#i've been thinking about it a lot lately.

[hoofpeet]

[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.

[thedevilsoftruth]

Rules are meant to be broken.

B. Barnes x f! Reader

" Break the rules of this game. Touch, touch, touch yourself. "

Summary: After a few years of mutual pining, your relationship with Bucky can't seem to get to where you both want it to because of Tonys strict " no dating policy " until a prank is pulled on both of you by one of your fellow avengers at a beach vacation.

Tags: Mentions of alcohol, vulgar language, rom com, sexual references/humor, kind of cliche stuff, sex, smut, Bucky being a smart ass 90% of this fic and fighting everyone, mutual pining, also slightly Russian accent Bucky, Dom! Bucky, vaginal fingering, piv sex, lots and lots of kissing, edgeplay, mentions of the reader having an iud and cognitive symmastia. Not beta read!

Song Recommended: Compress/Repress by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross

A/n: This fic was requested by the lovely @0-komori-0 and also turned out to be over 9k words!!! So much more than I had planned. ( I hope you really enjoy this, man I haven't written anything this long in a very long time ��🙏 ) I've been really insecure about my writing lately, and i actually kind of hate this fic like a lot. But I'm praying to God that this isn't as bad as I think. Anyways, enjoy. 💜

[ My marvel request box is back open. Please see my pinned post for my request rules. ]

Mdni! I am not responsible for what you find on the internet.

Prologue

The fall of the rain had only gotten heavier as time went on. The streets were a flood land and droplets of rain were practically slamming against the cement. The rain perfectly matched the storm of irritation and stress raging inside you. The man who you had been trying to catch for months had slipped through your grasp once more.

As you sat down in the passengers seat of your partners car, you couldn't fight back the tears rolling down your cheeks. They were cold tears, much like the cold rain slipping down the windows all around you.

It was a very vulnerable moment for you. It was around that time of year again that marked the death date of your mother, and work just kept piling onto you.

This was something your partner had been very aware of. Over the years of fighting with you, he had developed quite a strong relationship with you. So, breaking down in front of him didn't feel weird for you. He understood your pain.

His hand slipped into yours, which was laying flat on your thigh. He opened your palm and slid his fingers between yours. You sat there for several minutes, your shoulders shuddering as you sobbed. Your soft, almost quite sobs blended into the pitter-patter of the rain against the window.

" I just.. " you tried to speak, but no words would come out. You squeezed his hand tighter, sitting back up and laying your head against the headrest.

" I know. " His thumb went over your knuckles. He knew you too well, like he was a part of your own mind. " But I'm right here. "

You looked over at him, your eyes watery, your cheeks red. His blue eyes landed on yours, and there was a comforting silence before his vibranium hand reached out to cup your face in his palm. Before you knew it, your eyes were shutting close and your lips were on his.

That night the both of you had learnt a little something about each other; and that was the fact that neither of you were going to let a set of rules restrict the feelings you had for each other.

~~

A few months later. Somewhere at a Kohl's in New York during March.

" I never knew you had Symmastia. " Natasha commented as you stood in front of her from inside the dressing room. She was outside of it, of course, merely just there to be your cheerleader as you tried on bathing suits for your upcoming vacation.

" Yeah, well, not many people notice it at first glance. " You responded, looking at yourself in the full length mirror in front of you. The color of the bathing suit seemed not to match your complexion very well, and you found that it didn't sit on you like you had hoped it would.

" Well as long as you're confident about it, that's all that matters. " Natasha said with her usual supporting smile. You smiled back, looking through the pile of bathing suits you had picked out. Maybe you'd try the blue one on next?

~ prologue end

~~

Vacation with the avengers certainly was an experience. It was only the first day of your vacation, and people were already getting kicked out of their rooms and trying to fight eachother. And fyi; It was Thor getting kicked out of his room by Tony and coming to yours and begging you to let him in.

You said no, of course. After all, you were in a room with literally only women; your best friend Natasha, Gamora, Nebula, and even Pepper...

Because she was also kicked out of her room with Tony.

It was a beach vacation, and most of the boys were already done getting ready. You were looking through your bag, still having not found the right bathing suit to wear even though you brought eight pairs.

Gamora was next to you on the bed, brushing her hair. Pepper was helping Natasha with her top, and Nebula went out to the pool with Scott. ( He was definitely going to get his balls kicked. )

" Hey, what do you guys think of this top? " You asked, holding up the neon blue triangle top you found in your bag. If only you could find the bottoms. The girls looked at the top and hummed in unison. Natasha tilted her head, thinking, though her thoughts would quickly be disrupted when a loud stomping sound was heard from down the hallway. There was a chorus of very loud yells that followed the quick stomping. Were they playing tag in the hallway?

" Peter, give me my arm back!! "

" Oh yeah? Give me my Redbone cassette back!!! "

It sounded like... Bucky and Quill?

You all exchanged very confused looks at eachother until the silence was broken up with Gamora's snicker.

Natasha ran to the door, stood on her toes and looked through the peephole.

" Oh my god, " she exclaimed. " Bucky's naked. "

You all immediately looked up from what you were doing. Gasps were heard, followed by the girls rushing to the door to try and see.

" Well, h-he's holding a towel to his waist. " Pepper added, taking over the peephole custody.

The boys continued fighting through the hall.

" Come on Pete, give the disabled man back his arm. " Rhodey's voice was heard. Pepper noticed him coming out of the room along with Tony, who was holding his phone up in the air, presumably recording the moment.

" IM NOT DISABLED! "

There was silence for a moment. The men all looked at Bucky, unspeaking.

" Wait. Am I disabled? "

Natasha and pepper laughed out loud. You were getting a small tinge of second hand embarrassment in the pit of your stomach.

" Your guy's boyfriend's are fighting eachother. One of them is a little stupid, it looks like. " Natasha laughs, walking back towards the bed you were standing at with Gamora. You blushed at the comment.

" He's not my boyfriend. And don't talk about him like that, Bucky is very smart. " You spoke, tying your hair in a ponytail with a scrunchie. Gamora sat back down on the bed, rummaging through her makeup bag. Natasha plopped down onto the bed beside her.

" Well, it depends on who she was talking about. They're men, they're both stupid. Especially Peter. " Gamora rolled her eyes at the thought, pulling out a beautiful red lipstick from her bag and a hand mirror. Natasha shifted herself on her side and touched your knee gently, grabbing your attention.

" You are aware that Bucky almost had an identity crisis just now realizing that he is disabled? " She asked. " It's been like 80 years that he's been without an arm, and he's seriously only now realizing that that makes him disabled. "

You laughed, biting your lip as you looked through your bag for your sunscreen and perfume.

" Don't be mean to him. " You said, your earrings jangling as you sprayed your perfume on. Natasha noticed the stupid grin on your face.

" Why? You in love with him? " She teased, shimmying her shoulders and grinning. The girls let out little " oos " In unison. You face palmed.

" No! It's not anything like that. " You protested, slamming your perfume back in your bag. Gamora rolled her guys and Pepper scoffed.

" Oh please. " She looked at you through her brows with her head tilted down. " We've seen the way you two look at eachother. "

She wasn't wrong. There was a thick sense of sexual tension between the both of you. Especially when you sparred or if you were training with the avengers: he'd always ask you to be on his team when you played games. If one of the girls weren't available, you'd ask him to be on yours. That was about the only time you two hung out. Except for little trips like this or when you went out to dinner.

You picked up your bathing suit and put on your sunglasses. Gamora was working on putting her makeup back up.

" You guys are a bunch of a-holes. " You joked, walking into the bathroom to go change. Natasha hummed, opening her phone to text someone.

" Don't come crying to me when you're sad about being single! "She shouted as you walked into the bathroom. You flipped her off before slamming the door shut.

The room was very quiet without you in there. The girls were all waiting for you to finish, and by that point, were all on their phones. Gamora opened up her messenger app after receiving a text from Peter.

P: Look what I got!

Image loading

Gamora snorted; it was a picture of Peter running down the hallway, smiling while he heald up Bucky's arm as Bucky chased after him in the background. Poor guy must have been fearing for his life holding onto that towel.

Pepper looked up from her own phone, her brows furrowing.

" Hey, do you guys think Bucky got his arm back? " She asked. Gamora shook her head, smiling.

" Nope. "

Oh, that was *so* being sent to the avengers group chat.

~~

It was a very hot day, and you were genuinely pissed that your trip was pushed from March all the way back to June. Doing this during spring would have been so much better. But honestly? It was still a really nice beach. A perfect day for a suntan, too.

While you sat down on an outdoor chaise lounge under a pink umbrella. The girls were off somewhere getting food and drinks. You were scrolling through your phone and opened your camera app, contemplating wether or not you'd take pictures to post on your Instagram or to just keep to yourself.

After Natasha had hyped you up to go out in a two piece after going bathing suit shopping with her, you were feeling pretty confident in yourself. Even with your symmastia in mind, you were still feeling good and you didn't think that anything could take that away from you. Plus your bathing suit was fucking hot! Who wouldn't love you in it?

Somewhere off on the beach, and not far away from you, stood a very embarrassed Bucky Barnes with Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. Sam was still picking on him for the incident in the hallway, while Steve was simply enjoying himself and trying to figure out how to take a picture of the ocean with his phone.

" I'm just saying, it was a pretty stupid ass decision to take off your arm and leave it there. " Sam laughed, looking at his good friend through his sunglasses and shaking his head. Bucky threw his arms in the air.

" Come on! I had to check for malfunctions and clean it. " He protested. " And as i went back into the bathroom to look in my bag, he came in and took it! " He kicked his foot in the sand while looking down on it somberly. God he wished he brought an umbrella with him.

" Tck. I can already see the headline: Naked 107 year old man frantically runs down hallway of hotel after enraged missoulian steals his prosthetic arm " Sam laughed, crossing his arms and looking off into the beach. Bucky shook his head in defeat. They were never going to let go of that moment in the hallway. Ever.

Steve was still trying to take a picture of the ocean, but he kept accidentally turning his flash on and shaking his hand. Meanwhile, Sam was checking out the group chat that was exploding with texts.

" Hey, do you guys know how to-- " before Steve could finish, Sam cut him off.

" Oh my god. " He gasped, scrolling up to find Peters picture from the hallway sent by Gamora. Bucky had already seen the picture; he was actually quite upset about it. He remembered when Quill took the picture, too. He almost tackled the man to the floor.

Sam heald his phone out for Steve.

" Did you see this yet? "He asked, wheezing with laughter. Steve squinted his eyes, trying to get a good look at the picture Sam was trying to show him.

" What is it? I can't see. " He asked, moving his sunglasses up on his head. He gently took the phone from Sam's hand.

" Is that a chicken? " He asked, his head jerking back in confusion. He could barley see the image with the sunlight beaming down on them. Sam cackled even more. Bucky was clenching his fists, wanting nothing more than to punch the daylights out of Sam.

" No!! " Sam laughed. " Peter took a picture of Bucky chasing him in the hallway. " Sam was practically on the floor, almost crying from laughing so hard.

And then he actually fell in the sand.

" Oh. " Steve was starting to see it now. The picture was a lot less interesting than the picture he originally had in mind. Honestly, a chicken would have been a much better thing for Sam to show him. ...Or maybe a dog? Steve was really liking the dog pictures Kate posted on her Instagram as of late. He personally enjoyed Facebook more, but Instagram was his way of staying in touch with the younger avengers.

Steve handed him back his phone. Sam was still on the sand, trying to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Bucky was spaced out, staring at you from afar.

He noticed you notice him, and you smiled at him and waved. He just barley raised his hand and waved back. He had his face scrunched up and his teeth clenched as he squinted his eyes to look at you. It probably wasn't the most flattering thing ever. He looked at his friends for a moment, and when he looked back at you, you were occupied by Natasha bringing you a drink.

Sam stood up and placed his phone in his pocket. Steve was helping with getting the sand off of him, talking something about Kate's dog while doing so. Bucky was still staring at you, and Sam caught onto it quicker than he would have imagined.

" You gonna go talk to her? " Sam asked, adjusts the sunglasses on his face. He hummed, shrugging.

" Maybe I will just to get away from you assholes. " Was the last thing Bucky said to them before walking off. Steve stood up, giving one last brush of his hand to Sam's knee. He sighed and looked at Bucky as he walked away. Sam was stunned, but he want surprised. At all. This was kind behavior coming from Bucky.

" What's his problem? " He asked, putting his hands on his hips. Sam crossed his arms and looked in the same direction as Steve.

" I don't know, hormones? "

~~

" Make sure you ask for an extra shot of pineapple juice! "

You were bent over the blue lounge chair you were sat in, calling out to Natasha who was walking with Gamora to fix the order of your drink that came back wrong. Bucky didn't mean to stare as he was approaching you, but he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering.

As you sat back down and adjusted your position on the chair, you noticed him making his way toward you. You waved at him, grinning.

" Hey, handicap. Got your arm back, i see? " You joked, putting your hand over your eyes to shield your eyes from the sun as you tried to get a good look at him. As he got closer, he began to block the sun and you put your hand down.

" Nobody's going to let go of that, huh? " Bucky sighed, a smile creeping upon his face as he stood next to you. You laughed.

" Nope. Digital footprint must suck for you. " You wheezed, clapping your hands together. Sam made the same joke to him earlier.

" Yeah, that's real funny. " Bucky told you, shaking his head as he sat down in the lounge next to you. He sat off the edge with his feet on the ground, facing you.

Oh god! What was he even supposed to bring up with you? Better than that, why was he talking to you? he couldn't even believe he was socializing this much with people. Especially after what had happened in the hallway.

" Hey, don't worry about it. " You reassured him, putting your hand on his knee. He couldn't help but notice your freshly manicured fingers. They weren't too long, but not too short. They were an almond shape and were painted a beautiful deep blue with gold accents. It kind of reminded him of his vibranium arm.

" We can be real assholes, and If you don't want me to make jokes about it, I won't. " You told him, smiling before slowly taking your hand off him. You looked back off into the distance. Bucky gulped hard. You were always so nice to him, always wanting him to feel comfortable and safe. You were also always making sure he didn't feel forced to do anything he didn't want to. It made him feel nice.

" Thank you. " He responded with the best smile he could muster, looking down at his hands. You nodded and folded your hands on your stomach, your eyes wandering into a pack of seagulls flying above your head.

There was silence for a moment, but it wasn't an awkward silence. You were off looking into the distance, and Bucky was still staring at you. His eyes raked up your body, quite frankly admiring you. He had a major staring issues, and he found that it only got worse when he was around you, which reminded him; pursuing a relationship with you wouldn't be the easiest thing ever. You were teammates, and Tony Stark had very strick rules of no dating for teammates.

But that didn't stop him from kissing you in his car that one rather depressing night you shared together. And it certainly didn't stop his eyes from wandering up your body, which were now sitting comfortably onto your breasts.

And, maybe he had been looking for too long, but the longer he looked at you, the more he noticed that there was no separation between your breasts. It was interesting, and he was about to bring it up before the image of your chest was replaced with the image of your eyes on his.

" It's a nice view, isn't it? " You joked, moving down your sunglasses so he could actually see your eyes. He smiled, even though he knew he shouldn't have in that situation. He loved your sense of humor.

" It is. " He responded, taking his glasses off and tucking them into the pocket of his shirt. " Better than the ocean, surely. " The smile he had on his face was charming. It was seductive and handsome; a facial expression you rarely saw on him. You'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on a bit.

What a bastard.

You pushed your sunglasses back up to the bridge of your nose, smirking. You noticed him still starring, this time with his brow quirked, like he was confused.

" You know, I don't wanna be rude or anything--" you cut him off, immediately aware of what he was going to ask you. But that was okay because you were used to the question and had been answering it for years.

" It's apart of this condition I have called Symmastia. " You begun, crossing your legs on the lounge. " Its cognitive for me. Basically what it is is breast tissue that kind of merged together down the middle of my chest when I was born. "

As you explained it to him, he listened intently, nodding his head along understandingly. He didn't know what it was about discovering this little thing about you that made you 10x more attractive to him, but it just did and he was there for it all the way. But before things could get any hotter, Nat and Gamora came walking back to your little spot with your drink.

" Hey!! " Nat called out for you. She handed you her drink and looked at Bucky, who's smile was now gone and replaced with his usual look of tedium.

" And hey, you. " She twinkled her fingers at him. He pursed his lips and looked the other way. His eyes fell on Gamora instead. She was frowning at him.

" You're in my spot. " She said, crossing her arms. Bucky gave her a fake, sarcastic smile.

" Oh, am I? " He spoke with mock-surprise. " Well I sure as hell don't see you using it. " He imitated her, crossing his arms over his chest. Before things could get worse, you grabbed him by his collar and pulled him off the seat. Gamora looked like she was just about to beat the shit out of him.

" That's fine, he can just sit over here with me. " You laughed nervously, waving your hand in the air. Gamora spitefully sat back down in the lounge, her eyes never leaving Bucky. Nat had absolutely no idea what to do with the amount of shock she was in.

" You keep talking like that and I'll rip off your other arm. " Gamora spat, her eyebrow twitching as she brought her drink yo to take a sip of it. You saw the cocky smirk on Bucky's face. Whatever he was going to say next, it wasn't good.

" I'd like to see you try. " He spoke slowly and lowly, leaning into her end tilting his head to the side, intimidatingly. Gamora almost threw her drink at him. If it hadn't coast her $24, it would have definitely been poured straight into his crotch with a bonus kick to the balls for good measure.

" Are you challenging me, Mr. Barnes? "

That was the point that got Natasha to finally chime in. She stood between the two arguing fools, holding her hands out.

" No! No he's not! Nobody's challenging anyone to anything, you hear me? " She spoke firmly, her head snapping back and forth between the both of them. Your hold on Bucky's shirt persisted Incase you needed to hold him back Incase he actually did do something. But you had faith in him. He wasn't that stupid to ruin his reputation two times in the same afternoon.

" You know what? Me and Gamora can just go somewhere else, and you two can go back to--starring into eachothers eyes seductively or whatever it was you were doing. " She explained, grabbing Gamora's arm and bringing her to her feet. Gamora and Bucky were still angrily starring at eachother.

" Okay, bye-- " you tried to say to Nat as she walked off with Gamora before the old dog next to you started barking again.

" And whatever we were doing is none of your damn busin--"

Your hand immediately flung over his mouth. It was probably the best reaction time you'd had in a while. Natasha shook her head disappointingly, and left with one final comment, " control your freaking dog. "

You were trying. But it was very hard with how spontaneous, sassy, rude, and intrusive Bucky could get. Of course he never meant it and it was always just there as a way of playing around, but there were times where he overstepped, and in that moment, he definitely overstepped.

You turned to him. He felt your eyes on him, and his shoulders tensed and he lowered his head like a little kid who had just been caught sneaking into their moms candy jar in the middle of the night.

" What the hell was that?! " You yelled, bonking him on his head gently. He glanced at you then back at the sand.

" I'm sorry. " He muttered. " Got a bit irritated that our moment was short lived, I guess. "

He was nervously moving his feet around in the sand. It was kind of cute coming from him. Well--his honesty, that was. Your shoulders slumped.

" I can get behind that. " You smiled, putting your hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly. You'd be lying if you said you weren't thinking the same thing.

Then, suddenly, Bucky got a very bad idea.

He looked around the surrounding area. Sam and Steve were the closest to them, but they were several meters away and had their backs turned to the both of you. You quirked a brow, curious at what he was going to do.

Once he mentally declared that the area was clear, he turned back to you and leaned in to kiss you. You were a bit caught off guard, but this wasn't the first time that this had happened between you two, so you gave in.

As much as you wanted a full make out session with him right there in the sand, you knew that just a couple seconds of bliss was your safest option if you didn't want to get fired. He pulled back a bit, and you hesitated for a hot minute before pulling him by his collar back into the kiss.

Meanwhile,

" No! I told you that the American flag has to go on the top of the castle. " Steve argued, sticking the tiny little American flag cake topper a fan had given him earlier that morning back at the top of the sand castle he had built with Sam.

Sam, on the other hand, had his attention fully on the two people making out from afar, one of them being one of his closest friends. Steve was still carrying on his one-sided argument while he tried to maneuver the castle the way he wanted. Until he realized his friend wasn't listening to him.

" Are you even paying attention to me? " Steves voice was laced with desperation as he dramatically threw his arms in the air. Sam was still spaced out, staring at his teammates as they kissed harder.

" Shut up, you big baby. Look. " Sam said, flicking the back of his hand at Steve's chest, his eyes never leaving the very exotic scene in front of him. Steve looked off into the direction Sam was looking, and he immediately caught on.

" Oh shit. " Was all he said. He couldn't believe it. His best friend was finally finding love again after almost 80 years.

" Is that? " He weakly pointed at the couple. He was so dumbfounded that he was considering if Bucky was even Bucky in that moment. A huge smile crept upon Sam's face.

" Oh yeah. Our little solider's finally getting some after 80 years. " He cackled. " He's growing up so fast!! "

You had your hand on Bucky's chest as he leaned forward into you, almost pinning you down into the seat. It was somehow steamier than the moment in the car, most likely because you were surrounded by your coworkers and there was a possibility of your boss walking in. Your legs were so close to opening around his waist.

*Odin's beard! what in the nine realms where you doing?*

He gave you a few more pecks before he let go of you, pulling back to give you time to recover. Whatever happened to the thoughts of, " I'm not gonna make out with him? "

You were panting, your lips wet and puffy. He was smirking like an absolute buffoon, the biggest one in the world by your standards.

" Bucky... " You started. His grin only grew, if that was even possible at that point.

" Yes? "

" We are so getting in trouble. " You scoffed, sitting back upright in your seat. He chuckled and ran his hand down your thigh.

" I won't tell if you won't. " He drawled out, a tinge of the Russian accent he was trying so hard to lose shining through his words. It was a bit sexy, but you could barely relish it before you noticed Sam and Steve waving at you from their little sand castle. Bucky noticed the way you were looking over his shoulder to look at his friends, and immediately followed your gaze.

Those little pests...

Once he turned to look at them, they started jumping in the air and waving their arms around like crazy people.

" Yeeaaaah Buuucky!!! " Sam cheered him on. Bucky felt a vein in his forehead popping out.

You heald up your hand a bit and waved back slowly. You waved with a smile, and Bucky flipped them off with a frown.

" Oh, fuck off! "

~~

Later that night, some of the Avengers including you decided to go to a little club across the street of the hotel. Most of the Avengers were still at the club, but Gamora, Natasha and Bucky were already back at the hotel by the time you came back. The girls had said they didn't want to get absolutely wrecked because they wanted to see the aquarium in the morning, but Bucky just didn't enjoy the crowd that much. You were only a little bit tipsy, but that was because you didn't enjoy alcohol that much.

Tony and Pepper were behind you as you walked down the hallway. You were going to separate from them by the the you turned the next corner because their room was kind of far from yours.

It was kind of funny too; Tony got so shitfaced that he agreed to letting Pepper back into his room with her.

You finally reached the corner, and you were trying to find your key card in your purse as the couple walked by you. They were arguing about something again, like always. Pepper was just trying to get out of the rather possessive hold Tony had on her so she could properly say goodnight to you.

" Goodnight, hon! " She calls out to you, forcing a smile before Tony directs her attention back onto him. You looked up from your purse to glance at her for a moment, rummaging through your trash filled purse until you found your key card. And a... Condom?

Hm. That was weird. And ridiculously hilarious considering you had a IUD. It had a silver packaging with a red star in the front. You flipped it to the back, and it had a very tiny red inked text that read the words, " I hope you're ready for this winter soldier. "

You belly chuckled at the little joke. You wanted to place your bet that it was probably Sam who had put it in there. The bigger question was who had them made and how long had they been conspiring to do pull this on you?

You couldn't help yourself from laughing as you walked up to your room. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, setting down your purse by the door and slipping out of your shoes. Gamora and Natasha were chatting while laying on their beds, watching something on the TV.

" Hey, guys. " You called out to them. They looked your way and waved. The tv was set to a reality show channel, and the two of them were sitting there, talking crap about the awful couple on the screen. You made your way towards your bed and pulled out your suitcase, looking for a change of clothes. You rummaged through the bag for a hot minute before settling on a red tank top and black shorts.

" I'm gonna go change. " You told them, turning your heel and walking into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you.

When you walked out of the bathroom after changing, you were met with a little surprise; Bucky Barnes. Standing right outside the bathroom door, near the front entrance. When he saw you, he glanced at you and mouthed the words, " help me. " You looked at the girls, at him, at the girls, and then back to him.

" Guys there's a super solider inside our room. " You commented, pointing at him.

" She let him in. " Gamora told you, motioning her head towards Natasha.

" He wants to talk to you! " Natasha shouted enthusiastically. Bucky was pinching the bridge of his nose as he heald his head down, sighing heavily.

Of course he wanted to talk to you, why else would he be there? To sell them girl scouts cookies?

You looked up at him and he turned to face you fully.

" What are you doing here? " You whispered. He rubbed his neck sheepishly. After your little moment on the beach, he couldn't stop thinking about you. You couldn't stop thinking of him either. Really, you were relived to see his face again.

" Open your hand. " He told you. His vibranium hand was clenched in a fist like he had something in it. You furrowed your brows, skeptical.

" Why? " He cut you off.

" Just do it. "

You took a deep breath before you heald your hand out in front of him. A smirk crept across his face, a smirk you didn't like at all, and he put his hand in yours. A little crunching sound of plastic was heard as he opened his palm, and your skin came in contact a small wrapper of some sorts. He took his hand off yours, and immediately you recognized what was in your hand.

It was the same condom you found in your bag earlier. He put his hand on your hip and leaned into your ear real close.

" You read what it said. " He whispered to you, his voice low and seductive. His fingers traced your hip bone lightly. " I hope you're ready for this winter solider. "

Bucky's arms slid away from you and he slowly stepped back. You were staring at him with your mouth open, shocked. You were completely speechless, and found it hard to move from your spot. He virtually had you up against the bathroom door, cornering you. He had this stupid grin on his face. Obviously he was doing this all in an attempt to get you annoyed and flustered.

" You are really bad at dirty talk. " You cringed, keeping your voice at a whisper level. Bucky shrugged, stepping closer to you. He was standing so close that you could smell his cologne. It was a very bold, earthy, and masculine kind of aroma. It was hard to ignore.

You looked over your shoulder, making sure that the others weren't paying attention to you two.

" I was just reading what the wrapper said. " He chuckled darkly, stepping closer, his arm sliding past your body and grabbing the door handle. He stared into your eyes for a moment before he turned the handle, making you stumble back as the door to the bathroom opened suddenly. You nearly tripped on your own feet, shuffling backward and further into the room. Bucky stepped forward and shut and locked the door behind him.

" You pulling my leg or something, suntan? " He asked you, speaking a little louder now and with his arms folded over his chest. You shook your head, your left foot dragging behind your right, gaining more distance between you and him.

" I think someone is pulling on the both of our legs. " You said, stilling in the middle of the big, spacious bathroom. Bucky's eyes never left yours. He was searching you, analyzing every move you made and every emotion etched in your face.

" I got the same thing stuffed into my purse. " You told him, toying with the hem of your shorts. " I think it's just one of the Avengers trying to get us closer by pulling a dumb prank on us. "

Bucky let his arms fall back down to his sides, sighing as he approached you. You were hesitant, considering moving away again until he was standing in front of you. He was deeply intimating even when he wasn't trying.

" Are we not already close? " He questioned, leaning into you a bit. You didn't need to even think about your answer to that question.

" We are. " You responded, realizing how badly you worded that last sentence. " I think we're both just looking for something a little more In our relationship. ''

Those last words sparked something inside Bucky. After all the constant games of cat and mouse, the persistent cravings the two of you had for eachother, and the hanging off the edge of your seats since the moment you shared in his car on that one rainy day--could this be the moment where you got everything figured out?

" Those damn assholes. " He muttered, reaching his arms out for you and pulling you against him. His flesh hand went to your cheek, and he bent down and stole your lips in a rather passionate kiss. It was slow and sensual, his lips pecking against yours repeatedly.

" They should really mind their own businesses anyway. " He spoke against your mouth in annoyance, his hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, his fingers curling into your hair, tugging on it gently as he kissed you sweetly. It reminded you of the moment in his car. How sweet and light it was. How passionate it was.

Bucky's lips moved from your lips, to your cheek, to all the way down to your neck. You grabbed the front of his shirt, trying your hardest not to moan like a freak in the middle of your hotel rooms bathroom.

He griped your hips, and spun you around, pulling you as close as he could get you to his body. His metal hand dropped down to your inner thighs, caressing you lightly as he bent down to kiss your neck hungrily. He cupped your sex through your shorts, almost making you yelp before you covered your mouth. If he continued to go on, youd probably get louder.

" Bucky, " you gasped. " we need to take this somewhere else. "

~~

Whatever it was that you were expecting, it wasn't to be thrown over Bucky's shoulder as he carried you out of the bathroom. You were screaming, all right. Screaming and slamming your fists against his back.

" Put me down!! " You told him as he stood at the front door, unlocking it. Gamora and Natasha looked your way, watching as the man carried you out of the room.

" Help me! " Was the last thing you told them before you left for the rest of the night.

He continued to hold you up on his shoulders, even as he was unlocking the door. He did not listen to a single protest you made, and even went as far as to tell you to shut up as he walked to his room. Once you were inside, he set his key down on the kitchen table before he kicked open the bedroom door. He slammed the door behind him.

" Taking me to your chambers now, really? That's lovely, that's-- "

His hand came down on your ass as a harsh smack, and you yelped in surprise as he did so. Your skin tingled with a slight sting from the impact when he removed his hand from your skin. He threw you down on one of the two beds in the room, your body lightly bouncing off the mattress as you plopped down in it.

You barley had any time to think about what was happening; everything was happening so quickly and you couldn't piece together in your mind what in the world was going on.

" You said you wanted to take our little moment somewhere else? " He inquired, unbuttoning his black button down with quick fingers. You gulped hard, propping yourself up on your hands, your thighs clenching.

" Yes, but I was not expecting this. " You laughed. Bucky rose a brow.

" You're not complaining though, are you? " He asked, peeling the shirt off his body. He had a pair of dog tags around his neck, presumably his from his time serving in the war. Suddenly you found yourself at a loss of words as his muscular torso became visible to you. You couldn't help but stare, your eyes raking up and down his seemingly perfect body. He was certainly a lot bigger and heavier compared to when you had first met him. His body glowed in the moonlight, highlighting his abs and his strong arms. He noticed you staring, and it made him smile.

" You've gone speechless, avenger. " He puts his hands on his knees, bending down to your stare level. You gulped when you realized you had been staring.

" Cat got your tongue? " He wanders, hooking his finger under your chin, guiding your gaze towards his. " Or perhaps there's something you're wanting? "

His words made you sweat. You felt your mouth salivating heavily as you looked him in his eyes deeply. He smiled, coming his head to the side.

" Answer me. " He whispers, pulling you into a soft kiss. His strong, large hands go onto your closed thighs and bring them back open.

" Do you want me to touch you? "

His voice is low and softer than a feather, his flesh hand going between your legs, his fingers bushing against your clothed core. You gulped hard, your eyes fluttering shut.

" Yes. " You responded breathlessly, trying so hard not to overreact with your how your body responded to him. Bucky was satisfied with your answer.

" Good girl. " He kissed the side of your face before standing back up. He unbuckled his belt, but he wasn't about to take his pants off just yet. You bit your lip, your mind curious as he crawled over your body and pinned you down onto the bed.

This was something the both of you had been dragging out for many years. It was only a matter of time before it finally happened. The fact that it was happening then was hard for you to believe. After the hard flirting, the small unexplained kisses every here and then, the waiting, your dreams were now coming true.

Bucky rolled a black hair band off his wrist and used it to tie his long hair back in a ponytail, straddling your hips and sitting upright as he did so. A few loose strands fell down to the sides of his face, along with the right side of his curtain bags. You'd be lying if you said you didn't think it was hot.

" Are you sure you want this? " He asked, the look in his eyes stern. The both of you knew what you wanted, but he wanted you to feel safe and he needed to make sure you were on board with it.

" Yes. I am. " You responded, nodding. You were biting down on your finger, waiting for him, your mind flooded with ideas of what exactly he could do to you.

" Just tell me to stop if it begins to hurt, and I'll stop. " His tone was the same; rigid all through and serious. He sat between your legs and soothingly rubbed his hands on your thighs. There was a stark temperature difference from his vibranium hand and his flesh hand; one was cold and the other way warm. It made you shiver, goosebumps rising up your skin. His fingers slid up to your hips, and he hooked his fingers against the waistband of your shorts.

" Let's get you out of these. " He grinned, pulling the clothing down your legs and throwing it on the floor somewhere, leaving you in just your black laced panties. He hummed in approval, spreading your legs out wider with his strong hands, his mind calculating just exactly what he was going to do to you.

" Oh, if Tony finds out about this... " You whispered, a sudden feeling of anxiety filling your stomach. Bucky shook his head, stilling his hands on top of your thighs. He could tell you were getting nervous.

" Tony's not gonna find out anything. " He reassures you. He bends down to kiss you, his lips soft and warm against yours. You clamped your legs around his waist, inviting him further in. He pecked your lips slowly, his flesh hand running up your shirt, feeling your bare skin under his palm.

" Whatever happens in this room tonight stays between you and me. " He told you, kissing his way down your neck. You moaned quietly as his lips moved across the crook of your neck, nipping at it, making you more desperate by the second. His left hand was busy with your center, his fingers dragging up and down your clothed slit.

" You're so pretty, you know that? " Bucky praised you into your ear, making you blush deeply. He lifted his head from your shoulder and tugged on the hem of your tank top.

" Are you okay with me taking this off? " He asked. He knew about you and your condition and didn't want to make you feel obligated to take it off. But you were confident in your body, so you agreed.

" Go ahead. " You told him with a cocky smirk. He didn't know what it was, but your little grin there made him instantly 10x more attracted to you.

You lifted off your back a bit, and he slip your top up and over your head, tossing it somewhere off into the distance. The cold air in the room came into contact with your skin, and you shivered at it.

He couldn't take his eyes off you. Somehow you were so much hotter than he had imagined.

Bucky ran his hands up your sides, his eyes drinking in your body. Now it was his turn to be speechless.

" Fuck, " He chuckled, leaning down to kiss your collarbone. How could he have put this off for so long? He seriously could not believe you were real. " You're gorgeous. "

His mouth trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your cleavage, his flesh hand coming up to cup your breast, his thumb laying flat on your nipple, rubbing it lightly. You let out a little moan at the contact, watching as his mouth latched onto your other breast. The tip of his tongue circled across your areola before his lips closed around your hardening nipple. He sucked on it gently, his other hand massaging and grabbing as much of your skin that it could.

When he rose back up, you could see a little wet line from his saliva glistening on your skin. He stared at his work with pride, giving your breast one last squeeze.

" You should feel ashamed of yourself. " He whispered, looking at you with a twisted grin. You were starting to feel your legs quake.

" Showing off your sexy body like that on the beach. " He went on, sitting upright and slithering his belt out of his pants. " like some kind of cheap whore. " He shook his head, letting his belt fall to the floor with a soft metal clink. You gulped hard at the sudden shift in his demeanor.

" Is that how you want me to treat you? " He questioned, pulling down the zipper of his shorts. You were at a loss of words, once again. He bent over your body, his knee pressing against your center perfectly and making you whimper. He directed your gaze towards his.

" Where are those pretty little words of yours? " He purred, cocking his head to the side. Just a moment ago, it felt like you two were friends arguing with eachother over a dumb prank--now the tides had completely shifted.

" I-i.. " was the best you could muster. He grinned. He liked this side of you.

" Yeah? You admitting to it? " He teased, running his hand down your stomach. You nodded your head, the best answer you could provide given your shocked state.

Bucky let go of you, and sat back up. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he flicked his head back, moving his hair out of his face. His hands rest on your hips, his fingers hooking your panties.

" Lift up for me, hon. " He told you, watching as you hesitantly lift your hips upwards. He brings your panties down and off your legs, throwing them off somewhere unknown, leaving you now completely bare in front of him.

" Oh wow, " he scoffed, running two thick fingers down your slit, collecting your slick on his skin. " Look at that. "

His eyes never leave yours, even as he slips those fingers into your plush, aching pussy. You mewl out loudly, the sound echoing through the room. You are wet and warm around his fingers, the feeling intoxicating him. You flutter your eyes shut, moaning softly and sweetly as his fingers slide in and out of you perfectly, prepping you for him.

As his fingers slip in and out of you flawlessly, preparing you for his already hardened cock, you flutter your eyes shut and murmur softly and sweetly. His fingers curl up into you, their tips flicking quickly across your flesh as they move, drawing out a little, quiet clicking sound from your center. You had to bite your hand from how loudly you were about to moan.

You felt your head spinning. You genuinely couldn't believe what was happening. It was like your fantasy come to life. You were fighting back so many moans threatening to break loose. Bucky noticed it quickly.

" Dont cover your mouth. " He told you, swatting your hand away from your mouth. Your eyebrows raised.

" But what if some-- "

" Oh, who the fuck cares? I want them to hear how good I'm making my girl feel. " He said breathlessly, his voice hoarse and his accent returning, this time coming out very heavily. Your pussy fluttered around his fingers at his words. He didn't even give you time to properly process his words before he was plunging his fingers back into you.

A loud, rather pornographic moan escaped your lips and your pussy clamped down on him tightly. He grinned.

" Already on that edge, suntan? " Bucky teased, his fingers curling right into your special spot. You moaned, your thighs squeezing his arm.

" Is it just like you imagined? " His blue eyes flicked up to meet yours, as he inquired. Your cheeks turning red, and you bit your lip. Did he read your mind?

" E-even better. " Your hips instinctively bucked against his hand as you rasped. Your mind was so hazy. He'd barley even touched you, and you were already about to cum. You couldn't stop the endless moans that's were escaping your puffy lips.

" O-oh Bucky.. " you gasped as his thumb drove up and down your clit. " D-dont stop."

His thumb brushed up and down your already, sensitive swollen, driving your mad with each stroke he gave you. His fingers were pumping in and out of you relentlessly.

But before you could go off that edge you so badly needing to get off of, he pulled his fingers from your dripping cunt. Your cunt immediately felt cold and empty without him. You began to stutter.

" Wh-what? " You blinked, confused. " Why'd you stop? "

Bucky cocked his head to the side and gave you a fake frown.

" Oh, I'm sorry. " He chuckled, rubbing your thigh with his metal arm. " I didn't realize you wanted it that bad. "

He brought his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the sweet, lingering traces of you. His eyes fluttered closed, a deep groan escaping him as he savored the flavor. He wiped the rest of the remnants on his shorts, the movement casual, but there was something almost predatory in his gaze.

"Delicious," he murmured, voice low and full of satisfaction. You stared at him In confusion.

" Bucky... " Your head threw back against the pillow, annoyed. He could already sense your protests from a mile away.

" Shh, sweetie. Good things come to those who wait."

He stood from the bed, his muscles rippling as he moved, and gave your thighs a light, possessive pat with his large hands. The touch sent a warm shiver through you, a mix of nerves and anticipation. When he straightened up, he tightened the ponytail at the back of his head, flicking his hair back with a fluid motion. He was so confident, so effortlessly commanding.

"Just to make sure... you're still 100% okay with this?" His voice softened as he met your gaze, his hands resting on the waistband of his shorts. His expression was open, waiting for your answer, but there was an edge of something unreadable in his eyes.

You swallowed, your heart racing as you nodded. "Yes," you whispered, the words leaving your lips almost too softly. Your eyes traced over his body, sketching over his big arms and his muscular torso. This was man who could literally break you in half, and thinking that as your eyes raked over his body made you feel unbalanced and unsteady, even though you weren't standing.

You looked back up at him, your eyes meeting. Then, his shorts and boxers hit the floor in the hotel room with a soft thud. You gulp hard as the rest of his body is revealed to you for the very first time. Right there in the hotel room he was sharing with his best friends. Your eyes trail down his body, coming into contact with his hardened length--beaded with pre-cum.

Bucky set a knee down on the bed, crawling up your body, the bed shifting under his weight. Your breath caught in your throat as he hovered over you. He was so much bigger than you, practically taking up all your space as he sat above you.

With gentle hands, Bucky lifts the base of your plump thighs and spreads you open in front of him. You were already so wet and needy for him. He picked up one of your legs, his lips pressing against your ankle and traveling down to your calf.

" I can't believe we're actually doing this. " You breathed, your body tense with anticipation. With a slow push of his hips, Bucky's cock slow nudged inside you. Soft groans released from your mouths as he pushed further inside you. He set your leg down, but kept his hand on your knee to keep your legs open.

" Ngh. Me too. " He grunts. As his cock sinks into you, he can feel your pussy stretching to accommodate his size, welcoming him into your warm. The feeling makes you feel vulnerable but oh, so good. A couple more loose strands of dark brown hair fall down into Bucky's face as he leans back a bit, rolling his hips against yours not too slowly but also not exactly fast. His thrusts into you were slow, steady and measured methodically.

" Fuck, you feel so good, gorgeous. " He spoke gruffly through a breathless chuckle. His cock slid in and out of you smoothly, like how a knife would spread butter onto a slice of bread. There was a lump stuck in your throat, and you found yourself moaning softly with your mouth open.

Your fingers slipped across his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he faintly increased his pace. With each thrust he gives you comes out a loud, wet squelching sound from your cunt as it tries to clamp down on him and keep him inside you. You're breathless.

Your bottom lip sinks between your teeth and your thighs clench around his wide waist. Sparks of pleasure ran through you as Bucky's hands run down your legs and his hips start to hit against yours harder.

It was a feeling that you had been yearning to feel for ages. Each time his cockhead would brush up against your velvety walls, you would get butterflies in your pussy. It just felt so good. Your eyes flutter shut and you claw at his shoulder.

" Bucky.. " you whine, your back arching off the bed. He gets faster, his cock pushing deep into you, gliding in and out of you. He bends down to kiss your neck, forcing your legs open wider. Soft lips brush against your sensitive neck, and your fingers on his shoulders move to his back. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. The both of you moan and you pull your hair out of your neck to give him more access to your skin. A sudden, primal, dirty instinct struck Bucky's mind.

He searched your neck for your pulse point, and when he found it, he bit down on it and sucked on it harshly. You hissed, your nails that were digging into his skin now streaking down his back, leaving little white scratch marks in their wake. His back arches at your touch, but that only made him suck onto your neck harder. A loud yelp escaped your lips as he did so, a sharp but pleasureable sting striking your body. He was leaving little hickeys on your skin.

" What are you doing? " Almost choking on a moan, you managed to speak the question but rather wobbly. He grinned, rising up from your body and sitting back on his knees.

" Oh, you know... " His metal hand reached between your legs, his cold middle finger snaking down your warm clit. Your arms slipped off his back, and your body shook at the contact.

" Letting everyone know we're rule breakers. "

~~

It was 6:38 in the morning. Bucky had pulled you from your room once again, this time accompanied by Sam and Steve. You were getting breakfast from the hotels dinning area, like the four of you had been plotting to do for as long as you had been planning the trip. Sam and Steve were already seated at the table you four we're sharing, munching on their breakfast while you were getting coffee with Bucky.

" How are your legs holding up? " He asked you with a cocky smirk, glancing at you his spot where he was pouring in his creamer. He rarely drank coffee with creamer in it.

" Little but sore, but I'm okay. " You responded with the shrug of your shoulders as your stirred in sugar. The dinning area was completely empty except for the four of you and the chefs who were walking around the area and setting tables. Bucky smiled and bent down to peck you on your lips.

As you both walked back to your table, you heald eachothers hand before sitting down next to each other in front of Sam and Steve. They were both laughing and whispering things to eachother. When they noticed you sitting down, Sam started cackling.

" So I see you two used the little gift I sent you both. " Sam laughed manically. You nearly almost choked on your coffee. Bucky's mouth flew open.

" So it was you!? "

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

I've had a bad case of spring cleaning fever this week, and it's given me some pretty serious domestic kink thoughts...

Prewar!Cooper Howard who comes home late-late, exhausted from a long day of shooting, to find a surprise hot meal waiting for him, you setting the table all dolled up. As the two of you eat together, he stares at you long and hard, realizing fully for the first time that he wants to marry you. After dinner, the pair of you clean up quietly, his eyes dragging up and down your body over and over as you flit around the kitchen, wiping and gathering and straightening. When it becomes too much, he lays you across the kitchen table and uses the last of his energy for the day to fuck you so hard you can't even walk to bed afterwards, forcing him to carry you. Watches you fall asleep on his chest and fantasizes about what it would be like to come home to you every day. When he finally manages to slip into unconsciousness himself, he dreams about getting you pregnant.

Quinn, who spends a lot of time on the road and finds a lot of pleasure in knowing he gets to come back to a "home", somewhere that's clean and cozy and welcoming. As much as he enjoys his adventures, having that constant in his life is both comforting and stimulating. He also finds a lot of pleasure in having someone pretty waiting for him. Always comes home looking to share a warm meal, cuddle up in bed so he can tell you about the things he saw, the people he met, on his most recent trip. Feeling you snuggled up against him really gets him going, the familiar and warm comfort of your body against his sending blood rushing to his cock, and soon he's rolled over on top of you, re-exploring every inch of you with his hands and mouth so that he never forgets what you feel like, taste like, when he's on the road. He's finally exhausted by the time both of you are ready for the main event, so he rolls over on his side and spoons up behind you, slipping his cock in and burying his face against the side of your throat. Doesn't pull out when he's done, sleeps buried inside you.

Gob, who's been aching for a loving presence, someone to care for him and take care of in turn, for so long that he nearly combusts when you start to do even small things for him. Offering him little pick-me-ups throughout the busy working day (he often neglects himself in favor of making sure things run smoothly, even after he takes over the bar himself), helping put out little fires so he can focus. Even something as simple as asking if he needs help makes his heart race, as he's almost forgotten what it's like to be cared for. It makes him want to keep you close. After the bar closes and everything is cleaned up, you give him something to eat and rub him down while he does, hands digging deep into the knots in the muscles of his back and shoulders, wandering across his chest. It's all a bit too much for him, the loving way you treat him and the feeling of your touch on his body, and soon he's a whimpering, begging mess. Clings tightly to you, face buried in your chest, as you bounce on his cock afterwards. Eventually begins to notice that getting to watch you clean really turns him on, so he'll ask you to bus tables or sweep the floor and eye-fuck you the whole time, grateful for the coverage the bar provides him.

Joshua Graham, who is more than happy to encourage your more domestic tendencies in every way he possibly can because he sees it as your proper place, exactly the behavior he'd want in a wife. Though he prides himself on having unshakeable control over his sexual urges, he will initiate sexual contact with you very frequently if he thinks he can use the pleasure to guide your actions in the right direction. Rewards you for proper "wife behavior" when the two of you are alone, though how he does so depends on the day; most of the time he'll get you off with his hands, sometimes his mouth. Other times he'll fuck you properly, gripping at your hips and belly almost worshipfully. Likes for you to keep around where you and he sleep at night so he knows you're safe at "home". Encourages you to take up "soft pursuits"; crafting, mending, writing. Studying the Bible if he can convince you to do so. The more you conform to the vision of the perfect godly wife he has in his mind, the more often he finds himself unable to keep his hands off of you. This only ratchets up a million times more if you become pregnant.

Dean Domino, who has always liked the idea of having a pretty little trophy wife (or whatever) to come home to, someone to greet him at the door looking sexy, take his jacket, ask him about his day. Someone to listen faithfully, attentively as he talks endlessly about himself. Doesn't especially care about culinary skills, as he almost never eats at home (why do so when you can eat at a restaurant and be seen and fawned over by the public?), but definitely values a partner who knows their way around a bar. Also values a partner who will allow him to use them as his primary source of stress relief. Some days he comes home in a good mood, excitedly worked up, and sneaks up on you playfully, nibbling and groping at your body before bending you over whatever's closest. Other days, he's almost wrathful, barely even making it inside the front door before he's pinning you to the floor and choking you while he slams into you mercilessly, or shoving you to your knees and face-fucking you up against the door until you can't breathe. Either way, when he's finished with you, you can make him a drink. Fix yourself first, though; he doesn't like it when you look a mess.

Edward Deegan, who's more used to being the one doing all the cooking and cleaning, taking care of everyone else. When you begin to take little things off of his plate, things that don't take special knowledge of the house or its workings, it immediately grabs his attention, endears him to you even more. Makes his cock a little hard. However, when he finds that you've done his laundry unprompted one day, he can't not act on it. He's moved knowing that you thought of him, and rather quickly that feeling of sentimentality turns to arousal. Soon, he's lifting you onto the running washing machine, fighting your bottoms off as quickly as he can, and kissing you deeply as he can while he eases his way inside you. Makes you cum until you beg him to stop on top of that vibrating machine. That, however, was only the emotional fuck. He's also incredibly turned on in a very base way by the idea of you wanting to take care of him, the mild subservience of you cleaning up after him. So he carries you, still wrapped around his waist, to the nearest room with a bed and keeps you there for the better part of an hour. Don't worry, he'll wash the sheets when you're through.

Nick Valentine, who can't help but notice just how pretty you look as you make your way around his office, tidying things up to help him out while he pours through tips and old case files. You're relaxed, humming and casting little glances at him when you think he isn't looking. When you're finished, he calls you over to sit in his lap, tells you what a nice job you did, takes in the way you flush with pride and mild embarrassment as he lavishes you with compliments. If you're alone, he even thanks you by sneaking his hand down your pants, his metallic one holding you carefully by the back of your neck and forcing you to look at him as he makes you cum on his fingers. Quickly makes a routine of it, basically using Pavlovian conditioning to get you to associate cleaning up with feeling good simply because he likes to see it. Doesn't eat, but likes to watch you cook for yourself. Likes to linger close by, smoking and teasing you about what he'll do to you when you're finished.

The Ghoul, who never completely abandoned those desires for consistency and reciprocated care. It's hard to have quite the same domesticity that he may have once been able to share with a partner, but he makes of it what he can. Stops dragging you back and forth on bounty hunts eventually, finds a safe and decently nice place to shack up with you. Fortifies it well enough that he can leave you alone for a few days if he needs to, but he loathes it every time. Every moment away from you is torture, a withdrawal he can't stave off as it makes his skin itch. However, he greatly enjoys getting to come back to you, to see you making the place into a home, waiting up for him. Often too excited to make it more than a few steps into the place before he's laying you on top of whatever surface is nearest and most stable, smothering you with his body and his kisses. Gets immensely turned on watching you tidy up, decorate, cook. Often interrupts you in the middle of whatever you're doing, poking you in the backside with his erection and demanding your attention. Is more than happy to get a little pushy if you don't pay proper attention to him. Accidentally ruins multiple meals this way, but he's more than happy to offer to remake your dish afterwards. It's too hard to say no to him, and seeing you being domestic makes him too enthusiastic. Still, you both really enjoy the intimacy it allows you.

[dualityvn]

(WARNING: SUICIDE AND DEPRESSION THEME)

Hello, I'm sorry to ask you about such a topic, but can I please get support from the boys? Lately I have been thinking about suicide more and more often, the medications I take for depression seem to no longer help me, and I am very afraid to go to the doctor, since they can send me to a mental hospital again and my parents said that they will disown me. The last straw before the relapse was that the college that I hoped would help change my life for the better could not accept me, since I do not have enough points. It seems that I understand that this is not the last college in the area, but I feel broken and exhausted, the only thing that keeps me in the world of the living is my oath that I will wait for the release of the 7th day of my favorite novel, but I still feel catastrophically painful and I can not stop when I hit myself until I get a migraine or until I fall. I have an overwhelming feeling that the only thing I have enough intelligence for is playing games and running away from reality, where I am a pathetic, petty, stupid, good-for-nothing coward. At the same time, I am incredibly jealous of my younger siblings. At their age, I went through a drunk stepfather who beat me, my mother and grandmother, through beatings at school due to extreme disability, through almost daily tears, fears, work and humiliation from my parents, while they can calmly laugh, be lazy, do nothing, play, have fun and receive love from their parents. On the one hand, I am happy for them, but on the other hand, I am extremely offended. Please forgive me that you had to read this. If you are uncomfortable answering this question, then please ignore this message and apologize for the mistakes, English is not my native language.

I'm sorry to hear you're going through such a hard time, anon. It sounds really painful and I need you to know that you're very strong and brave for having gotten through all that and continuing on everyday.

I haven't had the same experience, but there was also a time when I had thoughts similar to yours and I was jealous of my sibling. I promise things can get better, even when it feels like they never will. And it is good to cling on to things you enjoy doing! I wish you the best and I promise the world is better with you in it.

"I know it hurts, dear, but please don't give up. You're neither pathetic nor unintelligent. You're the most wonderful person I've ever met and you gave us a chance when no else would. My entire world would crumble if you were gone. There are so many ways to turn your life around and find reasons to enjoy it. Please don't cut yours short before it can bloom." - Keith

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. Sorry to hear about the college thing. But there's gonna be a time when not everything feels exhausting. And maybe you'll look back and be glad you kept going. Life is fucked up sometimes, but we'll thrudge through it. You already made mine a lot better when I thought I was hopeless. So please don't hurt yourself. And don't go." - Tenebris

[katarinawwwland]

A really good try

Pairing: Kwon Jiyong x f.reader 

Warnings: Established relationship, marriage au, discussion of pregnancy, sexual content. 

Words count: 1,2

Summary: You and your husband want to have a baby

Author’s note: English is not my first language. So I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. I hope you enjoyed it.

After Jiyong's comeback, he decided to leave the media for a long period. During this time, you have already gone on vacation to Jeju Island. And one hot evening, you were walking along the beach after dinner. 

"Baby, do you remember Do Hyun's daughter?" Jiyong suddenly asked, breaking the calm silence. 

"Are you talking about Seo Yeon? Of course, she's so sweet. Why do you ask?" - looking at your husband, you immediately remembered the daughter of your mutual friends, colleagues of Jiyong.  

"Yes, she's really very sweet, she looks so much like you, I notice it all the time … You know, I've been thinking about it more and more lately," your man replied thoughtfully. 

"That I look like little Seo Yeon?" you asked, laughing. 

"No, I mean about the kids. About the possibility of having a little copy of you, the same beautiful little angel that we will take care of."- the smile did not leave his face. Your heart has melted at your husband's words. Of course, you've already talked a lot about children, but only as plans for the future. You two had very busy jobs and you were often on the move, but now you had a break and the two of you decided to isolate yourself from all the hype for an indefinite time so that Jiyong's words sounded like a suggestion. 

"Or a little copy of you if it's a boy…Or it could be twins, you and me, but small," with a wide smile, you continued to reason. 

"THE TWINS? Baby, it's fantastic, I'm going to be the happiest dad." Every word gave you goosebumps, and you were the happiest at that moment. 

"Honestly, I mean, we could have started trying. We don't have a job right now and won't be in the near future, we're left to ourselves."

"Trying? I always thought it was an unspoken synonym for people fucking a lot," you said with a laugh. 

"Oh my God. You're actually right," Jiyong replied, giggling. 

"Well, you know, I like this prospect."

"Don't talk like we don't have sex several times a day."

"Jiyong, remember when you had a comeback, we barely had ten minutes in the morning before you left for filming."

"Hey, and when you were on the move, we only had face time at all," Jiyong continued defensively. 

"We're really arguing about this," you laughed. 

"There's no time to waste, princess." With these words, Jiyong squeezed his hand on your waist and you walked towards your villa.

It's been two weeks since your conversation and since you've been diligently trying to make a baby. It was crazy, you didn't have any problems with your sex life before, but now you could have sex several times in the morning, then again in the shower, and always before going to bed. Despite your husband's frenzied enthusiasm, you felt better than ever, the most beautiful, the most desirable, and the happiest.

You have already arrived from Jeju and were going to visit your friends Young-bae and Hyo-rin. today. You were making up in front of the mirror while your husband came up from behind and put his hands under your blouse, wrapping them around your waist and slowly leaving kisses on your neck. 

"Baby, if you're ready, then you'd better just wait for me and not distract me, so I'll get ready even longer." To which you received only a satisfied mumble, the man didn’t listen to you at all, but on the contrary continued to pull his hands to your chest and gently squeeze it. 

"Ji... we've already done this three times, and it's not even evening yet. And the guys are expecting us by six," you said almost pleadingly. 

"Princess, we'll do it quickly." That's the only person you couldn't refuse. 

Of course you're late.

At about 7 p.m., you arrived at your friends' house, making excuses for the frantic traffic jams. You had a wonderful dinner, you sat discussing everything from work to vacation. Baby Dong has been sitting on your lap all this time. You and Jiyong were crazy about that kid, just like he was crazy about you. Whenever you were visiting Young-bae and Hyo-rin, you couldn't tear yourself away from this baby.

"Kitten, what is it?" - you felt that the boy started twisting and fidgeting. 

"Jiyong." - the boy started pointing at your husband. 

"Do you want uppy?» - with emotion on his face, Jiyong took the baby in his arms. "Do you want to play? Let's go to your toys."- with these words, the men went to the children's room. You and Hyo-rin are left alone.

"Sometimes it seems that you come to us only because of the child," the girl remarked with a smile. 

"Yes, it is," you said sarcastically. 

"Y/N, can I ask you a question?" You unconsciously tensed up from such a question. 

"Of course."

"Are you pregnant?"

"Haha, no. Why?" - you let out a nervous laugh, how could she know that you were diligently trying to make a baby. 

"It's just that something has changed in you and in Jiyong, too, I know it sounds strange, I just assumed that you could be in a position." Her words sent warmth through your body. 

"You're going to be great parents."

"Thank you, Hyo-rin.". There was silence after that. There was no discomfort or awkwardness, on the contrary, it was the most comfortable silence.

Towards nightfall, you realized that you had stayed up too late and it was time to return home. All the way home, you discussed your cozy evening. 

"Y/N, when we were playing with Baby Dong, it was as if I realized that this was exactly what I had been working for all my life. I'm so looking forward to our future baby," your husband said, not taking his eyes off the road. 

"Oh Jiyongie, you will be the most wonderful father." - your hand gently touched his cheek.

Later that night, your husband was already lying in bed and waiting for you from the shower. For some reason, you have an irresistible desire to do the test, despite the fact that you did it yesterday. The minutes seemed to drag on forever. 

"Baby, are you coming soon? You've been there for an hour." - your husband's indignation could be heard even in the bathtub. And before he could finish the last sentence, you were flying out of the tub holding a test in your hands. 

"Baby!"

"What? What is it?" - he was puzzled by your enthusiastic cry. It was already clear from your face, from your voice, and even from the test in your hands, but Jiyong can't quite believe it. 

"Baby, I'm pregnant." - tears of happiness appeared in the corners of your eyes. 

"Y/N, baby, I love you, I love you so much." You couldn't believe your luck.

The two of you were almost asleep, but something was bothering you: "You know, when you left, Hyo-rin asked if I was pregnant?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes, that's what prompted me to take the test, it's so strange. She also said that we would be great parents."

"Well, if she wasn't wrong with the first one, then the second one is also true."

And tonight, falling asleep in the arms of your beloved man, carrying your baby under your heart, you felt like the happiest woman in the world.

[aureentuluva70]

Thank you for the tag @saurongorthaur9!

My dad always liked lotr, and it was my dad who first introduced me to tolkien's works, although funnily enough the first major introduction I had of it wasn't through the actual books themselves, not even the movies. but the Lego videogame of the first two Hobbit films, (he wanted to start tame before actually showing us the movies and well, I guess playing a lego version of the hobbit certainly did it) a game which my siblings and I often spent hours on binge-playing multiple times over. My dad later showed us the actual Hobbit movies, which I really enjoyed and just like with the lego games, my siblings and I loved binge-watching. Over the years I've come to realize just how flawed the Hobbit films are, especially now that I've read the actual Hobbit book(which I actually just finished today! There couldn't have been better timing!), and yeah, there's a LOT they could have done better and differently, but I honestly just can't bring myself to hate those films. Perhaps it's because of my nostalgia-tinted glasses, but they-and the lego games-were my first major introduction to Middleearth, so I just can't hate them as so many others do.

After watching the Hobbit films we later on went to watch the Lotr films, and I honestly have a far less vivid memory of watching them compared to the Hobbit movies. I don't even remember most of my thoughts or reactions while watching at all and while I remember liking them, at the time and age I was in-10 to 12 I think(?)-I preferred the Hobbit films far more. Something about the Hobbit movies was just more appealing to me at the time.

It unfortunately would be quite a few years before I actually read the books. The most I would get in terms of actually "reading" them was me randomly skimming through the copies we had at home, which yeah, barely counts as reading. I remember trying to read the silmarillion for the first time, getting about two pages in and then giving up. There was so, so much information and it just boggled my mind, which luckily for me, is something many others seem to have experienced when trying to read the silm for the first time. I would take to watching summaries of stories from the silmarillion by watching deepdive youtube videos instead.

Why it took me so dang long to actually read Tolkien's books was mostly because it was during my teenage years that I kinda just...fell out of love with reading books, which I highly suspect depression and too much internet use had something to do with it. (Seriously, too much internet absolutely MURDERS the ability to read and focus for long periods of time, to the point it feels more like a miserable chore.) I just couldn't read books for fun anymore, not like I used to as a kid.

Several years after my first attempt at trying and failing to read the silmarillion, I decided to try my hand at reading it again. I was in high-school at the time. I must admit I mostly did this because bringing our own book to read in English class was required, and for some reason I decided: "hey, why not try the silm again?"

And I actually managed to finish the book! During a time where it felt like I had to physically force myself to read a book for long periods of time I actually finished it!

And that was when I really started to fall into the middle earth rabbit hole, and just kept falling, and I've become utterly entrenched in it ever since. If I was an average fan before, most of my knowledge based off of the movies and the occasional YouTube Men of the West video, now I was absolutely hyperfixated on Tolkien's world, and it's slowly but surely been helping me get back into reading just for the enjoyment of it again. I still often have to summon up some will in me to read a book, but it's become far, far less of a chore for me, and more and more lately something I actually look forward to. I've bought many of the History of Middleearth books, just last summer I finally picked up my dad's copies of the Lotr books on the shelf in the basement and read them all, and literally today I finished reading the Hobbit. (Talk about THE perfect timing. AND ONE DAY after March 25th, the anniversary of the Ring of Power being destroyed? AND that it was TODAY that I got tagged to talk about how I got introduced to Tolkien's world? Coincidence? I think NOT.)

This post became a lot longer than I intended but it really does feel like I've come full circle, there and back again, and looking back it really makes me realize just how far I've come, and it renews my gratitude to Tolkien for the world he so lovingly created. I legit don't know where I'd be right now without it. God bless Tolkien, the absolute madlad, for all the hope and wisdom and memories his works have given to so many people, myself included.

Okay.

Something that brings all of us together is our love for Tolkien's work, and its spinoffs.

So, question: What got you into Tolkien?

I'll start.

When I was 12, my father urged me to read The Hobbit. So I did, and I was mesmerized by it, to the point where I'd stay up in the middle of the night to read it. I never got beyond that, though.

Two years ago, I decided to reread it, and I fell in love all over again with the story, characters, Tolkien's writing style, everything. So I decided to read The Lord of the Rings. I got the first book, read a couple of chapters.. and gave up. It was too verbose, too prosaic.

The next year, that is, a few months later, I tried my hand at it again. This time, I got through four chapters, but I still couldn't read the rest. Then.. I began crushing on a guy who'd read it, and so I grit my teeth and went for it. I read, and read, and this time, I found myself enjoying it. Bonus, the guy and I got into conversation.

After finally finishing the first book, I even started the second, and watched the first movie with my family. (By way of flirting I asked the guy whether he liked PJ's Trilogy, and he told me he "found them low budget" so that, um, ended. I'm no longer crushing on real people.)

I read the second, the third book, reread The Hobbit a third time, watched all the movies, and joined Tumblr. Then I got motivated to read The Silmarillion. I'm currently working on that, as well as my Tolkien collection.

Honestly, one thing that fuels my love for the work is all my lovely mutuals who I've gained through this love.

So.. no pressure tags: @gauntletgirlie @wowstrawberrycow @valar-did-me-wrong @balrogballs @ghost-of-morrowbright @gingeragenda @greenleaf4stuff @dragon--ashes @dwarveslikeshinythings @numenoria @onebillionblorbos @zaldritzosrose @varda-star-queen @the-bogginses-are-gay @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @daughterofthesunlands @princessfantaghiro and anyone else I've missed/wants to join.

[theeio]

what do you use to scan your drawings? I've been thinking about trying it out, but the scanner I have rn isn't good quality.

heya :D!! for most of the art i post, i’ve just been using my phone to take pics of my art and process :D

i use an iphone and just the photo app to edit it, and i make sure the pic is taken in even lighting. i draw at night nowadays, so i take pics under (reflected) fluorescent lighting-best if theres no shadow casting over your art though it can work out still with some effort xD

drawing with a pen makes it much easier to process drawings, heres the settings i use if you want a “cleaner” look:

Sometimes the details of the ink get lost in the process of editing to make sure to play around with it till you get something to your liking♥️

I can also share another setting i’ve been using lately too. While it’s a little rougher and you can see the drawings behind the paper, i like how the linework pops out a little more, and showing the paper’s colour makes it a little easier on the eyes

these settings would need much more fine tuning on your end though, so play ard with it!

if you use a different device, experiment with its settings too, its a lot of trial and error but its worth it once you find the settings you like. hope this answers your question and that it helps :D, let me know if you have other questions too💖

[serpentface]

So much interesting lore lately I love it! I especially enjoyed the lore friendly wardi meal you made <3

Something I've been thinking about is Hibrides and Couya situationship, does it reach the physical stage or is it purely messy feelings? How would Janeys react to it?

Honestly went back and forth on that because like, part of the deal is Hibrides is unsure whether she's Really interested in her, or is just desperate for attention from someone she finds hot and is also blatantly interested in her but not in a way that makes her super uncomfortable. And also is tired with having basically no social life outside of the orbit of her stupid husband and his stupid family. And at this point down the line she's got some pretty intense levels of nervousness about intimacy and is kind of only comfortable (in a sense of the word) having sex with Brakul, who she isn't even attracted to but it's like, familiar, she does Trust him in the sense of being confident in his intentions, and there's no further lines that can be crossed and very little left to ruin. These conditions don't apply to her husband's partly estranged sister who she's barely ever interacted with until recently.

But yeah I don't want the story to be romance focused but this Is the only background slowburn shit, and of the current draft I've gone with 'yeah they can manage to fuck at some point' on the basis of 'love wins'.

Couya has had a semi-latent crush on her for years, which was never really that big of a deal but it comes to a head since they're traveling in the same party and at routine close quarters for the first time in their Lives. It starts to get distracting from her job and her burgeoning convictions that she's God's chosen to ensure the renewal of the land and Its spirit and etc. Like damn my prophetic dreams involve me eating her out what does it all mean.

I wouldn't describe Hibrides as having had a past interest to the same extent (she had a crush on FAIZA for a really long time), but she's been Curious about her and kind of baffled by her since they met 13 years back, and she is definitely her type physically. She's always been a little fascinated by how little of a shit Couya seems to give about what anyone thinks of her. Kind of unsure whether she's the most self-assured person ever, or is just really rude, or there's something wrong with her.

Couya does initially win her trust because her natural propensities for social interaction happen to be a highly effective Hibrides Befriending Strategy: making absolutely zero moves and barely speaking to her and not even really looking at her much and just going about her life while existing simultaneously in Hibrides' immediate vicinity until there was naturally something to talk about.

They have a lot of spare time to spend together like this and gradually get to know each other. They're both going through it, with Hibrides just feeling kind of desperate to re-exert a sense of control over her life and Couya being in a Dark Night Of The Soul, and both of them are very deeply spiritually disturbed by the implications of the drought and distrustful towards the Amanti dynasty. These factors all combine into them becoming friends and confidants, which eventually escalates drastically into them plotting a coup and also theyy can bang a little in there somewhere.

Here's two related sketches that I can post

[syndrossi]

You know this ask-post of yours? It feels kinda cracky when I start to think about it instead of "semi happy" as you put it for best case scenario? But maybe that's me because when I actually start writing anything at all I always end up with an conversational and humorous tone, I guess? So that might just be me.

And I have no idea where this idea came from, as far as I know it has no basis in any asoiaf/got media, but I kinda like the idea that Jon, despite looking so much a Stark that Ned's children (sans Arya) look less Stark than him, all his /expressions/ are all Targaryen. You wouldn't know it without comparison, but when Winterfell suddenly has the late Queen Rhaella and an alive and for some reason a teenage Prince Reaghar in the courtyard all confused like and someone sees Jon near them they suddenly have a lot of questions! Especially when they pull the same face as a reaction to something in sinc! It's uncanny.

Also, in that au, though I guess it could be in both this one and restoration too, but in either of those, after confirming that Jon does, in fact, remember and is still /his/ Jon, would Reaghar freak out (even just in the privacy of his own mind!) over the fact that Jon, for some reason, omitted the fact that he happened to be his /son/? Whom he aparently didn't even have the opportunity to raise! It would be funny to read that in a morbid sort of way? I mean they are Targaryens! Their mothers are their aunts and cousins they should be used to weird family relations, but still!

I mean, the premise of Restoration itself (which isn't too different from "Rhaegar and Rhaella show up in Winterfell at the start of AGOT with dragons") is more than a little cracky. I'm just your opposite, where I like to take crack premises (Arthur Dayne appears suddenly and tries to join the Princesguard!) and try to treat them seriously. 😅

Well, the good thing about Jon potentially have very Targaryen expressions (quite possible if he inherited, say, Rhaegar's mouth and brow) is that not too many people are around who would even recognize them, including Ned. It's not like Ned was buddy-buddy with Rhaegar, and I doubt he ever got closer than twenty paces to Aerys or Rhaella, assuming he ever visited KL when younger. But I could see him studying Jon's face on occasion and going "that's not my sister's expression." And spending a moment panicking before reminding himself that no one would possibly make a Targaryen connection.

Except if you suddenly throw two suddenly-not-dead Targaryens into the mix, including Rhaegar at the same age as Jon, when their similarities would be most apparent!

I'm assuming the two of them get a quick history lesson while Ned is internally screaming about what to do with the smoking dragon guns pointing directly at Jon saying EXTRA TARGARYEN THAT I'VE KEPT HIDDEN RIGHT HERE. Fortunately, their dragons (or hatchlings, depending on age) mean they do have some leg up.

(Wait, does Ned try to pull the same Restoration AU story with Rhaella and Rhaegar??? *squints* Basically "this is Jon's baby mama, and uhhh he had a twin who my lover demanded to keep, so we split them up." Surely not. But he does need to buy some time for the dragons to be effective, and that will involve "hiding" Rhaella and Rhaegar somehow.)

But yes, just like Restoration AU, Rhaegar is going to be very upset about Jon withholding very pertinent information such as Rhaegar having been his (dead) father, WTF JON.

[dgaftilwedie]

namgyu nsfw alphabet!!!

i've had this sitting in my google docs for almost two months now?? and i saw one of my moots post their version, so i thought i'd post my own too!! i went a teensy tiny bit crazy but namgyu's like, my favorite character ever so i felt obligated <3 i wrote this at like 2 in the morning so please excuse any spelling/grammar errors... oopsies

contains: 18+ content (minors dni, you know the drill), namgyu being a freak (affectionate), recreational drug use, somno, namgyu's probably a tad ooc (i am a firm believer namgyu isn't a pos to his partner's, just the people he doesn't like), just a whole bunch of stuff :3 everything's below the cut!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If Namgyu’s with somebody he loves, it reflects in the way he takes care of them after sex. He’s an avid fan of basking in the afterglow and not cleaning up immediately. He’ll hold your naked body against his chest and talk to you about whatever crosses his mind. Expect a lot of late-night conversations passing a cigarette back and forth after going to Freak Town. He also has a mini-fridge in his room that has snacks and water in them, and he’ll offer to grab you something if you’re interested.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

You can very clearly tell he loves his hands. They’re pretty big with slender fingers that are always adorned with rings. Always. He loves the way they look running through your hair, around your throat, gripping your thighs, inside of you… As for you, it’s hard for him to choose just one thing. Namgyu thinks it’s corny but everything about you is perfection to him. He’d probably say something about your eyes, or how soft your hair is, or how nice you smell… Or something about your thighs. Fuck, he loves your thighs. He likes grabbing them, likes when they’re tightened around his head or shaking around his waist. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Namgyu likes it messy. He’ll cum all over your face, your chest, your stomach, pretty much anywhere. He doesn’t care. Sometimes he’ll be a dick and try to get it in your hair. His freaky ass likes to take pictures of your face when it’s covered in his cum just to jerk off to them later.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes to “borrow” your dirty underwear to jerk off with it. He’s embarrassed to even think about it, but whenever he comes over, he just… Y’know, snags a pair off the floor or out of your laundry and brings ‘em home!!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Namgyu knows what he’s doing; that’s for sure. He’s been around the block. Not a total manwhore, but he’s had his fair share of one-night stands. However, when he’s with you, he doesn’t really consider his previous experiences. Namgyu focuses more on what feels good for the both of you. He wants to learn your body and all the things that get you off. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

AVID SPOONING ENJOYER. Namgyu loves any position where the two of your are as close as humanly possible. He needs to be able to feel your body against him in like 20 different spots at all times. Any position that gives him easy access to your neck is another factor. Sometimes when he doesn’t have that much energy, he’ll sit with his back against his headboard and insist you ride him like that. He’ll dig his fingers into your waist and press wet, open-mouthed kisses to your neck as you do all the work.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Namgyu gets very giggly during sex. He makes it a challenge to try and make you laugh at every opportunity. Part of it is because he loves how cute you look when you’re happy, but another part of it is that he hates when the tension gets too high. It makes his nervous. He’ll tickle your sides while he’s buried deep inside of you or crack the occasional stupid joke. It may be annoying but at least you know he’s comfortable with you!! However, there are definitely times where he doesn’t give a fuck how tense it is. He’ll be all over you, all act and no play. These are usually times where he’s either angry, jealous, or super fucking horny.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s trimmed. He hates having a lot of hair so he keeps it nice and short. However, it’s very soft. Take that as you will.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If he’s with someone he loves, he’s a complete sap. Sex is actually really special to Namgyu if it’s with someone like you. No matter how rough he is, he makes sure you know deep down that he loves you. He’ll degrade you, but it’s broken up with praises of how well you’re taking him, how beautiful you look, how good you’re doing for him. He’ll sink his teeth into your neck just to make you jump only to pepper your neck and your face with the gentlest kisses. Namgyu’s always telling you how much he loves you. Again, he becomes a complete sap with you. “I love you”s before, during, and after are a must for him. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Namgyu’s kind of a horndog, honestly. He gets worked up pretty quickly. Lucky for you, he’s really cute when he jerks off. He’ll bite his bottom lip as, whining about the things he wants to do to you. Or the things he wants you to do to him. He whimpers when he cums, too. If he’s in a really good mood and you overhear him, you’ll probably catching mumbling under his breath about how he’s “such a good boy for you”.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I have a lot to say here… He’s an absolute freak in the sheets.

Marking of any kind. Hickeys, scratches, anything that tells people you’re each other’s. That’s a must for him. A necessity.

Hairpulling. If you’re pulling his hair, he’ll come undone almost immediately. 

Absolutely into dry humping. This is very important to me. And to him. 

Praise and degradation. He doesn’t shut up during sex, and he loves it when you get on the fun and start saying shit to him. It makes his knees buckle.

He’s a little bit of a voyeur, honestly!! If you let him, he’d love to just sit there and watch you touch yourself. I mentioned it above, but he also takes a lot of pictures of the two of you during sex to use for later.

VERY into phone sex. Nudes, voice messages, nut videos (with the sound on)... Sometimes he’ll even call you when he’s on a break at work just to rub one out in the bathroom.

Somnophilia… If you’re into it, he’d love to wake you up with his head in between your legs.

Dacryphilia on the downlow. It doesn’t turn him on if you’re crying because you’re like, sad or in pain, but he loves making you feel so good you cry. He could easily spend hours teasing you just to see a tear drip down your cheeks as you beg him to let you cum. It drives his mind wild to think about it.

Speaking of, he loves making you beg for it. 9 times out of 10, you’re not cumming until he hears you begging for it. 

Stoned sex!! I will expand on this later…

Lowkey wouldn’t mind you call him a good puppy. But it’s gonna take a lot of courage on his end to open up about that one… He likes when you take control in general, honestly.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As long as your both comfortable, he doesn’t give a fuck. He’d prefer to do it on a soft surface, like a bed or a couch or at the very least, a blanket. If you’re both super worked up, he doesn’t mind fuck you against the wall of a bathroom stall or the backseat of his car!! Happy wife (gender neutral), happy life!! <3

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Like I mentioned, Namgyu gets worked up pretty easily. The most subtle touches can get him hard, and it’s actually really cute. Touching his neck is your best bet if you wanna get him in the mood. Run your fingers through his hair and scratch just the right spot, maybe give it a tug. Slip your fingers around the hem of his pants or press them against his stomach. He really likes that. He also has a thing for people running their fingers over his tattoos and fidgeting with his rings or pulling his chain. He’s a little easy, ok?? Just a bit.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Namgyu’s into some harder shit but he doesn’t fuck with shit or vomit. Ageplay also weirds him out.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Namgyu’s just a little bit selfish… He loves when you suck him off. He’ll run his fingers through his hair, tugging on it to guide you, basically using your mouth as a fleshlight. He gets a little bit carried away sometimes, but your mouth just feels so good on his cock… On the flip side, he hasn’t had that much practice going down on other people. He barely knows what he’s doing at first. He just wings it with sloppy kisses and kitten licks. However, Namgyu’s a very fast learner. He figures out what he’s doing faster than you anticipated. He quickly discovers everything that makes you tick, and fuck, he gets really good at it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on what kind of mood he’s in. If he’s in a bad mood, you’re getting your guts obliterated. Sometimes he’ll take it so painfully slow it feels like he’s torturing you (he is) (because he’s an asshole). Most of the time, however, he’s at a nice little in-between. He’ll switch between fast, sensual thrusts to ones that are so slow and so rough and so hard you’d think he’s trying to make you explode. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Namgyu eats quickies UP. He loves them. Sometimes you think he loves them more than regular sex. There’s nothing he loves more than dragging you to a bathroom or a dead-end alley to release whatever pent-up frustration you have. He knows you need it, and he just gets so distracted, he can’t help himself… Sometimes you’ll surprise him at work before his breaks and Namgyu will take you to one of the empty VIP rooms just to fuck you. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Oh, absolutely. Namgyu is the epitome of risky. He’ll (try to) try anything once, and he’s very vocal about the things that he doesn’t like. He’s super cool with bringing things into the bedroom as long as you have a conversation about it first so he isn’t surprised. If you want a safe word, he’s down with that too, but if you tell him to stop, he’s going to stop. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can usually go about three rounds on a good day, as long as he has a quick break in between them. If he’s in the right mood (or he popped a pill beforehand) he can go as many rounds as you want without stopping. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Namgyu doesn’t personally own any. He’s never felt the need for them if his hand (or your mouth) is right there. If you use them or are interested in bringing them into the bedroom, he’s intrigued. He fantasizes about it way more than he wants to admit. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This is Namgyu we’re talking about. Namgyu’s an asshole. He loves teasing you. Adores it, actually. It makes sex just so much more fun to him to watch you shake, whining about how bad you need him. He loves making you beg for the smallest things, whether it be a kiss or for him to finally put his dick inside of you. Sometimes he’ll stop his movements all together just to hear you cry out his name. He’ll have you thinking he’s going to let you cum before pulling out and laughing as you clench around nothing. He always makes up for it at the end, though.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s so fucking noisy. Like I said, he doesn’t shut up during sex. He basically talks you through it. He wants to be able to hear you, just you, but you feel so fucking good it makes his head swirl. He can’t help it!! He gets so whimpery in the moment, even when he’s in charge. He’ll bury his face into your neck as he tries to hold back his moans. It doesn’t work. It’s really hot. Especially when you can feel his breath against his neck and hear his mumbles more clear because he’s right next to your hair. If you’re fucking him, it’s a whole other story. He doesn’t even bother trying.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I mentioned it earlier, but stoned sex is one of his favorite things ever. He doesn’t want to pressure you but if you’re down, he’s the happiest camper. He’ll light up a joint for the two of you to share and it’ll lead to the softest, giggliest, laziest, most intimate sex you’ll ever have. He’s pace with be so slow and so sensual. Every thrust feels like heaven, and the way he cups your face and kisses you every five seconds will have you practically falling apart. 

Also, if you’re AFAB, he does not care if you’re on your period (as long as you don’t care). He’ll lay a towel down and go to town. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

5¾’’, cut. Shaft is #EBC3BA, tip is #D9A69E. Slight upwards curve that hits literally the perfect spot. Prince Albert with black jewelry.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s pretty fucking high. He could go multiple times a day if you were down. He’d totally understand if you weren’t, though. He’ll just jerk off and get on with his day.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Namgyu prefers to stay awake after sex. Usually it takes him an hour or two to fall asleep afterwards, but he likes to make sure you’re comfortable and/or asleep first so he’s not just leaving you hanging. Sometimes he’ll just forgo sleep and pop a pill. If you fall asleep and he’s still awake, he’ll hold you close to him, running his fingers through your hair. He likes to trace your features, admire the face he gets to wake up to every day. He’ll talk to you even though you’re asleep, telling you about his day, but eventually he’ll start to spill out the most heartwarming compliments about you - ones that he couldn’t say to your face without getting embarrassed. 

[hermuseros]

Hoplophilia

Synopsis: From hoplo- (“weapon, arms”) +‎ -philia (“love”). Pairing: CalebXMC

AN: Hello, I've never posted Fanfic to Tumblr before, but this sort of drabble feels like it would work here. Also, warning, this is going to Get Weird. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time the thought of being a gun makes Caleb orgasm she still thinks he’s dead.

He’d been flailing at the edge of release, mentally cycling through his classic finishers (him on his knees for her, her begging him to stay, her with her hair up and her head thrown back…) when the thought strikes him like a flash bang.

Him as a cold machine, a living weapon, her slender finger looping into his trigger to…

He watches his come circle the drain in puzzlement.

—-------

When Caleb finally sees her again he’s coming to the idea more often than not.

He’s lost count of the number of times he’s promised himself to never think about it again, and mostly manages to keep it locked down unless he’s in those hazy moments before orgasm, like a guilty cigarette when drunk.

That's when he lets himself think of the force of a shot ringing through his body, the violence.

The inert, perfect subservience.

It’s not normal, is it? Most guys think about fucking, not abstract concepts. He does also think about fucking at first, but then he’s back at the edge of pleasure, his cock leaking and sensitive. There's an internal tug of war every time, the gathering tension, the denial, and then giving in to thoughts of cold steel and his release comes like an eruption from deep in his core.

A machine would not feel shame.

She’s ever present in his fantasies, her finger on his trigger (which to him is obviously the gun's heart) sensitive as a violin string. Sometimes she's just holding him. Once, shamefully, he imagined her cleaning him. Her weapon.

But nothing gets him off faster than the idea of her pointing and firing.

—-------

Caleb had often conceived of himself as a machine. In the middle of routine weapon cleanings he’d often pause and just stare at his own hand, mid task. He’d imagine the fine internal mechanics of it, its own pulleys and wires.

Perhaps all military men feel this way.

As a kid he’d sometimes imagine himself as a mech robot in the shower, in for cleaning and repairs, or as a plane cutting through the sky.

Now as a soldier he is a pair of cuffs, a missile, a knife, but in his heart he will always be a gun.

—-------

She is getting increasingly frustrated with him, he knows he's been a lot lately, and while they prepare dinner together she's angry.

“No, Caleb, like this.”

She’s grown so much since they last lived together and like him she is now capable of wielding her own authority. All her soft edges are gone tonight and she grabs his hands methodically, turning the knife to the right angle, forcing him to slice in the correct way.

“Now you do it.”

The static bolts of arousal that he's worked so hard to control arc up his spine, he feels like his barrels are overheating.

Caleb obeys.

That night he imagines what it would feel like to be loaded with bullets.

—-------

He manages to get outside before he lets his expression crumple. Her angry fists are pounding at the locked door behind him and he puts on his hat to protect his hair from the rain. He is so good at being the Colonel, excellent even! But with her it always feels like he’s playing a character, that he’s playing him wrong.

Caleb feels panicky in a way he can’t describe, and then all he can think about is an introductory lecture from Fleet Basic Training, the last time he felt this creeping fear.

Why do we never let a machine make the final decision, asked the professor, why should a machine never be in charge of a human?

—-------

One of the nights Caleb drugs her (he’s losing count), he does a routine inspection of her room and finds her neatly folded clothes on top of her hunter issued firearm. A military thrill goes through him at his suspicions being correct, and having done his duty to protect.

Hands trembling, he slides her gun out of its holster.

The night is cold and the metal of the grip bites at his fingers. It starts then, the slowly building waves of arousal like nausea and shame. He is afraid his heart is beating so loud it will somehow wake her. Gripped in a panic, he shoves the gun up the front of his shirt.

The cold of her weapon is soothing against his overly hot chest, so he holds it there for now. As he starts to calm he realizes that the cold of the pistol is permeating his chest and his own body heat is slowly warming the gun.

An exchange of thermal energy between her weapons.

He’s rock hard, but refuses to touch himself until he gets back to his own bed.

—-------

The force of his confession has hit their house like a tactical nuke and the air is filled with static potential. He keeps turning the whole helpless mess over in his mind.

What did he say, something stupid like ‘I can't pretend?’

Caleb locks eyes with himself in the bathroom mirror, something he usually avoids, and he lets himself think of all the things he actually wants to say.

Use me, I'm your weapon, your tool.

Without you I have no function, your life gives me meaning in a more real way than you can imagine.

I am inert metal, I am a series of pulleys and levers that without your input sits to rust.

I was made for you, your signature stamped into my metal when they forged me.

Use me.

Use me!

[verekatt]

Eternal Child Talon!Dick

So I've read a lot of talon!Dick content, but usually he's either vaguely adult-shaped or it's a reverse robins. But talons don't get old, do they? Dick's great-grandfather was a Talon for ages and still looked like a young adult, so it's reasonable to assume that once they're turned, they stop aging.

In cryptid!Batfam fics (regardless of whether they're actually cryptids or just pretending), the public often assumes Robin is an eternal child, whether that's fae-like or as a spirit of some kind. Usually this is because they're replaced by younger Robins, but what if it's true?

Bruce was too late to save Dick from the Court of Owls. Bruce wanted to adopt Dick, but he had to get his foster license, and buy stuff for a bedroom and circus gym, and try to childproof the manor, and increase security, and hide the Cave entrance better, and research local schools. He forgot to actually keep an eye on Dick, because he was too busy trying to rush through everything he needed to keep him.

When he finally went to pick him up, he learned Dick had been missing for weeks. The orphanage didn't care, lots of kids run away or disappear in Gotham, and they never told the police. Bruce searched frantically, scouring CCTV footage and interrogating witnesses. Eventually, a street kid mentioned seeing a man in a bird-like mask carrying an unconscious kid who matched Dick's description. The Court of Owls was one of Batman's first big investigations, so getting information took months. Months in which Dick was trained, brainwashed, and turned into a Talon.

Bruce did a LOT of damage to the court, and eventually, he found where Dick was. He was horrified when he saw Dick's golden, slit eyes and sallow, ashy skin. His heart broke when he realised Dick didn't remember his parents, that he was so far removed from the laughing acrobat he once was. His adoption-empathy was compounded; he realised that without Alfred, he could have been hurt like this too. He realised how lucky he was to have a good guardian after his parent's death, and vowed to take care of Dick like Alfred did for him.

He tricked Dick into thinking he was an Owl to get him out of there safely, and as they left, Bruce realised how unprepared he was for not only raising a child, but deprogramming Dick. He and Alfred tried their hardest, but Dick was terrified of acting out, and unresponsive when not given orders.

He realised that he could encourage free thought by ordering Dick to misbehave, and by giving him a mission that acted as an outlet for his violent tendencies. He interviewed people from Haly's Circus to get an idea for Dick's real personality, and got a vague impression of who Dick was before. Bruce created Robin, based on a mention of Dick's mother's nickname, and got Dick to join his crusade, playing the character of himself.

Although it took years, it worked. Robin was encouraged to quip and laugh and dance around his enemies, and he gained confidence in back-talking and making fun of Batman. The fighting taught Dick what levels of violence were acceptable, and the detective work taught Dick to think critically and ask questions. Bruce switched between Bruce's and Batman's body language at random, and this helped break down Dick's mental boundaries between Dick and Robin. With Dick's new ability to think and question authority figures, he figured out which parts of Robin were still true to him, and his real personality shone through. He still relapsed into Talon mentality sometimes, but by now they'd figured out how to support him and get him back out.

During all this, however, Bruce and Alfred realised Dick wasn't aging. They abstractly knew it was a possibility, they had seen other Talons, but it hit home once they realised he hadn't gotten any taller after a year. They hid him even more from the press (Bruce was always a recluse, but the adoption got leaked), and eventually the public forgot about the Wayne son. At the same time, Batman leaned into the cryptid rumours, trying to mask Robin's unnatural state with his own.

By the time the Justice League got started, Batman had already mastered the cryptid act. He was still technically a founder, but he basically acted as a reserve member/consultant, because he didn't want them to figure out he was human. If they realised, it would only a matter of time before their attention focused on why Robin was odd while Batman wasn't, so he kept them both away.

Dick also didn't emotionally mature - he got more personality and opinions, became more of a "real boy", but he couldn't grow up. He never left to become Nightwing, because he couldn't get an apartment or job while looking like an elementary schooler. Instead, he spent a few weeks homeless in Crime Alley, where he befriended Jason and realised how much he would benefit from Bruce's care. He dragged Jason back to Wayne Manor, and although things were tense between them, they talked it out and reconciled.

The vigilante secret lasted less than a day before Jason realised if the kid he met was Dick Grayson, then Dick hasn't aged in eight years. Robin also hadn't aged since he appeared around the same time. Jason confronted Dick (since Bruce was still intimidating), and Dick admitted it, telling him to ask Bruce if he needed more details because the story was still a bit traumatising.

Jason became his own identity of vigilante, Cardinal. He didn't die, because Dick never left Gotham, and got there in time. Jason was, however, very injured, and the people of Gotham assumed he did die, especially with the Joker's taunting. Bruce and Dick got more violent, especially with the Joker and his goons, scared by how close they had been to losing Jason. They had almost forgotten most kids weren't borderline unkillable, and the reminder rattled them.

Tim had spied on his neighbours for years and had long since realised Dick was the unaging Robin, so he noticed when both Jason and Cardinal seemingly disappeared. He went to the Waynes, not as a new Robin, but as a voice of reason and an attempt to help them grieve. He was very relieved Jason was alive, but still hung around to reign in Bruce and Dick from their revenge/panic. Dick broke down to Tim and the next day, the Joker disappeared without a trace. Both Dick and Tim denied any knowledge of what happened. The combination of Tim's professional gaslighting and Dick's ability to cry on command forced Bruce to back off. Dick and Jason seemed calmer afterwards anyway, so Bruce was willing to sweep it under the rug.

The rest of the family joined over time, and they all leaned fully into the cryptid shtick to shield Dick from scrutiny. Dick acted as an odd mix of the most skilled and experienced Bruce-wrangler/interpreter and as the eternal baby brother, hyperactive and mischievous. He got the new kids to open up by dragging them into chandelier acrobatics, planting glitter bombs, and teaching them how to manipulate Bruce.

Although they all got melancholic about Dick's eternal youth sometimes, they could see how happy as he was, and none of them would change that for the world.

[glamfurarchive]

hello glamfurarchive followers! i am once again really sorry for my ginormous hiatus here. the queue runs dry every once in awhile and i feel really guilty. though i'm disabled and have a lot on my plate with school and work. though i've been going through a good luck patch lately and want to get back on my feet, so i'm loading the queue back up once again!

i want to thank everyone here for sticking with me even when this account goes through huge droughts. if you're wondering where i go, you can still find me on places like toyhouse.

i cannot guarantee that things will be as fast paced as they once were but i'm really trying and am extremely passionate about the glamfur archive. a project i started out of pure love for the style and people behind it.

i'm thinking of revamping and fully fleshing out the mostly-defunct gfa neocities site but i don't really want to overwork myself. if i find enough motivation i'll definitely look into it. for now, thank you all deeply for sticking around. opening this account and seeing the kind messages and support i receive gives me the motivation to continue with this archive even when i'm mentally drained. i love you all.

[lizard-needs-friends]

Um um I've been OBSESSED with the outsiders lately so here are my headcanons for the curtis bros + dally and johnny:

DARRY CURTIS

Ler:

Ooh this guy

When any of the gang are being brats, he will just pick them up and flip them on their backs and tickle them to peices

They all fear him

He is the type of guy to tickle everywhere, but once he finds a spot that REALLY gets you laughing, he just targets that spot until you're crying

I don't think he teases a lot, he focuses more on the tickling

He is pretty brutal but when you say stop he will stop

Definitely pins everyone down, he will NOT let them get away

Lee:

I can't think of him being a lee but I'll do my best 😭

Sometimes when soda is rubbing his back he'll just like slowly and softly tickle him and darry will quietly melt to the floor in giggles

I think his worst spots would be his armpits and sides

The gang rarely tickles him because they know he'll get them back 10 times worse

SODAPOP CURTIS

Ler:

Omg omg omg

This guy is such a teasy ler and will just put his hands above your tickle spot, and instead of tickling you he'll tease you about how much you're blushing

Almost every day goes up to members of the gang and just tases them

Type of guy to go to one spot, and then drastically change to another, and keep doing that, and you'll never know which one he'll go to next

He just loves to see people's reactions, that's like the only reason he tickles people

Lee:

He cackles like a witch

He is so squirmy they need 3 people to hold him down

Worst spots I think would be neck and ribs

He squeals. No, he screeches. People will sometimes go up behind him and like grab his sides and even though that's not his worst spot he will SCREECH LIKE AN EAGLE

He will anything in his power to not get tickled, but once someone starts tickling he will instantly stop fighting and give in.

PONYBOY CURTIS

Ler:

Looooooves to just go slow and soft with the tickles, all while looking you dead in the eyes. He knows what he's doing.

Will poke people in the sides to catch them off guard

Loves to say stuff like "what's wrong? What's so funny" "found your tickle spot!" "Just admit that you're ticklish!" Stuff like that

Likes to gang up on people

Lee:

AHHHH OMG OMG HES SO CUTE

He doesn't even try to fight he just folds in on himself and giggles like a little boy

Worst spots would be armpits and tummy

Would start crying in the first 5 seconds.

He begs so much, like full on screaming "PLEASE! STOP! IM GONNA DIE, PLEASE!" The neighbors get real worried.

So so soo wiggly, like he'll be on the ground flopping like a fish.

He will like jolt so the side and jump five feet in the air anytime someone just pokes him.

JOHNNY CADE

Ler:

He tries. He really does.

He is usually just the one holding someone down for the others

He thinks it's so funny how people react, like he'll be laughing harder than the person getting tickled.

Lee:

MY BABY

He is so giggly.

He never got tickled as a child so when he first got tickled he was so confused

He is the most ticklish out of the gang.

Tickle spots would be tummy and hips

At random points someone will just go up behind him while he's sitting down, and grab his arms and hold them above his head, and somebody else will just go to town tickling him.

He will do anything. Like he'll be frantically kicking and punching the air hoping to hit something.

My boy does NOT laugh enough so the gang will constantly tase him. He will squeal and just drop to the floor.

DALLAS WINSTON

Ler:

He is so mean oml

He will immediately find your worst spot, and just ruthlessly attack it until you can't form coherent thoughts anymore.

He loooooves teasing, "you better not be laughing at me!" "What's wrong? Does it tiiiiiickleeee?"

He will warn you first, because he likes the thrill of the chase, but when he catches you there is no escape.

Ignores all screams of terror

Lee:

Ohhohoho

He is the type of lee to like be a tough guy and "I ain't ticklish! That's for babies!" But as soon as they actually tickle him he's down in seconds

He hates getting tickled because he thinks it makes him look weak and all

They tickle him anyway.

I think his worst spots would be his ribs and sides

He will kick, punch, scratch, bite, and thrash around like his life depends on it.

They need 3+ people just to hold him down

His face gets all red and he gets so embarrassed from it

[loveschoice-if]

Update? (not really so much)

Heyyyyy, I know this is probably not the update that you've been waiting for but I realized I've been MIA from this blog for a bit so I wanted to just touch base on where I was at with the demo and also to let you guys know that this project (and blog) is NOT dead and I'm still working on it as much as I can.

Currently, the demo is basically 100% done in terms of coding and about 50% done with the actual writing (and the other half is just incoherent rambling LOL). With my schedule, I can't work on the demo every day but I do think about it a lot and I regularly come up with new ideas for the storylines that I jot down in my notes app.

I'll be able to devote a lot more time to this starting in late May/early June, so the demo will definitely be out around that time. I'm really sorry that I wasn't able to fulfill the original January deadline! Next time, I won't announce a set date until I know for sure.

That being said, I know this might be a lot to ask since the demo isn't even out yet but I would love it if you guys could send me character asks! I miss responding to your questions and engaging with you all, and I would love to use this time to better flesh out the characters! I found this post by grumpy-triceratops with a list of prompts if you need ideas but also if sending asks is not your thing, I totally get it! No pressure at all.

Thank you to everyone who has been along for the ride so far! Hopefully when this demo comes out, it'll be everything that you want it to be :D