#all he cares about is winning the championship

[goldfades]

who else decodes you? / who's gonna know you, if not me? / and who's gonna hold you like me? / no-fucking-body / so tell me, who else is gonna know me? | joe burrow⁹ (part one)

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⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had been inseparable since LSU, with him promising you everything—a dream home and a life together. everything felt perfect during your golden days, but as time passed, things shifted, and the cracks began to show in your once-perfect relationship

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst... just straight up angst. asshole-y joe, lots of fighting, reader being a trophy wife, just real sad things im sorry i wrote this yall. NO happy ending in this part, part 2 will have a happy ending dw guys!!!

You met Joe Burrow before the world did.

Before the Heisman, before the draft, before his name carried weight outside of Athens, Ohio. Before the sleek suits, the Cartier glasses, the endless debates about whether he was the next great quarterback of his generation. Before all of that, he was just Joe. Your Joe.

The one who texted you goodnight from his twin bed in his childhood home, the one who took you to McDonald’s after late-night practices because that’s all he could afford. The one who kissed you in the front seat of his beat-up truck, hands a little rough from lifting weights but gentle when they held your face.

You were there for it all.

Through the transfer to LSU, when he was just a backup with something to prove. Through the championship season, where he turned into a legend overnight. Through the draft, when you held his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white, waiting for the moment his name would be called. Through the move to Cincinnati, where you learned the ins and outs of being an NFL girlfriend—then an NFL wife in everything but title.

You never needed the ring to prove your place beside him. Not at first.

Because when you love someone for that long, when you’ve been there since day one, you assume you’ll be there forever. You assume that one day, when the time is right, you’ll walk down the aisle and he’ll be standing at the end of it. That the same boy who once promised you the world in a whisper under Louisiana stars would eventually make good on it.

But love isn’t always enough.

And timing? Timing has a cruel way of making a fool out of you.

Before the waiting, before the uncertainty—there was LSU.

The golden days.

The kind of love people wrote songs about, the kind that burned so bright it felt untouchable, invincible. You and Joe had been through the trenches of college life together—cheap dates, sleepless nights, long drives in his old truck where he talked about the future like it was already written in the stars.

Joe had always been a planner. He didn’t just dream—he mapped things out, broke them down into plays, like a game he knew he would win. And in every version of the future he spoke about, you were in it.

“I’m gonna make it,” he told you one night, lying in the back of his truck, staring at the Baton Rouge sky like it held all his answers. The air was thick with humidity, cicadas singing in the distance, but neither of you cared. You were twenty, wildly in love, and the world hadn’t touched you yet. “I don’t care how long it takes, or how many people doubt me—I’m making it to the league.”

You smiled, running a hand through his hair. “I never doubted that.”

Joe turned then, propped himself up on an elbow, his sharp, determined eyes softening as he looked at you. “And when I do, I’m gonna give you everything.”

It wasn’t just a promise. It was a declaration.

Not just any ring—a rock. One that would catch the light from across the room, the kind that would make strangers do a double take. Not just any house—your dream home, the one you’d always wanted but never thought possible.

You had told him, once, in passing, the kind of house you loved. You were scrolling on your phone, lying with your feet in his lap, showing him a picture of a home that looked straight out of a magazine.

“That,” you had said, tapping the screen. “That’s the dream.”

White exterior, big windows—floor-to-ceiling in the living room, so the sunlight would pour in every morning. A wrap-around porch, because you always loved the idea of sitting outside with a glass of wine on summer nights. A kitchen with the biggest island imaginable, because you loved to cook, even if Joe barely trusted himself to make toast. A cozy sunroom, filled with mismatched chairs and overflowing bookshelves. A clawfoot bathtub in the master bath, where you could soak for hours after a long day.

Joe had barely glanced at the picture before he said, “Done.”

You laughed. “Joe, that house is like… five million dollars.”

“So?” He had smirked, cocky and confident in that way only he could pull off. “Give me a couple years.”

You shook your head, amused, but deep down, you believed him. You believed him because when Joe Burrow set his mind to something, it happened.

And when you asked, jokingly, what kind of dog he wanted, he just scoffed.

“Dogs? No. We’re gonna have like, eight cats.”

You snorted. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He stretched out, hands behind his head, already painting the picture in his mind. “They’ll have dumb names, too. Like, I don’t know… Fettuccine. Or Tuxedo. Or—oh—Larry.”

“Larry?”

“Yeah. Larry’s gonna be the ringleader.”

You shook your head, laughing so hard you had to wipe tears from your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Joe just grinned, pulling you in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You love me.”

And you did. God, you did.

You loved him through the highs—the Heisman win, the national championship, the night he got drafted when you held his face in your hands and told him this is it, baby. This is everything you worked for.

You loved him through the lows—when he tore his ACL his rookie year and sat in silence for hours, devastated, gripping your hand so tight it went numb. When the pressure of the league weighed heavy on him and he retreated inward, needing space, needing you to be his anchor without him ever having to say it.

You loved him because he was Joe.

Because he was the boy who once whispered about forever under Louisiana stars, who promised you a rock, a dream house, and eight cats named Larry and Fettuccine.

Because you believed, back then, that promises were made to be kept.

--

It started small.

A casual comment, barely even a question, when you were knee-deep in cardboard boxes in your new Cincinnati apartment. You’d been together for years by then, had already lived together in Baton Rouge, but this—this felt different. More permanent. He was the face of a franchise now, the golden boy of an entire city. And you? You were the woman who had been by his side through it all.

So when you held up a framed photo—one of the two of you from his LSU days, his arm wrapped around you, both of you grinning like you had the whole world ahead of you—you said it without thinking.

“Guess we’ll need some wedding pictures to put up soon, huh?”

It was light, teasing, the same way you’d joked about it a hundred times before. But this time, Joe didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.

He just exhaled through his nose, set down the box he was carrying, and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m still adjusting to all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the apartment, the city, the new life he was stepping into. “Let’s just… settle in first.”

You told yourself it made sense.

Joe had always been slow to process change. He liked routine, predictability. He had just gone from college quarterback to the number-one draft pick, from playing in front of thousands to playing in front of millions. If he needed time, you’d give it to him.

And so you did.

You poured yourself into the role of supportive girlfriend, the unwavering presence behind the scenes. You went to every game, wore his jersey, kept your social media lowkey even when the WAGs of the league started reaching out. You made sure home felt like a safe haven for him—a place where he wasn’t Joe Burrow, NFL quarterback, but just Joe.

Months passed. Then a year. Then two.

And still, nothing.

You tried to be patient. You tried not to compare. But it was impossible not to notice when guys who had been in the league half as long as Joe were proposing to their girlfriends. When you went to team events and saw wives flashing diamond rings, their hands resting on their husbands’ arms like they belonged there. When your own friends started getting married, settling down, building the life you always thought you and Joe were working toward.

You weren’t the kind of girl who begged for a ring. That wasn’t you. That wasn’t why you loved him. But you also weren’t stupid.

So, one night, after a Bengals win, when it was just the two of you curled up on the couch—Joe half-asleep, his head resting on your thigh—you ran your fingers through his hair and asked,

“Do you ever think about it?”

His eyes cracked open slightly. “Think about what?”

“Marriage.”

The word hung in the air between you, heavy in a way that made your stomach tighten.

Joe didn’t sit up, didn’t tense. But he also didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the ceiling, his fingers drumming lightly against your leg.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I think about it.”

That was it. No elaboration. No follow-up.

And maybe it was the years of knowing him, of reading between the lines of what he didn’t say, but something about his tone sent a cold prickle down your spine.

You swallowed. “And?”

Joe sighed, shifting so he was looking up at you fully. His face was tired, drawn, the way it always was after a game.

“I love you,” he said first, because Joe always led with love, even when he was about to disappoint you. “I just don’t know if I’m… ready for all that.”

All that. Like marriage was some heavy, unbearable thing. Like it was a burden, instead of the only thing you’d ever wanted with him.

But you didn’t push. You never pushed.

You just nodded, kissed his forehead, and told yourself that he just needed more time.

You’d already given him years. What was a little longer?

For every golden memory, there was a night that ended with you crying into your pillow, your chest aching from the weight of words left unheard.

And Joe was never the type to yell.

That was the problem.

You could scream, slam cabinets, cry until your eyes were swollen, beg him to just say something—but Joe would sit there, jaw clenched, eyes locked on some invisible point in the distance. Silent. Stone-faced. Like he was waiting for a storm to pass rather than standing in the middle of it with you.

And when he was done listening, when he decided he had nothing to say, he’d just walk away.

No slammed doors. No cruel words. Just an exhale through his nose and the slow, deliberate sound of his footsteps leaving the room.

Then came the silence.

Hours, sometimes days, where he wouldn’t touch you, wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t acknowledge the way you curled up on your side of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself because if he wouldn’t hold you, you had to do it yourself.

It always started the same way.

Joe had never been a selfish person—at least, not intentionally. He loved you, worshipped you in his own quiet way. But he was also a man who had spent his entire life being taken care of.

First by his parents. Then by his coaches. Then by you.

At first, it hadn’t bothered you. You wanted to take care of him, because loving Joe Burrow meant making sure he ate real meals instead of surviving off protein shakes and granola bars. It meant picking up after him when he left his clothes on the floor, washing his jerseys so they always smelled like fresh detergent instead of sweat, keeping your home together while he threw every ounce of himself into football.

But over time, something shifted.

The gestures that had once been acts of love started to feel expected. You would spend hours cooking his favorite meal, only for him to eat in front of the TV without so much as a thank you. You’d clean up after him like clockwork, while he’d scroll through his phone, oblivious to the way you were moving around him like a ghost. You handled the small things—the groceries, the laundry, the appointments—so he never had to think about them. And the worst part? He didn’t think about them.

He didn’t think about how exhausting it was to pour so much of yourself into another person and get nothing in return.

One night, after a long day where you’d cooked, cleaned, and ran errands while Joe came home from practice, showered, and immediately planted himself on the couch, something in you snapped.

You had been standing in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes, while Joe sat in the living room, watching game film, oblivious to the way your hands were trembling from frustration.

“Joe,” you called, trying to keep your voice steady.

He hummed, eyes still on the screen.

You turned off the faucet, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “Do you even see me anymore?”

That got his attention. His head lifted slightly, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Do you see me?” you repeated, voice shaking now. “Or am I just here? Like some… unpaid assistant who cooks your meals and cleans your shit and waits around for you to remember I exist?”

Joe blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just exhaustion. Frustration. A bubbling anger that had been simmering for months. “I do everything for you. And I never ask for anything in return. But you don’t even appreciate it, Joe. You don’t see it. You don’t see me.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus, babe. I—look, I didn’t ask you to do all that.”

Your heart sank.

There it was. The knife, twisted so deep you almost doubled over from the pain of it.

You swallowed, eyes stinging. “You shouldn’t have to ask for basic effort.”

Joe exhaled sharply, pushing himself up from the couch. “I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

And then, just like always, he walked away.

The silence stretched for days.

No matter how loud you got, how many tears you shed, it never mattered.

Because Joe didn’t scream.

Joe shut down.

--

The restaurant was dimly lit, the kind of place where the wine was poured before you even asked and the waiters moved so seamlessly you barely noticed them. It was a Bengals event—one of those exclusive, high-end dinners meant to bring players and their partners together, a little PR, a little networking, all wrapped in the illusion of luxury. Normally, you didn’t mind them.

But tonight? Tonight, Joe was off.

He had been for weeks. Ever since the injury, ever since he had to watch his team play without him, it was like the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders and refused to budge. You had tried, God, you had tried—to comfort him, to give him space, to be exactly what he needed. But no matter what you did, it felt wrong.

He barely talked. Barely looked at you. And when he did, there was something in his eyes you couldn’t place.

Resentment?

Disappointment?

You didn’t know.

So you sat at the table, plastering on a smile, sipping your wine, pretending everything was fine as the conversation buzzed around you. Ja’Marr and his girlfriend, a few of the other guys, their partners. The usual crowd.

The joke started innocent enough.

“You’re literally the dream NFL WAG,” Ja’Marr’s girlfriend said, laughing as she leaned over toward you. “Like, you do everything for him. Cook, clean, go to every game. You’re basically the gold standard.”

The table chuckled.

You laughed, too, but there was something hollow about it. It wasn’t that the statement was wrong. It was just that… for the past few months, being Joe’s girlfriend hadn’t felt like a dream. It had felt like an uphill battle, like loving him was a test you were always on the verge of failing.

But before you could say anything, Joe scoffed.

Loudly.

The kind of sound that cut through the easy, playful atmosphere and made everyone shift in their seats.

You turned to him, confused, but Joe wasn’t looking at you. His jaw was clenched, his grip tight around the base of his glass.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, sharp, edged with something you couldn’t name.

The table went quiet.

Your stomach sank.

“Joe,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm, but he pulled away, shaking his head.

���I need air.”

And just like that, he was on his feet, pushing back his chair, striding toward the exit without another word.

You barely hesitated before following.

The moment you stepped outside, the cold air hit you like a slap. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a few blacked-out SUVs and a couple of lingering staff members. Joe was already a few steps ahead, his hands on his hips, breathing hard like he was trying to keep himself together.

You didn’t care. You weren’t going to let this go.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, heels clicking against the pavement as you caught up to him.

Joe exhaled sharply, tilting his head back toward the sky. “I don’t wanna do this right now.”

“No. No.” You grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at you. “You don’t get to humiliate me in front of everyone and then walk away like nothing happened.”

Joe turned then, eyes flashing with something you had never seen before. Rage.

“You think I don’t know?” His voice was louder now, cutting through the night air, his face twisted in frustration. “You think I don’t fucking see the way you take care of everything? How perfect you are? How much you do for me?”

Your breath hitched. This wasn’t the first time you’d fought, not even close. But this was different.

This was Joe shouting.

He never shouted.

“You think I don’t know how much you’ve sacrificed? How much you’ve had to deal with while I sit on the fucking sidelines, watching my team play without me?” His hands were in his hair now, voice cracking under the weight of it all. “You think I don’t feel like a goddamn failure every second of every day? That I don’t fucking hate myself for it?”

Your chest tightened. “Joe—”

“I get it, okay?” His voice was hoarse, his breathing heavy. “I get it. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve any of this.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Then, finally, you swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I never said that.”

Joe looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you saw it.

The exhaustion. The fear. The guilt.

And underneath it all, something else. Something raw and painful and impossible to ignore.

“I can’t do this,” he said suddenly, shaking his head, stepping back. “Not tonight.”

Your stomach dropped. “Joe.”

But he was already turning away.

Already leaving.

And for the first time, you didn’t go after him.

Time, though, has a funny way of making fools out of people.

Because a little longer turned into another year. And another.

And soon, you weren’t just the girlfriend who had been with Joe since before the fame. You were the girlfriend who was still waiting. The one people whispered about at games, in comment sections, in DMs you tried not to read.

Why hasn’t he proposed yet? If he wanted to marry her, he would’ve by now. She’s been with him forever. That’s kinda embarrassing.

You weren’t stupid. You heard the whispers. You ignored them, brushed them off, laughed about them with Joe like they didn’t sting.

But deep down, they did.

And then, one night, you cracked.

It wasn’t planned. You weren’t trying to pick a fight. You were just lying in bed beside Joe, scrolling mindlessly on your phone, when an engagement post popped up on your feed. Another NFL couple. Another ring. Another reminder.

You set your phone down. Turned toward Joe, who was staring at the ceiling like he always did when he couldn’t sleep.

“Joe,” you said softly.

He hummed in response, eyes still fixed upward.

“Are you ever going to marry me?”

The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t bitter. Just quiet. Tired.

Joe closed his eyes. Let out a slow breath. And in that moment, you already knew the answer.

Not yet. Not now. I need more time.

The same thing he’d been saying for years.

But this time, you weren’t sure you could keep waiting.

--

It didn’t happen in one moment. It wasn’t a clean break, a single conversation where you both sat down, acknowledged the inevitable, and walked away like two people who had outgrown each other.

No, it was ugly. It was heartbreaking. It was loud.

It started in the living room, the place that had once been your sanctuary. The place where you curled up on the couch together after long days, where you laid your head on his lap while he absentmindedly played with your hair, where he kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

But tonight, it was a battleground.

You stood near the coffee table, arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to keep from falling apart, while Joe paced in front of the fireplace, his hands tangled in his hair. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, his entire body radiating frustration. But under it—under the anger, the exhaustion—was something else.

Defeat.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Joe muttered, voice low but strained, like it physically hurt him to say it out loud.

Your stomach twisted. “Doing what?”

“This!” He gestured between the two of you, his voice louder now, raw with emotion. “The fighting, the tension, the constant feeling that no matter what I do, I’m letting you down.”

You flinched, because that wasn’t fair.

He wasn’t letting you down—he was shutting you out. Pushing you away, piece by piece, until you barely recognized the man standing in front of you.

And yet, despite it all, you still wanted to fight.

You needed to fight.

“Joe, you haven’t even tried—”

His laugh was hollow, sharp. “Tried? Are you kidding me?” He shook his head, running a frustrated hand down his face. “I have been trying for months. Trying to be what you need, trying to hold this shit together while I feel like I’m losing everything.”

Your throat tightened. “I never asked you to hold it together alone.”

He looked at you then, and the pain in his eyes nearly brought you to your knees.

“I know.” His voice cracked. “And that’s the worst fucking part.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Because suddenly, you saw it—the breaking point. The moment where all the fights, all the silences, all the nights spent lying in the same bed but feeling miles apart had led to.

This was it.

You swallowed, hard. “Joe… don’t do this.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t know how to be what you need anymore.”

“I don’t need you to be anything—I just need you to try,” you choked out, hot tears spilling over your cheeks.

“I am trying!” His voice cracked, his hands gripping his hair like he was barely holding himself together. “But I’m not enough for you! And I don’t think I ever will be!”

The words hit like a physical blow.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, everything blurred—your vision, your thoughts, reality itself. Because how could he say that? How could he look at you, after everything, and think he wasn’t enough?

He had always been enough.

He had been everything.

Your chest heaved, your heart splintering, but you forced yourself to take a step forward, reaching for him like you had so many times before.

But this time, Joe stepped back.

Like touching you would break him completely.

Like it already had.

A sob ripped through your throat. “Joe, please—”

His eyes were glassy now, his own tears threatening to fall. But his face was set, his hands shaking at his sides.

“This isn’t working anymore.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through you like a blade.

And just like that, the world tilted.

You had imagined a lot of worst-case scenarios over the past few months—imagined nights where he would sleep on the couch, imagined him needing time apart, even imagined him telling you he wasn’t ready for marriage yet.

But this?

This was never supposed to happen.

He was supposed to fight.

He was supposed to love you enough to stay.

But instead, Joe exhaled shakily, like this was killing him too, and took another step back.

Like he had already made his decision.

Like he was already gone.

And then, through the unbearable tightness in your throat, through the tears blurring your vision, you said the only thing you could.

“What about everything you promised me?”

His face broke. Just for a second.

And then, softer than you’d ever heard him, he whispered, “I meant every word.”

And still, he turned away. Still, he walked to the door, grabbed his keys, and hesitated for only a second before pulling it open.

And you stood there, frozen in time, watching as the love of your life—the boy who once promised you forever under Louisiana stars—walked out of your life like he had never meant to stay.

The door clicked shut.

The silence that followed was deafening.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Your legs gave out before you even realized you were falling. You collapsed onto the couch, hands clutching your chest as if that would somehow stop the pain, as if pressing hard enough could keep your heart from shattering.

But it did.

Piece by piece. And Joe?

Joe was gone.

--

Joe wasn’t sure when it started.

The feeling had been creeping up on him for months—slow at first, like a whisper in the back of his mind, something he could ignore if he kept moving, if he kept winning.

But then he got hurt.

And suddenly, there was nowhere to run.

No game to prepare for, no film to study, no Sunday nights under the lights where he could lose himself in the only thing that had ever made him feel like enough.

He had always known you were out of his league. Everyone did.

You were a force—bright and untouchable, the kind of woman who could walk into a room and have everyone wrapped around your finger without even trying. You were loved in ways Joe had never been. Not because of what you did, not because of your talent or your career, but just because of who you were.

And Joe?

Joe was… Joe.

He had worked for everything. Clawed his way to the top, gritted his teeth through every setback, played with a chip on his shoulder so sharp it could cut. He had spent his entire life proving people wrong, showing them he was worth it, and still, sometimes it felt like it wasn’t enough.

But not with you. At least, not at first.

At first, you had looked at him like he was someone special—not because of football, not because he was Joe Burrow, but because he was yours. And for a while, that had been enough.

But then the marriage thing came up.

Then the quiet expectation that he was supposed to take the next step, that he was supposed to be ready.

And fuck, he wanted to be.

He wanted to put a ring on your finger, wanted to build a life with you, wanted to buy you the house you dreamed about and fill it with all the stupid cats he promised you back at LSU.

But the more you pushed, the more it felt like he was already failing.

You deserved the world, and he—he wasn’t sure he knew how to give it to you. You had grown up with love. Joe had grown up with pressure.

Your family adored you, your friends would kill for you, strangers on the internet called you an angel, and the worst part? They were right.

You were perfect. You were kind, and patient, and you gave so much of yourself without ever asking for anything in return—until, eventually, you did.

Until you started looking at him like you needed something more.

And maybe that’s when it started.

The resentment. The guilt.

The way he began shutting down because every time he looked at you, he saw someone who had given him everything, and all he could do was hold it in his hands and wonder when he was going to drop it.

So he pulled away.

And then he got injured. And then it got worse.

Because for the first time in his life, Joe had nothing to offer.

Football was gone. He was stuck on the sidelines, watching his teammates play without him, watching the world move forward while he stood still. And every time he came home, there you were—beautiful and untouchable and looking at him with so much love, and God, it made him want to rip his fucking hair out.

Because you weren’t supposed to love him like that.

Not when he was like this. Not when he felt like nothing.

And so, he made himself nothing to you.

He let the silence stretch between you, let the fights spiral into something he couldn’t control, let the guilt eat him alive until the only option left was to let you go.

Not because he wanted to. Not because he didn’t love you.

But because he loved you too much to keep being a disappointment.

Because you were everything. And he was just him.

--

Joe barely remembered the drive to Ja’Marr’s house.

The roads were dark and wet from rain, the city quiet in the way it only got after midnight, and yet everything inside him was loud. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his hands gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles were white, and his breath came in short, uneven bursts, like his body was still trying to catch up to what had just happened.

He had left.

He had actually left.

The second Ja’Marr opened the door, his easygoing expression dropped. “Shit.”

Joe must have looked as bad as he felt.

Ja’Marr didn’t ask questions, didn’t crack a joke or act like this was nothing. He just stepped aside, letting Joe in without a word.

Joe walked past him, straight to the couch, sinking down like his body couldn’t hold him up anymore. His hands were still shaking. He stared at them, trying to steady his breath, but the more he tried to push it down, the worse it got.

He felt like he was imploding.

Ja’Marr sat across from him, elbows on his knees. “You good?”

Joe huffed out something that was supposed to be a laugh but came out broken.

“No,” he admitted.

And then, just like that, the weight of it all came crashing down.

He broke.

For the first time in years, maybe ever, Joe let himself feel it.

His shoulders caved, his head fell into his hands, and before he could stop himself, a sob tore through his chest. It wasn’t quiet, wasn’t controlled—it was raw, guttural, the kind of grief that sat heavy in his ribcage and made him feel like he was drowning.

Ja’Marr swore under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Damn, man.”

Joe couldn’t respond. He could barely breathe.

Because he had spent so long trying to convince himself this was the right thing—that letting you go was necessary, that it was better for you, that one day you’d understand—but now, sitting on his best friend’s couch, in a house that wasn’t his, without you, it hit him.

You weren’t in the next room.

You weren’t waiting for him to come back.

You weren’t his anymore.

And for the first time since he met you, since you were just a girl in his corner, since he was just a college quarterback with a dream—he was alone.

—

The house was silent.

The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful, but hollow.

You stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, staring at the front door as if it would swing open at any second, as if Joe would walk back in, apologize, say he didn’t mean it.

But the house stayed empty.

You should’ve done something—gone to bed, taken a shower, moved—but you couldn’t.

Your body felt detached, like you were floating just outside of yourself, watching as the reality of what had happened settled into your bones.

He was gone.

You sucked in a shaky breath, your eyes darting around the room, landing on all the pieces of him he had left behind. His hoodie draped over the back of the couch. His sneakers kicked off near the door. The blanket you always fought over, still crumpled where he had last used it.

Your throat tightened.

It felt wrong.

How was it possible that someone could just leave, and yet everything still looked the same? How was it possible that the world hadn’t just stopped?

Your body moved before your mind could catch up.

You grabbed his hoodie, pulling it into your chest, clutching it so tightly your fingers ached. It still smelled like him—like his cologne, like home, like everything you were supposed to have forever.

A sharp, broken sob tore through you.

Your legs gave out.

You sank onto the floor, your body curling in on itself, gasping for air between sobs that didn’t seem to end.

You had imagined a million worst-case scenarios for your relationship, but you had never imagined this.

A fight, maybe. A bad one.

A few nights apart, maybe even a week.

But not this.

Not a house that suddenly felt too big, too cold, too wrong without him in it.

Not a silence that felt like it would swallow you whole.

Not an ending that you weren’t ready for.

Not Joe—your Joe—leaving, and not coming back.

Joe didn’t tell his parents right away.

He had gone weeks pretending it wasn’t real, pushing it down, acting like if he ignored it long enough, it wouldn’t hurt. Like the breakup was just another fight, another rough patch, and any second now, you’d come home.

But then spring rolled around, and he found himself back in Athens for a few days, sitting at his parents’ kitchen table, pushing food around his plate while his mom chatted about some wedding she had gone to.

He barely heard her—until she said your name.

“I just know she’ll look so beautiful at her own wedding one day,” Robin said, smiling like the thought made her happy. “Did she ever decide on a dress style? I remember she showed me a few options the last time we talked.”

Joe’s fork clattered against the plate.

His parents looked up.

The room suddenly felt too small. The walls too close. The weight in his chest unbearable.

“She’s not picking a dress,” he said flatly.

His mom’s smile faltered. “What do you mean?”

Joe exhaled sharply, staring at the table. His throat felt tight, his hands fisting in his lap. “We broke up.”

Silence.

Not the kind he was used to. Not the easy kind.

His dad was the first to speak. “When?”

“A while ago.” His voice was hoarse, his jaw tight.

Robin looked like he had just slapped her across the face. “Joe… what?”

She sounded hurt.

Like he had broken her heart, too.

“You didn’t tell us?”

Joe swallowed. “I didn’t know how.”

His mom was still frozen in shock. “But—why? What happened?”

Joe should have had an answer. He should have been able to give them some logical, concrete reason why the only real love he had ever known had just… ended.

But there wasn’t one. Not really.

So he just shook his head. “I wasn’t enough for her.”

His dad exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Joe—”

Robin’s eyes filled with tears, and that—that was what finally did it. That was the moment it hit him, the moment the denial shattered and left nothing but cold, brutal truth in its place.

You were gone.

Not just for a few days.

Not just waiting for him to fix it.

You were gone.

Joe scraped his chair back so suddenly it screeched against the floor.

“I gotta go,” he muttered, standing up, hands shaking.

“Joe—”

“I just—I gotta go.”

And then he was out the door, out of the house, into his car, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

His vision blurred. His chest caved in.

He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to hold it together.

It didn’t work.

That was the moment Joe decided he needed a distraction.

A new game plan. A new something—because if he let himself sit in this pain, if he let himself really feel it, it might consume him completely.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He threw himself into excess.

He spent money like it was nothing, like it was oxygen, like keeping the spending going would somehow fill the empty space inside of him. New cars, new watches, expensive nights out where the bill was triple what it needed to be. If someone wanted a round of shots? Joe was covering it. If his guys wanted to go to Miami for the weekend? No problem.

And the women.

That was the easiest distraction of all.

They were everywhere—at the clubs, at the restaurants, at the parties where he never used to go but suddenly needed to be. They touched him like they wanted him, smiled at him like he was the most important man in the room. And for a few hours at a time, he let them.

He let them run their hands over his chest, let them whisper in his ear, let them follow him back to hotel rooms or his new penthouse in the city.

He let them treat him like he was whole.

But then morning would come, and the illusion would shatter.

Every single time, he’d wake up next to someone who wasn’t you.

Someone whose perfume didn’t smell like yours. Someone whose touch didn’t feel like home. Someone who would roll over, press lazy kisses to his skin, and call him baby in a way that made his stomach twist.

Because you used to call him that.

And now you never would again.

It was supposed to feel good. It was supposed to be freeing, making up for lost time, for all the years he had spent as the devoted boyfriend, the one-woman man, the guy who turned down numbers and shut down flirting because he only wanted you.

But none of it worked.

None of it made him feel better.

Because at the end of the day, he was still Joe.

And you were still gone.

It took one of his teammates pulling him aside one night to finally say what he couldn’t.

“Bro,” Sam said, hand on Joe’s shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Joe blinked, pulling his attention away from whatever girl had been whispering in his ear at the bar. “What?”

Sam gave him a look. “You’re not this guy.”

Joe let out a sharp laugh. “I’m fine.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Joe didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t.

Not even close.

But he wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

So he just exhaled, forced a smirk, and lifted his drink. “Don’t worry about me, man.”

But Sam was worried.

And deep down, Joe knew why.

Because no matter how many nights he spent surrounded by people, no matter how much money he threw at the problem, no matter how many women climbed into his bed—

The only thing he ever felt anymore was hollow.

--

The day you packed your bags and left Cincinnati, you didn’t cry.

You had done enough of that.

Your best friend had offered—begged, really—for you to come stay with her in Columbus, and after weeks of waking up in a house that no longer felt like a home, you finally said yes.

It wasn’t running away.

It was survival.

Joe had been your world for so long that, without him, you weren’t sure where to stand. Your entire adult life had revolved around him—his schedule, his dreams, his highs, his lows. You had built a life inside of his. And now, that life was gone.

So, for the first time in years, you weren’t trying to be somebody’s something. You weren’t trying to be the perfect girlfriend, the supportive WAG, the woman who held it all together.

You were just trying to be you.

Whoever that was.

—

Columbus was different.

It wasn’t Cincinnati, where every street corner reminded you of Joe. Where the grocery store held memories of early-morning runs before his games. Where your favorite restaurant was the place he took you after he signed his first big contract. Where you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing a billboard with his face plastered on it, a cruel reminder that he was still Joe Burrow, still untouchable, still larger than life—just not yours anymore.

Columbus was quiet. A fresh start.

Your best friend had a cozy apartment near downtown, and the first night you arrived, she didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push. She just ordered takeout, opened a bottle of wine, and let you sit in silence.

That first week, you didn’t do much.

You slept too much, or not at all. Some nights, you laid awake staring at the ceiling, wondering if Joe was doing the same. Other nights, exhaustion won, and you crashed so hard you barely dreamed.

The dreams were the worst.

Because in them, he was still yours.

You still woke up to the sound of him moving around in the kitchen, still felt the weight of his arm draped over your waist, still heard his voice murmuring morning, baby in that slow, sleep-rough tone he always had.

But then morning would come, and none of it was real.

So, you started over.

You got a cat.

It wasn’t planned—you had just gone to the shelter one afternoon, thinking you’d look, thinking maybe it would distract you for a few minutes. But then you saw her.

Small. A little scrappy. White with a black spot over her eye, looking at you like she had already decided you belonged to her.

The name came easily.

“Larry,” you told the adoption worker, lips twitching into something like a smile. “Her name is Larry.”

Joe would’ve laughed at that.

Joe would’ve—

No.

This wasn’t about Joe.

Larry was yours.

So you took her home, bought her the stupidest, most ridiculous toys you could find, and let her curl up on your chest at night, purring so loudly it drowned out the silence.

You learned how to French braid.

You had never bothered before—your hair had always been something he liked, something he ran his fingers through when he was half-asleep on the couch. But now? Now, you spent hours watching tutorials, standing in front of the mirror, fingers twisting and looping until, finally, you got it right.

It was small, stupid even. But it was something just for you.

You started reading.

At first, it was just a way to pass the time—something to do instead of scrolling through Instagram, instead of wondering what he was doing. But then you fell into it, deep. You found yourself curled up on the couch for hours, lost in stories, letting yourself escape into other people’s lives.

Romance novels were hard at first. Because love still felt like a wound, like something sharp and raw and too close to home.

But one day, months after the breakup, you found yourself reading a love story and not feeling like your chest was caving in.

That was progress.

You cooked for yourself.

You had always cooked for Joe—his favorites, his comfort foods, the meals he requested after long practices. But now, you cooked what you wanted. You tried new recipes, bought ingredients you had never used before, made dishes with no one else’s preferences in mind.

It was weird, at first.

But then, one night, you sat at the table, eating something just for you, and it didn’t feel lonely.

It felt… peaceful.

You went on long walks, alone, with no one to check in with. You bought flowers for yourself. You started journaling, writing down things you had never let yourself think too hard about.

You let yourself exist.

And one day—on a random, unremarkable afternoon—you realized something. It had been weeks since you last thought of him.

Not that he was gone.

Not that it didn’t still hurt, sometimes, in quiet moments when you weren’t expecting it.

But for the first time, in a long, long time—

You felt like you. Without him.

[madwhimsical]

i am still slowly rewatching The Ghost and Molly Mcgee, and like, I know the basic shapes of the arcs, I remember Scratch growing to care for Molly across s1. but the thing about going through each episode with a fine-toothed comb is, i am seeing this shift start to happen in significant ways a lot sooner than I thought it did. Like, in-the-second-episode sooner.

On the one hand, I understand a show needing to establish its character dynamic status quo early on. Episode 1 did a great job of that initial setup, and also preparing the audience to expect a kind of slowburn of Scratch's emotional walls coming down (I'm looking at you, the oblique Scratch-as-Andrea apology at the end of First Day Frights). This kind of vibe continues in Howlin' Harriet, as Scratch invents "safe" reasons for hanging around Molly (e.g. using the camping trip to pad out his scare report). And the show could have run with only this formula for a while: Molly's doing a thing, find an excuse to be on the periphery, grouse about it, but ultimately acquiesce and become invested. In fact, this is pretty much the setup for ep 3's Getting the Band(Shell) Back Together.

But something interesting happens in ep 2's The (Un)Natural. Tammy rips on Molly's lack of pitching skill, and Scratch intervenes (i will refrain from talking here about how protective Scratch is of Molly's feelings already, although it is a catalyst). Crucially, and allow me to continue the softball metaphor here, Scratch approaches clowning on Tammy/the Skylarks in a way that positions Molly and himself as being on the same team.

He's still denying friendship motivating his actions, but Scratch is unequivocally excited about cheating at playing softball with Molly. He outright says, "I cannot wait until the next game when we do it all over again!" And I find this use of "we" significant, because I think this is the first instance he's used first person plural to designate Molly as being part of his personal sphere/plans. Any other time he's used "we" in reference to Molly, it's been more in service of convincing her to exit an activity/situation he'd rather not bother with (hell, he does this earlier in this same ep, to try to persuade Molly to leave the Lemmings well enough alone so he can take a nap). But the guy is having fun alongside Molly here, rather than despite her or at her expense. He's enjoying having a reason to pal around with her, to say nothing of having a kind of blanket approval to be a little bit of a stinker to the other teams via ghost powers. I talked earlier about "safe" reasons to enjoy Molly's company, and i think being aligned against a common adversary accomplishes that for Scratch in that he could plausibly claim he was simply enjoying haunting them. This allows him a freedom to be more openly enthusiastic about the ongoing events without having to show vulnerability regarding his growing fondness for Molly. And across the subsequent games, he looks like he's super enjoying himself, like

He's having a blast, he's being silly! He's doing little antics to get Molly's attention so she can share in his good time! Like, the degree to which Scratch reaches out to Molly this episode is kind of mindboggling for how early in the series we are. I did not expect this level of sincere engagement from Scratch until a while later. And when Tammy jabs at Molly yet again, he invites Molly to give input on how to get back at her. There's another usage of first person plural here, too: "Let's just take this jerk down". He's specifically positioning them together, against Tammy, on Molly's behalf.

I think it's also worth mentioning that by this point, Scratch is legitimately invested in the Lemmings' success, like. He does not want to see them lose this game. And when Libby brings home the win, it's a win they share alongside each other.

Tellingly, as the Lemmings are celebrating their championship victory, Molly and Scratch are situated in the stands, apart from the group. A part of their own team. Molly even echoes this sentiment back to Scratch, vis-a-vis her aim to inspire confidence in the Lemmings: "We did it."

This level of support from Scratch is not consistent yet (he pretty immediately reverts to professing disengagement from Molly and her family in the very next episode), but I was so surprised to see it here this plainly. I guess that's the power of sports!

[il-predestinato]

Charles Leclerc: "The 4th place in the Driver's? [It means] absolutely nothing [to me]. The 2nd place in the Constructor's, though? It's nice, and I would really like the team to be second at the end of this weekend. We've had a tough season, and everybody deserves it. And in the Driver's, honestly I don't have too much hope of finishing 4th. If this happens, then good. If not, I don't really mind. I just want to win that Championship as soon as possible."

🎥: SkySports F1 (2023 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix)

[crazy-fangirl2524]

Tsc 2 should end with the Trojans winning the championship just like how tkm ends with the foxes winning

[sillyunicorn]

'andrew minyard has no traits' is such a wild take I don't even know where to begin

[theflyingfeeling]

the love of my entire life

[roscoehamiltons]

ngl now im thinking about all the times last year lewis was on the podium and merc didn’t show up…

[moralchampion]

I really really wish for the championship to only be decided on Sunday, just because it's always been like this and like tradition and everything. But at the same time I know I'll be incredibly dissapointed if it actually goes to Sunday and Jorge looses it then....

[7yearsofdele]

YOU 👏 CAN’T 👏 WIN 👏 INDIVIDUALLY 👏

Tell ‘em JB 🧡💙

[no-144444]

the grid: when the media says something insane...

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req: Hi, I'd like to request a blurb about the drivers reacting to reader being talked bad about from an interviewer. Scenario-Interviewer: "Do you think the reason you lost today's race is because 'y/n' was here and had something to do with it?"

featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Carlos Sainz, Arthur LeClerc, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Jack Doohan.

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Oscar Piastri: makes the interviewer feel dumb asf

“And how do you feel about the DNF today, knowing that it's breaking your record of competing in every lap so far this year? Is there any specific reason as to why you might’ve made that mistake? I did see some new faces in the garage today,” Danica asked.

Oscar frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

“I was just wondering if you count your partner, Y/n, as a bad luck charm now. This is her first Grand Prix, isn’t it?” 

He actually laughed in her face. “Do you seriously believe in shit like that?” he chuckled. “And no, it’s not her first, nor will it be her last.”

Danica stood, embarrassed. 

“Do you have any other questions?” he asked, polite as ever. She didn’t respond. “Thanks for the joke anyway, that was actually quite funny,” Oscar added as he moved onto the next interview, a bright smile on his face despite the poor race result.

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Lando Norris: insults the interviewer

“And how do you feel about the DNF today, knowing that it's cementing your loss in the Driver’s Championship? Is there any specific reason as to why you might’ve made that mistake? I did see some new faces in the garage today,” Danica asked.

He stared at her for a moment, trying to compose himself. “If you’re talking about my girlfriend, I’d suggest you just come out and say it, Danica.”

“Alright then, do you see her as a bad luck charm now? Considering this is her first race, if I’m right,” she asked outright. Jenson rolled his eyes beside her as Martin just chuckled. 

“Not at all, she’s here to support me and I’d much rather have her here for a day like today than a win. It’s called a support system Danica, I’m aware of the fact that you’re not a fan of those, but some of us actually benefit from caring about other people. And another thing, all of my bad races, you’ve been there. Maybe you’re the bad luck charm,” his voice cut through the tension in the cold Las Vegas air like a knife, and Jenson and Martin just started laughing as Danica stood there dumbfounded. “Maybe I should ask Sky to not bring you around as much.” 

He handed the microphone back and continued on with his day, then posted this later: 

landonorris

liked by pierregasly, lewishamilton, and 479,933 others

landonorris: idc if ur bad luck ur too sexy to let go of 🥴

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Lewis Hamilton: protective much?

“It’s Y/n’s first race in years, and yet you DNF for the first time in months, do you want to give us some insight to that?” Danica asked. 

Lewis’s eyebrow raised and an annoyed smile made its way onto his face. “What are you saying right now?”

“Well, it’s just strange that her first race in years, 2 to be exact, is the one you don’t finish.”

“Are you trying to insinuate that she’s bad luck or something?” 

“Is that what you believe her to be?” 

“Fuck no,” he scoffed. “She’s my wife, is what she is. I’m grateful that she’s here. I love to share my love of motorsport with my wife, and I don’t feel sorry for the media that she's been preoccupied with being pregnant and busy to be here for the last 2 years. I love having her come and support me, and I’m happy that I didn’t finish the fucking race, I get more time with my family now. I cannot believe you enjoy making shitty headlines like this. Danica, maybe just stick to fucking driving.”

With that, he walked away, and later made this post:

lewishamilton

liked by pierregasly, francocolapinto, and 2,393,932 others

lewishamilton: my good luck charms xx

comments are disabled.

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George Russell: flabbergasted that someone would have the audacity 

“Sorry about the result today George, do you feel like external factors made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“Y’know, it’s been pretty tough all year with the car but it really felt like we pulled back to the top today, and it was just a shame that Lando went wide and pushed me into the gravel,” he shrugged.

“And you don’t see your girlfriend as a bad luck charm? It is her first race, right?”

He death-stared her for a moment. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Well, we just wanted to know how you react to knowing that it’s her first race and it’s also the race you DNFed in.”

“I don’t have a reaction,” he scoffed. “Your headlines are going to be written anyway, it doesn’t matter what I say. I don’t see her as bad luck or whatever rubbish you’re going to paint this as, and I don’t really care what you think about it. Anyway, it’s not like you have the monopoly on perfect races, Danica.” 

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Kimi Antonelli: awkward and insulted 

“Sorry about the result today Kimi, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“Umm…” he trailed off, looking at George confused. George shook his head, silently telling him not to answer. “I don’t know what you mean?” 

“Well there were external factors, obviously, but also your girlfriend was in the paddock for the first time this weekend, correct?”

He nodded. 

“So do you see her as some sort of bad luck charm, or something?”

He pulled a face of disgust for a split second. “No, not at all. She went to every single one of my F2 races so I don’t see how she could have been bad luck here when she was not bad luck there,” he shrugged. 

“So she’s not bad luck?” 

He chuckled awkwardly. “N-no. Like I say, she was at every one of my F2 races. I think she is lucky, if anything.” 

He walked away confused as George reassured him that they were just fishing for headlines and to ‘not give them the time of day’. He was slightly worried that you would think you were a bad luck charm and quickly found you and showed you that you weren’t.

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Alex Albon: shocked. 

“Sorry about the race today Alex, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“Umm,” he kind of chuckled. “I don’t think so? I mean it was so wet so I’m not shocked that I went off.”

“But in the garage, do you think you would’ve been more focused if your girlfriend hadn’t been there?”

He just stared at her with a slightly shocked smile as she held the microphone to his face. “Did you actually just ask that?”

She didn’t answer, just nodding. 

“Well, why don’t we think back to every other race she’s been at this year. Monaco, Canada, Silverstone, Austria, and Baku, which were all my best races this season, apart from maybe Canada.”

“Yes, but today she was-”

“In the garage, the same as she always is. Wow, you’ll really do anything for a headline.”

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Franco Colapinto: Sassy asf 

“Sorry about the crash today, glad to see you’re ok Franco. Do you think this weekend has been a bit more difficult because of distractions or something new being in a paddock? We saw that it was your girlfriend's first GP this weekend, could she have anything to do with it?” Danica asked. 

He did a double take, staring at her. “¿Qué? Is that really what you think?” 

She shrugged. “It’s only a question.”

“It’s a stupid question,” he scoffed. “¿Por qué traería mala suerte? She has been at every race so far and I haven’t seen anyone complaining.” (Why would she be bad luck?)

“So she’s not bad luck?”

He laughed. “Do I have to repeat things 3 times for you to understand?”

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Logan Sargeant: angry

“Sorry about the result today Logan, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

He stared at her, then pushed the mic away from him. “I’m not answering stupid fucking questions about my girlfriend.”

And he walked off. And posted this later…

logansargeant

liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, jensonbutton, and 345,938 others

logansargeant: let's not bring my girlfriend into this, yeah?

comments are disabled.

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Daniel Riccardo: plays it off. 

“Sorry about the end of the race today Danny, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

He laughed, thinking she was joking. His eyes widened when he realised she wasn’t. “You think I can’t race because my girlfriend is in the back of the garage?”

“It is her first GP, correct?” 

He chuckled. “No, no it’s not. She’s always there, and anyways, I’m in the car, it’s not like I have all the time in the world to stare at her ass or something,” he smiled. “I know she’s beautiful but I don’t exactly see her when I’m going to the straight at 200 kilometres an hour.”

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Liam Lawson: sassy man apocalypse 

“Sorry about the end of the race today Liam, do you feel like distractions made it more difficult for today’s race?” Danica questioned. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused about the question. 

“Your girlfriend was here for the first time, could she be a bad luck charm for the team?”

“I don’t think she is but I do know that your interviews make me feel pretty fucking unlucky,” he scoffed before walking off. 

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Charles LeClerc: laughs in their face

“Charles, what do you think about the people saying that Y/n is bad luck in the garage?”

He started laughing and didn’t stop for about a minute. He was as bad as Lando, to the point that Carlos had to actually walk him off the fan stage. He came back on, teary-eyed and smiling. “I think it’s quite funny.”

“Evidently,” Carlos scoffed. 

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Carlos Sainz: …

“Carlos, what do you think about the people saying that Y/n is bad luck in the garage?” Danica asked.

“What people are saying that?” he asked. 

“The media,” she answered. 

“Well they always have bullshit to say. I’m just surprised they had the balls to go after my wife,” he scoffed. “They’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

“That sounds extreme-”

“It’s defamation of character and she’s my wife. Nothing is extreme.” 

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Arthur LeClerc: Won’t answer

“Sorry about the race today Arthur, do you think there are other factors, such as distractions, that messed up your race?”

“What a stupid question, no,” he scoffed before walking away. 

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Ollie Bearman: insulted

"Sorry about your race today Ollie, do you think that your partner Y/n being here might be a bad omen?"

He stared at her. "No. Why would she be?"

"It's her first GP and you DNF, if that's not bad luck I'm not sure what is."

"That's pretty rude," he scoffed. "Don't bring my girlfriend into this."

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Max Verstappen: guys…

"Sorry about your race today Max, do you think that your partner Y/n being here might be a bad omen?"

He stared at her, his eyes dark. "Fuck off."

"Excuse me?"

"That's bullshit, don't bring my family into this. If I have a bad race, I have a bad race, that's just how it goes. She isn't bad luck, she isn't for you to make headlines about and she's not here to just be a good omen. She's my partner and she's here to support me, that's it."

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Paul Aron: laughs in their face…

"How do you feel about the result to day, do you think things could've been different if someone wasn't distracting you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We saw your race engineer giving out to you and your partner Y/n for distracting you. Do you think she might now be a bad luck charm?"

He scoffed, laughing in her face. "Bullshit, someone turned into me and I didn't have enough time to react. Your headline can be about that, keep my girlfriend out of this."

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Jack Doohan: so normal about it! (...)

“Sorry about the race today Jack, do you think there are other factors, such as distractions, that messed up your race?”

He knew what they were trying to say. “Do you want to just say what you want to say to my face?” 

She was taken aback. “Do you think Y/n is a bad luck charm?”

He scoffed. “You’re seriously fishing for headlines when someone could’ve been seriously injured? That’s pathetic. And another thing, she’s not a fucking bad luck charm, she’s my partner, she’s not just a headline for you to fuck with.”

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[heechwe]

so high school | 𝖑𝖍𝖘

୨୧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 6.8k ୨୧ genre: fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: basketballplayer!heesung, nerd!reader, tutor!au, high school au, oral (f + m receiving), penetration (all characters are of age!), light choking ୨୧ synopsis: You and your boyfriend are complete opposites on paper—you, the girl hidden inside a book, and Heeseung, the star of the basketball team—but it feels so right every time you’re together.

Heeseung at the free-throw line, certain he will make the basket and win the championship, turns to look at you in the stands. The sounds of his coach, taunts from the opposing team, encouragement of his teammates, and commotion of the final game of the season all fade into the background. To him, all that matters besides the ball in his hands is you.

You, amongst the others in the crowd with their hearts in their mouths, have no fears for your boyfriend. The star player who’s going to make history has never given you doubts before in his talents. All you can do is smile, incredibly proud and incredulous at the thought that he is all yours and nobody else’s.

It’s almost unimaginable how the two of you found each other, coming from completely different worlds. But like all stories, similar to the ones you’ve read since childhood, the story of you and Heeseung has a clear beginning…

AUGUST

“Do you ever stop to—I don’t know—not read?” Jungwon asks, jotting down notes in his notebook.

You giggle and flip the page. “It’s the last book on Choi’s summer reading list. Besides,” you retort, looking directly at your best friend, “how else would I be able to read and still remember what you just said to me if I didn’t practice?”

“Fuck off.” You lightly knock his shoulder with yours.

Even though it was still very early in the school year, you still had a lot to concentrate  on with the month coming to an end. Like the first novel Mrs. Choi selected on her extensive reading list. You planned to discuss it with the members of the school’s book club, your notes already tucked in your backpack for today’s Friday meeting.

Now, sitting with Jungwon in the hallway as you eat your lunch, your focus is solely on finishing the last fifty pages of the last book in the list Mrs. Choi created. Jungwon closes his notebook and gets up from his spot next to you. “Alright, I gotta head to Chem.  I’ll see you after school!” With a wink, he runs down the hallway and disappears down the corner.

Who you don’t expect to pop up next to disturb the sudden quiet of the surrounding area is Lee Heeseung, star shooting guard for the school’s basketball team. You never spoke to him before, but his reputation and family’s legacy preceded him. His brother was the shooting guard for the team years ago, breaking numerous records before he graduated. Now, Heeseung’s definitely filling his brother’s shoes and then some.

As a person, however, you know nothing about the boy at all. This year, though, you shared the same English class with Mrs. Choi. She cared little for his extracurriculars or persona around campus; what mattered to her was the effort of her students and the quality of the classwork.

Heeseung passes you by on his way towards his destination, not sparing a glance. You sit attentively as he knocks on Mrs. Choi’s classroom door.

She answers after a moment, a somber smile on her lips. “What can I do for you, Mr. Lee?”

He clears his throat and asks her, “You saw my message and I—“

“I am aware, Mr. Lee. My response still stands. Is there something else you need?” Mrs. Choi sees you out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t acknowledge your snooping.

“I will do anything to correct my last assignment. Please,” Heeseung begs.

“Mr. Lee, the cutoff for submissions was last week. I’m sorry, but your grade is final.” She sighs and looks at her watch.

“There’s nothing I can do to bring it up before the first game?” Heeseung asks, his voice growing thin from his frustration. He’s not rude, but clearly disappointed he isn’t getting his way with his big eyes and pleading words.

“How about this? I’ll tell Coach Sung you’re working on a paired project to make up the grade.”

“Perfect.” Heeseung breathes a sigh of relief before he takes in the rest of her sentence. “Wait, who’s my partner?”

Mrs. Choi extends her arm out to point in your direction. Immediately, you want to tuck yourself in your book and hide. You did not intend for your interest in their conversation to put you right in the middle of it, and now you wish you hadn’t feigned curiosity at all.

“She’s one of my best students, so you’re in great hands.” She turns her head so both you and Heeseung can hear her. “I’ll send both of you the information for the project later today.”

You didn’t notice Heeseung had kept his focus on you until you broke your stare-off with Mrs. Choi. Her lips are upturned in a secret smirk when you turn your attention to him.

Heeseung isn’t bad to look at, the definition of his muscles peeking out of his shirt in multiple places and his brown hair falling into his face. Each piece of his physical being represents the epitome of a Greek god’s form. But the fact neither of you had ever interacted up to this point is what scares you more than his intimidatingly good looks.

When Mrs. Choi gently closes the door, Heeseung awkwardly walks over to your position, towering over you. Ironically, his presence physically embodies your feelings towards him, this stranger now being shoved into your life.

“I’m Heeseung.”

You give him a close-lipped smile and extend your hand out to him, your name leaving your lips immediately. Displaying fake confidence, you hope he can’t tell how terrified you are.

His eyes brighten when his hand touches yours. You stand up, hand still in his, and the feeling of his palm against yours causes you to fumble your next words. “S-so I guess I should give you my number. I mean so once we get the assignment—“

Heeseung smirks. “Usually girls flirt a little more before asking for my number.”

You scoff and tuck your book closer. “I was offering to give you mine, actually. For educational purposes.”

The noise of his laughter fills the small corridor. “Right.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly feeling annoyance creeping under your skin. “Well, if it’s that hard to swap information, you can find me after school in the library.” You walk away, but Heeseung follows quickly behind.

“I have practice once the last bell rings.”

You look at him with serious eyes, not bothering to stop your stride towards the stairs. “Tell Coach you can’t make it.”

“Are you nuts?” Heeseung says, eyes wide.

You smirk. “You have to get your grade up to play, right?”

You watch the clock in the library with scrutiny. Members of the book club have been gone for half an hour, but you chose to stay behind. School let out an hour ago, and yet you’re still holding out hope Heeseung will come. But every minute that goes by proves you have to face facts: you’re now forced to collaborate with a stereotypical jock.

Mr. Kim, the head librarian, puts the disorganized books on the shelves as you tap your pencil on the table. “Waiting for someone? You don’t usually stick around this late,” Mr. Kim says with a smile.

You grin back, the sentiment not reaching your eyes. “You could say that.”

After another ten minutes of silence, you give up. You begin packing up your belongings, shaking your head and mumbling to yourself the entire time. Curse your interest in the guy and his lack of care for his academics. No wonder his grade was in the tank already. What was the point of athletics if he didn’t have other prospects to fall back on?

Just as you’re walking out of the library, Heeseung runs into you. Sweat’s dripping from his forehead and his breaths are labored. Clearly, he chose basketball over your project. You want to punch him for putting you both in this position.

“I swear I was going to blow off practice,” Heeseung says, but he can see your doubt in his words on your face.

“Sure. How about this? Figure out how to do the project on your own.” You press your body into his to push him out of your way. He follows in suit and rubs the spot you shoved, pretending to be wounded.

It only fuels your ire. You’ve only spoken to the jerk twice and you’re already tired of him treating every word you say and feeling you have like a joke. “Is failing that amusing to you?”

Heeseung’s expression immediately goes cold. “I’m not failing.”

“Sure. So Choi’s just doing this to torture you.”

He weighs his response in his mind before answering. “I may not be perfect, but Choi is really hard on grading.”

“That first assignment was just about what your future looks like after high school.” You push your backpack over your arm. “Excuse her for thinking you had plans outside of throwing a ball around a field.”

That laugh of his may just be the end of your life. He chuckles hard and puts a hand out to stop you. “First of all, that’s football.” He tries to make you look at him directly, but you refuse, too angry to give into what he wants. 

He continues anyway. “Second, basketball is my life. Past, present, future, okay? Without it, I don’t even know where I’d be.”

His voice is sincere, more honest than it’s been before. Regardless, your understanding and disappointment is evident. “Don’t you think that that’s the problem?”

“It hasn’t been one before. Suddenly I say it out loud and it’s an issue?” Heeseung’s voice raises a decibel, clearly agitated and back to his cold exterior.

If he wants to fight about this, you’re game.

“No,” you say, matching his vocal level. “The issue is that your focus is solely on basketball when there’s more important things in life than a dumbass court and sweaty guys trying to make touchdowns.” 

“You’re mixing up your sports analogies, angel.” Heeseung steps closer, testing your boundaries. Your chest heaves up and down, your breath labored. You may just slap him if he gets closer.

“You know what I mean.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” A fraction of his expression slips. His eyes challenge you in both irritation and anxiety. The bravado’s merely a mask for the fear that he’ll lose the one thing he wants the most in this world. And did you have it in you to be the reason he couldn’t have it?

You sigh and rub your palm across your forehead. “Tomorrow, meet me at the marketside pier. 8 AM. Take it or leave it.”

He releases a humorless chuckle. “You’re not gonna make this easy are you?”

“Not on your life.”

Heeseung is there at one of the pier’s wooden picnic tables with his materials sprawled out when you arrive at 7:45. You weren’t expecting for him to be there on time, much less earlier than you. The sun reflects off of his hair, turning the brown curls almost orange. Like the first time you saw him, you can’t help but be reminded that he is painstakingly attractive.

You give him a shy smile and put your backpack down next to you.

“I can tell you’re surprised,” Heeseung says with a small smile.

“A bit, yeah.” You unzip your bag to grab your English textbook. “I thought on the weekends you typically do…’fitness stuff.’” He laughs at your air quotes.

“Well, to be honest, I wake up at 6 AM every morning for drills with my dad.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Like you said, my sole focus is on that damn ball,” Heeseung says, opening his own textbook. “But I want to change that.”

“So you can keep playing,” you remind him, teasing the poor guy.

“Half true,” Heeseung says. “But I shouldn’t have left you hanging, yesterday.”

You nod. “I appreciate your apology.” You grab a pencil from your bag, pushing on the eraser until the lead pops up. “And I shouldn’t have been so judgmental. You have to be good at stuff besides basketball, even if it’s not studying.”

“Hey! I’m doing well in all my other classes, thank you very much.” You both share a minute of laughter. “But, to be honest, I do like to sing.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, Troy Bolton.”

“For real! One day, I’ll take you to karaoke. I won’t make fun of you if you can’t keep up with me.”

“Okay, we’ll see.” You direct his focus back on to the page. “Now, onto Shakespeare.”

SEPTEMBER

Although Heeseung took his sweet, laborious time to translate and understand Shakespeare’s old English, the project went off without a hitch. Mrs. Choi was even surprised herself, in disbelief you pulled such an expansive and well-thought analysis out of the quintessential jock.

Now, it seemed the best next step to keep Heeseung on the right track was to sit him right next to you. Your initial partnership continued to benefit him in both his success in English and focus on academics, possibly for the first time in his high school career.

Better than that, he may have found a new friend in you that he wouldn’t have had otherwise.

By the end of one Tuesday class, Heeseung asks you to have lunch with him and his friends, a request that makes your previous seating buddy in English, Yujin, freak out.

Both her and Jungwon corner you on your way out when you tell them the news.

“No fucking way,” she whispers excitedly, slapping you on the back with vigor.

“That hurt,” you moan.

“Are you prepared?” Jungwon asks, smirking.

“Prepared for what?”

“The lion’s den, dude! You’re gonna be with not just his douche friends, but also the cheerleaders, other sports players…be prepared for the worst,” Jungwon grumbles.

“Oh shut up, Won!” Yujin threatens to hit him too, but he retracts. “Have fun on your pseudo first date.”

“It’s not a date!”

By the time lunch comes around, you hold yours with shaky hands, searching the lunch courtyard for the jock’s table. You usually sat with Jungwon or Yujin in the hallway of the English department to eat. Now, you’re a small fish in a big pond, waiting to be eaten alive.

Was it, in fact, a date, like your friends hypothesized? Did you have to try and impress Heeseung more than normal? Did you want Heeseung to take you on a date, real or fake, to begin with?

"Hey!"

Heeseung waves you over with a confident but over-exaggerated arm, flapping it wildly so you notice. He didn't need to do that, though; you could pick out his voice in any crowd.

You walk over with a smile and sit down, feeling small next to the strangers you had not met until this moment. The basketball team's not unwelcome, but they are awkward at your sudden presence at their usual lunch table, even if Heeseung made it known beforehand that you would be hanging out with them to eat.

He says your name and introduces you to his friends. "And that's Sunghoon, Jeongsong, and Jaeyun." You recognize the last two, Jay and Jake. Jake, the strikingly blonde one, has Chemistry with you this year. He smiles and tips his soda can at you in acknowledgement.

"Hee was telling us you’ve been saving him this term in English. Choi can be a pain in the ass, am I right?" Sunghoon and Jeongsong share a laugh, but you bristle at the comment.

"Not really," you say. "Choi sponsors my book club, so we have a good relationship. I think that's why she wanted me to whip Heeseung into shape in the first place." You elbow Heeseung in the side, and he grins in response.

"She's probably right."

"Book club kid, huh?" Jake asks. "Haven't been one of those since elementary school."

Jake's comments make the entire team laugh. Your cheeks turn pink and Heeseung takes a sip from his drink, his posture stiffening in the process.

"It's not a bad thing though," Jake interjects amidst their laughter. "Books are fun."

"A bit nerdy, though," Sunghoon comments.

A girl next to Sunghoon smacks him hard in the arm, but he just pokes his tongue at her.

Your anxiety spikes sitting there with all of these people, your gut feelings a reminder that they’re all a part of Heeseung’s world, not yours.

You clear your throat and stand up from the table. “I forgot to say, Hee, I have to do something for Choi anyway.” Heeseung’s face turns down at the corners. The only audible response you receive is from Jay and Sunghoon in the form of snickers.

”Run along, pet,” Sunghoon comments with a smirk.

You hope your eyes give the offense you won’t bother saying out loud. Fuck off, asshole.

When you make it to your usual lunch spot, Yujin and Jungwon are surprised to see you walking down the hallway.

”What happened?” Yujin asks.

”Exactly what Won said was going to happen,” you confess, sitting down in a criss-cross position beside her. “Now give me your chips.”

When the end of the day comes around, Heeseung catches you on your usual trek to the bus. “You’re forgiven, by the way.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What did I do?”

”You left me alone with my shithead teammates! I needed you there for backup, y’know.” He smirks and grabs your backpack from your shoulder to put around his arm. “I’m sorry about them. Sunghoon, mostly.”

”Can’t believe you’re friends with that guy,” you mumble.

”He’s the only one who I’m not friends with, truthfully. The others are cool. They’re just not used to new people.”

”I never would have guessed.”

Heeseung’s laugh is hearty, with a dazzling smile to match. You can almost forget the heap of embarrassment you felt earlier when you look at him like this, carefree and youthful.

“Anyway, let me give you a ride,” he offers, pointing to the senior parking lot. His car is freshly washed, its coat of paint identical to the school’s colors of blue with silver accents.

”What will your friends say?” you ask with a fake gasp.

”Fuck them. Besides, you’re also one of my friends. Now let’s go.” He takes your hand to walk in the direction of his car, not releasing your palm until you’re at his passenger side door.

As you give him directions, your mind goes back to the labels you had been running through in your mind all day. Were you Heeseung’s friend? Yes. Did you want to be more? Surely he didn’t just ask anyone to have lunch with him and his friends if he didn’t have other intentions, right? So, in that case, did yours match his?

A part of you wants to say yes, but the rational piece keeps you in check. It’s ridiculous to expect more than a friendship. How could you when it was so obvious your worlds were so far from each other, your friendship a simple fluke? You were grateful for his presence in your life, knowing without him it would be a bit darker, but would it last?

Yet here you were. Sitting happily in his car, hair blowing in the wind as his thumb grazes the outside of your hand, you try to enjoy all the time you do have together.

OCTOBER

”This is ridiculous!”

”Come on, just try it!”

”When did I ever say I was good at sports?” You groan, holding the ball in your hands with nervous fingers. The basketball court at your local park is occupied only by you and Heeseung, but it feels as though there’s a thousand people in the metal stands watching you, waiting for you to mess up.

”You said if I passed the last test you would let me show you how to make a free throw.” Heeseung has his hands in his pockets, his letterman jacket flapping in the autumn wind.

“If I suck at this, you’re never going to talk to me again. Just watch.” You try to dribble the ball across the court, but it falls between your legs before you can travel any further.

Heeseung puts his face behind his hand, clearly chuckling to himself. You scoff at him and the response you saw coming the second he put the ball in your hands. “See? I told you you would think I’m embarrassing!”

He raises his hands in defense. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just cute, that’s all.”

”’Cute’ is probably the nicest way you could say I���m embarrassing.” You kick the basketball in his direction. He catches it without any effort, his face still shaped in a state of enjoyment.

”I said cute because I meant cute, you dork.” He steps to the free-throw line and motions for you to join him. You do, grumbling and grunting the entire way.

”Now, you have to relax. The only way you have half a shot at making the basket is if you stop tensing up.” He hands you the ball again and steps behind you.

He puts his hands on your hips. his palms soft against your hoodie. You can practically feel the heat of his skin through the material of your clothing, and you hope he can’t tell how much your heartbeat has spiked from him being so close to you.

”Next thing is to bend your knees. They can’t be locked up.” You listen to his words, trying not to focus on how his body is making yours react. You may be imagining it, but even his voice sounds a bit breathless from the small distance between yourself and him.

His lips are ghosting over your ear when he says, ”Now shoot.”

You release the ball from your hands, hoping the angle of your throw and Heeseung’s directions will prove you’re partially competent. 

And sure enough, the basket makes it in a single whoosh. You turn in Heeseung’s grasp, releasing a happy cheer. “That was amazing!”

You feel the rush of the shot in your veins, but suddenly the only thing that makes your body hum in pleasure is the sudden crash of Heeseung’s lips against yours.

Unsure how to react, you stand there frozen in place as his mouth moves on its own accord. But slowly, surely, happily, you fall deeply into his embrace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and feel the press of his tongue against your mouth, begging for entrance.

You comply, letting the feeling of him and the thrill of this private moment in both of your worlds fill you to the brim with quiet pleasure and happiness.

[LHS] Can we talk, please?

[LHS] Did I do something wrong??

[LHS] IDC if you don’t respond. I’ll keep texting until you say something…

[LHS] Don’t leave me hanging :(

You sigh and throw your phone to the other side of the bed, tucking your comforter closer to your chest. Deciding to stay home from school was probably not the best way to handle your problems, but just because you’re smart doesn’t mean you’re sensible all the time.

This weekend’s excursion with Heeseung was beautiful, no doubt. But the fears continued to creep in with little regard for how happy he made you that day or all the days that came before it. Would how he felt about you last any longer than his basketball season? Did he entertain this simply for the fact that it was entertainment and nothing more? 

The thoughts had been too much when you said goodbye to him on your doorstep with another hasty, giddy kiss and all the hours following it. Maybe you were self-sabotaging, but it was better to manage expectations now than be crushed in the aftermath.

When Yujin calls you during lunch, you have half a mind to ignore it. You answer anyway to avoid your friends thinking something drastic happened.

”Hello,” you mumble, the effects of your late morning nap hitting you.

”Dude, Heeseung’s on a tear today. He even asked Jungwon where you were, and I didn’t even think he knew the kid existed. What the hell happened on Saturday?”

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of your doorbell. “I gotta go. I’ll tell you later.” You hang up, hastily grabbing your fuzzy robe before running downstairs.

You don’t bother looking through the peephole to see who it is, but you curse yourself for not doing so when you’re confronted with Heeseung. He’s a sweaty and panting mess, but he doesn’t care for his appearance. His face morphs into relief when he sees you staring back at him.

”Thank God,” he says before stepping closer to you. He runs his hand over your forehead, frowning. “You’re not sick.”

You shake your head.

”So, you just ignore me all weekend and then don’t show up to school today?”

You sigh. “I didn’t know what to say when I saw you.”

He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing. “So you chose not to see me at all? Was kissing me that terrible?

”No!” You run a frustrated hand through your hair, the spot in your hallway suddenly too cramped. You push him back outside and close the door behind you. “I don’t regret it at all. And I’d do it again if I could.”

Heeseung smirks at that, clearly happy with your response. “So, what’s the problem?”

”The problem is that when you get bored of me, things won’t go back to normal for me like they will for you, Hee. You may think this is a game but—“

Heeseung’s sudden laugh is marked with a bitterness. His eyes grow serious, so much so your words stop short because of his stone expression

”Do you think that little of me?”

Your body tenses at his words, unsure how to respond. You have never thought of him as lesser than once, not since getting to know him. But maybe only looking at your feelings regarding your relationship compromised his own in the process.

He steps closer, your faces an inch apart. “Two months ago, I didn’t realize how much my life was going to change because of you. All I thought about before was basketball. And now, you’re one of the only things outside of that damn game that matters to me. When I haven’t talked to you or seen you for too long it’s like there’s this rock in my gut that I can’t get rid of. I kissed you because I wanted to, not for fun or because it’s this momentary thing.

”So, if you still think I’m going to get bored of you in a few days or weeks or months, then you really aren’t as smart as I thought you were, angel. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Breathless would be too small of a word to describe how his speech affects you. You feel the same buzz of his kiss from a few days throughout your entire body from his words alone. It makes every worry and fear that has plagued you evaporate, replaced with his promises and all the reasons you should jump in headfirst without another thought.

So you do.

You kiss him hard, crashing into his lips and hoping all of the feelings he harbors reflect in the actions of your mouth. You hold onto him with your hands on his neck and the smoothness of your lips in a beautiful rhythm with each other.

Whatever happens next, you know there’s no turning back now.

NOVEMBER

“And Sim, our prime point-guard, passes to Lee. Lee has ten seconds to make another three pointer and win the game. Will he do it? Time to find out!” Kim Sunwoo screams into the microphone, broadcasting the highlights of the semi-final game to the many listeners not attending in-person.

Lucky for you, you have the perfect spot in the stands to watch Heeseung make the winning basket and lead the team to victory.

The crowd roars when your boyfriend secures the team’s spot in the championship game. His teammates lift him up above their heads and shoulders, chanting his name and holding him with all of their strength. Heeseung immediately searches the crowd for you, his excitement fueling his newfound focus.

When he does see you, clapping your hands and cheering with the rest of the bystanders, he kisses the inside of his palm and shoots it in your direction like he’s making another basket. Your heart squeezes at the gesture, but you only blush and wink.

Ever since that day on your doorstep, you can’t seem to separate yourself from him or the feelings he stirs up inside of you. The thought and reality of not seeing or hearing from him for too long immediately dampens your spirits, just like Heeseung described to you when he confessed. Jungwon calls you “lovesick fools” every time you both are in his presence, but it’s not that. The love you feel for your boyfriend is one that strengthens every sense, impulse, and desire. Without it and him, that’s when you feel the weakest. And every time Heeseung smiles at you or holds you close, you can tell he feels the same.

Whether your worlds were the exact same or as different as they possibly could be, you both made your own perfectly fit for just the two of you.

The outside world has to creep in every once in a while, though.

At the end of the night, Heeseung’s arm is wrapped perfectly around you as you walk. You discuss your shared plans for the night and subsequent weekend since your parents are away at a work conference. Heeseung stops short when he sees his father waiting at his car with crossed arms.

“Good job, Hee,” He says first and foremost. “Saw you lost a bit of steam in the third quarter, though. We’ll have to do some more conditioning before the final.”

And there it was. The judgment you saw so often in conversations between Heeseung and his father that made you ache for the boy you loved. As his father, he should’ve been proud to see his sons succeeding, one of them off and playing for a world-renowned team and the other on his way there. Instead, all they received was judgment. It wasn’t your place, but you couldn’t wait for the day Heeseung stood up to him.

“At least I made the winning basket, right?” Heeseung shrugs off the criticism with a laugh and holds you closer. “We have to go eat, so—“

“Of course.” His father moves out of your way. “Lovely to see you again, darling,” He says to you with a small smile as he opens the passenger door for you. You return his greeting, suddenly uncomfortable with how close he is.

On your drive to your house, you try to help Heeseung destress with a hand on his thigh. “Don’t let him get to you,” you say sadly.

He smiles and gives you a knowing stare. “I’ve been dealing with him my whole life. He doesn’t have that power anymore.” He takes your hand from his thigh to hold it tightly in his own palm. “Besides, I’m one step closer to the championship and I got my girl next to me. Nothing’s getting in the way of my good night.”

You set your backpacks down at the door when you step inside your house. Heeseung follows you to the kitchen. While you’re finding the flier with the number of your favorite takeout restaurant, Heeseung presses his lips to your neck. The trail of his kisses going from the back of your ear to the start of your collarbone makes you shiver.”

“Hee,” you warn him. “We won’t be able to eat if you keep distracting me.”

“Food is the second priority,” he responds, lips feathering your skin. “Right now, we need to celebrate the championship.”

“The championship is still three weeks away.”

“If we both know I’m going to win, what’s the point of delayed gratification?” He pulls the sleeve of your shirt down to expose the top of your shoulder, kissing that area too to make your body thrum with pleasure.

“Speaking of that…” You turn to face Heesung, pressing your back against the counter. “I guess we can celebrate something tonight besides your impending win.”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow.

“I got early acceptance to Sky.”

Heeseung’s eyes immediately light up at your announcement. He pulls you in by the waist and spins you around the tiny space between your kitchen island and the fridge.

When the topic of college came up, it was as good a time as any for the two of you to discuss your future plans with each other. As fate would have it, Heeseung planned to play for Sky University’s basketball team next year, and you were waiting on your official acceptance letter when you both started dating.

Now, Heeseung would have the two most important things to him in the next chapter of his life. The boy’s over the moon, as any other person would be.

Heeseung lifts you over his shoulder, immediately heading in the direction of the stairs to take you to your bedroom. He laughs off your mock protest.

He knows for certain he’s in love with you. It may not be the perfect time to say it, especially before he’s about to ravish you, but the perfect time will come when it feels right.

He doesn’t say it when he strips you bare for only his eyes as he kisses you senseless, shocked and grateful your body is for him and him alone to see and cherish. He doesn’t say it as you kiss every inch of his bare chest to send him into a rambling mess of praises and curses.

Somehow, stupidly, the words slip out when your mouth is wrapped around his cock, tongue flat against the underside of his tip as he feels the back of your throat against him.

“Fuck, I love you so much.”

The air stills, both your bodies going rigid at the sudden confession that has just left his lips. But, instead of running scared, you take your mouth off of him and stare deeply into his eyes, smiling wide. “What’d you say?”

Heeseung breathes out a sigh of relief, suddenly taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the second I saw you in that hallway. I just didn’t know it yet.”

You giggle and press another kiss to his lips. He sees a tear leave your eye, and he wipes it away gently with his thumb. “I love you, too, Heeseung.”

You fall back into a steady rhythm of kissing and touching, Heeseung’s hands roaming the skin of your stomach, the swell of your breasts, and the cleft between your thighs, making you moan.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” Heeseung whispers against your lips.

He lays you flat on your back, kissing what areas he hasn’t touched yet with his hands. He needs you to know, in every moment, he chooses you and will never stop choosing to be with you.

If he had to make the choice to either give up the game or you, he would choose the former in a heartbeat. His dad, his friends, and even fate may say it’s young love and you haven’t been in his life as long as basketball has, but they don’t see him the way you do.

Even if he doesn’t say it out loud, he knows he doesn’t have to. 

When Heeseung finally presses his lips to your clit, kissing the nub with adoration, your legs shake at the contact. You instantly run your fingers into his hair. “Fuck,” you curse, the word rarely slipping from your lips save for moments like these.

The first time you had been together, Heeseung didn’t know exactly how to touch you without being terrified it was too much. But now he knows all the ways to turn you into a beautiful mess.

He licks languidly across your center and through your folds, keeping the perfect pace for you to ride your hips against his mouth. He inserts a finger into your entrance after coating the digit in the arousal already pooling at your center. You, typically so put together, are ready to fall apart at the simple press of his mouth against you.

Heeseung knows he can get you off this way, without question. And most nights, he doesn’t mind when you’re the only one who receives pleasure. But tonight, you moan out a request that he can’t say no to.

“Heeseung, please. I want you inside me when I come.” He doesn’t have to be told what to do twice when it’s the best command he’s heard all night.

He takes your mouth in his, holding your jaw in his hand and slightly applying pressure to the side of your neck. A half-empty moan leaves your lips at the sudden contact. To him, the sounds that you make are their own form of poetry, better than anything you’ve read to him all year.

Heeseung quickly grabs a foil packet from your bedside drawer to put on himself, protection being the one thing you can’t forget in the midst of your desire for each other. Lining himself up with your entrance, he thinks you could not look more beautiful with your half-lidded eyes and eager hands grabbing onto his hips to finally push him inside of you.

When he does ease in, he swallows the curse prepared to leave your mouth with his lips. It’s an indescribable feeling, the stretch and pull of your walls taking him in completely. Although you’ve been together many times before this night, it’s still a novelty Heeseung does not take for granted.

He takes his time establishing a rhythm, loving the pants and whimpers you emit because of him and for him. He holds his hand on your throat, his thumb going into your mouth for you to wrap your lips around in a lewd manor.

“Ah, fuck,” you say as he snaps his hips, filling you to the hilt. “Just like that.”

He feels his orgasm in his gut, threading further up his body as he snaps his hips harder and faster, moving in and out at a faster pace than normal. You don’t mind, scratching lines down his back as you cling to him. You’re both reduced to a heap of I love you’s and satisfied sounds, and it could not be more perfect.

“Fuck, Hee, I’m coming,” you say in the form of a promise, one so precious he wants to hear it every day.

The flutter of your walls around him as you fall apart pushes him to his own end, releasing into the condom with a guttural moan. He kisses you deeply before separating from you, running to the bathroom to throw the remnants of your lovemaking into the toilet and clean himself up.

You hold your arms out to him, ready to have him back by your side. He grins and kisses the crown of your forehead.

“Think about all the nights we can do this next year,” Heeseung whispers into the dark.

“I can’t wait,” you respond, pressing a kiss to his sweaty chest. “I love you.”

He grins happily to himself, the words a thousand times more powerful leaving your mouth. “I love you, too, angel.”

With your body curled into his chest, your heartbeats matching in tempo, he thinks no amount of championship wins could compare to the love he’s found in you.

DECEMBER

The basketball feels light as air in Heeseung’s hands, incomparable to the feeling in his chest looking at you. His teammates can tell he’s staring directly at your position in the stands. They wonder how his mind is still so occupied by you, even amongst the sea of spectators waiting for him to either succeed or screw up

Little do they realize, you’re the exact reason he’s going to win the title.

As he looks in your direction, he takes the shot without second-guessing himself. He hears the faint gasps of some attendees and even his coach, but the following swish of the basket in the hoop tells Heeseung all he needs to hear. And all he needs to see is your beautiful, proud face as the gym explodes into cheers.

You’re the best and truest thing he has in this world. He knows he’s a champion, in both the traditional and figurative sense. With you by his side, he’ll always feel like the winner of every game he’ll ever play.

[goldfades]

oooo crashout couple idea!!!! luka and reader celebrating libertys first win?????

i think this is my new fav "series", should i make a masterlist cause i have so many fics coming for it<333

The buzzer sounds, echoing through the packed arena, and the moment it does, it’s like the whole world bursts open.

The scoreboard lights up—final score, Liberty on top.

You barely have time to process it before your teammates crash into you, arms wrapping around you, shouts filling your ears. The crowd is roaring, the energy electric, but somehow, through all of it, you only hear one voice.

Luka’s.

You turn instinctively, eyes scanning the courtside seats, and there he is—on his feet, fists clenched, yelling like he just won the damn championship himself.

“LET’S GO, BABY!”

The cameras are already on him—because of course they are. He’s in your jersey, the one he insisted on wearing even though it’s slightly too snug across his broad shoulders, and he looks like he might just sprint onto the court himself.

You swear he nearly does. Security shifts, like they’re anticipating it.

You huff out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. Menace.

But he’s your menace.

And when your eyes meet across the court, Luka doesn’t just give you some polite, sportsmanlike nod.

No, he grins.

Big, wild, unfiltered.

The kind of grin that says, Yeah, I’m in love with you, and what about it?

And just like that, you don’t care about the cameras. You don’t care about the reporters already scribbling down notes about the Crash Out Couple and whatever chaos you’re about to bring to post-game.

All you care about is him.

And the way he’s looking at you like you just hung the damn moon.

--

Dinner is loud.

Your whole team is buzzing—high off the win, high off the adrenaline, high off the satisfaction of shutting down everyone who thought the Liberty were about to fold under pressure.

The restaurant is one of those dimly lit, upscale-but-still-lively places in the city where athletes and celebrities go to celebrate without completely being left alone. The air is thick with the scent of grilled steak and garlic butter, plates clinking, glasses being refilled before they even have a chance to empty.

And in the middle of it all, sitting next to you with his hand on your thigh like he needs to be touching you at all times, is Luka.

He’s trying—he really is.

He’s leaning in when your teammates talk, nodding at the right moments, even throwing in a couple of mhms and yeah, that’s crazy in an attempt to keep up with the fast-paced conversation.

But he’s outnumbered.

Badly.

At one point, Sabrina and Jonquel get into a heated discussion about defensive rotations, and you watch Luka’s brain short-circuit in real-time. He’s a franchise player, a basketball genius, but for some reason, this—being surrounded by a table full of hyper-competitive, opinionated, no-nonsense WNBA stars—is the thing that has him sweating.

You press your lips together, hiding your grin behind the rim of your wine glass.

It’s adorable.

This is the same man who drops 40-point triple-doubles like they’re nothing, who talks so much trash on the court it should be illegal, who once got into a screaming match with a ref in three different languages.

And yet, right now?

Right now, he’s nervously swirling the ice in his drink, completely unsure how to insert himself into the chaos.

Sabrina side-eyes him. “Luka, what do you think?”

Luka freezes, his hand tightening slightly on your thigh. “Huh?”

The table erupts in laughter.

You feel him exhale, his head dropping slightly, and it kills you how cute it is.

You pat his cheek, barely suppressing your amusement. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to keep up.”

He groans, tilting his head back dramatically. “Man, I’m trying.”

The teasing doesn’t let up after that.

Your teammates love this—getting to rattle Luka Dončić a little, reminding him that, despite all the MVP chatter and franchise player status, here, he’s just your boyfriend.

And Luka takes it, shaking his head, smirking, playing along even though you can tell he’s still a little overwhelmed.

But one thing about your man?

No matter where he is, no matter who’s around—he’s always going to have his hands on you.

Throughout dinner, his touch never leaves you.

His palm on your thigh, fingers tracing mindless patterns. His hand drifting up to squeeze your waist when you shift in your seat. His thumb brushing over your knuckles when he takes your hand in his. At one point, he rests his elbow on the back of your chair, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair, absentminded but so possessive.

And every time your teammates try to clown him, every time they tease him about being too quiet, about being so in love it’s making him shy, Luka just shrugs.

Like he knows.

Like he doesn’t care.

Like he’s completely fine with all of them seeing the way he needs to be close to you.

Like he’s saying, Yeah, I’m in love with her. And?

And honestly?

You love it.

[mv1simp]

Vegas, Baby (I Wanna Ride) ♥️

Max Verstappen x Friend!Reader

welcome to vegas baby, give me money, give me diamonds, give me rubies baby (get on your knees and beg me please to let you in me)

Tonight's a big night for the Redbull team in Las Vegas. Max Verstappen just won his 4th WDC, and you, his good friend, just won your first F2 race. After months of rising sexual tension, the line between you and Max starts blurring during a wild Vegas afterparty. Nothing beats crowning a 4th championship than passionate celebration sex, right?

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dom! Max, sub! Reader who’s playing mind games to seduce him, size kink, praise kink, cream pie, morally dubious relationship status but no cheating, drunk passionate sex with max post WDC is literally the epitome of my dreams, 5.3k WC

Max! The blonde Dutchman’s concentration shifts from one of the many post Las Vegas Grand Prix interviews he’s been coerced into to hear your familiar voice excitedly calling for him. His cute smile turns into an even more gorgeous grin as he spots you making a beeline across the media pen, long curls flying behind you. The cameras rapidly start stuttering as you practically leap into Max’s arms when he tightly hugs you back, lifting you up off the ground easily. Congratulations, Maxie! you gush excitedly, beaming up at him with genuine emotion. I’m so happy for you, you deserve this win so much!

Pink dusts the cheeks of the now 4 time world champion from your attention as he looks down at your shorter frame, his muscular arms snugly around your waist. You couldn’t care less about the sticky champagne drenching his suit, because your own RB suit is wet from your celebration of winning the F2 race earlier that day. You too, schatje, Max returns warmly, the paparazzi completely ignored. Winning your first race, in Las Vegas too, from P11? I’m so proud of you! Now you're blushing as he tousles your hair affectionately. You two are just good friends, of course, and Max is in a relationship with a model - even though it's a rather turbulent one. But the F1 gossip mill is always running rampant with rumours about your relationship with Max - especially with the overfamiliar touches you're both now leaving with lingering hands on each other.

The interviewers flock at the chance to interview the F1 and F2 champions together, who provide them with entertaining answers fueled by the 3rd G&T that Max has already started drinking from his Redbull bottle. You smirk and raise your own bottle to cheers against his, making Max’s icy blue eyes twinkle with amusement as he realises you’re very much on the same wavelength of starting celebrations early. Great minds think alike, right Maxie? you wink conspiratorially, making him laugh. The media reps are basically forgotten as the pair of you end up in your own conversation of excited yapping about adrenaline fueled moments from your races, littered with inside jokes lost to the viewers.

When his PR manager calls Max's name, trying to prevent anymore dubious scandals, the blonde looks apologetically towards you, promising that the two of you would have to celebrate properly tonight, okay? You nod eagerly as you watch him go for the rest of his media duties, your smile so wide that your cheeks almost hurt. You’re still buzzing with adrenaline of your own win, and know that your own manager won’t be happy with the pictures of you practically climbing Max to hug him, not an inch of space between you as he pulls you against him. After all, the tabloids love to speculate that there’s something more between the Redbull 3 time - now 4! - world champion and you, the rising talent in F2 with your Redbull Academy seat, and one of the very few women on the grid.

That’s how you and Max had met - on the Redbull practice circuit, the two of you the only ones wanting to practise in horrific conditions of rain and hail. He’d been curious to see another car with the familiar Bull logo out on the track, and then found himself even more curious when the helmet came off to reveal your cutely flushed face and pretty curls that fell down your back. You became fast friends, after you got along your initial awe of 3x WDC Max Verstappen casually giving you driving pointers. He was actually an incredibly humble and loyal friend, and you appreciated how much time he'd spent out of his busy schedule to help you. Meanwhile, Max found your conversation and humour so refreshing compared to other junior drivers who would suck up to him, and you were never afraid to give Max a piece of your mind with your fiery, passionate personality - similar to his. For the first time in months since he'd started dating his demanding girlfriend, who always told Max off for being too loud or making immature jokes, Max found himself genuinely relaxing and speaking freely.

So with all the time on the practise track, and then off the track when you moved to Monaco and began attending the same parties, padel games and hungover brunches with Max, it was no surprise the two of you had become good friends - with a lot of speculation from the public. Many of his fans and friends disliked his current relationship with the pretty model who constantly used Max's name for her own clout with little interest in his passion for racing and e-sim gaming. In comparison, the easy laughs and witty banter seen frequently between you and Max had many conspiring that you'd be a far better match for the F1 champion. Especially in today's Las Vegas interviews, where the growing electric chemistry was palpable to viewers even through the screen.

Of course, you'd never admit to anyone that you secretly agreed with all the gossip columns. You and Max were perfectly suited for each other - but you would never be able to tell him, especially as you didn't have the slightest idea if Max liked you back or even found you attractive since he was so outgoing and touchy with all his close friends. For the past couple of months you'd been secretly pining for him, eyeing his moody girlfriend jealously as she yanked him from celebrations to go home early. You'd starting catching yourself staring up at the gorgeous blonde with heart eyes when he'd patiently explain some new racing tactic to you. No guy could come close to Max in your mind, and you're becoming increasingly sexually frustrated as the object of your desires stayed out of your reach but you aren't hook up with anyone else. So much so that in the week before Las Vegas, you'd started having some very dirty dreams involving a tall, muscular, blonde ending training early and bending you over the hood of his car as he whispered accented Dutch in your ear. Gonna let me fuck you now, baby? You'll take all of my cock, just like I taught you, right?

You knew it was so, so wrong to secretly lust after your friend and teammate like this - especially since he was taken. But tonight, with the thrill of winning your first ever F2 race in frickin' Vegas of all places, at the same time as Max taking his 4th WDC...Well, let's just say you were feeling especially wild tonight. Taking another shot of gin as you got ready in your spacious hotel bathroom, you admire the sight of yourself in the mirror. You're lot more dressed up than usual, out of your racing suit for once . Smokey eyeshadow compliments your wide, doe eyes and long hair you’d blown out in loose curls, all to show off the main view of a tight, sparkly red minidress that pushed up your tits perfectly. You certainly looked the part of a winner out on a hunt for the best way to celebrate tonight, and your best friend agreed as she whistled when walking into the bathroom. Girl, goddamn, that dress looks insanely sexy on you! she gushed, making you shoot her a pleased smile. Trying to catch a certain someone’s attention tonight? she added with a teasing look. Don’t worry, Max won’t be able to keep his eyes off you!

You let out an embarrassed yelp and tell her to shut up, you were not into him like that! Used to your denials, your friend rolls her eyes fondly and tells you you’d been practically moaning his name when you’d been napping earlier, you little slut! She puts you out of your misery when your face goes as red as your dress by adding in that she’d heard his girlfriend wasn’t here tonight to celebrate - apparently, she was pissed he hadn’t flown her out on his private jet and he’d decided to take a break. Winking, she tells you that Max is all yours tonight! You shoo her away but your heart’s nervously skipping a beat with the news. Slipping on your impressive six inch stilettos with glittery straps circling around your legs, you make your way to the after party downstairs.

The bass is thumping, drinks easily flowing and the crowded hotel nightclub buzzing with energy tonight where many of the racing drivers and fans have come to celebrate tonight. You’d meant to go find Max when you got there, but are pulled into excited hugs by lots of your own friends and team members to congratulate you. Soon enough, a few hours have passed and you’re very pleasantly tipsy, giggling and twirling around on the dance floor with your girlfriends and quite a few guys who are running appreciative looks over your pretty figure. But when your wide doe eyes finally meet icy blue across the room, all other men are forgotten and you're making your way over in a heartbeat.

Schatje, Max greets you easily, interrupting the conversations people crowding around him were trying to start. You give him an adoring smile as you wrap your arms around those ridiculously wide shoulders of his when he pulls you into him. The alcohol you’ve both been drinking lowers your boundaries as you giggle into his ears you’ve been looking everywhere for him! He chuckles, telling you that he’d been right here, but you’d been too popular with everyone else tonight. Too busy for me now that you’re a F2 winner? he teases. You playfully push his broad chest, admiring how toned his muscles are under your freshly manicured palm. Maybe, you tease back. I only enjoy the company of drivers who are five time world champions, at least. Seen Lewis anywhere?

Max’s gorgeous blue eyes crinkle in amusement as he tips his head back to laugh, and you're staring up his thick neck, enjoying the sight of his angular jaw and plush lips with a cute freckle you wanted so desperately to kiss. Reminding yourself not to get too carried away until you had some idea how Max felt, you tugged at his biceps to indicate you wanted him to follow you. He easily took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together as you pull him towards the second floor. This was a pretty frequent for you two, breaking off from a crowded party to yap and gossip about some drama or catch up without all eyes on you. Just as you reach the stairs, one of your team’s engineers calls out to you, giving you a tight embrace that lasts a few seconds too long to be a friendly congratulations. You don’t really notice though, too relaxed and happy, and gush your thank you’s to him as he compliments how well you drove today. He’s pretty cute, and you’re starting to get carried away in the conversation until a warm, large palm curls possessively around your curvy hips. A shiver runs up your spine as Max’s deep voice drawls out behind you that he was bored, can you two go upstairs now?

You immediately turn your focus back onto the attractive blonde, assuring him Of course, Maxie! Your arm wraps around his bicep to steady yourself as you two walk upstairs, your high heels clicking against the marble floor. Your abruptly forgotten engineer receives a rather smug smirk from Max. When you’re finally alone in a tiny powder room, small enough that you have to stand close together with the locked door but well lit by an illuminated mirror atop the counter, Max can’t resist a snarky that engineer seemed very into you.

You dismiss Max’s claims, telling him to stop joking around as you leaned into the mirror to repply your lip gloss. No, he was definitely checking you out, Max responds behind you. His already deep accent you’d always had a thing for turns even huskier. Can’t blame him though…you look fucking incredible tonight.

Desire curls in your gut as you gasp at his unexpected compliment, glancing to see Max’s blue eyes locked onto you through the mirror. The Dutchman’s gaze is sharp despite the tipsy flush on his cheeks as it wanders up your lush thighs, accentuated by your stilettos, over your juicy ass and hips before coming to meet your pretty eyes. There’s no denying the hungry expression he wears, especially as you slowly finish applying your lip gloss, drawing his attention to your tempting pink lips. He looks like a lion starving to sink his fangs into his next meal.

You swallow, suddenly feeling a little shy as you avoid his gaze, even though you'd dolled up tonight just for him. You should be saying something like that to your girlfriend, you say suddenly. Where is she, anyways? Max rolls his eyes at the reminder, unamused with the change of topic. Fuck knows, he says exasperatedly. I don’t care anymore, we’re taking a break. You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow as you coyly ask Just a break? What, she’s trying to find a billionaire because a F1 millionaire just isn’t cutting it?

Max chuckles at your not so subtle dig, knowing how you felt about his rather superficial girlfriend. But instead of letting it go, tonight you decide to continue and ask him why he was still with her? He shrugs, telling you it was just easier at this point to stay with her instead of the drama of a messy breakup, and dating hot but 2D models was what everyone expected of F1 drivers anyway.

You narrow your eyes, a little annoyed now, and step closer to Max to announce that’s stupid, since when did he do what others expect of him instead of what he wanted? Besides, he deserved a girlfriend who actually cared for him as a person, who celebrated each of his wins and losses, and on a night like tonight - well, he should be getting whatever he wanted from her, you added playfully. You’ve ended up so close that Max can feel the warmth of your soft tits pressed up against his chest, the heels you’re wearing helping your height. He can't resist admiring at the way your cleavage bounces every time you passionately speak.

Whatever I want, huh? Max murmurs lowly, his blue eyes dark with desire as he suddenly leans down, making your eyes widen and thick lashes flutter. His thumb softly brushes across your cheeks to press against your lower lip, parting your mouth slightly. He’s silent for a moment, choosing his next words carefully, and then - What if all I want is you?

You gasp, both with excitement and shock at the realisation that Max returned your feelings. A coy smile appears on your lips as you press your hands to his firm chest, leaning up to whisper into his ear that he was lucky, then, because you'd been looking for a way to congratulate him properly.

He grins wickedly as you return his hungry look, your normally sparkling eyes now sultry with desire. Oh yeah? he says lowly, large palms skimming your waist. And what were you thinking would be the proper way to say congratulations?

There’s no going back to friendship after this, the blurred line well and truly vanishing. Thank god, because you couldn’t take the sexual frustration any longer. You’d heard that the sex after winning in Vegas is really good…and since he’d ended up winning the championship, he deserved to fuck you long and hard, right?

Max’s breath hitches at your offer, his already semi erect cock hardening. Fuck, schatje, he breathes, his lips so close to yours they’re almost touching. That mouth of yours…I didn’t know it could be so dirty. Makes me want to ruin it. You smile with faux innocence, batting your lashes up at him. Why don’t you, Max? Ruin me, then.

That’s all it takes for his lips to lock into yours, a gentle first kiss between friends quickly turning into a sloppy, heated make out that has you drooling against him. Been wanting to do this forever, Max groans in between deep kisses. You giggle, asking him what his girlfriend would think of that. Who? Max says, looking genuinely confused as he leans in again to slide his tongue in to explore your mouth. Oh, the ex? You laugh into the kiss, knowing any other woman would be out of the picture by the time you’ve shown Max just how he deserved to be treated tonight.

Suddenly you’re being lifted up easily to sit on the marble counter, squealing at his impressive strength. He greedily presses against you, your lush thighs parting easily around his narrow waist. It’s a good thing the club’s bass is so loud, otherwise any passerbys would hear the wet, sensual moans of you passionately making out. Max’s bear paws of hands squeeze your thighs and plump ass firmly, making your minidress ride up so he could feel your dampening panties as you start grinding against his impressive bulge through his jeans. Fuck, schatje, you’re already this wet? Max breathes, blue eyes blown with desire when he pulls back for a second as you both pant. Only for you, Maxie you say adoringly, running manicured hands along his broad shoulders and into his soft, blonde locks. Whatever you want tonight, remember? So tell me, what would the world champion like next?

Max inhales sharply at your obedient words, at how you’re looking up at his darkened blue eyes with so much devotion. It fills him with an inexplicable need to have you all to himself, not just tonight but every night from now. You decide to give him a gentle nudge, guiding his large palms to cup your full breasts through your dress. You keep looking at my chest, Maxie. Do you want to see what’s underneath my dress? Max’s jaw drops open as you help his fingers tug down your neckline, letting it fall to your waist and leaving you half dressed in a lacy navy blue bra.

My favourite colour, Max says absentmindedly, too distracted with the heavenly vision in front of him. When you giggle and tell him you know, that’s why you wore it! he groans lowly, yanking the lace down so your full breasts lay exposed to his hungry gaze. So fucking pretty, he breathes, you look so good in my colours, schatje.

You can’t respond because you’re moaning again from his thick fingers squeezing your bouncing tits, circling your sensitive, hard nipples before latching his mouth over your areolas. Oh, Maxie! Mmm, feels so good! He hums with your tits inside his talented mouth, enjoying your sweet moans in his ears as he leaves a trail of hickeys over your chest and neck. You’re getting wetter by the second, and judging from the large, hard bulge you’re desperately humping, you’re certain Max is just as turned on as you are. But tonight’s about congratulating him, and you can’t get too distracted, tugging at the white t-shirt he’s wearing. Your turn!

Max smirks, and yanks his shirt off in half a second. Now you’re temporarily short circuiting at his broad pecs, ogling his thick upper arms and shoulders that taper down to his slim hips. You can’t resist tracing a path down his defined abs with your manicured fingers, making Max tease you with like what you see, schatje?

You shut him up as your hand comes to rest just above his belt buckle, brushing his blonde happy trail but going no further. Hmm, I’ve seen better, you tease back coyly. His jaw hardens as you come tantalisingly close to where he really wants to feel you. When he wraps his hand around yours to stop your games, you surprise him again when you bring your joined hands up to your lips. Curiosity piqued, he watched you intently as you press the pad of his pointer finger onto your swollen lips like he’d done earlier…and then part your lips to slide him inside till the knuckle. Oh, fucking hell, Max hisses lowly.

You don’t miss a beat, staring right into his eyes sultrily as you swirl your tongue around his thick finger, letting him imagine what else your drooling, wet mouth could do. He swallows when you release him with a pop, only to oh so innocently bat your lashes at him to say did he have anything bigger for you to lick?

Max has a hand tangled in your curls instantly, pushing your all too willing body down onto your knees as he swears, saying if he’d known you were going to be such a good girl for him he’d have fucked you months ago. You whine desperately, making him completely entranced as you press soft kisses to his clothed erection. He unbuckles himself for you, the small room silent except for the clinking of metal making both of you impatient. You gasp when his generously sized cock emerges from his Calvin Klein boxers, his pink tip resting right in front of you. He almost cums right there when you look up at him with those wide doe eyes, the very picture of innocence but your filthy words anything but. It-it’s so big, Maxie. Even larger than what I’d dreamed about.

And then you’re messily kissing up and down his engorged shaft, smearing your lipgloss all over as you pant and drool over his length. Oh my fucking god, Max groans, head slamming into the door behind him. That mouth of yours, baby- Jesus fucking Christ.

He’s rendereded speechless when you begin suckling on his hypersensitive tip, circling it with full concentration just like you’d done with his finger. You don’t break eye contact, pulling back slightly to pump his base with two hands and blow air over his angry, swollen cockhead. Tastes so good, Maxie. ‘M gonna worship your cock tonight, just like my world champion deserves. Your throat goes completely lax as you take his impressive length all the way to the base, gurgling and drooling messily as you hollow your cheeks to suck firmly.

Fuck! Jesus, schat, baby, I’m gonna - Max is panting heavily, cheeks adorably red and flushed as he tangles his large palms into your curls. Go-gonna fuck that insane mouth of yours now, okay?

You hum in agreement, sending vibrations running down his shaft. He doesn’t waste any time then, dragging your face forward and roughly thrusting himself into your wet, slack mouth. Loud, obscene sounds of the dirty blowjob you’re performing for him are filling the air, and there’s no doubt anyone listening in the hallway would be able to tell exactly what going on behind the door. But the both of you couldn’t care less, too far gone. And if your mindblowing deepthroat hadn’t been enough, you’re whimpering in between thrusts that he’s so big, you bet he could fuck your tits at the same time as your mouth-

He doesn’t even need to process that sexy mental image because you’re now using your free hands to cup your bouncing breasts and wrap them snugly around the base of his cock, his leaking tip still thrusting in and out of your mouth. Like this, see Maxie?

Max roars in approval at the filthy display, the warmth of your soft tits sending him over the edge. Gonna cum now, he pants breathlessly. Open your mouth for me, baby, you’ll swallow it all, right?

You follow his command immediately, desperately saying please, please Maxie, wanna taste you so bad, you can cum wherever you want-

He slaps his heavy cockhead against your chubby cheeks first, and then onto your pink tongue as you poke it out, collecting drops of precum from his angry red tip. He’s meanly chuckling as you go cross eyed from his cock whacking your face, squealing with excitement. Guess the only thing that shuts you up is my cock in your mouth.

You nod eagerly, panting with your lips wide open expectantly as you stare up at him, your pretty makeup completely destroyed from the messy blowjob. The sight of you so desperate for him is what tips him over, and with a silent moan he jerks himself off to flood your mouth with a generous, creamy load. So much that you struggle to swallow it, some of it leaking out the corners of your lips to drip onto your heaving tits. But you take most of it just like you promised him, licking your lips rather sluttily before opening your mouth to show him. See, Maxie? Drank it all for you.

He yanks you up off the floor, pressing your soft jiggling chest up against his hard pecs as he rewards you with a deep kiss. Did fucking amazing, sweetheart, he sighs into you. That was definitely the best head I’ve ever gotten. You flush from his compliment, sultry eyes turning shy now from his praise. But the Dutch Lion’s appetite isn’t satiated tonight. He pulls your dress back up, wiping away your smeared gloss and smudged mascara before redressing himself. But we aren’t finished just yet, schatje, he croons as he gently untangles your curls from your dangly earrings. You bite your lip, hanging onto his each word as he says After all, you’d won in Vegas too. He’ll have to show you how good the sex is, now.

Desire darkens your bright, dazed eyes at the thought of Max finally fucking you. You bury your face in his thick neck, wrapping your arms around him as you plead for him to please take you upstairs, you needed him so bad, you couldn’t take it anymore.

He chuckles at your cute begging, discreetly leading you down the hallway that’s thankfully empty while keeping you firmly pressed to his chest. As much as he’d wiped away the streaks of mascara, any of your friends would only have to take one look to know what you’d been upto. The ride up the discreet service elevator is another test of self restraint, the camera in the corner stopping the both of you from outright debauchery. But you can’t stop weakly grinding against Max’s muscular thigh that separates your plush legs, clinging onto him as he whispers dirty things in your ear with that Dutch voice you loved. Tell me what kind of naughty dreams you’ve been having about me, he demands. And of course, you oblige, turning his ears pink and voice huskier when he finds out just what you’d been secretly pining for.

He lifts you up, your legs straddling his waist easily when you finally reach your floor, an carried you down the hallway. After you’re clumsily swiping your room card with Max’s very distracting lips leaving kisses to your throat, you find yourself inside your dark hotel room at last. The Vegas city lights stream in from the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating Max’s handsome form as he looks down to drink in the pretty sight of you. Fucking finally, Max groans, ripping his shirt and pants off in one go and kicking his shoes to the side. He wraps an arm around your waist to pick you up again and gently toss you onto the king sized bed, making you giggle excitedly as you land with a bounce. And then he’s on top of you, eyes dark and a cocky smirk on his face as he presses his warm length against your soaked panties. See what you’ve done to me, schatje? I’m already hard again. Completely ruined me for anyone else with this perfect body. He finishes his sentence with a slow roll of his hips, making you moan breathily at the contact, with your panties so wet they’re practically stuck to you and you can feel all of him.

He unzips you out of your dress, leaving heated kisses all over your body as he admires the sight of your navy lingerie set, telling you he’d buy you ten more so you could wear them for him after every race when he fucked you. You keen at his attention, at the thought that Max wants you again and again, eyes teary as you start to try and grind your hips against him. You’ll have to be patient, schatje Max says in an amused tone, sounding much more in control than the moaning, dripping mess he’s turned you into. You teased me so much after all, it’s only fair that it’s my turn now, right? He kisses your ankles softly as he unties your strappy heels, letting them fall to the floor. And then, with a strong hand on each of your delicate ankles, he hungrily takes in the sight of your dripping pussy. Your tummy flutters almost nervously in anticipation of what’s coming.

Turns out Max, just like you, always held true to his promises. You’d had to be very patient as he had his turn of teasing you mercilessly, making you cum all over his thick fingers that stretched you out and skilled tongue that found your sensitive clit almost immediately. And when he’s finally ripping the condom packet open and slapping your core with his heavy cock, you’re practically crying.Your aching pussy finally gets what she needs when you’re stuffed impossibly full as he slides in to the hilt.

The sight of you completely ruined underneath him, tits bouncing with each powerful thrust he delivers, your nails burying into his strong arms to steady yourself, unlocks a carnal desire in Max. Whatever I want, right schatje? He hums, bending down so your sweaty foreheads touch, and you nod quickly through your deep pants. Even if I wanted to fuck you raw? You’ll let me cum inside your tight little pussy, hmm?

He knows he has you right where he wants as you squeeze down on him instinctively when you imagine him inside you with no protection. Ohmygod Maxie, yes, please, fuck your cum into me, please! The Dutchman’s outright filthy request has your head spinning with desire and you’re babbling half incoherently. Pulling out momentarily and making you whine, he yanks the condom off before sinking back into your creamy hole. You both moan in pure ecstasy at the euphoric feeling of skin to skin sex.

Max fucks you in multiple positions that night, passionately into the soft mattress, meanly up against the cold window, and roughly on the plush sofa chaise with your face buried in the cushions and your red asscheeks up in the air for him to slap. Next time I win you’ll let me fuck you here, too, okay baby? he demands as he fingers your winking back hole while still thrusting into your dripping cunny. You can only let out a high pitched whine, jiggling your hips back onto his cock in approval, too fucked out to respond with words at this point. And when he finally cums, his impressive stamina outlasting yours on his second orgasm, he makes sure to sink in deep and flood your heavenly walls with his thick white release. You give him an open mouthed lazy kiss as a silent thank you for the best fuck of your entire life, hoping he got the message.

You’re pretty certain he did, because the next morning you’re awoken by a heavy length pressed up against your ass. You’d both passed out in the (thankfully clean) spare second bed after running through the shower together for five minutes to clean up the sticky mess last night. The 4th championship celebration sex was definitely record breaking , Max murmurs into your ear playfully. But it’s not complete without the slow morning after sex. You’ll let me show you now, right schat?

_____________________________________________

A/N: WAR IS OVER THE CHILDREN ARE OUT, BIRDS SINGING CAUSE MAX IS RIGHTFULLY 4 X WDC 😭😭😭 the way all the haters were silenced. Everyone’s trying ride his dick now including skysports I love to see it, as they should

Also guys 10 followers away from 2k?!? Wtaf 😳 I’m so sorry for the delayed post, thank you for being so patient. Work has been really busy this month but going on Xmas break in a couple weeks so will have more time to post!!!! Keep sending me ur saucy asks yall I love reading them <3

[astonmartinii]

put it all on red (bull) | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem russell reader

her brother won the race? does she know? does she care?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, georgerussell63 and 204,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: VIVA LAS VEGAS

view all comments

user3: this is fucking hilarious

user4: her whole ass brother won the actual race and there's not a peep of him on the post

user5: i mean her boyfriend did win the championship...

yourusername: exactlyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy i mean my instagram is for pretty girls only

user6: do not erase george's beauty

yourusername: nothing to erase girlypop - FUGLY!

user7: the way the guys are in the media pen and can't see that y/n is coming for their necks in instagram comments

user8: i fear she's already started drinking...

user9: in the back of the sky broadcast she hands max a drink and i'm starting to suspect that it was not water or red bull

user10: LMAO HELMUT TOOK A SIP AND LIKE NEARLY FELL OVER

yourusername: i've never claimed to be good at mixing drinks

maxverstappen1: WHERE WAS THE TONIC ???

yourusername: i don't believe in tonic 💔

maxverstappen1: YOU GAVE ME STRAIGHT GIN?

yourusername: straight 🤣

maxverstappen1: Y/N THAT'S ATTEMPTED MURDER ON HELMUT ???

yourusername: free me i did nothing wrong !!!

user11: these people kill me

user12: sign of a healthy relationship is making gay allegations about each other

yourusername: ALLEGATIONS ???

yourusername: george is lucky that he was the first russell carmen met ...

georgerussell63: RIGHT, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH

georgerussell63: thank you for the congratulations but STOP flirting with MY girlfriend

yourusername: congratulations??? for what?

georgerussell63: WINNING THE RACE?

yourusername: boring!

georgerussell63: you are so lucky we're family because you are a few cards short of a deck

yourusername: CARDS? that reminds me ... time to gamble!

maxverstappen1

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 1,342,988 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: winning without the fastest car isn't for everyone

view all comments

user13: this caption has y/n russell written all over it

yukitsunoda0511: i sat here and watched them giggle to themselves for a good five minutes while posting this

user14: tell max to post more pictures like the second one

yukitsunoda0511: they are not safe for innocent eyes and they are not taken with a locked door :/

user15: why are you there ???

yukitsunoda0511: they're very generous when they're drunk !

user16: so real

yukitsunoda0511: it's also not just me :(

user17: just how many people are using the bar tab?

liamlawson30: me!

oscarpiastri: me!

charles_leclerc: me!

landonorris: me!

pierregasly: me!

alexalbon: me!

yourusername: broke bitches

carlossainz55: you do not have a job?

yourusername: gambling and being pretty is more of a job that what you will have next season 🤨

carlossainz55: has anyone ever told you you're a really mean drunk

yourusername: just george about a billion times, you get used to it (we just don't invite you out)

user18: she is just dragging anyone now

user19: hold on that is her boyfriend's work boyfriend's enemy

user20: girl is 90% of lestappen twitter's source and you think she's not gonna have a problem with sainz???

yourusername: you're so sexy i actually can't even function

maxverstappen1: gotta put the trophy in trophy husband somehow

yourusername: jokes aside i am super duper proud of you, this year has been insane and you've proven that you are the bestest eva

maxverstappen1: couldn't have done it without my fave cheerleader

yourusername: i'll wear the uniform and everything ....

schecoperez: STOP

georgerussell63: still no congratulations? i know you won the title or whatever but we're going to be brothers soon SHOW SOME RESPECT

yourusername: literally suck his dick

yourusername: wait no

yourusername: suck my dick

yourusername: WAIT NO

yourusername: choke ❤️

georgerussell63: i have no words at this point

maxverstappen1: so romantic hehehehe

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, kimiantonelli and 410,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: put it all on on red (bull)

view all comments

user22: ma'am why is there a cat?

user23: i think we already know the answer

user24: oh i know the answer i just wanna know the batshit explanation

georgerussell63: exsqueeze me ???

yourusername: don't speak like that about your nephew ??

georgerussell63: tell me you're not keeping it??

maxverstappen1: IT? HE JUST LEAPFROGGED YOU IN OUR WILL

georgerussell63: 1. you have a joint will ??? 2. why am i on it ??? 3. what is a cat doing with a monaco penthouse ???

maxverstappen1: i thought you could use the money ? i know toto ain't paying you what he promised me

yourusername: george your weird sugar daddy is more broke than you think sorry xx

georgerussell63: once again, what is stopping me taking the monaco house from a literal cat ?

yourusername: caesar will be very aware of his rights string bean - just because you talk in an uppity accent doesn't mean you actually know anything

georgerussell63: i cannot tell who corrupted who but i am sick of being your victim :(

user25: yes as fun as watching them dog george is i do want to know caesar's origin story

user26: i have a very bad feeling i know where he got his name

alexalbon: HE'S NOT NAMED AFTER THE CASINO IS HE?

yourusername: ding ding ding we have a winner, always knew you were the smarter half of galex

maxverstappen1: your gambling is getting out of hand

yourusername: did i or did i not win us a cat ?

maxverstappen1: AND £250,000 ???

yourusername: didn't want to promote gambling too much

yourusername: KIDS DO NOT GAMBLE IT IS DUMB

yourusername: look at me i literally have a child now ???

user27: we have lost the original plot of the movie

user28: you must be new, we stopped trying to make sense of these two years ago

lewishamilton: i can assure you it does not get any easier when you know them personally

yourusername: we aim to be sexy and mysterious

lewishamilton: that's strange because you guys dance like little boys and overshare at any given opportunity

maxverstappen1: guilty !

georgerussell63

liked by alexalbon, landonorris and 873,409 others

tagged: lewishamilton, yourusername & maxverstappen1

georgerussell63: i won the las vegas grand prix and all i got was this lousy cat

view all comments

user29: i am sensing a y/n and max meltdown incoming

user30: maybe they're too hungover to argue?

yourusername: NEVER

maxverstappen1: LOUSY CAT? FIRST OF ALL HE'S NOT YOURS SO KEEP HIS NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH AND ALSO I WILL KILL YOU WITH A GUN

georgerussell63: excuse me?

yourusername: do NOT threaten my boyfriend !!!!!!!!

georgerussell63: do you have selective sight or something?

yourusername: no i just like him more than i like you

georgerussell63: you only met him because of me?

maxverstappen1: i have faith we would've found each other regardless we have a SOUL TIE

yourusername: EXACTLY

georgerussell63: i give up.

yourusername: this is exactly why you don't have a championship ... no drive (pun intended)

georgerussell63: NOW THAT'S IT

maxverstappen1: are you threatening my girlfriend?

georgerussell63: OMG LEAVE ME ALONE

user31: their commitment to never letting george have a day of peace is really quite charming

user32: they're going to give him grey hairs before he even turns 27

alexalbon: i gotta say georgie, i'm not with you on this one - caesar is THE dude

georgerussell63: are all my eggs falling out of the basket at once?

maxverstappen1: that's called karma for calling caesar 'it' and a lousy cat

georgerussell63: i can't lie i am missing your honeymoon phase you guys were a lot nicer

yourusername: we never left the honeymoon phase we just like annoying all of you

maxverstappen1: makes you people leave us alone :3

landonorris: you don't have to be mean to do that

yourusername: YOU JUST GOT OFF OF THIN ICE NORRIS WATCH YOUR STEP

user33: they can make excuses all these want but they just like annoying everyone else

user34: i mean based on their vegas shenanigans i think they would be super fun to be around

yourusername: oscar literally came to stay while he 'looked for a flat' in monaco and hasn't left... it's been three months. face it we're a HOOT

oscarpiastri: they are fun! the secret is to not be annoying sorry george!

maxverstappen1: they grow up so fast :')

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 984,036 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: took a gamble when i went for the lanky posh dude's sister and i can now say it was definitely worth it

view all comments

user37: bro says snug as a bug in a rug once and now he's labelled as posh HE'S FROM NORFOLK

user38: it's also the way that y/n never gets the posh allegations

georgerussell63: it's because she's scruffy as fuck x

maxverstappen1: literally outside your house with a knife, keep talking

georgerussell63: i'm a grown man, max, you don't scare me

maxverstappen1: so i'm free to do a little gardening while you hide inside?

georgerussell63: you wouldn't...

yourusername: GO FOR THE PEONIES MAX

georgerussell63: NOT THE PEONIES I BEG HAVE MERCY

user39: so i'm supposed to read all of this shit and take them seriously when they get in the car

user40: it's part of the charm i think

user41: it's all fun and games until you remember they are full grown adults who can vote who are arguing over flowers

yourusername: i'd go through the strenuous task of growing up with george thousands more times just to be with you

maxverstappen1: i've been in love with you since i was 14, there has never been anyone else for me and there will never be anyone else for me

yourusername: ugh why didn't we just get married in vegas ?

maxverstappen1: because even though i did just harm his flowers, i do want to marry you in front of our families

yourusername: i guess you're right

georgerussell63: you know what? based on how you usually talk to me... i'm touched

yourusername: if i'm feeling generous i'll even let you do the seating chart

georgerussell63: I LOVE YOU BEST SISTER EVER

user42: only a declaration of love between max and y/n could end with george proclaiming his love for charts

user43: how does one procure an invite to this wedding ...

yourusername: be cunty

yourusername: @zakbrownceo YOU'RE BARRED

yourusername

liked by landonorris, alexalbon and 409,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: i'm the sibling who can't drive and yet i'm the one with four championship trophies in their house... george, step your pussy up x

view all comments

user44: omg queen who can't drive, she's such representation

yourusername: george says i'm so mean all the time but really i'm generous, i clearly gave him all the driving genes

user45: have you even tried driving?

yourusername: i went on max's sim once and got motion sickness and i'm also with the best driver in the world and siblings with an okay one - i'm surviving

alexalbon: he's already texted me about your language on this post

yourusername: just because he's a boomer in a string bean's body does not mean i must censor myself - he should know what stepping his pussy up means by now

georgerussell63: i will not be stepping on any pussy, i respect both felines and women

maxverstappen1: you called caesar 'it' so PLEASE

georgerussell63: i respect women?

maxverstappen1: you called y/n scruffy?

georgerussell63: that's y/n it doesn't count

maxverstappen1: that's not very feminist of you george. i am disappointed

yourusername: i agree, i really think the GDPA should reconsider the type of person they're letting run it

georgerussell63: huh?

yourusername: not once have i been invited to a grid meal ....

georgerussell63: well you're not on the grid that's why

yourusername: FEMALE EXCLUSION

maxverstappen1: you know we have attachment issues, you're so heartless george

georgerussell63: what is going on ???

yourusername: you CLEARLY don't care about me

maxverstappen1: and you CLEARLY don't care about the wellbeing of the grid

georgerussell63: I'M SORRY???

user46: george is unbelievably easy to rattle

user47: it must be so fun

yourusername: oh believe me, we have way too much fun

maxverstappen1: we once convinced him that it was a social faux pas to shake hands in japan lol

georgerussell63: IS THAT WHY MERCEDES WERE TOLD THAT EVERYONE THOUGHT I WAS REALLY RUDE ???

yourusername: LMAOOOOOOOO

maxverstappen1: so so so easy bro

user48: i guess a couple that plays mind tricks together, stay together?

yourusername: 4eva

maxverstappen1: til death do us part

yourusername: quite literally you're not leaving me alone with GEORGE

georgerussell63: you know what: DIE

yourusername: GASP

maxverstappen1: @fia get his ass

fin.

note: HAPPY MAX VERSTAPPEN CHAMPIONSHIP DAY TO ALL WHO CELEBRATE. IE. ME LOL

[pucksandpower]

Fourth Time’s the Charm

Max Verstappen x Norris!Reader

Summary: it starts, as all the best things do, with a bet (“If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”)

Note: thank you so much to @altxanna for the fantastic idea

The lights of the Las Vegas strip pulse outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s penthouse, but neither of you cares. You’re both tangled up in each other under the covers, limbs lazily draped and intertwined. The TV is playing some action movie you both stopped paying attention to an hour ago, the volume low, serving as nothing more than background noise.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you say, your voice soft as you trace a finger along Max’s arm, admiring the way his muscles shift beneath his skin.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs, resting his head against the pillow. His accent wraps around the words in a way that feels so familiar it’s comforting.

“About the race?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Max turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes catching the dim light from the window. “What else would I be thinking about?”

You hum, tilting your head in mock thought. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe about how your girlfriend is ridiculously good-looking? Or how lucky you are to have me?”

His lips quirk into a smile, the kind that’s as much in his eyes as it is on his face. “You’re right. I should focus on what really matters.” He shifts slightly, leaning closer to you. “You’re ridiculously good-looking, and I’m very lucky.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder lightly. “That’s better.”

He catches your hand before you can pull it away, his fingers lacing with yours. His expression grows more serious as he says, “But yes, I’m thinking about the race. I’m thinking about winning.”

You roll your eyes at the sheer confidence in his tone. “You think you’re going to win.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Think? I know I’m going to win. You don’t believe in me?”

“Oh, I believe in you,” you say, smirking. “I just also believe in my brother. And if Lando finishes ahead of you, the title fight goes to Qatar.”

He groans dramatically, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “Don’t remind me. The idea of dragging this out another week …”

“What, scared Lando might pull it off?”

He narrows his eyes at you, feigning offense. “Scared? Me? No. I’m just saying it would be … inconvenient.”

“Uh-huh.” You grin, shifting onto your side to face him fully. “I don’t know, Max. Lando’s been looking pretty good lately. He might surprise you tomorrow.”

Max’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re really going to sit here, in my bed, and tell me your brother is going to beat me?”

“I’m just saying it’s possible,” you tease.

He shakes his head, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Alright, then. If you’re so confident, let’s make it interesting.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

“A bet,” he says simply.

You prop yourself up on your elbow, intrigued. “A bet?”

Max nods, his smirk growing. “If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

You consider it for a moment, then ask, “And if Lando finishes ahead of you?”

“Then you get a favor. Anything you want.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too broadly. “You really think you’re that unbeatable, huh?”

“I know I am,” he says, his confidence practically radiating off him.

“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, holding out your hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He clasps your hand in his, his grip firm but warm. “Deal.”

You let your hand linger in his for a moment before pulling it away. “So, what’s this big favor you’re going to ask for if you win?”

He leans back against the pillows, his smirk turning devilish. “You’ll find out when I win.”

“If you win,” you correct, lying back down beside him.

“I’ll win,” he says confidently, his voice low as his hand trails down your back.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest.

You can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and for a moment, the room falls quiet. It’s peaceful in a way you don’t get to experience often, and you savor it.

“You know,” you say after a while, your voice quiet, “if Lando does win tomorrow, it’s not because you’re not good enough. He’s just …”

“Your brother?” Max finishes, his tone teasing.

You laugh softly. “Yeah, that too. But he’s been working so hard for this, Max. You both have. It’s … complicated.”

He runs a hand through your hair, his touch gentle. “I know. But on the track, it’s not complicated. It’s just me, the car, and the finish line. No brothers, no girlfriends. Just racing.”

You tilt your head to look up at him. “And what about after the race?”

“After the race …” He pauses, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “After the race, I’m just me. And you’re just you. That doesn’t change, no matter what.”

You don’t respond right away, letting his words sink in. Then, with a small smile, you say, “You’re really not scared at all, are you?”

“Of Lando? No,” he says, his voice light. “Of you? A little.”

You laugh, shoving him lightly. “Good. You should be.”

He catches your hand again, this time pressing a kiss to your palm. “I’ll remember that.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing against his. “You’d better get some sleep, Verstappen. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

He hums in agreement, but instead of pulling away, he leans in, pressing his lips to your neck. “One more kiss,” he murmurs against your skin.

You close your eyes, your breath hitching slightly. “Just one?”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk returning. “Maybe two.”

You shake your head, laughing softly as he pulls you back under the covers.

And for now, the world outside doesn’t matter.

***

The final lap of the Las Vegas Grand Prix feels endless. The crowd’s roar grows louder with every corner, drowning out even the hum of the engines. Your hands are clammy as you grip the edge of your seat in the Red Bull garage, your eyes glued to the screen. Max’s car slices through the neon-lit streets of Vegas, and Lando is right behind him.

It’s close. Too close.

“Come on, Lando,” you mutter under your breath, though your heart isn’t entirely in it.

Max is P5. Lando is P6. A single position apart. If it stays this way, the championship is Max’s.

You’re not sure who you’re rooting for anymore.

The chequered flag waves as Max crosses the line, and your both heart drops and soars. P5. It’s done.

“MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE THE 2024 WORLD CHAMPION!” GP’s voice explodes over the team radio, his excitement nearly incomprehensible.

Max’s laughter comes through the speakers, unrestrained and wild. It’s a sound you know all too well — relief, joy, triumph all rolled into one.

“Yessss!” Max shouts. “That was incredible! Thank you so much for this season!”

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips, even as the realization sinks in. He won. He really won.

The camera cuts to the Red Bull garage, where the team is in chaos — cheers, hugs, champagne spraying already. Christian adjusts his headset, leaning in to speak.

“Max, congratulations, mate. What an unbelievable season. You’ve done it again.”

“Thanks, Christian. Four in a row — unreal.”

You watch the screen as Max’s car slows on the cooldown lap, weaving slightly in celebration. You know him well enough to see it, even through the helmet — the ease in his shoulders, the grin he must be wearing.

Then his voice cuts through the radio again, this time steadier, more purposeful.

“And just so you know, I’m calling in my favor now.”

Christian’s confused laugh is audible even through the crackling radio. “Your favor? What are you talking about?”

You freeze, the air catching in your lungs.

Max chuckles, low and mischievous. “I had a bet with my girlfriend. I told her I’d win tonight. She owes me a favor, and I know exactly what I want.”

Your stomach flips, a mixture of dread and anticipation.

GP’s voice comes through, confused but amused. “Are we supposed to know what this favor is?”

“No, no,” Max says, his tone casual but firm. “But you’ll find out soon enough.”

Christian presses again, trying to pry it out of him. “Come on, Max. What’s the favor?”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels deliberate, like Max is savoring the moment.

“I want to marry her. Tonight. Right here in Vegas.”

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, your pulse racing.

GP bursts out laughing. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Max replies, his voice steady, no hint of hesitation.

You sit frozen, your heart thundering in your chest. Did he just-

“Max,” Christian says, a mixture of disbelief and laughter in his tone, “does she even know about this?”

“She does now,” Max says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

The team radio falls silent for a moment, and the TV commentary fills the void as the podium finishers begin to line up. But you barely register any of it.

Max is proposing. No — not proposing. Declaring.

The camera pans to his car as he pulls into parc fermé, the four-time World Champion. The team swarms him, pulling him from the car, hoisting him into the air. The crowd’s cheers are deafening, but all you can think about is his voice in your head.

“I want to marry her. Tonight.”

You barely notice when someone taps your shoulder, Max’s PR officer. “You should get down to the celebrations,” she says, her voice brimming with excitement. “He’ll want you there.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you stand, weaving through the sea of Red Bull personnel to get to the barriers.

***

When you finally see him, his helmet is off, his face flushed from the race and grinning so wide it’s like he’s glowing. He spots you instantly, cutting through the crowd like no one else exists.

“Max,” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“You heard me,” he says, his voice low but firm, his eyes locked on yours. “I want to marry you tonight.”

You stare at him, still trying to catch up. “You’re insane.”

He steps closer, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Probably. But I’m serious.”

“Max, you just won a world championship,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re supposed to be celebrating, not-”

“I am celebrating,” he interrupts, his voice softening. “With you. And I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve known for years that I want you. Why wait?”

Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest. “This is insane. People don’t just get married in Vegas on a whim.”

He tilts his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “People do it all the time, actually.”

“Max-”

“I love you,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I love you, and I want to start the rest of my life with you. Tonight. Right now.”

You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you — the team, the media, everyone waiting for your reaction. But in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

“Say yes,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “Say yes, and let me win you, too.”

You laugh, a shaky, breathless sound that comes out more like a sob. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

You take a deep breath, your hand tightening around his. “Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

The smile that breaks across his face is pure joy, unfiltered and blinding. He pulls you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as the team around you erupts into cheers.

“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, laughing as he spins you. “You’ve got your favor. Let’s get married.”

***

The wedding chapel is everything you expected it to be: over-the-top, tacky in the most endearing way, and bathed in flickering neon lights. A bright red Cadillac is parked out front, its headlights beaming into the frigid Vegas night. Inside, the carpet is a deep, gaudy red, and plastic flowers line the aisle. The faint smell of cigarettes lingers in the air, clinging to the cheap velvet curtains.

It’s surreal, to say the least.

“This is insane,” you mumble, standing in a side room with Lando, who’s staring at you like he’s still trying to process what’s happening.

“You think this is insane?” He replies, pointing vaguely toward the chapel. “What about the fact that you’re marrying Max Verstappen in a Vegas chapel at 3 a.m. with a guy dressed as Elvis officiating?”

You groan, adjusting the makeshift bouquet of roses someone from the Red Bull team had pulled together. “Don’t remind me.”

Lando smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t think I have to. This is going to live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life.”

You shoot him a look. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“Are you kidding?” He folds his arms, the grin never leaving his face. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Besides, who else is going to walk you down the aisle?”

Your stomach flips at the thought. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Lando softens a little, stepping closer. “Hey,” he says, his voice quieter now, “you sure about this? I mean, it’s Max. And Vegas. And Elvis.”

You bite your lip, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I’m sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes. “I love him, Lando. He’s ridiculous, and he drives me insane, but I love him.”

Lando watches you for a moment, then sighs dramatically. “Well, I guess if anyone’s crazy enough to keep up with Max, it’s you.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say dryly, but your smile betrays you.

There’s a knock on the door, and one of the chapel staff pokes their head in. “We’re ready for you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat.

Lando claps his hands together, his grin back in full force. “Alright, let’s do this.”

***

The chapel is even more ridiculous than you’d imagined. A man dressed as Elvis stands at the altar, adjusting his oversized sunglasses and strumming a guitar idly as he waits. Max is already there, looking completely at ease, as if this is just another podium ceremony.

When he sees you, his face lights up, and any lingering nerves you had melt away.

“You ready?” Lando whispers, offering his arm.

“As I’ll ever be,” you whisper back, looping your arm through his.

The music starts — a surprisingly heartfelt rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” sung by Elvis — and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

“You’re walking down the aisle to Elvis,” Lando says, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, though you’re smiling.

The walk feels like it takes forever and no time at all. Max’s gaze is fixed on you the entire time, his expression soft and unguarded in a way you don’t see often. By the time you reach him, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Lando hands you off with an exaggerated sigh. “Take care of her. She’s the only one who can put up with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Max says, smirking as he shakes Lando’s hand. “I plan to.”

Lando steps back, but not before whispering, “If you hurt her, I’ll crash you out next season.”

Max laughs, then turns back to you, his hands finding yours.

“You look amazing,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“I look ridiculous,” you whisper back.

His grin widens. “Even better.”

Elvis clears his throat, drawing your attention. “Alright, folks, let’s get this show on the road!”

The ceremony is exactly as absurd as you’d expected, and yet somehow, it feels perfect.

“Dearly beloved,” Elvis begins, his voice smooth and practiced, “we are gathered here tonight to witness the union of Max and …” He pauses, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

You realize no one ever told him your name.

“Uh,” you startle back to reality for a moment, “Y/N.”

“Max and Y/N,” Elvis continues smoothly, as if this sort of thing happens all the time.

He launches into the ceremony, peppering in car-themed metaphors and Elvis song references.

“Marriage,” he says at one point, “is a lot like a road trip. Sometimes it’s smooth sailing, sometimes you hit a few potholes, but as long as you’ve got each other, you’ll always find your way back to Graceland.”

You glance at Max, who’s barely holding back a laugh.

“Are you laughing at our wedding vows?” You whisper.

“I’m laughing at the potholes,” he whispers back.

Elvis continues, undeterred.

When it’s time for the personal vows, Max surprises you.

“I know this is all … unconventional,” he says, his hands still holding yours. “But that’s us, isn’t it? Unconventional. From the first time we met, I knew you were different. You don’t just keep up with me; you challenge me. You push me to be better, on and off the track. And you put up with all my nonsense, which is honestly impressive.”

You laugh, tears stinging your eyes.

“I promise to always be your biggest fan, even when you’re cheering for your brother,” Max continues, his voice softer now. “I promise to always fight for you, always support you, and always love you, no matter how crazy life gets.”

You’re not sure when the tears started falling, but they’re there, hot and fast.

“Your turn,” Elvis says, nodding at you.

You take a shaky breath, your voice trembling. “Max, you drive me crazy. You’re stubborn, competitive, and impossible to argue with. But you’re also kind, loyal, and the most passionate person I’ve ever met. You make me laugh when I don’t want to, and you make me believe in things I never thought I could.”

His eyes soften, and you squeeze his hands tighter.

“I promise to always stand by your side, even when you’re impossible. I promise to love you, challenge you, and never let you win a bet without a fight.”

Max grins, and the rest of the room seems to fade away.

When Elvis finally declares you husband and wife, it feels like the world stops.

“You may now kiss your bride,” he says with a flourish.

Max doesn’t hesitate, pulling you close and kissing you like the world outside doesn’t exist. The room erupts into cheers, Lando’s voice loudest among them.

When you finally pull away, Max leans his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper.

“We did it.”

You smile, your hands resting on his chest. “Yeah. We did.”

And just like that, Max Verstappen is your husband.

***

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter, chaos, and an overwhelming sense of unreality. The “reception” is cobbled together on the fly, with Red Bull team members and an assortment of drivers spilling out of limos and taxis into a nearby lounge they commandeer for the celebration.

Max stays close to you the entire time, his hand resting on your lower back or entwined with yours. Every time you glance at him, he’s already looking at you, his expression so full of love it makes your chest ache.

Eventually, you both slip away from the commotion, winding your way back to Max’s penthouse. The city hums below, the neon lights still pulsing with energy, but inside, everything feels quiet. Peaceful.

You’re curled up together in bed, the chaos of the night left behind, when Max finally speaks. “So,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence, “are you going to tell me what your favor would’ve been if you had won the bet?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, Verstappen.”

His brows lift, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, now you have to tell me.”

You tilt your head, feigning deep thought. “Well, it would’ve been something big. Something life-changing.”

His grin widens, and he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Life-changing, huh? What, were you going to make me switch teams? Retire early?”

You smirk, letting the pause hang in the air just long enough for him to grow impatient. “A ring.”

Max blinks, caught off guard for a split second. “A ring?”

“Mm-hmm.” You trace lazy circles on his chest, pretending not to notice his stunned expression. “I was going to ask for a ring. But you, being Max Verstappen, had to be a few laps ahead and beat me to it. Like usual.”

His laughter bursts out, warm and unrestrained. “You’re telling me you were going to propose to me?”

You shrug, unable to keep the playful smile off your face. “What can I say? I wanted to beat you at your own game.”

Max shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you fully. His grin is impossibly wide, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement and something deeper. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You married me,” you point out, grinning back.

“I did,” he agrees, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And I’d do it again. But I have to say, I think I prefer this version. Me proposing. You saying yes. Vegas. Elvis.”

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.” He’s still smiling, but his voice softens, turning serious. “I love you, you know. And I don’t care if it’s Vegas or a ten-minute ceremony or some ridiculous bet. This — us — feels right. It always has.”

Your teasing expression falters, replaced by something softer. “I love you, too. Even if you are insufferable.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “Insufferable and married. To you. Forever.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Forever, huh?”

“Forever,” he repeats firmly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And just for the record, I would’ve said yes if you’d proposed first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His lips brush against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m glad I won this time.”

You laugh against his mouth, your arms winding around his neck as you pull him closer. “Don’t get used to it, Verstappen.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs. Verstappen.”

The name catches you off guard, and your heart stutters in your chest. Mrs. Verstappen. It’s ridiculous and perfect and makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“You like that?” He asks, clearly noticing your reaction.

You bite your lip, nodding. “I think I could get used to it.”

His grin returns, smug and full of mischief. “Good. Because you don’t have a choice now.”

You shake your head, laughing as you lean into him, letting the weight of the night settle around you. The city lights outside keep shining, the noise of Las Vegas carrying on far below, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

And that’s all that matters.

[hamilando]

ੈ✩ daddy playlist (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : f1 gird x leclerc! reader ( platonic )

summary: the leclerc sister causing havoc in the f1 driver’s life

tw : fluff; chaos, VERY SUGGESTIVE

fc : emma chamberlain

a/n : this was requested anonymously by an anon! I hope you like it and thank you so much for supporting me ! lysm 🫶🏻 the reader is gay, so don’t like it, don’t read it 🫶🏻 also, there are a lot of suggestive jokes, so please don’t read if you are uncomfortable

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by norriz, albono, georgey and 78 others

babyn daddy's home chauffeuring these Lil girls

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lordperceval wtf are you driving a Mercedes !?

lordperceval haven't I bought like 10 ferrari's for you ?

lordperceval even Lewis is leaving Mercedes

babyn calm down, brother dearest, it's georgey's

georgey shame on all of you for catfishing in my car

albono I AS WELL also own a Mercedes 🙏

albono norris, you better be careful in track, the fuck are you sending my ugliest pictures on the net

norizz oh come on, if you are ugly, you are going to be ugly

max1 and not like you don't crash every now and then

colawithice it's the Williams' fault

chillijr that's why I am replacing you

colawithice and that's why I am replacing checko ✅

babyn YOU ARE GOING TO REDBULL!?

babyn OH MY GOD

babyn REDBULL WILL HAVE MILFS

babyn BOTH OF THE DRIVERS ARE DATING MILFS

norizz or they just have mummy issues

max1 and you have height issues

colawithice height does not matter, it's the girth

hamsandwich it's the looks 💪🏻

georgey why do you follow yn?

babyn WHY WONT HE!?

kikagnome the whole grid follows her

babyn except the drivers without talent and daddy issues

peirreneedsgas then why is Lando following you ?

norriz mate, last time I checked, I WAS THE ONE COMPETING FOR THE CHAMPIONSHIP

babyn and it was all too much for little Lando Norris

pastry we still are winning then constructors💪🏻

chillijr Ferrari will cover up

babyn only if they pass the radio in spanish from now on

georgey 😶

albono 😶

pastry 😶

lilyhye 😶

babyn LILY WHY WERE YOU OFFLINE

carmenvroom 😶

liked by lilyhye, kikagnome, alexmieux and 104 others

babyn the only man I would ever spread my legs for -

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lordperceval you are not getting out of my sight anymore

lordperceval dare you leave the Ferrari garage

babyn I will go the McLaren garage

pastry oh fuck no, BIANCA IS NOT THERE FOR EVERY RACE

babyn 😔

max1 I will join you

babyn turning people gay since 01 💪🏻

babyn but before, give me Kelly

max1 you can very much take toto, thank you

kikagnome yn, babe stick to one person yeah ?

babyn stop flaunting your relationship with pierre

pierreneedsgas SHE DIDNT EVEN SAY ANYTHING !

babyn your existence is enough

kikagnome why do I have you as my best friend again ?

babyn idk, sounds like a you problem

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babyn SHE FUCKING LOOKED AT ME !?

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norizz was it necessary to use me ?

babyn well yes, you are confused everytime

max1 thank God you will stay off Kelly now

babyn NEVER FROM MY FAV MILF

ollibear Bianca gave me her number

babyn TO YOU !?

olliebear what's so surprising ?

babyn YOU ARE WHITE AND YOUNG AND WELL A KID

olliebear YOU ARE WHITE TOO !?

babyn I AM MONEGASQUE

kingarthur sorry ollie, she failed her middle school

norizz she just looked

babyn itz the start of our marriage book, I have already made like 10 playlists

colawithice tell me you're gay without telling me you are gay

babyn you are LaTiNa

colawithice I WAS TALKING ABOUT YOU

lordperceval every week, you tell me some other girl is going to my sister in law

babyn I WANT TO BECOME A WAG

kikagnomes ITS FRIENDSHIP GOALS CHARLES

pierreneedsgas wait what

babyn calm down french fry, you both only met because of me

hamsandwich please don't, we don't need another person on the grid with an age gap

chillijr I think being in the f1 world has a mandatory check of having an age gap relationship

albono ME AND LILY are very happy 😊

georgey so are we Carlos

rebecamour Carlos, I AM ONLY ELDER TO YOU BY ONE YEAR

chillijr I didn't mean it about us !!

rebecamour Aren't you an f1 driver !?

babyn he is not, he is unemployed

chillijr I am!! But we love each other and Y/N, STOP

babyn no one tells me to stop, I LOVE BEING IN COMMAND

chillijr Charles, control your sister

lordperceval Arthur, please do

kingarthur only maman can

hamsandwich well you could show this account to her ?

babyn ALL GOOD

babyn NO NEED

babyn I AM GAY AND HAPPY

babyn NOT SHARING ANYMORE

lordperceval I love maman

kingarthur so do I 😊

liked by pierreneedgas, kikagnome and 92 others

babyn Kika, the first girl who I fell in love with, the girl who taught me how to wear heels, the girl who taught me how to make my boobs look big ( you kind of catfished pierre..?) and girl who has been with me since we were thirteen. happy 21 my love 😗😗

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kikagnomes finally I get some appreciation 🫶🏻😊

pierreneedsgas the only post I ever liked on this account

babyn says the man who got catfished

kikagnomes I AM NOT THAT FLAT

babyn OH PLEASE

kikagnomes WELL I HAVE A BOYFRIEND

babyn who will gladly lick the plate

kikagnomes PLATE !?

norizz this is the first time I have seen boobs being compared to plates

pierreneedsgas shut up norris

kikagnomes shut up lando !!

babyn love let's just continue on the gc ?

kikagnomes yes, I need to debrief as well !

pierreneedsgas debrief what ?

babyn how you only last like 3 rounds !?

pierreneedsgas HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW !? FRANSISCA !?

lordperceval 3 rounds is impressive !!

babyn not for an athlete

kingarthur sister, what more do you expect from a human ?

babyn like minimum 5 rounds ?

max1 Y/N, this is not a formula 1 race where you go for rounds with pitstops

babyn y'all are just old

hamsandwich it's not about being old !!!

babyn forgot there were 40 year olds who can't even do one round

colawithice you women don't know how hard is it to keep the hip movements going

georgey EXACLTY, WE HAVE MORE FLEXIBLE HIPS THAN SHAKIRA

carmenvroom ....

lordoerceval the silence says a lot more my mate

babyn Colapinto beans, I am more dominant in bed than you are begging to be rode

lordperceval EVERYONE TAKE THIS ON YOUR CHATS, Y/N, SISTER I HAVE NO INTEREST IN YOUR SEX LIFE

babyn also Charles, work on your stamina mate, can't even go 2 rounds without panting

lordoerceval !? ALEXANDRA !?

alexmieux ... yn, love meet me NOW

liked by kikagnome, norriz, colawithice and 134 others

babyn when mom asks what me and that girl are going to do on a sleepover

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norriz at this point, you should sign up this account for onlyfans

lordperceval Lando, stop giving my BABY SISTER such ideas

babyn what makes you think I am not already there

kingarthur excuse me !?

babyn don't worry, I just sell your feet pics 😺😊

lordperceval the best investment from my money would be getting you a psychiatrist

colawithice give me some tongue tips

babyn milf not getting satisfied ?

colawithice you wish

chillijr telling your mom for future sleepovers

babyn telling reb about your Italy escapade

rebecamour Italy what !?

babyn nothing 🤭

rebecamour Carlos !?!?

chillijr nothing my love, she is just joking

chilijr STOP TRYING TO MAKE ME FIGHT WITH HER !

babyn sorry, I just thought you liked mariella

rebecamour MARIELLA !?

norizz just informing that Carlos won't be online for some time because I saw him run after her in the paddock

pastry why are you so mean yn ?

lilyhye Mena in What?

lilyhye exposing an affair !?

alexmieux as she should !?

babyn loves, there was no affair

kikagnomes you nasty -

lilyhye those are some damn long fingers ...

babyn someone just expressed their desire @ albono

albono thank you very much and I can work on it without your interference

lordperceval why in the world have you put me there !?

babyn Alex is lucky you know ?

lordperceval what did mom even eat before giving birth to you !?

babyn dad

kingarthur Y/N !!!