device around his neck before pulling his helmet over his head. You secured his helmet strap and corrected the HANS device before tapping his helmet and walking over to the car with him.

“Be safe out there” You smiled, holding his hands, and he nodded 

“I’m gonna get a podium so we can continue that celebration from last time” You smiled, looking up at him. The celebration was you, Oscar, and Logan finishing the movie while you helped their aches and pains from the race, although Logan was talking about going out with a couple of other drivers depending on the outcome. 

Oscar did get on the podium, and you couldn’t have been more proud of him. Making your way out of the garage with the rest of the Mclaren team. Lando got P2, and Oscar got P3. It was the best result anyone could have asked for. You stood at the front of the barricades, and after Oscar got weighed, he walked over to the team. 

The difference between Oscar and Lando when celebrating was quite funny to watch. Lando jumped into the team's arms as he celebrated with pats on the back, shoulder, and helmet as Oscar just thanked everyone before stopping next to you and wrapping you into a hug. Your arms rested around his neck as he rested around your waist. 

He had left his helmet on the stand for it, looking into his eyes with a smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. You smiled into the kiss as the cameras flashes up 

“I love you so much wife” He whispered against your lips 

“I love you too” You smiled as Lando cheered from next to you. You laughed

“Go get your trophy. I’ll be watching” You pushed Oscar away as Logan walked over 

“Movie night or drinking?” He asked, wrapping you in a side hug 

“Movie night. Well done on the points” You smiled, turning to watch the podium with him. You were so proud of him. A podium at his home race is something he’d been wanting for a long time, and he’s finally achieved it. After the podium, you walked back to the garage, collecting all of Oscar’s belongings and taking them to his drivers room. 

As Oscar did his post race interviews and debrief, you decided to stretch yourself, having sat tense watching the whole race, and there was nothing else to do while sitting waiting. Logan was sending you random tweets and tiktok videos as you sat a lot of them about the fact you and Oscar were finally together, causing you to laugh. A set of arms tackled you onto the beanbag in Oscars' drivers room as your neck was covered with kisses, causing you to giggle, knowing it was Oscar. 

“I did it! I got a podium” He cheered, and you laughed, turning your head to kiss him 

“I’m so proud of you, baby. I knew you could do it. You’ll always be a winner in my heart” You smiled, and he kissed you again. 

“Come on, I want to go celebrate” He pulled you up 

“Baby you need to get changed” you giggled, pushing his helmet hair out his face 

“Okay right yeah, I’ll do that” He nodded 

“Logan keeps sending me tweets and TikToks about us revealing our relationship. They’re quite funny, to be honest” You giggled 

“Our son” He chuckled, and you nodded 

“He really acts like it sometimes. His mum messages me every so often to make sure he’s actually doing how he says he is” Oscar nodded, taking your hand 

“How does he say he is?” He asked 

“He’s struggling with the fans for obvious reasons. I’ve been told that he greatly enjoys our movie nights and they allow him to relax with people he fully trusts” Oscar nodded, kissing your head 

“Then we never stop those. Maybe we should start inviting him for dinner when we’re not racing?” He suggested 

“I think that sounds like a good idea but as your trainer I’ve got to remind you to stick to your diet plan” You giggled while jogging through the garage as he chased after you for that comment. Picking you up and spinning you around. You smiled, pressing your lips to his as he placed you back on the ground. Walking out of the paddock, Oscar had his hand rested around your waist, but you were soon stopped by a grid of drivers standing at the paddock exit with their arms crossed. 

“Hey everyone” You smiled, looking between the eighteen other drivers standing in front of you

“Hey everyone” Lando mocked, and you frowned now, very confused about what you had done wrong 

“What’s going on?” Oscar asked, also confused. Charles pointed between the two of you, and you looked up at Oscar 

“What?” You whispered, and he shrugged 

“Can someone use their words and explain what you mean?” You asked as Logan wrapped his arms around you both 

“They’ve only just realised that you’re together after your kiss” He explained, and you frowned, turning back to the crowd of people 

“Want to explain then?” Max asked 

“We’ve been married for four months. Dating for nine before that” you explained, still really confused 

“What?!” They chorused, and you looked between them all. Oscar is now holding your hand up 

“She’s been wearing these for the last three months around you lot" He exclaimed as you both laughed, turning to Logan 

“You going back to your hotel room before movie night?” You asked, and he nodded 

“If you two don’t mind waiting a little to start?” He asked, and you shook your head 

“Gives me time to cook some dinner” You smiled, walking past the rest of the grid, leaving them all standing shocked at your announcement.

Tag List

@bearryyy

@molten-m122

@thewannabewriter

@lozzamen3

@barcelonaloverf1life

@hiireadstuff

@mxdi0

@f1kenzzz

[puck-luck]

evening embrace | jack hughes

warnings: oral (m! & f! receiving) aka 69 BABYYYY!!!!! whiny jack, silly jack, established realtionship af, very domestic pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader request: "jack hughes coming home from practice or a game all grumpy and frustrated and just ranting endlessly about whatever is pissing him off so u just casually decide to give him head mid-rant. without a word you just start palming him over his pants while he’s mid sentence and he’d be like “baby, what are you doing?” and you’d casually make your way to your knees with a shrug and say “you’re stressed, seem like you could use some relief” and once you’ve got his dick out and you’re about to bring it to your lips you’d say “you can continue with your ranting baby, promise i won’t get distracted” with an innocent little pout i-" wc: 4423

Jack had a bad day. The Devils just had their first few preseason games and Jack, although he felt ready to get back into his normal routine, feels like his shoulder injury from last season is still a little tender. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment that he snapped, but he thinks that he blacked out around the time when he missed a pivotal pass that resulted in a breakaway and goal in the game today. He’s never been so angry after a game– and this is just preseason.

He bursts through the door to your shared apartment, already ranting. 

“This is shit,” Jack complains, dropping his bags in the doorway and kicking off his shoes. 

“What’s shit, Jacky?” You ask from the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and reading a book. Now that he’s home, though, you set the book down and give him your attention.

“I’m not playing good enough,” Jack huffs out, frustrated and annoyed. “It’s my stupid shoulder. I’ve rehabbed it, I’ve gotten it fixed through surgery, and I still feel like I’m not playing at 100%.”

“Aw, honey, come sit,” you say, patting the cushion beside you. 

Jack stalks over, collapsing onto the couch cushions and pulling you onto his lap. He kisses you hello before going back to his ranting. 

“I knew I needed to work more on my wrister before the game,” he says. “But Keefe wanted us to run drills at camp so that we could be better all-around.”

You hum when you need to, but Jack’s just complaining and pouting. He had a tough day and wants to get all of his negative thoughts out, knowing that you don’t mind listening to him when he has problems.

“And I appreciate being a good team all-around, you know,” Jack continues. “But there should be times during practice when a guy can go work on his own shit, which will make the team better overall once he’s perfected the skill.”

“Maybe you can talk to Nico about that,” you murmur, tracing the letters on Jack’s shirt. 

“I don’t want to be that guy,” Jack grumbles. “It’s a team sport. If Keefe wants us to practice as a team, then that’s what we’ll do. He’s the coach.”

You nod absentmindedly, adjusting yourself on Jack’s lap. Your hand continues to pet over his covered chest as he talks. His muscles are defined; it’s clear that he put in the work during his time off. You know he did, actually. You’ve watched his body swell and gain muscle mass over the summer and you’ve been able to see the changes up close and personal.

But not this past week: training camp started and Jack has been so tired and stressed out that he’ll come home, eat dinner with you, and collapse into bed with nary a makeout sesh anywhere. He’s been too tired to get off with you, although you know it relaxes him and helps him keep his mind clear, so you haven’t pushed.

Yet, as he talks about his day, you can’t stop thinking about how much better this would be if your lips were wrapped around his dick.

Your hand drops to his lap, palming his length over his shorts and interrupting Jack’s sentence.

He catches your wrist. “Baby, what are you doing?” Jack asks. “I’m talking to you.”

You blink up at him innocently, moving from his lap and sliding down to the ground. You situate yourself prettily on your knees, right between his thighs. Again, you touch the front of his shorts, rubbing the area like you’re giving him a handjob over his pants. “You seem stressed,” you tell him, simply. “Like you could use some relief.”

Jack’s mouth is agape, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “I– um, yeah, I mean, I guess I’m stressed,” he replies, agreeing with you with an additional nod.

“Let me help,” you offer, cupping his bulge with your hand before leaning in to brush a fleeting kiss against the growing tent. You mouth along for a moment before bringing his waistband down, revealing his tight boxer-briefs. His semi is much more noticeable in just the underwear, straining more against the fabric as he grows harder. You fit your lips over the tip of his cock and suck slightly, through his shorts, just to make Jack jump.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, touching the back of your neck hesitantly. He moves like he’s still confused and not quite sure what’s happening.

“Keep talking, baby,” you say to him as you pull his length out of his underwear and start to stroke it. You press a kiss to the crown of his cock, then pull back. “I’m listening. I promise I won’t get distracted.” You blink up at him through your eyelashes, watching countless emotions pass over Jack’s face before you kitten-lick over his slit and hum in approval. 

“It’s just hard,” Jack says, his eyes still wide and blown because of the shock that came over him when you made your bold move. “To, uh–”

He trails off, gesturing helplessly as your tongue traces the veins on the underside of his cock. You hum, bobbing your head in a commiserating, blatantly sarcastic nod. You know what you’re doing to him. You know that Jack goes boneless whenever you suck him off, that he promptly loses his words when you gag on his cock. 

So, you pull away from him. You let your spit pool where it lay while your lips were around him– able to use it as lube as you pump him, blinking up at him like you’re unimpressed. “C’mon, J. I thought you had things to be frustrated about.”

“I do!” Jack exclaims, finding his words after your mouth parts from his body.

“Oh, you do,” you repeat, a smug little smile on your face. “So tell me about it.”

“I– well– it doesn’t matter now,” Jack whines, his hips twitching under your calm palm. 

You furrow your brow and tilt your head to the side. “It doesn’t?”

Jack covers his face with his hands and makes a frustrated noise.

“Well, if that doesn’t matter, then why am I doing this?” You ask, feigning complete confusion even as you continue to stroke him. Jack has obviously gotten side tracked– and the relief of your mouth is like a wet rag on a dry erase board: it wipes everything completely clean and fresh. “I thought I was offering you something sweet to make up for your bad day.”

“You are, just– stop stopping!” 

You move your head from side to side with each word in your response: “You can’t make me!”

At a stalemate, Jack deflates. He frowns to himself, then pointedly at you. You’re still stroking him, just teasing him, waiting for him to sweetly ask you to continue until–

Jack pulls you up onto the couch and takes your place, sinking to the ground on his knees with his pants and underwear pooling around his ankles. He doesn’t bother to take his clothes off before he touches your leggings reverently with a light ghosting of his fingertips. He brushes a sweet kiss against the inside of your thigh as he touches you, but the sweetness and teasing doesn’t last very long.

“How was your day?” Jack asks with a smirk and another kiss to your covered skin. He pulls at the waistband of your leggings, dragging them down your legs in a totally obvious way.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you warn.

“Not doing anything,” Jack teases. 

“Don’t lie to me, Jack Hughes.”

“Full name,” Jack notes offhandedly. He licks his lips and rubs his thumb along your slit, still covered by your godforsaken panties. If he’s going to do something, he had better do it. “Just giving my baby a taste of her own medicine,” he adds.

“My day was fine, thank you very much,” you retort.

Jack hums, fiddling with the edge of your panties, the part of the underwear that’s covering his favorite part of you. “What’d you do?” He asks.

“I showered,” you say.

“Without me,” Jack adds. You don’t have time to berate him for acting like a fuckboy– not when he starts mouthing over your hipbones until he finds the waistband of your panties. He takes the band between his teeth and drags the fabric down to meet your leggings. All the while, he stares up at you with his own wide, blown, horny eyes. 

“And I had breakfast, then I worked for a while, then I got lunch with my coworker like I told you about last night–” You continue, but Jack interrupts, pulling away from your bare cunt.

He pouts a bit. “What coworker?” Jack asks. “Who was it again?”

You muster the courage to glare at him. Jack just grins, his thumb sweeping through your folds like he hasn’t got a care in the world. 

“Sadie,” you remind him. “The new girl in accounting.”

“Oh, Sadie,” Jack drawls, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “How could I forget about Sadie?” He smiles at you briefly to show that he’s messing with you, then nears your mound. “What did you eat?” He asks, just before replacing his thumb with the tip of his tongue, pride written all over his face as you take a deep breath.

“We got those Mediterranean bowls you like,” you say. You don’t tell him that there’s one in the fridge waiting for him.

“Without me,” Jack repeats, sounding a little more forlorn than the first time. Who knew that showering without your boyfriend would be less titillating than a Mediterranean bowl from that place down the street?

Regardless, you still don’t tell him about your little surprise in the kitchen.

“Without you,” you agree. “I can’t always be with you, you know.”

“Mhm, and it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever had to go through,” Jack says, using his thumbs to pull your lips apart so he can really dig in and lavish your cunt. Jack drinks up the gasp that leaves your mouth when his tongue twirls against your clit, then drops lower to press against your entrance. Jack presses a kiss against your entrance before his tongue really works into you, rendering him quiet.

You know he expects you to continue speaking, just as you expected him to continue. One thing you’ve always been better at than Jack is compartmentalizing– you swear it comes with the territory of being a woman compared to being a man– but you’ve missed this so much that you don’t care about his gloating that will come later. 

“Jack, come–”

You interrupt yourself with a breathy gasp, hands flying to his hair. Jack has always loved when you tug at the brown waves adorning his head, so the heady look in his eyes when he looks up at you is no surprise. It’s also no surprise that your gasp has Jack flattening his tongue and showering your cunt with attention.

You had meant to ask him to come back up onto the couch, wanting him to be comfortable, but Jack doesn’t seem to care. You still want him to fill your mouth. There’s a trace of his salty precum on your tongue and the absence of his cock on the muscle leaves you writhing. 

He eats you out messily, getting your juices all over his lips, cheeks, and chin. When he pulls away to catch a breath, you admire how his chest heaves with the effort to fill his lungs before diving back in and the way he licks his lips. You grip his hair, tugging slightly to get his attention, and then Jack’s disheveled baby blues are back on you. He smiles dopily, moving to wrap his lips around your clit, but before he can, you speak.

“Come up here,” you implore, tugging at his hair again. 

“Wanna stay here,” Jack replies, succeeding in his efforts to reconnect with your core this time. 

Despite the shockwaves flying through your body at his powerful suction, you remain steadfast. You’re even able to string a sentence together that has Jack pausing: “Please, J, wanna suck you too,” you complain.

It isn’t long until Jack thinks of a joke to refute you. “Baby, I’m 86, not 69.”

“Jack,” you complain, tugging his hair again indignantly as he laughs against your cunt, enjoying his own joke. “Not funny.”

“Very funny,” Jack mumbles, fitting a finger inside of you and thumbing over your clit in the absence of his mouth. You’re grinding down against him now, not nearly full enough or satisfied enough. Jack’s smirk tells you that there’s more coming. “You want to have my cock in your mouth so bad that you’ll do your least favorite sex position on the couch?”

You groan. Of course he remembered the conversation he walked in on when you had your girlfriends over a couple of months ago– a lengthy, very detailed, very philosophical conversation about which sex positions are practical and impractical, as well as what places are more practical than others. 

You don’t suck Jack off as he eats you out often. It’s not something you ever really feel the need to do, even though Jack has admitted to loving the way you’ll moan against his cock and rock back into his mouth like you’re unsure which is better. The reason you don’t do it often, though, is that you can rarely finish like that. And Jack, being the doting, pussy-drunk boyfriend he is, would rather have you in a position where you’ll come all over his cock or his face rather than struggle to make it to your destination.

As for the couch, you’ve always thought that it’s more fun to ride Jack and distract him from whatever he’s watching on the TV, or for him to bend you over the edges of the furniture to pound into you from behind.

But today– today, you’re confident that you can finish. It’s been over a week since Jack felt like doing anything and you’re needy. You’re not ashamed of it, either– you love your boyfriend and the passion shared between you both is enough to steam up the windows of the apartment. It’s no secret that Jack does everything he can to make you feel good.

Which is how you’re going to convince him to get back on the couch and fill you completely, please you from both ends until you’re boneless and smothering him with your cunt– “The ideal way to die,” according to Jack, and all of his friends who insisted he was right when he dared to bring up sex at one of the parties on the lake house the previous summer. 

“Jack,” you say, simple and plain. You lean forward on the couch, reaching down to cradle his face in your palms. Your hands get sticky with your own slick, but it’s no big deal. After all, you’d already touched Jack’s dick, so it’s not like your hands are clean. You press a fleeting kiss to his nose, making Jack grin widely. “Wanna sit on this pretty face,” you tell him. “While I gag on your cock.”

“Mm, yeah?” Jack asks. The way he perks up is laughable: if he was a dog, he’d be wagging his tail. “Gonna come in my mouth while I come in yours?”

You shiver at the thought of a simultaneous orgasm– your own warmth and relaxation taking over your body while Jack fills you up. You nod slightly, biting your lip to hold back a needy whine. Your eyelashes flutter as you watch Jack stand from his spot between your legs. 

He lays on the couch, his head resting on a throw pillow for some extra leverage. He makes himself comfortable, and it’s a little silly that both of you still have your shirts on, but Jack sticks out his tongue and waves you forward. The position makes you laugh, combined with his antics, so you make a silly move of your own. 

You crawl towards him, across the couch, trying to look like Sophie in Mamma Mia while she and Sky sing ‘Lay All Your Love on Me,’ but there’s no music playing. It’s just you and Jack and your soft little giggles, which are eventually quieted by a sweet kiss and a swipe of Jack’s tongue against your own. You can taste yourself on him and he can taste himself on you, which has Jack smiling into the kiss. His teeth clink against yours for a second, then he pats your hip and you pull away.

“Come have a seat, baby,” Jack invites, unable to wipe the grin off of his face. You shake your head and avert your eyes, blushing a little bit at how giddy you’ve made him with just a few kisses, some attention to his cock, and access to your pussy.

“Forgotten all about your bad day?” You tease.

“It turned out okay, I think,” Jack replies with a wink. He keeps his hands on your body as you turn, then line yourself up with his mouth. You’ve got the perfect view of his cock in this position, standing up and red for you, just waiting for you to lean forward and welcome him into the warm wetness of your mouth.

Jack hasn’t waited to admire you. He’s already sloppily mouthing at your lips, sliding his tongue against your clit. He has his arms looped around your thighs, hands planted squarely on your ass. He grips your cheeks and spreads them so that he can pull you back further and work his tongue inside of you. For your hesitation, he gives your clit a little nip to encourage you forward. It doesn’t hurt, but it does surprise you, and you let out a hushed yelp. Jack giggles before returning to your entrance, prodding at you.

You bend forward, laying across Jack’s body and holding yourself up by laying your forearms on his abdomen. Your left hand pets over the skin on his hip while your right holds his base steady. You gather some spit in your mouth before letting it drip onto his slit. The fluid drips down his cock, but you’re determined to replace your spit with ropes of his cum.

You take him in your mouth as far as you can, moaning when his tip nudges the back of your throat. He twitches in your mouth, involuntary but welcome. You love when he’s unable to control his reactions, doubling down on his enthusiasm at your core. 

You can feel yourself dripping all over Jack’s face. His hands are strong on your hips, pulling you back to grind against his mouth. Taking an arm from around your thigh, he brings his fingers back to your core, sliding two inside of you while he focuses on your clit. 

He’s so messy and he keeps making slurping sounds because he’s so into it, which is completely not sexy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You treasure the moans and hums that follow the unattractive slurping– Jack’s voice has grown high-pitched and needy, completely intoxicated by your taste.

You imagine him now, cheeks flushed just as pink as yours. Hell, his lips are probably swollen and the same shade of red as his tip. 

You bring a hand up to move your hair to one side of your head, the strands brushing Jack’s thigh and tickling him slightly. It’s necessary for you to give this blowjob your full attention, and you can’t have your hair getting in the way now, not after you’ve been missing Jack’s cock for a full week.

No, you’re just as drunk as he is, moaning and gagging and humming. You pull out all the stops– leaving his cock to kiss over his balls and suck at the skin while you pump his member. Jack’s always enjoyed that extra touch, his hips jumping uncontrollably into your space for the second time tonight.

“Wanna fuck my face?” You ask, words coming out in a rush. 

Jack keens beneath you, holding you closer. He pumps his fingers inside you quickly, working a third into your hole and curling his knuckles until he finds your sweet spot, making you moan wantonly. His hips are moving again, wiggling beneath you until you bring your lips back to his tip. You press a kiss against his slit before opening your mouth as wide as you can, hollowing your cheeks against his shaft until Jack starts to move.

He’s quick like a jack-hammer. His movements are twitchy and shallow because, as you’ve said time and time again, Jack has never been the world’s greatest multitasker. He’s able to perform well on the ice, very athletically minded and capable, but when his mind gets all foggy and sex-crazed, he’s completely helpless. 

He chases his pleasure wildly. He continues to make his sweet, pretty whimpers against your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit as fast as he can manage while also fingering you and fucking into your mouth– he’s working overtime and his chest is heaving with harsh breaths. You take it, even rolling your hips against his fingers to try and help him out. 

You’d feel bad about making him do all the work, but you’ve known since the beginning of your relationship how Jack feels about making you come: he loves it. It’s better than his own release. He always wants you to come over his tongue or make a mess all over his cock or fingers.

“Baby, baby,” Jack whines against your clit, his lips brushing the nerves as he talks. “Fuck, gonna come, please, please–”

“Uh-huh,” you hum, the best response you can give with your mouth stuffed with his cock. The vibrations send Jack over the edge and he lurches beneath you, pulling his fingers from your hole and replacing them with his tongue. He switches, putting his thumb on your clit and rubbing furious circles until you’re writhing above him.

You’re able to swallow a mouthful of his cum before you have to squeeze your eyes shut and focus on your own orgasm, milliseconds away from breaking down the dam inside of you. You pull off of Jack’s cock and pant above him, continuing to stroke him through his climax. 

Your eyes are a little teary from the ecstasy coursing through your veins, fueled completely by Jack’s rapid movements and equally frequent muffled pleas. He can’t stop begging you to release all over his face, even with his tongue inside of you. You can’t focus on what he’s saying, but his voice is wrecked and bordering on distressed. That’s how bad he needs you to come, how badly he needs to make you come.

His jaw has got to be aching by this point, having eaten you out for so long, but you’re so close.

You sit up a bit, just enough that you can place your hands on his muscular thighs and grind back against his face. Your hips are quick, messy, and inconsistent. “Jack,” you cry out, your breath leaving you like a hard fall to the ground knocking all the air from your lungs.

“Yeah, yeah,” he encourages, his tongue flicking over your walls.

You come harder than you ever have like this– maybe harder than you ever have in general. Jack holds you against him and laps at your release, despite the pleasure causing your hips to jerk and try to escape. You lose track of yourself, feeling completely gone. There’s a chance you’ll have to wash the couch cushions later, with the way you’re spreading slick over Jack’s face. It feels endless, your orgasm, and you think Jack may have actually made up for a week of nothing in just one night. 

He licks over you until there’s nothing left for him to taste. His hair has gone wild, eyes bright but groggy and hazy at the same time. You’re sure you look the same, unwilling to find yourself in the mirror across the room when you roll off of Jack and find a shaky footing on the floor. Your shirt is damp with sweat, as is Jack’s. He lifts the neckline to wipe the lower half of his face, dazed. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, placing a hand over his heart. His eyes look up at you, a slight smile lifting the edges of his lips. “That might be the closest I’ve ever gotten to dying from your pussy, baby.”

You laugh at that, running your fingers through your hair. “I think we both need a shower,” you say with an easy smile. 

Jack yawns. “Then bed?” He asks. 

“If you don’t fall asleep on me right here,” you reply, nodding at his body as it lounges on the couch. You thought you were bad with going boneless– Jack seems to have sank into the cushions. The sight is hilarious– your boyfriend, completely love drunk and smiling up at you like you’re an angel, with his shirt still on but no pants and no underwear. His dick has softened against his hip, the cum you didn’t swallow drying against his skin. “With your dick out and all. Any burglar would run the other direction.”

“You don’t think he’d be impressed?” Jack sits up just enough to look at his length. 

“Maybe not in this state.”

“I’ll just have to explain to him that my girl fucked me so good that I couldn’t move anymore,” Jack ponders with a shrug. He laughs to himself, eyes hooded but blinking slowly at you.

“Well, you did come first,” you agree. You reach out and take his hands, dragging him up to a sitting position, then up to his feet. 

Jack stumbles into you, petting over your rat’s-nest of a head of hair and pressing a series of kisses all over your face.

“Gross, gonna have to do extra skincare tonight,” you pout, pushing him away. 

Jack continues making kissy noises as you pull him towards your shared bedroom, depositing him in front of the shower so that he can start the water while you grab new clothes for the both of you and go to the bathroom. 

He feels you up in the shower until you’re both laughing and covered in suds, unable to keep your lips from the other person’s for longer than a couple of minutes. He makes his hair into a shampooed mohawk just to make you giggle again. His displeasure from earlier in the night is completely gone, and you couldn’t be more glad. 

notes: this is one of my favorite fics i've ever written, so i hope y'all enjoyed!!

[starkwlkr]

fever dream | sebastian vettel

part 2 part 3

warnings: toxic soon to be ex husband who cheats on reader (if i miss anything, let me know!!)

update: i decided to make this into a series, thanks for reading!! you can read it here!

AN: THIS SAYS THAT SEB AND THE READER WERE TEAM MATES FOR 2014 AND 2015 THATS A MISTAKE SORRY I ONLY MEANT TO PUT 2014 😭

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“luke, alison! your aunt y/n is here!” your sister yelled as she opened the door to her home. in a matter of seconds, loud footsteps were heard running down the stairs. “no running!”

but still the kids didn’t listen, they were excited to see their aunt. “hey, my babies! oh my god, you two have grown so much. stop growing!” you hugged your niece and nephew.

“i’m almost as tall as mom!” alison, the younger sister, said.

“liar, that’s just what dad says to make you feel better. i’m going to grow more than you and then i’ll be taller than you.” luke teased.

“you both can be tall, but never as tall as me.” you joked as you placed a kiss on their cheeks.

“are you going to stay with us forever?” alison asked innocently. “dad said that you don’t want to stay with your husband anymore and you’re going to stay with us.”

“alison!”

the truth was hard for little kids to understand. yes, you were going to stay with your sister for a few days and yes, you didn’t want to stay with your husband anymore, but it was a bit more complicated than that. your husband had cheated, lied, manipulated you and you had enough. he was the reason you couldn’t come back to the sport you loved and worked your whole life for.

“well i am going to be staying here, but not forever. i just needed a break from him, it’s normal.” you tried to explain to the girl.

“but my mom and dad don’t take breaks?”

“alison, just go to your room, you too luke, please. dinner is going to be ready in an hour.” your sister said, feeling embarrassed that alison would ask those questions.

“what did i do?” the older boy whines as he and his sister walked up to their rooms.

“i’m sorry. i spoke to jack the night you called. we were cleaning up the table after dinner, i assume she heard.” your sister explained.

“it’s okay, they’ll understand when they’re older. not everyone is cut out to be loved . . .”

or a mother.

only a few people had known about your issues with infertility, your sister and lewis being two of them. after you retired from f1, you were sure that in a couple months, you were going to be busy with doctor’s appointments, buying baby clothes and building a crib, but none of that happened. after a year of trying, you were convinced you weren’t meant to be a mom.

you thought about returning to the track, after all many drivers returned after saying they were retiring, why couldn’t you? but that plan was spoiled by the man you thought loved you.

“you can’t go back, you don’t belong there. it’s a man’s sport. you’re probably going to crash in the first lap anyways.”

you didn’t know why you stayed with him, but you did. maybe it was the promises he kept telling you about or the hopefulness that one day you would become parents and maybe he would change. but again, none of that happened.

“um, i have to call someone. i’ll be right back. excuse me.” you told your sister as you walked to the patio door and exited the house. without hesitating, you clicked on a familiar contact. you held your phone against your ear and waited for the person on the other end to pick up. it felt like forever, but eventually they picked up the call.

“hello?”

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter two

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: backyard barbecues, the local market, and an unexpected discovery that has you wondering what exactly you may have just gotten yourself into. (5k)

warnings: angst (this early on, i know i'm sorry but it's for the plot i promise <3), lando and max f bickering like an old married couple

a/n: she's here!!!! sorry it took a little longer than expected but i hope you all enjoy this chapter :) pls feel free to come chat in my asks if you want to, i'd love to hear what everyone think about it so far!

previous chapter | masterlist

“Are these guys rich or something?”

Camille voices exactly the thought running through your mind as you roll to a stop to the address Lando had texted you yesterday, gawking out at the sprawling acreage in front of you. 

You peer at the impressive villa through the windshield, taking in everything with baited breath. She’s absolutely right. 

This house has to be two, if not three times the size of the one you’re all staying at, and that’s just what you can see so far. Vines bursting with colorful flowers crawl up white stone walls, curling around trellises of even more foliage, shutters on huge windows. There’s even a massive fountain in the middle of the courtyard, pristine marble, spewing crystal clear water in streams. 

It’s a classic old money countryside villa—worth millions, you assume, not even taking in the gathering of vintage and expensive sports cars parked along the cobblestone driveway. You suddenly feel so, so small compared to the extravagance of just the exterior of the place. 

Who are these people? 

A guy with brown curls similar to Lando’s pulls open the door when you ring the bell, in the middle of yelling something at someone further inside the house, before turning his gaze on you all. His face lights up in recognition at the sight of you. “Oh, hey, you’re the girl Lando won’t shut up about! I’m Max, but I’m sure he’s told you all about me, hasn’t he?” 

So this is Max. Lando’s told you a little about him, but mainly just funny stories. You wonder if Max knows his best friend is going around telling girls he’s just met about the time Max walked into a glass sliding door. 

“A little bit, not much. It’s nice to put a face to the name though!” You say politely. 

Max sighs dramatically, shaking his head in faux disappointment. He and Lando must be close. “I’m the best part of his life, and he doesn’t think to share it! What a knob. Anyways, welcome, come on in, make yourselves at home!” 

He ushers you all inside, leading you through the house and out huge double French doors leading to the backyard. The rest of their group sits on couches gathered around a stone fire pit, drinks in hand, chatting amongst themselves until they see you all coming. Max does the introductions between your two groups, but there’s one person missing. The one person you were looking forward to seeing again is nowhere to be found. 

Max must notice how your eyes search for Lando, because he grins knowingly. “He’ll be out in a bit. Work called.” 

“Oh, what does he do?” Samira chimes in. You fight the urge to throw a stone at her, because you know what she’s doing. She’s getting information on Lando because you haven’t got the guts to do it yourself yet. 

“Has he not told you yet?” Max raises a brow, taking a sip of his drink. When you shake your head, he presses his lips together, like he’s debating whether or not to tell you himself. “Yeah, sorry, I think I’m gonna stay out of this one. He gets pissy when I meddle with his budding relationships.” 

Budding relationship. Your face flames hot at the insinuation, but Samira takes it in stride, raising a skeptical brow. 

“What, is he in the mafia or something?” 

“‘Course not, that’s ridiculous. Pretty boy like him, he’d never make it in the mafia,” Max snorts. “No, he’s…look, it’s not really my place to say. I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready.” 

Lando materializes from inside at that very moment, brows furrowed. There’s a tic going off in his jaw and he looks a little pissed off about something, but as soon as he looks up and sees that there’s company, he composes himself in a split second. 

“Hey, guys!” He chirps, hand raising in a wave. He makes his way over to where you all are, plopping down in the empty spot beside you without hesitation. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Thanks for the invite,” Maren replies, ever the polite one. “And the coffee yesterday.” 

Max makes an offended noise from the back of his throat at his friend. “You bought them coffee yesterday? Where was mine? You never buy me coffee.” 

“Mate, you don’t even drink coffee!” 

“Maybe I would if you bought it for me!” 

The two boys continue to bicker with each other in the same way all evening, which leads you to believe this is just how they are with one another. It gives Lando another dimension in your mind, and you like it.

There are a handful of common interests amongst your friends and Lando’s, ones that spark conversation immediately. As the night goes on, it feels like you’ve all been friends for a while, and you’re glad. Part of you was worried things would be awkward between everyone, but thankfully that isn’t the case.

It passes the time quicker than you expect. Soon enough it’s nearing midnight and you’re close to nodding off onto Lando’s shoulder, fighting to stay awake and looped into the ongoing conversation despite the sleep threatening to overtake you.

It certainly doesn’t help that he exudes warmth from where you’ve wound up pressed against each other on the small couch. You turn your head to look at him, to take in the little details of him. The angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose. The smattering of moles across his face and neck.

One wayward curl hangs over his forehead, and you want to reach out, brush it away. You don’t think you’re quite at that stage of comfort with each other yet, but then he tears his attention away from the rest of the group and meets your gaze with what you can only describe as pure fondness dripping from his lazy grin. 

“You alright?” He says softly, shifting his body to face you a little more. 

You nod, because you’re more than alright. For the first time in a while, everything feels just the way it should be. “Are you?” 

“Hm?” Lando replies noncommittally, sipping his drink. “Fine, why?” 

“Earlier, after your phone call, you seemed…upset. I don’t mean to pry, I just wanted to see if everything was alright.” 

“Oh, that? Nah, that was nothing, just my boss. Wanted to talk work stuff, but I wasn’t feeling it, y’know?” He shrugs. It feels like there’s more to what he’s saying, but you don’t want to push too hard. You’re still familiarizing yourself with him. “You’re sweet to check on me, though.” 

“Okay. But if you, um, if you need to talk or anything, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Lando traces a finger briefly over the thin strap of your dress, just over your shoulder, before dropping his chin into his palm. You already know he’s about to change the subject. Involuntarily, you shiver at his touch, and he definitely notices, because he suddenly looks a little smug.

“Pretty dress,” He hums, tilting his head. 

You weren't trying to make a good impression on Lando, but you weren't exactly not trying, if that makes sense. It doesn't really make sense to you, but you’d gone for cute but comfy with a dress you’d borrowed, hoping it says you’d made an effort, but not too much of one. 

Suddenly you can’t remember what you were just thinking about not being at a certain stage of comfort with one another. Is it weird that you're secretly pleased he liked it enough to mention it?

“It’s not mine,” You say softly. Lando lets out a noise of question. “I borrowed it from Maren.” 

“Ah. Well, you should definitely get one for yourself then. It’s a nice color on you.” 

You want to say thank you, or really just say anything at all, but the moment your gaze flicks back up to his, you’re lost in his eyes again. Everything around you blurs into the background until it feels like it’s just the two of you. You’re teetering on the edge of something, and fuck, it would be so easy to just go over. To let yourself fall and fall and fall into his waiting arms at the bottom. 

Suddenly you hear your own voice in your head.

Don’t get attached. 

Clearing your throat, you pull back from Lando as smooth as you can manage with him muddling up your brain like this. “It’s late. We should get going,” You say, a tad louder than necessary. 

“She’s right,” Camille chimes in, taking note of the slight urgency in your tone. “We’ve got a guided hike in the morning—sunrise, can you believe it?” 

Lando’s mouth dips into a tiny frown for a moment, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. He nods understandingly. “Sure. I’ll walk you out.” 

You all say your goodbyes and thank you’s, to which the boys wholeheartedly agree you should all do this again sometime before you part ways. 

Lando trails behind a bit like he’s unsure, but catches up to you quickly on the way out, shoulder bumping against yours lightly as you fall into step with each other. His hand brushes yours and lingers a little, pinkies almost intertwining. 

“Tonight was nice,” He says casually. 

“Yeah, it was,” You agree, bobbing your head. 

“Would you—I dunno, maybe want to hang out again?”

“With you guys? ‘Course we would, I’m sure the girls would love to.” You smile, casting a glance at your friends. They’ve all coincidentally already gotten into the car, but if you squint hard enough you can see them gawking at Lando and yourself through the windshield.

How very not subtle of them. 

Lando rocks on the balls of his feet almost nervously, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “No, I meant, like…just the two of us.” 

“You mean, like, alone?” 

“A date. I’m trying to ask you out on a date,” He blurts, nose scrunching. “And failing miserably apparently.” 

“Oh!” You feel your face burn hot, yet you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried. You’re about to take him up on the offer, but before you can say a word, another voice pops into the conversation. 

“Yes! She says yes! Whatever you’re asking, her answer is yes!” Samira yells through the window enthusiastically, muffled through the glass but still very audible.

Neither you nor Lando can stop the laughs that escape your mouths, especially when you turn around and all three girls are shooting you excited thumbs ups. 

“Guess that’s settled then,” You giggle, turning back to face him. 

“It’s a date.” He pushes forward, catching you by surprise when he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. As cliche as it sounds, the touch of his lips against your skin, although fleeting, sends a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. “I’ll text you later to plan, yeah? Get home safe.” 

He waits for you to pull around the circular driveway, and as his waving form gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, a glimmer of hope worms its way through you. 

In the back of your mind, you know you should keep it in check. This could be totally casual. A short summer fling that won’t hurt anyone no matter how it ends. But maybe, just maybe, it could turn into something more. 

-------

Your schedules don't end up giving you a free afternoon together until a few days later, though you come to realize it only makes you look forward to seeing Lando again even more. 

You're supposed to be meeting him at the local market in the center of town at half past one, but you find yourself there early, wanting to get a lay of the land before he gets there.

Evidently Lando had the same idea, because you spot him within the first few steps into the open air marketplace, squatting next to a stand with crates and buckets of bright flowers. He’s already got a bouquet clutched in his hands, but still he browses through the different bunches. 

“Flowers for Max?” You joke. 

Lando shoots to his feet so fast he nearly hits his head on the lightbulb hanging above, only managing to miss it by mere inches as he startles at the sudden voice. When he realizes it’s just you, he snorts with laughter. “He wishes! They’re for you, actually.” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah, you,” He says teasingly. You don’t even know what to say. Flowers on the first date might be normal, yet nobody’s ever done it for you before. You’re touched, but he must take your silence as something else, because his smile drops the tiniest bit. “Unless you see something you like better? I can still put these back.” 

You study the flowers he’s picked out already. A little on the smaller side, it boasts a beautiful mix of both soft and brighter colors while still being simple—it’s exactly the sort of thing you would’ve chosen if you were buying flowers for yourself. “They’re perfect.” 

He pays for the flowers and passes them over to you with the biggest smile on his face, one that grows even bigger when you tuck them carefully into the crook of your arm after giving the delicate blossoms a sniff. 

You notice the camera hanging around his neck at that moment, despite knowing close to nothing about golf, you do know a thing or two about photography. “Golfer and photographer? Impressive.” 

“Amateur at best.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you're just being modest.” 

“Not even a little bit. I just enjoy taking pictures of things I like.” 

He swings around to face you fully, bringing the camera up to his eye and pausing only a second to make sure you're in focus before snapping a photo of you. The shutter clicks twice before you have the sense to hold up a hand out in front of you, a surprised laugh spilling from your mouth. Even then he grins, takes another one before lowering the camera. "What, you don't like having your photo taken?" 

“I’m just not very photogenic!” 

Lando scoffs immediately, shooting you a pointed look. “That is such a lie.” 

“I probably just broke your fancy expensive camera,” You joke. 

“We’ll just have to wait til I get it developed and see. I think it’ll turn out wonderful.” 

“And if it doesn’t?” 

“I’ll buy you dinner. If I’m right, then…you let me buy you dinner.” 

You let out a noise of surprise. “Well, that doesn’t seem very fair, does it? You’d have to buy me dinner either way.” 

“I can think of worse things than taking a pretty girl out for a nice meal.” His words take you by surprise, but judging by the smug grin on his face, Lando takes pride in eliciting a reaction from you. “Shall we?” And just like that, he’s sauntering off down the path like he didn’t just leave you at a loss for words, pep in his step even as he turns around to shoot you a roguish smile. “You coming or what?” 

You push aside the fluttering in your chest, giving your head an amused shake before catching up with him. It’s cute that he thinks he’s funny. Even cuter that he seems rather eager to take you out on a second date before the first one has even started. 

The two of you wander through the market aimlessly, stopping here and there at various stalls to have a look around. If you had the means, you’d buy everything you see. You wind up picking up some gorgeous looking fruit and a bottle of locally pressed wine, a few small souvenirs for your family back home, but the most important thing you buy isn’t even for you. 

Lando had lingered at a stall selling handmade jewelry early on, seemingly interested in a woven bracelet of blues and whites, but didn't pick it up. Part of you wonders why, but it sparks an idea in your head. 

You tug at Lando’s arm lightly, smiling guiltily when he turns to look at you. “I think I left my phone at that fruit stand a few stalls back.” 

“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your body, you muppet,” He chides, shaking his head fondly. “C’mon, let’s find it.” 

“No, I can get it. Why don’t you find us something good for lunch? I’m starving.” 

“Are you sure?” Lando cocks his head, shoulder bumping against yours. “I don’t mind.” 

“I’ll be right back,” You promise. To sweeten the deal, you make the bold move of pressing a kiss to his cheek. He freezes under your touch, but you pass it off as him not expecting it and being taken by surprise. “Two minutes, okay? Maybe less.” 

As soon as you confirm he isn’t paying any attention to you, you slip back through the crowd, finding the same stall and buying the bracelet he’d been looking at. You tuck it safely into your pocket, quickly making your way back to Lando before he realizes you’ve been gone long and comes looking for you. 

“All good?” He asks upon noticing you reappear by his side. 

You wiggle your phone in the air. “Never better. What's for lunch?” 

Lando grins happily, reciting the spiel that the very friendly older man at the food stand gave to him when he’d decided on the delicious looking food. Sure, maybe he stumbles over his pronunciation a little bit, but you find his giggled embarrassment sweet. 

You find a semi-secluded bench a little jaunt away to enjoy your food, and you do enjoy it. You think it might be one of the best things you’ve ever had, and when you tell Lando, he looks pleasantly surprised. As you continue to savor every bite, Lando’s eyes light up with amusement, so much so that you wonder what’s suddenly got him all smiling big like this. 

“What?” You say incredulously. 

He gestures to the lower part of his face. “You’ve got a little…” 

Mortified, you mirror his actions on your own face, searching for the food you’ve somehow gotten smudged on your chin. After a few tries that have him shaking his head, you whine, “Help me, please?”, to which he obliges with a soft chuckle. He reaches out, thumb rubbing at the corner of your mouth briefly. 

This moment almost seems too intimate, but then again, so have a lot of moments between the two of you. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’ve still got something on your face, but then his gaze flicks down to your lips again almost imperceptibly, and you have an inkling of what’s about to happen. 

“Did you get it?” You ask softly. You’re not sure why you break the silence, but it's definitely not because you don’t want him to kiss you. If you think about it, you’ve wanted Lando to kiss you this whole time. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I got it," He replies. His hand lingers, long fingers splaying flat under the curve of your jaw now. You surprise yourself by shifting forward slightly, as if encouraging Lando to close the gap. He leans in closer and closer still, and your eyes fall shut on their own accord, heartbeat hammering against your rib cage. 

You nearly melt the moment his lips touch yours, held up only by the firm grasp of his hand cupping your face. It’s a little awkward with the food in between the two of you blocking you from pushing closer to him, but you make it work, reaching over it to wrap your fingers around Lando’s forearm. You feel like you need it to ground yourself, because holy shit, you’re kissing him. 

Well, more like he’s kissing you, because you’re definitely not the one leading the way. Lando kisses like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and judging by how you feel weak in the knees when you’re not even standing, he does know exactly what he’s doing. 

You’re falling, falling, falling, getting lost in him, until— 

“Wait, hang on,” He breathes, pulling away. Your eyes flutter open in an almost dazed sort of way, focusing on him in hopes of finding him in the same state, but all you’re met with is…guilt? Sadness? Shame? Maybe a mixture of everything, you’re not sure. All you know is that it has your heart plummeting in your chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Everything hits you at once, and suddenly you’re crashing back down to reality. Lando thinks kissing you was a mistake. You were so sure he liked you back, sure enough to go on a date with him, and now here you are with egg on your face, feeling unbelievably stupid. Hurt. 

“I’m gonna—I have to go,” You mumble, scrambling to your feet. You don’t even have an excuse prepared, you just need to get out of here, get away from Lando before you spontaneously combust from the sheer embarrassment. 

His hand encircles your wrist before you can make it even a step away. 

“No, no, don’t! Please, just let me…let me explain. I promise things will all make sense in a second, if you’ll just hear me out,” He says pleadingly. Despite your better judgment, you sit back down, expression guarded. Lando blows out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly. “Look, I like you. I really like you, and I wish things were as simple as that, but there’s things I’ve not told you. Things that, if you knew, you might not want to be with me.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, burying your burning face into your hands with a muffled groan. “Oh my god, you are in the mafia, aren’t you?” 

“The—what?” Lando blurts, sounding wildly confused. “No, I’m not, I’m not in the mafia. Are you mad? I’m a Formula 1 driver!” 

You crack one eye open, then the other. “Formula 1.” You repeat, disbelieving. “Like, the racing thing?”  

He nods enthusiastically, tells you everything—how his childhood dream turned into a career, how he gets to travel all around the world doing what he loves. The fame, the lifestyle, the opportunities he’s worked so hard for, all while sounding entirely humble and grateful for everything and everyone who’ve gotten him to where he is today. 

It’s impressive, to say the least. The fact that he’s still fairly young and has already accomplished more than what some people have in a whole lifetime. Then he gets to how the chaos that doing what he does at the level he does it at wreaks havoc on other parts of his life, and you feel a wave of sympathy roll over you. 

The tradeoff for all that success is not getting to have a normal life in almost every aspect, and given the downward set of his brow as he tells you about it, this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation with someone. 

“It makes being in a relationship…difficult, is the best way I can describe it. I’m never in one place more than a week most times, and the whole time zones thing makes it harder too. And after these two weeks are up, I’m already off to somewhere else, jumping right back into the second half of the season and hitting the ground running.” 

Realization hits you like a truck at this point, and you have to fight the urge to laugh out loud. Of course Lando is who he is. Of course you had to form a connection with someone with a life as complicated and as far away from your own as possible, someone who couldn’t be in a normal relationship even if he wanted to. 

“I wish it were different, but I just—I wanted you to know what you might be getting into if we…” He trails off, but you know what he means. If we want to get involved with each other. If we want to be together. 

“So like, long distance, but infinitely harder.” You’re doing your best to put a light spin on the massive amount of new information you’ve just acquired, but you’re barely managing to process it all, let alone even think about what it would be like to date someone as well known as Lando. 

“Yeah, something like that,” He says softly, shoulders creeping up towards his ears. “It’s—well, it’s a lot of baggage for anyone to have to deal with. Lots of eyes and ears, pretty public. Not really your cup of tea, I’ve noticed.” 

He’s right. You’ve never been one to enjoy being the center of attention, preferring to fly under the radar. Blend into the background. And you hate to say it, but knowing all of what he’s just told you changes things. You don’t think you can handle being thrust into the public eye, and it makes you feel like the most selfish person in the world to walk away from him just because of who he happens to be. 

Your life would be forever altered, your sense of privacy and security gone, and that isn’t something you want to compromise. You’re comfortable being nobody significant. With Lando, that would change, no matter how many measures you take to make sure it doesn’t. 

As much as you’ve come to like him—and you really like him—it’s just not something you can see yourself being fully okay with. 

“I’m so sorry, Lando,” You say quietly. He just smiles sadly, like he already knew it was coming, and you can't help but think about how many relationships—platonic or romantic—that he's lost out on because of his status. The thought alone makes you feel even worse. “I like you too, but I can’t—I don’t think I can be what you want me to be. It’s not me, it’s not the way I can live my life.” 

“Don’t be sorry. You haven’t got a reason to be,” He murmurs, thumb rubbing across your knuckles comfortingly. “Knew it was too good to be true, didn’t I?” 

“I’m sorry,” You say again, hoping that Lando knows you truly mean it. “I wish it were different, but—”

Lando shakes his head, interrupting before you can grasp for any other ways to apologize. He squeezes your hand reassuringly again. “Hey. It’s alright, I promise. I’d never ask anyone to do something they aren’t comfortable with. Especially not you.” 

Even when he’s sad, he’s still so thoughtful. It would take a different kind of awful monster not to want to be with him. Apparently that monster is you. 

You wish you were someone else, someone who could take huge changes in stride and never miss a step, but you’re not. Someone who knows what they want and goes for it—who knows who they want and doesn’t let anything get in their way. 

Unfortunately, you’re not that kind of person. 

“What do we do now?” 

Lando drops your hand to run his fingers through his curls, down to the back of his neck sheepishly. “Dunno about you, but I’ve—d’you think there’s any chance we can still be friends? I really do enjoy spending time with you lot, we all do.” 

“Friends would be nice,” You say softly. It feels strange to agree with him so wholeheartedly. 

Maybe it’ll be awkward between the two of you, maybe you won’t even be able to sit next to each other with what’s happened today, but you can’t bring yourself to care all that much. The only thought running through your mind is that you don’t want to lose Lando, even as just a friend. 

You’ve gotten attached. 

The bracelet you’d bought Lando burns a hole through your pocket. It would be weird to give it to him now, after you’d just turned him down, but you can’t exactly just return it either. You don’t really want to. 

Maybe it won’t go to him, but you’re sure you’ll find something to do with it someday.

The girls are waiting in the living room when you finally make your way home, gathered on the sofa with identical innocent smiles like you hadn’t seen them with their heads poked through the curtains. Samira bounces off the cushions with what you can only describe as a gleeful cackle to grab your flowers, showing them off to the other two like a game show host before grabbing your hand and dragging you into the center of their blanket pile. 

You know they're expecting good news and you wish you could give it to them, but you can’t. 

“So??? How’d it go?” 

“He got her flowers, obviously it went well!” 

“Okay, spill, now,” Camille presses, easing the bouquet out of Samira’s hands and setting it on the coffee table. “What’s he like, what’d you do—” 

“When’s your second date?” chimes in Maren excitedly. The other two nod their vigorous agreement. 

“Lando’s amazing,” You sigh, letting yourself fall back against the plush pillows. “He’s super sweet and really funny, we walked around and looked at all the vendors, and then we had lunch and talked for ages, and…there won’t be a second date.”

“What? That’s impossible, you guys were like, made for each other!” 

You sigh, rub at a flower petal that’s fallen away from the bouquet. “It’s complicated. I don’t—I’m not ready to get into all of it again this soon, but long story short, our lives are just too different. Being with him would mean compromising things I’m just not ready to lose right now.” 

If any of them wants to push for a better explanation, and you know they do, they refrain from doing so. They know you’ll tell them when you’re ready. 

But even Samira can tell you’re not quite as okay as you insist you are, and she’s been rooting for you extra hard. She leans her head onto your shoulder, squeezes your hand reassuringly. “You did what was best for you, and that’s all that matters.” 

“We agreed to still be friends, so we can still hang out with the guys and stuff like that, but—I mean, yeah, it just didn’t work out.” You don’t think you sound very convincing at all, but it’s the bed you've made, you’ve got to lay in it. “I just don’t really want to talk about it right now, but it's fine. I'm fine.” 

It has to be. You have to be. You’ve made sure of it.

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