#THIS ISN'T WHAT YOU WERE GOING FOR BUT I JUST HAD TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 07. An explosion of emotions

PREV PART trigger warnings: anger, medical + emotional neglect, shouting, Reader loses their shit because Jason triggers their fight and flight, mental breakdown, mentions of wanting to die, basically a very angsty and dark chapter misgendering (Reader isn't out yet), introduction of a dc character main m.list           series m.list

Ignorance is bliss, and you wish you kept that ignorance. After Maria sent you an article that has been logging Penguin crimes, you just couldn’t help but research them obsessively as you walk back to the manor.

You wince as you see a mugshot from your supervisor flash by. Yeah, you are closing this article and forgetting everything you read. The job pays well, and when you get into university you’ll just quit and get a job or two on campus. It will most likely be shit pay, but at least it wouldn’t morally weigh on you. “Just until you can move out,” you mumble as you open the front door. “and the colleagues are kind…”

When you walk through the door, there was Jason, you try to ignore him. Swimming in your thoughts, yet to notice how impatient he has been, how irritation was brewing in the air.

“You and I are going to have a chat about your behaviour towards Alfie,” Jason says, snapping you out of your thoughts and your eyes snap up to his. You could feel your heart start to pound, why was Todd speaking to you. “and before you refuse, we are going to the park.”

He looks irritated, but his eyes aren’t that glowing green. They are dull, not the vibrant colour that haunts you every time you close your eyes. “...No…” you assert, picking the skin around your fingers, your posture slumped and you look terrified. “I see no need to go anywhere with you, I see no reason why you would need to speak to me about my behaviour.”

He just sighs and shakes his head. “My god, I suggested a public area, we need to talk because you’re a disrespectful piece of shit. Stop being a---”

“No. We don’t, and you are the piece of shit! I am just done taking everyone’s bullshit.” you interrupt, your tone harsher and your stance more confident than before but you still look pathetic to Jason. You still look like the same teen he beat up that day, sure your eyes are harsher and your body is littered with scars he gave you. But you are still the same pathetic child clingy to the memories of your mother. “You have yet to show remorse for your actions after all these years, I will never be alone with you again.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s not like he could deny that the apology was insincere, and he still feels little to no remorse. He sighs; “It was years ago, grow up.”

“Why don’t you fucking grow up!” you suddenly shout, throwing your bag on the ground. The echo of your shout loud and you could hear doors open. “You beat up a child! I was barely a teen and you still can’t fucking apologise! You still can’t look me in my eyes and admit what you did was wrong! None of you can! I was attacked by my supposed brother in my own room!” You could feel your muscles tense as your pain intensifies, anger is a painful emotion to have. But to hold it in is even more painful. “You destroyed most of what I had left of my mother and her family! Why?! Because you were jealous that Bruce took in his recently orphaned biological child?!”

You step closer to Jason, your eyes are scaring him, you look like you are in pain. But at the same time you look vengeful. You look like you’ve been pushed to the limit. “You don’t understand,” he hisses, stepping closer to you. He won’t be intimidated by a civilian.

“Then fucking let me!” you shout, basically spitting it out. Your nose flaring and your hands shaking. “You all tell me that I don’t understand, yet you all tell me that I have to forgive and forgive as you tear my heart out! And I am done! I am finally getting my life together, finally taking the next steps. And now you suddenly want to talk?! But you still refuse to explain?!”

You laugh, it was hysterical. If Jason didn’t know the laughs of the Joker, intimately, he would compare them in a heartbeat. Without thinking he grabs your arms, trying to force you away from him. Your siblings were watching the fight, he didn’t want to turn around to see Stephanie, Cassandra and Barbara. If he did, he would see their confused faces. He would see how they don’t understand your anger, and he would see Tim finally telling them the full story. A story that Cassandra had deciphered from just your shouting. A story that made it seem like you were in great physical pain.

“None of you have any rights to my time!” You shout, trying to get your arms lose from Jason’s grip. “And you have no right to touch me!” But Jason still didn’t let you go, you want to keep shouting, you want to shout at him until he let’s you go. Until he realises what harm he has done to you. Until your whole family finally realises all they’ve done, why did Tim seek you out? Why couldn’t Alfred just leave you be?! Why couldn’t you just keep your anger hidden until you were gone?! “Stop touching me, I hate you. I wish I died that day! I wish I didn’t have to live like this!”

You weren’t even shouting at him anymore. You were shouting at all of them, you were shouting about everything they’ve put you through. But you were also finally letting out the emotional pain your illness has given you. You’re shouting to the heavens, you are shouting to whoever will listen. You are shouting because the pain has finally become too much to handle.

The straw that breaks the camel's back has finally come.

You’re like a bucket overflowing with water, you are full of emotions that Jason had never seen you express. The only time he has ever seen you shake like this was that day, oh gods, what has he done?

You’re broken in ways he will never understand. You are in pain, and he’s the reason why. You are slipping, you’re breaking down and he doesn’t know what to do. “Step away from them,” he suddenly hears Duke’s voice, a boy that Bruce had recently thought about adopting, a meta that joined their ranks. Wait, is he calling her, them? “before I knock your teeth out.”

Jason steps backs in shock, his hold of you disappearing, but you didn’t even notice. Your hands going up to your shoulders as you start scratching. Oh my dear, you look crazed, you look as if you belong in Arkham Asylum. And Duke, he looks like he knows you. “(Name)” Duke whispers, trying to get you to stop scratching yourself. It almost seems as if you were trying to scratch away your pain, and by the gods, you were attempting to. Your fingertips bleeding, your eyes full of tears. “I am here, it’s Duke, your lab partner, what can I do for you?”

“I need to die,” you whisper, your eyes snap to his. “can you kill me?”

“You know I can’t,” he whispers, brushing some of your hair out of your face. Carefully making sure that his fingers don’t get tangled in your hair, if his fingers were to do that you would panic even more. Your mind would set you back even more, at least now you seem partly lucid. “but I can and will listen.”

You choke on a sob, and tears start streaming down your face as you slowly stop scratching. You barely know him, and here he is in your home (for whatever reason unknown to you), offering his ear to you. “What’s going on?!” Jason whisper-shouts, staring at Dick for guidance. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to act, not with the slimy feeling in his chest. Not with this voice in his head whispering that this is all his fault. Dick stares at him and mouths; ‘I have no idea’

But you ignore it all.

“You promise?” You ask Duke, your eyes show how scared you are to be hurt. Your body language defensive. Black spots were slowing clouding the corner of your eyes.

“I promise.”

And with that you close your eyes.

NEXT PART Notice how I was in a dramatic mood here?

taglist: Taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways (is there a limit with tagging people or something???)

[starrvsn]

🫐 ˎˊ˗　fruit for thought ⠆your child not recognizing lando because he shaved his mustache (single-parent!reader, relationship!au)

lando had been away on a work trip for almost a month, the longest he’s been away from you and madeline and it would be an understatement to say that madeline missed him. lando has embraced the role of being a parental figure to your daughter and it came so naturally to him, to care for madeline– so it was safe to say his relationship with her was a special one. when he was away, she’d sometimes wake up in the middle of the night begging for him to snuggle with her, and it broke your heart to tell her— that he won’t be coming home for a while. it was hard not having him there to comfort her but lando made an effort to call you whenever he had the time mostly talking to your two year old daughter than you but you found it massively endearing. sometimes he’d hand the phone over to george or alex who were madeline best friends when they weren’t racing around the world. so when you told madeline he was coming home today she was practically bouncing off the walls in excitement.

you both wait quite a while for lando to arrive home, it was around madeline bed time when he had texted you that he landed and you had just finished getting madeline ready for bed. you initially were just going to have her go to bed and have lando surprise her in the morning, you tucked her in and everything kissing her good night when she suddenly asks why lando isn't home yet, you try to tell her that he isn't coming until much later, when she's asleep and she insists she stays awake until he's home. you knew what if you tried to resist her wishes of staying up then you would have an earful of whining and crying the whole night. so here you are lying on the couch with your daughter waiting for your boyfriend to come home. you wait for about an hour and you could tell madeline was going in and out of sleep, trying her hardest to stay awake and just about when you think you daughter succumbs to sleep. the door begins to rattle signaling landos arrival. madeline head lifts from your chest at the sudden noise, doe eyes looking at you with excitement. a smile spreading on your lips at her reaction. she stumbles off your chest to where your husband is, you hadn't got the energy to get up so you lie contently until he makes his way to the den to greet you.

"lan lan!" madeline shouts as she runs towards the front door, little feet padding to your boyfriend. "mads! i missed you!" lando exclaims, thick accent lacing his words. you can practically hear the beaming smile in his voice. he shoves his backpack off his shoulders to kneel down to your daughters height with open arms. just as she gets closer to embrace him she stops dead in her tracks, uncertainty washing over her little features. it’s quiet for a few moments, curious you pull yourself up from the couch and see lando by the door with a pout. madeline a mere foot away from him, her hands held tightly to her tummy and chin tucked into her chest.

"what's wrong honey?" you stand behind your little girl, patting her head softly. bending down to her height you see fat globs of tears at the corner of her eyes, her solemn expression pulls at your heart, asking her softly why she's upset. lando joins too, now kneeling in front of her but she backs away to hide behind your legs. you look at him confused as he looks up at you with wide eyes, unsure why she's reacting this away. you assure her that it's just lando, the same man she's been missing while he was away. "it's just me sweetheart." cooing at madeline, lando voices softly as he treads carefully inching closer to the little girl but instead she presses tighter into your leg. her face tucked into the juncture of your knee.

"someone took lan lan's mustache!" she whimpers, pointing at lando. her face still hidden. you now notice his clean shaven face, he must've shaved it when it grew to long to maintain. his gaze softens as he looks up at you, now entertained upon hearing the reason why madeline became so upset. his fingers ghost his upper lip where his mustache once was.

lando stifles a laugh, pressing his lips together, eyes wide and warm as he realizes just how much that tiny patch of facial hair meant to your two-year-old.

“oh no,” he whispers dramatically, glancing up at you with a glint of amusement. “i didn’t know the mustache had such a fan club.”

you’re biting your lip to keep from laughing, crouched beside your daughter. “It’s okay, honey,” you murmur gently, brushing her curls back. “lando’s still lando. be just… shaved his mustache, remember? like when we trim your bangs?”

madeline peeks up at you, then at him—very suspicious, like she’s solving a crime. “but he looks like someone else…” she says with a shaky voice, bottom lip wobbling.

lando’s heart pretty much melts on the spot.

he sits back on his heels, then does the one thing he knows will get to her—he starts doing her favorite silly voice, the one he always uses during storytime.

“look at me! it’s lan lan,” he says in an exaggerated tone, puffing out his cheeks, making a goofy face. “i just had to make the mustache go on holiday for a bit. he was getting kinda itchy, you know?”

a little giggle escapes her. just the tiniest one. your heart aches at the sight.

“can i get a hug now?” lando asks softly, holding out his arms. “even without the mustache?”

she hesitates for a second, and then she runs—chubby arms flinging around his neck as he catches her with ease, hoisting her into his arms and spinning her gently. her little fingers tug at his cheeks and chin, inspecting.

“you’re still soft,” she whispers, as if that confirms his identity.

lando grins, pressing a kiss to her temple. “told you.”

you watch them, warmth blooming in your chest as you lean on the doorway, eyes soft.

“she made me promise to let her stay up just to see you,” you say quietly, walking over and resting a hand on madeline’s back.

“i’m glad she did,” lando murmurs, looking at both of you with a kind of softness reserved just for this little corner of his world.

madeline yawns in his arms, head resting on his shoulder now. “you’ll grow it back, right?” she mumbles.

lando chuckles. “anything for you, sweet pea.”

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

[oikarma]

sports car

pairing: lando norris x piastri!reader

summary: the one where lando gets outed for having a crush on his teammate's little sister.

a/n: bro it's been stuck in my head for a solid week now

liked by vogue and others

yourinstagram my vogue beauty secrets tutorial is out 🪽 all products used are linked below! thank you so much for this opportunity, was insane to me when i was informed of it and still very much is!

view all comments

user1 not fair. why is everyone on insta a freaking model

user2 where's the gold necklace from? thanks queen love you <3

yourinstagram it's from brandname brandname 😉 y/n piastri repping our gear? this calls for a c...o...l...l...a........

user3 drop the skincare routine too

user4 y/n are you ever going to a grand prix?

user5 she was at oscar's f1 debut user4 yeah but never again user4 she shouldn't be too busy as a part-time influencer like

vogue we're so glad you agreed 🤍

yourinstagram kisses!

user6 my gf (real)

user7 wait. wait. why is a vogue beauty secrets video title the way i find out y/n is a formula 1 driver's sister?

user8 well tbf she doesn't usually use her full name, probably not to seem like she's mooching off his success yk user9 no girl you're good i realized that a month ago when someone posted an edit of her and tagged it with her full name

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liked by mclaren and others

yourinstagram best brother 🧡 yay points

tagged: oscarpiastri

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user1 she took the comments about her not showing up to his races personally

user2 wait. y/n is his sister?? user3 oscar you thought you ate

user4 forget f1 drivers i want THIS GIRL

user5 hope you had fun !! thank you for taking a photo with me and my friends liked by yourinstagram

yourinstagram i did and i hope you did too 🫶 no worries, you both were v polite and absolutely stunning user6 she's so sweet aww

oscarpiastri I think this is your first post without any selfies. Congrats.

yourinstagram are we not partially the same people yourinstagram i thought you were smart? oscarpiastri I don't think that's how it works.

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liked by yourinstagram and others

lando on the move

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user1 i was not familiar with your game

user2 lando whoreizz more like? dang.

user3 I AM GOING FERAL NO ONE CAN HOLD ME BACK

user4 wait guys y/n piastri liked this 😭

user5 i pray the next time i accidentally make an idiot of myself on live stream my crush will notice me too user6 lmaooo help

user7 who are you posing for? y/n?

oscarpiastri Attention whore yourinstagram the girls are fighting!! user8 this cannot be real. polite piastri just called his teammate an attention whore user9 y/n u are so real for that

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liked by badgalriri, lando and others

fentybeauty Y/N Piastri is the new face of Fenty Beauty. @/yourinstagram

tagged: yourinstagram

user1 i just want to be a nepo baby.

user2 well y/n isn't really a nepo baby user3 nepo sister? user4 most of her image is built around her as js herself i think it's only recently (after her appearance at a gp) that people realized she was oscar piastri's sister cause they don't look alike and she usually only goes by y/n

user5 STUNNERRR

user6 am allowing myself to be influenced

user7 be so fr right now what is lando doing in the likes

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liked by oscarpiastri and others

lando austin, tx

tagged: oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell

view all comments

user1 oscar? in a cowboy hat? oh i folded my ovaries exploded i swore i was wearing clothes

lando i think you've got a fan, mate @/oscarpiastri oscarpiastri That's very kind of you

user2 the only time america serves

user3 is when a fucking brit comes over user4 live laugh love lando

user5 good luck at COTAS!! papaya army will be cheering for you *liked by lando

user6 soooo lando have you shot your shot yet?

user7 pardon? user6 i mean has he officially tried to hit on y/n yet user7 no way. she's too nonchalant to date him. piastri siblings do be the coolest crushes fr

mclaren see you, sheriff

lando this town ain't big enough for us two

user8 love to see oscar hanging out w landos friend group

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liked by oscarpiastri and others

yourinstagram you taste like the 4th of july

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user1 Y/NNN ARE YOU GOING TO COTAS??

user2 she must be i don't think she's ever been to the us before user3 queen y/n in mclaren paddock i'm calling it

user4 hold up am i reaching but lando posted burger joint milkshakes and she posted a burger joint and

user5 i really hate to break your bubble but there's literally no evidence to suggest they were at the SAME burger joints user6 its america its all fast food.

user7 so stunningg

oscarpiastri So you ignore your debts and post instagrams

yourinstagram what debt 😭 i paid for your concert tickets no?? oscarpiastri I paid for my concert tickets yourinstagram well we paid for each other's concert tickets yourinstagram you're jokign right do you hate me that much oscarpiastri I just wanted you to respond to me yourinstagram okay 😔 sorry brotha

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liked by mclaren and others

yourinstagram came to support the fam

tagged: mclaren, oscarpiastri, lando

mclaren we are so glad you did 🧡

yourinstagram the teddy is so cute i'll sleep with it every night! tysm for the wonderful welcome user1 aww

oscarpiastri I'm emotional now. Get me a tissue, please. I can't believe my sister cares about me.

yourinstagram the combination of perfect punctuation and capitalization really hit the mark. user2 he's so silly user3 oscar bfr you're glad she's finally started coming to ur races often

lando am i the fam

yourinstagram gosh i hope we're not related that would make it weird user4 well you guys are pretty close to alabama liked by yourinstagram user4 HELP??

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liked by mclaren and others

lando soon.

view all comments

user1 ? soon ? as in ? coming soon ?

user2 bro if he looked at me like that

user3 oscar can you explain your boyfriend's cryptic captions

yourinstagram soon.

user4 HELLO? user5 did she just acknowledge his existence user6 tf you mean soon girl lando soon. yourinstagram soon. lando soon. user7 they need help oscarpiastri You see what I have to put up with every day of my life?

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liked by tatemcrae and others

yourinstagram i think you know what this is

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user1 y/n and tate?

user2 the crossover we never knew we needed

user3 WAITTT YK HOW TATE HAS HER NEW MV AND SHE'S TEASING A MCLAREN DRIVER WHAT IF OSCAR OR LANDO'S DATING HER??

user4 i like the way your mind works user5 that's so awkward for her lol if it's oscar "cool you're shagging my brother" user6 or maybe it's lando probably? because he posted soon on his instagram user7 but doesn't lando have a crush on y/n? or is it not confirmed user8 girl idk

user9 baddieeees

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liked by tatemcrae and others

yourinstagram SPORTS CAR.

everybody say THANK YOU TATIANA ♡ seriously, what did i deserve to get to know her? she has put out a killer album, danced her ass off in stilettos, and did so during a non-stop tour. now she's starting another one. respect, a whole cartload of it.

but a little recap: obviously, tate wanted a driver in her music video about a SPORTS CAR. lando's team was up for it. tate (being respectful, she literally had no reason to do this whatsoever except for that fact that she's an amazing person and so very considerate) asked me to film it with lando instead. for "chemistry' and blah but again, THANK YOU TATIANA we say in unison.

hope you enjoy the music video and the song!

tagged: lando, tatemcrae

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tatemcrae there was no need to write a whole paragraph but i appreciate your recognition ♥️ considering an acting career anytime? love you loads

yourinstagram while the answer is yes, unfortunately i don't think anyone else will be considering it for me 🤪 tatemcrae also you fine asf yourinstagram u too bae rahhh user1 i love them sm

user2 that's so nice of her

user3 like i'm sure y/n would've been fine with her but giving up an MV for an actor's gf is crazy user4 i mean...it paid off. the chemistry is INSANE user5 need a man to hold me how lando holds y/n

user6 oscar jack piastri, how are you holding up?

oscarpiastri Have been avoiding the video. Have not been entirely successful. user7 LMAO poor boy lando sorry mate oscarpiastri You're not sorry in the slightest yourinstagram just close your eyes

lando thank you tatiana for orchestrating a music video for me and my girlfriend you're the goat

tatemcrae i think you're just glad you got to hard launch her this way, but you're welcome user8 y/n never called him her boyfriend BUT GUYS THiS iS CONFIRMATION THEY ARE DATING lando yes i'm her boyfriend she's my girlfriend. in case the making out and monkey business did not make that clear! user9 "monkey business" i cant anymore with him ✋

lando @/yourinstagram mommy? sorry-mommy? sorry-

yourinstagram shameless, i tell you. shameless. do it again.

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a/n: WE CAN UH-UH IN IT

[mia-fey-needs-a-drink]

It's so annoying that to so much of the fandom Mia is just "boobs" or "girlboss", she's got so much more going on:

-She really struggles to remember people's names which often causes people to doubt her engagement despite genuinely caring and engaging with their situation and the case (she's just like me fr I really struggle with names (for probably autism reasons) and people really don't like that).

-She has a tendency to just not talk to people about things, especially about herself or her life. depending on when you think Mia actually started mentoring Phoenix he was a significant part of her life for at least a year and probably since 3-1, yet he only meets Maya and learns about spirit channeling after Mia dies, she never mentioned Lana either, or Diego, or DL-6, and this isn't just to Phoenix, she never told Maya about Diego either and it's vague how much Lana actually knows about her, hell it's vague how much Diego actually knew about her, maybe Grossberg only told him about DL6 and the Fey clan after he wakes up from his coma. Ultimately she isolated herself from everyone in her life to some extent and it's kinda part of how she died, no-one knew the danger she was in and she didn't want people to know.

-Her ineptitude with technology. Phoenix and Maya also have this, but I feel like Mia's and Maya's are so linked to their background in the fey clan, they were raised in a society and culture where they didn't have access to these things and integrating into broader society comes with difficulties.

-Her entire life and career is just things repeatedly going wrong and her being fucked over: DL-6, her disaster of a first trial, Diego being poisoned and just as she's about to try and finally put Redd White behind bars he finds out and kills her. She had shit hand after shit hand and was basically doomed from the start, but yet she persisted and she fought for what she believed and for the people she cared about and to make the world a better place, and everything good that Phoenix manages to do throughout PWT is thanks to Mia and everything she worked for, she laid the foundations for a better world for the ones she loved that she wouldn't get to live in and yet I think if she knew that it would all end this way from the start she'd do it all over again. I think a little part of me thinks that some part of her hoped White would kill her so there was something definitive to pin him with (which comes with some darker implications for how well she was dealing with life).

-Mia has such an interesting relationship to the legal system and her own sense of justice. So much of her experience with the law is with it failing her, repeatedly. DL-6 is a disaster that stripped her mother from her, her first trial ends in the clearly guilty party that murdered her client getting away with it, her boyfriend's murder goes unsolved from the same murderer who she dedicates the next 8 months to taking down, and then there's 1-2, her own murder trial. Mia has again worked for years to try and get this man convicted, the deeply corrupt legal system making it a near insurmountable task, then in the last stretch he murders her. The police immediately just try to brush it under the rug, blame her sister and get the trial over with. Grossberg is too afraid of White to defend Maya and Edgeworth is a slimy piece of shit the entire trial. When Phoenix finally finds the clearly guilty White, he simply makes a few calls and her understudy is the prime suspect. White goes up on the stand and just repeatedly comes up with any old blatant nonsense and excuses and no matter how many times and how much work goes into Wright picking apart every mistruth and detail and how many pieces of evidence he shows nothing will convict White, the court is completely corrupt, you'll never be able to defeat him within the system. So, what happens? Mia and Phoenix have to work outside the established rules, even working outside the rules of death itself. White is only defeated after Mia straight up blackmails him into confessing, and yet this is more justice than working within the law ever would allow them. Mia also only gets Dahlia through pushing the law to it's breaking point, she was a step away from being disbarred. I feel like it's easy to see her as a strong believer in the law but if you really look at it, to her, the law is not sacred or worthy of much reverence, if something is unjust, to hell if it's legal, she will try and reach justice no matter what.

-Look I may be projecting my woke onto the game a little bit but I can't help but feel the routine misogyny Mia faces in both the cases we play as her in T&T is more than just "a product of it's time" and more showing misogyny as an extension of the system being rigged against her.

Loooong post but there's so much going on with Mia.

[aislinregin]

I don't like getting political anymore. I have too much to protect, too much that leaves me and people I love profoundly vulnerable in the current climate. But I feel like I have to say this, so I'm going to do something that makes me sick to my stomach: I'm going to censor myself.

I have always told myself, my partners, my friends, my children that when you're getting the measure of someone, you should definitely trust your gut. Or your pet, whichever gets there first. Animals have a keen sense for danger, and your gut is just the part of you that doesn't realize you're supposed to be a civilized human. But also, possibly even more importantly, people always tell you who they are eventually. It might take a while, they might put on a good show for years. But sooner or later, people always tell you who they are and what they want to do. That can look different in different people. Let me give you an example.

When I was seventeen I started dating a guy I worked with. He was 19, so only a little older, but where I lived he was a legal adult so there was definitely a power dynamic at play that I was not equipped to navigate safely. This guy said all the right things, made all the right moves, for months. And the whole time my gut was whispering "this isn't right, something is wrong." But I could prove it, not even to myself, so I told myself I was imagining it. I was not imagining it. One day I was riding in the backseat of a car with this guy and he wanted to go to a friend's party. But it had been a long day for me and I was tired and I knew his friends were the type who would want to drink a lot of beer and act foolish and I was just not in the mood. So I said that was fine but he could go by himself because I wanted to go home and read a book. He said "no, we're going to the party." And I said "No, you can go if you want but I'm going home."

And then he slapped me across the face.

He did it once. I think it surprised him how little I reacted (it wasn't the first time I'd been slapped, it wasn't even the hundredth). I looked him in the eye and I remember very clearly that my gut was suddenly louder than a bullhorn: "YOU KNEW THIS WAS WRONG, AND NOW HE'S SHOWN YOU HOW."

So I smiled, all coy and sweet, and unbuckled my seatbelt to scoot over like I was going to cuddle up to him and "apologize." Then I unbuckled his seatbelt, reached across him, opened the door of the car, and shoved him out of the car. It was moving, slowly through a neighborhood, and the driver was so shocked he slammed on the brakes while I closed the door and locked it. The now ex boyfriend was screaming like he'd been shot (he was fine, was barely bruised). I told the driver that if he didn't drive me home right then I was calling the cops.

All that to say that people will always tell you who they are and what they want eventually. If they're being honest, what they say won't change much over time, just as they grow and evolve. You can track those changes, be part of them. But if they're lying or putting on a mask, sooner or later they'll slip up and then you'll know. What you do next will tell them a lot: it will tell them if you're going to let them be who they really are, if they can continue to use and abuse you. Trump has never been anything but brutally honest about who he is. He has been telling us from the start who he is and what he wants. And the whole damn country or even world has been scrambling to assure us that it's fine, he can't do those things, we have all these things that protect us (Congress, police, the military, the Constitution). But I have been listening to Trump and his people. I've heard everything they've said. They've told us who they are. And when people tell you who they are, the trick is to take them at their word. Believe them. So you know what? I believe him. But I can't shove him out of a moving car. I can get out of the car though. It's happened before. It's happened before here. We have a secret history no one wants to talk about, one with mass graves under residential schools less than two hours from where I sit right now, chemically castrated queers, non consensual lobotomies on autistics and other neurodivergents, internment camps and forced migrations and outright fucking massacres. What Trump and his puppeteers want is not out of line with this country's soul. This is not new. This is what this country has always been. It's time to believe it. It's time to get out of the fucking car.

Let's connect some dots here

The Trump administration kidnaps and sends hundreds of people to a prison camp in El Salvador with no due process (meaning they never have to prove these people committed whatever offence the Admin claims)

The Administration sets the precedent that anyone, up to green card holder and naturalized citizens, will be subject to this for practicing free speech in a way the Administration doesn't like

The Administration puts out two Executive Orders, one which says they believe trans people and parents of trans children are all sexual offenders and another that anyone who criticizes Israel is a terrorist

The President puts out a statement, in public, saying he wants to find ways to send US citizens to those foreign prison camps

The Administration directly defies 2 different SCOTUS decisions that say anyone who is deported must get due process and (this one a unanimous decision) they must return a wrongfully deported man

The US President now tells the President of El Salvador, again in public, that they will need to expand their facilities because he wants to start sending "homegrown criminals" to El Salvador very soon

We aren't even in boiling the frog territory any more, we're in a flash frier.

Like I hate sounding like a fucking tinfoil hat nutjob, but it's clear as day, right? He's saying exactly what he wants to do. And no one is doing anything about it. They're just saying "hey that's illegal!" and then letting it happen anyway.

[softsunnyy]

Kinnie with the Canucks ! ♡

you're filming a silly trend, a "mini-blog" of your son going to a Canucks game to watch his dad play. But seeing him so happy makes you think, and all you can focus on is him.

i started writing this a while ago and just remembered i never finished it, so here it is. Btw, the nickname is a short way of saying "pumpkin", bc i love that nickname and i already thought of a whole reason behind it. Also, i was inspired by this and this video + i was listening to "Love Story" while finishing it

i can make this a series if y´all want.

from the moment your little one got mic'd up, he started babbling and trying to narrate as best he could. And to make him feel more comfortable, they asked you to be the one recording him. So the boy constantly looks at you, talking about how excited he is to see his dad play.

now, this isn't strange or new to him; in fact, it's quite common. But it's always a new experience, and you know that Quinn's little copy idolizes him more than anything in this world, and he experiences every game as if it were Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final.

you unconsciously smile at how easily he talks about the place, showing the spectators around, the outside of the locker room, everything, and then makes his way to his special seat, near the glass, where he can watch the game up close.

“dad’s coming out any minute, we���ll see if i can get a puck,” he said, mouthing the words in a funny way, his cheeks flushed, his smile exactly like Quinn’s. Behind the camera, your heart melts once again, knowing your husband would give him every puck and every stick in the game if his little one asked.

you hear him talk, but all you can look at is him. His hair, his cheeks, his smile. His sweet chuckle, and the way he moves his head when he talks. The way now his big and bright eyes focus on the rink instead of the camera.

you used to jokingly comment about how you spent months carrying him for him to end up being an exact copy of Quinn. But it’s true. And he’s more than happy and proud to look just like him.

when your little one first became interested in hockey, you should have seen it coming. Of course he wants to play defense. Of course he wants to be the best.

he’s fast, he’s very agile. And everyone knows what he wants.

“i wanna play like dad when i grow up. He’s so cool,” he smiled. And at that moment, the players came out for warmups. Your little boy sat on the edge of his seat, more attentive than ever, and Quinn was quick to find you, quickly going to the glass, hitting it with his stick, smiling when his son laughed, tapping the glass with one of his little hands.

Quinn didn’t even have to hear the question; he immediately went to get a puck, tossing it over the glass, and you had to be careful, catching it and passing it to your son, trying to capture the moment without moving the camera too much.

you hear a few people around you making “aww” sounds, watching the moment when mini Hughes smiles, his face lighting up even more.

he’s like a little fan, even though he sees his dad almost every day, and when Quinn is away, they spend hours talking on facetime, no matter how tired both are.

and no matter how much time passes, you know he'll still be this obsessed.

as the game progresses, he starts yapping and just talking, talking about how good his dad is, how he's the star of the team, and how much he loves his uncles, Quinn's friends. You smile, listening and trying to pay attention to the plays. You know it was originally meant to be a mini-blog, something they could post on tiktok for the Canucks' account, but you can't tell him to stop, or just cut the recording. Not when he's talking so happily, so excitedly, melting your heart. You know this should be seen, that everyone should get this dose of cuteness, even if it's a thousand-hour video.

and when it's Quinn who scores a goal? oh god, he screams and jumps, and you're sure he's the loudest. The people around congratulate him, knowing who he is, and making his smile even bigger, to the point where his cheeks cramp and his eyes are barely visible.

your heart aches; you wanna see him this happy forever, because it's all he deserves. And you love that it's Quinn who brings all of that to him, because it happens to you too. From the moment you met him, he's always been the first to make you smile, to be there for you every moment, to make you feel safe and increasingly confident. Quinn has always been your sunshine, and it feels right that he also is for your son, the fruit of your intense love for each other.

after the game, you walk behind him, who takes short, quick steps, trying to reach the locker room and see his dad. As the others leave, they pat him on the head, then wave to you and the camera. Happy with this victory.

when Quinn comes out of the locker room, he barely manages to bend down, reaching his son's level just as he throws himself into his arms. You see them laugh, do a little spin, and you know that all of that can be heard in the video through the microphone. Joy and love, in their purest and most beautiful state.

“hi, Kinnie,” your husband laughed, saying one of his son’s many nicknames, securing him in his arms before walking over to you, giving you a small peck. “Hi.”

“hi, dad,” your son replied. Then Quinn noticed the camera, and you paused for a moment to explain, watching him nod before looking down at his tiny copy. “Did you enjoy the game? i think mom recorded you yapping.”

“i was paying attention! i was just telling ´hem about the game,” he tried to defend himself, slightly blushing. “Mommy wasn’t even paying attention,” he said this time, making you both laugh.

when the video was posted, everyone was asking for the extended version, knowing that the video had been edited to fit on tiktok, so soon everyone could enjoy the full version on youtube as well.

thousands of comments talking about how mini Hughes inherited his dad's yapping, or how similar they are, and how loved he is.

and even though you try not to expose him too much on social media, videos of him in his little-games sometimes go viral, because of the way he skates, perfecting skills that many kids his age can't do yet; or videos of him "training" in the summer with his dad, his uncles, and his grandparents, in a family full of success, talent, and love.

everyone knows that little Hughes is the most loved, and that his future is bright, surrounded by people who will help him become a star. They even talk about how he'll be better than Quinn.

and you love it, you love knowing that he´s loved, that he's supported. You love knowing that you chose the perfect man, and that he gave you the ideal family. Because the bad days don't matter when the day ends and you all cuddle on the couch again. Because the good days will remain in your memories for years.

because no one will love you both the way Quinn does, and no one will love him the way you two love him.

and the internet is here to see that.

[katsu28]

hiiiii... first off, i wanted to say that i love your work so so much. i'm usually a silent viewer but i wanted to come out and tell you that your work is absolutely stunning. secondly, i was wondering if you were still taking requests from that prompt list in the pinned post. i was thinking 3,26 and 24 for the absolute comeback lando made during jeddah. if not, all good. do not feel pressured at all to write this ❤️

i appreciate u so much thank u!!! <33

3. hiding face in neck, 24. whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin + 26. kissing the top of their head. lando norris x reader, 1.2k. request something from here :)

Tenth on the grid isn’t near where Lando wanted to be for tomorrow’s race. Crashing out of qualifying definitely isn’t what he wanted either, not for him, but especially not for the team. 

Jeddah is a tricky track, so full of tight corners and narrow straights that it could’ve happened to anyone. It just so happened that he was the unlucky one this time around. 

He’s already beating himself up even before he gets out of the car. Fucking idiot, were his exact words on the radio, echoing through your headphones in the guest area of the McLaren garage, marking the exact moment your heart sank for him. It had already nearly jumped out of your chest as soon as you saw his car wobble, nearly stopped when he slammed into the barrier coming out of a turn. 

A little later, after the session ends and Verstappen has taken pole, you finally find Lando. His feet drag along the floor, helmet dangling from his fingertips as he trudges into the garage looking far from happy. 

His eyes find you immediately after he sets his gear down and you smile at him with what you hope is reassurance masking your concern, waiting for him to make his way over to where you are. He buries himself into your arms as best he can with the box wall between you, hiding his face in your neck like it’ll let him hide from the world. 

Things like this are inevitable in every driver’s career, but Lando has always taken the setbacks rather hard. Always blaming himself, getting in his head about all the what ifs and could’ve beens. You can’t solve his problems for him, but you can help in other ways. 

You squeeze him tightly, as if all your worries and his disappointment could melt away the closer you hold him. He’s here, he’s okay.

“M’okay, baby,” Lando mumbles, words muffled against your skin. Your fingers comb through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, palm splaying across warm skin just so you can feel his pulse under your touch. Lando pulls away just a bit, enough to speak clearly. “I’m fine, I promise. No damage—to me, at least. Car’s fucked.” 

“The team can fix it. They will fix it,” You insist, bringing one hand up to cup his face. Your thumb strokes over his rosy cheek, eyes boring into his with such firmness you want him to feel it too. “Everything will be fine tomorrow.” 

“Promise?” 

You can’t promise him anything—not really—but you nod anyway, sealing when you hope isn't an empty promise with a kiss. “I promise, Lan.” 

-------

You swear you haven't blinked since lights out. 

Your eyes have been glued to the screen above you the entire race, headphones clutched to your ears so you can hear exactly what's going on with Lando. You’ve even got the F1 app open on your phone to track live timings so you don't miss a thing from the depths of the garage. 

With every overtake, every gained position, your heart pounds a little faster. You’re even sweating a little bit, which would be odd given that you’re not actually the one in the car. But when your boyfriend is racing for his life out on track with only a handful of laps to go, you’re a ball of nerves. 

You mutter encouragement under your breath the whole time like Lando can hear you, fingers crossed so tightly it’s starting to hurt as the laps tick down to the final one. Anything is possible until he flies by that checkered flag. 

Lando crosses the line fourth. 

He’d put up a phenomenal drive, fighting his way past seven very impressive opponents, managing his tires, keeping up the pace. In your eyes, he’s a winner all the time, but especially now. With what happened yesterday, a P4 comeback is sure to put some confidence back in him. 

You find him chatting with Oscar after his post-race media duties, completely unaware of your appearance as you start to creep towards him from behind.

Oscar does notice, but doesn’t say anything when he spots you over his teammate’s shoulder, just tries his best to hide his grin so as to not blow your mission. 

Lando's still going on and on about tire degradation when you pounce on him from behind.

“Fucking hell!” He screeches, nearly keeling over backwards before he manages to get his hands under your thighs for support. At the excited kiss you smack to his cheek, he lets out a loud exhale. “Baby, don’t do that! I thought I was being mugged!” 

“In the middle of the paddock? Seriously?” You giggle, both feet back on the ground. You smile at the younger boy across from you. “Hi, Oscar! Mega drive today, congrats on the win.” 

Oscar’s cheeks tinge pink and he grins, rocks back on his heels a little. “Glad you thought so.”

“Alright, mate, don’t you have your own girlfriend to bother?” Lando huffs dramatically, hooking an arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes playfully at his change in demeanor. “Go on, get out of here, kid.” 

“See you on the plane, old man,” Oscar shoots back, sidestepping the halfhearted swipe Lando takes at him. He holds his fist out towards you for a bump. “Great to see you again.”

“Likewise. Say hi to Lily for me.” You wait for Oscar to disappear into the team hub before turning your attention on your boyfriend, hands on your hips, brows raised. “Why are you like this?” 

“Me? Baby, he was seconds away from giggling like a fucking schoolgirl. I’m telling you, Oscar definitely has a crush on you.” 

“He has a girlfriend, Lando. You’ve met Lily, you’ve seen them together. He’s head over heels for her, and you’re being ridiculous.” 

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s stop talking about him now.” 

You drape your arms around his neck, tilting your chin up at him with a smile. “You’re lucky I find your weirdness attractive.” 

“Luckiest guy in the world, I always say,” He hums, beaming back at you. “So, what’d you think of the race?” 

“You did amazing today, Lan,” You say, nearly squeezing the life out of him with your hug. He pushes in closer to hear you over the bustle of the paddock and you do the same, putting your lips right against his ear for your next whispered praise. “I’m so proud of you, d’you know that? I'll always be proud of you, wherever you finish, whatever you do.” 

“Yeah, I know,” He says bashfully, grinning ear to ear. His arms wrap tighter around you. “Thanks to you. My lucky charm.” 

“Nuh uh, that’s all you, baby,” You reply with a shake of your head. Lando can only smile bigger, kissing the top of your head four times in succession, four lucky kisses for his lucky charm. “Ready to go home?” 

“Ugh, beyond. I need a fucking shower,” He groans, tipping his head towards the night sky. His gaze snaps back to you just as fast, this time with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wanna join?” 

“Way to ruin the heartfelt moment, you horndog.” 

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing!” 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new fic :)

[gigiwritess]

IN ORBIT

dr. jack abbott x f!resident!reader!vega aka "wildcard"

wc: 2,047 synopsis: ten weeks of dr. vega surviving in the pitt. eight weeks of dr. vega and dr. abbot stuck in each other's orbits. tl;dr: dr. abbot and dr. vega start to get close to each other.

contents: 20-year age gap (vega is 26, jack is 46). slight mention of vega's worsening mental health issues; description of back problems (which are entirely based on my own). usual pitt dynamics. probably lots of medical inaccuracies that im not gonna apologize for. this is totally self-inserted and vega is totally based in lots of aspects of myself. gonna probably update this list when i have more creativity.

gigi's notes: whats up guys!!!! i have absolutely no words to thank all the love you've given the first piece of this thing (because i'm not really sure what it is yet). i'm in a kinda deep depressive crisis at the moment (pretty much like the one vega's in) and when i wrote it i was trying to force myself to write in the hopes that i'd feel the same joy i used to feel (and i did!!!), so seeing how many people enjoyed this bit of myself really mattered to me. thank you. ALSO: THANK YOU FOR 500 FOLLOWERS!!!!! now, about the fanfic: vega isn't exactly an oc (at least i think so), but, like i mentioned before, she is entirely based in myself (including her mental & back problems, poor thing), so i understand if any of you don't really see her as reader and it's okay. i feel like i kinda repeated some stuff too much in this piece and i feel like there are lots of things that aren't that good or i could've written better, but i still liked the way it turned out, so my self-doubt and impostor syndrome can go fuck themselves. also, like i mentioned in the previous, i HATE slowburns and i had something totally different planned for this piece, but then i started writing and having ideas and it felt right to write a short one just about their interactions. i PROMISE that the next one will be less slow and have a lot more burning. also, i had no intention to do so but i ended up following a stellar pathway to this fanfic. which is really fitting considering myself as a person. university is still kicking my ass (when is it not?), but i'm gonna try to commit to write & post weekly (let's call it exposure therapy). this was reviewed once but it's possible to have typos; english isn't my first language. i'll probably remember other things to tell you later so i'll probably update these notes in the future. enjoy!!!! :))))

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Vega was day shift. Jack Abbot was night shift.

Yet, despite that slight difference, whenever she was working, he seemed to be too. Whenever she rounded a corner, he was there on the nurses’ station, charting or talking to someone, irritating Robby, or making Dana laugh without even trying. Whenever she worked a case, he seemed to linger around. Whenever he worked a case, she seemed to linger around, too. They were in each other’s way. And they weren’t avoiding being there.

Jack attributed that to an ever-growing lack of sleep. She happened to be on his mind more frequently than he wanted. Anything she did made him aware of her—aware of her face, aware of her voice, aware of her presence in the Pitt.

He didn’t see her often; she was always busy, always treating someone or charting or doing rounds or sometimes even triage. Jack didn’t talk much with her. Not that he talked that much with anyone else—but there was something about her. Something about her made noise feel irrelevant. She was quiet, but she wasn’t shut off, not in a cold way; guarded, as if she’d learned early not to give people easy access to anything she didn’t want touched. She was assertive, self-assured in her words and actions. She didn’t say much, but when she did, it cut clean. Still, he caught himself looking when she wasn’t more times than he expected, caught himself wondering how someone so quiet could take up that much space. Physically, in the Pitt, or in his mind.

Vega would catch herself searching for him in the Pitt way more often than she intended, almost as if there was a string tethering them to each other. She didn’t want to be aware of him, but she was. She was aware of him in the way one’s body reacts before the mind does—like a storm brewing just outside the window. He didn’t crowd her, didn’t flirt, didn’t even look too long. But he watched. And she noticed.

They seemed to be stuck in the same magnetic field, like two forces stuck in each other’s orbit, getting closer each time, both acutely aware of each other. Like Andromeda and the Milky Way—two beasts that would, eventually, collide.

She’d often brush past him at the nurses’ station. Stand just a tiny bit closer than she had to. Whenever they traded words, it was usually there—like the first time he threw her a compliment.

“You did good today,” he said, not looking up from his charting, his scrubs still stained with blood from a massive bleeding they dealt with together earlier.

She turned to him. “You sound surprised,” she replied, keeping her face neutral.

He put the chart down and looked at her, his eyes always tired but always steady.

“I’m not.”

Then he put the chart away and walked away, not saying another word. But those two words stayed with her longer than they should have.

From then on, working the same cases started to be more frequent; standing side by side, handing each other equipment and charts without even having to ask. They were learning to read each other’s silences, they were learning each other’s rhythms.

The next time she found herself noticing him, he looked like hell. She was on shift; he was working overtime. That much was clear by the way his shoulders were heavy, pen moving slowly across a chart, scrub top wrinkled and littered with dark stains—he wasn’t one to change scrubs often, just like her; they always had bigger concerns. He looked like he hadn’t slept in well over three days; his brows were carved in a deep line, the fluorescent lights cutting hard lines under his eyes. He wasn’t even supposed to be there.

She didn’t think, her body moving on its own accord. Just grabbed a fresh cup of coffee from the vending machine and, silent as a predator, set it down next to him with a soft thud, keeping her attention on her tablet.

Jack’s eyes flicked up, slow and heavy-lidded, but never without that sharp flame underneath. He glanced at the coffee and then, for a beat, he just looked at her.

“You trying to earn a gold star, kid?” He said, voice low, his mouth twisting into something lazy and rough.

Vega leaned an elbow on the counter, close—too close—, her sleeve brushing his. Her eyes met his.

“No,” she said, head tilting just enough to make it feel deliberate, her mouth just slightly tugging at the corner. “Just don’t want an old man dropping dead on my shift.”

He laughed—a real laugh, low, rough-edged, caught between surprised and something else, the kind of laugh that cracked through his exhaustion. He shook his head slowly, his eyes not leaving hers, something sharp and warm and unknown stuck between them.

She liked making him laugh.

His fingers wrapped around the warm cup, his fingers grazing hers—not by accident. Vega didn’t flinch.

“Careful,” he muttered, low enough for her to hear, “or people’ll notice you have a sense of humor.”

She smiled. Small, sharp. Just for him. A silent moment passed before she answered, her eyes analyzing his almost as if trying to decide if he was worth her time. Trying to recognize what it was that she saw in his eyes, the familiarity of it.

“See?” She said in a softer voice, the glint in her eye unmistakable, starting to push away from the counter. “You’re already imagining things. Drink it before it gets worse.”

Jack didn’t answer, just lifted the coffee toward her in a half-ass salute, finally sipping from it. It tasted better than he expected. He watched her walk away, his lips tugged upward in a tired smirk that lingered even after she disappeared down the hall, his eyes trailing after her.

Somewhere along the way of starting to work together, she’d learned how he drank his coffee. That warmed something inside of him.

There was something there, something he couldn’t quite name yet. It was quiet, simmering, growing—almost like a current humming just beneath the surface. Like a prickle slowly getting under his skin.

A few days turned into a few shifts, which turned into days, which turned into weeks. In a bit over two months since joining the Pitt, Vega had been working more with Abbot than with Robby—but she wasn’t complaining.

They still didn’t talk often, but it wasn’t only the strictly necessary, either. Sometimes he’d throw her a rare comment, always adding a “kid” at the end, and she would retort with something just as fitting, “old man” always on her tongue—it usually earned a laugh from him. They always ended up drifting back to each other’s orbit, standing almost too close, brushing fingers when handing each other things, finding their eyes already on the other, sharing a few loaded glances. Working side by side in sync, reading each other’s silences and minds.

There was something about the way he didn’t push, he didn’t demand more than she was willing to give, that spoke to her; that made her see him in a different light than she expected to. He was showing her that he wasn’t quite like she expected him to be. There was something between them—something unknown, something unspoken, and she hadn’t yet realized just how deep it was.

It was a week and a half after the coffee moment—in that meantime, he’d gotten her two coffees in return. He’d learned how she drank her coffee, too, without asking, and it touched something strange inside of her that she did her best to ignore. But it was there.

This time, she was the one working overtime. Her mind was full of too many dark things she didn’t have the strength to face at the moment, so she chose to keep working. That way, she kept busy; that way, she didn’t need to spend too much time alone with her thoughts.

Around eleven pm, the ER was finally calming down—not that anyone dared to say that out loud. After a massive car pileup, the voices finally started to give way to whispers and quietness, everyone disappearing into any rest they could get. Vega was finally able to take a deep breath. So was Jack—she’d barely seen him today.

His voice was suddenly by her side.

“You should sit down.”

She glanced up at him, brows furrowing. “What?”

He gestured toward the nearest chair.

“You’ve been on your feet all day,” he replied, putting a chart away and grabbing another before pointing at her back. “It’s not good for your back.”

Vega froze, completely paralyzed in what she was doing. Her water bottle was forgotten mid-air, watching his back as he walked away normally, as if he hadn’t left her with the most dumbfounded look she’d ever had, as if he’d said the most normal, trivial thing in the world.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t the most normal, common-knowledge thing in the world, because she had never mentioned her back problems to anyone, not even Robby—let alone Jack. She was too used to keeping her problems by herself, dealing with everything on her own, unused to asking for help. And he’d noticed.

Her back was hurting.

She had good and bad days; sometimes, the pain would barely make itself known. Other times, no matter what she did—stretches, sleeping without any pillows, pills, having the best mattress possible—, it never left, like a pointy pebble stuck in one’s shoe. Sometimes it’d start in the early morning hours and only get worse throughout the day. Today was one of those days, where with each passing hour that she was on her feet, it only worsened. The only painkillers that, in fact, made the pain go away also made her sleepy, totally knocked her out (like the time the pain was so bad she had to take a Tramadol injection), or left her feeling in a dazed state. She couldn’t be in any of these situations at the moment, so she was stuck with it for a few more hours. She was already used to it by now, had gotten good at ignoring it.

Somehow, Jack had noticed. Somehow, Jack had read through the narrowed lines across her face, had read through the way she kept trying to shift her weight to hide the strain, had read through the pain she was trying to ignore, through the way she clenched her jaw and closed her eyes when the pain got too loud to ignore, when she thought no one was looking.

He hadn’t said it to make her flinch, hadn’t said it like an accusation, hadn’t said it to tease. He simply noticed.

And it unsettled Vega—because it meant he was paying attention. Not the kind of attention that grazed the surface, the way most people saw what they wanted to see. Not the kind of attention an attending gave a resident, not just assessing her professional skills. So, she did sit down. Because, somehow, Jack Abbot saw right through her, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. As if it were simple.

She wasn’t used to that.

She was the one who saw. She was who stayed, who stitched, literally and figuratively, people back together and asked for nothing in return.

She was who always put everyone’s needs above her own—

She was who had spent her whole damn life making sure no one ever noticed the cracks—

She was who gave and gave and gave until she almost forgot she had anything left to want—

He just wanted her to sit. To take care of herself.

It hit her sideways, knocking her off balance, making her forget how to breathe. It slipped under her skin before she could stop it, sharp and tender all at once, settling somewhere deep in her chest. Like a bruise she had never realized was there until he touched it without meaning to, the part of her that still wanted—desperately, stupidly—to be seen.

The part of her that wanted it to be her turn. That still wanted to be known, to be chosen, to be kept.

And Jack—

Jack looked at her like he already had.

And it scared the living shit out of her.

gigi's notes: PLS tell me what you guys think, im sooooo looking forward to see your reactions!!! <3 i also started working on a different jack fanfic based on a request of a love triangle, so heads up for a future jack x reader x langdon (but here dilf supremacy always wins so don't worry folks) hehe AND i've been thinking... what do we think of a jack x firefighter!reader? 👀 i'm gonna take the big ass test for joining my state's military firefighters (i probably won't be approved bc i haven't studied at all but i would truly like to be approved [even though i'm graduating in archaeology lol]) so i kept thinking what it'd be like of jack in a relationship with a firefighter so i might write it anyway lol also, can you see how much i need therapy for my people-pleaser issues? im trying ok i took the liberty of tagging below the lovely people who said such nice things about the fanfic and commented and reblogged. if you'd like to be tagged in the future, please let me know! @cosmoscoffeee @mackycat11 @sunfairyy @starkgaryan @amandarobertsboyce @starlight-starbright-8080 @patatesliomlet @saynotononsense @sweetestcowboy @diaryofafeelsaddict

[elysiality]

TRICK OR TREAT —

natalie scatorccio and shauna shipman. (PT.2 to W.I.T.H.)

"I know what Halloween is, Shauna." you grumble, rolling your eyes.

"You sure?", she asks, grinning widely as she adjusts the paper horns on the guide's decapitated head. "I could make you a presentation— but no promises that it won't just be several pages of 'The terribly drawn adventures of Count Chocula and Franken Berry.' "

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

-⋆˚꩜｡ synopsis — ever since the knife incident, Shauna's been latched onto you like a leech hungry for blood. as annoying as this is, an opportunity for escape presents itself in the form of your girlfriend, Nat. you let yourself indulge in malicious compliance with what 'It' wills. (requested part 2 to Wolf In the Headlights)

-⋆˚꩜｡ content contains — fem! reader, yellowjackets typical antics, yellowjackets season 3 spoilers, shauna shipman being shauna shipman, marriage blood rituals (no, you're not reading this wrong), infidelity but not really??? blood, blah blah blah, you know the drill, I am not a botanist chat, consensual (ish) drugging, clap if you're surprised, blood drinking, suggestive-ish?? wow this is long—

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ever since the knife incident™, you were under the, quite frankly, delusional impression that maybe Shauna would leave you alone now. maybe, just maybe, you and Nat could now live out the rest of your miserable, definitely shortened lifespan without the imposing influence of America's First Female Dictator (trademark pending).

as you might've guessed, that was not the case. if anything, she's just gotten even more annoyingly clingy and paranoid now— you didn't even know that was possible.

the whole 'good dog' comment was a spur of the moment thing. the most condescending, degrading insult you could think of at the moment (granted, not a very creative one). she took it to heart, as luck would have it.

she goes everywhere you go.

you're trying to do your chores? she's right next to you— not helping, but watching you do your work, sharpening that darn knife of hers like it wouldn't cut through diamond at this point.

try to sneak off with Nat for a secret, much needed makeout session? she pops out of seemingly nowhere, her footsteps blending in with the rustling of the trees, and completely ruins the vibe by scaring the living daylights out of the two of you.

it'd gotten to the point where you considered joining Lottie's weird wilderness cult to escape her— the one thing Shauna refuses to touch with a ten-foot pole.

unfortunately, Nat was on Shauna's side with that one, so that idea was completely vetoed. in her words, 'joining a cult is all fun and games until you realise that you can't leave'. you can't help but agree.

Shauna's 'affection' (heavy air quotes on that) isn't just limited to stalking either. she's been trying to show off for you— and by that, I mean that she's been showing off. plain and simple.

if she walked around like she had a stick up her ass before, there's an entire tree up there now. her favourite pastimes (since she was freed from butcher duty once she became queen) now include (but aren't limited to):

poking fun at Nat every chance she gets (expected, but disappointing nonetheless),

alternating between sneering at the will of the wilderness and fully supporting whatever It wills as long as it involves violence,

hitting on you like it's her full time job instead of actually trying to lead the group,

turning down Melissa's advances, thoroughly confusing the poor girl who she made out with less than a week ago, and finally—

running a full blown dictatorship with hut searches, body patdowns every morning (and she does yours personally), etc and relishing in the fact that no one can tell her to stop.

you're actually not quite sure why none of you have tried to impeach your 'queen' yet. you've brought up the topic with Nat in your hut before lights out almost every day, and every day she gives you the same answer— "She sees through our bullshit. We need a foolproof plan before we try to pull anything on her."

even worse, Hannah killed the guide dude. y'know, your pathway back home? yeah. so now she's in with the group and besties with Shauna, apparently. typical. homicidal murderers stay together, as you had remarked to Nat. you both chose to ignore the hypocrisy in that sentence.

so that's been your life now for the past couple of weeks. the days have been getting colder, and with it, everyone has been getting antsier.

Akilah has started frantically trying to breed out the animals as quickly as possible. small groups of two or three go out deeper and deeper into the woods every day to try to salvage whatever herbs and fruits they can find and possibly bring back their seeds. the animals have started retreating deeper. you've managed to skin and gut enough of them to get a decent supply of meat and warm fur, but it's not enough. it's still not enough.

inevitably, what you've been dreading will happen. winter will come and pass. your numbers will grow smaller and the pile of corpses will grow larger. who knows, maybe yours will be among them?

these were the wonderful thoughts that have been floating around in your head for the past week or so.

then came your salvation. Nat dragged you into your hut one night, claiming that she wanted to hit the hay early— odd, considering that she usually stayed up for hours on end after the sun went down (which signalled lights off, given that not one of you apparently thought to bring a watch with you to nationals), but you went with it. the days have been draining you of whatever little energy you did have.

to your surprise, what you expected to be an hour long cuddle session before falling asleep turned out to be a surreptitious strategy meeting. Gen, Robin, Melissa, Mari, Akilah, Van, Tai and even Misty piled into your tiny, cramped hut one by one.

"We needed to get you away from Shauna." Gen explains in a low voice, setting the torch down in its makeshift torch holder. Nat's jaw clenches. "She follows you everywhere. She has this nasty habit of sticking around our hut every night to make sure we aren't plotting against her."

your eyebrows raise just slightly. "Well I can't really say I'm surprised. So what changed tonight?"

Gen nods to Akilah. "Lottie tired her out today", Akilah tells you, her voice hushed as she glances around nervously. "I told her that I had a vision that Shauna would be our salvation. She basically forced Shauna out of her hut and took her to the woods to spend some quality time with her."

"Probably exchanging notes on how to piss us all off with tales of the wilderness and it's hunger for violence." Mari remarks to some nervous giggles.

"And you're sure she's asleep?" you ask, shifting backwards so that you're leaning against Nat, folding your legs in to make room for everyone else.

"We drugged her." Tai holds up a bunch of leaves you can't put a name to. you frown. you've seen some patches of these around your usual snare areas. "Akilah recognised these from her time with the Girl Scouts. We mixed it into her share of the berry juice. They made her sleepier. Van and I had to carry her to her hut. She was out like a light before we even set her down."

"She actually trusted you enough to drink it?", you ask, aghast. this was the same Shauna who had once threatened Robin at knife point to the point of tears because her stew was slightly off-colour. turns out, Mari had put in some natural laxatives in hers, just out of pettiness. they turned the stew a darker colour. she served a week on latrine duty for pulling that one.

"Well, yes, under normal circumstances she would've probably forced it down my throat, can, juice and all—", Van admits, her head drooping onto Tai's shoulder, "but I drank some of it in front of her to convince her. I don't think we fully got there but she was too tired to protest."

"And Lottie?", you persist. usually she's more on neutral territory, but she seems to have joined the Shauna Shipman hype train when she got the chance.

"Already taken care of." Tai replies, tucking Van's now sleeping head under her chin. "She accepted the juice without giving us any problems." "She likes sleeping early at night anyway." Akilah adds. "She likes the clarity the dreamless sleep gives her."

"Course she does." Nat snorts.

you're filled in on the plan, the girls enthusiastically rapid-firing their strategy at you. you're surprised to hear about the satellite cell thing from a suspiciously quiet, red-in-the-face Misty. Nat keeps glaring at her every now and then. you're not sure why.

with each word that leaves their lips, your heart becomes lighter and lighter. a way to get home. away from the wilderness. away from It. away from this rag-tag village made by teenage girls with not a single complete high school education between them and a body count that grows with each passing day.

"So...you in?" Nat asks finally, when all the girls have extinguished their frenetic explanations.

It's a no-brainer— you're getting good at those.

"Yes.", you reply immediately. "Hell yes. I'm so tired of this. I'm so tired of her." you get sympathetic nods. "I just— need to get away from her."

Misty holds up a finger. "But- wait. There is...a crucial role for you to play in the plan..", she explains nervously, looking around for support. everyone else determinedly avoids eye contact. she sighs dejectedly.

you're grateful that Shauna sleeps deeply when she does. you would've given the game away with the explosive reaction you had to the role you were assigned.

the next morning, you tramp out of your hut, steaming mad. Nat follows behind you, yelling after you and cussing loudly. you make as loud a ruckus as you can. sure enough, Shauna is stomping out of her own hut in half a minute, gun slung over her shoulder, hair tousled from sleep, her face twisted in annoyance and just the slightest hint of intrigue.

"Don't you fucking lie to me!" Nat snarls as you stomp off towards the animal pen. she grabs your arm roughly, spinning you around to face her dark eyes.. "— hey! I'm talking to you."

sure enough, Shauna storms up to Nat like a knight in blood stained flannel, shoving her off of you by the collar of her shirt. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Shauna hisses, advancing on Nat threateningly. one finger strokes the strap of her gun menacingly and Nat backs up a bit.

Nat eyes her gun for a bit and decides she wants nothing to do with that. "I'm gonna go check on the snares." she announces loudly. then, she shoots you a withering glare. "If there's any left."

she storms off towards the forest bordering the village, leaving a trail of literal dust fuming behind her. you cough as you wave it out of your face.

Shauna turns to you. "The hell was that about?", she asks. her tone is even enough, but you can glean the excitement in her eyes, the vehement tapping of her fingers against her chest.

you roll your eyes. "Nothing. It's nothing." Shauna groans in frustration. you start to imitate Nat, storming towards your hut, but she catches your wrist, spinning you around to face her again. her face is set in annoyance.

"It's not fucking nothing. Your beloved girlfriend, who was being a complete doormat for you like two days ago, is now starting fights with you at— like, the asscrack of dawn.", she snarls, her tone holding just the slightest hint of jealousy. "Now you're gonna tell me what's going on. Or so help me god, you're gonna pay for it."

god. she sounds like a corny stuckup villain from one of those archaic movies your parents used to watch. you think. you might just be making that up. you can't remember the last time you watched a movie.

you huff, kicking around the pebbles on the ground with the tip of your boot, muttering incomprehensible curses before giving in. "Yesterday, Nat couldn't sleep at night. She decided to break curfew and go check on some of the nets we strung up around those berry patches Gen found. They were completely ripped to shreds."

you pause for dramatic effect, looking at Shauna, who's hanging onto every word that leaves your mouth. like a moth drawn to a flame.

"She thinks I did it because Gen had an 'alibi' as she says." "Couldn't it have been an animal?" Shauna asks, slightly confused. "That's what I said!" you say impatiently. "But she shut me down which lead to the catfight you just saw."

you plop down on one of the chopped logs glumly, picking at your dirty nails. the perfect bait. she falls for it, hook, line and sinker. Shauna stands over you for a quiet second, stock still, then— "Come to the lake with me."

you look up, surprised at the suggestion. "The lake?" she nods, her pale cheeks flushing an unusual shade of vermillion. she shuffles on the spot, rubbing the back of her neck. "I drew the four today. I'm going to take the bucket downstream, but I need help. We need water for the animal pen too."

you eye her suspiciously. "And how do I know you're not just trying to take me out and shoot me or try to drown me or something?"

she laughs at that, a low, raspy sound that sends tingles down your spine. you're unsure of whether it's in a good way or a 'i should run way'. knowing Shauna for as long as you have, probably the latter.

she leans down your eye level, cupping your face, stroking your cheek. the calloused pad of her thumb traces the scar at the corner of your lip, the one you got from the plane crash.

"Don't worry about that, kitty-cat. You're too interesting to kill just yet."

you snort derisively at the nickname but you don't look away from her, maintaining fierce eye contact. she grins approvingly.

for the next couple of weeks, the cycle continues. Nat pisses you off more and more, pussies out on any dates you planned with her in front of the others, you go running to Shauna's arms, who smugly accepts your clingy affection. this seems to grate on Nat's nerves extraordinarily well, and she drifts apart from you further and further each day, much to Shauna's satisfaction.

you wake up one morning after a particularly explosive argument with Nat, surveyed by an incredibly tired Shauna. she'd stormed off to the woods at sunrise and you'd promptly fallen back asleep, completely unbothered. Shauna stayed with you until you did, stroking your hair. it's too early to ruminate in the miseries of your failing relationship.

as luck would have it, your beauty nap is rudely interrupted by a loud clanging coming from outside. your stick hut is unfortunately not a very good sun filter so you have to blink rapidly a couple of times as you sit up to clear your vision.

you frown as you see that the entire community is already awake and moving about outside, seemingly hard at work. you throw off your drab blanket, quickly changing into something subjectively presentable before trudging outside at a slothish pace.

your jaw drops the second you step out. your previously drab village now looks like the Halloween isle at Target just threw up over it. or well, it would, if all the decorations didn't look like they were made by three year olds. your friends aren't artists, clearly.

streamers, fake cobwebs, orange and purple spiders (did they use berry juice for dye??) are mounted on every hut. at the dinner table, a couple of the girls and Travis are using textbook paper (you had ample of those on hand, given that your school insisted that all students carry their study material to nationals— you thank your lucky stars) to make more spiders, paper pumpkins and just about every other decoration you can think off.

your eyebrows furrow in utter disbelief. Tai shoots you a grimace from where she's making bloodred berry wine, talking in hushed voices with an annoyed Mari, who looks like someone just pissed in her stew.

you scan the site for Shauna and see her out of the corner of your eye— putting fucking devil horns made of her own notebook pages and meticulously coloured in red onto the decapitated head of the necrotic guide.

you make your way to her, weaving through the chattering girls, wondering if you're stuck in a dream. you crash into several people several times which only confirms the reality of your situation.

Shauna looks up as she hears you approaching. she's looking quite pleased with herself, taking a step back, admiring the rather lopsided horns with pride. “Check it out.”, she says eagerly. “I used some of the cellulose from the plants to make glue. Smart, right?”

you cut to the chase immediately. “Shauna, what the fuck is going on?”, you ask. “Why does it look like we're trying to put on a Wilderness rendition of ‘Friday the 13th’?”

she stares at you, as if a bit confused. like you've just asked her why you weren't back home right now. “Halloween.” she says in a tone that clearly has an undercurrent of a sassy ‘duh’ to it.

“Okay, assuming it was even remotely around Halloween time, which it isn't, what's with all the decorations?” you press impatiently. “We're wasting resources.”

she squints her eyes at you, slight concern on her face. “Do you not know what Halloween is? Have you forgotten that much about civiliziation?”

"I know what Halloween is, Shauna." you grumble, rolling your eyes.

"You sure?", she asks, face stretching into a grin as she adjusts the paper horns on the guide's decapitated head. "I could make you a presentation— but no promises that it won't just be several pages of 'The terribly drawn adventures of Count Chocula and Franken Berry.' “

“No, my point is— why now? We've never celebrated— I don't know, Easter or Valentine's day—”

“We celebrated Easter.”

“With berries. And I'm pretty sure they were the poisoned ones. And we only found like— two.”

"It's the thought that counts."

she shrugs. then she turns to look at you. “If you really want to know, I'm doing this because Halloween is your favourite holiday.”

you're taken aback by that statement. you'd expected a ‘just because’ or maybe ‘i decided to join Lottie’s cult and this is a ritual to show our appreciation for the gifts of the wilderness’ (although that theory is quite the stretch). not this surprising display of thoughtfulness from Shauna.

“You're actually thinking about someone that's not yourself?” you say in disbelief, concern leaking into your tone. “Are you gonna sacrifice yourself to the voodoo forest gods or something?”

she huffs, wiping her juice-caked hands on a nearby rag that could've been a handkerchief or animal skin— you've stopped being choosy about two cannibalistic instances back. “Well you don't have to sound so surprised about it.”

“Well, I appreciate the gesture, I really do—” you start off, but she cuts you off impatiently as she chucks the rag onto a passing by Gen. “Trick or treat?”

you stare at her, miffed. “What?”

“Trick or treat?”, she repeats, stepping closer to you.

“Is this a trick question?”

“I don't know. Pick one.”

“Well- well treat, obviously. I don't fancy being jumped or something.” you stammer out, surprised at the abrupt question.

she smirks, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. you jerk back, heat rushing to your cheeks despite your best efforts to control the reactions of your face.

“Good choice.” she says approvingly, starting to walk away.

“Wait! What's my treat?”, you call after her, confused at the mixed signals she's sending you— the mixed signals being wondering whether she was flirting with you or severely plotting to murder you in your sleep. knowing her, the latter is quite likely.

she turns back and grins at you. “Wait till winter comes!” with that, she struts off, presumably to lord over Mari for fun.

the rest of the evening is…surprisingly cheerful? you feast on Coach’s remains (rest in pieces) as well as some of the last fruits of the season, talking and laughing.

everyone had a makeshift costume. it was fun to get resourceful, for them, at least. you weren't feeling very creative (when are you ever, really?) so you just put some paper horns on one of Gen’s headbands and passed it off as the devil. Shauna matched you, guiding you far far away from Nat, who had ironically dressed as your opposite— an angel.

you go to sleep hungover and curled up in Shauna's arms, your now official residence. Nat gets her own hut again. just like she always wanted.

the rest of the week counting down to winter pass by in a blur of prepping, piling on clothes and reevaluating your plan, over and over again. you wake up on winter morning, a pit of dread in your stomach, your body cold without Shauna next to you.

you hear the scream— shrill, loud and full of grief. shivers run down your spine and you wince as you pull on your multiple layers of clothing, dashing out of your hut to the animal pen, where Akilah sobs over the corpses of her babies. everyone gathers around her silently, looking down at the sprawl of your only food source, now dead and completely worthless.

it happens so quickly. the decision to hunt. the card drawing. you read them like books.

you pick up your mask— a fox mask. fitting. you grab the nearest weapon— a knife, and charge after poor Mari, wiping your stinging eyes as you do. Shauna is on your tail, marking you closely. something about it reminds you of the last soccer practice you ever had. the same collaboration. being able to predict each other's moves to work in harmony.

when you reach a copse of trees that bends into a fork, you see your opportunity. you turn to Shauna, who's scanning the woods with the precision and intent of a predator, starving for air. god, you are not athletic. “We should split up.” she immediately turns her gaze to you, her eyes wild and fierce. “No.”

it's a simple, one word command. an order to back down. as established before, you're not one to cower before her. you stand your ground.

“We should split up.”, you insist. “We'll have better chances of finding her. I'll reconvene with you at the village when the horn sounds.”

she grips onto your wrist tightly, no doubt leaving marks that will bloom into bruises tomorrow. her eyes lock onto yours. she's trying to psych you out.

but you've been here before— and won. you stare right back. you know you can wait her out. you have no interest in hunting down your friend. she, however, is losing precious hunting time and the annoyance is showing through her body language as the mist from her ragged breathing starts to get denser and denser with each passing second.

she gets off on the thrill. she can't live without it.

finally, she breaks the eye contact, groaning as she flips wisps of her sodden hair out of her macilent face.

she lets go of your wrist, glaring at you like you were the one that killed Jackie. “Fine.”, she spits out. “But if you don't come back to the village immediately after the horn sounds, I'm coming back to find you myself.”

she presses a kiss to your jaw that's more possessive than anything, before taking a left down the trail left by the snow, her boots trampling through the heavy white ground.

you head in the opposite direction at first, taking the right ‘path’, knife held aloft as if ready to strike. the second she's out of sight and you've sufficiently disguised yourself among the trees, you turn back and follow her discretely, keeping your distance.

she prowls through the trees, her footsteps soft on the snow, barely making a sound. her head twitches with the slightest noise, her hand resting protectively on her dagger. her eyes scan the vast landscape, searching, hunting. a wolf.

'run', you find yourself thinking desperately. 'run, Mari'. there's no way she'll survive out here even if she does escape. no food, no water, no warmth. murder is more merciful.

but you hope that if she truly does have to die, it's a mercy killing. that she comes face to face with one of her friends, who'll hold her hand as she bleeds out in their arms, who'll comfort her in the throes of the end of her life.

not Shauna. never Shauna.

you watch as Shauna discovers Mari’s clothes— her coat, her pants, her socks. poor Mari is now freezing cold, stripped down to her unders, running from your pack of wolves— and, you think, as you notice the red droplets on the ground leading away from the discarded rags, bleeding.

Shauna’s face changes from a confused grimace to a callous look of victory, a small smirk twitching at the corner of her lips.

something creeps up on you at that exact moment. a shadow of lingering anger that's always been there. resentment towards her— for everything, basically.

for killing Jackie.

for being enraged at the world for her baby not surviving and then taking it out on everyone.

for twisting her righteous grief into something dark and malicious that manifested in every terrible way possible.

all thoughts of the plan are abandoned as you watch the cantankerous girl trudge through the snow, looking straight ahead— as though she can smell the bloody trail Mari is no doubt still leaving behind. you snap off a branch, thick and heavy, from one of the nearby trees. you're hot with the blinding urge to punish. to make it sting.

she stops dead in her tracks, jerking awkwardly. she can sense something. she's not dumb, far from it. she's always had a sixth sense for these kinds of things— Jackie’s death, the fire, everything.

Shauna stands stock still, perturbed by sudden silence, the air of a foreboding omen lingering around her. you can see her grip on her knife tighten. you watch from behind a tree, eyes locked onto the two, faint red scars on her neck. your markings.

you don't think any longer. you charge her, so fast that she barely has time to blink before you're on her. her knife is once again knocked far far away from her hands, landing somewhere in the snow where you can't be bothered to look for it.

you're back in that position. straddling her waist, pinning her wrist down with your free hand, the other holding something to her throat. only, this time, you don't hesitate.

you press down with the branch, hard. she starts choking. “We've- been here- before…”, she chokes out, but she's smiling. her eyes glint with an emotion akin to pride. “Yeah. We have.” you pant out, furious that she's still able to talk.

she's coughing now. her air column is slowly being cut off, her lungs struggling for life. you can feel it. every single movement of her body underneath you, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her body frantically tries to get her the oxygen she needs.

“Old- habits die— hard, huh?” she chuckles out, but it's weak, pathetic. it lacks any of the caustic nature it usually holds

. you press harder. you've always thought the phrase ‘seeing red’ was a poorly described metaphor for being a total cornball— you think you know what that feels like now.

the grin on her face is fucking infuriating. with each pass of your eyes over her ecstatic face, the press of the branch against her throat becomes tighter.

you're vaguely aware of the horn sounding in the distance. you don't care. Mari is dead. if not her then another one of your friends. just another reason to kill her.

her face is turning blue now. her eyes flash with just the slightest hint of fear when she realises— you aren't stopping.

you don't intend to either. you want her gone. you want to feel her squirm and gasp for air under you, like poor Javi. like Mari. like everyone she ever left for the dead. to feel her pulse slow down, to see those earthy eyes glaze over as they stop seeing your enraged face, to see her stop feeling.

she's staring to panic now. her knife hand, which was previously holding onto the branch, pulling it closer, now struggles against the force you're using.

“Y-you know this isn't gonna do anything f-for you, right?” she wheezes out, hands scrabbling uselessly at the back of your own.

you count down the seconds till she stops breathing. the end is inexorable for her now. 10…9…8….

“She's already- already d-dead…”

her voice is getting weaker now, just a little above a hoarse whisper. 7….6…..5..

“You- you're just so…..fascinating…a-aren’t you?”

any second now, she'll die. you'll never have to deal with her again. 4…..3…2… almost...almost...—

“You're jus-just like me…for this…y'know that?”

with that, she pulls you down into a kiss, breathing her last breaths into your mouth as you gasp into it.

fucking hell. fuck. fuck fuck fuck. of all the bullshit in the world, that's what stops you.

you immediately yank your mouth away from hers, her freezing cold lips slowly turning pink from the warmth of the kiss.

you pull the branch away from her throat, just slightly. she immediately gasps for air, letting it fill her parched lungs again.

she smiles weakly at you, her face completely drained of its vivid colour. infuriating. you feel like giving up all morals and just throttling her.

instead, you roll off of her, throwing aside your branch. you both sit up, panting for completely different reasons. you look over at her from the corner of your eye as you rub the blisters starting to form on your palms.

her cheeks are now flushed red, her eyes sparkling in a way that you've only see them do when she was around Jackie. she's smiling uncontrollably, like a teenage girl with a puppy crush— which is, in hindsight, exactly what she is.

only, you aren't sure any other teenage girl with a crush in the outside world would be grinning like a lovesick fool after nearly getting strangled to death by the receiver of their affections.

“You're a sick fuck.” you spit out, rage making your voice shake. “I'll never be anything like you.”

Shauna grins at you cheekily, winking as she presses her palm gently against her sore, reddened throat. “You're right. You aren't anything like me. I would've gone for the kill, kitty-cat.”

you get up and stalk off, moving with as much agility as you can, your feet finding purchase in the snow. you don't have to look to know she's right on your heels. you wouldn't be surprised if she was skipping after you at this point. you don't turn to confirm your suspicions.

you find the other girls hovering over a pit in the ground. the lump in your throat is back as you survey the scene. Mari lies in pieces, impaled on spikes, in just her grimy, once white, tunic, her body completely stained in blood.

you wipe the stray tear that slips down your cheek, holding back the torrent of sobs that are stuck in your throat.

Mari, who was so excited to get back home and return to the land of creature comforts.

Mari, who saved Melissa when the guide shot her and had nursed her through the night, despite her clear dislike for her.

Mari, who had been cooking for all of you from day one, who secretly snuck you a couple extra rations when she noticed that you looked particularly malnourished.

Shauna steps up next to you, not half as emotional as you are. she examines Mari’s mangled corpse with the cold detachment that makes you shudder and want to slap some emotions, anything into her.

“Get her out of there.” she orders no one in particular, but the rest scramble to oblige anyway. you don't.

you watch, numb, as Gen and Melissa pull Mari out, letting Robin tie the knot on her leg to drag her along. you hear quite sniffles from beside you and turn to see Van, who looks about as devastated as you feel.

wordlessly, you hold out your arms to her for a hug. she accepts, trembling in your arms, warm tears dripping down your neck and soaking your shirt. you don't care, because you're crying too.

minutes later, Gen is leading the group back to the village as the designated navigator, the others in tow, dragging Mari’s corpse along and leaving a path in her blood.

you hang back at the very end of the group, walking slow, like a fly in amber. Lottie brings up the rear end, quiet as a mouse.

Shauna walks next to you, choosing not to comment on your languished pace, or on the tears streaming down your face that you hastily wipe away.

she rubs at the redness around her neck as she walks, hissing quietly under her breath from the friction burn. you silently take off your silk scarf and tie it around her neck. she thanks you. you, obviously, don't respond.

it's only after a few minutes of silent walking that the quiet becomes unbearable and you pipe up in a hoarse voice, “I'm sorry.”

Shauna chuckles dryly, turning her head to look at you, her steps becoming more like a strut. “No you're not.”

“No.” you agree. “I'm not.”

“The only regret I have is not finishing the job.”, you state flatly. She snickers. "As you should."

if Lottie finds this interaction odd, she doesn't let it be known. she's probably too busy foreseeing the divine future or whatever the fuck anyway. you wonder if she'd be able to foresee you poisoning her drink before it invetiably happens.

the unbearable silence stretches thick between the two of you again. you try to maintain that, but the urge to speak your mind is just as insufferable as the silence.

“It didn't have to be this way.” you grit out. “The hunt, I mean.”

Shauna turns to you again, flashing you those wide brown eyes that purport a sense of innocence that she definitely does not have.

“Oh but sweetie, it's what the wilderness wanted.” she turns her head around to Lottie, who's perked up at the mention of her god. “Isn't that right, Lottie?”

Lottie nods slowly, but it's clear that her mind is far, far away. “Yes. It's what It wills. It had to happen—”

"Oh can it, Lottie." you snap at her. she immediately defers, silently drifting back into her own thoughts.

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms tightly. “Bullshit. You don't even have faith in that.”

Shauna shrugs. “Who knows. Maybe I'm changing my ways.”

“I don't believe that for a second.”, you reply immediately.

“Then you know me pretty damn well.”

“And the hunt had to happen.” Shauna continues without a hint of remorse. her voice rises, but the others in front of you don't react. not a twitch, nothing. you suppose they don't want to be next.

“It's crucial to our survival.”

you narrow your eyes at that, your tone zealous. “And we couldn't have gone— I don't know, berry hunting?”

Shauna simply shakes her head, taking off her hat— Javi’s hat. “No. Death is essential to this place. We need to feed It blood. And she would've died anyway. She wasn't strong enough to survive out here. Natural selection works the way it's supposed to you.”

you stop in your tracks, gawking at her. she stops you, calmly mirroring your movements.

“What the hell are you even saying?” you ask, trying to hide the consternation coursing through every fibre of your being, every vein pulsing in your body, ever muscle stretched taut.

“You tell me. Does a hunt that has no violence feed anyone?”

the unsettling tone in which she said it, a cold statement utterly lacking human compassion, makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and causes your skin to prickle in a way that has you frantically rubbing at it through the bulky fabric of your clothes.

if you found it unsettling, Lottie must've thought she was in a living nightmare. you hear a small gasp behind you and turn just in time to see the tall, slender girl crumple into a heap on the forest floor, her mouth gaping wide open.

“Lottie!” you rush to her side, dropping to your knees and she stirs, completely and utterly dazed. you pull her head onto your lap as Shauna stares at the two of you in complete disdain.

“I'm- I'm fine…”, Lottie tries to tell you, but her tattered voice tells you better.

you start to fan her as the others get ahead. Shauna just shrugs. “Keep up.” she walks off to join the others without looking back.

you flip off her back and help Lottie get back on her feet. she stares after Shauna’s retreating figure almost reverently, before turning to you and giving you the sweetest smile you've ever seen from her.

it unsettles you immediately, and also makes you feel small— like she's a pre-school teacher watching you stumble over your ABCs. you silently help her to her feet and keep her balanced by letting her lean on your side.

the only sound for the rest of the trek is the quiet crunching of branches under shoes that ring out like gunshots in the silence.

they string her up by her feet like she's some fox they shot. not one of your friends, one of you.

it's all on Shauna's orders, of course, but that doesn't mean that you don't feel sick to your stomach when you see Mari’s glazed over eyes staring at nothing, a gaping hole in her cheek, her dark hair shrouding her face like a veil.

Shauna pulls out her knife, surveying the group for a victim, someone to fill her previous shoes. your stomach drops as her eyes lock onto you.

she glides towards you, a small smile on her face. she kisses your forehead lovingly and then pushes you out of her way, holding out the knife to the trembling girl in the pink hood.

“Natalie. Please, do the honours.” Shauna drops the knife into her trembling hands, and she grips onto it like a vice, turning it over unsteadily in her hands.

“The Wilderness has made its choice clear.” Shauna announces to the group. she scans them, waiting for any objection. none comes. Shauna turns back to the girl, her eyes gleaming with arrogance. “Prepare her for tonight. And when it's done, bring me her hair.”

you can't stand it. the girl's dark eyes look up to meet yours, terrified and shadowed by black powder. you choke down your fear, taking a firm step forward. “I'll help her.”

Shauna turns her head to you sharply and for a second, an uneasy sensation creeps down your spine. but then she smiles, shaking her head. “No. You're coming with me.”

she doesn't give you time to argue, taking your hand in hers. she bends down, brushing her cool lips over the back of your hand. “C’mon.”

before you can squabble with her on the matter, she starts pulling you behind her, making her way to the little alcove right behind your village. Lottie follows behind silently, her eyes locked onto the back of your head.

the others retreat into their huts, ready to wash the blood off their hands to get ready for the feast tonight.

you try to speak multiple times, but she hushes you each time. finally, as you dig your heels into the (literal) muck and refuse to move, she sighs deeply. “You're finally getting your treat, kitty-cat. Try to show some more excitement, yeah?”

your treat? as in, from Halloween, a million years ago?

you're about to grill her for more details when she finally pulls you into the alcove trove and effectively gags you.

in front of you is a chopped tree log, one of the more common pieces of furniture around these parts. but what makes your jaw drop is what sits atop the log.

a gorgeous crown of roses rests on the log. a variety of shades of reds and whites threaded together into a single crown, tailored to fit your head exactly.

it somehow sparkles, the setting sun light reflected off each frail petal, fluttering in the breeze.

the delicate scent tickles your nostrils, a considerable improvement from what your poor nose has gotten used to smelling in all the time you've been here.

the cherry on top is what's attached to them. gorgeous white antlers— a hind’s, perhaps, have been attached to the stalks tying the roses together. they've been meticulously polished until they shine and have flowers draped over them, crocheted together by fine twine.

you stare in awe, shocked speechless. as horrifying as it is to be stuck in the woods, you'll admit that there's been no shortage of beauty when the landscape is concerned.

somehow, Shauna has managed to craft something— or gotten someone else to craft something, let's be real, so incredibly stunning that it takes your breath away.

you turn your head to Shauna, your eyes wide— and sparkling, you're sure. she has the widest, goofiest grin you've ever seen on someone set on her face, her own shining eyes gleaming with pride. you've never seen her look as happy when it's not a hunt.

“Holy shit….” you stutter out, breathless.

“You like?” she asks the obvious as you turn back to admire the crown, slinging herself over your back, tucking her chin onto your shoulder.

“Yes- yes- I- is this for…me?”, you ask almost petulantly, picking up the crown with an almost childlike wonder, turning it over.

“It will be. On one condition.”

you almost drop the crown at that, but you catch it just in time and set it down carefully, turning back to face her. her arms are looped around your waist and she shuffles you backwards till the back of your legs hit the log.

your mood immediately sours, eyes narrowing. “Oh, of course. I should've known. What's the catch?”

Shauna turns her head to look over her shoulder at Lottie, who you nearly forgot existed in your admiration for the crown.

she's leaning against the doorway calmly, apparently watching you in a way you're sure she thinks is serene. you think she's a peeping Tom.

she nods encouragingly at Shauna, who turns back to you giddily, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Well…I'm queen now. Of our village, I mean.” she adds as you raise your eyebrows. “And like all good queens, I need a consort. Someone to look pretty and rule by my side.”

she takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with her own slim ones, resting her forehead against yours. “I've been waiting for weeks to do this. I think it's fair to say your relationship with Natalie is old history.”

you spare her a noncommital grunt of acknowledgement, your heart giving a meek twang at her words.

“So I want you to be mine. You're perfect for me. We're perfect for each other…. And the others— they love you like they don't love me. I need them to listen.”

“So I'm essentially your P.R. marriage?”

“No.” she shakes her head. “I need you.” she rests her forehead against yours, inhaling your natural scent, unbothered by the musk.

Lottie pipes up, ruining the intimate moment completely, as she has done several times before. blue baller.

“And besides, it's what the wilderness wills.” she finally steps into the alcove. the sun lights up the back of her head, almost like it's giving her a halo. huh. maybe there is some truth to the whole ‘lottie is jesus’ rumour spreading around camp (by one, Marianna Sofia Ibarra, of course.)

her eyes display her excitement even as her voice stays even and steady. “Your marriage will be beneficial to our survival. I can see it.”

you hear a record scratch and immediately put a little distance between you and Shauna.

“Woah, woah. Hit the brakes. Let's circle back to that. Marriage?”

Shauna shrugs, pulling you back into her as she smiles again. “How else are you gonna be the crown princess?”

“Aren't- aren't we a little young for that?”, you peep feebly, melting into her touch despite yourself. you've been starved for affection since you moved out of Nat’s hut and for some reason, Shauna’s lavish love is like a drug— intoxicating and addicting.

“We're both 18. And I think we've lost all sense of societal norms long ago.” Shauna says pensively, peering into your eyes. “I'm serious. Marry me. I want you by my side.”

you look at her, then Lottie, then at the crown. then you chew your bottom lip and exhale deeply, making your final decision. sometimes, you have to take one for the team. and sometimes, that phrase means marrying a gorgeous, severely mentally ill teenage girl.

you nose your way into her neck, inhaling her scent. thankfully, Akilah had also learned how to make natural perfumes a while back. it was a purely accidental but welcome incident. it wasn't nearly enough to cover the long term stench seeping through your pores, from your very being, but it did its job well enough.

“Fine then. I'll be your wife.” you submit quietly.

Shauna lets out a sharp bark of a laugh as she accepts your hug, clinging onto your clothes, nails digging into your bag. such a dog…

and that's how you end up here. you're sitting across from Shauna, a little ways away from the campfire the others have started. Lottie sits in between you two, a torch in between the three of you illuminating her face.

you're dressed in clothes almost identical to Shauna’s. your robe is a little shorter, but loose and comfortable. Mari’s hair dangles from various folds of hers. her crown of antlers sit next to hers. she intends to put them on during the feast.

yours, meanwhile, is already on your head. heavy is the head that wears the crown— and boy was this damn crown heavy. the things you do to look like a good monarch…

Shauna is eerily silent. apparently, Lottie had offered to officiate your impromptu wedding, given that she was the voice of the Wilderness or whatever other title she's being called by at this point in time.

Lottie snaps you out of your thoughts as she picks up two cans of steaming hot tea, and passes them to you two.

you take a cautious sniff and wince. it's strong and saccharine smelling— not at all the scent of the meager tea you usually make.

Shauna, meanwhile, downs the entire cup in one go like she's taking a shot, without any hesitation.

“Is there something in this?”, you ask Lottie, who's closed her eyes like she's trying to gather her thoughts, cautiously.

both Lottie and Shauna turn their heads to you like you just committed blasphemy.

you bristle, scoffing defensively. “What?”

“Sweetie.” Shauna's tone is warning and she tilts her head at you just slightly. an order to shut your trap. “Drink.”

you bite your bottom lip to prevent the protest that was about to leave your mouth, instead downing the sweet drink without any further comments. there's no point in losing your motivation after you've nearly reached the finish line. Lottie hums approvingly.

you set the cup down on a nearby stick, watching it wobble precariously before predictably toppling over. neither Shauna nor Lottie seem to notice. or if they do, they don't care, they're quite preoccupied at the moment.

“Hold out your palms, please.” Lottie says in a soft tone that makes you feel like you're trying to summon a demon at an occult club meeting.

you do as she says and she places the back of your hand on top of Shauna, who loops her fingers through yours, squeezing encouragingly. she starts chanting something in French that you can't be bothered to rack your brains to translate.

your mind is just flashing with thoughts like ‘this is stupid’ when the tea hits. your world turns upside down while your posture is still erect and things start blurring in and out of vision. the flames of the torch start dancing, burning high and bright, reflecting Shauna’s glowing face in them.

okay then. so that tea was definitely spiked.

you're brought out of your haze when a sharp, stinging pain runs across your palm. you let out a quiet yelp of pain as your eyes struggle to focus on your hand. you register red. oh. you're bleeding.

Shauna is bleeding from her palm too. unlike you, she didn't make any dying animal noises, instead sitting still as a statue, patiently awaiting the next set of instructions from Lottie.

Lottie picks up your paln, pressing it down on Shauna’s wound. you stifle another yelp of pain, watching as your blood mingles with Shauna’s, dripping out onto the pale white snow.

you're sure there's something poetic to be said about this scene. you're too busy reeling from being drugged to think about haikus and limericks.

you wonder how you understand the French that Lottie is spouting suddenly and then realise that she's switched back to English. you squint your eyes to take a gander at Shauna and catch her eye. her eyes are hooded and her jaw is slack. she's just as high as you are.

“...and hence drink her blood, so that you may be bound to each other by the grace of the wilderness.” Lottie says breathlessly.

your body somehow moves on autopilot, knowing what is wanted of you. you raise your palm sluggishly to Shauna’s lips. she catches your wrist, pressing her mouth to your blood-soaked palm.

she licks a long stripe across the length of your cut, blood dribbling down her chin.

you swallow harshly as she lets out a low groan at the taste of your blood before dropping your hand. she makes no move to wipe the remaining blood from her mouth.

then, she returns the favour. she presses her palm to your lips. your tongue swipes at the cut experimentally. a tangy, metallic taste bursts on your tongue, making you drool.

that's probably the iron deficiency talking, you think slowly, struggling to comprehend— well, anything, really. it's like trying to talk when your face is stuffed full of marshmallows.

Shauna watches, entranced, as you slowly lap up her blood, some of the warm liquid splattering on the front of your robes. the hunger in her eyes grows as she does.

she hasn't eaten since morning, the small part of your brain that's yet to be infected by the drugged tea reasons. that's not what she's hungry for, replies the other.

finally, she drops her palm after extricating it from your grip— you had unconsciously been holding it to your face with both hands, and you stare at each other, riveted by the bloody, messy sight of other.

she has somehow never looked better than she does now, mouth covered in blood, earthen eyes locked onto yours, dark hair whipping about loosely in the wind. the earth moves on without you. you're trapped here, lost in her, dead to the world.

Lottie's chanting in French again. you squirm, feeling antsy, hungry. hungry for her, your brain supplies helpfully.

thankfully, she seems to be just as affected by this weird...mating ritual thing, as you are. her bleeding hand scrunches up snow and then lets it goz over and over again, till it looks like a bunny massacre has taken place at that particular spot.

finally, finally, Lottie switches back to English, delivering the words you've been waiting, dying to hear.

“By the power vested in me by the wilderness, you may now kiss your bride.”

this time, when Shauna leans forward and captures your blood stained lips in hers, a messy, open mouthed kiss, you respond back just as hungrily, desperately gripping the front of her robe to ground yourself as you do. you taste the tea on her tongue and can't help but smile against her lips.

she pulls back from you, albeit reluctantly. she rubs your cheek soothingly as a small whine leaves you, her other hand finding yours. she turns to look at Lottie, who's staring at her reverently again.

“Come. We have a feast to attend.”

Shauna stands up first, somehow not faltering even a little, her back completely rigid. she takes your hand in hers tepidly, getting you up on your feet.

you aren't as elegant as she is, stumbling forward, but she catches you with a casual ease— like she's been doing this all her life. it certainly feels like you've been hers all yours.

Lottie gets up last, holding the torch. she nods at you two and starts ahead, leading the path to the burning campfire, where Mari’s body is being prepared.

you're too high to remember the semantics of the night. the only thing you remember is being seated next to your wife, her hand looped in yours, her veil over her head, her antlers protruding through like the queen she was born to be, your subjects seated around you as they feasted on the body of your fallen comrade.

you fall asleep sometime during the feast. clearly, Shauna had ordered the others to not wake you, since when you wake up, you find that your head is her lap, sleeping in till the wee hours of the morning. the girls are clearing up the remains of the feast.

Shauna smiles down softly at you as you stir. she leans down and kisses you softly before pulling away. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

you tense up just slightly before relaxing again. without the influence of drugs clouding your thoughts, you finally remember your aim again.

you roll over, forcing your body into a seated position, rubbing your eyes. “Mm. Don't tease your wife now.”

she laughs, a melodious sound that is completely uncharacteristic coming from her, but so natural too.

she once again holds onto your hand as you head back into the village, quietly looking at the rest of your friends. her grip is almost possessive now. you are hers now, you suppose.

you know what she's gonna do before she actually does it. she spots a familiar pink hood walking back to their hut and your eyes follow her line of sight just seconds too late. it doesn't even really matter.

she struts over confidently, spinning the girl around with the pride of a peacock before you can think to stop her.

your brain is still trying to recover from the after effects of being high out of your damn mind. your body feels light as a feather— but for a completely different reason.

you can't hear what Shauna’s saying, you make no move to either. you instead watch with vivid satisfaction as she taunts her to no avail, pulling her hood down to reveal Hannah.

she stumbles back in shock, her eyes wide and furious as her brain slowly processes what's going on. you can practically hear the cogs turning in her head.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS NATALIE?!” she screams as she whirls around to face the village, her voice shaking with anger and a touch of fear. perfect. just the way you like her.

the others emerge from their huts one by one— Tai, Van, Gen, Melissa, Travis— everyone. they all stare at her with a mixture of satisfaction and revulsion, refusing any explanations. they don't have to explain. the looks on their faces are telling enough.

her eyes lock onto you and then widen in betrayal. she knows that you had a role to play in this. about damn time that she realised.

“Shauna likes power. She won't jump in to save anyone— but she feels a claim over things that aren't hers.” Misty explains to you, her glasses making her eyes gleam in reflection of the torchlight.

or perhaps that's how she always looks. you're quite scared of her sometimes. “You need to weaponize that against her.”

you slowly start walking towards your ‘wife’, unable to resist the urge to deliver a villain monologue.

“You know, I thought you were smarter than that.” you start off wrly, smirking at her as you near her. “I thought you would've caught on immediately. It's why I was just the slightest bit hesitant of the plan at first.”

you lay your head on Nat’s lap, fiddling with the rough strands of blonde hair that's starting to fizz out as her roots show more and more. “And, you're sure you're fine with this?” you ask again, unable to hide the worry in your tone.

Nat laughs— a throaty, rough sound as her hands cup your upside down face, squishing. “Well, in normal circumstances, I would've ripped her fucking eyes out with that godamn knife of hers for even looking at you..”

she trails off to general giggles before continuing, “— but this is different. We- we actually have a chance. Of leaving this shit hole. Of getting home. And besides, I trust you.”

she leans down and kisses you— a tender, warm thing that fills your stomach with butterflies, like it always does. “So yeah. Fuck her if you need to. I know you'll always be mine anyway.”

“But I was pleasantly surprised when you let your guard down so easy. You really do have it bad for me, huh?”

you would've felt the slightest twinge of remorse for the hurt flashing in your eyes, did you not fiercely remind yourself that she was the reason you weren't cozied up with Natalie under a heated blanket right now.

you reach up for her face, stroking the gaunt lines of her cheekbones as you force her to look at you. “It's too late to clip her wings now. You can't stop her. She's long gone.”

you practically beam at the shattered look in her doe-like eyes, relishing in her shock as you remember all the times she's done the same to the others. you deliver the final blow— a death by a thousand cuts.

"You've grown quite predictable. I knew you'd turn out to be boring."

you press your lips to hers, humming as she stays stiff against you. then, your teeth graze the soft, plump flesh of her lips— and you bite down. hard.

she gasps, yanking herself away from you even as she starts to bleed, the red dripping down her chin and trickling into her robes.

you smile sadistically, squeezing her face with one hand to draw more blood. she hisses, drawing away from your touch like you've burned her. you roll your eyes. always the drama queen.

her eyes scan your face, looking for any hint of regret for doing this to her. she finds nothing.

you lick a droplet of her metallic blood from the corner of your mouth, swiping the rest off with your thumb.

then, you shoot her a sultry grin. just to dig the knife in a little deeper.

“Trick or treat, motherfucker.”

────────────౨ৎ ────────────

a/n: I tried to shorten it but it didn't work— whatever ig. you get a long fic now ! yayayayay— also, this once again had a lot more shauna x reader than nat, that's mb yall

if you want a pt 3 to this, get back to me after s4 releases cuz I have ZERO ideas rn lmao

reminder that requests are open for all the Yellowjackets girls, dead or alive!

taglist: @jigglypufflashton

[woso-dreamzzz]

Head in the Clouds V

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your national team situation

There's an understanding in the team when it comes to you.

You dominate the league with your scoring and now with Pajor at your side, you've started to develop almost too quickly for the staff to keep up with.

Every ball you touch turns to goals.

You're already the Champion's League top goal scorer and everyone is just waiting for the moment that they all know is coming.

Everyone is waiting for the moment a national team snaps you up.

You're been at a youth camp for both Spain and England before but that's about it.

You don't seem to really care all that match.

You spend most international breaks back home with your parents or off in France with your girlfriend, one of Lyon's star centrebacks.

Her international situation isn't quite as complicated as yours but everyone knows it influences your own. She could play for France or England and people know that if she were suddenly to declare for England then you would go there too.

Unless somewhere else snaps you up first.

Spain seems like the obvious choice with their most recent World Cup win under their belt and their dominance in last year's Nation's League.

But Frido is there with a face time from Magdalena Eriksson, who you excitedly inform is your grandmother's favourite players. She's flattered, of course, if a little confused by what's going on - especially when you gasp and stutter over your words when you catch a glimpse over her shoulder of Pernille Harder.

Alexia fumes by the door of the locker room, a disgruntled look on her face as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"We can't lose her to Sweden!" She hisses to Irene," Do something!"

"Me?! What am I meant to do?!"

"I don't know! Make her a home cooked meal! Remind her off her Basque roots! Anything!"

Irene sighs deeply. She's taking this a little easier than Alexia is but she still would have you join the Spanish team at the drop of a hat.

You were a once in a generation kind of striker and it would make it all the more worse if they lost your allegiance to one of their own club teammates.

The threat of you choosing England seems to have diminished a little with Keira and Lucy gone but Ellie's still here and while she's currently not a part of the England squad, she's still been seen dropping little hints towards you about joining up.

Thankfully for everyone else though, subtlety and hints goes over your head so you don't even realise what you're being told.

But where England has fallen, Sweden has only grown bolder.

Sweden, of course, meaning Frido and her wielding of Magda as a tool to get you to choose them.

"We need to find our own Magda," Irene says solemnly," Do we...Do we have a Magda?"

"We have a Mariona."

"We can't pick Mariona. Y/n already knows Mariona. We need someone older. We need someone mysterious. We need someone more fun that Magdalena Eriksson!"

They turn to each other in horror.

"We need Jenni."

Being Spain's Magda is a role that Jenni is all too comfortable stepping into. She arrives in the country with her usual brand of drama by using her key to access Alexia's house without telling anyone and eating a bowl of the paella she took straight from the fridge.

"So where's the kid?"

"At Irene's," Alexia replies from the stove," They're coming around for dinner." She waves the spatula at Jenni. "You will be nice and charming and you will, under no circumstances, mention any of the other countries vying for her. You have one job. Do it."

"I got it," Jenni says with ease, leaning back on the sofa," Woo the kid. Be the fun aunt. Make sure she chooses Spain. I got it."

Introducing you and Jenni, Alexia and Irene come to find, is the worst idea they've ever had.

Jenni takes her role as the 'fun aunt' to the extreme in the the four day period she has with you.

You go out for lunch and dinner, at both fancy restaurants and little street vendors. Jenni spends a bunch of money on new cooking implements even though you just mentioned them in passing.

There's even a very impromptu Instagram post and accompanying story of you two on a zip wire and Alexia and Irene are more than happy to shoo Jenni back to Mexico.

"Jenni's cool," You tell them the next day," She even signed my autograph book and gave me one of her old Spain shirts!"

At least she'd done something for a job well done.

With Sweden closing in, Alexia can't take any chances.

She even feels confident in her feelings of you choosing Spain.

Until, like it always does, it comes crashing down.

Because a new contender shows up.

It happens out of nowhere and nobody could have predicted it.

"You have brothers?" Vicky asks one day during a break in training.

"Three," You say with a nod and that same wide smile you always get when you talk about your family," A surgeon, a neurologist and lawyer."

"How come we've never heard of them?"

"Oh, they didn't come with us when we moved back to England."

Alexia's heart stutters.

"You didn't always live in England?" Salma asks and you shake your head.

"I grew up in the Netherlands." You think for a moment. "Until I was like thirteen. It was home."

The gears turn in Alexia's head, trying to draw up FIFA's eligibility rules.

But someone gets there before her.

Esmee.

Esmee with a wide grin and Alexia's heart plummets.

"You know," She says, speaking casually to you as the whole team holds its breath," You could play for the Netherlands with me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, the rules say you can. You could come to camp, see your brothers more often. I'm sure Viv would love to have you around."

Sweden may have Magda.

Spain may have had Spanish Magda, Jenni.

But the Netherlands have Viv and Esmee grinning like she's just won the lottery.

Within the week, you've received a signed Miedema jersey and a little note that no doubt Esmee had Viv write about potentially playing together at some point.

"It's fine," Irene whispers days after," It's fine. We've got a recent World Cup. They can't beat that."

You're sitting in your cubby, scrolling on your phone absentmindedly. "Oh!" You say out of nowhere," Are we going to America anytime soon? Should I renew my passport?"

Alexia frowns. "No, we're not and you don't need to renew your passport. Your Mama told me that you've still got three years on it."

"Not my Spanish passport. My American one! Should I renew it now or wait?"

Frido has also stopped what she's doing, turning around slowly with her eyes wide. "Why do you have an American passport?"

"I was born there!" You say brightly," Mama and Papa were there for work and I got impatient! That's what Papa says. So they had to have me in America and I got a cool passport out of it!"

"You have...You have American citizenship?"

"I have a passport!"

"So, yes."

In the background, Esmee groans and there's the clunk of a head hitting a locker door.

Irene looks equally as shocked as Alexia feels. "And...who knows about your citizenship?"

You shrug. "I don't know."

Alexia clears her throat. "Let's...Let's keep it that way. No reason to announce it to everyone."

You shrug. "Okay then."

Silence descends on the locker room and a joint exhale of relief spreads across the room.

Until...

"Oh! Mama said Emma Hayes just called her! I wonder what that's about."

[eddieisashifter]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐆? — MY MARAUDERS REALITY

this is a brief tour of my bag in my maruaders era hogwarts dr! this bag has been with me though literally everything and she's only holding on due to mending enchantments I put on her when I first started to notice her descent. some of the stuff in her is...probably less than legal. but hey! snitches get stiches, alright? inspired by this post by @chaaistained and this one by @hrrtshape!!

my trusty messenger bag that i carry literally everywhere with me. you wouldn't catch me dead using just my pockets to carry all my shit. she's basically a staple of my appearance. anyway, let's open her up!

BUT FIRST——THE DECOR!

✦ my pinback buttons! the "kind hearted degenerate" was stolen from Sirius' patch jacket (I think he let me take it), the "cult leader" was a gift from barty because of course it fucking was, and the other two my sister, eden, and I found just outside of diagon alley (we fought over who got to keep them. I won, obviously. so, i display them proudly, she hates it).

✦ i also have my prefect pin stuck onto the strap of my bag because it's so much better to have on there than my robes. no one's gotten mad at me so whatever.

✦ the dice keychain was stolen from eden's room. I thought it was pretty and she hasn't missed it so

✦ the froggy keychain I found in a muggle shop and needed immediately. I may have a secret obsession with froggos, my friends may or may not be very aware of this fact. he also might be cursed, I swear I hear him ribbit when it gets quiet.

✦ the other keychain I found half-buried in a public park. no idea where it came from or how it got there.

ONTO THE POCKETS! my bag has four pockets on the outside, two that close and two that are just slots on the side. they're all full of shit.

LEFT FRONT POCKET

this pocket is entirely full of trash. literal trash. some of it is cute notes from my friends and such, but the other half is actual trash. I say I'm going to use it to junk journal, I don't. It just sits there in the pocket, unused. I refuse to clean it out.

but the notes!

✦ three fortunes from three fortune cookies that I got on three separate occasions at three different restaurants. — the first "you have the ability to see the bright side in things, do not lose that ability" I got on an outing with my family. it was a rough time all around and the whole dinner was tense, but getting that fortune just reaffirmed my belief in aiming for the best, even when it's unrealistic, so I kept it. — the "your love of music will be an important part of your life" I got on one of my first real dates with sirius. I already knew he dreamed of being a musician, so I took it as a sign we were going to work out. and well, it was correct. — finally, the "whatever you want to do, do it. there are only so many tomorrows" fortune found me when I was wrestling with my feelings. I hadn't intended to fall for remus, but I had. I didn't know what to do. but, I took this as a sign to just go for it and be true to my feelings. It worked out. so I kept it as a reminder, like I did with sirius' one.

✦ "I'll let you drag me to hell if it means you'll hold my hand" note that sirius passed me one day in the middle of class. like that wouldn't make me insane in public. stupid dog.

✦ "kind of a pretty boy, isn't he?" note that I found dropped on the ground in divination. when I picked it up, some girl turned beet red. amusing, really.

✦ "we are all haunted houses" note that I wrote on the corner of a notepad and tore out. I found it at the bottom of my bag weeks later. I cant for the life of me remember what I was talking about, though I think I was onto something.

✦ "not everything has to make sense. let it go. choose peace." note that was written at the top of one of my papers for divination class. professor was far too done with my constant questioning of why things worked the way they did.

✦ "just make it exist first, you can make it good later" sticky note that I wrote to stick onto my writing desk to try and help ward off my perfectionism. It remained there for years until I accidently knocked it down and it refused to stick up again. so, i shoved it into my bag with the others.

✦ "the memory is unclear but the feelings remain" written on a blank polaroid photo. barty accidently took a picture as he dropped my camera. evan wrote the words on the picture that came out. I think he thought he was being poetic. I kept it regardless.

✦ "I think you're afraid because we get along so well. I think it scares you." one of the notes sirius taunted me with in our rivals phase of our rivals to lovers arc. torn in two and carefully taped back together.

✦ "dear me, don't fall back into old patterns just because they're familiar. love, me." letter written for an assignment. that 'write a letter to your younger self' writing prompt nonsense? I didn't want to do it, so I wrote the first thing that came to my head. still got an O though.

✦ an unopened letter. the front says "open when fate decrees it". that trelawney girl got a cheshire smile when I picked it up. I've had it for five years.

✦ also a train ticket from my very first year of hogwarts

✦ other trash in this pocket includes: a to-do list that says "1. ace your o.w.ls, 2. take over the world", at least four salazar slytherin trading cards, a receipt from the record shop in hogsmede, a punch card from the three broomsticks with ten punches in it (I probably should use it at some point), a scrawled list of hexes that barty copied from the restricted section of the library, and a note I passed to reggie that says "do me a favor, kill your brother" that he threw back at me with a scrawled "NO." underneath.

RIGHT FRONT POCKET

the snack pouch, basically. if I'm hungry, this is where I'm reaching.

✦ a chocolate frog that's probably melted slightly with how long it's been in there. I think barty gave it to me on the train ride. it's probably still good, right?

✦ raven chocolates that are literally better than any wizarding candy, trust.

✦ jelly slugs because gummies are the superior form of candy

✦ also chai teabags because you never know when you might need it (also because I'm picky about my chai)

SIDE POCKETS

LEFT SIDE POCKET

✦ my round sunglasses that are basically my staple.

✦ the swiss army knife that eden has a matching one of. i enchanted it so that the blade doesn't grow dull. honestly, much better than a wand half the time, but don't tell anyone I said that.

✦ vampire pill box that has enchanted ibuprofen. thank you dorcas my love. one of these does 10x the effect as a regular without the damage to your internal organs or risk of an overdose.

RIGHT SIDE POCKET

✦ a crocheted chanel rose made for me by evan's sister, pandora. it's hella impressive actually.

✦ my trusty vivienne westwood lighter. used to be my mom's, I took it from her purse as a well rebellious thirteen year old. it also has a matching cigarette case that I also stole. i was having my kleptomaniac era. there is also skull bandages tucked inside the case.

INTERIOR POCKET

where i keep all the loose things that would get lost in the bottom of my bag otherwise.

✦ tiny bottles of banned potions that dorcas made for me. I make sure to keep the corks on very tightly.

✦ a jar of human teeth. no, I will not explain where I got them.

✦ jars of bones. not human (yet).

✦ intricate jar, full of enchanted, basically holy, water. for all your banishing needs. never summon anything you don't know how to get rid of.

✦ a jar of salt. for the same reason. also salt.

✦ tin of tiny candles for on-the-go spellwork because you never know when you might need it.

✦ tiny clay charms of tarot cards also made by pandora. she passed them to me in divination. she never did tell me why. they are pretty cute though.

MAIN POCKET

✦ a leatherbound journal full of all my secrets. jinxed, obviously. possibly with some that I would get in trouble for casting. their fault really for trying to snoop. includes detailed plans of world domination, lists of hexes and curses ordered by their usefulness, recounts of possibly prophetic dreams, and lists of very good numbers

✦ poetry journal for my midnight poetic ramblings. not jinxed, not yet. also includes my casebook recounts of strange romantic feelings, complete with red string.

✦ my trusty wand. black walnut and dragon heartstring, 12"

✦ a lace fan for when it gets far too hot to be legal. because I can't be sweating not in style

✦ a very illegal time-turner hidden inside a matchbox. I probably shouldn't have told you that I have that.

✦ a vintage comb that I call my tactical comb.

✦ my leather bat-wing wallet. one of the most important things in this bag

✦ my black makeup pouch that mary poppins would envy.

✦ my heavily annotated copy of "scottish fairy tales" that I've had with me since my first year of hogwarts. I think there's more notes and highlights than actual text. and the notes are more journal entries than actual annotations.

✦ tiny bird scissors I stole from madame pomfrey. they're for sewing. I don't do much sewing. but I can chase sirius around with them, threatening to cut the stitches on his patches. it's very amusing.

✦ an extra lighter, clipped onto the inside of my bag, just in case my trusty one ever breaks. so far, it hasn't.

✦ a special edition of the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde, my favorite book of all time. this edition was a gift from reggie, who knows my love of it.

✦ a fountain pen for my sudden bursts of inspirational musing. enchanted to never dry of ink and never need to dip it. I stole it from my older brother, alastair. I can't help it, he makes such good enchantments.

✦ a fancy flask. yes, of course there's alcohol in it. what did you take me for, a lightweight?

✦ vivienne westwood gloves for the colder months, an enchanted lining to keep your hands at the perfect temperature, not too hot and not too cold.

✦ the box of my trusty tarot cards. they always seem to call me out. they also have a bit of an attitude. typical.

✦ a coin that's engraved with "one more chapter" on one side and "go to bed" on the other. for very important dilemmas regarding my sleep schedule. do I ever listen to it when it lands on "go to bed"? no, of course not. don't tell me what to do.

WALLET

✦ my galleons. the wallet is linked to my vault at gringotts so I don't run out of money, because that would be embarrassing.

✦ photos of my friends and I. i know, I know, very sentimental of me. — photo of dorcas and eden from one of the slytherin common room parties — a photo of me, barty, and dorcas with a mall santa. he looks like he's being held hostage. — photo of me playing chess with dorcas (off camera) while barty lounges across the bed, pouting because he lost to me minutes ago. — photo of evan, me and reggie at one of our families' stupid summer galas. having friends makes them more bearable. — photo of evan and me from one of the royals' summer outings — photo of me and barty on a late-night hogsmede outing — photo i took of dorcas at one of the slytherin common room parties as we dared her to chug her drink

✦ an id, so people know who I am. as if they didn't already, pfft. it is also fake.

✦ spare condoms. enough said.

MAKEUP POUCH

✦ my signature black lipstick. can't go anywhere without that beauty. enchanted for long-lasting wear. the touch-ups are hardly necessary, but it does make people look at my lips~ also enchanted with love magic so when he kisses me he thinks I'm god. (I think that might make it illegal, but who's gonna snitch anyway?)

✦ tinted chapstick for dry lips.

✦ a spare eyeliner pen, because none of my looks would be complete without eyeliner.

✦ a knife inside a lipstick tube. just incase one knife wasn't enough. also great to scare the shit out of your friends with

✦ extra mascara, also for touchups.

✦ a black nail polish. also for touch ups. though, usually not my own. barty can never seem to keep his nail polish from chipping for longer than a day.

✦ cannabis and rose roller perfume. in case my aura isn't addicting enough. enchanted by dorcas with glamour magic, obviously. she's literally a goddess.

✦ my chanel compact mirror that also answers most of my questions. "mirror mirror in my hand, what's the answer to question #6?"

✦ a vivienne westwood claw clip that I stole from my older sister, morgaine. she's so damn uptight all the time and she's still freaking about about losing this clip. it's all I can do not to laugh aloud.

✦ a shit ton of hair ties and bobby pins just strewn throughout the pouch. I'll lose all of them eventually.

[creamyhoneycookie]

Ok, but what about a yan!reader? Someone who was interested in history and found document of the Beasts back when they were still the virtues. Becoming absolutely obsessed until realizing that they're still alive?!! Even if they've changed, that doesn't mean anything to our dear little yan!reader! They'll love the Beasts all the same!

(Preferably dif scenario's with all three but if I can only do one than shadow milk :3 )

These are going to be a little shorter, but this kept me UP last night thinking. Thankfully, espresso!

CONTENT WARNINGS: Obsession, stalking, predator/prey dynamics, unhealthy relationship dynamics

Regardless of who you fall for, it starts the same: research in a library so old, the statues of grand Witches still have faces. Legends tell of great heroes- a woman so kind and gracious that she grants the wishes of those who come to her, a general who revolutionized the lands he visited, the scholar who created magic itself... All across the darkest seas. It's such a hard journey, but... doesn't love persist?

Mystic Flour Cookie doesn't know what brings this strange cookie to her pagoda, but she does not care. Not until Cloud Haetae Cookie comes to her, reporting- you have no desire, no wish to ask of her- no greedy heart to tear into her heart, but you've spent all day sweeping the grounds, dusting and repairing the pagoda. Even if you're actually very bad at it. Eventually, she descends from her chambers, watching you quietly- she does not expect the adoration in your eyes, she soft flush of your cheeks.

"My Lady... I've journeyed far to join you...! You don't have to worry. I'll help from now on. You've done so much, you can rest- oh, but, I made tea! Won't you join me?"

... Strange. Mystic Flour Cookie isn't sure why... but despite this pure love... something weighs heavily from your words. But she cannot give it a name.

Burning Spice Cookie you find at his army encampment, and he takes you as just one of many followers easily... either you serve him as one more soldier, or you die in these conquests. He does not care. Except... once you arrive, he feels your eyes on him, constantly. Being watched, even when he's alone- it shouldn't unnerve him so, but it does.

And it thrills him. He has always been the hunter, the beast- for something, someone to make him feel like the prey? It's... EXCITING. He throws himself into figuring out who his hunter is- and when it's you? Oh, it's incredible. The dynamic shifts, cat and mouse constantly, and you both know it. This is love! It must be love! No one else can get each other's heart racing like this, and when you have him cornered, crawling into his lap like a lion about to strike, he adores it.

Shadow Milk Cookie isn't sure where you came from. First you were in the town outside the Spire. Then you were at the gates. And then- then you were making your way inside. He's hostile at first, prickly- one bitten, twice shy, you might say. (Nevermind the fact that he bit first, more often and refused to believe Pure Vanilla Cookie when he actually did tell the truth.)

He bullies you, toys with you, puts you through all kinds of tests: but every time you speak the truth:

I really do love you!

... And if he knows lies, he also knows truth. Eventually, he'll have no choice to believe you. ... Aaaaaaat which point, he's delighted, actually! He's terribly lonely, you know. Once he knows that you're the real deal, he'll accept your twisted love with glee; so long as you stay with him, he'll accept it all. ... Even if he gets a little snarky about it sometimes. Like, he already had Candy Apple Cookie, and now there's you? --Please don't kill each other he loves his minions.

[fiamat12]

PSA: A little real talk on a Sunday...

or Monday, depending on what time zone you are in 😉

I know people are still processing everything that happened and going through different emotions. VALID. One important suggestion that I have right now is to protect your peace!!! YOU are in control of the time, investment and emotional capital you give to Lukola. We don't know what's going on bts - I mean, we kind of do, but obviously not everything that is holding them back from going public.

Let's keep in mind none of us know them personally. We see a small percentage of their lives on social media and in live events. We know they have a baby... don't gaslight yourself into thinking that isn't real. We saw what we saw and not just in the body transformation. She didn't have a baby w/ a gay man. She didn't even have one w/ a bisexual or pan man who has yet to look half-way interested in her and whom she has yet to claim.

What did we get prior to the BAFTA nominees event? An article about how amazing Lukola (not Polin, but Lukola) is on screen and OFF, and another article that highlighted N's claddagh ring. I do think it was supposed to soften the blow for what was to come. W/ that said, there's a reason this had to happen. HAD to, not WANTED to.

If I felt like there was any joy or contentment, I may have second thoughts. But we saw JD comforting N on the red carpet ("You got enough", "We're almost done") and them looking emotional - rumors were that JD had a panic attack and N was so stressed her body rejected it. She changed the neckline of her jacket inside the party, suggesting anything near her neck may have made her feel sick.

L has likewise never looked happy about any outing w/ A, and he's never claimed her either. We've known that since papgate when he had the angriest look on his face that has only worsened to current day. "Let's get this done", hand swatting and general misery followed by nose picking and zombie like disinterest, all juxtaposed w/ N at the SAGs - "your dress matches your eyes", full elation, and baby...S? No comparison.

We see the signs and we wait, we ship. BUT WE DON'T HAVE TO. You know the truth, you don't need some gossip writer at Enews or People or Deuxmoi of all people to confirm it for you. Don't let waiting for a public launch rule your life or emotional state! You already know!

When everything bts gets cleared up, they will come out eventually (and if they don't, N has the weirdest privacy kink ever or L really did murder someone. I kid!). Until then, you have the quiet satisfaction of being one of the ones who GETS IT. Thank God you're THAT person - one who roots for love, believes in true connection, and knows what soulmates look like when you see them! 👫🫶🥰🙏

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

Kutning's Dag - Max Verstappen x reader

cw: dubcon/ cnc, rapeplay, intox kink, unprotected sex, creampie, public, perv! Max, icky! Max

At this point in the season, Max Verstappen needed a miracle. He had heard it all, at the start. That the car was so fucked he dragged it first to podium, then to the points, but what happened when this was not the case. Amateur theorists- that's what he called F1 podcasters- had predicted that it would be sooner than later. And he had shut them down in Japan. Suzuka was a dream. Fourth consecutive pole there in the last seconds of quali. Fourth consecutive win there, the return of the F1 outro, as the fans dubbed it. But the Dutch anthem didn't stick around the podium for long. There were a few hiccups after, but not for the McLarens. His 1 point behind Lando was gradually increasing. He was feeling like a fish out of water, for the first time in his career. The retirement jokes he so brazenly made during previous months were now met with hushed whispers. It didn't help that the Redbulls were down in the constructors championship too. They took Liam, and with the way Yuki was driving, Max could bet one of his cats that Hadjar was getting fitted for a seat soon, whether the rookie driver wanted it or not. Verstappen's fake Instagram even liked a few Helmut Marko as the 2nd driver memes, a bunch of Daniel cursing the thing too. But it seemed to be true now.

So Max Verstappen desperately needed to win the Miami Grand Prix. After a triple header that started promising and two weekends of pure hell, something needed to be done. Whatever. Literally anything. He remembered last year how Lando's first victory in the sunny state triggered this chain of events. This championship contender narrative that was heating up between the two since. Lando then, with his little nose scar, who had been partying in the Amsterdam canals before. A metaphorical lightbuls sparked up above Max’s head. If you can't beat them, join them. He was going to celebrate King's Day for the first time in a while.

Of course, he used to honor the holiday as a teenager. Which 17 year old doesn't go across the border to the Netherlands to drink copious amounts of alcohol in the streets. He was lucky that his mom and sister brought him in at the end of the night. It was a fun time. Lots of bad beer. Crowds of loud people dressed head to toe in orange. Music that everyone knew shouted at the top of one's lungs. Then, with the years, he was too busy racing for such frivolity. But now the calendar was smiling up to him, a nice little break between Jeddah and Miami. It was a nice opportunity for him to fly back to the Netherlands, try the "Lando method," and come back. Copious amounts of gin tonics and a few kebabs never hurt anyone. Especially on King's Day. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do. Nevertheless, Max did it.

Once his plane touches down on Dutch soil, he realizes this was a mistake. He's forced to take a train and be packed like a sardine in first class. "No, I'm not him, but I get that a lot," he says, ad naseum, eyes glued to the maroon seats around him. Once he makes it to Amsterdam, he all but scours the city, going from store to store, trying to see if there's any alcohol left. He piles premixed cans of gin and tonics into his Alpha Tauri backpack. He sure is an ambassador now. But his quest isn't just a way for him to grab some booze. No, he's strategically scoping out areas where he won't be spotted. Where the crowds were just drunk and rowdy enough to ignore him, but not thay quiet and sober that he'd be bored. One would try to rationalize that most people didn't bat an eye at Lando. Who knows, Max could even accidentally spot the Britton on his way, dj skills being tested on a party boat. And people wouldn't care. We'll that was a bit harsh, there would be many overjoyed fans. But not as many as Max's. It was the fucking Netherlands, we was treated as the second coming of Christ. Or the first, depending on the province. Amsterdam was definitely not on the Bible belt, so that was that. Still, the Dutchman took some precautions. He hid out, going over to long lost friends' houses. People who he had known since karting, all drinking together, wearing orange, and treating him like a normal guy. Yes, there were some offhand comments about F1 and the Redbull performance. There's a few people trying to get him to help them with their fantasy team too.

He offers them a pass at his own ranking if they beat him at a drinking game. And those he never loses, always choosing to go for reflexes or showing feats of physical strength. After all, those hours in the gym aren't for nothing. Max is more than pleasantly buzzed by the time they have to leave. It's past 10, and people are already plastered. Of course, this was strategic. It was more plausible that people got a mass hallucination of Max Verstappen after a few dozen beers. He steps out through the crowd, shoes already sticking to the pavement. The smell of sweat and vomit and beer is in the air.

Max reflexively pulls the orange army cap over his own face, especially when they play anything by Maxx Power. He grins when they play 5 remixes in a row, the dj shouting something about a 5th WDC incoming. Max is happy that at least the fans are happy they believe in him, albeit delusionally. He relaxes, the tension sliding off of him like dirty air. He's too relaxed, almost, and now his mind is wondering how. Yes, the 6 pack of gin and tonics helped. He almost sniffs the air and gets hit with a string smell, similar to the one from the house. He reluctantly takes a hit of this green electronic thing and coughs. It's good, but weird.

"Didn't know vapes were this popular here?" He shouts to his friend, who deadpan that it's weed. Of course, Max almost smack his forehead. He's contact high, just like half the grid was in Vegas. He remembers that day, letting the flashbacks warm over him. Yep, he was fucking fucked.

Max decided that he'd fight the weirdness and tingliness of his body by people watching. What better way to be distracted by analyzing others. He blends into the crowd, only because people are packed like sardines. Mostly friends, big crowds of people dancing, drinking and shouting with each other. He doesn't miss the rowdier ones. There's couples making out and dry humping all around him.

He feels like a teenager all over again, that awkward virgin 17 year old at house parties. Hormones not as contained as he'd like to, popping a boner at other people's activities. If he listened very hard, everything was sexy. He'd hear the little moans and groans of the couple, the pleas for more. Everything made his cock stand up and throb painfully in his pants. And now, 10 years later, it's the same. Max never pegged himself as a voyeur. But now, with every sensation in his body heightened, he couldn't help it. And with his dick needing release and fast, he sets out to find someone willing to do that. His gaze searches, he's like a hawk looking for a bunny. And his eyes land on you.

You hated King's Day. It was a stupid holiday, a Saw trap thing made to torture you. You hated the gaudy orange color. The public drinking. The stupid songs you didn't know as a foreigner. You should've stayed home. But here you were, freezing in a two-piece set. You hate the flimsy fabric of the thing. You only ordered it last minute to impress an ex, who you knew you'd run into. You didn't expect to find them with their tongue down the throat of a mutual acquaintance. But you made a vow that you'd make out with someone. So far, your lips only touched the bottle. Whatever they were drinking was strong, made you feel woozy and light. At least you were doing King's Day right, getting very intoxicated. You didn't even flinch when you felt a pair of hands glide dangerously close to your ass. The whole night, it kept happening, accidentally, sometimes not. It was the crowds, you reasoned, because you were practically sandwiched between many backs and elbows. Then someone did really feel you up from behind. God, his fingers were deliberate. Groping, touching, all short of clawing. Needing you, needing this, and it was gross. The man apologized, a faint sorry from under the rim of an orange hat. You had mentally prepped a joke about redbull giving him more than wings or an aggressive overtake. And then he does it again, this time his hands loop against your hips, seemingly trying to move you out of his way. His fingers hook against the straps of your orange thong and snap them. You want to scream, yell, to tell him to stop. But it's as if you've swallowed cotton. And the warmth of someone's touch against you was clouding your judgment. The stranger lets his fingers move up your bare stomach until your tits. He flicks at your already hard nipples, a little hum of appreciation. He comments that you're practically asking for it by not wearing a bra.

The voice is familiar, even though you can't exactly place it. Didn't all Dutch men all kinda sound the same. This one's hands were kneading your breasts roughly, more for him than for you. He was whispering absolute filth in your ears, the brim of the hat he won't take off digging into your shoulder. He smells like a gin brewery that was next to a coffeeshop.

"Look at you, just letting me touch you. Aren't you ashamed that a total stranger's groping your tits. Right in the middle of Amsterdam, mind you, with thousands of people around you. I think you like it. I think you're a little whore. Because if you wanted to, you could have asked for help. Look there, bimbo," he says as he grabs your chin and tilts your head towards the police at the edge of the crowd. "You want me to stop? Let's walk over there, and I'll let you report me. Hell, I'd even turn myself in. Yeah? Go tell the nice cop about me, I'm right behind you."

You try to move, and he follows. The stranger even lets his hands fall from your chest. But with every step you take, you end up going 3 steps back. It's a Sysyphean challenge. You stop suddenly, and the guy stops with you. You two are surrounded and pressed against each other. You're not sure who makes the first move again. You just know that you're rubbing your ass against his hard cock like an animal in heat.

He rolls his hips against yours, lifting your skirt with every movement. He can't help but knead your ass, feeling your skin prickle under his touch. When the stranger hears a low wolf whistle, you're dragged, literally through the crowd. He's taken his cap off and he's barking orders in Dutch and English, parting the people like they're the Red Sea. He ducks with you in an alley and you swear your drink was laced.

"Max Verstappen? What the fuck are you doing here?" You say, still unsure of what was happening. He shuts you up with a kiss, a bit sloppy and needy. You kiss him back, but then it all starts to be too much. He was a renowned athlete, a role model. Not someone who got a bit too handsy. That dawns on both of you at the same exact time.

"You could ruin my life. You could actually go to anybody about this, and they'll strip me of everything. It'll be Mazepin again, but this time with consequences." He says, and instead of stepping away, he begins unbuttoning his jeans. Sliding his boxers away and taking out his cock. Sizing it up against you. You plead with him.

He pretends to think as his hands go in your panties. He tells you how he's in deep shit as his fingers rub your clit. He goes on about how you should report him, how despite his celebrity status and the inebriated state you're both in, he's going down. You try to mention police injustice, how the odds are against you, even bring up Christian Horner. Your body betrays you as you talk. Your hips snap to match his movements.

"They'll come up with some bullshit excuse. That I was too wet or something. No signs of struggle, no bruises on you or something of the sort." You chastise, as he slides his fingers inside of you. One, then a second, in a hooking motion. He moves them with precision and you blush. In the small alley the sounds of your wetness echo. Max knows exactly how to press his fingers inside of someone to make them fall apart. You cum against him, despite yourself. You press yourself close to him, shut your eyes and let the orgasm wash over you. You're limp, letting him tap the head of his cock against your clit. Allowing him to thrust inside of you, burrying himself to the hilt. Telling you that "if he's gonna go down for this, at least he's gonna make it worth his while."

He tells you how good your cunt feels, how well you take his cock. He holds you down, muscles pressing into you, keeping you in place. He goes on this tangent about coming inside of you, leaving you something to remember him by. You don't have the heart to tell him he's the first and only man to fuck you raw. That his blue eyes and all of today will haunt your dreams. You can't express that what he's doing to you terrifies you, yet thrills you. That you just might be sick in the head for not hating this. Your warm wet cunt was drawing him in. Wanting him. Needing him. You bite your lips bloody. Yet he still catches your whisper of "please, come for me." His thrusts become faster, and he spills inside of you. If this were real life, he'd leave after that, blend into the crowd, and accept his fate. He'd wait for the other shoe to drop and get what was coming to him for being a disgusting pervert who touches women.

But it wasn't real life. Max was in a stupidly expensive Monaco sex club. Their new marketing ploy - get you in the door for a free visit and impress you so much you come back. He had to hand it to them, they followed up with him like a champ. Getting extras to play the drunk and disorderly dutchies. Even the set of the alley was good. Max casts a glance at you, his throughly fucked out girlfriend. You're sleeping with a grin on your face. He remembers the day you told him about your unusual kink. How the two of you would dabble in it, occasionally. He'd pretend to break into your shared apartment and rape you. You had been so loud and rowdy that night that your neighbors called the cops on you. But just before the sirens, you had come on Max's cock so hard, he swore he could marry you right then. After he was done politely explaining the misunderstanding to the policemen, he started googling. And a couple months later, here you two were. Completely immersive experience. And no sheets to wash. Max feels bad for the person who has to clean the floor after you squirt on it. In his defense, you didn't even know you could do that. He lets himself be photographed leaving the club with you in tow. Shoots off a few messages to his friends and the other drivers on the grid to also try it out. If he creates enough buzz, they'll give him a discount. And it's not as if his hefty paycheck doesn't allow him to visit sooner. Especially after he wins Miami. Because he has several bets going on - one with Christian, one with GP and one with Lando. He gets them all, collects the cash and says he'll invest it. He puts it on another night with you. Because the true key to Max Verstappen's winning strategy was a well fucked girlfriend.

[no1blacksapphirefan]

Hope things get better for you!! If it’s not too much to ask I was wondering how you’d imagine the cookies would react to reader obviously being sick but still logging into the game, like “idc that I’m sick and need rest I need to do these quests IMMEDIATELY”

Me when I got hit in the back of the head with a frisbee tho. I couldn't leave my fav cookies alone <33 Pure Vanilla probably so disappointed though.

Thought it would be funny/entertaining to have this w/ cookies who have the healing element hehe

Pure Vanilla He shakes his head disappointed, you're sneezing so much!! You must get some rest, and no you playing the game to make yourself feel better does not count. Sleep will you? Take some medicine and then, after a long nap. If you're feeling better, THEN you can play.

He wants to tell you this, perhaps you'd be too sick to realise he's talking to you directly. How he wishes his powers could go through the screen and make you feel better, alas he'll have to settle on scolding you while hoping you don't realise in your sick state

Mystic Flour She knows it'll be hard to convince you to rest, she sees it in your eyes. You're dead set on finishing quests and other various tasks. So, she'll just make sure the work you want to do, how do I put this. Isn't doable till you get better.

Your main quest aren't working? Why not put the phone down and it'll be better when you wake up! The timers you want to use? Looks like they're buggy, worry not. It'll be done in a few hours. Rest.up. The longer you stay online, the more likely you'll catch her glaring at you through the screen...oh that? It's just a...glitch...come now, log out and rest, that's what you need.

Herb Cookie As your friend...he begs for you to rest. He's willing to "break the 4th wall" if it means managing to convince you to take a nap, sleep for 8 hours. Anything, as much as he enjoys having you around, he much prefers you to be happy and healthy. He doesn't want to see his friend just, lay around sneezing and coughing but still continuing to play because "there's work to do"

You may not care but he does!! A lot, he's worried about you. If talking to you through the screen is what he has to do to be able to convince you to go to bed, then so be it. Maybe he can mask it off as him talking to his plants? He'll just name it after you and put jr in front of it, he prays it works.

Sparkling Cookie Tut tut, you really shouldn't bother with your quests when you're clearly not well enough for it, he's seen things like it before in his own bars and he had to stop some drunken cookies from doing something they were unfit to do like drive/walk home. So while the reason for you being unfit to do something is different, he isn't exactly a stranger to this kind of thing.

Similar to herb, he isn't scared to talk to you through the screen, gently advise you to go to bed. Even if this ends up freaking you out to the point you exit the game, he hopes you're taking the time to rest, perhaps chalking it up to simply being to sick and hearing things.

Rockstar Cookie He didn't quite catch it at first but when he does he sighs. Do you really love the game that much you're willing to place it in front of your own health? He shakes his head, while he finds the reason to be...endearing in a way, especially if one of the things you "had" to do was say hi to him, maybe update his build and then tap him thousands of times, he still wants you to rest.

He'll play a song, a lullaby even if you had to name it. Something to make you sleepy, something gentle. He knows it's working as your eyes seem to flutter close, you yawn (and cough/sneeze...) and your grip on your phone slowly looses it's strength until you are fast asleep. If it doesn't work he'll only sigh and see if he can get other cookies to help, if it does he smiles and wishes you a good night...let's hope your game doesn't drain your battery though

[stzrgirl4norris]

My Kink Is Karma

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After a turbulent break up, Max left you all alone, dealing with the pain from his poisonous words. He was thriving, having the time of his life, and you were determined to see his downfall.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (don't do that), degradation, Mean!Max, Mean! Reader, they are both toxic to each other, revenge sex, hate sex. All the good stuff

I'm on my Max kick later, specially since the last race. Hope you guys can enjoy my freak with me!!

Three months, twenty eight days since he left.

Actually, since you left. No, even worse, since you were kicked out of his stupid cubicle of an apartment. Why is every goddamn apartment in Monaco so small either way? It's like millionaires have a kink for minimalism or something. There were still a couple of his t-shirts hanging around, shoved down the back of a drawer you never opened. You contemplated burning them down, one by one, or selling them on e-bay, you would probably make a lot of money with it. However, the anger was still boiling hot in your bones, opened. You contemplated burning them down, one by one, or selling them on e-bay, you would probably make a lot of money with it. However, the anger was still boiling hot in your bones, picking up anything with his scent on it would cause world war three, and you didn't want that.

Not because you don't hate him, you do, wholeheartedly, but you would rather see the universe handle it, slowly, sadistically, because you always believed in karma, plus, he didn't deserve any type of reaction from you.

However, almost four months is a whole lot of time of waiting for Max Verstappen to get something bad coming his way. Somehow, that blue eyed man is always on top. McLaren had the fastest car and he was still dominating, pole position, podiums, even fucking won a race against all odds. Max Verstappen not only defied your beliefs around love, but your beliefs in general. He tested your faith. Because in this wednesday afternoon, sitting on your plane sit, next to a crying baby and an exhausted mother, you were wondering if the universe gave a flying damn about how much that man hurt you. Gods Are you listening over there? He left me with no direction, no sense of belonging, stole my pride, joy and clothes. I was left empty. So why the fuck is he the one thriving?

That's why you decided to make matters with your own hands. Karma isn't real? No problem. You would create karma and shove it down his throat. Max Verstappen is not going to hell when he dies? Then, you will make sure he lives through hell while you are around. And the plan starts with a suitcase and an economic class ticket to Bahrain.

The city was scalding. The complete opposite of an early spring in Monaco. Too many people, a legion of tourists who were there for the Grand Prix. You looked around, analyzing the environment, but he was everywhere. In t-shirts, flags, posters, dolls. "The flying dutchman", "The Dutch Lion". That was the worst one. A lion? That motherfucker was just as coward as a toddler being confronted by their angry parent.

Hey. Just landed. Where was the place / was supposed to wait for the driver?

Max: Gate seven. He's already there.

You don't answer. He doesn't deserve an answer.

On the other hand, if the plan was going to work perfectly, you needed him to believe you were desperate for him. Because Max has an ego, he craves the attention. It's Machiavellian, but any current pain is worth the final result. What even is a single text message compared to seeing Max Verstappen’s downfall live and in bright colors?

You walked towards gate seven. Sure enough, the man was there, holding a little white plank with your surname written on it. As if it was needed, since to his left, there he was, wearing his stupia red bull cap, white t-shirt and dark blue jeans.

Classic Max. You weren't taken by surprise, at the end of the day, Verstappen was as predictable as playing chess with a child, at least to you. You knew he was going to be there, just to torment you, prove, somehow, that he never left, his scent, manners, soul, were all surrounding you, everyday since that rainy tuesday when all hell broke loose.

As you approached both men with a confidence acquired from whatever cheap wine they offered on the flight, you could swore you saw a glimpse of relief in his arctic blue eyes.

Max was relieved. Seeing you, full shape, materialized in front of him like a dying man's last vision, as beautiful as ever, maybe even more, left him with a feeling of immense relief. Because ever since the break up, he never saw or spoke to you.

He didn't even understand how the hell that was possible, considering Monaco was just a big gated commune. He had no idea, however, that for those three months you barely left your bed, purposefully avoiding him. The funny thing is, Max could've swore on his career that he saw a different type of glimmer surrounding you, because as you gave him a shy kiss on the cheek, shivers went down his neck, all the way though his spine. There was uncertainty in his mind if, at that moment, you were a salvation from heaven or his worst nightmare.

"I didn't actually think you would come?" He couldn't control the excitement in his voice. To you? Pathetic.

"You know Bahrain has always been my favorite circuit." Lies. "Plus, I really wanted to talk." More lies. Oh, weren't you just the best pretty little liar?

'I agree"

Max had no idea of what you planned. With all the innocence of a little boy in love, who fucked up, he believed that you wanted to try again, that you were able to give him another chance. If for three months you were crying underneath the shower steam, he was begging via text messages, voicemails, red roses and handwritten notes to talk to you and sort things out. In his mind, his words were bad, a disaster. "Your career isn't important, you can't keep crying over this shit." Actually, the words were bad, but the context was even worse. To be fair, you were crying over a minor problem, a grain of sand in the midst of long beach, still, that was the result of a build-up that lasted weeks, days having to suffer countless abuse in your job, burnout was imminent. Haven't you been breaking down, releasing every tension from the stress of your career, you could have actually forgiven him. In contrast, the coldness and nonchalant in his voice when saying "your career isn't important" was what actually got to you. "So, I can't cry over my boss raging at me from mistakes he made, but you can cry whenever your stupid little car isn't 0.5 seconds faster than another car? Why? Because being a Formula 1 racer is the only job that matters? Huh, Max?"

That whole argument spiraled to a rabbit hole of pointing fingers and repressed emotions. Deep down, you knew you hated your job, you wanted to leave every time you stepped a foot in that building, but Max didn't need to know that. And he had no right assuming that it wasn't important.

Arriving at his hotel, the boy next to you handled a room key. 405.

"It's right next to mine"

You gave him a look, the one that said "well, obviously." Another predictable move. God, if any other driver paid enough attention to him, you were convinced he wouldn't be called Mad Max at all, because, in reality, Verstappen was as clear as a crystal glass.

The whole way up to the room, Max was a gentleman, carrying bags, hands on your lower back, guiding the way, walking in front. Just like you never stopped being his girlfriend. Maybe, in his mind, you never did.

The room was brightened with yellow lights, contrasting to the cold of the atmosphere between both ex-lovers. Even though you were trying your best to not give anything away, Max wasn't stupid, he could read you with eyes closed, he knew there was an unsettledness in your movements, he just couldn't point exactly why or what is going on.

"Do you want me to leave? Or do you just want to get it out of the way?" Max didn't quite know what he meant with "it", whatever it was, it has been filling his lungs with deep anxiety. And you knew he was suffering. For a man who was used to get anything he wanted, whenever he wanted, being completely lost in the matters of the heart, hurt his pride and gave him tremendous affliction.

"I was hoping we could catch a nice dinner, properly talk with some good food and wine. What do you say?" The words came off of your tongue spontaneously, as if you didn't rehearse them 300 hundred times during that 11 hour flight.

"Sure, yeah, fine. Even better with people around... That way you won't have the courage to kill me." You could hear the tension in his words when he joked, and he could hear the mockery in your chuckle just as well.

"Pick me up at eight?"

The fact that you made no comment around his stupid joke bothered him to his core. Which is the reason he just nodded and left the room without saying anything else. Just as soon as that door closed, you rushed to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet. You couldn't say what the fuck you were feeling, nausea, pain, anxiety, shame, guilt, rage. You should just open the door, go to his room, throw things around, break glasses, throw his suitcase on the hotel pool, tell the press he is leaving red bull and get on a plan, never look back. Having to wait for revenge to be served cold is what drives everyone insane, and no one talks about that.

Countless of hours later, after two long crying sessions, and screaming, and burning pages of your journal, you were ready. Dressed up casually. You wouldn't give him too much, because you knew he was expecting to show up as beautiful as ever, Lady Di in her revenge dress, so the fact that you were just dressed as his Y/N, raw, honest beauty, broke his heart. Because when he opened the door to your room, he was taken by your perfume and your pure self, just like he did for three years every time he came home from a race weekend and you were waiting for him on the couch.

"Come on, Max, you don't need to give this look." You were surprised by how effective flirting was in maskaring hate.

"What look?"

"Like I'm your long lost childhood love you encountered 20 years later." He shook his head, slightly.

"You're something like that."

Something like that. What the fuck did he mean?

"We should go." You said a little bit more desperate than you hoped. Maybe due to the fact that you were dying to leave. "Lead the way."

*

God. Wasn't middle eastern food the key to all your problems? Maybe if the scent of blended spices and dates filled your nostrils before, there would be no reason for any of this.

For the past couple of hours, you were focused on trying to enjoy the delights Sakhir had to offer.

Notice the word trying. Because with Max Verstappen looking like a god sent angel in front of you, no amount of cloves and cinnamon would be able to erase the scent of wanting that was emanating from him.

Max was paying extra attention to you. Every time you looked excited about whatever you were tasting, he could catch a proper breath. However, one look into your eyes later and he has filled with thousands of questions in his head.

"So, what is the strategy for this weekend?"

"Do you actually want to talk about my racing strategies for the weekend?" Yes. You did. How were you supposed to ruin his life if you had no clue what was going on with the only thing that mattered to him. "You said you wanted to talk, Y/ N."

"We are talking." He raised his eyebrow. You sighed, stomach twisting in ten thousand knots.

"Fine..."

Before you could select which carefully constructed phrase you compartmentalized for this very moment, Max, with his usual quickness, took the upfront.

"Please, come back to me."

It's not that you weren't expecting that he would say something like this, you just weren't expecting how much your internal organs would fire up as a response. In that particular moment, you could swore you forgot all of the lines of the plan you spent one month obsessing over. He broke your character, for just a slight of a second, a fraction.

"You really hurt me." For the first time in this whole entire trip, you were being honest.

"I know. I am truly deeply sorry. I fucked up."

You just stared. Contemplating if you were going to let him talk a little more. The dark twisted part of your brain was enjoying seeing him act as pathetic as you once did for him. That same side of your brain was already collecting ideas. Screw that one month evil plan, Max was giving everything you need to do even more damage than you anticipated.

"Let me show you how much I regret it. Let me make it up to you." The phrase was constructed as if he was asking for permission, but both of you knew, deep down, that he wasn't backing up any soon.

"These past few months were hell to me, Max."

The words were true, but there was no emotion in your voice to actually reflect the pain you went through. Max had no idea. He would never guess.

It seemed to him that you were giving something, but a weird feeling in his gut was sparking a doubt that you were hiding something.

"I will fix this up."

His legs under the table were shaking like the first time he stepped out of a Formula 1 car. Max was speaking as he was walking barefoot on shattered glass. There is no way for you to fix this up. Only me. You wanted to answer. You couldn't.

"Are you excited for the race?"

The deviation of the subject showed Max you were uncomfortable, which is why he decided that was enough of pushing. He didn't know there was a strategy underneath your tongue.

"Are you?" He fired back, letting himself taste a bit of the wine that you chose. It was bitter, dry, unlike the sweet rosés you'd usually go for.

"Thrilled." Your lips curled into a smirk stained with maroon liquid. Something shifted in the tone of your words. It was malicious, Max could sense it, but he was a man after all, guile and sexiness go hand-in-hand, specially coming from a girl holding a glass of wine.

ready to head back, whenever you want to go."

"Are we not going to order dessert?"

Nope. He wanted to leave. Matter of fact, as soon as possible. He wanted to take you to his room, or your room, whichever one is closest to the elevator door, and peel off every lying secret you were hiding behind your sore, tired eyes.

"Do you want dessert?"

You looked at his eyes, then his lips, then his neck, back at his eyes. Licked your lips, the bitterness of the wine reminding you of pure sex.

"Maybe not from here."

You knew you had control over him by the way he looked at you, like a puppy begging for food. Max didn't even try to hide how much he was longing to just touch you in any way, shape, or form. God, men were so easy.

A few formalities and street lights later, you were back to the golden architecture of the place you were staying. It wasn't your first time in the country, but it was your first time in this hotel, hadn't it been the circumstances of your visit, you could have actually enjoyed the experience.

The elevator door shut, fourth floor was a short ride. Helped to ease the tension. Not too much, but just enough.

"I can't find the key to my room."

Max knew it was inside your purse, you knew it too, obviously. There was just no reason to bother looking it up.

"Hm. Thankfully, I got you." He held the white car between his fingers, flashing them with a teenage boy smile.

"My hero,"

For the first time during this night, you felt the tension leaving with the winds of Sakhir. Sex was not on your plan, in fact, quite the opposite.

However, you forgot there was no such thing as a plan when it came to Max Verstappen. Specially not when it came to desire and love. Plus, a girl is allowed to enjoy herself, it's not like you were going to get soft on him now, right?

The closing door blocked all the noise. Suddenly, the room was carried with heavy air, lost faith, gained hope, misery, all at once. If you listened closely, you were able to hear Max's heart beating irregular beats. It felt to him like he was about to have a stroke, a heart attack, a breakdown, or all of the above. You were danger, your presence was too powerful. He needed to get control back, or he would just spiral.

But you would not let him. Not right now.

Just as quick as you left him that night, you were pulling him by his neck. Lips connected like they were never meant to leave each other in the first place. Looking for each other's air because the room was getting smaller and smaller. This was the point of the night in which you didn't need to perform. You were not doing it for the plot, the revenge, you were doing it because you desperately craved him.

Max had only a few times seen you this way. It was unusual, but he wasn't complaining. He didn't quite like the fact that if you asked him to kneel down and bark, he'd do it, however. And he was afraid you'd notice it and just torture him the whole night. The boy was just a little too late.

"You said you wanted to make it up to me." Max didn't know how you managed to get a full sentence out in the middle of what was going on, if he opened his mouth all that would leave his throat were pathetic sighs and moans. "Then prove it."

You pushed him away, slightly. Max's chest underneath his navy blue t-shirt didn't hide his erratic breathing.

"I am proving it to you."

He leaned in, but was met with another slight push. This time, mixed between his confusion, was frustration. Just as much as you wanted him, he wanted you. No, he needed you. Needed to be close to you as if there was a war going on outside and that was the only way to keep both of you safe.

"No." No? What the hell no meant? "Kneel."

Your command was firm, imperative. You were no stranger to take charge in the bedroom with Max, but it usually lasted around five minutes, a way to spice things up or push him to the edge until he finally broke. In a way, it was fake-control, because you knew it was just a matter of time until you were at his mercy. But not this time.

"What?" He heard you well, the question was put there simply as a way of making you change your mind.

"You heard me, Verstappen. Kneel and beg for me."

Max didn't have a chance to respond or brush it off with a scoffed laugh, your hands were already on his shoulders, applying force to bring him down. It wasn't gravity the one who put Max Verstappen to his knees, it was the magnetic force of your words and the torment of his desires for you.

"Schatje, come on."

"Hm. That all you got?"

The truth is, Max was running out of protests. You knew it took him a lot to put his pride to the side.

He wanted you back, but there was no way he was going to beg for it. Max Verstappen doesn't beg, for anyone. Actually, he never needed to, he always got what he wanted. But his resources were coming to an end, because your posture and the way you were demanding the room, left him with no choice.

With the gentlest touch, like you were made out of the rarest crystal, Max's hand came to the back of your calves, slowly making their way to the back of your knees. He stopped there, didn't dare going further up. His hands were big enough to almost wrap around it completely, and he applied pressure. It was a simple gesture, but goddamn it you missed his fingers touching you, you didn't care where.

You looked down, right hand travelling to his hair, fingers intertwining between some strands, making a mess. He always looked beautiful with messy hair.

"Please." A kiss on your right knee. "Please, forgive me." A kiss on the left knee. "I will do anything for you."

The hand that was on his hair made its way to his cheek. Your thumb brushing the soft skin underneath his eyes. Max was flushing, the blood was rushing everywhere through his veins, heart pounding, maybe after this he should cancel his weekend, because there is no way he would make it out alive.

Then, all of the sudden, your gentle rub became a slap. Not a rough slap, in fact, only a couple of taps, to call out his attention. And, damn, maybe a hard slap would be less humiliating than this. And it didn't help when you had a devilish grin in your lips.

"Come on, pretty boy, just a little bit more. You're almost there. Look at me."

He was. Like a puppy. Like a dog starving. His pupils were so dilated you couldn't tell his eyes were pale blue. You were hell. That wasn't you. Looked like you, wore your clothes, the same old vanilla perfume, but if his whole life Max saw you as his sweet girl, this time he was seeing you as a mythical creature, completely transformed into something else.

"I fucked up. I can't live without you. Please, Y/N, I am about to go insane. I fucking love you, just come back to me, please. I can't make it without you." His chin rested somewhere on top of your legs.

You smiled. Humiliating Max sexually was not a part of the plan, but it was so satisfactory you could go straight back home with fulfillment in your bones.

"Good enough."

You backed out and walked straight to the door. In a sudden movement, Max got up, his legs felt like jelly, his head was spinning. There was no time for him to catch up, you had already left. He heard something like a see you tomorrow, but wasn't completely sure. In that particular moment he was out. Interpreting his feelings wasn't always easy, and right now it sure as hell was the hardest thing for him to do, considering there was a mix of everything inside his guts.

It took all of your strength to not go back, just to get a glimpse of how Max Verstappen looked completely desolated, alone in his hotel room, frustrated, confused. Exactly like you were that afternoon, three months ago. If you suffered, he was going to suffer the exact same thing, but ten times more.

*

"Max, you good? Looks like you're about to throw up."

Sitting in a round table, his salad was untouched, his cup still filled with water. The voices were mushy, he couldn't tell which driver elaborated that question. Truth is, he wasn't paying attention to anything else, too busy looking around, searching for any glimpse of you. Anything to demonstrate that you were still there, because you could probably be back home by now, laughing while sitting on your sofa, seeing his misery on live television.

He was brought back to the real world with Charles' voice commanding his attention, because finally, for the first time during that stupid lunch, someone said something that actually mattered.

"Mate, what is Y/N doing here? I thought you two broke up."

"Where is she?" His voice sounded so desperate, so pathetic, Lando couldn't help but chuckle.

"Just saw her talking to Honer when I passed the Red Bull garage. Could've swore I was seeing things, but it was actually her. Are you two back together?"

Midst sentence Max was already gone, rushing through the crowd as fast as he could before it was too late. He looked desperate, like he was looking for water in a desert island.

The meters to the garage seemed like the distance to the moon. His eyes were filled by the sigh of Horner, talking to someone else, not relevant, nor for him, because the someone else wasn't you. The conversation seemed important, and it would be rude to interrupt, but Max couldn't care less.

"Christian, where is Y/N?"

Horner turned around to look at his driver, bright fake smile. A little annoyed that he interrupted, but there was no way he was going to show Verstappen any annoyance.

"Well, hello to you too, Max. I was meaning to ask, what is she doing here? Thought you left her."

"Where the fuck is she?" Max asked again, this time his tone showed little to no patience.

Horner narrowed his eyes, if anyone else in this world talked to him like this, God would feel sorry for them. But again, the golden boy could do anything he pleased.

"If I'm not mistaken, she was looking for you. My guess is that she is waiting on your driver room."

The boy left. No thank you, no sorry, just simply vanished like dust.

The fragile door was opened with violence. This time, Max was quicker, not giving you a chance to play your game.

Eventually, after two days of deep contemplation, torture and screaming into his pillow, Max decided that he had enough of your games. Now, both of you were going to play things his way. Or so he thought.

"Why the fuck are you here? What the fuck do you want?"

You were sitting, legs crossed. His presence was dominating, but you didn't break character.

"What happened to good mornings? No one taught you proper manners?"

"Cut the fucking bullshit, Y/N. Why are you doing this?"

You got up, making your way towards him. Not too close and Max thanked God for that, because one more step and he would just break down again, crumble into crushed pieces of a boy. However, standing from a safe distance, his mind was taken by frustration, he wanted answers just as well as he wanted to rip your clothes off and make you pay for the little stunt you pulled two nights ago.

"I want to see you suffer."

You knew he would eventually caught up. It's Max, he is smart. And if anyone would understand the reasonings behind your feelings, it would be him.

So there was no reason to hide your true intentions anymore.

Max nodded, hands on his waist. He expressed some sort of laugh as a substitute for just yelling and screaming. He had done that already.

"How's that going for you?"

"Not nearly as close as the amount of suffering I am hoping for." Max was taken back by the cruelness and coldness in your words. "I want you to regret leaving me 'til the day you are buried six feet under ground. If you suffered ten times of what I did for those past months, still, wouldn't be enough.”

"I don't know how to break this to you, sweetheart. But making me kneel and beg, although I appreciate the effort, it was cute, isn't really close to the pain of getting dumped. You'll have to work harder than that."

Your lips curled into a wide spread smile.

"I know."

Up and close to his eyes, between your delicate fingers, a medium sized black piece of something he had an idea of, but didn't want to believe it was real.

"What is this?"

"You should get going, Maxie, quali is about to begin."

"You removed a piece from my fucking car?! Are you fucking insane?! This is psychotic, Jesus fucking Christ!" His eyes widened, his hands went through his hair in a desperate act. "How the fuck did you even manage to do that?!"

"A lady never tells."

Max thanked the universe when he heard a knock on the door, because God only knows what his next move was going to be, hadn't he been interrupted by GP at that second.

"Buddy, we have 10 minutes, you better come." He looked at the clueless man standing at the door, then back at you, who put on your best innocent smile, hands behind your back like you just didn't do the most devilish, disgraceful thing he has ever seen.

"Yeah, okay, give me two seconds.

As GP closed the door, Max took a step closer to you. He contemplated letting people know, snitching on you, but he held his anger and shoved the burning flames to the back of his throat. He wasn't going to play your game. If you were bad, Max Verstappen was worse.

Max's next move wasn't what you were expecting at all. With the gentleness of a first kiss, he brought his lips to your forehead, like he always did before stepping to his car, however, this time, taking a little bit longer, savouring the feeling of your skin beneath him.

"See you later, Schatje."

You were confused. Angry, even, by his reaction.

And then, when he finally left, you felt it. The shame, the guilt. You knew you went too far, but you were too blind by hatred, and too hungry for seeing him break.

On the other hand, Max walked into his car with the confidence and determination he hadn't felt in a while. It was Red Bull. This was a secure place, there were a innumerous amount of people there watching his fucking car. There was no chance that you, clueless girl, could just walk up there and steal a piece of whatever that thing was. God, you didn't even know how a Formula 1 car worked, how the hell were you supposed to remove an important piece? Max thought, hoped, wished, that you just took something he could manage to work without, and it was what gave him a little bit of relief stepping into the car.

Nonetheless, as quick as the relief came, it was washed away by a thought so much darker, what if you had help?

"Hey, Paul." Max called out for the man to his left.

"The car is good, yeah?"

"You tell me, mate." Paul joked around, not quite understanding the driver's question.

"No, I mean, the car is intact, right? Nothing missing?"

Paul arched an eyebrow.

"Of course, Max, it's all good."

The driver nodded and soon enough left with his car.

Qualifying started. You watched nervously through the screen in the garage. Maybe you crossed the line. On the other hand, you knew Max wasn't stupid, he made sure you knew with that ridiculous kiss. No other man could drive you insane. Two days later you were reading him like your favorite book, now, you couldn't tell a word inside his brain, except for, of course, how badly he was cursing you.

And boy... He was. Every time he made a turn and the car trembled he found a new name to curse you inside his mind. Thank God the FlA couldn't hear thoughts, at least twenty thousand fines were proffered only in the first five minutes.

The car was shit, unsteady. It was honestly scaring Max how unpredictable it was. Never in his entire career he felt so uneasy with a vehicle, not even in his rookie years.

"There is something really wrong with the car."

Max added in a frustrated radio message before firing back to his garage.

The crew was there, waiting for him. He stepped out of the car and let the engineers take a look.

You managed to catch a glimpse of him, even though his face was hiding behind the helmet, you knew he was contorted in desperation. You couldn't believe it. For better or for worse, your plan fucking worked.

The engineers cleared the way and Max tried again, completely incredulous on how you managed to ruin his entire race weekend. There was no way your relationship was going to make it after this. Max didn't even know if he was going to make it after this, he might just shove the car into a wall and die inside of it just to prove a point, watch you suffer with guilt until the end of your life.

By the last lap he was third.

Q2 was a bit better than Q1, that until someone crashed their car. Perfect, not only were you ruining his day, but the universe also decided to collaborate with your evil plan. Maybe you got Max's rivals to be a part of it. Maybe the whole entire team and crew were by your side.

By Q3 Max started to actually considering driving his car to the wall. The breaks weren't working. He couldn't break, at all. You fucking destroyed his breaks. You toyed with his car like it was a lego piece. At the end of that session, taking seventh place, Max stormed out of the car and threw his gloves on the floor. He just wanted to get everything off, his clothes, his helmet, his shoes. He wanted to go back home, to his cats, to his pillow, cry for hours.

Yes, the disaster of a bad qualifying hurt, but it was the heartbreak that got to him. Never in a million years he thought the love of his life would be capable of doing something so cruel and evil.

That wasn't normal. A normal thing would be for you to burn his hoodies or slash the tyres of his Porsche. You manipulated his car, possibly messing with his safety. You weren't the love of his life, you were a full blown psychopath. Which is the reason Max thanked that you weren't in his driver's room when he came back.

That being said, he wasn't so blessed when he opened his hotel room and found you sitting on his bed, wearing the same clothes as you were in the afternoon.

"Are you fucking for real? You have some guts coming into my room thinking that I would actually want to see you. I take everything back, I don't want you! I fucking hate you! I want you gone! I want to never look at your face again! You are the most terrible person I have ever met."

He was shouting, yelling, clenching his teeth and jawline. Stomping around like a maniac while the explosive bursts of verbal thunder left his mouth.

"Max, please, let me explain." You didn't raise your voice, you couldn't, you were wrong here.

"Explain what?! Huh?! How you manipulated my car?! Played around with my safety?! Almost killed me?! God, Y/N, I love you and you do this? This isn't normal, this isn't alright, this isn't something you fix with an explanation. There is no fixing this."

His voice became lower, not because he wasn't angry, he still was outrageous, but now the sadness of a heartbreak were too consuming, surpassing every emotion that was battling inside his mind and heart. There were tears in his eyes and they were the bluest you have ever seen. His lips were pink, trembling. His cheeks and nose were red. You felt an agonizing need to hold him.

"Max, you need to breathe." Poor choice of words, you could see it in his entire face as his eyes became shallow. "I didn't alter your car."

Max was about to lash out again, but he didn't believe his ears. As much as he hated you right now, you caught his attention. He didn't slow down, though, his chest was heavy, he was close to breaking down.

"Come again?"

"I didn't take any piece from your car!"

He could see you were crying now and he could swear you seemed honest, like a child trying to prove to their parents that they weren't the one in the wrong.

"Yes, you fucking did, you showed me! Do you seriously think I am going to believe your bullshit right now?"

"No, I didn't, this isn't anything! It's just a stupid piece of plastic!"

In a desperate attempt you held the black piece close to his face.

His vision was blurry, by tears, by confusion and hatred. He caught the piece and analyzed every corner of it. It didn't seem legit, it seemed, like you said, just a piece of plastic.

"What the actual-"

"-I just wanted you to believe I did. I wanted to scare you. I wanted to make you doubt yourself. I would never do anything that would actually put you in danger, Max, I love you. I wanted to prove a point." He couldn't believe it. In fact, he thought he was hallucinating the whole weekend and this was all a twisted nightmare, "Yes, it was selfish, I am wrong, I crossed the line. But I thought you were going to catch up to it. I didn't believe it was going to work, you are you, Max"

Now, add skepticism to the list of emotions inside his gut.

"But the fucking car was shit! The breaks weren't working! I couldn't drive that thing at all!"

"That has nothing to do with me."

Max couldn't tell if he was relieved by the fact that you didn't try to kill and you still loved him, or felt betrayed by how you manipulated his reality to the point he drove like shit just because he believed something was wrong with the car. Or maybe Red Bull just fucking sucks. Both later options were not respectful outcomes to him.

"Please, say something. I am so sorry, Max! I regret it. I should have never done it, I know. I am so sorry. I understand if you never want to see me again and, God, I'll even move from Monaco if that's what you like. I'll disappear, completely."

Your words hit him. He thought about them for a split second. The thought of you leaving his life, to him, was death. Sure, what you did was not okay, he was heartbroken, it would take time to heal. However, the more he thought about it, the more willing he was to try. If you were able to give him a second chance, he should give you the benefit of the doubt. You were taken by passion, by heartache and overwhelming sadness, Max wasn't a stranger to strong bursts of emotions and impulsiveness, which is why, deep down, he understood why you did what you did. Maybe, if he was in your shoes, he would've done worse.

"We are too old for shit like this, Y/N."

You could feel he was a bit more relaxed, which is why you felt an openness to just hold him. You didn't care if he wasn't going to hold you back, you just wanted to show him how much you regret your childish ploy.

"I know, baby, I am so sorry, I love you."

Fair enough, Max didn't hold you back. Instead, he pushed you away, another idea forming in the back of his twisted, unserious mind.

"You're going to work a little bit harder than this, sweetheart, if you want my forgiveness."

In his eyes, you could see there was still anger painted in the black of his pupils, but mixed with the gleam of his almost dried tears, you noticed a different kind of sparkle, one he saw in your eyes two nights ago.

"Do you want me to kneel and beg?"

Max took a step back.

"I want you to kneel, but I think your mouth can do better things than begging."

There was a feeling of delirium happening in the back of your mind, that carefully traveled through your veins as if you had take the most powerful drug available in the market. In just a matter of seconds you were down on your knees, hands playing with the hem of Max's shorts. You looked up, as if asking for permission to take them off. To Max, that was a vision out of the walls of the louvre, you, down, eyes sparkling with sultry glamour, mouth watering.

With an attentive movement, you pulled down his shorts, leaving a trail of kisses on the inside of his thigh, making sure you were scratching every inch of his skin, treating him as if he was the cure to all your worries and troubles. He might as well be.

"Get to it, my love, no teasing."

"Where's the fun in that?" You asked with a tint of playfulness in your voice.

"You're not really in a position to have fun. You either put those pretty lips to use or I will leave you here with nothing."

"Well, since you asked so politely."

You completely removed his boxers, facing his cock. Your mouth watered. You made sure you spread enough saliva around, licking every inch of him, paying extra attention to his sensitive spots you were well familiar with, before taking him with gluttony, tasting every bit he was giving.

Your hands were everywhere, scratching his thighs, caressing his balls, while you moved your head, feeling him in the back of your throat, around your lips.

Max was in pure bliss, his organs were electrified.

He swore you got better since the break up. Or maybe it was the absence that made it much more intimate, filthy, delicious.

"Jesus, Schatje, you're so dirty." He ran his fingers through your hair until he decided to guide your movements with his hands, slowly, making sure the pace was comfortable for both of you. "You look so pretty when you're doing what I want."

He went a bit further and you gagged in response, moaning right after. The vibrations coming from your throat sent Max into a frenzy. You swirled your tongue around his head, looking up through your eyelashes, exactly the way he liked. You loved giving Max blowjobs, it was as pleasurable for you as for him and he could tell, and there was nothing hotter to Max than seeing you get aroused by giving him pleasure.

Each time his cock hit your throat, he could feel he was getting closer.

"Don't stop, keep sucking me off, keep going." You just obeyed, feeling yourself get hotter by the second, you knew your panties were gone by now, yet you still craved more. You needed to taste him more, you needed to take back the time you missed. "Fuck-Y/N, fucking hell. Just like that.

You're so good."

The praise was everything, because you didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve him. Yet, here he was, giving you all of him, all of his time and body, the best parts.

One more deeper thrust and you gagged again, the reaction made you squeeze his thighs. Max shut his eyes tight, groaning and moaning a bit too loud, but he couldn't control himself, not when you were on his knees, taking him so well, doing your job like a freaking pornstar.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum." The liquid was everywhere inside your throat. He made sure he finished before removing his cock from inside your mouth, drops of drool spilling on the floor. "You better swallow every drop or we'll do it all over again."

You did as he asked, you wouldn't dare do it otherwise. You stood up, looking right into his eyes as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out.

"Good fucking slut."

In a sinful act, Max spat in your tongue, holding your hair tightly in a knot between his palm. The move was so dirty, so filthy, you could come just by relieving the scene alone.

With desperate hands, you started to remove your top and then proceeded to his shirt. Meanwhile, Max was practically ripping out your skirt, abruptly removing every piece of fabric that dared touch your skin.

His kiss was demanding, hard, rough, thrilling.

There was a primal instinct awaken inside you, one that wanted to be with him and serve him for the rest of your life. One that could live in beds with him until you grow old.

Max pushed you to the bed, body towering yours.

Your hands desperately tried to grab his neck, his back, bring him closer, if it was any possible. You felt his hand sliding slowly between your thighs, until he reached your folds. He made sure to spread the wetness around, making a mess on your inner thighs and hip bones.

"Max, please." You pleated, voice cracking, there was no way you could form coherent sentences, your mind was hazy, no other thought inside your head except Max Verstappen and his hands.

"Look at you." His voice was dark, husky. "So wet just from sucking me off. Do you want more?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Then ask for it, use your words."

That man had you in the palm of his hands. If he asked you to go to war for him, at that moment, in your situation, you would.

"Please, Max, please." Your vocals were stuck down your throat, you were struggling to speak, the sensations of his hands rubbing your clit ever so slightly you could barely say they were in there was just too overwhelming.

"Pathetic, try again." He placed a kiss on your collarbone, then on the curve of your neck. His lips were wet and hot, a little bit swollen from the roughness of your kisses.

"Max, fuck me, please, stuff me, use me, do Whatever you want."

Max stopped every touch. Looked deep inside your eyes with a smirk on his lips that you just wanted to slap it off, or kiss it off, whichever one your reflexes allowed.

He scrunched his nose and giggle, it was a way of mocking you, you knew that. You knew you sounded pathetic, you didn't care. The humiliation was not crossing your mind, nothing to worry about, it wasn't worth it. He was. Max was worth it.

"Stupid little thing, trying to pull stunts on me, then begging me to use you like you were some sort of cheap whore."

You moaned in response, lifting your hips to meet his. In a firm movement, Max held your hips down with his right leg, applying pressure on your lower belly, making it unable for you to move.

"Stop lifting your hips like a goddamn whore, you're going to take whatever I decide to give you."

He wasn't treating you kindly, you knew there was still resentment somewhere inside him. Sure, there was. Max knew it too. At that moment he was using you, taking his frustration out. But it wasn't like you haven't done the same, only your way of torturing him was a bit less fun than his.

You felt yourself sinking into Max's cock, involuntarily you sunk your nails on his back, trying to fight back the scorching sensation filling you up, making you whole. Max's rhythm was slow, painfully slow, which was unlike him, he never fucked you like this, always fast, slamming, pounding. This was even more overwhelming than his usual desperation and roughness, because it wasn't hurting but it felt like you simply couldn't take it, the lack of pace was driving you insane.

Max knew it, it was taking every single tear of strength left in his tired body to keep it slow, because you felt too good, too perfect wrapped around him. He missed your feeling, he missed your whimpers and cries.

"You feel so good, Schatje, like you were made only for my cock. Nothing more. Too useless to anything else, couldn't even figure out how to take a piece out of my car." He laughed, replaying the scene back in his memory. "Stupid little thing."

You cried out because you felt that he, without thinking, went a little bit harder when remembering what happened. If you wanted him to give you what you needed, you would have to push him only a little bit. You lost the war, you know you did, but there were still some battles left.

"Come on, Max. Slow on tracks, slow in bed. You used to be better than this. What are you trying to do? Fuck me to sleep?"

He looked down on you, with contempt. How dare you talk to him this way? But it was a good try, he was close to snapping, making you regret the whole week, going too hard until you couldn't remember why you were on this earth for.

You were scared of his eyes, how dark they were, but your stomach flipped with the thrill of waiting for his next move.

"Oh, she can talk!" His voice was drenched in disdain. "Let's fix this."

Not even stopping, Max parted your lips only to shove the lace fabric of your panties into your mouth. Fucking bastard. You protested, but now even you had to admit the sounds coming from you were a joke.

"Much better."

Then, in a sudden, fierce movement, he flipped you. Stomach down the mattress, face pressed against the egyptian sheets, a luxury that only Bahrain could provide. Max's left hand was pressing your head further down as he started to pick up the pace, slamming hard and faster. He was, in fact, using you as a personal fucktoy, but you didn't mind it, the feeling was too good.

You felt euphoric, your blood was buzzing. You tried to hold the sheets, grab something, but there was no way for you to control your body. The sounds coming from your mouth were involuntary, so were the one's coming from Max.

It was too much for him, he knew he wouldn't last longer. He never used you like this before, it made him feel like a god. No amount of championship wins would come close to the feeling of being buried deep down inside you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck- Look at what you made me do, fucking slut." You could feel the tears coming down. Good tears. The hot kind. "Are you going to cry on me now?"

You saw one of his hands coming to your mouth, removing the fabric and tossing far away to the other side of the room.

"Yes, Max, oh God, fuck."

He groaned, the wet noises were feeling the room.

The familiar sensation of fire pooling low in your abdomen started to show up. If he asked you to hold on, God forgive you, there was no way in hell.

You heard him moan a mixture of curse words and your name, but your senses were coming blurry, as if you were about to pass out.

"Max, 'm gonna cum."

"Gonna cum inside you, baby."

He pressed down, letting his weight fall on top of you, that's when you felt the tightness around your organs being released. The sounds coming from you were too much for Max to hold on any longer, not even seconds later he was breaking down. It was animalistic, filthy, pornographic, even.

He never took it out, he stayed inside of you for minutes after he was done. You were too sensitive to take any movement. That experience was whatever religious people were trying to reach with their existence. Who needed faith when you had Max Verstappen as a lover?

You barely noticed that his weight left the top of your naked body, only flipping back around when you saw him coming from the bathroom with a towel. He sat down next to you, breathing slowly, gently rubbing the fabric between your thighs.

"Are you okay?" You nodded, thinking you blacked out for a second. "Do you want a glass of water?"

"I just want you to lay down here."

He did as you asked, letting you wrap yourself around him. You could tell there were no bad feelings around, everything vanished into thin air.

It was just you and Max, same as ever.

"Do you forgive me, Max?"

He placed a long lasting kiss in your right temple.

"Is it bad if I said you should pull stuff like this more often just so that we could repeat this?"

You giggled, fingers tracing drawings on his stomach.

"I think we can figure another game that won't risk our relationship burning to ashes if something goes wrong."

"Fair enough." You felt him adjust his body. "And, yes, I do forgive you."

You needed the reassurance, Max knew that. He knew you. You were a melody from his favorite childhood song, one that he listened to it and it never left his mind.

There was no letting you go. It would always be complex and easy at the same time. But any complication was worth it if it meant you would never leave his side.