#driving in the center lane

[palmtreepalmtree]

I'm just gonna be insane for a second here, but for real, if you are driving 15 mph slower than the speed limit while the flow of traffic is 15 mph faster than the speed limit, then you are a fucking hazard on the road and the only relatively safe place to do this is in the far right lane.

[sea-me-now]

thinking back to when i got into a car accident next to the venue right before a night vale live show and a glow cloud cosplayer looked over and just went “ooo! nasty!”

[note-a-bear]

The return of sub-lethal summer temps means biking to drop off some salmon (frozen, on sale at my store) turned into a quick breakfast burrito and mint tea at the park before riding back.

I'm still learning how to efficiently use the gears on my bike, so the super high heats were putting me off doing too much outside with it. I still don't feel super conditioned to the type of exercise that biking is, so I'm still leaving it for days with (for me) tolerable weather. Like, I just don't want to be too gassed to bike back if I go out, because pushing a bike is far more annoying than just walking home or being able to hop on a trolley (busses and trains accommodate bikes, here; trolleys don't really accommodate much aside from [mostly] able bodied people).

There's a couple of more active/main roads and the route I took today was flatter, slightly more indirect, but it was my first time trying out that road on the bike.

Still a little more chaotic than I'd like, but I didn't feel unable to do it. So that's a huge step towards biking around more regularly.

One thing that's majorly aggravating, though, is that road is a trolley street. The bike lane is between the parked cars and the trolley tracks. This is the city of double parkers. So I had one spot where I had to choose to pause, go into the street, or try to slide between a double parked minivan and the parked cars. I chose the last option because there was traffic going both directions and I didn't feel like waiting. Lucky for me the asshole was doubled on an empty spot (minor defense: it was maybe technically *just* too short for his van), so it worked out. Still annoying.

All that said, I really do like biking, and I can't wait for fall and to maybe get some time riding with play friend.

[flockofdoves]

i feel so betrayed when i do the little thank you wave to a car stopped for me when im crossing a crosswalk only for them to immediately drive forward the moment i step over the center line. like nvm fuck you lol

[itwoodbeprefect]

bingewatching youtube videos from mostly us americans and canadians about dutch road and city design with my jaw on the floor. oh dear god. oh dear GOD there's a lot of stuff i take for granted

[tittyinfinity]

I am once again saying that we need public transportation because NO ONE CAN FUCKING DRIVE jfc

[pucksandpower]

Unremembered

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: imagine looking the love of your life in their eyes and seeing a stranger stare back — but Max doesn’t have to imagine, not when this is his reality

Warnings: serious injury and memory loss

The roar of the V6 engine fills Max’s ears as he navigates the twists and turns of the Zandvoort circuit. It’s the first practice session of the Dutch Grand Prix weekend, and Max is in his element, pushing his Red Bull to its limits.

Suddenly, his race engineer’s voice crackles through the radio. “Max, box this lap. Come back to the garage.”

Max furrows his brow, confused. “What? Why? The car feels fine.”

“Max, just box now. It’s important,” GP insists, his tone unusually stern.

Reluctantly, Max steers his car into the pit lane, frustration building. As he pulls into the garage, he notices an unusual flurry of activity. His performance coach, Rupert, is waiting with a grim expression.

“Max, out of the car. Now,” Rupert says urgently.

Max climbs out, yanking off his helmet. “What’s going on? Why did you pull me in?”

Rupert takes a deep breath. “Max, I answered a call on your phone while you were out there. It was the hospital.”

Max’s heart skips a beat. “The hospital? What”

“It’s about Y/N,” Rupert says softly. “She was in a car accident on her way here. It’s ... it’s serious, Max. They’ve taken her to the trauma center.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis. Max grabs Rupert’s arm to steady himself. “What? No, that can’t ... is she okay?”

Rupert shakes his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t give me details. But they said you should come right away.”

Without another word, Max bolts towards the exit. Rupert calls after him, “I’ll drive you!”

The car ride to the hospital is a blur. Max stares out the window, his mind racing. “This can’t be happening,” he mutters. “We were just talking this morning. She was excited to watch practice ...”

Rupert glances at him sympathetically. “Try not to assume the worst. Y/N’s tough. She’ll pull through this.”

Max nods numbly, willing himself to believe it. They screech to a halt outside the emergency entrance, and Max is out of the car before Rupert can even put it in park.

At the reception desk, Max’s words tumble out in a panicked rush. “My girlfriend was brought in. Car accident. Y/N Y/L/N. Where is she?”

The nurse types rapidly. “She’s in surgery right now. If you’ll have a seat in the waiting area, the doctor will come speak with you as soon as possible.”

Max paces the waiting room like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair. Rupert tries to calm him, but Max barely hears him. After what feels like an eternity, a doctor approaches.

“Are you here for Y/N Y/L/N?”

Max nods frantically. “Yes, I’m her boyfriend. Is she okay?”

The doctor’s expression is grave. “She’s out of surgery now. The accident was very serious. She has multiple broken bones and internal injuries. We’ve stabilized her, but ...”

“But what?” Max demands, his voice cracking.

“She suffered a significant head injury. There’s swelling in her brain. We won’t know the full extent of the damage until she wakes up.”

Max sways on his feet. Rupert steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. “Can I see her?” Max asks weakly.

The doctor nods. “She’s in the ICU. I must warn you, she’s heavily sedated and on a ventilator. It may be distressing to see her like this.”

Max follows the doctor down sterile hallways, his heart pounding. When they reach Y/N’s room, he freezes in the doorway. The sight of her lying there, battered and bruised, hooked up to machines, is like a physical blow.

He approaches the bed slowly, tears welling in his eyes. “Y/N,” he whispers, gently taking her hand. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.”

Hours pass. Max refuses to leave her side, holding her hand and talking to her softly. Nurses come and go. Rupert brings him coffee that goes cold, untouched.

As evening falls, Max notices her fingers twitch. He leans forward eagerly. “Y/N? Can you hear me?”

Her eyelids flutter, then slowly open. Max’s heart soars. “Y/N! Oh, thank God. You’re awake. How do you feel?”

But something’s wrong. Her eyes are unfocused, confused. She looks at Max blankly, then around the room in bewilderment.

“Where ... where am I?” She croaks, her voice hoarse from the ventilator tube that was recently removed.

“You’re in the hospital,” Max explains gently. “You were in an accident, but you’re going to be okay now.”

She frowns, struggling to process. “An accident? I don’t ... I don’t remember ...”

Max squeezes her hand reassuringly. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about that now. I’m just so glad you’re awake.”

But she pulls her hand away, shrinking back slightly. Her eyes narrow as she studies his face. “I’m sorry, but ... who are you?”

***

Max’s world comes crashing down with those three simple words. He stares at you, his mouth agape, unable to process what he’s just heard. The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, too bright.

“Who ... who am I?” Max repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N, it’s me. It’s Max. Your boyfriend.”

You shake your head slowly, wincing at the movement. “I’m sorry, I don’t ... I don’t know you. I don’t remember having a boyfriend.”

Max’s heart shatters into a million pieces. He takes a step back, running a trembling hand through his hair. “Okay, okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “The doctor said there might be ... complications. This is just temporary. It has to be.”

You watch him warily, confusion and fear evident in your eyes. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why can’t I remember anything?”

Max takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He needs to be strong for you, even if you don’t know who he is. “You were in a car accident,” he explains gently. “You hit your head pretty badly. The doctors said there might be some memory loss, but ... I didn’t think ...”

His voice trails off as he sees tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m scared,” you whisper. “I don’t remember the accident. I don’t remember coming here. I don’t even know what day it is.”

Max instinctively reaches out to comfort you, but stops himself, realizing his touch might not be welcome. “It’s okay to be scared,” he says softly. “But you’re not alone. I’m here for you, even if you don’t remember me right now.”

A nurse enters the room, breaking the tension. She smiles warmly at you. “It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

You turn to her, relief evident in your voice. “Everything hurts and I’m so confused. I can’t remember anything.”

The nurse nods sympathetically. “That’s not uncommon with head injuries. Try not to worry too much. Your memories may come back gradually as the swelling in your brain goes down.”

Max interjects, his voice tight with worry. “But she will remember, right? This isn’t ... permanent?”

The nurse’s expression turns cautious. “Every case is different. We’ll need to run some more tests now that she’s awake. The neurologist will be by soon to evaluate her.”

Max nods numbly, feeling like he’s trapped in a nightmare he can’t wake up from. The nurse checks your vitals and adjusts your medication before leaving the room.

An uncomfortable silence falls. You fidget with the edge of your blanket, avoiding Max’s gaze. “So ... we’re together?” You ask hesitantly.

Max nods, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, for almost two years now. We live together in Monaco.”

Your eyes widen. “Monaco? But I’m ... I’m not rich. At least, I don’t think I am.”

Despite everything, Max can’t help but chuckle. “No, but I am. I’m a Formula 1 driver. That’s why we were here in the Netherlands. It’s race weekend, and you were coming to watch me practice.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is so strange. It’s like you’re talking about someone else’s life. I can’t imagine dating a famous race car driver.”

Max’s heart clenches at your words. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through photos. “Here,” he says, holding it out to you. “Maybe these will help jog your memory.”

You take the phone hesitantly, swiping through picture after picture of the two of you together. At the beach, at fancy galas, cuddled up on the couch. In every photo, you both look blissfully happy.

“We look ... so in love,” you murmur, your brow furrowed in concentration.

“We are,” Max says softly. “Or at least, we were. I still am.”

You hand the phone back, your expression troubled. “I’m sorry. I wish I could remember. You seem like a really nice guy, and clearly we had something special, but ... it’s all blank.”

Max swallows hard, fighting back tears. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

Just then, a doctor enters the room. “Ah, good to see you awake,” he says briskly. “I’m Dr. Smeets, the neurologist on your case. How are you feeling?”

You explain your symptoms and memory loss while the doctor makes notes. Max hovers anxiously in the background, hanging on every word.

“Well,” Dr. Smeets says finally, “the good news is that your physical injuries are progressing nicely. The memory loss is concerning, but not entirely unexpected given the trauma to your brain.”

“Will she get her memories back?” Max asks, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

The doctor’s expression is guarded. “It’s impossible to say for certain. Retrograde amnesia can be unpredictable. Sometimes memories return quickly, sometimes it takes months or even years. And in some cases ...”

“Some cases what?” Max presses.

Dr. Smeets sighs. “In some cases, the memories never fully return. But,” he adds quickly, seeing the stricken look on Max’s face, “that’s relatively rare. The best thing you can do is be patient. Surround her with familiar people and places. Sometimes sensory triggers can help unlock memories.”

Max nods, clinging to that small hope. “Thank you, doctor. What’s the next step?”

“We’ll keep her here for observation for a few more days, run some more tests. After that, assuming there are no complications, she can be discharged to recover at home.”

After the doctor leaves, Max turns to you with forced cheerfulness. “See? That’s good news. You’ll be out of here soon, and then we can go home and work on getting your memories back.”

You shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Going ... home with you. I mean, you seem great, but you’re still a stranger to me.”

Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he forces himself to nod. “Of course. I understand. We’ll figure something out. Maybe you can stay with your parents for a while?”

You nod, looking relieved. “That sounds better. I remember my parents, at least.”

An awkward silence falls. Max clears his throat. “Do you want me to call them?”

“Would you mind? I don’t even know where my phone is.”

Max steps out into the hallway to make the call, grateful for a moment to collect himself. When he returns, you’re looking out the window, lost in thought.

“They’re on their way,” Max says softly. “They’ll be here in a few hours.”

You turn to him, your expression softening slightly. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Max shrugs. “Of course I did. I care about you, even if you don’t remember that right now.”

You study him for a long moment. “Can you ... can you tell me about us? How we met, what our life is like? Maybe it’ll help bring something back.”

Max’s heart leaps at the request. He pulls a chair closer to your bed and begins to talk, recounting the story of your relationship. How you met at a charity event, how nervous he was to ask you out, your first date at a little Italian restaurant in Monaco.

As he speaks, you listen intently, searching your mind for any flicker of recognition. But the memories remain frustratingly out of reach, like trying to grasp smoke.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally, interrupting his story about your first vacation together. “None of this is ringing any bells. It all sounds wonderful, but ... it’s like you’re talking about someone else’s life.”

Max tries to hide his disappointment. “It’s okay. The doctor said it might take time. We just have to be patient.”

You nod, but your expression is troubled. “What if ... what if I never remember? What if these memories are just gone forever?”

Max takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Then we’ll make new ones,” he says firmly. “I love you, Y/N. That hasn’t changed. If I have to make you fall in love with me all over again, I will.”

You look at him, a mix of emotions playing across your face. “That’s ... that’s incredibly sweet. But what if I’m not the same person anymore? What if the me you fell in love with is gone?”

Max shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not possible. You’re still you, even if you can’t remember everything right now. The core of who you are, that hasn’t changed. I know it.”

You don’t look convinced, but you offer him a small smile. “I hope you’re right.”

Just then, a commotion in the hallway catches their attention. Your parents burst into the room, faces etched with worry.

“Oh, sweetheart!” Your mother cries, rushing to your bedside. “We were so worried!”

Your face lights up with recognition. “Mom! Dad!” You exclaim, reaching out to hug them.

Max steps back, giving your family space for their reunion. He watches with a mixture of relief and jealousy as you interact easily with your parents, the rapport between you unchanged by your memory loss.

After a few minutes, your father turns to Max. “Thank you for calling us, and for being here with her.”

Max nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Of course. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Your mother looks between Max and you, sensing the tension. “Is everything okay?”

You bite your lip, looking uncomfortable. “Mom, I-I can’t remember Max. Or anything about our relationship. The doctor says I have amnesia from the accident.”

Your parents exchange worried glances. Your father puts a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, son. This must be incredibly difficult for you both.”

Max nods, not trusting himself to speak. Your mother turns to you. “But surely you remember something? You and Max have been so happy together.”

You shake your head sadly. “I’m trying, but it’s all blank. I’m sorry.”

An awkward silence falls over the room. Finally, your father clears his throat. “Well, the important thing is that you’re going to be okay. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

Max nods in agreement, but inside, he’s screaming. How can he just stand by and watch as the love of his life slips away? But he knows he has to be patient, to give you space to heal and hopefully remember.

“I should probably go,” he says reluctantly. “Let you have some time with your family.”

You nod, looking relieved. “Thank you for staying with me. And for ... for everything.”

Max forces a smile. “Of course. I’ll be back tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, that’s fine. Maybe ... maybe you can bring some more photos? Or videos? Something that might help trigger my memory?”

Max’s heart swells with hope. “Absolutely. I’ll bring everything I can think of.”

As he turns to leave, you call out softly. “Max?”

He turns back, his breath catching in his throat. “Yeah?”

You give him a small, uncertain smile. “I’m glad I have someone like you in my life. Even if I can’t remember it right now.”

Max blinks back tears as he nods. “Always,” he whispers. “I’m always here for you.”

***

Max trudges into his hotel suite, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a physical force. He closes the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing. The room is dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions swirling inside him.

He fumbles for the light switch, wincing as the bright overhead lights flicker on. The suite feels cavernous and empty without you here. Your suitcase sits untouched in the corner, a painful reminder of the plans you’d made for this weekend.

Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, seeing a flood of missed calls and messages. His team, his family, the media — all clamoring for information, for his attention. He can’t deal with any of it right now.

With trembling hands, he switches off his phone and tosses it onto the bed. He paces the room, energy thrumming through his body with nowhere to go. He should shower, should eat something, should call his manager and figure out what to do about the race weekend. But he can’t bring himself to do any of it.

Instead, he finds himself drawn to your suitcase. He kneels beside it, running his hand over the familiar fabric. Slowly, almost reverently, he unzips it. Your neatly folded clothes, your favorite perfume, the book you’d been reading on the plane — all these little pieces of you, reminders of the life you shared.

Max pulls out one of your sweaters, burying his face in the soft material. It still smells like you. And suddenly, the dam breaks.

A sob tears from his throat, raw and primal. Tears he’s held back for years, through every hardship and setback, finally break free. Max crumples to the floor, clutching your sweater to his chest as he weeps.

“Why?” He chokes out between sobs. “Why her? Why us?”

The tears keep coming, relentless. Max cries for the pain you’re in, for the memories you’ve lost, for the future that suddenly seems so uncertain. He cries for the little boy who was left alone at a gas station, for the young man who walked away from a horrific crash. He cries for every emotion he’s ever pushed down, every vulnerability he’s hidden behind a mask of determination and focus.

Through his tears, he hears a knock at the door. He ignores it, unable to face anyone right now. But the knocking persists, followed by a familiar voice.

“Max? It’s me. Open up, mate.”

Max considers pretending he’s not here, but he knows Daniel won’t give up easily.bWiping his face on his sleeve, Max staggers to his feet and opens the door. Daniel takes one look at his tear-stained face and immediately pulls him into a tight hug.

“Oh, mate,” Daniel says softly. “I just heard. I’m so sorry.”

Max breaks down again, sobbing into Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel doesn’t say anything, just holds him tightly, letting him cry it out.

Finally, Max pulls away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Daniel steers him towards the couch, closing the door behind them. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Max. You’re hurting. It’s okay to let it out.”

Max collapses onto the couch, feeling utterly drained. Daniel sits beside him, his usual joking demeanor replaced by genuine concern.

“Talk to me,” Daniel urges gently. “What happened?”

Max takes a shuddering breath. “She doesn’t remember me. She looked right at me and had no idea who I was. It’s like ... it’s like the last two years never happened for her.”

Daniel winces in sympathy. “That’s rough, mate. But the doctors think it’s temporary, right?”

Max shrugs helplessly. “They don’t know. It might come back, it might not. And even if it does, how long will it take? Weeks? Months? Years?”

“And you’re worried she won’t fall for you again,” Daniel says softly, understanding dawning on his face.

Max nods miserably. “What if she doesn’t? What if the girl I fell in love with is just ... gone? I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be around her when she doesn’t even know me.”

Daniel is quiet for a moment, considering. “You know,” he says finally, “when I first met Y/N, I thought you were crazy.”

Max looks up, confused. “What do you mean?”

Daniel grins. “Come on, mate. Mad Max settling down with a normal girl? I thought for sure it was just a phase, that you’d get bored and move on to the next model or whatever.”

Max bristles slightly. “Y/N’s not just some normal girl. She’s-”

“I know, I know,” Daniel interrupts, holding up his hands. “That’s my point. It didn’t take long for me to see how special she is, and how perfect you two are together. You bring out the best in each other. That connection, that spark — it’s still there, Max. Even if she can’t remember it right now.”

Max shakes his head. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see her in that hospital bed, looking at me like I was a total stranger. It was like ... like everything we had just disappeared in an instant.”

Daniel leans forward, his expression serious. “Listen to me. The memories might be gone for now, but the feelings? The connection you two have? That doesn’t just disappear. It’s still there, buried deep inside her. You just have to be patient and give her time to find it again.”

Max wants to believe him, but doubt gnaws at his heart. “What if she doesn’t want to? What if she decides she’s better off without me?”

Daniel scoffs. “Not a chance, mate. You’re Max fucking Verstappen. What girl wouldn’t want you?”

The joke falls flat. Max just stares at the floor, shoulders slumped. Daniel sighs, realizing humor isn’t the answer right now.

“Look,” he says softly, “I know you’re scared. But think about it this way — you’ve been given a chance to fall in love all over again. To experience all those firsts one more time. It’s not ideal, sure, but it’s not the end of the world either.”

Max looks up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You really think she could fall for me again?”

Daniel grins. “Are you kidding? She fell for you once when you were an arrogant little shit. Now that you’re slightly less of an arrogant little shit, it should be a piece of cake.”

Despite everything, Max finds himself chuckling. “Thanks, asshole.”

Daniel’s expression turns serious again. “I mean it, though. You can’t give up. Y/N needs you now more than ever, even if she doesn’t realize it. You have to be strong for her.”

Max nods slowly. “I know. I just ... I don’t know how to do this. How to be around her when she doesn’t know me. When she looks at me like I’m a stranger.”

Daniel considers this for a moment. “Maybe that’s your advantage. You get to introduce yourself to her all over again. Show her the Max that she fell in love with in the first place.”

Max mulls this over. “I guess ... I guess that could work. But what if I screw it up? What if I say or do the wrong thing and push her away?”

Daniel claps him on the shoulder. “That’s where your friends come in. We’ve got your back. Whatever you need, we’re here for you. Both of you.”

For the first time since the accident, Max feels a spark of genuine hope. “Thanks. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Daniel grins. “Probably crash and burn spectacularly. But that’s why we keep you around — you’re entertaining.”

Max rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling now. “Seriously, though. How do I do this? How do I help her remember without overwhelming her?”

Daniel thinks for a moment. “Start small. Don’t dump your whole history on her at once. Share little stories, show her pictures. Let her get to know you again naturally. And most importantly, be patient. This isn’t a race you can win by pushing harder. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

Max nods, feeling a sense of determination replacing his earlier despair. “You’re right. I can do this. I have to do this. For her.”

Daniel smiles, seeing the familiar fire returning to his friend’s eyes. “That’s the Max I know. Now, have you eaten anything? Because I’m starving, and room service is calling my name.”

Max realizes he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. “Food sounds good,” he admits.

As Daniel picks up the phone to order, Max’s thoughts turn to you. He imagines you in that hospital bed, scared and confused. He makes a silent promise to himself, and to you, that he’ll do whatever it takes to help you remember. And if you can’t remember, he’ll make new memories with you, ones just as beautiful as the ones you’ve lost.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of food, conversation, and planning. Daniel helps Max sort through the flood of messages on his phone, crafting responses to his team and family. They decide that Max will skip the rest of the race weekend — his mind isn’t in the right place to drive safely, and you need him more than the team does right now.

As the night wears on, Daniel eventually leaves, extracting a promise from Max to call if he needs anything. Left alone, Max finds himself drawn once again to your suitcase. This time, instead of breaking down, he begins to pack a bag.

Photos, mementos, little things that might spark a memory — he carefully selects items to bring to the hospital tomorrow. As he works, he talks to you in his mind, imagining what he’ll say when he sees you again.

“I know you’re scared,” he murmurs, folding one of your favorite hoodies. “I’m scared too. But we’re going to get through this together. I’m not giving up on us, Y/N. Not now, not ever.”

As he zips up the bag, Max feels a renewed sense of purpose. The road ahead won’t be easy, but he’s ready to face it. Because at the end of that road is you, and a love worth fighting for.

Max crawls into bed, exhausted but no longer despairing. As he drifts off to sleep, his last thought is of you. Of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes light up when you look at him. He holds onto these memories, these precious fragments of your life together, knowing that somehow, someway, he’ll find a way to share them with you again.

Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance to help you remember. And Max Verstappen has never been one to back down from a challenge.

***

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon as Max makes his way through the quiet hospital corridors. His footsteps echo in the empty hallway, the bag slung over his shoulder feeling heavier with each step. Inside are the stuffed versions of Jimmy and Sassy, and your favorite hoodie —his hoodie, really, but you’ve claimed it as your own.

As he approaches your room, Max takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He knocks softly before entering, not wanting to startle you if you’re asleep.

You’re awake, sitting up in bed and staring out the window. When you turn to look at him, there’s a flicker of recognition in your eyes, but it’s followed quickly by confusion.

“Max, right?” You say hesitantly.

Max forces a smile, trying to hide the pain those words cause. “That’s right. How are you feeling this morning?”

You shrug, wincing slightly at the movement. “Sore. Confused. But the doctors say I’m healing well, physically at least.”

Max nods, moving closer to the bed. “That’s good. I, uh, I brought some things for you. I thought they might help make you more comfortable.”

You eye the bag curiously. “Oh? That’s ... that’s very kind of you.”

Max sets the bag on the bed and starts unpacking. First, he pulls out the stuffed cats. “These are Jimmy and Sassy,” he explains. “Well, stuffed versions of them. They’re our cats. You can’t travel without these because you miss the real ones so much.”

Your eyes light up as you reach for the stuffed animals. “We have cats? I love cats!”

Max chuckles, a warmth spreading through his chest at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, two Bengal cats. They’re like little troublemakers, always getting into mischief. You adore them.”

You hug the stuffed cats close, a small smile playing on your lips. “Tell me about them?”

Max sits in the chair beside your bed, grateful for the opening. “Well, Jimmy is the older one. He’s very dignified, or at least he tries to be. But he has a weakness for cardboard boxes. No matter how expensive a cat bed we buy him, he always prefers a random Amazon box.”

You giggle at that, and the sound is like music to Max’s ears. He continues, “Sassy is younger and true to her name. She’s always chattering away, meowing at us like she’s telling us about her day. And she has this thing for water —she’ll sit by the sink for hours, just watching the faucet drip.”

“They sound wonderful,” you say softly, stroking the stuffed cats’ fur. “I wish I could remember them.”

Max reaches into the bag again. “Maybe this will help,” he says, pulling out the hoodie. “This is your favorite thing to wear around the house. Well, my hoodie that you’ve completely taken over.”

You take the hoodie, running your hands over the soft fabric. You bring it to your face, inhaling deeply, and for a moment, Max’s heart soars with hope. But then you shake your head.

“It smells ... familiar,” you say slowly. “But I can’t place it. I’m sorry.”

Max tries to hide his disappointment. “It’s okay. Don’t push yourself. The doctors said it might take time.”

You nod, but he can see the frustration in your eyes. “It’s just so strange,” you murmur. “I know things, like I know I love cats, but I can’t remember our cats. I know this hoodie is important, but I can’t remember why.”

Max leans forward, his voice gentle. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time to heal.”

You look at him, really look at him, for the first time since he entered the room. “You’re being so patient with me. It must be hard for you, seeing me like this.”

Max swallows hard, fighting back tears. “It’s not easy,” he admits. “But you’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

A comfortable silence falls between you. You pull on the hoodie, snuggling into its warmth. “So,” you say after a while, “tell me more about us. How did we meet?”

Max’s face lights up at the question. “It was at a charity gala in Monaco,” he begins. “I was there representing the team and you were there with some friends. I saw you across the room and ... I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on your lips. “Oh really? Was it love at first sight?”

Max chuckles. “More like anxiety at first sight for me. I was so nervous to talk to you. I must have circled the room three times before I worked up the courage to approach you.”

“You? Nervous?” You say, sounding surprised. “But you’re a famous racing driver. Surely you’re used to talking to people.”

Max shrugs. “On the track, sure. But off it? Especially with beautiful women? I’m a disaster. But something about you ... I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try to talk to you.”

You lean back against your pillows, looking intrigued. “So what happened? Did you sweep me off my feet with your charm?”

Max bursts out laughing. “God, no. I was a complete mess. I walked up to you, tried to say something smooth, and ended up knocking over a tray of champagne glasses. Drenched myself and nearly you too.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh no! That sounds mortifying.”

“It was,” Max agrees. “I was ready to run away and hide forever. But then you did something amazing. Instead of being upset or embarrassed, you started laughing. Not at me, but with me. You helped me clean up, made a joke about how I was smoother on the track than off it, and then ... you asked me to dance.”

You smile at that. “I did? That was brave of me.”

Max nods, his eyes soft with the memory. “It was. You later told me you thought I was cute when I was flustered. We danced for hours that night, talking about everything and nothing. By the end of the evening, I knew I wanted to see you again.”

“And the rest is history?” You ask.

“Not quite,” Max says with a grin. “I still had to convince you to go on a proper date with me. And let me tell you, dating a Formula 1 driver isn’t always easy. But we made it work. We’ve been together for two years now, living in Monaco.”

You absorb this information, your brow furrowed in concentration. “It sounds like a fairytale,” you say softly. “I wish I could remember it.”

Max reaches out, hesitating for a moment before gently taking your hand. To his relief, you don’t pull away. “You will,” he says firmly. “And if you don’t, we’ll make new memories. Even better ones.”

You squeeze his hand, offering a small smile. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“I do,” Max says without hesitation. “Because I know you, Y/N. Even if you can’t remember right now, I know the person you are. Your kindness, your strength, your incredible spirit. That hasn’t changed. It’s still there, inside you.”

Tears well up in your eyes. “I want to believe you,” you whisper. “But it’s so hard. Everything feels so ... disconnected. Like I’m living someone else’s life.”

Max moves to sit on the edge of the bed, still holding your hand. “I know it’s scary,” he says softly. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here, your family’s here. We’ll help you through it, step by step.”

You nod, wiping away a stray tear. “Thank you. For being here, for bringing these things. It means a lot.”

Max smiles, his heart swelling with love for you. “Always. I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. No matter what.”

Just then, a nurse enters the room. “Good morning,” she says cheerfully. “How are we feeling today?”

You turn to her, still clutching the stuffed cats. “A bit better, I think. Max brought me some things from home.”

The nurse smiles approvingly. “That’s wonderful. Familiar objects can often help in recovery. Now, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to step out for a bit,” she says to Max. “We need to run some tests and change some dressings.”

Max nods, standing up reluctantly. “Of course. I’ll be back later, if that’s okay?” he asks, looking at you.

You nod, offering a small smile. “I’d like that. Maybe ... maybe you could bring some more things next time? Anything that might help jog my memory?”

Max’s heart leaps at the request. “Absolutely. I’ll bring whatever I can think of.”

As he turns to leave, you call out softly. “Max?”

He turns back, his breath catching in his throat. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you say simply. “For not giving up on me.”

Max feels tears pricking at his eyes. “Never,” he says firmly. “I’ll never give up on you, Y/N. On us.”

As he walks out of the hospital into the bright morning sunshine, Max feels a renewed sense of hope. It won’t be easy, and the road ahead is still long and uncertain. But you’re still you, still the woman he fell in love with. And he’ll do whatever it takes to help you find your way back to him.

He pulls out his phone, sending a quick message to his team. He won’t be racing this weekend, or perhaps for a while. Some things are more important than Formula 1. Right now, his place is here, by your side, helping you piece together the memories of your life together.

***

The press room is buzzing with anticipation as Max takes his seat at the table. Cameras flash incessantly and the murmur of journalists speculating grows louder. Max’s face is a mask of calm, but inside, he’s a storm of emotions.

His manager, Raymond, leans in close before stepping away. “Remember, keep it brief. No details about Y/N unless absolutely necessary.”

Max nods curtly, his jaw clenched. The past few days have been a whirlwind of hospital visits, tense conversations with the team, and now this — facing the media to explain his decision to step away from racing.

The room falls silent as the press conference begins. A Red Bull spokesperson steps up to the microphone.

“Good afternoon, everyone. As you know, Max Verstappen has announced his decision to take a leave of absence from Formula 1 for an undetermined period. Max will now take your questions.”

The room erupts with raised hands and shouted questions. Max points to a familiar face in the front row.

“Max, can you explain the reasoning behind this sudden decision? You’re in the midst of a tight championship battle. Why step away now?”

Max takes a deep breath. “I understand this comes as a surprise to many. There are personal matters that require my full attention right now. I can’t go into details, but I assure you, this decision wasn’t made lightly.”

Another journalist jumps in before he can choose the next question. “But surely these personal matters could be handled while continuing to race? Many drivers balance personal issues with their careers.”

Max feels a flicker of irritation. “Every situation is unique. In this case, I need to step away completely. My focus can’t be divided right now.”

The questions keep coming, each one chipping away at Max’s patience.

“Is this related to your recent performance dip?”

“Are there issues within the team we don’t know about?”

“Some fans are accusing you of abandoning the sport. What do you say to them?”

Max answers each as calmly as he can, but he can feel his control slipping. Then, a question from the back of the room ignites the powder keg.

“Max, there are rumors that this is about a woman. Have you let a relationship interfere with your career?”

The room falls silent, all eyes on Max. He grips the edge of the table, knuckles white. For a moment, he considers sticking to the script, giving another vague non-answer. But something inside him snaps.

“You want to know the truth?” He says, his voice low and intense. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

Raymond steps forward, a warning in his eyes, but Max waves him off.

“My girlfriend was in a serious car accident,” Max continues, his voice growing louder. “She’s in the hospital with severe injuries and memory loss. She doesn’t even remember who I am.”

The room erupts in gasps and furious scribbling. Max stands, leaning forward on the table.

“So yes, I’m stepping away from racing. Because the woman I love needs me. Because some things are more important than trophies or championship points.”

He’s shouting now, years of pent-up frustration with the media pouring out.

“You all sit here and judge me, speculate about my personal life, accuse me of abandoning the sport. But where were you when I was a kid, pushed to the limit by a demanding father? Where were you when I was struggling with the pressure of being the youngest driver in F1 history?”

The room is dead silent now, every journalist hanging on his words.

“I’ve given everything to this sport. I’ve sacrificed friendships, relationships, a normal life. And now, the one time I need to put something else first, you question my commitment?”

Max’s voice breaks slightly, but he pushes on.

“Y/N is fighting for her life, fighting to remember who she is. Who we are together. And you want me to, what? Leave her alone in a hospital room while I zip around a track?”

He looks around the room, meeting the shocked gazes of the journalists.

“So go ahead. Write your stories. Question my decisions. But know this — I don’t regret my choice. Not for a second. Because at the end of the day, the chequered flag won’t keep me warm at night. It won’t laugh at my jokes or hold my hand when I’m stressed.”

Max takes a deep breath, his anger giving way to a deep sadness.

“I love racing. It’s been my whole life. But I love Y/N more. And right now, she needs me. So I’m going to be there for her, every step of the way, until she’s better. Until she remembers us.”

He sits back down, suddenly drained. The room is still silent, the journalists too stunned to even raise their hands for questions.

Finally, a older journalist in the front row clears his throat. “Max, I ... we had no idea. I’m so sorry about Y/N. Can you tell us more about her condition?”

Max shakes his head, his voice softer now. “I’ve already said more than I planned to. Y/N’s privacy is important to me. All I’ll say is that she’s fighting hard, and I’m going to be right there with her.”

Another journalist speaks up. “You mentioned Y/N doesn’t remember you. How are you coping with that?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, considering his words carefully. “It’s ... it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. Harder than any race, any championship battle. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and see no recognition ... it’s gut-wrenching.”

He pauses, swallowing hard. “But I’m not giving up. I’m fighting for us, for our memories, for our future. Even if I have to make her fall in love with me all over again.”

The mood in the room has shifted completely. Gone is the adversarial tension, replaced by a somber understanding.

“What can fans do to support you during this time?” Another journalist asks.

Max manages a small smile. “Just ... be patient. Understand that there are things more important than racing. And maybe, if you’re the praying type, keep Y/N in your thoughts.”

The Red Bull spokesperson steps forward, signaling the end of the conference. But Max holds up a hand, not quite finished.

“I want to say one more thing,” he says, his voice steady. “To any of you out there who might be going through something similar — don’t be afraid to step back. Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for putting your loved ones first. At the end of the day, that’s what really matters.”

With that, Max stands and walks out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. As soon as he’s out of sight of the cameras, he leans against a wall, emotions overwhelming him.

Raymond approaches cautiously. “That ... didn’t go quite as planned.”

Max lets out a humorless laugh. “No, I suppose it didn’t.”

“You okay?” Raymond asks, genuine concern in his voice.

Max nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am. It feels ... good to have it out there. No more hiding, no more vague excuses.”

Raymond squeezes his shoulder. “You did good, kid. It won’t be easy, but people will understand now.”

Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to see a flood of messages — from his team, his family, even other drivers. But one catches his eye — a text from your mom.

“Just saw the press conference. Y/N would be so proud of you. We all are. Come by the hospital when you can. She’s asking for you.”

Despite everything, Max feels a smile tugging at his lips. He turns to Raymond. “I’ve got to go. Y/N’s waiting.”

Raymond nods understandingly. “Go. We’ll handle things here. Give her our best.”

As Max walks out of the building, he’s greeted by a small crowd of fans. But instead of the anger or disappointment he expected, he sees understanding and support in their faces. Many are holding haphazardly thrown together signs with messages of encouragement for both him and you.

One young girl breaks away from her parents, running up to Max with a hand-drawn card. “This is for Y/N,” she says shyly. “I hope she gets better soon.”

Max kneels down, taking the card with a genuine smile. “Thank you. I’ll make sure she gets it.”

As he stands, the crowd starts to applaud. It’s not the roar of a race victory, but a softer, more meaningful sound. The sound of people recognizing a different kind of strength, a different kind of victory.

Max raises a hand in acknowledgment before getting into his waiting car. As the driver pulls away, he looks at the card in his hands. It’s a simple drawing of two stick figures holding hands, with the words “Get well soon Y/N! Max loves you ❤️” written in childish scrawl.

For the first time in days, Max feels a weight lift from his shoulders. The road ahead is still long and uncertain, but he’s not alone. He has the support of his team, his fans, and most importantly, he has you — even if you can’t remember him yet.

As the car speeds towards the hospital, Max makes a silent promise. To you, to himself, to everyone who’s supporting them. He’ll face this challenge with the same determination and focus he brings to the track. Because this is the most important race of his life — the race to help you remember, to rebuild your life together.

And Max Verstappen doesn’t lose races that matter.

***

Max stands outside your hospital room, the handmade card clutched in his hand. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself before knocking softly and entering.

You’re sitting up in bed, looking more alert than he’s seen you since the accident. Your parents are there too, gathering your things in preparation for your discharge tomorrow.

“Max,” you say, a small smile gracing your lips. It’s not the warm, loving smile he’s used to, but it’s a start. “We saw your press conference.”

Max feels a flush creep up his neck. “Ah, yeah. I, uh, might have gotten a bit carried away.”

Your mother steps forward, enveloping him in a hug. “You were wonderful, dear. So brave and honest.”

“Thanks,” Max mumbles, still not entirely comfortable with praise outside of racing. He turns his attention back to you. “How are you feeling today?”

You shrug slightly. “Better, I think. Still ... confused about a lot of things. But the pain is less.”

Max nods, moving closer to your bed. “That’s good. I, uh, I have something for you.” He holds out the card. “A young fan made this for you after the press conference.”

You take the card, examining the childish drawing with a soft expression. “Get well soon Y/N! Max loves you!” You read aloud. Your eyes flick up to meet his. “That’s ... very sweet.”

Max shifts uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Your father, sensing the tension, clears his throat. “We’re going to go get some coffee. Give you two some time to talk.”

As your parents leave the room, an awkward silence falls. Max takes a seat in the chair beside your bed, fidgeting with his hands.

“So,” you say finally, “you’re taking time off from racing. For me.”

Max nods. “Yeah. I hope that’s okay. I know you don’t ... remember us. But I want to be here for you, however you need me to be.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words. “It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit softly. “Knowing someone’s put their whole life on hold for me.”

Max leans forward, his eyes intense. “Hey, no. Don’t think of it like that. This isn’t a sacrifice or an obligation. It’s a choice. My choice.”

You nod slowly, but he can see the doubt in your eyes. “Tell me something,” you say suddenly. “Something about us. Something ... happy.”

Max feels a smile tugging at his lips as he casts his mind back. “Okay, how about this? Last year, after I won the championship, we took a vacation. Just the two of us, no teams, no press, no obligations.”

“Where did we go?” You ask, curiosity piqued.

“Bali,” Max says, his eyes lighting up with the memory. “We rented this amazing villa right on the beach. You were determined to teach me how to surf.”

A small giggle escapes you. “Did I succeed?”

Max chuckles. “Not even close. I spent more time eating sand than standing on the board. But you were so patient, so encouraging. Even when I was frustrated and ready to give up, you just ... you made it fun.”

“Sounds nice,” you say softly.

“It was more than nice,” Max continues, warming to the subject. “One evening, we were sitting on the beach watching the sunset.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I realized all the trophies, all the victories ... they didn’t compare to just being there with you, watching the sun sink into the ocean.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, absorbing his words. “We sound ... very happy together,” you say finally.

Max nods, blinking back tears. “We are. We were. We will be again.”

You reach out hesitantly, taking his hand. It’s the first time you’ve initiated contact since the accident, and Max feels his heart soar.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m being discharged tomorrow, and I don’t ... I don’t know where I belong anymore.”

Max squeezes your hand gently. “You belong wherever you feel comfortable. If that’s with your parents for now, that’s okay. If you want to try coming home with me, that’s okay too. There’s no pressure, no expectations. We’ll figure this out together, at your pace.”

You nod, looking grateful. “Thank you. For being so understanding. I know this can’t be easy for you either.”

Max shrugs. “It’s not. But you’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

A comfortable silence falls between you. Max is content to just sit there, holding your hand, savoring this small connection.

After a while, you speak again. “Can you tell me more? About our life together?”

Max’s face lights up. “Of course. What do you want to know?”

You consider for a moment. “What’s a typical day like for us? When you’re not racing, I mean.”

Max leans back in his chair, a fond smile on his face. “Well, you’re definitely the early riser between us. You usually get up first, make coffee. Sometimes you go for a run or do yoga on the balcony.”

“I do yoga?” You ask, sounding surprised.

Max chuckles. “Yeah, you got into it as a way to help me relax between races. Said if it could calm me down, it could work miracles for anyone.”

You laugh at that, a genuine, full laugh that makes Max’s heart skip a beat. It’s the first time he’s heard that sound since the accident.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I usually drag myself out of bed when I smell the coffee. We have breakfast together, usually something healthy that you insist I need.”

“Sounds like I take good care of you,” you observe.

Max nods, his expression softening. “You do. Better than anyone ever has.”

“What else?” You prompt, clearly engrossed in the story of your shared life.

“Well, if I’m training, you often come to the gym with me. You say it’s to support me, but I think you just like ogling me when I lift weights.”

You swat his arm playfully, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. “I do not!”

Max grins, delighted by this glimpse of your old dynamic. “Oh, you absolutely do. Not that I mind. I return the favor when you’re doing your yoga.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “What else do we do?”

“We cook together a lot,” Max says. “Or rather, you cook and I try not to burn the kitchen down. You’re teaching me, slowly but surely. We have this tradition of trying to recreate dishes from all the countries I race in.”

“That sounds fun,” you say, a wistful note in your voice. “Do we have a favorite?”

Max thinks for a moment. “There’s this amazing pasta dish we perfected after the Italian Grand Prix. You said it was better than sex.”

Your eyes widen. “I did not!”

Max laughs. “You absolutely did. Then you made me prove you wrong.”

You blush furiously, but you’re laughing too. “I can’t believe I said that!”

“Believe it,” Max says, grinning. “You’re full of surprises, schatje. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

The word ’love’ hangs in the air between you. You grow quiet, your expression thoughtful.

“Max,” you say finally, “I want you to know ... I’m trying. To remember. To ... to feel what you feel.”

Max squeezes your hand. “I know you are. And it’s okay if it takes time. Or if ... if you never feel exactly the same way. We can build something new, if we need to.”

You nod, looking relieved. “Thank you. For understanding. For being patient.”

“Always,” Max says softly.

Just then, your parents return, breaking the intimate moment. Your mother smiles warmly at the sight of your joined hands.

“Everything okay in here?” She asks.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Max was just telling me about our life together.”

Your father clears his throat. “Speaking of which, we should probably discuss arrangements for after your discharge tomorrow.”

You tense slightly, and Max can feel your grip on his hand tighten. “Right,” you say, your voice uncertain.

Max jumps in. “Y/N, remember what I said. Whatever you’re comfortable with. There’s no pressure.”

You nod gratefully. “I think ... I think I’d like to stay with my parents for a bit. If that’s okay?” You look at Max, worry in your eyes.

Max forces a smile, ignoring the pang in his heart. “Of course it’s okay. Whatever you need.”

Your mother steps forward. “Max, you’re welcome to visit anytime. We know how important you are to Y/N, even if she can’t remember everything right now.”

Max nods, grateful for their understanding. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

As the conversation turns to logistics of your discharge, Max finds his mind wandering. It’s not the outcome he’d hoped for, but he understands. You need time, space to heal and rediscover yourself. And he’ll be there, every step of the way, however you need him.

As visiting hours come to an end and Max prepares to leave, you call out to him.

“Max?”

He turns back. “Yeah?”

You hesitate for a moment, then say, “Thank you. For everything. And ... I’d like to hear more stories. About us. If that’s okay.”

Max feels a warmth spread through his chest. It’s not a declaration of love, not a magical recovery of memories. But it’s a start. A willingness to explore, to learn, to possibly fall in love all over again.

“Anytime,” he says softly. “I’ve got plenty of stories to tell.”

***

The Monaco apartment feels cavernous and empty as Max pushes open the door. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the soft padding of paws as Jimmy and Sassy come to greet him. They meow insistently, weaving between his legs, clearly searching for someone who isn’t there.

“I know,” Max murmurs, kneeling to scratch behind their ears. “I miss her too.”

He moves through the space, every corner filled with memories. Your favorite mug sits on the kitchen counter, lipstick stain still visible on the rim. A half-read book lies on the coffee table, your bookmark peeking out from the pages. Your scent lingers on the throw pillows on the couch.

Max sinks onto the sofa, and immediately, Jimmy jumps up beside him, headbutting his hand for attention. Sassy follows suit, curling up in his lap.

“At least I’ve got you two,” Max says softly, stroking their fur. “But it’s not the same, is it?”

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through photos of happier times. You and him on vacation, at race weekends, lazy Sundays at home. Your smile, so bright and full of love, now feels like a distant memory.

“Come on, Max,” he mutters to himself. “You can’t fall apart now. Y/N needs you to be strong.”

But in the quiet of the apartment, with only the cats for company, it’s hard to maintain that strength. For the first time since the accident, since the press conference, since leaving you at your parents’ house, Max allows himself to truly feel the weight of everything that’s happened.

A sob escapes him, then another. Soon, he’s crying in earnest, all the pent-up fear and frustration and loneliness pouring out. Jimmy and Sassy press closer, as if trying to comfort him.

“I don’t know what to do,” Max confesses to the empty room. “How do I help her remember? How do I make her fall in love with me again? What if ... what if she never does?”

The cats, of course, don’t answer. But their presence is comforting, a reminder that he’s not entirely alone.

As his tears subside, Max takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He needs to focus, to come up with a plan. You might not remember your life together, but he does. And he’s determined to help you rediscover it, piece by piece if necessary.

He stands, moving to the bookshelf where you keep photo albums. Maybe he could put together a scrapbook of your relationship, something tangible for you to look through. As he reaches for an album, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

His heart leaps when he sees your name on the screen. He answers immediately, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Y/N? Is everything okay?”

“Hi,” you say, and he can hear a note of confusion in your voice. “Everything’s fine, I just ... this is going to sound weird, but I needed to ask you something.”

Max sits back down on the couch, curious. “Of course. What is it?”

You hesitate for a moment before speaking. “I’ve been having these ... cravings. For food I don’t remember ever eating before, much less liking. And I thought maybe ... maybe they mean something?”

Max’s pulse quickens. Could this be a sign of your memories returning? “What kind of food?” He asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Tomato soup,” you say. “And beef carpaccio. I know it sounds strange, but I can’t stop thinking about them. Do they ... do they mean anything to you?”

Max feels like his heart might burst out of his chest. “Y/N,” he says softly, “those are my favorite foods.”

“Oh,” you breathe, and he can hear the surprise in your voice. “I ... I didn’t know that.”

“The tomato soup is something my mom used to make for me when I was a kid,” Max explains, his voice thick with emotion. “And the carpaccio ... that was what we had on our first real date in Monaco.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “I don’t remember that,” you say finally, a note of frustration in your voice. “But I can almost ... almost taste it, you know? Like my body remembers even if my mind doesn’t.”

Max nods, even though you can’t see him. “That’s good, Y/N. That’s really good. It means the memories are still in there somewhere.”

“Maybe,” you say, sounding uncertain. “I just wish I could remember more. It’s so frustrating, having all these ... these echoes of a life I can’t quite grasp.”

“I know,” Max says soothingly. “But this is progress. We just have to be patient.”

You sigh. “You’re right. I just ... I feel bad, you know? You’re being so patient and understanding, and I can’t even remember our first date.”

Max’s heart aches at the sadness in your voice. “Hey, no. Don’t feel bad. This isn’t your fault. We’re in this together, remember?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Together.”

There’s another pause, and Max can almost picture you biting your lip, the way you do when you’re thinking hard about something.

“Max?” You say finally. “Can you ... can you tell me about our first date? The one with the carpaccio?”

A smile spreads across Max’s face. “Of course. It was about a week after we met at that charity gala. I was so nervous, I must have changed my shirt five times before picking you up.”

You laugh softly. “You, nervous? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” Max chuckles. “You had me completely flustered. Still do, if I’m honest.”

He launches into the story, describing how he’d taken you to a small, intimate restaurant overlooking the harbor. How you’d laughed at his attempts to pronounce the French dishes, how your eyes had lit up when you tasted the carpaccio.

“You said it was the best thing you’d ever eaten,” Max recalls. “But I barely tasted the food. I just couldn’t believe someone as amazing as you was interested in me.”

“Max ...” you start, your voice soft and a bit uncertain.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I don’t mean to push. I know this is all still ... complicated.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure him. “I like hearing these stories. They help, even if I can’t remember them myself yet.”

Max feels a warmth spread through his chest. “I’m glad. I’ve got plenty more where that came from, whenever you want to hear them.”

“I’d like that,” you say. “Maybe ... maybe next time we could do it in person? If you’re not too busy, I mean.”

“Y/N,” Max says seriously, “I’m never too busy for you. Just name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”

You laugh softly. “Careful, I might hold you to that.”

“Please do,” Max says, meaning every word.

As you say your goodbyes, Max feels lighter than he has in days. It’s not a magical fix, not a sudden return of all your memories. But it’s progress. A willingness to explore, to learn, to possibly fall in love all over again.

An idea strikes him as he ends the call. He quickly pulls up a food delivery app on his phone, searching for restaurants near your parents’ house. Finding one that offers both tomato soup and beef carpaccio, he places an order, adding a note.

A taste of our memories. Hope this helps satisfy those cravings - Max

As he completes the order, Max feels a surge of hope. It’s a small gesture, but maybe it will help trigger more memories. Or at the very least, it will show you that he’s thinking of you, that he’s here for you in whatever way you need.

He looks around the apartment, seeing it with new eyes. Yes, it’s empty without you here. But it’s not a sad emptiness anymore. It’s a space waiting to be filled again, with new memories alongside the old.

Max scratches Jimmy and Sassy behind the ears. “What do you think, guys? Should we start planning how to win your mom’s heart all over again?”

The cats purr in response, and Max chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Even if you can’t remember everything yet, your body remembers. Your heart remembers.

And Max is determined to help you rediscover every beautiful moment of your life together, one memory at a time. Starting with a bowl of tomato soup and a plate of beef carpaccio.

***

The shrill ring of his phone jolts Max awake. He fumbles for it in the darkness, heart racing as he sees the caller ID: your mother.

“Hello?” He answers, voice thick with sleep but mind rapidly clearing.

“Max, I’m so sorry to wake you,” your mother’s voice comes through, tense and worried. “It’s Y/N. She woke up about an hour ago and she’s ... she’s not okay.”

Max is already out of bed, fumbling for clothes. “What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” your mother assures him quickly. “She’s just ... she’s crying and she keeps saying she needs you. We can’t calm her down. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing,” Max says, pulling on a shirt haphazardly. “I’m on my way. Can you put her on the phone?”

There’s a rustling sound, then your voice comes through, small and broken. “Max?”

His heart clenches at the pain in your voice. “Y/N, I’m here. What’s wrong, liefje?”

“I don’t know,” you sob. “I had this dream and now everything hurts and I can’t ... I can’t remember but I know I need you. Please, Max. I need you here.”

“I’m coming,” Max promises, already dialing his pilot with his other phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hold on, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Please hurry.”

As the call ends, Max is already rushing out the door, barely remembering to grab his wallet and keys. He calls his pilot as he takes the stairs two at a time, not willing to wait for the elevator.

“Frank, I need the jet ready as soon as possible. We’re flying to-” he rattles off the name of your parents’ hometown. “How fast can we be in the air?”

“Mr. Verstappen, it’s the middle of the night,” Frank starts, but Max cuts him off.

“I know what time it is. This is an emergency. How soon?”

There’s a pause, then Frank sighs. “Give me 30 minutes. I’ll call the crew.”

“Make it 20,” Max insists. “I’ll double your rate.”

“We’ll be ready,” Frank assures him.

Max ends the call as he reaches his car, peeling out of the parking garage with a screech of tires. His mind races as fast as the car, worry for you overwhelming everything else.

What could have triggered this? You’d been doing better, or so he thought. The memory of food had seemed like progress. But now ...

He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the road. Getting to you safely is what matters now. Everything else can wait.

Max makes it to the airport in record time, barely bothering to park properly before he’s sprinting towards his private jet. Frank meets him at the stairs.

“We’re fueled and ready,” he says. “Weather looks clear, we should have a smooth flight.”

“Good,” Max nods, already climbing the stairs. “Let’s go.”

As the jet takes off, Max finds himself unable to sit still. He paces the cabin, checking his phone every few seconds even though he knows there’s no signal at this altitude.

The flight attendant approaches cautiously. “Mr. Verstappen? Can I get you anything?”

Max shakes his head, then reconsiders. “Actually, yes. Coffee. Strongest you’ve got.”

She nods, retreating to the galley. Max resumes his pacing, his mind a whirlwind of worry and speculation.

What if you’d remembered something traumatic? What if this setback undid all the progress you’d made? What if ...

He forces himself to stop that line of thinking. Catastrophizing won’t help anyone, least of all you.

The flight seems to take an eternity. As soon as they land, he’s out of his seat, barely waiting for the stairs to fully deploy before he’s racing down them.

A car is waiting, arranged by his ever-efficient team. Max barely registers the driver’s greeting as he slides into the backseat.

He recites the address tersely. “As fast as you can.”

The drive is a blur of streetlights and quiet suburban roads. Max’s leg bounces nervously, his hands clenched into fists.

Finally, mercifully, they pull up to the familiar house. Max is out of the car before it fully stops, racing up the front steps.

Your father opens the door before he can knock. “Thank God you’re here,” he says, ushering Max inside. “She’s upstairs.”

Max takes the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding. He can hear muffled sobs coming from your old bedroom.

He pauses at the door, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Then he knocks softly. “Y/N? It’s me. It’s Max.”

The sobs quieten slightly. “Max?” Your voice comes through, small and uncertain.

“Can I come in?”

There’s a pause, then: “Please.”

Max opens the door slowly. The room is dimly lit by a bedside lamp, casting long shadows. You’re huddled on the bed, knees drawn up to your chest, eyes red and puffy from crying.

The sight of you so distressed nearly breaks him. In two long strides, he’s at your side.

“I’m here,” he says softly. “I’m right here.”

You look up at him, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “Max,” you whisper, and then you’re launching yourself into his arms.

Max catches you, holding you close as you sob into his chest. He strokes your hair, murmuring soothing words.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Gradually, your sobs subside, replaced by hiccuping breaths. Max continues to hold you, rocking slightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently.

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. “I had this dream,” you start, your voice hoarse. “It was so vivid. We were ... we were in a car, I think. And there was a crash and I couldn’t ... I couldn’t reach you.”

Max’s heart clenches. Is this a memory of your accident trying to surface?

“It felt so real,” you continue. “And when I woke up, I was so scared and confused. I couldn’t remember where I was or why you weren’t there. I just knew I needed you.”

“I’m here now,” Max says, cupping your face gently. “I’ll always come when you need me.”

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. “I’m sorry for making you fly out in the middle of the night.”

Max shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. There’s something different there, something Max can’t quite identify.

“Max,” you say slowly, “I think ... I think I remembered something.”

His breath catches. “What did you remember?”

You furrow your brow, concentrating. “It’s not clear. Just ... feelings, mostly. But when you walked in, when you held me ... it felt familiar. Safe. Like ... like coming home.”

Max feels hope bloom in his chest. “That’s good, schatje. That’s really good. It means the memories are still there, even if they’re hard to reach right now.”

You nod, then yawn widely. The emotional toll of the night is clearly catching up with you.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Max says, moving to stand up.

But you grab his hand, holding him in place. “Will you ... will you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”

Max’s heart swells. “Of course. As long as you need.”

You scoot over, making room for him on the bed. Max kicks off his shoes and lies down next to you, careful to maintain a respectful distance.

But you close that distance, curling into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. Like the accident never happened.

“Tell me a story,” you mumble, already half-asleep. “About us.”

Max smiles, wrapping an arm around you. “Okay. How about the time we tried to teach Jimmy and Sassy to swim?”

You make a soft sound of agreement, nuzzling closer.

As Max recounts the tale of your misadventures with the cats and a kiddie pool, he feels you relax against him, your breathing evening out.

He continues the story even after he’s sure you’re asleep, partly out of habit, partly because he’s not ready for this moment to end.

Eventually, he falls silent, just listening to your steady breathing. He knows he should leave, go sleep in the guest room or on the couch. But he can’t bring himself to move, to break this fragile peace.

Just a few more minutes, he tells himself. Just a little longer.

Before he knows it, sunlight is streaming through the windows. Max blinks awake, momentarily disoriented. Then he feels you stir against him, and everything comes rushing back.

You lift your head, looking up at him with sleep-clouded eyes. For a moment, just a moment, Max sees recognition there. The look you used to give him every morning.

But then you blink, and it’s gone, replaced by confusion, then embarrassment.

“Oh God,” you mutter, sitting up quickly. “Max, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you here all night.”

Max sits up too, trying to ignore the ache in his heart at the loss of contact. “It’s okay. I wanted to be here.”

You run a hand through your hair, not meeting his eyes. “Last night ... it’s all a bit fuzzy. Did I ... did I say anything? About remembering?”

Max nods slowly. “You said being with me felt familiar. Like coming home.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, staring at your hands. “I wish I could remember more,” you say finally, your voice small. “It’s all still so ... jumbled.”

Max reaches out, then stops himself, unsure if the touch would be welcome. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out together.”

You look up at him then, a small smile on your face. “Together,” you repeat. “I like the sound of that.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, and your mother pokes her head in. “Oh good, you’re both awake. Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry.”

As you both stand to head downstairs, Max feels a mix of emotions. Disappointment that the night didn’t lead to a magical recovery of your memories. Hope at the small signs of progress. And an overwhelming sense of love for you, memory or no memory.

He knows the road ahead is still long and uncertain. But as he watches you smile at something your mother says, he feels more certain than ever that it’s a road worth traveling.

Because even if you can’t remember all of your history together, you’re still you. Still the woman he fell in love with. And he’ll spend every day helping you rediscover that love, one memory at a time.

***

The rhythmic clanging of weights fills the air as Max pushes through another set of bench presses. Sweat beads on his forehead, his muscles straining with each repetition. Rupert stands nearby, counting softly and offering encouragement.

“Nine ... ten ... good, Max. One more set and we’ll move on.”

The sharp ring of Max’s phone cuts through the gym’s atmosphere. Max grunts, arms shaking as he finishes his reps.

“Can you grab that, Rupert? Might be important.”

Rupert nods, retrieving the phone from Max’s gym bag. “It’s Y/N’s parents,” he says, eyebrows raised.

Max’s heart skips a beat. “Put it on speaker,” he says quickly, sitting up on the bench.

Rupert answers the call, holding the phone out between them. “Hello? This is Rupert, Max’s trainer. You’re on speaker.”

“Oh, hello Rupert,” comes the familiar voice of your mother. “Is Max there? We have some news.”

“I’m here,” Max says, leaning closer to the phone. “What’s going on? Is Y/N okay?”

There’s a pause, and Max feels his anxiety spike. Then, your father’s voice comes through, barely containing his excitement.

“Max, it’s ... it’s incredible. Y/N says she can remember. Not everything, but ... a lot. She woke up this morning and it was like a flood of memories just came back to her.”

The words hit Max like a physical force. He stands abruptly, forgetting the weight still balanced precariously on his legs. It crashes to the floor with a deafening clang, missing Rupert’s foot by mere inches.

“Whoa!” Rupert yelps, jumping back. “Easy there, Max!”

But Max barely notices. His entire world has narrowed to the voice coming from the phone. “She ... she remembers? Are you sure? How much does she remember?”

Your mother’s voice comes back on. “It’s still patchy, but she remembers you, Max. She remembers your life together, your home in Monaco. She’s been talking about the cats all morning.”

Max feels his knees go weak. He sits back down heavily on the bench, his head spinning. “Can I ... can I talk to her?”

“I’m afraid she’s with the doctors right now,” your father explains. “They want to run some tests, make sure everything’s okay. But she’s been asking for you. We thought you’d want to know right away.”

Max nods, then remembers they can’t see him. “Yes, of course. Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll take the jet, I can be there in”

“Actually,” your mother interrupts, “Y/N has been asking to come home. To Monaco. She says she misses you, and the cats, and ... well, her life with you.”

Max feels a lump form in his throat. “She wants to come home?” He repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

“If that’s alright with you,” your father adds quickly. “We understand if you need time to prepare, or if you think it’s too soon”

“No!” Max exclaims, perhaps a bit too loudly. He clears his throat. “I mean, no, it’s not too soon. It’s perfect. I can send the jet for her right away. If ... if that’s what she wants.”

He can hear the smile in your mother’s voice as she responds. “It is. She’s quite insistent, actually. Says she wants to sleep in her own bed.”

Max feels a grin spreading across his face. “I’ll make the arrangements right away. Can you have her ready to go in ... let’s say five hours?”

“We can do that,” your father confirms. “And Max? She’s ... she’s really excited to see you.”

Max swallows hard, emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “I can’t wait to see her too. Thank you both, for everything.”

As the call ends, Max looks up to see Rupert grinning at him. “So,” his trainer says, “I’m guessing our workout is over for the day?”

Max laughs, a sound of pure joy and relief. “Yeah, I’d say so. Sorry about almost crushing your foot.”

Rupert waves it off. “Small price to pay for good news like that. Go on, get out of here. Go prepare for Y/N’s homecoming.”

Max doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already dialing his pilot as he rushes towards the locker room. “Frank? I need the jet ready as soon as possible. We need to pick someone up ...”

That evening, Max is pacing the length of his — your — living room, unable to keep still. He’s tidied the already immaculate apartment three times, checked on the cats twice, and changed his shirt four times.

Max takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He sinks onto the couch, and immediately Jimmy jumps into his lap.

“Hey, buddy,” Max murmurs, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Mama’s coming home. You excited?”

Jimmy purrs in response, kneading Max’s leg. Sassy, not to be left out, appears from nowhere and curls up next to them.

“Yeah, me too,” Max says softly. He looks around the apartment, memories flooding back. Your first night here together, nervous and excited about taking this step. Lazy Sunday mornings cuddled on this very couch. The time you tried to teach him to dance in the living room, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand.

The next hour crawls by at an agonizing pace. Max alternates between sitting rigidly on the couch and pacing the floor. He checks his phone obsessively, waiting for updates.

Finally, blessedly, his phone rings. It’s his pilot. “We’ve landed, boss. Y/N’s parents are helping her into the car now. Should be at your place in about 20 minutes.”

Max feels his heart rate double. “Thanks, Frank. Until next time.”

The next 20 minutes are the longest of Max’s life. He stands by the window, watching the street below, waiting for the familiar black SUV to appear.

When it finally does, Max feels like he might pass out. He watches as the car pulls up, as the driver gets out to open the back door. And then ... there you are.

You look tired, a bit pale, but to Max, you’ve never been more beautiful. You look up at the building, a soft smile playing on your lips. And then your eyes meet his through the window.

Max feels his breath catch in his throat. Because in that moment, he sees it. Recognition. Love. You’re really back.

He’s at the door in an instant, yanking it open just as you step off the elevator. For a moment, you both freeze, taking each other in.

“Max,” you whisper, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

“Y/N,” he breathes, and then you’re in his arms.

He holds you tightly, burying his face in your hair, breathing you in. You cling to him just as fiercely, and he can feel your tears soaking through his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur against his chest. “I’m so sorry I forgot you.”

Max pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands cupping your face. “Hey, no. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re here now. You’re home.”

You nod, a watery smile on your face. “I am. I remember, Max. Not everything, not yet. But I remember us. I remember loving you.”

Max feels tears spill down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care. He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you so much, liefje. God, I was so scared I’d lost you.”

You shake your head, your hands coming up to wipe away his tears. “Never. You could never lose me, Max Verstappen. Not really.”

And then you’re kissing, and it’s like coming home after a long, difficult journey. It’s familiar and new all at once, and Max never wants it to end.

A loud meow interrupts the moment. You break apart, laughing, to see Jimmy and Sassy winding around your feet, demanding attention.

“Oh, my babies!” You exclaim, kneeling down to scoop them up. “I missed you too!”

Max watches, his heart so full it feels like it might burst. This is what he’s been missing, what he’s been fighting for. You, here, in your home, with your little family.

As you straighten up, cats in arms, Max wraps an arm around your waist. “Welcome home,” he says softly.

You lean into him, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “It’s good to be home.”

Max knows there’s still a long road ahead. Your memory isn’t fully restored, and there will be challenges to face. But right now, in this moment, with you in his arms, he knows everything will be okay.

Because you remembered. You came home. And together, you can face anything.

***

The neon lights of Las Vegas blur into streaks of color as Max races through the city streets, his Red Bull car a blur of blue and red and yellow. The roar of the engine fills his ears, but it can’t drown out the beating of his own heart. This race feels different, more important than any he’s ever driven before.

As he navigates a tight corner, Max’s mind flashes back to the conversation that led him here...

“Max, you need to go back,” you had said, your voice gentle but firm. “Racing is part of who you are. I’m better now, and I want to see you out there doing what you love.”

Max had shaken his head, pulling you closer on the couch. “But what if something happens? What if you need me?”

You had laughed, a sound that still made his heart skip a beat. “I’ll always need you, silly. But I don’t need you hovering over me 24/7. Plus,” you added with a mischievous grin, “I miss seeing you in that race suit.”

Now, as he pushes the car to its limits, Max feels a renewed sense of purpose. He’s not just racing for himself anymore, or for the team. He’s racing for you, to make you proud, to show you that your faith in him wasn’t misplaced.

“Max, you’re pulling away,” GP’s voice crackles through the radio. “Gap to P2 is now 3.5 seconds. Keep this up, mate.”

Max grunts in acknowledgment, too focused to form words. He knows you’re watching from the garage, probably biting your nails like you always do during his races. The thought makes him smile behind his helmet.

Lap after lap, Max maintains his lead. The famous Las Vegas Strip becomes a blur of light and shadow as he speeds past the iconic hotels and casinos. In the back of his mind, he remembers your excitement when you found out about this race.

“Vegas, Max! It’s going to be incredible. Promise me we’ll stay a few extra days after the race?”

He had promised, of course. He’d promise you the moon if you asked for it.

As the final laps approach, Max’s concentration intensifies. He’s been in this position before, leading a race, victory within grasp. But it’s never felt quite like this.

“Two laps to go,” GP informs him. “You’ve got this. Just bring it home.”

Max takes a deep breath, visualizing the remaining track in his mind. He can almost hear your voice, the way you’d whisper “You’ve got this” before every race, a private moment just for the two of you amidst the pre-race chaos.

The last lap arrives, and Max is in the zone. Every turn, every straight, every gear change is perfect. As he rounds the final corner, the chequered flag comes into view.

“Yes!” Max shouts as he crosses the finish line, pumping his fist in the air. The team erupts in cheers over the radio, but Max is waiting for one particular voice.

“Brilliant drive, Max!” GP exclaims. “Absolute masterclass. How does it feel to be back on the top step?”

Max takes a moment to catch his breath, emotions threatening to overwhelm him. When he speaks, his voice is thick with feeling.

“It feels ... it feels incredible,” he says. “But this win, it’s not for me. It’s for Y/N.”

He can hear the surprise and emotion in GP’s voice as he responds. “That’s beautiful. I’m sure she’s over the moon right now.”

As Max begins his cool-down lap, he continues, knowing his words are being broadcast to millions around the world, but speaking only to you.

“Y/N, liefje, this one’s for you. For your strength, your courage, your unwavering support. You pushed me to come back even when I wanted to stay home with you. You believed in me when I doubted myself. This victory is yours as much as it’s mine.”

He pauses, swallowing hard. “I love you, Y/N. More than any trophy, any championship. You’re my biggest win.”

As he pulls into parc fermé, Max can see the team gathered, ready to celebrate. But his eyes scan the crowd, looking for only one person.

And there you are, pushing through the throng of mechanics and officials. Your eyes are shining with tears, but your smile is radiant.

Max practically leaps out of the car, not even bothering with his helmet. He meets you halfway, sweeping you up in his arms and spinning you around.

“You did it!” You exclaim, laughing and crying at the same time. “Oh Max, I’m so proud of you!”

Max sets you down but doesn’t let go, pressing his forehead to yours. “No, we did it. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “This was all you, Max. I just watched from the sidelines.”

“You’ve never been on the sidelines,” Max says firmly. “You’re the reason I’m here. The reason I push myself to be better, on and off the track.”

Before you can respond, the team descends upon them, whooping and cheering. Max is pulled away for the podium ceremony, but his eyes never leave you.

The champagne flows, the anthems play, but it all feels like a blur to Max. All he can think about is getting back to you, celebrating properly.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of photos and interviews, Max is able to escape back to the team’s hospitality area. You’re waiting for him, a glass of champagne in hand and a proud smile on your face.

“There’s my champion,” you say softly as he approaches.

Max pulls you close, not caring who might be watching. “I meant what I said on the radio,” he murmurs. “This win is yours.”

You laugh, a sound that still makes his heart soar. “Well, in that case, I guess I should start preparing my acceptance speech for the Prize Giving Ceremony.”

Max grins, playing along. “Oh yeah? And what would this speech entail?”

You pretend to think for a moment. “Let’s see … I’d like to thank the academy, and of course, my incredibly handsome and talented boyfriend, without whom none of this would be possible ...”

Max laughs, feeling lighter than he has in months. “Handsome and talented, huh? I like the sound of that.”

You smack his arm playfully. “Don’t let it go to your head, Verstappen. I’ve seen you first thing in the morning, remember?”

“Hey, I thought you said I was cute when I’m all sleepy and rumpled,” Max protests.

“Cute, yes. Handsome is a stretch,” you tease.

Max clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me. And after I just dedicated my win to you and everything.”

You soften, reaching up to cup his face. “It was beautiful, Max. Really. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Max turns serious, covering your hand with his own. “You existed. That’s more than enough.”

You stand there for a moment, lost in each other’s eyes, the celebration continuing around you unnoticed.

Finally, Max breaks the silence. “So, about that promise to stay a few extra days in Vegas ...”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, you remembered! I was hoping you would.”

Max grins. “Of course I remembered. I was thinking... maybe we could make it a bit more special than just a few extra days?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”

Max takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous. This wasn’t how he’d planned to do this, but standing here with you, flush with victory and love, it feels right.

“Well,” he says slowly, reaching into his pocket, “I was thinking maybe we could celebrate our engagement.”

Your eyes widen as Max drops to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box. The noise of the celebration fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble.

“Y/N,” Max begins, his voice shaky but determined, “these past few months have been the hardest of my life. But they’ve also shown me, without a doubt, that you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Through good times and bad, wins and losses, I want you by my side.”

He opens the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring. “Will you marry me?”

You gasp, tears filling your eyes. For a heart-stopping moment, Max fears he’s misjudged, moved too fast. But then you’re nodding, a radiant smile breaking through the tears.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, Max. A thousand times yes.”

Max slips the ring onto your finger with trembling hands, then stands to pull you into a passionate kiss. The team, finally noticing what’s happening, erupts into cheers and applause.

As you break apart, breathless and giddy, Max rests his forehead against yours. “I love you. More than I ever thought possible.”

You beam up at him, your eyes shining with happiness. “I love you too. Always and forever.”

As the team swarms around them, offering congratulations and calling for more champagne, Max holds you close. This, he realizes, is his true victory. Not the race win, not the trophies or the championships. But this moment, with you in his arms, promising a future together.

***

Emma settles into her favorite armchair, a steaming mug of tea on the side table and Max Verstappen’s newly released autobiography in her hands. As a long-time fan of Formula 1 and Max in particular, she’s been eagerly anticipating this book.

She flips through the early chapters, smiling at familiar stories of Max’s rise through the ranks of motorsport. But it’s the chapter titled “The Race of My Life” that catches her attention. This, she knows, is where Max will finally open up about the period when he stepped away from racing — a time that had puzzled and worried fans.

As Emma begins reading, she’s immediately struck by the raw emotion in Max’s words.

I thought I knew what pressure was. The weight of expectations, the split-second decisions that could mean victory or defeat. But nothing in my racing career could have prepared me for the day I walked into that hospital room and saw the love of my life look at me without a hint of recognition.

Emma feels a lump form in her throat. She remembers the press conference where Max had revealed the reason for his absence, but this ... this is different. This is Max laying bare his soul in a way she’s never seen before.

In that moment, I realized that all the trophies, all the victories, all the adoration from fans — none of it mattered. The true test of my life wasn’t on any track. It was right there, in that sterile hospital room, facing the possibility of losing the one person who saw me not as Max Verstappen the driver, but just as Max.

Emma finds herself blinking back tears. She’s always admired Max for his skill on the track, his determination, his fierce competitiveness. But this vulnerability, this raw honesty, shows a side of him she never knew existed.

The chapter continues, detailing the days and weeks following the accident. Max describes the pain of seeing you struggle to remember, the hope that would flare with each small recognition, and the crushing disappointment when progress stalled.

I’ve faced some of the best drivers in the world, pushed myself to the absolute limit of human capability. But nothing — nothing — has ever been as challenging as sitting by her bedside, day after day, telling her stories of our life together and seeing no spark of remembrance in her eyes. It was like watching the person I loved most in the world slip away, inch by inch, and being powerless to stop it.

Emma has to pause her reading, overwhelmed by the emotion. She tries to imagine what it must have been like for Max, known for his control and precision on the track, to face a situation where he had no control at all.

As she continues reading, she’s struck by Max’s honesty about his own struggles during this time:

There were moments — dark, terrible moments — when I wondered if it would be easier to walk away. To accept that the woman I loved was gone, replaced by this stranger who wore her face but didn’t know my heart. The guilt I felt for even thinking such thoughts nearly crushed me. But I realized that true love, real love, isn’t just about the easy times. It’s about choosing to stay, to fight, even when every instinct is screaming at you to run.

Emma finds herself nodding, moved by Max’s profound realization. She remembers following his career, cheering his victories, sympathizing with his defeats. But this … this feels like she’s truly seeing the man behind the racer for the first time.

The chapter takes a turn as Max describes the day you started to remember:

When she looked at me that day, really looked at me, and I saw recognition in her eyes — it was like winning every championship, every race, all at once. No podium celebration could ever compare to the joy of hearing her say my name, of feeling her arms around me, knowing that she remembered us, our love, our life together.

Emma feels tears rolling down her cheeks now, unashamed. She’s always been moved by stories of love and perseverance, but knowing this is real, that it happened to someone she’s admired for so long, makes it all the more powerful.

As the chapter nears its end, Max reflects on how this experience changed him:

I returned to racing eventually, but I was never the same driver … or the same man. I had faced my greatest fear and come out the other side. I had learned that there are things more precious than any trophy, more thrilling than any race. I learned the true meaning of love, of commitment, of fighting for what really matters in life.

Emma closes the book, needing a moment to process everything she’s read. She feels like she’s seen a completely new side of Max Verstappen, one that goes far beyond the confident, sometimes brash young driver she remembers.

Picking up her phone, she opens Twitter, scrolling through reactions to the book. It seems she’s not alone in her emotional response. Fans and fellow drivers alike are sharing their thoughts.

Just finished @Max33Verstappen’s book. I’m in tears. What an incredible story of love and perseverance ❤️

Always respected Max as a driver, but this book shows what a truly remarkable person he is.

Emma adds her own tweet to the mix.

Thank you, @Max33Verstappen, for sharing your story. You’ve shown us that the greatest victories in life often happen off the track 🥺

She picks up the book again, turning to the final pages of the chapter. Max’s closing words resonate deeply.

In the end, life isn’t about the races you win or the records you break. It’s about the people you love, the bonds you forge, the differences you make. My greatest achievement isn’t any trophy or title. It’s the life I’ve built with her, the love we’ve nurtured through good times and bad. That’s my true legacy, and it’s one that will last far beyond when the chequered flag last waves for me.

[andmaybegayer]

Self driving cars are created. Any day now!

Car-to-car communications are developed so that cars can negotiate manoeuvres on the road

Someone (let's face it: GM) adds a transaction system so that you can pay someone to get out of your lane if you're in a hurry

Navigation systems are used to implement a stock market trading convenience and speed in real time on the road

People realize that if you cause traffic you can be paid to get out of the way

Grifters form into roving packs that intentionally slow down traffic to extract tolls from cars

As a result, commuters group cars together and pool funds to purchase passage through swarms of grifters at a lower overall cost

Major corridors consisting of large packs moving together become the only viable way to navigate even moderately sized roads and all highways.

Size competition between grifter packs and commuter packs, commuters start scheduling coordinated travel between population centers so that a large enough pack can be formed to outcompete grifters

oops that's a train

[dracanthropic]

It is SO satisfying watching assholes get pulled over for being reckless idiots.

A lot of my route home from karate has 3 lanes - one each direction and the center left-turning-only lane.

Well tonight was kind of a gross night, misty and wet, poor visibility. People were going maybe a tad slower than usual but still not under the speed limit so really not THAT slow. This guy behind me was apparently having NONE of that and decided that the center lane was actually there for him to pass people in. So he pulls around me. And then I continue to see him pulling around people, just leal-frogging his way up the line.

Eventually he's way ahead of me but the road dips down and then back up and I can see him going around people on the up and then 🤌 justice. The lights come on and I'm cackling as I get to my turn.

That guy's lucky he got pulled over and didn't slam right into another car trying to actually use the center lane.

Karma's a bitch.

Or in this case a bastard.

[evie-sturns]

Snap - Chris Sturniolo

summary: when you apparently 'distract matt' while matt's driving chris snaps at you, he regrets his choice of words instantly when you get upset.

contains: angst, crying, makeup-sex, fluff, arguing, yelling, gentle!chris.

----------------------.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.-------------------

i sit in the backseats of the sturniolos car, nick is to my left scrolling aimlessly on his phone and chris is in the passenger seat. the conversation in the car is quiet.

matt swings round a corner earning a small laugh from me,

"matt, can you turn up the music please?" i ask chirpily,

chris has been on edge the whole day, we've bickered countless times throughout the afternoon.

chris's jaw clenches as i repeat myself, "matt?"

"one second-" matt mutters while switching lanes,

i reach my arm out and turn up the volume myself, leaning over the center console from the backseat slightly.

the volume in the car raises, the headlights illuminate the road infront of us as i lean back into my chair.

"you don't have to turn up the music now, patience would be nice for a change." chris mumbles, i brush off his comment.

"do you know when we're gonna be home or not?" i ask softly, clutching my seatbelt restlessly as matt switches lanes again

then chris snaps.

"hes driving us safley to our fucking house!" chris yells, his voice booms throughout the car,

i've never heard chris yell like that, i've never heard chris yell in general.

"chris- shut up?" i bite back, my attitude kicking in

"stop distracting him!" chris screams at me, his head snaps back and looks at me over his shoulder, veins are visible on his pale forehead.

"shut up!" i yell back at him out of shock, my voice is shaking and i'm nowhere near as loud as chris.

"stop distracting him, you're fucking annoying!" chris shouts,

the whole car goes dead silent.

"you can not fucking talk to your girlfriend like that?" nick raises his voice at chris,

"i'll do what the fuck i want!" chris replies angrily.

"oh my god guys, stop? nobodys distracted and nobody is fucking annoying." matt says from the frontseat,

i take in shaky breathes, when i say that chris has never yelled like that before i mean it, my ears hurt.

nick wraps his arms around me, stroking my hair lightly. "i'm so sorry about him" nick whispers quickly,

the only thing i can do is nod, staring straight ahead at the back of chris's head.

i don't even realise i'm crying until i feel my cheeks become soaked, i take in a deep shaking breath.

the whole car is completely quiet as we pull into our street, not a word has been said since chris's outburst.

“dude stop fucking acting like i just punched her in the nose she’s fucking fine.” chris says from the front seat,

“watch yourself chris.” nick warns,

i see chris glare back at me, i wrap my arms around nick as we pull into our driveway, the painfully long drive is finally finished.

chris instantly pulls on the door handle to open it even though it’s locked

“unlock the door matt.” chris mutters

“bro when i unlock the door you are gonna go straight into your bedroom and sort your shit out.” matt raises his voice

chris’s jaw clenches as he looks out the window, matt unlocks the car door and chris instantly swings the door open, he slams his shut behind him and storms up the driveway.

the whole car goes silent with matt, nick and i in it, aside from the small sniffles coming from me.

“i’ve never seen him like that i’m so sorry.” nick sighs, i nod silently

“c’mon inside,” matt says, stepping out of the car and opening the door for me.

i step out onto the concrete of the driveway, the cold night air against my warm skin makes me shudder.

nick holds my hand as we walk up the steps of the front porch, chris didn’t leave the door open for us like usual.

matt fiddles around with the doorknob and finally creaks it open.

i step into the house and instantly grow warm again, i think it’s the fact the heatings on mixed with the amount of adrenaline coursing through my body.

“you can come stay in my room tonight.” nick whispers, almost dragging me down the corridor into his comforting room.

“have a good sleep!” matt calls out with a sympathetic sad smile on his face, “thank you matt.” i croak,

i flop down on nicks bed with a small sigh, nick jumps down next to me and tugs up the covers. i rest my head on his arm as i fight back more tears.

“you can let it out now, it’s just us.” nick whispers,

that’s enough for me to start sobbing, floods of tears fall down my cheeks.

“i’m sorry-“ my voice breaks, “i’ve just never really been yelled at like that.”

“i know, i don’t know what’s wrong with him and i’m so sorry.” nick sighs, he runs his hand through my hair as i continue to cry.

“he’s gonna fix this, i promise.” nick says softly, i nod into his arm.

-

i’ve been laying in nicks bed for around an hour, my tears have mostly stop due to the fact i’m so tired, too tired to keep crying.

my eyes flutter shut again,

abruptly i hear noises coming from matt’s room, they don’t sound like arguing but it doesn't sound.. normal.

i sit up in bed,

"dude- you know i cant sleep alone c'mon." i hear chris say with a shaky voice,

"yeah, well your fucking girlfriend would be in bed with you right now if you didnt scream at her for an hour." matt replies,

"so go back to your own room." matt follows up.

chris lets out a wobbling sigh, i hear the door to matts room slam shut followed by small footsteps coming down the corridor

i hear the footsteps grow closer to nicks room before a soft couple of knocks on the door, my heart drops as i lay back down in bed.

"what." nick calls out,

"can i speak to y/n, please-" chris almost whispers,

nick looks over at me, i hesitate before nodding.

i stand up out of bed and walk over to the door, i creak it open and im met with chris's face.

he kind of looks like a train wreck.

his lips are red and puffy, his eyes are swollen and bloodshot and his brunette locks are messy and hes avoiding eye contact.

"um- do you want to come to our room, i just want to talk to you- you dont have to though" chris stambles, tilting his head towards our room.

i nod, chris goes to reach for my hand then pulls back. i follow behind him up the corridor towards our shared bedroom.

he opens the door for me, i walk inside awkwardly, the silence is deafening.

i plop down on the bed and chris follows, he sits down a couple feet away from me and his gaze shifts towards me.

chris fidgets with his long fingers before his blue eyes meet mine.

"i'm so- sorry for what happened earlier-- i know i raised my voice, and i shouldn't have at all. it wasn't fair to you, and it wasn't right, i wasn't thinking straight." chris starts after a couple seconds of silence.

"i messed up, big time. i let my weird 'fuckin mood take over, and i directed it at you, which was completley uncalled for. i hate everything i did, and for making you cry, and yelling in general. you mean everything to me and im so so sorry."

"i dont even know what happened, it was like it wasn't me talking dude- i just love you so much and- and-" chris's voice breaks,

he brings his pale hands up to his flushed face and wipes his eyes.

"please forgive me" he says while running a hand through his hair.

i scoot over to chris and wrap my arms around his trembling body, the warmth of his body comforting me.

"i don't know why you yelled at me like that, but ill try to forget about it." i sigh, chris nods and burys his face into my chest.

i pull away from chris and take his face in my hands, his cheeks are a deep red and his lips are raw.

i press my lips to his softly, i wrap my arms around the back of his neck before straddling him.

i sit comfortably on his lap before shifting slightly,

suddenly chris lets out a low whimper into my mouth,

the kiss wasn't even sexual, there was no tongue, just lips pressed together.

i let out a small laugh,

i feel a poking against my inner thigh, "are you serious chris?" i giggle,

"i am so sorry- i don't know how that happened" chris says in a panicked tone

"how did you get hard from that?" i scoff, rubbing my eyes.

"i don't know." chris sighs, "ill go fix it just give me a couple minutes"

he goes to stand up off the bed but i pin him back down,

"don't say that? i'll make you feel better chris."

"i don't want you to have to do that, i don't want you to think i only apologised for sex-" chris rambles, i press a finger to his lips,

"i know that wasn't why you apologised." i assure him before lifting my baggy shirt off of my body,

chris's eyes gaze over my bare chest, i feel him grow fully hard.

"oh fuck" chris laughs slightly, i stand up off of chris's lap and shimmy my pyjama shorts down my legs.

i'm left in my light pink lace panties, which quickly follow in the pile of my clothes on the floor.

chris stands up off the bed and walks over to me, he picks me up by my ass and throws me down onto the bed. "are you sure?" chris asks, "yes chris." i smile

chris fidgets with the buckle of his belt, which keeps his baggy jeans up.

his discards his belt on the floor before unbuttoning his denim jeans. chris's jeans fall to the floor followed by his boxers,

letting his erection spring out, his tip taps his stomach before he stands between my thighs,

chris is usually a rough, fast sex kind of guy, but hes not acting like that today. he's being slow and his tough is so gentle.

he brushes his fingers over the hem of my panties before pulling them to the side. chris presses a light kiss to the inside of my thighs before standing back up.

"you ready sweetheart?" chris asks, tracing mindless shapes on my clit lightly.

"yeah-" i reply

chris lines himself up with me before pressing his tip inside of me,

he lets out a sigh of relief as soon as he enters me, i sink my top teeth into my bottom lip with a small moan.

chris presses further of his length inside of me, stretching my walls around him, "you feeling okay?" chris whispers, grabbing my waist lightly.

"feels.. really good" i breathe.

chris finally bottoms out, i feel his tip lightly press against my cervix before he almost pulls out again, then presses back inside of me.

he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips, i moan into his mouth as his thrusts continue.

chris pulls away from the kiss and presses his forehead to mine, his brunette hair resting on my bare forehead.

chris uses his free hand to move some of my hair away from my eyes, i feel his tip repeatedly brush against my g-spot.

with every thrust he hits that spot, earning louder moans from me.

"oh chris!" i whine, arching my back off the bed as his pace picks up a little bit.

"you're taking me so well, feel so good around my dick." chris praises me, knowing i love it when he praises me.

chris reaches his hand down between where our body meets and presses his hand onto my lower stomach.

"feel me right there?" chris asks,

he pushes deep inside of me causing a obvious stomach bulge, my mouth falls open as i feel my mind fog

"fuck chris- oh my god im so close" i babble out, "keep doing that- please"

chris lets out a low laugh, "im close aswell pretty girl"

chris reaches further down and rubs my clit, applying just the right amount of pleasure.

and thats enough to send me over the edge.

i feel an intense amount of pleasure wash over me, "chris!" i call out, clenching around his length as i release.

chris pulls out of me and strokes himself a couple of times before finishing on my stomach "oh god.." chris groans, throwing his head back.

he flops down on the bed before pulling me onto his stomach, "i love you so much." chris breathes out deeply,

"i love- you to." i pant,

chris lets out a small laugh before reaching his hand to my stomach, he wipes his cum off of me with a grimace on his face.

"sorry that was kind of gross." chris laughs.

"it was hot." i correct him.

chris sits up and carrys me over to the couch in his room, he sits me down on it before digging through his closet.

chris pulls out a shirt of his and some sweatpants, he brings them over to me and tugs the sweatpants up my legs and pulls the shirt onto me.

"you're so pretty." chris smiles, "dont be boosting my ego now chris." i joke

"its truee thoughh" he replies.

"you're so stupid." i say, my cheeks going red.

"you're flustered so somethings clearly working." he grins, helping me up off the couch.

"it doesnt matter, i need water." i giggle,

chris reaches for his bedroom door and opens it for me, i step out into the corridor and grab chris's hand,

we walk down the corridor together into the kitchen where nick is sat,

he looks up at us with a small sigh

"glad to hear you two made up" nick groans dramatically,

"what?" chris says, his eyebrows furrowing.

"chris. all i could hear for the past 20 minutes was 'chriss dont stop' it was a living hell." nick says holding back a laugh,

my eyes widen,

"you guys are gross" nick smiles with an eye roll, nick walks past us out of the kitchen and punching chris in the arm.

"chris-" i protest,, my face red.

"hey- to be fair you were quite loud..."

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

BRO BILLIES NEW ALBUM SENT ME TO HEAVEN I SWEAR, also i saw this mega fucking hot guy at the supermarket today like im talking hotter than matt sturniolo deadass.

@luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @recklessmatt @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover r @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @chrisgetsmewetterxo @mattsonly @justalittle47 @mattsturnioloisbae @sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @pkfferoo @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @cristiana-heartzzchris @chrissturnsss @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall

[murdrdocs]

stiles deserves road head fs

reader has hair long enough to tie back; MDNI 18+

there were times when you absolutely hated stiles' jeep.

it wasn't particularly fit for road trips, even without considering the unreliability of the engine and stiles' handiwork of duck tape temporarily keeping things together. compared to lydia's car for example, the seats were stiff and barely allowed for any sleeping room. leaving you sitting upright with your head resting against the window and knocking into the metal of the interior any time stiles' ran through a pothole.

but there were times when the truck had redeemable qualities, namely the lack of a center console.

sure, it would've been nice to have something to rest your hand on as you wrapped your mouth around stiles' cock. but really, beggars couldn't be choosers and in this scenario both you and stiles were beggars.

so stiles drives a little smoother, settling on the outside lane to leisurely cruise instead of being pressured by trucks bigger than his in the inside lane. and this way, he gets to enjoy your lips sliding up and down his cock, and you aren't facing the plausible threat of losing your grip on the seat next to stiles' thigh and hitting the floor.

it's as comfortable as you can get. one hand pressed into cracking leather with the other resting on stiles' thigh. your seatbelt more of a decoration than anything as it loops around your body in a way that allows you to kneel on the seat, your ass turned towards the window. stiles' has one hand resting on your back between the end of your sweatshirt and the beginning of your leggings. the other rests on the steering wheel, effectively opening his body up to your work.

the tape in the radio has long ended, leaving space for the music from stiles' lips to fill the area. the sound of his breathing, deep sighs nearly each time you went down. the sound of his grunts each time you came up and swirled your tongue around him.

he tries to praise you every so often, but stiles' brain can only handle so much stimulation. and focusing on the road while also focusing on you is all he can take, leaving him to utter unfinished sentences.

"doing so ..."

"jesus, you're so ..."

"mhm, right ... right t–"

your hair has been tied back since the first half hour of the trip, but between your intense sing-alongs and your less intense naps, only half of your hair remains in the tie, leaving stiles to push your hair back, holding it off of your face.

in an attempt to thank him without sacrificing his pleasure, you look up at him and smile as best as you can. but since your mouth is occupied, the look transfers mostly to your eyes.

you don't know what does it, but stiles glances down at you, stares into your eyes for less than a minute, and then grips your hair as his hips jerk up into your mouth, his foot slams down onto the gas pedal, and he cums right down your throat.

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Neil, my name is Zalean. If you have a few minutes, I wanted to tell you a little story. Not really a question and I’m not sure how to use tumblr but I wanted to say thanks so much for coming to Florida a few months back and talking with Art Spiegelman. It was my first time ever figuring out how to buy tickets for something. I lived in, middle of nowhere, Vermont for most my life and had no idea what I was doing, I had never been to anything before, nothing had made me excited enough to do the 5 hour drive. And then you just appeared 20 minutes away from where I am living now.

See, I was just starting to get to know your books and work because I fell in love with Good Omens so deeply when I discovered it during season twos release. Funny thing is, I knew of you all along without even realizing it, Stardust has been my favorite book and movie since I was a kid because it was my dad’s favorite story. Finding out my two favorite things were actually connected, I started trying to get hands on as many of your books as I could. I hadn’t read in years before finding your books. It was eye opening.

The talk event at the Dr.Phillips Center was sold out by the time I knew about it, someone had asked me if I knew of the event when they saw my Good Omens keychains my mom had made me. I called the box office because there is no harm in asking. I explained how I’m an art student at UCF and desperately wanted to be inspired and learn from you both. The customer service people were amazing and ended up calling me back to get me a seat in the orchestra pit before they were released to the public. I drove alone, I walked there alone, I sat alone, and it was worth it. I was so thankful to get a seat and grateful to my professor who was a bit jealous he didn’t know about it but let me leave class early to go because of course the art professor would be understanding for any learning opportunities in the arts. And it was truly wonderful, it seemed real and that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want a show. I just wanted to hear, in some sense, that you were like everybody else. I brought a notebook and pen for any information or story’s that I thought made a difference to my little life. The other people around were wonderful, you inspire kind people.

Like I said, I had never been to anything like this and I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know you would have signed books and I only found out because the people next to me came in late. I asked them why they brought the books after it was over and the lights turned on. They did look at me like I had three heads for a moment until they realized I didn’t know there were books to buy, they looked kinda sorry for me but they were so nice. I had never really thought about the importance of someone’s scribble before this but it’s something that proves you were there. It says “Remember when this person made you happy? Remember when they changed your life? Remember when they gave you hope? Look at this and remember.” I hope to see David Tennant and Michael Sheen to get an autograph now that I understand the meaning behind it a bit more but honestly I just love diving into everyone’s projects, the wonder you all create. Oh what fun it is to live a life full of stories!

The people that were sitting next to me let me look at their signed books and hold them. I flipped through some of the big ones, handed them back and expressed my gratitude just to be in the theater. I showed them all my little quotes I wrote down, I never want to forget why I create things and you say so much about never stopping, always creating. Then the women handed me a different book, a smaller book, but when I tried to hand it back, a bit confused, she softly placed it back in my open hands and said “I want you to have it, we have plenty and I want you to love these stories just as much as we do. It’s just starting for you, I want you to remember who started it”. The book she handed me being“The Ocean at the End of the Lane”. The first book I decided to read by you and had just finished a week before. The women had no idea she given me a signed copy of the book that made me want to read again. Your books make the world better. For such a big theater and such a big stage, I just wanted to tell you my little point of view.

The story you told about wishing you enjoyed the past more than you did, I hope you get to enjoy it now, and I hope you want to. And thank you, to you and to Terry Pratchett for creating something special. I convinced my dad to watch Good Omens with me over December break, he loved it.

I forget sometimes that everything is someone's first time, and then I read something like this and feel like I need to remember that better. I'm glad the people beside you were kind.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ keep this drive to just us two | fushiguro megumi

wc: 2.7k

summary: megumi is a liar, but there’s a reason for all this.  

contains: f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, college!megumi, pre-relationship stuff, feelings, some swear words

a/n: happy birthday to our boy ♡ set in the same universe as this megumi fic (so a ~kind of part 2); some songs that inspired this & ones i imagine playing in the car: the shining by the neighbourhood, paradise by chase atlantic, & over the moon by the marías

part: 1 | 2 | 3 series m.list: by your passenger seat

It’s just you and Megumi on a late night drive—a quarter past 11 p.m.

The passenger seat has long since been adjusted to you, his car a somewhat second home. There’s that characteristic reverb accompanying the deep bass of the music he listens to, and his knee is bobbing to the beat of it, like it always does when the music is good. 

Megumi’s car always smells of mint, a fresh, crisp scent that cuts through—an accurate depiction of the man: level-headed, cool. A sharp honesty exists in every word he speaks; it’s the only way he knows how to be.

Except, maybe, lately. Like this moment.

Megumi’s a liar right now. 

He feels a little guilty for it, tricking you into coming out tonight. But how bad can it be to invite you under the guise of it being from Yuuji? 

“Yuuji said he’ll meet us there?” you settle into your seat, dragging the seatbelt across your body before locking it into place. 

Megumi shifts the gear to drive, nodding as he turns the wheel to get out of the parking lane. He can’t trust himself to speak. 

The ride is quiet save for the music, a comfortable silence he seems to only have with you. Nobara and Yuuji like to talk, to fill in the empty pockets of air he never feels the need to. You—you adjust, read the room; you become what the situation calls for all on your own. 

That’s what he likes about you, among many other things—he’s stopped lying to himself about that, at least. 

The streets whiz past you in a blur, both vaguely familiar and unrecognizable. There’s a fast food joint your group of four frequents as a post-party drive-thru, and the holiday lights are strung up on lampposts lining the sidewalks. 

Yellows, reds, and greens melt into one another as the backdrop of your window. But all Megumi sees is gray—

When he dislodges his phone from the stand clipped to the AC vents at the center console, handing it over so you can control the music. His eyes stay locked on the road until he feels it, the slightest brush of your fingers against his.

He turns to you, a quick glance; you’d shrugged off your puffer jacket some time during the drive and tossed it to the backseat, leaving you in this right now.

—the gray sweater that he knows all too well; that you haven’t returned but you wear like it’s yours, as if this piece of him is something you’ve chosen to keep. 

It looks better on you, anyway, he thinks.

He turns back to the road, breathing a little quicker, grip tighter and knuckles a bit whiter. 

If he listens carefully, the comfortable silence between you hasn’t actually been all that silent lately. A constant beat’s been drumming in his ears, exacerbated only every time you’re near. You’ve locked eyes far too often for two people sitting in a car, driving from point A to point B, and this isn’t the first time your fingers have brushed, nor is it the second, or third (or even fourth if he’s thinking about the technicalities). 

He finds himself smiling too easily when you speak, the corners of his lips aching by the time he’s dropped you off on the way home. You’ve looked at him fondly too, a handful of times, when you think he won’t notice; but it’s impossible not to when he’s paying just as much attention—from the corner of his eye, in his periphery. A responsible side-glance that inconspicuously catches everything. 

There’s something between you two, and he’s grown more confident of that the more he’s accepted his fate:

He likes you.

It’s why he called you tonight, out of all nights, in the first place. 

Aimless driving can only be so convincing up to a certain point, and that point comes fast approaching as Megumi is about to pass the same street for the third time. You don’t notice because you’re queueing songs on his phone, but he has to think of a diversion—just something to tide him over past midnight. 

“I’ll get us some snacks,” he signals to the left, pulling over to a 7-Eleven. 

“Oh!” you look up from his phone, swapping it for yours, “I’ll ask Yuuji if he wants anything. Did he mention if Nobara’s coming?” 

Megumi freezes, panic setting in—if you message Yuuji now, you’ll realize that he’s been lying. He holds his breath, shifting the gear to park before pulling at the edges of his sleeves.

Think. 

“He’ll eat anything, it’s fine. Nobara probably won’t come too. Wouldn’t pick up when he called.” 

For someone who always puts things bluntly, he’s surprisingly good at coming up with lies right now. 

You hum, nodding, “Okay. Do you want me to go down?” 

“I’ll be quick,” he shakes his head, fishing around the center console for his wallet, “you want anything?” 

Then he looks at you, your head tilted to the side as you think. A little pout causes your lips to jut out and he can’t help it, how his eyes fall to them, shiny in the way only your lip balm can make them. 

“Maybe something warm?” 

Your voice snaps him out of it, but the moment is frozen—like he’s been caught red-handed. He’s so sure you saw him staring, your eyebrows shooting up, flustered while watching his gaze shift from your lips to your eyes. 

He doesn’t expect it when you do the same thing. 

It’s freezing outside and his lips feel chapped; he wonders if they’re cracked, if you’re studying the grooves of split skin—if he should buy lip balm by the counter, on the way out. 

He looks away, clearing his throat, one hand to the door handle. 

“Okay,” he opens it, “turn up the heat if you’re–”

You nod.

“Yeah, okay.” 

He steps out. 

The cold is biting as he tucks his hands inside his pockets, rushing to get into the convenience store. 

(You watch his back retreat from the window of his carseat, and the influx of cool air should make you shiver, but you feel warm, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

This whole night has been confusing; the subtle touches and lingering gazes—ones like just moments ago, especially. Being alone with Megumi lately has been both comfortable and nerve-wracking; you have feelings that you aren’t quite sure are reciprocated, no matter how much Nobara teases the both of you already. 

You can’t take it; you need a buffer—where is Yuuji? 

11:41 p.m. 

< are you otw already? we just went to grab some snacks

You wait, fingers tapping on the back of your phone. 

11:42 p.m. 

yuuji 🍡

> huh?

> otw where? 

> who’s we?

> i’m outside fushiguro’s rn! with gojo-sensei!! apparently he surprises him every bday…

> you should come! you live near right?

You scrunch your eyebrows, confused. There are too many thoughts in your head right now—has Megumi been lying? 

11:43 p.m.

< oh ok, i probs misunderstood!!

< and i’m out tonight, idt i can make it but lmk how it goes!!

You’ve never known Megumi to be a liar, but he’s definitely in it right now for some questioning.)

The 7-Eleven doors swing open, revealing Megumi with his shoulders shrugged up to his ears, hands deep inside his pockets as a plastic bag hangs around his wrist. He opens the car door, immediately settling in his seat before shutting it. 

He still won’t meet your eyes, fishing through the random snacks he bought instead. It’s awkward, the air in the car tense; and it takes the biggest guts in him to look up as he hands over the warm bottle of tea he got you, just like you wanted. 

It’s even worse when you’re staring right back, expecting—almost like you’re about to confront him. 

“Be honest,” you start, eyes squinting. 

Shit. Sweat forms at his palms as he blinks, the beat drumming in his ears intensifying. 

“Did you bring me out here to murder me?” 

He raises an eyebrow, expecting you to convict him for lying, “The fu–”

Which you do, bringing your phone up so he can read. Your text chain with Yuuji casts a white light over his face, his eyes darting from side-to-side as he scans each message. 

(You aren’t mad or anything, just even more confused than you already are; some clarity would be nice, once and for all. 

Embarrassment is painted on his face the more he reads through your phone screen, lashes entirely too long as it bats against the tip of his cheeks; a faint pink blooms on his skin, like winter peonies.) 

There’s a reason for all this. 

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath; he’s dreading having to open them—do you think he’s weird now? That he had some ulterior motive bringing you out? His jaw clenches at the thought—

But then you laugh, a soft chuckle that accompanies the ‘click’ of your phone turning off. And when he takes a peek, squints one eye to catch a glimpse, you’re smiling; your lips are pressed together with the corners curled up slightly, as if you find this entire thing funny. 

The tension dissipates, but he frowns, eyebrows scrunching as he considers whether he wants to be the reason for whatever it is you’re thinking. 

“Stop it. Don’t make fun of me.” his head turns to the side. 

You chuckle again, biting your bottom lip, “You’re just too cute.”

A beat.

(It slips out before you can catch yourself, heat rising to your cheeks. Megumi isn’t doing any better; his ears are flushed red, crawling down to the sides of his neck as he swallows.) 

The plastic bag crinkles on his lap, cutting through the silence. 

How can you just… say that? 

You clear your throat, “So, uh, did you know about the surprise?” 

(Your eyes shift to the corner of the infotainment system, 11:52 p.m. in white.)

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he leans back on his seat. 

“Gojo-sensei tries to surprise me every year, I didn’t think he’d call Itadori this time.” 

“You sound like that’s a bad thing…” you tilt your head, curious. 

He pauses, staring ahead as he considers his response, “Not bad… just,” his fingers fiddle with the plastic bag, “too loud, sometimes.”

(Megumi’s mentioned a bit about this ‘Gojo-sensei’ guy, his kind-of-mentor slash benefactor since being orphaned with his step-sister at age 6. You’ve never met him, but Yuuji never stops talking about how fun he is, how cool. 

It makes sense why Megumi finds him a bit much, if anything.)

“And you think I’m any better?” you snort offhandedly, joking as you turn to the side, facing him. 

He tilts his head towards you, leaning back on the headrest; your eyes lock for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting subtly before he looks away, straight ahead again. 

If he had the courage, he’d tell you that you’re the only company he wants to spend this birthday with—

That there are songs in his playlist he’d otherwise never listen to, but repeats and repeats and repeats because it reminds him of you;

That he looks forward to doing deep cleans on his car every weekend, but has started to dread it once he noticed that it washes away your scent from the Fridays that he drops you home; 

That he’s a liar because he really likes you, but can’t find the words to tell you.

So he doesn’t say anything, shrugging. 

The silence is telling. 

(You feel too warm, whether from the heating system or from the implications of this moment. The 11:58 p.m. on the clock adds a pressure that it shouldn’t, an almost taunting presence that tells you if you act now, tomorrow could be very different. 

Are you reading the signs right? 

Should you just say it? 

Each second drags on twice as long, and you think—

Fuck it.) 

“Megumi?” your voice breaks through softly. 

The plastic crinkles on his lap as he turns to you. 

He could be any other place right now.

But he’s chosen to be here, with you, parked outside a 7-Eleven, minutes before midnight. 

“If I tell you something, will you be honest with me?” 

He blinks before humming, nodding. This is the least he can do after today’s blatant lying. 

There’s an intensity to your gaze that makes him nervous; your fingers tug at the edges of his (your) gray sweater, a piece of him you’ve taken with you. Then you speak—

“I like you,” you say it plainly, unblinking, “and I need you to tell me if you don’t feel the same.” 

—and you take the rest of him too. 

12:01 a.m.

He stares at you, turning the confession over and over in his head. He’s always had a feeling but it’s different when it’s out in the open, when it’s from you and isn’t based on some gut-feeling. 

There are so many things he can say, but you did ask him to be honest—to tell you if he didn’t feel the same. 

“Do I stay quiet if I do?” he mumbles, cheeks deepening into red. 

There’s a smile he’s trying to hide, one he won’t allow himself to let out until he gets one from you too. 

You visibly relax, releasing the breath you were holding. Your lips curl up instinctively, wide and infectious—that feeling of your heart bursting. 

“Smartass,” you scrunch your nose before glancing at the time, “happy birthday.” 

When you look at him this fondly, there’s not much else he can ask for, really. 

.

You eat the snacks in his car (an exception—whether it’s because of you or his birthday, you’re not sure) and tell him that your actual gift is back home, sitting in dog-patterned wrapping paper by your entryway. 

The drive back is, for the most part, the same—lingering gazes when the stoplight permits, a brush of your fingers when you hand him his phone after queueing songs. You’re wearing his sweater and his car still smells like mint. 

But you both can’t stop smiling. 

And when he drops you off, he’s tempted to tell you to stay longer for just one more song, but he figures there’s lots of time for that now. So instead, he grabs your puffer from the back, gets down and rushes over to open your door, helping you out. 

He holds up your jacket as you slip your arms into it, zipping it up so you stay warm and toasty. Cute, he thinks, when your grin reaches your cheeks; he could pinch them, would you complain if his fingers are too chilly? 

Your hesitance is evident in the way you bite your lip, but you go for it anyway, diving in to land a soft kiss to his cheek. It happens so quickly, it barely registers to him—the touch of your lips to his skin. When you pull away, you look shy.

He doesn’t say anything, heat rushing to the place you’d kissed. You take this as a sign to go ahead, so you move, but he can’t—

—can’t let you go just like this. 

Not when he’s been thinking about those lips since he last laid his eyes on it. 

It’s reflex, the way he grabs your wrist, pulling you back to him. He lets go immediately, hovering, but his eyes drop dangerously, down to your lips—shiny and plump from the lip balm he knows you carry. 

His breathing quickens and he asks so softly, “Can…”, he gulps, nervous, “Can I?” 

You nod, humming. 

(When Megumi leans in, long lashes fluttering over your eyelids, you think, this can’t possibly be real. But then his lips slide over yours, cold but not cracked, and you move yours against them, gentle in the same way he is.

His fingers slot themselves at the edge of your jaw, palm pressed to your cheek; it makes you shiver, how cool it is, but it warms up quickly.) 

The kiss is over far too soon (you think so, too), and when you part, you’re beaming, a twinkle in your eyes that makes him want to kiss you again, if only to keep them shining the way they do. 

It’s the end of the night, but the beginning of something new and Megumi’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the noise; this constant beat drumming in his ear is all he can hear now, swiping his tongue over his lips to taste mint—your lip balm of choice.

thank you note: to everyone who was just as excited abt this as i was—@soumies @mysugu @augustinewrites @mididoodles @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @selarina @pastelle-rabbit @mymegumi @kagelun @irisintheafterglow & @shidouryusm for making me see that paradise is so megumi 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[lyjen]

Freeway 710

Summary: When (Y/n) drives home from her work, she meets the 710 freeway wrong-way driver. The 118, including her fiancé Evan gets dispatched to the scene. When the 118 finds the car on the scene, (Y/n) is barely conscious and Evan tries to keep himself together.

Request by: @shauna-carsley

Taglist: @oliviah-25 @shauna-carsley

9-1-1 Masterlist

(Y/n) stepped down on the gas pedal as soon as she entered the 710 freeway in Los Angeles. Driving on the freeway was always something that made (Y/n) nervous, even though she had to drive over that road every single day to get to work and back. 

But on the other hand, driving was like some kind of therapy for her. It was one of the moments she could empty her mind, something she really needed after a day of work. She didn’t have a typical 9 to 5 job everyone talked about.

(Y/n) worked for the 9-1-1 Metro Dispatch Center in Los Angeles. She loved the job, but it could be heavy sometimes. You would be expecting the most normal calls, the house fires, someone breaking into someone's home or someone having a medical emergency. But apparently there are so many more kinds of emergencies, but you wouldn’t know until you were an actual dispatcher.

A yawn left (Y/n)’s mouth as she looked over her shoulder to see if she could switch lanes. With her left hand she clicked the blinker on to the left and switched lanes. 

The job was fun, sometimes tiring, but it was something she was born to do: help people. And the best part of it was the fact that she could stay anonymous. Something she didn’t like was being in the spotlight, and this way she could do both. 

All she wanted right now was to get home, drop herself on the couch and sleep, or maybe watch some trash tv. 

(Y/n)’s thoughts wandered, something that sometimes happened as she was tired. She would start daydreaming. She knew the route from home to work and back like the back of her hand, she could dream it if she wanted to. She would stay focussed on the road, but after driving this road so many times you start to get used to a routine. 

Her sweaty palms held onto the steering wheel as she switched the blinker up, gesturing to the other drivers on the 710 that she was going to the right lane. With another quick look into her blind spot, she moved the car to the other lane again. 

Her hand reached out for the touchscreen panel, trying to skip the song that was currently on. (Y/n)’s eyes wandered back from the screen towards the road as she could hear other drivers in the distance from her start using their horn. Something that would make her mad and her anxiety rise if it came from the cars behind her. 

“Really?” she sighed as the honks kept sounding over the freeway. But when the cars in front of her started to move towards the side and her eyes were completely in focus with the two headlights in front of her. 

She felt like a deer looking into headlights, literally. Her pupils grew wide as she tried to react to the sudden situation she was in. But suddenly she didn’t know what to do, she felt like she was frozen. She couldn’t think, or act. Like the connection between her brain and her nerves system was cut off, as if some kind of error had occurred. 

Just a few feet before the car would’ve smashed hers, she yanked the steering wheel towards the right to avoid the wrong-way driver. 

The second she saw the other driver pass her car, she thought she had made it through without any scratches. It wasn’t until another car hit her passenger side, her forehead connects with the steering wheel as the airbag goes off and lashes her head back against the headrest of the carseat.

(Y/n) could feel the car start to spin. But those spins quickly made the car flip to the side and go over the head multiple times. A loud squeal left her lips as she could feel her body being shaken up. It felt like her stomach together with all the intestines almost came out of her mouth. 

The smell of the engine fought its way through her nostrils.Her throat was burning from all the screams and cries that had left her mouth as the car finally stopped rolling. 

A groan left her lips as she had a throbbing pain in her head and her ears were ringing due to the airbag going off, it was hard to focus on anything really. 

She could feel all the blood from her body go towards her head, which made her realize that the car was flipped upside down. 

Her eyes filled with panic, she tapped her fingers onto the display where her phone was connected to. It wasn’t reacting to the contact of her fingertip. 

Broken. Of course.  

She could feel herself slip away, as she tried to keep herself conscious, but she didn’t know how. She needed to find her phone. She squeezed her eyes closed for a second, trying to get back her vision, but it only became worse.

And the fact it was dark outside didn’t help much either. The mix of a blurry vision and the darkness outside didn’t give her an advantage. 

Her breathing was becoming shallow, and she could feel the blood dripping off her forehead, into the car. She scanned her surroundings, until her eye fell onto a black haze. That had to be her bag. 

She tries to reach out, but as she tries to make her body longer, a scream leaves her mouth and a throbbing sensation spreads in her leg. 

Short breaths were passing her lips. Her leg was killing her, her head and arm were starting to hurt even more. The adrenaline must be leaving her body. 

But she had to get to her phone. How was someone going to find her otherwise? She needed to get through the pain and call for help, it was the only way. 

With her arm she reached out for the black blur that must be her bag. She bites her lower lip as she could feel the pain in her leg becoming worse as she reached further and further. Her fingertips brushed the handles of her bag. 

Another scream leaves her mouth as she reaches another small inch further and finally manages to grab her bag. She quickly rumbled in her bag as she fished out her phone. 

Her eyes wandered over the screen as she couldn’t see anything but a blur. She could blink for minutes, but it wouldn’t matter because her eyes wouldn’t stop projecting a blurry vision. 

How was she going to call someone if she couldn’t read the numbers? 

She held the on and off button, as soon as she heard the tone that Siri was activated. “Siri call nine, one, one” She watched the phone go to the caller screen as a few drops of blood fell off her face onto the screen.

As she waited for an operator to pick up, her vision was starting to project black dots. Her ears were still ringing, but she could hear the phone trying to connect with dispatch.

“9-1-1 are you calling about the pile up?” The familiar operator's voice sounded through the phone. It was a young one, and there only worked one younger person there than (Y/n) . 

It was May, Athena’s daughter.

Her voice sounded dull in the back of her mind as a gasp fell off her lips. “I think.. I-.. I was in it.” she stumbled with a soft voice, as if she was whispering. She was trying to breathe away the pain she felt in her entire body. 

“First responders are on scene and working, you should be able to see them.” May said as she typed details from the call on to the log.

“I- don’t see.. anyone” her weak voice said as she looked around the car, seeing nothing but the night sky and feeling her own blood dripping off her face onto the roof of the car. Which was now connected with the ground. 

“Are you injured?” the younger girl’s voice asked through the phone. 

“I think my leg is stuck” she claimed. The black and white dots in her eyes were expanding and multiplying until she couldn’t see anything at all. 

“Are you there? Ma’-” May's voice sounded on the background, getting duller with each letter she was pronouncing, but the call got cut off. The only thing she could see right now is the color black as she heard the beeping sound fade out. 

_

Evan was just walking beside his captain, as he heard Sue’s voice over the radio. “Dispatch to one eighteen, come in. This is Sue” the voice from Sue, the supervisor of the Metro Dispatch Centre, sounded over the channel on their radio. Evan’s eyebrows furrowed at the sound of Sue. Why was she talking over the radio? That was something that rarely happened. 

Bobby wrapped his hand around the radio as he pushed in the button to speak. “Go for captain Nash” he said as he let go of the button which turned his microphone on. Evan and Bobby kept walking over the freeway, scanning the scene if there were any more persons trapped in their cars or in any other way of distress. 

Evan’s eyes swept over the scene, crashed cars, broken windows and mirrors, and lots of damage. And this all because a woman was drunk and decided to get in the driver's seat. He couldn’t believe that the woman in this situation had a little underage boy in the backseat.

“Captain Nash, we received a call from a woman, who claims that she was in the pile up on the freeway seven ten.” The sound of Sue sounded through the radio clipped on Buck’s turnout jacket. 

Did they miss someone? It couldn’t be. Buck was sure he had checked every vehicle, every small corner. But he was starting to question if he didn’t miss anything.

Bobby seemed confused, his eyes furrowed at Sue’s words. Evan could read on his captain’s face that he was going off some kind of mental checklist. “I’m sure we’ve already extricated everyone that has been in this crash, are they sure she was in this crash?” Bobby knew for sure he and his crew already checked every vehicle. 

“Hold on captain, we are trying to get the phone’s coördinates” Sue’s voice said again. In the meantime Evan and Bobby stopped both in their tracks, waiting for Sue to find the exact location of the phone that sent her the coordinates. Evan focussed his eyes down onto the asphalt of the freeway, trying to make out if maybe he did see anything. 

Evan did remember lots of cars crashed into each other, but he didn’t see any other vehicles get off the road somehow. He would’ve spotted it. He never missed a victim. 

His eyes shot up as he could hear the noise from the radio pop up again. “The location from the caller is the forty-three exit ramp” the female voice spoke. 

Evan’s eyes wandered over the scene to see where they were. When he couldn’t find any signs telling him where they were, he quickly turned around. His eyes found those green freeway signs, telling him exactly where they were. 

Exit ramp forty-six. 

His stomach turned as his eyes read the sign. They were three exits further than where another car had crashed? Evan slowly turned back around towards Bobby. “So.. this car wasn’t in the pile up.” He concluded. 

“She was in front of it.” Bobby added to Evan’s conclusion. 

How didn’t anyone else see that one car? People behind the car that got hit should’ve seen it, right? “Everybody on me! Come on, let's move!” Bobby said loudly as he waved his team over as he was running towards the truck. 

They needed to get back to exit ramp forty-three as soon as possible. This victim was hurt, and was in need of immediate medical attention. Every second counts in these kinds of situations. 

Just as Evan jumps in the truck as the last one of his team. He shut the door with a bang as he made a fist with his hand and banged it against the roof of the truck, as a sign that the truck could go. “Let’s go!” Evan’s voice spoke as Miller stepped on the gas pedal. 

Even though Miller’s foot touched the bottom of the truck with the gas pedal, it felt like a dozen minutes until they arrived at exit ramp forty-three. 

Evan’s eyes didn’t leave the sight of the window he was looking through. He was on a mission. He was going to find that car that he couldn’t have missed. And he for sure wasn’t missing it now. 

The truck pulled to a stop, even before it pulled to a stop, he flung open the door and he jumped out. Scanning every inch of the entire scene. 

His eyes rushed over the scene until his eyes fell onto the sign ‘Exit 43’. He let his eyes wander not even an inch lower, until he spotted tire tracks in front of the sign. 

His veins were being filled with adrenaline as soon as he saw those tire tracks. “Hey hey! Tire tracks! Right here!” Evan pointed out as he looked over his shoulder, looking at his team, silently asking if they were seeing it too. 

From a distance he could spot a small amount of smoke floating into the air and spreading itself. ”Let’s go let’s go!” he yelled at the team as he started running towards the side of the road, following the tire tracks into the grass. Just at the edge of the grass he stopped in his steps as he scanned the scene. Suddenly his stomach turned at the sight. 

A blue Mini Cooper.

******

A soft smile was projected on (Y/n)’s face as Evan held the door open for her and she ducked a little to avoid hitting her head against his arm. She walked through the doors of the bar where she and Evan had spent their Friday night. 

No date, no alcohol, just a few drinks with a friend. It was nice, having someone to talk to who didn’t do the same job as you. (Y/n) didn’t have many friends, and most of the time after her shift at the dispatch center  all she wanted to do was to go home. 

But when she got that text from Buck, asking if she wanted to grab some drinks after shift. She couldn’t say no. Mainly because she had a bad shift, and she needed to vent to someone, but also because somehow she couldn’t seem to stay away from the firefighter. 

“Thank you. I really needed this” (Y/n)’s voice spoke up as Evan caught up and was walking on her right side. With her hands in the pockets of her beige thin corduroy jacket, she glanced over at Evan who gave her a small smile. “Glad I could offer that listening ear for you.” his voice said as he nodded, happy that he sent that text message.

 

There was silence, not the awkward kind. It was nice, she felt comfortable. 

Evan stopped in his tracks. “Hey, do you need a ride home?” he carefully asked, he didn’t want to push her into anything. She gave him another small smile as she stopped walking too and was in front of him. “That’s sweet of you, but…” she opened her bag and dug in the small compartment, as she fished out her car keys from her bag. 

”Already taken care of that” she smiles as the hanger of the key chain was balancing on her index finger, moving it slightly as if it was some kind of price. 

“Always thinking ten steps ahead” he chuckles. 

A small laugh fell off her lips as she looked down at her feet, and let her eyes slowly wander back to his face. “Well then, can I maybe walk you to your car?” he asked, as he scratched the back of his head. 

“That would be nice, thank you” she said as Evan quietly asked her which way to go. She pointed towards her left, where a small parking lot was stationed a few feet away from the restaurant and where they were now. 

As they made their way towards the parking lot, (Y/n) could feel her arm brush against his. “You know, I was going to offer to even walk you back to your house” Evan spoke up. “But then I realized, I didn’t know where you live” he continued as he looked to his left. 

“Very subtle” she laughed as she looked back at him. “Just a few minutes from here actually.” she added as they entered the parking lot. Fidgeting with the car keys in her hand she felt Evan’s fingers brushing against her hand. 

“This is me” she smiled, pointing at the blue Mini Cooper and unlocked the car with a click on her car key. With his eyebrows furrowed, he looked at the car and back to the girl he had spent hours talking with inside the bar. “Not what you expected?” she reacted as she waited for him to speak up. 

A laugh rolled off his lips. “It’s just.. I didn’t..” he couldn’t even finish his sentence, because he didn’t know what he would’ve expected otherwise. “Because if you were expecting me to drive a Toyota Prius, I’m not that kind of girl.” she teased him, as he was finding the right words.

His fingers traced over his chin, as he was thinking of what to say. “Apparently you’re a blue mini cooper kind of girl” he concluded as he pointed at the car. “Are you making fun of me?” she shot back as she took a step closer. 

She could feel her breathing becoming slower and deeper. “Me? Oh I wouldn’t dare..” he said as he took a step closer, closing the distance between each other. 

She could feel his deep breaths on her skin. Their noses almost touching each other. “Evan..” she sighed as she felt his hand brush over her shoulder, getting rid of the strands of hair. “(Y/n)..” his soft voice said. As the hand traced from her shoulder to the side of her face. Slightly wandering over her cheek.

“We shouldn’t..” she breathed as she felt his fingers touch hers. Their faces are dangerously close to one another. “Tell me we’re just friends..” he whispered as his hand went from touching fingers to grabbing her hand, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand. As the thumb of his other hand brushed over her cheek. “I can’t..” she said softly as she leaned in to the touch of his thumb.

She felt him leaning closer and closer, as she turned away her head, making a bee-line for his cheek. Her warm lips touched the soft, stubbled side of his face. “Goodnight, Buck” 

******

Evan was sure his heart just dropped from his chest down to his feet. It was her. It was his own girlfriend, trapped in her blue Mini Cooper that was flipped upside down.

Without thinking clearly, he ran down the oblique concrete blocks. His voice screaming her name, making his throat hurt from the loudness and his legs were moving faster than his head at this point.

He didn’t know how many times her name fell off his lips, he needed her to react. To give her some sign of life.

He let himself fall down onto his knees next to the driver's side as he tried to get a visual of (Y/n). The glass windows were broken in the crash, the opening where the glass window used to be, was pancaked a few inches smaller because of the rolls it made over the concrete blocks.

It was smaller than usual, the window. But he could see her.

Cuts and bruises were spread over her face, and the blood from those wounds were smeared all over her face. “I see her!” he yells at his team as he stands up and backs away from the door so Eddie could break open the door. Eddie places the halligan he was holding between the door and the frame of the car, trying to open the jammed door.

He popped the door open, and not even a second later, Evan wormed himself through the door opening of the driver's side.

His eyes fell onto the blood on her face, dripping off her face and onto the inside part of the roof. A large stain of blood had appeared on the roof fabric, meaning she had lost a lot of blood, but he could see the blood still dripping from her head. “Looks like she has lost a lot of blood!” he concluded.

In the meanwhile, Hen had squeezed herself through the passenger's side of the car, placing her fingers against (Y/n)’s neck. “Her pulse is racing!” Hen says as Evan scanned the environment, seeing her leg being pinned between her seat and the dashboard. “Leg is pinned between the dashboard and the seat! Possible broken leg.” Evan says.

Evan could hear Bobby commanding the others of the team to go and get the hydraulic spreaders. But he needed her to open her eyes, give him some sign of life. “(Y/n)? Can you hear me?” He asks as he softly patted his fingertips against her cheek, trying to get her conscious again.

Hen in the meanwhile, got a c-collar and put it around (Y/n)’s neck. “Please, open your eyes” Evan begged her. She was still there. He knew she was.

A groan left her mouth as she could hear his voice in the back of her mind, with her ears still ringing of the blow from the airbag.

Her eyes felt heavy, almost like there was someone trying to push them down again. As if someone didn’t want her to wake up. She fought the feeling of her eyelids closing, but she couldn’t. It felt like all her energy was being sucked out of her body.

So she needed to find her voice, and use it. “Leg..” she groaned as she felt the stinging pain in her leg become worse within the second. Evan’s eyes grew wide as he heard her soft, quiet voice through his ears.

“Hey, hey, hey! We’ve got you” He tried to keep her calm. “I need that spreader over here!” Buck said towards his team. But just as those words left his mouth, Eddie came over with the spreaders and Hen left the passenger’s side to get to the ambulance and get out the gurney.

“Okay, (Y/n).. this might hurt” Eddie says as he placed the spreaders between the chair and dashboard so the tool can push the dashboard away from the seat and her leg. Evan took off his turnout jacket as he held it as some kind of shield in front of her body and face.

She placed her hand onto a part of Evan’s leg, curling up the fabric of his turnout pants in between her fingers.

Just as an inch of the dashboard was pushed away from her leg, she felt a heavy, painful shot of pain going through her leg. She could feel the tears because of the pain welling up in her eyes as she let out a loud scream.

The scream that left her lips went through Evan’s bones, he wanted to do anything to take her pain away. With every scream her hand became stronger and pulled more and more the fabric of the turnout pants.

Multiple squeals, and screams later, her leg was free.

He felt her hand loosen her grip on his pants. Evan threw aside his turn out coat as he crouched down to finally get her body out of the upside down position she was in. But when he called out her name, to get her attention. She didn’t react.

Panic started to build inside of his body as he could feel his heart stop. There was this pressure on his chest, telling him that this wasn’t good. “(Y/n)?” he called out her name again. But as he placed his two fingers in the crook of her neck, his gut feeling was right.

She didn’t have a pulse.

“I can’t find her pulse!” he yelled, as he could feel his soul leaving his body. No. This wasn’t happening. In the middle of Evan’s panic, he could vaguely hear Bobby shouting orders, and that was when Eddie entered the passengers side. “We got you” he tried to reassure himself but also the woman in the seat.

They didn’t have time now to go and splint her leg. They needed to cut her loose and start CPR.

With his eyes locked on Eddie, he watched and heard him countdown. Eddie was holding a seatbelt cutter in his hand as Evan’s hands held both her shoulders, ready to guide her down. “One.. two.. three” Eddie’s voice counted down as he cut through the fabric of the seatbelt. Evan guided her body down, so she would land on her back. They straightened her body so Evan could carry her out through the driver’s side.

It was horrifying. Seeing someone talking and breathing and within the snap of a finger, she was unconscious and in cardiac arrest.

He placed his arms underneath her arm pits and pulled her out through the driver’s side. He guided her neck and head and placed it gently onto the backboard. Evan let himself fall onto his knees as he interlaced his right hand on top of his left hand. “Starting compressions!” he called out as he started pumping up and down his fiancé’s chest.

“Buck” Bobby’s voice spoke from behind him, as he felt a hand being placed on his shoulder. But he made a turn with his arm, telling him quietly to get off. He was busy. Saving the love of his life. “Twenty five, twenty six..” he breathed through the chest compressions.

“Buck..” Bobby said again, but this time with a more commanding tone. But he ignored it. Again. He knew he had a team of paramedics around him. He knew he could’ve just asked Hen, Eddie or Chimney to take over. But he felt the urge, a responsibility to do it himself. He needed to know what he did all he could to save her.

But that chance of saving her was taken away from him when he felt two arms gripping his upper arms, pulling him away from the lifesaving actions he was doing.

A cry left his mouth, “No! I need to save her!” he screamed. The visual he had of her, was becoming smaller and smaller every feet he was being dragged back. He could see Hen taking over the chest compressions. He wanted to break free from the grip someone was holding him in. But Bobby jumped in front of him, trying to calm him down, blocking his view of his girl.

Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. All the screams, all the people running around him. And he couldn’t do anything. Every single thing Bobby said, didn’t even enter his mind. As if he was muted.

“I got a pulse!” Hen’s voice entered his mind, and just as he heard those four simple words. He lost it. He stopped fighting. The arms around his upper arms slowly loosened, as he didn’t fight back.

He saw Chimney and Eddie carrying the backboard with her on it, placing it on the gurney and racing down the asphalt towards the ambulance. As he watched her being wheeled away, he could feel his knees caving in.

“Buck? Are you alright?” Bobby asks as he tries to get some kind of contact with his team member he was standing eye to eye with But the firefighter didn’t react. His eyes were locked onto that gurney, and didn’t leave its sight.

His knees buckled as he fell down onto his knees. Just as his knees wanted to connect with the asphalt beneath his feet, two arms were curled up around his arms. He could breathe again, as if the blockage inside his airways were being taken away and he could take a proper breath again. He held onto Bobby’s arms as tears rolled down his cheeks.

She was alive.

_____

There she was, connected to all those wires and tubes. Both her left arm and left leg were casted. Her arm was in a sling, it was a cruel sight, something you even didn’t wish your worst enemy to happen.

Evan had been sitting in those horrible hospital chairs, sitting next to the side of her bed, silent. Hoping that some kind of miracle would make her breathe on her own.

With his hands clasped together dangling between his legs, his eyes shot at the door as he felt the presence of someone in the door opening.

“Hey, I came as soon as I could” the voice of Evan’s sister sounded through his ears. He saw Maddie stepping over the threshold, already with her arms wide open, ready to give him a hug.

Evan stood up as she pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. He had no tears left to cry, he wrapped his arms around his sister's body as he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

After a few counts she loosened her grip and pulled back from the hug.

“What happened? Is she okay?” Maddie asked two questions at once. Evan looked down to the ground. “I don’t know” he silently whispered.

All they knew right now was that she was stable. She had a broken arm, a broken femur, multiple cuts and bruises over her body and a concussion. And the worst sight of it all, was her being connected to a ventilator.

Two minutes and forty seconds. That’s how long her heart stopped on scene.

The doctors put her in a medically induced coma and connected her to a ventilator to minimize the injury to the brain.

He wished he had never had to see this. It was horrible to see the one you loved with a tube down her throat and a machine doing all the work. The beeping inside the hospital room wasn't really helping Evan to calm down.

His breathing was shaky as he searched for the right words. “W-we got a call about a pile up… Then dispatch told us there was another woman stuck.” He tried to explain, with a trembling voice.

“(Y/n)” Maddie concluded as she kept her eyes on her little brother, whose hands were starting to shake as a leaf. A broken “yes” fell off his lips, as Maddie placed her hands onto her brother’s. Telling him she was there for him, that it was okay to be scared of the unknown.

“She wasn’t in the pile up Maddie.” His slightly less trembling voice was sounding through the room. He was on the edge of crying, again. He wasn’t sure how many tears he had wiped away from his cheek in the last hours. “She was in front of it.” He added as he looked down to his hands.

“I just.. wished I would’ve found out sooner.” He said as his eyes wandered back to (Y/n). Breathing in the oxygen that came from the ventilator. Evan feels one of Maddie’s hands being placed onto his upper arm as she shortly rubbed her hand up and down.

There was a silence between the siblings. Maddie let go of Evan’s hand and his upper arm as her gaze went to (Y/n). Slowly she walked towards the right side of the bed, as her brother took place on the other side.

He watched his sister take her hand and gently rubbed her thumb over the top of (Y/n)’s IV’ed hand. He could see the tears welling up in Maddie’s eyes. “I still remember the first time when I introduced you two to each other..” Maddie’s voice sounded quite dreamy but ended with a small sob.

Through the small amount of tears, a small laugh fell off his lips. Of course she had to bring that up. It was in the exact same hospital as they were in right now. Not the kind of location you’d think of to meet the love of your life.

******

With in his right hand a tray filled with two to-go cups and in his other hand a small pink box, he stepped out the elevator as soon as the bell rang. Letting him know that he had reached the level where his sister was staying the last few days.

At first she was staying in a hospital in Big Bear, but all she wanted was to get out of that hell hole that reminded her of her dead ex-husband she killed out of self defense. She needed to go to Los Angeles and did whatever it took to be transferred to the same hospital as Chimney.

Even though his sister told him that she was fine, and he didn’t need to visit her that often. He still came over during visitor hours, he didn’t care if she told him not to. Evan needed to see for himself that she was fine. He knew Doug was dead, but it killed him from the inside that he wasn’t there to protect her when she needed him.

He walked through the hospital hallways, the atmosphere here was always so chilly. Everything was white, the employees were always dressed in scrubs: pink, green, blue, navy blue, even black.

Not the kind of location you wanted to spend your days inside. Even though Evan came here multiple times a day sometimes to drop someone off at the emergency room, he’d rather be somewhere else. You’d think as a firefighter you’ll be working more with burning buildings. But believe it or not, overall there are more medical calls than actual fires.

Evan took another turn, and finally got his eyes on the room where his sister was in. With his gaze locked on the to go cups, keeping an eye on the cups so he wouldn’t accidentally spill any of the drinks. He stepped over the threshold.

“Hey Maddie I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I-” he stopped mid-sentence as his eyes scanned the room. Realizing that there was another person in the room. “Oh- I didn’t know you had a visitor” he stumbled awkwardly.

The girl gave him a small, but gentle smile. Evan on the other hand, was tongue tied.

“Oh it’s okay Buck, I wanted to introduce you two anyways. So you can finally visualize a face to all the stories” Maddie says as she pointed at the stranger and back to him. Evan furrowed his brow, so she had told him stories with her name in it before.

He placed the two to go cups and the paper bag he had onto the small table next to his sister’s bed. He wiped his hands clean quickly on his thighs, getting rid of the warmth on his hands.

“(Y/n), this is my little brother Evan.” Maddie says as her eyes wander from (Y/n) back to Evan. The name sounded so familiar to him. He had heard that name before, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“And Evan, this is my colleague (Y/n)” Maddie continued. He stepped closer to the colleague of his sister and held out his hand. She placed her hand into his as she shook it. “Buck, nobody really calls me Evan.” He corrected Maddie.

“Buck..” she repeated him, his name fell softly off her lips. “I heard some great things about you.” she continued as she gave him another smile. A smile that made him weak at the knees. She had one of those smiles that made the rest of the world smile too.

“Oh no.. what did she tell you?” Panic was slightly building up in his chest, Evan knew that Maddie sometimes would give too much information. ”If she told you about stealing evidence from the police-” he added, as he gets interrupted by his sister.

“Wait, you stole evidence?” she asked with a confused expression projected on her face. Evan turned towards his sister. “I thought you knew?” Maddie shook her head with that same expression still on her face. Wow he was really making a fool out himself now.

There was a silence between the siblings.

“Anyways.. for example during the earthquake, when you guys helped save a man and a woman from the tilted building. Pretty impressive.” She spoke. Trying to make things right again. “Just doing my job” Evan smiles as he places his hand on the back of his neck.

“She helped at one of your calls during Christmas, the overworked guy who ended up in a box?” Maddie jumped in on the conversation. “There was a dispatcher that kept calling the man’s phone for the team to find him.” She added, trying to help her brother to refresh his mind.

His eyes grew wider; he knew he had heard her voice before. “That was you?” He asks, pointing at her. “The one and only” she laughed. Evan wasn’t sure if she was laughing because of the surprised reaction he gave or the fact that he looked like some kind of fanboy.

“That action of yours saved us so much time. That was insanely smart.” He complimented her as his eyes wandered from her addictive smile towards her eyes. He noticed her looking down to the floor, avoiding his gaze.

“I’m just.. trying my best. But really, you guys are the real heroes though. We’re just sitting behind a desk answering calls” she says. But Evan didn't quite share that opinion. They needed dispatch. Without them they were just some confused firefighters, not knowing where to go and what the situation was. They could see things that the firefighters couldn’t when they were on scene.

“Nonsense, your job is as important as mine. You are our eyes in the skies.” Evan said.

What was this? A compliment challenge? Who can give the most compliments wins?

A shy smile appeared on her face, (Y/n) could feel her cheeks burning. Almost blushing. Compliments like that she gets from her co-workers, never from anyone who wasn't a dispatcher.

As if everything in the room had disappeared and they were the only two left. The two of them just stared at each other. Evan wasn’t sure for how long, but Maddie broke the silence in the room by clearing her throat.

When Maddie cleared her throat, it worked like a stinger snap. Snapping (Y/n) right out of her thoughts. “Anyways! It was really good to finally meet you. Evan- I mean Buck.” She corrected herself.

She hung her purse over her shoulder as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear as soon as she stood up straight again. ”But I have to go.. feed.. my cat.” She stumbled, (Y/n) gave Maddie and her brother a quick goodbye as she left the room.

Evan’s eyes followed the woman out of the room, even when she left the room he followed her movements through the window. “You think she’s cute, don’t you?” Maddie’s voice made way through his eardrums, getting him back to reality.

“What? No! No.” His voice was defensive at first, but at the second denial his voice sounded more soft. Evan walked towards the table where he had placed the two to go cups and a small paper bag.

“Oh you so do..” she said as she noticed him turning his back to her to get the cups. “Maddie, you know I’m done dating first responders.. I’m not doing that again.” He stuttered as he handed his sister the right cup.

Maddie accepted the cup from her sibling and held it between her two hands. “Uhuh.. oh and.. for the record..” she started, and stopped to open the cup and threw in a small bag of sugar. “She doesn’t have a cat.” She continued, taking a sip from her coffee.

Evan shook his head as a smile appeared again on his face. His sibling was way too good at reading him.

Maddie swallowed her sip of coffee as she was already bringing the cup to her lips. “So.. when did you steal evidence? And why?” she asked as she took another sip of her coffee.

******

“I knew from the second I introduced the two of you, that you’d end up together.” Maddie stated, as she kept her eyes on the girl in the hospital bed. Evan’s eyebrows were raised, surprised his sister would say something like that. But on the other hand, it was Maddie.

Maddie’s voice kept on going on the back of Evan’s mind as he took a look at the devices his fiancé was hooked up on. Evan wasn’t much of a doctor or a paramedic, but he noticed the smallest kind of difference in the device that measured her heart rate.

His eyes wandered from the devices back to her body, he scanned her body, every sound of her heart beat, every breath.

Something is wrong” he said under his voice.

His stomach turned at the sight of his fiancé. This whole time when he looked at her, he felt fine. But right now in this moment, something felt off. He couldn’t describe what or why, he just knew.

He watched her breathing become faster within every second he spectated. Evan held out a hand towards his sister, as a stop sign, to tell her to stop talking for one second. Her breathing was as if she had run a whole marathon, while the machines were starting to beep faster with every breath she took. “She can’t breathe..” Evan said. He felt the panic rising inside his chest, but he didn’t hesitate and clicked the emergency button above her hospital bed.

He pushed himself from the side of the bed and sprinted down the room, towards the hallway. He repeated the same sentence multiple times, each time he let those words leave his mouth it became louder and louder.

Before he knew it, a few nurses came running down the hallway, aiming for (Y/n)’s hospital room. They entered the room as Evan was still standing at the door, not knowing what to do with himself.

In the meanwhile Maddie gets guided away from the bedside, so the nurses could do their job and figure out what is wrong with his girl. Maddie made a beeline for her little brother, as he could see the tears in her eyes.

He could sense his sister’s hand onto his shoulder, saying things like “she’ll be okay” and “she’s stronger than you think”. But at this moment, the sight of the nurses disconnecting her from the tubes made him question if they actually knew what they were doing.

Why were they disconnecting her? What was going on? A thousand questions were running through his mind at the same time.

-

“They put her on ECMO three days ago.. and now they’re already telling me that they want to get her off.” Evan said as he stood eye to eye with the window that looked over her hospital room. “Isn’t that what you wanted? For her to be healthy and to wake up again?” Eddie asks as he looks at his best friend.

Evan looked like a ghost wandering the halls of the fourth floor of the hospital. He was here day and night, at least.. until one of the nurses or doctors had to kick him out of the hospital. It was like he was stuck to that chair in the room and he drank that terrible hospital coffee.

Every now and then friends of Evan, or (Y/n) came to show their support during visiting hours. They’d bring drinks and food, they knew how horrible the drinks and food were in the hospital.

He leaned his palms onto the small frame of the window, With his eyes still locked on the window he shook his head. “But what if it’s too soon?” he said. He knew the consequences back and forth of getting someone off ECMO and out of a medically induced coma.

“They’re doctors, they know what 's best for their patients.” Eddie explained. Evan sighed, he knew Eddie was right. Eddie turned ninety degrees to the right, now fully facing the side profile of Evan. He crossed his arms as he waited for a reaction of his best friend. “There’s something else that is bothering you, isn't it?” Eddie asks.

Eddie knew him too well to miss this signal that he was giving him. Evan pushed himself up with the palm of his hands and turned towards Eddie. He scratched the back of his head. “They told me she may suffer from amnesia” he admits, keeping his eyes on Eddie. Waiting for some kind of reaction.

“You’re scared she won’t remember what happened?” Eddie asks, trying to get some more clarification. “I mean, what do I do when she won’t remember the accident? Hell, what do I do if she won’t remember me?” God he sounded so desperate. But he needed to share the questions inside of his head before it’d actually become too much for him alone to handle.

Eddie pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to find the right words to motivate and support his friend, who felt more like a brother to him, in these difficult times. “Buck..” Evan’s name fell like a sigh off his lips. But before he could even speak, Evan’s voice spoke up. “I don’t know if I can handle that Eddie.” he sounded like a sixteen year old again, doubting himself with making choices.

Eddie’s eyes softened at the sight of his best friend looking like that. As if he didn’t go through enough already. He placed his hand on Evan’s shoulder, and gave it a soft squeeze, getting his attention. “It’s going to be hard, but you can’t back out now. She’s your fiancé, and in the worst case scenario she won’t remember you. Okay, fine. It will hurt. But I’m sure, if you just love her, care for her, just like you always have done. Everything will fall into its place.”

Deep down, he knew Eddie was right. But there was this feeling of fear of the unknown inside his body, making him feel anxious with everything he did. “But is that enough?” his voice was on the edge of breaking. Eddie simply patted Evan’s shoulder as he disconnected his hand from his friend's shoulder. “I guess you’ll have to see and find that out for yourself bud.” he answered as Eddie’s eyes wandered across the hallway. He motioned with his head, Evan immediately who it was, and what was going to happen.

“Good luck” Eddie said under his breath as he made his way to leave the window of (Y/n). Just when Eddie passed Evan, he quickly patted his shoulder again.

Evan turned around to face the person who was walking towards him. “Mr Buckley” the female voice sounded. “Shall we?” she said as she held out her arm towards the entrance of the hospital room (Y/n) was in.

He took a deep breath in, trying to calm his nerves. He got this. (Y/n) has got this. They were going to be fine. Everything was going to fall into its place.

He followed the doctor and nurse into the room, as the doctor explained what the plan was and what was next. He watched the doctor and nurse do their jobs.

It could take two till twenty four hours for her to actually open her eyes. He didn’t care if he needed to wait a hundred hours for her to wake up, he would stay with her until she woke up. He didn’t want her to wake up in an empty hospital room.

-

Evan was tossing and turning, trying to find back a comfortable position in the chair to doze off in again. He pushed himself up, with his eyes squeezed slightly open because of the small amount of light that was peeking through.

He rubbed his eyes for a second as he tried to adjust his eyes to the brightness of the light. Getting some sleep out of the corner of his eyes that annoyed him. But just as he turned to find a comfortable spot to sleep in, he could hear a small, soft cough.

Wait he was alone right? With (Y/n)?

He shot up out his chair as his eyes wandered towards his fiancé. She was trying to breathe on her own over the tube. But the second he came closer to the bed, he could see her eyelids lift.

He couldn’t do anything but watch her, her eyes kept on opening and closing. With every time they did that, the gap between the lids became bigger and bigger. Her head rolled to the side. Evan could feel her eyes burn into his skin as she finally found him.

A wide smile spread across his face, this was where he had waited for these past days. He placed his hand onto the headboard from the hospital bed she was in and clicked on the emergency button. “Hey” he panted. He didn’t know what to say. He had waited so long, and he had so much time to think of something. But here he was, speechless.

She gasped. When she realized she couldn’t speak, her right hand wandered towards her mouth. “No, no, no” he said as he grabbed her hand and he could see the panic building in her eyes. “It’s okay, just don’t try to talk.” he says as he keeps her hand in his, placing it on his chest as he loosened his grip on her hand.

Slowly, her hand wandered from his chest towards his cheek. Her fingers tracing over his skin as he could see her eyes softening when tears filled her eyes. She remembered him.

He leaned into her touch, placing a kiss on the inside of her wrist. “It’s okay.. everything will fall into its place” he sighed as he grabbed her hand once more, and kissed the top of it. “I’m here” he whispered.

[brewed-pangolin]

Ribbed for Her Pleasure

A/N: I can't recall who I saved this Soap photo from. If anyone knows, please tell me so I can give credit. 💛

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Explicit Smut, P in V, filthy banter, car sex, slight exhibitionism

Thank y'all for being patient. Seems like the writers block has started to lift a bit, and I'm finally back to indulging myself in Soap filth. Enjoy a nice road trip that turns into an exciting sexcapade. @glitterypirateduck I decided to flip the script on this one. I can't say no to Soap being a menacing tease. @waves-against-a-cliff thank you for sending in my first 🛞⭕💢⭕💢🛞, hope you like it.

Love y'all. And happy Super Soap Sunday!

WC ~2k

4Runner Soap loves to tease while driving on extended road trips.

--

It's subtle at first. His warm hand resting on your thigh as you ramble on about nothing and everything under the sun.

He'll steal a few quick glances of your expression to attempt to gauge whether or not he's having the desired effect on you.

If you meet his steely gaze with equal growing intentions, he'll keep his hand resting on your thigh with a loving squeeze as his attention returns to the road ahead.

Yet if you show no reaction to his ministrations, continuing your verbal regurgitation of the weeks events, he'll have no choice but to press onward. His one hand gripped tightly around the steering wheel as the other moved further down ever closer between your thighs.

You feel his hand meandering ever closer to your clothed heat, but pay no mind to him. Only pointing out the next exit as you once more embellish his ears with mindless and unending banter.

Unperturbed by your unwillingness to give in, he sets forth in motion the one move, his last effort against your resolve to force you to finally surrender to him.

You didn't notice the subtle shift in the vehicles trajectory at first. Too focused on your phone and following the tiny icon as it moved along the highlighted route on the GPS.

It was only when you heard the rumbling hum of the tires over the ribbed outer lines of the lanes did you finally pull your eyes and pull your attention to him.

Before you could utter a singular protest, his hand moved the center of your thighs and pressed his index and middle finger into the inner seam of your jeans. Enhancing the continuous feel of the vibrations reverberating under the metal frame as they culminated into the growing throb emanating within your swelling folds.

"Johnny," you whimpered in feigning protest as his fingertips rubbed over the raised center of your trousers.

"What are you doing? Pay attention to the-"

"Shu' it, lass." Soap barked back with a playful bite rolling off his tongue.

"Rest tha' mouth a'yers fer a minute, yeah. Or I'm gonnae 'ave ta put ta better use."

Words failed you as his thick fingers continued to push into the flesh of your clothed cunt. Still riding the jagged lines on the pavement, making you roll your eyes back and bite your lip to quell the muffled moan threatening to escape within the depths of your throat.

"Ya like tha', bonnie? Ribbed fer yer pleasure by th'roadside?" He mocked with a confidence that never failed to make you quiver.

Feeling your arousal pool within in the depths of your soaking heat as his fingers pressed firmly against your swollen folds. Only managing to moan in response, which further fueled his resolve with a guttural growl, pulling his hands away from your growing pleasure and immediately shifting to take the next exit.

"Johnny, this isn't our exit."

"Nah. Emergency stop. Got a full stauner 'ere, and I cannae focus on nothin' else except tha' sweet pussy a'yers."

You turned to face him, eyes glancing down to focus on thr growing tent in his pants. The sounds of 4Runner's engine revving mirroring the sexual tension between the seats as Soap veered the vehicle into traffic, his eyes desperate and focused on finding a secluded passage for some much needed privacy.

-

It took no more than five minutes to find one that met his growing needs. A meandering dirt road that ended against an abandoned fence with a rusted and weather tempered 'No Trespassing' sign.

You barely had a moment to unbuckle your seat belt as he made his way to your side of the SUV. Inhuman speed fed by an unadulterated need to take you, unceremoniously throwing you over his shoulder with a huffing grunt. Only to be reciprocated by a piercing snicker, accepting your fate as he threw you into the flattened back of the cargo space and greedily began tearing your clothes away.

"Aren't you afraid we'll get caught?" Your pathetic attempt to reason with him only seemed to spur him further into a needy and unbridled rage.

"Fuck 'em. My need fer ya outweighs them bloody regulations." Soap spat back through gritted teeth.

Your exposed form laying out for him as he pulled his shirt over his head to reveal the chiseled frame that always seemed to render you speechless and begging for him.

Feeling the warmth of your arousal pool within your folds, spreading your legs to invite him in with a confident stare that mirrored his own hungry gaze.

"Steamin Jesus, look a'tha. Already fuckin soakin fer me, aren't ya, bonnie?"

"Always, Johnny. Nobody makes me wetter than you."

Soap's cerulean eyes swirled with glorious intent, flickering between your desperate expression and the glistening folds of encroaching conquest as he hastily unbuckled the confines of his trousers. Pushing the fabric of his pants and boxers down to release his throbbing length, a subtle whimper escaping his lips to the cool air hitting his hot flesh as a stream of precum ran down the tip of his reddened cock.

"Yer always so fuckin pretty like this, lass. Spread out an' jus' waitin fer me."

His jaw tightened to sight of your cunt clenched around nothingness in reaction to his sultry brogue. Splaying yourself out for him like a sacrificial lamb while the deafening sounds of echoing traffic echoed from deep within the trees and rolled around the walls of your private encampment.

"Gonnae fuck ya good, bonnie," he purred lowly with a rolling timbre. Ever so slowly moving like a predator as he encroached and hovered over your flushed and exposed form.

The maelstrom churning within the depths of his eyes luring you to his turbulent sea of ecstacy, nestling himself within the crevice of your thighs as he aligned his hardened cock to the puckering hole of your swollen cunt.

"Joh-" your muffled attempt to calm his name was silenced as his mouth sealed over your lips. Piercing the fluttering walls of your pussy in one fluid stroke, bottoming out with a resonating growl while his hands found purchase under the soft bend of your knees.

"Put yer knees on me shoulders, bonnie." He coaxed, pulling away from your lips to guide the shaky limbs of your legs over the broad expanse of his shoulders.

The sudden shift in position moving him slightly within your tight walls as the greedy flesh of your cunt clenched around his turgid length. Rolling your eyes back with a hissing breath, hands flying up above your head to find purchase within the haul of the vehicle as he laid his dense and muscular form on top of your folded and contorted frame.

"Tha's it, bonnie. Fuckin' clench around me. Lemme feel how much ya need me."

As the sounds of his rumbling voice reverberated within your ears, he glacially pulled his hips back. Nearly pulling out completely before penetrating once more and filling the silken depths of your heat in one fluid and languid thrust. 

Forcing a gravelly moan from within the cavern of your chest, fingers wrapping around the metal frame protruding from the haul as Soap braced his hands on either side of your head and steadily began to thrust himself deep into your greedy hole.

“Johnny- aren't ya gonna close- the hatch?” you groaned, gritting your teeth while he picked up his pace. Steadily pounding his hips against your ass, his lips curling into a cocky smile while his eyes glinted at his mischievous intent.

“Nah, bonnie. Gonnae give em- a good show-” he crooned in response with a breathy growl. Disregarding your concern for the outside world, continuing to pound his cock into your welcoming heat as the creaking sound of the suspension began to echo across the shell of your ears.

You attempted to lift your head and catch a glimpse of the tree laden environment around you, only to be forced back down as Soap changed trajectory once more. Your mouth falling open with a silently pleasured protest as the thick head of his cock ran over a sensitive bundle of nerves deep within your cunt that only he had managed to find.

“Holy fuck!” Your voice hollered over the sounds of the croaking suspension, finally giving into the unrelenting ecstasy only he could provide. Arching your back against the carpeted floor of the cargo space, desperate to meet his powerful thrusts and aid in his direction while he maintained a steady, vigorous pace.

“Found tha’ spot. Didnae I, bon? Gonnae make a mess on me cock? Scream me name as I fuck ya real good? Clenchin around me like-”

“Goddammit! Shut up!” 

His unending banter had finally pushed your quiet resolve to the wayside. Reaching your hand feverishly towards his neck, wrapping your fingers around the chain of his dangling dog tags to bring his running mouth down to your lips and ultimately rendering him blissfully silent. 

Sinking your teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip as you wrap your free arm around the back of his neck. Keeping his chest flushed against yours, a thin sheen of sweat forming between the sliding flesh and forcing only his hips to move as he pumped himself into the depths of your soaking heat.

The wet sounds of your pussy emanating off the plastic and fabric haul of his 4Runner, accompanied by the combined gasping breaths from your chests that formed into a blissfully erotic symphony. A duet only heightened by the most pornagraphic whimper you had ever heard against your mouth as his hips began to stutter and his eyes pleaded for his upcoming release.

“Steamin Jesus, bonnie. I’m gonnae come. Gonnae fill ya up.” Soap’s muffled words vibrated against the flesh of your mouth as your free hand gripped into the thick locks of his mohawk. 

Pulling his mouth away to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Letting your lips seal over the top of his shoulder and silence the strained bellow from within your chest as your orgasm suddenly erupted and coursed through your veins like a violent blaze.

Soap’s hot breath cascading against your flesh with a guttural growl, his hands gripping to the carpeted fabric as he bottomed out in one final thrust and emptied himself against the spongy walls of your pulsing cervix. Pulling his trembling body up to let your legs fall and extend, the burn of over exertion flowing underneath your skin as an all too familiar ache began to form within the buried tissue around your pelvis.

“Jesus Christ, Soap. Where the fuck did this come from?” Your voice hushed in the grips of blissful afterglow, hands meandering to his temples while his body steadily began to collapse above you.

“Donnae know, lass. Thinkin maybe, it was them bloody reflectors.”

Reluctantly, Soap began to pull himself off your overly exhausted frame, only to be pulled back down by your clawing hands and laid his head against your sweat ladened and heaving bare chest.

“Not yet, babe. Just rest a minute.” Speaking in a hushed tone, you pressed your lips against the drenched crest of his scalp. Tasting the saltiness against your tongue and allowing your hands to gently run down the curve of his spine as you felt him steadily give into body’s exhaustion. 

“If you don’t rest, Johnny, I’m gonna have to drive the rest of the way while you sleep this off.”

“Haud yer weesht, hen.” He retorted, his brogue quiet and muffled against the supple flesh of your breast. Your lips curling into a smooth smile as you reveled in the gentle sounds of nature accompanied by the everpresent hum of distant traffic.

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @ohgeesoap @d3athtr4psworld @mini-metal @punishmepunisher @homicidal-slvt @glitterypirateduck @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @ghosts-goldendoodle @shotmrmiller @mykneeshurt @astraluminaaa @writeforfandoms @tacticalanxiety @thetrashpossum @queen-ilmaree @sadstone-s @simpingoverquestionablemen @dustycrusty09 @foxface013 @haurasha @havoc973 @kkaaaagt @designateddeadend @luismickydees

[shadowkoo]

Almost Home

→ Summary: Your boyfriend looks extra yummy when he's in the driver seat, which tends to turn you into a feral, needy animal.

↠ wooyoung x f.reader | 712 words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, pwp, established relationship

→ Warnings: roadhead, oral (male receiving), ball squeezing, teasing, slightly bratty!reader, cock choking & cock swallowing if you squint lol, praise kink, slight exhibitionism & voyeurism, i think that’s it but let me know if i missed something

→ Networks: @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @pirateeznet @othersideoutlawsnetwork

→ Author Note: just a quick drabble bc i have a looooot of thoughts about the photos woo has been sharing lately ugh, not edited either so yeah...enjoy

“We’re surrounded by other vehicles right now, you can’t wait?” Wooyoung exasperates, exhaling a breath as your hands slide up his thigh.

“Just drive faster so no one sees me face first in your lap. It’ll be fine,” you shrug nonchalantly.

“But we’ll be home soon,” he points out lamely, trying to distract you - and himself.

You can’t wait though, he looks almost too good. There’s just something about the way he sits in the driver’s seat, exuding confidence and control, both of which have heat pooling in your center. It's the way he owns the space, completely in charge, and it’s making you lose your mind.

“Let me suck you off, please?” you whine. “I’ve missed you, all of you. Especially your pretty dick. I know it missed me too.” You lean over the center console of his car to kiss his neck, letting your hand dip in between his legs to cup his package. He hisses at the initial contact, then melts into your touch. He secretly loves it when you praise any part of him, even if you use the word pretty in the same sentence.

“Baby,” he groans, tipping back against the headrest and swallowing hard.

“I’ll stop if you really want me to,” you say, massaging him through his pants.

“Fuck,” he grips the steering wheel tighter while increasing speed, “Don’t you dare stop.”

Dipping into his pants after undoing them, you free his hardening length from the layers of fabric. You’re mesmerized by the little beads of pre-cum that spill out of his angry tip. Using your thumb, you smear them across his velvety flesh before immediately taking him in your mouth. The head of his length alone is enough to fill your mouth.

Wooyoung’s body stiffens from the sudden contact, and he might have accidentally swerved into the other lane, just for a second, when your teeth graze along the underside of his heavy head.

Christ.

Removing your mouth from him, you kiss every inch of his thickening length, effectively teasing him until more pre-cum leaks from his small hole.

His body reacts with another shudder when your other hand goes lower to cup his balls, your palm tightening around them when you leave another feather-light kiss on the very tip top of his member just to drive him crazy.

“You’re such a brat. Stop teasing and start choking on my cock already,” he grumbles, using his free hand to shove your face back down.

You comply, wrapping your hand around his girth and lowering your mouth around him. Mmm, you definitely missed this.

Hollowing your cheeks, you take him in further and further until your sputtering along his length.

Wooyoung loves the way your mouth stretches to take all of him. If he wasn’t so hyper focused on not crashing the car, he’d fuck the hell out of your mouth right now. He’ll make time for that later, you know, once you make it home.

Coming up for air, you grin toward your boyfriend while a string of saliva falls from your mouth. “I swear I’ll never get enough of this, enough of you,” you moan.

Wooyoung watches intently as you take in his full length again, only breaking eye contact when he needs to check the road.

“Look at you, you’re unreal. Do you know that?” He says, his eyes burning into yours as he looks down at you again. He rubs a fallen piece of hair out of your face. “Just gorgeous.”

His words make your panties wetter than they already are and you squeeze your legs together for some kind of relief.

You continue to play with his balls as you hum around him while he’s deep in your throat, a move you’ve learned that will send him spiraling right over the edge.

A few seconds later, his hips jerk and he twitches inside you. His hot, seedy release shoots down the back of your throat while he lets out the most delicious moan you’ve ever heard.

“Mmm,” you say, licking your lips once you pull yourself off him. “That was fun. Now take me home and dick me down properly as a thank you.”

He shakes his head, the corners of his lips curling into a smile, “As you wish.”

→ Taglist: @gyupremacy @beomcoups @yoonguurt @sinfullygay

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