#and it was so many losses and just so many hard seasons

[dianawinchester03]

Season 3, Episode 4 - Sin City

Series Masterlist

Third Person POV

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Was Y/N L/N blissfully in love with Dean Winchester? Hell yeah.

Did it feel like a dream come true that she was now sharing a relationship, a bed and a life with the man she loved all her life? Hell yeah.

But the fact that he was descending to his impending doom in less than 10 months, all because he couldn’t live without her. Was the thought of living without him coupled with the guilt of her death riding her chest and eating away at her constantly? ……hell yeah.

Everytime they would touch, cuddle, kiss. It was nagging her at the back of her mind. She wondered if Sam blamed her. If Bobby blamed her. If Jo blamed her. If Dean secretly despised her for his rash decision, somehow. Logic told her that wasn’t the case but that didn’t mean she wasn’t insecure about it.

Everytime she closed her eyes, she could see it as clear as day. She could see that there was nothing they could possibly do. Nothing to stop Dean’s faith. But was that gonna stop her from trying? It sure as hell ain’t.

She was desperate for answers, ways to get him out of this mess. So she did the last thing she expected to be doing in the middle of Bobby’s kitchen, on his desk. She attempted to do a tarot reading.

Yep, you heard that right.

When she and Jo went to the grocery a few weeks prior in New York, there was surprisingly a crystal shop a few stores away. Feeling lost and helpless, Y/N took matters into her own hands and when she stumbled upon a small store that was home to everything crystal, gemstones, tarot cards, and books. She couldn’t help but walk in.

The store was quaint and cozy, the smell of burning incense filling the air. Small, colorful tapestries covered the walls, and numerous crystal-filled jars were displayed on various tables throughout the store.

She found herself drawn to the tarot deck, she didn’t know how to use them but how hard could they be? Jo urged her to lean into her psychism so she purchased the pack, along with a few crystals, per the shopkeeper’s guidance.

The shopkeeper was a friendly woman, she was more than happy to give Y/N the supplies she needed. Explaining that using crystals and tarot cards in combination could enhance the reading Y/N wanted to do. She also explained to her how to properly ask questions, and how to focus on the energy of the cards while they were being shuffled.

She studied the deck for weeks, learning what each card meant upright and reversed. Now in current time, Y/N did exactly as told, focusing her energy with her question in mind.

Will we save Dean?

Y/N shuffled and concentrated on the energy of the cards. She closed her eyes, focusing intently on the question at hand. Her fingers worked meticulously, moving the cards in perfect synchrony.

The first card to flip out was the Sun upright. A clear definition for ‘Yes’. It can also mean, when facing setbacks, it’s a reminder that everything will work out.

Her heart swelled with hope, then she took a deep breath, shuffling the deck again. She decided to keep the next question a bit more vague.

What will the following year bring us?

She took another deep breath, focusing and shuffling the cards for a second time. She was determined to get a more positive answer this time.

What will the following year bring us?

The second card to flip out was the Hanged Man in reverse. This card upright could mean good things, but in reverse meant sadness, loss and depression. “Are you kidding me?” She grumbled, gritting her teeth. She glared at the card momentarily before.

This was a 180 turn to what she just got. Her heart dropped in her chest, her bottom lip quivering. “Just great,” She huffed, running a hand over her mouth. She glared at the deck momentarily before shuffling again. The next card to flip out was the Queen of Wands…reversed.

It felt like a big ‘fuck you’ to her face because this could indicate a lot of things. The Queen could mean that you are taking on too many tasks and you may be feeling pessimistic, temperamental and overwhelmed about a situation. With the figure being an overbearing, demanding, self righteous or downright bully feminine person with the card.

She may be unfriendly, manipulative and/or spiteful. The only person who came to mind was Ruby. She was a demon of course and y/n wasn’t too fond of her.

On the flip side, it can also point to a woman who has low self esteem, low confidence and lacks self belief. She may also be exhausted, overwhelmed and completely burnt out.

Well fuck you, too. Y/N thought to herself as she glared at the card.

Y/N swallowed thickly, giving it one last try. Her hands shook as she shuffled the deck for one last attempt. She was desperate at this point. Trying to deny the negative reading before her.

She closed her eyes once more, focusing intently. Her lips moved silently as she shuffled the cards, hoping for a different outcome this time. This time, two cards flipped out, one being the Death card and the other being the Ten of Swords, both in reverse.

The Death card that represented chaos, loss, destruction, inevitable endings and heartbreak. It can also be taken as someone that is stuck in a cycle of misfortune.

The Ten of Swords that represented the inevitable end, a sense of abandonment and hopeless despair. It symbolised that there was no hope, that the end was certain. It could indicate that someone is trying to avoid the pain of the present moment.

Y/N's eyes widened, her knuckles going white as she gripped the deck of cards in shock, her jaw clenching. She wanted to cry at this point, but she held it in. She slammed her hands down on Bobby's desk in frustration, anger coursing through her veins. “Stupid fuckin’ thing” she spat before tossing the remainder of the deck on the table, scattering it across, right below the cards she placed after they flipped.

The reading was contradictory, one card saying ‘everything is gonna be fine’ and the others said ‘bitch he’s gon die, bye’. It made her blood boil. Because what the fuck was actually gonna happen?

She muttered a string of curses to herself as she rummaged through the fridge to get a beer, the sound echoing through the house. Bobby and Dean’s ears perked up from the library upon hearing the sound of her slamming the table, cursing to herself and popping the bottle open.

The men shared a puzzled look, peering their heads slightly as she practically marched into the library, slumping on the couch. Dean furrowed his brows with concern as he watched his girlfriend storm into the library, throwing herself into the couch.

Something was clearly wrong, he could tell by the look on her face and the way she was acting right now. He turned from his spot at the table. “You alright, sweetheart?” Dean’s concerned voice broke Y/N out of her train of thought, she was mid-sip into her beer, sprawled out on Bobby’s couch.

Dean and the veteran hunter sat at his table, stacked with books, currently trying to somehow rebuild the Colt and its bullets. He noticed her distant expression and her silence, he knew her all too well and he knew something was bothering her. He could practically see her thoughts racing. She had a habit of zoning out when something was troubling her, usually her thoughts would spiral from there, making her anxious.

As hypocritical as it sounds, he just wished she would tell him what was bothering her instead of keeping it to herself. “I’m alright, sweetie” Y/N assured him with a small faux-smile as she placed her beer down, padding over to her boyfriend.

The corner of Dean's lips turned up into a smile as she approached him. He could see right through her. She was never a very good liar, she could never hide her emotions from him. Not since he's known her.

Reaching an arm out, he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her onto his lap. He placed a hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. "Bullshit" he chuckled, his eyes searching hers.

Y/N exhaled as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his hand gently rubbing her thigh. He knew it was a lie but he didn’t want to press her any further. He just wanted her to be okay, to feel okay. “That damn crystal lady ripped me off” She grumbled, attempting to make a joke out of it.

Dean's lips turned up in a smile as she rested against him. He could feel the tension in her body, it was like a palpable thing, but he didn't push. He knew exactly how hard she was trying to hide her emotions. Chuckling, he ran a hand down her back reassuringly. "Well, you should know better than to trust those crystal people, sweetheart. Not all of them are the real thing like you" he teased back, his fingers gently rubbing over her knee.

Bobby looked up from his work to see the couple wrapped up in each other. He watched as Dean continued to hold onto Y/N in his lap, caressing her back. Bobby looked at them fondly as he adjusted the clip for the Colt, the crinkles in his forehead creasing as a small frown settled on his lips.

He could see the worry etched on Dean's face as he tried to soothe her, his other hand running through her hair. "I swear to God, you two," Bobby muttered under his breath with a small smile as he continued to work on the Colt.

The couple chuckled in unison, their small laughter vibrating off of each other, though they stayed tightly wrapped up in one another. Finally, he pulled away slightly, keeping her on his lap as he spoke, his voice soft but steady. "You know you can always talk to me, right?" He asked, his knuckles caressing her cheek.

Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as she savoured his warmth, nodding. Of course, she knew she could always talk to him, she's trusted him her whole life already. But this was different, the last thing she wanted to do was worry him more, he already had enough going on.

"I know, charming," she said quietly, her hand finding his. Dean frowned but lightened up when she resumed her head to its place in his neck. As if on cue, Sam stepped into the room, making a beeline to the coffee pot in the kitchen, he gave the discarded deck of cards on the desk a glance before focusing back on the coffee pot. “Hey,” He addressed his brother and Y/N.

Sam frowned upon seeing which ones were laid out in reverse, gulping as he heart began to race.

Dean lifted his head to greet his brother with a small smile, his arm still wrapped around Y/N. She lifted her head out of the crook of Dean’s neck to lazily smile at Sam, her body still tucked into his lap. “Hey, what’s up?” Dean asked casually as he pulled Y/N closer to his body.

Sam blinked rapidly, running a hand through his hair before shrugging from the kitchen as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Might’ve found some good omens in Ohio. Dry lightning, barometric pressure drop” Sam told them as he took out the newspaper, which was tucked underneath his arm. “Well, that’s thrilling” Y/N deadpanned, earning a snort of amusement and a gentle slap to her thigh from Dean.

“Plus, a guy blows his head off in a church and another goes postal in a hobby shop before the cops take him out. Might be demonic omens” Sam added as he padded into the library, “Or it could just be a suicide and a psycho scrapbooker” Dean shrugged, “Yeah. But it’s our best lead since Lincoln” Y/N aided Sam's discovery.

They didn’t really have anything solid to go on, so even the slightest hint at demonic activity was something to look into. So Dean exhaled and asked, “Where?” Sam scratched his stomach as he sipped his coffee, “Elizabethville. It’s a half-dead factory town in the rust belt,” He told them. Both Dean and Y/N grimaced. “There’s gotta be a demon or two in South Beach,” Dean mumbled.

“Sorry, Hef. Maybe next time,” Y/N smirked, playfully ruffling his hair. Dean rolled his eyes in amusement, “Yeah, yeah. Shut up” He mocked, playfully swatting her hand and shoving her. He still had his arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her in his lap. Sam snickered before glancing over to Bobby, “How’s it going, Bobby?” Sam asked Bobby, who was trying to piece together the barrel of the Colt. “Slow” Bobby sighed.

Sam sighed also, leaning against the table as he took sips of the scorching hot liquid, eyeing the tarot cards laid out on the table. “Man, I’ll tell ya, it’s a little sad seeing the Colt like that” Dean glanced over at the Colt as Y/N nodded in agreement. “Well, the only thing it’s good for now is figuring out what makes it tick” Bobby said, “So what makes it tick?” Y/N asked curiously, tilting her head.

This earned her a sharp look from Bobby, which made her instantly recoil, playing her hands on in mock defense as he shot her a look that made her feel like a kid being reprimanded.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh a bit, finding this humorous as she shot up from his lap. He could see the amusement in Sam’s eyes as well, he found it rather funny. Y/N may be an adult in age but she still had a childish nature.

“So, if we wanna go check out these omens in Ohio…” Dean began as he got up as well, picking up his jacket, along with Y/N’s. “…you think you can have that thing ready by this afternoon?” He asked Bobby with a smirk as he helped Y/N shimmy in her jacket. The look Bobby fixed him with this time made Sam and Y/N snicker, mimicking the look he shot Y/N just a few seconds ago.

“Well, it won’t kill demons by then, but I can promise ya it’ll kill you” Bobby deadpanned, pointing the dismantled gun at Dean. Dean held his hands up, “Alright, alright” He said with amusement dancing around in his eyes, “Come on, we’re wasting daylight” He told Sam and Y/N, who nodded in agreement before they began to follow behind Dean, “See ya Bobby” Y/N waved at the him, “Hey,” He called out to them.

“You kids run into anything, anything, you call me” Bobby told them firmly, a twinge of underlying concern and love playing in his tone. Dean didn’t miss the concern so he nodded, his hand resting on Y/N’s lower back as she and Sam nodded in unison, “Don’t we always?” Dean said with a crooked grin. They could both tell the old hunter was worried, his concern and love were clear.

It was comforting, it was always a welcoming feeling to know that someone cared so deeply about them. So with that, they left.

______________________________________________

Elizabethville, Ohio

The Impala peeled into the church’s parking lot, Y/N lounged in the passenger seat, taking the last drag from her cigarette before dusting it into the ashtray Dean placed specifically for her to use whenever she tagged along with them. She left her bike back at Bobby’s to save on gas.

“Okay, we’re here, talk later. I love you, text me when you get to a motel” Sam said lovingly into the phone to Jo as Dean shut the Impala off. He sighed, giving his first baby’s steering wheel a little appreciative pat, “Let’s see what we can find out here” He stretched, running a hand over his tie. The trio were decked out in their black suits while Y/N wore a white blouse and a pencil skirt, all dressing to aid the ruse for their hunt.

Dean looked over at Y/N, his eyes watching as she finished the cigarette she was smoking, crushing the bud into the tray. A small content smile playing on his lips.

The three then climbed out of the Impala, shutting the doors behind them as they looked up at the church. They walked up the steps of the church, entering the building, looking for the priest.

-

The church was dimly lit, some light flooding through the stained glass windows that were placed on either side of the building, it was an eerie sight. The place was empty, other than the priest who was there to accommodate them when they entered.

“There’s not much left for the insurance company. It was a suicide. Saw it myself” The priest told them as they walked down the aisle of the church, between the pews. “Well, this shouldn’t take long, then” Y/N said professionally as she flicked open her notepad, taking notes as the priest gazed up at the balcony. “That’s where Andy did it”

The trio glanced up at the balcony, imagining the sight of a man ending his life. Y/N’s brows furrowed, a frown playing off her lips. He could feel the tension wafting off the priest, the tension was thick. “It’s the first time I’d seen him in weeks. He used to come every Sunday” The priest said as he shook his head remorsefully. “When did he stop?” Sam asked, his eyes darting all over the church as he stuck his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, probably about two months ago. Right around the time everything else started to change” The priest told them, Y/N nodded, pursing her lips as she scribbled it into her notepad, “Change how?” Her head shot up, “Oh, let’s just say that this town used to be a town you could be proud of. People…cared about each other” Dean and Sam exchanged a look at the priest's words, their brows furrowed with concern.

He then glanced back up at the balcony, continuing “Andy sang in the choir. And then one day, he just wasn’t Andy anymore. It was like he was-…” He trailed off, “Possessed?” Sam asked, raising a brow in suspicion. Y/N watched the priest, noticing how he hesitated to explain what he meant by possessed. “You could say that” He sighed as a flash of recognition glazed across her eyes, having been possessed unwillingly once before.

“Gambled away his money, cheated on his wife, destroyed his business. Yes, like a switch had flipped” He said with pity, shaking his head. Sam and Y/N shared a look that said, ‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ The two cocked the brows simultaneously, confirming with their facial expressions that they were thinking the same thing.

“Father, did you know the man who killed those folks in the hobby shop?” Y/N asked, her pen resting on her notepad, between her fingers. “Sure. Tony Perkins. Good man” He confirmed with a nod. Sam nodded, “Tony Perkins. Would you say that his personality suddenly changed one day too?” Sam asked, rubbing his chin with his index finger.

The priest nodded in agreement once more, “Well, I never thought about it that way but…yes. About the same time as Andy, about two months ago” The priest answered with a small shake of his head. Dean looked between Sam and Y/N, his brows furrowed and lips pursed, his mind was thinking about the possibilities of there being a demon in the town. The coincidence of these men’s sudden changes was something he needed to note.

“Well, thank you, Father. We appreciate your time” Dean said politely with a tight smile as Y/N clicked her pen, tucking it away into the inner pocket of her black blazer, along with her notepad. He politely excused himself as the trio abruptly made their way to the exit. “Two months ago we opened the Devil’s gate and all of a sudden this town turns into Margaritaville? It’s no coincidence” Y/N muttered to the boys.

“Agreed” Sam said as he and Dean nodded in agreement as they made their way out of the church and into the car, Dean opening the passenger side and letting Y/N slide in before shutting it, making his way over to the driver side of the car. As he opened his door, he replied to her as Sam hopped in the back, “Looks that way” He said as he got in and started the engine, pulling out of the church’s parking lot and toward the nearest motel.

-

Y/N sighed heavily as she opened the door to the two-bedded motel room as Sam finished up his phone call with Jo. “Alright, text me when you’re done. I love you, angel” Sam said into his phone before hanging up. The first thing Dean noticed was the large mirror placed over one of the beds. Immediately, he rushed over, claiming by tossing his bag and Y/N’s bag onto it.

Y/N rolled her eyes as Dean claimed the bed with the mirror, a scoff leaving her lips. “You’re so childish” She teased as she made her way over to the bed he claimed for them, sitting on the edge. Dean simply smirked in response, shooting her a saucy wing. She kicked off a heeled shoe, massaging her foot from where the shoe was creating a small blister. She winced from the sore, aching feeling in her foot.

“You alright?” Dean asked, leaning against the bedside stand, he watched with concern as she continued to rub her sore foot. “Yeah, just a blister from these stupid heels” She mumbled with annoyance, a small groan leaving her lips as she continued to rub. The pain was uncomfortable.

Dean pressed a kiss to her forehead, mentally noting to massage her feet for her tonight before making his way over to the door. The second he went to shut it, a familiar face emerged from the room across the narrow hallway. Dean narrowed his eyes at the man before the light bulb in his head went off, “Richie? I don’t believe it” Dean chuckled, garnering the fellow hunter’s attention.

Richie looked over from where he was counting a stack of bills, his shoulders relaxing. A grin spread on his face when he saw Dean, “Hey man, Dean Winchester, right?” He asked with pure excitement. Y/N’s ears perked up upon hearing Dean call out to the fellow Hunter as Sam looked confused. “Yeah” Dean nodded in confirmation with a smile.

Sam made his way over to the door as Dean’s smile faded when a taller light-set blonde woman then emerged from behind Richie, wearing a low hanging purple top and mini skirt, hardly covering her backside. She placed her hand on the doorframe right besides Richie’s head. “Oh, uh, this is my sister, uh…Cheryl” Richie stammered, smiling sheepishly before handing her a couple of fifties.

“Hey” Cheryl shot a sultry smile at Dean before accepting the money wordlessly before strutting off to the elevator. Y/N stifled a scoff from behind Dean, she didn’t like how that woman eyed her boyfriend. She couldn’t blame her, Dean was a beautiful man who was in peak physical condition, the only problem was he was hers. Dean shot the woman a forced smile, “Hi” He said as he tore his eyes away from the woman.

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets, both his and his brother sharing a mirrored expression of ‘…the fuck?’ “Well, you know, stepsister” Richie smiled sheepishly as Y/N pushed herself up from the bed. “You’ve always had an array of stepsisters, Richard” Y/N quipped as she strolled over to the door.

Richie chuckled, a warm smile flashing on his face as he saw Y/N approaching him. She always had to call him out, “Oh shut it” Richie said with mirth in his voice as he shot her a faux playful glare. Dean snickered before inviting Richie in, “Come on in. This is my brother, Sam. And well, you know Y/N” Richie nodded at Sam before accepting the invitation, “Hey, how you doin” Richie shook his hand as he stepped in.

“Not too bad” Sam smiled politely. “How do you guys know each other?” Sam raised his brows as Y/N shut the door behind her. “Oh, you were in college” Y/N shrugged as she took off her blazer, Dean nodded in agreement, doing the same as well as untucking his shirt from his dress pants. “It was that succubus in Canarsie, right?” Richie stated towards Dean and Y/N. “Yeah, yeah” Dean confirmed.

“Oh, man. You should’ve seen the rack on this broad. Fucking tragedy I had to gank her” Richie groaned, Y/N rolled her eyes as Richie groaned while Dean scoffed, “Yeah, that’s a real shame” Y/N said sarcastically, shooting Dean a sideways glance as she laid her blazer neatly beside her bag on the bed. Sam stifled a slightly disgusted chuckle. “Whoa, whoa, wait. Who—? Who killed her?” Dean raised a brow at Richie as he rolled up his sleeves, “If I remember, your ass was toast until we showed up” Dean gestured between him and his girlfriend.

Sam snorted as he peeled his blazer off, “Oh, I forgot what comedians you two were” Richie playfully rolled his eyes at Dean and Y/N, but there was heat behind his tone. Y/N scoffed as she straightened out her skirt, “Richie, Richie. I told you then, I’ll tell you again” Dean began as Richies phone began ringing, he fished his phone out of his jacket pocket. “You’re not cut out for this job. You’re gonna get yourself killed” Dean stated firmly as Y/N nodded in agreement.

Richie ignored them and pressed his phone to his ear, “Talk to me” He said into the phone, “Hey, FYI Winchester and L/N. Words hurt” Richie shot before strolling over to the corner of the room to finish his call. Dean and Y/N shared a look as Richie had a moment alone on the other side of the room. “So, Richie is just as arrogant as we remember” Dean mumbled, Y/N chuckled in agreement, “Yeah, what’s new?” She replied as Dean made his way over to Y/N.

“Yeah, no. It’s not a good time, baby. Later” With that, Richie hung up the phone, sinking into the couch at the corner of the room. “So, you find anything in this town either way?” Y/N asked as she helped Dean undo his tie and Sam dug around in his bag. “Oh, no, I got nothing” Richie responded with a wide grin, Dean shot Richie a hard gaze. “Oh, wait man, you mean as in demons or whatnot?” Richie realized what she meant, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees.

“Yeah” Dean stated as if it was obvious, “Yeah, no, I got nothing” Richie grinned, causing them to shake their heads in amusement. “Typical” Dean scoffed with a smirk, “What about your sister back there?” Y/N tilted her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, honestly? She definitely had the devil in her. But she wasn’t no demon. You know what I’m saying?” Richie smirked proudly.

Sam grimaced at Richie’s innuendo with Y/N shaking her head with a scoff. “We get it” She grumbled, clearly not amused while Dean’s face displayed his clear unamused expression. “Right…” Richie mumbled sheepishly, realizing they weren’t playing around before pushing himself up from the couch, “Seriously, the church guy, the hobby-shop guy, they were lunch meat by the time I got there” He stated.

“Hey, maybe they were possessed, but I can’t prove it.” Richie sighed, “Yeah, that’s where we are too” Sam frowned, “You know, let’s just say the demons are possessing people in town, you know, raising hell—“ Sam began as Dean sat on the bed to take off his shoe and Richie leaned on the nightstand, nibbling at his fingernails. “Yeah, but why would the demon blow his brains out?” Y/N questioned, settling next to Dean.

“For fun? You know, he wrecks one body, moves to another. You know, like taking a stolen car for a joyride” Richie suggested. “Anybody else left in town that fits the profile? You know, nice guy turn douche, still breathing?” Dean asked, “There’s Trotter” Richie told them, “Who’s that?” Sam raised a brow as he rolled up his sleeves, “Well, he used to be head of the rotary club and then people say he turned bastard all of the sudden.” Richie told them as Dean noticed the ‘Magic Fingers’ massage machine beside their bed.

He then began to dig into Y/N’s bag, looking for quarters. “Brought in the gambling, the hookers. He practically owns this whole town” As Richie spoke, he placed the stack of coins on-top of the ‘Magic Fingers’ machine, shooting her a sly smirk. Y/N shot him a smirk in return, a mischievous glint in her eyes before returning her gaze towards Richie.

“So, he went from playing golf to being the town pimp…” Y/N quipped dryly, arching her brow. “Pretty much” Richie chuckled. “You know where we can find him?” Sam questioned, “Oh, he’ll be at his bar in a few hours” Richie told them.

-

The Impala swerved into the parking lot of Trotter’s bar. For what was supposed to be a boarded up factory town, the bar sure was lively on the outside. The trio hopped out of the car with confused faces and stood outside of the bar, the sounds of the lively music within the bar wafting out into the parking lot. Dean stood with Y/N, their arms touching while Sam stood facing them.

“I thought you said this was some boarded up factory town” Dean asked Sam and he handed them each their bags. “It is. Or at least, it’s supposed to be”Sam confirmed, accepting his bag from Dean along with Y/N. The parking lot was filled with other vehicles of varying style and make. “Well what are we waiting for? Let’s do some research” Dean cheered, intertwining his finger’s with Y/N’s.

The three of them made their way into the bar, the blaring music and bright lights hitting them the instant they opened the doors. There was quite the crowd within the bar, a large dance floor, quite packed for it just being only 3 pm in the evening.

The three of them scanned the crowd before noticing Richie at the bar. “Woahh, Richie, look at you” Y/N snorting, gesturing to Richie’s satin shirt as they approached him. “Heyy. I’m bringing satin back, baby” He winked at her, “Oh, you like this? Try Thai Silk. Canal Street.” He smirked, puffing up his chest. “You’d have to pay $300 for threads like these, easy. Of course to me, forget about it” He boasted, Sam rolled his eyes at his cocky demeanor.

“And how much is ‘forget about it?’” Sam sassed, “Ahh, forget about it” Richie shot back with a grin, “That’s Trotter over there” He pointed to the other side of the bar, directly at an older balding man in an all black suit. “He sits there all night. Can’t touch him” He informed them. “So, what do we do now?” Y/N asked as Dean scanned the bar with his eyes, landing straight on two empty barstool.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m gonna do a little investigating with my ass on a stool” Dean quipped, tugging his girlfriend’s arm, “Me and that bartender over there, we got a little something-something lined up for later, so mittens off, Winchester” Richie warned, pointing to the pretty woman behind the bar who was hashing out drinks.

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender at Richie’s warning as Y/N snickered. "I don't think you have to worry too much there, Rich. I’m a taken man" Dean boasted, snaking an arm around Y/N’s waist. He smirked widely as she playfully rolled her eyes, placing a hand on his chest.

Richie’s face lit up with shock, “You’re kidding? Man, I knew you had a thing for each other even back then. I thought you were just banging” He laughed as Dean and Y/N chuckled, Sam snickered to himself. “Alright, I gotta hit the head. Release the hostages. And congratulations, man. Be back in a few” Richie patted Dean on his shoulder and with that, he left.

“No way he can get a girl like that” Dean scoffed as they all maneuvered over to the bar, “Agreed. I mean, look at that, you can fit that ass on a nickel” She lusted, earning a side eye from Dean, she just shot him a saucy wink. Loving the way he openly got jealous. “You think so?” A familiar voice said next to them, revealed to be the priest from earlier they met at the church. He was currently nursing a glass of whiskey.

They whipped around to face the priest, all of them trying not to look too surprised upon seeing him. Y/N looked like a deer in headlights, Sam bursted out laughing at the fact Y/N had been caught by a priest while Dean covered his mouth, knowing she would be embarrassed. “Oh, crap. Sorry, Padre” Y/N laughed awkwardly, but the priest laughed genuinely. “I knew you guys would find your way here. They all do” He smiled at them.

“No offense, but…what are you doing here, Father?” Sam asked curiously. “Like it or not, you go where your flock is.” The priest said as the bartender approached, “Plus the clergy drinks for free” She smirked, pouring him some more whiskey. “True. And a certain bartender owes me a confession” The priest shot back, “Not in this lifetime, Father” The bartender flashed him a wink, holding up her shot.

“What’s your specialty?” Dean asked casually with a smile. The bartender gave him a sultry smile before leaning over the counter, allowing her top to ride down lower. “I make a mean hurricane” She smirked. “And I throw a mean right hook” Y/N snapped, pulling Dean behind her as she narrowed her eyes at the bartender with heat, clenching her jaw.

Sam snorted, trying to contain his laughter while Dean gave the bartender a cocky grin, loving how Y/N was possessive of him. He would be lying if he said he didn’t find her jealousy and protectiveness hot. The bartender’s eyes widened at Y/N’s remark, she gave her a nasty look before plastering on a fake smile. “I’m sure you can, honey”

“Three beers, please...honey” Y/N cut her off, shooting her a faux smile with her last word. The boys stood with amused faces as the bartender rolled her eyes, annoyed, before pulling out three beers and opening them, putting all three down on the counter before turning to attend to other customers after Y/N handed her a twenty and insisted she kept the change.

Y/N then turned to Dean and tugged him at his sleeve, “What’s your specialty?” She scoffed bitterly, mocking his words towards the bartender as she sipped her beer. Dean chuckled at her actions and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him and nipping at her earlobe, “Jealousy’s a good color on you, baby” He whispered huskily.

“Don’t be cocky” Y/N chided, swatting at his chest before bringing her hands up behind his neck and wrapping her arms around them. “Not cocky when it’s true” Dean retorted, leaning in to peck lightly at her neck. Sam groaned in disgust behind them, “Guys. Can you not?” He whined.

They pulled apart at the sound of Sam’s protest, Y/N grinning sheepishly while Dean just rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up. I’m allowed to enjoy my girlfriend” Dean told him. Sam flipped him the bird, his eyes scanning the bar. He almost dropped his beer, smacking Dean on his shoulder when he noticed a patron with a gun.

“Hey!” He drew their attention to the man who raised his gun at a fellow friend, shooting him directly in the middle of his forehead in the crowded bar. The three of them gawked at the bloody scene, before bursting into action. The bar-goers screaming in shock and dismay. The whole place was chaotic after the gunshot, everyone screaming with terror, fleeing for their lives.

Dean and Y/N tackled the armed man to the floor when he attempted to off himself by pressing the gun beneath his chin as Sam quickly pulled out his holy water from his jacket, dousing the man’s face in it. The man gasped in shock when the holy water hit his skin. It didn’t seem to have any effort on him. “What are you doing?!” He exclaimed, tears rolling down his puffy eyes.

“He slept with my wife. The bastard slept with my wife” The man gritted his teeth, glaring at his friend’s bloody corpse with hatred, shaking with anger. The three shared bewildered looks, “Somebody call 911!” Sam shouted, the bartender from earlier did just that as he made eye contact with Trotter. Glaring at him as Y/N and Dean held the murderer down.

-

Police were now cuffing up the suspect, escorting him to the swat car as Sam, Dean and Y/N say at the bar, talking amongst themselves. “Too many cops, I say we bolt” Sam suggested, “Amen” Y/N agreed, “Just be cool.” Dean whispered as he kept his eye on the murderer. “Poor jerk. Only thing possessing him was a sixer of Pabst” Y/N sighed as Dean nodded in agreement.

“So what’s the deal, then? People in this town getting possessed or not?” Sam muttered. “I don’t know. Maybe it is just what it is. Ya know? A town full of scumbags” Dean shrugged. “Yeah, maybe” Sam and Y/N sighed in unison. “You guys ready for your mugshots?” A local cop said to them as he approached, a wide grin on his face. They almost shit themselves, thinking he was serious until they saw him smile. “Photographer’s gonna be here in a few to take your picture for the local paper” He informed them.

“Be an honor officer, what a thrill” Dean responded with fake enthusiasm as the cop walked away. “Yup, time to go, fellas” Y/N said quietly as she snatched both brothers by their arms. A thought suddenly crossed Dean’s mind as Y/N hauled them out of the bar, “Wait a second, wait a second, wait-”

“What?” Sam and Y/N groaned in unison, stopping in their tracks and whipping around to face him. “Where’s Richie?” Y/N and Sam stared with dumbstruck faces as realization dawned on them that they did not know where Richie was. “Dammit” Y/N muttered, looking back to the bar while Sam cursed under his breath.

-

The next day. They were now at another bar. Sam and Dean sat at a table while Y/N was at the counter, ordering beers. Dean was calling Richie’s phone nonstop, “You get onto him, yet?” Y/N asked as she passed over to their table, placing down one beer for Sam, one for Dean and one for her.

“No, it’s going straight to voicemail” Dean replied, frustrated while Sam sipped his drink as Y/N sat next to Dean with an equally worried expression. “How many times we gotta tell Richie he’s gonna get in trouble” Dean scoffed, flipping his phone shut. “Dean, Y/N. You guys are assuming he’s missing. I mean, maybe he just bailed” Sam suggested, trying to assure them.

“He’s a moron” Dean shot him a look. “A stupid, sweet moron. But he’s not a coward, he wouldn’t just bail” Y/N added, gently rubbing Dean’s back. “I gotta go find him” Dean came to the conclusion, turning around in his chair to get his jacket. “Alright, you two go. Meanwhile, I think I’m gonna trail this Trotter guy” Sam said, looking around the bar as Y/N sipped her beer.

“Yeah?” She questioned, “Yeah. I don’t know. Something about the way he looked at me last night. Maybe there is something going on here” Sam said with a thoughtful look. Dean and Y/N shrugged in agreement.

______________________________________________

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

A bullet from the Colt went through a large brown sand bag, the bullet being fired by Bobby Singer in an open range near his home. The bag had a giant red target in the middle, the veteran hunter narrowly missing its target. He fired again, hitting the other end of the bag. Missing the target by a long shot.

This surprised him and indicated the gun still had a hell of a lot of fixing to be made to it. "Balls" Bobby cursed loudly, using a metal rod to sand the edge of the gun before aiming again. Once again the bullet missed, flying too far left, "Damn it" Bobby cursed once again. He lowered the gun, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

Unbeknownst to him, he was being watched by a particular someone.

“Cute piece” Ruby appeared, a smirk plastered across her face as she narrowed her eyes at Bobby. He didn’t recognize her, instantly putting his guard up. “Who are you?” He asked gruffly. “Won't stop a demon, I’d that’s what you think” She chuckled with a sly smile, referencing the defunct gun as she held her hands up in mock surrender. “How the hell would you know?” Bobby asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes to slits at her.

“Oh, I don’t know..” She trailed off, lowering her head and allowing her eyes to flicker shut for a split second before reopening them, revealing her true demonic nature. Bobby tensed when she revealed her true nature, quickly and stealthily tightening his grip on the Colt. “Call it an educated guess” Ruby smirked, “Well ain’t I lucky then. Found a subject for a test fire” Bobby retorted, waving the Colt.

Ruby chuckled darkly, “Luck had nothing to do with it. But hey,” She opened her arms out, “By all means, take your best shot” She taunted, stepping in front of the target bag. Bobby clenched his jaw, aiming the gun at her, his finger hovering on the trigger, his hand shaking slightly. Ruby scoffed, rolling her eyes at his hesitance. “Are you gonna stand there like a pantywaist or are you gonna shoot—?”

Her taunting was cut off when Bobby shot her point blank. She gasped, staring down at the gaping hole in her chest before flicking a glare at Bobby. “Ouch. This smarts a little” She scoffed again, rolling her eyes at the fact that the bullet did nothing when it was supposed to be a gun that could kill anything.

Bobby’s lip trembled with fear as Ruby took a step forward, “What do you want?” He snapped, “Peace on earth. A new shirt” She quipped, gesturing to the bullet hole in her chest. “Now, do you want me to help you out with that gun or not. Hmm?” She smirked as Bobby’s eyes widened with shock at the fact that a demon was willing to help him.

There had to be a catch, of course.

______________________________________________

Elizabethville, Ohio

Sam followed Trotter back to a skeevy motel room owned by Trotter on the other side of town, slowly making his way down the dim hallway. He pressed his back to the wall, near the door that led to Trotter’s office, peering slightly. His eye caught an unfamiliar man, wrapped in leather speaking with Trotter.

He jumped back slightly when his phone suddenly began ringing, quickly fishing it out of his pocket to answer it. “Dean?” He pressed it to his ear, whispering into the phone. “Sammy” Dean’s voice came through the receiver. “Yeah, I can’t talk right now”

Dean and Y/N were driving back to the bar, after tracking Richie’s GPS to a local house. They found him dead in the house which belonged to the bartender, who’s name was Casey, basement. Distraught and filled with grief for a fallen friend, Dean and Y/N came up with a game plan in mind. Now calling Sam to aid.

“You okay, Sammy?” Y/N asked, concerned. “Yeah, I’m fine, man. Just meet me at the bar in 20 minutes, okay?” He whispered back, earning a confused look from them. “Sam?!” Dean and Y/N called out but the line went dead. "Damn it, Sam" Dean huffed, shaking his head, and he tossed his phone into Y/N's lap. "That boy, I swear" She muttered under her breath while Dean drove the car, focusing on the long road ahead. “He didn’t deserve that” Dean sighed, shooting y/n a glance.

“No, he didn’t.” She agreed, a deep frown playing on her face. “But, we’re gonna take the bitch down” She tried to look on the brighter side of things. Dean pursed his lips and nodded slowly, “Yeah, you’re right” he faintly smiled, placing a hand on her thigh. Her hand found his as she leaned her head against his shoulder, discussing the plan.

-

They finally made it to the bar, Dean was in his place right at the counter as a woman approached him. Y/N was positioned at a window, outside the bar. Her eyes locked on him and the woman. Y/N watched on as the woman in question chatted up Dean, giggling loudly and placing her hand on his arm. She rolled her eyes, leaning her head against the window pane with irritation.

“I gotta tell you…every woman in this place…they wanna eat you up” The dark haired woman said in a sultry tone towards Dean. The Hunter wanted to vomit on the spot as she spoke but he kept the facade up, smirking in response. “Well, hey, anybody could’ve tackled that guy” he chuckled deeply. “And wrestled the gun away. Prevented mass murder” He forced himself to face her, tapping the table twice to indicate to Y/N her signal to storm in.

On cue, Y/N entered the bar moments later at the signal. Her eyes hardened as she caught the sight of a woman practically draped over a very much taken Dean, her jaw clenching in faux-annoyance. “You son of a bitch!” She exclaimed, theatrically, storming over to them before snatching the woman’s hand off of her boyfriend.

The bartender from yesterday’s head snapped over to them, taking in the scene.

Both the woman and Dean’s eyes widened simultaneously, their heads whipping around to look at Y/N. “Get off him, Lady” Y/N growled fiercely, shooting the woman a vicious glare. The woman immediately raised her hands in defence, “Woah, woah, woah” she protested, standing quickly and stepping back. Dean held back a smirk at how easily Y/N intimidated this unsuspecting woman.

She scurried off as Y/N turned to Dean with a nasty glare, her eyes flickering over to the bartender who was looking at them intently with her arms crossed. “Again?! Really?! After everything, you go and cheat on me again?!” She exclaimed, shoving the Hunter by his chest, keeping up the charade.

“Baby, listen—I’m—” Dean started but was cut off by a scoff from Y/N. “No, don’t ‘baby’ me. You sleazeball” She sneered, forcing herself to cry. She thought of the most random things. Her father’s death, John’s death, that vision she had with Sam dying, the possibility that she couldn’t save Dean from going to hell. Anything to make her cry at that very moment.

But she was doing a damn good job at it. Dean’s heart dropped at the sight of real tears in her eyes, he never liked seeing her cry, he had to remind himself that it was for the plan so he continued it up.

But he hated it, he hated seeing her hurt, real or not. “Princess, I really didn’t mean to—“ he continued in the same tone, reaching to touch her but Y/N’s hand sprung up and slapped him across his face, causing his head to snap to the side. He looked back at her dumbfounded and slightly in shock, a red handprint forming on his cheek and Y/N could’ve sworn she saw genuine hurt in his eyes. She had to really sell it.

“Bullshit. Every time, you give that same stupid excuse” She cried out, “I’m done, DONE!!” With that, she stormed out of the bar. “Y/N! Wait—!” Dean called out after her as she walked out but she ignored him, going for the impala across the road. He cursed loudly and turned his attention to the bartender, the sting of the slap just starting to set in.

He winced when he tried to move his face, but he knew it was for the plan. The entire thing was an act. He just hoped the bartender would take the bait. The bartender stared at him in shock, the display she had just witnessed had completely thrown her off guard. “Wow,” she said out loud, “That was a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?” She continued with a scoff.

“Yeah, tell me about it” Dean chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood awkwardly in place. The bartender looked him up and down before leaning against the counter. “What do you say I make you feel better?” She purred, giving him a sultry look while leaning closer. “Really?” He faked a smile, “I could’ve sworn you had something going with a guy, you know, about yay tall, wears a sweatsuit?” He asked, referring to Richie.

The bartender froze and her eyes widened for a split second before quickly recovering with a confused look. “Who?” She asked with faux-confusion. Dean raised a brow at her, this sending off all the red flags in his head. “No? My mistake. What do you say, you and me grab a drink after your shift?” He suggested, plastering on a forced lustful smile.

The bartender grinned, leaning further over the counter in an attempt to show herself off, “I say why wait, when we can go right now” She flirted, twirling a strand of her dark locks around her finger. Bingo, Dean thought to himself. “I like the way you think” he chuckled darkly, placing a finger up, “Just let me freshen up” He excused himself to the bathroom when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, he had a feeling it was probably a text from Y/N.

Once in the bathroom, he quickly locked the door and took the phone out of his pocket. It was his intuition that was right, it was her.

‘Hope I didn’t slap you too hard :(. Either way, I’ll give you kisses to make up for it xx’ Her text read.

A genuine smile appeared on Dean’s lips at the text and he chuckled quietly to himself at her message. “Sap,” He muttered to himself. He typed a quick reply.

‘Nah. I’m fine. I will accept the kisses as payment though’

He chuckled again when she sent back a series of kissy-face emojis and pocketed his phone, quickly checking his appearance in the mirror. His phone buzzed again.

’Charming? Be safe’ She texted again, frowning to herself as she rubbed her forehead. Currently seated in the driver's seat of the Impala in the parking lot. He smiled to himself and sent back another quick reply,

‘Ditto’ he could practically see her rolling her eyes at him in his head so he sent another one for good measure, ’I love you’

’Ditto’ She responded, causing him to roll his eyes fondly now. He pocketed his phone once again and made his way back to the bar, the bartender still waiting for him.

“You’re back” She grinned as he approached the counter, “Thought you had a change of mind on me, handsome” She purred quietly. “Nah, I never change my mind about a beautiful lady,” He assured her, flashing her one of his charming smiles. The bartender ate it up and Dean internally felt like gagging at his own flirting.

-

Y/N was residing in the driver’s seat, smoking a cigarette while tapping on the steering wheel to the Impala with her other hand, waiting for Dean to exit the bar with Casey, the bartender, around his arm.

It didn’t take long for him to finally emerge from the bar with the woman beside him, and she was even more handsy in person, leaning her head on his shoulder and hanging off of his arm. Y/N’s right hand tightened around the wheel, her jaw clenching at the display as she flicked the cigarette out the window.

“Damn, he’s good” she muttered to herself, slightly impressed at the fact he got her out of there in less than ten minutes but she was mainly annoyed.

Despite knowing that it was all an act, she just couldn’t get the feeling of jealousy out of her system. She was the only one able to hang off of Dean, to touch him so casually and be close to him like that. She was supposed to be the only one to get that kind of treatment from the Hunter and no one else.

“Focus” She snapped herself out of her thoughts when Dean and Casey hopped into Casey’s car. As soon as her car peeled out of the parking lot, she started up Baby’s ignition and began following behind her subtly.

-

Meanwhile, Trotter and his goon finally left the office, giving Sam fully access to go and snoop now. He bent the corner of the hallway once it was clear and pushed open the door to his study. He quickly made his way over to the desk, searching through each and every file he could find. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, so he made sure to read every one and every file before putting it back into place, making sure to memorise its current place.

Sam didn’t hear when the goon came back in, immediately, the goon swung on him. The Hunter dodged his attack with ease and expertise, kneeing him in the stomach. He then peeled his jacket over his head to blind him and the goon let out a heavy grunt as Sam began knocking blow after blow in his ribcage.

He was so focused on the man in front of him, that he didn’t realise Trotter came back into the room behind him until it was too late. A gun was now pressed to the side of his neck, “What are you doing here?” Trotter demanded. Sam froze, the goon on the floor, groaning in pain as he tried to get back up again, fixing his jacket. “I think maybe you know” Sam retorted, still facing away from Trotter.

“Yeah? Well I think I’m calling the cops” Trotter threatened, this confused Sam because why would a possible demon be threatening to call the police? “Cops?” Sam grunted, puzzled. “Breaking and entering. Assault. You’re in a peck of trouble, my friend” Sam felt the gun pressed further against his neck at the threat, gulping slightly, “Uh-uh- well I think I could probably explain-“ In a swift motion, he swung around and snatched the gun away from Trotter, now aiming it at the culprit and his goon.

“Alright, back up” Sam warning, his eyes narrowed at them. The goon took a cautionary step back, “Moneys in the safe, take it an go” Trotter panicked, pointing to the safe in the corner. “I don’t want your money” Sam scoffed as he took out his flask of holy water from his jacket. “I just gotta be sure” He stated, his breath hot. He then uncorked it, his gun still aimed at Trotter before splashing him in the face with the holy water.

Trotter gasped, but not from pain, from shock. He seemed to have no reaction to the holy water. Sam tilted his head with a raised brow before splashing the goon with the water, now all men were puzzled. “What kind of psycho are you?!” Trotter exclaimed. “Oh god” Sam gasped, now realizing he attacked and held up the wrong man. “Uh…I’m sorry” Sam chuckled awkwardly. “I think this was just a minor misunderstanding. Yeah?”

The men were speechless as Sam rambled, “Okay, um, how bout I just leave?” He cleared his throat, before dislodging the revolver to Trotter’s gun and emptying the bullets in his hands. “I’ll take these” he chuckled nervously, flipping the revolver back in, “I’ll, uh- I’ll leave this for, uh…” he placed the gun down on the ground before back out towards the door. “You, uh. Have a nice day?” He smiled sheepishly.

Neither of the men answered so Sam turned hot on his heels, grimacing as he sped walked away. Once he was in the hallway, he exhaled deeply and slapped a hand to his forehead in a facepalm movement. He just beat the crap out of some random dude. “God, Dean and Y/N are gonna have a field day with this” he muttered to himself.

He quickly pulled out his phone, calling Dean but it went straight to voicemail. He then called Y/N, who was currently waiting outside nearby Casey’s house while, surprise surprise, smoking a cigarette. She parked a couple houses away, ensuring not to draw any attention to them while the possessed bartender escorted Dean into her house.

She immediately picked up, “Hey, did you find anything?” She answered, dusting the ash into the ashtray. “Yeah, uh,” Sam paused, trying to find the best way to go around this, “I may have just beat the crap out of some rich douche, thinking he was a demon” he admitted with a cringe. Y/N snorted in amusement, almost choking on the smoke.

“That’s what we were trying to tell you before you hung up on us Han Solo, that bartender who was flirting with Dean last night, she’s the demon. She’s got the concealing mark on her hand and everything” Y/N chuckled as she explained to Sam, crushing the butt of the cigarette in the tray.

Sam cursed loudly, facepalming as he exclaimed, “And you didn’t think to fucking mention that sooner?” Sam exclaimed in an accusatory tone, facepalming again. Y/N scoffed sarcastically, “Dude, I did, you just weren’t listening” she retorted. “So where’s Dean?” He asked. She then proceeded to give him a rundown of the plan they concocted from the bar to now before he asked. “Wait, wait, wait, you said the concealing mark. You mean that thing Ruby has?”

“Mhmm” She hummed, clicking her tongue. “Okay, I can’t see the damn thing with my own two eyes. How’d you manage to find it?” He questioned, rubbing forehead. Y/N smirked slightly, “Psychic, remember?” Sam rolled his eyes again, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Matilda. Come pick me up”

“Okay, first, that’s a really old reference, but I’m on my way” She chuckled as she hung up, shooting Dean a quick text before peeling out to pick Sam up.

-

In the current time, Dean was in the demon’s/Casey’s basement. Her back was turnt to him as he read the text from Y/N. He smirked slightly, thankful that she was on her way to pick him up. He felt as though he had this under control so he quickly shot her a subtle thumbs up along with,

‘Meet you back at the bar, I love you’ and locked his phone, shoving it back into his pocket.

When Casey turned, Dean had a charming smile pasted on but his eyes were narrowed, “Looks like the maid’s day off” he commented smoothly. A devilish smirk appeared on Casey’s lips at the comment, a laugh escaping her, “Looks like it” she agreed, crossing over to the Hunter. “I’d offer you a drink, but I feel like we should just get right to it” she purred in a seductive tone, closing the gap between them with a sly smile. Dean resisted the urge to shudder in disgust. “Get right to what?” He asked with a raised brow, playing coy.

She then leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Dean stiffened and immediately shoved her back harshly. She was taken by surprise, a loud gasp leaving her lips as she fell ass first onto a mat, which had a devil’s trap painted below it. “Oh I’m sorry, that was an accident” he feigned ignorance, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Did I hurt ya, sweetheart?” The demon gritted her teeth at him as her eyes flashed over black.

“Is that how you treat a lady? No wonder your little girlfriend left that print on your cheek” She growled, but Dean remained unphased. “Oh, I forgot to mention. Richie was a friend of mine.” He glared at her with hatred. “When my girl reminded me that we could trap the GPS on his cell phone, we swung by earlier. Gave him a proper burial” He explained as he paced menacingly. “It’s better than rotting in some skank’s basement” He spat with venom in his tone. She attempted to lunge at him but was confined to the trap beneath the mat,

This amused him, seeing her struggle, he stepped closer to her so that he towered over the demon before lowering himself to peel the mat back, revealing the devil’s trap Y/N spray painted beneath. “Oops. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Ain’t that a buzzkill?” He mocked her. “Sorry, sister. But you’re going back to where you came from” He said as he took a book out from his jacket with the exorcism incantation inside. “I don’t think so” The demon smirked as Dean began chanting, she allowed her eyes to flicker shut.

Immediately after, Dean began to sense something off. A harsh gust of wind came through the basement, the chandelier above began to jingle. Dean tried again, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-“ but his pages began ripping out of the book on its own, scattering across the now shaking room. You’d swear it was an earthquake.

He cursed loudly, the book being ripped from his hands with the wing as he stumbled on his feet, nearly falling over at the violent trembling. “The fuck?!” he exclaimed in shock, eyes wide as he gawked at the demon. The top of the concrete ceiling to the basement began caving in, loads of cinder blocks falling down in the pathway, blocking the only entrance and exit to the basement.

He was now alone with the demon, trapped as she sat back on the mat like a throne. She chuckled menacingly at him, “What’re you laughing at you black-eyed bitch, you’re still trapped” He snapped at her. “So are you. Bitch.” she teased in a mocking manner.

He scowled at her as cursed under his breath, glaring at her before digging into his pocket to retrieve his lighter. His eyes darted around the room, noticing the candles on the wall holders. He paced over and hovered the naked flame over the wick, allowing the wax to melt slightly so he could light the candle.

He then stalked over to scattered pages, looking for the specific page with the exorcism incantation but coming up short. “Lose something?” The black-haired demon mocked, a nasty smirk across her face. Dean chuckled dryly, glancing over his shoulder, “All you fucking demons have smart mouths” He scoffed, focusing back to finding the page.

“It’s a gift” She quipped, “Yeah, well. Let’s see if you’re smiling when I send your dusty as back to hell” He shot back, “Without your little exorcism book?” She feigned innocence as she blinked, “Hey, go ahead” She urged him. Dean scowled at her, standing tall as he whipped his lighter shut and tucked it safely into his pocket. Placing the lit candle on the ground. His eyes narrowed in aggravation the closer he got to the demon.

“Spiritus immundus, ungo-” The words got caught in his throat when he lost all confidence, not knowing the incantation by head. “Having a little trouble there, sport” The demon quipped. Dean clenched and unclenched his jaw, clearing his throat before trying again. “Spiritus immundus, ungo, persona tote…” He was plain out speaking gibberish at this point, puffing his cheeks out when he couldn’t find the words.

“Nice try, but I think…you just ordered a pizza. Guess you should’ve paid more attention in Latin class” She grinned. “Hey, I don’t know what you’re smiling about” Dean grinned back, pointing to the devils trap. “You’re not going anywhere,” he reminded her. “And apparently, neither are you” She quipped, “Yeah, but I’ve got people coming for me.” He smirked, pacing over to what seemed like a window.

“And uh, they did pay attention in Latin class” He snarked, flicking his lighter on to shine it upwards towards the window. “Oh right, Sam and Y/N. Everyone says Sam is the brains of the outfit. And y/n’s the beauty” She stated. “Everyone?” Dean asked confused, “Sure. You Winchester boys are famous, and your friend Y/N is quite the star. Not Lohan famous or Beyoncé stardom, but, you know” She shrugged, smiling menacingly.

“But you’re the brawn” She mocked, rolling her eyes at the Hunter. “I’m a lot more than just the brawn, sweetheart” He smirked, “That’s still flattering. I’ll be sure to let them know when they get here” He retorted cockily. “If they show up first” The demon chuckled, unfazed by the cocky Hunter. Dean’s head whipped around, his smirk faltering. “What? You thought I was flying solo? You shouldn’t underestimate, Dean. It might be the death of you” She scoffed.

His deathly glare didn’t falter as he paced towards her slowly, “You can give me hard eyes all you want but the fact remains, we just have to wait and see who shows up first. The Calvary or the Indians” She said menacingly as Dean clenched his jaw.

______________________________________________

Y/N pushed the door inwards to the bar, allowing Sam in first. The younger Winchester mumbled a low ‘thanks’, his hands stuffed in his pocket as he stepped in. The eyes began scanning the bar for Dean, coming up empty.

He said he was gonna be here, he was supposed to already be here. It was supposed to be a quick exorcism and out. “Maybe he’s not here yet?” Y/N questioned, sensing her friend’s unease as he looked around frantically. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “Hey, you worry too much. He’s probably fine,” She reassured him.

He nodded hesitantly in agreement, moving towards the bar to order some drinks. She followed after him, making sure to stay close by as he leaned against the bar. The two of them sat, making conversation as a woman eyed the younger Winchester. The same woman who was eyeing Dean earlier before y/n came in and they did their whole act.

“You seem tense” The woman said towards Sam in a sultry tone. Sam turned to look at her, blinking in surprise as Y/N raised a curious brow. “I know a sure-fire way to relax” She smirked, her eyes raking down Sam’s body. The younger Winchester shifted a bit uncomfortably and Y/N immediately piped up, “He’s taken, lady”

The woman’s eyes flickered to Y/N, the smirk on her lips falling at the comment as she examined your appearance, “And you would know because?” She quipped snootily. Y/N clenched her jaw, her grip tightening around her beer bottle. “You know, what-?!” She made an attempt to hop off of her stool and towards the woman to aid her brother’s defense but Sam quickly used his body to block the way.

He gave her a pleading look, silently begging her to calm down. However, he was met with her glaring daggers at the woman across from them. Her teeth grinded together, knuckles turning white as she clenched the beer bottle and she was about to say something snarky until her phone began to vibrate in her pocket.

‘Trapped with the demon bitch, says she’s got back up. Be on the lookout’ Dean’s text read as she pulled out her phone.

She quickly read the text, her heart suddenly dropped in her gut. “Son of a-“ she cursed under her breath, locking her phone before shoving it into her pocket. “What?” Sam asked, noticing the shift in her demeanor. “Dean’s in trouble” She blurted out, eyes blown wide with worry. Sam’s face dropped as he cursed under his breath. The two shared a silent look, paying their tab before bursting out of the bar. Now headed back over to Casey’s house.

-

Dean sat on the ground of the basement, typing away on his phone as he warned his girlfriend. “Why don’t you relax?” The demon said mockingly, “Why don’t you kiss my ass?” Dean shot back with a harsh glare, she smirked in return. “Why Dean, you’re a poet. I had no idea” She teased sarcastically, leaning back on her hands as she sat across from him.

“Look, we won’t have any effect on the outcome of this. We might as well be civil” She suggested, causing Dean to scoff. “Civil, huh? Killing Richie, that’s was-? That was civil? Guy was harmless” He snapped, “That knife he pulled on me…didn’t look so harmless” She sneered. “A knife wouldn’t hurt you” Dean rolled his eyes.

“No, but it would damage this body. And Casey has such a fine body, I wouldn’t wanna see it ripped” The demon said almost as if she cared, this made Dean chuckle dryly. “A demon with a heart. Ah. Well, you know, there’s a bunch of dead people in town that might disagree with you” he quipped. “Hey, I didn’t pull any triggers” she smirked in return.

“Yeah, you did something.” Dean scoffed, his eyes shooting around the room from one end to another. “You wanna know what I did? What I really did?” She jeered, earning a curious look from Dean. “I had lunch,” she grinned. “Lunch?” Dean raised a brow, “Me and Trotter. He had a cheeseburger. I had a salad. And I just pointed out the money that could be made with a few businesses that cater to harmless vice”

Dean tilted his head, his brows furrowed his disgust as she continued, “So Trotter built it and, man, did they come. Supposedly God-fearing folk, waist-deep in booze, sex, gambling. I barely lifted a finger” she bragged. “That’s it?” He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disgust. “You don’t get it. All you have to do is nudge humans in the right direction. Some whiskey here, a hooker there. And they’ll walk right into hell with big, fat smiles on their faces”

Dean’s eye twitched, the mention of hell reminding him of his soon descend. “Your kind is corrupt, Dean. Weak” She spat, tilting her head. “Our will is stronger. That’s why we’ll win.” She shrugged, the confidence clear in her tone. A cocky grin spread across his face, “And that’s how it ends?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at her as he leaned back on his own hands. “No, that’s how it begins” She smiled, her eyes raking down his body.

“So demons take over? I thought the meek shall inherit the earth?” Dean quoted from the Bible, “Well, according to your Bible.” She stated, making Dean’s face drop. “It’s only a book, Dean.” She rolled her eyes, “Not everyone would agree” He pursed his lips, “Because it’s God’s book? Do you believe in God, Dean? I’d be surprised if you did” the demon chuckled sadistically.

He bit his bottom lip, debating on whether or not he should answer her mocking question. After a couple of seconds of silence, he finally met her eyes with a defiant glare. “I don’t know, I’d like to” He shrugged. “Well, I don’t see how you and your God have done such a bang-up job. War, genocide, it’s only getting worse” The demon stated, pushing herself to her knees.

Her words reminded him of what y/n said almost a year ago when Sam thought an Angel was telling him to do things, only it turned out to be the spirit of a murdered priest haunting the town.

“I mean, this past century, you people racked up a body count that amazed even us” The demon spat, Dean chuckled dryly again. “It’s our turn now. And we’re gonna do it right this time” She warned. A thud came from above, causing Dean’s head to snap up. He hurried over to the grit, connecting to the street. Hope filling his veins, “Don’t be hopeful, Dean. You’re not delivered” The demon sneered.

“It’s only the wind” she sighed mockingly as Dean’s heart raced, sighing in defeat. “You know, you’re piling pretty high there, sweetheart. I’m not sure I’m buying” he retorted, pacing around the devils trap, “Why would I lie?” She rose to her feet. “Demons lie” Dean stated as if it were obvious, “Some do. While some are true believers” She smirked, placing her hands on her hips. “Believers in what?” Dean scoffed.

“What? You think humans have an exclusive on a higher power?” The demon said, almost as if she were offended. Dean’s brows raised with amusement, “You have a God?” He asked, amused. “Sure. His name’s Lucifer.” She smiled, “You mean the devil?” Dean’s brows furrowed, “Your word, not ours. Lucifer actually means ‘light bringer’. Look it up” The demon defended, “Once, he was the most beautiful of all God’s angels.” She began as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“But God demanded that he bow down before man. And when he refused, God banished him. Tell me, Dean, how do you like bowing before lesser creatures?” She asked, her tone laced with venom. “Lucifer’s really real?” He muttered to himself, shaking his head as he continued to pace around the trap. “Well, no one’s actually seen him. But they say that he made us into what we are and they say that he’ll return.”

“Oh yeah? And, uh, you believe that?” Dean mocked, “I’ve got faith” she narrowed her eyes at him, “Mmm” he hummed, “So you see? Is my kind really all that different than yours?” She pouted, “Well, except that, uh, you know, demons are evil” Dean sassed, causing her to harden her gaze. “And humans are such a lovable bunch,” she shot back. “Dick Cheney”

“He one of yours?” Dean deadpanned, feigning a yawn at the mention of their current Vice-President of the Republican Party. Dean could care less about politics but when it came to anything red, he was blue all the way, “Not yet. Let’s just he’s got a parking spot reserved for him downstairs” The demon stated. Dean couldn’t help but laugh at the statement. “Funny, I always thought he was an executive member” He quipped.

The demon scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes trailing the Hunter, his feet echoing through the room as he paced slowly. “Hey, speaking of downstairs. What’s it like down there?” He asked, trying to seem nonchalant as he leaned against a pillar, folding his arms over his chest. The demon shot him a once over, “What, hell?” She tilted her head. “Yeah” Dean shrugged, maintaining his faux-nonchalance.

“That’s right.” She muttered, her eyes connecting with his. “You booked a one way ticket with that deal” She pointed out in realization, Dean chuckled dryly. Trying to hide the fear in his voice and face while keeping a cocky grin. “You’re not gonna like it, Dean. And, um, judging from the trouble you’ve caused…I don’t think you’ll be getting the presidential suite” She told him in a low tone. Dean’s eyes shifted to the floor as she continued.

“No, it’s a pit of despair. Why do you think we want to come here?” He met her gaze again. “Kind of funny. Don’t you think? You and me sitting here like a couple of regular folk” Casey smirked, “Yeah, it’s hilarious. You know, in that apocalyptic sort of way” Dean deadpanned as he lowered himself to the ground to sit, leaning against the pillar. He hitched one knee up, bracing his elbow on his kneecap. The demon chuckled at his comment, “You’re alright, Dean” she commented sincerely with a smile.

Dean scoffed, raising a brow. “The others don’t describe you that way. But, you know, you’re- you’re likable. I can see what Y/N sees in you.” She said honestly, Dean shook his head, repressing his smile. “A demon likes me. Sorry, I don’t know how to respond to that” He quipped as the demon giggled, “You could say thanks” She winked, he rolled his eyes in return as her face turned serious.

“That deal you made to save Y/N…” She began, the hunter's face dropped, his gaze now on the floor. “A lot of others would mock you for it, think it was weak or stupid. I don’t.” She said lowly, Dean’s eyes snapped back up to her. “It’s kind of liberating, actually.” He chuckled, “I mean, what’s the point in worrying about a future, when you don’t have one, huh?”

“Still…a year to live. You’re not scared?” She raised her brow curiously, “Nah.” Dean lied through his pearl white teeth, a lump growing in his throat as he swallowed harshly. “Not even a little?” She asked, tilting her head. “Of course not.” She didn’t believe him but decided not to press on it, thinking of another way to play mind games with him.

So she laid back on the floor, hitching one leg up as she stretched the aching muscles in Casey’s body. Dean’s eyes scanned over the girl sitting opposite him as she got herself comfortable. In any other situation previously as a single man, he probably would’ve appreciated the view, but this was different.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t realise the demon was staring at him curiously, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. The demon moaned slightly, “Why Dean, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that was lust in your eyes” She teased, “Well, that would be one way to spend the time” She whispered, raising up before settling onto all fours.

She seductively crawled over to him, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, stopping at the edge of the devils trap.“Although, I don’t think you’d respect me in the morning” she smirked. Dean grimaced in disgust, letting out a tiny snicker as he thought of the ways y/n would rip this demon apart. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, sister”

The demon chuckled, “Is that so?” Her hand moved, tracing around the edge of the devils trap she was trapped in, as she continued to crawl forward, not once breaking eye-contact. Dean’s gaze hardened, warning her not to push it, she huffed in return. “Point taken” before leaning back onto her arm. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” Dean suddenly asked, “I’m an open book” She answered, urging him. He clicked his tongue, “So the gate opened, the demon army was let out. What now? Huh?” He asked curiously. “I’m not seeing a big honking plan here.

“Honestly, there was a plan” she began, “Azazel was a tyrant…but, he held all together” She explained as she pushed herself up. Dean’s brows furrowed, “Azazel?” He questioned, “What? You think his friends just called him ‘Yellow Eyes’? He had a name” She retorted, propping her elbows on her knees. “After you did him in, it all fell apart.” She sighed, “Sorry about that” Dean grimaced mockingly, smirking cockily. “So, what, no chain of command?”

“There was. It was either Sam or Y/N” The demon revealed. Dean froze, his eyes widening as the demon’s words processed in his mind. “What?” He rasped out, not sure if he heard her correctly. “They were supposed to fight till the death and decide who gets to be the Grand Pooh Bad, lead the big army. But, neither of them exactly step up to the plate, haven’t they?” Her tone was menacing. “Thank God for that” Dean clenched his jaw.

The demon chuckled dryly, “Again with God? You think this is a good thing? Now you’ve got chaos, a war without a front. Hundreds of demons, all jockeying for power. All fighting for the crown.” The demon sneered, “Most of 'em gunning for your brother and your little girlfriend” Dean swallowed harshly, tearing his gaze again. “For the record, I was ready to follow any one of them.”

-

Meanwhile, outside, the Impala finally peeled into the driveway. Sam tapped Y/N on her arm, nudging her head in the direction to the green Sudan parked to the side of the house. The two special children shared a look, “Looks like we’ve got company” Y/N muttered as she and Sam hopped out of the Impala, they hobbled over to the trunk. She stuck the key in, popping the trunk open so they could load up in ammunition.

Sam and Y/N armed themselves before shutting the trunk forcefully and started to move closer to the building, taking out their flashlights and weapons. “Dean?!” Sam called out to his brother, “Charming?!” Y/N shouted in hopes her boyfriend heard them.

-

Down in the dungeon, Dean heard their shouts. Quickly pushing himself up from the ground, “Looks like you win” the demon quipped, smirking sadistically. “Sammy?! Y/N/N?! Down here!!” Dean shouted for them through the grit. Sam and Y/N stopped abruptly, their ears perking up to the sound of his shouting. “Dean, that you?!” Y/N shouted back as they spun in their heels and started to jog towards the sound.

They ended up around the back of the house, “The basement caved in!!” he shouted, the two sighed in relief upon seeing his face through the grit. “Thank god” Sam sighed. “Sweetie, hold on, okay? We’re coming” Y/N said gently as they both knelt towards the grit. “Be careful, she’s got back up coming too” Dean warned, Sam and Y/N’s heads snapped towards each other, remembering the car they saw parked outside.

“Oh, Jesus” Sam muttered as the two of them rose to their feet, “We’re getting you out, okay? Just a sec.” Y/N assured him before she and Sam turned away to search for something that could be used to break the rubble. Y/N kept a look out, a gasp leaving her throat when she felt a heat rise to the back of her neck. She spun around to see the priest from the church, staring back at them with wide black eyes. “Father?” She gasped stunned, reaching for her holy water.

With a wave of his hand, the demon possessing the priest sent her barreling into the side of the house. Y/N’s body smacked into the side of the wall roughly, crying out when her body connected with the old bricks. She landed on the ground with a thud, groaning out in pain, “Y/N/N!” Sam’s head whipped in their direction upon hearing Y/N’s cry out in pain, his gaze narrowed at the possessed priest.

Before he could reach for his own holy water, a gun shot rang out, shooting past the priest and into the side of the house. The gun shot was revealed to have come from Bobby, the veteran hunter wielding the Colt. “Bobby?” Y/N mumbled through her grogginess, the demon then proceeded to wave his hand, now sending Bobby across the driveway. Bobby’s body hit the ground with a heavy thud, the gun slipping from his grip.

The demon then turned to Sam, who tried to soak him in holy water but he did the same to him, sending him flying into the windshield of the sedan, cracking the screen. He groaned as he slumped against the frame before rolling off, falling to the ground. Y/N forced herself up from the ground, gritting her teeth at the pain in her shoulder.

She wobbled over to Sam, “Sammy, you alright?” Sam groaned, “Just peachy” he muttered sarcastically, wincing in pain. He pushed himself up so he was slumped against the sedan, “You?” he questioned in concern, looking up to check on Y/N. A grimace etched into his features upon seeing all the scrapes and bruises on her skin.

They turned their attention to Bobby, both rushing over to the older man. Bobby groaned as the two knelt down beside him, “Are you two alright?” He managed to ask, grunting out a pain. “Yeah, yeah we’re fine” Y/N reassured quickly, looking him over. “Are you okay?? How did you know where we were-“ Sam went to ask but Bobby cut him off, snatching up the Colt from the ground before stuffing it into Sam’s hand. “Both of you kids, go” He ordered them.

Both Sam and Y/N froze on their knees, looking at the older hunter in shock. He nodded assuring them he was okay, “You heard the man. Go” A voice boomed behind them, revealing to be Ruby. Sam and Y/N’s blood ran cold as they slowly turned back to the demon, their eyes wide as they both scrambled to their feet, “Run!!” Bobby barked, making them both snap out of their scared paralysis.

They snapped out of it, Y/N patted Bobby on his cheek before shooting Ruby a harsh glare. She and Sam nodded in unison before darting to the house. The Colt in Sam’s hand and holy water in Y/N’s.

-

Meanwhile, Dean jumped back when the rubble blocking the passageway to the staircase shook. A loud pounding through the rubble sounded as it began to break down, the culprit revealed to be the priest. His eyes shone black in Dean’s direction, the Hunter charging towards the demon.

The demon was quicker than him, waving his hand, sending him flying across the room and into some wooden barrels. Knocking over the lit candle. Dean grunted in pain, clutching his back. The demon locked eyes with Casey, pacing towards her. “Stop!” She warned him, pointing to the devils trap beneath her. The demon gritted his teeth before kneeling to the ground, he reeled his fist back before driving it into the concrete. Breaking a corner of the trap, rendering it useless and void.

He grunted with effort before he was able to pull his hand out, he stood back up slowly. “Now that’s better” he smirked as he wiped the blood from his busted knuckles. Casey smiled widely, extending her arms to him. He gladly accepted, capturing her into his arms before pressing his lips against hers.

“Oh, come on” Dean groaned bitterly from where he was on the floor. “You two?” He panted as he pushed himself up, watching the two demons kiss passionately. “For centuries. We’ve been through hell and back, literally” The priest smirked, “Leave him be” Casey told her lover, turning to Dean. But Father Gil narrowed his eyes at Dean instead, snatching him by his throat.

He groaned as the priest lifted him in the air, his boots hovering above the ground. “Don’t kill him. Let’s just go!” Casey pleaded. “Please” Not another word was said before a shot rang through the basement, coming from Sam who was wielding the Colt. Father Gil was hit first, the demon inside of him stunned as he began to seize.

He released Dean in surprise before letting out a cry as he fell back onto the floor, the demon began to burn through his body till he was gone with a bright yellow light. Casey’s eyes then went wide in fear, “No!!” she gasped out, “Sam no!” Dean tried to stop his brother but it was too late, he had already shot Casey. The demon fell to the floor, seizing through her body like her lover before slumping dead.

Y/N quickly rushed over to Dean’s side. “Dean, are you okay?” She fussed over him, checking his face and body for injuries. “Hey, hey, calm down, I’m alright” he assured her quickly, taking her hand, “Are you?” he asked carefully, eyeing over her own battered body. “I’m fine, just a little banged up” she insisted as she cupped the side of his face, checking over for any bruising or cut.

Sam tossed the Colt aside before helping his brother to his feet, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. Dean grunted as he was lifted off the ground and onto his feet, stumbling against his brother’s side. “Come on” Sam said gently, trying to usher Dean forwards, “Let’s get you out of here”

______________________________________________

The next day, Bobby had already left town and Dean and Y/N were leaving a diner while Sam got their stuff back together at the motel. All ready to get out of dodge. “What do you think, y/n/n? About what we did here, do you think we made a difference?” He asked her as they strolled back to the Impala, his hands loaded with the food and hers carrying a six pack from the convenience store next door.

“Like Bobby said, two less demons to worry about. That’s not nothing” She shrugged, taking Dean’s free hand into hers, intertwining their fingers. “Yeah, but Trotter’s still alive” Dean sighed as they crossed the busy street, “Humans ain’t our job” She snorted, earning an amused chuckle from Dean. “Yeah, but you think anything’s really gonna change? I mean, maybe these people do just wanna destroy themselves. Maybe it is a losing battle”

She raised a brow at him as they stopped infront of the Impala, she opened the backseat door, placing the six pack in the back as he placed the food on the backseat. “That you or that demon girl talking?” She asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. Dean had a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, he found it amusing how easy she could read him. He then allowed his hands to make its way to her waist, giving it a gentle squeeze as her arms automatically made its way to her shoulders.

“Oh, it’s all me, baby. The demon is dead and so is that girl it was possessing” He assured her, pressing a kiss to her nose. She held back a pathetic giggle, her cheeks heating up at the gesture. “Well, it had to be done. Sam was saving your life” she assured him, threading her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. “Yeah, but you didn’t see it, Y/N/N. He was cold” Dean sighed, his head dropping.

“Dean, he loves you and he’d kill for you in a heartbeat. You’re his brother. He’s just protective of you” Dean’s mood lifter slightly at her words, “Yeah, I guess you’re right” he mumbled, tracing circles on the small of her back with his thumb. His mind going back to when that demon told him about Sam and Y/N being the ones to have lead the demon army.

Y/N frowned when she saw Dean’s mind stray, so she pushed herself up a bit to meet his height, pressing a lingering soft kiss to his lips. He returned it without hesitation, allowing himself to melt into her arms. Her heart raced out of her chest as their lips moved in a synchronized fashion. Not caring who was around.

-

Back in their motel room, Sam was hustling to gather their stuff. A stoic expression potent on his face, he wallowed due to killing those innocent people the demons were possessing, the guilt riding his chest. He knew he would go above and beyond to save his brother, seeing that demon seconded away from snapping Dean’s neck made the younger Winchester feel a rage he never knew.

The stakes were higher this round, they were wanted people by both the federal government and supernatural forces. Sam was willing to do anything to get his brother out of that stupid deal, granted, the deal saved Y/N’s life after she saved his but it only meant Dean’s clock was ticking down by the second. She saved him, his brother saved her, now it’s his turn to save someone. He had to save his brother.

Sam sighed heavily as he balled up his tshirt, shoving them into the bag roughly. Not bothering to fold them neatly like he usually would do, his hair was disheveled, his eyes sunken. His internally groaned when the motel room door opened and in walked the last blonde on earth he wanted to see at the very moment.

Ruby smirked as she leaned against the door frame, “Leaving so soon? We haven’t even had a chance to celebrate” She teased, the younger Winchester cast a heated glare in her direction. “Yeah, well you can celebrate without me” He grumbled, clenching his jaw. “You’re not gonna get all pouty on me now, are you?” Ruby groaned dramatically as she shut the door behind her. Sam gave her no reaction in return.

“Come on. You killed two demons today” She cheered him on in a congratulatory tone, brushing past him before tossing herself bottom first onto the bed opposite him. “Yeah, well maybe you don’t care, but I killed two humans too” Sam shot back, “Sam, you know what happens when demons piggy back humans.” Ruby sighed, “They leave them rode hard and put up wet. Chance are those two would’ve died a slow, sticky death. You probably did them a favor”

“Did them a favor?” Sam scoffed, casting a look of disgust in the demons direction. “You’re a cold fucking bitch, you know that?” He spat, turning back to his bag on the bed. Ruby glared at him, “Yeah, and this cold bitch has saved your ass a couple of times now. Some respect might be nice” She retorted as Sam’s gaze landed on the Colt, resting neatly next to his bag.

“Especially if you want me to help you out with Dean and his problem” She smirked, this made Sam snap. The Hunter snatching up the Colt before swinging to face her, “You know what, you keep dancing that, but last I checked, Dean’s still going to hell!” He exclaimed, “Everything in it’s own time, Sam” She smirked. “But there’s a quid pro quo here. We’re in a war.”

“Right. But for some reason you’re fighting in our team. Tell me why is that again?” He rebuttaled with suspicion, narrowing his eyes at her. “Go fuck yourself, that’s why” She shot back, “Oh I see.” Sam rolled his eyes as he muttered sarcastically. “I don’t have to justify my actions to you, Sam. If you don’t want my help…fine. Then give me the gun and I’ll pass it on to someone who will use it”

“Maybe I’ll just use it on you” Sam threatened, cocking the gun at her. Pressing it to the center of her chest as she rose to her feet. Ruby sighed, “Go ahead if that makes you happy” She shrugged nonchalantly, challenging him. Sam raised his brow, “Its not gonna do much for Dean, though.” She smirked, this made his face drop. Realizing she was his only possible shot at getting Dean out of his deal.

As much as y/n didn’t like Ruby, she’d rip Sam’s head off for killing her before they could use her to get Dean out of his deal. She told him about the tarot reading she did and he was just as confused by the outcome. Ruby was their only shot, he couldn’t kill her now.

“So, what’s it gonna be? Hmm?” Ruby tilted her head to meet his eyes, opening her arms out. Sam cursed under his breath before uncocking the gun and lowering it. “Ahhh” she grinned at him triumphantly, “That’s my boy” Sam grimaced in disgust at her words, “This won’t be easy, Sam. You’re gonna have to do things that go against that gentle nature of yours. There’ll be collateral damage. But it has to be done”

“Well I don’t have to like it” Sam’s nostrils flared as he spoke, turning away from the demon. “No. You wouldn’t be Sam if you did. But on the bright side…I’ll be there with you” Ruby’s voice was alluring, “That little fallen angel on your shoulder.” She smirked as she moved closer to him, wrapping her hand around his wrist. His head snapped in her direction, “I’ve already got my angel, thanks” He spat fiercely before snatching his hand out of her grip.

______________________________________________

Author’s Note: HEYYYOOOO. I hope everyone liked this episode! Be sure to let me know what you hated and what you loved.

Thanks for reading so much, hope everyone is well❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr @tommysaxes @cookiemonstermusic258 @elite4cekalyma

@ladykitana90 @strawberrykiwisdogog @barnes70stark

Xoxo

[adorawoso]

It’s what she deserves

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words; part two (here)

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

gong ji-cheol is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied. 

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past. 

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark. 

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel. 

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all. 

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ji-cheol doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep. 

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake. 

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours. 

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what gong ji-cheol was doing behind your back. 

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction. 

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later. 

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine. 

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease. 

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station. 

“ji-cheol?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road. 

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough. 

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

[benkeibear]

Okay okay okay eevee, this will be a novel of reblog and i apologize but I'll yap as i read because this means the world to me and I love you endlessly. Thank you so so so much 😭😭

*cracks knuckles and wipes tears*

No because why can I see Toji sitting at my table like that and *looks up my super high ceilings* yup. Checks out with the huge Christmas tree 😭

Throwing a Christmas cookie at his head as we speak

But he does have a point with his dislike for Christmas- those ARE the worst parts of it 🥹

"He’s afraid to put a name to the fact that you’re the first person in a long while that has him looking forward to calling this place you share with him, home." WHY DO I SEE HIM AS THE LITWRAL GRINCH HERE HELP

I had to take a break here to snort my nose and wipe some more tears bc I couldn't read anymore of my gods this is so soft and sweet my heart🥹

“Naw, my ass is a bit sore after last night, so I can’t do any heavy lifting.” NoT THE REFERENCE I AM SCREAMINGGGGG PLEASE 😂😭 I'll can do it again, Toji. Pain cancels out pain or something like that.........

Eevee you crack me up one line after the other 😭 my heart is so soggy soft from domestic Toji and you hit me with this piece of gold: "He just hopes it isn’t the Santa-themed shower curtains. Who the fuck needs Santa Claus staring at their junk when they’re trying to take a piss?" I almost spat out my tea

No but if I hear someone on my roof and Toji is already out of bed you best believe I go out with my tiny pink fruit knife as protection (aka I cheer on Toji to whoop that persons ass so hard)

But my teddy bear put the Christmas lights uP DID YOU JUST HEAR MY HEART BURST??? Germany reports a heavy case of flooding as we speak, a girl named luma wouldn't stop crying and flooded the entire village she lives in...

Oh my gods okay I'm taking another sniffle break here. He is so perfect. So soft and domestic. ugh ugh ugh

Okay the tears are dried for now and I hopped into your dms to thank you there too lol

The way he TRIES to put his feelings into words like yes please my sweet Toji bear, just call it by its name it's L - O - V - E LOOOOOOOVE LOVE AMORE LIEBE 愛 AGÁPI LIEFDE WHATEVER LANGUAGE ELSE YOU WANT ME TO PUT IT TO GET IT IN YOUR THICK HEAD >:((

(I actually melted at how he's trying despite not being too good. But actions > words anyways)

NOT THE SLAP ON THE ASS THAT IS TRUE TOJI FASHION. 10/10 he can't stop doing it.

“You know, skin-to-skin contact is the fastest way to warm someone up. Let me put some color back into those cheeks, baby.” This is the most Toji thing ever I CAN NOT😭😭😭

And I also can not say no to him soooo....

I stand corrected. This is the most Toji thing to say☠️ “I think I deserve a reward for my efforts, don’t you?”

OH OWLRIGHTY WE GETTING SEXY HERE 🫣🫣

I'm actually melting into my couch from the kissing alone. His kisses are all consuming indeed

"You, desiring his attention, spread yourself willingly to him" DONT CALL ME OUT LIKE THAT OH MY /lh

I am his good girl indeed oh me oh my I am BLUSHING SO HARD AND BITING MY PILLOW

At this point I'm giving up with the yapping I'm too busy trying not to die or flood my village with something other than my tears... but the way his tongue ugH you know??????

TOJI BEAR OH MY YOU SAID IT!!!! I AM SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING😭😭 it feels so special seeing that silly nickname in there

The way I gasped when he- oh me oh MY I AM GETTING SHY OVER HERE

I stand corrected once again. THIS is the most Toji thing he could ever say “Getting all emotional and soft with you while still fucking you like a whore. Merry Christmas, right baby?” 😭😭

The way he gets all soggy soft after again 🥺🥺🥺 oh baby bear I knowww

He is such a needy, desperate man it's ugh. I love him so dearly you have no idea :((

This is officially part of my selfship lore with him now 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Whew. A soggy ride in many ways but it is literally perfect. Thank you so much again you have no idea how much this means to me 🥹🫶 you own my heart

Loving You is My Tradition - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Toji Fushiguro)

AN: A Christmas-Themed Fic for @benkeibear as part of @pixelcafe-network's Secret Santa event! Merry Christmas, Luma! Surprise! I’m your annoying Secret Santa. Thanks for playing along with me while I kept slinking into your ask box. Also, fun fact: this is the longest thing I’ve ever posted on this hellsite. Growth.

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend, Toji, shows you that he can get into the holiday spirit, too!

CW: Fem!Reader x Toji Fushiguro. Established relationship. Christmas-centered. Soft/Introspective Toji. Brief mention of fucking him with a strap, Ass smacking, dirty talk, kissing, thigh riding, cunnilingus, dominant Toji, sub/dom reader, a lil biting, hair pulling, a handjob, use of the word whore but lovingly, reader is called baby girl, baby, pretty girl, and good girl. Minors Do Not Interact. || Word Count: 3.9K

Banner by me. Divider by @saradika-graphics

“You’re stressin’ me out, babe,” Toji calls out as his thumb flicks mindlessly across his phone's glossy–but still cracked–screen. 

Your eyes flick over to him, observing that he looks anything but stressed—loose grey sweatpants hugging his narrow waist, black muscle tee clinging to the swell of his pecs, and legs kicked up on your table as though that’s where all civilized people park their feet. 

“The only thing “stressful” about the holidays, Toji, is your lack of Christmas cheer,” you announce as you move a side table out of the way, making room for the 8-foot Christmas tree you plan on purchasing. 

Toji’s eyes narrow as you call him out for being a stereotypical Grinch. But you’re not wrong, he actually hates Christmas: the roads are too crowded, lines are too long at his favorite stores and restaurants, and he hates how consumeristic the holiday is. And quite frankly, the holiday was a reminder of all the things he didn’t have. 

Well, actually, he hated Christmas. Emphasis on the use of past tense here because he’s had a recent change of heart regarding the holiday. The catalyst to his shift in world-view? You, of course. 

Sure, Christmas still sucks, but he’s found that over the years, it sucks even less because he has someone to come home to after a long job, someone who gifts him thoughtful shit without expecting anything in return, and someone who looks at him as if his hands aren't stained with blood, and as if the specters of past deeds and lives don't linger behind his eyes.

But most of all, watching you get hyped up about activities like decorating the Christmas tree or trying out a new cookie recipe makes him feel things he’s afraid to put a name to verbally. 

He’s afraid to put a name to the fact that you’re the first person in a long while that has him looking forward to calling this place you share with him, home. 

You make him yearn and ache, and he wants to be the strongest person in the world for you while simultaneously seeking the comfort that only you can provide. You are a contradiction that he gladly welcomes into his life. 

But he’s always known—always felt this—ever since he first laid eyes on you and felt practically delirious at how fast and hard he fell for you. 

It was the heart quickening, palm sweating, wondering what you’re doing and why you’re not texting him kind of delirium that had him questioning absolutely everything. 

At the sound of your voice, Toji is brought out of his thoughts. “Are you going to help me?”

“Naw, my ass is a bit sore after last night, so I can’t do any heavy lifting.” He crosses his legs over one another as if to drive home the point further that his glutes will be permanently glued to the cushion of your couch for the remainder of the night.

The corner of your lip twitches at his reference to your extracurricular activities that led to him being reduced to a whining, whimpering mess on your strap the night before. “Funny that you can dish it out but can’t take it, pillow princess.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” He barks out, but it’s too late. You’re already heading into a different room, probably to throw up obnoxious Christmas decorations in the bathroom or some other less-than-ideal place. 

He just hopes it isn’t the Santa-themed shower curtains. Who the fuck needs Santa Claus staring at their junk when they’re trying to take a piss?

Truth be told, Toji was trying to conserve his energy. He had a long night ahead of him—a long night for which he needed you fast asleep. 

He didn’t need you to know about his plans to do something special for you, and he certainly didn’t need your input every ten seconds about how Dancer and Prancer should be next to each other, and Dasher should be near Cupid…

Who. Gives. A. Fuck? Not Toji!

But she gives a fuck, so that means he has to give a fuck, he thinks, dragging a palm down across his face in exasperation. And so he looks up the lyrics to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and commits the names of the silly cartoon animals to memory. 

“You seriously don’t have a tradition, Toji?” He looks up from his phone to see you carrying a giant reef to hang on the door outside. “You don’t have a single Christmas tradition that puts a smile on that mean mug of yours?”

“Just one,” he murmurs, knowing you can’t hear him through the thick wood of the door. 

Wall-shaking thumps and the sound of something heavy being dragged rouse you from your sleep that same night. 

You think it has been going on for a few hours now, but being between sleep and reality has made you less inclined to check out the noise. Besides, if Toji—your shoot-first, ask-questions-never boyfriend—isn’t worried about it, neither are you.

As you turn to your side–a feeble attempt to lull yourself back to sleep–you notice that Toji is missing from his usual bedside. It isn’t unusual–sometimes he has trouble sleeping at night, and you find him sitting by himself in the living room, lost in the recesses of his brain, which he chooses not to burden you with.

Your eyes shoot upward at the ceiling as you continue to hear something knocking rather aggressively against the roof. Against your better judgment, you decide to investigate. You begrudgingly tear yourself away from the comfort of your warm bed and grab the robe you usually wear for lazy days around the house.

“I swear, if I see a man in a big red suit, I’m going to ask Toji to hide the body,” you grumble as you open your front door, your boots sinking into fresh snow as you tilt your head and look above.

Toji hears the sound of the door creaking open. Knowing it isn’t anyone but you, he peers over the side of the rain gutters, only to shoot you a glare at your lack of appropriate clothing for the weather.

God, you frustrating, annoying, beautiful, perfect woman. What the hell are you wearing? He thinks as he anchors the last reindeer into position. 

And with perfect precision, Toji jumps off the roof, rising from crouching to standing before you can fully turn your attention to him. “What the fuck are you doing out here in nothing but a robe?” He growls, pulling you closer to him.

And he’s right. It’s incredibly cold outside, but you can’t pull your eyes away from the roof. All the Christmas decorations that had previously been in storage and that you had planned to put up yourself were already up and shining vibrantly. 

Bulbed lights of reds, greens, and yellows adorn the rim of your roof, and a red sleigh pulled by nine reindeer—all in their proper positions—stands placed in a way that makes it look like they’re ready for take-off.

“Say something,” he grumbles, kicking some of the snow at his feet mindlessly and looking everywhere but at you at that moment. 

Your heart clenches because even though it’s discrete, you can hear a hint of vulnerability in his gruff voice.

“You did all this for me? I…this is so sweet, Toji.”

The wonder shining behind your eyes and ringing in your voice has Toji looking up at you from where his bangs had fallen into his face. The lights he strung up pale in comparison to the radiance you emit. You’re a picture of everything that’s right in his world.

No, a picture would and could never do you justice. 

Fresh snow is still falling from the sky, dusting your hair in white crystalline shapes that make Toji’s eyes soften. His gloved hand reaches instinctively to clear the fallen snow from your tresses, but he stops, wanting nothing more than to keep you memorialized like this.

He has so much bad shit burned into his mind that when he can commit something pure and beautiful like this moment, like you, in his mind, he does.

And who is he to diminish the light of an angel's halo?

“Of course, I did this for you, dummy. You get so wrapped up in the Christmas bullshit. If you were anyone else, anyone who wasn’t you, I’d probably make fun of you for it.”

You nod silently as you allow him the space to express himself, especially knowing how tough this time of year is for him. Toji rants and raves about the expensive nature of the holiday, but you know his foul mood stems from something deeper.

After a beat, he continues despite the strain you hear in his voice. “But I like seeing you happy. And I know sometimes I’m not always the source of your happiness, fuck, I’m probably the source of your irritation sometimes, too,” He trails off, both of you chuckling at his joke as you lean further into his warmth.

His face quickly sobers, “A couple of hours ago you asked me if I had a tradition and I think my answer is a little untraditional, but my tradition is you. All I want is to make you happy, smile, and be someone you can depend on, always, but especially now.”

You blink rapidly, willing the fast-forming moisture to stay at bay while you swallow thickly and continue to listen in silence. 

“Sometimes, you give so much of yourself to others, always making sure that everyone else is ok before you even think about yourself, and I wanted to do something, anything, to show you that you’re at the top of someone’s mind.”

For a moment, you don’t know what to say because this is so uncharacteristically sweet of him. Toji has his sweet moments, but those are more subtle. But here Toji is not only performing a grand gesture, but it’s also accompanied by a speech that is clearly from the depths of his heart. 

And when you tear your eyes away from the blinking lights to look at him, your heart can only ache. Because he looks like he’s holding his breath to hear what you have to say–his cheeks are flushed a light pink, misty air is jutting out in plumes from his lips, and his eyes are vulnerable and wanting even as he tries his best to hide it.

“This means so much to me, Toji.”

He nods, his lips curling into a small smirk. It’s as if your validation pumps air into his chest.

“Good, because gift option #2 was my dick in a box. Now, let's get inside–I’m freezing my balls off out here.”

He delivers a playful slap to your ass–palm meeting clothed flesh in a loud smack that echoes through the empty street.

You didn’t realize how cold you were until you stepped back inside your home. Your body began to tremble, and the robe did little to retain your heat. 

Toji notices, too, and he frowns, grunting his displeasure and helping you strip out of your quickly dampening robe. A low, satisfied grumble reverberates through his chest as he watches your flesh reveal, inch-by-tantalizing inch.

“Idiot, you came outside in a robe and your underclothes?” His tone is half incredulous and half in awe, eyes raking over your curves and swells with rapt—and perverted—attention.

“I thought it was an emergency! Who has time for jeans when there’s a man on a roof?” 

He can’t help but roll his eyes, but the corner of his lip twitches, the scar on his lip looking more prominent with the movement. 

Toji leans in, his tongue darting out to lick the shell of your ear. “You know, skin-to-skin contact is the fastest way to warm someone up. Let me put some color back into those cheeks, baby.”

He backs you up against the wall while shedding his winter coat and gloves. “I think I deserve a reward for my efforts, don’t you?”

“Is that why you did it?” you chide back softly with a shaky breath as he dips his head low and licks a long stripe along your neck. His tongue is warm and yet you still can’t help the goosebumps that appear on your arm or the way your nipples harden as if a cool draft just blew past.

“Naw, but it don’t hurt.”

And with a chuckle, Toji is lifting you up effortlessly, tossing you over his shoulder, and carrying you into your shared bedroom. If there was any confusion about his intentions, his firm grip on your ass with the occasional, hearty smack and squeeze to your malleable flesh allows you to speculate. 

The vulnerable Toji you caught a glimpse of outside is nowhere to be found as he tosses you onto the mattress. “Fuck, I love the way you bounce,” he purrs as he slots himself between your thighs.

His mouth is on yours–hot, all-consuming, and demanding. Toji always kisses you as though tonight could be your final kiss, and you kiss him as though you’re trying to convince him that that simply isn’t the case. 

His hands waste no time pushing apart your legs, exposing your panty-clad core to his heated gaze. You, desiring his attention, spread yourself willingly to him. 

But instead of touching you where you need him most, his thumbs settles between the smooth flesh of your inner thighs, rubbing small tight circles against your skin as he coaxes your tongue out of your mouth to dance with his.

You buck your hips in an attempt to get him to move his fingers higher but he clicks his tongue in disapproval, gripping your hip and keeping you in place. 

“How about,” he muses softly as he trails open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck. “You ride my thigh like a good girl first, yeah? Show me how a good girl behaves, and I’ll give you exactly what you’re soaking the bed sheets for.”

And just how he slotted his waist against your sex, he’s now replacing his torso with his thigh which is firm but does little to quell the heat between your legs. 

But you’re no stranger to this sort of request from him. The open-mouthed kisses against your pulse point pause as if he’s daring–waiting–for you to disobey.

“Yes, Toji.” You grip his shoulders and start to grind yourself against his thigh, and he lets out a low approving groan. 

“Thaaaaat’s a good girl,” he drawls out as the hand on your hip gives a supportive squeeze and guides your movements.

Seeing you so submissive and so agreeable makes an undeniable fire burn within his abdomen and makes his cock drool precum in the confines of his boxers. 

“H-how long?” you pant, your hungry eyes meeting his. He reaches down, cupping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, dark eyes boring into yours as he spreads your legs further apart with his thigh. 

“Until I say otherwise.”

You let out a soft groan, as he shifts his thigh, pressing it harder into your slick, throbbing sex. Even through the barrier of your underwear, the friction is delicious. 

Toji smirks as he watches you, your hips undulating side-to-side, up-and-down, hitching when you hit the occasional spot that makes your eyes almost roll into the back of your head. He licks his lips as he watches a small wet spot form into the denim of his jeans where your cunt is rubbing against. 

“Look at you. You’re always so messy” he coos condescendingly, but not without warmth. “Here, let me take care of you like I promised.”

And take care of you he does. He hooks his thumbs through the waistband of your underwear and slowly pulls the garment down, his smirk growing wider as you lift your hips to speed up the process.

 “My helpful, needy girl,” he murmurs. Toji lowers himself down between your thighs, broad shoulders acting as a natural thigh separator and leg rest for you.

Not once does he take his eyes off of you as he descends.

Not when his warm breath ghosts across your labia, making your clit twitch between your folds and descend further from the protection of its hood.

Not when his thick tongue darts out, licking a long slow stripe up your slit and separating you down the middle with a muffled groan. 

And certainly not when he puckers his lips, creating a gentle suction around your clit with his mouth, alternating between slowly making out with your sensitive bud and firm suckles. 

“Come on, pretty girl. Ride my face like how you were riding my thigh,” he purrs as he briefly presses a love bite against your inner thigh, soothing it with his tongue and then returning to lavishing your cunt with his tongue. 

“You’re going to have to work for it, Toji Bear” you muster through a shaky moan, still finding the oxygen to tease him with one of your favorite nicknames. Your fingers thread through his hair, gently tugging at the dark tresses as you grind your cunt against his mouth.

And Toji? Toji volunteers up his tongue like an offering to your churning hips, moaning as you sink yourself deeper and deeper onto him, reveling in the squeeze of your slick, gummy walls against his tongue. 

“Fuck, yeah, love. Use me, baby. Fuck my face.” he encourages through barely restrained grunts which quickly divulge in gargles as he swallows every single drop you give. 

“Damn,” he finally says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His body moves up yours—predatory and practiced, like he owns the space between your thighs. 

Dark eyes bore into yours as one hand moves down to expertly unbutton his pants. His other tangles through your hair to angle your face for better access as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself. “Could drink you down for fucking days. Would you let me?”

Through heated, messy kisses, you nod even though he needn’t have to ask. You’d give him the world if he asked. 

A low hiss of approval slides past his lips as he feels the heat from your core. “I wanna take my time, but when you’re looking at me like this—like you’re asking to be split you open on my fat cock, and you’ll fucking die if I don’t give it to you, fuck, it makes me—“ 

And before he can finish, he’s spearing himself inside of you, fat cockhead kissing your womb in a way that makes you want to cry, beg, pray for more. 

Your nails find purchase against his shoulder blades enjoying the flex as he grips your thighs and folds you within yourself to get himself impossibly deeper. 

He pulls your hair, forcing you to look at the way his thick cock pulls out—glistening with your arousal, the white ring of your lust lathering his veined shaft—and pushes back in with a filthy squelch. 

“See? Isn’t this nice?” He pants, voice tilting upward in obvious mockery. “Getting all emotional and soft with you while still fucking you like a whore. Merry Christmas, right baby?”

All you can muster out is a soft whimper, his cock stealing your breath away with every willful stretch of your cunt. 

Toji, noticing your inability to speak, chuckles heartily. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.” His eyes roam over the entirety of you in this state—face contorted in pleasure, breasts bouncing, body folded in half yet still open for him like you were meant for this. 

For you, the fucking is good, really good, but there’s also something about everything that Toji previously shared with you that makes this feel deeper—as if a new avenue of connection was forged between you both.

Who knew that vulnerability could strengthen a relationship and act as foreplay? 

“Perfect,” he mutters as he feels his balls tightening, especially as they snap forcefully against your ass. “You want a real present, baby?”

You cry out something between a gargled “yes” and a strangled whimper. 

“Gonna give you one of your gifts early, baby girl. Ya ready for me? Ready to take my special gift to you?” he grunts, cock giving a valiant final twitch as the feeling of your walls squeezing him. 

Toji allows your body to unfold, going limp and sated as he collapses next to you. He pulls you into his arms, warm breath ghosting over the hair that curls around your ear. 

“Meant what I said,” he whispers after a beat. His fingers briefly dig into your arms as if out of fear that you’ll disappear. 

“I…don’t always express myself well, and you deserve more than I know how to give, but I’m glad I can give parts of myself to you, among other things.” He grabs your hand, bringing it to his arousal-slick length as he nuzzles into your neck.

You shake your head in disbelief at his virility, but you still stroke his quickly hardening member. “You express yourself just fine, Toji,”

His hand finds purchase on your ass as he brings you closer to his side, a satisfied sigh escaping his kiss-swollen lips. “Naw, I think you’ve always just been able to read me really well.”

“Yeah?” A harsh squeeze from your hand causes him to buck his hips, a vocal groan ripping from his throat. 

“Yeah. Fuck, do that again.”

You offer another grip of your hand, this time slowing your strokes deliberately as you watch his head fall back. “Like this?” You whisper sweetly into his ear.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, his hips bucking upward. You can’t help the smile that forms on your face at the sight of Toji Fushiguro trying to fuck your fist into another orgasm. 

“Maybe I’m not the only needy one,” you tease. Toji tilts his head towards yours, eyes half-lidded, “Shut up. We still have a few more days until Christmas, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

You let out a small giggle as you continue to stroke him, watching the way his breath hitches more often, indicating how worked up you’re getting him.

He puts one arm behind his head, reclining back, his other fist still kneading your ass as his eyes begin to close.

 “Keep your eyes on the way I stroke your cock, Toji Bear. Or else I’ll stop.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” his large hand envelopes yours to keep it in place, but even with that effort, you stop pumping. He lets out a frustrated growl, sitting himself up on his elbows as he watches your strokes continue up and down his cock. 

As he watches you work him over, you can’t help but notice the way his eyelids flutter and his breathing grows more labored. “See? Doesn’t it make more sense for you to watch, pervert?” 

You rub your thumb across the underside of his cock, knowing how sensitive that particular spot is as you stroke him faster. Precum beads at the tip and bubbles down his shaft in droves. 

“G-gonna get you for calling me that.” Toji lets out a guttural moan as white, hot cum leaks from his cock in a stream that is far less copious, but still impressive, due to his previous orgasm. You watch as it coats your hand, marveling as it cools against your heated skin.

Despite his early warning—which lacks any real consequence, he moves his face to yours and kisses you, deep, slow, and not like this might be your final kiss. And you kiss him as if with reassurance that he’s right—because he is—there will be far more kisses to come from now, until the end of the year and certainly beyond. 

[theeroins]

If I say that I'm not used to people misinterpreting my favorite characters, I'd be lying. But the way they get so many things wrong about Inho's character is kinda pissing me off because you KNOW that most of them do it to cancel out the possibility of InHun being *something* more than what's shown so far. You don't ship them, that's fair, frankly I don't care. Everyone's entitled to their own opinion UNTIL your opinion is wrong.

Let's talk about a couple of things I've seen being talked about on tiktok (🙄)

“Inho joined the games because ilnam said that it'd basically be more fun to play than to watch so he followed his example." loud incorrect buzzer ! Inho has joined the games before, and not only that, he's also a previous winner, so therefore he's very much aware of what it's like to be a part of it, he's experienced them first hand, just like he's experienced the atrocities of it. they've changed him for the worst and possibly caused him a huge trauma —they're the reason he's lost faith in humanity after all— so, why would he crave to relive it just for the thrill of it? i, personally doubt he even enjoys watching the game.

“Inho didn't look at Gihun with love, he likes to watch him suffer” Short answer is no. He doesn't like to watch him suffer, neither he looked at him with love, not the pure kind of love at least. Two things can be true at once. Inho spent half the season staring at Gihun because everything about the man intrigued him; His determination, his stubbornness, his kindness, his hope, his heart that's full of love despite the pain he suffered, even the pain in his eyes every time someone got eliminated in front of him as if it was the first time it had happened, as if the cruelty of it all surprised him every damn time. How can someone, who's been through the same things Inho has been through, be the polar opposite of him?

now, the reason(s) that I think Inho actually joined the games for..

(yes I am an Inhun shipper, does that make my opinion a little biased? maybe. do i still believe I'm right? absofuckinglutely.)

Let me clarify this: Inho is NOT a good man, no matter the redemption arc he might get in s3, he'll continue to be a terrible person because nothing will ever erase the blood he's spilled and the evil men he's worked for. BUT at the same time, he's not ALL bad, not like the VIPS and ilnam. See, Inhun are the average "yin-yang" trope in fictional romance, (which I eat up every time and I find it very interesting when it's done the right way, don't get me wrong) Inho is bad but there's some goodness somewhere deep inside him. And the only person who's brought it to the surface is Gihun. Sure, he does think Gihun is naive, but he's also the only person who's actually challenged him, who's "forced" him to get his stupid head out of the dirt and look around him, even for a short while and Inho definitely liked what he saw. Honestly, it wasn't even that hard for Gihun to do so because the goodness in Inho wanted and waited for someone to pull him out of the dirt, he wished for someone, something to give him hope for humanity or.. anything. Anything that'll help him escape from his misery.

You can definitely argue that he joined the games to befriend Gihun, to gain his trust and stop his plans when the time comes, which is half true. But keep in mind that he needed to justify his choice to join the games. He's not a VIP nor the mastermind to simply get to do that without consequences. He's the frontman, the one who controls and manages everything. He's needed for the games to work and go by smoothly and successfully without unnecessary losses and problems. Gihun would only cause problems, Inho knew that very well and yet he chose to put him in it once again. He recklessly made that choice, risking pretty much everything because of his inner conflict. A part of him wanted Gihun to prove himself to him, that there's indeed good that'll save the world and the rest of him wanted to prove to Gihun that everything he so strongly believes in is merely a fantasy.

Joining the games and befriending Gihun was the only way for Inho to see the real him, without the heroic mask he puts on every time he faces the frontman. I think he believed that someone as extraordinary as Gihun will either break in front of him and he will end up disappointed by the human kind once again, or Gihun will change everything about the way he thinks for the better. But the problem is that Inho hopes for both of those things at the same time.

And that was Inho's arc in season 2. His inner conflict and how it will affect him, the game and Gihun later on.

[cheriladycl01]

Pushed Down and Down - Grid x Driver! Reader

Plot: Suffering with mental health issues as a driver isn’t easy - but when people actively don’t help it can only get worse.

Based on that one tiktok edit sound.

A/N: as someone who struggles with her own mental health this was a true comfort for me to write and reread. Drivers who talk about their mental health and how they do struggle literally have my whole heart (Lando, Lewis etc)

Warnings: Talk of mental health, depression, anxiety, etc, all drivers are a little mean to Y/N

From a very young age you were told you wouldn’t be able to do karting, and you wouldn’t get very far as it was strictly a man’s sport.

Your mum tried to sway your opinion as you were clearly the athletic type and get you into gymnastics or dancing. But the smell of the petrol and the adrenaline you got from going round the tracks was like nothing else.

Your dad on the other hand fully supported you, he was a mechanic so he did struggle to afford decent gear for you but you made do with what you had.

This however never stopped you, and as a child going into a teenager and young adult it didn’t affect you too much. You took your wins as and when they came and you worked hard for them and you took your losses as opportunity to learn from.

Oh how you wish you could go back to those days.

You proceeded to be asked in 2016 if you wanted to compete in British F4, you had your License and it seemed like you were this up and coming British talent.

You came 1st in the British F4 championship in 2017 right after Lando Norris and Max Fewtrell won the years before you. The two behind you being Oscar Piastri and Logan Sargeant. You didn’t win a race for the whole season, just pure consistency.

You then came third in the UAE F4 Championship in the same year. Oscar and Logan were also in that series with you. Logan being right on your toes coming in second place. This season you were close to taking your first win, but Logan had crashed you out taking the win for himself and leaving you down in P8.

Both Oscar and Logan of course moved up to bigger and better things in 2018. Both of them moving up to doing Eurocup Formula Renault whereas you weren’t offered anything.

In 2018 you competed in Formula 4 United States and came second place again. Your team let your American team-mate pass you on the last race of the season through team orders even though you were on equal points.

You took the loss and moved on because that just the kind of race driver you WERE.

In 2019 you were promoted to F3 and got to drive with Max Fewtrell, Logan Sargeant, Yuki Tsunoda and Liam Lawson. You came second and you actually were insanely close to Robert, but it never felt like a win. You were with Prema, and you fought tooth and nail.

In 2020, Oscar and Logan rejoined you in the feeder series and were in the same team as you as you remained with Prema.

Prema, unfortunately for you and Logan prioritised Oscar and with an insanely dominant year for Prema Oscar won the championship through the help of team orders. There were many chances for you to take wins but you knew you couldn’t get promoted to F2 just get, even though you spend to years in Prema and come second both times.

This was when Red Bull noticed you and backed you paying for the rest of your career which was lucky really considering your dad wouldn’t have been able to afford another season for you in F3 with all the debt he was already in.

2021 came around and Red Bull helped you further your career getting lots of sponsor shops along the way and finally securing you an F2 seat for the 2022 season.

In 2021 you finally won a championship, but you didn’t feel like it was a win. Everyone had something to say about this achievement, that you’d only won thanks to the team, and that it wasn’t driver capability. As a young 21 year old these comments really affected you going into the F2 season.

Once you got into F2 in 2022, you were head to head with Felipe Drugovich. Red Bull also came forward asking for you to become a reserve driver for Red Bull alongside your F2 driver Liam Lawson. You were back in the standings with Logan too, Oscar having won back to back championships and now becoming the golden goose on his route to F1 with Alpine.

This year halfway though the season you had to experience the unfortunate passing of your dad, the only true supporter you ever had. It was utterly dismal for the few races that came afterwards.

The season was closing out and there were only 3 points between you and Felipe with Theo and Liam not far behind. With a dramatic qually in Abu Dabi that had most of you at the back of the pack when starting the race, you prevailed winning the race and taking the championship.

You got out of that car celebrating only to see your team not there for you. You awkwardly celebrated with the team of the drivers from 2nd and 3rd place but you couldn’t understand why they weren’t there for you.

But he was there for you…

Christian Horner in his Red Bull team gear, white envelope in his hand that he presented you in the quiet room.

He was the first person to truly believe in you and see see potential apart from your dad and it was refreshing getting the contract that was going to sign you on as a rookie along with Oscar and Logan in the 2023 season.

F1

Liked by y/user, f1mia and others

f1: BREAKING: RedBull announce Y/N Y/L/N to drive for them in 2023 meaning all seats for the season have now been filled.

#f1 #redbull #womeninthepaddock

View all comments

user1: oh Lord I’ve followed her since F3, so proud of her!

y/user: this is a dream come true! I can finally tell my mum I made it!

lewishamilton: so proud of everything you’ve done to get women this far in the sport @y/user

user2: god they just keep on ruining this sport

redbullracing: So excited to have Y/N join us on the team!

-> y/user: I’m so thankful to you guys to be given the opportunity!

user2: oh this year is gonna slap.

maxverstappen1: welcome to the RedBull Family!

First was the Bahrain Grand Prix, it was your 3rd time in and F1 car and you were obviously very nervous. It was your first race weekend and you didn’t know where to place yourself.

The whole weekend didn’t really feel like your debut it just felt glazed over with Sergio Perez leaving and no longer being in F1. A lot of the team had hushed whispers around the situation, and Max tried his best to make you feel welcome but his awkwardness made that hard.

“So like what do you do, you drink beer?” Max awkwardly asks as you’d both been sat in the hospitality together waiting for Christian or one of the engineers to come grab you.

“Oh erm, no I don’t drink at all actually” you smile with a little furrow in your brows.

“Oh … right” Max sighs and thankfully that conversation was cut short when Christian came round the corner to collect you both.

You both were racing and for a rookie you had incredible tyre management making the agreed one stop strategy seemingly start to work despite the temperature on track. You were very quick, maybe even more quick than Max.

However coming out the pits, your tires are already starting to complain and tyre marbles are going left right and center.

Y/N Radio: What happened guys, my tyres are degrading so quickly I thought we agreed on hards?

Static was all that was received back.

Y/N Radio: Guys did you put me on softs?

Race Engineer: Sorry Y/N mess up at the pits, pit in 5 laps.

And once word got out to the other teams that they’d fucked up your race strategy and that you were basically free game your race was pretty much over.

P4 wasn’t bad considering the mistakes made, but you knew you’d could have gotten a podium on your first race.

“Y/N amazing first race in F1 you really know how to make an entrance to the sport huh?” The interviewer says cheerfully happy that you’ve done as well as you did.

“Yeah” you say with a smile.

“Not happy with the result it seems?” She pushes and you sigh.

“I’m of course so happy, getting P4 was amazing and I know my team are happy and I’ve made eveyone at home really proud. Thank you dad and I hope you’re watching! But it’s always a little … disappointing? I don’t really know if that’s the right word for how I’m feeling right now, when the outlook of something is going so well and external forces out or your control tamper with that it’s not a nice feeling. I’m really proud of the team today and of course Max had a great win today so we collected a lot of points for the team and remain top in the constructors” you explain and she nods slightly shocked with how open and honest you had been.

Eventually you were taken away by your PR manager who was starting to worry about what you were saying, a little scolding that you weren’t sure what for afterwards.

People spoke too, Lando and Oscar shocked you most.

“Y/N was kinda dangerous on track today, can’t believe she was that ballsy as a rookie man” Oscar said having know you the best driving with you for as long as he had.

“She’s talented for sure but I can’t help but feel like she’s gonna wash out” Lando admits with a sigh.

Was he right, would you have one good season and then that was it?

Things went the same in Saudi this time you managed to place your car in pole position, leading the race while Max had an unfortunate start from P15.

However after team orders came in to let Max take over once he got to a close enough gap behind you made you obey the team, not wanting to get on their nerves and make them regret choosing you. After that a botched pit stop and Oscar driving like a lunatic and bumping into your side left you down from P2 to P6

“Y/N what an incredible drive despite all that happened and you’ve hauled some good points for the team! How are you feeling?” The interviewer asks pushing the mic closer to you.

“Hot, I’m so hot right now” you joke trying to lighten the mood, wiping the sweat away from your forehead.

“Yeah I can’t imagine with this heat and the fact that the car is incredibly warm here” she smiles back and you take a breath before answering the second question.

“Yeah I mean today didnt go as planned. I got pole, I was on track to win, I did everything right but I just don’t think it was meant to be today and you know I’m going to fight really hard in Australia and see where we can get us hopefully something better than what I’m doing now” you say with a polite tight lipped smile and nod before going to the call down room.

You sat against the cold plastic door of the room head against it as you held in your tears. You always told yourself to never cry over a loss as you can’t expect to win them all. But this was supposed to be your race and you can’t help but feel like if you had Max behind you defending the incidents with the pits stop wouldn’t have occurred as you wouldn’t have done that second pit stop that cost you time.

In debrief you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Are you kidding?” You laugh looking towards Max and then back at Christian.

“You didn’t move out the way from Max quick enough and you should have caught up quicker! What were you even thinking out there colliding with Piastri like that!” Horner announces making your cheeks flush a little red from embarrassment.

You didn’t think the collision with Oscar was your fault, but maybe it was.

Then you’d heard Daniel talking to Carlos, and your thoughts continued to spiral.

“She’s a tricky one mate, can’t see her having that seat for long” Daniel admitted to Carlos at the restaurant they were at with some of the other drivers.

Y/N was sad when she didn’t get an invite seeing as many of them were there but she didn’t take it to heart having fun eating alone while people watching.

“Yeah, I wonder how many times they have to tell her team orders” Carlos had added.

The next race was Australia.

You had the faster car, better starts and you beat Max going into turn one. It was a ballsy move on your part but it was clean racing, no damage done.

Race Engineer: Y/N give back position now

Y/N Radio: But I have the faster car Zayn, I got fresher tyres and my deg is fine. I have the stats don’t tell me I’m wrong when I’m the one in the car

Race Engineer: Y/N Max is fighting for the championship, team orders slow down and give position back

And so you did, you gave Max his position back and trailed behind him creating a DRS train behind you, Hamilton and Alonso not being able to pass you to potentially overtake Max.

After this race you started to keep a mental health diary and your coach thought it would be a good idea to see a therapist to help with your quick thinking and decision making on track, of course not for your mental health and you start to struggle with coming to the terms that Max needs a second driver and that’s what Red Bull hired you for.

So you became his second driver.

Constantly being criticised by the team and Horner, constantly having Max tell you that you need to be a second driver for the season and that’s it. Nothing else. Having interviewers wondering why you keep having these near misses.

When your home Grand Prix the British Grand Prix came around you’d just about had enough of being called a second driver. You took matters into your own hands. You spend hours in the sim working out the best angle for the corners of Silverstone and seeing how much you could push the provisional car down the straights.

When it came to qualifying you smashed everyone out the park in all three sectors. The media were buzzing at your stone face for the duration of the weekend.

“Y/N what an amazing qualifying for you, you were really flying out there. And your starting on pole tomorrow with Max behind you, is there going to be team orders to let him through?” The interviewer asks smiling at you.

“I mean there have been the whole season no?” You laugh with less sparkle and glimmer in your eyes than the start of the season.

“Yes, so you’re saying Max will be let ahead tomorrow!” She asks and cock your head to one side.

“He’ll be asked yes” you nod before you leave.

Race day came and you did not listen to team orders.

Race Engineer: Y/N let Max through, then we’ll pit you first to defend the lead while Max pits.

Y/N: what about, no? Come on guys, I’ve done everything for the team you’ve wanted me for. Just let me race him.

Race Engineer: Max will race you too hard, you risk loosing both the cars Y/N let him through.

Y/N: im sorry, but i have to do this for me, to prove I’m as good a driver as i try to be.

Race Engineer: Y/N don’t do this.

And with that you celebrated your first race win. Max had ended up DNFing when he got a little caught behind and skidded onto the gravel trap trying to make up too much time to catch you.

It was a full Brit Podium, you Lando and Lewis. You were thankful you had both of them there to celebrate with you as your team didn’t show up again. Probably all consoling Max on his first DNF of the year. He wasn’t happy at all and you could tell.

“Are you okay?” Lewis had asked you as you guys had stepped away from the podium. The man wasn’t blind and could see the disappointment on your face when no one was there to congratulate you on your first win and celebrate with you.

“M’fine” you say shortly before leaving and going straight to your drivers room, tears following. You spend hours writing away in your self help book. But you couldn’t wallow it was time to take on the words of Taylor Swift in her Reputation Era.

You never thought something you loved so dearly could kill of your spirit so quickly and easily. But Max go tougher as the season went on. Only allowing you one more win in spa where you once again ignored team orders. Max was incredibly unhappy with you up there on the podium and you just knew the media would have something to say about the awful tension between you and Max. He didn’t celebrate with you in Spa only the third place podium which happened to be Charles.

The Red Bull team member immediately celebrated with Max and Charles, as much as you tried to join in however you weren’t able to get close enough. You were royally fucked off.

Singapore felt like a breath of fresh air for you when it happened, it was a new feeling that had your toes curling as you pressed on the brakes knowing that Carlos and Lando were leading with you hot on their tales and Max being nowhere in sight.

Celebrating with them felt different, but everyone could tell that the happy bubbly girl who they’d started the season with was no longer apparent.

The season closed, and honestly your team, Max and Christian all seemed like 2024 wasn’t worth sticking around for … as a great driver you owed it yourself to find your worth in F1 and that wasn’t with Red Bull

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[callsigns-haze]

Tyler’s girlfriend/wife suggests he and the team chase one last storm before their baby comes. While they’re on the road a tornado hits Tyler’s hometown and for a few angst filled hours he’s unable to reach her. When he gets home she is safe with only minor injuries.

Before the Storm

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Chapter Summary: Tyler Owens faces a life-altering decision when a tornado strikes his hometown, forcing him to choose between his passion for storm chasing and his newfound responsibilities as a husband and soon-to-be father.

Chapter Warnings: Intense emotional distress, fear of loss, and scenes of natural disaster.

The day was hot and heavy with the promise of storms on the horizon. The kind of day that made the air crackle with electricity, where even the slightest breeze carried the scent of impending rain. Tyler Owens stood by the truck, his hand absentmindedly resting on the hood as he glanced over at his wife, Y/N, who was sitting on the porch of their small, cozy home. She was eight months pregnant now, her belly round and full with the life they had created together. And despite the heat, she looked serene, her hand resting gently on her stomach as she watched him with a calm, understanding smile.

“Tyler,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the thick, humid air. He turned to look at her, his heart swelling with love and something else—something heavier. She was his world, and soon, she would be bringing their child into it, a new chapter in their lives that filled him with both excitement and trepidation.

He walked over to her, crouching down so that he was at eye level, his hand moving instinctively to rest on her belly, feeling the slight kick of their baby against his palm. “Hey there, little one,” he murmured, smiling as he looked back up at Y/N.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes,” she said, her tone gentle but knowing. She had seen that look before, many times. It was the look he got when he felt the pull of the storm, the thrill of the chase calling to him like a siren song. “There’s a big one coming, isn’t there?”

Tyler hesitated, his fingers absently tracing circles on her stomach. “Yeah,” he admitted after a moment. “Could be one of the last big ones of the season. But with the baby so close to coming… I don’t know if I should go.”

Y/N reached out, placing her hand over his. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the tug-of-war between his passion and his responsibilities. “Tyler, I know how much storm chasing means to you. It’s part of who you are. And I also know that once our baby is here, everything’s going to change.”

He swallowed hard, nodding slightly. He knew she was right. Once the baby arrived, his life would be different—storm chasing would take a backseat to late-night feedings, diaper changes, and lullabies. He wasn’t afraid of that, not really. He was ready to be a father, but the thought of leaving behind the adrenaline-fueled chases, the camaraderie of his team, and the wild, untamed beauty of the storms… it was hard to let go.

“Go,” Y/N said softly, squeezing his hand. “Go and chase this storm, Tyler. One last time before everything changes. You need this, and I want you to have it.”

He looked at her, his heart aching with love and gratitude. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you alone, especially not this close to… you know.”

She smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m sure. I’ll be fine, I promise. And when you get back, we’ll be ready for whatever comes next.”

Tyler felt a mix of excitement and hesitation well up inside him. He nodded, giving her one last lingering kiss before standing up and turning to head back to the truck. As he did, he couldn’t help but glance back at her, feeling a twinge of something he couldn’t quite place. A sense of finality, perhaps, or maybe it was just the weight of the unknown, of knowing that this could be the last time he felt the rush of the chase for a while.

The team was ready to go, the truck loaded up and the GPS coordinates set. Tyler climbed into the driver’s seat, his mind already half in the storm, the other half still back home with Y/N. As they set off, the anticipation of the chase began to build, that familiar surge of adrenaline starting to pulse through his veins.

But then, as they were speeding down the highway, the radio crackled to life, cutting through the tense silence. “We’ve got a tornado touching down in Tyler’s hometown,” came the voice, sharp and urgent. “It’s moving fast—winds are off the charts.”

Tyler’s blood ran cold. The hometown. Their home. Where Y/N was waiting, alone. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles white as the fear sank in. He tried to call her immediately, his fingers fumbling with his phone, but the call wouldn’t go through. The signal was patchy, the storm’s interference blocking his attempts.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, his heart pounding in his chest. Every unanswered ring felt like a punch to the gut, the anxiety gnawing at him with every mile they drove. The distance between him and Y/N felt insurmountable, the fear growing with each passing minute.

“Tyler, we’ll get there,” one of his team members said, trying to offer reassurance, but Tyler barely heard him. His mind was spinning with worst-case scenarios—images of their house torn apart, of Y/N trapped or injured, or worse. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose them.

Time stretched out painfully, each mile feeling like an eternity. The closer they got, the more desperate he became, trying over and over to reach her, his hands shaking as he redialed her number. The storm was ferocious, the winds whipping around them as they sped down the highway, but Tyler’s only thought was getting home, getting to her.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they arrived in town. The destruction was overwhelming—trees uprooted, houses reduced to rubble, debris scattered everywhere. Tyler’s heart pounded in his ears as he jumped out of the truck, barely waiting for it to stop. He sprinted towards their house, his legs burning with the effort, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to her.

When he reached the house, his breath caught in his throat. The structure was still standing, but it had taken a hit—windows shattered, the roof partially torn off. Panic clawed at him as he stumbled inside, calling her name.

“Y/N! Y/N, where are you?!”

His voice cracked with fear, the dread suffocating him as he searched the wreckage of their home. And then, he saw her. She was sitting on the floor in the hallway, her back against the wall, holding her belly protectively. She looked up at him, her face pale, her eyes wide with relief.

“Tyler,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He was at her side in an instant, dropping to his knees and pulling her into his arms, holding her so tightly he was afraid he might hurt her, but he couldn’t let go. The relief that washed over him was overwhelming, tears burning in his eyes as he buried his face in her hair.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re okay… oh, thank God, you’re okay.”

She nodded, clinging to him just as tightly. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice shaky but firm. “The baby’s okay. We’re okay, Tyler.”

He pulled back just enough to cup her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers, needing to see for himself that she was truly safe. She had a few cuts on her arms, and a bruise was forming on her forehead, but otherwise, she seemed unharmed. He exhaled a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I was so scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was going to lose you. I thought… I can’t lose you.”

“You didn’t lose me,” she reassured him, her fingers brushing through his hair. “I’m right here. We’re right here.”

As he held her close, the storm still raging outside, Tyler felt something shift inside him. He had always known there was a balance to be struck between his passion for storm chasing and his responsibilities as a husband, and soon, as a father. But now, with Y/N in his arms, that balance felt more fragile than ever. The thrill of the chase was still there, but it paled in comparison to the fear of losing her, of losing the family they were about to become.

“I’m done,” he whispered after a long moment. “This was my last chase. I’m done.”

Y/N looked at him, surprised. “Tyler, you don’t have to—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “I’m done. I can’t keep putting you through this. I can’t keep putting our family at risk. This is where I need to be—from now on, this is my priority. You and our baby… you’re what matters.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she nodded, her hand resting over his on her stomach. “I love you, Tyler.”

“I love you too,” he said, his voice breaking as he kissed her deeply, holding her as if he’d never let go.

And as the storm began to move on, leaving behind a trail of destruction and chaos, Tyler knew that this was the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. The thrill of the chase had been a part of his life for so long, but now, he had something even more important to protect, something worth giving it all up for.

As he held Y/N close, feeling the faint kick of their baby between them, Tyler made a silent promise—to be there, to protect them, to never let the storm take away what mattered most.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

[maxivstappen]

THE GREATEST — TRUE BLUE

[ part one / masterlist / requests are open ]

☽｡⋆ part 2 of THE GREATEST. he tried to live without you, but how is one to survive with a broken heart? a story based on TRUE BLUE by billie eilish. — lando norris x fem!reader (could technically be read as a stand-alone)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst, hurt & comfort, hints of fluff (?) 𝄞 4.1k words

❝ Lights out, you’re not here holding me ❞

Lando had never before felt the way he did the day you left him. Seeing you walk through that door, intending to never come back to him ever again, it pained him. It took him too long to realize how much he hurt you, and now he had to suffer the consequences. He swore it wasn’t on purpose, but when his friends told him that also the third girl he had brought along since you broke up with him resembled you in a way, he stopped denying. There was no use. The guys knew, the internet knew, he knew that he wasn’t yet over you. And he thinks he never will be. You left an empty place in his heart, a place that would forever be reserved for you only and you only. No matter how hard he tried to find someone else, no one would ever be able to replace you.

The girl he brought to the first race after the summer break was long forgotten already.

At first, everyone around him believed him when he said he felt happier now without you. But the moment he went back to his old ways, the heartbreaker they’ve known for so long, they realized he wasn’t. The girls always looked like you. He only rarely smiled anymore and he couldn‘t care less about his friends‘ relationships, even going as far as faking a gag or simply not coming to hang out with them at all. He said it’s because he needs to focus on racing. They knew it was because of you. Lando was yet to tell them why the relationship ended. He’d rather crash his car and DNF in every race for the rest of his life than to ever have to talk about the night you left ever again. He felt embarrassed and bad and was so terribly regretful. Only his parents knew the whole truth. He told them with tears caressing his face just like you once did, and seeing the disappointment in their eyes, he felt his heart rip apart even more. They had loved you so much, only waiting for the day he would finally go down on one knee for you, and now he messed it all up.

If he could just go back and make it all alright. Make you feel unconditionally loved wherever you went, make you happy, keep you happy. He would change it all if he just had the chance, but he knew you deserved better. Maybe one day, he could be better again.

He is ready to give up the very thing for you that had made you leave him that night if you’d ask him to. Racing would never again mean as much to him as you, though broken up, still do to him.

He was currently seated in his McLaren, waiting for the lights to go out so he could try his very best to overtake max at the start already. He should have his mind on the track. He shouldn’t think about you, not here. But like always, he couldn’t help it. He hoped to see you in the stands once he was able to get out of the car again. He hoped to see you wave and smile at him, run into his arms and let him kiss you all over, do all the things he had failed to do so many months ago. He knew it wouldn’t happen. He believed anyway. The lights went out and the cars began moving. He tried his best, he always did, but he wasn‘t afraid to lose anymore; for what was it worth to win a race when he had faced the greatest loss of them all already?

❝ I count every tear down my cheek instead of sheep ❞

You couldn’t sleep. You could never sleep while he was racing. Especially when he was on the other side of the world, which is why you went with him last season, and also at the start of this one. Maybe you never should’ve. Long distance was hard, but you managed. He felt farther away when he was still sleeping next you every night. At least when he didn’t send you off to sleep on the couch.

You tossed and turned in your sleep, but you didn’t dare to turn on the TV. It’s been months, you should try to live without him. Without seeing him. Without feeling for him. His races had nothing to do with you, neither did the outcome. And god, if he wins and you have to watch him kiss someone else again you might as well just take his racing car and drive right into the nearest wall. He’s so far away and yet, it didn’t make you love him any less. You huffed, fear slowly building up inside of you. You knew you shouldn’t do this, you had to wake up early tomorrow and really, it wouldn’t be that bad to miss a race once or twice, but you couldn’t help it. Reaching for the remote, your eyes were flooded with tears and your heart stung like never before when you saw him driving out there. You were rooting for him nonetheless. Just months ago you had watched the races from inside the McLaren hospitality, but now? All alone in your bed, anxiously following his every move. You would never fall asleep like this.

❝ Sleepwalk, find myself on your street. Three knocks, ring the bell, then I leave ❞

And there you stood high up in the stands the next weekend, head hanging low as you didn‘t want any fans of him recognizing you, back in his territory. You tried to ignore him, you really did, but your eyes kept following him around the paddock and didn’t leave him even while he was doing the quick interviews he had to do on his way there. And honestly, it kinda felt like home. Attending the races. Being near him. Being with him. You missed it more than anything else in the world, and you felt pathetic for it. He hurt you every way he could, and still, he didn’t hurt you enough to make you hate him. And you really wanted to hate him.

You went to the race together with one of your friends from uni. You bonded over formula 1 and your shared passion for the sport and quickly became very good friends. However, she had to leave soon, moving to another city for a better starting point for her career. Hence, you decided to save some money and go to a race together for the last time; for now, at least. You still remember the way she looked at you when you told her you were with Lando. The way you swooned over him to her, and the way you cried your eyes out when it all ended. You really thought you‘d be able to spend the rest of your life with him, and now all you had left of him were memories. She‘s known you long enough to immediately notice your longing after him the moment your eyes locked onto his dark brown curls. Your heart fluttered and it made you nauseous. One day this would stop, right? Your feeling must fade at least sometime, or was this all just wishful thinking? Could you not just get over him like everyone else got over their exes and start dating someone new?

Your heart ached. He was so close, not out of reach anymore, not on the other side of the world anymore, but still, there was no way of getting back to him, the crash barriers and the grandstand keeping you away, and it felt like the end of your relationship all over again, with him on the track and you sitting and waiting patiently on the sidelines, always at least an arm length distance between you two. You shouldn’t even want to get him back. You left out a sigh as he walked into the McLaren hospitality, finally out of sight. But still not out of mind.

Your friend huffed next to you, and finally decided to try and convince you to talk to him after the race while you were still in the same place, to get closure at last. You knew it must annoy your friends and maybe even your family that it was so hard for you to just move on. They put effort into understanding, but still, Lando wasn‘t good to you, at least not in the end. Many would treat you better, but you didn‘t seem to care. You quickly shook your head no, telling her how he probably didn’t want to talk to you and that catching him after the race would be nearly impossible, with bodyguards and tons and tons of interviewers and cameras around him.

The conversation ended soon after, as the lights went out and the drivers hit the gas. You pondered for a second, reconsidering your friend‘s suggestion, a weird feeling building up in your stomach. Maybe you shouldn’t even be here, maybe you should *leave* after the race and never look back. But to your dismay, every sense in your body was telling you to stay.

❝ I try to live in black and white but I’m so blue ❞

The race went well, but he didn‘t really care. Of course he was happy, the whole team was euphoric for their two drivers who secured place 2 and 4, huge smiles plastered on their faces. Once he was done with the post-race interviews he left to go back and get some rest inside his apartment, at least until the others came around to drag him to the afterparty, slandering from one club into the next one.

Everything felt so lonely without you. His bed was cold even when he was hidden under his blanket, and the dining room was nothing more than a reminder that he wasn‘t spending his evenings with you. Watching TV got boring. Everything got boring. He didn’t even know why he lost you anymore, he didn’t know what the hell it was that made him believe you weren’t made for him, making him believe there was actually something more important than you in this lifetime. You haunted his every thought, and even though he truly only wanted the best for you, deep inside him, he wanted you to still need him as well.

He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, gently buttoning up his shirt like you used to do, always leaving the 3 highest ones unbuttoned. He missed your touch, your eyes looking up at him and your hands always reaching for his. His arms would be wrapped around your waist and his head would be leaning on your shoulder, sneaking a few, small kisses up your neck as you changed your earrings for the night, the imagine of it painted onto your fast beating heart as you stood in front of the full-body mirror in your apartment, finishing up your accessoires. You wore a blue dress that covered your thighs, not reaching your knees. It hugged you in all the right places, accentuating your features. It used to be Lando‘s favourite, but you had no other alternative, not having brought any other dresses. Your friend insisted on going clubbing anyway, desperately wanting to finally get him off your mind for one night at least.

The other drivers were loud and happy and drunk and Lando sat next to them, staring at his already empty glass. He knew how this would go. At some point, either the drivers or one of their girls would tap his shoulder, saying they have a friend they think he would really like, and if he would like to be introduced to her. He would agree so they would finally keep their mouths shut, he would talk to the girl. Maybe they would kiss if he drank enough. Maybe he would take her home. Maybe he would think about you the whole time, maybe he would accidentally call her your name. Maybe he would wake up in the morning and would be happy that she‘d left, content with it only being a one-time thing and not meaning anything.

Because, in the end, nothing meant anything without you.

He pretended to laugh at the jokes of his friends, but really, none of this was fun to him. These nights were nothing more than a constant reminder of how he used to have his fun while you were waiting for him at home, cold and sad and alone. How could he be so stupid and leave you alone all the time? He doesn’t even know why he did it anymore. He yawned, very obviously not enjoying the party. Yes, it was nice seeing his friends so happy, the mood wasn’t as tense as it was around and on the track and the people inside the night club were vivid, dancing and drinking, seemingly having the time of their life downing countless beverages, but still, the happiness didn’t reach him.

“Dude, I think your girl‘s here.“ Oscar pushed him slightly, two vodka bull in hand for himself and Lily. Lando didn’t pay him any mind and rolled his eyes, not really in the mood for talking to any girl that isn’t you at the moment. Couldn’t they just give up? He wasn’t ready yet for someone else, he didn’t even know if he wanted to be with someone that isn’t you at all. Ever. Instead of arguing with Oscar about how he didn’t want to hear from any other girl right now, he went to get another drink as well.

He pushed through the dense crowd of people, navigating through the cacophony of laughter and piercing yelling that seemed to echo from all directions. The deafening loud music blasting through his ears made it difficult to focus, and the harsh sound of glass clunking together only added to it. The colorful LED lights rapidly switched from green to red to purple to yellow in a matter of seconds, creating a dizzying light show that overwhelmed his vision. This sensory onslaught of sounds, sights, and sensations overstimulated his senses, making each step forward feel like an effort.

Finally at his destination, he waited for the waiter or waitress, he wasn’t quite sure, to get his order. He wasn’t certain what his plan was that night at all. Sleeping around or not, you wouldn’t stop haunting his mind anyway, so was it really worth it? Getting drunk and trying to make his nights feel less lonesome? Or should he just wait and really focus on his carrer again until maybe, one day, you’d come back?

He ignored the possibilty of you not coming back at all.

He let his eyes wander around the scene unfolding in front of him, occasionally making eye contact with random girls who winked at him and tried to get his attention, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Frustration started to bubble up inside of him as the wait for his drink seemed to go on for forever, until suddenly, his heart skipped a beat.

Lando was certain that in a room full of people, he would always be able to notice you first. He pondered if it was you whenever he‘d walk by a girl with the same hair colour as you, immediately dismissing the thought when he saw a face that didn’t match yours just a second later. But this time, it was different. The hair ressembled yours without a doubt, and of course he remembered the dress he had bought for you so long ago; never once had he been able to keep his hands to himself when you wore it. The height matched you perfectly as well. But it couldn’t be you, right?

Oscar‘s words replayed in his mind and he finally understood what he meant. Who he meant.

It was really you.

You tried to enjoy the party, but you really weren’t doing so well. Your friend had left you near the bar, thinking you’d be hitting it off with a guy you’ve been talking to for some time, but that wasn’t the case. he left just five minutes after to go home, asking if you’d like to come with him. You denied, but your friend was nowhere to be found, having found someone in this club herself. It was scary being alone in a club full of drunk, intoxicated people, even more so when you sensed someone staring at you from behind. You didn’t have to worry about things like that when you were still with Lando, with him always stuck to your side, a protective arm hanging around your shoulders. you shuddered at the thought, and dared to turn around to find the very person who was looking at you so steadily.

And then you locked eyes.

The world suddenly went quiet. All the chaos, the noise, it all faded into the background, no sound to be heard other than the synchronised, rapid beating of your heart. It seemed as if the only two people in that room were you and him, only the void surrounding the two of you. The LEDs turned blue, engulfing you and him, the light accentuating your features and he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, stuck in a trance of what this could mean for him in the future; what this could mean for you both. Time seemed to stand still. He wanted to run to you, to hold you, to tell you how much he missed you, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. His breath hitched and so did yours, all the yearning, all the longing hitting you and him at lightspeed.

You walked towards him, each step filled with electricity. The tension was palpable, his mouth agape as you stood in front of him, only centimeters away from closing the gap between you. There was so much he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to apologize, so many things he wanted to make right, but he didn‘t dare to say things first, afraid too scare you off. The last thing he wanted is for you to leave him again.

“I didn‘t know you‘d be here, thought I‘d seen Oscar but I wasn‘t sure,“ you started, stumbling over your own words, laughing awkwardly, then biting your lip right after. He noticed, because you always did that when you were nervous; you’d done it too when you broke up with him. You wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but that would be a lie, one he could look right through of. You just couldn‘t process actually being in his presence again.

“You still wear the dress?“

“It‘s, uhm, quite pretty, so yeah.“ You nodded along to your own words, gulping at the tense and awkward silence right after, looking down at your shoes, the sight of him in this light still not leaving your mind. Maybe he didn‘t even feel the same way, maybe he didn‘t even want to talk to you. Maybe you already made a fool of yourself when you made your way over to him, maybe you really should‘ve just stayed at home. But at the same time, this is what you‘d hoped for this whole time. To finally see him again.

“I‘m so sorry for what I did to you, y/n, please believe me. E-Ever since you left, I couldn‘t stop thinking about you. Not once. I tried to move on, y‘know, would probably be better for you as well, ‘cause you deserve better than how I‘ve treated you at the end and I don‘t want to have to put you through that again but I just- I miss you so much, I don‘t know what to do! And now you‘re here and I swear I‘ve been waiting for a moment like this and-,“ he stopped for a second, heavy and shaky breaths filling the silence, „If giving up racing means you‘ll let me come back to you, I‘ll do it.“

Your teary eyes widened and you looked up at him again, staring into his. One could take it as an empty promise. But you knew better than anyone else that Lando wasn’t one to joke about racing, ever. “Lando you can’t just- I- I mean, racing? It didn‘t work before Lan I just- don‘t give up your dreams for me, please? You shouldn‘t, you have so much ahead of you still,“ you sighed out, every single part of your body overwhelmed like never before.

But Lando was certain. He traced every yet so small feature of your face and body with his eyes, and he knew in that exact moment that, no matter what, he could never lose you again. Not this time. Not when fate hat somehow brought you together once again, giving him a second chance to make it all better. Question was now if you’d let him have that second chance too.

He lifted his hand to gently wipe away the tear running down your cheek, having you lean into his familiar touch. “I’ll do it for you”, he said, and that was when you broke apart, legs feeling numb and wobbly suddenly. Tears streamed down your face as you took another step forward and he wrapped his arms around your body out of reflex, gently placing soft kisses on top of your head, tearing up as well as your cried into his chest.

Maybe it was bad, maybe you shouldn’t feel like this again, but you’ve never once after the breakup felt as at peace with yourself and your as you did now, even if you were in a loud and busy club, surrounded by drunk and high people. You managed to push them to the back of your mind, the familiar scent of Lando’s perfume calming your senses. It felt like home. Maybe he really did owe you something, and though you once were anguished because of it, you wouldn’t ever deprive him of the joy of racing. There would be a way through it without having to abandon any of your or his dreams. There must be if you want it to work out, and you were sure that this time, it would. And so was he.

Lando took you home with him that night, not before you shot your friend a quick text message, afraid she might think you were kidnapped or whatnot. You knew that you’d have to fly home again in two days. He knew that too, but there was no need to rush things anyway. You were still his and he was still yours, and that’s all that mattered for now. It’s gonna be weird explaining this to your friends and your family, but neither of you minded it as long as it meant you could be with each other again. You would have to talk things through and see how you’d manage the race weekends and the events and the media - but not now. Now, with you calmly and lightly snoring in his arms, he didn’t care about any of that, simply content with having you again.

He promised you before you drifted off into your tranquil slumber that he will make it right this time. He will be there for you no matter what, he will defend you and take you with him and show you off and love you like already should have done all these months ago. This time, he will put in the work and the appreciation and the effort, and then, you will finally be able to be the greatest.

❝ I’d like to mean it when I say I’m over you, but that’s still not true. ❞

taglist for part 2 of the greatest : @mrs-saturday @tylerstacobell @angeltroian @acesbakery @directioner5life @malynn @escuellasceramicdollie @strangetoadroadbat @norrisdriver @aliceisnuts @carlando4 @f1fantasys @no-144444 @belivisa @callsignwidow @cruzgrecia @ifsoniacouldfly @wony6ung @hurtblossom @faeriepigeons @interlagos @xnatqq @fanficweasley @youreintheclubb @chaimaarouaine11 @idgasb @cruzgrecia @madstxo @trisharee (basically everyone who commented vv sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged!)

[nostalgicmiscellaneous]

Now that we have confirmation from Colin's mouth how much Pen not answering to his letters affected him and his behavior because he felt alone, missing her, abandoned by her and his family, their interaction in S3 part 1 becomes fascinating. I recommend you all to watch the entire season. With the knowledge we have, now that we know his feelings were already confusing him, it adds so much depth to his actions. We know now that he was truly peacocking towards her when he went to find her and she was cold to him because of what happened S2E8. We know he was using his charm to try to work on her - because he hoped it worked, that it would charm her too - but was truly being genuine when he said "I Miss You". He had missed her, he misses her and he feels quite empty. His apology and need to connect with her. Thinking that helping her would make her but also him, specially him, feel better, as she was with him, he felt good with her around. His vulnerability talking about LW shading him. Then we see him realizing how much he loves her company, how much it bother him when her attention is on any other men. Him realizing that yes, missing her so much has a reason...Can you imagine his mind? And when he received praise and admiration from the very person he was craving attention? And it makes the hard fall when he discovers LW harder for him to swallow...because everything she said to him and that pleased him so much was a lie, because she's LW and LW talked badly about him. I'm rewatching all episodes of season 3 and i'm having so many great moments with what we know about him now. and It makes his reticent behavior to kiss her even more sweet because it's almost like he's afraid it will confirm something to him, confirm he does have romantic feelings for her. He is insecure there too, because he already knows by then he's feeling something but she's asking for a kiss that will mean nothing, that she says it's just because he's a friend and she has never been kissed, nothing special to her, something practical. He wasn't down fast, i already didn't think so without knowing with spoken words, but now it's confirmed to us, he had been musing about his feelings for her for quite some time. He thought he lost her and then he though he got her back and maybe even more so now that he can understand his feelings and have a chance to make her feel that way too, but she wants distance and that their kiss, that meant everything to him, will never happen again. And with Debling showing up and trying to take her away, to distance her even more, and she seems to like his attentions, must have been hell and Luke played that so well, the longing, the loss and the understanding. Do it, watch it again with everything we now know about Colin, it makes everything so bloody great. There is whole summer where Colin was our Pen and now we have a very good glimpse of that, when we look at everything now with his perspective in mind.

[prickly-paprikash]

Castlevania Nocturne really stepped up its game in the second season.

I had two major complaints for the premiere season of CN:

The pacing was erratic. From episode 2 onwards, it seems as if the story is obsessed with giving us nonstop climactic battles, at the cost of letting the characters and pacing breathe. I understand that a central theme of the first season was loss—not just loss of loved ones and the grief that comes with it, but simply losing at every turn. They make the Vampire Messiah feel more like an inevitability, and it works to some extent. But one thing that the original Castlevania series did well was how it handled the flow of conversation and combat.

Seasons 1-3 were all mostly slow, deliberate episodes centered on talking. Characters would simply converse. The very first scene of Castlevania literally embodies this.

Lisa and Dracula, having an organic yet expertly crafted conversation that feels sharp, poignant, and immediately tells us everything we need to know about these two characters. We get one Lisa scene, and then she dies and yet it hits so hard because of how one conversation was written.

Nocturne's first season, many times, felt more like a quip-fest. Castlevania's humor was dry and morbid, to better fit the sarcastic and dark tone of the series. When characters like Trevor or Sypha or even Isaac cracked a joke, it never felt out of place. They had a cold, callous sense to them. Like their humor was a coping mechanism for the dreary and bleak reality they lived in.

Richter on the other hand felt like a Phase IV MCU lead, being unbearably sarcastic and "witty". Watching Nocturne again, I struggled to like Richter in the first half but he really came into his own after he meets Juste.

In the second season, however, the pacing really knuckles down. It becomes deliberate. And when a fight scene happens pre-episode 7, it feels more like OG Castlevania again. It isn't being treated with extreme weight, but it feels more like a part of every day life for Belmonts and their peers. Whenever Trevor, Sypha and Alucard get into a scrap with Night creatures, it actually had a sense of levity to them. This was a job. An occupational hazard. A logical result of living in Wallachia. In Nocturne season 1, fights were treated with more weight than they should have, while character work felt secondary, barring someone like Annette.

Here, it really allows me to fall for these characters more. Being an OG Drolta stan was so rewarding this season. I really also liked Maria and Tera more here, with Tera becoming a vampire creating a really interesting dynamic between the two and pushing their characters into directions that I didn't expect to enjoy as much as I did.

Mizrak, Olrox, and Richter were sidelined a bit more here, but it makes sense. These three dominated the first season, so it made sense to shift the focus on others and let their characters grow and shine. But just because they didn't take up most of the spotlight doesn't mean their characters were ignored.

Mizrak and Olrox's romance was developed in more subtle ways this time, which I appreciated. The writers let the unspoken heat and budding romance speak for themselves here, and I really enjoyed Olrox's sadness and Mizrak's regret and grief here, though of course the best scene between them was at the end. The way the writers made that finale, weaving feelings of heartbreak, lust, love, and fear into that one sentence was so, so good. Mizrak's fear of death and torment. Olrox simply saying that the devil was easy to cheat.

Ugh. That's the good shit.

And Richter? They still let him be the dry, sarcastic quipster, but I appreciate the restraint here. He doesn't crack jokes as much. Instead, they really focus on his feelings with Annette, to the point that he feels more like the love interest rather than the MC for a good chunk of the season.

And I'm not complaining. I enjoyed the budding romance between them in the first season, but with the deliberate pacing here, the writers really sold me on this soft, chaste, tender love story. Richter and Annette feel like young adults falling for the first time and I really fucked with it.

I'll talk about Annette in a separate post, but sufficed to say, she was the best character of this season. Hands down.

My second complaint was Erzsebet Báthory. She felt so... she felt like she paled in comparison to the three other villains of the season.

Drolta was exquisite. She oozed charisma and charm, and she stole every single scene she was in. The animators loved her and I could tell. She had the most costume changes. She had the sharpest lines. She was gorgeous. And even her death felt euphoric because she got to introduce Alucard into the mix. Like, seriously, they used her perfectly in the first season and she was easily the best character by far.

Olrox? Sexy. Gay. Kill me. Him and Mizrak? Perfection. His voice was so smooth and seductive. His dialogue? Smartly written. Every scene he's in, he feels like he's always holding back something.

Rage. Pain. Lust. Desire. Grief. Hatred. Remorse. It is always there, an undercurrent of emotions so thick you could feel it in every scene they placed him in.

Abbott? Worthless. Pathetic. Hypocrite. I hated him every single time he was onscreen, and that was exactly what he needed to be. A counterrevolutionary bible thumper that would elicit powerful memories of unlikable relatives at a reunion. No notes. Perfectly utilized villain, and I fucking cheered when he got burnt to a crisp by his daughter.

But Báthory felt so underwhelming.

So either the writers knew this specific complaint from the fans, or more likely wrote her this way to purposefully hide the true final boss of the series.

Drolta.

See, Báthory doesn't hold a candle to any previous villains of the Castlevania story. Not as complex as Isaac. Not as iconic and important as Dracula. Not as enjoyable to both hate and love as Carmilla. Not as hilarious and memorable as Death. She was just there. I thought it was a waste, and that I wanted to see more of her shine in season 2.

So when the only bit of character work she got was her mourning Drolta and her small flashback, I was disappointed.

Make no mistake, she made a great physical threat. But that was it. She felt more like one of Death's elite guards from season 4 than her own true brand of evil.

Not as hate-worthy as the Abbott. Not as conflicted as Olrox. Not as charismatic as Drolta.

So imagine my surprise and subsequent glee as to when Drolta takes the power for herself. Killing her in the sky. That was perfect.

Drolta, who served Sekhmet. Who broke down at the loss of her goddess, her fellow priestesses, and the people she cared for. Who, blinded by grief, sought to resurrect her goddess by becoming a vampire herself and searching high and low for a worthy vessel.

Drolta became even more interesting. Thinking herself as only a follower, never seeking to gain the goddesses' power for herself. Becoming the first Vampire/Night Creature that gave Alucard, the son of Dracula himself who was leagues above Báthory before she became the goddess, quite a lot of trouble.

The way every villain was handled in this season was excellent. From Abbott's death, to Richter proclaiming his desire to avenge his mother to Olrox's face right after they worked together to beat Drolta, but still letting him go afterwards as thanks—I'm sorry, but that was some raw ass writing right there.

The only thing I have to complain about? Nothing from the writers or animators or directors. It's the production that I hate.

Streaming services fucked everything up. 8-10 episodes for every single show is such a dumb move, and making us wait 2-3 years for every single one of them is horrible.

On top of the fact that they will cancel something on a whim.

Nocturne would be unquestionably a masterpiece had it been allowed to have 24 fucking episodes each season. We could explore France more. See deeper into the revolutionary setting of the show. Really see the world of Castlevania, but no. And now there's still a threat of cancellation when animation has been carrying Netflix's worthless ass for years? Especially through the pandemic?

Watch Castlevania Nocturne. Support the studio. Show Netflix that this is where their energies and money should be going towards.

Their live actions, barring something like the big names of Stranger Things and Squid Game, have been flops. They fumbled the Witcher series. They killed Kaos. They ended Shadow and Bone. They fuck up every single time and it has been animation that has pulled through.

Arcane. Castlevania. Blue Eye Samurai. She-Ra.

Support this show, please. I would love to keep this series going, but it needs the attention it so rightfully deserves.

Please. I need to see Old Man Coyote. I need to see Tera go further into the darkness. I want to believe in the possible Maria x Alucard romance that was in the games that could be written really well here. I want to see more of these characters. I want to dive deeper into this world. But most importantly, I want every single person who worked on this show to keep having a job. To be able to do what they do best and get better at it.

This show is great. It deserves more seasons. More sequel series to explore other Belmonts. Other countries. More sexy vampires. More sexy hunters.

Support animation.

[darylbae]

never again — daryl dixon 🩰

in which you reunite with daryl after him being taken by the Saviours

note: i had to get this off my brain before i forgot about it & also it's not 100% story accurate as season 7 was so long ago for me lmao

You were a crack shot with a gun. You were quick, reliable, efficient. But nothing prepared you for this.

Negan.

Being on your knees, Lucille being swung around recklessly by the psychopath you'd met only moments ago, you were holding it together. You'd seen a lot since the world had ended, done a lot, lost a lot. Something just felt worse about this, the not knowing, the complete and utter defeat plastered on every face around you. You looked over to Daryl, who you'd only just seen again, being dragged out of a vehicle by one of the many ruffians. The two of you locked eyes for just a moment, hoping to not give anything away between the two of you. His eyes were desperate, helpless, full of every ounce of love his body could carry. Hoping he could give it to you in person soon. You tried to be strong, for the group, for yourself, but this was a loss. There's no trying to be tough here, they had the upper hand. Negan was playing with everyone, playing a party game to choose who dies, laughing maniacally at the tears and shivers you all shared. You lost your breath when the bat clocked Abraham's skull, diverting your eyes away out of pure fear. Fear. At one point that was only reserved for the dead, but you'd come to realize humans were way worse. Everything blurred together after that. Daryl having a moment of courage and clipping Negan before being held down once more. Glenn being hit. Your eyes burning and jaw hurting from clenching your teeth so hard. It had taken every last bit of humanity out of you. You'd lost two parts of the family keeping you glued together. And there was nothing you could do. Your once bright demeanor swapped for one moodier, angrier, emptier. Daryl had been taken by Negan, to be kept. Like a pet. Your mouth dried as you saw him thrown into the back of a vehicle, like an animal, like he meant nothing to nobody. But he meant something to you. The love of your life. The reason to want to survive this mess daily. He meant everything to you. Even from before, you'd never had a connection like this with anyone. Daryl understood you, knew you, cared so deeply for you, and you him. You spoke about marrying, about finding a nice place to yourselves one day, about making a beautiful family to devote your time to.

You stayed in Alexandria, out of fear. You wanted to leave, you wanted to tell Negan to shove it, you wanted to side with Rosita and stand up for yourselves, like you always had. But Negan having Daryl changed everything for you. You didn't want to do anything to put him in harm's way, you wanted him back. Negan and his group would occasionally come in, take whatever they wanted, and leave. You'd see Daryl, all dirty with his head low. And you'd tell yourself it wasn't him. That wasn't your Daryl. He'd look at you, and you could still see him in there, but the looks were always fleeting. So you'd sit in your house, parts of your furniture gone, waiting for your turn with Lucille. You'd sit on your porch, a blank stare cast over your face as you think about him. You'd sit out here together, reading a book to him as he massaged your legs that were propped up on his lap. You'd join him out here for a smoke, not to smoke but for company, and you'd talk to him about a cute thing Judith did that day, or what you thought your own kids would look like. Nobody was happy living like this, trembling at the sound of the whistling, or the men just wandering around the streets and homes. But Rick was submitting, he had to. There was no other way. You'd lost all motivation for anything, you'd force yourself on runs, finding resources for Negan. Then you'd come back, sometimes eat, but mostly sleep and think about Daryl.

There were small talks of a fight back, like Maggie had spoken about the morning after Negan. She was on Death's door last time you saw her, but you had hoped and prayed her and Sasha were okay. Rick had shut down every idea of fighting back, saying this is how to survive now. You'd even gone over to him, pleading to do something.

"Please, Rick," you cried, stood at his door with tears sliding down your cheeks, "I need him back." "I know." Was all he said, pulling you into his arms. The comfort was nice, but these arms weren't the ones you wanted around you.

Then you'd lost Spencer, Eugene, and almost Rosita. Your emotions were burning inside of you, you felt like a spectator in this sick, twisted game. Enough was enough.

"I'm fighting, Rick," you spoke, your voice low. Broken but determined. Michonne stood by you; you needed to go to war. There's no more lying down and taking it. "We've lost so much, too much, for this to be our lives now." You cried, "I'm not losing anything else. Anyone else."

You were headed to Hilltop, where Maggie and Sasha were. You were hopeful for their health, and survival, and to see them both on the other side of those gates, was a sight for sore eyes. "You were right," Rick said to Maggie, but you couldn't hear the rest. Your eyes had drowned out everything around you. Your eyes, you thought, were playing tricks on you. There he was. You'd walked over to him, unsure if this was just another nightmare like the previous nights, or if this was him. Daryl. Standing in front of you. The two of you just looked at each other, unable to comprehend what you were seeing. Until Daryl had opened his arms for you, crying into your shoulder as you were his. The two of you a sobbing mess in each other's limbs. "I got ya back," he whispered, for only you to hear, "I've been thinking about ya every day. I couldn't stop." "I'm here." You cried, holding him tighter against your body. "I'm not going anywhere, you're never leaving me again." "I know, baby, I know."

[pbaz7]

CROSSING THE LINE — PART NINE ♡

paige x azzi

warnings: panic attack

word count: 5k

A/N: This chapter was a little sad to write but I liked detailed I was able to get with Paige's feelings . If you didn't see my post earlier I'm not sure where I'm going from here yet with this story. This might be one of the last chapters with like an epilogue or something but idk fully yet. Please let me know what you think and leave live reactions and comments if you can! Hope everyone had a nice holiday 😊

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

Mid February 2024

Paige stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face pale, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The weight of it all felt unbearable. Her mind churned with a constant noise—comments, critiques, expectations, all bouncing off the walls of her head. No matter how hard she worked, it was never enough. Each day was a new round of judgment, and she was so tired no matter how much she tried to hide it. 

It was February, and UConn had only lost two games this season, but both had come with a heavy cost. The media storm that followed each loss made it feel like the world was spinning just a little bit too fast, dragging her along with it. Geno’s contradicting criticisms were always looming. She was too passive one game, too aggressive the next, but always too something. She shot too much, didn’t shoot enough, forced too many shots. Every mistake, every misstep, every decision, was held under a microscope, dissected and discussed endlessly.

Paige’s breath came in shallow gasps as she stared at herself in the mirror, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. The scoreboard in her mind was relentless. If she didn’t get at least 25, if she didn’t clearly dominate the game, she wasn’t good enough. It didn’t matter that she was impacting the game in other ways—her assists, her defense, her leadership, her mere gravity on the court. None of that seemed to matter. Only the numbers in the point column.

The pressure was suffocating. No matter how many hours she spent perfecting her game, it was never enough.

Every morning, the first thought in her head wasn’t about the game ahead—it was about the headlines, the tweets, the messages people were sending. Every night, she lay awake replaying her mistakes, wondering how she could have done more. What if she’d pushed harder, passed differently, shot better? What if she had been more aggressive? The question haunted her like a shadow, chasing her down until she couldn’t tell where the doubt ended and she began.

The whispers were always there—people talking about her, criticizing her, claiming she wasn’t the player they thought she should be, the player she used to be. Even her own coach had joined the chorus of voices pointing out her flaws. She could feel the eyes on her during every practice, every game. Everyone was waiting for her to fall, to break under the pressure.

And sometimes, Paige felt like she might.

Azzi slowly noticed it over time. Paige had been quieter than usual during practice, a little more withdrawn in her celebrations, a little more distant. When they were on the court together, Azzi could see the way Paige was moving—slower, as if every step took more energy than the last. She was still putting in the work everyday, but it wasn’t the same. Her confidence, her usual fire, seemed dimmed. Azzi knew Paige well enough to recognize the signs.

So after a seemingly difficult practice for Paige one day, when the gym was nearly empty and the others were gathering their things, Azzi caught up with Paige. She stood in front of her, blocking her path to the locker room, her eyes soft but insistent.

"Paige," Azzi said, her voice gentle but firm. "What’s going on?"

"I’m fine Az," Paige muttered, her tone a little flat.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, especially considering her girlfriend's tone with her. She took a step closer, closing the distance between them.

"You’re not fine," she said quietly, her voice threaded with concern. "You’re putting on a mask, but you know I can see through it."

Paige hesitated for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She could feel Azzi’s eyes on her, the concern there in the way she was looking at her, but for some reason, the words felt stuck in her throat. She didn’t want to admit how bad it was lately, how much it was all eating away at her.

"I don’t know," Paige said quietly, her voice laced with frustration, a vulnerability she wasn’t used to showing. "It’s just... everything’s too much right now. The pressure. The expectations. I feel like I’m drowning, Azzi. I can’t keep up."

Azzi's heart twisted as she took a step closer, her hand reaching out to gently grasp Paige's arm. "Talk to me, baby," Azzi said softly, her voice full of warmth and care. "You know you’re not in this alone. Whatever you’re feeling, you can share it with me."

Paige let out a shaky breath, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill over. She could feel the walls she’d built around herself start to crack, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she wanted to let them fall. She wanted everyone to see everything—the weight of it all, the suffocating pressure she couldn’t escape. She wanted everyone to see just how bad they had made her feel. 

"I just... I don’t know how to do this anymore Az," Paige admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "No matter how hard I try, I’m never enough. The media’s on me, Geno’s on me, even our own damn fans are on me, everyone has something to say, and I feel like I’m constantly failing. If I don’t score 25, if I’m not the one carrying the team every game, it’s like I’m invisible. Like I’m not good enough."

Azzi’s gaze softened even more as she took Paige’s hands in her own, her thumbs brushing over her skin with a soothing touch. "Paige, baby" she said gently, lifting Paige’s chin to meet her eyes. "You are always more than enough. I see everything you’re doing on the court—how you’re leading, how you’re supporting your teammates. You’re making an impact in ways that go beyond just points on the board. And I know how hard you’re working. Don’t let anyone—including yourself—tell you otherwise."

The emotion in Paige’s chest bubbled up, the weight of Azzi’s words landing on her like a balm. She wanted to believe it, wanted to trust that the things her girlfriend said were true. But it was hard to let go of all the voices in her head. It was hard to not think Azzi was just being a supportive girlfriend. 

"I don’t know how to quiet my head," Paige said softly, a tear slipping down her cheek. "How do I keep going when it feels like nothing’s ever enough?"

Azzi pulled her into a gentle hug then, holding her close, her arms wrapping around Paige like a safe haven. "You don’t have to do it alone baby," Azzi murmured into her ear, her voice steady and reassuring. "I’m right here, every step of the way.”

Paige buried her face in Azzi’s shoulder, letting the tears fall freely now with no one else in the gym, no longer holding them back. She didn’t have it in here to be strong right now. She didn’t have it in her to be Uconn’s golden girl right now.

…

But then Uconn almost lost another game. Keyword being almost. 

The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in around Paige as the weight of everything pressed down on her. She had been here a few times before, locked in this dark space, trying to silence the voices in her head, but today felt different. It was harder to breathe, harder to push through.

The game had ended with a win. UConn had won by 11 points, but it wasn’t enough. It never was. Not when you were the star. Not when everyone expected perfection. Geno had praised her performance, sure, but there was always that hint of disappointment in his voice—more could have been done. More passes. More assists. Fewer contested shots because that won’t help in March.

Paige felt like she could feel the media’s eyes on her the entire game, their cameras flashing with judgment as they pounced on every flaw, no matter how small. The fans, too, had their say—complaining that she should have dropped 30 points on an unranked team, that she was being passive and deferring too much to other players. She knew they didn’t understand. They couldn’t see what was really happening on the court, the way she was trying to balance it all, the way she was doing everything she could to make her teammates shine, to get everyone involved.

But none of that mattered. Not to them.

Paige sat on the floor of the suite, back against the wall, feeling like she was shrinking into herself. She knew better than to get sucked into social media. Azzi had told her, warned her to delete it all, to stop looking at the constant stream of opinions from strangers. But here she was, scrolling through her feed, eyes filling with tears as she read each comment, each demand for more, as if she wasn’t already giving everything she had even if it was slowly killing her. 

She let out a shaky breath, biting down on her lip, trying to hold the tears at bay. But it wasn’t enough. The pressure kept building, the anxiety squeezing around her chest, making it harder to breathe. Paige put her phone down with trembling hands, the weight of it all sinking in, her head pounding with the noise in her mind.

Unable to stop herself, she softly banged the back of her head against the wall a few times, willing the thoughts to stop swirling. 

Why wasn’t it enough? Why couldn’t she just be allowed to have a good game, a solid performance, without the world tearing it apart? Why did every win feel like a loss when the criticism outweighed the praise? 

The tears finally came then, falling freely down her face as she sat there, trying to get a grip on her spiraling thoughts. The walls felt like they were slowly closing in, and she couldn’t stop the fear that was creeping into her chest. The fear that no matter how hard she tried, she would never be enough. That one day, the pressure would break her. That she would fall off the face of the Earth and everything for everyone else would keep spinning. 

She hated feeling weak, hated how powerless she felt in this moment. Not being in control. But she just tried to hold onto the thought of Azzi still in her mind, a small thread of comfort in the chaos. Azzi would understand. Azzi always did.

The room felt so empty without her. The silence was suffocating, the isolation almost too much to bear. Each breath Paige tried to take felt shallow, and the harder she focused on her breathing, the more it seemed to slip away. The more difficult it became. Panic was creeping in, like a hand pressing down on her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

She could physically feel all of it—the weight of the expectations, the constant pressure to be perfect. Each thought, each criticism, each word from the media felt like it was wrapping itself around her throat, making it harder to breathe.

She knew she should call Azzi, to try to force some words out so her girlfriend knew how much she needed her. But her phone lay discarded beside her and Paige couldn’t bring herself to look at it. She knew the messages, the comments, that she would unlock her phone to would only make it worse. Her head was spinning, and she couldn’t stop it. Every time she tried to focus her thoughts, to breathe deeply, to imagine Azzi the panic only tightened its grip.

Then the door clicked open, pulling her back from the edge for just a moment. Paige’s heart tried to catch up knowing who it was, but the breath still wouldn’t come.

Azzi froze when she saw Paige, sitting on the floor, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. It only took a second for Azzi to drop her bag and throw her phone on the bed before rushing over. She didn’t hesitate, kneeling in front of Paige, taking her face in her hands. Paige couldn’t look at her, her breathing coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

"Paige," Azzi’s voice was gentle, but firm. "Look at me."

But Paige couldn’t. She was shaking, struggling, trapped in the chaos of her mind. Azzi saw it instantly—this wasn’t just sadness this time. This was another panic attack.

"Hey, hey, listen to me," Azzi said softly, her fingers brushing along Paige’s cheek, trying to steady her. "Breathe, baby. You’re okay."

Azzi’s own breaths were deep, slow, as she began to count, trying to guide Paige through the chaos. "In... one, two, three..." she counted, her voice low but steady. "Exhale... one, two, three..."

Paige’s chest heaved, her breaths sharp and ragged. She tried to focus on Azzi’s voice, but everything felt distant, blurry and out of reach.

"Come on, breathe with me," Azzi whispered, gently urging her. "In... one, two, three..." She let the air out slowly, counting as she did. "Exhale... one, two, three."

Paige’s body trembled, and Azzi could feel the weight of her distress, her panic. But she kept her voice calm, breaking each sentence into short, steady breaths.

"You’re safe," Azzi said, her thumb gently tracing over Paige’s skin. "I’m here. Breathe with me baby."

Paige’s breaths came in short, gasping bursts, still out of rhythm. She tried to follow Azzi’s lead, but each time she focused on her breath, it slipped further away.

"In... two, three," Azzi counted, her voice never wavering. "Exhale... two, three. You’re okay. I love you. I’m here."

Paige’s hands shook as she clutched at her chest, fighting for air. "I can’t... Azzi..." she gasped, her voice barely audible. She was drowning in the overwhelming pressure, feeling like she was finally losing the battle.

"You can," Azzi whispered, her own breath deepening as she counted. "In... one, two, three... Exhale... one, two, three." She leaned closer, her forehead gently resting against Paige’s. "Focus on me. You’re doing great. In, out. In, out."

The air in the room seemed to thicken, but slowly, Paige’s breathing began to soften. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. The frantic gasps slowed, her chest rising and falling with each breath, steadier now.

Azzi didn’t stop. She kept her hand on Paige’s face, gently coaxing her. "You’re so amazing, baby. You’re so strong. You’re so perfect."

Each breath they took together was a small step, and with every inhale, Paige felt the panic loosen its grip, just a little. Her hands stopped shaking as much, her body less rigid. Azzi’s voice was still steady, counting each breath, reassuring her.

"Good," Azzi said, her voice soft but filled with warmth. "That’s it. You’re okay now. Just breathe with me."

Paige’s breath was slower now, the panic starting to fade, replaced with exhaustion. She looked up at Azzi, her eyes filled with gratitude, but there was still a trace of vulnerability in her gaze.

Azzi smiled softly, her thumb brushing across Paige’s cheek. "I’m here," she whispered again, as though to remind Paige that she wasn’t alone. "I promise you’re never alone."

The storm hadn’t completely passed, but in that moment, with Azzi’s arms around her and her steady presence grounding her, Paige felt like she could breathe again.

After a few minutes of quiet, Azzi didn’t speak. She simply stood up and took Paige’s hand, gently guiding her towards the bathroom. Paige let herself be led, her body feeling light but exhausted, her mind still clouded and heavy. She felt empty, drained, but Azzi was there—her steady hand, her calm presence, like a lifeline in the chaos.

Azzi helped Paige undress. Paige didn’t protest, too worn out to resist, too overwhelmed to think about anything beyond the comfort Azzi was offering. When Azzi took off her own clothes and stepped into the shower with Paige, there was no rush, no urgency, just a quiet understanding between them as they sat in silence for a little bit.

Azzi began undoing Paige’s two braids softly as she kissed her girlfriends cheek or neck now and then. She then reached for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into her palm before gently massaging it into Paige’s wet hair. The warm water cascaded down over them, mingling with the steam, but all Paige could focus on was the soothing pressure of Azzi’s fingers against her scalp. Slowly, the tension in her body began to melt away. She leaned into Azzi, letting her eyes close as she rested her head on her shoulders, the simple act of being cared for grounding her even further.

Azzi didn’t say anything, her hands working methodically, rinsing the shampoo from Paige’s hair before applying conditioner. The quiet was comforting, the sound of water and Azzi’s soft hum in Paige’s ear were the only things filling the space.

When Azzi finished rinsing the conditioner out of her hair, Paige finally opened her eyes, meeting Azzi’s gaze. Azzi’s eyes softened, filled with a tenderness Paige couldn’t quite put into words. Her love for Paige was clear in the way she looked at her—gentle, unwavering, and so full of admiration.

Paige’s throat tightened, but she whispered, “Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse, but full of gratitude.

Azzi smiled, her thumb lightly grazing Paige’s cheek as she leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips. “You don’t have to thank me, baby. I told you, no matter what, I’m always in your corner and I’m going to help you get through this.” 

The words settled into Paige’s chest. She wasn’t alone. Azzi was there, always there.

Without thinking, Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi, pulling her close. The water hit them both, but neither of them cared. They stood there, their bodies pressed together, holding each other in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

…

Steam lingered in the air as Paige stepped out of the bathroom dressed in a hoodie and sweats, her damp hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The soft shuffle of Azzi’s movements drew her attention to the bed, where Azzi had just sat cross-legged, a comb in one hand and two hair ties in the other.

"Come here," Azzi said softly, patting the space in front of her.

Paige raised an eyebrow, but the gentle look in Azzi’s eyes pulled her forward. She settled on the floor, her back to Azzi, who immediately began threading her fingers through Paige’s damp hair.

For a while, the room was quiet except for the faint sound of the comb gliding through Paige’s hair. Azzi broke the silence, her voice gentle. "You wanna tell me what’s been on your mind tonight?"

Paige was silent, staring at her hands clasped in her lap. She bit her bottom lip, her mind racing as she tried to find the words. "I just... I don’t know what people want from me anymore," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi paused briefly, her hands stilling before resuming their steady rhythm. "What do you mean?"

"It’s like..." Paige hesitated, trying to find the words. "It’s not about basketball anymore. Every game, every move—it’s a story for someone else to tell. I can’t stop thinking about what people are gonna say after every game, and it’s exhausting."

Azzi hummed softly as she began parting Paige’s hair for the braids. "Do you think about that while you’re playing?"

Paige nodded, her voice small. "Sometimes. It’s like... the game isn’t just the game anymore. There’s so much pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations, and it makes it hard to just... enjoy it. To be in the moment."

Azzi gently tugged one section of hair, starting the first braid. "Paige, baby, you’ve been playing basketball your whole life. You didn’t fall in love with it because of what other people thought. You fell in love with it because it made you happy.”

"I know," Paige said, her voice wavering slightly. "But it’s hard not to care when there’s so many expectations. It’s like... no matter what I do, it’s never enough for me to just get one day of silence. And I just don’t want to let anyone down."

Azzi’s hands worked steadily as she braided, her voice calm but firm. "You can’t control what people think or say, no matter how hard you try so we gotta let that part go. But you can control remembering why you play. You don’t owe anyone anything, Paige—not the fans, not the critics, not even me baby. You play this game for you and only you. 

Paige was quiet for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweats. "It’s just hard to block it all out sometimes."

"I know it is," Azzi said softly, tying off the first braid and starting on the second. "But you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’ve handled so much already, you’ve been through so much already and you’re still here, still fighting. That’s what matters."

Paige glanced over her shoulder, a small smile breaking through her thoughtful expression. "When did you get so wise?"

Azzi grinned, focused on finishing the second braid. "I’ve always been this wise. You’re just quiet enough for the first time to actually pay attention."

Paige chuckled, leaning into Azzi’s touch as she tied off the braid. Azzi ran her fingers over the finished work, smoothing down stray hairs before giving Paige’s shoulder a light squeeze.

"There," Azzi said, standing up and heading to the corner of the room to grab her basketball shoes. "Now, let’s go."

Paige blinked, looking at her with clear confusion on her face. "What? Go where?"

"The gym," Azzi said matter-of-factly, sliding her feet into some slides

Paige stared at her in disbelief. "Az, we just played an entire game and just got out of the shower. You’re crazy." 

Azzi smirked, tossing Paige’s shoes onto the floor beside her. "Come on, Superstar. I’m not asking."

Paige groaned, flopping back onto the carpet. "I picked a crazy person to be my girlfriend," she muttered, though a small grin tugged at her lips.

Azzi stepped closer, brushing a playful kiss against Paige’s temple. "Definitely, thought that was in the fine print though."

With a dramatic sigh, Paige sat up, slipping on her shoes and tying them lazily. "You’re lucky you’re cute," she grumbled as she followed Azzi out the door to her car. 

…

The gym was eerily quiet, the faint hum of the overhead lights the only sound as Paige and Azzi switched into their basketball shoes. Paige stood near the baseline, watching Azzi lace up her sneakers with an amused expression.

Azzi grabbed a basketball from the rack, dribbling it once before tossing it to Paige. "Check."

Paige caught the ball, raising an eyebrow at Azzi. "What are we doing?"

Azzi, already standing at the three point line, grinned. "We’re playing one-on-one."

Paige scoffed, spinning the ball lazily in her hands. "No, we’re not."

Azzi tilted her head, feigning innocence. "What, scared you’ll lose?"

Paige rolled her eyes, her competitive spirit sparking lightly at Azzi’s accusation. "First of all, I don’t lose one-on-one. Second, I definitely wouldn’t lose to my girlfriend."

Azzi smirked. "Then prove it. Play me. Otherwise I’ll just tell everyone you were scared."

Paige muttered something incoherent under her breath before lazily checking the ball back to Azzi.

Azzi immediately took advantage of Paige’s relaxed posture, going into a quick jumper from behind the arc. The ball arching beautifully through the air and swishing through the net.

"2-0," Azzi announced, her smirk widening.

Paige groaned, grabbing the ball. "Alright, that’s real cute."

When Paige checked the ball this time, she pressed a hand firmly against Azzi’s hip, cutting off her space. Azzi tried to drive left, but Paige stuck with her, their bodies brushing as they collided. Azzi pivoted, stepping back into a mid-range jumper that kissed the front of the rim before bouncing in.

"3-0," Azzi teased, grinning. "You’re looking a little slow tonight, P. You tired?"

"Yeah?" Paige’s voice dripped with mock sweetness as she checked the ball again. Azzi tried to hit another step back but it bounded off the rim. 

They checked the ball and Paige jab-stepped to her left, forcing Azzi to shift her weight, then crossed over and exploded to the basket with a quick step. Azzi stayed close, but Paige used her body to shield the ball, finishing with a layup off the glass. 

"3-1," Paige said, flashing a smug grin.

Azzi grabbed the ball, her competitive spirit ignited even though this was supposed to be about Paige. As they continued to play, their movements grew sharper and more physical. Paige backed Azzi down on one possession, bumping her with her shoulder before spinning for a fadeaway jumper. Azzi countered by cutting through the lane with a quick first step, using her speed to slip past Paige for an easy floater.

The teasing never stopped.

"Didn’t know I signed up for wrestling practice," Azzi quipped after Paige body-checked her on a drive.

"Yeah yeah," Paige shot back. "You’re not getting past me again."

Azzi grinned. "Oh, I’m passing you right now." She immediately drove left, brushing past Paige’s hip as she hooked her slightly and finishing with a reverse layup that left Paige shaking her head.

The game became more intense with each possession. Azzi swatted one of Paige’s layup attempts, the ball flying out of bounds. Paige groaned.

"You’ve never done that in your life" Paige said, narrowing her eyes as she retrieved the ball.

"First time for everything," Azzi replied, standing tall and grinning.

Paige responded by hitting a deep three-pointer, holding her follow-through for much longer than necessary as the ball sailed through the hoop. "9-8," Paige said, her smirk confident.

On the next possession, she used a quick hesitation move to fake Azzi out of position, draining another jumper.

As the score climbed, so did the tension. The gym felt warmer, their breaths coming faster, their earlier shower completely undone by the sweat dripping down their faces. Every drive and every block brought them closer, their bodies brushing and colliding in ways that blurred the lines between competition and something more.

At one point, Azzi’s hand lingered on Paige’s waist as she pivoted for a shot, and Paige didn’t pull away. Instead, she smirked, leaning in slightly as she jab-stepped.

"You getting distracted on me?" Paige teased, her voice low.

" Nope," Azzi fired back, though her flushed cheeks suggested otherwise.

Eventually they were tied at 17, both breathing heavily as they sized each other up. Paige had the ball tucked against her hip, her gaze locked on Azzi.

"What do I get when I win?" Paige asked, her tone playful but laced with a hint of something more.

Azzi’s eyes narrowed, her lips curving into a smile. "You’re not going to win."

Paige chuckled, her confidence unshaken. "Guess we’ll see."

She dribbled slowly, luring Azzi to sleep on defense before hitting her with a fast combo move before she drove hard to the basket, finishing with a finger roll that danced around the rim before dropping in.

"18-17," Paige said, smirking as she checked the ball. "Told you, I don’t lose."

It was Azzi’s ball again and once she caught the ball back from Paige, she stepped back, shooting a quick three-pointer that hit nothing but the bottom of the net.

"19-18," Azzi said, mimicking Paige’s earlier tone. She smirked, stepping closer. "What am I getting when I win?"

Paige grinned, walking up to Azzi until they were nearly nose to nose. “A little something to remind you how giving I can be.”

Azzi shook her head, laughing. "You’re full of it."

The game continued, both of them refusing to give an inch to the other but finally Paige ended it with a three that rattled in after she hit Azzi with a hesi pullup. 

"That’s game," Paige said, her voice triumphant as she grabbed her water bottle.

Azzi was smiling as she sipped from her own bottle, her grin unusually big. Paige noticed and raised an eyebrow. "You do know you just lost, right?"

Azzi kept smiling, stepping closer until they were chest to chest. "Yeah," she said softly. "But you weren’t thinking about anything else besides this game, were you?"

Paige blinked, her grin softening as realization hit her. For the first time in a while, she hadn’t been consumed by the weight of everyone’s expectations and opinions of how she was playing. She’d just been... playing.

"Huh," Paige said, her voice quieter. "I guess not."

Azzi smirked, leaning in close, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "See? I told you I’d help."

Paige leaned in, her lips brushing against Azzi’s, but before she could close the gap, Azzi stepped back with a mischievous grin.

"Nah," Azzi said, grabbing her water bottle and bag. "I’m a sore loser. You don’t get a kiss after beating me."

Paige laughed. "The winner’s supposed to get something."

Azzi tilted her head, her voice dipping into a sultry tone. "Oh? Is that what you want from me baby?"

Paige nodded, her smile growing as she stepped closer, but Azzi turned on her heel, heading for the door.

"You gotta work for it," Azzi called over her shoulder, her voice dripping with playful challenge as she walked away.

Paige stood there, dumbfounded, watching her girlfriend’s retreating figure. Despite everything she’d been feeling earlier, all the negativity and doubt, Azzi had completely unraveled it and left nothing but the Paige who loved to play basketball more than anything.

"Wait!" Paige called after her, grinning. "So, I’m really not getting any tonight?"

Azzi turned, walking backward as her smirk deepened. "Maybe," she teased, her eyes gleaming. "But like I said you gotta work for it P."

Paige chuckled, shaking her head as she jogged after her, a lightness settling in her chest. She couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face, her eyes fixed on Azzi.

"Thank the gods," Paige muttered under her breath, her voice laced with a mix of humor and adoration, "and every single heaven above for Azzi Fudd."

The thought made her laugh softly to herself as she caught up, ready to follow wherever Azzi led her next.

[pucksandpower]

A Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship

Max Verstappen x reporter!Reader

Summary: Max decides to get relationship advice from a book written in 1815 and it goes about as well as you would expect. But sometimes the wrong formula still gets the right answer

“In our modern age, when so many standards of propriety have shifted, a gentleman may find himself at a loss when attempting to court a young lady. The rules of etiquette that governed such relationships in decades past offered a framework to guide conduct and ensure all was done properly.

This humble volume intends to provide today’s gentleman that same guidance, so that he may pay suit to the object of his affection in a manner befitting them both. Within these pages, the reader will find what constitutes proper introductions, suitable topics of conversation, appropriate gifts or tokens of regard, and protocols for exchanging correspondence.

While society evolves, there remain certain courtesies that bespeak good breeding. Master these, and you shall go far in winning the hand of any respectable young lady.”

- Excerpt from “A Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship” by Reginald Worthington, 1815

A gentleman must display impeccable manners, never using foul language and maintaining a calm and collected demeanor at all times.

“So Max, tell us how you’re feeling ahead of the British Grand Prix this weekend,” you ask, microphone in hand.

Max shifts in his seat, avoiding your gaze. “Uh, yeah, feeling good. The car has been quick so far this weekend in practice.”

You nod enthusiastically. As the newly appointed F1 reporter for Sky Sports, you’re eager to prove yourself in the paddock. And getting an exclusive interview with the reigning double world champion is a great start.

“You have not won at Silverstone before. Do you think you can do it for the first time on Sunday?”

“Absolutely. The team have been working hard and I think we have a good chance,” Max replies.

You glance down at your notes. “Now Max, let’s go back to last weekend in Austria. The incident with Lando on the first lap — can you walk us through what happened from your perspective?”

Max feels his face getting hot. The controversial collision is still a sore point after the race stewards penalized him. He takes a breath, pushing down his true feelings.

“Well, it was racing incident,” he says slowly. “Lando had a good start and was alongside going into turn one. It was tight between us and unfortunately we made contact.”

You raise an eyebrow. “But do you feel that you were more at fault? It seemed to be quite an aggressive move.”

Max clenches his fist under the table discreetly. Calm and collected, he reminds himself.

“Like I said, it was just racing. These things happen sometimes between us drivers.”

“So you don’t think it was an unsafe maneuver on your part?” You press. Your piercing gaze makes Max shift again.

Just stay polite, he thinks. But his frustration boils over.

“It was freaking racing, okay!” He snaps, his calm demeanor vanishing. “Shit happens! Lando didn’t leave me space and we collided. Don’t try to blame me!”

You lean back, eyes widening in surprise at his sudden outburst. Max’s heart drops, immediately regretting his loss of composure.

“Uh, sorry about that,” he mutters, not meeting your eyes. “I didn’t mean to curse.”

“No worries, I understand it’s a sensitive topic,” you say evenly. But inside, you’re taken aback. You’ve never seen Max Verstappen react like this.

Desperate to get the interview back on track, you move to the next question. “Let’s talk about your rivalry on the track. Do you feel the tension has somewhat decreased this season as you run ahead with the championship?”

Max nods, clinging to the redirect. “All twenty drivers on the grid are competitors at heart. For sure the rivalry grows each season. Not everyone is fighting for the title so there’s less at stake for some but that can change at any moment. There is always respect between us.”

His standard PR answer seems to bore you. Glancing at the clock, you start wrapping up the interview.

“Last question, Max. Any special plans for the British Grand Prix weekend?”

“Eh, not really,” Max mutters, still kicking himself for losing his temper earlier. So much for gentlemanly manners around ladies. You’ll surely think he’s a foul-mouthed jerk now.

“Okay, I think that’s all we have time for,” you say, standing up. “Thanks again for the interview, Max, I know you’re quite busy here.”

“Yep, no problem,” Max mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

You turn to leave, but stop. “And Max? Don’t worry too much about the clash with Lando. It happens to all drivers sometimes. See you around!” You flash him a smile before exiting.

Max sits stunned for a moment after you leave. Even after his swearing and temper, you hadn’t been upset with him.

A grin slowly spreads across his face. Maybe he hadn’t ruined his chances after all!

Walking back to the Red Bull motorhome, Max can’t stop thinking about you. The way you smiled at him, so warm and understanding. And how you smelled vaguely of lavender.

Max has been captivated since you arrived in the paddock but he has no idea how to approach you … or any woman for that matter.

His only experience is with fast cars, not beautiful reporters.

Pulling up to his driver room, Max is greeted by his physio, Bradley.

“How did it go mate? You look bothered,” Brad asks.

Max sighs. “That interview with Y/N was a disaster. I screwed it up!”

He recounts his slip-up angrily cursing about Lando to Brad, who tries to stifle a laugh.

“Really, that’s what you’re worried about? A little swearing? I’m sure she’s heard far worse around the paddock!”

“But the book said to never use foul language around ladies! To be a gentleman at all times! And I failed at the first test!” Max runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Now she’ll never consider me as a suitor.”

Brad gapes at him. “A suitor? Max, what century are you living in?” He glances down and notices the antique book peeking from Max’s backpack.

Grabbing it, Brad starts flipping through the pages incredulously.

“Wait, you’re actually trying to follow advice from this ancient thing to get a girl?”

Max tries to grab the book back, his cheeks reddening. “Give it back! Yes it’s old but shouldn’t dating still be proper and polite?”

“This stuff is wildly outdated. Just ask her out for drinks. Be yourself!” Brad gestures exasperatedly.

“I can’t just ask her out, are you crazy?” Max sputters. “What if she says no?”

Brad places a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the bloody world champion. And you’re not too hard on the eyes. She’d be mad to turn you down!”

Max cracks a reluctant smile, appreciating the confidence in him. Maybe Brad is right, Max considers. He just needs to relax and stop overthinking things.

“Tell you what, the team is throwing a big party after the race on Sunday. Why don’t you invite Y/N as your date?” Brad suggests.

Max’s stomach flutters nervously at the thought. “I guess I could try ...”

Brad claps him on the back. “That’s what I’m talking about! Now hand that daft old book over so I can throw it in the bin.”

“No! I mean … I’ll hold onto it,” Max says, snatching it back.

It may be outdated but it still has some wise words, he thinks. Even if he doesn’t follow everything word-for-word, a brush up on manners couldn’t hurt.

Max feels reenergized. One mishap wouldn’t ruin his chances with you.

This weekend he would focus on winning the British Grand Prix. And then he would ask you to be his date for the after-party.

Properly, like a gentleman.

What could go wrong?

A gentleman should compose handwritten letters with eloquence and embellished language to express his sentiments, as these missives often carry great weight.

Max sits at the desk in his driver room, pen poised over a pad of stationary borrowed from the hotel.

He takes a deep breath.

My Dearest Y/N …

He pauses. How exactly does he eloquently express his feelings here? Chewing the pen anxiously, he tries again.

My Dearest Y/N,

Since first you did arrive upon the Formula 1 scene, I have been captivated by your beauty and grace ...

Max groans, crumpling up the paper. This sounds ridiculous! But the book had stressed the importance of handwritten letters to woo a lady. And with his shyness around you in person, writing a letter seemed the best approach.

If only he could find the right words.

Staring at the blank sheet of paper, Max thinks back to the British Grand Prix last weekend. He had taken Brad’s advice and invited you to the post-race celebrations as his date.

To his delight, you had happily accepted.

The party had been going perfectly. You both laughed and chatted easily over drinks. Then the DJ started playing and Max got the courage to ask you to dance. With your hand in his, bodies swaying gently together, Max was sure this was his moment to finally tell you his feelings.

But when he tried, the words tangled up inside. His throat went dry and he could only stare mute into your eyes. The song ended and the magic of the moment faded. You slipped away back to your friends, leaving Max cursing his nervousness.

Which is why he’s now resorted to writing a letter. If only he can find the right poetic phrases, he would be able to express everything in his heart.

Chewing his lip, Max starts again.

My Dearest Y/N,

Ever since you did arrive in this paddock, I have admired you from afar. Your beauty and spirit doth light up the Formula 1 world. Being in your radiant presence doth make my heart soar ...

Max frowns. He sounds like Shakespeare on steroids. This is getting him nowhere. Crumpling up another attempt, he gets an idea. He needs advice from someone more eloquent. Pulling out his phone, he selects Daniel Ricciardo’s number.

“Maxie! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Daniel answers cheerily.

“I need your help. I’m trying to write a letter to Y/N telling her ...byou know, that I like her,” Max mumbles. “But I’m struggling with the words. You’re so smooth and charming — any advice?”

Daniel laughs loudly through the phone. “A love letter mate? That’s adorable!”

Max rolls his eyes. “Haha. Yes, it’s hilarious. Do you have any tips or not?”

“Hmm okay, don’t stress too much over the fancy wording. Keep it simple and heartfelt, you know? Just speak honestly about why you like her.”

Max nods. “Right, speak from the heart. I can do that.”

“Go get her champ! Let me know if you need any more romantic advice,” Daniel teases.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Max hangs up with a smile.

Taking a fresh piece of paper, he starts writing.

Dear Y/N,

I wanted to properly tell you how I feel about you. From the moment I first saw you in the paddock, I thought you were the most beautiful and amazing woman.

Your smile makes me weak. Being near you gives me butterflies in my stomach.

Spending time together at the party was really special for me. I wish I had told you then how I felt. But I get so nervous around you that the words don’t come out right. So I thought writing this might be easier.

I know we haven’t known each other long. But I would love the chance to get to know you more. Maybe we could have dinner sometime, if you feel the same way?

Let me know.

Yours,

Max

Max reads over the short letter and nods, satisfied. It’s simple and honest, just saying the thoughts he can never seem to speak out loud around you.

So, after carefully folding the stationary, Max slips out of the Red Bull motorhome in search of you.

Max finds you chatting with some other journalists near the media center. He hangs back shyly, waiting for you to be free.

You glance up and catch his eye, giving a smile and wave. Taking a deep breath, Max approaches.

“Hi, Y/N. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course!” You say, turning to him. The other reporters conveniently scatter, leaving the two of you alone.

“So uh, I wrote you this letter.” Max mutters, pulling the folded paper from his pocket. His palms are sweating and he rubs his neck nervously. “It’s just some thoughts I wanted to share with you.”

“Aww Max, you didn’t have to write me anything!” You beam at him sweetly.

Max shoves the letter toward you, willing himself to just give it over before he loses confidence. But as you reach out for it, anxiety grips him.

What if you reject him after reading it? Or worse, what if you show the soppy love letter to your coworkersto laugh about?

His pulse pounding, Max swiftly yanks the letter back. Before he can think twice, he starts hastily ripping it up into tiny shreds.

“Max!” You cry out in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh, just realized how weird it was to write you something so personal,” Max stammers, face flaming red.

He lets the shreds of paper fall from his fingers.

“Oh.” Your face falls in disappointment. “That’s too bad, I’m sure it was very thoughtful ...”

An awkward silence follows. Max curses internally, hating himself. Why had he chickened out at the last second? He scrambles for something to say.

“Yeah, it was too forward of me,” he rambles nervously. “I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea about us. Not that there is an us! I mean, we’re colleagues.”

You frown slightly in confusion. “Colleagues? I thought we were becoming friends ...”

“Right, yes friends!” Max amends quickly. “Friends is good. Don’t want rumors or gossip spreading. Not that what I wrote was gossip worthy! It was boring really, nothing important.”

He forces out a laugh, cringing at his bumbling excuse. You just stare at him in bewilderment.

“O-kay then ... well, I need to get back to work. See you around, Max.” You give him a strange look before turning away slowly.

Max watches you walk off, letting out a long groan once you’re out of earshot.

He slaps a hand to his forehead. Could that have gone any worse? He’d absolutely butchered it and now you must think he’s a complete weirdo.

Dejected, Max trudges back to the motorhome. He replays the scene in his head, berating himself over and over. If only he had the guts to just give you that letter!

Instead he had to go and make a complete fool of himself. There’s no way you have any interest in him now after witnessing that trainwreck.

Sulking back to his driver’s room, Max finds his teammate in the hallways.

“What’s up with you? You look like you just lost the championship,” Checo remarks.

Max just opens his door and flops down onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh. “I really screwed things up with Y/N ...”

He recounts the whole awkward encounter to Checo, who tries and fails to hold back laughter.

“It’s not funny!” Max snaps, tossing a scrunched up sock at him.

“Sorry, hermano,” Checo says, composing himself. “But really, I doubt it was that bad. Just explain to Y/N what happened and try again.”

“No way. It’s hopeless now,” Max moans. “I can’t face her after that.” He grabs one of the shredded letter pieces off the table, smoothing it out to reveal a fragment of his confession.

Crumpling it back up, Max tosses it aside bitterly. He definitely lost his chance thanks to his own nerves and stupidity.

Max does everything he can to avoid you over the next days, too embarrassed to face you after the letter fiasco. For your own part, you seem equally uncertain how to act around him now.

At races you keep interactions strictly professional. The ease and friendship that was developing between you is gone.

Max hates that he ruined everything before it could even really begin.

It’s not until the Dutch Grand Prix weeks later that you finally confront him.

“We should talk,” you say, catching Max alone after practice one day. “Why have you been avoiding me since Silverstone?”

Max shuffles his feet, staring at the ground. “I just made things weird with that letter. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You step closer, tilting his chin up gently so he meets your eyes.

“I thought the idea behind it was really sweet. I was so disappointed when you just ripped it up. I care about you, so don’t push me away, okay?”

Heart pounding, Max manages a sheepish nod.

You lean in slowly and kiss his cheek, pretending not to notice how his skin turns rosy.

“I’m still waiting to see what you wrote for me one day,” you whisper with a smile before walking off, leaving Max stunned.

Touching his cheek, a grin spreads across Max’s face. Maybe he hadn’t ruined everything after all.

The book might know a thing or two.

A gentleman should present small tokens of affection: Offering a lady flowers, a lock of hair, or a sentimental keepsake is a cherished practice.

Max paces the floor of his Monaco apartment, phone in hand as he scrolls through a website about flower meanings and symbolism.

Max clicks on the different options, overwhelmed. Who knew flowers were so complicated? Red roses mean passion but are too strong for courting. Yellow roses signify friendship. White lilies convey purity and innocence.

Max frowns. None of these seem quite right.

Finally he comes across the perfect choice — peonies. According to the guide, pink peonies signal romance, prosperity and good fortune.

Isn’t that romantic? This will be the ideal flower to to show how much he cares for you.

Satisfied with his floral choice, Max orders an impressive bouquet of pink peonies to be delivered to you before the upcoming race.

As soon as you receive them, he anxiously waits for your reaction.

To his disappointment, no thank you comes. In fact, you don’t acknowledge the flowers at all.

When Max finally spots you in the paddock on Thursday, his smile fades at your red-rimmed eyes and congested voice.

“Are you okay? You don’t look well,” Max frowns.

You give a stuffy laugh. “Thanks, just what every girl wants to hear.” Dabbing at your runny nose with a tissue, you sigh. “Sorry, I’m a mess today. Turns out I’m quite allergic to peonies. Those lovely flowers you sent put me out of commission the past two days.”

Max’s eyes widen in alarm. “Wait, you’re allergic to peonies? I had no idea, I’m so sorry!”

He mentally kicks himself. Some romantic gesture this was, practically making you ill. “I was just trying to do something nice ...” he says guiltily.

But you wave off his concern with a smile, touched that he went to such effort. “It’s really sweet of you, truly. They were beautiful. My immune system just seems to have other plans.”

Max shoves his hands in his pockets. “Let me make it up to you. What if I cook you dinner next week instead of flowers?”

Your cheeks flush slightly. “I would really like that.”

***

The following Tuesday, Max puts his meager cooking skills to use whipping up pasta. Pretty soon he has an aromatic tomato sauce simmering away while he slices bread for garlic toast.

When you arrive, bottle of wine in hand, Max greets you wearing a “World’s Okayest Chef” apron. Laughter and light banter flow easily between you two all evening. The domesticity of sharing a meal together feels wonderfully natural. Lingering glances and touches over the table make it clear this is now a proper date.

After dessert, you help Max tidy up the kitchen. Playfully flicking soap suds at each other soon turns into a full-on bubble fight. Laughing and stumbling into each other, Max ends up gently pinning you against the counter.

Your giggles trail off, smiles fading into something warmer. Slowly Max leans in, lips meeting yours in a soft kiss.

When you eventually pull apart, he rests his forehead against yours contentedly. No flowers or grand gestures needed.

Just this — being together.

***

Before free practice of the following race, Max seeks you out, fidgeting nervously with the small pair of scissors in his hands.

“I … I wanted to give you something special. A token of my affection for you.”

Before you can react, Max takes a lock of his light brown hair and starts snipping right there in front of you. Your eyes widen in surprise as the severed strands fall into his palm.

“It’s uh, a lock of my hair. For you to keep,” he explains, holding it out to you sheepishly.

You have to stifle a laugh at how earnest he looks. “Wow Max, that’s really thoughtful but you didn’t have to cut your hair for me!”

Max’s cheeks flush pink. “No, I want you to have it! To show, you know, that I’m devoted to you and all that ...” His voice trails off at your amused expression.

Maybe this romantic gesture is a bit stranger than he realized. But you take the lock of hair from him with a gracious smile.

“Well, I’ll always treasure a piece of you.”

His grin brightens. Then he remembers the other part of his gift. “Oh wait, there’s more!”

He pulls a small oval locket from his pocket and clicks it open to reveal an empty compartment.

“I thought you could keep the hair in this locket, close to your heart,” he explains earnestly. “That way you will always have a part of me with you.”

Your eyes soften, touched by the sentiment if not the unconventional nature of his gift. But seeing how much thought Max put into it makes you melt and you give him a quick kiss.

“It’s perfect, thank you. Here, would you put the hair inside for me?”

Carefully, Max places the strands into the golden locket and fastens it around your neck, face lit up.

“So you really like it then?”

You nod, gently clasping the locket in your hand. “I’ll cherish it always.”

A gentleman should bring a tasteful gift, such as a book of poetry or a hand-painted fan, as a gesture of appreciation for her hospitality when visiting a lady’s home.

Max double checks the address on his phone as he pulls up outside your London flat. He’s visiting for the first time today and wants to make a good impression.

Max looks down at your gift on the passenger seat — a squirming bengal kitten, licking up the treat Max had brought to calm her for the car ride.

You had completely fallen for his two rambunctious bengal cats when you met them at his apartment.

“They are just the cutest! I’ve always wanted a bengal,” you had cooed as Jimmy curled up contentedly in your lap while Sassy climbed across your shoulders.

So when Max saw that the ethical breeder he bought his cats from had this spirited little kitten available, he knew she would be the perfect gift for your first proper date at your home.

A living reminder of the night your relationship began.

Scooping up the wriggling furball, Max walks up and rings your buzzer.

You greet him at the door with a smile and quick kiss, then abruptly stop short at the sight of the kitten in his arms.

“Max, what is that?”

“It’s a bengal kitten!” He announces proudly, holding her up like he is reenacting The Lion King. “I got her for you, as a gift.”

He holds the mewling kitten out to you eagerly. You stare back, mouth agape.

“You got me a kitten? Max, that’s insane!” You exclaim. “Bengals cost thousands of euros, you can’t just show up with one. Oh my god, please tell me you didn’t seriously buy me a €3000 cat.”

Max’s smile falters, realizing suddenly how over-the-top the gift seems.

“I mean, I just wanted to do something really special for you,” he mumbles, face reddening.

The kitten lets out a pitiful meow. You bite your lip, conflicted. She really is adorable. And you know Max meant well with his lavish gesture. Sighing, you open your door wider.

“Okay, I guess I can’t turn away this cutie now. Come on in.”

Max’s face lights up in relief. “You’ll keep her then? That’s amazing!”

He carefully sets the energetic furball down and she immediately starts exploring. You have to laugh as she pounces and tumbles over her paws.

“She’s going to destroy all my stuff,” you stare resignedly as she claws her way up your upholstered couch, claws snagging the fabric.

Max waves off your concern. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for anything she ruins. And I’ll make sure she can come to races too, so you’re never apart.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You think they’re going to let a kitten into the paddock?”

“Lewis brings Roscoe so they have to allow cats too or it’s not fair! Don’t worry, I will make it happen,” Max declares confidently.

Despite yourself, you smile at his determination. Gazing down at the kitten now nibbling your toe, your reservations melt away.

She really has stolen your heart already.

“Well, I guess we’re in this together now, huh little one?” You murmur. “Thank you. I think she’s the perfect gift.”

His whole face lights up at those words. Impulsively, you stand on tiptoe to kiss him.

“I think I’ll name her Emiliana,” you suggest softly. “Since she’s my special gift from Max Emilian Verstappen.”

Max grins. “I love that idea.”

Maybe Max is out of touch with normal gift-giving. But looking into his smiling eyes, you know everything he does comes from a place of love. And you wouldn’t change his thoughtfulness for anything.

Even if it means welcoming a hyperactive €3000 kitten into your life.

A gentleman should exercise prudence and restraint in the event that his family honor is insulted. Engaging in a duel must be the last resort, pursued only when all other means of resolving the matter have been exhausted.

“Who’s ready for her first race?” You coo to Emiliana, clipping a leash on to her harness. The energetic bengal kitten twirls in excited circles hearing the jingle of her collar.

Max chuckles, scooping Emiliana up. “I know you’ll love exploring the garage!” Kissing her furry head, he nestles her safely in his jacket pocket for the walk over.

Arriving at the bustling paddock, Max gently puts Emiliana down to allow her to explore, the kitten’s wide eyes reflect the flash of cameras and bright team colors swirling around. With Max’s hand securely in yours, you both smile proudly showing her off to the other drivers and staff.

Most are delighted, stopping to fawn over the curious feline. But as you pass by the Alpine motorhome, she ends up scampering across the asphalt and almost tripping Esteban Ocon in the process.

“Ugh, control your overgrown rat!” He grumbles loudly.

Max freezes, blood boiling at the insult toward Emiliana. Clenching his fists, he spins to confront Esteban. But you grab his arm firmly.

“Max, stop. He’s not worth it,” you murmur. After a tense moment, Max reluctantly relaxes his stance, not wanting to cause a scene.

You steer him away, stroking Emiliana comfortingly. “Don’t listen to the mean man, sweetie. You are perfect.”

But Max continues seething silently.

The remainder of the weekend passes uneventfully and you assume Max has let go of the unpleasant encounter. But once the race starts, you grow anxious seeing the two drivers battling unusually close together.

Sure enough, despite leading comfortably, Max slows his car to allow Esteban to catch up. Your heart drops as Max then swerves aggressively into Esteban’s side, sending him spinning off in a blaze of shredded carbon fiber. Meanwhile, Max continues on unfazed to take the chequered flag.

You’re fuming when Max finally makes his way back to the garage. Seeing your crossed arms and fiery glare, his triumphant smile fades.

“I know what you’re going to say ...” he starts guiltily.

“That you promised not to seek revenge and then deliberately crashed Esteban?” You snap.

Max winces. “Seeing him just brought back all that anger ...”

“So you decided to punt him at 200 mph?” You throw your hands up in exasperation.

“I was not thinking clearly,” Max scuffs his shoe. “My temper took over again.”

Your anger melts slightly seeing Max’s remorse. With a sigh, you pull him into a tight hug. “Do you have any idea how badly you both could’ve been hurt by pulling a stunt like that?”

Max looks down, properly chastised. “You’re right, it was really dangerous what I did.”

“Not to mention nearly ruining your own race!”

“I didn’t care about losing position,” Max admits. “I have already secured the championship. Defending Emiliana’s honor was more important in the moment.”

You shake your head. “Our kitten’s honor is not worth you risking your life! Please think these things through before acting so rashly.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t thinking straight,” Max says sincerely. “I promise to be more responsible going forward. No more putting myself or anyone else in danger over petty spats.”

He hugs you close again. “Thank you for keeping me rational and safe.”

You smile up at him with a soft laugh, letting some of your tension melt away. "Someone has to.”

A gentleman should keep a strict code of chivalry: Offer your seat to a lady, hold doors, and protect her from harm, both physical and emotional.

The Singapore Grand Prix is always a grueling one thanks to the heat and humidity. But this weekend, Mother Nature seems intent on making it even tougher.

Dark ominous clouds have been building all afternoon before finally bursting open right as final practice ends. Fat raindrops pelt down rapidly, sending the paddock scrambling for cover.

Safely under the shelter of the Red Bull garage, Max keeps an eye out for you. He knows you’re stuck in the media pen finishing interviews along with the other reporters.

Sure enough, he spots your ponytail across the pen, soaked through as you attempt to shield your equipment from the downpour.

Without thinking, Max hands off his mic and races out into the rain toward you. Holding his team jacket over your head, he guides you under the shelter of a nearby awning.

“Oh my gosh, Max! You’re soaked!” You exclaim, taking in his drenched state.

But Max just shrugs it off. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Couldn’t let you get caught out there though.”

He rubs your arms briskly, trying to warm you up. Seeing you shivering in your thin blouse — now transparent from the rain — Max feels a pang of protectiveness.

“Here, let me get you something dry ...” He sprints off, returning minutes later with a Red Bull hoodie and umbrella from his driver’s room.

Bundling you up in the warm dry clothes, Max finally relaxes. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. But I wasn’t about to leave you stranded in that!”

You smile up at him, sincerely touched. “My hero! Thank you, superstar.”

Leaning up on your tiptoes, you give him a soft kiss. Max thinks that heart swells three sizes, thrilled that he was able to protect you.

As the weekend goes on, Max keeps finding little ways to display chivalry. Opening doors, giving you his seat, shielding you with umbrellas whenever the rain returns.

You assure him that the fussing is unnecessary but Max insists. He wants you to feel cared for and safe at all times.

Unfortunately, not everyone in the paddock shares that sentiment.

You’re rushing to grab some coffee before the race when you overhear a muttered conversation by a group of reporters that are huddled together.

“There she is — Verstappen’s girl ...”

“Ugh, it’s so obvious she only got the job with Sky Sports because they’re dating.”

“Sleeping her way to the top if you ask me. No way she’d be here otherwise ...”

Their cruel laughter cuts through you sharply. Blinking back sudden tears, you hurry away before they can notice you.

Of course you’ve dealt with doubters questioning your skill and merits before. It’s an occupational hazard as a woman in motorsport.

But having your relationship with Max twisted in such a way stings deeply.

Arriving at the grid, you paste on a smile and try not to let the nasty remarks ruin your day. You have always had to work twice as hard to prove yourself and you were not going to give up now.

But Max notices that something is off immediately. And, when you keep avoid his concerned gaze, he gently presses for answers.

“What’s wrong, liefde? And don’t say nothing,” he adds, seeing you open your mouth to brush it off.

You sigh, reluctantly telling him about the reporters’ hurtful comments. Instantly Max’s jaw tightens, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Who said that? Point them out to me.”

You hesitate, not wanting to cause a scene. But Max takes your hand firmly.

“I won’t let them get away with questioning your integrity like that. It’s unacceptable.”

So you subtly point out the gossiping reporters huddled nearby. Max’s gaze darkens. Turning on his heel, he marches straight for the media center.

By the time you catch up, he’s already deep in a terse conversation with Formula 1’s head of communications.

You watch in astonishment as the offenders’ media access is promptly revoked despite their loud protests. But Max stands firm, insisting this is non-negotiable if he is expected to keep participating in his media duties.

When he finally returns to you, his anger has melted away into concern. “I’m so sorry you had to hear their garbage. Don’t ever listen to it, okay? You are brilliant at what you do.”

Your eyes well up again but this time from gratitude. Even during the pre-race chaos, Max made defending you his top priority.

“Thank you,” you whisper, hugging him tightly. “My knight in shining racing gear.”

Max just holds you close, wishing he could shield you from all harm. Because your happiness and comfort are paramount to him. And Max will gladly take on any dragon — or unscrupulous reporter — that dares to threaten that.

With Max by your side, ready to come to your aid in rain or shine, you know everything will be okay.

A gentleman should always be well-dressed in the latest fashions and ensure that his cravat is tied to perfection.

Max frowns down at the open suitcase on his bed, clothes strewn everywhere. He’s digging through the wardrobe he packed trying to find something stylish to wear for the United States Grand Prix.

The problem is, Max has no idea what the latest fashions even are. Jeans and a team-branded shirt are his staples both on and off the track. But he needs to make more effort for you.

Sifting through his options unsuccessfully, Max sighs. There’s nothing here that screams high fashion. He would have to do the unthinkable and ask advice from someone … like Lewis Hamilton.

Max cringes at the thought of approaching his rival for fashion help. But Lewis is always complemented for his outfits so he is clearly an expert on the subject.

Swallowing his pride, Max fires off a text before he can overthink it.

To his surprise, Lewis responds enthusiastically with suggestions and styling tips. Their competitive rivalry is momentarily forgotten as the veteran driver dedicates all day to helping Max looking sharp.

Arriving at the paddock on Thursday morning, Max scrutinizes his reflection anxiously while scanning his pass. He’s wearing slim-fitting distressed jeans with a silky patterned shirt that Lewis instructed was to be left half-unbuttoned.

Definitely way flashier than his normal attire but Lewis assured him it was very on-trend. So Max takes a deep breath and heads out to find you.

Your eyes widen in surprise taking in his dramatic style overhaul. “Whoa, look at you!”

Max preens a bit, relieved that you don’t seem to be put off by his bold fashion choice.

“I figured it was time to elevate my fashion game,” he spins cheekily to show off the full look.

You have to stifle a laugh at seeing straight-laced Max suddenly dressing like a runway model after fans used to be shocked to see him in anything other than a white shirt.

It’s certainly different but cute that he’s putting in so much effort for your relationship.

As the weekend continues, so does Max’s parade of high fashion outfits. He turns up looking like he stepped off a catwalk in trendy printed shirts, embroidered jackets, and even sequined trousers.

By Sunday, the dramatic style transformation has paddock tongues wagging. Max appears entirely oblivious to the gossip though, just happy that his attempts to impress you seem to be working.

But watching him awkwardly fidget with the billowing oversized silk sleeves of today’s shirt as he tries to focus on preparing for the race, you realize that this isn’t your Max. Not really.

Catching his eye, you gesture for him to join you out of earshot and away from the view of cameras. Gently taking his hands, you meet his gaze.

“Be honest with me, what’s going on with the makeover? This isn’t like you at all.”

He ducks his head with a sheepish smile. “I just wanted to dress nicely for you this weekend. Like a proper gentleman.”

You lift his chin until he’s looking at you again. “You don’t have to try and be someone else for me. I like you for you — jeans, team kit, and all.”

Max’s shoulders relax in relief. “Yeah?”

“Of course! Please don’t feel like you ever have to change.” You lean up to kiss him softly. “Now let’s get you into some racing gear, champ.”

A gentleman should know that prolonged eye contact is a powerful tool for conveying one’s intentions.

“So Max, I have to ask about the incident with Carlos last race. Do you think your aggression was over the line?”

You fixes Max with an inquisitive gaze, microphone poised as you wait for his response. But instead of answering, he just stares back intensely without blinking.

After a long awkward pause, you shift in your seat. “Uh, Max? Did you hear my question?”

“Hmm? Oh right, yeah. It was just racing, these things happen,” he says vaguely, eyes never leaving yours.

You move on to the next question, puzzled by his distracted behavior. Throughout the interview, Max continues gazing at you unwaveringly.

It’s a bit unsettling to have him stare so fixedly without looking away.

Finally you wrap up the stilted conversation, feeling relieved to escape his laser focus. What was up with that?

Over the weekend, you catch Max staring silently at you on numerous occasions — in hospitality, on the grid, across the garage. Without blinking or looking away, he’ll fix you with that powerful gaze until you flush and look away first.

By Sunday you’ve gotten used to the drawn out m moments of extended eye contact.

But during the post-race press conference, Max cranks it up a notch. As you ask Charles a question about the race, you feel Max’s eyes boring into the side of your face. Glancing over, you nearly fumble your recorder.

He’s just ... staring. Blatantly. Right at you as you’re trying to have a professional conversation.

The other drivers keep sneaking amused looks between you two and trying to hide their snickers.

You finally wrap up hurriedly, flustered by Max’s unrelenting eye contact. As the rest of the press file out, you hang back.

“So the whole staring thing ... we’re really doing that huh?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

Max has the grace to look sheepish. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to throw you off! I’ve just been trying to connect with you even more.”

You have to stifle a laugh imagining him sternly holding his own gaze in a mirror for practice. “I could tell! But maybe dial it down a little bit during interviews?”

Rubbing his neck, Max chuckles. “Yeah good call.”

He’s quiet for a moment before meeting your eyes again, this time softer. “I do like the way it makes me focus just on you though. Like the rest of the world fades away.”

“Yeah,” you duck your head, “I like that part too.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. Reaching out, he gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

When Max leans in, eyes fluttering closed, you let yourself get lost in the moment. The outside world disappears and all that’s left is his lips on yours, saying more than words ever could.

A gentleman should never speak of his own accomplishments or wealth in a boastful manner, instead let your actions and character speak for themselves.

“Liefde, have you seen my phone charger?” Max calls from the living room of his apartment. “Nevermind, found it!”

He grabs the charger off of the coffee table, narrowly avoiding knocking over the World Drivers’ Championship trophy displayed prominently in the center.

You stifle an amused smile as you enter. Ever since you jokingly teased Max about being humble, he has made his accomplishments strangely hard to ignore.

Like the fact that his trophy room door now mysteriously stays wide open whenever you’re over. Or how he keeps offering for you to take Air Max whenever you need to travel instead of flying commercial. It’s his unique way of bragging without actually saying a word.

Joining him on the sofa, you have to shoo away one of the cats that is trying to swat the trophy off the table. Max just grins.

“Sassy really loves that thing! Although I guess I can’t blame her, it is very shiny.”

You laugh, curling into his side. “It certainly seems to belong front and center lately. Along with your three championship-winning helmets on the table in the foyer.”

Max attempts an innocent look that doesn’t quite stick. “What? They’re nice decorative pieces!”

“Mmhmm,” you hum skeptically. Glancing around, you note magazine covers bearing his face displayed on the walls along with a framed race-worn suit hanging randomly next to the kitchen.

Meeting his eyes, you give him a knowing look. Max holds your gaze for a moment before cracking.

“Okay fine, I may have highlighted some ... accomplishments since your little humble comment,” he admits with a sheepish grin.

You have to laugh. “Max, you know I was just teasing you! I would never want you to downplay your achievements.”

Twisting to face him, you take his hands in yours. “You’ve worked so hard for everything you have. Please don’t feel like you can’t be proud about it.”

Max’s expression softens. “I know and I am really proud of my racing success.” Glancing around the trophy-filled apartment, he chuckles. “Maybe a bit too loudly recently.”

You lean in to kiss him tenderly. “I love you and I’m so proud of you. But it’s this,” you tap his chest on top of his heart, “This is what made me fall for you, not the jet or the trophies.”

“Yeah?” Max asks, eyes crinkling happily.

You snuggle into his shoulder. “Of course. You’ll always just be my Max.”

But then the gifts start arriving. An Hermes Birkin bag here … some Van Cleef jewelry there. Presented nonchalantly but you know that their extravagance is no accident.

Finally, you have to say something when a couture Chanel gown appears in your hotel room one day.

“What’s going on with all these gifts all of a sudden?” You ask gently.

“Nothing! I just want to treat my amazing girlfriend the way she deserves to be treated.”

You raise an eyebrow and look … and look … and look … until Max cracks. “Okay fine, I may have been trying to show off a bit,” he admits. “But it’s hard not to when I want to give you the world!”

Your expression softens. Taking his hands, you wait until he meets your eyes.

“You could give me plastic rings and clothing from the thrift store and I would be just as happy. Your love means everything to me, not material things.”

“Really?”

You nod and climb into his lap to connect your lips in a slow kiss. Pulling back, you add teasingly, “But I am keeping the dress.”

He laughs, all tension vanishing. “Of course, it will look incredible on you. Like everything does.”

A gentleman should demonstrate a willingness to adapt to a lady’s interests and preferences, cultivating shared hobbies and passions.

“Here we are!” You announce, gesturing at the entrance of the padel club. “I know you’ll love this. It combines the best parts of tennis, squash, and racquetball.”

Taking Max’s hand, you lead him inside eagerly. You’ve been trying to get him to try padel, your favorite hobby, for ages. Finally convincing him to play while visiting him in Monaco, you do a quick rundown of the rules in the locker room.

“So basically we score just like in tennis but the walls and mesh are also in play. You can use them to bounce shots off of strategically,” you explain, miming hitting the ball off the glass wall.

Max nods along, game face on. He’s determined to share your passion for this sport.

“Got it. Use the walls, beat the opponents, win the match,” he summarizes confidently.

You laugh. “Pretty much! Now let’s go kick some butt out there.”

Gripping your paddles, you head onto the slick court. Max gravitates right to the mesh wall, intrigued by the unique setup.

You have to hide your grin — he’s like a kid exploring and testing shots out eagerly. His competitive nature means that he is completely engrossed within minutes.

And Max certainly has a knack for padel. His fast reflexes and coordination transfer over as he adapts his technique. Soon you’re both moving seamlessly around each other, dominating the points against a random couple Max had convinced to play against the two of you.

Hours later, sweaty but exhilarated, Max slings an arm around you grinning.

“That was epic! This is such an awesome game, I can’t wait to play more.” His excitement makes your heart swell. Nothing better than sharing your interests with someone special.

Over the next weeks, you find any excuse to play padel together. On lazy mornings, Max coaxes you out of bed. During race weeks, you even manage to squeeze in a few matches after media day.

Soon Max transforms into a padel fanatic, always scouting new courts and competition. His dedication to mastering every shot warms your heart. And the silly trash talk and celebrations make every match so much fun.

It was no surprise when Max decided to organize a players tournament between races. Getting the other drivers involved had your makeshift paddock league battling it out.

“Here for the padel party!” Daniel crows, showing up in head-to-toe tennis gear.

Charles, Carlos, Lando, and Pierre are there too, warming up their swings. You help Max demonstrate the rules, the other guys teasing him good-naturedly about his new obsession.

Once play begins though, the intensity heats up quickly. Max’s laser focus kicks in as he charges around you protectively, looking to crush anyone who dares hit near you. Luckily you hold your own plenty well too against the drivers.

When the final point is called in your favor, Max tackles you in an exuberant hug, the guys applauding around you. Grinning and flushed with exertion, you all head inside to refuel and celebrate a fun day of sport and competition.

One padel date turned into a shared passion that bonded you both with the other drivers too. And seeing your smile reflecting Max’s own euphoric one, you know this is only the start of many joyful tournaments and casual games together.

Maybe Max went a bit over-the-top in his newfound padel fever. But his willingness to dive headfirst into your interests fills you with more love than you ever thought possible.

Having someone care enough to enter your world so fully and share the things that light you up — that’s the most meaningful gesture of all.

A gentleman should learn to play a musical instrument or be a connoisseur of music, as serenading a lady can be a charming expression of affection.

Max turns the acoustic guitar over in his hands, plucking experimentally at the strings.

With your birthday coming up, serenading you seems like the perfect romantic gesture. Now he just has to actually learn how to play this thing. It seems simple enough — how hard can the guitar really be?

Max starts pressing on the strings randomly, the resulting discordant notes making him wince.

Okay, this might take some work.

Pulling up a beginner tutorial on his phone, he starts practicing the basic chords. But his fingers fumble clumsily, refusing to contort into the proper shapes. The more he tries, the worse the mangled sounds get.

Frustrated after the thirty minute lesson yields little improvement, Max sighs. “How am I supposed to woo my girlfriend with music if I can’t even play a damn C chord?”

Time for a professional to step in. Max books lessons with a private guitar instructor, determined to nail this down in time for your birthday surprise.

At the first lesson, the instructor eyes Max’s hands critically. “Right, let’s start by getting your fingers conditioned ...”

He takes Max through various stretching and dexterity exercises to limber up. Max nods along dutifully until the instructor pulls out a contraption with rubber bands and metal prongs.

“What the hell is that thing?” Max asks warily.

“A finger strengthener — we need to work on your independence and stamina,” he explains matter-of-factly, fitting the device over Max’s hand.

Max grimaces as the rubber bands strain against his fingers. The instructor just nods approvingly. “Perfect, twenty minutes per day with that.”

By the end of the torturous lesson, the only progress Max has made is identifying the parts of the guitar. He’s nowhere close to actually playing.

Max leaves discouraged but even more motivated to conquer the instrument somehow before your birthday. He continues meeting with the instructor multiple times a week, practicing rigorously outside of lessons too.

You notice his new habit of constantly stretching his fingers but Max plays it off casually not wanting to spoil the surprise.

The week before your birthday, Max has made marginal improvements but is still far from properly playing full songs. Desperate, he invites the instructor over for one final intensive lesson.

After two grueling hours of relentless drills, the instructor throws his hands up. “I’ve never had a student struggle this much with guitar basics. Maybe we should consider something easier, like the triangle or a recorder ...”

“No!” Max interrupts forcefully. “The guitar is a classic romantic instrument. I just need more practice before her party tomorrow.”

The instructor sighs. “If you say so. Just keep working on your fretting transitions and we’ll hope for the best.”

After he leaves, Max stays up late into the night strumming determinedly. By your birthday, his fingers are sore and calloused within an inch of their lives. But he can semi-confidently stumble through a love song and that’s enough for tonight.

When the moment arrives, he takes a deep breath and begins gently playing the intro to “Thinking Out Loud,” ready to serenade you. Max makes it halfway through before the chords descend into choppy noise.

You still applaud enthusiastically after, smiling ear to ear. “That was amazing, my love! Thank you so much.”

Max ducks his head bashfully. “It still needs some work. But I’m glad you liked it.”

Laughing, you take his tortured hands and kiss each fingertip. “I loved it because it came from you. That’s all that matters to me.”

Warmth blooms in Max’s chest. No matter how imperfect, you appreciated his efforts because of how much heart he put into it just for you.

In the end, no amount of lessons could transform Max into a virtuoso overnight. But he did become accomplished in one universal language — love.

And at the end of the day, that means everything.

A gentleman should recognize and appreciate a lady’s accomplishments, whether in the arts, charity work, or society.

“So Max, what are your thoughts on taking pole position here in Brazil?” The reporter asks.

Max grins into the mic. “Yeah, feels great to put it on pole here. The team has done an amazing job dialing in the car.”

He pauses and then adds, “Of course my girlfriend Y/N also put in a stellar qualifying effort yesterday covering the action for Sky Sports. Her commentary is always so eloquent and insightful.”

The reporter smiles amused as Max continues raving about your on-air skills for several minutes before remembering to refocus him on the results of the actual qualifying seasion.

This has become a familiar trend lately in Max’s interviews. No matter the question, he manages to redirect the conversation to highlight your various talents.

“... our pace was really strong today, I think we will be able to keep the top step tomorrow. Oh, speaking of strong pace, Y/N just ran a personal best 5k time last week during training ...”

In team debriefs, the same thing happens. Engineer queries about race strategy are derailed into praise about your presenting skills. PR reps trying to discuss Max’s social media posts somehow end up hearing about your recent venture into pottery making instead.

Even in casual conversations, you come up constantly.

“Morning, Max! How are you today?” His trainer asks while spotting a weight lifting session.

“Doing great! Y/N is also doing great, she’s learning Dutch and picking it up so quickly. Have I mentioned how talented she is with languages?”

By now the whole paddock is highly familiar with your many accomplishments, since Max seizes every possible opportunity to spotlight them.

You find it rather endearing, if a bit silly at times. Like when Max commandeered an entire interview just to detail the charities that you volunteer with.

“You know I’m capable of mentioning my own accomplishments if they come up naturally, right?” You tease him later.

Max looks sheepish. “I know, I just like bragging about you! I’m really proud of everything you do.”

You soften, giving him a quick kiss. “That’s really sweet. But maybe tone down the constant spotlight a little?” You suggest gently.

“Noted,” Max chuckles.

He makes an effort after that to highlight your achievements only when truly relevant. Because while he could praise you all day, Max also respects your wishes.

And he realizes you don’t need him to validate your worth — your talents speak for themselves. But he still can’t resist sharing little proud snippets whenever your accomplishments come up organically.

Over time you appreciate Max’s admiration and support more and more. Having someone so genuinely invested in all aspects of your life is incredibly touching.

Maybe he goes a bit overboard in his praising sometimes. But knowing that Max is always your biggest cheerleader, when it comes to racing coverage or otherwise, means everything.

A gentleman should seek the permission of the lady’s father or guardian before proposing, demonstrating respect for her family and social conventions. Once granted, he should choose an intimate setting for the proposal, away from the public eye. He must then express his intentions with sincerity, dropping to one knee and presenting a ring as a symbol of his commitment.

Max takes a deep breath, fidgeting with the small velvet box in his pocket. Today’s the day — he’s going to ask your father for permission to marry you.

You’ve reassured Max time and time again that your dad loves him but that does nothing to settle his nerves as he knocks on the front door of your childhood home.

When your father welcomes Max inside warmly, he relaxes slightly. Clearing his throat, Max launches into the speech he prepared.

“Sir, I’ve come today because I want to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. We have been together for years now and I want to spend the rest of my life with her, completely committed to her happiness. She is the most amazing person I’ve ever known.”

Max pauses, blushing. “Sorry, I had this whole thing planned out better. I guess what I’m asking is — may I have your blessing to propose to Y/N?”

Your dad grins, clapping Max on the shoulder. “You know you didn’t have to be so formal about this. I already see you as part of the family.”

Max smiles bashfully. “I just wanted to show my respect for you and Y/N. Your blessing would mean a lot to me.”

“You have it absolutely. I couldn’t imagine anyone better for her than you.” He pulls Max into a hug. “Welcome to the family, son.”

Max leaves on cloud nine, thrilled to have this traditional step done right. Now on to planning the perfect proposal location away from prying eyes ...

After scouring options, Max selects a peaceful mountaintop in the Swiss Alps. Complete with luxury chalet just for the two of you — intimate but romantic.

Max painstakingly decorates it with flowers, candles, and photos of your relationship throughout the years. For the ring, he chooses two large natural diamonds in an unique asymmetrical setting, symbolic of two imperfect halves making a flawless whole.

Now fully prepared, Max just has to wait for your upcoming vacation to pop the question. He spends the days leading up to it buzzing with nervous excitement.

The helicopter ride to the mountain is pure torture for him. What if you say no? What if he fumbles the proposal speech? Endless doubts race through Max’s mind.

But as soon as he sees your delighted smile taking in the warmly lit cabin, his anxiety melts away. This evening is about letting his heart speak.

Through a private chef-cooked dinner, your laughter echoes in the chalet just like it always sounds. Full of joy and life and love.

Max knows that he’s ready.

Taking your hand gently, he leads you outside onto the moonlit balcony. Time to finally ask you to be his forever.

Max clears his throat, meeting your eyes. “Y/N, from the moment I met you, my world changed. Your smile and your light fill my days with meaning. You make me a better man.”

He slowly kneels, pulling out the ring box with trembling fingers. “I want to laugh with you, cry with you, share every high and low for the rest of our lives. Will you make me the luckiest man in the universe by becoming my wife?”

You clasp a hand over your mouth, eyes glimmering with tears. You only manage to get out a watery “Yes!” before also dropping to your knees in front of him.

Grinning ear to ear, Max slides the ring onto your finger with a kiss. “I promise to always love and cherish you.”

“And I promise the same to you, today and always.”

You throw your arms around him, both giddy with joy under the stars.

The customs that got you to this moment may have been old-fashioned but your love is timeless.

[goldfades]

𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐌 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐓 ─ PB⁵ ft. UCONN WBB MANAGER

౨ৎ ─ summary | this is taking place pre-relationship! paige apologizes for distancing herself after her injury. this can be read by itself but i would highly recommend reading my headcanons first so you have a bit of context!

─ word count | 1.1k

─ warnings | paige's injury, mention of tension/pettiness, the reader and p weren't on good terms for a while.

─ ev's notes |

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist! (updates once a week or so)

THE KNOCK ON your apartment door was sharp and slightly unexpected, your expression turning confused and slightly annoyed.

KK and Ice had left your apartment almost an hour ago, could they really be back already? You sighed before closing your laptop, getting up to open the door only to be met with the person she least expected to be there.

Paige, in all her glory ─ crutches and everything.

You couldn't really explain exactly what happened to prompt Paige to begin acting weird, but she was. She had been, for a while now and you didn't really know why. This was almost two months before her injury so you couldn't even use that as an excuse; she just was.

Despite her efforts to create distance, you couldn't help but worry about her. After all, you had grown close and you even considered her to be one of your best friends at some point, but right now you really didn't know what your relationship was. And of course when she got injured, you made it your mission to take care of her, offering support and comfort whenever she needed it.

But no matter how hard you tried, she always pushed you away. You didn't understand it, you didn't even know why ─ so eventually, you just gave up.

As Paige stood at your doorstep, a whirlwind of emotions seemed to flash across her face. You ushered her in quickly, noticing the slight grimace of pain as she maneuvered on her crutches.

Before you could even begin to speak, she began to talk. "Look, I'm sorry."

You stared back at her, taken aback by her sudden apology. This whole thing had been happening for three months, and even after the millionth time you tried fixing the issue, she continued to act distant with you. It was frustrating and disheartening, to say the least. You had racked your brain trying to understand what went wrong, what could've caused Paige to pull away, but you always came up empty-handed.

"I'm sorry for being a bitch, especially the other night," Paige's voice was devoid of any of the usual excitement she had, it didn't even sound like her.

You couldn't really blame her though, she had just suffered a potentially season-ending injury and the weight of it all seemed to be pressing down on her shoulders. Despite her usual extroverted energy, Paige appeared diminished, her usual spark dulled by the frustration.

You felt a pang of sympathy as you looked at her, realizing the immense toll her injury must be taking on her both physically and emotionally. It wasn't just about missing games or the possibility of a season-ending setback; it was about the loss of something she loved, something that defined her in many ways.

"No, it's okay. Don't even apologize, I get it," you said softly, your voice laced with empathy. "I shouldn't have pushed you, especially with your injury and all,"

"You were just trying to help, I really am sorry," Paige mumbled as she sighed. "I've been so caught up in my own anger that I haven't stopped to think about how it's affecting everyone else, especially you."

You frowned at her words, your heart aching for her. You had been there; the exact moment it happened and you almost couldn't believe it, all the pettiness from the previous months were thrown out the window as you ran to her side.

You moved closer to her, wanting to offer her some comfort. "Please, don't stress yourself out about it. I just wanted you to get better and... well, I just wanted my best friend back," you let out a nervous chuckle as you spoke.

Paige finally met your gaze, her eyes watery and red as she sniffled. She felt ashamed, she couldn't believe that she let anything get in the way of her relationship with you.

"P, it's okay," you said gently, reaching out to wipe away her tears. "I understand why you've been feeling the way you have. And I want you to know that I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be here for you, through the good times and the bad."

Paige sniffled, leaning into your touch as if seeking comfort. "I'm really, really sorry, Y/N. I've been such a mess lately, I missed you."

You could practically feel the exhaustion radiating off of her as you sighed. Without any hesitation, holding her close as if trying to shield her from the weight of the world. Paige buried her face into your shoulder, her body trembling with pent-up emotion as she finally allowed herself to release the weight she had been carrying.

"You don't have to apologize, P," you whispered, your voice filled with warmth and reassurance. "I've missed you too, more than you'll ever know. But more than anything, I just want you to be okay."

Paige buried her face in your shoulder, her breath hitching as she let out a shaky sigh. "I'm trying, Y/N. I really am."

You held her tighter, offering her the comfort and support she so desperately needed. "I know you are, Paige. And I'm here for you every step of the way. We'll get through this together."

Paige nodded against your shoulder, her breaths coming out in ragged sighs as she let herself be comforted by your embrace. In that moment, the walls she had built around herself seemed to crumble as she let go of all her fears.

Paige spoke up again, her tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Y/N. You've always been there for me, even when I didn't deserve it."

"That's what I'm here for, right?" You replied, tightening your hold around her.

Eventually, Paige pulled back slightly, her eyes red and puffy but filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you."

You gave her a gentle smile, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "You don't have to do anything alone, Paige. I'm here for you, always. Are you hungry?"

She was slightly taken aback as she let out a soft chuckle. "Sure, yeah. What's on the menu tonight?"

You smiled back at her, feeling yourself fall back into the natural swing of things. "Mac and cheese, if you're up for it?"

"Hey, it's a thanksgiving food! It's kinda fitting the vibe, don't ya think?" Paige's voice came out hoarse but you could see the amusement in her red-brimmed eyes.

With a gentle arm around her shoulders, you guided Paige to the kitchen, mindful of her injury. As you worked together to prepare the meal, the tension that had been weighing heavily between you seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sense of familiarity.

However, you could still sense a little tension in the air ─ but you decided that issue was for another day.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[pha55ed]

No One Noticed || F1/F2

type :: angst

tw/cw :: none

contains :: carlos, lando, oscar, ollie, paul, pepe

summary :: you both knew the relationship was failing, so you both ended it

xmas celly here! || f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist

Carlos Sainz | 55

The 2024 season was objectivly a good year for him. A mixture of highs and lows, but he couldn't hide his feelings from you. You knew that deep down he wasn't doing the best mentally. The loss of his Ferrari, his shaky future, and his recent break up with Rebecca was all weighing on his shoulders.

He did his best to have fun, which he did. But you knew better than anyone else that he needed some time to himself. Although you tried to have breaks and give him alone time, it just wasn't enough. It was as if he'd lost hope and was struggling to find it.

You deserved better than him and he knew it. He wasn't his best version of himself and he wanted to improve instead of dragging you down with him. So he sat you down, preparing to tell you everything he was thinking and why he was doing this.

But once you two were there together, it was as if his eyes said everything for you. You didn't need to hear him explain anything, you knew him well despite only being together for a few months.

"Breaking up isn't necessary," You try to reason with him "I'll wait for you however long-"

"You shouldn't force yourself to wait for me." He said passionately. You weren't just a wag, you were a hardworking woman who had many career offers. But you were sadly turning most offers down in order to focus on Carlo's mental health. "Please don't hold back for me. I'll find you when I'm ready."

"By then you'll be a 100 times better than me." He says with a soft smile. "I hope you'll be able to find the 'pros' in me still."

Lando Norris | 04

Your life styles never connected fully. Although you did your best to adapt to his fast pace, party-filled, and action packed life, you just couldn't. It didn't match who you were and it never would. You tried so hard to fit into his perfect life, but you both knew it wasn't working. And he knew it even more than you did.

Seeing you struggle with everything made him feel so guilty. Watching you. try to keep up with his constant flights, which almost always ruined your sleep schedule and body. Seeing you study alone in the dead of night when he's coming back from another celebration party. And worse of all, watching you miss on the biggest life event in your family and friends just because you were in a completely different country.

It almost hurt him more than it hurt you. He loves you so deeply that despite seeing you hide your sadness, he wanted to keep you to himself. But he knew better than to keep you for longer. He was holding you back from living your best life.

So when you both sat down in his living room, he instantly felt tears brim his eyes. He wanted to speak, to say the speech that he prepared for you - admit how he felt guilty and selfish, how he'll forever care for you, how he wishes the best for you, and how he hopes to stay in your life. Yet he can't say a single word.

But you know him. You simply just nod, letting out a heavy sigh. "Is this the end?"

"No," Lando says instantly. "I never want there to be an end to us."

"Me neither," You say. There's a long pause between both of you. Your words are a small hint to your want to stay together. But you know it's just prolonging the end.

"I just" Lando says slowly, "We both know, how we feel, what we want... And I don't want to hold you back anymore."

Oscar Piastri | 81

After breaking up with Lily, who he was with for basically most of his life, he got with you. Not as a rebound, but he genuinely fell for you and loved you. But, he quickly realized he wasn't a great boyfriend.

He was gone for days and weeks at a time, opening up was terrifying for him, and he couldn't allow himself to trust you. But he was also co-dependent on you. It was an odd back and forth. From being ignored for days to then being needed to do basic tasks.

It was hurting you and you hated to admit it. And he could tell it was just driving you crazy. So he knew what the solution was: he needed to fix himself. He's never had the chance to be alone, always having someone stuck to his side to help him. He knew he had a lot of issues that he needed to fix in order to be a better boyfriend.

He knew he should break up with you in person. That's the nicest thing he can do after being a shitty boyfriend to you. But he can't bring himself to do it. So instead, you get a lengthy text with paragraphs upon paragraphs that described his need to be alone, why he's such a shit boyfriend, how he'll always miss you, and how he's sorry.

Ollie Bearman | 87

"We can do it, just give me one more month." Ollie pleads desperately, tears brimming his eyes as he's holding onto your hand gently. But you knew it was too late to save the relationship after all the issues you've faced.

You really did your best to make the relationship work, but his work was always stopping you two from doing anything. In 2024 alone, he was in F2, raced for Ferrari, raced for Haas, and so much more drama within his personal life. It was way too much for you. Your lifestyles were clashing and more.

Not to mention the huge backlash you were getting from his insane fanbase. Although most were sweet and kind, a few were nasty. They left hate comments everywhere, spammed your inbox, even finding where you live to send you letters to "leave Ollie alone."

"I can fix it, I'll stop everything please-" He begs, tears falling now as he watched you pack your bags. "Please, just one more month."

But it was too late, your mind was made up. You didn't want him to stop his life for you and you didn't want to be in the way.

Paul Aron | 17 Reminder: this is all fiction - I have zero clue what Paul's family is like

Being two different ethnicities wasn't an odd thing for couples. Many couples on the grid came from different backgrounds but always found a way to meet in the middle. But with Paul, it was almost impossible to do.

His family were very traditional, which meant they had very outdated ideas. They were against the idea of immigrants coming in, were perfectly fine with the huge wage gap between men and women, made cruel jokes to Jewish people, Russians, LGBTQ+, and more.

Although you knew that Paul didn't believe any of these and wasn't far-right - the fact that his family would believe in ideologies that completely go against your existence were hurtful. And even worse, you knew they didn't like you much either. They always dreamed of Paul getting with a beautiful thin Estonian girl who kept her mouth shut - The opposite of you.

Every time you met with his family, it was as if you the scum of the Earth. They weren't even passive aggressive either, they were blunt and honest with you. "I didn't know Paul liked heavy girls", "You don't believe that bullshit right?", and more.

You couldn't stand it and knew you wouldn't be able to last unless Paul was willing to leave his family behind. But he wasn't. Because although he disagreed with their thoughts, he still wanted to have his family. Being one of the only Estonian's on the grid and on the planet forced him to stay connected to them. He understood your thoughts and you did the same for his. So, he made his choice and so did you.

Pepe Marti | 21

Although Christian and Sebastian are great friends to Pepe, the rest of Pepe's friends are questionable. His friends in university were the stereotypical frat guys: cheating on their girlfriends, being painfully stupid, and lowkey leaning to the right-wing.

You did you best to try and stand them, but they were slowly rubbing off on Pepe. That's when both goth into a big fight because one of Pepe’s closest friends cheated on his girlfriend. Pepe knew the whole time and never told you or the girlfriend, which made you feel icky.

It ended with Pepe admitting he was wrong, but it still didn’t sit right with you that he hid it for so long. It made you question everything about your relationship and his morals. But that wasn’t the only fight you would have after this.

So you both sat down together, you were the one to bees it off with him. He tried his best to plead and say he’s nothing like his friends. But after you stayed stubborn, he did a 180 - quickly turning from begging to saying he never needed this relationship. You knew it was just his defense mechanism, trying to seem cold. But it still hurt you. It just further solidified that you made the right choice.

xmas celly here! || f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist

[kasienda]

Why I love Marinette Dupain Cheng

So, I just watched the London Special and I have feelings!!

I want to preface this by saying that I very much didn't resonate with the second half of season five for a lot of different reasons, but that the special really worked for me, gave me what I needed to get to a place to be excited about the potential of season six.

Marinette is a 14 year old superhero who is fundamentally a good person. She tries to do right by others, and when she realizes that she's done harm she genuinely tries to fix it. Now, her character is often portrayed as someone with ADHD. She is subject to tunnel vision, hyperfixating, anxiety spirals, and not always being great at taking other perspectives into account. She's never been good at anticipating how her actions and choices might hurt someone else.

And I LOVE that about her!!!

You know who else is not great about taking other people's perspectives? Fourteen year olds!! Developmentally, they're LEARNING THIS AT THIS AGE!! They're also LEARNING to make decisions and accept responsibility. And they are NOT good at it!! Take it from someone who works with fifteen years olds DAILY!! Even the most "good" well behaved teenager does and says thoughtless harmful things that hurt others sometimes in excruciating ways. And you ask them, "What were you thinking?" after it's blown up in their face and the answer is ALWAYS, "I don't know" OR "I wasn't thinking."

Developmentally, middle school is about fitting in. It is not easy for kids at this age to stand up for what is right, to make decisions that are healthy, to communicate in healthy ways. Marinette's whole character is about learning to do that! And to showcase that you have to show her making mistakes, sometimes even big ones, and learning to take responsibility for those choices.

Marinette salt hurts me so much because the salt seems to paint her at this malicious manipulative girl who wants to control Adrien and the world on whole. That she's malicious in the choices that she's made.

Meanwhile, the narrative is not framing her as in the right when she makes these choices. Kagami told her she disagreed in almost the first scene. Nathalie told her it was time to tell the truth. Throughout the whole special, it's obvious how much the choice she made is weighing on her, how much she's wondering if this was right. She seems to know on some level that it isn't.

THAT IS SO RELATABLE!!!

Have you ever lied to a friend or to your parents? And then, realized huh, I probably shouldn't have done that, but now you're in too deep and don't know how to take it back? Have you ever NOT told someone about a hard truth about themselves or about you because you didn't want to hurt their feelings, and then have to watch as they get hurt or rejected again and again because they just don't realize what the problem is??? Or confronted with someone around you who has lost a lot and just not sure at all what to do in the face of all that? And then to be given the choice to maybe ease the hurt of that loss with a lie? You think you WOULDN'T at least CONSIDER doing that for someone you love??

Do I think it will bite her in the butt? YES!! AND I AM HERE TO SEE IT!

Nathalie tells Marinette they should tell the truth. And Marinette's like, "but you'll go to jail." And Nathalie nods, accepting this. "But then Adrien will be alone." And Nathalie responds with "he'll have you."

DO YOU KNOW HOW TERRIFYING THAT WOULD BE TO HER??

If she does tell the truth, Adrien DOES lose Nathalie. That would hurt him too. Adrien DOES have to deal with the backlash of being Hawkmoth's son both inside his own head and with the world at large. And maybe in the long term, that would be the better choice. But how many of us choose what's better in the long term??? (THE ANSWER HERE IS ALMOST ZERO! I DON'T CARE HOW OLD YOU ARE!)

Bunnyx tells her there will consequences good and bad to every decision she makes. And what matters is how she faces the consequences. How she tries to take responsibility for them in the future.

Marinette is not trying to hurt Adrien here. She's not trying to manipulate or control him. It also doesn't mean she thinks what Gabriel did was right or that she condones his actions. It certainly doesn't mean she's okay with abuse. Everyone saying that she is has the benefit of the global perspective of knowing everything in the show! Marinette does NOT have that perspective.

Does that mean she isn't causing harm? No! She IS probably causing harm here. As so many of us do unintentionally, or sometimes even knowing that we're doing it because doing something else feels impossible to face in that moment.

And when the truth comes out, and I do think Gabriel's identity will come out (I'm less confident about the senti reveal, but that's more because they're literally not allowed to say the words), Adrien is going to have a LOT to work through. But the thing about Adrien, that all of his defenders seem to misunderstand, is that HE IS FORGIVING! If she explains it all to him, he will be angry and maybe hurt, but he is also going to be the first to understand. He's been the one right there next to her with a front row seat to all the pressures she had to face often completely on her own. I think she will be way more angry and hard on herself than he will be on her. That's kinda who his character is. He's NOT VENGEFUL.

This whole show from the beginning has been about characters making mistakes, sometimes learning from them, and being forgiven for them!! And it's the FORGIVENESS AND UNDERSTANDING given to each other after the fact that has brought the characters together time and time again. Watch origins and look at the class dynamic. Then watch guilt trip. The class has come together in a way they absolutely were not in the beginning! Because they have gotten to know each other and forgave each other. Watch Alya apologize to Marinette for telling Nino about still being the fox, and watch Marinette smile and say she knows what it feels like to need to share your secret with your best friend! Watch Ladybug ask Chat Noir if he understands the weight of a secret, and have him dryly agree that he is familiar with the feeling.

They are all flawed characters who make mistakes, who do things that hurt each other even when they're are trying SO HARD to do the opposite, and that's why I love them!!

I like characters making mistakes! I like there to be conflict in my stories.

And what I love about miraculous is that so far, the resolution to conflicts has always been one of listening to each other, and coming to a place of understanding and forgiveness.