#everyone is asleep so i must post

[anxeious]

[wildsaltair]

one day I will find sufficient words to describe how much I love Maximus. until then, screencaps and fanfics and incomprehensible long tags must be my heart’s balm

[lovinggreeniehours]

sorry im not normal about arifer again

[snekdood]

What is your most valued stance that exemplifies your centrist disposition?

im not sure what you mean, I dont have a "valued stance" really

[ozzgin]

Just read your arranged marriage kidnapped by a most post and the humor in the servants always thinking reader is in peril. The same going for monster hubby (He just thinks they're submissive and breedable)

Like none of them realize they are a moster fucker cause they hide it so well. Like just imagining reader be like "oh be gentle with me I'm a dainty maiden" and then giving him the night of his life is hilarious. Or them having dinner and the servants feel bad for them cause monster hubby is eating human meat but their just thinking about other things he can use his tongue on.

Or maybe someone comes to rescue them from the terrible monster finally. But they don't wanna leave and instead fight the knight off. The knight thinks they've been brainwashed or something. Meanwhile the servants think the knight just wasn't good enough to rescue them.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, NSFW! [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

The servants are not blind by any means: they can tell, quite plainly, that their monstrous Lord has a soft spot for you. Not only that, but the beast nearly worships you! They've come up with many theories, the latest one involving witchcraft. Surely you must have some sort of magical trickery under your sleeve in order to subdue their Master. There's no other way around it. All previous humans have been devoured, or have died in a pitiful attempt to escape, terrified to the bone upon gazing at his blasphemous Majesty.

You can't blame them. It's probably better for everyone involved if you omit the fact that your source of witchcraft lies in your...genitals. Well, not just that, of course. Your husband had started to lose hope. His appreciation of humans never came to fruition before your arrival. He was expecting you to cower in fear, not throw yourself at him.

He wondered if you wanted something from him in return, but no one could possibly pretend so flawlessly: the way you clung to him unprompted. The way you hungrily took him in, tears welling in your eyes, refusing to let go until you could feel his load avalanching down your throat. The way you'd trap his hips with your legs, despite being weak and feverish, asking that he doesn't stop yet. If that wasn't proof enough, your whines and moans were loud and clear. To think he could have his own little human, one who isn't repulsed by his monstrous form. He would've been content with mere tolerance, yet someone who begged to be fucked by him? He's been delirious ever since.

He loves everything about you, naturally, but he can't deny the shameless addiction he's now developed towards your body. He'd pound you anywhere and anytime if he could. If he needs to leave for official matters, know that the return will burn in the back of his mind.

"An important date, Sir?" one traveling servant will ask, glancing at all the scribbles in the calendar.

"Indeed", he answers solemnly. It's the times when he can finally fuck you dumb.

While the servants worry about their devilish Master being put under leash, for the other fellow humans the opposite seems to be true. You recall your last "rescuing" attempt distinctly. During one of your evening walks, burly, foreign arms swept you off in an instant. Before you knew it, you were holding onto the armored shoulders of an unknown man, as he made his way out of the traditional garden.

"I'll get you out of here", he promised between heaving breaths.

You stared in confusion. What was he saving you from? A good dicking? No matter how much you explained that you do actually like your newly appointed husband, the hero wouldn't budge.

You ended up just walking back home when the man fell asleep.

"That was quite the long walk", your monster partner remarked, polishing his weapons.

"Oh no, I was kidnapped", you state casually. "Got us some fruits on the way back."

Would it have been better to lie about it? On one hand, you do feel terrible for whoever attempted to retrieve you from the claws of the tyrant. Your husband is very possessive, and you know he'll scorch the Earth until that treacherous pest is gutted and fed to the pigs.

On the other hand...he becomes particularly savage after such incidents. You won't be able to sit properly for the next few weeks, but it's worth it.

Tough luck, you tell yourself, lounging in bed with a satisfied smirk and torn apart hole.

[cheuby]

waking up to simon riley is really sweet.

retired/civilian simon riley in mind, part two to this post. a/n: honestly didn’t expect people to like the first post but here we are, thank you everyone for the pleasant surprise! also, i try to make simon feel more ‘human���, i feel like he doesn’t get humanized enough, does that make sense?

waking up to simon is like being shielded against the world, the contour of his body cradling your softer one as he holds you close in his sleep; maybe there’s an arm thrown haphazardly over your frame, perhaps a leg, or maybe he’s even put a leg between your legs — either way, you’re a mess of limbs and it’s like simon is attempting to fuse with you in his sleep.

simon who sighs deeply before he wakes. when asleep, his chest rises and falls with measured breaths, working in a rhythm; the epitome of peace. but, you move one good inch, try to untuck yourself from underneath his arm, anything — he stirs, filling his lungs with air before huffing it out not even a moment afterward, melting back against you more insistent on putting the weight and heat of his heavy build more onto you.

simon finds himself airing out his apologies as his lips drag across your warm skin in lazy kisses. he almost crushed under his weight in his sleep? he sounds so sorry, voice low and practically murmured whisperers against your skin. his brain is still attempting to catch up with his sleep slurred mumbles, filling in the blanks of his apologies with a kiss or absentminded hum.

simon is just really pretty when he wakes up. if you manage to stop him from nuzzling — or head-butting — into whatever part of you is soft enough for him to bury his face into, he’s all slow blinks and droopy eyes. it also takes a bit for his expression to soften into something a bit sweeter when he first wakes (he has a literal resting bitch face), squinted eyes and his lips pressed into an unamused line. it’s oddly satisfying to see his expression bordering on a pout, rich brown irises looking up at you through pale lashes.

simon has to smooth over the smile that’s fighting to tug at the corner of his lips for a more empathetic one when he’s taking you in for the first time in the morning, your hair a mess. if he didn’t know better, he would’ve asked if you were tossing and turning all night instead of if he did that, his calloused palms petting down your messy hair in short strokes before they settled at framing your face.

saying good morning to simon is a must. if he’s just waking up and he’s gruffing out a good morning, he expects to hear one back. he doesn’t want to hear a groan or some half-assed ‘morning’, it has to be good morning specifically. and oh, you’re asleep? he’s nudging your forearm gently with his knuckle to rouse you a bit, saying another insistent (but sweeter) good morning until you respond.

simon doesn’t always want to be on the go. sometimes being draped in warm covers and a tangle of limbs is where it’s at for simon, wanting to find a little more time in bed with you. so when he’s spooning you and starts crowding impossibly closer, his chin perched right on your shoulder as he uses your extended forearm to prop up his phone like some kickstand to watch some woodcarving asmr video on youtube — you better not move and your eyes better be on that screen, this is his and your enrichment time.

[harrysfolklore]

but daddy i love him, part one - mv1

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

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

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

Melbourne, 2015

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

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

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

"They're still open?"

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

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

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

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

He hesitates. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Fair point. Here for the Grand Prix?"

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

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

"Cryptic."

You laugh. "Says the equally cryptic stranger."

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

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

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

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Scared?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's call it intuition."

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

"Different good or different bad?"

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

"Your father?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes widen. "Wolff? As in…"

"See you in the paddock, Max Verstappen."

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

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

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

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

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

Singapore, 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," you prompt softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barcelona, 2016

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

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

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

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

"Papa?"

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

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

Toto's eyebrows rise slightly. "Out?"

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

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

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

"Ricciardo?" His tone sharpens slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not fair."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Germany, 2016

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monaco, May 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Scared, Verstappen?"

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

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

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

A door opens down the hall.

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

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

"Everything okay?"

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

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

"Night, Papa!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Not helping!"

"Then probably murder you-"

"Still not helping!"

"And Lewis would hide the body-"

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

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

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

"He won't."

"But if he does-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was just-"

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

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

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

"It's not a game-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monza, 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Little Wolff?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, fresh tears threatening to fall.

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

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

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

Monaco, Summer 2018

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

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

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

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

"You're literally younger than me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I did not!"

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

You shove him playfully. "I hate you."

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

"You're not even in F1 yet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks surprised but pleased. "Absolutely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the hell are you doing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're being ridiculous."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"YN, wait-" Max calls after you.

"Go to hell, Verstappen."

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

"I hate him," you whisper.

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

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

"Would you care to explain these?"

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

"Papa, I-"

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

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

"It wasn't-"

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not fair."

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

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

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

"I'm twenty one!"

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

The threat lands. You sink lower in your chair.

"No, sir."

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

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

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

"Nothing is going on," you mutter.

"Then it should be easy to maintain distance."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not you too."

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

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

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

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

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

You pause at the door. "For what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good. Maybe he should."

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

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

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

"YN? What were you thinking?"

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

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

"Of course. Take care of her."

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

"I know," you whisper.

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

"It's not about Max."

"Isn't it?"

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

"Will you help me convince Papa?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Out of where?"

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

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

"You have?"

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

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

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

"You're not mad?"

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

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

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

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

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

Austria, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barcelona, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Max…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It wouldn't be like before-"

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

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

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

"YN, please-"

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

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

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

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

Monaco, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Max…"

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

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

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

"That was a mistake."

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

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

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

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

"Max, please-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If anyone finds out…" you start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We managed before."

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

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

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

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

"And you still want this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But tonight is just for the two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mm?"

"The cake…"

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

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

"Thank you," he says softly.

"For what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monaco, 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey Lan-"

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

Your heart stops. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Be careful," you whisper against his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keeping this a secret is becoming harder and harder.

Silverstone, 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Christian?" you suggest.

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

You both realize it at the same time.

"No," Max says.

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

"YN, he's the last person-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's a pause. "We?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max steps forward. "Lewis, I-"

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

"Since last year."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Promise."

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

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

"Lewis-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what is that?"

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

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

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

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

Silverstone, 2021. Race day

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

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

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

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

"Please. What you did last night-"

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

"You know why we couldn't-"

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

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

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

"It's not a little romance-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lap one. Copse Corner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"YN? You shouldn't-"

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

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

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

"Max?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Time?"

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

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

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

"You're sure?"

"Are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Promise me something else?"

"Anything."

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

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

"Max..."

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

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

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

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

"Max?"

"Hmm?"

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

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

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

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

Abu Dhabi, 2021

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

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

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

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

"Talk to me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max knows without asking. "Lewis?"

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

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

"Always."

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

"Lewis?" your voice is hesitant.

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

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

"Then why are you here?"

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

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

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

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

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

"So instead you just lied? Snuck around?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

"And I still think you're crazy."

"Probably."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You noticed?"

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

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

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

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

"Hey!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lew," your voice breaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was with Lewis."

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

"Max, don't."

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

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

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

"Are you seriously doing this right now?"

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

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

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

"They're my family!"

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

"That's not-"

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stops. "What are you saying?"

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

"Max…"

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

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

"I love you," you whisper.

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

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

[neige-leblanche]

i dont believe in angels except what she is!!!!!!

[reidswrld]

me & you together song.

❛ i’ve been in love with her for ages, and i can’t seem to get it right. ❜

spencer reid x reader.

summary: you’ve always assumed spencer reid’s love language was acts of service. flowers left at your desk. notes written only to you. every tuesday, he gave you your favorite bagel from downtown. you knew he was like this with the rest of the team, too. you didn’t sweat it. you were focused on your job, and your job only. but when multiple instances occur over the course of a case, it’s hard to ignore both of your feelings for each other.

tags: grumpy fem!character x sunshine!spencer reid, friends to lovers, everyone knows but them, the bau literally bets when they’ll get together, no use of y/n, afab character, found family if you squint hard enough, spencer’s obsessed with her but won’t admit it to the public (the public is morgan), based on me & you together song by the 1975 btw, i wrote this while eating a doritos loco taco

word count: 2k

notes: i asked my best friends to give me a character and a trope. happy first post!

When you first landed the job as an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, you first told yourself not to get too attached. This was a job, after all. A career. A high risk one, that could end in fatalities and wounds that might never heal, cuts that will always bleed for the rest of eternity. Once you made it clear to yourself that you were to be civil with your coworkers —close enough to be friendly, but not enough to go out for drinks on Saturday nights— and most important of all, do your job, and do it damn well, you poured yourself a glass of wine and watched the rest of the season of the sitcom you’ve been meaning to finish.

However, with all of the ups and downs your job gave you, it could not have allowed for you to expect the boisterous chaos that were your coworkers. They welcomed you in not only with open arms, but open minds. They respected your boundaries, your ideas, everything about you. Your attempt at remaining just civil became useless after months, but looking back, how could you have tried any longer? Penelope gave you a big kiss on the cheek every week, exclaiming that she loved your outfits and needed to go shopping with you right that minute. Morgan ruffled your hair whenever he brought you coffee (despite your incessant dismay that now you needed to brush it again). Hotch, though not a fan of public displays, would murmur a reassuring, you’re doing well every time he returned a file back to you. And then there was Reid.

Spencer Reid.

Well, what was there to say about him?

Over time, you’ve assumed that his love language must be acts of service. He brought you a bagel every week, sometimes more, from your favorite bagel shop downtown. Every Tuesday, a poppy seed bagel with extra plain cream cheese, extra toasted, cut in half so you could eat the middle dollop of cream cheese first. He made you mugs of tea whenever it grew past five pm because you told him that you had trouble falling asleep once months ago. Sometimes, small bouquets of wild grown flowers were left on your desk. At first, you thought it was Penelope being extra kind to you, or even Morgan playing a small joke on you. Both denied, but still giggled as you walked away. Whatever that meant. Behind your back, they secretly slipped each other five dollar bills.

You were sure he did the same for the rest of his coworkers, too. You’ve seen him refill coffee pots whenever Emily mentioned starting a new brew, and work extra hard on his reports in his free time to make sure Hotch or JJ didn’t stay too late. You were on the same page, anyway. Friends. Civil. It didn’t matter.

You huffed as you walked into the BAU, which was deemed more of a half jog, half marathon sprint. You hadn’t bothered to check the weather before leaving, and on the walk from the subway station to the office, it had started downpouring. The sudden drops of cold from the sky had caused you to drop your half empty cup of coffee, and you had forgotten to grab the breakfast you made yourself the night before in the fridge. Not even Harry Styles’ album blaring in your ears could have stopped you from turning the morning around. You grumbled simple good morning’s to everyone as you shook off your coat. Expecting to see your desk surrounded with papers that you were too tired to file in their intended drawers yesterday, you instead found a clean one; the papers were stashed in their designated places (in alphabetical order), the pens were compiled in the pouch you bought at Daiso years ago and cherished, even the trash under your desk was taken out. The only thing left to be seen on the wooden desk was a small brown bag that smelled of heaven and happiness and a folded piece of paper. You reached inside to find your usual poppy seed bagel the same as it always was. To make your Tuesday better. For you, always, the note read. You didn’t need to decipher whose scribbles those belonged to. You forgot it was Tuesday.

“Where’s my bagel, lover boy?” Morgan’s voice boomed as the man sat on top of your desk, snatching the bag with a grin. Spencer only swiftly passed by the desk with ease, choosing to make eye contact with the carpet.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid. Happy Tuesday.” Spencer’s eyes divert to yours quickly. He only nods, responding with the same greeting. Happy Tuesday, honey.

Morgan’s laugh carried throughout the room, swinging his legs as he spoke. “You two make me sick, that’s for sure. Can I have some of your bagel?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You furrowed your brow in annoyance, which only made Morgan smile widely.

“Do you need to get your glasses checked again? You know, there’s an optometrist across the street—”

As you started to speak, Hotch walked from his office, announcing a new case and to meet in the room immediately. You got up swiftly, grabbing your bagel from Morgan’s hands with a muttered asshole falling from your lips. It only made Morgan cackle loudly. You remind yourself to write a psych evaluation on Morgan after the case is over with.

On the first day of the case, you realized it was going to be a more difficult one than usual. You didn’t panic. You never do. The second day, you worked harder than ever only to see little to no result. You continued not to sleep. It was like clockwork. Work, coffee, repeat. After three days, the case was far from settled. In fact, it seemed to only be getting worse with no ending in sight. Everyone was continuing to work in hopes that they would be home for the weekend. The fourth day, though, seemed to be the worst. The killer was getting more spontaneous with their kills, and the team seemed to keep showing up minutes after the kill had occurred. You were running on little to no sleep and were getting more frustrated with each move the killer made in silence. Near the end of the day, as you stared aimlessly at the wall in front of you, hoping it would make some sort of answer appear in front of your eyes, Hotch put a hand on your shoulder, You jumped slightly, trance be gone, when he told you to get back to the hotel immediately.

Immediately, you persisted. “I’m fine. I’ve almost got something. I’m sure of something.”

“I’m not asking you.”

“Hotch—”

“I’m ordering you, not only as your boss, but mostly as your friend. Your dark circles are getting concerning.” You tried to budge once more, but as Hotch gave one of his stern glares, you knew you were done with work for the day. “I’ll get someone to drive you back. Wait here.”

Within seconds, Spencer appeared, replacing the previous figure of Hotch. Gently tapping your shoulder, he signaled for you to get up. With a flick of a wrist and a soft grin, he spun around a set of keys around his fingers. “Hotch is letting me drive.”

You smiled. “Don’t want Morgan to ‘vibe it?’”

“His definition of ‘vibing it’ is just turning on the sirens when he doesn’t want to stop at a red light.” You walked side by side to the car. Your shoulders brushed ever so slightly due to Spencer’s hands in his pockets, but you didn’t mind. You welcomed the warmth.

“Your definition is turning the volume up to 13 and calling it loud.”

“I would like to be able to hear when I’m old, thank you very much. Any decibel over eighty and poof. Hearing. Out the window.”

“I really don’t think playing Queen at any volume above 13 will kill you, Spence.”

“You never know, honey.” Spencer opened the door for you, ushering you in before closing the door and getting in on the driver’s side. He pulled a cassette tape from his bag and pushed it in the radio; it started to softly play Queen while Spencer messed with the volume, setting it at 13 before driving away. It made a soft smile appear on your lips as your head leaned against the cool glass. Between the constant, soothing movement of the car or the way Spencer’s lips mouthed the lyrics of Good Old Fashioned Boy, it was hard to tell when the lines blurred and sleep drifted you away. The only thing you recognized before falling asleep were the unmistakable words that left Spencer’s mouth.

“Good night, honey. Love you.”

You woke up with a start the next morning. You had no idea how you got back into your hotel room, or how you were wearing your favorite sports shirt that you find comfort in sleeping in all of these years, though your mind directed each question back to the same person, of course. Your mind wandered to the night before; it was the most relaxed you had been all week, even if it was just the simple act of driving with Spencer. You had done it before in past cases —even driven him back to his hotel at times— but this time felt different. Maybe it was the words that left his mouth.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Spencer suddenly walked in, holding bags in his arms. He set them down on the table, pulling out various assortments of breakfast foods and handing them to you. “No bagel shops around here, but I did find some good pancakes if you want to eat now.”

“Spence.” You suddenly sat up straight, as if a revelation hit you.

“What? No pancakes? It came with hashbrowns, too.”

“Spencer.” You emphasized, getting him to look at you.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you do all of this for me?”

“What?” His head cocked to the side, not understanding.

“Why do you… I mean… you go out of your way to do things for me. Unnecessary things. I need to know why.”

“Unnecessary…?”

“You… you leave me flowers that are like, hand picked from a garden or the forest, or something not from the city. You clean my desk for me when I’ve left it too messy. You make me my favorite tea when I’m at the office too late. You write me notes that are alluding but you won’t say what. I mean, Spence, you get me my favorite bagel every Tuesday. Why?”

His face suddenly turned serious as he sat next to you on the bed. “You want to know why?” He repeated.

“I know you do these things for the rest of our team, but I just, I just don’t get it.”

“Because I’m in love with you.” Spencer stared at you. “I’ve been in love with you. I think I’ll always be at least a little in love with you, if I’m being honest. I thought you’d catch on by now.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, honey. I thought I was pretty obvious.”

“So you meant what you said last night, then?” You said softly.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Really. I would’ve said it better if I had known you were awake.”

“But I did.” Your face grew closer to his. “And I’m not upset about it. Because I’m in love with you, too.”

Just as your lips began to brush, Spencer began to smile. “You know what day it is, honey? It’s our day.”

You smiled, too. “Happy Tuesday.”

You both tried to be subtle about it for the rest of the case. Weeks had passed by without the team knowing, but one slip up of a kiss on the cheek from Spencer on a Tuesday morning had led to an entire office full of chaos (and a meeting on workplace romance and consent from Hotch). You two didn’t mind, though. It was bound to happen. Until Penelope turned to Morgan and yelled at him to cough up the fifty dollars he owed her, of course.

Happy Tuesday.

[doubletroubletag]

New update for Tag In/Tag Out: Double Trouble!

I had to remake the blog because linking to Comicfury got the old one shadow banned.(Best read on Comicfury, check pinned post)

I'm back to updating for April, at least!

transcript under the readmore:

[Comic ID:

[Page 1] Loop swings their legs, hugging their arms to shiver. Loop: [Hurry, it's cold!] They look towards Siffrin, pouting. They're too busy scrubbing to notice.

[Page 2] Loop stares in shock, making a realization. They look forward, hugging their arms in a less comical manner. Loop, gently: [These are the only clothes I have.]

[Page 3] Siffrin is frustrated. Siffrin: (Then you should take better care of what you have.) Loop looks at Siffrin in disbelief. Loop: [Actually, never mind! We're the same person, so what's yours is mine too!]

[Page 4] Siffrin grimaces. They shrug: (I guess??? Fine?) Loop smiles: [See, I knew you'd say that. Because I would have too.]

[Page 5] Siffrin and Loop are drawn chibi like, Loop is giddy. Loop, singing: [Which is why I must call dibs on our blanket~] Siffrin, offended: You can't do that?!

[Page 6] Loop gushes: [Then you should have called dibs first.] Siffrin leans forward, frowning: (That's stupid.) Loop: [I also call dibson our pajamas. They're mine now.] Siffrin stares in disbelief. They tug at their shirt: (But I'm wearing the pajamas?)

[Page 7] Loop smiles. Siffrin has a mild frown. Loop's smile scrunches up. Siffrin sweats: Loop? Loop tackles Siffrin, jumping over him. Siffrin: LOOP?! Loop: Mine now! Siffrin stops Loop from pulling up his shirt. Siffrin: Hey, now! I'm wearing it, right now! Loop, casual: But I called dibs~!

[Page 8] Loop begins to tickle at Siffrin's ribs, he laughs with tears in his eyes. Siffrin: Loop! Tickle?! NYA?!

Siffrin kicks his legs while Loop leans over the tree trunk to continue. Siffrin:WhAT ARE YOU DOING?! Stop! Loop: Gimmie! (x3) The two freeze up, noticing something off-screen.

[Page 10] The two are horrified. It's a tired Odile, standing disheveled and unsure. She runs a hand over her forehead: I'm too eepy for this shit. She turns away and leaves. Siffrin and Loop watch, still frozen in place.

[Page 11] Siffrin smiles through their nerves. Siffrin: (Do you think she saw us?) Loop turns away, grimacing: I would think so~! Loop: She's going to tell everyone and I'll never have a chance to eat breakfast again! Siffrin: (Calm down. I'm going to try to talk it out.)

[Page 12] Siffrin chases after Odile: (Odile! Hey! Wait!) She enters her tent, Siffrin follows. They pause. Odile is lying in bed, already asleep.

id end.]

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

book 7 chapter 13 part 2 (book 7 finale!!) thoughts

***THIS POST CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7 PART 13 OF THE MAIN STORY!!*** This spans part 328 to part 349.

This (finally) conclude book 7!!

Please note: this is NOT meant to be a summary or a translation; these are only my initial thoughts on the events that roughly unfold. There may be details overlooked or misunderstood in this post, so PLEASE do not use this as a translation.

ALRIGHT FELLAS, LOCK IN.

We open with a scene of the final confrontation against Malleus (like one of Yuu’s dreams/visions).

Everyone is slowly waking up. UHHH it’s not a pretty sight though, Malleus has grown into his full dragon form and crashed through the ceiling. His voice is becoming distorted. (No live 2D sprite, only a blacked out version of his OB form.)

Mob students panic and almost trample themselves to escape. Us first years brace for impact but suddenly…?! CROWLEY saves us?! YEEEEEEAAH DAD CAME BACK WITH THE MILK LET'S GO 🥛

Crowley commands the staff and dorm leadership to help the students get away. Crewel and Trein use ice magic but it’s instantly melted. (Sam tends to their wounds!) Vargas is knocked back trying to protect students with his body. (Kalim flies him to safety!)

The dorm leaders command their vices to lead their students out. Some notable ones: Jade leads, Floyd is in the back chasing them. Jamil takes charge and tells Kalim to guide people on the magic carpet. Because Ignihyde has no dorm leader, Ortho tells some of their students to be the leaders for the others. Ruggie leads Savanaclaw.

UUHHHHHHH the only person that has not woken up is Lilia. He’s still sleeping at dragon!Malleus’s feet. Silver is freaking tf out OTL calling out to Lilia, trying to wake him, but it doesn’t work.

Sebek is terrified and claims he can’t fight Malleus, he is just too powerful! Chevfowrgwiwj ADEUCE KICK HIM AND SEBEK’s SO inSuLTED HE DECIDeS TO JOIN THE FiGHT AGAIN

Malleus is sending thorns after us to “capture the humans”. ASDHHKAHDLA The tone of voice he takes on is scary, it's like we're farm animals that escaped a pen and he's trying to toss us back in there.

We cut to Ignihyde xjsvsjkw IT’/s A PlOT POiNT THAT iDIA iS OUT OF ShApE, he’s struggling to reach the meetup point to collect the sword, shield, and armor to fight Malleus with. Igni mobs A, B, and C run support and provide him with a magical wheel, which Idia happily accepts.

LOL his mom says he looks cool, just like a prince!! (EW WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT MRS. SHROUD... DON'T MAKE ME THINK IDIA IS COOL.)

The vice dorm leaders (minus Jamil) have led the mobs to main street. There, they collide with Idia.

The dorm leaders (excluding Kalim) are staying behind to stave off Malleus. Us first years ignore evacuation orders and come back.

LILIA FINALLY WAKES UP (not sure why he took longer than everyone else; I thought he wouldn't wake at all and Malleus was keeping him asleep as his "most precious" thing to protect???) 😭 but his magic is so weak he cannot even summon a flame. Begins to cut through the briar instead.

The OB boys are close to irl OB and cannot hold off Malleus for much longer. LMAO. Rowley is crying at the amount of physical damage to the school vjsbfiwhfhskdmd

When all hope is about to be lost, HERE COMES THE MOTORCYCLE REVVING SOUNDS— Holding out for a hero moment fr 💀

OH MY GOD THERE IT IS, I WAS RIGHT WITH MY THEROYT

The armor made of mystium changes form depending on the pilot… Silver assumes the Dawn Knight’s armor and Sebek takes on the same armor his grandfather gifted him in Lilia’s dream.

Malleus scoffs at them and says he will melt Sebek’s shield—but Sebek says there’s no way, because this was something made with the strength if both fae and humans!! Malleus feels betrayed learning that even his grandmother stands against him.

Sebek corrects his liege. They are all standing WITH Malleus. Silver agrees. To prevent Malleus from completely losing himself and becoming the “ruler of evil”, they MUST stop him here and now.

Man. This really is mirroring the Dawn Knight and Maleanor battle. (Believe even the dragon sprite used for Malleus is the same form his mother takes.)

Malleus blows away Sebek’s shield and Silver rushes to protect him. DBHLsiflaiyDSLBI THEY'RE REENACTING THE EVETSN OF THE PAST

LILIA GETS IN THE WAY?!?!!!??!

In the moment of surprise, Idia uses technomancy to control Silver’s sword to hit Malleus’s horns.

Malleus post-OB flashback!

Ahhhh, so it begins with the senators blessing him with mighty powers. Then we see some memories of him growing up.

Malleus has a maid doing his hair but he gets hurt by the teeth of the comb or something?? His anger strikes the maid with lightning and he apologizes, but another servant (or was it a senator, I forgot) tells him don't apologize, it was the maid's fault. Maid is escorted out.

Next is Lilia coming to visit Malleus; Malleus is so happy and laughs really loud. This shatters nearby windows and lodges glass in Lilia's ears. Malleus panics, but Lilia reassures him it's fine.

Last memory is of him on his birthday; Malleus sees fireworks outside but isn't allowed to go out. His grandma is away on royal duties, so he has to eat a big dinner by himself. He's so sad he instantly freezes all the food and makes the servants super cold.

His black and white lament allows him to express that he was born with mighty powers, but what he really wanted all this time was to be able to express himself, to be with other people. "I just wanted to get angry. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry." One line I found particularly poignant was this: “At the table where everyone shares their joy and their sadness… There is no seat for me.”

And… he calls his blessing(s) a curse. This is a parallel to Idia, who realized that what he thought was his own curse was actually a blessing that allows him to be “powered up” by blot!!

Screen goes white and Lilia appears before Malleus. UMMMMMM I 'M SCARED, DON'T LIKE THIS FRAMING. IT'S VERY SIMILAR TO IDIA IN BOOK 6 TALKING WITH DEAD!ORTHO AFTER HIS OWN POST-OB FLASHBACK...

"I have to go soon, too."

"Lilia? Where are you going?"

"Don't worry about it. Like you said, 1000 years will pass in the blink of an eye."

Malleus finally wakes up from his OB. Idia stops the Ferrymen from advancing to attacking Malleus with their oars (the same ones they used to neutralize the other OB boys in book 6).

HIS HORN?????? IS IT STAYING LIKE THAT FDOREVER?????? ? ? ???

h U HHHHHHhHhhh

LILIA DIED (like these sick fucking devs played a heart rate monitor FLATLINING) and Silver’s hair going back to blonde is proof his blessing is gone 💦💦

Malleus crying sprite, but at what cost… (Surprisingly is able to cry without summoning a storm??)

Malleus, Silver, and Sebek cry (Idia pulls us away to give them alone time 💦 guess he is socially aware enough to understand this.) Malleus tries to use his magic to revive Lilia.

There’s glowing from Malleus’s broken off horn and Silver’s ring???? Magic comes from a strong wish, so he and Malleus wish for Lilia to return. Malleus states “I love you” to Lilia and that’s what does it.

qbfuvILFIsFIPFw IT'S THE DISNEY POWERE OFR LLOVE SAVES THE DAY TROPE

We skip to a few days later. Mobs are chatting about the extent of Malleus’s magic; Maleficia, Ambrose, and Crowley did a press conference appearance about the catastrophe.

UMMMMM

Ace mentions there is now a Fairy Dream Life Association made up of Malleus fans who sdjlbblsaiadbsi actually preferred the dream worlds to their realities???? (IT GIVES ME KINDA CULT VIBES) We learn that it will take Malleus's horns 100-200 years to grow back and he cannot use his UM or other disaster-level magic during this time.

Dorm leader meeting!!

Idia lets everyone know that S.T.Y.X. created a new classification a few days ago specifically for Malleus. He is now being considered the same as a natural disaster, and they've developed a safety protocol + policy for what to do in the case of Malleus again. Basically, he should be treated LIKE a natural disaster (earthquake, hurricane, tornado, etc.). In other words, don't engage or try to fight, just hunker down and wait it out. This label cannot be erased, appealed, etc.

Okay, WHAT 🤡 I know that we were desperate to stop the spread of Malleus's magic + aiming to limit the damage he does, but apparently there were NO deaths at all, NO damage (beyond NRC, I believe), and only SOME NRC students got injured. That's... all OTL REALLY???? ?? ? ??????? ??NOTHING ELSE??? ? ?? ???? ???? Sounds kinda like bullshit to me, but okay.

Silver and Sebek are currently hospitalized, but they're supposedly recovering well and should return to class soon. (Really???? In only a few days' time??? Magic must really speed up the recovery process.)

Damage to Diasomnia dorm was quickly fixed up with fae magic. Maleficia donated a bunch of rare Briar Valley literature and technology to NRC for free as an apology for the trouble Malleus caused.

aASDIUBADBOIAFFIA WOW apparently Lilia is reenrolling??? He somehow recovered some of his magic. Riddle explains it as being similar to medical cases in which a patient spontaneously recovers for no discernable reason.

IULADFBFIYOAAFAFID Crowley drops the bomb that Malleus is also returning to school, which freaks the other dorm leaders out. Idia reveals it's likely because Crowley wants funding from the International Magical Security Organization (IMSO), which has promised to give money to support whatever area houses Malleus during his rehabilitation period or something. asfihloadbyfasyafsi IMAGINE NOT WANTING MALLEUS SO BAD THE GOVT HAS TO GIVE MONETARY INCENTIVE TO HAVE HIM IN TYOUR VICINITY

Crowley excuses this by saying the teachers agree Malleus should return. After all, as along as you wish to learn, NRC will not turn away a student. He also says that this is important for promoting diversity and enhancing the understanding between humans and fae. adihbabilfaifasi SCROWLEY'S ALSO PLEASED BECASE HE;S BEEN GETITNG A LOT FO GOOD PUBLICITY, NRC IS EEING HAILED AS HEROES.

We cut a few weeks later to Ramshackle, where Yuu and Grim are writing down details about their dream with Mickey. This is the only mention of Mickey in the update; Yuu going home and what Mickey is up to is NOT addressed again. Yuu just says they wonder what he's been up to/they want to see him again.

Sebek and Silver pop in for a visit!! Silver's hair is silver again. Apparently he asked Lilia to bless him a second time. Sebek makes a joke that it would be weird if his name was Silver but his hair was gold; then shouldn't his name be Gold?

Other first years arrive!!

Mmmmm... We get some lore about Sage's Island??? There was a powerful master mage that lived here 2000 years ago. But this mage had an apprentice that had trouble controlling his own magic and brought about a great disaster because of it. Instead of banishing this apprentice, the master mage scolded his student and did his best to teach him everything he could. That is why the schools on Sage's Island try to follow this philosophy of welcoming those that want to learn.

First years speculate that there must have been other incidents in the past where powerful mages got out of hand. They must have been forgiven too, right...? Like the sorcerer's apprentice was.

WAIT A DAMN MINUTE

Silver and Sebek claim it took them 1 week to heal from their injuries. Their magic healthcare must be cracked because that recovery time is INSANE.

Suddenly?????? Invites pop up???? It's from Malleus! He's inviting his peers to a party on May 15th (Silver's birthday), to be held at Castle Wildrose (which has been reclaimed and made into an official neutral zone belonging to no country). A carriage will come and pick them up.

The carriage is pulled by a talking direbeast???? FHABFAIBA HE REFERS TO YOU, GRIM, ACE, AND DEUCE WITH -SAMA!!???!

We arrive at the venue at last, and...

WHOA, UM... MALLEUS NEW FIT??????? 😭 King look?????? Emo lookin' ass/j He looks so much like his mother here, but they don't really explain why he's wearing this??? (Up until this point, I believe he was being studied, tested, and monitored in S.T.Y.X. facilities.)

This looks SO weird, I'm not used to seeing his pale ass chest out...

Malleus asks Silver and Sebek to step forth. OFMMAFOJ;IAFLIUAFIEAF OMG ALH HERVURQ3TVOFEVYFSOIfsihadgouvaegipaf hE'S OFFICIALLLY KNIGHTING THEM??? ?? ? ??? ?

Sebek is henceforth known as the Knight of Lightning. Silver will be the Knight of Dreams.

Silver interrupts and asks if he can donate his armor to NRC and S.T.Y.X., as he feels he couldn't have saved the day without their efforts. This way, they will also have something to use in emergencies. For Silver, he says the title alone is enough.

Malleus agrees and splits up the Dawn Knght armor. He asks Silver what does he want instead?

(Silver's new look, after Malleus strips away the armor.)

They confirm that Silver is now 18 years old. So that means the official ages stated on Twst profiles are the ages they are at the start of the school year??? And they "aged up" as the main story went on?

OH MY GOGSH ADSKHLADBSLISDBAIADBSILBIADS IT'S HAPPENIG YOU GUYS, SIVLER'S ASKING LILIA IF HE CAN POSSIBLY TAKE ON HIS SURNMAE AND FORMALLY BEOCME HIS SON

Lilia says he was wary about it because the name Vanrouge sounds bloody + invokes the color red. It was a name given to him by the queen, he doesn't think it suits Silver. But Silver insists, so he relents. ADFLIYOAFADFYPADFAF MALLEUS OFFICIATING IT TO THE ONLOOKERS

Idbskwnkwwk IS THiS THE OMEDETOU EVA SCENE OTL

Lilia and Malleus hold hands and helps Lilia use Far Cry Cradle?? Which revives the memories of Castle Wildrose... including the fae soliders, the Silver Owls, the guardian fairies... INCLUDING Maleanor and the Dawn Knight who once resided there.

adsbihlffuadyoadfiadf SOH???? ? ??? ? ? ? AND SILVER'S MOM, QUEEN LEAH... She looks so gentle and kind, wah... Pretty lady...

Woooow, those memes about book 7 ending on a dance party twistune/rhythmic aren't just memes anymore OTL Somehow they're able to dance with their dead parents even though I'm SURE this isn't possible, realistically speaking.

Context for Dawn Knight Silver's SSR! Malleus and Lilia playfully change the color of Silver's cape between blue and pink. They look like they're having a lot of fun with it!!

Malleus speaks tenderly to the memory of his mother, even though she cannot respond and is just a phantom of the past. Silver does the same to his parents, thanking them for loving him, protecting him, and "not taking Lilia away." I'm SO glad that we got confirmation that Silver has no ill will toward his blood family, he just doesn't have it in him to hate.

asfhulailafiafd SEBEK CRIES BECAUSE HE LOVES HAPPY ENDINGS OTL MY BOY... YOU CAN SEE HIM CRYING IN DAWN KNIGHT SILVER'S GROOVY TOOAW LH ABHFDOVEFUOVQEFUOUfobaegvaegbiFINPdw jCUTIEPIE

Grim grabs us and says let's dance the night away!!! ... And that's what we end on KJBFIUABUIDABIDSGIPAF tTHE FRAKING DANCE PARTY MEME OTL (No preview for what may come next!)

OKAY, that was a whirlwind of an update 😭 As much as I screamed this entire post, it was mainly from shock and not because I necessarily enjoyed everything presented. I feel like Twst got TOO ambitious and wasn't able to deliver on the follow-through because they set up so much. It definitely feels like there's tons of room to expand because there's still unanswered questions about Yuu going home, Mickey Mouse, Crowley's intentions, Grim's OB (we didn't see him eat a blot stone this update, shockingly), and the upcoming interscholastic magift/spelldrive tournament. What we got this update, considering the length of the book as a whole... It honestly felt TOO short. I know, I know, I've been complaining about the length of book 7--but the problem is that the resolution for all this build-up felt rushed, so it doesn't feel genuinely resolved. I'm sure they'll go more into the fallout and consequences next main story update (again, lots of stuff left to explore), but it's going to hurt knowing this is what we're digesting until then.

Some parts of this update I liked a LOT. Lilia's death, Silver finally taking on the Vanrouge surname, SEBEK SOBBING, and Idia being a badass on a magical wheel!! It was also nice seeing the staff members ADULTING for once (especially Crowley, WOW) and helping out. Same thing as previous update, I loved that each student gets a little time to shine by evacuating students or holding off Malleus.

Other parts... I did not like at ALL. I knew from the start that they weren't going to commit to TRULY killing anyone (otherwise Twst would lose a very marketable character), but it really sucked that Lilia dropped out + died for all of 5 seconds before magically being reenrolled and revived with the Power of Love. Very Disney-esque, but it still sat wrong with me. The party at the end was nice, but it confirmed all the memes about forgiving Malleus with a dance party.

My big issue with this update was how... AFRAID the narrative seemed to be to hold Malleus accountable and to have him make up for what he did. For example, they kept stressing how the damage he did was 'contained', how no one died, how only some NRC students were injured, how the buildings he damaged got patched up easily with magic, etc. What was especially offensive, however, was when they mentioned the history of Sage's Island and how there were other mages who caused disasters like Malleus did; those mages were scolded + forgiven and not exiled, so they should offer the same to him. Okay. But that... that feels like you're trying to say "It's okay that Malleus did this, because OTHER people also did this!" It sounds like you're diverting attention away from Malleus's actions by pointing out that other people did similar things. We're not talking about those other people though. We're talking about MALLEUS DRACONIA, who is responsible for the CURRENT crisis. Don't try to distract us by talking about other people 💦💦

And really, what did Malleus DO to fix things???? I get that he won't be able to use his UM for a long ass time, but what about his relations with the world at large? His grandma is getting on TV to say sorry but why isn't Malleus also doing that??? Why is he throwing a party and ONLY apologizing to NRC when he arguably endangered many more people???? Should he not also be saying sorry to S.T.Y.X., his country, and all other countries????? OTL Like, I don't think he should be thrown in jail or physically harmed as "further" punishment, but I want to know what steps he intends to take to correct what he has done. An apology to everyone is the very least Malleus can do.

I'm also leaving this update confused about how tf Lilia's UM works??? Because previously we knew he could see the memories associated with objects, right??? What object is he calling the memories from, the whole CASTLE???? Is this only possible because Malleus held his hand and boosted his magic or something??? Okay... but then why are both the fae and the humans of the past both there happily (I assume happily because those memories were able to dance with their children without issue)??? Aren't those two separate memories from two different points in time??? Because I cannot imagine a reality in which both parties were in the SAME space, at the SAME time, and NOT at each others' throats. It feels like Twst breaking its own logic and lore just because it would be cute to have this moment between parents and children. And how come we saw Silver's mom Leah but not Malleus's dad Raverne???? Surely Raverne must have bene in Castle Wildrose before, considering that's where his WIFE resides??? And during the rhythmic/twistune I also saw a Silver Owl and a Briar Land soldier dancing together… even though they wouldn’t???? So many questions...

I don't know. I just have so many mixed thoughts on this ending. I always knew in my gut that I would never be completely satisfied with it, because there are limitations with the media involved, expected tropes, an unnecessarily high amount of hype riding on this, etc. Man. What we got in the end was... okay? Okay, but still lacking in certain areas. I just hope a future main story update fills in those gaps.

I guess I don't have anything else to say but... This truly was our Twisted Wonderland 💀

[loveesiren]

Baby Daddy (Pt. 1)

Rafe Cameron x Reader

A/n: Wrote this a while back and got a lot of requests for a part 2 so I will post it as well! Along with a blurb I've written. Never really planned to make this a series but if you guys want more just let me know! :)

Warnings: Light smut, language, cocaine, angst, pregnancy, mention of abortion, fluff at the end

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rafe thrusted into you one final time before finishing. Cumming deep inside of you for the fourth time tonight. "Fuckkkkk," He moaned before pulling out of you and laying on his back. "You're so fucking tight."

"Yep," You said dryly as you pulled your panties and shorts back on.

"Where are you going?" Rafe asked as he turned to look at you.

"Uhhh, home?" You tell him. "Why would I stay?"

"Whatever," Rafe said before rolling over and pouring a line of coke out on his night stand.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed your bag before leaving his room and storming through the house out the front door.

The walk home was boring. You put your headphones in and slowly danced your way back to the Chateau. As you did every fucking night.

After your mom split and John B's dad went missing you were John B's legal guardian. You were step siblings but his dad raised you when your mom left and for that you were forever grateful. Even though you were a little older, you were really close with John B and his friends. You guys did everything together. Told eachother everything. Except for this.

You'd been sleeping with Rafe for 6 months now. It all started after a Christmas party last December. You were working your shift at the club, way more tipsy than you should have been for being on the clock. A drunk Rafe Cameron started talking you up and you flirted back. The boy was handsome enough. Granted, he was a fucking dick. But you just wanted to get off.

He took you into the bathroom on your break and absolutely rocked your world. No one had ever made you cum like he did. The way you could feel yourself release around his cock made you both fucking dissolve into the earth.

From that day forward, you guys fucked constantly. But you never told a soul and neither did he. Kooks and Pogues don't hook up.

______________

Your eyes flickered open. "Ugh," You groaned as you tried to sit up. You were in your room, Kiara asleep next to you. She slept with you every night since her parents kicked her out. She was your closest girlfriend.

A wave of nausea washed over you and you hopped out of bed and booked it to the bathroom. You expelled the contents of your stomach into the toilet. Gasping for air in between heaves.

"Are you okay?" Kiara was at the door now, crouching beside you to hold your hair back.

"Must be the flu," You said before vomiting again. "I didn't even drink last night."

"Alright let me get you some water and a pillow. You're probably gonna stay in here today."

You rested by the toilet and drank your water but by 11am you were feeling 100%.

You walked out into the kitchen and greeted everyone.

"Don't get us sick," John B said, stepping back from you.

"I feel fine now," You said. "I'm actually hungry!"

Sarah and Kiara eyed you for a moment. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You said as you popped some waffles in the toaster.

"Are you pregnant?" Kie asked.

You paused for a moment. You and Rafe never used condoms. And had you been taking your birth control lately? You were always bad at taking meds.

"Aha, no. No way." You responded.

John B, JJ, and Pope sat awkwardly.

You looked to the floor as you pressed your hand to your stomach. Thoughts racing through your head as you tried to remember the last time you had your period. "Fuck."

"Do you have a secret lover?" Sarah teased.

"John B, give me the keys to the Twinkie." You demanded.

John B fished them out of his pocket and handed them to you and you rushed out the door.

"Y/N, where are you going?!" Kiara called after you but you ignored her.

You hopped into the van and drove off quickly. When you pulled up to the drug store you ran inside and and bought five pregnancy tests and a gallon of water.

You leaned back in your seat and sighed after chugging as much water as you could.

You considered texting Rafe but you voted against it. You needed to be sure.

You drove back to the Chateau, grocery bag in hand as you locked yourself in the bathroom.

Two hours later you were standing over the counter, staring at the five plus signs set before you.

You couldn't help but cry. "Fuck..."

"Y/N?" You heard Sarah and Kie outside your door. You leaned back and swallowed. You had no idea what to do but telling a friend might be a good start.

You open the door and yank them into the bathroom. "Y/N! What's going on?" Sarah asks.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh before nodding your head towards the bathroom counter.

Sarah and Kie look at eachother before slowly walking towards where the five pregnancy tests sat. Five. And they were all positive.

"Oh shit, Y/N..." Sarah said.

Kiara swallowed. "Uhm...is this like a congratulations or a 'we need to go to the clinic right now' situation?"

"I don't know," You said, joining them by the sink. "I should probably talk to...to..him." Your eyes fell to your feet.

"Who, Y/N?" Kiara asked. "We can take you there, we're here for you."

You laugh and throw your head back.

"Y/N...Who is he?" Sarah asks.

You bite your lip as you look down to meet her eyes.

She was confused and concerned. She wanted to help but her and Kie were both nervous about what was going on.

"Rafe," You said softly, barely a whisper.

Kiara and Sarah looked at you with wide eyes. "Wait..Rafe? My brother?? Rafe's the dad?!" Sarah was practically screaming now.

"Shhhh!" You said as you ran and covered her mouth. "Yes, it's Rafe's okay! Can we please not scream it to the whole world?!"

Sarah was silent as you backed away from her.

"Since when have you been fucking Rafe Cameron?!" Kiara asks.

"Y/N, he's a piece of shit!" Sarah added.

"Okay, listen! We've been hooking up since Christmas and...I don't know. I thought it was a one time thing but it just kept happening."

"Is that where you go every night?!" Sarah asked.

You sigh and press your tongue to your inner cheek. "Yeah."

"So you're fucking my brother," Sarah scoffs.

"You're fucking mine!" You hiss back.

Sarah rolls her eyes and shrugs. "Touche. But Rafe's a fucking dick!"

"Yeah, I'm aware." You sigh as you lean back and sink to the floor. "Should I even tell him?"

"He'd wanna know," Sarah said softly. "As much as I hate him, he loves hard."

You feel your phone buzz and pull it from your pocket. "Fuck, it's Rafe."

You coming over tonight?

"I can't do this." You begin to cry, placing your head on your knees. "Rafe doesn't even care about me. I'm just pussy to him."

"I don't know, Y/N...He's always sucked at showing his true feelings."

You shake your head before Sarah can say anything else. You grab your phone and respond.

No. We shouldn't see each other anymore.

You hesitate but press send. It breaks your heart but you know this is the right thing.

Your phone buzzes again but you ignore it.

"I'm gonna call the clinic," You say as you excuse yourself from the bathroom and go sit on the porch, lighting up a cigarette.

Your fingers hover over the screen of your phone, not being able to bring yourself to do it.

"Fuck this!" You yell as you toss your phone across the patio.

"Y/N-"

"What John B?!"

"Are you okay?"

You were pacing now, taking drags off your cigarette as you tried to catch your breath.

"You shouldn't be smoking." John B says.

You turn to look at him. "Doesn't matter," You mutter.

"You're pregnant." John B states. You turn to look at him again. Annoyed the Kie and Sarah said anything. "And no, Kie and Sarah didn't tell me. I'm just not stupid."

You sit down and sigh, dragging your cigarette again.

Your phone continues to buzz from the other side of the porch. John B goes to pick it up. When you notice him staring at it you quickly snatch it from his hands.

"Rafe?" His voice is almost a whisper.

You sigh as you take your bottom lip between your teeth. "Yeah." You respond.

You look down at your phone to see the five messages Rafe had sent you.

What? What do you mean? Why?

Y/N, I'm sorry I was a dick last night.

Please talk to me.

I'm sorry...

I need to talk to you. Please.

"Are you gonna tell him?" John B asks.

You put your head in your hands as you try to choke back tears. You had not intended to find out you were pregnant today. Nor were you prepared for your brother and all your friends to find out you'd been fucking Rafe Cameron. It was all too overwhelming.

"I don't know," You respond honestly.

John B sighs. "Look, never been a fan of Rafe. I had no clue you two were.....close." He says, motioning towards your stomach. "But I think you should think about it a little more and talk to him before you make a final decision."

You chewed on his words for a moment before nodding in agreement.

_________

You locked yourself in your room for the rest of the night. Curled up under the covers as your phone continued to vibrate.

Nonstop calls and texts from Rafe. Since when has he cared so much? He was probably just coked out and horny.

You decided to shut your phone off. He'd have to find another girl to get his dick wet. Sex was the last thing you wanted right now.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, completely unsure of what to do.

The next three days were awful. Throwing up all morning, crying all afternoon. Your friends tried to be there for you but you continued to barricade yourself in your room. You'd come out once in a while to grab some food and water and instantly go back to your bed, binge watching Jersey Shore on your lap top under the covers.

You'd kept your phone off. You really just couldn't bring yourself to talk to anyone right now. And the people you would need to talk to were right outside the door.

_______

"Oh shit," Sarah said as she stood up from her spot on the porch, getting a better view of Rafe's truck pulling up to the Chateau.

The rest of the Pogues stood up too, not fully prepared to handle this situation.

"John B!" Rafe said as he hopped out of his truck. "John B, look man, I don't have any beef with you, alright? I just really need to see Y/N."

"She's not feeling great right now, man." John B responded.

Kiara slipped away and rushed to your bedroom.

You heard knocking on your door and you groaned. "What?"

"Y/N, uhm..." Kiara begins.

"What is it, Kie? I'm sleeping."

"Rafe's here."

Your chest tightens at her words.

"I don't-I don't think he's going to leave without seeing you, Y/N."

"Fuck me!" You whisper as you pinch the bridge of your nose. "I'll be out in a second!"

Kiara goes back to where Rafe and John B are arguing on the porch. "She'll be right out."

The boys shut up and look at her.

"Thank you." Rafe said.

You hop out of bed and open your door. The light of day almost blinding as your eyes adjusted. You instantly missed the dark warmth of your bed.

You slowly make your way to the porch. Your plaid pajama shorts clung loosely to your hips while your tank top hugged you tightly. Your hair was a wavy mess. You hadn't done anything to it in days. But you really couldn't care less at this point.

You shyly step outside. Rafe's eyes flicker to you, a small smile on his lips before taking in your appearance. Concern instantly washing over his face. "Y/N, are you okay?" He asked, taking a step closer to you and reaching for your hands.

You quickly pull away from him and he frowns. "Uhm, could you guys give us a minute?" You ask the group. They all nod hesitantly and head inside.

"Why are you here, Rafe?" You ask once the two of you are alone.

"I haven't heard from you in days. I-I got worried."

You sighed and looked down to your feet.

"Look, Y/N, I'm really sorry I've been such a dick. I'm trying to quit the blow it's just so hard, ya know?"

"It's fine, Rafe. I knew what this was from the beginning." You shrug.

"I like you." He admits. You look up at him. "I like you a lot. I suck at showing it and I get why you're probably sick of me. But I need you to know you're more than just sex to me."

"W-what do you mean?" You ask confused.

Rafe lets out a slow, shaky breathe and scratches the back of his head. "I'm not good at...at showing emotions," He begins. "I don't like being vulnerable. That's why I do coke, I guess. I've just-I've never been good at the whole feelings thing and I just really didn't know how to tell you how I really felt. But when you said you didn't want to see me anymore...." He trails off, looking down to meet your gaze. "I-it hurt me..."

Your expression softens and you give him a sympathetic smile.

"And if you don't want to see me anymore, I get it. I just wanted to tell you-"

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head into his chest. He was stunned for a moment but moved to wrap his arms around you tightly, nuzzling his face into your messy hair.

"I like you too, Rafe." You admit. "And I don't want to stop seeing you. I was just scared. There is something we need to talk about..."

"Anything, sweetheart," He says as he runs his fingers up and down your spine.

You swallow and squeeze your eyes shut. "Rafe, I'm pregnant." The words leave your lips without warning and you brace yourself for whatever is coming next.

Rafe stops moving. Your body tenses as you still cling to him. After a moment, he places his hands on your shoulders and pulls you back to look at him. "What did you say?"

"I-I'm pregnant. I was going to call the clinic but I thought I should talk to you about it first and I'm sorry I ignored you the last few days I just-"

Rafe starts shaking his head. "No, no, no, no, no, baby, shhhh." He says. "I just uhm...do you want to keep it?" He asks nervously.

"I-I mean...I've just never really thought about being a mom before."

"We can move you to Tannyhill," Rafe starts. "And I'll tell my dad I need more work and we'll save up and Wheezie can babysit and-"

"Rafe!" You stop him. You can't help but laugh. "Are you saying you want to keep it? I was only going to call the clinic because I thought you wouldn't want to..."

"Yes, yes!" He says, picking you up and twirling you around. When he sets you back down he takes your face between his hands and kisses you deeply. The kiss was passionate, filled with love, unlike the hungry make out sessions that usually stole your nights.

"I'm gonna be a dad!" Rafe yelled as he jumped off the porch, full of energy.

You laughed, tears of joy filling your eyes as you heard the Pogues come back out on the porch. This went way better than you had expected.

"I take it that went well?" John B asks as he watches Rafe run around in excitement.

"I don't think I've ever seen Rafe so happy before," Sarah chuckles beside you.

"Whoo! Okay!" Rafe says as he comes back over to you, practically out of breath. He gets on his knees and places kisses along your stomach. "I'm taking you to lunch. What do you want to eat? You can have whatever you want, baby, on me."

"Rafe," You laugh, running your fingers through his hair as he keeps his lips pressed to your belly. "Can I at least shower first?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course baby. You wanna shower here? Or we could go to my house,"

"Oh God, please go to Tannyhill." Sarah says, the rest of the group agreeing with her. "This here is a shared shower."

You laugh. "Let me just grab some things and we can go,"

"Okay," Rafe agrees, smiling as he watches you disappear into the Chateau.

"You gonna take care of her? And that baby?" John B asks as he stands next to Rafe.

"Definitely," Rafe responds. "She has no idea how happy she makes me. But I'm gonna show her."

John B nods and offers a small smile.

"Ready!" You say as you come back out, duffle bag over your shoulder.

Rafe takes it from you immediately and goes to put it in his truck.

"Congratulations," John B says, pulling you into a hug.

"Thanks, JB," You smile. "I'll call you later, okay? Stay out of trouble!" You command as you walk towards the truck.

"Aye-aye," He says, saluting you.

You smile as Rafe helps you into the passenger seat. "You ready to go, Mama?" He asks, brushing his hand over your still flat stomach.

You smirk at the gesture. "Definitely."

Tags: @torturedtypewritersdept @bigenergy777 @outerbankspov @purplerose291 @shayofandoms @mirellef2001

[evilbirdy]

heyyy so i was wondering if you Could do se-mi x reader Where her, se-mi, thanos, nam gyu, and min su are Living in a huge apartment bc you guys do band together and everyone has their own rooms but you sleep in se-mi’s room most of the time bc you two are dating ( the others dont know yet) and every morning you wake up early to go back to your room. One Night All of you desided to watch a movie in se-mi’s room. Thanos, Nam gyu and min su are on a Big Air mattress and you and se-mi are on her bed. All of you Fall asleep so the boys wake up seeing you two cuddleing. Se-mi is spooning you While having her hands up your shirt🫢. They also see the way se-mi’s head in placed by your neck Where you have some purple Marks. They waited for you two to wake up and then they confronted you two so you had to tell them the truth.

idk why Else to put in so you Can choose and Thank you soo much. Have a lovely Day or night

𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑 𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓, 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖊

𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 ~ 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔤𝔬 𝔟𝔶 𝔪𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔩 𝔧𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔰𝔬𝔫

𝒮𝑒-𝓂𝒾 𝓍 𝒻𝑒𝓂!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗦𝗽𝗶𝗰𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗷𝗼𝗸𝗲𝘀, 𝗶𝗻𝗻𝘂𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗼𝘀, 𝗵𝗶𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗦𝗲-𝗺𝗶 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 ‘𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹’𝘀 𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗼’ 𝘆𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗹𝗹.

˜”*°•.˜”*°• Also I changed it all a bit but I hope you still like it <3 •°*”˜.•°*”˜

“Did you get that, Minsu?” you asked, finishing your last lyric and letting Thanos play his last note. Minsu nods turning off the camera.

“That was a good take, I’m gonna edit it and post it as a promo before tonight’s show,” Minsu took out his sd card and put it in his computer.

“Speaking of tonight, (your name), can you sing a little bit into the mic to make sure the sound is good,” Thanos connected the mic into a speaker.

“She smiled and looked at me. I was surprised to see..that a woman like that was really into me,” you sang, you couldn’t help but make eye contact with your girlfriend across the room.

You have been dating Se-mi for about six years now. You had met in junior year of college, thanks to Thanos who wanted you both to join his band. You must admit you felt intimidated by her at first, she gave you a ‘Hot Topic model’ vibe. She was actually very kind and sweet to you compared how she acts with Thanos and Nam-gyu.

What you didn’t know was how attracted she was to you. She would sometimes ask Minsu if you were with anybody or found anyone cute. Minsu could have told her about the times you rant about how you liked Se-mi but he didn’t want to break your trust.

She got over herself a year later and decided to ask you out after practice.

flashback

“𝘖𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴, 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘺,” 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘕𝘢𝘮-𝘨𝘺𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘪𝘯-𝘴𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.

“𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬,” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩. 𝘈 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘕𝘢𝘮-𝘨𝘺𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘪𝘯-𝘴𝘶 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸.

“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘶𝘱,” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘚𝘦-𝘔𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦.

“𝘜𝘮𝘮..𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴,” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥,” 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳.

“𝘖𝘩 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶,” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥.

“𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯,” 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳, 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

“𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨,” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴.

“𝘜𝘮𝘮𝘮…𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶- 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘮…𝘭𝘦𝘵’𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘦,” 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨.

“𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘮𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦….𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦….𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺?” 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘷𝘴. 𝘞𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵? 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘚𝘦-𝘮𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵?

“𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰…(𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦)?” 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥.

“𝘠𝘌𝘚…𝘰𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶,” 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘵. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭.

“𝘏𝘮𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭, 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘵 5,” 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘖𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘵.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦.

Even when you two moved in with the boys six years later, you two managed to keep your relationship hidden. You guys didn’t want Thanos and Nam-gyu well being too much like themselves and making it all weird. You made it work though, Se-mi would give you small kisses to you after she comes back from job, you would write ‘I love you’ randomly on her back when you pass her, she would sneak into your room every night.

You just wanted a peaceful relationship with your girl and it’s been like that.

Until tonight

After you guys finished up with your performance. It was hectic but fun and your fans love every second. Thanos insisted that the band should have a movie night. You politely declined knowing you still had work tomorrow.

Se-mi decided to join them, she would have rather joined you in your room but the living room is practically facing your door and she knows Thanos will say something. She sat on the couch as the boys picked some random movie, it was very boring and she wanted to be with you so bad.

It took a couple of movies and hours before the boys passed out on the couch. She smirked taking that as an opportunity to slip into your room.

“Honey,” Se-mi whispered, walking into your room. You were still awake playing video games on your phone. You opened your blanket, silently telling her to join you. She smiled, jumping on to you and pulling you on her chest, she scattered kisses all over you.

“They didn’t see you come in here?” you put your phone on the dresser, cuddling into her. She shook her head playing with your shirt.

“Nope, they are passed out on the couch,” you hummed in acknowledgment and yawned.

“Oh no, you aren’t going to sleep yet, you need to make up for yesterday,” Se-mi slides on top of you. You laughed and poked her nose.

“Are you trying to get us caught?” you asked, your eyes kept looking to your door, she chuckled lowly and leans down to your ear.

“Try not to make noise then,” you gasp and covered your face, she takes your hands and kisses you deeply.

In the morning, Thanos wakes up first, he looks around noticing Se-Mi wasn’t in the living. He hits Nam-gyu on the head and taps Min-su lightly.

“Hey, where did Se-Mi go?” The three look around before getting up.

“She probably went back to her room,” Min-su says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes going to the kitchen.

“Well she needs to get up, it’s 10 am and we need to work on next week’s show,” Thanos walked to Se-mi’s room opening the door, finding it empty.

“What the..”Thanos slowly closes the door and walks backwards, he had an idea that you would know where she was so he walked to your door, he quietly knocks before entering. His jaw dropped seeing Se-mi spooning you and her face in your neck.

He walked closer finding purple marks on your neck.

“OH SHIT,” Thanos yelled out, waking you two up and grabbing the attention of Min-su and Nam-gyu.

“What the hell is goin- oh,” Nam-gyu smiles and side eyed you both.

“What? can you guys get out of my room please,” you were lowkey freaking out. You tried to cover your marks with your hands or the blanket.

“Family meeting in the living room, get umm try to look decent,” Thanos marched into the living with the two of course following suit.

You and Se-mi got dressed and walked into the living room, Thanos has his arms and legs crossed like a mother who found her teenage son’s search history.

“So.. Semi? (your name)? How long has this been going on?” he tilts his head super far and shook his head.

“Uhh umm for about six years,” you muttered, Thanos dramatically gasped and clutched his heart.

“how…dare…you keep this from us no from me, I thought we were besties (your name),” Thanos leans into Nam-gyu, fake passing out.

“Ehh I figured,” you all looked at Min-au who just shrugged and went back on his phone.

“What, you knew?” Se-mi said, out of all three of them, Min-su was probably the last to be so chill about it.

“Yeah umm I heard you two uhh ‘playing’ when I came back early from and Thanos and Nam-gyu were out. I turned back around and went to go get ice cream and didn’t want to embarrass you both,” Min-us explains, going back to his shy-ness, looking to the wall.

You just stood there and nodded. You let out a sigh and walked back to your room, getting dressed. You were already late but at this point, you didn’t care. You knew you won’t hear the end of this from Thanos. Se-Mi walks in wrapping her arms around you.

“Hey..think about it, it could be worse…they could have walked in while we were doing it,” you laughed and playfully pushed her back and continued getting dressed.

[djcandiepaws]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ yandere! artist x reader

summary: you have a classmate who is an artist! he wants you to model for him. cw: talk of nudity (its not sexual, but he perceives it that way since its you), stalking, mention of cum. thats pretty much it!

post it notes: might be the longest fic i've ever made

It's after school hours when classes end and clubs start. Recently you've been interested in joining the art club! The art welcomes beginners and pros with open arms. You're a beginning artist, and you could use the help! So you obviously decide to join! Plus, maybe you can make a few friends?

You knock on the art club door, and a familiar face opens it. "Welcome to the art club!" It's your guidance counselor! She's the sweetest; you had no clue she was a co-owner of the art club. "Please, come in! Let me introduce you!" She had introduced you as well as showed you around.

"Forgive me though, one of our owners is running a bit late." She rubs her neck, visibly embarrassed. "Nowadays, he is usually a bit late. I don't understand why, though."

"Don't worry, I understand!" You smile. It's seriously no biggie. Anyways, you go sit down at a desk to start drawing. Lately, you haven't been drawing since you just haven't had the energy or time for it.

Honestly, you scratch your head. You're not sure how to start as you usually need inspiration or a reference to start. You're honestly confused as to how people draw purely based off of imagination. It must be a gift that you must lack. While stuck in your thoughts, the classroom opens.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late, everyone. I had to finish a pass-due essay for English!" He fidgets with the end of his sleeve. It's a bit embarrassing to be late to your own club that you started. He looks around, and his eyes lock onto you. You're right where he wanted you to be.

Truth be told, the only reason he has missing assignments is because he falls asleep in class due to his lack of sleep. He spends his nights stalking outside your house, drawing it, and sneaking glimpses of the inside to study the layout so he knows when the right moment is to break in.

He's not trying to hurt you; he loves you. You're so beautiful; sometimes when you're at lunch, he sits on the floor of the cafeteria to draw you. To him, you possess beauty even Aphrodite would envy.

He walks up to your desk. He strikes up a conversation. "Hey, I know you. You recently transferred, right?" "Oh, yeah. I did. You look a bit familiar; are you in my Algebra class?" His face visibly lights up; do you remember him? Oh, it's so meant to be! "Yeah! I'm surprised you remember my face! I don't necessarily talk much in that class." He chuckles. "To be fair, your chair desk is in the front row of the class. I see you pretty much all the time."

Suddenly, he gets a bright idea. "Hey, you know in this class we draw nude human anatomy, right?" You nod with a small 'mhm' sound coming from you. "Maybe... You can model for the club? I know it might be strange at first, but I was just wondering…" Your face falls from shock. He isn't serious, right? I mean… I don't know. You could, but you just met him. But at the same time, it's just nudity for the sake of studying female anatomy; it's not anything sexual.

"You can always say no! I was just wondering." He suddenly realizes you might be a bit uncomfortable with it. "No, it's a fine question. I was just shocked. I just joined and all, so it's a bit overwhelming." You smile awkwardly.

"You know, if you're considering actually doing it… To make you feel a bit more confident, you could always do it just for me." Honestly, he started sweating. To get you naked, all for himself, under the guise of it being for nude modeling. Oh, he's so excited he honestly might cum in his pants. "Well... I mean, I could, but could we get to know each other a bit more? Just to make me feel a bit more comfortable." Oh my god, he almost squeals from excitement. An excuse to see you naked and to ALSO be your friend? This day can't get any better. "Yeah, sure! Anything to make it more comfortable for you!" He starts to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Honestly, you're a bit flustered! You've never had an offer like this, and to be honest, you don't mind modeling for someone as sweet as him. He doesn't have any weird intentions in mind, or at least you don't think so. Plus, not all nudity is sexual, so it's not that bad, right?

[senawashere]

Carolina?

Summary: Who is Carolina? Is she the other woman? And why Bradley is talking about her in his sleep?

A/n: I wrote this like 2 or 3 years ago for another character and i wanted to post again🤭

Warnings: tooth rutting fluff actually. Maybe a bit angst. And a bit smutt at the end. Hehehehe.

Bradley always talked in his sleep,most of life. So you were ok with it. But one night,everything chances.

You slowly wake up to a chill in the air, realizing that Bradley has closed most of the windows once again, as usual.

The room is dark, and the digital clock on your nightstand shows 4:28; you've only been asleep for four hours.

As you turn to the side, you see Bradley curled up in the blankets, lying on his side with his back turned to you. You approach him, pulling the blanket closer for warmth, and snuggle up to your husband, wrapping your arm around his abdomen. You drift back to sleep with you melting in his embrace, emitting a low, soft purr from his curled lips.

He feels so warm and resilient against you that you bury your face into his back, inhaling his scent, placing a few kisses on his shoulder blades before laying your head on the pillow. You hear Bradley's gentle murmurs as he returns to his dreams. When you open your eyes, you lift your head slightly, leaning towards him in hopes of understanding what he's saying, but his words are jumbled.

"Brad?" you whisper, wondering if he's about to wake up.

"Baby..." he murmurs, and then you hear something inconsistent.

"I'm here," you say softly, kissing his shoulder. He usually calls you "baby," so you assume he's talking to you.

"Baby... My baby..." he repeats, and as you smile at the thought of him dreaming about you, everything shatters with a single word.

"Carolina... Carolina, baby… my…girl"

Wait a second, who is Carolina?

It wakes you up faster than an alarm. As you sit up, looking at your still-sleeping husband, talking about someone named Carolina in his dreams, you're left puzzled. You don't know anyone by that name, so she must be someone Bradley knows, and that's concerning.

"Carolina... beautiful..." the words spill from his lips, almost inaudible but piercing your ears like a punch to the chest.

Lately, he's been so confused, but you haven't thought much about it, attributing it to all the work he put into his job and getting promoted. However, now you see it in a different light.

And yes you know his mother’s name is Carol but the problem is Carol and Carolina are not the same.

Or are they? No probably not.

Could Bradley be spending time with another woman? The thought of him cheating on you didn't cross your mind. Everything seemed so perfect; you were planning the moving somewhere else next summer, and he didn't seem regretful of his decision to marry you.

But then who is Carolina? And if she invaded his dreams, how important could she be? More important than you? It made your stomatch flip.

Afterward, you struggled to sleep, tossing and turning in bed for hours.

Bradley stops talking afterward, turning his face up, and while you lie awake next to him, going through every possible theory in your mind, he simply sleeps peacefully, unaware of your racing thoughts. As the sun begins to rise on the horizon, you're already out of bed, perched on a kitchen stool with your laptop, hoping to find a clue Bradley left behind as you delve into the history.

But what if he's really doing this? If he's cheating on you, he wouldn't be foolish enough to get caught like this. Right?

You make tea and reluctantly check his socials that he follows almost everyone he knows. You hate stalking your husband with the thought of him cheating on you but now you want to know if something strange is happening. Unfortunately, or fortunately, nothing suspicious comes up. Most of the accounts are from people who works with, either with people you know,his old friends, or his family members and some of his dads old friends.

No sign of another woman.

That’s good. Right?

Bradley wakes up to an empty bed. It's strange that you're not cuddling him or holding onto him like a koala bear. He blinks his swollen eyes a few times, adjusting to the low light, and straightens the other side of the bed where your body used to rest. Since the room isn't even that cold, he knows you've been up for a while.

Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he throws on a sweatshirt and slowly exits the room, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He notices you immediately, curled up on the edge of the couch, looking out of the window. Your forehead is creased, indicating something is bothering you.

"Hey, honey, the bed was cold without you," he murmurs, walking towards you with slow steps, sitting beside you on the couch near the window.

You look at him, your jaw clenched,on verge of tears and even though you didn't want to start like this, the truth about the morning overwhelms you.

"Who is Carolina?"

Confusion is evident on his face. It's not the kind of thing that someone doesn't know what or who is being talked about. Carolina is a real person, and Bradley knows exactly who she is.

"What's this about now?" he asks, leaning back, putting some distance between you two, his arm dropping over the back of the couch,confusion is clearly visible all over his face.

"Do you know anyone named Carolina?" you push, narrowing your eyes.

"I do... well, I mean... it's not what you think honey really..."

"You talk in your sleep, Bradley."

"What?" his eyes widen.

"You often murmur incoherently, but last night, you kept repeating the name Carolina, and... you even called her baby. You called her baby! You only call me baby. "

The revelation dawns on him as you watch, and he takes a slow breath, exhaling gently. This is going to be more complicated than you anticipated.

"I'm telling you, but promise not to think I've lost my mind, okay?"

"You're scaring me, Bradley," you breathe out. "Tell me. Please."

"Okay, okay," he says, inhaling deeply and then nodding slightly. "Do you remember... the day when we thought you might be pregnant, about like five months ago?"

"Of course, I remember," you nod,biting your lip.

Your period was late, and you had vomited in the morning. Bradley had taken a test, and you both sat on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, waiting for the results. It came back negative.

You felt relieved, but a part of you wondered how it would have been if you were pregnant. Something in your head told you it wouldn't have been a big deal, but the timing wasn't right because you two were just about to get married and it would have been nice to get married first before having a baby.

"A few days after that... I had a dream."

"A dream?" You furrow your brows, unsure where this is going.

"Yeah. It was about you and me, and... we had a baby. A little girl. It wasn't something crazy; you were breastfeeding her in our bed, and I was watching you, and then I was holding her, rocking her to sleep and she was sleeping in my arms... It felt real, and when I woke up... I felt like something was missing."

You listen to him carefully, your lower lip tense, and your heart pounding in your chest.

"Since then, I've been having similar dreams. At least twice a week. Always the same baby, always with you inside, but we do different things. Sometimes we bathe her,sometimes we play tickling,sometimes we walk in the park, and sometimes she sleeps in a stroller... Once my mom and dad were in it and one time I saw Mav and Penny too, God, it felt so real," he confesses with a shaky breath. "The last few times, we didn't even have her with us. We gave her a name."

"Carolina? Her name is Carolina?" you softly ask, pushing yourself closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Yes. She looks a lot like you, but her eyes are like mine. A perfect mix of both of us, and... I couldn't shake it off. Sometimes I wake up after a dream, and I feel like something has been taken away from us, it feels so real,I miss her even though I don't know her."

"Why didn't you tell me about these dreams, Baby?" you whisper, placing a small kiss on his shoulder.

"It felt super foolish, and I didn't know how it would make you feel. I knew we talked about trying for a baby after the wedding, and I thought bringing it up would upset you," he shrugs, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

As you sit on the couch, silence falls between you two, your head resting on his chest, his arms around you. This wasn't the outcome you expected. None of your theories came close to the truth Bradley just revealed.

"I was thinking about the same thing...for a while." you say.

"About what?"

"About having a baby. If the test had come back positive, how would it have been?"

"And...?" He leans back to look into your eyes.

"I wouldn't have aborted it," you admit honestly, and Bradley takes a slow breath, gently kissing your forehead. "Do you want to... start trying for a baby before we talk about,Bradley?"

"It can wait," he replies, looking as if he's afraid to say something that might upset you. "If we continue what we're doing, it's okay..."

"But I want to know what you want, Bradley. Tell me."

He takes a deep breath, running his tongue over his lips before speaking.

"I think I want it." The way your heart explodes at his words is undeniable. Realizing that he feels exactly the same way now brings tears to your eyes.

"It would probably mean a blow to the squad if we start now and succeed," you laugh, watching his eyes glimmer.

"That would be the best thing that ever happened," he chuckles, confessing, "just the thought of going on adventures while our baby grows under your heart... God, I could just cry just thinking about it."

"So," you grin, slyly teasing him as you hold his chin with one hand. "Carolina?"

"It could be something else if it's a boy."

"I like it," you murmur, nodding. "We can add it to the list. But before we start making lists, we should probably start trying for a baby, don't you think?"

He doesn't need more encouragement. As you both laugh and kiss, you find yourselves in your bedroom in an instant, clothes flying off as you fall onto the bed. Giving him a passionate kiss before he undresses you, you can't help but whisper, "I love you."

Ekkkk full of cuteness🥹🥹

I'm tagging people who might be interested:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsigns-haze @sailor-aviator @sorchathered @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @lyn-js @bradshawssugarbaby @torchflies @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @bradshawsbaby @hardballoonlove @perfectprettypisces @topguncortez @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbaddie @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @themusingofagothicsoul @the-romanian-is-bae @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @iefitzgerald-blog @charcole-grey @waterriseslew @desert-fern @promisingyounglady

[rafesangelita]

🍪; lover, you should have come over by jeff buckley

♡ “sometimes a man must awake to find that really he has no one. so i’ll wait for you, love.”— in which rafe never took your relationship seriously when he had you, so you left the island in hopes of starting new. however, you’re back one year later, and this time you’re both on the same page.

warnings: second chance au, implied age gap, lots of talk about marriage and having kids, angst, time skip, rafe is pretty regretful in this one

a/n: this couldn’t have been a more perfect request! i’ve been wanting to do something like this for a while now. left this one on a little cliffhanger, pls don’t hate me </3 buttttt if requested enough, i’m completely open to making a part two!

rafe knew the night you left him without a word, he was the one entirely at fault. he knew deep down there was only so much you could take before you’d have to realize he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted more than anything else, and that was serious commitment. despite you being slightly younger than him, you valued the more serious, traditional side of things. while rafe was thinking about where he would take you to dinner next, you were wondering if your babies would have his blue eyes.

refusing to be the one to initiate that kind of conversation with him, you held your tongue and enjoyed the time you had with him until your heart couldn’t take it anymore. the final straw for you was when you two were laying together the way you always did post-sex, and rafe revealed to you that marriage would never be in the cards for him. he claimed that he was too much of a possessive person to share you with anyone else, let alone children, and you swore your heart broke in two.

“you don’t want to get married.. like ever?” you gazed up at him with those fucked out eyes of yours, just hoping he wouldn’t say the words that would give you confirmation to let him go. “no. i know a lot of people say this, but it’s true; marriage is just a piece of paper.” that night, you remembered every curve and detail of his face, forever engraving his image in your head as you silently slipped out of tanneyhill and didn’t look back. you cried. oh, god, you cried so much. apart of you felt like going back and erasing all desire of marriage and family and just indulge in what you and rafe had, but in no world would that work.

rafe woke up that morning, feeling a profound sense of emptiness he didn’t expect to feel without you near. he recalled the way you looked at him before he fell asleep, like you were never going to see him again. panic set in, his feet moving before he could think. he called your name out, checking every room and bathroom before the harsh reality hit him like a ton of bricks. he called your phone, throwing his own when an automated message said the line had been deactivated.

rafe was in denial the first week. he was sure you’d turn up somehow, somewhere, and wrap your arms around his shoulders while planting kisses on his neck, but you never came. that didn’t stop him from looking for you any chance he got, hoping, pleading that he’d bump into you somewhere and you’d go home with him. when he caught word that you had left the island altogether, he felt hurt, betrayed. how could someone as sweet and soft, and so precious as yourself just vanish without warning?

he didn’t understand, not being able to wrap his head around the fact that you felt like you had to run from him. you were the only thing he had on this god forsaken island. his family, his friends, no one truly knew him like you did. no one recognized his efforts to be a better man, no one comforted him, loved him. he spent his days focused on work, completely shutting everyone out. he was filled with regret, and it was your absence that made him realize marriage was so much more than a legal document.

it was vowing to never take that person for granted, it was carving your love in a stone of history, it was a sacred promise to never leave one another, a sacred promise that he so badly wished to have another chance at. before he knew it, an entire year had passed and just like you, there was nothing he wanted more than a family of his own. scratch that, he didn’t just want it. he dreamt about it, yearned for it just as much as he yearned for you. what he didn’t know, was that it wouldn’t be long until you showed up at his door.