#anyway I love to think about this: something no version I have ever seen has ever fully explored

[harrysfolklore]

but daddy i love him, part one - mv1

summary: in the world of formula 1, where competition runs deep and loyalties are tested, yn wolff and max verstappen found themselves caught in the middle . as the daughter of mercedes team principal and the rising red bull star, they must navigate the balance between rivalries and love. wc: 17k

folkie radio: HERE. IT. IS. FINALLY !!!!!!!! as i've stated before i'm absolutely terrified of posting this, this is my longest fic ever and different from what i've done before. i know it's a long read but i'm really proud of it and i think it's worth it. IN THIS FIC MORE THAN ANY OTHER. I ENCOURAGE YOU TO LEAVE FEEDBACK.

DISCLAIMER: as stated in the title THIS IS PART ONE!!! part two is ready in my drafts and will be posted shortly (in a week tops). i'll stop talking now. BUCKLE UP AND ENJOY (and please leave feedback okay)

Melbourne, 2015

The hotel lobby is quiet at this hour - that strange liminal space between late night and early morning when most reasonable people are asleep. But you've never been great at reasonable, and jet lag has your body clock completely scrambled.

That's how you end up in the hotel's deserted coffee shop at 1 AM, nursing a hot chocolate and trying to calm your nerves about tomorrow.

You're so lost in thought you don't notice someone else enter until they speak.

"They're still open?"

You look up and your heart skips. Of course you recognize him immediately - Max Verstappen, the 17-year-old prodigy your father hasn't stopped talking about for months. "The next big thing," Papa had said, watching testing footage. "He's going to shake up the whole paddock, just watch."

"Sort of," you gesture to your drink, trying to keep your voice casual. "The barista took pity on me. Said she'd make one last drink before closing."

He glances at the now-dark counter and sighs. Up close, he looks even younger than in the photos you've seen, but there's something in his eyes - a fierce determination that makes you understand why everyone's been talking about him.

"Here," you push your barely-touched hot chocolate towards him. "I'm not really drinking it anyway."

He hesitates. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Probably shouldn't have caffeine at this hour anyway."

He sits across from you, taking a careful sip. "Thanks. I'm Max."

I know, you think. Everyone knows. The youngest F1 driver in history, Jos Verstappen's son, the rookie everyone's watching.

"You're not from around here," you note his accent, playing along with the pretense that you don't know exactly who he is.

"Neither are you," he grins, and something warm flutters in your stomach. His smile transforms his whole face, makes him look his age.

"Fair point. Here for the Grand Prix?"

"You could say that." He studies you, and you wonder if he can hear your heart racing. "You?"

"Something like that." You're enjoying this little game more than you probably should.

"Cryptic."

You laugh. "Says the equally cryptic stranger."

"Okay, okay." He takes another sip. "I'm one of the new drivers. Toro Rosso."

You try to hide your smile. You've watched every clip of his testing sessions, heard every conversation your father has had about his potential. "Ah. The youngest F1 driver in history. That must be a lot of pressure."

He shrugs, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of expectations already heavy on him. You know that weight - you've carried your own version of it your whole life.

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Scared?"

"No," he answers too quickly, then sighs. "Maybe a little. You won't tell anyone I said that, right?"

There's something vulnerable in his admission that makes your heart ache. Behind all the hype and headlines, he's just a boy on the verge of something enormous.

"Your secret's safe with me." You lean back. "For what it's worth, I think you'll do great."

"You sound pretty confident for someone who just met me."

If only he knew how many hours you'd spent watching his karting videos. How many times you'd heard your father say "That Verstappen boy is going to change everything."

"Let's call it intuition."

He laughs - a genuine, unguarded sound that makes your pulse quicken. "You're different."

"Different good or different bad?"

"Just… different." He finishes the hot chocolate. "Most people, when they find out who I am, they either get weird about it or start asking about Jos."

"Your father?"

He nods, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes - the same shadow you sometimes get when people mention Toto.

"Well, I know a thing or two about father-related pressure, so…"

"Yeah?" He looks interested. "What does your father do?"

You check your watch, knowing it's time to end this little charade. "Oh wow, is that the time? I should probably head up."

"Wait," he stands as you do. "I didn't catch your name."

You pause at the door, turning back with a small smile, savoring what you know will be his reaction. "I'm YN Wolff."

His eyes widen. "Wolff? As in…"

"See you in the paddock, Max Verstappen."

You leave him standing there, but not before catching his surprised laugh. Your heart is racing as you walk away - from the deception, from his smile, from the way his eyes had lit up when he laughed.

The next morning, you spot him in the paddock. He does a double-take when he sees you with the Mercedes team, then grins and shakes his head. You're wearing your team kit now, no more pretending to be just another girl in a hotel coffee shop.

"Cryptic stranger," he mouths at you as he passes.

You just smile, trying to ignore how your stomach flips when he winks at you.

Neither of you could have known then - in that quiet hotel coffee shop at 1 AM - that this was the beginning of something that would change your lives.

Singapore, 2015

The paddock is eerily quiet now, the usual chaos of race day reduced to a whisper of distant maintenance and soft lighting. You're sitting on one of the team benches, the night air cool against your skin. Max is close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that the line between friendship and something more feels increasingly blurred.

It wasn't a sudden thing, this connection with Max. It had been a slow burn, a gradual unraveling that began that night in the hotel coffee shop and grew through stolen moments between races, brief conversations in crowded paddocks, and late-night messages that became increasingly frequent.

At first, it was simple curiosity. You'd catch each other's eye across the paddock, exchange a knowing smile. Then came the texts - random observations about races, inside jokes about team dynamics, comments that walked the line between friendly and flirtatious. Max had a way of making you laugh like no one else could, his wit sharp and unexpected.

He nudges you playfully. "So, daughter of the most powerful team principal in Formula 1. Must be interesting."

You roll your eyes, but there's a smile tugging at your lips. "Not as glamorous as you might think."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "Try me."

You pause, considering. The weight of your father's reputation is something you've carried your entire life - a constant backdrop to every interaction, every moment.

"Imagine," you say slowly, "having every conversation potentially recorded, every interaction analyzed. One wrong move and it's not just about you, but about your family's reputation."

Max's expression shifts. There's understanding there - he knows something about familial expectations, about the pressure of carrying a name.

"My father," he says quietly, "Jos Verstappen. Not exactly a walk in the park."

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. These moments have become more frequent - brief windows where the polished racing personas fall away, revealing something raw and real.

"Tell me," you prompt softly.

He takes a deep breath. "Constant pressure. Every race, every test, every moment - it's like I'm living not just for myself, but for some expectation he's created. Sound familiar?"

You laugh, but it's a sound tinged with something harder. Sadness. Recognition. "Absolutely."

Your conversations have been like this lately - layers peeling back, revealing something raw and real beneath the polished exterior of Formula 1.

"Sometimes," Max continues, "I wonder if I'm racing for myself or for the legacy everyone else wants me to create."

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the night. "Little Wolff?"

Lewis approaches, his team kit still impeccable despite the late hour. His eyes narrow when he sees Max, taking in your proximity.

Lewis had been a constant in your life long before Max entered the picture. Since joining Mercedes, he'd taken on a role that was part mentor, part protective older brother. It wasn't an official designation, but in the Mercedes family, it might as well have been law.

Lewis knew everything about you - your hopes, your fears and everything in between. He was more than just your father's driver. He was family.

"Oh," Lewis says, a mix of surprise and something else - protection, wariness. "Verstappen."

Max stands immediately. "I was just leaving," he says quickly, a touch of nervousness breaking through his usual confidence. "See you around."

As Max walks away, Lewis turns to you, his protective big brother persona fully activated. "What," he says slowly, "was that about?"

You start walking together, the paddock lights casting long shadows. Lewis' stride is purposeful, matching yours.

"Nothing," you say, but the word sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, "He's my friend."

"Friend," he says, uncertainty in his voice, "Just be careful, okay? Things are never that simple in this paddock" he'd said, and you knew he meant more than just about Max.

You said nothing. But you heard him. You always did.

Barcelona, 2016

The champagne sparkles in the late afternoon sun as you watch from a secluded corner of the paddock. You smile as you watch Max on that podium - the youngest winner in Formula 1 history. Your smile is wide, uncontrolled, and you're grateful for the relative privacy of your spot. If anyone noticed that your eyes never left Max, that your smile was meant only for him, they didn't say.

You remember the first time you saw him race, really race - not just in videos or testing. The raw talent, the fearlessness that made your breath catch. Over the past year, you'd watched him grow from that confident teenager in the Melbourne coffee shop into someone who commanded respect on track. And somewhere along the way, between stolen moments in the paddock and late-night conversations, he'd become so much more than just another driver.

The past year had been a dance of almost-moments and careful distances. Shared glances across crowded rooms, text messages that made you smile at 3 AM, touches that lingered just a second too long. You'd both known the complications, the impossibility of it all - the Mercedes team principal's daughter and Red Bull's rising star. It was like a modern Romeo and Juliet, except instead of warring families, it was competing Formula 1 teams.

Later that evening, you stand in your father's office doorway, heart hammering but determined. Toto is absorbed in post-race papers, reading glasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the formidable team principal even hours after the race.

"Papa?"

He looks up, his expression softening slightly at the sight of you. "Yes, Schatz?"

"I'm going out," you say, trying to keep your voice casual while mentally rehearsing your prepared explanation.

Toto's eyebrows rise slightly. "Out?"

"With some friends," you elaborate, grateful for years of practice at maintaining your composure under his scrutiny. "To celebrate the race."

He sets his papers down, removing his glasses. "Friends from the team?"

Your heart skips. "Just… friends from the paddock," you say carefully. "Daniel invited me."

"Ricciardo?" His tone sharpens slightly.

"He's always been nice to me," you reason, which isn't a lie. Daniel has been a friend since his early days, always treating you like a friend rather than just the boss' daughter.

Toto studies you for a long moment, and you force yourself to meet his gaze steadily, even as your pulse races. You've always been close to your father - he's been your hero, your guide, your biggest supporter. The weight of potentially disappointing him sits heavy in your chest.

"Be careful," he finally says, though his tone suggests he's not entirely convinced. "You know how complicated things can be in this world."

"I know, Papa," you say softly. "I'll be careful. Promise."

Getting into the Red Bull celebration is easier than expected, thanks to Daniel's help. He meets you at a side entrance, his trademark grin wider than usual.

"Looking good, Wolff," he winks, pulling you into a quick hug. "Though I'm pretty sure your dad would kill me if he knew I was helping you sneak in."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," you say, trying to ignore the guilt that accompanies the words.

"Just…" Daniel's expression turns serious for a moment. "Be careful, yeah? With Max. He's my teammate and you're like my sister, and I don't want either of you getting hurt."

You're saved from responding by the noise of the party as he leads you inside. The atmosphere is electric - the joy of Max's first win filling the air along with music and laughter.

When Max spots you, his eyes widen, champagne glass freezing halfway to his lips. The surprise on his face quickly melts into something softer, more private. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over, that familiar smirk playing on his lips - the one that never fails to make your heart skip.

"Should I be worried about Mercedes spies in our midst?" he teases, but his eyes are soft, drinking you in.

"You know me," you counter, matching his playful tone while trying to ignore how good he looks in his race winner's shirt, "I live for trouble."

"That you do, Wolff." He steps closer, just slightly, but enough to make your breath catch. "I didn't think you'd come."

"And miss your first win celebration? Never." You mean it to sound light, teasing, but your voice comes out softer, more sincere than intended.

"Still can't believe it," he says, shaking his head with a boyish grin that makes him look his age for once. "My first win."

"I can," you reply, taking a sip of champagne. "I've seen how you drive. It was only a matter of time."

He looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. "You've been watching me drive, then?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on the competition," you tease, but you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Is that what I am? Competition?" He moves closer, and suddenly the music seems far away.

"Among other things." Your voice comes out breathier than intended.

The conversation flows easily between you, as it always has. You talk about the race, about his incredible overtakes, about the moment he realized he was going to win. His eyes light up when he describes the feeling of crossing the finish line, and you find yourself caught between admiring his passion and getting lost in the way his hands move as he talks.

As the night progresses, the party gets louder, more crowded. Max notices you glancing around at the growing crowd.

"Want to get some air?" he asks, nodding toward a door that leads to a quieter area.

You follow him to a private terrace overlooking the city. The music is muffled here, and the night air is cool on your skin. You lean against the railing, city lights twinkling below.

"Better?" he asks, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Much." You turn to face him, drawn in by the way the lights play across his features. "Though I have to say, you throw quite a party for a rookie winner."

He laughs, the sound low and warm. "Rookie? I've been racing since before I could walk."

"Oh right, I forgot - Max Verstappen, born in a go-kart," you tease, making him smile wider.

"You're impossible, you know that?" He shakes his head, but his eyes are fond.

"Part of my charm," you counter, feeling bold in the privacy of the moment.

"Is that what you call it?" He's even closer now, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

"Would you rather I was predictable?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging.

"Never." His voice drops lower, sending shivers down your spine. "Predictable is boring. And you, YN Wolff, are anything but boring."

The tension between you is electric, years of carefully maintained distance crumbling in this quiet moment. Your heart is racing so fast you wonder if he can hear it.

"Well," you say, stepping into his space until there's barely a breath between you, "I think the winner deserves a reward."

Before you can second-guess yourself, you're kissing him. It's everything and nothing like you imagined - soft at first, tentative, like you're both afraid of breaking something precious. Then his hand comes up to cup your face, and the kiss deepens, becomes more urgent. You can taste champagne on his lips, feel the solid warmth of him against you. Your fingers curl into his shirt, anchoring yourself as the world spins around you.

It's a perfect moment, suspended in time, until he pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

"You're trouble, Wolff," he murmurs against your lips, but he's smiling that smile that makes your heart flip. "Beautiful trouble."

"Scared?" you challenge softly, echoing your first conversation in Melbourne.

"Terrified," he admits, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "But in a good way."

You stay at the party longer than you should, caught in Max's orbit. Every smile, every touch, every shared look feels charged with possibility. But reality crashes back hours later when you return.

Your dad is waiting, his expression thunderous in a way you've rarely seen directed at you. Your stomach drops as soon as you see him, the lingering warmth from Max's kisses turning to ice in your veins.

"Would you like to explain," he says slowly, each word precise and controlled, "why did I receive a call informing me that my daughter was at a Red Bull celebration?"

"Papa, I-" you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp gesture.

"Don't." His voice is hard. "Don't try to fool me. I've seen you with Max Verstappen."

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words. You want to defend yourself, explain that Max isn't just the Red Bull driver he sees, that there's more to him.

"Do you have any idea," he continues, "what position this puts me in? Puts the team in?"

"It's not about the teams," you say quietly, finding your voice. "It's just-"

"Just what?" he challenges. "Just you and him? Nothing is ever just anything in Formula 1, YN. Every action has consequences. Every relationship has implications."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "This sport isn't about fair. It's about winning. About loyalty. About trust." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "How can I trust you to put the team first when you're sneaking around with our biggest rival?"

The words hit you like a physical blow. "I would never betray the team," you whisper, hurt that he could even think that.

"Maybe not intentionally," he says, his voice softening slightly. "But this… whatever this is with Max Verstappen… it can't continue. I won't tell you again. Stay away from him."

You want to argue more, to make him understand. But you recognize the finality in your father's tone, the immovable force that has made him such a successful team principal. In this world of racing and rivalry, some lines aren't meant to be crossed.

As you leave, you touch your lips, still feeling the ghost of Max's kiss. Your phone buzzes - a message from Max: "Worth the trouble?"

You stare at the screen, tears threatening to fall. Sometimes the biggest crashes in Formula 1 aren't on the track at all. Sometimes they're in the space between what your heart wants and what the sport demands.

Germany, 2016

The German summer air is thick with tension. You can feel it crackling through the paddock like electricity before a storm. Nico and Lewis' rivalry has turned the Mercedes garage into a pressure cooker, and your father's stress is palpable. Being around him feels like walking on eggshells, which makes your secret meetings with Max even more dangerous.

You've gotten good at this dance over the past few months - stolen moments between practice sessions, hidden corners of the paddock, coded messages about "casual meetings" that are anything but casual. Every stolen kiss feels like a victory and a risk all at once.

The sun is setting over Hockenheim when you slip behind the Red Bull motorhome, your heart racing with the familiar mix of excitement and fear. Max is already there, leaning against the wall with that cocky smile that still makes your stomach flip.

"Cutting it close, Wolff," he murmurs as you approach. "Your father's been prowling the paddock all day."

"Worried?" you tease, even as you glance around to ensure you're alone.

His answer is to pull you against him, one hand sliding to your waist while the other cups your face. "About your father? Always. About this? Never."

The kiss is heated from the start - months of practice have taught you both exactly how to make each other breathless. His thumb traces your jawline as he deepens the kiss, and you press closer, fingers curling into his team shirt. You love how solid he feels against you, how his breath catches when you bite gently at his lower lip.

"You're going to get me in trouble," he whispers against your mouth, but his smile suggests he doesn't mind at all.

"You love trouble," you remind him, trailing kisses along his jaw.

His hands tighten on your waist. "I love-" he starts, but cuts himself off, choosing instead to capture your lips again in a kiss that makes you forget everything else.

You lose track of time, lost in the taste of him, the feel of his hands on your skin, the way he whispers your name like a prayer. It's dangerous and perfect and everything you shouldn't want but can't resist.

A sound makes you both freeze. You pull apart quickly, straightening your clothes, but it's too late.

Jos Verstappen stands at the corner of the motorhome, his expression dark and unreadable. Your blood runs cold at the sight of him.

"I… I should go," you manage, your voice shaky. Max's hand brushes yours briefly - a small comfort - before you hurry past his father, avoiding his stern gaze.

Behind you, you can hear Jos' voice, low and harsh in Dutch, but you don't stop to listen. Your heart is pounding as you make your way back to the paddock, wondering if this is the moment everything falls apart.

Max stands his ground as his father's disapproval fills the space between them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jos demands in Dutch, his voice controlled but sharp. "The Wolff girl? Have you lost your mind?"

"It's not what you think-" Max starts, but Jos cuts him off.

"It's exactly what I think. You're letting yourself get distracted. By a Mercedes girl, no less. Toto Wolff's daughter?" Jos steps closer, his presence intimidating despite Max now being taller than him. "You're just starting to prove yourself in Formula 1. This is when you need to focus more than ever."

"I am focused," Max argues. "My results prove that."

"For now." Jos' voice turns cold. "But girls like that, from families like that - they're nothing but distractions. She'll get in your head, make you soft. And then what? You think Toto Wolff wants his daughter with a Red Bull driver? You think this ends well?"

Max clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to defend you, to explain that you're different, that you understand the sport as well as he does. But he knows his father won't listen.

"Stay away from her," Jos says finally, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Focus on what matters. On winning and being champion. That's what we've worked for all these years. Don't throw it away for some girl."

The words hit harder than Max wants to admit, echoing his own doubts, his own fears about what this thing with you means. But he can't forget the way you look at him like you see past the racer, past the name, to who he really is.

Jos leaves him there in the growing darkness, with only the weight of expectations and the lingering taste of your kiss on his lips.

Monaco, May 2017

Another year, another dance of stolen moments and secret smiles. If anything, the warnings and opposition have only made whatever this is between you and Max more intense. Like a forbidden drug, each stolen moment leaves you craving more, even as the risks grow higher.

"This is a terrible idea," Max whispers as you pull him through your back door, "Your dad is literally upstairs."

"He's dead asleep," you assure him, carefully closing the door. "He took sleeping pills for his flight tomorrow. Besides, he sleeps like the dead anyway."

Max still looks like he's ready to bolt at any second. "YN, if he catches me here-"

"He won't." You tug him closer by his shirt. "Unless you keep talking so loud."

He glances nervously at the stairs. "Your room is up there? Past his?"

"Scared, Verstappen?"

"Terrified, actually." But he follows you anyway, both of you carefully avoiding the creaky third step you'd mapped out years ago during teenage sneaking attempts.

You're almost at your door when Max freezes. "Was that-"

"Just the house settling," you whisper, but your heart is racing too. "Come on, we're almost-"

A door opens down the hall.

Max actually whimpers. You shove him into your room just as Toto's voice calls out, "YN? Is that you?"

"Just getting water, Papa!" you call back, praying your voice sounds normal. "Go back to sleep."

"Everything okay?"

"Fine! Those pills should be kicking in, right?"

A yawn. "Ja, starting to feel them. Goodnight, Schatz."

"Night, Papa!"

You wait until you hear his door close before slipping into your room. You find Max standing perfectly still in the middle of the floor, looking absolutely terrified.

"I think I'm having a heart attack," he announces in a whisper. "I'm actually having a heart attack. I can see the headlines now: 'F1 Driver Dies of Fear in Team Principal's House.'"

You try not to laugh. "You're being dramatic."

"Dramatic?" His voice rises slightly before he catches himself. "YN, your father was ten feet away from me. Ten feet! Do you know what he would do to me if he found me here?"

"Well, first he'd probably have a heart attack himself-"

"Not helping!"

"Then probably murder you-"

"Still not helping!"

"And Lewis would hide the body-"

"Why did I agree to this?" He runs his hands through his hair. "I'm a professional athlete. I have championships to win. I can't die in Toto Wolff's house because his daughter is too pretty to say no to."

You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're trying to kill me." But his hands settle on your waist automatically. "If your father walks in right now-"

"He won't."

"But if he does-"

"Max." You kiss him softly. "Stop talking about my father when you're in my bedroom."

"Missed you," he murmurs against your mouth, hands already sliding under your shirt. "Watching you in the paddock all day, not being able to touch you…"

You smile against his lips. "Poor baby. Must be so hard being professional."

He responds by lifting you up, making you laugh as he carries you toward your bed. "You have no idea."

Hours later, you're tangled in your sheets, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. The city's lights cast shadows across his face, making him look older than his twenty years.

"We should sleep," you say, even as you press closer to him. "You have meetings tomorrow."

"Meetings are overrated," he mumbles into your hair, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Says the guy who's already breaking records." Your fingers trail down his chest. "Future world champion can't skip meetings."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "Future world champion can do whatever he wants."

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other, pretending the world outside doesn't exist. But morning comes too soon, sunlight streaming through your windows and your alarm blaring way too early.

Max groans, burying his face in your neck. "Five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago," you remind him, even as you run your fingers through his hair. "You're already going to be late, and my father is still next room, remember?"

He lifts his head, giving you that boyish grin that still makes your heart skip. "Worth it."

But reality can't be held at bay forever. Max rushes to get dressed, stealing kisses between looking for his scattered clothes. You watch from your bed, sheet wrapped around you, trying to memorize how he looks in the morning light.

"Tonight?" he asks, pausing at your bedroom door.

"Text me," you say, and he gives you one last smile before he's gone.

Max is still smiling when he arrives at the Red Bull office, nearly an hour late for his morning meeting. The smile dies on his lips when he sees his father waiting outside, arms crossed and expression thunderous.

"You were with that girl weren't you? Nothing's changed" Jos demands without preamble, switching to Dutch.

"I was just-"

"Don't lie to me." Jos' voice is low, dangerous. "Are you trying to destroy everything we've worked for?"

"I'm not destroying anything," Max argues, frustration creeping into his voice. "My results-"

"Your results could be better," Jos cuts him off. "You could be focused on becoming champion instead of sneaking around with Toto Wolff's daughter. Do you think this is a game?"

"It's not a game-"

"Then what is it?" Jos steps closer, his presence still intimidating despite Max being taller now. "Love?" He spits the word like it's poison. "You think love wins championships? You think that girl is worth throwing away everything we've sacrificed for?"

Max clenches his jaw, the weight of years of his father's expectations pressing down on him. "I can handle both-"

"No." Jos' voice is final, absolute. "You can't. And you won't. This ends now. Cut her off."

"Or what?" The words slip out before Max can stop them, a rare challenge to his father's authority.

Jos' eyes turn cold. "Or I'll make sure Toto knows exactly what his precious daughter has been up to. How do you think that ends for her? For her relationship with her father? For her position in the paddock?"

The threat hangs in the air between them. Max feels his stomach turn to ice, knowing his father well enough to know this isn't an empty threat.

"Your choice, Max," Jos says, already turning away. "But make it soon. This distraction ends now, or there will be consequences. For everyone."

Max stands there long after his father leaves, the taste of your kisses still on his lips, now bitter with the weight of choices.

Monza, 2017

The Italian late summer heat feels suffocating as you finally corner Max behind the Ferrari motorhome - neutral territory. He's been dodging you since Hungary, responding to texts with one-word answers before stopping altogether. You've seen that look in his eyes when he spots you in the paddock - the way he quickly turns away, finds somewhere else to be.

"Hey stranger," you say, aiming for casual despite your racing heart. "Been a while."

He looks everywhere but at you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "YN…" There's a warning in his voice that you choose to ignore.

"I've missed you," you continue, taking a step closer. "We haven't talked since-"

"We can't do this anymore." His words cut through the air like a knife.

You freeze, the practiced speech you'd prepared dying in your throat. "What?"

"This." He gestures vaguely between you, still not meeting your eyes. "Whatever this is. It has to stop."

"Just like that?" Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "After everything?"

"I need to focus on racing." He sounds like he's reciting a rehearsed speech. "Just racing. No distractions."

The word 'distraction' hits you like a physical blow. "Is that what I am? A distraction?"

Finally, he looks at you, and for a moment you see something crack in his carefully constructed facade - pain, regret, something more. But then it's gone, replaced by a coldness you've never seen directed at you before.

"This was never going to work," he says flatly. "We both knew that. It'll only cause trouble - for you, for me, for our families. It's better to end it now."

You think about all the stolen moments, the late-night conversations, the way he'd look at you like you were the only person in a crowded room. All reduced to 'trouble'.

"Fine." You straighten your spine, channeling every ounce of Wolff pride you possess. "See you around, Max Verstappen."

You turn and walk away before he can respond, each step measured and controlled despite feeling like your world is crumbling. You make it all the way to the Mercedes motorhome before the tears start to fall.

You duck into what you think is an empty corner, trying to get yourself under control, when a familiar voice makes you jump.

"Little Wolff?"

Lewis stands there, concern etched across his features. He's known you since you were a kid, has watched you grow up in the paddock. In many ways, he's your brother.

"I'm fine," you say automatically, wiping at your eyes. "Just… allergies."

"Right," he says softly, not believing you for a second. "Because Monza is famous for its allergies."

A sob escapes before you can stop it, and suddenly Lewis is pulling you into a hug. You break down against his chest, all your carefully maintained composure crumbling.

"Hey, hey," he soothes, rubbing your back. "What happened? Who do I need to beat up?"

You laugh wetly against his shoulder. "Nobody. It's stupid. I'm stupid."

"You're one of the smartest people I know," he counters. "So whatever it is, it's not stupid."

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. "I just… I thought…" You shake your head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. Clearly I was wrong."

Understanding dawns in Lewis's eyes. He's not blind - he's probably noticed more than most about your relationship with Max, even if he's never mentioned it.

"Sometimes," he says carefully, "people make choices out of fear rather than what they really want. Especially in this world."

"He said I was a distraction," you whisper, the words still burning.

Lewis's expression hardens slightly. "He's young. And scared. And probably being pulled in a hundred different directions." He pauses. "Doesn't make it hurt any less though, does it?"

You shake your head, fresh tears threatening to fall.

"Come here." He pulls you into another hug. "For what it's worth, I think he's an idiot. But maybe this is for the best, he's not good for you."

You stay there for a while, letting Lewis comfort you, grateful for his presence and his wisdom. But you can't shake the image of Max's face, that moment when his mask slipped, and you'd seen the pain in his eyes. You wonder if Lewis is right - if this is really about fear rather than feeling.

But in the end, you suppose it doesn't matter. A choice is still a choice, even if it's made for the wrong reasons.

Monaco, Summer 2018

The bass thrums through your body as you down another shot, Lando cheering beside you. The club is packed - all of Monaco's elite young crowd mixed with racing's next generation. Your father would have an aneurysm if he saw you here, but that's half the fun.

"Another!" Lando shouts over the music, already signaling the bartender. He's technically too young to be here, but money and fame open most doors in Monaco.

"You're a bad influence, Norris," you laugh, but you don't stop him.

"Me?" He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'm an angel. You're the one corrupting the youth."

"You're literally younger than me."

"Details, details." He hands you another shot. "To being young and irresponsible!"

You clink glasses with him, the alcohol burning pleasantly as it goes down. This is what you needed - no paddock politics, no disappointed looks from your father, no thoughts of…

"Oh shit," Lando says suddenly, following your gaze. "We can move to another section if you want."

Max has just walked in with a group of friends. He looks good - he always looks good - in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt. Your stomach does that familiar flip before you forcefully squash it down.

"Why should we move?" you say, perhaps a bit too loudly. "We were here first."

Lando gives you that knowing look he's perfected over the past year of friendship. "YN…"

"Don't start," you warn him. "I'm fine. It's fine. Ancient history."

"Right," he drawls. "That's why you drunk-called me crying about him last month."

"I did not!"

"'Lando,'" he mimics in a high voice, "'why doesn't he want meeeee?'"

You shove him playfully. "I hate you."

"You love me." He grins. "I'm your favorite driver now."

"You're not even in F1 yet."

"Yet!" He wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Next year though. Then I'll be beating your ex's ass on track."

"He's not my ex," you mutter. "We were never actually together, remember?"

"Right, just sneaking around making out for like a year and a half. Totally casual."

You're about to retort when movement catches your eye. Max is at the bar now, and there's a girl with him. Tall, blonde, model-beautiful. She's touching his arm, laughing at something he's saying, and he's leaning in close to hear her over the music.

"YN…" Lando's voice has that warning tone.

"I need another drink," you announce, turning back to the bar.

Three shots later, you're on the dance floor with Lando, trying to forget the scene playing out at the bar. But your eyes keep drifting over, watching as Max gets closer to the blonde, his hand now on her waist.

"Stop torturing yourself," Lando says in your ear.

"I'm not-" you start, but the words die in your throat as you watch Max lean down and kiss the girl.

Something inside you snaps. You scan the crowd, spotting a guy who's been eyeing you all night. He's good-looking enough - dark hair, nice smile, probably a trust fund kid like half the people here.

"YN," Lando tries to grab your arm, but you're already moving.

You approach the guy with purpose, channeling every ounce of confidence the alcohol has given you. "Want to dance?"

He looks surprised but pleased. "Absolutely."

You let him pull you close, perhaps closer than necessary. You can feel eyes on you - Lando's concerned ones, and maybe, just maybe, someone else's too.

The guy - you think he said his name was Alex or Alec - is a good dancer. His hands are respectful but firm on your hips as you move to the music. When he leans down to kiss you, you let him.

It's not a bad kiss. He knows what he's doing. But he doesn't taste right, doesn't feel right. His hands aren't calloused from racing. He doesn't smell like motor oil and expensive cologne. He's not… him

But you kiss him anyway. When you finally pull back from the kiss, Lando is at your elbow.

"I think we should head out," he says, glancing meaningfully at your nearly empty glass.

"I'm having fun," you protest, even as the room spins slightly. Alex-or-Alec's hands are still on your waist.

"YN." Lando's voice is firmer now. "Come on."

You turn back to Alex-or-Alec, pulling him down for another kiss. It's messy and desperate and you can taste the expensive whiskey on his breath. You're proving something, you think, though you're not sure what or to whom anymore.

Through the haze of alcohol and bass-heavy music, you hear a familiar voice.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Max is standing there, his face tight with anger. The blonde from earlier is nowhere to be seen, but there's another girl hovering behind him - brunette this time.

"Having fun," you say sweetly, pressing closer to Alex-or-Alec. "You should try it. Oh wait, you already are."

"You don't even know this guy," Max snaps.

"His name is Alex." You pause. "Or Alec."

"It's Adrian," the guy supplies helpfully.

"Whatever." Max steps forward. "You're drunk. You need to go home."

"And you need to mind your own business." You turn to Adrian with an exaggerated smile. "Want to get out of here?"

"YN," Lando pleads. "Don't."

"Sure," Adrian grins, clearly oblivious to the tension. "My place isn't far."

Max moves so fast you barely register it, suddenly between you and Adrian. "She's not going anywhere with you."

"Excuse me?" You push at his chest. "You don't get to decide that. You lost that right when you-" You cut yourself off, aware you're saying too much.

"When I what?" Max challenges, his eyes dark. "When I did exactly what you're doing right now?"

"No," you laugh, but it comes out bitter. "When you decided that sneaking around was fine until it wasn't. When you started showing up to every event with a new girl on your arm. When you-"

"YN," Lando tugs at your arm. "Not here."

You shake him off. "Go back to your girlfriend, Max. Or girlfriends. I lost count tonight."

"You're being ridiculous."

"And you're being a hypocrite." You grab Adrian's hand. "Let's go."

Max's hand closes around your wrist. "You're not leaving with him."

"Get your hands off me." Your voice is ice cold. "You don't get to play protective boyfriend when it suits you. Go find another model to add to your collection."

Something flashes in his eyes - hurt maybe, or anger. "Fine. Do what you want. You always do anyway."

"Exactly. I do what I want." You turn to Adrian. "Sorry, but I've changed my mind. Turns out I have standards."

You shake off Max's grip and push past him, heading for the exit. Lando hurries after you, already calling for a car.

"YN, wait-" Max calls after you.

"Go to hell, Verstappen."

Outside, the Monaco air is cool against your flushed skin. Lando wraps his jacket around your shoulders as tears start to fall.

"I hate him," you whisper.

"No, you don't." Lando pulls you into a hug. "That's the problem."

The morning sunlight streaming through the windows feels like actual daggers in your skull. You're nursing your third cup of coffee, wearing sunglasses indoors like the walking cliché you are, when your father's voice cuts through your hangover haze.

"Would you care to explain these?"

Toto slides his phone across the breakfast table. Your stomach drops as you see the photos - you dancing with Adrian, Max confronting you, your tearful exit with Lando. The Monaco nightlife paparazzi are relentless, and you were too drunk to notice them.

"Papa, I-"

"No." His voice is quiet but firm. That's worse than yelling. "This stops now, YN. This... rebellion phase of yours. It stops."

Lewis and Valtteri are suddenly very interested in their breakfast plates. Susie, your stepmother, places a gentle hand on your father's arm, but doesn't contradict him.

"It wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" Toto's accent gets thicker when he's angry. "Wasn't you, drunk in a club, making headlines again? Wasn't you creating another PR nightmare for the team?"

Your head throbs. "I'm not part of the team."

"No? Then why does every tabloid headline read 'Mercedes Boss's Daughter in Club Drama with Red Bull Star'?"

You wince. Both at his words and at the volume.

"The drinking, the parties, the public scenes - it needs to stop." He leans forward. "You're not just any teenager, liebling. Everything you do reflects on this family, on this team."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair." He softens slightly. "I know this past year has been... difficult."

You feel Lewis shift beside you. He knows - of course he knows. He's probably the only one at this table who knows the full story of you and Max.

"But this self-destructive behavior cannot continue." Your father's voice is final. "You're grounded."

"I'm twenty one!"

"And living on my yacht, in my house, representing my name." He raises an eyebrow. "Would you prefer to go back to boarding school?"

The threat lands. You sink lower in your chair.

"No, sir."

"Good." He turns to his own coffee. "No more clubs. No more parties. And for God's sake, no more scenes with Max Verstappen."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You know without looking it's probably Lando checking on you. Or worse, Max.

"YN." Your father's voice draws your attention back. "I mean it. Whatever is going on between you two... it ends now."

"Nothing is going on," you mutter.

"Then it should be easy to maintain distance."

Susie finally speaks up. "Why don't you come work with me for a while? Help with the She Moves Forward initiative?"

You know it's a peace offering - a way to keep you busy and out of trouble. But the thought of structured days and responsible tasks makes your hangover worse.

"Fine," you concede, if only to end this conversation.

Lewis nudges you under the table - a small gesture of solidarity. Valtteri offers a sympathetic smile.

"Good." Your father stands. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have damage control to handle."

After he leaves, Lewis slides a bottle of Advil towards you. "Here. You look like death."

"Thanks," you grumble, dry-swallowing two pills.

"He's right, you know," Lewis says quietly. "About Max."

"Not you too."

"YN." His voice is gentle. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. The drinking, the acting out - it's not going to make it hurt less."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." He stands, squeezing your shoulder. "Just... think about what you're really angry at. Because I don't think it's your father, or the team, or even Max."

"I'm going back to bed," you announce to no one in particular.

"Honey," Susie calls after you. "This doesn't have to be a punishment. Maybe it's an opportunity."

You pause at the door. "For what?"

"To figure out who you are without all the drama. Without..." she hesitates. "Without defining yourself by who you're trying to hurt."

You think about Max's face last night, about the girls he was with, about how none of it made you feel better.

"Yeah," you say quietly. "Maybe."

The air feels thick and oppressive as you stumble out of another club, the world spinning slightly. You're not entirely sure how you ended up here - after the disastrous night a few weeks ago, you'd promised yourself (and your father) that you were done with the party scene. But one text from Lando about needing to "get out" had quickly spiraled.

Except Lando had bailed last minute with food poisoning, and you'd gone anyway. Because you're nothing if not stubborn.

The familiar figure of Charles Leclerc materializes beside you. "YN? Are you okay?"

"Charles!" You throw your arms around him, nearly losing your balance. "My favorite Ferrari boy!"

He steadies you with practiced ease. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Lost count," you admit cheerfully. "But it's fine. Everything's fine."

Charles sighs, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling Lewis."

"No!" You grab for his phone but miss entirely. "Not Lewis. He'll tell Papa."

"Good. Maybe he should."

You slump against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "Everyone's so disappointed in me."

Charles' expression softens as he puts the phone to his ear. "We're worried, not disappointed."

Twenty minutes later, you hear the distinctive rumble of Lewis's car. He jumps out, concern etched on his face.

"YN? What were you thinking?"

"That alcohol makes feelings go away?" you offer weakly.

Lewis turns to Charles. "Thanks for calling me."

"Of course. Take care of her."

The ride home is quiet until Lewis finally speaks. "This has to stop."

"I know," you whisper.

"No, I mean it really has to stop. You're hurting yourself, and for what? To prove something to Max?"

"It's not about Max."

"Isn't it?"

You stare out the window, tears forming. "I need to get away from here."

"What do you mean?"

"The paddock, the drama, all of it." You turn to him. "I can't keep doing this. Being the Mercedes princess, the ex-whatever of Max Verstappen. I need… space."

Lewis is quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's not a bad idea. Take some time, figure out who you are away from all this."

"Will you help me convince Papa?"

"Yeah," he says softly. "I'll help. But you have to promise me - no more nights like this."

You nod, the weight of everything finally catching up to you. "I promise."

As Lewis helps you out of the car, you freeze. Toto is standing in the doorway, still in his sleeping clothes. Your stomach drops and fresh tears spring to your eyes - this is it, the final disappointment.

But instead of the anger you expect, your father simply opens his arms.

You practically fall into them, suddenly sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Papa. I'm so sorry."

"Shh," he soothes, holding you tight like he did when you were little. "You're alright, liebling. You're alright."

"I can't-" you hiccup against his chest. "I can't do this anymore. I need to get out of here."

"Out of where?"

"Monaco. The paddock. All of it." You pull back slightly to look at him. "I need space. To figure out who I am without… without all of this."

Toto exchanges a look with Lewis over your head. "I know," he says softly, surprising you. "I've seen it coming."

"You have?"

He cups your face in his hands, wiping away tears with his thumbs. "You're my daughter. Of course I have. I just needed you to realize it yourself."

"I'm tired, Papa," you whisper. "Of being the Mercedes princess, of the gossip, of seeing…" You trail off, but they all know what you mean. Who you mean.

"Then go," he says simply. "Find yourself. The paddock will still be here when you're ready."

"You're not mad?"

He laughs softly. "Oh, we'll discuss tonight's adventure when you're less drunk. But no, liebling. I'm not mad. Sometimes we need to step away to see things clearly."

Lewis steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We've got your back, little Wolff. Whatever you need."

Fresh tears fall as you're overwhelmed by their support. "I love you both so much."

"And we love you," Toto kisses your forehead. "Now, let's get you to bed. We can make plans tomorrow."

As they help you inside, you feel lighter somehow. Like maybe this isn't an ending, but a beginning. A chance to become someone new - or maybe to find who you've been all along, underneath the labels and expectations.

Austria, 2020

The familiar scent of rubber and fuel hits you as you step into the Mercedes garage for the first time in almost two years, your heart doing a little flip at being back after so long. Everything looks exactly the same, yet somehow different - or maybe you're the one who's different now.

"Little Wolff!" Lewis' voice booms across the garage before you're engulfed in a bone-crushing hug that lifts you off your feet. "Finally back where you belong!"

You laugh, squeezing him back just as tight. "You literally saw me at Christmas, Lewis!"

"That's not the same and you know it," he sets you down but keeps his hands on your shoulders, studying your face. "Christmas is family time. This," he gestures around the garage, "this is home."

Looking at him now, you can see the genuine joy in his eyes. Lewis has always been your second father, and these past two years, he's been your biggest cheerleader from afar, always sending encouraging messages when you were climbing mountains in Nepal or teaching English in Thailand.

"She's hardly been here five minutes and you're already monopolizing her, Lewis?" Your father's voice carries that familiar warmth that makes your chest tight with happiness. Your relationship with him has transformed during your time away - all those long phone calls and video chats where you really talked, not just about racing but about life, dreams, fears. Distance made you both realize what you'd been missing.

"Papa," you smile, walking into his open arms. He holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Welcome home, liebling," he murmurs. "The garage hasn't been the same without you."

"I missed you too," you say, then pull back with a grin. "But I need to go see someone else before he thinks I've forgotten him entirely."

Toto laughs. "Go on then. Lando's been asking about you non-stop since he heard you were coming back."

You practically skip your way to the McLaren garage, your heart light. The past two years have given you perspective, helped you understand yourself better. You're not the angry, lost girl who fled Monaco anymore. You're stronger now, more sure of who you are outside of being "Toto Wolff's daughter" or "Max Verstappen's conquest."

"YN!" Lando's screech of delight echoes through the garage as he launches himself at you. "You're back, you're finally back!"

"I missed you so much, you idiot," you ruffle his hair, noting how he's grown even more into himself. He's not the shy rookie anymore - he's coming into his own as a driver.

"Group hug!" Carlos appears, wrapping his long arms around both of you. "Welcome back, pequeña. It's been too quiet without you here to keep this one in line."

"Oi!" Lando protests, but he's beaming.

You're in the middle of telling them about your adventures in Japan when movement catches your eye. Your words trail off as you see him - Max, walking past the garage with Christian. He's filled out more, shoulders broader, face more mature. Your heart does that familiar stutter-step it always did around him.

Two years haven't completely erased the memory of his hands on your skin, his laugh against your neck, the way he used to look at you like you were his entire world. First loves leave permanent marks, and Max Verstappen had branded himself onto your heart when you were both too young to understand the weight of it all.

He must feel your gaze because he turns, and for a moment, your eyes lock. There's something there - recognition, remembrance, maybe even regret. You see him swallow hard, his step faltering just slightly. But neither of you moves to bridge the gap.

You turn back to Lando and Carlos, forcing a smile, but your mind is still with that brief moment of eye contact. You're not that lovesick teenager anymore, but part of you wonders if you'll ever fully get over Max Verstappen. If anyone ever really gets over their first love, or if they just learn to live with the echo of what could have been.

"YN?" Lando's voice brings you back to the present. "You okay?"

You look at your friend's concerned face and give him a genuine smile this time. "Yeah, I am. Just… remembering."

Carlos squeezes your shoulder knowingly. "The past is the past, si? You're here now, that's what matters."

You nod, grateful for their understanding. You're not the same person who left two years ago, running from heartbreak and confusion. You're stronger now, wiser. Ready to write a new chapter.

Even if sometimes, just sometimes, you still feel the ghost of an old love story tugging at your heart.

Barcelona, 2020

The Barcelona night is warm and heavy with memories as you sit at the outdoor terrace of the restaurant. Daniel's telling some ridiculous story about a kangaroo, but your attention keeps drifting to the other end of the table where Max sits, deliberately positioned as far from you as possible.

Five years ago, you'd kissed him for the first time just a few streets from here. After his first win, giddy with freedom and teenage rebellion.

"So how was Bali?" Charles asks making your come back to your senses,"The surfing photos were insane."

"Almost died about twelve times," you laugh. "But worth it."

"She's exaggerating," Max comments casually, surprising everyone at the table. It's the first time he's directly addressed anything about your travels. "I saw the videos. Your form wasn't that bad."

You catch his eye across the table. "Been keeping tabs on me, Verstappen?"

He shrugs, a hint of that old smirk playing at his lips. "Hard not to when you're all over everyone's Instagram stories."

The tension at the table shifts slightly - not gone, but different. Lando kicks your foot under the table, raising an eyebrow when you look at him. You ignore him.

The conversation flows easier after that, stories and laughter bouncing around the table. You find yourself watching Max when he's not looking - the way he's grown into his features, how his laugh is deeper now, how he still runs his hand through his hair when he's trying not to smile.

As the night winds down, you end up being the last two waiting for cars. The others had filtered out gradually - Daniel dragging Charles off to some club, Lando claiming early training, Carlos heading home with his father.

"So," Max breaks the silence first, hands in his pockets. "Two years."

"Two years," you echo, leaning against the wall. "Feels longer sometimes."

"And shorter," he adds, then glances at you. "You look good. Happy."

"I am. Mostly." You study his profile in the streetlights. "You've changed too."

He laughs softly. "Had to grow up sometime, right? Can't be the paddock's problem child forever."

"No more sneaking around in garages?" The words slip out before you can stop them.

His eyes darken slightly at the memory. "Bit harder to get away with that these days. Plus, there hasn't been anyone worth the risk."

The weight of unspoken things hangs between you. All those stolen moments - behind motorhomes, in empty conference rooms, dark corners of victory parties. Never official, never acknowledged, but burning so bright it scared you both.

"Want to come up to my place?" he asks suddenly. "Just to talk. Properly. Without…" he gestures vaguely at the paddock world around you.

You should say no. But two years of distance have made you forget how magnetic he is, or maybe just made you brave enough to pretend you can resist it. "Okay."

The penthouse is exactly what you'd expect - sleek and modern, with a view that makes you catch your breath. You walk to the windows, Barcelona sprawling below like a constellation.

"Remember that night after your first win?" you ask softly. "When we snuck onto the roof?"

"Papa Wolff nearly had a heart attack," Max comes to stand beside you, close enough that your arms almost touch. "Worth it though."

"Was it?" You turn to look at him. "All of it? The sneaking around, the fights with our families, the constant hiding?"

"You know it was." His voice drops lower. "At least, it was for me."

"Max…"

"I've missed you," he admits quietly. "Not just… not just the physical stuff. I missed talking to you. Making you laugh. The way you'd roll your eyes every time I said something stupid in press conferences."

"I still do that," you smile despite yourself. "Some things don't change."

"Maybe they shouldn't." He steps closer, and suddenly you're eighteen again, heart racing at his proximity. "Maybe some things are worth holding onto."

When he kisses you, it feels like muscle memory. Your body remembers this dance - the way his hands find your waist, how he tastes like wine and possibilities. It's softer than the desperate kisses you used to share in dark corners, but somehow more dangerous for it.

You pull back first, breathing hard. "We can't."

"Why not?" His thumb traces your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. Who cares what anyone thinks?"

"I do," you step away, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I left to get away from this, Max. From sneaking around, from being the paddock scandal waiting to happen. I built a life where I'm not defined by who I'm secretly sleeping with or whose daughter I am."

"It wouldn't be like before-"

"Wouldn't it? The politics haven't changed. Our families still wouldn't approve."

"I don't care about any of that," he reaches for you but you step back.

"That's the problem," your voice cracks. "I had to live with all of it. The whispers, the judgment, watching my father's face every time there was another rumor about us. I can't go back to that."

"YN, please-"

"I should go." You grab your phone from the counter. "This was a mistake."

At the elevator, you turn back one last time. He's still by the window, silhouetted against the city lights. "For what it's worth," you say softly, "you were my first love. Maybe that's why we have to let it stay in the past."

The elevator doors close on his response, and you lean against the wall, heart pounding. Some part of you will probably always want Max Verstappen. But you've worked too hard to become your own person to let that want destroy everything again.

Even if walking away feels like leaving part of yourself behind.

Monaco, 2020

The yacht party is winding down, the late hour thinning out the crowd until somehow you find yourself alone on the upper deck. The Mediterranean breeze carries fragments of music and laughter from below, but up here it's quiet enough to hear your own thoughts - dangerous, when they all seem to revolve around him.

You hear his footsteps before you see him. You don't need to turn around to know it's Max - your body has always been attuned to his presence, like a compass finding north.

"Hiding?" His voice is soft as he comes to stand beside you at the railing.

"Just needed some air." It's not entirely a lie. "Shouldn't you be downstairs? This is your best friend's party."

"Daniel can handle it on his own," he shrugs, looking out at the harbor lights. "Needed some air too."

The silence that follows should be uncomfortable, but it isn't. That's the problem with Max - everything still feels as natural as breathing. Two years away hasn't changed how your body relaxes in his presence, how the air seems to crackle with possibility when he's near.

"Remember that party in Singapore?" he asks suddenly.

You smile despite yourself. "When we hid from Lewis for half of the night?"

"You were wearing that blue dress," he continues, and something in his voice makes your heart skip. "I couldn't take my eyes off you all night."

"Max…"

"I still can't," he admits quietly. "Even now. Even when I'm supposed to be focusing on other things, my eyes just… find you."

You grip the railing tighter. "We can't do this again."

"Can't we?" He turns to face you now. "Because ever since Barcelona, since that kiss…"

"That was a mistake."

"Was it?" He steps closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Because it didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like coming home."

The words hit you right in the chest, because he's right. That's exactly what it felt like - like every cell in your body recognizing where it belonged.

"Nothing's changed," you say, but your voice wavers. "The politics, our families, the media…"

"Everything's changed," he counters. "We're not those kids anymore, sneaking around without putting a label on it because we didn't know better. I know exactly what I want now. Who I want."

"Max, please-"

"Two years, YN. Two years of watching you live your life through Instagram stories and paddock glimpses. Two years of trying to convince myself I was over you." His hand finds yours on the railing. "But the truth is, a part of me has belonged to you since that first night in Melbourne, and I don't think that's ever going to change."

You should pull your hand away. Instead, you turn it over, letting your fingers intertwine with his. "I tried so hard to become someone new," you whisper. "Traveled the world, built this whole independent life. But the moment I saw you again…"

"I know." His other hand comes up to cup your face, and you lean into the touch instinctively. "Because I felt it too."

"It scares me," you admit. "How easy it is to fall back into this. How right it feels when it should feel wrong."

"Maybe that's exactly why it isn't wrong." His thumb traces your cheekbone. "Maybe some things are just meant to be, despite everything else."

When he kisses you this time, it's different from Barcelona. That kiss had been hesitant, testing. This one feels like surrender, like finally stopping a fight you were always meant to lose. Your hands find his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palm, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispers. "You're the first girl I ever loved, and I think maybe you'll be the last. I know it's complicated, I know there are a million reasons why we shouldn't, but I don't care about any of them. I just want you."

You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the truth in his words, by how perfectly they mirror your own feelings. "I never stopped loving you," you confess. "I tried. God, I tried so hard. But it's like… it's like a part of me just belongs to you, and no amount of distance can change that."

"Then be with me," he pleads softly. "For real this time. No more running."

"How?" But you're already melting into him as he pulls you closer. "Nothing's changed, Max. My father would still lose it, Christian would still disapprove, the media would have a field day…"

"So we don't tell them." His hands slide to your waist. "We keep it between us. No sneaking around in garages this time, no risky moments in the paddock. Just us, in private, doing this properly."

You should say no. You know all the reasons why this can't work. But as his lips find yours again, you realize you're tired of fighting this magnetic pull between you.

"If anyone finds out…" you start.

"They won't," he promises. "We'll be careful. We're not those reckless kids anymore."

And maybe that's the key difference - you're not acting on impulse anymore, not diving in blindly. You're choosing this, fully aware of the consequences, of what you both stand to lose.

"Okay," you whisper against his mouth. "Okay."

When he kisses you again, it feels like every kiss you've ever shared and completely new all at once. Like coming home and starting an adventure. Like an ending and a beginning wrapped into one.

Later, you'll figure out the logistics, the careful dance of secrecy. But for now, you let yourself exist in this moment.

Some things, you realize, are worth keeping secret. Some loves are worth protecting, even if it means hiding them from the world.

Morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max's apartment, painting everything in soft gold. You're awake before him, taking in the familiar weight of his arm around your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck. It feels surreal - like stepping back in time, but with the sharp edge of awareness that comes with being older.

You feel him stir, his arm tightening slightly around you. "You're thinking too loud," he mumbles against your shoulder.

"Sorry," you turn to face him, finding his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Hard not to."

He props himself up on an elbow, studying your face. The morning light makes everything feel more raw, more real. "Having second thoughts?"

"No," you say honestly. "Just… thinking about how we make this work."

"We managed before."

"And look how that ended." You trace a pattern on his chest absently. "We were reckless then. Every stolen moment was a near-miss."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "So we're smarter this time. No more risky moments in the paddock. No sneaking around where anyone could see us."

"It's not just that." You sit up, pulling the sheet with you. "Max, if this gets out… it's not just about our families being angry. It could affect your career, the team dynamics. And my father-"

"Would probably try to have me assassinated," he finishes with a half-smile, but you can see the seriousness in his eyes. "I know. Trust me, I've thought about all of it."

"And you still want this?"

He sits up too, cupping your face in his hands. "More than anything. The question is, do you?"

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. "You know I do. That's what scares me. How much I want this, despite everything."

"Then we figure it out." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. We know how to be discreet. Your place, my place, private locations only. No public appearances together unless we're with the whole group. No suspicious social media activity."

"No telling anyone," you add. "Not even Lando or Charles."

"Especially not them," he agrees. "The fewer people who know, the safer it is."

You open your eyes to find him watching you with that intense focus he usually reserves for racing. "It's going to be hard," you warn. "Pretending there's nothing between us in public. Watching you from a distance at races."

"We've had years of practice at that," he reminds you softly. "At least now I get to hold you afterward."

The simple statement makes your heart clench. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. "When did you get so good with words?"

"Must be all those media training sessions," he smirks, but then turns serious. "I meant what I said last night. I love you. Whatever we have to do to make this work, I'm in."

"I love you too," you whisper back. "God, I really do."

He kisses you then, slow and deep, like he's trying to memorize the moment. When you pull back, you're both breathing harder.

The morning light is brighter now, reality creeping in with the rising sun. Soon, you'll have to leave separately, go back to pretending there's nothing between you. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, memorizing the feeling of being here, being his.

"This is crazy, isn't it?" you murmur against his chest.

"Probably," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your hair. "But some of the best things in life are a little crazy."

You know there will be challenges ahead - difficult moments, close calls, the constant strain of secrecy. But as Max pulls you back down onto the pillows, his lips finding yours with familiar hunger, you think maybe he's right.

Some things are worth the risk. Some loves are worth keeping secret.

The key card clicks softly as you slip into Max's Monaco apartment late on September 30th. You'd made your excuses to your friends early - a headache, an important call - knowing they wouldn't question it too much since they'd already planned Max's official celebration for tomorrow.

But tonight is just for the two of you.

You find him in the kitchen, already changed into sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, pulling something from the oven. The domestic scene makes your heart flutter.

"Is Max Verstappen actually baking?" you tease, dropping your bag.

He turns with that smile that's become exclusively yours - soft, unguarded, real. "It's just heating up the cake Victoria made. I'm not completely useless."

You cross the space between you, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "Happy birthday, baby."

He turns in your embrace, backing you against the counter. "This is already better than last year's birthday."

"Mm, because last year you weren't secretly dating your rival team principal's daughter?"

"Because last year I couldn't do this," he murmurs, before kissing you deeply, hands sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

The timer dings, making you both jump and then laugh.

"The cake can wait," he starts, but you push him back gently.

"Let's do this properly. Cake first, then presents, then…" you trail off suggestively.

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes are sparkling. "But I'm holding you to that 'then'."

You sit cross-legged on his massive couch, sharing pieces of Victoria's chocolate cake straight from the tin. It's comfortable in a way that still surprises you sometimes - how easily you've fallen into these private moments, these glimpses of normalcy in your decidedly abnormal situation.

"Got you something," you say, reaching for your bag.

He raises an eyebrow. "Thought you were my present?"

"Cheesy," you throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily. "Here."

He unwraps the small package carefully. Inside is a simple leather bracelet, dark brown with a subtle pattern worked into it. "Turn it over," you say softly.

On the inside, barely visible unless you know to look, are your initials and the date from Monaco - the night everything changed.

"YN…" his voice is rough as he runs his thumb over the engraving.

"I know we can't do obvious things," you explain. "But I wanted you to have something… something that's just ours. Something you can wear without anyone knowing what it means."

He pulls you into his lap, kissing you with an intensity that makes your head spin. "I love it," he murmurs against your lips. "I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper back, heart full with how natural those words feel now. "Even if you are getting old."

He retaliates by tickling your sides until you're both breathless with laughter, ending up horizontal on the couch with you pinned beneath him.

"Twenty-three isn't old," he protests, pressing kisses down your neck.

"Ancient," you tease, but it turns into a gasp as he finds that sensitive spot below your ear. "Max…"

"Mm?"

"The cake…"

"Can wait," he finishes, hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. "Right now, I want to unwrap my other present."

Later, much later, you're tangled in his sheets, your head on his chest as he plays with your hair. The city lights twinkle through the windows, creating patterns on the ceiling.

"Thank you," he says softly.

"For what?"

"For this. For making my birthday special even though we have to hide. For loving me despite everything."

You prop yourself up to look at him, trace the line of his jaw with your finger. "Thank you for making it worth it."

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Sometimes I wish we could just tell everyone. Walk into the paddock holding your hand, take you on real dates, post about you on Instagram like a normal couple."

"I know," you sigh, settling back against his chest. "Me too. But…"

"But it would cause chaos," he finishes. "I know. Doesn't stop me from wanting it though."

You lift your head again, kissing him softly. "Maybe someday. But for now, I'm happy just having you like this. These moments are ours, just ours."

His arms tighten around you. "I love you," he says again, like he can't help himself. "More than racing, more than winning, more than-"

"Don't," you laugh, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't say more than racing. We both know that's a lie."

He grins, rolling you under him again. "Maybe it's a tie?"

"I can live with that," you smile up at him, pulling him down for another kiss.

The world outside keeps turning - tomorrow there will be the official party, the public celebrations, the careful distance you'll have to maintain. But tonight, in this space that's become your sanctuary, you can just be Max and YN, two people in love, celebrating another year together.

Even if the rest of the world doesn't know it yet.

Monaco, 2021

You're curled into Max's side on your couch, some Netflix show playing in the background that neither of you is really watching. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm while you scroll through your phone, both enjoying the calm before tomorrow's storm - the start of a new season, new expectations, new pressure.

"Nervous about tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head to look at him.

He shrugs, but you can feel the slight tension in his shoulders. "Not nervous. Just�� ready. The car feels good, testing went well."

"Mm," you press a kiss to his jaw. "Maybe this is your year."

"Maybe," but his smile is confident as he turns to capture your lips properly. "Though right now I'm more interested in-"

Your phone buzzes loudly, Lando's name flashing on the screen. You answer it without thinking.

"Hey Lan-"

"I'm outside your place!" his cheerful voice cuts through. "Charles and I brought wine and that awful reality show you love. Open up!"

Your heart stops. "What?"

"Come on, it's freezing out here! I can see your lights on."

You sit up straight, panic flooding your system. "Lando, I-"

"Don't even try to say you're busy. It's the night before the first race, I know you're just sitting there overthinking everything."

Max is already moving, gathering his shoes and jacket silently. Your eyes meet across the room, both knowing how catastrophic it would be if Lando found him here.

"Give me five minutes," you say into the phone, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm… I need to put clothes on."

"Gross, too much information," Lando laughs. "Five minutes!"

You hang up, heart racing. "Shit, shit, shit."

"It's fine," Max is surprisingly calm as he pulls on his shoes. "I'll go out through the back stairs."

"What if they see you?" You're already scanning the room for any evidence of him - his Red Bull cap on the coffee table, his phone charger by the couch.

"They won't." He grabs his things efficiently, muscle memory from two years of sneaking around kicking in. "I'll text you when I'm clear."

Another knock at the door makes you both freeze. "YN!" Charles's voice this time. "We can hear you moving around!"

Max pulls you in for a quick, hard kiss. "I love you. Don't worry."

"Be careful," you whisper against his lips.

He flashes that cocky grin you love. "Always am."

You watch him disappear through your bedroom toward the back stairwell, then take a deep breath, running your hands through your hair to mess it up slightly - making your "just got out of bed" excuse more believable.

When you open the door, Lando immediately pushes past you with wine bottles clinking. "Finally! What were you really doing?"

"Told you, getting dressed." You accept Charles' hello kiss on the cheek, praying your face isn't as flushed as it feels.

"Your shirt's inside out," Charles points out, smirking.

You look down - shit, he's right. You'd thrown it on hastily after… earlier activities. "I was sleeping," you say quickly. "You guys interrupted my pre-race nap routine."

"At 9 PM?" Lando's already making himself at home on your couch - right where Max was sitting minutes ago. "Sure, sure."

Your phone buzzes with a text: "All clear. They didn't see me. Missing you already x"

Relief floods through you as Charles pours wine and Lando queues up the show. You settle into the evening, letting their familiar banter wash over you, trying to act normal even as your skin still tingles from Max's touch.

"You seem different lately," Charles observes suddenly, studying your face. "Happier."

"Just excited for the new season," you deflect smoothly, a skill you've perfected over the past year.

"Mm," he doesn't look entirely convinced. "No secret boyfriend we should know about?"

You laugh, the sound only slightly strained. "Right, because that worked out so well last time."

"Last time was Max," Lando points out. "Thank god you're both over that whole thing."

If only they knew. But you just smile and take a sip of wine, letting them move on to discussing tomorrow's race.

As the evening progresses, the wine flows and the reality show plays in the background. You're carefully avoiding any topics that might make Charles or Lando suspicious, laughing a bit too loudly at their jokes.

Lando, ever restless, decides to raid your kitchen for snacks. "Where do you keep the good stuff?" he calls out, opening cupboards.

Your heart immediately races. You know exactly what might be lurking in those cupboards - Max's favorite energy drink, a Red Bull can he'd left behind last time he was here. You stand up quickly, "I'll get it for you-"

But Lando's already moving, pulling open the refrigerator door. "Found it!" he announces, then pauses. His hand emerges holding a Red Bull can, but something else catches his eye. A water bottle with a distinctive Red Bull Racing team logo sits next to it.

"Huh," Charles looks over. "Isn't this Max's water bottle?"

You feel the blood drain from your face. "Oh, um-" Your mind races, searching for an explanation. "I... must have picked it up from somewhere. You know how these things get mixed up."

Lando turns, one eyebrow raised. The playful smile slowly morphs into something more knowing. "Mixed up, huh?"

Charles is watching you now, that sharp observant look that made him such a good racing driver now focused entirely on you.

"Yeah, I must've picked it up by accident, didn't even realize."

Lando shrugs and cracks open a packet of chips, seemingly satisfied with your explanation. But Charles continues to study you with that piercing gaze that makes you want to squirm.

Keeping this a secret is becoming harder and harder.

Silverstone, 2021

The English countryside blurs past your window as Max takes another curve, maybe a bit faster than necessary. It's nearly midnight, and you should both be resting before tomorrow's race, but these night drives have become your thing - the only time you can be truly alone during race weekends, truly free.

"You're showing off," you accuse, but you're smiling.

"Me? Never." He takes his eyes off the road for a second to grin at you, his hand finding yours across the console.

The radio plays softly in the background, some British pop song you don't know. The summer air rushing through the open windows carries the scent of grass and freedom. It feels perfect. Until it isn't.

It happens so fast - a deer appears out of nowhere, Max swerves to avoid it, but the road is narrow and dark. The tires lose grip on loose gravel, and suddenly you're spinning, the world turning into a kaleidoscope of shadows and panic.

The impact when it comes is brutal. Metal crunches, glass shatters, and everything goes still.

"YN?" Max's voice is tight with fear. "Baby, are you okay?"

You do a quick mental check. Everything hurts, but nothing seems broken. "I'm okay. You?"

"Fine." He's already trying to open his door, but it's jammed. The front of the car is wrapped around a tree, steam hissing from the hood. "Fuck. Fuck!"

Your phone is somewhere on the floor. When you retrieve it, the screen is cracked but working. "We need help."

"We can't call emergency services," Max says immediately. "It'll be all over the news in minutes."

He's right. You can already see the headlines: "Verstappen in Late Night Crash with Mercedes Boss's Daughter."

"Christian?" you suggest.

"He'll kill me. We have a race tomorrow." Max runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "We need someone who can be discreet, who has the resources to handle this quietly, who-"

You both realize it at the same time.

"No," Max says.

"He's the only one who can help us without this becoming a scandal."

"YN, he's the last person-"

"Max." You reach for his hand. "We don't have a choice."

He knows you're right. With a resigned sigh, he nods.

Your hands shake slightly as you dial Lewis's number. It rings three times before he answers, voice groggy with sleep.

"Little Wolff? It's midnight, what-"

"Lewis, I need your help. And I need you to not ask questions."

There's a pause, then rustling as he presumably sits up. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, but… we're stuck. Had an accident on the back roads near Silverstone. We need help getting the car towed without anyone finding out."

There's a pause. "We?"

You close your eyes. "I'm with Max."

The silence that follows is deafening. "Send me your location. Don't move. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

True to his word, headlights appear eighteen minutes later. Lewis steps out of his car, taking in the scene - the wrecked vehicle, you and Max standing by the roadside, the unspoken truth of why you were together at this hour.

"Are you both alright?" He asks first, concern overriding any other emotions.

"Just bruised," you answer. "The car took the worst of it."

He nods, already on his phone. "Angela's on her way with a tow truck. She'll be discreet."

Max steps forward. "Lewis, I-"

"Don't." Lewis holds up a hand. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for her." He looks at you, something sad in his expression. "How long?"

"Since last year."

He lets out a low whistle. "Well, that explains a few things."

The wait for Angela is tense. Lewis keeps his distance, occasionally speaking quietly into his phone. Max doesn't let go of your hand, thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

When Angela arrives with the tow truck, she doesn't bat an eye at the situation. The car is loaded efficiently, and arrangements are made to have it repaired at a private garage Lewis trusts.

"I'll drive YN home," Lewis says, and it's not really a question.

Max tenses beside you, but you squeeze his hand. "It's safer this way," you whisper. "Less suspicious if anyone sees us."

He knows you're right, again. "Text me when you're home?"

"Promise."

The drive with Lewis is quiet at first. Then the storm pours down.

"Of all the stupid, reckless things," he mutters, running a hand over his face. "A year? You've been sneaking around with him for a year? Again?"

"Lewis-"

"No." He turns to face you, anger and worry warring in his expression. "Do you have any idea what could happen if this gets out? What your father would-"

"I don't care!" The words burst out louder than intended, making your head throb. "I don't care what anyone thinks anymore."

"Well, you should!" Lewis's voice rises to match yours. "This isn't some game, YN. This is your life, your career, your family-"

"You think I don't know that?" You bite back. "You think we haven't spent the last year terrified of exactly that? Hiding everything, sneaking around, lying to everyone we care about?"

"Then why?" He throws his hands up in frustration. "Why risk everything for him?"

"Because I love him!" The words echo in the car. You lower your voice, tears threatening to fall. "I love him, Lewis. And he loves me. Isn't that enough?"

Lewis' expression softens slightly, but the worry remains. "Love isn't always enough, YN. Not in this world. Not with everything at stake."

"It has to be," you whisper. "Because I can't do this anymore - pretending I don't feel what I feel, acting like my heart doesn't race every time he walks into a room. I'm tired of hiding."

"He's not good for you," Lewis says quietly. "You remember how broken you were after-"

"He was nineteen," you cut him off. "We were both kids, both scared. Things are different now."

"Are they?" his voice is gentle but firm. "Because from where I'm standing, you're still sneaking around in the middle of the night, still hiding from everyone. That doesn't sound different to me."

You sink back into your seat, suddenly exhausted. "I'm not asking for your approval, Lewis. I'm just asking for you to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"Do you? Because getting into a car accident at 2 AM doesn't exactly scream good decision-making."

"That wasn't-" you start to defend, but he holds up a hand.

"You shouldn't have been out there in the first place. These secret meetings, these late-night drives… it's not sustainable, YN."

"I know," you admit quietly. "We know. We've been talking about telling people, about doing this properly."

Lewis studies your face for a long moment. "And what happens when the media finds out? When your father finds out? When the pressure becomes too much and he runs again?"

"He won't." Your voice is firm despite your injuries. "He's not that scared kid anymore, Lewis. He knows what he wants now."

"And what is that?"

"Me." You meet Lewis's gaze steadily. "He wants me. All of me, no matter what it costs. And I want him."

Lewis sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. "I can't support this, YN. I've watched him hurt you too many times."

"I know," you say softly. "And I love you for wanting to protect me. But I'm not asking for your support. I'm just asking you not to make this harder than it already is, I know you're worried. But please… please don't tell anyone. Not yet. Let us do this our way."

He doesn't respond, just pulls up the car outside your hotel and unlocks it so you can get out.

Silverstone, 2021. Race day

Your hands are still shaking slightly as you make your way through the paddock. Last night's crash left more than just physical bruises - the tension with Lewis, the close call, the reality of how fragile your secret is, it all weighs heavily.

The Mercedes garage is already buzzing with pre-race energy when you spot Lewis by his car, going through data with Peter. You wait until he's alone before approaching.

"Lewis," you say softly. "Can we talk?"

He glances around before responding, voice low. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Please. What you did last night-"

"Was a mistake," he cuts you off, finally turning to face you. "I should have called emergency services, protocol be damned."

"You know why we couldn't-"

"No, YN. You couldn't because you're sneaking around like teenagers. Do you have any idea what could have happened? If that tree had been a few inches to the left-"

"But it wasn't," you interrupt. "We're fine."

"Fine?" He scoffs. "You're both bruised, his car is wrecked, and I'm now complicit in your little romance."

"It's not a little romance-"

"Then what is it?" His voice rises slightly before he checks himself. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the same pattern as before. You, him, secrets, lies."

"I told you last night - I love him."

"Love?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "Love doesn't hide, YN. Love doesn't put people in dangerous situations. Love doesn't-"

"Don't." Your voice cracks. "Don't pretend you understand what we're dealing with."

"Oh, I understand perfectly. You're playing girlfriend with my biggest rival while there's a championship at stake. You're risking everything - your reputation, your father's position, the team's integrity-"

"This isn't a game to me!" The words come out sharper than intended. A few mechanics glance your way, and you lower your voice. "This isn't about the championship or the team. This is about me and him."

"Nothing in this paddock is ever just about two people," Lewis says coldly. "You of all people should know that."

Before you can respond, Bono approaches. "Lewis, strategy meeting."

"I need to focus," Lewis tells you, his expression hardening. "I suggest you figure out where your loyalties lie before someone gets really hurt."

He walks away, leaving you standing there with a hollow feeling in your chest. Angela catches your eye, her expression sympathetic, and you wonder how much she knows.

The pre-race preparations pass in a blur. You go through the motions, smile when appropriate, but your mind keeps drifting to Max. You haven't seen him since Lewis dropped you off last night - you both agreed it was safer to stay apart until the race.

Then you're in the garage, watching the formation lap. Your father stands beside you, discussing something with the engineers, but their words sound distant.

Lap one. Copse Corner.

The contact happens so fast - Lewis's Mercedes alongside Max's Red Bull. The touch of wheels. Then Max's car is airborne, spinning, crashing into the barriers with devastating force.

The garage erupts in chaos. Screens show the replay from every angle. Your father is immediately in discussion with the stewards.

You can't breathe. Can't move. Your eyes are fixed on the smoking wreck of Max's car, willing him to move, to get out, to be okay.

"Racing incident," Toto argues. "Lewis had the line-"

Their voices fade to background noise as you watch the medical team reach the car. Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, but you can't check it - not here, not with everyone watching.

"YN," Angela touches your arm gently. "You look pale. Maybe some water?"

You follow her away from the garage, grateful for the excuse. As soon as you're out of sight, your composure breaks.

"I don't know if he's okay," you whisper, hands shaking. "I can't- I can't check my phone, I can't ask anyone, I can't-"

"Breathe," Angela steadies you. "Just breathe."

"I should be there. I should be with him. After last night, after everything-"

"I won't say anything," she promises quickly. "But YN... this is bigger than just keeping a secret now."

"I know," you admit. "God, I know. But I can't- I can't even ask if he's okay without raising suspicions."

The race continues. Lewis gets a ten-second penalty but fights back to win. The garage celebrates, and you have to join in, have to smile and cheer while your heart is somewhere else entirely.

Hours pass with no news. Social media is full of speculation, but nothing concrete. You catch snippets of conversation - "hospital for checks" and "conscious but shaken" - but nothing official.

It's torture, pretending everything is normal. Pretending you're just concerned in a general, professional way. Pretending last night never happened, that you don't still have bruises from a different crash, that your world isn't falling apart all over again.

Finally, after what feels like years, you manage to slip away to the Red Bull motorhome.

The motorhome is quiet when you enter. GP looks up from his laptop, surprise crossing his features.

"YN? You shouldn't-"

"Please," your voice breaks. "Please, I need to see him."

GP studies you for a long moment, then sighs. "Last door on the right. But be careful - he's pretty beaten up."

You find Max lying on the small bed, eyes closed but breathing steady. The room smells of medical cream and defeat.

"Max?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

His eyes open immediately, finding yours in the dim light. Despite everything, his lips curve into a small smile.

"Two crashes in twenty-four hours," he mumbles. "Must be some kind of record."

"Don't," tears spill over finally. "Don't joke. Not now."

"Come here," he tries to move over but winces.

"Careful," you rush to his side, perching carefully on the edge of the bed. "How bad is it?"

"Everything hurts," he admits. "But nothing's broken. Well, except my championship lead."

"I was so scared," your voice breaks. "When I saw the crash, and then I couldn't- I couldn't even ask if you were okay. I had to stand there and pretend like I wasn't terrified."

"Hey," he reaches for your hand, wincing at the movement. "I'm okay. Well, relatively speaking."

"This is my fault," you whisper. "If I hadn't called Lewis last night-"

"Stop," he squeezes your hand. "This had nothing to do with last night."

"Didn't it? He was so angry this morning, about us, about having to help us-"

"Lewis and I race hard regardless of personal feelings," Max says firmly. "What happened today was racing. Stupid, dangerous racing, but still racing."

You study his face in the dim light, cataloging every bruise, every sign of pain he's trying to hide, "Max, don't you think it's time?"

"Time?"

"To tell people. About us." The words rush out now that you've started. "I can't keep doing this - watching you race and pretending I don't care, hiding how I feel, lying to everyone we know. Today made me realize… if something had happened to you, really happened…"

He's quiet for a long moment, thumb tracing patterns on your hand. "What about your father?"

"I don't care anymore. Well, I do care, but… not more than I care about you. About us." You meet his eyes. "When the season's over. Before next year starts. We tell everyone."

"You're sure?"

"Are you?"

He pulls you closer, carefully, until you're lying beside him. "I'm sure if you are."

"Even with the championship? The media circus it'll cause?"

"Especially then." He kisses your forehead. "Today… when I hit that barrier, all I could think about was you. Not the championship, not the points, just… you. And how much time we've wasted hiding."

You curl into his side, mindful of his bruises. "So we're agreed? After Abu Dhabi, whatever happens with the championship…"

"We tell everyone." He lifts your chin to kiss you properly. "No more hiding."

"Promise?" You need to hear him say it.

"Promise," he pulls you closer, careful of both your injuries. "Besides, after last night's adventure and today's crash, I think we've filled our drama quota for a while."

You stay there, tangled together in the quiet darkness, both battered from different crashes but somehow still whole.

"I should go," you whisper eventually. "Before someone comes looking."

"One of the last times we'll have to say that," he reminds you.

"Promise me something else?"

"Anything."

"No more late-night drives for a while?"

He laughs, then grimaces in pain. "Deal. Although technically, both crashes were Lewis' fault."

"Max..."

"Kidding," he kisses your forehead softly. "Kind of."

You stand carefully, already missing his warmth. "Text me when you're feeling better?"

"Text me when you're home safe," he counters.

At the door, you turn back one last time. He's watching you with those eyes that made you fall in love twice - once when you were too young to know better, and again when you were old enough to know exactly what you were risking.

"Max?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you. Even when I have to pretend I don't."

His smile, despite the pain, lights up the dark room. "I love you too. Even when Lewis Hamilton tries to kill me. Twice in twenty-four hours."

You shake your head, but you're smiling as you slip out into the night. A few more months of hiding, of pretending, of careful distances and secret meetings. Then everything changes.

You just hope you're both ready for whatever comes next.

Abu Dhabi, 2021

The final showdown. Equal points, one race to decide it all.

The morning of the race, you slip into the Red Bull garage before sunrise. Max is already there, going through his pre-race routine, but his face softens when he sees you.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, pulling you into his arms.

"Not really," you nestle into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "Too much going on in my head."

"Talk to me."

You pull back slightly to look at him. "I'm nervous. For you, for the race, for what comes after…"

"Hey," he cups your face gently. "Whatever happens today, we're in this together. Remember?"

"I know," you try to smile. "It's just… everything's going to change after today."

"Good changes," he kisses your forehead. "No more hiding, remember?"

You've had this conversation countless times over the past months, planning how you'll handle the revelation of your relationship. Your father still doesn't know, though you suspect he's noticed something's different.

"I brought you something," you reach into your pocket and pull out a small charm - a tiny silver racing car. "For luck."

Max takes it, turning it over in his hands with a soft smile. "You're my luck."

"That was incredibly cheesy," you laugh, but your heart swells.

"You love it," he pulls you closer, kissing you properly this time. "And you love me."

"I do," you whisper against his lips. "So much it scares me sometimes."

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, before reality intrudes again.

"I should go," you sigh. "There's something else I need to do before the race."

Max knows without asking. "Lewis?"

"Yeah," you bite your lip. "I can't let things end like this between us."

"Go," he squeezes your hand. "Just come back to me after?"

"Always."

Finding Lewis proves harder. He's been avoiding you since Silverstone, your relationship reduced to professional nods and carefully maintained distance. But you finally spot him in the Mercedes garage, alone with his thoughts.

"Lewis?" your voice is hesitant.

He tenses but doesn't turn around. "YN."

"I know you probably don't want to talk to me-"

"Then why are you here?"

You take a deep breath. "Because you're my brother, Lewis. Not by blood, but by choice. And I can't stand how things are between us."

He finally turns, and the pain in his eyes matches your own. "You chose him."

"I chose love," you step closer. "That doesn't mean I stopped caring about you."

"You could have told me," his voice cracks slightly. "Before Silverstone, before any of it. I thought we told each other everything."

"I was scared," you admit. "Scared of exactly this - losing you, losing my family, losing everything I've known."

"So instead you just lied? Snuck around?"

"I know it was wrong," tears prick at your eyes. "And I'm so sorry, Lewis. Not for loving him, but for hurting you. For breaking your trust."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying your face. "Does he make you happy? Really happy?"

"Yes," you whisper. "More than I ever thought possible."

Lewis sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. "Come here, little sister."

You practically fall into his arms, tears flowing freely now. He holds you tight, like when you were kids and he would protect you from everything.

"I'm still mad at you," he mumbles into your hair.

"I know."

"And I still think you're crazy."

"Probably."

"But," he pulls back to look at you, "I love you. And I miss you. And if he ever hurts you, I'll end his career so fast-"

You laugh through your tears. "There's my overprotective brother."

"Someone has to look out for you," he wipes your cheeks gently. "Even if you make it incredibly difficult."

"I'm sorry," you say again. "For everything."

"I know," he kisses your forehead. "We'll figure it out. After today."

"About that…" you hesitate. "We're planning to go public. After the race."

Lewis nods slowly. "I figured something like that was coming. The way you look at each other isn't exactly subtle."

"You noticed?"

"YN, everyone with eyes has noticed. They're just too scared of your father to mention it."

You both laugh, and for a moment it feels like before - easy, comfortable, safe.

"Lewis?" you grab his hand. "Whatever happens today… I'm proud of you. Always have been, always will be."

He squeezes your hand. "Right back at you, little Wolff. Even if you have terrible taste in men."

"Hey!"

"I'm just saying, there are other drivers-"

"Goodbye, Lewis," you start walking away, but you're smiling.

"YN?" he calls after you. "For what it's worth… he better know how lucky he is."

An hour later, you're standing in the Mercedes garage, heart in your throat, watching the screens as though your life depends on it. In a way, it does. Six years of loving Max in secret, two years of running away from it all, and now here you are - watching the man you love fight your father's driver for the championship in the most intense finale you've ever witnessed.

When Nicholas Latifi crashes, everything changes. The safety car comes out, and suddenly the garage erupts with activity. Your father's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and authoritative as he argues with race control. You've never seen him like this - the usual composed Toto Wolff replaced by someone desperately fighting against what feels like destiny shifting.

"No, no, no, Michael, that is so not right!" Your father's voice booms through the garage as the lapped cars are allowed through. You flinch at the fury in his tone, at the way he slams his headset down.

The final lap is unbearable. You watch Lewis getting hunted down by Max on fresh tires. Your nails dig into your palms, torn between family loyalty and the love you've kept hidden for so long.

When Max makes the pass, when he crosses the line as World Champion, the Mercedes garage falls silent. The contrast between the Red Bull celebrations on screen and the devastation around you is stark.

Your father looks destroyed, a mixture of anger and disbelief on his face. But it's Lewis who breaks your heart - the way he sits in his car, processing what just happened, the dignity with which he eventually emerges to congratulate Max.

You find Lewis in the drivers room a few hours later, away from the cameras. His eyes are red, his shoulders slumped in a way you've never seen before.

"Lew," your voice breaks.

He looks up, and suddenly you're both crying. You wrap your arms around him as he breaks down.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this," he whispers.

"I know," you hold him tighter. "I know."

You stay with him, through the protests, through the appeals, through the obligatory congratulations he has to give. You stay because he's family, because he needs you, because some things are more important than celebration.

Through it all, you catch glimpses of Max - being crowned champion, celebrating with his team, searching the crowd with eyes that keep finding you. But you stay where you're needed most.

Hours pass before you make it to Max's hotel. The celebrations are still going on somewhere, but he's in his room when you arrive, pacing like a caged animal.

"Where were you?" he demands as soon as you enter.

"I was with Lewis."

His face darkens. "Of course you were. Consoling the Mercedes garage while I won my first championship."

"Max, don't."

"Don't what? Don't be upset that my girlfriend wasn't there to celebrate with me? That she was too busy comforting the opposition?"

"That 'opposition' is my family!" Your voice rises to match his. "Lewis is like my brother, my father is devastated-"

"Your father?" He laughs bitterly. "The same father you've been lying to for years? The one we're supposedly telling about us after this race?"

"Are you seriously doing this right now?"

"When else am I supposed to do it? When you're ready? Because I've been waiting for you to be ready since 2015!"

The words hit like physical blows. "That's not fair. You know why I left in 2018, the way you cut me off like I was nothing, it tore me apart."

"Yeah, because it got too hard. Because loving me was too complicated." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "And now here we are again. I just won the World Championship, and where were you? With them."

"They're my family!"

"And what am I?" He steps closer, eyes intense. "What are we, YN? Because right now it feels like I'm still your dirty little secret."

"That's not-"

"Then prove it. Let's go tell Toto right now. Let's end this charade."

"Today? After everything that happened? Are you insane?"

"Why not today? When will it be convenient enough for you? When will loving me not conflict with your perfect Mercedes family?"

Tears are falling freely now. "You're being cruel."

"No, I'm being honest. Finally." He sits heavily on the bed. "I love you. I've loved you through everything - through you leaving, through you coming back, through all the hiding and sneaking around. But I can't do this anymore."

Your heart stops. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want all of you. Not just the parts that are convenient, not just the stolen moments between races. I want to celebrate with you when I win, hold you when I crash, build a life with you in the open." He looks at you, and you see the tears in his eyes too. "But I don't think you want that. Not really. Not enough to risk everything else."

"Max…"

"Go home, YN. Go console your father. Go be the perfect Mercedes daughter." His voice breaks slightly. "Just… don't come back unless you're ready to choose me. All of me. The rival, the champion, everything."

You stand there, frozen, both of you crying. Everything you've built, every secret moment, every whispered promise, feels like it's crumbling around you.

"I love you," you whisper.

"I know." He doesn't look at you. "That's never been our problem."

As you stand in the doorway of Max's hotel room, the weight of seven years of love, secrets, and choices bears down on your shoulders. The championship trophy gleams on the table behind him, a symbol of everything he's achieved and everything that's torn you apart.

[itspileofgoodthings]

one of the things that continues to strike me on reread is how much the character of Darcy, and Austen through him, finds Mr. Bennet dead. And how much Elizabeth, in growing and changing and discarding her past blindness, has to move past her way of seeing her father and thus of seeing reality, because the two are connected! Darcy’s letter exposes her father’s flaws to Elizabeth in a way she’d never been able to see before. Most especially the way his laziness and neglect of his own gifts have hurt his family and that ultimately he doesn’t. care. Not enough to change. It literally says that she comes home from Hunsford and tries to laugh at her sisters’ and mother’s folly (the way she used to; the way her father has taught her to by example for her whole life) and she can’t anymore! It sticks in her throat. She is grieved by the failures that she sees in him, all the more so because she IS his favorite and she loves him! And the thing about Mr. Bennet is he never changes. The Lydia/wickham situation exposes to him sharply his own conduct and the consequences and he feels it! Because he is neither stupid nor unfeeling. But he, like everyone, has free will. And he chooses not to change when the opportunity presents itself. He even jokes about how quickly his feeling bad will pass and how soon everything will go back to normal, to his laziness and his selfishness. He is set in his ways and he serves as a contrast to Elizabeth’s personal journey because he embodies a version of a person she could have become and was in danger of becoming if her only goal at all times was to laugh at and judge people from the sidelines.

[aberooski]

I love my gx winx au and I love that it's just bits and pieces of me being like oh that's fun and not having any semblance of lore or plot. It's purely contained to the character designs I've drawn for the girls.

[calisources]

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences here were taken from different media about possessive love, the thrill of the chase, banter, and competition regarding one's affection. Some have foul language so please beware but most are fun, banter, possessive fun. All of these are made for roleplay purposes. Change names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

I love you. You’re mine. I’ll kill any bastard who tries to take you from me.

I spend a quarter of every day inside you. 

I have never said this to anyone before.

But the idea of you with child is the most insanely arousing thing I’ve ever imagined.

Your belly all swollen, your breasts heavy, the funny little way you would walk … I would worship you. I would take care of your every need. And everyone would know that I’d made you that way, that you belonged to me.

You want to be free. You also want to be mine. You can't be both.

We can't possess one another.

Just because I can't have you right now, doesn't mean I'm okay with him having you.

I will be good to you, Myst. Please, I promise.

You are mine. And I protect what’s mine.

Of course I won't go alone. I shall take my maid.

No.You will take me.

The purpose of a knight is to protect. Why won’t you let him do his job to me?

I want you all to myself.

I can’t explain to you the joy I feel knowing it’s all mine. That you are all mine, that your body is all mine.

There is something in me that wakes up when I want something, a possession.

God knows he deserved you more than I do. 

Listen well, for you belong to me.

Good grief, you’re such an adorably greedy person.

And when you fall in love with her  just keep in mind that she’s mine. 

 She’s more than you could handle, anyway.

That almost sounds like a challenge.

I don’t need your permission to do anything.

Your hands will touch me and no one else, Meadow. That is final.

You chase off every man that’s ever been interested, and you do it without even trying.

You reject every suitor and yet, you keep entertaining me. I believe you want me too, and you are dying to be touched.

I don't own you, you just belong to me.

You’re my gold, your cunt is my liquid gold. 

I will have your mouth, you will give it to me. Then I will have your spirit, Circe. I will own it. Always.

By the gods you have never been more beautiful than you are right now, spread before me, wrapped in my wool.

Once I take you, you are mine. My woman. No other man can have you.

I do not belong to you, or to anyone else. I will talk to whomever I want, whenever I want.

Not if it’s some ass who thinks he can put his hands on you.

You didn’t have a problem with me acting like a caveman last night.

When it comes to you… I don’t like to share.

Most men prefer to do the eating.

Do you know what passion is?

Most people think it only means desire. Arousal. Wild abandon. But that’s not all. The word derives from the Latin. It means suffering. Submission. Pain and pleasure, Nikki. Passion.

You’re wearing my colors, love.

I’m going to put you on your knees, Ruby. You’re going to hate how much you love it.

He is my king, he is my warrior, he is my husband and I am proud to say above all… he is mine.

You have rare beauty the like I have never seen but you will be more beautiful heavy with my seed.

You are my golden queen. You are my tigress. You are my Circe. 

Never will I allow your gold to be taken from me. Never. Understand this, Circe, and never forget.

Maybe I fell in love with a version of him that didn't exist.

 I would have you right here if you would let me. Fear you? I exalt you. 

You could burn me a thousand times, and I would still want you for my own.

Everything has a price. The price, however, isn't always money.

You’re my scariest hell, You’re my perfect paradise.

Well, I admit my crib is pretty sweet. But a gold cage is still a cage, Harry.

I intend to the last. 

If I win, then you shall be mine. Tonight.

You are so sure of yourself.

The game is simple. The women run, the men chase. If you catch the one with your color. . .well, that’s up to you.

But women have been running all their lives, most men don’t catch that easily.

We are in a maze, lost, and your hand is up my skirt.

Aye, but I don’t hear any complaints. The maze will hide our secret.

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Shut up for me, love, |

Toji Fushiguro x Wife!Reader

Toji finds out you're pregnant! (with Megumi)

Word Count: 1.5k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, pregnancy, Toji has a job, slightly suggestive dialogue

A/n: I have an idea for a Part 2 (this was so fun)... also opening to take requests if you have any.

It was like floating on cloud nine, where everything was beautiful and happy. You couldn’t help but curl up into a ball on your bed, digging your fists into the covers while clutching the test. Why? Because it came up with two lines. 

You had always wanted kids, that was something your husband, Toji, knew very well. However, there was still something daunting, that translated into a sinking feeling in your gut. Something that you had wanted for so long, something bigger than yourself, was going to happen, and the two of you would face it together. 

There were so many things to look forward to while pregnant. Wearing cute dresses that emphasized your bump just right, a sign to yourself and the world of your lovely marriage and relationship with your husband. Family photos, pregnancy milestones, and finally, the birth that would happen in a bit under nine months. You were so happy to start your family with Toji, and the little bundle of joy that was growing inside of you.

That feeling of euphoria didn’t leave after laying there for five minutes. In fact, it probably never would. It was another version of the feeling you got when you first met Toji, and the one from when you married him, and you still couldn’t believe that it had happened. But, Toji would be home soon. 

Knowing your husband, still as frustrated with your finances as ever, the one thing you could decide was that balloons and cake would not be appreciated on this occasion. Though he knew of your desires, he never explicitly said he wanted a baby either. That was what scared you the most. 

Toji always humered you, when you visited little clothing boutiques and stores, and something in the maternity section caught your eye. Or, when you couldn’t help but offer to take care of your friend’s baby whenever you got the chance, and had the biggest smile he had ever seen on your face, when you held her. 

What you didn’t see, however, was that while you perused the racks of baby clothing, his eyes drifted over to the green dinosaur onesie, with dark green spikes covering the head and going over the back and the tail. He chuckled under his breath, starting to get ideas himself seeing how invested you were. 

When you mentioned getting pregnant, Toji said he wasn’t opposed, though the look on his face showed more that he was uninterested. While you trusted your husband, he was wonderful to you, that sinking feeling didn’t go away either. Part of the reason you were so enthusiastic, after all, was because you’d be raising your child with Toji, and that idea was the embodiment of perfection in your mind. Without him in all the way, would it really be the same?

Toji wasn’t a big fan of fuss anyway, his proposal and your wedding had been small and pretty simple, and you were fine with that. In all honesty it was nice, to not have to worry about every little thing being perfect anyway. For news like this, thinking about decorations would only be a distraction from figuring out what to say. 

“Toji, honey, I’m pregnant,” you repeated to yourself in the mirror, holding the test to give it to him, trying to present it like a gift of some sort. “I have some news for you, Toji,” another option, “It’s great news, I’m really excited,” you tried to make the perfect smile, to show him just how happy you were. But you just threw yourself back on the bed, covering the flush on your cheeks with your hand. 

Everything sounded fake when you tried it. Knowing Toji, if you said any of those things, he might think there was something wrong instead of the truth. And of course, you couldn’t knock that stupid grin off your face for more than a few seconds, butterflies fluttering around your stomach so much that you had to ground yourself. 

Your face heated up at the mere thought of your husband walking through the door, though he would be tired and bothered as per usual. How would he react? Would he be as happy as you are, or… and the sinking feeling was growing again. You lifted your knees, planting your feet flat on the bed so the hem of your dress laid right above your ankles, as you sat in thought, preparing yourself for the inevitable. 

In a way you had given up, on facing Toji head on. Instead you decided to lie in wait, and figure something out on a whim if it didn’t come to you before he got home. You tucked the test under the blanket next to your legs, trying to relax as best as you could. 

The click of the front door was a familiar sound, something that usually excited you. However on this particular day, it was a little bit too exciting, so much so that you couldn’t urge yourself to get up and move your hands from their comfortable spot covering your face. 

Toji made his way through the kitchen and the living room, missing the usual sound of you, his wife, running around doing whatever it was that you were doing when he came home every day. The occasional joking “Honey, I’m home,” something he had grown to secretly enjoy, couldn’t be said despite his relatively good mood - for his ‘honey’ wasn’t there. 

Heading into your shared bedroom, where he typically pulled off his stuffy work clothes and changed into something more comfortable, was where he found you, curled up and about as out-of-it as ever. 

Toji laid down behind you on the bed, leaning over onto his side to see you. He pulled one of your hands off your face, smirking as you opened your eyes and met his gaze. “Hey, stupid,” he laughed as you pulled your hand back, smacking his away. “Why you coverin’ that pretty face, huh?” he asked, settling down with his hand resting under his neck. “What happened to ‘wife’, or something,” you tried to pout. “I called you pretty,” he reasoned, “and I can see that stupid smile on your face, somethin’ happen to ya?” 

Toji reached his hand over, with more force this time, pulling both your hands off your face. The flushed red of your cheeks and cute little protests made him smile. “You gonna tell me what’s got you so flustered, wife?” he kept your hands lightly pinned beneath his. “Couldn’t help yourself from thinkin’ about me while I was at work… really is stupid to be embarrassed,” you shook your head as best as you could. 

“Toji…” you murmured out, trying not to look him in the eyes. You pulled your right hand away from him, reaching into the covers to where you shoved the test. “I’m just… really happy, okay?” you choked out meekly, biting your lip you threw the test back at him. 

Catching it in his hands, he stared at the two lines. “You don’t say, huh?” he breathed heavily, as you eyed his expression with worry. “I just found out…” you blushed as he looked back at you, listening intently. “And… I know we didn’t talk that much about it,” you whispered, feeling his hand tighten it’s grip around yours. “But I really want to be a mother, Toji,” you sighed, still anticipating his reply. 

“Didn’t realize we weren’t on the same page about that,” he turned away, with a smile on his face. “I don’t want to make you unhappy -” he cut you off with a kiss, leaning down as your heart raced even faster. “How ‘bout you shut up for me, love,” your face contorted into a look of surprise. “Am I that bad of a husband? I thought you knew I was on board,” he chuckled. “But you said you didn’t really care,” you whined, as he moved his hand to hold yours more comfortably. “Yeah, that was my way of sayin’ it,” you rolled your eyes at him. “Besides, who do you think did this to ya, I’m not that much of an idiot,” he held up the test again, the surrealness of it all was sinking in.

“So, do you know the gender yet?” he asked, as you squinted. “Toji, I just found out a few minutes ago,” you replied. “Yeah, but I figured you had some kind of mother’s intuition on that stuff,” he yawned, the tiredness from work starting to hit him. “Well, what do you think?” 

“A girl,” he stated quickly, as you thought about it. “Your final guess?” you asked, to which he agreed. “Well knowing your losing streak, it must be a boy then,” you laughed as he frowned, “I should put that on paper… How’s that for mother’s intuition?” You looked back at Toji, who was fully laid down with his eyes closed. “Pregnant women should get a lot of sleep, I’m just setting an example,” he yawned again, pulling your waist to turn you next to him. You snuggled in closer, the sinking feeling was gone though the butterflies were only getting worse by the minute. “Fine, but only for a little while. I have to make dinner,” Toji hummed in response. “G’night, future mama.”

(Part 2)

[screamsilas]

@ii-neg-confessions is really stupid

IMPORTANT UPDATE!; @II-NEG-CONFESSIONS IS BANNED (on tumblr)!! ALL CAN REJOICE!!!!!

@ii-neg-confessions is kind of what it sounds like, a blog about inanimate insanity to spread hate and negativity and I feel like people shouldn't be so open to absorbing hate all the time

I wrote a better worded version on my phone but the drafts thing apparently doesn't work so take this kind of lazy one instead cause I don't really wanna spend any more of my time on this earth trashing an admin on a confessions blog who most should know is just a negative nancy hater who needs to get off they damn phone

time to "see through the bullshit" and "simply call out this bullshit" instead of "mindlessly consuming slop and following the herd"! /quoting their blog

also if you are gonna say "ohh don't give them them attention that's what they want" hold that thought cause this post isn't FOR them, its to educate ABOUT them and show people they're stupid. Its your choice if you wanna block them. Also, this is my space to criticize whatever I want, block whoever I want, etc. so I'm gonna post this rant here and let people act under their discretion.

anyways more under the cut

update on 12/09/24; rephrased/added context to some stuff in the Adam Katz segment.

update on 12/09/24; added a funny thing at the very end of the post.

update on 12/10/24; removed Adam Katz segment for correcting and editing.

[removed temporarily]

This is one of those things that when I read it I audibly said " are you fucking serious" cause truthfully I don't think they are being serious here.

To make fun of people that are POSITIVE? you actually must be absolutely MISERABLE to make a whole word to try and describe people who are positive in a negative light. I don't have much else to say here other than they must be genuinely sad with their life to do this.

small bomb break just to preface something

I'm not gonna go into their blog and criticize every word they have ever said, because I simply don't want to, but feel free to add onto this in the comments or re-blogs, cause I think its important to acknowledge this person and see them for who they are... and act accordingly of course.

anywayyy...

death threats (I'm gonna talk about that)

I've seen a lot of the OSC unanimously say that Mil has sent death threats to the II crew which I believe is true considering their overwhelmingly negative behavior and opinions towards most people who like ii/the crew themselves. I wanna of course start by saying that (as obvious as it should be) DEATH THREATS ARE NEVER OKAY! In some places in the world, even online they can be ILLEGAL!!! Its never okay to tell someone that you are gonna kill them, or that they should kill themselves, no matter how bad you think their YouTube show is, or how true you think your preconceived notions about peoples life or political stances are, death threats of any sort? NEVER OKAY! The fact that they went out of their way and spent that time (and most of their time) blatantly hating on this thing that was never about or for them is really disgusting.

Some more stuff I wanna say (in bullet point form!)

I never will say that I don't think its okay to have negative opinions or state said opinions, but from what I can see from this entire blog, its more than that. Its more than sharing criticism, its spreading hate about something a lot of people hold dear to them for no other reason then the fact that you hold hate in your heart

I'm pretty aware that Mil has some issues, whether that be relationship, familial... its none of my business. If she's reading this, just know there are people who can help, help is always available to you.

for a blog that's all for "seeing the truth" you really love to delete everything you don't agree with (even if its negative)

using art and not taking it down even after asked to is really rude, everyone should know that.. well except for Mil, who still has the post up

people calling everything that is appealing to the audience "fanservice" is so stupid is that the only word you know? do you only know how to use buzzer words to catch your audience instead of giving genuine points?

I was gonna say some more but I got distracted, and also I'm already sick of their shit so

okay bye bye!

p.s. ; a hefty handful of screenshots I didn't wanna write a whole paragraph saying they're shit to

this one is just sad to read like who hurt you

blatantly threatening a hack against AE's channel (also illegal)

shit like this makes me believe that this account is ragebait

more "posies" talk (makes me giggle)

looking pretty defensive to me (definitely a dream stan)

self indulgent insert but uh maybe its cause cobs is in the show hmm idk maybe though

death threats arent okay even if mil sent them to others (it will only repeat the cycle)

this is just funny to me, the ii crew has gone back and deleted scenes that aren't good, they have said they were young at the time and they are growing and changing people and apologized for what they did, what else do you want? do you want them to beg for forgiveness at your shoes?? you're fucking weird.

""digital footprint" isn't real" says a lot

what do you mean?? they're hating WITH YOU!!!! just because they can see good in the show doesn't mean they're corny! full post here

maybe because the songs are... musical inspired... maybe you just hate fun... (they literally say they do what am I talking about)

hating for no reason again (and ignoring everything anon said except for the thing that caught their eye; hatred)

okay I'm done, Mil is exhausting, @ii-neg-confessions is exhausting, I'm forever a "posie" I guess

if you read this far also... hi! thank you for reading all of this and educating yourself! remember that despite their hatred, there's still lots of love and care in this world and you deserve the most of it! please get some water and a snack, and have a wonderful day!! <3

okay that's my rant bye

p.s.

stop following me, mil

[thankskenpenders]

The Knuckles show

The announcement of a live action Knuckles streaming miniseries was surprising, to say the least. I mean, what would such a show even be about in a version of the Sonic universe with no Angel Island and barely any characters from the games around? Is he gonna go treasure hunting with the gang from Montana or something? Would a streaming miniseries have the CGI budget to squeeze in any new game characters, even briefly? Rouge? Amy? At least one member of Team Chaotix? Anyone?

Now the show is finally out, and it turns out what they actually made was a comedy show about bumbling deputy sheriff Wade Whipple, the minor comic relief character played by Adam Pally who you might not even remember all that well from the first two movies, with Knuckles as his sidekick. While, yes, Knuckles does get a decent amount of screentime and opportunities to punch bad guys and do cool moves from the games, large stretches of this show focus on Wade's personal life, to the point that a couple times I almost forgot I was watching a Sonic-related show. If you're judging it purely by the metric of how well it adapts and engages with its source material, this surely must be one of the worst adaptations the Sonic franchise has ever seen.

So then, despite some huge complaints... why do I kinda like it?

(This will contain full spoilers for the Knuckles show.)

A brief summary of what the show is actually about because I know half of you aren't going to watch it

The show picks up not too long after the end of the second movie. Knuckles is now living in Montana with Sonic, Tails, and the Wachowskis out of a sense of debt to them, though he doesn't really see it as his home. He doesn't feel like he belongs on Earth, and his life currently lacks direction. After communing with the ghost of Pachacamac, though, Knuckles is instructed to keep his culture alive by teaching "the ways of the echidna warrior" to a new apprentice: deputy sheriff Wade Whipple, who's currently more concerned about winning a bowling tournament in Reno than anything else.

Things are complicated by the interference of two rogue GUN agents - Agent Willoughby, played by Ellie Taylor in a bad wig, and Agent Mason, played by Kid Cudi. (Yes, the artist behind the second movie's credits song is one of the bad guys in this.) They want to steal Knuckles' power and sell it to a former associate of Robotnik's played by Rory McCann (The Hound from Game of Thrones), who now works as a black market arms dealer. Yes, they're still doing the thing where Sonic and friends' quills radiate some kind of super-energy that the bad guys all want. No, I don't particularly love this element of the Paramount Sonic continuity. Anyway, they go after Knuckles and Wade, complicating their straightforward road trip to Reno. Antics ensue.

The Wade show

So here's the thing. While the first episode focuses largely on Knuckles, the entire rest of the show is very much the story of Wade, and by extension the other original human characters invented for this miniseries.

Episode 2 is about Wade having to rescue Knuckles from captivity after the GUN agents get him. Knuckles spends most of the episode in a cage.

Episode 3 is about introducing Wade's Jewish family, including his slightly overbearing mother and weird sister, so that Knuckles can learn about their family traditions and have Shabbat dinner with them (and then save them from bounty hunters that the GUN agents hired).

Episode 4 only features Knuckles at the very beginning and very end of the episode, probably for less than a minute total. Wade is captured by a bounty hunter he personally knows, and Knuckles decides to let that be a trial for Wade to overcome on his own.

The last two episodes feature the climactic showdowns with the GUN agents and their arms-dealing ally, who comes in with a mech for the obligatory final boss fight. You'd think this would be Knuckles' time to shine, but really, these episodes are mostly about the bowling tournament in Reno where Wade encounters his estranged father, wrapping up his own personal arc. While Knuckles does get some fights, a lot of the finale is spent on lengthy bowling scenes where Knuckles isn't in the room or even mentioned. It frequently feels more like a spiritual successor to '00s sports comedy movies like Dodgeball, Talladega Nights, or Blades of Glory than it does a part of the Sonic franchise, and the presence of ESPN 8: The Ocho commentary in the finale only drives those Dodgeball comparisons home. They get so immersed in the bowling stuff that it's genuinely hilarious when the show suddenly pivots and remembers "oh shit we still need to do the final boss fight"

Throughout all this, Wade is the protagonist. He's the character we spend more time with, he's the character who drives most of the major events, he's the character who gets more of an arc. The emotional core is Wade's journey. Knuckles is still present - sometimes, at least - but he's there as Wade's wingman, and also just as the excuse for there to be some fight scenes.

How much Sonic stuff is actually in this show?

Honestly? Not much.

Sonic and Tails are only in the first episode. Sonic gets some good scenes, but Tails gets a grand total of five lines. I counted. Unsurprisingly, Jim Carrey is absent as Robotnik, though he does get mentioned a fair bit. (For that matter, basically the entire established human cast beyond Wade is absent, even including Tom, though Maddie is there in episode one.)

GUN is involved in the story, which helps it feel slightly more connected to Sonic, but it kind of feels like it's GUN in name only. They don't use any recognizable GUN tech, and they don't call in the military. It's just two agents in suits. They might as well be the Men in Black.

The Master Emerald is mentioned as something Knuckles has to guard, but it's never seen. Angel Island is pictured as a drawing during the show's intro, appearing exactly how it does in Sonic 3, but it's never referenced at all beyond that.

I guess the climax taking place in and around a Reno casino is a reference to Sonic's many casino-themed levels. That's something. I'll give them that.

Oh, and if you're wondering if this is the point where we finally start to get actual music from the games: no, it's not. The soundtrack consists of a lot of '80s needle drops, many of which are generic Hollywood picks like "Holding Out for a Hero" for the billionth time, thought it at least has some slightly less obvious picks than the Mario movie. The theme song is '80s rock song "The Warrior" by Scandal. You'll hear it many times. You'll hear the Adventure era Knuckles raps zero times in this. You'll briefly hear classic A Tribe Called Quest song "Can I Kick It?" before Knuckles takes the question too literally and breaks the radio in Wade's car.

Beyond a handful of surface level references for nerds (one of which is admittedly wild - we'll get to that), this is probably the least an officially licensed adaptation of Sonic the Hedgehog has ever tried to actually engage with its source material. I struggle to think of another Sonic adaptation that has less to do with Sonic. For as much shit as I and countless others have given Penders for seemingly ignoring the content of the games in favor of building his own convoluted mythos, his Knuckles comics honestly included way more elements from the games than this show does.

Somehow, the one new(-ish) Sonic character introduced in this is the ghost of Pachacamac of all characters. Not even Tikal! Pachacamac! A very minor character nobody has particularly strong feelings about! You can't even use the excuse that they already had the character model, because they completely redesigned him compared to his cameo in the first movie to better match his Sonic Adventure design. And he's voiced by Christopher Lloyd! Honestly, so many of his lines are strained that it sounds like he's on death's door here, but then he'll surprise you with a more casual line like "just do it, man" and it catches me so off guard that I can't help but laugh.

Pachacamac here has basically nothing to do with the game character he takes his name and appearance from. Where the game character was a cruel warlord who kicked off a 3000 year cycle of violence, Paramount Pachacamac is now just this chill old man who gives Knuckles (and later Wade) advice in two episodes of the show. Hell, he also feels completely disconnected from his established role in the movies, where he's literally the guy who shot Longclaw. The show will not grapple with this contradiction at all. He's just here to be a thing fans like me will recognize from the games. Again, if that's all they wanted, it's kind of baffling that they didn't just use Tikal.

I don't love Knuckles in this

But what about Knuckles himself? Well, he doesn't feel all that much like Knuckles to me. Ironically, he sometimes feels like one of the weaker elements in his own show.

Back when the second movie came out, I noted that Knuckles' characterization seemed to be pulling heavily from MCU Thor as a gallant warrior from an archaic alien culture who doesn't really understand modern day Earth stuff. That worked for me in that movie. It was just there for spice. Just a little extra flavor for the character in what was otherwise a very faithful adaptation of Knuckles' storyline in Sonic 3 & Knuckles. Without those familiar elements grounding him and with a much higher reliance on comedy, Idris Elba's Knuckles becomes a pretty one-note character in this.

In damn near every scene with Knuckles, he's going to say something about being a proud, honorable echidna warrior, or brag about his glorious feats of strength, or be confused about some Earth thing and call it sorcery, or act like every other character is also a member of some noble warrior clan. He still has his moments for sure, but this schtick kinda gets old fast, and it just doesn't feel like Knuckles to me. His entire character feels derived from the scene in the diner where Thor smashes the cup on the ground and goes "Another!" Sure, I can picture game Knuckles smashing a radio to turn it off and being a little too gung-ho about busting holes through walls. That's Knuckles behavior. But building a barbarian combat pit in the living room so the Wachowski family dog can fight the mailman? Nope. That's some other guy now. It really does just feel like them taking a broad character archetype from something popular that kinda sorta fits Knuckles and just running with that, rather than trying to actually adapt the character.

Oh, but don't worry, he wears the OVA hat for like two minutes! AND he loves grapes! See, Sonic nerds? We read the wiki! That's his favorite food! Grapes! This is gonna come up like five times!

Knuckles kind of gets an arc here, but not as much as Wade does. I think the stuff about him starting to feel at home on Earth thanks to Wade's mom and the way he connects with their Jewish family traditions is oddly sweet. This arc is kind of let down, though, by the fact that Knuckles' heritage is treated as a complete joke. He's a cartoonish pastiche of various historical warrior cultures stuck together in a blender and used mostly for comedic effect. When Pachacamac's ghost appears, he's reading a newspaper and bemoaning the fact that the Mets lost again. This is not the place for a serious examination of Knuckles' feelings on being the last of his kind.

This is far from the only time the show undercuts itself with its jokes and attempts at self-parody. In the first episode, for instance, Knuckles clashes with GUN Agent Mason and his tech-enhanced punches, leading to an extremely on-the-nose inversion of the "Do I look like I need your power?" scene showcased in the trailer for the second movie. Except this time, Agent Willoughby butts in and points out how stupid that line is in this new context, since they're literally trying to steal Knuckles' power. The fight can't just be cool, they have to get cute with it. A lot of stuff like that happens in this show.

Given all these complaints, the first two episodes left me thinking I'd be fairly negative on this show overall. This seemed like the version of the show from the fandom's collective nightmares, one that undoes all of the progress the movie series seemed to have been making towards faithfulness to the games. Like, just look at these cast posters. Is this what you want out of Sonic? Do these excite you?

But then, something strange happened. Over time, I just kind of let the jokes and shenanigans wash over me and basked in how fucking weird this show is.

And I started to actually enjoy it.

Look. The Wade & Knuckles Show was never going to be peak Sonic. But that sure as hell doesn't mean it can't be entertaining.

This show is so fucking goofy

Here's the thing.

The show is funny.

Unlike a lot of other people, I didn't hate all the wedding stuff in Hawaii in Sonic 2, because I thought a lot of it was funny, both in its actual jokes and in the ways in which they tied everything back to Sonic. Tom looking wistfully at some bodybuilders doing Top Gun shit and spraying each other with beer and being like "I wish Sonic had that" is weirdly funny. The twist that those muscle bros are all agents of the newly formed GUN, who orchestrated the wedding as an elaborate scheme to catch Sonic, is funny. Mr. Olive Garden becoming the fucking GUN Commander is VERY funny. Are any of these elements of my dream Sonic movie? No, of course not. But my dream Sonic movie was never gonna happen in live action.

The Knuckles show follows up on the comedy of the previous films by being probably the funniest live action Sonic release yet. Did every joke land for me? God no. There are some stinkers in there that made me roll my eyes. But enough of them landed that it worked out for me overall. A big part of this is the fact that they've got a good cast of actors and/or comedians here.

Adam Pally is funny as Wade, and I found myself liking him more and more as a character as the show went on. He becomes an oddly endearing loser, with some sweet moments in his personal arc that made me feel for the guy. I like Wade more than Tom now, thanks to this show. I will now be happier to see Wade in Sonic 3 than I would have been previously.

The supporting cast is frequently great, too, many of whom are playing completely cartoonish, over-the-top characters. They took a cue from how exaggerated Carrey's performance was as Robotnik and decided to just abandon all pretense that this is the real world. Stockard Channing as Wade's mom is funny, and carries some of the more sincere parts of the show. Cary Elwes as Wade's very British dad who abandoned him as a child to run off and be the world's most egotistical professional bowler is funny. Edi Patterson as Wade's sister Wanda is... well, she's kinda trying too hard, but she has her moments. The Mighty Boosh co-creator Julian Barratt(!!) as a scenery-chewing bounty hunter, who was also somehow Wade's former best friend and bowling partner, is VERY funny. I love this guy.

(Honestly, they should let more people who were on Garth Marenghi's Darkplace be in Sonic stuff. Where's Matt Berry)

This is kind of a stacked cast for a bunch of stupid side characters in a live action Knuckles show! And honestly, that just makes it funnier to me. Even when they're not funny, the fact that this exists makes it funny. They somehow convinced Paramount to give them a bunch of money to make a spiritual successor to Dodgeball about a schlubby guy who wants to beat his dad at a bowling tournament... except also Knuckles the fucking Echidna is there as his personal life coach. My life is richer for the fact that I can say that sentence. I think about all the little kids who are probably watching this show this weekend, going in expecting a show about Knuckles the Echidna and having to sit through extensive bowling scenes and lore about Wade's family, and sorry kids, but I just have to laugh. Wade isn't even on the poster! The poster is just a picture of Knuckles!! They punked those kids!!!

In a franchise where every single aspect is so carefully micromanaged these days, it feels truly special to get an adaptation this bonkers. It frequently appeals to the same part of me that enjoys the fact that there's an officially licensed Knuckles comic in which Charmy Bee's best friend (also a bee) dies of an accidental LSD overdose from a drug-laced chili dog. Or like, everything about the original 1993 Super Mario Bros. movie. Or the fact that they made seven direct-to-DVD sequels to Alpha and Omega, one of which is half a retread of the adventure from the first movie (with more annoying supporting characters in tow this time) and half a literal clip show of the first movie. The sheer absurdity of the fact that these things exist is charming to me. Except, with the Knuckles show, it has the added benefit of frequently being funny on purpose! This is why I'm not sure I'd call it "so bad it's good." Like, it's not amazing, but there were a lot of parts that I enjoyed in the exact way I was supposed to enjoy them.

Look. Here's a list of real lines of dialogue from the Sega-approved Knuckles the Echidna streaming show that they're billing as a pillar of the Paramount+ lineup, to drive this point home. Let these marinate for a minute:

"I only eat grapes, and Cool Ranch Doritos™."

"Annihilate this little girl, Wade. Crush her spirit. Humiliate her so badly her parents won't even look at her again." "Doesn't that seem like we're going a bit far?" "Not far enough."

"So is he Jewish?" "Half, I think."

"I had a friend who when he listened to Alien Ant Farm he could lift a Toyota Corolla over his head."

"I'm in dire financial straits. Due to my lawsuit against an unnamed rainforest-themed restaurant franchise, I don't have two pennies to my name."

"We're here in sunny Reno, Nevada, which is so close to Hell you can smell the sparks."

"You can't threaten me with your Jewish karate chops because I am a federal agent."

"I will say, regardless of how you feel about child abandonment - and I'm against it! - the deals at TJ Maxx can't be beat."

This is a Sonic show in which they got Paul Scheer and Rob Huebel to appear as ESPN 8: The Ocho commentators.

This is a show where Wade's mom insists upon pronouncing "Knuckles" with the throaty Hebrew "ch" sound, and declares that Knuckles is basically Jewish. Later, they watch Pretty Woman together while enjoying a nice slice of key lime pie. Knuckles comments: "I don't understand. This young streetwalker with a heart made of gold, why do the others treat her with such disdain? Is it so wrong to walk the streets?"

This is a show where the fourth episode is directed by one of the guys from The Lonely Island and features a hallucinatory low budget rock opera stage musical put on by the ghost of Pachacamac. It recounts Knuckles' life story, with Wade playing Knuckles and the "evil" Longclaw played by the bounty hunter guy who's played by the Mighty Boosh guy.

Look at this.

And also, Knuckles' singing voice is provided by Michael Bolton, which they proudly announce in the middle of the musical.

And also...

Also...???

IBLIS IS IN IT????????????

Yes, Iblis!

From Sonic '06!!

Knuckles is said to have looked for a mythical power called the "Flames of Disaster" to avenge his clan, which ended up being the power that was within him all along that lets him do fire punches yadda yadda yadda. As part of this, he apparently fought Iblis off-screen at some point, as conveyed with the giant singing papier-mâché Iblis in the musical.

...Then Iblis sings about hitting up Facebook Marketplace

How? How does any of this exist? Why reference '06 of all games? How did Iblis get into the live action Sonic movie universe before Amy and Metal Sonic? Why are they using Iblis and the term "Flames of Disaster" in such a goofy way that completely disregards their original context?

I don't know. I don't know how any of this happened. But I love it. We got a Knuckles miniseries in which Michael Bolton sings the phrase "the Flames of Disaster." The world is a beautiful place sometimes.

Some people will tell you to skip episode four. "Knuckles is barely even in it," they say. "It's dumb and pointless," they say. "They clearly just ran out of special effects budget," they say. These are people whose opinions you should disregard. The episode with the least Knuckles in it is somehow the most entertaining episode of the show. I would, in fact, go as far as to say that if you only decide to watch one episode of the Knuckles show to see what goofy bullshit they get up to, it should be this one.

I cannot be mad at this show. It's so dumb, but it completely owns the fact that it's a dumb and unnecessary spinoff. Inferiority is baked into its very DNA. It's very self-consciously redoing the premise of the first movie, but stupider. It's about The Other Cop from the movies, instead of the competent one. Instead of being into a "cooler" sport, his life revolves around professional bowling. Instead of going to Vegas, he goes to Reno. Even his tragic backstory that shaped his entire life sucks. He was abandoned by his pro bowler dad in a TJ Maxx. Not even a nicer department store. A fucking TJ Maxx. This whole show is a Dril tweet.

They put a ton of effort into making it dumb in an occasionally spectacular way. So much effort was put into that joke rock opera that fans will just write off as stupid filler. They put their whole pussies into it. This is not a poorly made show. This has better production values than half the shit made for Disney+. This was made with love. Maybe not as much love for the Sonic the Hedgehog series of video games as we'd like, but it's love nonetheless.

Maybe this show broke me and these are the ramblings of a madwoman. Maybe I'm just really nostalgic for the '90s and '00s comedy movies all the Wade stuff is modeled after. Maybe the Alan Wake fan in me just really loves it when a story pivots to a silly rock opera for no real reason. I won't discount any of these possibilities. This isn't high art. This isn't something I would recommend to anyone with zero interest in Sonic, and it also isn't going to sway Sonic fans who hate the Paramount universe. I really can't blame them for being bewildered by this show. But for a specific type of person, this is the absurd three-star Sonic-adjacent comedy miniseries of your dreams. It's a mid masterpiece.

Again, I just have to step back, realize the fact that this shouldn't exist, and smile. Sega's too afraid to do stupid bullshit with the franchise like this these days. And I can't blame them, after years of Sonic being a treated as a laughingstock. But part of me misses some of the goofy shit. No matter how much I tore some of the Archie comics apart as I was reading them for this blog, I just look back on stuff like Cal and Al or the Many Hands issues and laugh. And that same part of me looks at this show about Knuckles being the sidekick to this fucking guy, and just goes...

"We're so back."

In conclusion, I genuinely think this was a more enjoyable TV show than Sonic Prime.

I wouldn't go back and rewatch Sonic Prime anytime soon, aside from maybe, like, a couple of the Shadow-heavy episodes. Huge stretches of that show bored me to tears. The writers squandered all of that show's potential. But I would rewatch the Knuckles show, which takes a terrible premise and has a lot of fun with it, in a heartbeat. Even the bowling parts. The bowling scenes in the Knuckles show are more engaging than 70% of the fights in Sonic Prime. I am not trolling. I mean that sincerely, with all my heart. Don't @ me.

Stray observations

There is effectively zero meaningful setup for the third movie in this, unless Wade's family or the two GUN agents come back or something. Project Shadow is not mentioned in this. There is no secret post-credits scene with Gerald

The CGI in this is pretty good. Not quite on par with the movies, but pretty good. Sonic's weird forehead wrinkles are distracting in his scenes though. Please fix that

I wouldn't say I liked this as much as the second movie, which obviously gets a ton of points for, you know. The Cool Sonic Shit. But I had more fun with it than the first movie, which I still feel is a painfully generic family movie that was only saved by Tyson's redesign

"Grapes are an interesting choice for someone who doesn't use his individual fingers."

Agent Willoughby was apparently the one at GUN who had to buy the Olive Garden gift cards and set up the fake wedding. Her origin story is that she hated doing shit like that and wanted to go fight aliens

This miniseries contains another Keanu namedrop because Wade's childhood bedroom has a Speed poster on the wall. I swear, if Sonic doesn't say Shadow sounds just like Keanu...

Knuckles is familiar with Paul Blart Mall Cop

Near the end the ESPN 8: The Ocho commentators say that the 1974 Reno bowling championship was also interrupted by an extraterrestrial, and given that was exactly 50 years ago I can't write off the possibility that that was Shadow. Please for the love of god give us a sequel series after the third movie where Wade takes Shadow the Hedgehog bowling. I need this more than I need air

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hi Jonny, if you don't mind I have a question about the TMA TTRPG! So I noticed that on the player's guide there's this guy, who my friends and I assumed is probably Jon. If it is him, is this a canon design, or more like some of the non-canon stuff that's in the merch?

So, I hope you don't mind if i use this ask to go a bit off on one. I'm not specifically dragging you (I'm actualy glad you asked, as I've thinking about posting on the topic), but all the discussion around the RPG art and how "official" or "canon" it might be is, to my mind, slightly silly.

First up, is it "official" art? I mean, yeah, its art for the officially licenced Magnus Archives RPG. This means Monte Cook Games have commissioned someone to do a beatiful illustration broadly based on some aspect, episode or character from the podcast and it goes in the book. But that's kinda all it means. "Official" is a legal distinction, not an artistic one. The fact that it's in an official product doesn't make it any less one artist's cool interpretation of a character that has only been vaguely described in audio.

Second, is it Jonathan Sims the Archivist? I mean, it's probably based on the idea of him, but it's certainly not set in stone. When we were first discussing art with MCG, we advised that character pictures be more vibes-based and not explicitly tied to specific people (ie. a portrait inspired by Tim wouldn't be captioned "This is Tim" and wouldn't be placed opposite a profile for Tim Stoker, archival assistant.) This was mainly because we wanted the artists to have plenty of freedom to interpret and not feel too tied down by the need to know everything about the podcast. But, to be frank, it was also because we know that there are a few fans out there that are kinda Not Chill about what they've personally decided these characters look like and can get a bit defensive over depictions that differ.

It strikes me as particularly strange to be having this discussion about art that's for a roleplying game book. Something that's explicitly and solely designed to give you the ability to play in your version of the Magnus universe. The idea that this is the thing where we'd for some reason try to immutably establish unchangable appearances for these characters would be pretty funny if some folks weren't taking it so seriously. Similarly ridiculous is the idea we could reasonably have said to MCG "We'd love for you to make a huge beautiful RPG book of our setting... Just make sure you don't depict any of the iconic characters or events from it!"

But... is it "canon"? Now, to my mind, this highlights a real weakness in a lot of fandom thinking around "canon", which is that it generally has no idea what to do with adaptations. All adaptation is interpretation, and relies on taking a work and letting new creatives (and sometimes the same ones) have a different take on it. Are the appearances of the Fellowship of the Ring in the LOTR movies "canon"? How much, if at all, does that matter? Neil Gaiman's book Neverwhere was originaly a 90s BBC series made with a budget of 50 pence; is anyone who makes fanart of Mr Croup that doesn't look like the actor Hywel Bennet breaking canon? What about the novel that describes the character differently? Or the officially licenced Neverwhere comic where he looks like neither of them? Which is his "canon appearance"?

Canon is an inherently messy concept, and while it is useful for a creative team trying to keep continuity and consistency within a creative work, for thinking about anything beyond that it tends to be more hinderance than help.

Anyway, all this is to say that the above picture and all the others in the RPG are exactly as canon as every other picture you've ever seen of the Archivist.

[toruro]

— ✧ devil by the window

temptation touched my tongue / spread the wings of desire (a friday the 13th special)

description: all your fairy friends warned you not to get tangled up with the demons that lurk on the ground, but you swear on every star in the sky that minghao is different.

warnings: smut (18+), consent is clear but reader is somewhat unaware of what sex is

tags: enchanted forest au, demon hao, fairy reader, corruption kink, loss of virginity, innocence kink, pet names (fairy, pretty), condescension, brief implied exhibitionism

w/c: 5k+

request: hiii for hao could u write fairytailesque theme umm like vibes of love between fairy and devil cdrama! mean dom hao secretly a softie for u<33 i feel like u would rock it!!

a/n: i got something out for friday the 13th! sorry to anon for losing the og ask, hope u see this! for those who saw the first version of this, i am sorry. i popped this out by listening to freefall while being high as hell

Joshua was the first to warn you about those who live below. Those who lurk in the shadows, waiting, and waiting, and waiting to pounce on the first naive soul to cross their path.

You didn’t quite believe him at first. Your head was in the pristine clouds that float above; living your little fairy life among the heights of the forest, days spent buzzing around with your friends, glowing smiles and shining eyes, petal-cloth dress flowing over your soft skin as you flutter from tree to tree—your life was perfect.

Seokmin tells you about it next. He recites a story of one of his friends, Chan, who got a little too close to the ground. The young boy hardly escaped the luring hands of a demon who crept up on him, and to this day, Chan has a scar on his left ankle.

Maybe catching sight of the little mark on the other fairy’s skin the next time you saw Chan was a little bit of a reality check, but still, you don’t worry too much.

After all, how could you? Your life was perfect, so what need was there for all this tension? All this trouble, worrying about a world so, so far away …

⟢

You’re falling.

You’re falling unimaginably fast.

You’re not really sure how it happened—you were floating through the trees and something in your magic spasmed for a second and the next thing you know you’re flailing around, unable to get those sparks flying again.

And you try to yell for help, call for Seokmin because he’s the last one you’d seen, a cold rush overwhelming your body when you realize you’re too far down for him to hear you anyways. You close your eyes tight and brace for the impact as you feel the bases of the trees grow thicker as you near the ground and then—

Wait, what? Why didn’t you hit the ground and—oh, you’re floating again. Reflexes must’ve kicked in upon realizing the difference in air pressure.

It takes a few moments to get yourself back on balance using what little energy you’ve got left. You’re dangerously close to the ground—mere meters hovering above it, really, but right as you think you’ve managed to flutter up a bit higher, you lose control again, dropping straight down with no luck on your side to stop you.

You crash down into the ground, letting out a soft shriek as your body thuds. It shakes you for a moment but as you look around, you’re endlessly grateful to have fallen on a relatively soft patch of grass. Dusting yourself off as you try to sit up straight, the fact that you are now on the ground without your magic is dawning on you.

You aren’t sure how long you sit there, just gazing at the thick, dark trees around you. It’s rather peaceful, you wonder if you landed on the same grounds that Chan did when he got that scar. You doubt it.

You gaze up at the sight, soft breaths and gentle eyes, and you start to think that the ground is much nicer than anyone has ever told you but suddenly, there’s a rustling in the bushes behind you. In an instant you feel cold.

Dreadfully cold.

So cold, you don’t dare to turn around, figure cowering in on itself as you shut your eyes tight when the rustling intensifies, turning into thudding footsteps that approach you. And then, it stops, and you believe for a gracing second if the thing has left you alone, but you know better than that because after just five seconds of silence, you hear it breathing from above.

“Wh—who are?” you murk up the courage to whimper, wincing as you hold a hand up to face your face.

Through the fingers, you catch the silhouette of a man. He doesn’t look much different from all the other boys you’ve seen before, and you wonder if you should take your chances and let your hands drop. 

“Are you …” Your breath hitches in when you finally look at him—chiseled jawline and sharp, cold eyes that watch you carefully. You feel your palms sink into the ground as you try to scurry back, but suddenly, it feels as though your hands can’t move. “... a demon?”

The pretty man smiles, but some funny feeling in your stomach tells you he isn’t exactly happy. He smiles oddly, and then he chuckles. He chuckles oddly, and then he laughs.

“What do you think, fairy?” His voice is cool and crisp, cutting through you like a blade of ice. The chill is thrilling. You think back to the story Seokmin always tells you. The scar on Chan’s ankle. The words of caution Joshua is always careful to remind you of.

“Y-you don’t look l-like the other—” You stop yourself from speaking because the shake in your voice is too much. You never even knew you could produce such a sound so potent in … fear? Enthrallment? Heat? You aren’t sure.

“The other what?” Slowly, he inches forward, and still you can’t find it in you to move away. You’re starting to think that you simply don’t want to.

His long, black hair wisps over his forehead and a few strands sit above his nose, and you can’t help but admire his natural elegance. He’s standing right next to you now, and as you look up at him, something in the back of your head buzzes.

Your ears are flooded with a white noise and some part of your brain is telling you you should be scared. You should be terrified, and you should wail for Joshua or Seokmin or Mingyu to come help but a much more convincing part of your brain tells you to stay put. To look up at this demon with wide eyes and parted lips. To whisper, “Demons. The other demons.”

He crouches over you now, so close that you feel his warm breath on your forehead. “Have you ever seen a demon?” You shake your head no, too afraid of the sound your throat might make if you try to speak.

He grins, and this time you don’t question the sincerity. He holds out a hand, and you think to yourself that such beautiful fingers could never taint skin like Chan’s.

“Let me show you,” he murmurs into the hazy air.

You don’t hesitate to take his hand.

Your magic comes back by the end of that day, and you are able to flutter your way up with Minghao’s name and a bidding farewell on your tongue.

You don’t tell the other fairies about what you do at night now. You don’t tell the other fairies how after everyone’s settled into their little abodes that linger from the branches, you creep out of your own. You don’t tell the other fairies about the beautiful views you see as you wisp through the trees, catching cool leaves on your skin as you slowly start to flutter down.

You don’t tell the other fairies of the little, illuminated pond you dip your toes into, or how when you turn around as your feet plant into the soil, Xu Minghao is already slipping into your line of vision from behind a thick trunk.

Dark cloth hangs off his chiseled figure, loose ends flowing with the night zephyrs. He sits on a rock by the pond as you cross your legs over on the verdant green grass, light dress splaying thinly over your thighs, skin shimmering under the moonlight.

He talks to you, tells you about his life, his friends. Every night, you listen with your lips slightly parted as you watch him and his dark hair. He teaches you about the ground, about the soft soil you sit upon, he teaches you about the roots of trees, about the little animals that scurry by the trunks, he teaches you that there is so much that lies beneath the tree tops, that there is so much you still don’t know.

Seungcheol laughed at Minghao earlier when he crept away from where he and his friends usually spend the night. “Going off to see your little fairy?” (Minghao wonders if the weird feeling in his stomach erupts from embarrassment at Seungcheol’s tone, or from a growing warmth when he refers to you as his.)

His friends find it a little funny—a fairy and a demon conversing at the dead of night, but he doesn’t really find it amusing at all.

Enthralling, would be the right word actually, because you come down every midnight where he teaches you, and he teaches you, and he teaches you so much, and your eyes are so beautiful, your voice so kind, your smile so bright, and so you teach him what it means for his heart to race.

You two sit together tonight, your hands neatly folded over your lap as you sit on your knees; Minghao sits next to you, legs out in front of him as he leans back on his arms. Under the light of the half moon above, you’re both silent.

You don’t have anything to say, not tonight. The cool air that sits between says enough.

Some time through the moments you sit in silence, Minghao has a hand brushing over your knee. The touch is gentle and cool like the breeze that washes over your bodies. He leaves his fingers there for a few, graciously long minutes, watching you from the corner of his vision to see if you’ll turn away.

He thinks he might lose his damn mind when you don’t move an inch. And so he moves an inch up your thigh, another inch and then he’s under the pretty petals of your skirt, another inch and then he’s almost brushing against the soft fabric that’s nestled between your legs.

Minghao watches you carefully—the way you chew on your bottom lip and your hands squeeze each other a little tighter and then—fuck, you’re squirming already?

“W-what are we doing Minghao?” you ask him so sweetly he feels he might melt into the ground and take you down with him. You have the vaguest of ideas of where this is going to go, and the thought makes your skin bloom with shivers.

“I …” His breath hitches in his throat when you look at him with eyes that look at him like he holds the universe. “I can show you.”

When you flutter your eyes shut, nodding as you whisper, “Show me,” into his mouth, Minghao wraps his arm around your torso and pulls you onto his lap. His kisses are slow but telling; pressing his lips into yours, tongue lapping at your mouth until you gasp and open yourself to him again. Legs locked around his sides as his hands grip onto your waist, your noses against each other in tandem in hopes to dig deeper into the kiss.

You’re shy against Minghao, lips working fervently—you can tell just from the way his fingers glide up and down your sides, the way his tongue melts into yours, the way he holds you—you feel so safe with him.

And then there he is, hands sliding beneath the skirt of your dress and bunching the shining fabric up to your waist; the cool air hits your skin as you gasp into Minghao’s mouth, hugging him closer instinctively. In doing so, you shift forward, core brushing dangerously close to the hardness between his dark pants, and you swear you hear Minghao mutter a curse you’ve never heard before. The sound makes your tummy do tumbles.

“You’ll let me take this off … hm?” he murmurs as he pulls away, fingers toying with the sheen hem of your skirt.

“Y-yeah,” you murmur, shuffling backwards so you slip off his lap. You lean back on your hands in the grass with a deep sigh, legs spreading out in front of you as Minghao climbs onto his knees. His fingers start at your ankle, and the way his hooded eyes watch you lustfully has your breath caught in your throat.

He slowly trails his fingers over your legs, starting from your calf and moving up until it’s brushing past your knees and suddenly his palms are pressing on your inner thighs and shoving your legs apart to reveal the pretty white panties that sit in the middle.

Your core buzzes with a heat, and you find your bottom lip clamped between your teeth as you try not to whine when Minghao’s finger grazes over the thin fabric. “M-mingh—hao,” you breath out, when he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck and sucks hard against the skin.

Your skin flushes with heat and a sharp sting when his teeth graze over you, but the small moan that leaves your lips sings a melody of pleasure as he swipes his tongue over the bruising mark. Your mouth falls wide open, neck falling back, and Minghao slots one hand between your legs, pressing the pads of two fingers against that one bundle of nerves that has you squirming into the ground.

“O-oh,” you mutter as your hips start to erratically swivel against his in hopes for more friction.

“Patience fairy,” Minghao sings in that sickly sweet tone of his. You wonder if he dropped from the treetops himself from the way he coos so kindly.

“It feels—oh … Oh, Minghao—”

“Tell me pretty … tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers in a dangerously low tone, breath fanning over your neck in a way that sends shivers down your spine. Minghao traces methodical circles around your clit, and you can feel a warm wetness grow beneath your panties, causing the fabric to stick against your slick core.

You want to thrash in his arms and squirm into his hold—you want to let tears well up in your eyes and cry because everything’s feeling so good and you can’t think … can’t manage a single damn word.

“Feels—feels good,” you manage out in broken huffs of breath, legs spreading wider than you thought they could. Minghao chuckles as he lifts his head back to watch the way you tremble in front of him, and if you weren’t so dizzy on pleasure, you’d be burning from embarrassment.

“Yeah? Can make you feel even better if you …” He shrugs casually and gestures towards your dress and panties. “If you move some stuff out of the way.”

You don’t hesitate to yank at the straps of your dress,  shoving them down haphazardly with trembling fingers. You’re on fire, if anything, and Minghao grins widely as he helps you desperately shimmy out of your clothes.

You start with the dress, flowy fabric slipping off your shoulders and falling down your stomach, finally pooling at your hips where Minghao takes control and pulls it off your legs. You’re left clad in only your panties which are now sheen with arousal, cool air pricking at your bare skin under the moonlight.

“Oh fairy,” Minghao nearily moans when you finally lay back down on the grass, tits bare and spilling all over your chest as your naked legs make room for him to sit between them. “So pretty … so naughty …”

“‘m not naughty,” you try to mumble, but the hoarse desperation in your voice gives you away. “J-just, wanna feel go—oh—good,” you finish with a heavy sigh when Minghao’s fingers are at your core again but this time, sliding your panties to the side to reveal your folds.

“Feeling good, huh pretty?” Minghao murmurs, not giving you a moment’s rest as he plunges his fingers right into the dripping mess. You cry out, back arching off the soft grass as you feel the length of his long, thick fingers slide between your pulsing folds.

“Oh, f-fu—” Your eyebrows furrow when you feel one finger circle around your glistening hole, causing your whole body to twitch with an ache you didn’t even know was possible to feel.

“Say it fairy, say it,” Minghao groans, hearing the dying words on your lips.

“It’s dirty,” you whimper, one hand shooting down to circle around his wrist as you try to guide his finger into your throbbing hole, but Minghao holds his stature firm.

“Say it, or I won’t make you feel good,” he threatens, and your eyes widen as a complaint bubbles at your throat. The way Minghao gives you that warning, predatory look shuts you right up.

“Oh—oh fuck,” you finally mewl. The way your plush lips let the word fall so kindly from your lips has Minghao’s head spinning, and he can’t even find it in him to control himself when he finally sinks his fingers into your hot cunt. “Minghao—”

“So scandalous, huh pretty?” Minghao asks you with condescension dripping from his tone as your eyes roll to the back of your head when he rubs his fingers against your gummy walls. “The perfect fairy … messing around with some fuckin’ mean-faced, bad, bad demon.”

“‘s’not like that,” you try to gasp out, core throbbing when he somehow sinks his fingers in deeper. Your legs writhe around Minghao, but his firm hand plants itself on your right thigh, pressing you down and into compliance.

He hums lowly, the sound rumbling deep in his throat as he watches you struggle to keep your composure; Minghao can see it already—the way your forearms tremble under your weight as you lose yourself to him entirely. “You sure fairy? ‘cause from what I’m seeing … it’s exactly like that.”

There’s a protest right at the tip of your tongue but then he grazes against this one spot inside your hot, tight cunt that has you crying out, head thrown back, eyes rolling all over the place until you’re panting: “M-Minghao it feels—oh, don’t stop!”

There’s a dark sort of grin that tugs at his plush lips as those words leave your mouth. With one eyebrow raised, he starts to fuck his fingers into you faster, thumb toying roughly with your clit as you mindlessly buck your hips into his hand. “Aw, my pretty’s gonna cum? You gonna cum?”

There isn’t a single thought in your mind, and even if there was, you wouldn’t be able to comprehend what Minghao was saying, yet still there’s that funny, burning feeling building in your stomach as all you know is that you don’t want to let it—you can’t let it stop. “Y-yeah,” you whimper as your walls tighten around his fingers. “Yeah … H-hao—I wanna cum.”

Minghao smirks at the slurred words, placing a kiss on your shoulder blade when he feels you spasm under him. “Cum for me, fairy,” he murmurs when you cry out his name, hands flying up to grip his shoulders as waves of pleasure crash down on you.

Broken words die at your lips as you erupt into high pitched moans , orgasm taking over you; Minghao sucks and nips at your neck until finally tracing his lips up to yours, engulfing you in a deep kiss as you ride out the high.

“There we go fairy, pretty fairy … looks so cute when she cums …” Minghao says once he finally pulls away, gazing down at your blown out eyes as you struggle to sit up right. Steadily, he lifts his hand from between your legs, tracing the warm stickiness across the insides of your thighs before holding it up in front of your face.

“Th-that’s—” You inhale deeply before continuing, still staring at the glistening arousal that coats his fingers. “—that’s embarrassing, Minghao,” you rush out, reaching out to swat his hand away, but he dodges and instead plunges the fingers in his own mouth.

His eyes don’t break away from yours, staring down at you in a way that has your sensitive core buzzing all over again with that sweet excitement. “You taste so good, pretty,” Minghao says lustfully, finally pulling his fingers out with a loud popping sound. He watches you carefully for a few moments—the way your pupils are dilated, your bare chest heaving gently, skin wearing a glossy layer of sweat, face flush with swollen lips …

Minghao wants to ruin you.

“You’ll let me do more, pretty?” he asks, and the way he peers down at you with dark, alluring eyes has your head nodding before you can even think to imagine what Minghao means by more. “Good fairy,” he purrs, crawling onto his knees back between your legs, nudging your thighs apart.

“What—what are we doing?” you ask him innocently, eyes widening when he reaches for the dark, ragged shirt that hugs his torso and pulls it off. Your first instinct is to reach out and touch because fuck, he’s beautiful, and you’ve always been one to admire the beautiful.

His body is firm with muscle, heavy round shoulders shining under the moonlight as you back into the ground. Minghao is on top of you now, hands on either side of your head as he hovers over you. “You’ll feel good,” he tells you, watching how you run your hands all over his sides as if you were a child being shown candy for the first time.

“Again?” you ask innocently, eyelashes batting up to look him in the eye as your hands instinctively find the waistband of his pants. Minghao lets one corner of his lips lift up in a half smile, nodding his head as if to tell you to go on.

“Yeah, again,” Minghao reaffirms, and you’d be lying if you didn’t squeeze your thighs just a little closer together at the thought. “We’ll feel good together,” he says, and oh this will mark the loss of your sanity, because something in your blood buzzes at the thought of Minghao feeling good right alongside you and you spiral.

Suddenly desperate, you’re yanking down his pants—you don’t even know what’s coming your way (have no clue really), but you also don’t care because you’re just so needy and you know (you just know) Minghao will give it all.

“There we go,” he coos, helping you out with one hand to shove down the dark pants and black underwear that sits beneath. His length springs out in an instant, firm as it hits against your inner thigh with a loud slapping sound that rings in your ears.

Eyes glossy as you mindlessly gaze down at him, your mouth watering at the mere sight of the flush red tip, milky white oozing out from the top and glittering under the minimal light. “You like the sight, fairy?” he asks, reaching to pinch your cheek lightly. Your nose scrunches up for a moment, but you soon lean into his touch when your eyes trail back down to his thick length.

“Y-yeah,” you admit bashfully, letting him shuffle closer between your legs until his length sits on your stomach, balls pressed against your puffy folds. The light contact has your head going dizzy already, and takes every ounce of self restraint to not moan at the feeling.

“G’na be right here here,” Minghao mutters, running his wet fingers over the base of his length, holding it up just to tap it back down on the base of your stomach. “Cock’s gonna fuck you all the way here,” and the thought of being so deep seems to be just as numbing to Minghao as it is to you because you catch the way he gulps down hard.

“Please,” you choke out when he shifts against you, his cock brushing against your throbbing clit a bit harder. “Please—fuck, I need it now, Hao—please.”

“Poor fairy,” Minghao groans, pulling his hips back so his cock no longer rests against your stomach but now slides between your sticky folds. “Poor, poor baby … begging a filthy demon for his cock.”

The way your cunt tightens around nothing at his words has you questioning everything anyone has ever told you, but the thoughts are wiped from your mind when his fat tip nudges against your now aching hole.

“Oh fuck, it’s s’big Minghao,” you murmur when he presses himself into you. “O-oh, I don’t—I don’ think s’gonna fit,” you gasp out when he slips in further, eyes stinging with tears of both pain and pleasure.

“You want to stop?” he asks, stilling his movements.

“No!” you exclaim, a little too quickly maybe, because your excitement has Minghao’s eyes darkening in a way that tells you you’re really in for it now. “I-I—no … I don’t want you to stop.”

“Hm,” Minghao hums while nodding. “Then there’s nothing to worry about,” he says casually in that low, gravely voice that has your breath getting stuck in your throat. “I’ll make it fit.”

Your legs tremble when he sinks his length into you even deeper, punching moans right out of your lungs and squirming under his arms until you feel his pelvis brush against your clit. You’re a babbling mess right now, Minghao having his chest pressed against yours as you whisper into his mouth about how it “feels so good,” how you “feel s’full,” how you’re “in love … so in love.”

“See fairy,” he murmurs, dragging his length out at a dangerously slow pace before shoving back into you at once so fast his balls slap against your skin with a harsh sting. “Made it fit, didn’t I?”

You wanna cry out and say yeah, yeah he fucking did, but your tongue feels like lead when you try to speak, only moans and squeaks of pleasure escaping your lips as his cock fucks into you faster. Minghao’s got one hand by your head, the other trailing all over your body—tracing the curves of your torso, cupping the flesh of your tits, playing with the sensitive nub of your nipple—you might as well be insane from the way your blood rushes at the feeling.

It’s so much—so, so, so much and you aren’t even sure how your body is taking it all, but there Minghao is, whispering sweet, dirty nothings by the shell of your ear.

“You like it? You like it don’t you fairy?”

“Wonder what the other fairies would think of this …”

“Moan louder pretty … put on a show for the whole damn forest, will you?”

It’s a muddled mess in your head, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you dig your heels into the ground to help thrust your own hips upwards to meet the snap of Minghao’s hips. The sloshing puddle of wetness between your thighs lets out obscene sounds that bounce off the trees around you. You wonder if you should be ashamed by how the sound makes your cunt clench.

“Put your hands up pretty,” Minghao grunts through sharp, pointed thrusts. The words fly over you for a moment, not understanding a bit of what he’s saying until his movements still and your eyes widen.

“W-what—why’d you—”

“Put your hands up.”

“S-sorry,” you moan in blind compliance, quickly lifting your hands and crossing your wrists above your head. Minghao’s larger hand is over them in an instant, pressing them into the soft grass as he goes back to fucking into you.

It’s messy now; hips jamming into hips in a passionately frantic pattern that has your body throttling in all kinds of directions until that familiar feeling balls inside of you once more. “Hao, ‘m gonna cum—”

“Wait. We’re supposed to feel together, right? Isn’t that right fairy?”

“Fuck!” you whine, hands thrashing under the strong hold Minghao has on you, desperate to touch him. “Don’t think I can wait, Minghao—oh—”

“You can do it fairy, do it for me,” he demands, punctuating the last word with a deep thrust that has your stomach feeling like it’s being pushed just to make room for him. “Hold it,” he orders, and you would be damned if you disobeyed Minghao, and so you dig your fingers into his back and pull him down for a deep kiss, trying to hold off from your impending orgasm.

He kisses you sloppily, and there’s tongue and teeth and lips all over each other until you’re both pantining into each others’ mouths. “Are you gonna cum?” you ask frantically when he pulls away, eyebrows furrowed with pure desperation. “Please—please, oh my g—Minghao, I need a cum!” you cry out as your walls begin to flutter and your legs begin to shake.

“Cum fairy—cum all over me,” Minghao groans when you tighten around his cock as he rails into you relentlessly, feeling his own end come near. “Lemme cum inside, pretty, fuck—”

Your mind spins at the thought of Minghao filling your hot cunt up and you can’t even think straight before you start to beg, “Yes, yes, yes please.”

“Fuck, gonna let me fill this fairy pussy all the way up, huh? Oh—pretty, fuck I’ll cum if you keep squeezing me like tha—oh.”

Something warm fills your core, walls spasming in an overstimulated mess as Minghao continues to fuck the oozing liquid back into you with vigor. “Shit—Minghao,” you whimper once his hips finally start to slow and eventually still, softening cock flopping out of your drenched folds.

His eyes are sharp as they watch you look up at him hazily. “That felt nice,” you murmur, swaying a little as the aftermath of two orgasms leaves you a trembling mess. Minghao is quick to reach for you, steadying you in his arms and onto his lap, bringing you in for a kiss.

It’s soft and sloppy, and you can feel your senses getting muddled up all over again as you cuddle into him. Minghao chuckles softly, looking down at your figure and then the dark trees that are around.

“Fuck, fairy …” He grins when he catches a glint of a dark eyed demon in the shadows. “You really put on a damn show, huh?”

(Minghao wonders how many times he’ll get to fuck you before Jeonghan starts telling the other demons about your guys’ little secret. Not that that’ll stop him anyways—he’s got the prettiest fairy in the whole damn forest at the palm of his hands, and he’d be damned if he let you go.)

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ive seen you say terusai is implied a lot but i dont remember ever seeing you explain why you think that

yeah now that you say it, i dont think ive ever gone into depth about it 😭 its really hard to put my thoughts into words because its sooo much, i started writing a long analysis recently on their relationship, why i believe they have feelings for each other, and why they would work but itll probably sit unfinished in my drafts for a while

for now, i'll give you a few of my most noteworthy thoughts...

the mixer scene has teruhashi unknowingly proving to saiki that her feelings are true, and he accepts that and stops trying to get her to stop pursuing him. i dont believe he ever actually makes any REAL effort to try to stop her from liking him ever again after this. he genuinely hadnt acknowledged her feelings as true or at least not as deep yet, which is why he thinks hes succeeding at getting her to move on until she proves that not only is she still thinking of him, but shes NOT thinking of a fake version of him... shes thinking of HIM... she genuinely enjoys his company even when hes doing nothing but sitting there (which is factually and obviously what he wouldve been doing in this situation, people deny that for some odd reason but like. thats what he does. with ANYONE. even his own family and everyone else who knows of his powers.) and wants him around... i think some part of him stopped because he felt guilty for not believing her feelings were true and trying to control her heart despite her genuine intentions, and another part of him was realizing that he doesnt WANT her to stop having feelings for him... otherwise, why would he drag the other guys away WHILE acknowledging that she wouldnt have gone with them anyway??? after inserting himself into a rock paper scissors game for who gets to be the one to be with her???? HELLO?

and the offu, although i dont believe it was a direct declaration of him being in love with her or whatever, has obvious canon romantic connotations... teruhashis determination is something saiki has admired about her since the very beginning, but it isnt until THIS moment that he thinks in depth about what that entails... she makes him realize all at once that she truly IS the type of person he admires most... and his "offu" is exactly what teruhashi needs, she would have a straight up epiphany if she knew about it, because he DIDNT gasp at how beautiful she is, or anything she forced herself to do, or when she forced herself to CHANGE, he ONLY gasped when she let herself embrace a part of herself that was REAL and TRUE, her unwavering dedication and pride.

THIS chapter is where they both have huge realizations about themselves and each other, and they both prove that theyre more than willing to meet in the middle for the other...

saiki lives his life forcing himself to blend into the background, not because he genuinely wants to but because hes afraid to be SEEN.

teruhashi lives her life forcing herself to be perfect and the center of attention, not because she genuinely enjoys it but because she believes she wont get the validation she feels she needs if she doesnt give everyone exactly what they want from her.

and yet, here saiki is, allowing himself to jump into the spotlight and be seen catching teruhashi out of nowhere and carrying her to the nurse. and here teruhashi is, allowing herself to be seen being imperfect, forgetting something, and not caring about her conversation with these men. FOR EACH OTHER. they both let themselves break down a wall because they care more about the other than about the fake selves they dedicate their entire lives to, THEIR GENUINE CARE FOR EACH OTHER GIVES THEM THE COURAGE TO DO THAT.

and this is probably the number one reason why i think their feelings for each other are implied... this alternate timeline is quite clearly one where saiki is more open with his friends, and he and teruhashi ARE DATING in this universe. theres absolutely no other explanation for the author writing that. he spelled out "IF SAIKI WERE MORE OPEN WITH HIS FRIENDS, HE WOULD BE DATING TERUHASHI"

the saiki of that timeline isnt exactly the same as the saiki we know of course, and their relationship will not develop in the same way, but theres clearly intention behind this and it wouldnt be written and called attention to if there was no significance, youd have to jump through hoops to deny that 😭

overall, i think they both have a lot of work to do on themselves before they can be in a relationship, but not only do i believe they WILL eventually get there but also that they both need each other on their personal journey to get to that point, or at least that they are and will continue to be important in the others journey there, and their romantic feelings for each other are so clear... these two are so important to one another...

[eddiesgmcsierra1500denali]

i'd love it if you reposted it! thank you so much 💚

all 2.8k (+ nsfw) beneath the cut just for you <3 <3 <3 we'll see if i ever come back to it

Despite being caught in a perpetual rush of his own making, Eddie is very rarely late. He’s always a little bit convinced that he might be, though, which is why it’s so endearing that every day, without fail, he finds the time to text: Morning, Buck.

Sometimes, Buck likes to wonder where Eddie had paused in his routine to make that kind of room for him. 

It could never be right after waking up, of course, but maybe he’d tapped it out one-handed as he brushed his teeth. Just before calling for Christopher to get out of bed, since Chris frequently sleeps through all three of his alarms. While waiting for his bagel to pop out of the toaster, or maybe after burning something on the stove, because it’s possible that he’d look at the remains of his breakfast in his pan and think, It’s easier when Buck’s around to make my eggs. 

Buck imagines this most often, even if it’s the least likely scenario.

He could have also decided to text right after he finished making his bed; in the middle of trying to find his misplaced wallet, which is usually forgotten in a pocket somewhere, although in that case he’d complain and ask Buck if he had any fucking idea where it could be; or once he was finally, firmly behind the wheel of his truck, about to put on the shitty country playlist he listens to on the road. The options are endless.

Buck’s phone vibrates, like clockwork. He closes his eyes. 

Apropos of nothing—nothing at all—he decides it’s possible that Eddie has just finished working out, which means he’s about to get into the shower, because he’s hot and sweat-damp all over. He’s probably peeled his shirt off already, if he’d deigned to wear one at all, after which he’d raked his hair out of his eyes and, still panting, remembered Buck.

Yeah, that’s probably it. That’s what’s most likely. Eddie’s been working out a lot. Probably what inspired that dream, too—the first one Buck’s had in months. Just him, processing all the ways Eddie’s changed lately. 

He sighs. He has to wipe himself clean before he can respond.

***

Most of Buck’s dreams are not about Eddie. The dreams that are about Eddie tend to hurt, leaving him off-kilter until the real thing, flesh and blood and smiling mouth, recenters him. 

He wonders if Eddie’s the same way. It would explain the ritual text, if the habit were a Hope you’re not actually dead! thing rather than the My best friend is always on my mind! thing Buck accidentally turned it into, as he does. He’d be okay if it were the former; he understands the impulse all too well, since he’d nursed a similar compulsion with Bobby for the same reason in the surreal months following his coma.

But, admittedly, it’d be better if Eddie loved him enough to think of him, always. 

Anyway, because dream-Eddie is generally riddled with bullets or riddled with bullets and drowning or otherwise suffering some amalgamation of all the terrible things Buck’s ever seen, it’s far less disturbing when Buck’s subconscious paints a picture of them sleeping together.

At least the version of Eddie who fucks him doesn’t exist, and never has.

***

He knows it’s Eddie marrow-deep, the way anyone knows anything in a dream.

Buck opens his eyes to light everywhere, so radiant the entire bedroom shimmers, a pale beam of it crossing Eddie’s long golden fingers where they’re clasped around Buck’s forearms to keep him in place. Eddie’s draped along his back, unapologetic about letting Buck, prone and practically immobilized, bear his full weight. Buck can’t see him, and he doesn’t say a word, just rubs his mouth into the spot beneath Buck’s ear and digs his thumbs into the insides of Buck’s wrists, but Buck is certain Eddie’s smiling. His mustache, which he’d long-since shaved in real life, is bristly, but nice. Really nice. Softer than Buck had thought it would be.

Then there’s the matter of Eddie’s cock, which he rocks slowly into the cleft of Buck’s ass. Buck can’t see that either, but it feels nice, too, stiff and hot and already soaked at the head. Buck tries to arch into him, give him something else, make it better; Eddie just laughs and keeps working him into the mattress, a lazy pantomime of a real fuck.

Dissatisfied, Buck struggles beneath him. Eddie bites him at the nape like an animal, hard enough to sting, and flattens his chest between Buck’s shoulder blades to settle him. He flexes his grip on Buck’s arms. Trapped like this, Buck can feel all of him: his ribs expand, and his belly presses into Buck’s spine as he sighs. 

The restlessness—whatever it is, that under-the-skin itch to stay in motion—drains away, defeated by Eddie’s wordless command. Buck sighs, too, turning his cheek into the pillow. 

The thing is, he knows it’s Eddie because it couldn’t be anyone else. 

“Good. That’s good,” Eddie says, low, dragging kisses across Buck’s jaw and cheek.

Buck’s not even doing anything. Eddie won’t let him, so he doesn’t try—even as mouthwatering want seizes his gut and pours blistering heat through his pelvis. He can’t stop shifting his erection against the sheets. The praise still doesn’t feel entirely unearned.

“It’d be better,” Buck says, “if you would actually put it in.”

“We ain’t got time for that,” Eddie says. Then (and he’s definitely smiling—the shape of it curls around his words): “Morning, Buck.”

It’s the familiar, beloved rasp of Eddie’s voice, that mundanity paired with getting almost-fucked, that makes Buck groan with impatience and spread his thighs. A blunted ache throbs behind Buck’s sternum. It’s dirty to let himself be overpowered this way, he thinks, except for that it feels closer to being held than pinned. With Eddie—his warm skin, his steady breath—it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same.

“Come on, Eddie,” he says. “Quit humping me.” 

“That’s usually my line.”

“Woof,” Buck huffs, and they both laugh—Eddie’s, shaky and breathless, his cock nudging right where Buck needs him; Buck’s, a little awed over this quotidian exchange alone. 

Buck noses to the side and opens his mouth against the back of Eddie’s hand, licking at the thin salty skin. He imagines there’s a vein there. He imagines he can feel the blood inside of it pulsing on his tongue—onto his tongue—and follows it to Eddie’s knuckles. Scraping his teeth over them, he tries again: “We could make time.”

“You might be off today, but I’m gonna be late for my shift,” Eddie says. He’s wrong. He’s never late. Buck hitches his ass up, insistently seeking contact.

Eddie groans, long-suffering, dropping his over-warm face into Buck’s shoulder.

“You won’t. And if you are, I—I’ll tell Cap it was my fault,” Buck coaxes. 

He doesn’t have to, since Eddie’s already letting go of him, spitting into his palm, drawing away just enough to reach down, wet his dick, and guide it firmly into place. But it’s nice to beg so freely, even nicer to chase down that singular moment where Eddie gives in. To keep pushing, just because he can—because Eddie allows it, every time.

“Please don’t,” Eddie snorts. He rubs up against Buck’s hole, purposeful rather than teasing now, and Buck shivers, clenching under the contact. “I’m pretty sure that breaks the station law against oversharing, and I don’t have enough cash left for the Buck’s Big Mouth jar.”

Buck’s shameless snickering dissolves into a wavering moan as Eddie eases forward, opening him on just the tip first. Even that feels like a lot, feels fucking good, the first couple inches igniting nerves that make the backs of his thighs tingle.

“Fuck,” he says. Whimpers, really, kind of airy and tremulous.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“This what you wanted?” Eddie’s pressed all the way into him, flush with Buck’s ass. He grabs Buck around the hip to maneuver the angle, tilting him perfectly into place as if by instinct. The first firm thrust wrenches all the air from Buck’s lungs.

“Eddie,” is all he manages, naturally.

The slide is effortless, too easy with spit alone, but Eddie’s cock fills him up so well that all Buck can think is that if this is real, if this is happening, then maybe it was just meant to be right here, taking up all this space inside him, and that Eddie was meant to be here, too, the whole of his body an anchor. His hips begin to snap, hard and focused enough to get Buck panting. 

“W—Wait,” Buck gasps. “Go slow.”

Eddie obliges, of course. He kisses the nape of Buck’s neck, the sore spot he’d used to bully Buck into submission before. It tickles. 

“Slower,” he begs—for the first time in his life, probably. It’s a sudden, inconvenient desire, considering they really don’t have much time. 

Incredulous but uneven, Eddie asks, “Seriously?” 

Buck grins. “Yeah,” he says.

Eddie’s got a grounding hand clamped tight and high on Buck’s waist, fingertips hooking beneath his ribs. Buck reaches around, takes him by the wrist, and guides that hand up to his throat, choking off his own desperate moaning mostly because he knows Eddie finds it unbearably hot. 

“Buck,” Eddie maybe mumbles, although it’s hard to decipher through the hazy head rush. He gives Buck a loving squeeze, but that’s not enough; after squeezing his wrist in return, Buck tugs him up until he can wrap his lips around Eddie’s forefingers and suck. 

He’d asked for slow, so Eddie’s barely even fucking him anymore. His hips remain crushed to Buck’s ass; he’s rocking forward in small, tight motions like there’s any way to get deeper. There isn’t, there can’t be. Stretched raw, speared apart, Buck already feels disassembled. 

Eddie shifts, and it’s—“There, right there,” Buck groans, garbled with his mouth full, but Eddie understands. 

He must take it as, like, permission, or something—God, that’s a nice idea—because he presses down on the ridge of Buck’s bottom teeth and pushes his nose against Buck’s ear and gives it to him. No more of that indolent grinding; he slams in, smooth and ceaseless, unforgiving on Buck’s prostate.

“I love you,” Eddie says, hoarse with sudden emotion. “You know that?” 

Fuck, yes—with Eddie’s broad, calloused palm holding his jaw fast, and Eddie’s fingers down his throat, and Eddie’s sweaty cheek brushing his, and Eddie’s big cock ripping him wide, he does. He feels it everywhere. He cries out, muffled, guttural, and deliriously pleased as the heat builds. 

“Answer me,” Eddie murmurs. He slips his fingers out of Buck’s mouth. A strand of drool keeps them connected to Buck’s lower lip. One particularly rude thrust punches a strangled noise out of him. 

“Fuck, Eddie, I—I know.”

“What do you know?”

“You love me,” Buck says. “I know you love me.”

“That’s right,” Eddie says, pressing a sloppy, proprietary kiss under Buck’s ear. “I love you, Buck.”

“I want—”

“You ready to come?”

“Yeah,” Buck moans, and then, “No, I—” 

Somehow, with Eddie surrounding him, it hadn’t occurred to Buck how badly he needed to breathe his air and touch him, too—to kiss his mouth, taste the sweat on his mustache. To thumb at his furrowed brow. To watch him come and bask in the blazing heat of his satisfaction. 

Eddie would like it—filling Buck up, flooding him inside. He does like it. Doesn’t he? Likes laying his claim, more than anything. 

That’s what it really is, after all, when he gives Buck his cock, and his come, and his bite, and his hand around Buck’s throat, and every spare, hard-won minute he’s got. I love you really means that Buck’s his to keep, and Eddie even says that in his sleep sometimes, mumbled into Buck’s hair and occasionally broken by his embarrassing snoring. 

He must like that Buck belongs to him. He has to. More than anything, Buck needs to look Eddie in the eye when he says everything he wants to say, so he can be absolutely certain of this. He was certain, a moment ago, but Eddie’s grasp on him is weakening, or maybe Buck’s slipping out of his hold. 

Buck tries to tell him, “I want to see you.”

Ideally, Eddie will grin when Buck turns in the cage of his arms and begs: Don’t go anywhere. I love you, too. Let’s just do this forever. I can take it. He’ll make that sound he makes, that quietly amused “Hm,” that has a million meanings, all of which Buck has memorized. He’ll dutifully argue that they’d probably miss their real life eventually—plus they’ve got a mortgage to pay and Buck would get bored without the thrill of saving lives. Eddie’s good at choosing the right moment to be a little bit terrible, so he’ll grab Buck by the thighs to stifle any retort, haul him into position to pound him just right, and say something irresistibly dirty, like, Give it to me, sweetheart, show me how you come. 

And Buck would. He’s already close; it’s knifing through his belly, the only palpable feeling left—

Forget an orgasm; he doesn’t even get to roll over before the whole scene washes away, taking Eddie with it.

Panting, Buck blinks the afterimage of Eddie’s hands out of his head, but he can’t banish the thought that he wouldn’t let Eddie try to convince him of anything. He’d pull him down, kiss him hard, lick his canine teeth, and plead again, and again, and again, until Eddie agreed to use his body as a dwelling; to live inside him, and nowhere else.

***

It’s not weird that he jerked off. 

The dream was near-cinematic and left him with a desperate hard-on; he obviously couldn’t walk into work in that state. And, actually, in a way it’s less weird that he’d jerked off thinking of Eddie over anybody else. He’d bet real money that anyone who’s spent more than thirty seconds in close proximity with Eddie has done the same. Buck is a self-respecting bisexual man and Eddie is devastating on his worst days; of course the image of him ruddy-cheeked and slick with sweat was going to get Buck across the finish line in—what, thirty pathetic seconds?

In fact, it turns out that envisioning Eddie was the most efficient choice, given that he walks into the station just shy of being late. 

He changes quickly, then heads out to the apparatus bay, where Bobby is currently holding court. Eddie’s eyes barely flicker as he slides over on the stairs to make room for Buck to settle in beside him. 

“Morning, Buck,” he says.

Buck’s stomach tenses. 

“H—Hey,” he responds, in the tone and cadence of someone who did not recently shoot off so hard he might have actually shed a tear, and all to the echo of dream-Eddie—only dream-Eddie—saying that exact thing. The corner of Eddie’s lips twitch as he restrains his smile; it’d have been imperceptible were Buck not already looking at it—his mouth, that is. 

He should probably stop doing that. Bobby gives him a good reason to turn away. 

Over the course of their morning briefing, Eddie begins to lean into Buck. He shuffles his feet until his legs are angled open wide and he and Buck are pressed together from their knees all the way down to the sides of their boots. Buck glances over occasionally, and Eddie notices each time; he doesn’t say anything, though, and doesn’t seem to think anything of it, his expression mostly unchanging. In every halfway moment between meeting Eddie’s eye and returning his attention to where it belongs, Buck is compelled to look down into the space between Eddie’s thighs, where his interlaced hands hang loosely. Those hands were all he’d gotten to see of Eddie, in the dream—all he’d gotten to touch and taste.

He wonders at Eddie’s fingers, how the shape of them would fit his mouth. Eddie’s knuckles digging into his hard palate. The unyielding edge of bone between his teeth. Would they make him gag? Would he care if they did? Probably not. There’s a small, still-fresh cut disappearing into the web between Eddie’s middle and ring fingers. The moment Buck imagines probing his tongue against it, he swallows hard against the feeling that there’s an immovable smoldering coal lodged in his esophagus, radiating unpleasant heat through his chest. 

Buck rubs his palm absently from his collarbone to his heart and back up again to scratch at his neck. He doesn’t realize he’s begun to chew his thumbnail ragged until Eddie nudges an elbow into his side to get him to quit. 

For some reason, he mumbles, “Sorry.” Eddie tilts his head and half-smiles, silently accepting this nonspecific and entirely unnecessary apology. Buck can bite his nails if he wants, but he shoves his hands into his pockets to stave off the urge.

[theloveinc]

jo togame x reader - on possessiveness

(warning: she/her reader, pet names, alcohol, etc.)

-

Jo Togame has quite an odd way of showing possession over you.

He is, of course, always happy to fight with his fists when need be, but unlike some of his… friends, he doesn’t usually feel the need to use violence to show others that you belong to him.

In fact, if anyone asked you about it, you’d probably answer that you’d never even seen your boyfriend jealous—that even when you’re shaking your butt when you’re out with him in a skimpy little number, he’s cool as a cucumber, just like normal.

But that’s not entirely true, as there is a little something he pulls when he notices others paying attention to you the way only he ever should—

“Baby?”

Togame presses his hand against the warmth of your lower back, slow to let it creep down to the curve between your hip and ass as he approaches from behind. You’re leaning against the bar of the busy club, smiling sweetly at the bartender who’s currently adding extra cherries to only one of the two drinks you’ve ordered, now starting to sweat on the lacquered wood where they wait to be handed off.

You are a sight for sore eyes. In Togame’s mind, you always are, but there’s something about tonight especially that has you glowing and has seemingly everyone noticing. If he were anyone aside from your boyfriend, or he was two inches deeper in a nicer mood, it’s possible he wouldn’t be so … irked by the attention you’re receiving… but something about the way this stranger appears to be gunning for more than just a tip doesn’t sit right in his stomach.

“Jo!” you turn away from the show easily, smile going from cheeky to something soft when your eyes lock with his. You’re quick to abandon your previous conversation, full of what Togame observed were comments made for batting beautiful eyelashes and forcing giggles, and lean into him, standing on your tippies to press a kiss to the side of his mouth as a version of hello. “What are you doing? I was just about to find you.”

You’re not just a pretty thing, you’re a sweet thing too, and it’s clear you had no intention of finding yourself swept up into a conversation with the man mixing your drink, but nonetheless, anyone who runs tabs at a bar should be able to recognize when the only reason someone keeps responding to their frivolous comments is because they’re too polite to cut short a conversation.

“Is everything okay, my love?” you ask, as though it’s clear something is on Togame’s mind, and you thread your fingers through the soft hair at the back of his scalp to draw his attention back to you.

He has to suppress a grin thinking about the little show he’s giving your new friend.

“I’m not sure,” he responds, letting the words settle one by one, watching as worry starts to weigh down your brow. Though he’s more intent on keeping your focus away from anyone other from him, the bartender’s annoyed expression does not go unnoticed out of the corner of his eye. “The music’s making my head hurt, thinkin’ I might head out soon?”

“Oh no!” you suck in a sharp breath, your lips tightening in a concerned frown as you move to press the back of your hand to his forehead, “want me to come with?”

“It’s okay, baby. Stay. Enjoy yourself, alright?” he presses a kiss to your pout, maneuvering your hand from his face to hold to his chest. He milks the moment, pulls away from the lights, the noise, and the people to drink you in, and remind any animals who think they have a chance at something more than just your courtesy that they don’t, and never, ever will.

“No, no,” you break the silence, dropping your hands from him only to make sure your tiny purse is still attached to the chain hanging from your shoulder before linking his arm with yours, “I’m going. No reason to stay, anyway. Wanna make sure you’re okay.”

(Togame can imagine what will happen when you're home: you'll run him a hot and herbal bath, he'll coax you into the water with him, and the steam will get you both get light headed enough for the medicinal to turn into something more erotic—and by the time the both of you wake up tomorrow, naked, limbs sticky and tangled, he'll be perfectly refreshed.)

“Miss, your drinks?”

You’re half away step away when the bartender calls, but without letting go, you throw a couple hundred yen behind you without even a cold look back.

"You can dump them, sorry.”

And while you take the lead to the road, Togame looks over his shoulder and grins.

She picked me.

[lifeafterartsch00l]

My fav sns smut

or some of it anyway

If Naruto x Sasuke fking nasty is your ☕️

I tried to find all these beloved authors to tag them, but I couldn’t find them all, if you know who they are, plz tag them! Let’s share the ❤️

In no particular order

Healing the Broken by KizuKatana

When people tell me about smut they read in printed books I’m like

Because it’s fics like these that amaze me with their ingenuity, creativity, originality, and boldness 🔥🔥🔥

AKA

This fic isn’t just PWP (although that’s fine too in my book), it’s so well written with character development, action & romance ❤️‍🔥 Predators by the same author is also excellent 👌🏽

Thx u @kizukatana 😊

“Chapters: 23/23

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Underage

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke

Additional Tags: Angst, SPOILERS MANGA CHAPTER 693, Drug Use, sex during drug use, Canon-Typical Violence, canon!sasuke, canon!naruto, Addiction, Slash, narusasunaru, Fix-It, my version of how it should have ended, Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, NSFW, Smut

Series: Part 1 of HTB universe

Summary: The war is over, and Sasuke is brought back to the village after his defeat by Naruto. But he is struggling to re-assimilate into the village. As his mental stability continues to erode, Tsunade and Kakashi ask Naruto to try a different treatment method. Naruto x Sasuke (slash - boy x boy). Post manga chapter 693.

Warning: Hard Yaoi (Boy x Boy) language, angst, mental illness, substance abuse, masturbation, eventual sex. Not appropriate for young readers. 18+

Disclaimer - As with everything I write on this site, I don't own the characters (Kishimoto does), and I make no money. My only payment is in reviews.

Spanish Translation by Linme (thank you!) “

[doujinshi] My Lost Himawari by SouthNorthSound

Me, to the artist (and English translator) of this visually stunning and well written doujinshi -

Seriously. It’s amazing. The visual metaphors. The angst. The way the artist can simply draw a single panel of a close-up Uchiha eye that is so outrageously sultry and sexy I don’t understand 🥵 one of the extra chapters unlocked something in me (the dream one). Bonus that it’s also really funny & has a lot of respect/empathy for its women characters too! If anyone knows who this artist plz let me know I would like to follow them until the end of the world ❤️ the ending healed me 💔

EDIT HOLY S*** GUYS I FOUND THE TRANSLATOR & ARTIST ON TUMBLR

Thx u @southnorthsound 😭❤️🫡🙇🏻‍♀️

Thx u @gigihorseinthehouse 😭 I love you I low key think you’re a genius ok sorry bye 👉🏽👈🏽

"https://archiveofourown.org/works/36581581

[doujinshi] My Lost Himawari by SouthNorthSound

Chapters: 60/60

Fandom: Naruto, Boruto: Naruto Next Generations

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura, Hyuuga Hinata, Uchiha Sarada, Uzumaki Boruto, Uzumaki Himawari, Hatake Kakashi, Nara Shikamaru, Temari (Naruto), Nara Shikadai, Akimichi Chouchou, Gaara (Naruto)

Additional Tags: Fanart, Fan Comics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, SasuNaru - Freeform, NaruSasu - Freeform, Translation, Doujinshi, Fix-It, how it should have ended, Angst, If you don’t understand how they ended up like that in Boruto READ THIS, Poetic, comedic, Loyal to canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, NSFW Art, Sex

Summary: A love story consists of different perspectives and different memories. It’s about saudade / realization / entanglement / out of control / hope / restart

Chapter700 background

Warning: adult content in extra chapters

Fan comics, doujinshi. It's highly recommended to read it on big screens such as iPad or PC. So you can see details about their facial expressions

One of the best Naruto fanart I’ve ever seen. So I translated it ❤”

Inevitablity by Sanauria_Maldhun

If the answer is

A) Yes

B) Kinda

C) Mind your own business rando internet pervert

Congrats all answers are correct = GO READ IT PLZ

Possessive & desperate 🥵 super gay, delicious angst, really hot 🔥 very enjoyable - fun tropes, everything hits just right, utter perfection ❤️ I’m not saying a lot because I don’t want to give away spoilers 😍

I couldn’t find this author on tumblr, plz tag in the comments if you know who they are!

“Chapters: 4/4

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura/Yamanaka Ino

Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, Yamanaka Ino, Haruno Sakura

Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, (between Ino and Naruto), Mutual Pining, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Banter, Domesticity, Pining, Naruto is so in love, and doesn't know how to handle his Feelings, Jealousy, Jealous Sasuke, Jealous Sakura, Post-Chapter 699 (Naruto), Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Sex, Gay Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Bottom Uzumaki Naruto, Top Uchiha Sasuke

Summary: Naruto's stressed and pining after a man who views him only as a friend. Deciding to get married to Ino isn't the best decision he's made (ever), given that they had been absolutely drunk while making such a declaration, but it's... a decision. Besides, what does he have to lose?”

You’ve gotten into my bloodstream (a bite of his heart) by lovenmaze

Nom nom nom 😉 kidding! Not literal cannibalism, it’s a metaphor for love, and this fic is beautiful 😍 poetic & sexy. One shot. Love how Naruto talks to Sasuke in this one (and makes him talk, too, hehe…) 🥵 delicious, please go tuck into this feast ❤️ author made an excellent fic playlist too!

Thx u @lovenmaze 😊

“https://archiveofourown.org/works/56430019

Chapters: 1/1

Rating: Not Rated

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto

Additional Tags: Cannibalistic Thoughts, Cannibalism imagery, First Time, Top Uzumaki Naruto, Bottom Uchiha Sasuke, Tender Sex, Blank Period (Naruto), Confessions, Idiots in Love, Not Beta Read, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Sex, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Smut, they’re both crazy about each other but thats not new, Poetic, Italicized Oh Moment, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, trust me it works and its SO good, consent is sexy !!!, lowkey vampire sasuke vibes

Summary: Sasuke tries to bite softly, he’s not going to eat him, maybe get a taste. Perhaps it’s stupid, but he wants to make sure, so he does. He opens his mouth, tongue touching the skin. His body shudders, and Naruto tastes warm, like skin or flesh; he tastes alive.

“A kiss is the beginning of cannibalism.”

AKA, The tender, fluffy, first-time, cannibalism (imagery), smut NaruSasu AU. [EDITED.]”

❤️Thx all u amazing authors u make me feel like this❤️

[followerofmercy]

Oh my God I just realized the reason Arlecchino is Like That is because she's never known a parental figure as anything but an antagonist. Essay incoming:

I saw some really good analysis pointing out that Crucabena's existence was almost certainly a retcon for the Knave/Director of the House of Hearth's unforgivable behavior, and I agree. Nobody's ages make any sense without having to do a mental contortionist act and there was a distinct vibe of the Chasm Hearthlings being particularly brutal.

(That is part of why I don't usually get into super long-running stories. There will inevitably be some half baked ideas that you have to introduce early on for foreshadowing, but then the rest of the story moves in a way where there's a better option, and then you have to find a way to make the new idea work with the groundwork already laid. Personally, I think a footnote saying "We changed our minds - this is the edited version" is perfectly acceptable. A story is a conversation between the audience and author but whatever)

ANYWAY! It feels so fucking weird saying this because while I'm on the "they should be Worse, Actually" train 99% of the time, this is that 1% where I think Arlecchino being on the very very light side of morally gray makes for a way more interesting story than if they had've kept her true to the original idea.

I love evil women more than the next guy but I think the continued operation of the House of Hearth being a spit in the face to the Fontainian government and the Fatui and the idea of how a 'normal' family should look - because none of these kids are normal and that has directly led to their abuse - and that being a good thing is. Idk. Refreshing? I think it's a much more powerful message that Arlecchino was the only goddamn person that actually got results trying to do something about all these abused children. She is actually doing some incredible work in a terrible situation. In a world where these kids’ options are “being trafficked” and “Fatui pawns,” I think “Independent child soldiers operating under the Fatui banner but staying true to themselves” is a pretty damn good alternative. 

It’s also important that the rest of society’s lack of care is directly responsible for the continued existence of the House of Hearth as it is. I mean fuck’s sake, Fontaine has a community of people living in the SEWER. If there was a public orphanage that wasn’t operated by predators, I’m sure most children would be there instead! But no. Nobody wants these kids. And, God forbid Wriothesley decided to do something about being sold. The victim blaming is off the charts. There is no way for Arlecchino to operate peacefully within the existing system, so she made her own. 

So the actual point of this essay: It’s everywhere in Arlecchino’s story, dialogue and actions that she wants her children to support each other, but because of how Crucabena raised her, she can’t really envision herself as part of that family (even if she actually is part of it and the majority of the kids love her dearly.) A parent is something to be feared, eventually killed, and removed from the path of their successor. Everyone likes to highlight little Perurere asking if it’s normal for biological mothers and daughters to argue. On some level I think she knows it’s wrong, but still. Literally all she’s ever seen is a parent as an obstacle to overcome. None of the children in her care had good parents and, if they did, the parents are dead. 

(Also hot take that Crucabena probably thought extremely highly of Arlecchino and gave her special treatment. She felt that Clervie was holding her actual favorite daughter back. I imagine Arlecchino also has very complicated feelings in Crucabena’s role in raising her to be as strong as she is while also being an objective monster, but that’s a topic for another time.) 

Even Arlecchino’s constellation talks about her being alone while instructing her children to care for one another. That separation ties into her being outwardly contradictory about rules. In her story quest, she spends the majority of it aware that her children are disobeying her, but as long as she doesn’t catch them, she can’t rightfully punish them now can she? Now excuse her while she makes herself scarce so they can get up to their mischief. She lip services - and by that I mean lies - about the importance of rules. She Actively Encourages her children to disobey her so long as they do it smart, which is a way to teach them how to circumvent the unjust laws of Fontaine and the Fatui without getting caught. If her kids fuck up bad enough she’ll “punish” them before they get actually killed by something worse than her, and if they successfully trick her (with her blessing), then there’s a good chance they’ll live. (Or, yk, if they wanna leave she’ll let them asldfj) 

So, again, I'll keep preaching that Arlecchino's whole MO is that she is setting herself up as an antagonist for her children, and her children's allies, to test themselves against. She actively encourages rebellion against her, unfair rules, the system, the Fatui, Fontaine, etc, because that's how she survived her own upbringing and the only way she knows for her family to protect themselves. She is keenly aware that she is Not Gentle, Not Fair (even if I do neglect that part in my own writing), and that there probably is a better way to do things. That’s why she wants Lyney specifically to succeed her. She cannot envision a perfect Hearth with her in it because she is the Parent, and historically, Parents are obstacles to be removed. 

Arlecchino’s greatest wish as the King of the House of Hearth is to be dethroned, and I think that is WAY more interesting than the abusive, violent tyrant Hoyo teased at first.

[baby-tini]

general yandere dazai hcs pretty please

TW- Manipulative Behavior, Psychological Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Controlling Behavior, Implied Threat With A Gun, Love-Bombing, Isolation He's far from your average yandere, he is far too manipulative, intelligent and calculating too ever be categorized as something so simple. It's a slow-burn, for Dazai too develop an obsession- or even a relationship. It'd be pretty slow, and you wouldn't even know it's coming. He also has a deep understanding of people and how they work, so he would use his extensive knowledge against you. He'd use a mix of love-bombing and the silent treatment. It'd be more of a way too program you, as in, reward and punishment. He'd definitely use extreme versions of them as well, like, dousing you in affection when you do simple tasks for him and being almost brutal when you make mistakes. Now, he is a firm believer in that, a punishment should match a mistake, For example, if you start too go against his wishes, he'll just completely ignore you, because if you don't listen to him, there's no point in him even talking to you.. that's what you think it is anyway, and he lets you. When he does finally have you in his grasp, he'll slowly start too isolate you. He'll turn more into a toxic boyfriend then a yandere, because he does know how too keep his behavior in check when he needs too. If isolation doesn't work, he'll start too turn people against you, so that you'll really be isolated and all you have is him too run back too, just how he likes it... and wants it. He doesn't let you work, so expect too quit your job. If you work at the agency though, he won't let you do cases, you'll sadly be stuck doing paperwork, and when you try and complain to him. He'll over-exaggerate cases, making them seem more serious and gruesome then they actually are, just stating that he doesn't want your pretty eyes too see such... grotesque things. He is very good at making his obsessive tendencies and controlling behavior seem just like that of a protective boyfriend, and obviously you take his word for it, he's a detective after all, he's seen all the horrible things people can do... and, you can't be mad at him for just wanting too keep you safe, that's not fair to him. He is more into the psychological aspect of breaking you down. Your social life being first, then your confidence... which will then lead to your, what he sees as, misbehavior following suit. You don't have too do anything for yourself anymore, just let him do it all for you, and you mistakenly do, because he just wants too help.. right? I think the worst thing about being in a relationship with Yandere!Dazai is just the utter mind fuck you receive from outsiders, because of just how charming he can be with people, and they're constantly telling you how lucky you are too have such an amazing partner... but is it really that amazing when you guys go home that night and the light in his eyes die out as he asks you why you held such a long conversation with another man as his gun sits on the bed next to him.

[keyotos]

kiss the girl

summary ⎯ five times dan heng has thought about kissing you, and the one time he actually does.

tana's words ⎯ i've been recently listening to kiss the girl (ashley tisdale version) and its cute and made me think of dan heng. and idk if this follows canon story or not bc im not at xianzhou yet lolz.

also ik the title says 'kiss the girl' but that's only bc i was listening to the song. reader is gender neutral.

tags ⎯ friends to lovers. pining i think. hurt and comfort (at the end). flustered dan heng. fluff i think.

THE FIRST TIME dan heng thinks about kissing you, he immediately pushes away the thought. it was out of character; it was outrageous for him to think of a friend that way. it made him feel perverted for even thinking of the action.

it was a sunny day. you two (plus march and stelle) were in belobog at the time and you guys were witnessing bronya's speech. all of you agreed the speech was marvelous, and you all felt a sense of pride for bronya.

your eyes were sparkling in the sun as you watched bronya speak, and dan heng couldn't help but become enamoured by your face. he looked away from his paper to peek at your awed expression.

at that moment, dan heng thought you were the most beautiful person he's ever seen. but he can't think that. he cannot. not only were you a fellow trailblazer, but you were also his friend. he couldn't risk one of his greatest friendships over something as minimal as this.

so, he pushed the thought out of his brain. he thought that it would be gone forever, but he was deeply wrong.

THE SECOND TIME dan heng wanted to kiss you occured while you two were gazing in the astral express. by this time, you two have left belobog, and are awaiting your next journey.

you chose to pass the time by 'star-watching,' a new term you created as a substitute to cloud watching. the activity is similar to cloud watching as you point out shapes that make beings.

dan heng told you that you were just pointing out constellations, you said that you wanted to pass on the technicalities.

so now, you two were star-watching. you kept pointing out absurd patterns, such as, "this one looks like svarog," (it did not) and, "this one looks like balls." of course, none of the constellations looked like either of the comparisons (dan heng was thinking about taking you to the eye doctor), but dan heng played along anyway. anything to make you smile.

at one point, the absurdities stopped, and you began pointing out real constellations. so many beautiful creations in the sky, yet the real beautiful thing was right next to him, continuously pointing out constellations.

you rested your head on your hand, mindlessly gazing out at the empty field of stars in front of you, "it's beautiful."

"yeah," dan heng mindlessly replies, not even realizing what he's just said, "it is," he finally says, looking at you.

maybe it's the light from the stars hitting your face, or maybe it was just your radiant beauty, but the urge to kiss you came up once again. subconsciously, dan heng knew the feeling would arise sooner or later. but that didn't mean he liked the feeling.

he wants to preserve your friendship so bad; but sometimes, the line drawn alongside friendship and love begins to thin. sometimes, the line gets so thin that dan heng fears that he'll trip and fall into you.

THE THIRD TIME dan heng wanted to kiss you was when you two were hanging out in his room. over the span of months, dan heng has learned to appreciate your being, and sometimes (he will never admit this) he feels calmer around you.

usually, dan heng didn't let other people be in his room, but it was different with you. for some reason, he liked it when you were in his room. sometimes, he finds himself wanting you to be in his room.

he was quietly sorting through his data bank while you were reading. it was such a calm and quiet moment; dan heng felt peace for once. there was music playing softly in the back, the room was silent, and the air was just right. it felt nice.

dan heng was too tuned into his data bank that he didn't hear footsteps coming up closer to him. it was only when he turned his head to check on you, that dan heng noticed you were right next to him.

you were right next to him, head nearly leaning on his shoulder, and you were so close to him. dan heng's heart was about to beat out of his chest, and he began to worry about the warmth that was rapidly spreading to his neck.

when you noticed dan heng's reaction, you thought you'd surprised him. you moved a little bit back, "sorry, did i scare you?"

"no, not at all. i was just a little startled," dan heng replied while rubbing the back of his (reddening) neck.

"that's like, the same thing as scared," you gave a low chuckle and moved closer to him once again, "you would know this."

"dunno," dan heng paused, "maybe i was too frightened to remember." when you laughed at that, dan heng swore he blushed all the way up to his ears.

"you are not funny," you gave him a slight shove that didn't really affect him. you leaned closer into the database, "what are you doing?"

you didn't realize how close you were to dan heng, your faces nearly touching. you were scrolling around his data bank while dan heng was trying to hide his rampant blush from your eyes.

dan heng stared at you while you browsed, taking in your close presence. you didn't seem nearly as tense as he did. you were relaxed, comfortable, you leaned into him. dan heng found himself staring longer than normal.

then, the thought, came in. the same recurring thought he'd been having for a long time: the thought to kiss you. he wanted to take you by the hands and pull you closer to him. he wanted to feel your palms and he wanted to feel you closer to him.

and this is the moment were dan heng realizes that he wants to be more than friends. dan heng realizes that he likes you; he wants you to be with him, he wants to feel you by his side. he wants endless star-watching nights; he wants to see you constantly.

and that is dangerous. not only would that ruin your friendship, but it would also endanger you. there's so much that would put you at risk.

"you should go back to your room," dan heng puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, causing you to look back up at him. your confused expression almost shatters dan heng's resilience, but he goes on, "it's late. go get some rest."

you keep the hand on your shoulder, "you too. don't stay up too late, okay?" the soft tone of your voice makes dan heng melt, and he almost wants to pull you back and ask you to stay. almost.

dan heng nods and you leave. he leans back on his desk and puts his head in his hands. what is he going to do?

THE FOURTH TIME dan heng wanted to kiss you was the night you arrived in the xianzhou. you (and march and stelle) were exploring the city and it's wonders while dan heng was treading carefully behind you.

you haven't had a full conversation with dan heng for days. you assume it was probably because you were snooping around his data bank, but he has never minded that before. you haven't got an actual chance to apologize either, because for some reason, dan heng is now constantly busy.

the four of you decided that you would split up to look around. march immediately went to stelle, so that left you with dan heng.

dan heng knew this would happen. he couldn't avoid you for too long anyway, even if he tried. he would always end up gravitating back towards you.

it pained him to not talk to you. he missed your voice, your jokes, your little touches. he missed your book talks, he missed the way you'd always be in his room, he even missed your nosiness.

you and dan heng were aimlessly strolling around the streets until you found a lively street parlor. they were selling food, and the aroma was absolutely divine. dan heng knew you immediately caught your mind on something when he saw your beaming face.

you still haven't found a correct time to apologize to dan heng, but that can wait for later. you just wanted to talk to him. "dan heng! we should try some," you beamed.

"okay. i'll wait over here," dan heng monotonously replied. your smile slightly faltered, dan heng thought the sight to be excruciating.

he couldn't still be mad at you, right? you had to apologize soon, because this silent is agonizing. you couldn't help the fact that you missed dan heng. you missed late nights and his warm touch. you missed his sarcasm and his gentle nature.

when you returned, you brought back one giant kebab that dan heng knew you couldn't finish. you'd probably have enough to share with the entire express.

when you took a bite of the kebab, you moaned with delight, and dan heng forgot how much he missed your smile. it all came rushing back to him, all the things he missed about you. you are right here, in his grasp, yet he still cannot have you.

after your first bite, you offered a second bite to dan heng. etiquette was all out of the picture when you were there.

originally, dan heng wasn't planning to eat. there were lots of problems at hand, and dan heng could not relax now. but you were an obstacle in his equation. how could he refuse you when you were practically bouncing on your toes, smiling, and looking at him with such mirthful eyes. saying no to you was like refusing a blessing from the aeons.

he took a bite out of the kebab, to which he nodded in delight. dan heng finished chewing with a delighted expression on his face, and your smile appeared once again. dan heng felt his lips creep up, and sooner or later, he was smiling as well.

he looked down at your happy expression, and he noticed that you had food on the corner of your mouth. dan heng usually scolded you for being slightly messy, but in this tender moment, there was no need.

dan hen grabbed a napkin from a nearby table and wiped the corner off your mouth off. he wiped the food off so tenderly that you would think he was tending to something delicate and fragile. and the gaze he gave you after. you nearly passed out. dan heng looked at you with such fondness and love that you gripped the kebab harder.

his mind hadn't registered what he just did before you quietly said, "thank you."

dan heng nearly malfunctioned. what he just did was criminal. it was a simple thing, however it was most criminal to dan heng. during that moment, all he could think of was your lips on his. the tenderness of his touch was his mind projecting how he would cup your face when you two kissed. all of it felt so wrong, but so right.

"no problem," dan heng blushed and avoided your eyes. "do you... do you think we should meet back up with march and stelle?"

"yeah," you looked down at the ground, slightly flustered, "yeah. let's go."

things were awkward. but at least things were okay. and that was all that mattered to you.

MARCH 7TH HAD speculations. you and dan heng were like a pair. you two were a dynamic duo, second to march and stelle, of course. you would always be seen with each other. when march "accidentally" stumbles into dan heng's room, you'd be somewhere in there as well.

so, why is it that whenever march barges into dan heng's room, you aren't there? why are you not with him? why is he "constantly busy" when he there is nothing to store in the data bank? something was up, and march was determined to find out what was happening.

"don't you think it's weird that we never see dan heng and yn together anymore?" march asked stelle while sipping on juice.

stelle huffed, "i mean, it's a little weird. but maybe they're both exhausted. we just got out of belobog and now we're facing more conflict in another world."

"yeah, but," march paused for dramatic effect, "i saw them together in dan heng's room a few days ago."

stelle furrowed her eyebrows, "are you stalking them or something?"

"what?!" march exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her seat. the scene caused stelle to laugh, "no. of course not, i can't believe you accused me of that!"

"so... you don't think it's weird that we never see them together anymore?" march continued.

"okay. i'll answer. it's a little weird. but whatever it is i'm sure they have a reasonable explanation for it," stelle said. "why are you asking about them anyway?"

"because," march drew out the syllables, "they're cute. i've been shipping them. and plus, dan heng hasn't really been acting like himself recently."

"yeah, but what are we gonna do about it? he hasn't really opened up to us about his problems... like... ever..." stelle trailed off, as if she tried to remember how many times dan heng has ever spoken about himself.

"don't worry stelle," march grinned, "i have a plan."

"i can't believe we fell for this," you grimaced in the closet you were stuck in.

march and stelle split up and told both of you that there was a group meeting in march's room. obviously, because the both of you thought there was something urgent, you rushed in there. you were prepared, only to be ambushed and pushed in a closet by march and stelle as a ploy to "make up."

alas, you knew you needed to talk things out sooner or later.

dan heng, on the other hand, was freaking out. you're close. you're so close that he can feel every time you exhale out of your nose. this closet had no space, so you were practically pressed up on dan heng.

the one thing he couldn't see though, was your face. dan heng wanted to see your face. he wanted to study you up close: he wanted to your skin with his hands, wanted to pull you closer so he can observe the way your mouth lifts when you smile. he wants so much, but he can have none of it.

"i think i can break us out," dan heng offered.

"do you think they're guarding the doors?" you chuckled. dan heng gave a small smile after hearing your laugh. it's ironic that you're laughing in this situation while dan heng's heart is about to burst.

"i think the both of us can take them," dan heng answered.

this is the most you two have ever spoken to each other in days. you missed his voice and you missed being so close to him. unconsciously, you leaned closer to dan heng. you would know his warmth from anywhere.

as you two try to find a good point to hit, your hands brush against dan heng's. the way his hand feels on top of yours just feels right. the way his touch is still so gentle; oh how badly you missed his touch against yours.

"i'm sorry!" dan heng quickly removed his hands from yours. he moved away from you as well. you wanted so badly to chase him: you wanted to come closer, to place your hands with his one more time.

but you didn't. you doubted the fact that dan heng wanted to be near you. with his recent actions, you were wondering if the two of you were still on good terms or not. you could mess everything up with one action; dan heng was the very last thing you wanted to lose.

when you two finally found a good breaking point, you both put all your body strength into prying the doors open. it took a few tries, but the doors finally opened. however, there were consequences. the closet fell down with the combined force of both your bodies shaking it.

before you two fell to the floor, dan heng grabbed your arm and pulled you underneath him in a quick motion. your heart raced against your chest; you were so close that you could feel dan heng's heartbeat as well. and to your surprise, his heart was beating just as fast as yours.

the closet fell on top of you, and dan heng shoved it off of the two of you in one motion. seeing him do that just made your heart beat faster, and you were sure that you were breathing faster as well.

dan heng looked down to check on you, but doing so brought him much closer to you. closer than he had ever been. if dan heng moved down a little bit more, he would be able to close the distance between your lips. the urge was tempting: he was on top of you, your faces were both so close to each other, and your breathing was rampant and quick.

"are you alright?" dan heng asked. his breath fanned your face and you stared right into his eyes.

"i should be asking you that," you breathlessly whispered. he was so close and you were about to burst.

"i'm alright," he leaned down closer, "don't worry about me."

you two were both in a daze when you found yourselves leaning closer to each other. dan heng cupped your face; he couldn't wait any longer. all resilience went out the window, because right here, right now, you were here. you were in front of him, looking as radiant as ever, and dan heng could close the distance right now.

his hands treaded carefully across your face, as if you were one-of-a-kind. finally, his hands rested against your cheeks, and he leaned closer. dan heng was so close to kissing you before a commotion entered the room.

"OH MY GOD!" march exclaimed before running out of the room.

you startled, and accidentally pushed dan heng off of you. you frantically apologized while dan heng brushed himself off and helped you up. you were shaking at what almost just happened. you almost kissed your best friend.

the distance between you and dan heng was wide. he made sure to stand exactly five feet away from you. his hands were crossed and he refused to look at you. dan heng was worried that if he got even the slightest glance at you, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from what would happen next.

you both quickly left the room with racing hearts, confused thoughts, and a realization that whatever just happened was a mistake.

WHENEVER DAN HENG NEEDS SOMEONE to help him with his wounds, you are always that person.

at first, it was for team bonding. before stelle came, you all would take turns patching wounds to build team trust. however, with dan heng, the only person that he'd let patch up his wounds was you. you used to tease him and tell him that he was like a dog in that way, but he always brushed it off.

you were always gentle with him; carefully touching up on cuts and bruises with bandages or rubbing alcohol. by no means were you any doctor, but you were tender and calm.

dan heng was wounded again. there was no reason for him to be wounded. the fight was tame; the enemies weren't extremely powerful or anything. but for some reason, dan heng surpassed the rest of the team with more cuts.

now, you two were in a small room together. luckily, it's more spacious than the closet, but it wasn't as big as dan heng's room. you and dan heng were both sitting on a table; you sitting criss-cross-applesauce while dan heng was sitting properly.

the both of you haven't talked ever since the closet incident. instead, you two have been sharing gazes, brushing past each other in halls, and staying five feet away from each other.

this was the closest you have been in a while.

you are focused on banadaging dan heng's cuts. your eyes are glued to his arms and torso; you refused to look up at dan heng. you couldn't look at him for two reasons: you were slightly mad at him for obtaining so many injuries and you still couldn't look him in the eye after the past situation.

dan heng sat in silence as you tended to him. he knew you were mad at him, and he felt awful. dan heng knew that he didn't need to sustain as many injuries has he had. the only reason why he had so many injuries was that he was trying to distract himself from his feelings. the closet situation had him questioning himself. given the chance, would he hold himself back or would he let his urges win?

"i'm done," you let go of his arms and started putting bandages away. dan heng didn't know you'd be done so quickly. he wanted to bask in your grace for a little longer. dan heng thought about pulling a stitch in order to get you to stay longer, but that just seemed weird.

dan heng knew he couldn't let you leave like this. there was too many unspoken words between you two; most of them, partially his.

during this, dan heng realized something. he realized that, even though you are still mad at him, you stayed with him. you didn't ask for march or stelle to help him, but you did it yourself. dan heng could be reading too much into it, but dan heng is tired. he's tired of longing for you.

and maybe, just maybe, if you'll stay when it gets difficult (like right now), maybe you'll stay when it gets hard as well.

dan heng decides to leave all resilience behind. for once, he doesn't calculate the consequences nor does he hold himself back.

you're about to slide off the table until dan heng pleads, "wait." he grabs your arm and holds you there with a gentle grip. you could slip out of it if you wanted to, but this may be the first actual conversation the two of you will have in a while.

dan heng takes your silence as an answer. "thank you," he says. he curses at himself at the simple response. it was anti-climatic. "i appreciate you," he adds on.

the compliment made you blush, even though it was very simplistic. you avoid looking at him and rather focus on tapping your fingers on the table. "no problem. it was nothing anyway."

you two remain silent for a few moments; you didn't want to leave in fear that this may be one of your few conversations. dan heng was trying to find the right words to say.

"i really do appreciate you. for being here. for always being here," he continues. dan heng realizes he sounds redundant, and he wants to slap his palm across his face. with you, he couldn't find the right words to convey his actions. saying, "i'm sorry," wasn't enough and saying, "i miss you," was too little.

"i told you. it's nothing. i'd do the same for everyone else," and you wanted to chide yourself for saying the last sentence. not true, because the only person who'd you really do all of this for was only dan heng.

"i think this is the longest conversation we've had in a while," you murmur to yourself.

"i know," dan heng replies. you jump back on the table, almost falling off. if it wasn't for dan heng catching you (yet again), you would've fell off. his touch sends electricity through your veins; his touch brings warmth to your body.

"hey! you need to watch your stitches," you automatically scolded him. your nagging was a normal occurrence, but this time, it felt rare. dan heng hasn't heard you nag at him for years (days), and he feels as though he can breath normally now.

"sorry," he pulls back. you're left shuffling closer to dan heng, not that you notice, due to your almost fall. you two were facing each other now; the distance was a lot closer than before.

you let out a small laugh at the situation. practically falling of a table was not a laughing matter, but you always found joy in those situations. sometimes, dan heng thought it was a bit strange, but he always valued your optimism.

"i'm sorry dan heng," you look back down on the table, "i didn't know going through your data bank would make you ignore me for days," you let out dry chuckle.

dan heng furrows his eyebrows in shock, "don't apologize. i don't mind you looking through the data bank."

you looked up after his reply, expression shadowed with confusion, "wait? really? so... why the radio silence? did i have something to do with it?"

"no! no, it wasn't you," dan heng quickly reassured. "it was me. i was the problem."

"don't have to tell me that," you smiled and bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing.

"i'm gonna let that slide," dan heng smirked. it was nice, the way you two fell back into your normal routines once again. it was like all the tension that was previously there, simply dissipated.

"i missed you," you crossed your legs on the table, moving back to the criss-cross applesauce position.

"me too," dan heng replied. "i missed you a lot." he looked straight into your eyes.

you flustered underneath his gaze, "i probably missed you more. sometimes i dunno if i can survive without you," you joked. it was a joke, but occasionally, you find it to be true.

"for me, it's the other way around," dan heng mumbled beneath his breath. "i really missed you. and our late nights. and star-watching."

"you missed star-watching?" you astonishly asked. dan heng wished he could take a picture of your grin when he told you that he missed star-watching.

"i missed a lot of things," dan heng paused, "but i missed you the most."

"i'm sorry for pushing you away yn. i was just⎯ scared," time to rip off the band-aid, "when i'm around you, i just get so messed up. you're the only thing on my mind sometimes. everything about you just makes me⎯ breathless? speechless? you amaze me to the point where i can't even think of a word to describe you."

dan heng pauses and his heart is racing. you're looking at him as if you want him to continue, as if you want him to finally say what he wants. dan heng doesn't know that you want it too.

"yn," dan heng looks straight at you, "i have feelings for you. feelings that i think will overwhelm me at one point if i keep it all together. i never stop thinking about you, longing for you. i want you and i think i really want to kiss you," dan heng finishes. he fumbled on his words back there, because he doesn't think he wants to kiss you, he wants to.

"dan heng..." your face is hot. your body is hot. your breathing is fast-paced and you feel like you are about to be on fire. adrenaline rushes through your veins and you are sure you are not thinking straight.

you pull him in for a kiss, tugging him closer by his chin and kissing him passionately. you take that fire from your body and you pour it all into this kiss. dan heng is surprised at first, but then reciprocates your actions. while your hand is on his face, his hands slide to your hips, tugging you closer and holding you tighter.

you two kiss until you have to stop for air. when you breathe, the whole world feels like it's on fire as well.

"i feel the same. i can't stop thinking about you," you lean in for another kiss, "i miss you," another kiss, "i missed being with you," another, "i missed being close to you," another, this time a little longer, "but i really hope i don't miss this."

"don't worry," dan heng pauses, "you won't. i promise."

and after all of that, dan heng finally got to kiss you.