#but hes my brand of 'but i can fix him'
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trekkiehood · 4 months ago
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I thought *thought* Luke and Lorelai were taking up all of my brain space but last night I dreamt about Logan and Rory so idk what my brain wants anymore
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theloveinc · 2 years ago
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Barbarian!Bakugo is a little bit
 obsessed with lactation.
No, it’s not a new concept to him—he’s seen mothers feeding their children before, in fact, hardly ever put a thought to it.
But now that it’s you, now that it’s his child
 it’s interesting to him. Beyond interesting, really. That someone he loves and desires so carnally can provide an almost irreplaceable service, one he is incapable of replicating despite how much he wants to provide for the both of you.
And he’d want to be present for most feedings anyway, both to bond and help ease the parenting load off your shoulders
 but the whole time, he can’t take his eyes off your chest, where the little one is latched so safely and happy, suckling away as he stares in a protective haze, in awe. Blinking when baby blinks, wincing when you wince, his hands balling into fists when you sigh and the soft fat of your bosom jiggles.
He’s shy, though. Shy to admit his fascination despite how he asks to touch you one night, after the babe has been fed, swaddled and put to rest, and then rubs his fingers so gently against your nipple it starts to leak.
Bakugo looks at you under thick lashes, no blush because he’s seen you naked endless times, was there for the birth, but hesitant, almost
 to do more than feel your raw areola underneath the rough pads of his fingertips. Even if, no sooner, does he put a thumb into his mouth to taste the few, silken drops of milk that escaped onto his skin.
Baby always eats first, of course, until plump and sleepy
 but after that first touch, barbarian!Bakugo is no longer above licking up what’s left for him until your tits are relaxed and soft, then massaging you til there’s milk in abundance once more.
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jalo-parker · 6 months ago
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Reference sheet for my helsknight design :] (slight nudity warning he's only wearing boxers)
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Featuring lore on how pants work for those with tails (most of them probably only have the one snap at the top but whatever it was like 1am when I drew that part)
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diaryofamadsunwukongfan · 9 months ago
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Case file #101: Adam Taurus
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Race: Faunus
Nationality: Atlas
Ethnicity: Mantlecean
Weapon: Wilt & Blush (note: resembles a SDC weapon prototype that was stolen about 5 years ago. The blade stores kinetic energy that is then released in the form of harsh destruction rays.)
Gender: Man
Sexuality: Gynephiliac (This information was obtained from a double agent in Menagiere)
Current Age: 21
Aura Color: Red
Handedness: Right
Complexion: Pale
Eye Color: Pale blue
Faunus trait: Bull horns (Adam has both the strength and Endurance of a Bull, according to reports.)
Occupation: White Fang Vale branch leader
Previous Occuppation: White Fang Black ops commander (Classified)
13 years ago, Adam Taurus (note: last name constructed) became the subject of a world known, yet private court case against the SDC where a brand over his left eye was used as evidence of several claims of Faunus workplace abuse. The accusers in the court case were the two leaders of the White Fang, Ghira BĂȘte & Sienna Khan. The White Fang won the court case and an anti neo-slavery bill was passed throughout Atlas-Mantle as a result. Adam, who had recently lost his mother at the time and was a still a minor, was adopted by Sienna Khan who took him to Menagiere.
... unfortunately, 5 years ago Ghira and his wife Kali BĂȘte were assasinated at a Faunus rally somewhere in rural Sanus. They survive by their only daughter, Blake BĂȘte. Since then, the White Fang has cultivated a [CLASSIFIED] organization under the leadership of Sienna Khan. The leaders of the White Fang under Sienna include Adam (Vale branch leader) and Fennec & Corsac Albain (Religous leaders). Attempts by the White Fang to establish an Atlas branch have been stopped by the council (note: countinue to stop them. watch all WF gatherings in Atlas).
WARNING: ONLY MEMBERS WITH LV.5 CLARENCE ARE ALLOWED TO READ BELOW
The White Fang has a Black Ops organization being used to carry out robberies and assasinations in all of Renment. The leader of the Black Ops is Adam Taurus, with Illia Amitola (note: needs a case file) and Blake BĂȘte (has carried out 8 known assasinations on Faunus hate groups, currently missing, needs a case file) as sub commanders. All three serve as de-facto leaders of the White Fang in the event Sienna Khan is killed (note: Do NOT assasinate Sienna Khan, it will lead to race riots. Limit anti White Fang activity to covert operations).
Adam is wanted for the murders of 64 individuals in Atlas, all of whom are connected to the SDC (note: at least 20 were family members). If spotted, do NOT kill him, he is to be captured alive under all circumstances. Allow him to flee if he cannot be captured.
[The writing below is a transcript from a page recovered from a mansion attacked by the White Fang. It is believed to come from Adam Taurus, written by him and then stabbed to the wall.]
"...your father is a white demon. He told me he loved me and would take me to Atlas, but after I gave him what he wanted he left me down here in his mines. Adam, I need you to find your father. And when you do, I want you to kill him. And his wife. And their children. Kill every human on this earth so I can forgive giving birth to a half-"
"I WILL DO IT MOM"
[End of paper dialouge]
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sovonight · 1 year ago
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sometimes i order a piece of clothing that turns out to be constructed so very carefully for a body that could never resemble my own that tailoring isn't even an option; the only possible courses of action available to me are to tear apart all the seams and attempt to patch it together into something new, which would take far more pain and effort than starting from scratch to begin with and would never be as beautiful as the potential of the original garment, or to just call it a loss and move on. that piece of clothing is bg 3
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princesscallyie · 1 year ago
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Me when I'm listening to the most stupidest story about my mom giving my brother $1500 for a down payment for a 2nd car while his in the shop for a deer hitting him and him losing the nonrefundable $1500 cause he drove 2 hours away to a scummy dealership and he didn't get approve for enough credit from the bank
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#like... idk maybe cause I don't have a son but does anyone else have experience with a mom acting delulu for their son???#like... 1st she paid $17k for the brand new 2022 which he traded in behind her back so he can get a 'fast car'#he got in an accident in the fast car mom put the parts to repair on her credit cards#since now the fast car wasnt pretty any more with mixmatch parts he traded in that car for a lexus for payments#which is dumb cause the whole excuse on why he traded in the 2022 cause he didn't want payments#he hit a deer with the lexus and i guess he thought they was gonna total the car cause he was already looking for a new one#but they gonna fix the lexus but he still went to try to get that car...#and that lady just agreed to it...#he owes her thousands of dollars...#she keeps on saying 'oh well he got a new job making $17 an hour and plus he's working a part time he's gonna pay me back#he's been saying that since he traded the 2022 and he barely paid you anything...#like why are you enabling his impulse purchasing???#he thinks these cars are like toys or something and you just letting him use your cash and credit like that...#then she's like... 'well I would do the same for us' referring to us other daughters#but like... we're not idiots that would purposely put you in these situations...#why on earth does he need a 2nd car??? he only making $17 an hour plus a part time job??? you live at home??? why did you agree to this???#just tell him no for once????#idk I feel like I'm going crazy or am I just super stingy with my money and credit score?#callyie chat
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munch-mumbles · 3 months ago
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shoutout to my special guy btw, cant remember exactly when i got him but hes probably getting close to 20 atp
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dandyshucks · 3 months ago
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seeing ppl say that theyre going to kiss and hug all his trauma away makes me insane bc thats so not how it works 😭😭😭 not to be "u don't understand him like i do" but CMON... that sort of trauma doesnt work like that.... its not a "romance fixes everything" situation.... and i know half the time ppl are just being somewhat silly and not actually serious but i just get so irritated w the trope of "just get into a relationship and it'll fix all ur trauma :]" bc its EVERYWHEREEE
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princess-of-the-corner · 1 year ago
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The temptation to retcon my ML fics to have Miraculous Cure leave scars sometimes is really strong right now.
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rayveneyed · 4 months ago
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nanami kento is the kind of man that makes people swoon without even realising it.
he's the kind of man to walk into a luxury store after work, suit jacket folded over one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other -- his blonde hair still mostly perfect from the high-end pomade he uses. he scours the shelves, frowning to himself, while the attendants whisper and giggle amongst themselves near the tills -- an argument over who will be the one to talk to him, because he's intimidatingly pretty.
("just look at him," one whispers. "he's definitely buying something for a girlfriend."
"a wife," another disagrees. "c'mon. he's giving husband vibes."
someone hums. "but i can't see a wedding band."
"his mother, maybe?" says one other. "oh, i love when guys come in shopping for their mother."
"nobody's mother is getting a bouquet of a hundred red roses--")
eventually, one of them is volunteered as a sacrifice -- smiling and sweet as all attendants should be, she clears her throat. the others, crowded around the till, watch the exchange closely. "excuse me, sir. is there anything we could help you with today?"
her mouth is dry and her hands are clammy -- and when he fixes her with those narrow, burning eyes, her throat bobs.
"ah, yes." and his voice is deep and gravelly and drawling, and her stomach turns. she can only imagine what her coworkers are thinking -- hell, she can only imagine what she's thinking. her mind has stopped short. "my girlfriend likes this brand quite a bit. i thought i'd pick her up something..."
disappointment brews in her stomach -- and it's stupid, she knows it's stupid, because obviously a guy like that is taken. and -- she glances down at the roses -- obviously he treats her super fucking well. of course he does, because why wouldn't he? "oh, perfect! do you have anything in mind?"
"well, actually..."
he ends up buying one of the priciest gift boxes available -- fancy body care and perfume laid out in their signature boxes, decorated with ribbon and dried lavender -- no argument, no fight. he doesn't look for something cheaper, doesn't try to haggle or remove something to decrease the price. he adds, and adds, and adds -- and when she mentions a special offer at the till, a little add on for an extra 2000 yen, he accepts it readily. he inserts a black card into the card machine (of course, a black card), takes the beautifully wrapped bag, and thanks the girls for their services -- and just as he's leaving, his phone rings.
of course he answers the phone with hello, darling. of course he begins to ask his girlfriend about her day, the girls think with some amount of annoyance -- of course. maybe the curse of retail isn't entitled assholes expecting you to wait on hand and foot for them -- maybe it's the handsome men coming in to splurge on their girlfriends while you're painfully single and working for pennies.
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sukunasteeth · 8 months ago
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Sukuna has never said no to you.
It didn’t matter what the request was, simple or complicated, easy to fix or a days-long job, Sukuna was always at your side, completing the task as fast as he needed to to keep you satisfied. He would love to deny it, you’re sure, but evidence proves time and time again that he puts your needs and wants at the top of his priority list. 
And you were curious how far you could go with it.
The two of you are sitting in your underwear at the breakfast nook, warming yourselves in the bay window while the morning sun starts on the leftover night time chill. It wasn't quite time for breakfast, still too early for the both of you. In the meantime, you sip on your morning brews, preserving the comfortable silence. Sukuna is flipping through the day's newspaper, his eyes are groggy with sleep and he hasn't said more than a handful of words to you yet. He wasn't a morning person.
You were starting to change that.
"Kuna," You call to him, nudging him with your foot from your corner of the window bench.
"Hmm?" He doesn't look up from the paper, but his hand reaches down and grabs your foot, pulling it into his lap. His thumbs start to subconsciously knead at your muscles.
"I want these." You hold up your phone, which you had previously been scrolling through in an attempt to find something ridiculous for this exact moment. You were sure you had found it, something even Sukuna would find unnecessary. 
And yet, he merely glances at your screen, takes in the sight for all of two seconds, and then returns his attention to whatever news article he was in the middle of.
"My wallet's on the counter." He clears the sleep from his throat not sparing a second look. 
You blink at him in surprise.
"D-Did you even see what it is?" You flip your phone around to make sure you were displaying the correct thing. 
Sukuna is frowning before he looks up again, curious at your persistence. He gently cups your hand, bringing it only a minuscule amount closer to examine your screen a second time. 
You were on one of the most luxurious brand’s websites, showing him an incredibly regular pair of panties, no straps, no details, all black- with one of the most outrageous price tags you had ever seen for something so ordinary. 
Sukuna cocks a brow at you over your phone, "Can't imagine you need more panties when you're constantly stealing my boxers. But whatever, hand it over. I know my card number-"
"Kuna," You interrupt him with a surprised laugh, holding fast to your phone when he tries to pluck it out of your hands, "they're a thousand dollars."
He glances back, his eyes focusing lower on the screen where you know the price tag to be. The newspaper in his hands drops down, momentarily forgotten by what he sees. For a moment, you think you've found his limit.
"Wait, are those red one's assless?" He points just below the price, where the recommended products are depicted. "Get those too."
You drop the phone down so that he meets your eyes, which are wide with shock.
Sukuna always took care of you. Always insisted on being the provider of any single thing that you may need; a warm meal, a soft bed, anything your eyes twinkled at that was available for purchase- even if you would never think of buying or owning it. Granted, you never wanted much in terms of material possessions, so you didn't realize the true extent of Sukuna's leniency until now.
It was slightly intimidating, and part of it felt wrong. Sukuna had money, plenty of it, but that didn’t mean he should feel the need to spend copious amounts of it on you just because you could ask him to. He was giving you too much power, it felt like.
You huff through your nose, frowning at him, which only has him tilting his head further to the side in question.
You ignore it, setting your phone onto the window seat and crawling your way closer to him, until you can gather up his face in your hands and lock his gaze into yours.
He glares at you past smushed cheeks, but doesn't make a move to break free of your hold, humoring you. "The hell are you doing-"
"You know you don't always have to say yes to me?"
Now that has him taken aback. His mouth automatically opens for a witty response, but your question seems to have effectively taken the words from his mouth. You can see the cogs in his head turning, and what you wouldn't give to peer inside his mind and hear his thoughts.
It takes him a moment, but eventually that familiar confident smile stretches across his sleepy face. His hands seem to instinctively slide their way up your bare legs until his fingers grip your hip bones, pressing into you. 
He hums, "When have you ever said no to me?"
You scoff, ready to give him a prime example, but end up coming up short. The two of you loved to tease each other with disobedience, but in the end you were eager to give Sukuna anything his heart desired. You loved to please him, it was one of your favorite things to do, in fact.
"You never ask anything ridiculous of me." You remind him, smiling as one of his warm hands slides back down your waist and dips into the pair of his boxers you were sporting that day. 
"You know what's ridiculous?” His voice wraps around your throat, and suddenly has you swallowing past the delicious grip. You're folding into him before you even realize it, at the mercy of his calloused hands. "The implication that I wouldn't do just about anything for you."
You can't help but sigh hopelessly, although it comes out as a desperate noise that pleads him for more. You really were all his, just like he loved to tell you.
"Now hand me your phone." It's a whisper, coaxing you. "I wanna see you in red."
You can’t say no. 
At least it was mutual.
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pucksandpower · 17 days ago
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Thicker Than Blood
Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc’s Ex!Reader
Summary: you didn’t think things could get worse after your long-time (ex) boyfriend chose his team over you 
 until you see those two pink lines, but little do you know that his rival will soon prove that a found family can be thicker than blood
Warnings: includes depictions of labor complications and Jos Verstappen
Based on this request
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“Charles, this isn’t funny.”
You’re half-smiling, half-laughing, like you’re expecting him to crack any second and say something ridiculous, something that would make you roll your eyes and shake your head at his poor attempt at a joke.
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his eyes fixed on you with a seriousness that makes your stomach twist.
“Charles,” you repeat, the laugh in your voice now entirely gone. “What are you talking about?”
He runs a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s trying to find the right words, but they’re all jumbled up in his head. You know this Charles. This is the Charles who struggles when things aren’t easy, when he has to explain something he doesn’t want to. But this 
 this is different.
“We need to break up.” The words come out so softly, so carefully, like he’s afraid of them. But they hit you hard, a punch in the gut that leaves you breathless.
You blink, trying to process what he’s just said, but it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit. You and Charles are solid. You’ve been through everything together — the highs, the lows, the uncertain days before he was anything more than just another young driver trying to make it in the big leagues. And now, after all this time, after everything, he’s telling you this?
You shake your head. “No. No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do,” he says, his voice firmer now, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.
“Charles, no,” you say, your voice rising, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”
He sighs, a long, weary sound, and looks away from you, his gaze falling to the floor as if he can’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not what I want,” he says quietly.
“Then why?” You demand, stepping closer to him, trying to catch his eye, to pull him back to you. “Why are you saying this? We’re fine, Charles. We’re good. What’s going on?”
He finally looks at you, and the pain in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat. “It’s not about us,” he says, his voice almost breaking. “It’s 
 it’s the team. Ferrari.”
“What?” You say, blinking in confusion. “What does Ferrari have to do with us?”
“They 
 they think it’s better if I’m single,” he says, each word forced out like it’s costing him something. “For my image. For the brand.”
You stare at him, your mouth open, but no words come out. You’re frozen, your mind struggling to catch up to the words he’s just said, to the reality he’s trying to force on you. “You’re breaking up with me 
 because of Ferrari?”
He nods slowly, miserably, like he hates himself for it. “It’s complicated,” he says, trying to make it sound like it’s not the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard.
“No, it’s not,” you shoot back, the anger finally starting to break through the shock. “This isn’t complicated, Charles. This is insane. You can’t seriously be telling me that you’re ending things because some PR team thinks it’ll be better for your career.”
“They’re not just some PR team,” he says, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “They know what they’re doing. They’ve seen the numbers and the trends. They know what’s best for the brand 
 for me.”
“And what about us?” You ask, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “What about everything we’ve been through? Everything we’ve built together? You’re just going to throw that away because someone told you to?”
He winces, like your words are physically hurting him, but he doesn’t back down. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re choosing your career over me.”
His silence is deafening. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s struggling with what he’s saying, but he’s not fighting it. He’s not fighting for you, and that realization hits you harder than anything else.
“Why now?” You ask, your voice softer now, the fight starting to drain out of you. “Why are you doing this now?”
“It’s just 
 it’s the timing,” he says, fumbling for an explanation that makes sense. “The season’s starting, there’s so much pressure. They think it’ll be easier if I’m not-”
“If you’re not what? Tied down?” You snap, the words laced with bitterness. “Is that what they told you? That you’ll be better off without me weighing you down?”
“That’s not how they put it,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.
You feel tears pricking at your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. You won’t cry. Not now. Not here. “Charles, we’ve been together for years,” you say, your voice trembling. “We’ve been through everything together. And now you’re telling me that none of that matters? That all of that gets erased because it doesn’t fit with Ferrari’s brand?”
“I don’t want to do this,” he says, his voice breaking, his eyes pleading with you to understand.
“Then don’t,” you plead back, stepping closer to him, reaching out to take his hand, but he pulls away, and the rejection stings.
“I have to,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.
You shake your head, trying to make sense of the senseless. “How can you say that? How can you just 
 give up on us like this?”
“I’m not giving up,” he insists, but it sounds hollow, even to him. “It’s just 
 it’s not forever. It’s just for now, just to get through the season. Then we can figure things out, we can-”
“You can’t be serious,” you interrupt, the tears finally spilling over despite your best efforts. “You think I’m just going to wait around for you to decide when it’s convenient for you to be with me again? You think that’s how this works?”
He doesn’t respond, just looks at you with that same pained expression, and it’s enough to break your heart all over again.
“Charles, please,” you whisper, one last attempt to reach him, to get him to see reason, to see you. “Don’t do this. We can figure something out. We always do.”
But he’s already shaking his head, and you know, deep down, that he’s already made up his mind. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you can hear the finality in his voice, the way he’s closing the door on this, on you.
You stare at him, the boy you’ve known for so long, the man you’ve loved for years, and it feels like he’s slipping away from you, like he’s already gone. “You really think this is what’s best for you?” You ask, your voice hollow, defeated.
“It’s not about what’s best for me,” he says, and you almost laugh at the irony of it.
“Then what is it about, Charles?” you ask, but you’re not sure you even want to know the answer.
“It’s about 
 what’s best for everyone,” he says, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.
You take a step back, the distance between you growing, and it feels like a chasm opening up, one you can’t cross. “I never thought you’d be someone who’d let other people decide what’s best for you,” you say quietly.
He flinches at that, and for a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him, that he’ll take it back, that he’ll realize how ridiculous this all is. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, looking at you with those sad eyes, and you know it’s over.
“Goodbye, Charles,” you say, your voice breaking on the last syllable.
“Goodbye,” he whispers back, but it’s lost in the sound of your footsteps as you turn and walk away, leaving him — and everything you’ve built together — behind.
***
The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden light over the room, but it does nothing to warm the cold knot in your stomach. You’ve been feeling off for days now — nauseous, tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that sleep doesn’t seem to touch.
And the vomiting. It started a few days ago, just once or twice, but now it’s every morning, like clockwork.
You sit up slowly, careful not to move too fast, but it’s too late. The wave of nausea hits, and you barely make it to the bathroom before you’re hunched over the toilet, retching until there’s nothing left. You stay there for a moment, gripping the edge of the sink, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what’s happening to you.
It’s just stress, you tell yourself. The breakup, the uncertainty of everything, it’s all finally catching up to you. But even as you think it, you know it’s not true. This is different. This is something else.
You rinse your mouth, the taste of bile lingering, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look pale, drawn, like you haven’t slept in days. Your eyes are dull, shadows lurking beneath them, and there’s a tightness around your mouth that wasn’t there before. You almost don’t recognize the person staring back at you.
As you leave the bathroom, your mind races through the possibilities, trying to find some logical explanation. Maybe it’s a bug, something you ate. Maybe it’s 

You stop in your tracks, the thought slamming into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. No. It can’t be. It’s impossible. But as you think back, counting the days in your head, you realize it’s not impossible. In fact, it’s very possible.
You sink onto the edge of the bed, your heart pounding in your chest. It’s been weeks since 
 since Charles broke up with you. Since you last 
 Oh God.
The realization leaves you cold, your skin prickling with fear. There’s only one way to know for sure, but the very thought of it makes your throat tighten, your heart race even faster.
You can’t. You can’t be.
But there’s a part of you — a small, terrified part — that knows you need to find out. You can’t just ignore this, hope it goes away. You need to know. Now.
The walk to the pharmacy is a blur. You barely register the people around you, the sun beating down on your back as you make your way through the streets. It feels like everyone is looking at you, like they know what you’re about to do, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.
Inside, the air is cool, the fluorescent lights harsh as you make your way to the back, where the pregnancy tests are lined up in neat rows. You stand there for what feels like forever, your eyes scanning the shelves, your hand hovering over the different options, but you can’t bring yourself to reach out and grab one.
“Can I help you with something?”
The voice startles you, and you turn to see a woman in a white pharmacy coat standing beside you, her expression polite but curious.
You force a smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m fine. Just 
 looking.”
She nods, but doesn’t move away, and you feel a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You need to do this, and you need to do it now.
Taking a deep breath, you grab the first box you see, then another, then a third, just to be sure. You avoid the woman’s gaze as you make your way to the register, your heart hammering in your chest as you hand over the boxes, praying she doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t. She just rings you up, sliding the tests into a small paper bag before handing it to you with a neutral smile. “Good luck,” she says, and you can’t tell if she means it or if it’s just something she says to everyone.
“Thanks,” you mumble, grabbing the bag and hurrying out of the store, the door chiming as you leave.
Back in your apartment, the silence is deafening. The tests sit on the counter, staring up at you, and you can’t bring yourself to move, to do what needs to be done. But you know you have to. You can’t put this off any longer.
Finally, you reach for the bag, pulling out one of the boxes, your hands trembling as you tear it open. The instructions are simple enough — pee on the stick, wait three minutes, then check the result. But as you hold the test in your hand, you realize those three minutes are going to be the longest of your life.
You follow the instructions, then set the test on the counter, stepping back like it’s something dangerous, something that could hurt you if you get too close. You glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm.
But calm is impossible. Your mind is racing, a thousand thoughts and fears tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. What if it’s positive? What if it’s not? What will you do? How will you handle this? You’re alone now — Charles is gone, and he’s not coming back. You’re on your own.
The minutes crawl by, and finally, you can’t wait any longer. You step forward, your heart in your throat, and pick up the test, your eyes locking onto the small window where the result will appear.
Two lines.
Positive.
You stare at it, uncomprehending, your mind struggling to process what you’re seeing. You pick up the second test, the third, repeating the process with shaking hands, hoping against hope that the first was a mistake, a fluke. But the results are the same. Two lines. Positive.
You’re pregnant.
The realization crashes over you like a wave, and you sink to the floor, the tests clattering out of your hands as you press your palms to your stomach, feeling the beginnings of a life growing inside you. A baby. Charles’ baby.
Tears blur your vision, and you don’t know if they’re from fear, from shock, or from something else entirely. You never thought you’d be here — sitting on your bathroom floor, alone, pregnant, and terrified of what comes next.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to have Charles by your side, holding your hand, telling you everything would be okay.
But he’s not here. And now, you have to figure out what to do next. You have to figure out how to take care of yourself, how to take care of this baby.
You drag yourself to your feet, your legs weak, and stumble into the living room, collapsing onto the couch as the weight of it all presses down on you. How did this happen? How did you end up here, in this mess, with no one to turn to?
Your mind drifts back to the day Charles convinced you to quit your job. He’d said it was for the best, that you didn’t need to work, that he’d take care of you. He wanted you with him at the races, wanted you by his side, supporting him, and you’d agreed, because of course you did. You loved him. You trusted him.
And now 
 now you have nothing. No job, no income, no safety net. Just a positive pregnancy test and a future that feels terrifyingly uncertain.
You wipe at your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You can’t afford to fall apart. Not now. You have to be strong, for yourself, for the baby. You need to figure out what to do next.
You reach for your phone, your fingers trembling as you pull up a job search website. There has to be something — anything — that can get you back on your feet. But as you scroll through the listings, your heart sinks. You’re overqualified for some, underqualified for others. You haven’t worked in years, and the gaps in your resume feel like gaping wounds that no employer would overlook.
Finally, something catches your eye—an ad for a cleaning agency. It’s not glamorous, it’s not what you imagined for yourself, but it’s work. It’s a start. And right now, that’s all you need.
You tap the number on the screen, your heart racing as you bring the phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, three times, and you start to think no one will pick up. But then, a voice crackles through the line.
“Hello, CleanSweep Agency. How can I help you?”
You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you reply. “Hi, I 
 I’m calling about the job listing. The cleaning position.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and you hold your breath, waiting.
“Yes, of course. Are you available for an interview tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” you repeat, your mind racing. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”
“Great. We’ll see you at 10 AM. Our office is on Rue de la Paix. Just bring your resume and any references you might have.”
“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as the call ends.
You stare at the phone in your hand, the reality of what you’ve just done settling over you. You’ve taken the first step. It’s not much, but it’s something. It’s a start.
But as you sit there, the weight of everything presses down on you again. You’re pregnant. You’re alone. And the path ahead feels impossibly daunting.
You place your phone on the coffee table, staring at it like it might offer you some kind of solution, some way out of this mess. But it’s just a phone, and the reality of your situation doesn’t change.
The room is too quiet, the kind of quiet that seeps into your bones and amplifies every fear, every doubt. You wish you could call someone, talk to someone, but who? Your friends? They’d be supportive, sure, but they wouldn’t really understand. Your parents? The thought of telling them is too overwhelming to even consider right now.
Charles? The name echoes in your mind, but you shake your head. He’s the last person you should be calling. He made his choice, and you need to respect that. Besides, what would you even say? That you’re pregnant? That his decision to break up with you for the sake of his image has left you in a situation neither of you ever expected?
No. You can’t go there. Not now.
You push yourself off the couch, pacing the small living room, trying to clear your mind. You have a job interview tomorrow. It’s not much, but it’s something. You can’t afford to think beyond that right now. You need to focus on getting through the next day, the next hour.
The baby. The thought is like a knife in your chest, sharp and painful. You press a hand to your stomach, trying to imagine what comes next, how you’ll navigate this new, terrifying reality. But the truth is, you have no idea. You’re scared, more scared than you’ve ever been, and the future feels like a black hole, pulling you in with no clear way out.
But you have to keep going. For yourself. For the baby.
You head to the bedroom, opening the closet to find something suitable for the interview. Your clothes feel foreign, relics from a past life that doesn’t quite fit anymore. You settle on something simple, professional, trying to ignore the gnawing fear that none of this will be enough.
You sit on the edge of the bed, the clothes laid out beside you, and take a deep breath. Tomorrow is a new day. A new start. You don’t know what’s coming, but you do know one thing: you’re not going to give up. Not now, not ever.
And as the night settles in around you, you cling to that thought like a lifeline, hoping it will be enough to carry you through whatever comes next.
***
Max pushes open the door to his Monaco apartment, dropping his keys on the console table with a tired sigh. The morning training session has left his muscles aching, and all he can think about is a long, hot shower and maybe a quick nap before the next round of meetings and commitments.
As he steps inside, he’s greeted by the familiar scent of cleaning supplies — a smell that’s become synonymous with Tuesdays, the day his cleaner comes to tidy up.
He doesn’t usually pay much attention to her, exchanging only a few polite words if their paths cross. She’s efficient, quiet, never in the way. But today, something feels different the moment he steps into the living room. The sound of soft scrubbing reaches his ears, and he glances toward the source — his gaze falling on a figure kneeling by the coffee table, wiping down the glass surface.
It takes him a second to register what he’s seeing, but when he does, he freezes, his breath catching in his throat. It’s not just any cleaner — it’s you. And you’re pregnant. Very pregnant.
“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, the shock rolling over him in waves. For a moment, he wonders if he’s seeing things, if the exhaustion has finally caught up with him and he’s imagining things. But no — there’s no mistaking it. It’s you, and you’re here, in his apartment, on your hands and knees, cleaning.
You look up at the sound of his voice, your eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, neither of you says anything, both too stunned to speak. Then, slowly, you rise to your feet, one hand resting protectively on your rounded belly as you try to compose yourself.
“Max,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, like you can’t quite believe he’s standing there.
“What 
 what the hell are you doing here?” He asks, his voice rough with confusion and something else — something darker, angrier, that he can’t quite put into words yet.
You blink, looking down at the rag in your hand as if seeing it for the first time. “I 
 I work here,” you say quietly, your tone laced with embarrassment.
“Work here?” Max repeats, his mind racing to catch up. “What do you mean, work here? You’re 
 you’re pregnant! Why the hell are you cleaning my apartment?”
You flinch at his words, and he immediately regrets the sharpness in his tone, but the sight of you — pregnant, exhausted, and clearly struggling — ignites a fury in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. “What the fuck is Charles doing, making you work like this?”
At the mention of Charles, something in you seems to break. Your face crumples, and before Max can process what’s happening, you’re crying — really crying, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Max says quickly, closing the distance between you and reaching out to steady you. “I didn’t mean to — look, just sit down, okay? You shouldn’t be on your feet like this.”
You let him guide you to the couch, your tears falling freely now, and Max feels a pang of guilt deep in his chest. He’s never been good with tears, but seeing you like this, so vulnerable and hurt, stirs something protective in him.
“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs, your hands covering your face as if trying to hide your pain. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”
Max sits beside you, his mind spinning as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. This is all wrong. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be working some labor-intensive job, not in your condition. And where the hell is Charles in all of this? How could he let you get to this point?
“What’s going on?” Max asks gently, reaching for a box of tissues and handing it to you. “Why are you working here? What happened with Charles?”
You take a tissue, dabbing at your eyes, but the tears keep coming, and Max’s concern deepens. He’s never seen you like this before — so defeated, so broken.
“It’s 
 it’s over,” you manage to say, your voice trembling. “Charles and I
 we broke up. Seven months ago.”
Max’s heart drops at your words, and a sick feeling churns in his stomach. He’d heard rumors, of course — whispers in the paddock, speculation in the media — but he’d never imagined it was true. He’d seen how much Charles loved you, how much you meant to him. But now, seeing you like this, the reality of it hits him like a punch to the gut.
“Why?” He asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.
You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “He said 
 he said it was for the best. That the team thought he’d be more marketable if he was single. That it would be better for his image.”
Max feels a surge of anger flare up inside him, hot and fierce. “He broke up with you because of PR? Are you kidding me?”
You nod, and Max can see the pain in your eyes, the betrayal that still lingers there. “I didn’t know what to do. I 
 I didn’t have a job. I quit when we started traveling together, and now 
 now I’m on my own. I have to take care of myself, and 
” You glance down at your belly, your voice breaking again. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Max runs a hand through his hair, trying to process everything you’ve just told him. Charles left you — pregnant and alone — all because of some bullshit advice from his team? The thought makes his blood boil. He’s known Charles for years, seen him under pressure, seen him at his best and his worst, but this 
 this is something else entirely.
“Does he even know?” Max asks, his voice low, trying to keep his temper in check. “Does he know you’re pregnant?”
You shake your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I haven’t told him. I couldn’t 
 I couldn’t face him. And I don’t want to force him into something he doesn’t want. He made his choice.”
Max sits back, stunned. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. You’ve been going through this all on your own, with no support, no help. And now you’re cleaning apartments just to make ends meet? It’s too much. He can’t let this go on.
“Listen,” Max says, his voice firm, though he softens it when he sees the way you’re looking at him, like you’re about to fall apart. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? You shouldn’t have to.”
You look at him, eyes wide, searching his face as if trying to figure out if he means it. “Max, I don’t want to be a burden-”
“You’re not,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not a burden. You’re my friend. And you’re 
 you’re carrying a child. That’s not something you should be dealing with on your own.”
“But what about Charles?” You ask, your voice small, uncertain.
“Fuck Charles,” Max snaps, then immediately regrets it when he sees the look on your face. “I mean 
 look, I know this is complicated. But right now, you need to take care of yourself and the baby. That’s the priority. And if Charles isn’t going to step up, then I will. Whatever you need, I’m here, okay?”
You’re silent for a moment, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes — the fear, the doubt, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. He wishes he could do more, that he could take away the pain, the uncertainty, but all he can do is be there for you, in whatever way you’ll let him.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I 
 I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Max says gently. “Just 
 promise me you won’t try to do this on your own anymore. You’re not alone, okay? Not as long as I’m around.”
You nod, but Max can see the hesitation still lingering in your eyes. He knows this isn’t going to be easy for you — to accept help, to let someone else in — but he’s determined to be there for you, to make sure you don’t have to face this alone.
“Come on,” he says, standing up and holding out a hand to you. “Let’s get you something to eat. You need to take care of yourself, and that means no more scrubbing floors, okay?”
You take his hand, allowing him to help you to your feet, and for the first time since he walked through the door, Max sees a faint glimmer of hope in your eyes. It’s not much, but it’s a start.
As he leads you to the kitchen, Max’s mind races with everything he needs to do, everything he needs to figure out. But one thing is clear — he’s not going to let you go through this alone.
***
Max sets a plate in front of you — a simple sandwich, some fruit on the side. He’s not exactly a chef, but it’s something, and he watches as you take a bite, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. You look exhausted, and Max wonders how long you’ve been running on empty like this.
He pulls out the chair across from you and sits down, his eyes never leaving your face. “So,” he begins, trying to keep his tone light, “tell me everything. What’s been going on since 
 since Charles, you know 
”
You pause, swallowing the bite of sandwich, and Max can see the flicker of pain in your eyes at the mention of Charles. It’s like you’re bracing yourself to tell the story, and Max hates that it’s something you even have to relive.
“It’s been 
 hard,” you admit, setting the sandwich down. “After we broke up, I didn’t know what to do. I had some savings, but it wasn’t enough to keep living in Monaco. So I had to move.”
“Move?” Max echoes, his brows furrowing. He hadn’t heard anything about this, hadn’t realized things had gotten so bad for you. “Where did you go?”
You hesitate, as if ashamed to tell him, but then you sigh, the words spilling out in a rush. “I found a small place in France. It’s about an hour away. A tiny village. I couldn’t afford to stay here, not without a steady income.”
Max feels a pang of guilt, like he should have known, should have done something sooner. “You’re commuting to Monaco every day for work? That’s crazy.”
You shrug, a faint, humorless smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not ideal, but it’s what I had to do. I tried looking for jobs closer to home, but nothing paid enough. And I didn’t have many options, not with the baby coming.”
Max leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The thought of you struggling like this, traveling back and forth every day, working a physically demanding job while pregnant — it’s almost too much to bear.
He wishes he could just write you a check, cover all your expenses, but he knows you too well. You’d never accept it, not without a fight. You’re proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent — qualities Max admires but wishes you’d set aside just this once.
“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Max says softly, his voice filled with concern. “I know you’re strong, but you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not now.”
You meet his gaze, your eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. “I know, but 
 I need to be able to take care of myself, Max. I need to know I can do this, for me and the baby.”
Max nods, understanding even though it frustrates him. You’ve always been this way — determined to stand on your own two feet, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to stand by and watch you struggle. There has to be a way to help you without making you feel like a charity case.
Then, an idea starts to form in his mind, something he remembers from the past, from the days when you were always by Charles’ side, supporting him in ways most people never even saw. “You know,” Max starts, leaning forward, “I remember how you used to help Charles with his social media. His accounts were always engaging, relatable 
 fans loved it. That was you, wasn’t it?”
A small smile flickers across your face, the first genuine one he’s seen since he got home. “Yeah, that was me. Charles never really cared about social media, so I took it over. It was fun, in a way, creating content that connected with people.”
Max’s heart lifts at your smile, at the spark of something familiar in your eyes. This could work. This could be exactly what you need.
“Well, I’ve got an idea,” Max says, trying to sound casual even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “Right now, Red Bull’s PR team handles all of my social media. I’ve never really been into it, you know? But honestly, they’re pretty 
 corporate. The posts are fine, but they don’t really have that personal touch. Not like what you did for Charles.”
You’re watching him now, curiosity piqued, and Max takes that as a good sign.
“What if,” Max continues, “you took over my social media? I mean, I’ve seen what you can do. The fans love that kind of content. You could work from home, set your own hours 
 it wouldn’t be physically demanding, and I’d pay you well. I mean, really well.”
Your eyes widen at his offer, and for a moment, you just stare at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s serious. “I don’t know 
 I’ve never done that professionally. It was just something I did to help Charles.”
“And you did it better than most professionals,” Max insists. “Look, I’m not asking you to do anything crazy. Just 
 think about it. You’d be helping me out too, you know? I could really use someone who gets what the fans want, who can make my social media feel more 
 real.”
You bite your lip, clearly torn. “I don’t know, Max. It’s a lot to take in.”
“I get that,” Max says quickly, not wanting to push too hard but also not wanting to let this go. “Just 
 think about it, okay? You’d be great at it. And it would mean you don’t have to keep doing jobs that are hard on your body. You could focus on the baby, on yourself. It’s just an idea, but I think it could work.”
You’re silent for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the plate in front of you as you consider his offer. Max waits, his heart pounding in his chest, hoping he hasn’t overstepped, hoping you’ll see this for what it is — a chance, an opportunity to take some of the weight off your shoulders.
Finally, you look up, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes. “I appreciate it, Max. Really, I do. It’s just 
 it’s a big change, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.”
“I get that,” Max says, his voice gentle. “But you don’t have to decide right now. Take some time, think it over. I just want you to know that the offer’s there. No pressure, no strings attached. Just 
 a way to make things a little easier for you.”
You nod slowly, your fingers toying with the edge of the napkin on the table. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice soft but sincere. “I really will.”
Max feels a rush of relief at your words, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “That’s all I ask. And, in the meantime, you can stay here tonight. No more commuting back and forth, okay?”
You start to protest, but Max cuts you off before you can even get the words out. “No arguments. You’re staying here. I’ve got plenty of room, and you shouldn’t be traveling so much. Just 
 stay, and we’ll figure things out together.”
You open your mouth to argue, but something in Max’s expression must convince you otherwise, because you close it again and nod. “Okay,” you agree, though you still look a little uncertain.
Max stands up, picking up the empty plates from the table. “Good. Now, you get some rest, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”
As he carries the plates to the sink, he feels a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Anger at Charles for putting you in this situation, frustration that you’re too proud to accept help, and something else — something deeper, a fierce determination to make sure you and the baby are taken care of, no matter what.
He doesn’t know what the future holds, doesn’t know how things will play out between you and Charles, but one thing is certain: he’s not going to let you go through this alone. You’ve been there for him in the past, supporting Charles, cheering Max on from the sidelines, and now it’s his turn to be there for you.
As he turns off the kitchen light and heads to his room, he makes a silent vow to himself. Whatever it takes, he’s going to make sure you’re okay. He’s going to be the friend you need, the support you deserve, and he’s not going to let you down. Not now, not ever.
***
Max enters his apartment, the familiar sounds of his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floor. He’s looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe some time with his cats before bed. But when he steps into the living room, he stops in his tracks.
There you are, stretched out on his couch, resting. Jimmy and Sassy have claimed spots on either side of you. Jimmy’s large frame is draped over your legs, purring softly, while Sassy is curled up protectively near your stomach, her eyes half-closed but alert. The sight is so domestic, so peaceful, that it makes something tighten in Max’s chest. It’s a scene he’s never imagined but now, seeing it, it feels 
 right.
He’s struck by how well you fit here, in his home, in his life. The way you’ve naturally fallen into this space, as if you’ve always belonged. There’s something about the way you’re lying there, with Jimmy and Sassy close by, that tugs at his heart. He wonders if they sense the life growing inside you, if they somehow understand the significance of the new presence in the apartment.
Max approaches quietly, not wanting to disturb the serene moment. He can see now that you’ve fallen asleep, your breathing slow and steady, a slight smile playing on your lips. You look peaceful, more so than you have since you arrived. It’s a relief to see you like this, to know you’re finally resting.
He stands there for a moment, just watching. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, time seems to stretch as he takes in the scene. There’s something intimate about it, something that makes him feel protective, like he’s responsible for making sure you and the baby are safe, comfortable. He’s not sure when that shift happened, when he started to care so deeply, but it’s undeniable now.
Carefully, Max leans down and gently scoops you into his arms, trying not to wake you. You stir slightly, mumbling something in your sleep, but then settle back down, your head resting against his chest. Max holds his breath, half-expecting you to wake up and question what he’s doing, but you remain blissfully unaware, lost in whatever dream you’re having.
He’s careful as he carries you down the hallway to the guest room, taking slow, measured steps so he doesn’t jostle you too much. It’s strange, carrying you like this. Not that you’re heavy — far from it — but the weight of responsibility he feels is almost overwhelming. You’re so vulnerable right now, so trusting, and it makes Max even more determined to make sure you’re okay.
When he reaches the guest room, Max pushes the door open with his foot, grateful that it’s already ajar. He steps inside, the soft light from the hallway spilling into the room. The bed is already made, and Max lowers you onto it gently, careful not to disturb your sleep.
He takes a moment to tuck the blanket around you, making sure you’re comfortable. You murmur something again, shifting slightly, and Max freezes, worried he might have woken you. But you just settle deeper into the bed, sighing contentedly, still fast asleep.
Max lingers for a moment, his hand hovering near your face. He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but he finds himself leaning down, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, one filled with a mix of affection, protectiveness, and something else he can’t quite put into words. He pulls back quickly, almost embarrassed by the tenderness of it, but you don’t wake.
He steps back, watching you for a moment longer. You look so peaceful, and Max feels a strange sense of contentment, like he’s done something right for once. The day’s exhaustion is starting to catch up with him, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave the room just yet.
There’s something about the way you’re sleeping, surrounded by warmth and comfort, that makes him feel 
 happy. It’s a feeling he’s not used to, but one he finds himself embracing more and more as time goes on.
Finally, Max turns and quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He heads back to the living room, where Jimmy and Sassy are still curled up on the couch, seemingly unbothered by the absence of their human pillow. Max sinks into the armchair across from them, running a hand through his hair as he tries to process everything that’s happened today.
He thinks back to the offer he made you earlier, wondering if you’ll actually take him up on it. Part of him worries that you’ll say no, that you’ll insist on doing everything yourself, but he hopes that maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize that accepting help doesn’t make you weak.
Max has never been good with words, but he meant everything he said. He wants to help you, to make things easier for you, and not just because he feels responsible. There’s something deeper at play here, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s there all the same.
He’s never been in a situation like this before, never had someone depend on him in this way, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating. Max isn’t sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s on the right path, like he’s doing something that actually matters.
As he sits there, the sounds of the city outside muted by the thick walls of the apartment, Max lets himself imagine what it would be like if this became a regular thing — if you stayed, if you became a part of his life, more than just a guest in his home. The thought sends a wave of warmth through him, a sense of belonging that he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.
But he pushes the thought aside, not wanting to get ahead of himself. One step at a time. First, he needs to make sure you’re okay, make sure you’re taken care of. Everything else can come later.
Max finally gets up from the armchair, heading to his own bedroom. The day’s events have left him drained, both physically and emotionally, and he knows he needs rest if he’s going to be any good to you tomorrow.
As he climbs into bed, pulling the covers over himself, Max’s thoughts drift back to you, sleeping soundly in the guest room just down the hall. He hopes you’re dreaming of something peaceful, something that takes your mind off all the worries you’ve been carrying.
And as he closes his eyes, the last image that flits through his mind is of you, smiling softly in your sleep, with Jimmy and Sassy curled up protectively around you. It’s a good image, one that brings a small, contented smile to his own lips as he finally drifts off to sleep.
Tonight, for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.
***
The smell of coffee fills the kitchen, mingling with the soft morning light that streams through the windows. Max is already at the table, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up as you enter, offering a small, warm smile. He’s still not quite used to this — having someone else here in his space, sharing these quiet moments — but it feels right in a way he hadn’t expected.
“Morning,” he says, his voice a little rough from sleep. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better,” you admit, reaching for the kettle to make your own cup of tea. “Thanks for 
 everything yesterday.”
Max waves it off, trying to seem nonchalant, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — concern, maybe, or something deeper. “You needed it,” he says simply. “And it’s not over yet. We still need to talk about that job offer.”
You nod, pouring hot water over the tea bag and watching as the steam rises. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you start, your voice hesitant. “And 
 I think I want to accept it.”
Max feels a surge of relief, though he tries not to show it. “You sure? No pressure, if you’ve changed your mind.”
“No, I’m sure.” You take a seat across from him, your hands wrapped around the warm mug. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. I need something 
 something to focus on that doesn’t involve cleaning floors or worrying about everything all the time. Plus, it’s something I know I can do. And I’ll be able to take care of myself, of the baby, without pushing myself too hard.”
Max nods, his relief turning into something warmer, almost like pride. “Good,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad you’re taking it. I think you’ll be great at it.”
There’s a pause, the two of you just sipping your drinks in comfortable silence. But Max can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this, that there’s something else you need but aren’t asking for.
“So,” he begins carefully, “where are you planning on staying? I mean, if you’re going to be working for me 
 you’re going to need somewhere closer than 
 wherever you’ve been staying.”
You look up, caught off guard. “I 
 I hadn’t thought about that yet. I was planning on going back to France and just-”
“Stay here,” Max interrupts, surprising even himself with how quickly the words come out. “I mean, it makes sense, right? You wouldn’t have to travel so far every day. Plus, it’s safer for you and the baby. You’ll have everything you need, and I’ll be around to help if you need anything.”
You hesitate, clearly torn. “I don’t want to be a burden, Max. You’ve already done so much-”
“You’re not a burden,” Max says firmly. “You’re my friend, and you need help. It’s that simple.”
There’s a long pause as you consider his words, weighing your options. Finally, you sigh, nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay. But only until I figure things out.”
Max grins, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Deal.”
There’s a moment of shared relief before Max’s mind drifts to a more practical matter. “Right, so 
 there’s one more thing,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really have much in the fridge besides, like, trainer-approved meals and protein shakes. We’re gonna need to do some shopping.”
You laugh softly, the first genuine laugh he’s heard from you in what feels like forever. “Okay, I guess we should take care of that then.”
Max stands, grabbing his keys from the counter. “Let’s go before it gets too busy.”
***
The grocery store is bustling with the mid-morning crowd, but there’s something oddly comforting about the normalcy of it all. Max pushes the cart as you walk beside him, selecting fruits and vegetables, adding them to the growing pile.
Max watches you closely, noting the way your shoulders relax a little as you focus on the mundane task of picking out produce. He’s glad to see you like this — calm, in control. You seem to know exactly what you need, even as you pause occasionally to consider an item before adding it to the cart.
“Max,” you ask after a moment, turning to him with a slight frown, “do you even like any of this stuff, or am I just buying what I want?”
Max chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll eat whatever, really. Just make sure there’s enough for you and the baby.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “You know more about this stuff than I do, anyway.”
You give him a small smile, but it’s clear that the reality of your situation is still weighing heavily on you. Max wants to say something reassuring, but before he can find the right words, someone else does it for him.
“Y/N?”
The voice comes from behind you, and you both turn to see Pascale Leclerc standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with shock. She looks between you and Max, her gaze lingering on your rounded belly before returning to your face. “I 
I didn’t expect to see you here.”
You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. “Pascale,” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi.”
Pascale takes a step closer, her expression shifting from surprise to concern. “You’re 
 pregnant?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What happened? Charles said you broke up with him-”
You shake your head, your throat tightening. “No, Pascale. I didn’t break up with him. He 
 he broke up with me. Said it was because of the PR team at Ferrari. They thought he’d be more marketable if he was single.”
Pascale’s eyes widen in horror. “What? He told me 
 he told me it was mutual, that you both agreed it was for the best.”
Tears prick at your eyes as you shake your head again. “No, it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t my choice.”
Max, who’s been standing silently beside you, finally speaks up, his voice filled with anger on your behalf. “Charles lied to you, Pascale. He left her, and he doesn’t even know she’s pregnant.”
Pascale’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh, mon Dieu,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. Y/N, I’m so sorry.”
You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Please, Pascale,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “please don’t tell Charles about the baby. I 
 I don’t want him to know.”
Pascale looks at you, torn, but eventually nods. “Okay. I won’t tell him,” she promises, her voice gentle but firm. “But 
Y/N, I want to be a part of my grandchild’s life. I want to be there for you, for both of you.”
The sincerity in her voice breaks down the last of your defenses, and you find yourself nodding, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Okay,” you manage to say, your voice choked with emotion. “I 
 I’d like that.”
Pascale steps forward, wrapping you in a gentle hug. “You’re not alone, ma chĂ©rie,” she whispers, her voice soothing. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
You cling to her for a moment, taking comfort in her words, before finally pulling back. “Thank you,” you say, wiping at your eyes. “Thank you so much.”
Max, who’s been watching the interaction with a mixture of relief and concern, gently places a hand on your back. “We should finish up,” he says softly, giving Pascale a nod. “Take care, Pascale.”
Pascale smiles through her own tears, giving Max a grateful look. “You too, Max. And Y/N 
 call me if you need anything. Anytime.”
You nod, giving her a small, shaky smile before turning back to the cart. As you and Max continue shopping, the weight of the encounter settles over you, leaving you emotionally drained. Max notices, his usual silence becoming a source of comfort as he quietly takes over, finishing up the shopping and paying for everything without another word.
***
The drive back to Max’s apartment is quiet, the earlier lightness of the morning replaced by a heavy, lingering tension. You stare out the window, lost in thought, replaying the encounter with Pascale over and over in your mind.
By the time you reach the apartment, you’re exhausted — physically and emotionally. Max parks the car and helps you carry the groceries inside, his movements careful and deliberate as if he’s trying to shield you from any further stress.
Once everything is put away, Max leads you to the living room, where you sink onto the couch, your body sagging with relief. He sits beside you, watching as you struggle to hold back tears, and finally, the dam breaks.
You bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably, all the fear and uncertainty and pain you’ve been holding in finally spilling out. Max wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his hand gently rubbing your back as he whispers soothing words into your ear.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice steady and calm. “Let it out. I’m here.”
You cry until there are no tears left, until you’re too exhausted to do anything but lean against Max, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your sobs. Max doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding you as if his presence alone can shield you from everything that’s gone wrong.
When you finally pull back, your eyes are red and puffy, your face wet with tears. “Sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Don’t apologize,” Max interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re going through a lot, and you don’t have to hold it all in.”
You nod, still feeling raw and exposed, but there’s something comforting in the way Max is looking at you — like he’s not judging you, like he genuinely cares.
“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Max offers you a small smile, his hand still resting on your back. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he says. “I’m here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and Max watches as you slowly regain some of your composure.
“Do you want to rest?” He asks after a moment, his voice filled with concern. “You’ve had a long day.”
You shake your head, wiping the last of the tears from your face. “No, I’m okay. I think I just need to 
 distract myself.”
Max nods, understanding. “Okay,” he says, standing up and offering you his hand. “How about we make dinner? Something simple, but better than those pre-prepared meals.”
You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Yeah,” you say, your voice steadier now. “That sounds good.”
***
Cooking with Max is surprisingly easy. He’s not much of a chef, but he’s attentive and eager to help, following your lead as you guide him through the steps of preparing a simple pasta dish. The kitchen fills with the comforting aroma of garlic and herbs, and for a while, you lose yourself in the routine of chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, the earlier tension easing with every moment.
Max watches you closely, noticing the way your movements become more relaxed as you focus on the task at hand. He’s relieved to see you like this — more at ease, more like yourself.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” Max comments as he carefully stirs the pasta in the pot, a hint of admiration in his voice.
You shrug, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I used to cook a lot,” you say, your tone a little wistful. “Before everything got 
 complicated.”
Max doesn’t push for more, sensing that you’re not ready to delve into the past just yet. Instead, he focuses on the present, on the simple pleasure of cooking together, the warmth of the kitchen, the shared sense of purpose.
By the time dinner is ready, the earlier tension has all but disappeared, replaced by a quiet, comforting camaraderie. You and Max sit at the table, eating in companionable silence, the simple meal a balm for your frayed nerves.
After dinner, you help Max clean up, the two of you working together in easy harmony. There’s something oddly soothing about the domesticity of it all — like a glimpse of a life you hadn’t dared to hope for, a life where things could be simple, where you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.
When everything is finally cleaned up, Max suggests watching a movie, and you agree, grateful for the chance to keep your mind occupied. You settle onto the couch with him, his cats Jimmy and Sassy immediately curling up beside you, their soft purring a comforting background noise.
Max flips through the options on his streaming service, eventually landing on an action movie. “This okay?” He asks, glancing at you.
“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Something mindless sounds perfect right now.”
The movie starts, and for the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in the fast-paced action, the explosions and car chases providing a welcome distraction from the turmoil of your own life. Max is a solid, comforting presence beside you, and for a while, you let yourself believe that everything might actually be okay.
When the movie ends, you realize how exhausted you are, the emotional rollercoaster of the day finally catching up with you. Max notices too, and he turns to you with a concerned look.
“You should get some sleep,” he says, his voice gentle. “It’s been a long day.”
You nod, not having the energy to argue. “Yeah. I think I will.”
Max helps you to your feet, and you can feel his eyes on you as you make your way to the guest room. Before you can close the door behind you, he stops you with a soft, “Goodnight, Y/N.”
You pause, looking back at him. “Goodnight, Max. And 
 thank you. For everything.”
Max smiles, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “Just get some rest.”
You nod, giving him a small smile before closing the door behind you.
Once inside the guest room, you sink onto the bed, finally letting out a long breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The room is quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside.
You lie down, pulling the blankets over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to relax, to let go of the constant worry and fear, if only for a little while.
As you drift off to sleep, the events of the day swirl in your mind — Pascale’s unexpected appearance, Max’s unwavering support, the strange comfort of being here, in this place that’s starting to feel like home.
And somewhere, deep in your heart, a tiny seed of hope begins to take root.
***
The apartment smells of freshly baked cake and anticipation. Max is in the kitchen, moving about with a nervous energy, double-checking everything — again. The cake is already on the counter, perfectly frosted, with a single pink and blue question mark piped on top. The knife lies beside it, waiting for the moment that feels almost too monumental to be happening in the cozy confines of his living room.
You’re sitting on the couch, absentmindedly stroking Jimmy and Sassy, who have taken up their usual positions on either side of you. Your hand rests protectively over your rounded belly, feeling the slight flutters of movement from the baby. Despite the warmth of the room, your fingers are cold, a mix of nerves and excitement pulsing through you.
“Everything’s ready,” Max says, breaking the silence. He’s trying to sound casual, but you can hear the edge in his voice.
You offer him a small smile, trying to steady yourself. “Thanks, Max. For everything.”
He just nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning back to the cake. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite read — something beyond just friendship and support. But before you can dwell on it, there’s a knock at the door.
Max visibly relaxes, glad for the distraction. “I’ll get it,” he says, moving to the door and pulling it open.
Pascale is the first to step inside, her smile warm as she takes in the sight of you. “Ma chĂ©rie,” she greets, leaning down to kiss both of your cheeks. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” you reply, feeling a genuine warmth at seeing her. Pascale has been a rock for you since she found out about the pregnancy, offering support and reassurance in a way that makes you feel less alone.
Lorenzo and Arthur follow her in, both of them grinning widely as they approach you. “Hey,” Lorenzo says, giving you a quick hug. “Excited?”
“Nervous,” you admit, glancing over at the cake. “But excited too.”
Arthur chuckles, nudging his brother. “She’s having a girl, I can feel it. I’m gonna win the bet.”
Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You always say that, but I’ve got a good feeling this time. I’m thinking boy.”
Max laughs, shaking his head as he closes the door behind them. “You two and your bets,” he says. “Let’s just focus on what’s important, yeah?”
Pascale gives him a knowing look, but doesn’t say anything, instead turning to you with a soft smile. “You look lovely, dear,” she says, reaching out to gently touch your arm. “And glowing.”
You feel a flush of warmth at her words, though part of you still feels a bit of that anxiety knotting in your stomach. This is Charles’ family, after all, and the weight of what’s unsaid lingers in the air between you.
Max clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the cake. “Shall we?” He asks, looking at you with an encouraging smile.
You take a deep breath and nod, standing up and moving over to the counter. Max stands close beside you, his presence steady and reassuring. The others gather around, their faces expectant, and you feel the weight of the moment settle over you.
“Here we go,” you say softly, picking up the knife. Your hands tremble slightly, and Max’s hand comes to rest on yours, steadying it. You glance up at him, and he gives you a small nod.
You press the knife into the cake, cutting through the soft layers until you reach the center. The room holds its breath as you pull the slice away, revealing the color inside.
It’s pink.
For a moment, there’s silence. Then Pascale lets out a delighted gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. “A girl!” She exclaims, her eyes shining with joy. “You’re having a little girl!”
Lorenzo and Arthur start laughing, both of them shaking their heads in mock disbelief. “I told you,” Arthur says, clapping his brother on the back. “Looks like you owe me fifty euros.”
But you barely register their words. Your eyes are fixed on the cake, on the pink filling that seems to glow with its own light. You’re having a daughter. The realization hits you like a wave, overwhelming and beautiful, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.
Max sees the tears and reacts instinctively. He turns toward you, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “It’s okay. It’s good news, right?”
You nod, laughing through the tears. “Yeah,” you say, your voice trembling. “It’s just 
a lot.”
And then, before either of you can think, Max leans in and presses his lips to yours.
The kiss is soft, hesitant, as if he’s not sure if he should be doing this. But then you kiss him back, and something shifts, deepening the moment. It feels like the world falls away, like it’s just the two of you, and everything else fades into the background.
When Max pulls back, his eyes wide with the realization of what he’s just done, he starts to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
You shake your head, cutting him off. “Don’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm. “I liked it.”
Max searches your eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or regret, but all he sees is the truth in your words. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“I liked it too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
The moment between you is tender and full of unspoken feelings, but it’s broken by the sound of Pascale clearing her throat. You both turn to see her watching you, a knowing smile on her face.
“Ah,” she says, her tone gentle but teasing. “I see.”
You feel your cheeks heat up, but Pascale just smiles wider, moving closer to you. “Ma chĂ©rie,” she says, taking your hands in hers. “I want you and my granddaughter to be happy. That’s all I care about.”
Your breath catches in your throat, and you squeeze her hands in return. “Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice thick with emotion.
Pascale nods, glancing over at Max. “And I can see that Max will stop at nothing to make sure that happens.”
Max looks a little embarrassed, but he meets Pascale’s gaze with a quiet determination. “I promise,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Lorenzo and Arthur exchange glances, both of them grinning like idiots. “Well, this just got interesting,” Lorenzo quips, earning a light smack on the arm from Pascale.
“Behave,” she admonishes, though there’s a twinkle in her eye. “This is a celebration.”
You can’t help but laugh, the tension that had been building in your chest finally breaking. It’s a strange, wonderful feeling, being surrounded by people who genuinely care, who want what’s best for you and your baby. And as you look around the room — at Max, at Pascale, at Lorenzo and Arthur — you realize that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of laughter and conversation. Pascale insists on taking a thousand pictures of you with the cake, with Max, with everyone, and by the time she’s done, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Lorenzo and Arthur argue good-naturedly over baby names, each of them convinced they have the best suggestion, while Max listens with a bemused smile.
Eventually, the party winds down, and Lorenzo and Arthur say their goodbyes, promising to visit again soon. Pascale lingers a little longer, giving you one last hug before she leaves.
“Remember,” she says as she pulls back, her eyes warm and full of affection. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”
You nod, feeling a swell of gratitude. “I know. Thank you.”
Pascale smiles and gives Max a quick hug as well before finally making her exit, leaving the two of you alone in the apartment.
For a moment, there’s silence. Then Max turns to you, his expression softening. “How are you feeling?” He asks, his voice gentle.
You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day settle over you. “Tired,” you admit, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. “But 
 happy.”
Max smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says simply.
You look at him, at the man who has done so much for you in such a short amount of time, and you feel something shift inside you — something that scares you a little, but that also feels like hope.
“Max,” you begin, your voice uncertain. “About earlier-”
He cuts you off with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I just want you to be comfortable, to do what feels right for you.”
You nod, appreciating his understanding. “I just 
 I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, your voice small. “But I know I don’t want to push you away.”
Max’s eyes soften, and he takes a step closer to you. “You won’t,” he says, his voice gentle but certain. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”
You take comfort in his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You’ve been so used to handling everything on your own, and the thought of having someone beside you, someone who genuinely cares, feels like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.
“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his gaze. The air between you is charged, filled with the weight of unspoken possibilities.
Max reaches out, hesitating for a brief moment before gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, and you lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through you. It’s as if time slows down, the world outside of Max’s apartment fading away until there’s only the two of you, standing close enough to share the same breath.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Max murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are safe, happy, and loved.”
You search his eyes, finding only honesty there, a depth of emotion that takes you by surprise. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of connection, this certainty that you’re not alone.
“Thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”
Max shakes his head slightly, as if to say there’s no need to thank him, but you know better. You know how much he’s done, how much he’s given, and you feel a rush of gratitude so powerful it almost overwhelms you.
Without thinking, you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. Max holds you just as tightly, his chin resting on top of your head, and for a moment, everything feels right. The world outside, the uncertainty of the future — it all fades away, leaving just the comfort of his arms around you.
After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. There’s something in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.
This time, there’s no hesitation. Max kisses you back with a gentle intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, his hands cradling your face as if you’re something precious, something he’s afraid to break.
When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Max’s eyes are dark with emotion, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.
“Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough with need. “Stay with me. Let me take care of you.”
You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Okay,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I will.”
Max’s expression softens into a smile, one that lights up his entire face. He leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead, a promise in the simple gesture.
“Good,” he says, his voice full of quiet joy. “That’s good.”
You smile back at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. With Max by your side, it feels like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay. As you both stand there, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you like a cocoon, you realize that this — right here, right now — is the start of something new, something beautiful.
***
It’s early morning, the kind where the light hasn’t yet broken through the curtains, and the apartment is still wrapped in the quiet hush of dawn. You’re half-awake, swimming in that space between sleep and consciousness when you hear it — Max’s voice, low and soothing.
You keep your eyes closed, letting the sound wash over you, not wanting to break the spell. His words are soft, like he’s speaking to the most delicate thing in the world, and you realize he’s talking to your belly.
“Morning, little one,” Max whispers, his voice full of warmth. You feel the slight movement of his hand on your stomach, gentle and comforting. “Did you sleep well? I hope you’re taking it easy on your mama.”
You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips, but you stay still, wanting to hear more. There’s something so tender, so intimate about this moment, and you don’t want to interrupt it.
Max continues, his tone playful now. “You know, I’ve been thinking 
 you’re going to need a name for me, right? Something special. How about Maxie? Does that sound good to you?” He pauses, as if waiting for an answer. “Or maybe, one day, you’ll call me Papa. I’d really like that.”
Your heart swells, and you feel a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the blanket you’re curled under. Max’s words are like a promise, one that wraps around both you and the baby, binding you together in a way that feels unshakable.
He continues to talk, his voice filled with love and a hint of wonder, as if he still can’t quite believe this is real. “I can’t wait to meet you, you know. To see your little face, your tiny hands 
 I’m going to be right here, every step of the way. I promise. You and your mama 
 you’re my world now.”
You feel the gentle pressure of his lips as he presses a kiss to your stomach, and it sends a shiver through you, a mix of emotion that you can’t quite put into words. It’s the kind of feeling that settles deep in your chest, making you want to cry and smile at the same time.
Max shifts slightly, and you feel him lay his head next to your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll be here to teach you all the important things, like how to kick a football or how to drive really fast — though, your mama might not like that last one,” he chuckles softly, and you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.
“And I’ll be here for the hard stuff too,” Max continues, his tone growing serious. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, and that you always know how loved you are. Because you’re already so loved, little one. So much.”
The sincerity in his voice makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. You can feel the depth of his commitment, the way he’s already made space in his heart for this child, and it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.
Max falls quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on your belly. You can feel his thumb tracing small circles over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. “I know I’m not your real dad,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “But I’m going to love you like you’re mine. And I’m going to love your mama with everything I have, because she deserves that. She deserves everything.”
Your heart clenches at his words, a rush of emotion so strong it nearly takes your breath away. You’ve never felt so cared for, so deeply cherished, and it’s all because of him — this man who has stepped into your life and turned it upside down in the most unexpected, wonderful way.
Max leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I promise, I’ll always be here for you. For both of you. And I hope, one day, you’ll call me Papa. But even if you don’t, I’ll still be the luckiest man in the world, just to be here with you.”
You can’t keep your eyes closed any longer. They flutter open, and you glance down at him, your heart full to bursting. Max looks up, catching your gaze, and there’s a moment of quiet understanding between you — a recognition of the enormity of what he’s just said.
“Did I wake you?” He asks softly, his hand still resting on your belly.
You shake your head, your voice thick with emotion. “No 
 I was awake.”
Max studies your face, and you can see the concern in his eyes, the way he’s always so attuned to your feelings. “You okay?”
You nod, reaching out to brush a hand through his messy hair. “I’m more than okay.”
His lips curl into a soft smile, one that makes your chest ache with how much you care for him. Max shifts, pressing another kiss to your belly before moving to lay beside you, gathering you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting it soothe you back into that half-asleep state.
“You’re going to be an amazing dad,” you murmur, your words slurred with sleep.
Max’s arms tighten around you, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “Only because I have you.”
His words wrap around you like a blanket, warm and secure. As you drift back into sleep, the last thing you hear is Max’s voice, soft and full of promise, whispering to your belly again. “I’ll always be here,” he says. “For both of you. Always.”
And with that, you let the sound of his voice carry you back into sleep, your heart filled with a deep, unshakable sense of peace.
***
The contractions start in the early hours of the morning, sharp and unyielding, ripping you out of a restless sleep. At first, you think it’s just another false alarm — your body playing tricks on you like it has for the past week. But this time, something feels different, more urgent. Max is beside you in an instant, his instincts kicking in the moment you clutch at the sheets, your breath hitching in pain.
“Are you okay?” His voice is full of concern, his hand already on your back, trying to soothe you through the discomfort.
You shake your head, biting your lip as another wave crashes over you. “It’s time,” you manage to gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his. “Max, it’s time.”
Max’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate. He’s up, grabbing the hospital bag that’s been packed for weeks now, guiding you carefully out of bed. The ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and tension, Max’s knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel, driving with a focus that betrays his worry.
When you arrive, everything moves too quickly and too slowly all at once. Nurses and doctors swarm around you, getting you into a gown, checking your vitals, assessing the baby’s position. Max stays by your side through it all, his hand never leaving yours, his voice a steady presence in your ear as he tries to keep you calm.
Hours pass, the pain intensifying until it feels like your body is being split in two. But you’re not scared — not until the doctor’s expression changes, his calm professionalism slipping as he exchanges a glance with the nurse. It’s a look that sends a spike of fear through your heart, and suddenly, the room feels too small, the walls closing in.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice shaking, trying to keep the panic at bay. Max’s hand tightens around yours, his eyes fixed on the doctor, demanding answers without saying a word.
The doctor clears his throat, his tone gentle but serious. “The baby is in distress. Her heart rate is dropping, and we’re concerned about a potential placental abruption.”
“What does that mean?” Max’s voice is hoarse, his face pale.
“It means,” the doctor says carefully, “we may have to make some difficult decisions. We’ll do everything we can, but in situations like this, there’s a chance we may have to prioritize-”
“No,” you interrupt, your voice rising in panic. The room starts to spin, your vision blurring as the reality of what he’s saying crashes over you. “No, no, no 
 you can’t do that. Save the baby. If it comes down to it, you have to save the baby.”
Max’s grip on your hand tightens to the point of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the anguish in his eyes. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, his voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that.”
The doctor nods, his expression somber. “We’re not there yet. We still have time to try and turn things around, but we need to act fast.”
You nod numbly, tears streaming down your face as the pain intensifies, the fear now mingling with the physical agony. Max leans in close, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he struggles to hold it together.
“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, though his voice shakes with the weight of his own fear. “You hear me? Both of you. You’re both coming out of this. I need you to believe that.”
Your heart aches at the desperation in his voice, and you want to believe him, want to cling to the hope he’s trying so hard to give you. But the terror is overwhelming, and all you can do is nod, too afraid to speak, afraid that if you do, it will make everything too real.
Max pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression fierce despite the tears shining in his own. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice stronger now, a command wrapped in a plea. “You’re strong, okay? The strongest person I know. And she’s strong too. You’re both going to make it through this. You have to. I can’t-” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you.”
His words break something inside you, and you sob, clutching at him like he’s your lifeline, because right now, he is. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty — it’s all too much, and you bury your face in his chest, trying to draw strength from him.
The doctors and nurses are moving around you, the room filled with a flurry of activity, but all you can focus on is Max. He’s your anchor, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as the world spins out of control. His hand never leaves yours, even as the contractions grow stronger, more intense, your screams echoing off the walls.
“I’m here,” Max keeps repeating, his voice a constant in the chaos. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
But then, the situation worsens. You hear the doctor call for an emergency C-section, and your heart plummets. The pain is unbearable, and you can’t breathe, can’t think. They’re wheeling you away, Max’s hand slipping from yours as they take you to the operating room. The last thing you see is his face, pale and stricken, his eyes wide with fear.
“I love you,” he calls out, his voice cracking with the weight of everything he can’t control. “I love you so much. Please — please be okay.”
The operating room is cold, the lights too bright, and all you can think about is the life inside you, the baby you’ve grown to love before she’s even taken her first breath. You can’t lose her. You can’t. But the fear is suffocating, and as they prepare you for surgery, you feel a wave of despair crash over you.
Max’s words echo in your mind, a desperate mantra that you cling to with everything you have. Both of you are making it out of this. You have to.
The anesthesia takes hold, and you feel yourself slipping away, the world fading around you. But before the darkness consumes you, you send up a silent prayer, a plea to whatever force might be listening.
Please. Please let us both make it out of this.
And then, there’s nothing but darkness.
***
Max paces the waiting room, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through his chest. Every second that ticks by is torture, every minute without news a knife twisting in his gut. He’s never been this scared in his life, not even in the most dangerous moments on the track.
His hands are shaking, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He keeps replaying the last look you gave him, the fear in your eyes, the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. The thought of losing you, of losing the baby — it’s unbearable.
He can’t breathe, can’t think straight. All he can do is wait, and it’s driving him insane. He feels so helpless, like there’s nothing he can do to fix this, to protect you, and it’s killing him.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the doctor emerges from the operating room. Max rushes to him, his heart in his throat, fear choking him.
“Doctor, please — tell me, are they okay?” Max’s voice is raw, barely above a whisper, his eyes pleading.
The doctor looks tired, his face drawn, but there’s a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “The surgery was successful. It was touch and go for a while, but both your partner and the baby are stable.”
Max’s knees nearly buckle with relief, a sob escaping his throat as he covers his face with his hands. “Thank God 
 thank you,” he chokes out, his whole body trembling with the release of tension.
“You can see them soon,” the doctor adds gently, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s going to need a lot of rest, and we’ll be monitoring them both closely, but they’re out of danger for now.”
Max nods, unable to speak, his emotions too overwhelming to put into words. He’s ushered into a recovery room, where you’re lying on the bed, pale and exhausted, but alive. The sight of you sends a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.
“Hey,” you whisper weakly, your voice barely audible, but the sound of it is the most beautiful thing Max has ever heard.
“Hey,” he breathes, moving to your side and taking your hand in his. His other hand brushes the hair from your face, his touch reverent, as if he’s afraid you might break. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to 
 I just 
 I had to make sure she was okay.”
Max shakes his head, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his tears mingling with yours. “Don’t apologize. You did it. You both made it. You’re both okay.”
You squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I heard you, Max 
 I heard you telling me to hold on.”
Max pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “I meant every word. I’ll always be here, for both of you. I promise.”
A nurse enters. “Would you like to meet your daughter?” She asks.
The nurse wheels in the bassinet, and you can’t take your eyes off the tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. Max looks at you, his heart in his throat, as the nurse gently lifts your daughter and places her in your arms. She’s so small, her eyes closed, her tiny fists curled up against her chest. The world narrows to this moment, the overwhelming surge of love crashing over you both as you stare down at her.
Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders as he looks at his daughter, his breath catching in his throat. “She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “So beautiful.”
You smile through your tears, nodding as you trace a gentle finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “She is. I 
 I’ve been thinking about what to name her.”
Max looks at you, his heart pounding, waiting for you to speak.
“I want to name her Emilia,” you say softly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “After you. I want her to have a part of you with her always. You’ve done so much for us, Max. You’re a part of her, a part of us. It feels right.”
Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he can’t speak. His middle name is something he’s never thought much about, but hearing you say it now, giving it to your daughter — it takes on a whole new meaning.
“Emilia,” he repeats softly, as if testing it out. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body as he wraps you both in his embrace. Emilia stirs in your arms, making a soft noise as she opens her eyes for the first time, looking up at you and Max with wide, curious eyes. It feels like time stands still, the three of you cocooned in this perfect moment.
“She’s going to be so loved,” Max whispers, his voice full of awe and determination. “I’ll make sure of it.”
You nod, knowing he means it with every fiber of his being. Max has already proven that he’ll do anything to protect you and Emilia. It’s in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you both as if you’re the most precious things in the world.
As you sit there together, your new family, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you won’t be facing them alone. Max is here, by your side, and with him, you have all the strength you need.
“Welcome to the world, Emilia,” you whisper, kissing her tiny forehead. “We love you so much.”
Max kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he closes his eyes, letting himself feel the full weight of the love he has for you both. This is what he’s been waiting for, what he didn’t even realize he needed until now.
“I’ll always be here,” he murmurs, his voice a promise. “For both of you.”
And as you hold your daughter close, you know that those words are true. Max will always be here, and together, you’ll face whatever comes next as a family.
***
Max carefully pulls the car up to the curb outside his Monaco apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly. He’s driven this route countless times, but today feels different — monumental. He glances over at you in the passenger seat, Emilia cradled in your arms, bundled up in a soft pink blanket. She’s asleep, her tiny mouth forming an ‘O’ as she breathes peacefully.
Max’s heart feels like it might burst from his chest as he watches you both. The love he feels is overwhelming, so much that it almost scares him. He’s not sure how to carry it all, but he knows he wants to try — no, he needs to.
“Ready?” He asks, his voice soft, not wanting to disturb Emilia.
You nod, smiling down at your daughter before looking up at him. “Ready.”
Max steps out of the car and hurries around to your side, opening the door for you and helping you out, his hand warm and steady on your arm. You both move carefully, as if the world might shatter if you’re too rough. Emilia stirs slightly as you adjust her in your arms, but she stays asleep, oblivious to the world outside.
The front door of the apartment clicks open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of home wrapping around you. Max closes the door behind you, and suddenly, the apartment feels different — more complete, more alive. He watches as you walk into the living room, a sense of awe filling him as he realizes that this is your home now, Emilia’s home.
Jimmy and Sassy are lounging on the couch when you enter. They lift their heads lazily, eyes narrowing with curiosity as they spot the new addition to the household. Max watches them closely, his heart racing slightly. He knows how territorial they can be, and the last thing he wants is for them to feel threatened by Emilia.
You lower yourself carefully onto the couch, cradling Emilia in your arms, and Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders. “Guys,” you whisper to the cats, your voice gentle, soothing. “Come say hi.”
Jimmy is the first to move, hopping down from the couch and approaching slowly, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of the tiny human in your arms. He sniffs the air cautiously, his ears twitching, and then, to Max’s surprise, he rubs his head gently against Emilia’s leg, purring softly. Sassy follows suit, jumping up onto the armrest to get a better look, her green eyes curious and bright.
Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a smile spreading across his face. “Looks like they approve,” he says, his voice full of warmth.
You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I guess so. They’re so gentle with her.”
“Yeah,” Max agrees, his eyes never leaving Emilia’s face. “They know she’s important.”
For a while, the three of you just sit there, basking in the quiet joy of the moment. Emilia shifts in your arms, her tiny fingers flexing as she begins to wake up. Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a small, contented sigh. Jimmy and Sassy watch intently, as if fascinated by this little creature that’s suddenly become the center of their world.
Max reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against Emilia’s cheek. She turns her head slightly, her eyes trying to focus on him, and Max feels a lump form in his throat. “Hi, meisje,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Welcome home.”
You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. But then, as if the weight of the world suddenly returns, Max feels a pang of dread deep in his chest. He tries to push it away, but it lingers, gnawing at him.
You notice the change in him immediately, lifting your head to look at him, concern in your eyes. “Max? What’s wrong?”
He hesitates, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he knows he has to tell you. “I just 
 I’ve been thinking about the races,” he admits quietly. “I’m going to have to leave soon, and 
 I hate the thought of being away from you and Emilia. Especially now.”
Your expression softens, and you reach out to take his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Max, it’s okay. I know how much racing means to you. We’ll be fine.”
He shakes his head, his eyes searching yours. “I know you will. It’s just 
 I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to miss her first smile, her first laugh, her first steps 
”
“You won’t,” you assure him, squeezing his hand. “We’ll make it work. And when she’s old enough, we’ll come with you to as many races as we can.”
Max’s heart swells at the thought, but then another worry creeps in. He hesitates, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “But
 what about Charles? I don’t want you to feel like you have to be in the same paddock as him. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words, and then you shake your head, a determined look in your eyes. “Max, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I want to be there with you. Emilia and I will cheer you on, and Charles 
 well, he’s in the past. You’re our future. I want to support you, and I want Emilia to see how amazing her papa is.”
The relief that washes over Max is palpable. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that until now. “Are you sure?” He asks, his voice almost trembling. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”
“I’m sure,” you say firmly. “Besides, I want Emilia to grow up surrounded by people who love her. And that includes you, Max. You’re her papa.”
Max’s breath catches at the word, his chest tightening with a mix of love and fear. He’s been called many things in his life — champion, prodigy, competitor — but ‘papa’ is new. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
“Papa,” he echoes softly, the word feeling both foreign and right on his tongue. “I like the sound of that.”
You smile, your eyes shining with warmth. “Me too.”
The rest of the day passes in a blur of small, beautiful moments. You and Max take turns holding Emilia, watching as she discovers the world around her with wide, curious eyes. Max can’t stop marveling at how tiny she is, how perfect. Every little coo, every small movement feels like a miracle to him.
When evening falls, you feed Emilia while Max busies himself in the kitchen, preparing something simple for dinner. He’s not much of a cook, but he’s determined to take care of you both in any way he can. As you sit at the table together, Emilia cradled in your arms, Max watches you with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before.
But as the night grows darker, that lingering dread creeps back in. Max knows he has to leave for the next race soon, and the thought of being away from you and Emilia feels unbearable. After dinner, he finds himself pacing the living room, his thoughts swirling.
You notice his restlessness and approach him, Emilia sleeping soundly in your arms. “Max,” you say gently, drawing his attention. “Talk to me.”
He stops, running a hand through his hair as he looks at you, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “I just 
 I don’t know how I’m going to leave you both. I hate it.”
You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I know it’s hard. But we’ll be okay. And you can call us anytime, video chat, whatever you need. We’ll make it work.”
Max nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I just don’t want to miss anything,” he repeats, his voice strained. “I want to be here for everything.”
“And you will be,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll figure it out together. We’re a team now, remember?”
Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “We are.”
You lean up to kiss him softly on the lips, a kiss that’s full of reassurance and love. When you pull back, Max looks at you with a mixture of awe and affection.
“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.
“For what?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.
“For being here. For being you,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You smile, your heart swelling with love for the man in front of you. “You’ll never have to find out.”
Max pulls you into a gentle embrace, careful not to disturb Emilia as he holds you both close. In that moment, he knows that no matter how many races he has to go to, no matter how far he has to travel, this is where his heart will always be — with you and Emilia.
And as you both stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Max makes a silent promise to himself: to always be there for you, no matter what. Because this — this little family you’ve created together — is the most important thing in the world.
***
The doorbell rings just as Max is finishing up with Emilia’s bottle. He glances at the clock — 10:30 a.m. Whoever it is, they’re too early for lunch, too late for breakfast, and entirely unexpected.
You’re in the kitchen, humming softly while packing away the groceries Max picked up this morning. Max smiles to himself as he looks down at Emilia, her tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb. It feels like everything in his life is finally in place.
But that sense of contentment shatters the moment he opens the door.
Jos stands there, his presence immediately filling the entryway with tension. The older man’s eyes flick to you in the kitchen, then back to Max, his mouth curling into a sneer.
“Max,” Jos says, stepping forward before Max can say a word. His voice is cold, sharp. The man doesn’t even bother with a greeting.
“Dad,” Max replies, swallowing hard as he shuts the door behind him. Jos is already walking into the apartment, his eyes scanning the place like he’s looking for something to criticize.
You turn around, startled by the sound of footsteps you weren’t expecting. The soft smile on your face fades when you see Jos. Max can see the recognition in your eyes, followed by a flash of concern. You know about Jos, the kind of man he is. Max’s jaw tightens.
“What are you doing here?” Max tries to keep his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it, a warning.
Jos ignores him. His gaze is fixed on you now, his expression unreadable but undeniably harsh. “So this is her, huh?” He waves a hand in your direction. “The one Charles tossed aside.”
You freeze, hands trembling as you instinctively clutch the counter behind you. Max’s blood runs cold.
“Don’t,” Max warns, stepping between you and his father. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
Jos scoffs. “Relax, Max. I’m just stating the obvious. She’s nothing more than your rival’s sloppy seconds. And you 
 you’re playing house with another man’s child.”
The air leaves the room. Max’s vision narrows, and all he can see is Jos — the man who made his childhood a battleground. The man who pushed him so hard he could barely breathe under the weight of his expectations. Now he’s here, trying to break apart the life Max has built for himself.
“That’s enough,” Max snaps, his voice rising in a way that’s unfamiliar, even to him. Emilia starts fussing in his arms, sensing the tension, and it only makes him angrier. “You don’t get to walk in here and insult my family.”
Jos raises an eyebrow. “Family? Don’t kid yourself, Max. This isn’t your family. This is Charles Leclerc’s leftovers. You’re raising another man’s child, and you think that makes you a father?”
Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he doesn’t flinch. He’s not that scared little boy anymore, the one who craved his father’s approval more than anything in the world. He’s a man now — a father — and he won’t let Jos tear him down again.
“You don’t know anything about this,” Max says, his voice shaking with fury. “I love her. I love Emilia. She’s my daughter, and I’m her father, no matter what you think. And if you can’t respect that, then you don’t belong here.”
Jos’s eyes flash with something dark, something that Max recognizes all too well. But before he can say anything, you step forward, your voice trembling but determined. “Please, just go.”
Jos glances at you, then back at Max. For a moment, it looks like he might push further, but then he shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’ve gone soft, Max. You’re making a mistake, and one day you’ll see it.”
Max tightens his grip on Emilia, who’s starting to cry now, her small voice cutting through the tension. He turns his back on Jos, cradling his daughter close to his chest, and says, “Get out.”
For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, with a huff of disdain, Jos turns on his heel and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoes through the apartment like a gunshot.
You rush to Max’s side, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I-”
“Don’t,” Max says, his voice cracking. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as he struggles to keep his composure. “Just 
 don’t.”
He doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the anger, the hurt, it’s all too much. You say nothing, just move closer, wrapping your arms around him and Emilia, holding them both as tightly as you can. Max can feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep, bone-deep exhaustion.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Max replies, shaking his head. “It’s 
 it’s just him. He’ll never change.”
You pull back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “He’s wrong, Max. You are her father. You’re already everything she needs.”
Max looks down at Emilia, who’s slowly calming down in his arms. Her tiny hand grips his finger, and the simple, innocent gesture makes something in him break. He swallows hard, blinking back tears.
“I don’t care what he says,” Max whispers, more to himself than to you. “I’m not him. I’m never going to be him.”
You reach up, gently brushing a tear away from his cheek. “You’re not. You’re a good man and you’re already a great father.”
Max can’t find the words to respond, so he just leans down and kisses you, a slow, desperate kiss that says everything he can’t put into words. You kiss him back, your hands gently cradling his face, grounding him in the moment.
When you finally pull away, you smile at him, and it’s like the sun breaking through a stormy sky. “We’re going to be okay,” you say softly. “All three of us.”
Max nods, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We are.”
You both stand there in the quiet of the apartment, holding onto each other and to Emilia, who has finally fallen back asleep. The storm has passed, but Max knows there will be more to come. But as long as he has you and Emilia by his side, he knows he can face anything.
And for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s finally home.
***
The room is silent except for the soft hum of the baby monitor, its rhythmic buzz a constant backdrop to the night. The apartment is dark, save for a thin sliver of moonlight seeping in through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room.
You stir, groggily reaching for the warmth of Max beside you, but find only cold sheets. Instantly, you’re more awake, your heart quickening as you sit up and squint into the darkness. It’s late, or maybe it’s early — time has blurred into an endless loop of feeding, changing, and trying to snatch sleep in between.
Max isn’t in bed, but you can see his silhouette across the room, standing over Emilia’s crib. His back is to you, his posture tense yet somehow fragile, as if he’s holding something inside that’s threatening to spill over. You watch him for a moment, the quiet of the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, before you gently call out his name.
“Max?”
He doesn’t turn immediately, and for a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you. But then he shifts slightly, his shoulders dropping as if he’s finally exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Did I wake you?”
You shake your head, though he’s not looking at you. “No. I just noticed you weren’t in bed.”
He glances back at you then, just briefly, his eyes shadowed and unreadable in the dim light. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, turning his gaze back to Emilia. “I kept thinking about 
 everything.”
There’s a heaviness in his tone that makes you push back the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You stand up, crossing the room to where he’s standing. When you reach him, you place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension thrumming through his muscles.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” You ask softly, trying to meet his eyes.
For a moment, he’s quiet, staring down at Emilia with a look that’s a mix of awe and fear. Then he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I keep saying she’s mine. I’ve said it so many times, but 
 I don’t think it really hit me until just now. I’m her dad.”
He finally looks at you, his blue eyes shining with something raw and unguarded. “I’m her dad, and that means 
 everything. It means I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her, to make sure she’s safe and happy. I’m the one who’s supposed to teach her, to love her, to be there for every moment of her life.”
His voice cracks on the last word, and you feel your heart break for him, for the weight he’s been carrying. You squeeze his arm gently, encouraging him to continue.
“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be what my dad wanted me to be,” Max continues, his eyes dropping back down to Emilia. “I pushed myself so hard because I thought that’s what I had to do, that I had to prove something to him, to everyone. But this 
 being her dad, it’s different. It’s not about proving anything. It’s just about being there for her, for you.”
You can hear the fear in his voice, the uncertainty, but also the determination. Max has always been a fighter, always pushing himself to the limit, but this is different. This is about love, about responsibility, about a future that’s no longer just his.
“I promise,” he says, his voice stronger now, more certain. “I promise I’ll always do the best for her, and for you. I’ll make mistakes, I know I will, but I’ll always try to do what’s right. I’ll always be here.”
His words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You step closer, sliding your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounds you in the moment.
“You’re already doing it,” you whisper against his chest. “You’re already an amazing dad, Max. She’s so lucky to have you, and so am I.”
Max wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You feel the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s a simple, quiet moment, but it’s everything.
“I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I didn’t think 
 I never imagined this. Having a family. But now that I do, I can’t imagine life without it. Without you. Without her.”
You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes are soft, full of love and something else — something deeper, more profound. It’s the look of a man who’s found something he didn’t even know he was searching for.
“I love you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can even think about them. But they’re true, and you realize with a start that you’ve been feeling them for a while now.
Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to memorize your face, your words, everything about this moment. Then he smiles — a real, genuine smile that lights up his entire face.
“I love you too,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”
You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, but it feels like the most important. It’s a promise, a commitment, a beginning.
When you finally pull away, Max rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything. For trusting me, for being here, for giving me this family.ïżœïżœ
You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
He kisses you again, softer this time, a lingering brush of lips that sends warmth spiraling through you. Then he turns his attention back to Emilia, who’s still sound asleep in her crib, blissfully unaware of the world around her.
“She’s so perfect,” Max murmurs, his voice full of wonder. “I still can’t believe she’s ours.”
“She is,” you agree, leaning against him as you both watch your daughter sleep. “She’s everything.”
Max nods, his eyes never leaving Emilia. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she has the best life possible. I don’t care what it takes. She’s my little girl.”
There’s a fierceness in his voice now, a protective instinct that you know will only grow stronger with time. It’s the kind of love that can’t be measured, the kind that changes everything.
“And you,” Max adds, looking down at you with a softness that makes your heart swell. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re happy too. That you never have to worry about anything.”
“I know you will,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. “But you don’t have to do it all on your own, Max. We’re in this together, okay? We’re a team.”
He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. We are.”
You stand there in the quiet of the night, wrapped up in each other and in the future you’re building together. It’s a future that’s still uncertain, full of challenges and unknowns, but it’s yours. It’s yours, and it’s beautiful.
After a while, Max guides you back to bed, and you both climb under the covers, your bodies fitting together perfectly. He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you settle against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin against yours, and it lulls you into a peaceful sleep.
As you drift off, you hear Max’s voice one last time, a soft whisper in the darkness. “I’m never letting go of this. Of you. Of her. I promise.”
And with that, you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling more loved and more secure than you ever have before.
***
Max is darting around the private jet, a man on a mission. He’s checking every corner, every surface, making sure it’s all baby-proofed, while you sit on the plush leather seat, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. Emilia, cradled in your arms, is blissfully unaware of her father’s nerves as she gurgles happily, her tiny hands waving in the air.
“Max, it’s fine,” you call out, but he’s too busy testing the security of a cabinet door to hear you.
“What if the turbulence knocks something over?” He mutters, more to himself than to you, as he gives the cabinet another pull to ensure it’s locked tight. He moves on to the safety straps on the seats, tugging at them to make sure they’re secure.
You can’t help but smile at how seriously he’s taking this. Max Verstappen reduced to a bundle of nerves over the safety of a half-year-old baby on a private jet. It’s endearing, seeing him so out of his element, so completely focused on making sure everything is perfect for Emilia.
“Max, she’s going to be fine,” you say gently, but with a hint of laughter in your voice.
Max finally turns to you, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “I know, I just-” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t want to take any chances. What if something happens? What if-”
“Max,” you cut him off, “everything’s going to be okay. You’ve checked everything three times already.”
He lets out a breath, his shoulders finally relaxing a little. “Yeah, you’re right. I just ... I want her to be safe.”
“She will be. And besides,” you add with a teasing smile, “you’ve already won the overprotective dad award.”
That gets a small smile out of him, and he walks over to where you’re sitting, leaning down to press a kiss to Emilia’s forehead. “You’re right,” he says again, though this time it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.
You reach up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “You’re an amazing dad, Max.”
He covers your hand with his, his blue eyes softening as he looks at you. “I just ... I never thought I’d be this worried, you know? Driving at 300 kilometers an hour doesn’t scare me, but this ...”
“Because this is different,” you finish for him, understanding completely. “She’s your whole world now.”
“You both are,” he corrects, and you can see the emotion in his eyes, the depth of his feelings for both you and Emilia.
The flight attendant comes by to offer refreshments, and Max asks for a bottle of water before turning his attention back to you and Emilia. He takes a seat beside you, carefully cradling the baby as you hand her over. The moment Emilia is in his arms, the tension in his shoulders eases, and he looks down at her with the kind of adoration that makes your heart swell.
“Look at her,” he murmurs, as if he still can’t believe this little person is real, is his.
“She’s beautiful,” you agree softly.
Max leans back in his seat, holding Emilia close. She’s starting to doze off, her tiny mouth making little sucking motions even in her sleep. “I can’t wait for her to see her first race,” he says quietly, his voice full of anticipation and pride.
You smile, watching the way he looks at Emilia, as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, she is.
“Do you think she’ll like it?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.
He chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I hope so. Maybe she’ll be my little lucky charm.”
“She already is,” you say, closing your eyes for a moment, just soaking in the warmth of the moment.
The plane starts to taxi down the runway, and Max holds Emilia a little tighter, his other hand reaching out to take yours. The takeoff is smooth, but Max’s grip on your hand doesn’t loosen until you’re well into the air.
“She didn’t even stir,” you note, nodding towards Emilia, who’s still peacefully asleep in Max’s arms.
“She’s tougher than we give her credit for,” Max replies, smiling down at his daughter.
As the flight progresses, Max eventually relaxes enough to stop checking every detail of the cabin. He spends most of the time just watching Emilia sleep, occasionally glancing out the window at the clouds passing by. You can see the wheels turning in his head, and you know he’s already imagining what it will be like to have her at the track, to share that part of his life with her.
After a while, you start to feel the effects of the early morning and the flight. The gentle hum of the plane and the steady warmth of Max beside you lull you into a state of drowsiness. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, your hand still holding his.
Max looks down at you, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. This is his family, his girls, and he would do anything to keep you both safe, to make sure you’re happy. He kisses the top of your head, the gesture so natural, so filled with love, that it almost surprises him how right it feels.
As the plane flies steadily towards its destination, you drift off to sleep, the last thing you hear being Max whispering softly to Emilia, telling her about the first time he’ll take her to the paddock, how he’ll introduce her to everyone, how he’ll teach her everything he knows. His voice is filled with so much love and promise that it makes your heart ache in the best way possible.
And then, you’re asleep, resting peacefully against Max’s shoulder, while Emilia snoozes in his arms. Max stays like that for the rest of the flight, holding both of you close, his heart full and content.
***
The paddock buzzes with the usual pre-race excitement, but today, there's an extra layer of curiosity. People are craning their necks, whispering to each other, their eyes widening as Max Verstappen strolls through, an unusual sight to behold. Emilia is strapped to his chest in a baby carrier, her tiny hands grabbing at the fabric of Max’s shirt, while you walk beside him, pushing a stroller that’s more a mobile storage unit for all the baby essentials.
It’s your first time back at a race since everything changed, and the significance of the moment isn’t lost on you. Every step feels heavy with the weight of anticipation, not just for the race itself, but for the reactions you both know are coming. Max, usually so composed in these environments, seems a little tense. His hand rests protectively over Emilia, his thumb gently stroking her back as he navigates through the crowd.
As you walk together, you catch the eyes of team members, fans, and media alike, all of them stunned by the sight of Max — stoic, single-minded Max — suddenly a father. The whispers grow louder, cameras discreetly capturing the moment, and you feel the eyes of the entire paddock on you. But Max, despite the tension in his shoulders, keeps his focus on you and Emilia, blocking out the stares as best he can.
You try to smile, to project confidence, but you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable. It’s not just that this is your first time back in the paddock — it’s that this is the first time the world is seeing you, Max, and Emilia together. You brace yourself for the reactions, knowing they’ll come.
Max senses your unease and squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance that he’s with you every step of the way. “Ignore them,” he says quietly, his voice firm. “This is about us, not them.”
You nod, taking a deep breath as you push the stroller forward. Emilia, blissfully unaware of the attention, coos happily against Max’s chest, her tiny head resting against him. It’s that sound, that innocence, that gives you the strength to keep going.
As you walk further into the paddock, the sea of familiar faces starts to part for you, some people smiling warmly, others too shocked to do much more than gape. Max acknowledges a few of the team members with a nod, his usual stern expression softened by the presence of his daughter.
Then, as you turn a corner near the Red Bull garage, you see him. Charles, dressed in his Ferrari red, stands talking to a few engineers. His back is to you, and for a moment, you think you might pass by unnoticed. But then, as if sensing your presence, Charles turns.
The world seems to slow as his eyes lock onto Emilia. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief in a matter of seconds. His gaze flickers between you, Max, and the baby, and you can see the moment it all clicks for him. The green eyes, so like his own, staring back at him from the face of the baby strapped to Max’s chest.
“Max,” Charles says, his voice low, tight. His face flushes with a mix of emotions — shock, anger, betrayal. “What the hell is this?”
Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “Let’s not do this here.”
But Charles doesn’t seem to hear him. He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on Emilia, and you instinctively move closer to Max, as if you can shield your daughter from whatever’s about to happen.
“You had a baby?” Charles spits out, his voice rising with each word. “My baby?” He points at you, disbelief and fury written all over his face. “You stole my girlfriend and now you’re raising my child?”
The words hit like a slap, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You knew this confrontation was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of it, for the venom in Charles’ voice.
Max steps forward, placing himself between you and Charles. “Watch what you’re saying,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “Emilia is not your daughter. You gave up that right when you left her mother.”
Charles scoffs, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Max. “You think you can just replace me? That she’ll ever be yours?”
“She already is,” Max replies, his voice steady, unyielding. “She’s mine because I’m here for her, every day. Because I love her. And because you walked away.”
Charles looks like he’s about to explode. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, you think he might actually take a swing at Max. But instead, he turns his anger on you.
“And you,” he snaps, his voice dripping with contempt. “How could you do this? How could you let him take my place?”
The accusation stings, but before you can respond, Emilia starts to cry, the tension and raised voices too much for her to handle. The sound cuts through the air like a knife, and suddenly, all eyes are on the three of you, the scene unfolding like a car crash that no one can look away from.
Charles looks stricken at the sound of Emilia’s cries, but his anger doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it seems to fuel him further. “You think you can just replace me? That she won’t know who her real father is?”
Max’s composure finally breaks. He steps forward, his face inches from Charles, his voice deadly calm. “You lost the right to call yourself her father when you walked away from her mother without a second thought. Don’t you dare try to claim her now.”
“Max, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you reach out to him. But before you can pull him back, Charles lashes out.
“You think this is over? You think I’ll just let you play happy family with my daughter?”
“Stop it, Charles,” you plead, but your words fall on deaf ears.
Charles opens his mouth to respond, but Emilia’s cries grow louder, her tiny fists clenching in distress. Max’s expression hardens as he looks at Charles, then at his daughter, who’s clearly terrified by the escalating confrontation.
“That’s enough,” Max says, his voice firm. “You’re scaring her.”
But Charles doesn’t back down. He takes another step forward, his voice rising. “She’s mine, Max. And I’ll make sure she knows it.”
Emilia’s wails reach a fever pitch, and Max’s patience snaps. He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he turns to you. “Take her,” he says softly, carefully unstrapping Emilia from the carrier and handing her to you. You can feel his hands shaking slightly as he passes her over, his control fraying at the edges.
You cradle Emilia close, trying to soothe her as you watch the standoff between Max and Charles with mounting dread.
Max squares his shoulders, turning back to Charles with a look that could freeze over hell. “If you ever come near her again,” he says, his voice cold as ice, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Charles’s eyes flash with anger, but he’s out of words, out of retorts. He glares at Max, then at you, before turning on his heel and storming away, his footsteps echoing down the paddock.
For a moment, everything is silent except for Emilia’s soft cries. The crowd that had gathered disperses, but not without a few lingering looks of shock and curiosity. You can feel the weight of their stares, the buzz of gossip that’s sure to follow, but all that matters is calming Emilia and holding it together for her.
Max stands there, his chest heaving, the adrenaline from the confrontation still coursing through his veins. He watches as Charles disappears from sight, then turns back to you, his expression softening as he sees the tears in your eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t want it to happen like this.”
You shake your head, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you focus on Emilia, her cries quieting as she nuzzles against your chest, seeking comfort.
Max steps closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm, grounding both of you. “Are you okay?” He asks gently, his eyes searching yours.
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m okay,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky. “It’s just ... it’s a lot.”
“I know,” Max says, his voice filled with regret. “I wish I could make it all go away.”
You take a deep breath, feeling the tension start to ease as Max’s presence grounds you. “We’ll get through this,” you say softly, more for yourself than anyone else.
Max wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, his other hand resting on Emilia’s back. “We will,” he promises, his voice steady and sure. “We’re a family, and nothing’s going to change that.”
As you stand there, the chaos of the paddock fading into the background, you realize that no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, you’re not alone in this. You have Max, and together, you’ll face whatever comes your way.
***
Max paces the length of his driver’s room, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low but urgent. Outside, the hum of the paddock continues, but inside, the tension is palpable. He runs a hand through his hair, the stress of the day catching up with him. His mind is a storm of thoughts, all centered on you and Emilia.
You stand at the doorway, hesitating as you hear his voice, too focused on the conversation to notice your presence. You can’t make out every word, but the ones you do catch make your heart pound in your chest.
“No, I don’t care what it takes,” Max says, his voice firm. “I want to make sure he has no rights. None. He can’t just walk back into her life and take her away.”
Your breath hitches, and you step closer, just out of his line of sight. Max pauses, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the call, his jaw clenched tight. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in, the gravity of what he’s discussing weighing heavily on your heart.
“Yes,” he says after a moment. “I’ve thought about that. Adoption. I want it to be official, as soon as possible. I want to be her dad in every way that matters.”
You feel like the air’s been knocked out of you. Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to contain the emotion that surges through you. You’ve always known that Max loves Emilia as his own, but hearing him talk about adoption, about making it official, is overwhelming. It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear.
Max’s back is to you, his shoulders tense, his free hand on his hip. “No, I don’t care about the PR fallout. She’s my daughter, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”
You can’t stay quiet any longer. “Max 
”
He turns so quickly that he nearly drops his phone. His blue eyes widen in surprise, then soften when he sees you. He quickly wraps up the call, telling his lawyer he’ll be in touch soon, and hangs up, his attention solely on you now.
“How much did you hear?” He asks, a touch of worry in his voice as he approaches you.
“Enough,” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. “You’re serious about this? About adopting her?”
Max stops in front of you, his hands gently taking yours. “Of course, I am,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “She’s mine, in every way that matters. I don’t want there to be any question about that. I want to make it official.”
Tears well up in your eyes, and you blink rapidly, trying to keep them from falling. “Max 
 I don’t even know what to say. You’re amazing, you know that?”
He smiles, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that tugs at your heart. “I just want to do what’s right for you and Emilia. You both mean everything to me.”
Your heart swells with so much love that it feels like it might burst. “I love you,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.
Max’s eyes light up, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”
You bury your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you as you let the tears fall, tears of happiness, relief, and love. Max’s hand runs soothingly up and down your back, his touch reassuring, solid, and everything you need.
“I didn’t know if you’d want that,” you admit after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt. “The adoption, I mean. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.”
Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t about pressure,” he says earnestly. “This is about what I want. I want to be her dad, officially. I want us to be a family.”
His words hit you like a wave, and you can’t hold back the smile that breaks across your face. “We already are, Max. But 
 making it official 
 it would mean the world to me.”
He kisses you then, softly, sweetly, as if sealing the promise with his lips. When he pulls away, there’s a determination in his eyes that makes your heart race.
“We’ll get this sorted,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Charles won’t be able to touch her. I’ll make sure of it.”
You nod, trusting him completely, knowing that whatever happens, Max will be there, by your side, protecting you and Emilia. He’s already proven that in so many ways.
“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning into his embrace. “For everything.”
Max presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if he never wants to let go. “I’ll always be here for you,” he promises, his voice a gentle vow. “For both of you.”
You stay like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world outside the room forgotten. It’s just you, Max, and the love that’s grown between you, a love that’s only getting stronger with each passing day.
Eventually, Max steps back, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again. “Come on,” he says softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Let’s go check on Emilia.”
You smile back, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah,” you agree, squeezing his hand. “Let’s.”
***
The FIA Prize Giving Ceremony is a glittering affair, with the most celebrated drivers in the world gathered under one roof, all eager to see who will take home the evening’s highest honors. The room is abuzz with energy, cameras flashing, and the air thick with anticipation. It’s a night of recognition, where the best of the best are acknowledged for their achievements on the track. But for you and Max, tonight is about something much more personal.
You sit beside Max at one of the front tables, your hands clasped together under the tablecloth. Max looks sharp in his tailored suit, but his usual air of calm confidence is tinged with a nervous excitement that he can’t quite hide. His eyes are fixed on the stage, where the host is just beginning to announce the next category: Rookie of the Year.
“... and the Rookie of the Year award goes to ... Emilia Verstappen!”
The applause is instantaneous, loud and enthusiastic, as the cameras pan across the audience. You squeeze Max’s hand, and he turns to you, his eyes shining with pride. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to — you can see everything he’s feeling written all over his face.
You both watch as Emilia makes her way to the stage, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the bright lights catching the sparkles in her gown. She moves with the grace and confidence of someone who’s been in the spotlight her entire life, but there’s still that youthful energy in her step, the excitement of someone just beginning to make her mark on the world.
When Emilia reaches the podium, she takes the award in her hands, the applause still roaring around her. She takes a moment to look out at the audience, her eyes searching until they find yours and Max’s. She smiles — a smile that’s a little bit of yours, a little bit of her biological father’s, and completely her own. The room gradually quiets down, and when she speaks, her voice is clear and steady, carrying through the hall.
“Wow, this is ... incredible. Thank you so much to the FIA, to my team, and to everyone who’s supported me this year. It’s been a wild ride, and I’m so grateful for every moment.”
She pauses, glancing down at the award in her hands, turning it over thoughtfully. “But there are two people I need to thank more than anyone else, because without them, I wouldn’t be standing here tonight.”
You feel Max’s grip on your hand tighten just slightly, as if bracing himself for what’s coming. He’s always been proud of Emilia, but tonight, the emotion is running deeper than ever.
“My parents,” Emilia continues, her voice growing softer, more heartfelt. “Mama, Papa ... I owe everything to you.”
The crowd is silent now, all eyes on the young woman at the podium, the daughter of one of the greatest drivers in Formula 1 history, but tonight, it’s clear that this is Emilia’s moment.
“Mama,” Emilia says, her gaze finding you again, “you’ve been my rock, my biggest supporter, and the person who’s always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. You taught me what it means to be strong, to never give up, and to follow my heart. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.”
A lump forms in your throat, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You’ve watched Emilia grow from a baby into the remarkable young woman she is today, and hearing her speak these words is almost too much to bear. You squeeze Max’s hand again, finding comfort in his presence beside you.
“And Papa ...” Emilia’s voice catches slightly, and she takes a moment to steady herself. “I know I might not look like you, but no one can deny that I drive like you. You’ve taught me everything I know about racing, but more importantly, you’ve shown me what it means to be passionate, dedicated, and fearless. I’ve always wanted to make you proud, and I hope I’ve done that.”
Max can’t hold back the tears any longer. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep his emotions in check, but it’s no use. His eyes are wet, his chest tight with pride and love for his daughter. He nods, his lips pressed together in a tight line, as if trying to keep himself from breaking down completely.
You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. In this moment, it’s just the three of you — everything else fades away.
Emilia takes a deep breath, her gaze sweeping across the audience one last time. “I’m so lucky to have parents like you. Thank you for everything. This award is as much yours as it is mine.”
The applause that follows is deafening, the crowd rising to their feet in a standing ovation. Emilia smiles, a little shy now that the speech is over, and nods her thanks before stepping back from the podium.
As the applause continues, Max turns to you, his eyes still glistening. “She’s incredible, isn’t she?”
You nod, too emotional to speak, your heart full to bursting with love for both of them. Max leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, a silent acknowledgment of everything you’ve been through together to reach this moment.
The ceremony continues, but you’re not really paying attention anymore. You’re too lost in your thoughts, in the warmth of Max’s arm around you, in the overwhelming pride you feel for your daughter.
When Emilia returns to the table, the award in her hands, Max immediately pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so proud.”
Emilia hugs him back just as tightly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thanks, Papa,” she whispers, her voice full of love. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
They hold each other for a long moment, and you can’t help but smile through your own tears. This is your family — your beautiful, wonderful, extraordinary family.
As the evening draws to a close and the final awards are handed out, you find yourself reflecting on the journey that brought you all here. It wasn’t always easy, and there were times when you weren’t sure how things would turn out. But standing here now, with Max and Emilia by your side, you know that every challenge, every hardship, was worth it.
As you all make your way out of the ceremony and into the cool night air, Emilia holds her award close, her eyes still shining with happiness. Max keeps his arm around you, his other hand resting on Emilia’s shoulder, as if he can’t bear to let either of you out of his reach.
When you reach the car, Max opens the door for you and Emilia, and you both slide inside. As Max takes his seat behind the wheel, he glances over at you, his expression soft and full of love.
“Ready to go home?” He asks, his voice gentle.
You nod, smiling at him, your heart full. “Yeah,” you reply, reaching over to take his hand. “Let’s go home.”
As Max drives through the quiet streets, Emilia leans her head against your shoulder, her award still clutched in her hands. You glance at her, at the peaceful expression on her face, and feel a surge of contentment wash over you.
This is what it’s all about, you realize. This is the life you’ve built together, the family you’ve created. And as you sit there, surrounded by the people you love most in the world, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together — just as you always have.
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scribeofmorpheus · 21 days ago
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Why Dragon Age Veilguard isn't a "Cathedral"
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Concept art by Matt Rhodes
"To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals."
What is inherent with Veilguard that keeps bothering me is the fact that the world's choices truly didn't matter--and it doesn't simply bother me from a player perspective, it's not simply a grievance borne of frustration to what I (as a longtime fan) have lost. It's about the very culture of the arts under capitalism's new media habituation cycle [x][x].
Yes, I spent hours of my life playing and replaying each instalment of Dragon Age. Yes, I painstakingly curated a 'canon' world state by replaying what came before in preparation for Veilguard. Yes, I am even more unsatisfied with the end product--time hasn't helped, it's just widened the divide. But, and I can't stress this enough, these very personal gripes aren't what hit home the most. It's the inherent disregard of legacy. A legacy that the previous writers and game developers were building towards.
In the DAV artbook, "cathedral" is the word used to describe the process of making a game. Matt Rhodes' exact words are: "One artist can make a painting, but it takes a team to build a cathedral." Cathedrals took centuries to build. The architect who drafted the first blueprints would likely never see his work realised, he had to rely on those who came after him, like-minded and passionate, to see it through--for the culture, for the future, for legacy. Painters took on several apprentices for this reason too--giant frescoes were not completed by one man's hand, even if it is one man's name that immortalises them. Similarly, if you weave a narrative around choice, what good does it do to take it away at the final act if not to fall to caricature?
To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals.
Late-stage capitalism and profit-margin-obsessed game producers forcing developers to churn out meager content, to make a known brand into something it's not, to chase a fad or a popular trend... o, how reductive and cliche you've been forced to become Bioware. We have lost the cultural thought patterns relative to Cathedrals. We know only of barn-raised churches--done in a day but unlikely to last the turn of the seasons.
And don't even get me started on the music of Veilguard either. From Origins to World of Warcraft to Everquest to Baldur's Gate to Dungeon Siege, you can hear the intricate interconnected weave of sounds inspired by the Dungeons and Dragons-esque fantasy genre. You hear it in the repeated use of certain instruments, in the harmonic weeping notes of a bard-like singer or the foreboding echoes of drums as if of war. In tavern songs. But then, rather than hire someone who loves these worlds and this genre, who is a hungry artist looking to make a name, a legacy if you will, for themselves with a spectacular score, you hire any already sated composer, one well-into the encroaching years of career fatigue, whose notes repeat in countless projects, who feels less concise and more uninterested with each new project. One who has long since cemented his legacy. Someone in it for a paycheck and nothing else! And, to top it off, you let him compose something so minimalist? I am offended actually.
Cathedrals! We should have witnessed the final tile being placed on the Dragon Age cathedral. Instead, some architects walked up, tore down the interior and installed IKEA furniture and called it authentic before having to call the previous architects to come and fix the "load-bearing issues", forcing them to rush and add a coat of varnish and a few 'aged' details for authenticity.
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rafecameronssl4t · 7 months ago
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Tell ur girl || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader
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Summary: Topper’s new girl being a bitch so you just have to remind her where her place is.
Warnings: swearing, drinking
word count: 431
a/n: send me requests pleaseee đŸ«¶
MASTERLIST
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divider by @yoonitos
Posted up with my dogs, Scooby Doo type shit. She grippin’ all on my balls, I gotta move type shit. Diamonds, they cover my flaws, I got that brand new type shit.
You step into the dimly lit space of the party, left hand sporting a red plastic cup, your other holding your purse as you move amidst the chaotic atmosphere. The pulsating bass of Future’s ‘Type Shit’ reverberating through the air, the scent of alcohol and sweat mingles with the thrum of excitement, creating an intoxicating ambiance that electrifies the senses.
You navigate through the crowded room, your gaze fixed on Rafe, sat on one of the couches with a few people around, his presence commanding attention wherever he goes. You catch glimpses of familiar faces—like topper and kelce—their expressions a blend of excitement and indulgence, but your focus remains on Rafe.
He hadn’t noticed you as he was talking to a guy standing behind the couch, but Topper did, and he tapped Rafe on the shoulder and cocked his head to your direction. He watches you as you come closer with that grin you knew all too well. He let his eyes wander down your figure as you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks burn up.
Without even setting down your purse or cup, you immediately leaned over to Rafe as his hand rests on your hip, your lips meeting in a kiss. All while this was happening, you could hear Topper ushering the girl beside him to move to his other side. Your eyes move to an unfamiliar girl, her blonde locks cascading around her shoulders as she’s pressed up against your boyfriend’s arm, her expression one of casual indifference.
Your eyes then flicker towards Topper’s hand resting on her thigh. So this must be Top’s new girl, Cassie I think her name was. “Yo Top, tell your girl to move over yeah?” Rafe leans back on the sofa manspreading as his eyes lock with Topper’s behind the blonde girl’s head.
You notice the subtle change of demeanour in Cassie as she looks down at her painted nails. “Babe, just move here,” Topper pats the free space on his other side as she scoffs. “Why should I? I was here first,” she scoffs, glancing at you as she dismissively tosses her hair.
Rafe watches Cassie with a measured gaze, his eyes betraying none of the amusement that flickers in their depths. “Cassie, right?” The blonde blinks up at you, “Could you just please move over? You’ll still be sitting next to Top,” You assert, your tone firm but composed. Rafe’s lips quirk up in a barely contained smile.
“Nothing,” She shrugs, “I’m just not moving,” she declares defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture of defiance. In your peripheral vision, Topper closes his eyes briefly before letting out a breath, “Cassie, it’s not a big fuckin’ deal, just move and let Y/n sit there.” His tone agitated.
Your patience wears thin at her stubbornness, frustration simmering beneath the surface. With a sigh, you shoot Rafe a pleading look, silently urging him to intervene. But Rafe merely watches the exchange with a hint of amusement, his lips quirking up in a barely concealed smile.
Before you can respond, Rafe’s deep voice slices through the thick tension in the room, calm yet imbued with an unmistakable authority. His eyes lock onto yours, his expression firm but not unkind. “Come on, Cassie. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he says. His words resonate with a weight that leaves no room for argument.
“Fucking forget about it,” your voice cuts through the air as the three of them watch you set down your things on the glass table. Then, without missing a beat, you settle onto Rafe’s lap, his arms instinctively wrapping around you. Your boot-covered feet find their place on Cassie’s lap, causing her eyes to widen in shock
Topper stifles his laugh as Rafe smirks, his large hand resting on your exposed stomach. Topper’s laughs become audible, drawing a sharp glare from Cassie. “Fuck you all,” she snaps, pushing herself off the couch and shooting you a withering look before stalking off into the crowd.
“Jesus Christ, Top, where are you finding these girls? Bitch island?” You shook your head at him as he rolls his eyes, leaning back on the couch. “Fucked If I know. Maybe I should steer clear of blondes,” Topper grumbles. Rafe snorts, “That’s about the smartest think you’ve said in a long time.”
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ifwdominicfike · 2 months ago
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chicken tenders
“the best part of my day is when i get to see you naked.”
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summary - chris has been stressing this entire week, meetings have piled up while also trying to maintain filming and keep up with his brand. all he wants right now is to see you.
switch!chris x switch!reader
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you were on chris’ mind the second he woke up, he hadn’t seen you in about a week due to his busy schedule. he was growing frustrated, mentally and sexually, he would call you here and there to ask how your day was but he wasn’t really listening.
he was too lost in the sound of your tired voice from your long day as you told him what was going on, letting out small hums to let you know he was “listening”.
(flashback to yesterday..)
“and so thats when i tell her that- chris are you okay?” you had heard a soft whine from the other line “y-yeah m’fine, k-keep going ma. m’listening don’t worry..” his face turning red from almost getting caught, hand still wrapped around his cock waiting for you to continue your story “oh ok.. well anyways-“
“o-oh fuck!” he groaned, forgetting you could still hear him. “chris are you-?” you giggle “please ma, n-need you so bad baby.. haven’t been able to see you in so- fuck! so long” he lets out a shaky breath as his hand never stops its movement.
“yeah? need me that bad you’re willing to jerk off to my voice thinking i wouldn’t notice? you’re pathetic chris”
thats what got him, the degrading words pushing him over the edge. all that can be heard from his end is small cries and whimpers with your name thrown in between “fuck. y-you’re killing me baby, can’t wait to see you..”
(present day)
chris was excited for today, some of his meetings got pushed back a couple of days ahead which gave him some time to see you. not right now though, he still had to go to the warehouse to sign cards that were gonna be put in merch drops and still had a meeting or two to attend.
on the way there though he was fairly quiet, usually being his energetic self he would be blasting music throughout the whole car or picking on either matt or nick just because he was bored. “kid you there? hellooo!!” matt said waving his hand in front of chris’ face as they stopped at the red light. “what- matt get your fucking hand away from me dickhead” he pushes his hand away and scoffs “i was trying to ask you something, fucking idiot” matt said, clearly irritated.
“well what? im listening now.” chris grumbled “chris whats your problem? you’ve been acting like a moron this whole week” nick chimes in “probably cause he hasn’t seen his girl all week, s’that it chris?” matt says chuckling while the car starts moving once more.
“kid shut the fuck up already.” chris’ voice is now stern and serious “ooh that must be it” nick says laughing “can you both seriously stop talking, you’re fucking annoying.” he snaps at both of them.
“okay whatever kid just fix whatever the fuck you got going on there, m’not tryna have you moping around with us all day.” matt stated before pulling in to park.
chris was never known to be patient, always eager to have have what he wanted immediately. so when in the middle of a meeting he got a text from you he obviously opened it, not knowing that it was a photo of you in a white lingerie set with a following text saying “need you so bad baby :(“ he excused himself to the restroom and instantly called you.
you pick up immediately with a cheesy smile across your face “hey love!” your voice filled with innocence like you didn’t just get him hard in front of everyone. “y/n cut it out, im serious, right now isn’t a good time sweetheart” he said trying to keep his composure.
“i don’t know what you’re talking about baby, m’not doing anything..” you giggle “ma, please. just give me another hour and im all yours. please.” the desperation in his voice makes your thighs clench in need.
“well what if i want you now, you know i don’t like waiting” you let out a soft sigh, your hand begins to trail down to where you’re aching most. “y/n i swear if you’re doing what i think you are right now.” “don’t act like you don’t like it chris, bet you’re so hard right now, hm?”
“i’ll be there in a hour and if you keep up with this attitude you’re not coming at all tonight.” your thighs clench even more at his daring words. “ugh you’re no fun baby” you groan as he hangs up the phone.
he made his way back as matt and nick look at him annoyed, the meeting was already over and they were just sitting there waiting for chris. “do i have something on me? whats up?” he says checking his clothes and fixing his hair “you had us sitting here for forever, stupid fuck” nick says getting up “yeah whatever kid, are we leaving or not?” he makes his way out not waiting for the two behind him “kid walked out like he’s the one driving” matt said, making nick giggle.
the three were on the way home from a long day, matt was yawning every chance he got and nick was already asleep in the back, chris on the other hand though had a huge grin formed on his face.
“matt can you drop me off at y/n’s?” chris said looking over at his brother “yeah sure” he said with laugh following after “what are you laughing at?” chris said confused “nothing, just knew that was why you were acting like a baby today” “yeah whatever dickhead, just turn right here”
you hear a knock at the door, then suddenly your phone goes off, a text from chris. “im here ma” you smile and go to open the door, the second its slightly open chris barges in pinning you against the wall kissing you like he’ll never get to see you again.
he kicks the door closed and locks its before wrapping his arms around your waist, you can feel him through the rough material of his baggy jeans. fuck.
before you could even tell him something he has you over his shoulder in a tight grip before making his way to your room “someones eager” you say with a giggle.
“can’t believe you, sending me that picture in the middle of my meeting, such a fucking tease baby.” he pins you down to the bed, settled right between your legs before trailing his hands up your shirt (his shirt)..
finally shuffling you out of your clothes so you’re in nothing but that pretty lace from earlier, the tension between you two is making your stomach tighten and between your thighs wet.
him being fully clothed while you’re basically bare under him makes your head spin, wanting to see more of him you begin to play with the bottom of his shirt. “please chris, wanna see you..” you whine “yeah sweetheart? go ahead then, take it off” he smirks as you start to slip his shirt off, running your nails down his chest you feel him shiver. “watch it ma.” he warns as your hands go down further to his prominent bulge poking through his jeans.
“i need you so bad baby..”
“poor girl, so fucking desperate for m’cock.” the sound of his belt buckle clinking and his jeans ruffling off is the only thing consuming the silence between you two, he finally removes the only thing keeping you from seeing all of him and you can’t help but gawk at him. “got nothing to say now, huh? you know starin’ is rude mama.”
you roll your eyes and wrap your hand around him, stroking him at a teasingly slow pace. “just admiring you baby, y’so big..” you bite your lip and look at him through your lashes. “you’re so good fuck-“ he groans while fucking back into your hand, small whimpers leaving his lips encourage you to speed up.
“yeah? look at you.. fucking into my hand, y’that desperate?” your thumb smears the pre-cum around him, your lips make their way to his tip giving him small kisses.
“please-please mama” his hips begin to slowly move, trying to force more of himself in your mouth. quiet whines can be heard as you feel his heavy hands settle on the back of your head, you smirk and sit up before he can take things further.
“n-no baby please! i.. i wont touch you o-or anything-“ next thing he knows you’re on top of him and his back is against the headboard. “you need me that bad? look at you about to cry, all because you need to cum. fucking pathetic.” your voice harsh as you settle down on his lap, your hand caressing his rose tinted cheeks while he continues to squirm underneath you.
you lift your hips and begin to sink down onto him, a quiet hiss leaves your lips from the stretch — you grip onto his shoulders to stabilize yourself.
“shit-” chris’ grip on your hips tightens as he guides you further down onto him, your whines now being muffled as you dig your face into his neck.
“chris.. f-fuck”
“what’s wrong now pretty girl, what happened to that attitude you had a couple of minutes ago huh..?” his condescending tone making you squirm as you rock your hips trying to get some relief. your lips travel down his neck leaving open mouth kisses and bites the further down you go, drunk on the way his hands grip your waist and the way he feels inside you.
“j-just fuck me chris! ple-please” those words alone gives him all he needs to start thrusting up inside you, his tight hold on you lifting you up slightly. “c’mon pretty girl, cant let me do all the work yeah..” he teases you as his other hand comes up to grip onto your jaw, making you look directly at him.
you start to bounce up and down, your moans growing louder by the second each time you slam down onto him. chris wasn’t so quiet either — loud grunts and groans can be heard from him as mumbles of your name and praises leaves his mouth.
“good fucking girl ma, doin’ such a good job f’me sweetheart- fuck!”
your pace starts to slow down, the burning in your thighs starts to get too much for you. you make your way up to his neck once more, leaving your mark in various places that he will for sure see in the morning. the thought of the red and purple splotches traced around his neck and collarbones makes you clench around him.
your movements are barely doing anything by now, leaving chris to do all the work as you get closer and closer to coming. “always makin’ me do all the fucking work huh? greedy brat. always getting whatever she wants isn’t that right?” he taunts as he flips you two around, your legs on his shoulders as he starts fucking into you faster and harder.
“o-oh shit! fuc-fuck me chris please, m’so close baby please!” your babbles becoming incoherent as he hits that spot deep inside you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. “go ahead mama, come for me. take this dick ma, s’all yours.”
legs shaking as he continues to fuck into you, your hands grip his curls and bring him down to a sloppy kiss. needing to feel him in any kind of way what so ever, you pull back to let out a loud moan as you clamp down on him and release all over his cock. “theree ya’ go mama, goodd girl. my beautiful girl look at youu” he praises.
his groans getting louder tells you he’s close, trying his best not to come before you. he always made sure you came before him, in his words “gotta make my girl feel good.”
“where you want it ma?” “i-inside baby please!” he groans one last time as he feels you clench around him and that was his breaking point, he cums inside you with a proud smile slapped across his face.
his thrusts slow down as you both come down from the high, he starts to pull out before he hears you wince. “you good ma? did i hurt you-“ “no no baby m’fine just- a little sensitive” you give him a tired smile as you lay your head back feeling like you could fall asleep any second now “i fucked you that good then huh?” his smirk making you roll your eyes and throw the nearest pillow at him.
“chris if were not in that shower in the next 2 seconds you’re sleeping on the couch i swear to-” you say joking (half joking) “ok ok damn no need to get all bossy w’me ma, c’mon lets get you up” he’s now off the bed as he picks you up holding you like a baby. “you’re washing my hair i hope you know that” you tell him with a smile.
“yes i know that, when have i not?” he says confused as he smiles at you half asleep in his arms “my sweet girl, i love you so much” are his last words before walking into the bathroom.
- avery’s note ˚ đœ—đœšËšâ‹†ïœĄ-
i finallyyy finished this fic omg. i hope you guys like it!! i love bringing dominic fike into any conversation i can. i feel like i could’ve wrote more but i had no real fics for chris.. anyways byee i love youu á„«á­Ą !!
đ­đšđ đ„đąđŹđ­ - @submattenthusiast @chrissv4mp @ellaapsworld @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @55sturn
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blacknailsandheartbreak · 11 months ago
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Imagine the group cannot understand how you and Zuko are so close with you being a literal saint and Zuko being... well Zuko
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AN: I am back! Man, it's been a hot minute since my last post! ...Lets not think about that because I am back! :) woo hoo
~1400 word count
Part 2 once your done reading :)
SO, lets jump in and see what this Zuko fic about??? Well, imagine this...
The whole group is together and you are the newest member joining from an encounter at a local market. You'd travel alone from town to town, trying to help in any way you can to help fix the wounds the war had created. You fit in well, very polite and nice, never showing any anger, but very capable of defending your own with a bow. You became close with Katara, almost like sisters. Though, unknown to the group that you were a fire bender, you wished to keep that a secret. Your nation had done too much damage and could not bear to be tied to such a name. You hadn't practiced in a long time and were contempt on keeping it that way. You were good enough with your bow, you could protect yourself without the aid of bending. But one person saw through your mask, the only other fire bender in the group. You had a feeling he knew, as he was finding ways to spend more time with you, offering to walk with you to the market, to fetch water or wood, and he seemed to only ask you questions while it was just the two of you. If he did know you were a fire bender, then let it be so.
You volunteered one night to gather firewood, and Zuko promptly offered his assistance, in your nature you gladly accepted, you did like the company. While you two walked, you held a wicker basket against your hip and did most of the talking. Zuko hummed in response, keeping note of their far distance from the camp. As the conversation seemed to die out, Zuko stopped walking and you walked a couple more steps before realizing his halt. You turn around and lock eyes, both of you stand straight and still like statues. You knew what was coming next, your hair swayed slightly in the wind, the setting sun leaving amber shadows across you both.
"You're a bender, a fire bender." Zuko states, no question to his voice. You couldn't deny it, there was no point, he knew. You looked at him and smiled. You confirmed his suspicions, and explained to him that you have been building a new reputation for yourself outside of a fire bender label, trying to heal the brand the fire nation left on your skin as well as all its people and the ones it had affected. Zuko seemed sad, he apologized for his nation, our nation. He had promised things would change after Sozin's comet, once he overtook his father. You smile and agree that Zuko would make a fine Fire Lord, you talk to him about how much you believe can change. Ever since that night You two became close, very close. Close in ways the group could only suspect, but no proof.
On the last night of the Gaangs regrouping, before they had to pack up camp and keep moving, everyone had gone to bed, except for Zuko. He had a hard time trying to get to sleep that night, so he went out for a walk to try and clear his head. He sat by the nearby river and thought about what you had said, to rebuild a new reputation as to not be associated with the fire nation, start anew. Zuko balled his fists in anger at his country, the horrible things, unspeakable notions they had unleashed. Zuko scrunched his nose in disgust and felt the pull of his scar, a sensation that he was use to, one that would usually bring more frustration but only brought him sorrow tonight, as your words passed though his mind, 'trying to heal the brand the fire nation left on your skin as well as all its people and the ones it had effected'. Zuko felt the shame of his land pile on his shoulders, but he decided to head back to camp before he got too far into his head.
Back at camp, everyone was in bed, Toph slept alone in her stone tent, the boys had their own tent, while You and Katara shared a tent. Katara took a leap on that last night and decided to ask you about you and Zuko. She thought now would be the best time over any. Katara looked at you laying with your back to her, she gently poked your shoulder and you turned over.
"Sorry for waking you, but I had a question and I hope you take no offence, but you and Zuko... you guys have seemed to be getting very close... so um... are you guys... you know... together...?" Katara asked you in a quiet whisper with wide curious eyes.
While Katara spoke, Zuko had made his way back into camp and heard the faint whispers. It was unlike him to listen in on others' conversations but they had obviously not heard him return, and he seemed to be the topic of their subject so he decided it was fair game to listen. He caught on quickly as it was something about you and him.
You smiled and replied in a steady whisper, "Zuko and I have become good friends, nothing more." You and Zuko knew there was a bond beyond your secrets you shared, but you two were not together, just close.
Zuko had his arms crossed across his chest, he felt no offence towards the statement you shared, it was true, it was a neutral answer he could respect.
Katara responds "Oh okay... um if you don't mind me asking another question," You nodded her on, Katara continued, "Zuko and you seem to be very different, as in you are so... vibrant and kind, I don't think I have ever seen you mad." She said giggling quietly, and you smiled. "But Zuko... well you know Zuko, he only ever... scowls. Spirits, I think a smile might split his face in half..."
Zuko furrows his brows at the comment, and grabs across his mouth, 'I can smile', he thinks to himself, lowering his hand.
Katara continues, "and... and it's like pulling teeth trying to get him to talk..." Katara looks at you, "How do you- being your bubbly self, connect with someone like him? How can you talk with him for as long as you do when he seems to barely listens half the time?"
'Barely listen??' Zuko thought as his eyebrows shot up at the comment, 'Is she serious? How could she possibly think that!'
You smile at her observation, "Zuko is very kind to me," you say sweetly.
Zuko's face relaxes to your answer, and he uncrosses his arms.
You continue, "But you're right, he never says much, and yes, he is indeed quiet, but when one has gone through so much, it is understandable. We all know that feeling to some extent and we all have our ways of dealing with it. I have accepted how Zuko conveys himself as he had accepted me for how I present myself. But over all, yes, he does listen, even if it seems he is not, he always does." You conclude with a sweet smile.
Zuko is almost taken back from your answer in a way he cannot explain, but it feels as if an unknown weight has lifted off his shoulders from your response. He decided to leave the conversation there as he had heard all he needed to, and turned to walk away. But the next thing you said had caught his attention.
"Who knows," You add, "his ears are probably burning right now with the mere conversation of us talking about him...". You both giggle and say your goodnights. Zuko smirked and rolled his eyes and walked back to his tent. Although, as he replays the conversation over in his mind, something sits like a small rock in his stomach. 'Zuko and I have become good friends, nothing more.' Nothing more, he thought over and over in his head, maybe with time that could change. Once Zuko becomes Fire Lord and is able to start the change that the world needed to heal, you would embrace your bending and be proud of your nation. But that would come in time, so for right now, he could work with good friends.
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