#Master List 2018 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamauri · 26 days ago

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♪ — 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 - chapter three fernando alonso x fem! driver! reader ( fluff -> angst ) series summary . . . a mortal who dared to defy the impossible. Of grit forged in fire, and dreams that refused to yield. In a world where heroes are born, and few rise to become legends. You are a force to be reckoned with. Unshakable. Unstoppable. Indomitable. (4.5k words)

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III, PAPER SOLDIER . . . ( Your fourth to seventh years in Formula One, 2015 -> 2018 ) // content warning . . . ( contains non-descriptive smut, Yn is 23 years in the beginning of the chapter and 25 by the end, really fucking long ass chapter )

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the 2015 season began, you couldn’t help but feel the absence of Jenson Button. Walking into the McLaren garage without him felt wrong—like something essential had been ripped away. Jenson had been more than a teammate; he was your anchor in a sport that constantly threatened to drown you.

But Fernando Alonso didn’t try to replace Jenson, and somehow, that made things easier. Instead of trying to mimic the camaraderie you’d had with Jenson, Fernando brought his own brand of companionship. He didn’t hover or press; he simply existed, radiating his unique mix of confidence and charisma, until you realized how much you enjoyed having him around.

By the second race of the season, you were surprised to find yourself laughing more than you had in months. Whether it was during strategy meetings or post-race celebrations, Fernando had a way of lightening the mood with his dry humour and his sly, knowing glances.

“You don’t always have to overtake on the outside, you know,” he teased one afternoon, smirking over his coffee. “But I suppose drama is part of your brand.”

“And I suppose being smug is part of yours,” you shot back, grinning.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to hit your stride. On track, you were ruthless and synchronised. “Chaotic villains,” the press called you, and you secretly loved it. You weren’t just teammates; you were a nightmare for the rest of the grid. Fernando’s ability to anticipate your moves was uncanny, and together, you executed overtakes that left even seasoned commentators stunned.

Off the track, things were somehow even better. McLaren’s marketing team, notorious for shoving drivers into cringeworthy advertisements, suddenly had gold on their hands. You and Fernando—two drivers who hated scripted lines and staged smiles—were unexpectedly brilliant together.

The first time they made you film a commercial, you groaned audibly when the director explained the concept. Something about racing through a supermarket with shopping carts full of McLaren-branded products.

“I hate this already,” you muttered under your breath.

Fernando, standing beside you, gave you a sidelong glance. “Tranquila, we’ll make it good.”

And somehow, he did. By the third take, the two of you were hamming it up, racing down aisles, tossing products back and forth, and laughing so hard you almost forgot the cameras were there.

“Did you see her face when I threw the cereal?” Fernando joked afterward, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“I saw your face when it hit the floor and exploded everywhere,” you retorted. “Pure panic.”

From then on, every commercial and promotional shoot turned into a competition to see who could make the other laugh first. Whether it was fake arguments over who got to drive a McLaren P1 in an ad or Fernando trying to convince the camera crew to let him wear sunglasses indoors, you found yourself looking forward to those dreaded filming days.

“Por favor, it’s not about the lighting,” Fernando argued one day, slipping on his sunglasses mid-shoot. “It’s about the vibe.”

“The vibe is you looking like a smug Bond villain,” you quipped, trying to suppress a giggle.

“And yet,” he said, gesturing dramatically, “the director hasn’t stopped me.”

The chemistry between you was undeniable, and it extended beyond work. Post-race dinners, gym sessions, and late-night debriefs all became opportunities for the two of you to poke fun at each other, share stories, and build a bond that felt effortless. You had been so sure that McLaren would feel hollow without Jenson, but with Fernando, it felt alive—different, but in the best way.

“Why do you even put up with me?” you asked him one night after a particularly gruelling race.

Fernando leaned back in his chair, his smirk softening into something more sincere. “Because you make everything more fun,” he said simply. “And because I know, no matter what, you’ve got my back.”

His words lingered, making your chest feel tight in a way you couldn’t quite name. You didn’t know it yet, but Fernando had already carved out a place for himself in your life—one that no one else could fill.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The first time with Fernando, everything felt different—electric and uncharted. It wasn’t just the post-race champagne that made your head spin; it was him. His presence was commanding yet soft, every movement deliberate, every touch reverent. It wasn’t just the circumstances—a blur of adrenaline and post-race champagne after a double podium—it was him.

It started simply. His hand lingered on your lower back as you laughed about your overtakes, his eyes soft yet unreadable in a way that made your pulse quicken. When you turned toward him, it felt natural, as if every unsaid word between you had been leading to this.

His hands started at your waist, fingers splaying as if he needed to ground himself before pulling you closer. Your breath hitched when his lips found yours—warm, firm, and unyielding yet unhurried. With Jenson, it was always rushed, a blur of need fueled by adrenaline or alcohol. But Fernando . . . Fernando took his time.

When his hand brushed against yours that night, there wasn’t hesitation. His fingers closed around yours, a silent question, and you answered by lacing your own through his. You followed him to his hotel room, and the atmosphere shifted the moment the door clicked shut.

When his hands slipped beneath your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin, you shivered. He didn’t tear your clothes off in a frenzy like Jenson often did. Instead, Fernando paused, peeling your top away like unwrapping something fragile. His dark eyes studied you, lingering in a way that made your cheeks burn and your heart race.

"Beautiful," he murmured, the word barely audible, like it was meant for him more than you.

Your breaths mingled as he lowered you onto the bed, his weight settling over you. He kissed you again, slower this time, the stubble on his jaw grazing your skin as his lips travelled to your neck, then your collarbone. Each kiss was deliberate, a silent declaration that this wasn’t just about the act—it was about you.

With Jenson, it was playful, almost careless, both of you seeking a quick fix for the emptiness racing couldn’t fill. But Fernando didn’t let you hide behind that. He demanded you be present, dragging you into the moment with the sheer intensity of his focus.

When his lips found your stomach, you felt your breath catch. He'd knelt before you, his hands steady on your hips, his touch grounding yet reverent. Then he paused, looking up at you, his voice low and steady.

“¿Puedo?” he asked. can i

The question caught you off guard. Permission. Fernando was asking for permission. He asked for it like it mattered, like you mattered. No one had ever done that before. Jenson never stopped to ask; he assumed, and you never thought to mind. But Fernando’s request made your cheeks flush, a heat spreading across your skin that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with how he treated you. Like you mattered.

You hesitated for a moment, flustered by the simplicity of his question. You nodded, then realized he probably couldn’t see in the dark. “Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, Fernando.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, a barely-there acknowledgment, before he leaned forward again. His touch was featherlight, a stark contrast to Jenson’s rough, teasing movements. Fernando didn’t just touch; he felt—explored, cherished.

When he finally joined you fully, his body pressed flush against yours, it felt like he was pouring himself into every movement. His hips met yours in a rhythm that wasn’t rushed but deliberate, a steady, consuming pace that left you breathless. He intertwined his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head as he leaned down to kiss you, the connection sparking something deep in your chest.

It wasn’t the hurried, animalistic need you’d come to expect with Jenson. Jenson was fun, a rush, a release—but Fernando? Fernando was something entirely different. His touch carried weight, his movements spoke volumes, and his whispered praises in Spanish felt like poetry meant just for you.

When the pleasure crested, it was overwhelming, almost too much. Tears pricked at your eyes as you clung to him, your breaths shaky as he slowed his movements, his forehead pressing against yours. every sensation was heightened. His fingers brushed against yours again, and before you knew it, he was threading them together, holding your hand like it was second nature. You squeezed his hand back, unsure why the simple touch sent a pang through your chest and left you breathless.

It wasn’t just his touch—it was the way he looked at you. His eyes held something you couldn’t quite name, something you don't quite recognizing. It made you feel exposed, stripped down to your core. And when the emotions started to bubble up, you bit your lip to keep them at bay.

But it didn’t work. As his hands soothed over you and his words melted into your skin, you felt a tear slip down your cheek. It wasn’t from sadness or even overwhelm—it was the feelings, the emotions he poured into you, the way he made you feel like the only person in the world in that moment. It consumed you, swallowed you whole, and left you small, tiny.

"Estás llorando," he murmured softly, his voice laced with concern. “Cariño,” His thumbs brushed your cheeks, wiping away the tears as they fell. you're crying

“I . . .” You swallowed hard, trying to find the words. “It’s just . . . It’s a lot. I'm fine.”

His lips quirked into a gentle smile, his hand trailing to your hair, brushing it back tenderly. “It’s supposed to be,” he whispered. “It’s okay to not be okay. I'll be here anyway.”

Afterward, he didn’t pull away. He stayed close, his body pressed to yours, his hands never leaving your skin. He whispered softly in Spanish, words you couldn’t fully understand but felt in your chest. His touch was tender, reverent, as he cleaned you up, smoothing your hair and holding you close.

Jenson never stayed like this. He’d always drift away, detached even in the quiet moments. But Fernando? He stayed. He always stayed. And that, you realized, was what made him different.

“Estás bien?” he asked after a while, his voice soft against your hair.

You nodded against his chest. “I’m fine,” you murmured, even as your voice wavered.

His fingers stilled, and he tilted your chin up gently so he could see your face. “¿Segura? You don’t have to be fine.”

His words unravelled you. For once, you didn’t feel the need to pretend. Tucking your face into the crook of his neck, you let yourself feel small. Let yourself feel cared for. Let yourself feel.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was well past midnight, and the McLaren motorhome was almost eerily quiet. You were sprawled out on one of the sofas, still in your team polo, watching Fernando pace back and forth in front of the whiteboard. He was ranting about tyre degradation, gesturing wildly as if the problem could be solved with enough hand movements.

“You know,” you interrupted, stretching your legs out, “normal people sleep at this hour.”

“Normal people don’t win races,” he shot back without missing a beat, his accent thick and his tone just a little exasperated.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, grinning. “You really think the medium stint was the problem?”

“I know it was,” he said, turning to face you. His expression softened slightly when he saw your teasing smile. “What? You don’t agree?”

“Oh, I agree,” you said, sitting up fully. “I just think it’s cute how worked up you get over it.”

Fernando groaned, but there was no real annoyance behind it. He sat down beside you, pulling the marker cap off with his teeth and twirling the pen between his fingers. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re obsessed,” you countered, leaning your head on the back of the sofa. “But fine. What’s your genius solution?”

For the next hour, he explained his strategy tweaks with the same passion he reserved for the track. And even though you didn’t need convincing, you let him go on, chiming in with questions just to see that fire in his eyes. By the time he was finished, you were half-asleep, but you’d never felt more at ease.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The garage was buzzing with energy after another podium. Mechanics cheered, the smell of champagne hung in the air, and you were positively glowing. Fernando was beside you, leaning against a stack of tires with his arms crossed, watching you with that familiar amused smirk.

“You really had to squeeze me on Turn 4?” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “I thought we were supposed to be teammates.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Teammates, yes. Babysitters, no.”

“Oh, come on!” You laughed, swiping at the water bottle he was holding. “I gave you all the space in the world.”

“All the space?” he repeated, tilting his head dramatically. “You practically left me in the gravel.”

Your grin widened. “And yet, here you are. P2. You’re welcome.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. “One day,” he said softly, his voice dipping just enough to make you pause, “you’ll regret not letting me win.”

You leaned in, your smile turning mischievous. “Doubt it.”

And just like that, the moment was gone, replaced by laughter and playful jabs. But later, when you replayed the race in your head, you’d think about the way Fernando’s eyes had softened, just for a second, like he was seeing something in you that you weren’t quite ready to see yourself.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Okay, but why am I the one wearing the ridiculous hat?” you asked, glaring at the oversized cowboy hat the wardrobe team had handed you.

Fernando was already laughing, holding a matching hat in his hands. “Because you lost the coin toss.”

“You cheated,” you accused, crossing your arms.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “How can I cheat at a coin toss?”

“Don’t know, but you did.”

The director waved you both onto set before you could argue further, and the next thing you knew, you were filming an ad for some sponsor neither of you cared about, wearing cowboy hats and pretending to “race” toy cars on a fake racetrack.

Halfway through, Fernando purposely crashed his car into yours, sending it flying off the track. “Oops,” he said innocently, his smirk betraying him.

You burst out laughing, breaking character completely. “Oops? You did that on purpose!”

The director groaned, calling for another take, but neither of you could stop laughing. When the shoot finally wrapped, Fernando walked over, placing his ridiculous hat on your head. “You wore it better,” he said with a grin.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t take it off. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he replied, leaning in slightly, “you keep me around.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The race in Canada had been cancelled due to an unexpected snowstorm, and the team was stuck in the hotel for the weekend. You and Fernando were in the lobby, staring out at the swirling snow through the massive glass windows.

“Well, this is boring,” you said, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

Fernando smirked, his hands tucked into his pockets. “Only because you have no imagination.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And what’s your brilliant plan, Mr. Imagination?”

Five minutes later, the two of you were outside, bundled up and attempting to build the world’s worst snowman. Fernando had decided it needed to wear a McLaren cap, and you were busy shoving chunks of snow at him every time he turned his back.

“You’re terrible at this,” he said, laughing as he dodged another snowball.

“Better than you!” you shot back, lobbing another one straight at his chest.

The next thing you knew, he was tackling you into a snowbank, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe. When you finally got back inside, shivering and soaked, the warmth of his hand on your arm lingered longer than it should have.

“Come to my room tonight, hmm,” He whispers in your ear with his sweet sweet and loving smile. You could only smack his chest, flustered out of your body.

“Why should I wait till tonight when I can take you right now?” He countered himself, throwing you over his shoulder and walking to the elevator.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next four years were a golden era for you and Fernando. While the big teams—Mercedes, Ferrari, and Red Bull—scrambled to one-up each other with upgrades and strategy, the two of you were a well-oiled machine. Every weekend was a masterclass in teamwork. You took turns holding off competitors, crafting daring overtakes, and, more often than not, splitting the podium between the two of you.

Fernando was always just behind you—or sometimes ahead—playing the perfect wingman when needed and pushing you to your limits when it mattered most. Together, you broke records. Four Constructors’ Championships in a row. Dozens of wins. But 2017 was different.

That was your year.

The sunset painted the Yas Marina Circuit in hues of orange and pink as you sat in your car, the weight of the championship within reach. Fernando had radioed you a few laps earlier.

“Message from Fernando, Yn; You’ve got this,” Your race engineer tells you, his voice steady, but there was an edge of emotion there, one he couldn’t quite hide. “Just bring it home.”

When you crossed the finish line, the sound of the crowd was deafening, but all you could hear was your own breathing. Heavy. Disbelieving.

“World Champion!” Your race engineer’s voice crackled through the radio. “You’ve done it, Yn! You’re the World Champion! For the second time!”

You let out a sob, laughing through the tears as you brought the car to a stop on the start-finish straight. The adrenaline coursed through you, but it wasn’t until Fernando’s car pulled up beside yours that it really hit you when you both did donuts togther.

He climbed out first, crossing the short distance between your cars with purpose. When you stepped out, he was there, arms wide, pulling you into a hug so tight it knocked the breath out of you.

“Campeona del mundo,” he whispered, his voice thick, breaking with emotion. His helmet was off, and when you pulled back to look at him, you saw tears glistening in his eyes.

“You helped me get here,” you said, clutching his shoulders, your voice trembling with gratitude. “Don’t forget that.”

His smile was small but genuine, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll never forget it,” he said softly. “Not a second of it.”

The crowd roared, the flashes of cameras creating a dizzying strobe effect as the two of you stood there, sharing a moment that belonged to no one else. It was Fernando who finally pulled back, resting a hand on your cheek for a fleeting second before stepping aside to let the rest of the team swarm you, lifting you on their shoulders.

The team party that night was a blur of champagne, confetti, and endless congratulations. Fernando stuck close, a steady presence in the chaos. Every time someone pulled you away to talk or toast, he was there in the corner of your eye, watching with a quiet pride.

At one point, hours into the celebration, you found him sitting on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand, staring out at the skyline.

“Not enjoying the party?” you asked, sliding into the chair beside him.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It’s your night, Yn. I just wanted to take it all in.”

You frowned, studying him. “Fernando, this isn’t just my night. We did this together. Four Constructors’. Four years of podiums. Four years of wins. You’re as much a part of this as I am.”

He turned to you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “It was always going to be you,” he said quietly. “I knew it from the start. You deserved this.”

“Don’t do that,” you said, leaning forward. “Don’t downplay your part in this. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

He smiled again, but there was something bittersweet about it. “Maybe not. But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. All you could do was reach out and take his hand, squeezing it tightly. He didn’t let go.

The rest of the off-season blurred into a whirlwind of press conferences, celebrations, and award ceremonies. Fernando was always by your side, your biggest supporter, but there were moments when his presence felt heavier, like he was carrying a weight he wouldn’t share with you.

“You’re quiet,” you said one evening, after a gala dinner where the two of you had been paraded around like royalty.

He shrugged, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated, then smiled. “The next race.”

You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but you let it slide. Fernando was like that—guarded, careful. But every so often, you’d catch glimpses of something deeper. The way his hand lingered on your back when he guided you through a crowd. The way his eyes softened when you laughed. The way he’d quietly check in on you after every race, no matter the outcome.

When the official trophy ceremony took place at the FIA Gala, Fernando insisted on standing beside you on the stage.

“You carried me through the season,” you joked as the cameras clicked and the lights flashed.

“Carried you?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You’re lucky I didn’t let you drown in the midfield.”

The banter was easy, the chemistry undeniable, and as the two of you raised the trophy together, it was clear to everyone watching that this partnership wasn’t just about racing. It was something rare, something that went beyond the track. Something neither of you could quite name.

But things don’t last forever. And getting attached is the worst part.

"I'm leaving Formula One by the end of the season,"

You froze. Time seemed to stretch, the words reverberating in your mind like an echo you couldn’t escape. You’d just arrived at the hotel room you were sharing for the week after deciding to spend the summer break together in the Caribbean. The laughter you were sharing died down in seconds and the room fell quiet.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, the question hanging in the air. It didn’t make sense, didn’t feel real. You and Fernando were a team, more than that—he was your teammate, your confidant, your partner in all things chaotic, your body, your soul. To think of him leaving the sport, of him leaving you . . . it felt like the world was crumbling beneath your feet.

“I’ve decided,” he continued, his gaze dropping to your hands that were now clutching the edge of the coffee table, as if you needed something solid to hold onto. “The time has come. I’m moving on.”

The room around you felt like it was closing in. The summer air, fresh through the open window just moments ago, now felt thick, suffocating. You couldn’t breathe.

“No,” you said, shaking your head as tears welled up in your eyes. “No, you can’t leave me. Not now. Not like this.”

Before you could even think, you were up, stepping forward, hands reaching for him, desperate. You grasped at his arms, pulling him close, burying your face in his chest as you started to sob, the tears coming faster than you could control.

"Please don't go," you whispered, your voice trembling, cracking with the weight of your emotions. “Please. I can’t . . . I can’t do this without you.”

Fernando didn’t move at first, frozen by the force of your plea. He had always been the one with the calm, collected demeanour, the one who could hide his emotions behind that steely exterior. But now, you felt him soften in your arms. He let you pull him closer, his hands coming up to your back, rubbing circles that were meant to comfort but only made the ache in your chest worse.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Yn,” he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. “I didn’t want to leave you like this. But I have to do it. It’s time.”

“No,” you repeated, your hands clutching at his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as if you could somehow stop him from leaving. “I won’t let you. I can’t . . . You don’t get to walk away like that. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Fernando’s fingers gently cupped your face, lifting it so he could look into your eyes. His touch was soft, tender, but there was something in his gaze—something that told you he’d already made up his mind. “I know this isn’t easy,” he said softly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “But sometimes we have to let go, Yn. It doesn’t mean I’m leaving you . . . It just means I’m moving forward.”

You shook your head, unable to form a coherent thought through the rush of emotions. “I don’t know how to do this without you. You’re everything to me, Fernando. I—I don’t want you to go.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as if the words pained him. “I know. I don’t want to go either. But you have to understand, Yn . . . There’s more to life than this. More than F1 . . .. I Signed for a seat in WEC.”

“But I need you,” you choked out. “We’re a team. You can’t just leave.”

Fernando sighed, pulling you into his arms once more, holding you tight against him. “You’ve always been my team, Yn,” he said quietly, the emotion thick in his voice. “You always will be. But it’s time for me to find my own path. It’s time for you to find yours, too. You can’t hold on to me forever.”

The reality of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to fight, to scream, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, you knew he was right. But that didn’t stop the ache in your chest, the fear of losing him, the terror of facing a future without him in it.

You pulled away just enough to look up at him, your tears still streaming down your face. “What am I supposed to do without you?” you whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Fernando’s hand gently brushed your hair out of your face, his touch tender. “You’ll be okay,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re strong, Yn. You always have been. I’ll always be here, even if I’m not on the grid. But you need to let me go.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t live without him, that you didn’t know how to do this without the constant presence of his strength beside you. But the truth was, you could feel his resolve, his certainty, and you knew this was a battle you couldn’t win.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound in the room was the soft, steady rhythm of your breathing. And then, Fernando’s hand cupped your face again, this time with more finality, and he whispered the words that made your heart ache even more.

“I’m sorry, Yn. But it’s my time.”

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morgansorgans-org · 3 months ago

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Collection of nrmt/klpl fics!

An oomf on Instagram asked if I could compile all my favorite Ace Attorney fics! They are all and Wrightworth and Klapollo fics. The first few are my favorites (usually means they made me cry or emotionally impacted me 🧍) but I like all the others I linked here ofc as well! Many of these came from rec lists on tumblr, because that’s how I started out reading aa fics!

Wrightworth fics

Legal Partners by Miggy, 132k words, 34/34 chapters, 2013

Summary: Miles Edgeworth isn't totally sure how he ended up in this bet to demonstrate the strength of his and Phoenix Wright's (entirely professional and platonic! really!) relationship, but he knows it's Klavier's fault.

Absolutely one of my most favorite fics ever, I’m not gonna lie. Genuinely so good. I was clutching my phone the entire third act of the fic, absolutely ridden with anxiety. I read for 12 hours straight that third act, during exam season, eyes absolutely bloodshot and had a splitting headache by the end because I was staring at my phone for far too long. It’s so good.

I think my biggest qualm I have with this master class of a fic if I had to say, would probably be the characterization of Klavier? he feels too straight in this I don’t know how else to put it. But honestly it’s so minor I don’t really care and I’ve read this twice (which I never do)

Project Matchmakers by WingSongHalo, 126k words, 16/16 chapters, 2018

Summary: It was quite distressing, Pearl thought. For years previously, she had been quite fixated on the idea of her cousin and Mr. Nick living happily ever after. Even after she had accepted that this would never happen, she was always somewhat enamored of the idea that one of them would someday be caught up in a whirlwind romance, passionate and adventurous.

So she was rather surprised to find herself immensely enjoying the steady, familiar relationship she saw between a defense attorney and a prosecutor. It wasn't loud or flashy or wild, but calm and reliable and quiet. Rather than a blazing fire that consumed everything, theirs was an affection like a candle flame, bringing forth light and warmth.

Well, except for when they were in court. Then they were rather more like two overzealous flamethrowers.

An excitable group of girls (and a reluctant Apollo) team up to make Phoenix and Miles realize they're crazy about each other. But are such measures really necessary?

Canon universe.

Loved this one. Very good. I loved the side casefic it had and how it affected the main characters as well. I love the everyone ships wrightworth trope so much.

A Night You’ll Never Regret by MaudMoon (Idle_Wanderings), 88k words, 7/7 chapters, 2018

Summary: After learning about a clerical error on their wedding certificate, Maggey and Gumshoe decide to go all out and invite their friends and family to a vow renewal ceremony in Las Vegas. Edgeworth, spurred on by his sister's threats encouragements, decides to use the trip as an opportunity to express feelings he's been holding onto for years.

However when Edgeworth, Larry, and Phoenix wake up the morning after Gumshoe's bachelor party, it doesn't take them long to realize things didn't go as planned: Edgeworth's cards have been declined, Larry has been mysteriously injured, and Phoenix wakes up wearing a wedding ring. And, to top it all off, Gumshoe is missing. They'll need to rush against time to find Gumshoe before his wedding, and to do that they'll need to figure out what the hell exactly happened last night.

Soooo good! I love the mystery aspect of it all and everyone recounting and slowly piecing together what happened. It’s very sweet too and also kinda nsfw be warned…. also Maya x Rhoda was definitely not what I was expecting tbh

To play due process like a fiddle by Harmony, 19k words, 1/1 chapters, 2024

Summary: As far as Miles can tell, Agent Lang's initial impression of certified hot mess Phoenix "That Man" Wright upon their first meeting wasn't exactly the most positive, and tragically enough, it's not like Miles can really blame him for having that perception.

That said, they both probably should've known that Phoenix hadn't been named the Turnabout Terror for nothing.

(Or: what it means to judge solely based on first appearances and then have all of your expectations rocked off-balance, especially when they revolve around one of the most outstanding attorneys the criminal justice system has ever known).

Deeeeeelicious. So good. Love the tension between Phoenix and Lang and them essentially kinda fighting for Edgeworth even though it’s a very skewed battle against Lang. Aaaagh

A fool in love (with you) by gen, 17k words, 1/1 chapters, 2016

Summary: Miles and Phoenix (finally, no really, after two years of being engaged) decide to tie the knot. On the day of the wedding, they are reminded of all the moments that got them there.

Sooooo cute! This one helped inspire me for my last chapter of my own wrightworth fic actually! This author actually wrote a klapollo long fic I’ve been meaning to check out actually, called The Sound of Silence. I’ve been scared off by how heavy the warnings of the angst ahead are ngl. But this one shot in contrast is very fluffy and sweet!

A Beginner’s Guide on how Not to Write Steel Samurai Fanfiction by chameleonwrites, 16k words, 6/6 chapters, 2021

Summary: Verity Baytum, a court stenographer, has a secret passion for writing Steel Samurai fanfiction based around the pairing Magisteel. When she finds an unlikely source of inspiration during her job, she can't help but watch court proceedings in search of further lines that fit her fics.

Miles Edgeworth, said source of inspiration, has a secret passion for reading Steel Samurai fanfiction based around the pairing Magisteel. It doesn't take long for him to realise the reason the characters sound like him and Wright is not due to personal projection.

I really liked this one, it’s very funny and sweet. I also realized this fic kind of predicted the name Verity for an AA character…

Yours, Mine, and Maybe Ours by estelraca, 13k words, 1/1 chapters, 2015

Summary: Phoenix convinces Miles to bring Trucy in with him for Bring Your Daughter to Work Day, despite Miles' misgivings. Everything becomes even more complicated when Kay Faraday and Shi-Long Lang call on him for assistance. Set between the original trilogy and Apollo Justice; mild spoilers for both Investigations games.

Loved this one! I really like any fics with Trucy as a bigger character (wow who knew look at all my SNS accounts with trucy pfps) especially ones that delve deeper into her relationship between her and Edgeworth.

The Prosecution Rests by Commander_Freddy, 4k words, 1/1 chapters, 2016

Summary: Miles Edgeworth goes to bed, and then wakes up.

Very good. Short but impactful and angsty and sweet. Commander Freddy has some other very good AA fics you should check out also.

Archeology by sunsmasher, 8k words, 1/1 chapters, 2014

Summary: Phoenix and Maya finally clean out Mia's office. Far, far too many people help.

Very short but very good. Deals with Mia grief and also has side Wrightworth content.

To Their Happiness by ,,,,, 41k words, 10/10 chapters, 2024

Summary: Trucy Wright sees that her daddy's friend, Miles Edgeworth, makes him happy in a way she can't. She knows he's sad and lonely, despite trying his best to hide it from her. She makes a promise to herself that she would try to have Miles around as often as she could, for his happiness.

Or, an evolution of Wrightworth's relationship through Trucy's eyes. Trucy and co. sees Phoenix and Miles feel that special way that adults feel for each other and tries to matchmake them. It's mostly Trucy doing that, though.

teehee. you think I wouldn’t go without promoting my OWN fic? you thought wrong!!! I’m also working on a Klapollo fic (it’s like 37k words so far) but I’ll be lucky if it gets uploaded by the end of 2024 with the pace I’m writing it at. It’s so close to completion though…

Klapollo fics

Hot for Justice by indirectkissesiniceland, 43k words, 26/26 chapters, 2013

Summary: After the events of State v. Misham, Klavier finds himself in a slump, stressed at the prosecutor's office and unable to pen new songs. To his surprise, he finds creative inspiration—and unexpected feelings—spending time with Apollo. Now if only he could release the new tracks without raising any suspicion as to whom his love songs are for.

God, is there a klapollo fic rec list without Hot for Justice on it? It’s such a classic, and rightfully so. This fic also inspired me as well to write my next fic! It’s just this good.

Vacation All I Wanted by JJsADragon, 111k words, 24/24 chapters, 2020

Summary: “A vacation?” Apollo asked.

“Yeah! You know what a vacation is, right Polly? When are you going to get another opportunity like this? A beach vacation? A pool? It’s not like you could afford this place without splitting the cost.”

One condo. Six lawyers. Seven secret plans. What could possibly go wrong?

This fic is like. A need I go on? Moment. It’s so iconic and good. This along with Legal Partners probably permanently organized my brain chemistry, I think. Good god the angst. The fluff. this fic genuinely made me sob which. A book hasn’t done that to me in a very long time! there’s a scene where Apollo talks about grief and that was very relatable. This fic also does breach the subject of suicidal ideation, but it is brief. In general this is a lighthearted fic!

If it’s really me you seek by seamint, 83k words, 21/21 chapters, 2021

Summary: “Anyway,” Ema keeps going, fully ignoring his sarcasm in favor of staring at a neat corner where the walls meet the ceiling. “I asked if he wanted to go to your party together, but he said he wasn’t going.”

“What?” Apollo suddenly finds it very hard to breathe. “Why?”

“Hell if I know,” Ema says nonchalantly, but then she turns to him with a smirk. “See if you can figure it out: I believe he told me, and I quote—ahem—'Ach, I would, Fräulein, but I believe Herr Justice would be more comfortable without me there.’”

Or, when Apollo comes home from Khura'in only to learn that Prosecutor Gavin is avoiding him, the last thing he expected was for Gavin to offer to let Apollo stay at his house while he looks for a new apartment.

It’s been a hot minute since I read this one (one of the first klapollo fics I read) but this one was veryyy good. Very much inspired me. Honestly all of Seamint’s stuff is good.

And if all my wishes could come true by seamint, 45k words, 8/8 chapters, 2022

Summary: “‘Our son’ my ass. You’re getting way too into this,” Apollo grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Is this your dream? Do you dream of being divorced and paying alimony, Gavin?”

Klavier doesn’t tell him that as far as dreams go, his is to live in a world where a relationship with Apollo, past tense or otherwise, is at all possible. Apollo doesn’t need specifics, or terrible confessions in vet clinics that show how badly Klavier wants to play pretend with him.

Or, Klavier, Apollo, and how cats bring people together in the most convoluted ways possible.

Looove this. Very fluffy. Mikeko being the center of attention as well and that’s of course why we’re reading this who cares abt klapollo frrr

Turnabout Dungeons (and Dragons) by Synthpop, 170k words, 33 chapters, 2016

Summary: According to Mr. Wright, Dungeons and Dragons is good, if not crucial, for cultivating trusting relationships between friends and coworkers. Apollo has his doubts.

So goood. I love D&D and Klapollo and this is the perfect mix of this. Bard klavier, paladin apollo, need I go on? Phoenix is the dungeon master and Ema, Trucy, Athena and Simon are also apart of the party as well

can I go where you go by parchmints, 40k words, 6/6 chapters, 2021

Summary: Apollo Justice has rotten luck: he actually wins the grand prize for a mail-in contest, but It's a couple's getaway to a fancy ski lodge in the mountains and Apollo is aggressively single. With no one to go with, Apollo offers them to Klavier since surely, a rockstar would be able to find a date before then, but Klavier has a better idea—they go together and pretend they're a couple. That way, they both get a vacation, plus free food and wine.

And well, Apollo's never been one to pass up free food.

So good!!! There’s some wonderful art in this one as well!! I remember being super hooked by this one and giggling over the fake dating stuff. Loved it

Things are as they are by hechima, 34k words, 3/3 chapters, 2021

Summary: Klapollo cabin fic. That's really all this is.

Need I say more? Yes, two cabin fic recs back to back. One cabin in the snow and the other in some desert. Loved the character analysis in this one.

Gravity by Euphorion, 46k words, 7/7 chapters, 2014

Summary: In the aftermath of his brother's arrest, Klavier is trying to balance his law career and a solo music career, with some success—but with less savory consequences as well. His fans are fixating on every aspect of his life, desperate for his attention and jealous of his relationships with the people around him. They've singled out his courtroom rival, Apollo Justice, as the target of their frustrations.

hooo boy this one is pretty angsty in a way. Lots of things going on in this one. We have some crazy Gavinners fans in this, endangerment of lives, stalking, mail… it’s a bit dark but very engaging!

It’s all that I am and all that I have by eternalmagic, 58k words, 12/12 chapters, 2016

Summary: Apollo sucks in a breath, attempting to steel his nerves. Should he honestly send this...? He doesn't even know who this man is. This is a huge, huge mistake. But, even so, he hits send before he can remind himself of how awful an idea this is.

Dear You,

I think I love you. Just wanted you to know.

From,

Klavier's phone pings with an email notification, and the moment he reads it, the smile fades from his face. God, this was so much easier when he didn't know that the sender hated him in real life.

[ or, the you've got mail au. ]

Sooo good! I’ve never watched the movie before, and honestly, you don’t have to. It’s very engaging and oh my goddd the angst you have to get through to get to the fluff…. So worth it.

Anyway, Here’s Guilty Love by u_andcloud, 129k words, 22/22 chapters

Summary: The entirety of Ivy U is smitten with Klavier Gavin—with one exception. Apollo Justice could do without Klavier’s constant presence in the quad, where he serenades passerby with acoustic versions of his band's songs. Apollo is also not particularly fond of Klavier’s clothes, his hair, his tendency to sprinkle German into his conversations, or the fact that, despite all of this, Klavier is still at the top of the class.

So when Klavier asks Apollo to help him start a club for aspiring lawyers on campus, Apollo isn’t entirely sure why he accepts. It’s a resume builder, he tells himself. It’s not like he has to like the guy.

Except, well....he's starting to think that he might.

[Or, a simple college AU turned AA4 re-imagining.]

AHHHHH. College AU fic set in Ivy U. In AU fics like these, I’m always interested in how the author will deal with Kristoph, considering his story is so intertwined with both Apollo and Klavier. This fic did it so well and seamlessly my goddd. I loved it.

Undeniable you (the currents pulling me onward) by experimentaldragonfire, 59k words, 11/11 chapters, 2020

Summary: Kristoph Gavin is found dead in his prison cell, and Klavier Gavin is the prime suspect.

With nobody else available to defend him, Apollo Justice flies in from Khura'in to take the case--but during the course of the trial and its aftermath, long-hidden secrets come to light.

I looove Klavier being suspected of murder fics. They executed this concept very well. I know abt experimentaldragonfire as they were one of the hosts for the klapollo minibang (2024) I was apart of! Their writing is indeed, fire. Check out their other fics as well!

Apollo Justice: Between the Cases by joggingoctopus, 84k words, 18/18 chapters, 2023

Summary: What happened between cases in the Apollo Justice game? Here's one way things could have played out!

A retelling of apollo Justice, kind of! I really liked how the author explained some of the stuff in Ace Attorney, and it will go into my personal AA belief system I think. They also have a sequel fic which I’ve yet to read bc im very scared! (Clay things)

Delicate by ronsenberg, 30k words, 5/5 chapters, 2020

Summary: Everything about the situation is wrong, from the suitcase in Apollo’s arms to the blaring of car horns from the cars waiting behind him. It doesn’t matter. “I have been thinking-” he starts, voice faltering. It is very unlike him to be at such a loss for words, but he has never found himself in a situation quite like this before. “Ach, wondering, really-”

Apollo raises his brow, glancing at the digital clock on the dash and back into Klavier’s eyes in quick succession. “Klavier, my flight-”

“-Marry me?” The words come out in a rushed and poorly articulated interruption. Apollo blinks, his mouth falling slightly open in surprise. “When you come back, ja? Marry me.”

A Post-Spirit of Justice Proposal fic.

As of writing this right now, I just finished this fic so it’s very fresh in my memory! I really liked it! The way they wrote what would most likely be a realistic depiction of Klapollo if it were to happen in real life. It has all the downs and lows and the highs that you’d expect in a realistic relationship.

Glowing embers dying fire by virtualmushroom, 88k words, 20/20 chapters, 2023

Summary: Klavier has a crush on Apollo and he makes that abundantly clear.

Apollo, however, is oblivious and takes Klavier's enamored flirting for simple teasing. After all, why would a famous prosecutor rockstar come to like an "average" guy like him?

Despite that, Apollo comes to unlearn the preconception he has of Klavier and see beyond his mask, into the person he really is, someone not as cheerful as he may appear.

An also realistic in-canon depiction of Klapollo I really like! This was also written by my good friend!

Words Come Fluently by ItsyRoyal, 50k words, 12/12 chapters, 2021

Summary: Klavier Gavin is the most famous rockstar in the world. Guilty Love is about to go platinum and the tour sold out fourteen stadiums. So there's really, really no reason why one anonymous music critic on Youtube who hates him should get under his skin. And yet somehow he'd do just about anything to convince MikekoMusic to like him.

Apollo has been doing Youtube as a fun side hustle while he tries to break into the talent management industry, and he's just landed an assistant gig working for Kristoph Gavin. Whose main client is his golden boy younger brother. Whose music Apollo has been anonymously trashing for years.

Yeah, this is all going to go fine.

auuuuuuuuuuugh oh my god the DRAMA in this. Really good. The best part about this is the reassurance of no murders and clay BEING ALIVE!! I love clay alive fics, esp if they’re of him reacting to Klapollo.

Mission Control by ForeheadandFop, 12k words, 1/1 chapters, 2015

Summary: Like any good friend, Clay takes an interest in Apollo's career; he can't help it if the most interesting part is Klavier.

Loved this as well. Very good. It fulfills my needs of clay reacting to klapollo as mentioned above but however. This is canon compliant….🧍happy ending though …

I think that’s it for my list for recommendations! Sorry a lot of them are long fics 😭😭

#ace attorney #apollo justice #klapollo #wrightworth #wrightworth fic recs #wrightworth fics #klapollo fic recs #klapollo fics

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justagalwhowrites · 6 months ago

Text

Halcyon - Ch. 13: You’re Not What I Would Call Nurturing

Anna gives birth and caring for a newborn is even harder than you expected. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 12, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Mild near smut, non-graphic depiction of childbirth, childcare struggles. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 8.7k

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

April, 2018

Gale had been holed up in his home office since you got home and your excitement was starting to exhaust your patience.

He liked to have his space when he was writing. Then, so did you, and he respected it. Well, usually respected it. You did your best to do the same. But it had been hours now. You’d resigned yourself to having dinner alone, setting aside a plate for him, and waited for Gale to emerge so you could talk to him. It hadn’t happened, not even to use the bathroom or get a glass of water.

You set your book on your legs, rapping your fingers along the cover of it and worrying at your lip. You really didn’t want to sit here, holding everything in, any longer.

You put in your bookmark and set the novel you’d barely been able to pay attention to aside, going to the kitchen for a bottle of sparkling water and a protein bar to bring your husband.

“Hey you,” you smiled, peeking into his office after knocking once on the door. He glanced up from his desk, brows raised, head bent so low you could see where his hair was thinning.You came all the way into his office, walls lined with bookshelves and surfaces stacked high with paper. You held up the water and protein bar like an offering. “I haven’t heard you come out in a while and it’s getting late. Thought you should eat at least something tonight.”

“Thanks,” he said, looking back down at the pages in front of him. You took it as permission to come closer, so you did, setting the food down next to his computer before perching on the edge of his desk. You crossed your ankles in front of you and held onto the desktop, rapping the underside of it with your fingernails in a sharp rhythm.

Gale sighed, setting the page he was reading down and crossing his arms on his desktop, leaning on it before giving you a small smile as he looked up at you.

“Something on your mind, baby doll?” He asked, brows raised, looking like he was trying his best to restrain his amusement.

“Maybe,” you teased a little, not able to stop the smile on your face. “Remember how I had that doctor’s appointment earlier today?”

“Think so,” he frowned. “Why? Did everything go well?”

“It went great,” you smiled. “I actually… well, instead of it just being a check up, I asked her to check for a few things…”

Gale frowned further before he took the bait.

“Check for what?” He asked.

“Check and see if I’m in a good place to have a baby,” you tried to keep from acting too excited about it but you were. You were practically giddy. “She said everything looked good. Great, in fact. And… well, I was thinking… you have that sabbatical coming up in, what, two years? Wouldn’t it be great if we could spend it together? I can take some time off, my book should be well and launched by then, you can work on your next book and we can spend a lot of time just you, me and… and a baby.”

He watched you for a moment, an almost amused look on his face before he laughed a little.

“Are you being serious?” He asked.

“Yeah,” your smile faltered a bit. “Yeah, I figured that… you know, we’re not getting any younger, we’re at a good spot career wise, my body is apparently in prime baby making territory…”

“Sure, the timing is great if we were going to do it but,” he laughed once and shook his head, turning his face to his lap for a moment before looking back to you, a serious expression on his face. He took your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but… Do you really think having children is a good idea for you?”

You couldn’t stop your smile from falling this time, eyes searching his.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“Honey, just…” He sat back a little and sighed. “Look. You’re… I love you. That’s why I married you and you’re an extraordinary woman in so many ways. You make me the best possible version of myself and I’m grateful for that every day but… You’re not what I would call nurturing.”

You frowned.

“But…”

“It’s not a bad thing, necessarily,” he said, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. “You’re just far more concerned with what’s in your head or on the page than about something like children. Do you really think you’d do a good job with a child? Be honest with yourself. Do you think you’d be able to make the sacrifices necessary and put them first? Or would you fail and make them pay the price? And then there’s everything with your mental health - we both know how you can get sometimes and you clearly got it from your mother - I doubt you want to pass that on to a child or burden one with it when you’re having a rough patch…”

“But,” you said again, feeling the pinch of tears in your eyes. “I thought… don’t you want kids?”

“Of course I do,” he shrugged. “But I decided I wanted you more. I went into this marriage with eyes wide open, I knew I wouldn’t be having children with you and I decided that you were worth the sacrifice.”

You tried to keep from crying but felt a tear slip down your cheek, anyway, as you stared down toward your feet.

“Hey,” he said, getting up and putting his hand to your nape, pulling your head up to look him in the eye. “It’s alright. I don’t hold it against you. I made my peace with it a long time ago. And it’s better if we just don’t have them instead of ruining them, right?”

“Right,” you sniffed and he kissed you on the forehead before stepping back from you.

“I’m going to try to finish this chapter research before bed,” he said. “I’m getting close but it’ll still be a bit, I’ll see you upstairs. Thank you for bringing me something to eat, I lost track of time.”

“Sure,” you said, going to the door like you were on autopilot. You paused, your fingers on the knob before looking back at him. “I love you.”

He was silent, looking over his papers, lost in his work again.

“Gale?”

“Hm?” He looked up, brows raised.

“I love you.”

“Oh,” he said absently, looking back down at the page. “I love you, too.”

You looked at your husband for another second, trying to accept that he would not, in fact, be the father of your children before you left him to his writing and went to bed alone.

April, 2023

You buried your face in his shoulder, straining to keep your nails from digging into his back, the cotton of his shirt bunching between your fingers as your hips canted up to grind against him. He licked and sucked at your neck, arms wrapped around your back, pressing your front tightly to his and he moaned as he worked his hard cock still trapped in his jeans down against your mound.

“Fuck,” he panted, his mouth working his way over your neck to your jaw, wet on your tender skin and you tried to let yourself get in lost in him.

It was hard, though. For one, you knew you should hold back. It wasn’t the right time to start sleeping with someone, life was too complicated without adding that into a relationship. For another, you hadn’t had sex since Gale and the thought of taking your clothes off in front of someone new made your heart race - and not in a good way. And, finally, there was something not quite right about him.

Maybe it was his cologne, maybe it was the timbre of his voice, maybe it was the fact that he just didn’t feel right in your arms or between your legs but you just couldn’t make yourself want Stephen.

At least, not in the way you wanted Joel.

Not that you were proud of that. The opposite, in fact. You tried your damndest to bury that feeling deep and low inside yourself after the incident in Dallas. You didn’t WANT to want Joel. It hurt to want Joel. It always had and that didn’t change after that morning.

You were still half entwined with Joel and trying not to panic when Sarah started knocking on the bedroom door, saying she was hungry and that she wanted to go somewhere that would have chocolate milk for breakfast and also could she try a coffee if you went to Starbucks since she was now basically a teenager and was tired after being out so late the night before at the concert.

The two of you scrambled away from each other, your panties sticky and wet and you could feel the heat rising in your face. How could you have done this? Dry humped yourself to orgasm on your best friend?

“It’s OK,” Joel said again, eyes wide and voice quiet. “Let’s just… we get back home and…”

“Hey guys?” Sarah called through the door for the second time in as many minutes. “Is my Ears Tour shirt in there? I want to wear it.”

“I got it baby girl,” Joel said, grabbing the bag and going for the door and then it was the three of you again. You weren’t alone with Joel until you stopped for gas in West, Sarah running inside to use the bathroom and start picking out kolache from the bakery case while Joel filled up the truck.

His eyes darted over to you, like you were something volatile and unknown, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

“Look,” he said eventually, decidedly not looking at you. “What… what happened… Goldie, I… You should know…”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off quickly. You didn’t think you could bear hearing him say what a mistake you were for the umpteenth time in your life. “Like you said, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Right?”

He looked at you then - actually looked at you, his brown eyes warm and deep and soft - something almost sad on his face that passed so quickly you weren’t sure it happened at all.

“Right,” he said after a moment. “You’re right.”

“I’d rather this didn’t…” you tried to find the words. “I really don’t want this to blow things up with you this time. I don’t want to go no contact or… whatever it is that happens with us when… when we…”

“It’s alright,” he cut you off, turning to watch the numbers tick up on the gas pump. “We just… pretend it never happened.”

“Right,” you said.

“Right,” he said back and you headed inside to find Sarah.

When you made it back to Austin, you hugged Sarah goodbye, picked up Puck and gathered your stuff from the back of the truck, Joel carrying your bag to your car for you.

“I know we said pretend it never happened,” he said after he’d put your duffle in the back seat. “But… I think it might be good if we had some space.”

“Space?” You asked, your heart sinking.

“Just… just a few days,” he said. “I think… I think I need it. Just a few days, though.”

“A few days,” you said, hesitant.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just… I gotta get my shit right.”

You didn’t really know what to say to that so you just nodded. Joel looked relieved.

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly. “I… I really don’t want to lose you again, Goldie.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” you said.

“Good,” he said, turning and going toward his house before turning to face you, walking backwards as he did. “See you soon.”

You smiled a little.

“Sure, Joel.”

“Like… Like two days,” he said.

You laughed.

“OK.”

“Three, tops.”

“Three tops,” you repeated.

You went home and tried to distract yourself. You unpacked right away, put a grocery order in on Instacart and sat on the floor, shining a laser pointer on your legs and watching Puck try to pounce on it. Joel needed space. What the fuck did that mean? Why would he need space if it didn’t matter?

It did matter to you. That’s why space was probably a good idea for you. You didn’t want it but it was a good idea. You clearly couldn’t be trusted within a few feet of Joel without losing your fucking mind so space was smart. But why did Joel need it?

He wasn’t into you, at least not in the way you were into him. He’d made that plenty clear over the years. Every time something had happened, it was a mistake. You were a mistake. But… it kept happening. Did he want to fuck you against his better judgement? He’d always been a physical guy, with you and anyone else he cared about. He’d jumped from girl to girl in high school and, judging from the fact that Sarah existed but her mom was long gone, you figured he’d done the same after you’d gone away until responsibility came knocking.

Maybe everything between the two of you had just been a carry over from that. You knew he loved you as a friend and you were happy with that, you really were. Maybe it was just his affection for you and the fact that he wasn’t getting laid anywhere else that made him keep doing things he regretted with you and you were so, so tired of being something he regretted.

“Hey,” you said, scooping your cat up so his head was level with yours, a look of indignity on his small orange face. “Why am I like this? Why do I keep doing this to myself?”

He just pressed one pink-padded paw to your nose and you sighed.

“Well if you don’t have an answer…” you trailed off before kissing his little cat head and setting him back down.

You gave Joel the space he wanted. You didn’t call, you didn’t text, you didn’t even send him the stupid video you saw on TikTok that made you think of him.

In the mean time, you tried to write your book even though seemed to delete everything not long after it was down on the page. You saw Stephen. You tried not to text Gale. And, when Joel did text a few days later - just a picture of the Whataburger menu with a question mark - it made you feel better than you had in days.

Things went back to business as usual after that. You never talked about what happened in the hotel room with Joel. You certainly didn’t mention it to Stephen. You just tried your best to ignore the fact that the best orgasm you’d had in years happened as you fucked yourself against your best friend’s dick when you were half asleep.

But as much as you tried to pretend like that hadn’t happened, your body knew that it had. Joel had smelled so good and felt so good and Stephen just didn’t compare. No matter how much you wanted him to.

“We should stop,” you panted, voice drawn tight, hands moving to brace against Stephen’s chest. He groaned and went limp on top of you and you laughed.

“You’re killin’ me woman,” he said, sitting up from you enough to kiss you softly on the lips before moving to the other end of the couch and awkwardly adjusting his jeans.

“I know,” you winced as you sat up, too, pulling your knees into your chest. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m basically moving in with my sister tomorrow and I’ll be there for who knows how long while she gets settled with the baby and it’s just… it’s not the right time and…”

“Hey,” he said gently, reaching out and giving your foot a squeeze. “You don’t have to explain it. You said you needed to go slow, I’m OK with that. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t feel ready for.”

You smiled a little, willing your heart to at least try and flutter at this kind, smart, handsome man who was saying and doing all the right things.

“Thank you,” you said. “That really does mean a lot.”

“Hope things go well for your sister,” he said. “And not just because, selfishly, I know I get you back sooner if it does.”

“Good to know you care about the welfare of infants outside your personal gain,” you said wryly, smirking a little.

He laughed.

“I know, it’s what makes me such a good guy,” he said. “When’s Anna due again?”

“Two weeks from tomorrow,” you sighed.

“Isn’t you basically moving in tomorrow then a bit early?” He frowned.

“Well, she might come early,” you said. “It sounds like she’s going to be a big baby. Trust me, I’m not exactly eager to go stay with my sister but…”

“You might like it more than you think,” he said. You looked at him, skeptical. He laughed. “Family’s weird that way.”

“One can hope,” you said.

You walked him out, kissing him goodbye at the door and wishing you felt something more as you did. Before you went to bed, you looked through your bags to make sure you had everything you needed and, eventually, settled in with your phone in hand, Puck curling up next to you. He nuzzled into the crook of your elbow, tucking his tail into his body before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“What do you have to sigh about?” You asked. He adjusted, spreading his little toes out before settling again. “A likely story.”

You scrolled mindlessly through your phone when you got a text from Joel with a photo attached. You opened it. He was in bed, too, with the TV on, the first Curtis and Viper on the screen.

The TV edit is bullshit.

You laughed a little.

You can just put on the copy you own, you know.

Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? And then I’d have to get up… much rather watch Curtis say “get plucked” 50 times than do that.

You snorted.

Lazy ass.

Lazy ass? I’m getting old, respect your elders.

“Jesus,” you said to yourself, shaking your head.

You hesitated for a second, debating about what to say next. Eventually, you just bit the bullet.

I miss you.

There was a pause before he texted back, long enough that you wondered if you should try to take it back, maybe make a joke of it. And then, he responded.

I miss you too, Goldie.

You were trying to figure out how to respond when he called you.

“It’s pushing midnight,” you said by way of greeting.

“Way past my old man bedtime,” he agreed. “Channel 62.”

You sighed but turned on the TV all the same, finding the station just in time to hear Curtis say “get plucked” to some henchman before gunning him down.

“Oh that’s bad,” you laughed.

“Told you.”

You watched the movie with Joel that way for a while, laughing and joking and providing commentary on the stupider parts until the love scene came on. You fidgeted in your bed, the campy sequence somehow still arousing because you knew Joel was listening.

“You’re going to tell me when she has the baby, right?” He said as the couple on screen undressed each other.

“I can tell you,” you smiled a little. “Assuming Anna doesn’t change her mind about that.”

“Good,” Joel said. “Haven’t held a baby in a while, I miss it.”

“Awww big bad Joel Miller secretly loves babies,” you teased, trying not to picture Joel holding a tiny Sarah because you thought your heart might explode if you did. “Who knew?”

“Hey, babies are cute as hell,” he said, mockingly defensive. “And they smell good. And they make these adorable little noises. Am I supposed to not love babies? What am I, a monster?”

“I will let you abuse your connection to me to snuggle my niece,” you smiled a little.

“Yeah, you better,” you could hear him smiling, too.

You switched off your lamp but let the TV on and laid down, Puck looking at you indignantly before adjusting so he was curled against your chest.

“You know if Anna or, you know if… if you need help with her,” Joel said, almost hesitantly. “You can always call me. It took a while to know what to do but I like to think I got pretty good at the single parent thing.”

You smiled a little, feeling overly tired.

“You’re very good at it.”

“Got the world’s greatest dad mug and everything to prove it,” he said. “I know it seems like a lot right now, Goldie, but it will be OK. Promise it will.”

Your eyes got heavy during the climax of the movie, laughing sleepily with Joel and nodding off before the credits. It was a few hours later when an unnaturally loud commercial jerked you awake, your phone still sitting next to your head on the pillow.

You groaned and sat up, turning off the TV. Puck had moved, probably bounding through the house somewhere at some imagined prey, and you got up to use the bathroom, bringing your phone with you. Out of curiosity, you checked the time the call with Joel had ended but frowned. Judging from the length, it seemed like it went on for a while after you’d fallen asleep. You went to text him but, instead, found a series of texts from Anna.

Hey, are you still up?

Guess not… FYI, feeling weird.

There was a break and then another text had come through just half an hour earlier.

OK these are either those fake contraction things or I’m in labor

“Oh fuck,” you said to yourself, quickly going to wash your hands before calling her but she beat you to it, your phone springing to life on your vanity, the vibration making it jump across the marble. You wiped your hand quickly on your pajamas and answered.

“Not the fake contractions!” Anna said quickly instead of a hello. “Sorry, I know 4 a.m. isn’t a great time but…”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” you said, walking quickly to your bedroom and taking off your pajama pants as best as you could with one hand. “How far apart are they?”

“Eight minutes?” She said more like a question. “I think? But they’re strong enough that I can’t talk or walk during…”

“OK we have a little time,” you said, breathing a little easier as you grabbed a clean pair of underwear and leggings from your drawer. “I’m just throwing my clothes on, my bags are already packed, I’ll be there so soon. Just… unlock your front door and lie down on the couch and I’ll be right there.”

“I can do that,” she said, sounding a little panicked. “Thank you. For everything, I couldn’t do this on my own, I know I couldn’t and just… thank you.”

You smiled a little.

“Of course,” you said. “OK, I’m going to let you go but I’ll see you soon. You’ve got this, Anna. You do.”

You got dressed as quickly as you could before checking that Puck’s food and water bowl would be at least set for the day and jogging to your car, bags in hand.

Anna had done as you’d asked, unlocking her door so you didn’t need to fumble with keys in the dark and you found her in the middle of a contraction on her couch when you came in, grimacing and moaning in pain with her hands around the bottom of her stomach as she did.

“Hey, you’re OK,” you said, running to the couch and kneeling at her side. “Want my hand?”

She nodded frantically and you held it out. She squeezed it so tight you thought your knuckles might crack. As the contraction lessened, she took a deep breath, her face already shiny with sweat. “Think we can get you sat up and moved to the car?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But watch out, my water broke when I was unlocking the door, it’s wet over there.”

You almost laughed at that.

“That’s alright,” you said, helping her sit up. “It’s tile, think it will live. We’ll get you to the car and I’ll mop when we’re home with you and baby girl. You ever going to tell me her name?”

“I want to meet her first,” she said. “Think it’s weird for someone else to know her name before she does.”

“Makes sense,” you nodded, looping her arm around your shoulders and notching yourself into her underarm. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I’m ready.”

“Then let’s go have a baby.”

Her contractions were seven minutes apart when you reached the hospital and they got her back to a labor and delivery room quickly, hooking her up to what seemed like countless machines as you sat there and watched, feeling more helpless than you had since you watched your marriage fall to pieces at your feet.

You realized, as Anna labored and nurses walked her through it, just how much you’d grown accustomed to being able to take things on for her. When she had an issue with her phone bill couldn’t figure it out? You called and handled it. When she wanted an NA meeting closer to her office? You tracked one down. When she was shopping for everything for the nursery? You looked up the safety ratings and handed over your credit card at Buy Buy Baby. It had always been that way. When her grades tanked, you tutored her. When she had a bully at school, you stepped in. When she wanted a snack while your mom was at work, you made it. If you could do it for Anna, you did. This was different. This, you couldn’t do for her.

But you did everything you could. You did everything they taught you in lamaze classes and gave her ice chips and got the nurse when she needed help you couldn’t provide. Still, you felt decidedly useless when, more than 12 hours after you got to the hospital, her daughter came into the world with sharp, angry little cries. She was slick and red and wailing, tufts of dark hair on her tiny head, her small limbs flung out from her little body and she was beautiful.

“Congratulations, Mama,” the doctor smiled, putting the baby on Anna’s chest. “It’s a girl.”

Anna sobbed and smiled as she held her daughter, cradling her close.

“Hi there little one,” she whispered down to her. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

The baby cried even louder, the sound sharp and cracking, and Anna laughed wetly.

“Yeah,” she said. “You tell ‘em, Ellie.”

“Ellie?” You asked, trying to keep from fully crying but failing miserably.

“Yeah,” she said, still looking down at the tiny figure in her arms. “Ellie.”

The three of you got to know each other, Ellie rarely resting anywhere but in either of your arms. A few friends of Anna’s came by to meet her and Joel and Sarah did, too, Joel texting to ask what Anna was craving after spending the day in labor.

“Fried chicken!” She said. “With everything. And Dr. Pepper. Maybe a milkshake? Oh, and a burger if it’s not too much trouble.”

The two of them came with bags of food so comically large you couldn’t help but laugh as they brought them in, Sarah trailing balloons along behind her.

“Someone saw these in the gift shop so we had to stop for them,” Joel said, nodding to the balloons as he set down the heaping piles of food. “Here, baby girl, gimme those…”

He tied them off on the rail of Anna’s bed while Sarah fawned over the sleeping newborn.

“She’s so small,” she gaped down at her. “That’s insane.”

Joel came and stood behind her, putting a large hand on her shoulder.

“You were that size once, baby girl,” he said, sounding a little choked up. “You were a tiny thing, seemed like you fit in the palm of my hand.”

“That’s just because you have freakishly large hands,” you said.

“Shut it,” he gave you a look and you smiled.

While you and Anna ate, Joel showed carefully showed Sarah how to hold a baby, how to support her tiny head and how babies liked when you moved with them.

“See?” He said, sitting next to you on the little couch beneath the window as Sarah delicately cradled little Ellie. “You got it.”

“That’s just because she’s perfect,” she said, staring down at the baby before her eyes went wide with excitement and she looked between her dad and Ellie’s mom. “Can I babysit? I promise, I’ll take such good care of her and…”

“We can talk about that when both of you are a little older,” Joel laughed. “Glad to know you’re ready to start contributing to the household though. Have to start charging you rent…”

“Ha ha,” she rolled her eyes before looking back to the baby.

Joel held her next and you couldn’t help but stare at him as he did. He seemed so impossibly large compared to her, able to hold the tiny bundle that was your niece easily in his large hands, a look of awe and total adoration on his face as he did. But he was so beautiful, too. The gentle way he held her, the way he looked at her, the way he just seemed to be so happy to be caring for something so vulnerable, it made your heart ache with a want you’d long ago tried to set aside.

“He’s such a sucker for babies,” Sarah said, perching on the couch next to you and helping herself to a french fry. “He’s so weird.”

“Must be because you were a perfect kid from birth,” you teased and Sarah smiled, smug, as Joel scoffed.

“Please, if anything it’s in spite of her,” he said, still staring down at Ellie. “She had colic, seemed to love to pee right as I was changin’ her…”

“Hey!” Sarah said.

“But you were still the most amazing thing I’d ever seen,” he said, looking at his daughter before looking back to Ellie. “This one might be a close second, though. Good job, Mama.”

“Thank you,” Anna said proudly, sitting up a little straighter. “Actually, would you mind giving her to me? I’m going to try and nurse…”

“Alright, I’ll hand her over and I won’t make you fight me for her but only because you just gave birth,” he said. “Next time though…”

Anna laughed good naturedly as Joel gently laid the baby in her arms.

“Alright, kiddo,” he said. “Let’s get out of their hair, give them some time to relax.”

He and Sarah gathered up the trash from dinner and you walked them to the elevator, Sarah pressing her face against the nursery window to look at the babies as you went.

“And how are you doing?” He asked as he waited for the elevator.

“Me?” You asked, brows raised. “I’m fine, I didn’t just push a human being out of my body.”

Joel laughed a little.

“I know but still. It’s a lot. You OK?”

You thought for a moment about how powerless you’d felt as Anna brought Ellie into the world, how you wished your mother had been here because she was better equipped than you’d ever be, how you didn’t know how to help raise her without finding some way to ruin her.

“I’m alright,” you said instead of saying any of that. “I’ll get them home and settled and then we’ll just… see how it goes, I guess?”

“That’s all you can do,” he said, watching you with an almost soft look in his eyes. “Meant what I said before. Don’t matter what time it is, don’t matter what you need, we’ll figure it out. Did it before, I can do it again. And so can you.”

“Thank you,” you said, letting yourself almost fall into him. He hesitated for a moment but wrapped himself around you, his arms almost swallowing you.

“You’ve got this, Goldie girl,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Know you do.”

He had to practically drag Sarah away from looking at all the babies and as you watched the elevator doors close, you wondered what you’d ever done without him.

Anna and Ellie were released the next day and you drove them to Anna’s house at a snail’s pace, trying to press the break as gently as possible when approaching a light so you wouldn’t jostle the precious cargo in the back seat.

At first, things went well. Or as well as it could when there were two people with basically no experience with children trying to care for an infant. Ellie didn’t need much, after all. She mostly slept, ate and pooped.

And cried. She definitely, definitely cried.

By day three, you were starting to get worried about the lack of sleep for both you and for Anna. You knew how exhausted you felt, how delayed your movements seemed as you tried to go through your routine on just two or three hours of sleep for the third day in a row. Anna, you knew, had to have it worse. She’d just given birth, after all, and was still recovering. On top of that, she was nursing Ellie.

Or she was trying to, at least.

After you’d left the hospital, Ellie had been reluctant to latch. She’d been doing an OK job of it before but now she seemed to do nothing but reject her mother’s breast or pull away quickly while wailing, her small face scrunching and getting red as she screamed.

“I know, I know, I know,” Anna said in the afternoon on the fourth day, bouncing Ellie on her shoulder and sounding on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry, I’m trying! I know you’re hungry, I know!”

“Maybe we can do formula?” You said, anxiously picking at a ragged cuticle as you watched your sister pace. “It’s better if she eats at all…”

“I should be able to fucking do this!” Anna snapped. “I’m her goddamn mother, I should be able to feed her!”

“You can,” you said, trying to soothe her. “Just… do the formula, I’ll make up a bottle, at least until we can get in to see the lactation specialist. That’s what it’s for. It’s OK, then you’re feeding her…”

“No, you’re feeding her,” she spat. “You bought the formula! You bought the formula and her crib and her goddamn onesie! Because I fucking failed at that, too!”

“You didn’t fail at anything!” You said. Anna had stopped bouncing Ellie and her cries got louder. “I know it’s hard right now but it’s going to get better, it is.”

“I need a break,” she stalked over to you, passing the baby off and all but storming out of the room. You bounced Ellie, who kept wailing, and you resisted the urge to cry yourself before going to make her a bottle.

It was that afternoon, one of the few hours a day that Ellie wasn’t crying and was instead sleeping - but not content to do it anywhere but on your chest - that you checked your phone. You had some general messages from Joel, check ins and funny pictures and offers to bring by dinner, and an update from Alyssa with information about the classes she was covering for you. There was also a text from Gale, one that sounded almost ominous.

I think I’ll always regret how things played out with you.

You frowned and considered texting back. You’d sent him basically nothing in months, only responding when he had a question about something related to the divorce - even though you knew that should really be going through your attorneys, but it was so hard to resist talking to him when you had the excuse. This text, however, seemed different.

You opened Facebook, hoping to go to his page and find some kind of hint but you didn’t even need to go that far. Sitting at the top of your newsfeed was a picture he’d been tagged in just a few hours ago, his arm around your younger, prettier replacement except, in this picture, her stomach was round, a blue dress tight over the swell near her hips as he looked at her, a tranquil smile on his face.

“Our soon to be party of three!” She had written on the post. “Baby boy Newton, coming this July!”

You just stared at your phone, heart racing as your stomach felt hollowed out. Gale was having a baby. Something you’d always wanted but he said was a bad idea, had really only been a bad idea because it was with you. You’d always secretly hoped that it was just an excuse, that he didn’t really want children but that wasn’t it. It was you. You were the problem.

Ellie stirred from her place against your chest, starting to squirm and you could feel her start getting herself worked up.

“It’s OK baby girl,” you said, your voice thick and wet. “Let’s see how you’re doing, see if you need a diaper and if we can let your mom sleep a little while longer, OK?”

As you tried to calm her down, you couldn’t help but remember what Gale had told you. How you weren’t nurturing, how you couldn’t be selfless enough, how you’d ruin a child. How could you pretend like he was wrong? As you clutched tight to your screaming, squirming niece and tried to get her to settle or eat, how could you say that you would do anything but fail her?

“Are you OK?” Anna asked a little while later when she emerged, groggy, from her room to find you with red eyes and a tear-streaked face and her daughter in your arms.

“Fine,” you said, bouncing Ellie. “I’m fine.”

You couldn’t tell her what Gale had said - Gale had known - about you. Not right now, not when Anna was already stressed and worried enough. You’d just have to deal with it and with the crying baby who was in your care.

And Ellie basically never stopped crying. You’d get a few hours of blessed quiet in a day but it seemed like, if she was conscious, she was screaming. You were coming up on the end of the first two weeks of her life with little understanding as to why she wasn’t able to settle and you needed to get back to work for a few days to finish out the semester.

“You’re seriously going to leave me here with her?” Anna asked, her eyes wide.

“Just for a week,” you said. “I have to do exam review, final project presentations and office hours before exam week. I have to, Anna, I’m sorry. I can see if I can find a nanny for a few days…”

“No,” she shook her head. “Don’t. I can do this. I need to be able to do this.”

“If you start feeling overwhelmed,” you frowned but she cut you off.

“She’s my daughter,” she said. “I can take care of my own damn daughter.”

Anna insisted you go home for the work week, wanting to try things on her own since you were going to be gone all day, anyway. You brought your bags so you could do laundry and pack a fresh round of clothes and you found yourself reveling in the silence of your home when you walked into it, closing your eyes and soaking it in.

Joel had picked up Puck while you were at Anna’s and he said he was down to keep him for a while but, after a few hours, it was strange, rattling around your house without another soul in it. No crying baby, no frustrated sister, no playful cat. Just you and your exhaustion as you collapsed into bed.

You checked in on Anna in the afternoons after work and, on Wednesday, went to Joel’s for dinner, Sarah begging you to sneak her more Sprite when Joel got up to use the bathroom halfway through.

“Don’t tell your dad,” you said, filling up her cup from the two liter in the fridge.

“Your secret is safe with me,” she smiled before chugging the first half of the soda before Joel made it back to the table.

You sat on the couch with Joel after dinner, Puck purring furiously on your lap after giving you the silent treatment for the first hour you were there.

“If my kid can’t sleep tonight, that’s on you,” he said as he settled in.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re the one who let her have more sugar,” he said as Swiftie jumped on his lap and he started absently petting her. You gaped at him. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve learned to watch the levels in the Coke bottles around this house with that kid.”

“She could be doing actual coke, you know,” you said.

“At 11?”

You nodded.

“You’ve got it easy,” you said.

He laughed.

“Suppose I do,” he said. “How’s it going with Ellie?”

“She’s still crying like crazy,” you sighed. “It’s constant…”

“I told you I can come help!” He said, incredulous.

“I know!” You replied. “But Anna doesn’t WANT help, she’s insisting she can do it. I’m worried about her, I don’t know how clearly she’s thinking right now…”

“Given how sleep deprived she is?” Joel raised his brows. “Probably not very.”

“I’m this close to just having you come over anyway, whether she likes it or not,” you said. “I don’t want her completely losing herself to this.”

“Bring the kid here for a bit and give her a break,” Joel said. “I can watch ‘er, or I can come there…”

“I appreciate it,” you sighed. “I’ll bring that up to her tomorrow. We have Ellie’s next check up in the afternoon, we’ll see how she’s doing. Maybe the doctor will have a good suggestion, who knows.”

“Hope so,” Joel said. “It’ll be OK. Promise you, it will.”

You almost told Joel about Gale then. About him having a baby with another woman because one of the only people who had ever been able to see you - really, truly see you - saw how bad you would be at this. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Despite Joel’s promise, it didn’t feel like it was going to be OK. Especially not at Ellie’s check up the next afternoon. She had lost a few ounces, moving down the track for weight percentile, and Anna looked like she was about to cry.

“She won’t nurse,” she said, her voice thick. “She doesn’t like the formula, what do I do?”

The doctor gave her some advice that you wrote down, a glassy look on Anna’s face, and drove home, worried that the doctor needed to see Ellie back in less than a week.

“I’m going to ruin my kid,” Anna said when you got her home, Ellie blessedly asleep in her carseat, the only time you could reliably get her to pass out in the back of the car. “I can’t even feed her right, I’m going to destroy her when all I want to do is do the right thing for her.”

“It’ll be OK,” you said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “I can stay over tonight…”

“No,” she shook her head. “May as well finish the week out, right?”

“Sure,” you said uncertainly, “If you change your mind, just call me. I’ll be over in like 10 minutes, just call.”

“Right,” she said, giving you a tight smile before walking you out. “I’m sure it will all work out.”

You felt off all evening as you reviewed the final, frantic emails from students as the semester wound down. You should never have come home like this, you should have just gone to work and gone to Anna’s after whether she liked it or not. You seriously considered packing up and heading over that second but just chewed on the inside of your cheek instead. It was late. You’d be back the next night. Less than 24 hours. Closer to 18 hours, actually. What could really go wrong in 18 hours?

You went back to work but only lasted another few minutes when Anna texted you.

Are you at home?

You frowned at the phone.

Yeah, what’s up? Need me to come over?

She didn’t respond. You drummed your pen against the edge of your desk and tried to hold yourself back from replying. She had an infant at home, after all. She wasn’t staring at her phone.

But after five minutes, you texted again.

Is everything OK? Is Ellie OK? Are you OK?

You stared at the screen, willing her to respond. Another few minutes passed when you saw the bubble pop up, saying she was typing.

Check your front porch.

You frowned, picking up your phone and going to respond when another message appeared.

I’m so sorry.

“Anna?” You said, even though she wasn’t there to hear you. Your heart raced as you frantically called her. It rang once and then went to voicemail. “Fuck!”

You sprinted for your front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl in your entryway and ripping the door open and you stopped in your tracks.

Sitting there, on your front stoop and in her carseat and next to a diaper bag, was Ellie.

“Hey sweetheart,” you said softly, picking up the carrier and folding the handle back, carrying her gently inside and setting the carseat on the kitchen table. “Just going to make sure you’re all OK…”

You pulled back the blanket that had been tucked around her. She was all strapped into the carrier, her little legs and arms pulled in tight to her torso. You almost cried in relief when you saw her tiny chest rising and falling.

“So where’s your mama baby girl?” You asked, watching her as you pulled up Anna’s number and dialed again. This time it rang out. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

You tried to keep calm as you texted her.

If you don’t answer I’m calling 911.

You gave her a few seconds to see the message before you called her and she picked up on the first ring this time.

“I told you, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice wet.

“Sorry for what?” You asked. “Anna, just… just come here, we can talk about this…”

“Talk about what?” She cut you off. “About the fact that I can’t do anything right by my own kid? I can’t even fucking feed her right, you heard the doctor today…”

“We can figure it out,” you said quickly. “Doing… whatever it is you’re doing is not the answer. Just come here, we’ll take care of it together, we always do and…”

“No, no there is no we,” she said. “You always fix it, you always handle it, not me. I’m just ruining her, I’m bad for her, I’m not capable of this. She should be yours not mine, she’s… she deserves better than me and…”

“No,” you said, trying not to panic. “No, you’re her mother, what she needs is you! Anna, don’t do this, don’t…”

“It’s not forever,” she said. “I’m just… I’m going away for a little while. I need to be better for her. I’ll come back when I can. Take care of her for me, OK?”

“Anna, no, Anna don’t-“

You didn’t get a chance to finish. She hung up and you frantically tried to call her back but it just went straight to voicemail.

“Fuck,” you teared up, looking down at your infant niece in her carrier. She was so small, she needed so much, so much you weren’t capable of giving her.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this afraid of anything, all the hope and potential carried in Ellie’s tiny body now resting on your shoulders. What were you supposed to do with all of that? When all you were capable of was failing?

You were about to do the only thing he could think to do - call Joel - when Ellie made one of her small noises, one that came just before she started crying and, sure enough, half a second later, she was wailing, her little legs kicking out as she did.

“Hey now,” you said, desperate to soothe her. “You’re OK baby girl. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

Anna had, at least, left the base to the carseat and a container of formula with the diaper bag on your porch. That, plus the things you’d stocked your house with so you could take Ellie for a few hours or even a day if Anna needed, made it so you could look after her without needing to make a store run for a day or two. You tried to focus on looking after her as best you could even though you had never felt so lost before in your life.

You moved all your office hours for Friday to virtual and did your best to take them with Ellie there, but it was hard. She was inconsolable all day. Every now and then, she would settle against you but then she seemed to realize that you were wrong. You didn’t feel like her mother or smell like her mother and you weren’t who was supposed to be taking care of her. It was like she could sense the thing about yourself that scared you most.

Things got worse as the day wore on. You’d been up with her all night and you’d had to take advantage of her brief periods of sleep to work that day and it seemed like she was getting more and more upset as the night wore on. She shoved her bottle away, her tiny face scrunched tight as she screamed.

“Come on,” you said, crying right alongside her. “You… you have to eat something, I know I’m not your mom but you can’t just… you have to eat, please just eat something I promise you’ll feel better if you do.”

She didn’t listen. She just cried in your arms and all you could think about was what Gale had told you. He’d been right about so many things, of course he was right about this, too.

“Maybe you’re just too worked up,” you said, carrying her to her car seat and setting her gently inside it. “Just… going to try to calm you down, maybe then it’ll be OK.”

You didn’t know if that would work but you were desperate. You carried her to the car and triple checked that she was secure before just driving. She liked the car, she always quieted down in the car. This had to help. It had to.

Something had to.

But it didn’t. You weren’t sure just how long you’d been driving aimlessly, Ellie wailing in the back seat, but you couldn’t keep doing this. Not to her.

You weren’t sure how but you found yourself outside Joel’s house. It was dark outside, the glow of light from inside the houses on his street warm and welcoming and you wished, desperately, that you belonged with that light. That you could be somewhere soft and nurturing and where Ellie would be cared for the way she deserved, not the way you managed to ruin everything you touched.

You gave up on stopping your own tears. Instead, you got out of the car and unhooked Ellie’s carseat from the base, looping your arm through the handle and carrying it to Joel’s front door. You knocked, even though you were sure he could hear the baby crying, and it was only a few seconds before he opened it.

“Goldie?” He asked, looking you up and down, his eyes soft and wide. “What’s going on? What…”

“Please, Joel,” you said, holding the carrier tightly against yourself. “I need your help.”

Next Chapter

A/N: Poor Goldie, Ellie and Anna! Stuff is ROUGH for them right now but don't worry, Joel is now on the scene.

We'll just have to see what a lot of stress and desperation from Goldie while Joel is being hot and paternal makes happen 👀

OK LOVE YOU BYEEEEEE!

Also thank you for reading because you're the best. Truly.

OK now love you bye ❤️

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #halcyon

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felassan · 7 months ago

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Hello ! Very sorry to bother you, but do you perhaps know if you or someone else made a master post with all the Dragon Age comics and books one should read, and in which order to do so ? There's so many now that it's a little overwhelming to say the least.

If not, that's okay! Love your blog and thank you for always keeping us informed <3

hello! ◕‿◕ tysm for the lovely message. ^^ no worries at all!!

[this post] is a list of the additional DA media that's officially available for free (there are things like short stories from the website and stuff). [this post] is a rough chronological/timeline order of all canon DA media. if you'd just like my recommendation on which DA comics and books to read and in what order - the order which they came out in is totally fine imo. :D I'll list them here in case it's a lil less overwhelming in that format.

Books (novels and similar) and comics:

Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne [novel - early 2009]

Dragon Age: The Calling [novel - late 2009]

Dragon Age: Asunder [novel - 2011]

Dragon Age: The Silent Grove [comic - early 2012]

Hindsight [motion comic - May 2015]

Dragon Age: Those Who Speak [comic - mid 2012]

Dragon Age: Until We Sleep [comic - 2013]

Dragon Age: The Masked Empire [novel - early 2014]

Dragon Age: Last Flight [novel - late 2014]

Dragon Age: Magekiller [comic - 2015]

Dragon Age: Knight Errant [comic - 2017]

Dragon Age: Deception [comic - 2018]

Dragon Age: Blue Wraith [comic - early 2020]

Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights [book, an anthology of short stories - early 2020]

Dragon Age: Dark Fortress [comic - 2021]

Dragon Age: The Missing [comic - 2023]

Also, rly amazing to read is the lore books, World of Thedas Volume 1 and World of Thedas Volume 2. I feel like you can read these whenever though, and over a long period of time split up into chunks if you prefer. ^^ Varric's 'book' Hard in Hightown is a fun bonus read, it's an in-world novella. The IDW comic.. give it a miss. ^^; also, the list above doesn't include short stories that are outside of Tevinter Nights.

The DA:TV-focused/streamlined answer for me is - Dragon Age: Knight Errant, Dragon Age: Deception, Dragon Age: Blue Wraith, Dragon Age: Dark Fortress, Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, Dragon Age: The Missing, and the DA:TV-specific short stories. These are As We Fly, The Flame Eternal, Minrathous Shadows, The Next One, Ruins of Reality, The Wake, and Won't Know When. This covers the 'books and comics etc which are set after Dragon Age: Inquisition' era. Throw in the two World of Thedas volumes as well if you are really interested in the lore of the world in general and would like that as a primer going into DA:TV.

I hope this helped. :>

#dragon age #bioware #video games #mjs mailbag #nekrosmos #dragon age: tevinter nights #dragon age: the missing #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #long post #longpost #the dread wolf rises #da4 #if this didnt help and i just made it sound more overwhelming or confused you pls forgive me (⁠´⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠ω⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠｀⁠)

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charlesswife · 2 years ago

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Una Noche En Mónaco i

Vaya noche la de anoche. (What a night last night)

unem master list

pairing: charles leclerc x latina! reader

summary: after a one night stand between you and charles, charles continues on with his f1 career. until two months later, you come back claiming to be pregnant with his child.

warning: bad writing, charles is a bit of an asshole at first, is going to be a series. google translate because I do not speak french. teen pregnancy (very cliche, I know. I'm sorry)

a/n: this is based on the idea i posted yesterday, which you all seem to like a lot. i want to clarify that english isn't my first language so please be kind if you see any error, i am trying my best. Also I am very new to formula one, i am binge watching drive to survive and the races. also i hope the timeline is correct lmao. ALSO i am not very great at writing smut so don't expect to see smut until i get better at writing it. enjoy!

word count: 1,771

Just to clarify: If I'm not wrong. In 2018, Charles was 20, turning 21 in that year. Reader is going to have an age gap of two years. So reader is 18 turning 19.

gif is not mine! i love this gif tho, he looks so good.

March 2018

Everything from last night was a blur. I remember his green eyes on me. And then his lips. And then his skin. And then a bit more.

The music was louder than my thoughts. Monaco is a beautiful country with even more beautiful people.

Steph grabbed my hand and dragged me to the bar. "One Jack Daniel's with coke and one Cosmopolitan, please." She told the bartender.

"Cosmopolitan?" I asked.

"Oh girl, it's so good. It's vodka with cranberry juice, lemon juice, syrup, and..." She stopped for a second while her eyes drifted to something behind me. "Oh god, he's cute." I was going to turn around and look until she stopped me. "Wait, don't turn yet!"

By that time, the bartender put our drinks in front of us. I thanked him. "Girl, he's looking at you."

"Is he your kind of cute or mine?"

"I would do it sober, on a Monday." Okay. I have to turn around and see said man. "If he wants anything, he'll come to us." She dragged me to another part of the bar.

We danced and drank, and slowly I was forgetting about the 'gorgeous' man. I checked my phone. 12:00.

It has been two hours since we got to the bar.

When the song ended, we headed to the bar area, I asked the bartender for another drink. "Wait here, I have to run to the bathroom," Steph yelled in my ear and then made a beeline to the bathroom. I took the scenery in. The music was louder than before and everyone was dancing to a song I don't know of.

The bartender put the drink in front of me, and I thanked him again. I lost count of how many times I have thanked him.

"This is your fourth drink, is it not?" I heard a male voice next to me. I turned to see the owner of the voice.

Green eyes. Dimpled smile. His body leaned to mine.

"You're keeping tabs on me?" I asked.

"Hard not to," he said. He turned to the bartender and said, "Fermer la onglet. apporte-elle de l'eau. Je paierai la facture." (Close the tab, and bring her some water. I will pay for her bill.) The bartender nodded. The man turned to me again.

"What did you tell him?" I'm not even going to lie. His accent was very sexy.

"Nothing much. C'mon. Let's dance." he grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor.

He pulled me close to his body. Very close. His green eyes and hands were all over me. And I let him.

He leaned closer to my ear and said, "So are you going to tell me your name or will I only know as the beautiful foreign girl?"

"You think I'm beautiful?" I asked laughing a bit.

"Everybody in this room thinks you are beautiful," he smiled, "So?"

"y/n," I told him. He repeated my name again, trying to see how my name feels on his lips. "And you?" I asked him.

"Charles" I repeated his name and his smile got wider. Deepening his dimples. "Leclerc"

Somewhere in the room, a phone rang. I was entangled with Charles that I just let it ring. His face is so calm, without worries.

"I can feel you staring at me, mon cherie," he murmured. "do you always stare at people when you wake up?"

"Not always," I said. "you're the only exception." He smiled at my comment and opened his eyes.

"Hello"

"Hi," I whispered.

"Was that your phone or mine?" He asked.

"I don't know. If it's important, they'll ring again." As soon as the words left my mouth. The phone rang again. I let out a little whine that made Charles laugh.

"That's your phone, that's not my ringtone." I got out of bed and looked for the phone.

"I can feel you staring at me, mon cherie" I mocked him.

"A sight like you should be stared at all the time." I smiled at his comment. I found my phone in between the pile of clothes that was left on the floor. Steph <3 appeared on my screen.

I lay on the bed again with Charles and answered the phone.

"Hey bitch, I've been calling you all morning"

"Sorry" I answered "I just woke up"

"Are you still with the French boy?" Steph asked with a joking tone. I can't remember most of last night. But she knows about Charles and the fact he speaks French.

"I'm Monegasque," He said a bit loud, just for her to hear.

"He says he's Monegasque" I repeated.

"Uhhh, native. I like it. Well, text me when you're on your way back" With that, she hangs up. I looked back at Charles.

"So, another round?"

At first, Steph was excited for me. She was hoping for Charles to be the next thing to occupy my mind instead of my parents.

She wasn't wrong. The Monegasque lived in my mind rent-free for the past month. Especially after I found out I was pregnant.

Two pink lines.

Positive.

"So? What does it say?" Steph asked. I didn't say anything. Tears started to form in my eyes. "Oh god, I need a drink" She disappeared from the bathroom to the kitchen.

Steph made me take a pregnancy test after several different random cravings that I had. She had enough of me after I ate a burger with extra extra pickles, and then more pickles on the side. For context, I hate pickles, with my life.

Fuck.

"y/n... what are you gonna do?" I haven't realized that she came back into the room, a glass of wine in her hand.

"well... what's done it's done. it's my responsibility to take care so it." I answered.

"Yeah! But so it's his! He has to be responsible too!" she yelled.

I let the tears run down my face. "And how?! I don't have his number! It's not like I could just send him a text saying 'Hey! remember when we fucked a month ago? well, I'm pregnant now, congrats! be responsible and take care of it"

Steph stayed quiet for a moment, just staring at me. After a while, she said, "Do you think he is on Instagram? I mean, think about it, almost everyone is on Instagram." she waved her wine at me.

"And if he's not?" my voice broke for a moment. This is all too much for me. I am overwhelmed and drowning in my own feelings.

"We can only hope so." She put her wine on top of the dresser and reached for her back pocket for her phone. "What was his name again?"

"Charles," I said.

"Love, I'm going to need more than that"

"Umm... His last name was a hard one. It was Lec... Lec-something"

For a moment, she looked at me and then back at her phone. "Leclerc?" She asked, doubt very clear in her voice.

"Yes! Leclerc. Why? Did you find him? You should get a job in the FBI" I commented while fidgeting with my hands. I was very nervous.

"Is it him?" She turned her phone towards me. The first thing I see was a black and white picture of Charles sitting on top of a counter with an Alfa Romeo jacket. The date was March 4, 2018. Just a few days before we met.

"Yes," I confirmed, "Wow, you are better than a PI" She slide her finger up a little and I looked at the username. Charles_leclerc with a verified check. "He's verified? Why is he verified?" I felt my heart going eighty miles per hour.

"You fucked and got pregnant by a Formula One driver," Steph said, in a monotone voice.

Oh fuck.

"What do I do now?" I asked her as I made my way to my bed to sit down.

"Well, you know who he is now. You just gotta find a way to find him and tell him." She said as she sat down and wrapped her arms around me.

Yeah. Right. Like that's going to be easy.

May 2018

"When will the phase of puking stops when pregnant?" I asked Steph as I rubbed my small bump.

"You're asking the wrong person. I am not Google" She replied.

"You would be more awesome if you were Google" I joked as I sat at the dinner table.

The aroma of pho and fried dumplings is drugging me right now. Steph is a great chef. So am I, but I hate washing dishes.

I am glad I have Steph to take care of me. Steph has been my best friend for the longest, she's a year older than me, but she treats me and takes care of me as if I'm her daughter. She was there for me when my parents died. She dropped everything and came with me across the world. And now she's taking care of me while being pregnant. I truly don't know what I would do without her.

Steph served me chicken pho and eight delicious fried pork dumplings. I waited for her to sit down.

She glanced at me for a second and then smiled. "You look like a child, waiting for permission to eat."

I laughed. "Well, I'm sorry I waited for you," I said as I grabbed the spoon and put some of the broth in it, and then took it to my mouth. It is so savory. "This is so good" I grabbed the chopsticks and grabbed a dumpling. I blow a bit into it so I don't burn myself. I took a big bite. "Oh my gosh, this is the best dumpling."

"You know what's better than a fried dumpling?" she asked while she wiggled her eyebrows.

"A soup dumpling!" I said. As soon as the words left my mouth, I heard a ting! coming from my phone. I thought my phone was in silence. We both laughed a bit at the timing and sound of the phone.

I turned my phone, immediately illuminating from the raise to wake mode. My smile dropped.

+377 123 456 7890

Hey, this is Charles. I'm in Monaco for a few weeks, mon cherie. Do you want to meet? 😉

I slammed my phone back to the table and looked at Steph. "What?" she asked. I looked back at my phone, making sure it wasn't a hallucination in my head. The text message was still there.

With shaken hands, I hand her my phone while I eat the other portion of the dumpling. She looked at the text, then at me. "Oh fuck..."

Oh fuck indeed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Ahhhhhh!!!!! This is the first chapter of many more to come! Please let me know what you think of it. I would very much appreciate any type of comment, whether it is your opinion or just anything! It would def motive me more to keep going.

@mac-daddy-210 @infinite-wanders @rbrsavage @itsyogurlkel @bbygrlllllll @nerdreader @imnotcryingyouare1 @killerangel88 @obx-mylove-things-blog @triorion @daniellarogers @insssanemindd @bosinclairsgff

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itpemod · 12 days ago

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#ITPE 2024 MASTERLIST!

(This has also been crossposted to the Amplificathon DW community)

(If you'd like to see previous years' master lists, 2011 is here, 2012 is here, 2013 is here, 2014 is here, 2015 is here, 2016 is here, 2017 is here, 2018 is here, 2019 is here, 2020 is here, 2021 is here, 2022 is here, and 2023 is here.)

Happy 14th annual #ITPE/technically 1st Informal Tumblr Podfic Exchange!!!! Thank you for bearing with us in our switch to a new platform! We’ve had a few hiccups but now that we know where those are, future years will hopefully run much more smoothly!

Here’s some stats and highlights from this year’s #ITPE!

We had 81 participants this year, and you made 313 podfics (including some ~sekrit~ gifts not available on the masterlist) for a total run time of 140 hours, 59 minutes, and 4 seconds–that’s over FIVE DAYS of audio!

We have 4 simulpods this year! Which is less than we expected, given some of the niche fandoms and crossovers we matched y’all on, so congratulations on finding a diversity of fics to record! @sunshineprincejeremyknox | @flowerparrish and @jeremyknox | @kbirbpods were responsible for two of those simulpods, one which they gifted to each other and the other which they both gifted to the same person. @eafay70 and @tinybluebirdcloak both gifted the same fic to @read-by-silverandblue. Finally, @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove and @rhea314 both recorded the same fic for different participants!

While #ITPE encourages participants to embrace the no-minimums, low-stress vibe, some of y’all do like to Do the Most, and we like to recognize extraordinary effort when we see it!

@opalsong, usually a notorious podfic robot, has had a lot going on this year in terms of school and was worried she would not be able to hit the productivity highs of previous years. So we, as mods, thought, “Great! We know what to do! We’ll match her with someone on one very specific OT3 that this recipient has been requesting for years, in a fandom not especially known for blanket permission, and that way Opal won’t feel compelled to make a bajillion podfics because the pool will be so small! We are solving so many problems with this match!” And we thought we were so clever! Only for Opalsong to find a 90k fanfic and turn in a 12 hour podfic. Well. We tried! But clearly Opalsong is going to Opalsong. <3

By far our most prolific gifter this year was @sunshineprincejeremyknox | @flowerparrish, who not only made 6 gifts for zir recipient (including a 4 hour podfic), but also 31 treats. Not far behind was @mistbornhero who made 7 main gifts and 23 treats! @jeremyknox | @kbirbpods made 4 main gifts and 18 treats! We also had generous treaters in @wanderingjedihistorian, @reena-jenkins, @blackestglass, @pezzax, and @wilfriede! Plus, honorable mentions to @daisydiversions and @annabelle-myrtille for the 10 and 6 hour (respectively) podfics they made for their recipients!

Finally, we'd like to extend some thank you’s to:

-Data mod flowersforgraves for converting all the sign up data to airtable which makes matching so much easier. -Asymptotical and Dragonflies_and_Katydids for creating the coding we used to generate distribution day templates. -Everyone who offered to pinch hit, especially sunshineprincejeremyknox | flowerparrish and @jetainia, though thankfully we did not end up needing them to fulfill those pinch hits! -And as always, @exmanhater for ITPE’s permanent hosting

Now let’s get on to what you’re really here for…..the masterlist!! Here’s the masterlist spreadsheet for this year’s exchange!

Happy listening!!!

#informal tumblr podfic exchange #itpe #masterlist

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slythereen · 1 year ago

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Hello there!

I’m new to f1 and Lestappen.

Is there a Charles and Max master post somewhere with their history? I keep hearing about the social media unfollowing and podium walk off and want all the tea and timelines.

Basically all I know about is the inchident.

Many thanks!

hello and welcome!! my scholarship (read: obsessively reblogging things or bookmarking them thinking i'll actually find them again later) tends to be VERY chaotic, but i know there are definitely compilations out there. i've read some great ones.

nini (@scuderiafemboy) has a LOT of lore content on tumblr and twitter & does a lot of translating of dutch interviews/manages to unearth old interviews all the time. the twitter thread of threads covers 2018 through june 2023! she also compiled some of the database on tumblr here.

@chibrary archives interviews, articles, etc., in glorious fashion. this is charles centric but naturally charles' history intersects with max's so there are some good pieces in there, like this 2015 article on the lestappen rivalry in karting. the #driver:max tag provides a lot of golden content (such as extended lore on the inchident!).

moments™

marginally related, but dani (lecstappens on twitter) once posted the video of max and charles being scolded and warned to behave themselves during the race following the inchident. one of my favorite pieces of lestappen info frankly... demon children. (also on posted by @il-predestinato on tumblr here. who, btw, is a gold mine of lestappen content.)

well, as long as i'm adding some favorite gems while i try to find the specific post i'm looking for... the lestappen singapore flag moment is my roman empire. i am also haunted by the awkward weather convo video. which i know is out there, but i am going crazy trying to find it.

i decided to just commit to the moments list, so here is charles drinking red bull gate 2023 (courtesy of @countingstars-17)

charles asking the tifosi to stop booing max at monza this year (@il-predestinato seriously has so much content)

this excerpt of max's manager talking about charles (@blueballsracing)

if i don't stop myself i will be here all year

more mini compilations !!

@hyacinthsdiamonds once produced a nice list of the ridiculous lore around lestappen that sounds made up

some 2021 specific "best moments" compiled by @coconutshygame

there is one post i am thinking of that touched on their wild lore/destined f1 rivalry etc. but i can't find it now so stay tuned 🫡

also, for some theorizing on the most recent lestappen debacles and what it all means with ferrari/rbr and a potential charles to rbr (ot charles to more power at ferrari) move:

@tsarinablogs is a Scholar™ with lovely essays

@valyrfia has an addition to the marketing mayhem

i recently compiled my unhinged #rbr-ferrari sticker war content to advocate for rbr charles here, which was added to by this anon with banger points

personally i use #rbr charles for the theorizing and delulu hours, but i think #lestappen rbr and #lestappen gate 2023 are also prime hunting ground for rbr specific lore

anyone who has info to share pls do ❤️ i know i'm missing loads of scholarship that is lost in the pits of my unorganized blog

#what i have learned lately is i should be tagging my specifically again afnkafas #me never finding anything else #getting distracted by lestappen but not the lestappen i need #typical #*oracles #rbr charles #lestappen #oh now is a good time #lestappen lore #ah ha #new tag!#f1 #charles leclerc #max verstappen #tag purists dont @ me this isnt really shippy

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justgaara · 1 month ago

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Gaara Week Master-list

Guess what? There's eleven years worth of different themes for Gaara Week, so if you don't like this year's themes, you can choose another's! You can always do these in your own time, and feel free to mix and match themes from different years.

Here's a list linking you to each year's Gaara Week themes:

Gaara Week 2015

Gaara Week 2016

Gaara Week 2017

Gaara Week 2018

Gaara Week 2019

Gaara Week 2020

Gaara Week 2021

Gaara Week 2022

Gaara Week 2023

Gaara Week 2024

Gaara Week 2025

#gaaraweek #justgaara #Gaara #Sabaku No Gaara #Naruto #Boruto #weekly challenge #masterlist

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dailyhistoryposts · 1 year ago

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A Rundown of Henry Kissinger's Life

“Once you’ve been to Cambodia, you’ll never stop wanting to beat Henry Kissinger to death with your bare hands. You will never again be able to open a newspaper and read about that treacherous, prevaricating, murderous scumbag sitting down for a nice chat with Charlie Rose or attending some black-tie affair for a new glossy magazine without choking. Witness what Henry did in Cambodia – the fruits of his genius for statesmanship – and you will never understand why he’s not sitting in the dock at The Hague next to Milošević. While Henry continues to nibble nori rolls and remaki at A-list parties, Cambodia, the neutral nation he secretly and illegally bombed, invaded, undermined, and then threw to the dogs, is still trying to raise itself up on its one remaining leg.”

--Anthony Bourdain (2018)

It's difficult to be precise, but all told Henry Kissinger killed hundreds of thousands of civilians in pursuit of American business interests.

EARLY LIFE

Henry Kissinger was born in 1923 as Heinz Kissinger in Fürth, Bavaria, Germany, to a German-Jewish family. Throughout his youth, he was relentlessly and violently harassed and discriminated against by members of the Hitler Youth and authorities. At the age of 15, Kissinger and his family fled Nazi Germany, settling in New York City. He finished high school at George Washington High School in NYC and began studying accounting at the City College of New York, but his undergraduate studies were interrupted in 1943 when he was drafted into the US army.

In the army, fluent German speakers were in short supply, so Kissinger was quickly assigned to military intelligence. During the American invasion of Germany, he worked to set up civilian administration of conquered cities and tracked down Gestapo officers as a Special Agent of the Counter Intelligence Corps. He received the Bronze Star Medal

After his time in the army, Kissinger returned to his studies. He graduated summa cum laude in political science from Harvard College, as well as his Masters and PhD. He taught at Harvard, and his studies focused on international 'legitimacy', when an international order is widely accepted by international leaders, without regard to public opinion or morality.

POLITICS

Beginning in the 1950s, Kissinger began to be more active on the political stage. He was a consultant for the National Security Council and a study director for the Council of Foreign Relations. He notably was against Eisenhower's massive retaliation nuclear doctrine, where the United States would respond to a nuclear attack with a much, much greater nuclear attack. Instead, Kissinger advocated the use of tactical nuclear weapons on a regular basis in more wars.

In the 1960s, Kissinger began working with Republicans running for office as an advisor in foreign affairs. He contributed to the Nixon campaign, and when Nixon took office in 1969, Kissinger was appointed as National Security Advisor, and later Secretary of State. As a diplomat, Kissinger heavily used Realpolitik, the in-fashion Cold War approach focusing on pragmatism and realistic outcomes rather than ideological or moral purity. In international politics, it largely has to do with obtaining and maintaining power on the world stage.

Kissinger focused on relaxing US tensions with the USSR and China, leading an American foreign policy that supported Taiwan on the face but in the shadows removed all support for Taiwan and essentially waited for it to fall apart.

In 1974, he directed the National Security Study Memorandum 200: Implications of Worldwide Population Growth for U.S. Security and Overseas Interests (NSSM200), sometimes called the "Kissinger Report" the official United States policy for many years, though it remained classified until the 1990s. The Kissinger Report advocated for population control in undeveloped nations to ensure easy resource extraction and protect American business interests abroad. Projects were designed to reduce fertility while keeping up the appearance of improving quality of life--the plan specifically attempted to avoid an appearance of "economic or racial imperialism". Birth rate was particularly noted due to concerns about an adequate global food supply and because young people more readily fight back against corruption and imperialism. The Report also brought up increasing abortion rates as a method of obtaining this goal.

In 1975, policies based on the Report went into affect. The National Security Council would recommend withholding food and using military force to prevent population growth, prioritizing aid for small families, and even paying people to get sterilized. Thirteen countries were named as particularly problematic to US interests. Of note, Nigeria lost development and the United States took control of Nigerian resources, and the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) was responsible for some of the 300,000 forced sterilizations in Peru--largely impoverished or indigenous women--during the Fujimori administration. The Fujimori government has been accused of crimes against humanity by the International Criminal Court for these abuses, and today the Peruvian economy suffers due to the low population resulting from these sterilizations.

ACTIONS IN SOUTHEAST ASIA

The Vietnam War had started back in 1955. Kissinger had originally supported it, but as time dragged on began to view it as harming American prestige. Kissinger leaked information about peace talks to get into power at Nixon's side, and then failed to end the war in 1972, leading to the Christmas bombings. A very similar agreement was signed the next month, leading to a ceasefire (that would collapse) and the withdrawal of American troops--bitterly seen as a betrayal by South Vietnam. When Kissinger and Vietnamese diplomat Lê Đức Thọ were jointly awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for this, Thọ declined to accept it and two members of the Nobel Committee left it in protest.

It was in the middle of the Vietnam War, and during the Cambodian Civil War, that Operation Menu and Operational Freedom Deal went into play. From March 1969 to May 1970, the United States Strategic Air Command carried out a series of first tactical and then carpet bombings in eastern Cambodia. Then, from May 1970 to August 1973, the United States provided close air support and widespread bombing. Part of a 'secret' war to support the Kingdom of Cambodia/Khmer Republic against communist rebels, it ultimately failed and the communists would take power in 1975.

In the Bangladesh Liberation War in 1971, Nixon and Kissinger supported the Pakistani president Yahya Khan. It was in this that the strongest dissent in the history of the U.S. Foreign Service, the Blood Telegram (named after sender Archer Blood), was sent. It reports the US was about to lose, describes systemic abuses, and uses the word 'genocide' to describe the actions by US-supported Pakistan. It said the US government was morally bankrupt. Blood was recalled early from Bangladesh, and US interests were lost when Bangladeshi Independence was secured within the year.

MIDDLE EASTERN POLICY

Kissinger was originally excluded from any policy-making on Israel, as part of Nixon's orders to exclude all Jewish-Americans from such work. Still, in 1973, when Kissinger became Secretary of State, he was included in all US Middle Eastern policy. This means he was largely responsible for the handling of the Yom Kippur War--this handling included not noticing precipitating factors leading up to it (he was so engrossed in Paris peace talks he didn't notice the Egyptian President Sadat ready to move on Sinai), delaying telling Nixon about and stalled negotiating a ceasefire, hoping Israel would push across and fully obtain the Suez Canal.

Kissinger's diplomacy included giving equipment to Israel, but not as much as he'd promised, and selling weapons to Saudi Arabia at the same time, in exchange for access to Saudi Arabian oil. By largely handling to event and not involving France or the United Kingdom, and by minimizing the power of the Soviet Union, Kissinger took large steps in giving US power over much of the Middle East.

It should be noted that this was done purely to protect US interests rather than any form of Jewish security. When questioned about the persecution of Soviet Jews at the same time, Kissinger said

"The emigration of Jews from the Soviet Union is not an objective of American foreign policy, and if they put Jews into gas chambers in the Soviet Union, it is not an American concern. Maybe a humanitarian concern."

-Henry Kissinger (1973)

Also in the region., Kissinger supported Iran against Iraq.

TURKISH INVASION OF CYPRUS

In 1974, the Greek military regime and Turkiye invaded the island of Cyprus. The military regime had been supported by Kissinger, and anti-Kissinger sentiment was strong among young people. Cyprus is now an independent island country, though its northeast portion is de facto separate, making up the self-declared Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus. Kissinger considers his own handling of the Cyprus Issue unfavorably.

LATIN AMERICA

With Kissinger's influence, the United States maintained relations with non-left-wing governments regardless of commitment to democracy. It was with Kissinger's input that the CIA encouraged a military coup against Chilean president-elect Salvador Allende due to his socialist ideals.

Operation Condor, a US-backed program of political repression by right-wing dictatorships of southern South America, was also Kissinger's work. It included assassinations, the Dirty War in Argentina, and supporting Brazil's nuclear weapons program because it would benefit the U.S. private nuclear industry.

SOME OTHER STUFF

Kissinger's policy on post-WWII decolonization was mixed, based on what would benefit the U.S. He helped transition Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) away from White minority rule, expressed moderate support for the Portuguese Colonial Empire, and helped Indonesia occupy East Timor.

After Watergate forced Nixon to resign, Kissinger stayed on under President Ford but left office when Democrat Jimmy Carter came into power. He was offered an endowed chair at Columbia University, which was canceled due to student opposition, but was appointed to Georgetown University instead. He ran a consulting firm, supported the Chinese government in the Tiananmen Square massacre, and served on the 2000 Commission of the International Olympic Committee. He was supposed to help President Bush respond to the 9/11 attacks but stepped down because he refused to reveal if he had a business conflict of interest.

In 2010, he took a strong stance urging world governments to destroy all nuclear weapons. In the 2014 Ukrainian crisis, he said that Crimea should remain under Ukrainian sovereignty, but in the 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine said that Crimea and Donbas should be given to Russia.

Kissinger was a board member of Theranos, Elizabeth Holmes' biotech scam.

In response to the 2023 Hamas attack on Israel, and seeing pro-Palestinian protestors in Germany, Kissinger called Muslim immigration into Germany "a grave mistake".

DEATH

Kissinger died peacefully in his home in Connecticut on November 29th, 2023,

#history #destiel #henry kissinger #imperialism #anti imperialism #if any of you use this as an excuse to be antisemitic or prolife im coming for all your bones

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descendantsramblings · 5 months ago

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Descendants Rambling Masterlist

♡Welcome to my page/Master list♡

My Requests are always open

I'm willing to write readers with she/her, he/him, or they/them pronouns

I'm willing to write 1-2 love interests

I only write for villains/vks unless it's a VK x reader x Ak situation (ex: mal x reader x ben, Jane x reader x Carlos)

I'll make suggestive comments/make out sessions but I don't write smut, these characters are all underage regardless of their actor's age

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

Key:

♡ personal favorite

✎ least favorite (i might eventually rewrite)

⋆ head canons

♤ AU

𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓕𝓸𝓾𝓻

Mal Bertha

Game Planner (He/him) After finding out how much she misses Halloween on the Isle, Mal's boyfriend does everything he can to bring her a slice of home. - Written 10/2021

Evie

Candy Apple (She/her) Evie's family history leads to her trying to back out of a chemistry project. - Written 09/2021

Carlos de Vil

Saved ♤✎ (She/her) Going back to the Isle leads to the Hook!Reader being kidnapped by her own brother, leavig Carlos to save her. - Written 10/2017

Carlos Having a Crush on You ⋆(she/her) Ben's Twin!Reader x Carlos -Written 12/2017

I've Got You✎ (She/her) Carlos has a nightmare about his mother. (Trigger Warning!!)- Written 07/2018

PB&J (They/Them) Finding out their boyfriend hates their favorite holiday leads the reader to graveling to give him a good Halloween. - Written 09/2021

I Loved You First ♡ (They/Them) Inspired by "Loved You First" By One Direction. Carlos didn't expect them to wait for him to come back to the Isle, but that doesn't make it easier to see them with someone else. (minor Gil x reader) - Written 10/2021

Jay

Dating Jay ⋆ (no pronouns used but the reader wears leggings) Jay x Cheerleader!Reader - Written 10/2018

Spidermonkey (she/her) Gothel!Reader has Jay surprise her when he sneaks through her window. Loosely inspired by twilight- Written 04/2020

Stuffed Spook (They/Them) Jay's partner gets excited by a stuffed bat and he's determined to win it. -Written 09/2021

𝓢𝓮𝓪 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮

Uma

Letters to the Sea♤♡ (They/Them) Soulmate AU: everything you write on your skin appears on your soulmate's skin too. Uma and the Reader write letters until they can meet. - Written 07/2021

Baking (They/them) Uma watches her partner try to prepare for the Halloween escape room. Evie's Sibling!Reader - Written 10/2021

Gil

Hook's Daughter ⋆ (She/her) Harry's younger sister is Gil's closest friend (minor Gil x Jay) - Written 07/2021

Orchard (They/Them) Gil's partner takes him apple picking during his first September in Auradon - Written 09/2021

Harry Hook

Jafar's Child ⋆ (They/them) A flirty joke leads to Harry dating Jay's sibling - Written 07/2021

Fever ♡ (She/her) Harry and Captain take care of his sick girlfriend (requested) - Written 06/2021

Haunted Castle (He/him) Harry drags his scaredy-cat boyfriend to a haunted castle - Written 09/2021

Making a Splash (she/her) One wrong move leads to two people panicking and one person hurt on the docks. Jay's Sister!Reader. (Requested) - Written 12/2021

Flirting Pirate (She/her) She only hangs around the fish and chips shop to watch after he brother, it would be easier if she didn't have to deal with the flirty first mate. Gil's Sister!Reader (Requested) - Written 02/2022

Sealed With a Kiss ♡ (She/her) Ben's twin gets kidnapped with him by a pirate who's had a crush on her his whole life. Ben's Twin!Reader (Requested) - Written 04/2022

𝓓:𝓡𝓸𝓡 𝓥𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼

Morgie le Fay

Sunday Night ♡ (She/her) After his friends let him down, Morgie runs to his girlfriend for comfort. - Written 08/2024

In Another Life (he/him) When Rapunzel's son gets thrown back in time he finds himself to be the object of two villains' affection. Minor James Hook x Reader (Requested)- Written 08/2024

I Would Be Yours (he/him) He never thought the lips he spent years thinking about would appear to him again 3 years later. Sequels to “In Another Life” (Requested)-Written 09/2024

True to Heart (he/him) Without the pressure of parents and villains, how hard is it to be true to heart? Especially when you’re holding a book that tells you your truth. (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Tree Bark (they/them) Everyone deserves their time alone, sometimes though that well deserved time alone has to be interrupted by the sound of animal noises coming from a tree. (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Crushing (they/them) Morgie had never been good at hiding when he had a crush on someone, and they don’t mind playing the long game with his affections (requested) - Written 08/2024

Win You Over (they/them) Magical history had always been their favorite class, but this assigned partner situation had the ability to dampen that. (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Mindless Touch (she/her) Morgie hasn’t meant to upset her, he only wanted to have his hands on what was his. (TRIGGER WARNING: body image issues) (requested)-Written 08/2024

The Dominant Type ⋆(no pronouns used/GN reader) Hook x reader x Morgie head canons with a dominant leaning reader (requested) - Written 08/2024

Warm Greens (she/her) Red discovers she has a secret aunt when she sees her face next to the people who ruined her mother’s life. (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Cool Reds (she/her) She would do anything to keep him, wouldn’t she? Prequel to “Warm Greens” (Requested) -Written 10/2024

One Sided (he/him) If he has to listen to Morgie talk about Uliana one more time, he’s going to be sick (requested) -Written 09/2024

Love Letters (he/him) Morgie was growing far too attached to those little silver envelopes (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Babydoll ⋆(no pronouns used/GN reader) Hook x reader x Morgie head canons with a submissive leaning reader (Requested) -Written 09/2024

Scales (They/them) Morgie could think of 100 things he would rather do than parent a dragon with the sweetheart of Merlin Academy (requested)-Written 09/2024

Doesn't Matter (he/him) Morgana le Fay is coming to Merlin Academy's family day, and she has no idea that her son's boyfriend is a prince (Requested) - Written 09/2024

Second Place (he/him) Just once he wants to feel like his boyfriend’s first choice (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Emerald Comfort (he/him) Morgie might just be dating the sleepiest boy to ever live -Written 09/2024

Snake Eyes (she/her) Lions, tiger, and bears; just anything but snakes (Requested) - Written 10/2024

Flash Photography (She/her) Who would have thought that they would make such a good pair? (Requested) -Written 10/2024

James Hook

Call of the Sirens (She/her) As Hook sells his ship to Uma, he and his wife recall a time that she had to save him back in their prime. (Requested)- Written 08/2024

Side Effects (she/her) If Hook knew the side effects that came with those Malibu sprites, would he take them? (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Red Dress (she/her) He hadn’t meant to upset her when he picked the dress out, now Hook was set on making her see how good she looked in it. (TRIGGER WARNING: Body Image issues) (Requested) - Written 08/2024

The Dominant Type ⋆(no pronouns used/GN reader) Hook x reader x Morgie head canons with a dominant leaning reader (requested) - Written 08/2024

Eyes on Me (They/Them) The fairy wasn’t thinking about the pirates past when they excitedly called for him. They definitely didn’t mean to upset him. (TRIGGER WARNING; animal attacks and panic attacks) (Requested)- Written 08/2024

Wake Up Slow ♡ (she/her) Everyone needs a place to fully relax, and he found his in a heavy duvet and needy hands (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Babydoll ⋆(no pronouns used/GN reader) Hook x reader x Morgie head canons with a submissive leaning reader (Requested) -Written 09/2024

Bloody Charming (they/them) Hook’s flirting leads to an argument being blown way out of proportion (TRIGGER WARNING: just, yeah. I got a little too silly) (Requested)- Written 09/2024

Studious ♡ (they/them) Hook might not mind tutoring, as long as it’s for them. (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Hades

Body Better (he/him) Sometimes the weight of life can lead to your insecurities coming out in peculiar ways. (TRIGGER WARNING: Body image issues) (Requested)- Written 08/2024

Let me See (she/her) Her need to be independent keeps getting her hurt, and she really did it this time. (Requested) - Written 08/2024

Play With Fire (they/them) their mother warned them not to play with fire, now look at them getting burned (requested) -Written 09/2024

Hitting Every Mark (she/her) Turns out she had nothing to worry about, her fans love him (requested)- Written 10/2024

Uliana

Family Lines (she/her) After seeing Bridget's sister at Family Day, Uliana will do anything to earn the girl's affection. Even being nice to her ray of sunshine sister. (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Rivalry (She/her) It was only a matter of time until the two groupd of VKs either came together or tore themselves to shreds. (Requested) -Written 08/2024

Double the Trouble (she/her) Uliana might be able to date Hook’s sister, but that doesn’t mean she’s able to make Hook like the whole ordeal. (Requested) -Written 08/2024

Breathe (they/them) Sometimes the biggest villain is not knowing how people see you. (TRIGGER WARNING: Anxiety attack) (Requested)-Written 09/2024

Strongest Tides (she/her) When the leader of their crew is emotionally taken out of commission, it’s up to her girlfriend to pick up the pieces (requested)-09/2024

Maleficent

Stylized (she/her) Artistry is the highest form of flattery and Maleficent has found herself as a princess’ muse. (Requested)-Written 08/2024

Play (she/her) watching your girlfriend study can get just so boring (requested) - Written 09/2024

𝓝𝓸 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Descendants, Not Made for Kids ⋆ Changes I'd make if I made the Descendants movies as a series for teens or adults. - Written 06/2021

Style Headcanons ⋆ How I'd restyle the main characters from the OG Descendants movies - Writen 06/2021

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dreamauri · 20 days ago

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♪ — 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 - chapter four max verstappen x fem! driver! reader ( angst ) series summary . . . a mortal who dared to defy the impossible. Of grit forged in fire, and dreams that refused to yield. In a world where heroes are born, and few rise to become legends. You are a force to be reckoned with. Unshakable. Unstoppable. Indomitable. (11.4k words)

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous | next )

III - THE DEVIL WEARS LOUBOUTIN . . . ( your eighth year in Formula one, 2019 ) content warning . . . ( contains non-descriptive smut, Yn is 27 years old in this chapter, really fucking longer ass chapter, mention/allusions to sexual assult/r*ape, 2 seconds of angst brocedes)

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The days after Fernando Alonso left McLaren felt like stepping into a void. The garage, once alive with his sharp wit and unshakable confidence, now seemed eerily quiet. Every corner of the space felt haunted by his absence—the chair he used to sit in during debriefs, the mug he left behind on the engineering desk. You’d known it was coming for months, ever since he began hinting at conquering Le Mans and the WEC. Still, hearing him say it aloud in his dry, matter-of-fact tone had been like a punch to the chest.

For the rest of the 2018 season, you soldiered on, but the fire that once drove you began to flicker. Fernando was the anchor that had kept McLaren steady, the mentor who had guided you through the turbulence of F1. Without him, you felt unmoored. Every debrief, every race weekend, every night spent with your engineers tinkering with setups felt like a shadow of what it used to be.

Zak Brown had noticed.

“You’re still one of the best, Yn,” he told you during an end-of-season dinner, leaning forward in his chair as if his intensity could will you to stay. “We’re rebuilding, yes. But you’re the cornerstone of that rebuild. The team needs you.”

You swirled your glass of wine, staring at the liquid instead of his face. “The team needs Fernando,” you said softly. “But he’s gone.”

Zak didn’t have an answer for that, and deep down, neither did you.

“You're the one winning the championships. Not him.” He reminded you before giving up.

It became clearer as the season wrapped up that staying wasn’t an option. Fernando’s departure left a hole too vast to fill, and every race weekend reminded you of that. The cheerful new recruit, Lando Norris, was a spark of hope for McLaren, his youthful enthusiasm infectious. But it also made you feel like an outsider, like a relic of an era that had already passed.

“Yn, you’re leaving, aren’t you?” Lando asked one evening during post-season testing. His voice was softer than usual, his typical banter replaced with genuine concern.

You sighed, giving him a small smile. “I think so. It’s not you, Lando. It’s just . . . not home anymore.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I’ll miss you, you know. I was looking forward to having you around.”

“I’ll miss you too, rookie,” you said, ruffling his hair playfully. “But you’ll do great here. I know it.”

When the time came to recommend someone for your seat, you didn’t hesitate. Carlos Sainz had been a rising star, consistent, quick, and brimming with charisma. Over dinner with Zak, you brought it up.

“I think Carlos is the right fit,” you said, setting your fork down as you leaned forward. “He’s got the experience to help guide the team, but he’s young enough to connect with Lando.”

Zak nodded slowly. “He’s on our list, but . . . are you sure you want to leave? There’s no guarantee you’ll get the same support somewhere else.”

“I’m sure,” you said firmly. “Carlos will thrive here, and so will Lando. I’ll be cheering from somewhere else.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The moment your departure from McLaren was announced, the calls started rolling in. Ferrari, as always, was the loudest voice in the room. You met with their representative in a sleek, understated restaurant in Maranello, the ambiance a reflection of their reputation—elegant, timeless, but cold.

“We’ve wanted you for years,” the representative said, his hands clasped on the table between you. “This is your moment to become a legend. The Scuderia needs a driver like you, someone who understands the sport at its core. Youll wear red—be the first female in red.”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around your glass. “It’s a tempting offer, but I need time to think.”

His expression wavered for a fraction of a second, a crack in the polished veneer. “Think carefully, Yn. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

But something in your gut felt uneasy. Ferrari had an aura of greatness, yes, but also a suffocating intensity. They weren’t just offering you a car; they were offering a cage gilded in red and gold.

Instead, you found yourself drawn to Sauber. The quieter and caler sister team, more unassuming, but it felt right. Fred Vasseur welcomed you with open arms, his down-to-earth demeanour a stark contrast to Ferrari’s high-stakes negotiations.

“You’ll have space here to grow,” he said during your first meeting at the factory. “And we’ll have the Ferrari engines next season. It’s the best of both worlds.”

That had sealed the deal. Joining Sauber allowed you to keep Ferrari at arm’s length while finding your footing in a team that wouldn’t smother you with expectations, but still having the ability to detach from sauver when you deemed you were ready to dive into the pool of red.

Carlos, now officially confirmed at McLaren, called you the day after the announcement.

“You recommended me, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice warm with gratitude.

You chuckled. “I might have mentioned your name once or twice.”

“Well, thank you,” he said sincerely. “But I’m still going to miss you in orange.”

“You can't stay that.” You warn him laughing. “It's papaya now,” you remind him, smiling to yourself.

“I’ll miss it too,” you admitted after a minute. “But you’re in good hands. Lando’s a handful, though, so watch out.”

“I think I can manage,” he said with a laugh. “Good luck with Sauber, Yn. And thank you—for everything.”

As you hung up the phone, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. The next chapter was uncertain, but for the first time in months, you felt ready to face it.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The moment you crossed the finish line in P2 in Australia, everything slowed down. You stared at the steering wheel, half-expecting someone to say, “Just kidding.” But instead, your engineer’s voice crackled over the radio, a mixture of disbelief and triumph.

“P2, Yn. That’s P2. Incredible job. Take a bow!”

Your breath caught, then escaped in a shaky laugh. “No way. Are you sure? P2?”

Your voice quivered, a mix of disbelief and pure, unfiltered joy.

“Affirmative,” your engineer confirmed. “You earned it.”

The cooldown lap felt surreal, the cheers from the crowd overwhelming even through your helmet. As you pulled into parc fermé, the reality of your achievement hit you full force.

Standing on the second step of the podium, champagne dripping down your face, you beamed at the roaring crowd. Your teammate, Kimi Raikkonen, had finished just—a bit—behind you in P8. He strolled into the garage after the race like it was just another Sunday drive.

“Not bad,” he said, barely looking up as you ran toward him, trophy in hand.

“Not bad?” you gasped, holding the trophy under his nose like proof. “Kimi, I’m carrying this team already. What’s your excuse?”

His lips twitched ever so slightly into what could only be described as a Kimi smile. “I’m happy for you,” he said in his signature deadpan tone. “Just don’t get used to it.”

“Too late!” you teased, spinning on your heel to join the team photo.

The team crowded outside the garage, laughter and cheers filling the pit lane as they gathered for the photo. You sat front and center on the edge of the stage, your grin impossibly wide. The trophy sat on your lap, polished to a mirror shine. The mechanics hoisted your nameboard high, the words "P2" emblazoned in bold letters. As the cameras flashed, you pumped your fists in the air, yelling, “This is just the beginning!”

“Alright, superstar,” one of the mechanics called, chuckling. “Don’t let it get to your head!”

“It’s already there!” you shot back with a playful wink.

Two weeks later, in Bahrain, you shocked the world again, but this time there was no disbelief—just sheer, uncontainable joy. The moment you crossed the finish line, P1 flashing on the leaderboard, the tears came. Your engineer’s voice was nearly drowned out by your own sobs. You could never get over this feeling, no matter how many wins you've got.

“Yn, you’re! P1, we won! P1! Bring it home!”

You screamed so loud it echoed in the cockpit. “Yes! Yes! Oh my god, yes! Thank you, guys.” Even though the car had nothing to do with the win.

Your voice cracked as you made your way to parc fermé, where your team was already waiting with the Cuban flag, and an overwhelming amount of love. Climbing onto the top step of the podium was like a dream. You raised the trophy above your head, cheering with so much force your throat hurt. The champagne sprayed everywhere, soaking your suit as you celebrated like there was no tomorrow.

Kimi met you in the garage afterwards, his face the same stoic mask it always was, but his eyes held a spark of pride.

“Not bad,” he repeated, crossing his arms.

You grinned, holding the trophy aloft. “I’m sorry, do you mean spectacular? Phenomenal? Record-breaking?”

Kimi smirked—actually smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” you quipped, grabbing him by the arm. “Now, come on. You’re sitting in the front row of this team photo.”

When you won again in China, the paddock buzzed with your name. The cameras couldn’t get enough of you as you stood on the top step, draped in the Cuban flag, the sound of your anthem filling the air. You couldn’t stop smiling as the champagne-soaked through your suit. The cheers were deafening, but it was the sight of your team below, jumping and hugging each other, that made your heart swell.

Back in the garage, Kimi was waiting with the usual deadpan delivery. “I thought you were supposed to be figuring things out,” he said, raising a brow. “Not winning everything.”

You set your trophy on the table and leaned against it, crossing your arms. “I guess I’m just that good.”

Kimi shook his head, the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. “I’d ask you to slow down, but I think you’re just making my life easier. Keep it up.”

You laughed, grabbing your trophy again as you headed out for another team photo. You stood at the centre, your arm around Kimi, who muttered something about hating the cameras but stayed by your side anyway.

As the cameras flashed, someone from the back yelled, “Three races in, and she’s already a championship contender!”

You turned to Kimi, winking. “Looks like I’m getting used to this after all.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You had been lounging on the sofa, half-watching old race replays, when your phone buzzed on the coffee table. Seeing Toto Wolff’s name flash across the screen was a surprise. You hesitated before answering, your pulse quickening.

“Yn,” his deep, measured voice greeted you. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all,” you replied, though your heartbeat told a different story.

Toto Wolff didn’t call drivers for casual chats.

“There’s an opportunity we need to discuss,” he continued. “We want you at Mercedes. Effective immediately.”

You sat upright, the phone nearly slipping from your grip. “Wait—what? Toto, that’s . . . I’m flattered, but why now? What’s going on?”

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to make your stomach churn. “Valtteri’s situation is complicated,” he finally said, his words careful. “We believe you can contribute to the championship fight. You’ve shown incredible promise this season, and we think you’d be a perfect fit.”

The email notification pinged, and your gaze darted to the laptop. There it was: a contract with the iconic three-pointed star in the header. Mercedes. The team every driver dreamed of joining.

Your breath hitched. “This is . . . I mean, this is huge. But why me? Mid-season replacements aren’t exactly normal.”

“Because you’re the best option, Yn,” Toto said firmly. “And I wouldn’t offer this if I didn’t believe you could handle it.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Mercedes was the best team on the grid, and this was the kind of opportunity you couldn’t turn down. But his tone made it clear: you weren’t being courted as a rising star. You were a solution. A temporary fix.

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured, though you already knew your answer.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The paddock felt different when you arrived in Azerbaijan wearing styled Mercedes gear. The silver and black suited you, but it felt alien. Cold. The team welcomed you with polite smiles and distant handshakes, their warmth reserved for Lewis. The weight of their expectations settled heavily on your shoulders, a constant reminder that you were here to fill a gap, not to be part of the family.

Walking into the garage, you spotted Lewis chatting with Bono, his race engineer. He turned as you approached, his trademark grin flashing, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Welcome to the team,” he said, extending a hand. “Big shoes to fill, huh?”

You forced a smile, shaking his hand. “Thanks, Lewis. Good to see you again.” Was it though?

He nodded, his gaze assessing. It wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t warm either. You couldn’t blame him; you were an outsider stepping into a space that had been meticulously tailored to him and Valtteri.

Over the next few days, you threw yourself into the work, poring over data and pushing yourself during practice sessions. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. Judged. The engineers rarely approached you unless it was strictly necessary, their conversations always drifting back to Valtteri.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The car was a revelation, every corner an exercise in precision, every straight an adrenaline rush. By the time the final laps rolled around, you were leading the race. Your heart thundered in your chest as the checkered flag inched closer.

“Yn, this is it,” your race engineer said over the radio, his voice brimming with restrained excitement. “Stay focused.”

But then came the call that shattered everything.

“Yn, hold position. Let Lewis through.”

“What?” Your voice cracked, the word instinctive. You’d heard about team orders for second-seat drivers, but experiencing it firsthand was a different kind of pain.

“Team orders,” the reply came, calm and unwavering. “Let him take the win.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. This was it. This was what being the second driver meant. It didn’t matter how well you drove or how hard you pushed; you were here to serve.

“Understood,” you said, the words burning like acid as you slowed just enough for Lewis to breeze past.

Crossing the line in P2 should’ve felt incredible like it did in Australia, but all you felt was hollow. You climbed out of the car, your movements were mechanical as you walked to your team, finished up your post-race interview and walked straight to the cooldown room before the podium. The crowd roared, oblivious to the storm raging inside you.

Lewis clinked his champagne glass against yours, a rehearsed smile plastered on his face. “Great job out there,” he said, his tone light. “Team effort.”

You forced a laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Team effort.”

The words tasted bitter.

Back in the motorhome, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind a crushing emptiness. You sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the wall as the muffled sounds of celebration echoed outside. Your phone buzzed with messages of congratulations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

A knock on the door startled you. It was Toto. He stepped inside, his expression unreadable.

“You did well today,” he said, his voice low.

“Did I?” you replied, your tone sharper than intended. “Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

His brow furrowed. “This is part of the job, Yn. You knew that when you signed the contract.”

You looked away, your throat tightening. “I didn’t think it would feel like this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toto sighed, placing a hand on your shoulder. “It gets easier,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction. “You’ll find your place.”

Find your place?

As the door closed behind him, you weren’t so sure. The echoes of the podium celebration felt like a cruel reminder of what you’d given up. You were wearing the colours of a champion, but inside, you’d never felt further from the glory you once dreamed of. And it was just a P2 finish.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The paddock felt different as you arrived at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve for the Canadian Grand Prix. Maybe it was the heavy sky, the threat of rain mingling with the tang of tire rubber in the air, or maybe it was just you. Monaco had drained you. Back-to-back podiums were usually cause for celebration, but P2 and P3 had left you hollow. You’d walked away from those races feeling like a shadow of yourself, your competitive spirit dulled by circumstances you couldn’t control.

For once, you hadn’t dressed up. No statement heels or fitted blazers, no bold sunglasses perched on your nose. Instead, you wore your team kit, a pair of faded yoga pants, and Converse sneakers that had seen better days. You didn’t have the energy for anything else. The thought of slipping on heels and striding through the paddock with your usual confidence felt like pretending too much.

You plastered on a smile as you made your way to the autograph session, signing hats and posters for the younger fans who clustered around you. Their bright eyes and excitement tugged at something in you, something you hadn’t felt in weeks.

By the time you climbed into your car, the nerves had settled into a quiet hum beneath your skin. The race started cleanly enough, but it didn’t take long for chaos to find its way in. Lewis locked up into Turn 10, his tires smoking as he ran wide.

“Lewis is compromised,” came the call over the radio. “Yn, we need you to hold position and assist.”

“Copy,” you said through gritted teeth, shifting your focus to damage control. The rest of the race was a blur of defensive manoeuvres and calculated risks. You did everything you could to protect his position, but it came at a cost. When the checkered flag fell, he was in P3. You were in P5.

You parked your car in the back of parc fermé, far from the podium celebrations. The silence around you was deafening as you pulled off your gloves and helmet, your hands trembling slightly. When you tried to climb out of the car, your legs gave out, and you collapsed back into the seat, gasping for air. Your chest felt tight, each breath shallow and sharp like glass shards in your lungs. Panic attack, was if?

“Yn?” a voice called out, distant and distorted. A pair of hands reached for you, but you flinched away, shaking your head.

“I—I’m fine,” you managed to choke out, though it was a blatant lie. Your vision blurred as tears welled up, and the world tilted dangerously. You felt a pair of strong arms lift you from the car, the fabric of a race suit brushing against your cheek.

You barely registered the commotion as they carried you to the little ambulance that’s always on standby. Everything felt surreal, like you were watching yourself from a distance. The doctor’s voice was calm, but the words didn’t sink in. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the voice in your head telling you this was it—this was the beginning of the end.

Later, after they’d cleared you to leave, you found a quiet corner behind the motorhome. Your legs wobbled as you lowered yourself to the ground, your back pressing against the cold metal. You hugged your knees to your chest, burying your face in your arms. The tears came hard and fast, your body shaking with the force of them.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered to the empty air, your voice cracking. “I’m not good enough.” You whisper multiple times even if none of it was your fault. But somehow it still was your fault.

The words hung there, echoing in the small space. You didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until a shadow fell over you.

“Yn?” It was Seb’s voice, soft and hesitant. He crouched down beside you, his brow furrowed with concern. “What’s going on?”

You wiped at your face hastily, trying to compose yourself. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you. Of course, he didn’t. “Bullshit,” he said gently. “Talk to me.”

Your shoulders sagged under the weight of his gaze, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “I’m so tired, Seb. I’m tired of giving everything I have and feeling like it’s not enough. Like I’m not enough.”

He sat down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Yn, you’re one of the best drivers on this grid. Don’t let one bad weekend make you forget that.”

“It’s not just one weekend,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s everything. The team, the politics, the constant pressure. I feel like I’m losing myself.”

Seb was quiet for a moment, then placed a hand on your shoulder. “Then find yourself again. Do what makes you happy, not what everyone else expects of you.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You dragged yourself into the paddock, your exhaustion visible in the slouch of your shoulders. Gone were the days when you strutted in with perfectly styled hair, bold sunglasses, and a confident smirk that dared anyone to question you. Today, you barely managed yoga pants, an oversized team shirt, and a pair of worn running shoes. The sheen of confidence you used to wear as armor felt too heavy to carry, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. Still, you forced a smile on your face.

“Yn! Yn!”

The excited voice of a child pulled your attention. Turning, you saw a young boy—no older than seven—bounding toward you, clutching a miniature diecast of your car in one hand and adjusting a bucket hat identical to the one you often wore. His cheeks were flushed with excitement as he stopped in front of you, practically vibrating with energy.

“You’re my favorite driver! I want to be just like you when I grow up!” His words came out in a single breathless rush, his wide eyes gleaming with adoration.

Your heart clenched, the heaviness you’d felt earlier lifting ever so slightly. Crouching down to his level, you took the diecast from his hand and signed it with a practiced flourish.

“Just like me?” you teased, ruffling his hair. “You’re going to be even better than me. And when you are, I’ll be the one asking for your autograph.”

His grin stretched impossibly wide, and you booped his nose, chuckling softly when he giggled. Waving him off to his parents, you stood and watched him bounce away, a bittersweet ache spreading through your chest.

I have to win this race, you thought, steeling yourself. You weren’t entirely sure who you were trying to prove yourself to—your fans, your team, or maybe even yourself. But one thing was clear: failure wasn’t an option.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The race was brutal. Every second behind the wheel demanded your full focus. You’d clawed your way to P1 with sheer grit, defending your position against Lewis with everything you had. The car was teetering on the edge, but so were you, digging deep into reserves of energy you didn’t think you had.

“Yn, defend harder!” your engineer barked over the radio.

“Don’t tell me what I already know,” you snapped back, your voice tight with exertion as you fought to keep Lewis behind you.

You thought you had it. The checkered flag was so close you could almost taste the victory champagne. But then, Toto’s calm yet firm voice came over the radio.

“Yn, swap positions with Lewis. Team orders.”

Your hands froze for a fraction of a second on the steering wheel, the world around you dulling as the words sunk in. Team orders. They were stripping P1 away from you.

“No,” you replied, a sharp edge in your voice.

“Yn,” Toto’s tone brooked no argument. “Swap positions. Now.”

Every fiber of your being rebelled, but the weight of the team—of your career—pressed down on you. Grinding your teeth, you eased off the throttle and let Lewis pass, watching P1 slip from your grasp.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That evening, you found yourself at the bar in your hotel, nursing a drink that did little to numb the sting of disappointment. The bartender was chatty, spinning stories that you barely registered. You offered the occasional nod or hum of acknowledgment, but your mind was elsewhere, replaying the race in a relentless loop.

“Mind if I join you?” a familiar voice asked, breaking through your haze.

You turned to see Lewis sliding onto the stool beside you.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Easy there. Just wanted to check on you.”

You snorted, turning back to your drink. “I’m fine.”

Lewis signaled to the bartender, ordering a drink for himself. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You don’t look fine, Yn. You’ve had too much to drink. Let me help you to your room.”

You hesitated, your head fuzzy from the alcohol but not enough to ignore the exhaustion weighing you down. With a reluctant nod, you allowed him to guide you toward the elevator after he downed his glass and tossed a 100 bill on the counter.

In the hallway leading to your hotel room, you fumbled with the keycard, your fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. Lewis took it from you with a soft chuckle, opening the door and stepping inside with you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, expecting him to leave.

But he didn’t. The door clicked shut behind him, and he lingered, his presence suddenly feeling oppressive.

“You know,” he began, his voice soft but laced with something darker, “I see the appeal.”

You frowned, turning to face him. “What are you talking about?”

His fingers brushed the straps of your dress, and you instinctively stepped back, your heart hammering in your chest.

“I’ve heard the stories,” he continued, his tone almost mocking. “Jenson, Fernando… you’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap, your breath catching in your throat. “What—what are you saying?”

He smirked, leaning in closer. “Do you sleep with all your teammates, Yn? Or is it just the ones you think can help you get a seat? Are you going to sleep with me too?”

“Stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

But he didn’t stop. The next moments blurred together, your protests weak against the haze of alcohol clouding your mind. You felt trapped, your body frozen as tears streamed down your face. A deep sense of shame and helplessness overwhelmed you, leaving you feeling icky and used.

When it was over, you curled up on the bed, tears soaking the pillow as Lewis left without a word. Alone in the dark, the weight of what had happened crushed you, the vulnerability you’d tried so hard to hide now exposed for the world—or at least one person—to see.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, stabbing at your eyes and forcing you awake. For a fleeting moment, you felt disoriented, your body heavy and your head throbbing. But as the memories of the night before came flooding back, it felt like a freight train had slammed into you at full speed.

You gasped, sitting up abruptly, the sheet pooling around your waist. Your chest heaved as the shame and disgust clawed at your insides, twisting into an unbearable ache. Tears spilled down your cheeks uncontrollably, your hands trembling as you tried to pull yourself together.

Why didn’t I stop him? Why didn’t I fight harder?

The thoughts spiraled, each one cutting deeper than the last. You hugged your knees to your chest, rocking slightly as sobs wracked your body. Your heart felt like it was tearing itself apart, and your body felt hollow—violated. Swallowing a plan B pill that you kept in your suitcase and never thought you’d use.

By the time you returned to Monaco, your sadness had curdled into something sharp and hot. The despair was gone, replaced by a fiery dripping red anger that consumed every thought. You couldn’t let him get away with this.

Without hesitation, you picked up your phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Nico? It’s Yn,” you said, your voice clipped and cold.

“Yn?” Nico sounded surprised. “What’s going on?”

“Can you let me into your building? I need to deal with something,” you replied, not bothering to explain further.

There was a pause before he sighed. “Fine. Just . . . don’t make me regret this.”

Armed with a metal baseball bat, you stormed into the garage where Lewis stored his prized car collection. The sight of his flashy vehicles—the Pagani Zonda, the McLaren P1, the custom Ferrari—only fueled your rage.

Without a second thought, you swung the bat with all your might, the satisfying crack of metal meeting glass echoing through the space.

“You bastard!” you screamed, smashing the windshield of the McLaren. The shards of glass scattered across the floor like glittering confetti.

Gripping the bat tightly, you moved to the Ferrari, scratching the word “CHEATER” with a key—that you had bought for this occasion—across the hood in jagged letters.

“Yn, what the hell are you doing?!”

Lewis’s voice rang out from the entrance of the garage, frantic and disbelieving. You turned to see him rushing toward you, panic etched across his face.

“Stop! Stop this right now!” he yelled, reaching for the bat.

You stepped back, swinging the bat threateningly in his direction. “Don’t you dare come near me,” you spat, your voice venomous.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Nico standing near the entrance, his arms crossed as he watched the chaos unfold. He didn’t move to stop you, his expression unreadable.

“You don’t get to tell me to stop,” you seethed, your grip tightening on the bat as you moved to the McLaren. “You don’t get to tell me anything after what you did!”

“Yn, listen—”

“LISTEN?!” you cut him off, your voice breaking. “You didn’t listen to me last night, did you? So why the hell should I listen to you now?”

With another swing, you knocked off the side mirrors of the Zonda, the metal clanging as it hit the floor. Lewis lunged forward, grabbing the bat this time and yanking it out of your hands.

“Stop this!” he shouted, his voice desperate. “You’re acting crazy!”

You stepped back, glaring at him with a fury that burned hotter than the Monaco sun. “Crazy? You think I’m crazy? You’re lucky this is all I’m doing! You were trying to get me pregnant, weren’t you? Three fucking rounds, huh? Trying to get rid of me, are you?!”

He looked at you, his chest heaving as he held the bat in one hand. “Yn, I—”

“Don’t.” Your voice was low, trembling with barely contained rage. “Don’t you ever think about laying your hands on me again. You hear me?”

His face fell, guilt and shame flickering across his features, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond. You turned on your heel and stormed out of the garage, the echoes of your words hanging heavy in the air.

As you passed Nico, he raised an eyebrow but said nothing, simply stepping aside to let you leave.

“This is like 2016 all over again,” Nico sighs to Lewis. “Only apparently you two are worse and you did something to really piss her off.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The German Grand Prix had been a disaster. Every detail of the crash replayed in your mind on an endless loop—the way the car spun out, the helpless slide into the gravel, the sickening thud of the barriers stopping you dead. The team radio had been a cacophony of voices—panic, disappointment, and commands you’d barely heard through the pounding in your chest.

And then there were the fans. Thousands of them, who had traveled across the world to see you fight for glory. Instead, they saw you fail.

You let out a shaky breath as the hotel room walls closed in around you, your mind racing with guilt and frustration. You couldn’t sit still, not like this. Grabbing your jacket, you left the room and wandered to a small, dimly lit bar tucked away from the chaos of the city.

It wasn’t the kind of place you’d usually go—not a noisy club where you could lose yourself in the crowd, but somewhere quieter. Somewhere where the whiskey could speak louder than your thoughts.

The amber liquid burned as it slid down your throat, and you welcomed the discomfort. Staring blankly into the depths of your glass, you listened to the muffled hum of conversations around you. It wasn’t enough to drown out the self-recriminating voices in your head, but it helped.

“You look like you’ve had a hell of a day,” a familiar voice cut through the haze.

You blinked and turned, startled to see Max Verstappen easing onto the stool beside you. His hair was slightly mussed, his usually sharp demeanor softened by weariness. He didn’t look smug or gloating, just . . . tired. A half-smile tugged at his lips as he raised his own glass.

“To twinks,” he said, his tone light but edged with an amused challenge.

It was so absurd, so unexpected, that a chuckle escaped you before you could stop it. Shaking your head, you lifted your glass to meet his. “To twinks,” you echoed, your lips curving into a faint smile.

The clink of glasses rang out between you, and you took another sip. For the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosened ever so slightly.

“Rough race?” Max asked after a moment, his eyes flicking over you knowingly.

You snorted, setting your glass down with a dull thud. “That obvious?”

He shrugged, leaning an elbow on the bar. “I saw the crash. Looked like hell. Thought you might’ve murdered someone when you stomped off the track.”

“Not yet,” you quipped, swirling the ice in your glass. “But give me five minutes and another drink.”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “Let me guess—you’re blaming yourself.”

You turned to him, your brow furrowing. “I’m not blaming myself. I just . . .” You trailed off, biting the inside of your cheek. “I feel like I let everyone down. The team, the fans . . . myself.”

Max studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned closer, his voice softer but firm. “It’s racing. Shit happens. If the fans are real, they’ll stick by you. If they don’t? Screw them.”

You blinked, taken aback by his bluntness.

“Seriously,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “You think I haven’t screwed up? We all do. What matters is how you come back. And knowing you . . .” He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “You’ll come back swinging.”

His confidence in you felt like a balm on a wound you hadn’t realized was so deep.

“Thanks, Max,” you murmured, meaning it more than you could express.

He shrugged, finishing his drink. “Don’t mention it. But if you really want to feel better . . .” He paused dramatically, his eyes glinting with mischief. “We could keep drinking and talk about how much we hate Lewis.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Oh, that’s a long conversation.”

Max grinned. “I’ve got all night.”

Hours later, the two of you stumbled into his hotel room, tipsy and laughing uncontrollably at some story Max had told about a time he’d accidentally insulted his team principal in Dutch.

“Wait—wait,” you wheezed, clutching your sides. “He really thought you called him a what?”

“A soggy pancake,” Max confirmed, deadpan.

You collapsed onto the couch, tears of laughter streaming down your face. “You’re an idiot.”

He flopped down beside you, his grin wide and unrepentant. “Maybe, but at least I’m a funny idiot.”

Your laughter faded into a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes after hours of shared vulnerability. You looked over at Max, and for a moment, you saw him differently—not as another oponent, but as someone who understood the weight of the sport.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said quietly, your voice sincere.

Max met your gaze, his expression softening. “Anytime.”

Before you could overthink it, the lines between playful banter and something more had blurred entirely, leaving the air between you charged with an undeniable tension.

It started with the briefest hesitation, the kind that comes just before a decision you can’t take back. Then your lips were on his, the taste of whiskey and a hint of something uniquely Max lingering between you. His response was immediate, his mouth moving against yours with equal fervor, igniting the tension that had been simmering all night.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as if trying to eliminate any remaining space between you. The urgency in his touch was matched only by the way your hands tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as a low sound escaped his throat—a mix of surprise and need.

At some point, you’d ended up straddling his lap, your legs bracketing his thighs as he leaned back against the couch. The world outside the dimly lit hotel room faded away, leaving just the two of you, caught in this reckless moment.

His hands hovered at your hips, fingers grazing your skin through the fabric of your shirt. There was a hesitancy in his touch, almost as if he was waiting for permission—waiting for you to decide where this was going.

“You’re full of surprises,” you murmured against his lips, breaking away just enough to catch your breath.

His lips curved into a smirk, his breath warm against your skin as he tilted his head to look at you. “And you’re bossy,” he quipped, his voice low and teasing, though his gaze held a flicker of something deeper—something vulnerable and unguarded that made your heart skip a beat.

You chuckled, the sound breathy and light as you shifted slightly, your hands trailing up his arms. “You like it,” you replied, your voice a mix of challenge and playfulness.

Before he could answer, you pinned his wrists above his head, pressing them into the couch. His eyes didn’t look t you in surprise or defiancy. It was more of . . . admiration.

“This what you had in mind?” he asked, his voice a mix of need and lust, though the way his chest rose and fell betrayed the effect you had on him.

“Something like that,” you said with a small smirk, leaning down to capture his lips again.

The kiss was slower this time, deeper, your movements deliberate as you savored the moment. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sensation almost deafening, but it wasn’t from nerves. This wasn’t about love or romance—it was raw, unfiltered need. It was about silencing the crushing weight of failure and replacing it with something electric, something alive.

His wrists flexed slightly against your grip, testing your hold but not resisting, as if letting you take control was part of the game. His breath hitched when your lips left his to trail down his jaw, brushing against the curve of his neck where you felt his pulse thrumming beneath your lips.

“Not what I expected tonight,” Max murmured, his voice rough as you pulled back to meet his gaze.

You arched a brow, your fingers loosening their hold on his wrists but not letting go entirely. “Disappointed?”

His grin returned, but his gaze softened. “Not even close.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was late in the evening, and the email sat open on your laptop screen, the Red Bull logo at the top almost mocking you. You’d read it three times already, and it still didn’t feel real. An offer for a seat at Red Bull Racing? It felt surreal, and yet.. . . . wrong. Especially since it came out of nowhere.

You didn’t even bother to calm down as you stormed over to Max’s suite. Knocking would’ve been polite, but this was urgent. Instead, you banged on the door until he swung it open, looking more confused than annoyed.

“What the—Yn?” Max asked, brows furrowed as he took in your frazzled expression.

You shoved your phone toward him, the email glaringly bright in the dim hallway. “What the hell is this?”

Max glanced down, his blue eyes scanning the screen. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Is this—wait, you got an offer from Red Bull?”

“No, Max, it’s a recipe for apple pie,” you snapped sarcastically, your voice laced with frustration. “Of course, it’s an offer! Did you know about this?”

His head jerked back, startled by your tone. “No! Why would I? Do you think I’d keep something like this from you?” His defensiveness was immediate, his hands raised as if to ward off your accusations.

You blinked, thrown off by his reaction. “Wait . . . so you didn’t know?”

“No! I’m not in charge of who they send offers to!” Max exclaimed, his voice softening when he noticed the confusion on your face. “Yn, I swear, I had no idea.”

Your anger began to dissipate, replaced by an odd mixture of relief and confusion. “Oh . . .” you muttered, lowering your phone. “I just—I thought maybe you— . . . put a word in for me because we slept together . . .”

“No no, I’d never—no.” Max’s lips curled into a thin, bitter smile. A moment passes and, his eyes light up with excitement as he took a step close, realization dawning upon him. “You’re going to be my teammate!”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Hungarian Grand Prix circuit buzzed with life, and for once, the chaos of cameras and journalists didn’t bother you. Maybe it was the new team kit—the Red Bull logo emblazoned on your chest—or the knowledge that you’d just broken yet another record: three teams in a single season. The flash of cameras was relentless as reporters shouted questions, all variations of the same theme.

“Yn, why leave Mercedes?” “What led to your sudden move?” “Is this a statement about their performance?”

You kept your smile polite, offering no comment as you walked briskly toward the Red Bull motorhome. Let them speculate. The truth was your own, and for now, that was enough.

The first thing that hit you when you stepped into the garage was the warmth—not the temperature, but the atmosphere. It was nothing like Mercedes. There, everything had been pristine, clinical, and cold. The walls seemed to echo every word you spoke, and conversations felt like transactions. No one greeted you unless it was mandatory. Here, though?

“Welcome to the family!” someone called out, their smile genuine as they clapped you on the back.

Another handed you a branded bottle of water, already chilled. “You’re going to love it here, Yn. It’s about time we got you in red and blue.”

The chatter wasn’t just directed at you, either. Everyone in the garage seemed connected, laughing and talking like old friends. It felt… warm. Human.

And then there was Max.

“Yn!” His voice was unmistakable as he jogged over, his grin wider than you’d ever seen it. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was more excited than you were about this move. “You made it,” he said, gesturing grandly to the motorhome. “What do you think?”

You looked around, taking in the relaxed energy. “It’s… different,” you admitted, trying not to let the emotion creep into your voice. “Nice. Comfortable.”

Max leaned against the wall, his arms crossed but his grin unwavering. “Translation: better than Mercedes.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched into a smile. “Don’t get cocky. I’m still settling in.”

“Right, right.” He straightened, motioning toward the coffee station. “Want a tour? Or are you too busy signing autographs for the photographers out there?”

You laughed, nudging his arm as you passed him. “Not all of us have been in the spotlight since we were teens.”

Max followed, his expression softening. “You know,” he said, almost casually, “I grew up watching you. Back when you were still racing in juniors.”

You froze mid-step, turning to look at him. “Seriously?”

He nodded, his cheeks tinting pink as he shrugged. “Yeah. You were… impressive. Still are. It’s kind of surreal having you here.”

Your heart hammered in your chest at his admission, but you forced a chuckle, brushing it off. “You realize you’re making me feel ancient, right?”

Max smirked, leaning closer with a teasing glint in his eye. “Nah, just iconic.”

Media days with Max were a surprising mix of chaos and ease. You’d both flit from photoshoots to commercials to filming for Drive to Survive, with him cracking jokes to keep the mood light. Somehow, between the flashing cameras and rehearsed soundbites, he’d nudge you with his elbow, offering a quiet, “You’re stealing the show, you know.”

You’d roll your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “I’d say you’re exaggerating, but we both know you love the attention.”

“I’d rather share it with you,” he shot back, smirking in that infuriatingly charming way that always made your stomach flip.

It was effortless with him. Unlike anyone else.

"Okay, Max, this time can we both look at the camera?" you teased, swatting him lightly after he made yet another goofy face during a shoot.

He grinned shamelessly, leaning closer. "What? They like it when I show personality."

You rolled your eyes, unable stop the smile tugging at your lips. "Pretty sure your personality is going to get us kicked out."

Moments like these with him felt light and playful, almost childlike in a way that made your chest ache. It reminded you of Fernando—how he’d been a constant presence, a mentor, a partner in the chaos of racing. But this? This was softer, younger, unguarded. With Max, there was no need to carry the weight of years of experience or expectations. He didn’t just meet you where you were—he made the world brighter, easier to navigate, just by being in it.

And he adored you.

You felt it in the way he’d sneak up behind you in the garage, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifted you off the ground.

“Guess who?” he’d whisper, and you’d laugh even though it was obvious.

"Max, put me down before someone sees!"

"Not until you guess," he’d tease, holding you tighter, his grin audible in his voice.

Then there was the rose. On your birthday, he’d appeared in front of you, fidgeting awkwardly with a single red flower in his hand. His ears were pink, and he avoided your gaze as he thrust it toward you.

“Here,” he mumbled.

You blinked, surprised, before gently taking the rose from him. “Max, did you… get this for me?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at you. “Yeah, well… you said you liked roses once, and I saw it, and—look, if you don’t like it, I can—”

“Shut up,” you interrupted, pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s perfect.”

You’d never seen him smile so big, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go.

Max loved you in ways he didn’t know how to put into words. He loved the quiet moments, the ones where you whispered praises after a long day, your fingers brushing through his hair as he rested his head in your lap. He loved the way you kissed him—soft and slow, like you had all the time in the world, and then playful and quick, laughing against his lips when he tried to pull you back for more.

And after podiums? Those were his favorite.

The high of a race win or even a second-place finish wasn’t complete until he was tangled up in bed with you, the night filled with soft laughter and touches that felt like promises. The mornings after were just as special, waking up to your fingers combing through his hair, your voice a gentle hum as he buried his face in your neck.

“Morning, champ,” you’d tease, your voice still heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” he’d mumble back, pulling you closer. “Let’s stay here all day.”

You’d chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Tempting, but you’ve got a media briefing in two hours.”

He groaned dramatically, but his grip didn’t loosen. "They can wait."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The steam from the shower still clung to the room as Max sat on the edge of the bed, a towel loosely draped around his shoulders. You stood behind him, carefully drying his hair with another towel, your touch gentle as if trying to smooth away more than just the water droplets. You were too quiet, your usual spark dulled by the weight of a bad race.

“Racing is not always about winning,” Max said suddenly, his voice soft but sure.

You paused, fingers tangled in his damp hair. “Are you quoting Cars? The movie?”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced up at you. “Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But it’s true.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “That’s rich, coming from you. Mr. ‘Win or Die Trying.’”

He didn’t laugh, though. Instead, he reached up and lightly squeezed your wrist, his touch grounding. “I mean it, Schat. You’re too hard on yourself. P5 isn’t the end of the world.”

You sighed, resuming your task, the towel moving through his hair in slow, deliberate strokes. “It’s not about the number. It’s about letting people down.”

Max was quiet for a moment, his head leaning into your touch. “The people who really care about you don’t measure you by a trophy,” he said. “Trust me, I know.”

There was something in his voice—something raw and unspoken—that made your chest ache. You didn’t push, though. Max never opened up easily, and you’d learned to let him share on his own terms.

When his hair was finally dry, you tossed the towel aside and crawled onto the bed beside him. He pulled you into his arms without hesitation, his body warm against yours as you nestled into the crook of his shoulder.

You played with his hair absently, the strands softer now that they were dry. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner, and for a while, you let the stillness soothe you.

Then, without really meaning to, you broke the silence. “My parents divorced before I was born.”

Max shifted slightly, his head tilting so he could see your face. “Yeah?” he prompted gently.

You nodded, your fingers still threading through his hair. “My mom was a ballerina. She was... not the greatest. Beautiful, talented, but toxic as hell. And my dad? He was this random college dropout mechanic who probably should’ve stayed far away from her.”

You felt Max’s arms tighten around you, his quiet presence encouraging you to keep going.

“I lived with my dad,” you continued, your voice softer now. “It wasn’t easy, but he made it fun. Watching races with him—those were the best days. It didn’t matter how hard things were; seeing the cars, the speed, the drama... it made everything feel exciting. Like maybe life could be something more.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. “But then he got sick. Cancer. And suddenly, it was just me and my mom.”

Max’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “She didn’t make it easy, did she?” he asked quietly.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Not even close. She tried to make me into her mini-me—this perfect ballerina with the perfect body and the perfect life. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t cut out for it.”

Max didn’t laugh, but you could feel the sadness in the way he held you closer.

“I got into racing because of my dad’s brother,” you went on. “I was visiting my grandma, and he took me to a local track. I fell in love with it right away. After that, I’d sneak out every weekend just to race.”

A faint smile crossed your lips as you remembered. “Once my mom found out, she was furious. She said, ‘If you’re going to play boy sports, you might as well look the part,’ and then she chopped my hair off.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “She cut your hair?”

“Yeah. And when it grew back, she’d pull on it during arguments. So one time, I cut it myself just to spite her.”

His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, his touch protective. “That’s... awful,” he said, his voice tight.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s whatever. People didn’t make it easy, either, when they found out I was half Persian. They’d say things like, ‘Oh, that’s why you’re so exotic-looking,’ or make dumb comments about my name.”

Max didn’t say anything this time. Instead, he curled into you, his face pressing into the curve of your neck. You felt him exhale shakily, and when you glanced down, you realized his eyes were damp.

“Max?” you whispered, your fingers brushing his temple.

He blinked quickly, trying to compose himself. “I just... I hate that you went through that,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “You didn’t deserve it.”

His sincerity caught you off guard, your heart squeezing painfully in your chest. You tightened your grip on him, your fingers stroking soothingly through his hair.

“I’m here now,” you said softly. “And I’m okay.”

Max nodded against you, his arms wrapping around you as if to anchor himself. “You’re more than okay,” he whispered. “You’re amazing.”

For a moment, the world outside the hotel room didn’t exist. It was just you and Max, tangled together, your shared wounds binding you in ways words never could.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The chill bit at your skin as you stood outside the Red Bull HQ, wrapping a thick scarf around Max’s neck. His breath came out in small puffs of mist as he shivered slightly, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. It was November, and the cold had settled into the city like an uninvited guest.

“You’re gonna catch a cold if you keep standing like that,” you murmured, your voice a quiet mix of concern and care as you adjusted the scarf, making sure it covered him properly. Max looked up at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You took his hand without thinking, pulling him toward the street as you both crossed toward the restaurant. His hand was warm in yours, but it wasn’t enough to ease the tension that seemed to cling to you lately. Max noticed the way your jaw clenched every so often, the quiet strain in your eyes that had only deepened as the championship battle grew more intense. The race against Hamilton had been hard on you, and he could see how much it was wearing you down, how you kept it together outwardly but were quietly unraveling inside.

Max couldn’t look away from you as you led him through the city streets. The way you held his hand, the way you moved with such purpose, but also with a subtle weight—he could feel it, the pressure pressing down on you, and it made his chest tighten.

When you reached the restaurant, a little place you two had come to know well, Max let you guide him inside. The warm air hit you both like a gentle wave, but it did nothing to lift the heaviness that had followed you around lately. Max, ever so observant, studied you while you scanned the menu. He didn’t know how to help, how to ease the worry from your brow, but it killed him to see you so stressed.

His gaze shifted to the table, to the way your fingers gently tapped on the menu as if lost in thought. He couldn’t help but notice how you unconsciously brushed your hair behind your ear, a gesture so small yet intimate, and it only made his heart race.

But there was something gnawing at him, something unsettling, and it wasn’t the race. It was Fernando. He had seen the texts—those little moments when your phone buzzed with his name, when your smile softened in a way that made something twist uncomfortably in his chest. Fernando was always checking in on you, reminding you to eat, wishing you luck, and offering words of comfort when you lost. Max wasn’t blind, he saw how you responded to him, to his kindness, and it made something inside him burn with jealousy.

He never liked it, the way Fernando seemed to be in your life in a way that felt too familiar, too close. It didn’t help that there was this unspoken connection between you two, a connection that Max could feel but couldn’t quite place. It reminded him of something—something like the bond he shared with you, the way he needed you, and suddenly he didn’t want to share that with anyone else.

It was late one night, after you’d both collapsed into bed together. The air was heavy with the remnants of shared intimacy, your warm breath still mingling with his, when you slipped into the shower to clean up. Max stayed behind, still feeling the lingering echoes of your touch on his skin, his mind racing. And then, without thinking, he reached for your phone, the device you always left unlocked with no second thought. He didn’t know why he did it, but he had to know what was going on.

Scrolling through your messages, he found the ones from Fernando—text after text filled with care, support, and something else that felt too familiar, too much like his own feelings for you. And in that moment, he couldn’t breathe.

With a shaky breath, Max deleted every single message from Fernando and blocked his number, sealing the distance in a way he never dared before.

He didn’t want to lose you. You were his. You were everything.

When you stepped out of the shower, still wet and flushed from the heat, Max pretended like nothing had happened. He gave you that half-smile, the one he always wore when he was hiding something, and he pulled you into his arms without saying a word.

But as you sat together at dinner, watching you study the menu, his fingers brushed against yours, holding you tighter than before. He didn’t want to share you with anyone else. You were his anchor, his safe place. And just like that, as your laughter filled the space between you, he found himself lost in your presence once more, the weight of everything else fading into the background.

Max watched you as you looked up from the menu, your eyes meeting his with a soft curiosity, unaware of the battle raging inside of him.

“Max?” you asked, breaking the silence between you two.

He shook his head, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just thinking about how lucky I am,” he said, his voice steady, even though his heart was hammering in his chest. He squeezed your hand, the motion a promise, but also a way to keep you close.

“You’re lucky?” You raised an eyebrow at him, clearly teasing, but there was a warmth in your tone that made him feel lighter for a moment.

He nodded, his thumb tracing circles over your skin. “Yeah. I’m lucky you’re with me.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun was setting over the Abu Dhabi skyline, casting a warm golden hue over the circuit. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could feel it in every corner of the paddock. Your heart raced faster than it had all season. It was the final race of the year, and everything hinged on this moment. You didn’t need to win, you just needed to finish above Lewis in the points to clinch the championship. It was as simple, and as terrifying, as that.

You stood outside the car, your hands running through your hair as you tried to calm your nerves. The weight of the day, of the season, pressed down on you like a heavy blanket. Your mind raced, analyzing every scenario, but all you could do was push forward.

Before the race, Martin Brundle came over for the usual pre-race interview, his familiar voice cutting through the buzz of the pit lane. The camera crew was ready, the lights blinding, but you forced yourself to focus. “Yn, how are you feeling going into today? It’s been such a tight season. You’ve come so far.”

You smiled, trying to play it cool, but your stomach fluttered. The nerves were there, but you couldn’t let them show. Not now. Not today. You straightened your shoulders, looking directly at the camera. “It’s normal, it’s okay,” you chuckled, trying to calm yourself with the words. “I mean, it’s okay to feel nervous, right? It’s a big race. But I’m happy either way. Win or not, it’s been an incredible season, and I’m proud of how far we’ve come.”

You blew a kiss to the camera, your fans cheering from behind the screen. Your voice cracked slightly as you said the last part, but you quickly covered it up with a laugh. It wasn’t the first time you’d been in a pressure-packed situation, but this—this was different. This wasn’t just another race. This was the race.

As you climbed into your car, the roar of the engines around you, the scent of gasoline and tire smoke, it all felt so surreal. Your hands were steady on the wheel, but your heart pounded so loudly it almost drowned out the noise of the pit. The starting lights counted down, and when they went out, you were off.

From the very beginning, you knew this race wouldn’t be easy. Lewis was relentless, fighting you at every corner, every straight, and the gap between you was closing faster than you expected. The tension in the cockpit was suffocating, each lap feeling like an eternity as you and Lewis went back and forth, pushing each other to the limit. Every move, every decision mattered. Your thoughts were a blur of strategy, but there was one thing you couldn’t shake—the weight of the championship on your shoulders.

The radio crackled to life, your race engineer’s voice cutting through your focus. “Yn, hold your line, we’ve got this. Stay calm, we’re tracking every move.”

“I’m trying,” you replied, your voice tight, but you knew there was nothing you could do but focus. “I just... can’t let him pass.”

The battle with Lewis continued, and by the time you crossed the line, you were exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. You hit the brakes, beginning the cool-down lap, but everything seemed to slow down. It was like the world had frozen, and for a moment, all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat. The crowds blurred in the distance, the sound of their cheers faint against the rush of blood in your ears.

Your eyes locked onto the lights ahead, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to exhale. You had done it. No matter what happened now, you had done your part.

The radio clicked again, and your engineer’s voice came through, calm and measured at first, but you could hear the joy just beneath the surface.

“You’ve done it,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “Yn, you’ve done it. You are the World Champion.”

And just like that, the world snapped back into focus. Your vision blurred as tears filled your eyes, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You gripped the steering wheel, your chest tightening, and before you knew it, a few tears were slipping down your cheek. The emotion hit you all at once—the relief, the exhaustion, the joy. You had made it. You had earned it.

Through the radio, you could hear the cheers of the team, the pit crew, your engineer. You could practically feel the excitement radiating from them, even as you spoke. “Thank you. Thank you to everyone. We’ve made it... I—” Your voice cracked, and you couldn’t help it. “I’m so proud of this team. Please, please thank Max for being the best teammate anyone could ask for.”

The words tumbled out of you, and they meant more than you could express. Max had been there every step of the way, a constant support when things got tough, always by your side. He was more than a teammate. He was family.

As you pulled into the pit lane, the roar of the crowd was still loud in your ears, but the world around you felt like it had shifted into slow motion. The car came to a halt, and before you could even jump in their arms, the team was around you. The pit crew and engineers were cheering, clapping you on the back, and hugging you in a whirlwind of celebration. Your heart was still pounding from the intensity of the race, but the joy—oh, the joy—made everything else fade away.

You looked around at your team—your family, and as you stood up from the car, your eyes landed on someone. Fernando. He was standing just the othe other side of Parc Ferme , leaning against the wall, arms crossed. You didn’t have to think twice. Your feet moved before your brain could catch up, and before you knew it, you were standing in front of him, helmet and gloves in hand.

You dropped the helmet onto the ground, flinging your arms around Fernando in one swift motion. The feeling of his arms wrapping around you was instant, comforting, grounding. He pulled you into him tightly, almost as if he was afraid you would slip away if he let go. You clung to him for a moment, the weight of the season, the race, and the championship finally settling on your shoulders.

When he pulled away, he cupped your cheeks gently, his touch warm and reassuring. You leaned into his palm instinctively, your eyes closing for a second, savoring the moment of peace. Fernando’s eyes were soft, full of pride, and for a fleeting second, it felt like everything in the world had aligned just for this.

"You did it," Fernando murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve earned it.”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. There were so many people who had supported you along the way, but Fernando—Fernando had always been there, in ways both big and small. His presence in your life felt like a quiet strength, one you had relied on more than you ever admitted.

“Thanks, Fernando,” you said softly, your voice almost breaking, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, surrounded by the chaos of the celebration, but existing in your own bubble of shared understanding.

Later, after you’d finally caught your breath, the post-race interview called. You made your way toward the cameras, your legs still shaky but steadied by the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You stood in front of the microphone, your heart still racing, and your hand moved to brush your damp hair from your face. The weight of the moment hit you again, but this time, it was a different kind of weight—a weight of triumph, of victory. You had earned this, earned everything that came with it.

And then came Jenson, your former teammate, his smile wide as ever. “The Indomitable Yn Ln,” he said, his voice filled with admiration and humor.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light, but full of emotion. It felt like a lifetime ago when you had first earned that nickname. Now, here you were, standing in front of millions, re-earning it with every race, every challenge you overcame.

You raised the mic to your lips, ready to speak, to say something profound, to share your gratitude. But when you opened your mouth, nothing came out. Instead, a smile spread across your face, wide and genuine, the kind of smile that could only come from sheer, unadulterated happiness. It wasn’t the words you had prepared that mattered. It was this moment, right here, right now, that spoke louder than anything you could ever say.

And that was enough.

The Indomitable Yn Ln, that sounds so nice.

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