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jiminjamms · 7 months ago

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sex therapy :: 29. karma's a bitch

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. naoya's anger issues continue. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. mentions of physical violence. family drama.

word count: 3.2k

notes: my sixty-hour work weeks have been taking a huge toll on me, so i apologize for this incredibly slow update. the good news is that i cannot take this corporate america bullshit anymore and will resign in the next two months. thank you for being patient! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Naoya had never felt this humiliated in his entire life.

When people said karma was a bitch, he never thought that it would actually make its way back to him. While he was not the most righteous person in the world, he was the Zenin CEO, for god’s sake! He was the leader to a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, the heir of a centuries-old bloodline.

Yet, here he was, charging back to his apartment like an irate animal.

He startled the lobby doormen upon his loud entry, and once he returned to his penthouse, he had to will every muscle in his body not to tear apart his abode in a rampage.

In his head, his encounter with Toji looped like a broken record, fueling his chagrin.

When Naoya sought to confront his cousin for the first time in months, he thought he had been prepared. He did not expect to end up digging himself into a deep hole surpassing the world's layers due to a judgment error—a slight miscalculation.

Correction: this miscalculation was anything but 'slight' because he wildly underestimated what felt like everything. Now, he bore the consequences of his mistakes after inadvertently turning himself into a laughingstock. Because his ego was his hamartia, he had become a mere jester in a story where he was meant to be the sole hero, and thus his ill feelings burned hotter than the surface of the Sun.

As much as he hated to admit this, Naoya had been shortsighted. He should have known better. Just weeks ago, he saw a vision filled with saccharine promises of a happy, comfortable life as the most powerful man in Japan imbued with power and wealth. He had been confident—a hundred percent certain—that absolutely nothing could go wrong in the trajectory he worked hard to create. But, what the actual fuck just happened at the therapist's office?!

He did not expect his mistress to make a complete fool out of him. Her very existence was an anathema to him, and he hoped to never be in contact with that woman ever again. In hindsight, Naoya should have taken the hint a while ago. He had previously forgiven his cousin's ex-wife, dismissing her blissful but intentional ignorance. Mari had never been too keen on actual intellectual and corporate matters, for she took far more interest in the money and comfort that came with starting from the bottom and sleeping her way to the top. Despite that, Naoya trusted that she at least had half the mind to not publicly discuss their affair, only for him to be proven wrong in front of none other than...Toji Fushiguro.

"Fuck!" Naoya screamed into the void of his empty living room. His reality was a nightmare as he thought about his despised cousin again—the assured gleam in his viridescent eyes, the smug smirk that tugged across his lips. The imagery soured his mood beyond measure. "I'm going to fucking—"

He did not finish his sentence.

Instead, he kicked a nearby lamp in an angry bout, toppling the fixture over and sending tiny shards cascading across the floor accompanied by the dull thud of the shade. Whatever. His housekeeper tomorrow morning would come in and clean that.

What he instead focused on was how he had never been this infuriated, this belittled, this undignified.

The entire apartment echoed with Naoya's loud huff.

'About ‘your wife’ or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.' These words from Toji affected him more than he would have liked.

What did he mean?

That bastard is bluffing, the blonde had to tell himself, yet even he could not believe in his own consolation.

He needed to do something about this.

No, no, Naoya wasn’t scared.

He couldn’t possibly be, right?!

Yet, after he could feel his ears begin to cool and breathing start to re-regulate, he stared at the emptiness in his halls as he came to the realization that had no better choice but to talk to you.

You didn't want to be here.

The moment you read Naoya Zenin's text to meet up for a 'quick chat' at the café near his office, you already knew that the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but 'quick.' The last thing you wished to do was to be in the same vicinity as that very man again.

After spending the last few days at your family residence, you had been showered with warm attention from aunts, uncles, cousins, and even house attendants who—despite naturally wondering the reason behind your stay—welcomed your visit with open arms. To your relatives' many inquiries, you forged a pretense that all was well even if all was not. (Besides, all did seem well in your family estate, away from the incessant pandemonium that was the Tokyo city center.)

While you knew that this peaceful break was not meant to last forever, you did not anticipate returning to the capital just to sit with the Zenin CEO alone.

Naoya had specifically chosen a corner table in the Hong Kong-inspired establishment, distanced from potential eavesdroppers. He seemed to have been waiting for a while by the time you arrived, his right leg crossed over his left knee as he twiddled with his thumbs impatiently. Sprawled on the table were a freshly brewed pot of jasmine tea and a platter of warm custard pastries.

He remained quiet as you took the seat across from him, observing with a crease on his forehead and a knit to his brows.

Anyone could tell that the blonde was not the least bit happy.

"Giving me dirty looks is not going to get this conversation anywhere," you pointed out while helping yourself to a tart.

From your comment, the inverted slope on Naoya's lips twisted into a deeper frown.

He did not understand where your annoyance came from.

Fine, he never treated you nicely either, but he did not expect you to snap at him when the discussion had hardly begun. You offered him no greetings, and Naoya also took great offense at how you chose not to look at him as you talked.

Truth be told, your neglect reminded him of all the other upsetting things that he was dying to bring up, and your unpleasant attitude whittled away the little restraint he had left.

“You didn’t try to ask where I’ve been. Not one text or call. Guess it would not have mattered to you if I disappeared, huh?" he lashed out through gritted teeth. He hated being forgotten, hated being looked over, and hated how easy it was for him to prove you to be a neglectful and apathetic wife.

Which was why there was no better option than to cut him off.

“You ordered me to leave you alone, Naoya.” Only slightly did you turn your head to glance at him. Stirring sugar into your tea, you kept your attention otherwise on the nearby window and watched businesspeople scurrying about on the streets on their lunch breaks. "You can live without my attention since I'm not the only woman you have around. What happened to your lady friend? Hasn't she been entertaining you long before our marriage? I am sure she would love your company, so why not pay her an impromptu visit?”

From a slanting angle, you could tell that the transformation from your normally calm demeanor dismayed him. Naoya, not you, was typically the one to make snide comebacks, but he could not deny your latest comments. Evidently, he wanted you to go back to your submissive and passive self, but that was precisely what you no longer could be for him.

His silence prompted you to reach into your purse and retrieve a thick manila envelope, and you presented the package on the table.

Naoya's gaze snapped to the parcel.

He was curious, but cautiously so. He had invited you here, expecting to control the narrative, to dictate the terms. As a result, your unexpected move threw him off balance.

"What...?"

“Take a look and find out for yourself.”

A puzzled Naoya demonstrated no hesitation.

He snatched the folder, tearing the top open and greedily grabbing the curated pieces inside. He stared for a long time at the first item: a photo. But he recognized the image of him and his mistress, boarding a private jet for their most recent trip to Mexico. Then, he flipped through the stack rapidly, barely registering each item before he turned to the next. Some were printed-out pictures and others were cutouts from news articles, but all featured him and his paramour. The confusion on Naoya's visage slowly morphed into aggravation, and when he finished his inspection, he forcefully threw the items back onto the table.

In the end, Naoya sat back and went still, not even blinking, thinking, or doing anything but pressing his tongue along his inner cheek. "How did you get these?"

No apologies. No remorse.

Hell, based on his response, the man could not even bother to deny your accusations, a telling sign of how little he could care for his relationship with you. Obviously, you must be a joke to him.

In one firm motion, you placed down your teacup.

"You're missing the point.”

While one's eyes may be the windows to the soul, Naoya's offered nothing in his current state. His pupils looked at—no, examined you in intense dark pools despite the iridescent glow from the lights above.

"Toji gave you these, didn't he?" Naoya continued with a disdainful laugh, himself insistent on getting answers to his own questions. "You can't find this shit on the internet anymore since I've had them all taken down. But Toji's fast. He has eyes everywhere, I know he does. Look at him. Months later, and he's still hung up on reclaiming a position he should've never had the right to in the first place!"

Thankfully, you didn’t flinch from his loud voice. What you did do was become more indifferent as if you were placing a wall to separate yourself from him, mentally bracing for his emotional maelstrom.

"You are missing the point," you said once more. This time, you shook your head in disappointment, and your tone was far more frustrated than the last. "Aren't you shameless?”

"Me? Shameless?!” His brows pinched closer from fury. "Take a look at yourself, woman! What did you do to get all this dirt from Toji and his henchmen, hm? Ha! Know what? I bet it’s because you're so willing to spread yourself for them,” he rambled with a nasty sneer plastered on his expression. At his comments, your jaw fell open before snapping shut as the meaning behind his words sank in. The way this man disregarded how he had an affair (that began many months ago!) only to redirect the spotlight onto you was repulsing, implying that the sole reason the therapists talked to you was that you had slept around. “A whore like you love taking all them all, don’t you? Well? Well? Am I right? Goddamn, you’re such a—”

The harsh scraping from your chair as you stood was what finally interrupted him. Unable to tolerate his vilification, you counteracted his anger with the venom in your rancorous glare.

"How dare you talk about me like that!”

In the meantime, prying eyes started to turn in your direction from the commotion: teenage girls, sharing nervous glances across their table; a lone businessman, stopping mid-sip from his cappuccino; even the barista, pausing mid-grind such that her arm froze inches from the hopper.

"That man...doesn't he seem familiar?" a distant voice asked.

"Is he a celebrity or something?"

"No, wait. He's the person on the cover of last month's Fortune magazine. Naoya Zenin!" another replied.

"Isn't that lady his wife?"

While the onlookers' curious glances turned into full-on stares, their regard steeled your resolve rather than bothered you. Instead, you wanted the crowd to take in the spectacle. Corrupt tricks and dirty money had long painted the Zenin heir as 'the most perfect man in Japan,' and the public deserved to understand the fraudulence and cruelty that underlaid his facade.

"For months, I trusted you. I respected you. I put aside the harrowing loneliness weighing on my heart all because I tried to understand you. You told me that finding the time or energy for our marriage was not easy because board meetings kept you late in the office or business meetings required you to spend several nights abroad. Fine! So, I had been patient. But," and your voice overflowed from anger as you pointed a shaking finger at the pictures on the table, "Taking another woman to Michelin restaurants for dinners? Spending nights with her at Ritz-Carltons and Four Seasons? Going on entire vacations with her across the Pacific? All while you had a wife at home? Are you out of your fucking mind ?!"

The man's nose flared with deep-seated rage, his eyes mirroring the same bitterness in yours. "At the end of the day," he began sternly, "we're still married."

Ridiculous.

“On paper, ” you had to clarify. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be cheating on me with your older cousin's ex-wife."

Immediately, louder murmurs rippled through the crowd. Naoya turned stiff, uncomfortable with the attention. So much for selecting a quiet corner in the café. He wasn’t stupid enough to sense that he had to be careful. Saying one wrong phrase would condemn him to a public meltdown.

However, you were already steps ahead of him when you loudly declared: “I’m filing for a divorce.”

That caught him off guard.

Your announcement even drew audible astonishment from bystanders as they stopped their meals, turning to each other and drawing out their phones.

In literal milliseconds, the vexation once riddling Naoya's demeanor shifted into denial.

“No. We’re not going to talk about a fucking divorce right now. We’re going to fix what we have, and you’re going to come back to me. We’re...We're married for a reason, and we’re going to keep with it!”

"That's a bullshit reason,” you had to snap. “Listen to yourself. Do you hear how selfish you sound!?" At this point, nothing could hide your bafflement. "Naoya, you were the one who said that if I wanted to leave this marriage badly, then I should leave. Ask Mai and Maki! They heard the entire conversation. Didn't you also say that you didn't give a fuck anymore?"

The man attempted to salvage some semblance of control. "I was just joking!"

"No, you were not." Picking up a photo of Naoya and Mari together, you pressed the picture to his face. “How much more can I take? How many days would I still have to go through alone in the penthouse, all because you would be spending your sweet time with the woman that you love?”

Unloading all this emotional baggage, not only for Naoya Zenin but also for the café spectators to hear, took courage. Previously, you would have let the burden gnaw at your soul. You would have rather wallowed in suffering rather than even think about speaking up.

But the past was the past, and you had grown immensely since then. Currently, you were stronger, more confident. You knew that, in Toji's words, you deserved better. Life was too beautiful to waste on a man who did not love or respect you and, with that in mind, you relaxed your clenched fists with an exhausted and fatigued sigh.

You broke me first, you said through a deserted gaze.

Naoya Zenin was the reason why you had become the way you were: a cold, seemingly heartless wife who cared none for her husband. The misery that he placed on your shoulders finally reached its limit, and while you could forgive, forgetting the memories in your scarred heart would be a task over months, years, and even a lifetime.

“Listen,” you began, tone terse, “this divorce will set you free. Mari is the person whom you need—”

“The hell. No!” the man interrupted in a violent outburst, taking your breath away as he slammed the table and hissed. “I don't give a damn about her right now! We’re…We’re over!" he snarled with incredible anger such that he almost appeared to growl. "I don’t need her, I need you! That...That whore doesn't give a flying fuck about my shit! All she cares about is...is...Fuck this. All she wants is the money. Why else do you think she married and then later divorced Toji? She doesn't want to hear about all the shit in my family because she had not been brought up to deal with all the fuckin' drama in my household. She can't understand because, unlike you, she wasn't born with a silver spoon shoved down her goddamn throat!"

Quietly, you absorbed his words, stunned.

So this was how their relationship had been.

You had not expected him to reveal all these entrenched feelings willingly, but his concoction between reckless rage and sheer desperation had allowed him to spill the ugly side of this extramarital affair. Naoya could not afford to lose you, and not just because this marriage solidified the respect of those around him. While Mari offered him an outlet for physical indulgence, only you could offer the cornerstone to Naoya's mental and social fortitude.

“So you ‘need’ me now, but what happens when you find another reason to hate me again? What will you do if you don’t think I can fulfill the role you want me to have as your partner? Or if you wake up one day and suddenly want your cousin’s ex-wife again? Or if you meet another woman? Am I supposed to stand there again, and watch this all happen?"

No answer.

The fact that he couldn't respond hurt.

"My decision is final. Looking back, I despised every single second married to you. In fact, I feel sorry for myself. The fact that I blindly put up with your manipulation, betrayal, and blame for all these months.” With your belongings collected, you prepared to leave. “You would be stupid to think you're the only one with options, you know.”

Only when you turned around did Naoya react, scrambling to his feet.

“What the fuck are you—”

In any other situation, he would have grabbed you, lunged at you, did everything in his power to stop you from going. Yet, given all the witnesses, all he could do was call you back like a helpless child, trying his best to not escalate the scene (although, at this point, even passerbys outside have stopped by the window to spectate).

"Hey!" Naoya called after you. “Hey! I’m still talking with you!”

Pathetic, really, to see him desperately beg for you to stay in his life.

There was a certain satisfaction in finally having the control at your fingertips. The feeling was empowering—electrifying, even—and you became so focused on the gratification that you barely registered Naoya's last question.

“Where are you going?”

At this point, you already stood by the exit.

“That’s not something that my soon-to-be ex-husband would need to know,” and you hardly gave him another glance as the door closed behind you. “Thank you for showing me everything I hope to never find in another man again."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Part of why this update took so long was because I wanted to have an encounter between Naoya and Y/N to showcase Y/N’s development, from someone who thoughtlessly defended her husband to someone who could stand up for herself (all while alone!). I envisioned this interaction many times, and I thought about different ways to approach the scene, the delivery, the dialogue, the choreography, etc. It took me a while to go for what I currently have. Thank you for reading!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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f14fun · 5 months ago

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pixelated love (!simmer x mv1) - chapter 8

synopsis: in which the famous three time world champion max verstappen wants to learn how to play the sims 4. except, he doesn't really know how to. so what does he do, search up a youtube tutorial. low-and-behold, y/n's video is the first he watches.

smau + prose (8.4K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ prev | next | series index ˚୨୧⋆｡

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જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Y/N's POV❞

The funny thing about catching feelings is that you never know when the walk becomes a stroll, then a jog, and eventually turns into what seems like a never-ending chase.

It’s a flurry of emotions, each step more fervent than the last. At first, you might think it’s just a casual stroll—something light and easy, just taking in the sights and sounds. But then, it evolves into a leisurely walk, where you find yourself more invested, more attentive to the nuances of the path you’re on.

As you get more involved, the pace quickens, and suddenly, what was once a gentle amble has turned into a brisk jog. Your heart starts to race, and every moment feels charged with potential and possibility. The thrill of the chase sets in; you’re no longer just moving along the path but running towards something that feels both exhilarating and daunting.

And just when you think you’ve reached the peak of intensity, the chase turns into a marathon. The emotions swirl around you like a storm, sometimes exhilarating, sometimes overwhelming. It’s as if you’re in a never-ending pursuit, where every stride is driven by hope, fear, and anticipation. It’s a whirlwind of highs and lows, where the finish line seems perpetually just out of reach.

The moment I truly felt my peak of intensity was the moment that I landed in Nice, France, ready to embark towards my ultimate destiny: Being the ultimate Monacan WAG. If you truly believed that last statement, dear reader, I must call you gullible.

Anyhow, the Nice Côte d'Azur Airport had welcomed me with open arms, giving me the twenty kilometer leeway of relief before I was due in the beautiful Principality of Monaco.

And don't get me wrong, but I was scared.

The facade that I put up everyday on stream, on social media, was only a fraction of who I really was. I was left wondering to myself in the hours leading up to meeting Max, "Would he really like me for who I was? What if this was one humongous joke I was apart of, and I was doomed to be the laughingstock?"

Arriving in Monaco, surrounded by its opulence and charm, only heightened my feelings of vulnerability. The grandeur of the setting made my personal fears feel even more pronounced. Would the real me, with all my imperfections and uncertainties, measure up to the expectations set by the facade I had carefully crafted online?

To be put simply, I was only a girl. And I really, really, really hoped that multimillionaire Dutch Formula One racer Max Emilian Verstappen would take pleasure in meeting me.

I had texted Max how I should meet with him, nonchalantly, of course. But on the inside, my palms were sweaty. I was nervous. In person, I wouldn't say I was the best flirt. I was more like that one twelve year old boy at the pool trying to impress a friend group of sixteen year old girls.

I fumbled on my words. I tripped. I missed. I blushed. I ran. I wept about my mistakes, and kept thinking what the absolute fuck did I just say? Why did that just come out of my mouth? I am stupid. I am so stupid.

Simply put, I didn't have much rizz.

Honestly, if I could headbutt myself, I definitely would. I had set myself up for utmost failure for acting like a confident prick, over text, over stream, and over Twitter. I acted like I had it all together, but in reality, if a tall, handsome guy were to actually approach me, you’d see me stumbling over my words and turning into a nervous wreck.

It was pathetic, really.

And oh my gosh, dear reader, if you had seen the look on my face when I had Googled Max Verstappen for the first time...

It was shameful, I will admit.

Learning that he stood six inches above me at his 5'11" stature... I was blushing in the comforting shadows of my bedroom, fearfully gripping my phone, as if Max himself was going to suddenly appear in my room and catch me red-handed, shamelessly watching edits of him.

Hiding under the covers at two am before a long day at work, and pondering if his big, big, bicep muscles from holding a steering wheel all day could eventually hold me in his comforting grasp. Daydreaming, in the middle of meetings with high-end game-development executives, if I could sudden run into his chest and have him hug me until I couldn't breath. Wondering, if I could sit on his thighs one day, and using his veiny hands, he could hold me by my waist and his steamy breath talk into my ear.

Yeah, I get no bitches and I'm horny.

It's pretty obvious to y'all at this point. Don't be a mean girl and judge, though.

And with all of these thoughts, I am not afraid to think them. In the shower, making dinner, watching him race...But it was all put in perspective when I stood outside of his apartment door, waiting for him to let me into his home.

It felt private. Intimate. Different, than all the displays of affection and joyous laughter we shared with the public.

But now I was in the comfort of his home. No prying cameras (at least I hoped that there were no hidden cameras), away from the never-ending watchful eye of the public.

The first thing I noticed about him were his eyes. They were a piercing, greenish, blueish, grayish color—a mix of the sea and comets, a blend of colors I couldn't quite put my finger on.

It was like they held the depth of the ocean, the intensity of a storm, and the mystery of the cosmos all at once. In the soft light of the doorway, they seemed almost otherworldly, drawing me in with their enigmatic allure.

Many people online had said that these eyes were constantly hardened, a result of years spent racing under intense pressure, dealing with tough words from his father, and the unwavering support and strength he garnered from his sister and mother.

They were eyes that had seen the highs of victory and the lows of defeat, that had faced criticism and expectation head-on, and had come out stronger on the other side.

These eyes told a story of resilience and determination, of someone who had been through the wringer and had emerged with a steely resolve. The internet was filled with tales of his focused, almost intimidating gaze on the racetrack, where every glance was calculated and every blink was a strategy.

They spoke of a man who had to grow up fast, who had to build walls to protect himself from the harsh realities of his world.

But when he looked at me, I could swear that I saw them soften.

They drew me in, and for a moment, I knew I could write poetry about them. There was a story in every shade, every flicker of light within those eyes. I could imagine penning verses about their depth, their history, and the way they seemed to hold entire worlds within them.

Suddenly, all my nerves and the fear of being a fumbling, awkward mess seemed to dissipate, at least a little. There was something in the way he looked at me that made me feel seen, like he was looking past the persona and seeing the real me. It was a mix of relief and disbelief, like maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be the disaster I had built up in my head.

I had never believed in the saying, "love at first sight", but I could've sworn my heart skipped a beat, if not multiple, when I locked eyes with him. Like I predicted, he was a tall, tall, man. And I, like a lot of people in this world, was not immune to the charm of a tall man.

"Oh, you are very tall," I blurted out.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. The words had slipped past my tongue and out of my mouth, bypassing the more sensible part of me, aka my brain. Damn you, stupid weak heart.

I could feel my face heating up, a wave of embarrassment washing over me. Out of anything I literally could have said, my intrusive thoughts had gotten the best of me. My inner voice was screaming at me to pull it together, but it was too late. The words were out there, hanging awkwardly in the air between us. My poster slumped slightly, there was literally no way to recover this. I desperately needed to find a galvanized stainless steel block to bash my head against repeatedly.

Max chuckled softly, a sound that somehow made me feel a bit more at ease despite my flub. "And you must be Y/N," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Welcome."

Taking a deep breath, I tried to regain my composure. "Yeah, that's me," I said with a small, nervous laugh. "Sometimes when someone makes me hella nervous, it just happens, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" I started, but he cut me off gently.

"I make you nervous?" He smirked at me. "Well I didn't know that."

Okay. Cut the cameras, deadass. I quite literally felt like I was a main character in that weird-ass phone game Episode (yes, my guilty pleasure at three am but nonetheless a fun hobby to have) It was like one of those cliché moments where the charming love interest says something flirty, and the protagonist’s heart skips a beat. Except this was real life, and my heart was doing somersaults.

I could feel my face heating up again, but this time, there was a small part of me that felt… excited? Maybe this wouldn't be a complete disaster after all. Trying to play it cool, I flashed a shy smile. "Yeah, well, you're pretty intimidating in person," I said, hoping to keep the conversation light.

"I cannot believe you said that, I'm just a really big cuddly bear," Max laughed at me, opening his arms out for a hug.

For a split second, I hesitated, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. But then, the warmth in his eyes and the genuine smile on his face melted away any remaining nervousness.

Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his strong yet gentle embrace envelop me. It was like being pulled into a cocoon of safety and comfort, his presence immediately soothing the whirlwind of emotions inside me.

As we hugged, I felt the tension in my body start to ease. His arms were warm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the anxiety that had been gnawing at me since I landed. In that moment, it felt like all the awkwardness and worries faded into the background. It was just the two of us, sharing a simple, sincere connection.

The hug lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make me feel grounded and welcomed, a silent promise that maybe this really was the beginning of something special.

And I did believe him, that he was just a really big cuddly bear. His laugh was warm like honey, and I could definitely get used to hugging those biceps and burrowing my head in his chest, like a teddy bear. All I could think of was the moment I whipped out my phone to get on Twitter I would tweet, #needthat.

What???

I'm just a girl.

"You're really fucking cute," Max suddenly stated, his soft voice interrupting my daydream.

Wait wait wait what?? Backtrack please?? Did Max Verstappen just call me cute, as he leans on the fucking doorway and I can see his biceps bulge as he-

Noticing my shocked expression, and my jaw must have been hanging out for a considerably long time without responding, he started to laugh at me.

"I hope I was the first person to tell you that today," He continued.

"Y-you certainly were the first person to say that, oh my," I sputtered, a creeping blushing arising from my neck and blossoming onto my cheeks.

Max's eyes sparkled with mischief as he stepped closer, closing the distance between us. "Well, it's about time someone did," he said, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "I've been looking forward to this moment for a while, you know."

I swallowed hard, trying to regain my composure. "You have?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. The bold, flirtatious Max standing in front of me was a stark contrast to the more reserved person I knew online. It was disorienting, but also incredibly intriguing.

This side of him was magnetic, drawing me in with a mix of confidence and playfulness that I hadn't anticipated. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the realization hitting me that the dynamic between us had shifted entirely.

Online, I had always been the one with the witty comebacks and cheeky comments, but now, standing here in his presence, I felt like I was discovering a whole new dimension of our connection. His boldness was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, making me wonder just how many other surprises he had in store.

"Absolutely," he replied with a grin. "Seeing you now, in person, you're even more stunning than I imagined." He leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving mine, and I felt my heart race faster with every passing second.

"Oh, wow, um, thank you," I stammered, feeling my shyness take over. It was surreal—here I was, the one who had always been confident and playful online, now reduced to a blushing mess in front of him.

Max chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the role reversal. "You know, I always found your confidence online really attractive," he said. "But seeing you like this, all shy and flustered... it's pretty adorable too."

I bit my lip, trying to steady my nerves. "Well, you were always the cool, mysterious racer," I said, attempting to regain a bit of my former bravado. "It's kind of unfair that you're also charming in real life."

He laughed, a rich, warm sound that made my heart flutter. (And I could swear I could hear hundred dollar bills when he laughed) "Guess we both have our secrets," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I have to say, I kind of like seeing this side of you."

"Yeah?" I replied, feeling a small surge of confidence. "Maybe you'll see more of it, if you keep being this sweet."

Max took a step closer, his presence enveloping me like a warm blanket. "Oh, I plan to," he said, his voice low and intimate. "Getting to know the real you is something I've been looking forward to. Online was fun, but this...this is so much better."

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks again, but this time it was mixed with excitement. "Well, you better keep up the charm then," I teased, trying to match his playful energy. "I'm not that easy to impress, you know."

He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, leaning in slightly, his proximity making my heart race even faster.

"Maybe it is," I said, my voice daring but my insides turning to jelly. "Think you can handle it?"

Max grinned, his confidence unwavering. "Oh, I know I can," he said smoothly. "And by the end of this trip, you'll see just how serious I am."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of anticipation and thrill coursing through me. The flirty banter, the unexpected boldness, and the undeniable chemistry between us—it was all so intoxicating. As I looked into his eyes, I realized that this was just the beginning of an adventure that was sure to be full of surprises and unforgettable moments. Spending time with Max felt completely different from any of my past relationships.

There was a new air about him, a different kind of electricity that sparked between us. Unlike the fleeting attention I had received from past lovers, who barely gave me a minute of their day, Max's presence was all-encompassing. He made me feel seen and valued in a way I hadn't experienced before. Each moment with him was charged with genuine interest and warmth, making me feel like I was the only person in the world.

The thought of what lay ahead made my heart race with a mixture of nervousness and exhilaration. I knew that being with Max would be an experience unlike any other, a journey where we would both reveal our true selves and create memories that would last a lifetime.

Don't call me naive, dear reader, because in the moment, it truly felt that way to me...And I really hoped that he felt the same too.

"Alright then," I said, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. "Game on."

Max's smile widened, and he extended his hand. "Game on," he echoed, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me as our fingers intertwined.

"Come on in," he said, leading me into his apartment.

As soon as we stepped inside, I realized that 'apartment' was an understatement. The place felt more like a huge penthouse rather than the modest apartment he had made it out to be. It was luxurious yet still quite plain and humble, a reflection of Max himself. The high ceilings, expansive windows, and elegant but understated furniture gave it a sense of grandeur without being ostentatious.

The living area was open and airy, with floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking, a sprawling panorama of twinkling lights and distant landmarks that seemed to stretch endlessly. Despite the grandeur, there was an inviting warmth to the space. The furniture, though minimal, was meticulously chosen—sleek modern lines with plush, comfortable seating that suggested a home where one could truly relax.

As we moved through the apartment, I noticed the subtle details: a few well-placed art pieces, not too many, just enough to add character without overwhelming the space. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, with shiny countertops and high-end appliances, but it was evident that Max wasn’t a chef—there were no intricate gadgets or utensils, just the basics. The sparse decorations spoke volumes about his personality: practical and unpretentious.

"Wow," I said, looking around in awe. "You really weren’t kidding when you said you had a big place. This is incredible."

Max shrugged, a hint of embarrassment on his face. "Yeah, I guess it’s a bit bigger than most apartments," he said with a sheepish grin. "But, as you can see, I didn’t exactly go all out on decorating. I’m not really into interior design and don’t have a clue how to make it look... well, more 'homey.'"

I laughed, finding his modesty endearing. "Well, if you ever want to change that, I’m your go-to person," I offered playfully. "I could definitely give this place a bit more personality."

"Oh, really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "And what if I said I might be more inclined to actually spend more time here if you did?"

I grinned, feeling a spark of excitement at the prospect. "Challenge accepted," I said. "I’ll have to draw up some design ideas for you. Just don’t be surprised if you come home one day and find your place looking like a completely different world."

Max chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Are you saying you’re going to turn my penthouse into something out of a magazine?"

"Something like that," I replied, trying to keep a straight face. "But with a touch of ‘Y/N’ flair. I promise it won’t be all pink and sparkles—unless you really want it to be."

"I think I'd rather die," He rolled his eyes, making me a victim of the sassy man apocalypse. Letting out a sudden bark of laughter, my eyes widened, surprised at the ugly ass noise I just let out.

"Wait no I take it back, it would be way better if I just paint it neon green and tweeted #BratSummerTakeover," I laughed.

"This is way worse than the pink what the hell..." Max laughed at my antics. Finally, he was matching my freak!

"Honestly, CharliXCX and Brat Twitter would probably save you if you got canceled, just because you made your apartment Brat themed," I countered, eye brows raising and daring him to challenge me.

"What would I even get cancelled for? Being too devilishly handsome, maybe," He asked, smirking at me.

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, and I knew I was blushing a lot. "Well, maybe," I stammered, trying to regain my composure. "Or for making girls like me turn bright red with just a few words."

Max's smirk widened, clearly enjoying my flustered reaction. "I think I could live with that," he said, his voice low and teasing. "But seriously, I like seeing this side of you. It's cute."

I blushed even more, trying to deflect the compliment with humor. "Well, you might get canceled for making me turn this red," I quipped, feeling a bit bolder. "And for having terrible taste in decor. Honestly, who wouldn’t want a neon green penthouse? It’s the height of fashion."

Max shook his head, still laughing. "Okay, okay. Maybe we should stick to something a bit more... timeless. How about a black and white theme? Classic, elegant, and less likely to blind anyone who walks in."

I pretended to consider it, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, that could work. But only if we add some gold accents. You know, to bring out the sparkle in your eyes."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Gold accents, huh? You really think my eyes sparkle?"

"Like diamonds, just like that one Rihanna song," I said, batting my eyelashes and throwing my hands up in a dramatic fashion. "But seriously, I think we can make this place look amazing. Just trust me."

Max smiled, his gaze softening. "I do trust you. And I’m actually looking forward to seeing what you come up with. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," I said, leaning in closer, our hands brushing against each other again. I was literally going bonkers from the sexual tension between us two, and I wasn't sure how long I could take it for the next week, before the dam overflowed. And trust me, I don't mind if this dam overflows. Wink wink.

"Promise me you won’t turn it into a jungle. I don’t think I could handle that much greenery," he said with a playful wink.

I laughed, nodding. "Deal. No jungle theme. But I can’t promise there won’t be a few plants. They add life, you know?"

Max grinned, shaking his head in amusement. "Alright, a few plants I can handle. Just no turning my place into a botanical garden."

I gave him a teasing look. "You never know, a few well-placed ferns could really spruce the place up. Besides, they say talking to plants helps them grow. Maybe it’ll work wonders for you too."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Are you implying I need help growing? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve hit my growth spurt."

I laughed, feeling more at ease with each playful exchange. "No, just that a little greenery might make this place feel more like home. Plus, it could give you someone to talk to when you’re not racing around the world."

"Well, if you’re around, I’ll have plenty of company," he said with a wink. "And maybe you can teach me how to take care of them without killing them."

"I’d be happy to," I replied, smiling. "But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to choose some low-maintenance plants. Wouldn’t want you to feel overwhelmed."

"Thanks," he said, his tone sincere. "I appreciate that. But seriously, it’ll be nice to have you help me make this place feel more like home."

"Anytime," I said, feeling a warm glow from his words. "Just promise you won’t get any bright ideas about adding a racecar in the living room."

Max chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "No promises. But I’ll try to restrain myself."

He glanced at my luggage and then back at me. "Let me help you with those," he offered, moving towards the pink suitcases. "I’ll take them to the guest room."

As he picked up the bags, I couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he handled them. The way his muscles flexed under his shirt made my heart race. It was impossible to ignore how strong and capable he looked, making even the heavy suitcases seem weightless. Every movement seemed to highlight his athletic build, and I found myself momentarily distracted by the sheer physicality of him.

He had insisted on me staying at his apartment for the seven days I was in town, refusing to let me book a hotel. "You’ll be more comfortable here," he had said on our phone call earlier, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was sweet, really, and incredibly sexy watching him take charge like this. The thoughtfulness behind his actions made me feel special and cared for in a way that I hadn’t experienced before.

As he carried my luggage, I couldn't help but admire the ease with which he moved, the definition in his arms and shoulders evident with each step.

I followed him down the hallway, my eyes shamelessly glued to his back, watching the way his muscles shifted beneath his shirt. Each step he took seemed to exude confidence and strength, a silent testament to his physical prowess. I couldn't help but admire how the fabric of his shirt clung to his form, accentuating every line and curve of his well-toned physique.

God, I could talk about his slutty little waist for days. The little fancams they showed on F1TV or YouTube did not do it justice. Seeing him in person, the way his waist tapered into those perfectly fitted jeans, was a whole different experience. It was mesmerizing, almost unfair how well his physique was sculpted.

As he walked ahead of me, the fabric of his shirt stretched taut across his back and narrowed at his waist, highlighting the lean, athletic build that had become a defining part of who he was. It was the kind of detail that fans like me only dreamed about, and here I was, witnessing it up close.

I was such a lucky little bitch.

My mind wandered to the countless hours he must have spent training, not just in the gym but on the track as well. It was a different kind of dedication, one that went beyond what most people understood. There was something undeniably attractive about a person who was so committed to their craft, and it only added to the allure that Max already possessed.

As he led me into the guest room, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was Max Verstappen's personal space, a glimpse into the life of someone I had admired from afar. The room was spacious and inviting, with large windows that allowed natural light to flood in, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

Max set my bags down gently and turned to face me, his expression softening. "There you go," he said with a warm smile. "If you need anything, just let me know. Make yourself at home."

"Thanks, Max," I replied, giving him a grateful smile. "I really appreciate this."

Just as I was about to say more, Max’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly. "Sorry, I have to take this," he said, holding up the phone. "It’s important."

"Of course, no problem," I said, waving him off. "Take your time."

Max nodded and stepped out of the room, his voice already lowered as he answered the call. Left alone, I took a moment to absorb my surroundings. The bed looked incredibly inviting with its crisp, clean sheets and plush pillows. The journey had been long, and I could feel the fatigue weighing heavily on me.

Without much thought, I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the bed, the mattress soft and supportive beneath me. The room had a calming aura, and despite my excitement, my eyelids grew heavy. I lay back, letting out a contented sigh as I nestled into the pillows.

The last thing I remembered was the distant murmur of Max's voice from the hallway. The day's exhaustion finally caught up with me, and within moments, I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, completely at ease in the unfamiliar yet comforting space.

જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Max's POV❞

I couldn’t wait to see her cute face after my phone call.

Ever since she showed up at my door an hour ago, luggage in hand and blushing like mad, I knew I wanted to hold her in my arms and never let go. The way she looked so overwhelmed and charmingly nervous had struck a chord with me. But now, here I was, stuck listening to Lando Norris ramble about his trivial girl troubles when all I wanted was to see her again.

Lando’s voice was like a buzzing fly in my ear, and I found myself tapping my foot impatiently, wishing he'd get the hint and stop talking. His high-pitched voice grated on my nerves as he continued his endless rant about the latest drama in his life. I loved the guy, but seriously, this was not the moment for his soap opera.

“—and you would not believe what she said to me next,” Lando’s voice droned on, each word feeling like a needle in my brain. I barely registered his complaints, lost in my own thoughts about her.

“Max! Are you listening to me??” Lando’s voice suddenly pierced through the fog of my thoughts, making me flinch slightly.

“Mhm...” I trailed off, barely processing the words. My mind was focused entirely on her, on how she looked when she first arrived and how peaceful she appeared when I last saw her.

“Oh, what the bloody fuck mate, you’re not listening. Whatever, I'll talk to you later,” Lando said abruptly. Before I could respond, I heard the familiar click of the call ending.

“Hallelujah,” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes in relief. The endless chitter-chatter had finally stopped, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“Oh, what the fuck,” I suddenly exclaimed, realizing that I had wasted enough time. I should be up and finding my houseguest—my possible future wifey—and spending more time with her. I shot up from my seat, a surge of excitement propelling me forward.

The house had been unusually quiet since I’d gotten off the call, and I was eager to see what she was up to. Maybe she was scrolling through her phone, or perhaps she was just getting comfortable. I tiptoed down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb the calm atmosphere of the house.

As I approached the guest room, I could hear nothing but the soft hum of the air conditioning. My heart skipped a beat as I slowly opened the door, peeking inside to see what awaited me. The sight that met my eyes was unexpectedly delightful. There she was, nestled in the bed, having kicked off the fluffy house shoes I’d given her. Her luggage was neatly set aside, and the room was serene, illuminated by the gentle late afternoon light filtering through the curtains.

Her position on the bed was both endearing and surprisingly casual. She had managed to kick the blankets off completely, leaving them in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. The sight of her sprawled out, so relaxed and at ease, made me pause. She looked incredibly peaceful, her hair spread out like a halo around her, and her cheeks were slightly flushed.

My beautiful girl was tired.

A soft smile crept onto my face as I approached her. It was clear that she was deeply asleep, her breathing even and steady. I carefully grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed, making sure not to disturb her. The blanket was warm and soft, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room.

In her sleep, she shifted slightly, letting out little breaths.

As I gently draped it over her, I couldn’t help but notice how cute she looked in this vulnerable state.

The way her lips were slightly parted and her eyes were closed made her seem even more endearing. She had a certain tranquility about her that was utterly captivating. It was a rare and precious sight, and I felt a surge of affection just watching her. Her presence in my apartment, in my space, felt strangely comforting and intimate.

I adjusted the blanket carefully, ensuring it covered her snugly. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, which made me breathe a sigh of relief I didn't realize that I had been holding. I took a moment to appreciate how serene and beautiful she looked. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept was calming to observe, and it made me feel even more connected to her.

I lingered in the doorway for a few seconds, letting the peaceful scene sink in.

In that moment, I really wanted to be her boyfriend. Even though I had just met her in real life a mere forty minutes ago, I wanted to give her everything that she wanted and deserved.

I imagined us spending more time together, exploring new places, and sharing our dreams and fears. I wanted to be the person who made her feel special and loved, who supported her in all her endeavors and celebrated her successes. The thought of being that person for her was more appealing than I’d ever expected.

It wasn’t just about the romantic gestures or grand declarations; it was about the everyday moments of care and attention. I wanted to be there for her in the small, meaningful ways—like making sure she was comfortable, listening to her stories, and sharing in her joys and struggles.

Don't call me naive, but I really, really, really like her.

જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Y/N's POV❞

In my dreamless state, I could still remember a few things. Like the warm breath of someone hovering over me. I could feel watchful eyes on my back, curious, worried, then relieved. I remember feeling gentle hands pulling my blanket from the foot of the bed to my shoulders, gently covering me.

And when I woke up, I really questioned whether what I felt was a dream. In my room it was silent, almost no trace of whether someone was there or not.

The only anomaly was the fact that before, I had completely shut the door. Now, the door was left ajar, a tiny sliver of the hallway could be seen from where I was propped up in my bed.

Yawning, I could hear the soft hum of the ongoing AC in my room. But if I listened a bit more, I could hear the whirring of the range hood in Max's kitchen further down the hall.

He was cooking?

Wow. Call me surprised.

A few days ago when we called on Discord, he had narrated a few cooking horror stories that had happened to him.

I remembered one particularly gruesome story he shared, one that sounded like it came straight out of a sitcom. It was supposed to be a simple pasta dinner. Max had invited a few friends over, and in his eagerness to impress them with his culinary skills, he decided to make everything from scratch.

(I know, I know, he told me he wanted to have his little Nara Smith moment...I'll give it to him, I guess)

It started with the sauce. He had carefully selected ripe tomatoes and fresh herbs, determined to make the best marinara his friends had ever tasted. But things quickly went downhill. First, he accidentally doubled the amount of garlic. Not a huge issue, right? Just a little more flavor. But then, in his attempt to balance it out, he added way too much salt. Desperate to fix it, he threw in some sugar, which somehow made it even worse.

Next came the pasta. Max had repeatedly watched one Nara Smith video of her making fresh pasta and he figured it couldn’t be that hard.

News flash, incorrect answer buzzer.

He miscalculated the flour-to-egg ratio, resulting in a sticky, unmanageable dough. By the time he managed to roll it out, the dough was uneven and tearing. When he finally got it into the pot, it clumped together into a gooey mess.

Meanwhile, the kitchen was descending into chaos. The range hood was whirring at full blast, struggling to keep up with the smoke billowing from the pan. In his panic, Max forgot to turn the stove down, and the sauce began to boil over, spilling onto the burner and creating a scorched, acrid smell that filled the entire apartment.

Then came the final straw. Max decided to make garlic bread as a last-minute addition. He put it in the oven and got so distracted by the pasta disaster that he forgot about it entirely. By the time he remembered, the bread was more akin to charcoal, emitting a foul, burnt odor that overpowered even the smell of the burnt sauce.

His friends (He told me it was Lando, Daniel, and Carlos) arrived just in time to witness the aftermath. The kitchen was a war zone, with sauce splattered everywhere, clumps of dough sticking to various surfaces, and smoke lingering in the air. The range hood was doing its best, but it was no match for the chaos Max had created.

His friends tried to be polite (Well maybe Daniel and Carlos did but Lando certainly was not), but the horrified expressions on their faces said it all.

Max ended up ordering pizza, and the story became an infamous legend among his friends. They still teased him about it, making jokes about his "gourmet" cooking skills whenever they had the chance.

It was quite a funny story, as Max had vlogged the whole thing, originally wanting to use the video footage as evidence that he could actually cook.

That's fucking hilarious, if you ask me.

When he showed the video footage, I was quite literally cracking up. I swear I had never laughed as hard as I did in my life when he showed me it.

Remembering that story now, I couldn’t help but smile. The fact that he was back in the kitchen, despite that disastrous experience, said a lot about his determination.

And maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. I decided to get up and see for myself what he was up to, hoping that I wouldn't walk into another kitchen catastrophe.

On that account, I found myself to be, again, very much wrong.

It smelled funny in the kitchen.

There was a peculiar mix of something burnt and something…well, unidentifiable. As I approached, the smell intensified, and I began to worry. I rounded the corner to find Max standing over the stove, looking flustered. Smoke billowed up from the pan, and the range hood was struggling to keep up.

"Max, what on God's green earth are you doing?" I asked, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. I was also, clearly failing at that too, as a hitch in my voice gave away what I was truly feeling.

Dear reader, I was about to burst into a torrential fit of laughter.

He glanced up, his face a mix of sheepishness and determination. "I was trying to make fried rice with beef and onions, but...uh, things aren't going as planned."

I raised an eyebrow. "Clearly. What happened?"

He sighed, waving a hand at the pan. "Well, first, I realized there wasn't much food in the fridge to begin with. I found some rice, a bit of beef, and an onion. Seemed like enough for a simple dish, right? But then the beef started to stick to the pan, so I added more oil, which made the onions cook too fast and burn. And now the rice is clumping together and sticking to everything."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Max, you are a disaster in the kitchen. This is even worse than the pasta incident."

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know, I know. But I wanted to impress you. Clearly, I'm failing miserably."

I walked over and peered into the pan. The beef was charred in some spots and raw in others, the onions were practically disintegrated, and the rice looked like a sticky, burnt mess. "Impressive isn't exactly the word I'd use," I teased.

He grinned, despite the chaos. "Hey, at least I'm trying, right? That's got to count for something."

I shook my head, laughing. "It counts for effort, sure. But maybe you should stick to ordering takeout."

He gave me a mock serious look. "Or, you could teach me. You're the one with the design ideas. Maybe you have some cooking tips too?"

I pretended to think about it. "Hmm, I suppose I could. But only if you promise to listen and not improvise."

Max chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. "I promise. No more kitchen disasters."

I smiled, feeling a warm rush of affection. "Alright, let's see what we can salvage here. First things first, let's get rid of this burnt mess."

As we started cleaning up, Max kept sneaking glances at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know, I didn't just burn the food on purpose to get you to come out here and help me, but it's a nice bonus."

I rolled my eyes, playfully nudging him with my shoulder. "Nice try, Verstappen. But if you keep burning things, I might have to take over all the cooking."

"Deal," he said, his grin widening. "As long as you stay."

My heart skipped a beat at his words, and I couldn't help but smile. "You're lucky I'm a sucker for a cute guy who tries to cook."

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "And you're lucky I'm persistent. Now, let's make something edible before we both starve."

I glanced at the pitiful remains of our attempted fried rice. "Or," I suggested, "we could go to the grocery store and get some proper ingredients. Maybe start from scratch with something we can't mess up."

Max's eyes lit up with excitement. "A late-night grocery run? That sounds like a great idea. It's only 8 PM; we've got plenty of time."

I smiled, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of a spontaneous adventure. "Alright then, let's go. But first, let me change out of these pajamas."

Max grinned, leaning a little closer. "Deal. I'll clean up here while you get ready. But you know, you look pretty cute in those pajamas. Maybe we should make it a pajama party instead?"

I rolled my eyes playfully, feeling my cheeks warm. "Nice try, but I think I'll stick with something a bit more appropriate for public."

Max chuckled. "Alright, but don't keep me waiting too long. The sooner we get to the store, the sooner we can start our culinary masterpiece."

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, now it's a culinary masterpiece? You have high hopes, Mr. Verstappen."

He shrugged, flashing a charming smile. "What can I say? I'm an optimist. Plus, with you by my side, how could it be anything but perfect?"

I laughed, shaking my head as I headed to the guest room to change. "We'll see about that. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Max's voice followed me down the hall. "I'll be counting the seconds, chef."

After changing into something more appropriate—a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater—I met Max in the living room. He had cleaned up the kitchen mess and was now waiting by the door, car keys in hand.

At the door, I slipped on a pair of Birkenstocks, leaning on Max to stabilize myself. Feeling myself slipping all of a sudden, Max grabbed onto my waist and steadied me up. His grip was firm, and I could feel the warmth of his hand through my shirt, sending a little shiver down my spine.

"Careful there," he teased, his voice low and close to my ear. "Wouldn't want you to fall for me… again."

I glanced up at him, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Max. It seems like you're getting pretty good at catching me."

He smirked, his hand still resting on my waist, holding me just a little closer than necessary. "Well, practice makes perfect, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the playful tension between us impossible to ignore. "You might need a few more tries, though. I’m a bit of a klutz."

He chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly against my side. "Lucky for you, I’ve got all the time in the world." My heart was quite literally beating out of my chest and the sexual tension was getting to me. Noticing my beet red face, Max continued.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Ready," I replied, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. (And still giggly from the whole previous ordeal)

Max held the door open for me with a dramatic flourish. "After you, my lady," he said with a mock bow.

I laughed, rolling my eyes playfully. "Such a gentleman. You really know how to impress a girl."

As we headed down to the underground garage, Max couldn't resist a bit more teasing. "So, do you have a grocery list, or are we winging it?"

"I think we should wing it," I said, grinning. "Who knows, maybe we'll discover some hidden culinary talents."

"Or set off the smoke alarm again," Max added, smirking.

I nudged him with my elbow. "Hey, I'm a decent cook. I promise I won't let you burn anything."

"Good to know," he replied, his smile widening as we reached his Aston Martin Vantage.

The sleek car gleamed under the garage lights, and I couldn't help but admire it. "Nice ride," I said, running a hand over the smooth surface.

"Thanks," Max said, a hint of pride in his voice. "I figured it would make a good impression."

"You figured right," I said with a wink.

As we pulled out onto the street, the city lights cast a warm glow over everything. The drive through the city was peaceful, the streets mostly empty at this hour. We chatted casually, the conversation flowing easily as we navigated through the urban maze. Max seemed to know the city well, effortlessly weaving through the streets as we made our way to the nearest grocery store.

As we drove through the city, the conversation continued to flow easily. "So, what kind of snacks are we getting?" Max asked, glancing over at me.

"Definitely some chocolate," I replied. "Maybe some chips too. What about you?"

"I was thinking ice cream," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know, for dessert after our gourmet fried rice."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You and your sweet tooth. Fine, we'll get ice cream. But only if you promise not to eat it all in one sitting."

"Deal," Max said, grinning. "I promise to save some for you."

"Max I've seen you devour so much food in one sitting, are you sure you are keeping that promise?" I roll my eyes in mock frustration.

He smirked, glancing over at me. "What can I say? I'm a growing boy."

"Growing boy, huh?" I teased. "Last time I checked, you were already fully grown."

"Just because I'm tall and handsome doesn't mean I can't still grow," he shot back, winking.

I snorted. "Tall and humble, too. Such a rare combination."

"Only for you," he said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. "I reserve my best qualities for special occasions."

"Well, aren't I lucky?" I said with a laugh. "I guess I'll have to make sure to keep you around for more grocery runs."

"Hey, I'll take any excuse to spend time with you," he replied smoothly. "Even if it means resisting the urge to eat all the ice cream."

I pretended to ponder his words. "Hmm, maybe I should test your willpower. Get a couple of pints and see how long they last."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you challenging me?"

"Maybe I am," I said, grinning. "Think you can handle it?"

"Oh, I can handle it," Max said confidently. "But can you handle me winning?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "We'll see about that. Just don't cry when I catch you sneaking spoonful's in the middle of the night."

"You're on," he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "But be warned, I play to win."

The hum of the Aston Martin's engine was a soothing backdrop to our conversation. The car's interior was luxurious, with plush leather seats and a state-of-the-art dashboard. I couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement as we sped through the city, the lights blurring past us in a kaleidoscope of colors.

"So, do you do this often?" I asked, glancing over at Max.

"Late-night grocery runs?" he replied with a grin. "Not really, but I'm always up for an adventure."

I laughed, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between us. "Well, I think this might be the most exciting grocery run I've ever been on."

Max chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just wait until we get there. I might even let you pick out some snacks."

"Now you're talking," I said, grinning. "I will never not indulge in big back activities," The prospect of picking out snacks together felt oddly intimate, a small but meaningful step in getting to know each other better.

"Hey! You can definitely tell a lot about a person based on their favorite snacks. People who simply like spicy shrimp crackers are superior!"

Max raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. "Spicy shrimp crackers? That’s a bold choice. I guess we'll see if our snack preferences align."

"They better," I said, rolling my eyes in mock annoyance. With that, we stepped outside, the crisp air greeting us as we made our way to the grocery store. The city buzzed around us, but all I could focus on was the warmth of his presence beside me and the anticipation of what was quickly becoming an unexpectedly perfect day.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 278,121 others

yourusername: what in the #domesticlife...#breadbedandbred

view comments:

maxverstappen1: This is a VERY misleading caption, Y/N

maxverstappen1: Nice post, though (please change the caption)

maxverstappen1: Christian also said that the caption is "sussy as hell"... whatever that means

user1: BYEEEE christian "horny" horner strikes again 🤕

user2: ain't nothing SOFT about this LAUNCH y/n 😖😖🤯🫣

yourusername: 🫣🫣🫣

user3: not her casually serving in a groccery store at night, i aspire to be second-slide-y/n

user4: DAMNNNNN IM SLEEPING ON THE HIGHWAY TNNNN GUYS 😐🤧

user5: AYO MAX

user5: hand placement.... you better WATCH yourself

user6: guys i need this so bad, accepting bf applications RIGHT NOW

user7: dude.... Dude.... DUDEEEEE

user8: his gorilla ass grip on the hook of her jean hook im ILL guys I'M SO ILL 🤕🤕

user9: u r so right queen, it's giving #domestic #hubbyandbubby #narasmithlife #walkhimlikeadog

yourusername: i like #walkhimlikeadog 🤯

maxverstappen1: I like #hughimlikeacat better 😌

yourusername: 🐶🐶🐶 ARF MAX

maxverstappen1: You are very VERY weird, Y/N 🤣🤣🤣😂😅

yourusername: ARF ARF ARFFFFF 🐕🐕🐩

user10: we got #walkhimlikeadog daughter versus #hughimlikeacat son before gta 6 😈😈😈🥲

landonorris: Damn, Max, get a grip, you are getting SOFT my boy 😹😹😹

maxverstappen1: Not funny, Lando

yourusername: 😹😹😹

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taglist: @hiireadstuff @sinofwriting @mehrmonga @the-untamed-soul @glai1023-blog @loloekie @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @sheastri @llando4norris @gwginnyweasley @carmenita122 @ririyulife @pausmoon @ur-fav-ave @eveninggstar @maddie-naps @erin-odonnell04 @rexit-mo @ems-alexandra @si1ver06 @iamred-iamyellow @bibissparkles @percypie @formula1blog @lanadelray1989 @rylieverstappen-sargent @luvsforme @eiaaasamantha @kaysmiles42 @mvaldez7821 @stinkyjax @sweate-r-weathe-r @laneyspaulding19 @mingyusbigrighttoe @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir @stinkyjax @fandomz-queenie @theblueblub @mayusaatma @lanadelrey @formula1-motogpfan

some of these didn't get tagged, and i'm having trouble (?) it's being very weird, idk, so please let me know if your name is here and it didn't tag you ❣️

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

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