#if you want me to rewrite then let me know !!

[dawnwriterimagines]

Rewriting Part 5 of Traitors Among Us

CLEAR SKIES (A Rewrite)

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER Rewrite of PART 5 of Traitors Among Us

Traitors Among Us Masterlist

Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141, running into those who've betrayed you.

Author Note: Soooo, I decided to rewrite Clear Skies: part 5 of Traitors Among Us because...I didn't like it as much lol, and it wasn't received as nicely as the other parts. It's pretty much completely different lol. So, here I am rewriting this part! Don't worry, the multiple endings of Traitors Among Us will be releasing very soon...

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Silence filled the air in the Chief Officer’s office, thick with tension. Captain John Price stood rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on Laswell as she calmly sipped from her tea, her lips set in an almost casual line. He’d expected a straightforward debrief, not this.

“You did what?” Price’s voice was low, disbelieving. His brow furrowed, the anger creeping in like a slow burn.

Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without so much as consulting with him, your Captain.

"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.

Price blinked, caught off guard by the detached nature of her words. He shook his head slowly, still processing.

"Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"

"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace.

She would've never come to you, and you were foolish enough to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.

Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"

"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she hummed, tapping the spoon against the rim of her mug, her voice annoyingly casual. "I already have someone in mind, luckily for you."

"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.

“Funny, John,” Laswell mused, not looking up, her voice dripping with dry amusement. “I seem to remember you handling a certain... situation under my orders.” Her eyes met his now, sharp and calculating. "Just fine."

Price’s jaw tightened, and the old guilt gnawed at him. “The worst mistake I’ve made on the force.” His voice was quiet but raw.

Laswell’s smile didn’t fade a bit. “No, John,” she said softly, her tone almost teasing now. “Your mistake is thinking you have any authority here that I don’t already have.”

Price froze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He reached for the papers on the desk, his hand curling into a fist before he let them go. Laswell slid the stack back across the desk with a single, deliberate motion, then stood up.

As she passed him, her shoulder brushed against his, and he stiffened, barely holding himself together.

“Oh, John,” she said, almost too sweetly. “The military is engrained in all of us. In your blood. In hers. Don’t worry,” she hummed, tapping the edge of a file. “She’ll be back. They always come back. In one way or another.”

"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, dismissed him with a wave, leaning back in her chair., slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, hm?"

Wary, grieving eyes drift away from the Station Chief, chest tight. "Well what about Gray?" Price swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service, I won't."

"Christ, John, you take the fun out of everything nowadays." Laswell’s smirk faded into something more calculating, more serious, before rolling her eyes. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped a harsh red CLASSIFIED, it glares up at him. "You and your team have other matters to discuss."

Price hesitated, brows furrowed. He took the folder, the tension in his muscles still tight. He opened it quickly, scanning the document with a sharp eye. His face darkened as he read, the information weighing a heavy burden, but nothing he could say was undeserved.

Lips pressing tight together, John Price presses down into the folder hard, creasing the papers and clenching his jaw. Fuck.

---

The sliding doors open automatically, the lobby going quiet at the sight of your sopping wet figure stumbling through the entrance. Dropping your hands from over your head, you pause to stare down those who held eye contact too comfortably, quickly their stares dropped.

Entering the residential building, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. Your boots squeak with every step unwarrantedly, trailing a puddle as you shuffle your way down the hallway, face flushed cold from the rain.

The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along the marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes to your skin, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs, the pruning of your fingers. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see even the silhouette of this place ever again.

Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothed arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing, or Kyle's pity wear.

Pressing the upper arrow, you wait for it to light up.

It doesn't.

So you press it again. This time it does glow, finally.

...But, no opening.

You wait a few seconds, then check the electronic number above.

1.

First Floor.

You press the arrow again. Waiting for the doors to open.

Clearing your throat, you press down on the down arrow this time. Just open up.

Nothing again.

Motherfucker...

A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it would just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open the fuck UP!

"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, Simon or Price, or Kyle or Johnny, could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. The very thought had you anxiously holding down on the elevator buttons, contemplating the stairs but walking was already a hassle with your brace. "Open. Open, open, open!"

"Open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.

Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.

"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.

Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."

"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound.

"Yeah," he chuckles briefly as the metal falls with a klunk. "You're quite the mechanic."

"Can I help you, lieutenant?"

"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.

"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."

He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."

"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."

"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.

"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Subtle," you take a step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.

His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"

"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no I'm just..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, there used to be a tan line imprinting it along your skin, now that same finger was scarred up to the nail. "I'm just not the flirting type right now." Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten...

"Ah," He notices, clearing his throat, embarrassed at himself. "You're with someone."

You wanted to scoff at that, not anymore.

"No," Your knuckles cracked. "Just uninterested." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.

The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.

The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."

"He's not dead," you say.

His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."

"No idea," you scoff, an understatement indeed.

After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The persistent stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.

You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of.

He reminded you terrifyingly of Simon. Though the two had to be quite different in all capacities besides ranking and muscle definition.

He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green wide eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.

You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.

Not once in this disturbing, cold and humiliating event had you ever felt a moment of comfort. Of warm, loving comfort. A single embrace would destroy your every resolve. Not a minute, not a second, not a breath of warmth.

Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.

"You shouldn't do that," you breathe.

There's nothing good here left for you anymore.

You're no longer a soldier.

"Do what?" he asked.

No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.

And the scars you'd be left with just for being here...

Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.

He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the memorabilia." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.

"It is," you grazed the tender flesh of your scars. "Isn't it."

"I'm sure you've got quite the story."

Lips pressing together hard, fingers curling into your palm as if your own scars had burned you.

"Um..." going into detail meant a lot of things you didn't want to confront right now, pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."

"I'm sorry-" he realized he'd touched unsavory ground, voice lowered with regret. "I didn't mean..."

"It's fine," you swallowed thickly, taking a breath. "It was nice to meet you truly."

He follows you to the divide of the open elevator as you step in and though the divide, turning to see his face, desperate for a glimpse of yours.

Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."

His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.

"Ok..." you managed a meaningful smile that struggled to begin. "Wes, then."

You could see the relief in the drop of his shoulders.

As the metal doors ding in preparation to close, you catch a glimpse of someone beyond your persistent stranger, as he turns to leave.

An approaching figure that enters the building, exiting the rain with heavy steps, dragging his feet along the marble, a black mask painted white along the curves of his mouth and nose, a skull. Stalking the halls like the ghost he preferred to be, Simon.

And he haunts you as so.

You hardly notice as the doors begin to close, a sinking feeling in your stomach erupting as you made eye contact with Simon Riley.

His slow, deliberate steps become nonexistent, he's instantly rooted to the floor, you were sure he'd even stopped breathing.

Though you felt your blood run cold, your chest squeezing violently with ache, and a rage in your soul that begged you to claw his fucking eyes out and rip out his heart like he'd done to you weeks ago, you didn't freeze.

No, instead your hand comes out, taking the closing end of the elevator door. It pauses with an electronic strain of its gears beneath your resistance, while you stare unblinkingly at your Ghost. And it opens again with a light ding.

Simon's eyes widen a fraction, he straightens noticeably, hopefully. His hand coming up, pulling at his mask, the skulls creasing down to reveal himself to you, but he'd remain as so...your ghost.

"(Y/n)..." you can hear the whisper of your name from his lips, but you've turned from him now.

Stepping forward and off the divide of the elevator, you take Wes by the arm, pulling him back around to you, his eyes are wide in surprise, innocent enough to have never expected more from your encounter and unable to find the nerve to speak smoothly now that you're making a move.

"Sorry..." you breathe to him, before reaching up and pressing your mouth to his.

It's not a messy kiss.

It's hardly a kiss.

But, it gets the message across.

You had loved Simon, completely and utterly. There was no punch or kick you could ever throw at Simon that could convey the collapse of those feelings.

So this, was the next best thing.

As Wes melts into your lips for the brief moment of surprise intimacy of a stranger, you cup the back of his neck, as you've done many times for Simon. Eyes opening to gaze back to your ghost, and as you do, you're not surprised to see him practically looming over the two of you.

He's a mess of himself. A fraction of the man he was before. A ghost of himself.

But, he'd always been a ghost to be feared.

As Wes's hand climbs up to grip at your hair, you retreat back, tucking your hair back and taking a breath.

Your guiltless eyes blink up to Wes, "You should go."

Hardly given a moment to recuperate, still reorganizing the thoughts you'd taken and filled him with all in the seconds you'd spared him with. He, rightfully confused, breathes. "What?"

"She said, you should go."

As Simon speaks, voice heavy with emotion, anger and resentment but most of all hurt, PAIN. Only then do your lungs fill with air again, untainted by the weight of your fears of him, of broken dreams and memories your defiled love.

"My dead lover's risen again," you speak, sarcastically. Staring down the hollow-eyed man, "A ghost."

The metal doors close with a light thud.

And so, maybe you had no fear of him anymore. Maybe you were tired of being frightened. Whatever it was had more guts than you had the energy to have in the last few weeks.

Because the next thing you know, you're shoving past Wes, blood red in the tint of your vision, your fingers expertly popping the gun out of his holster and you take your aim at Simon.

He doesn't flinch.

Neither do you.

Your finger is steady on the trigger. And you pull.

---

The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.

Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?

Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "What's...goin' on?"

His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “Wherever you are, I wanna be,” he took a step. "Wherever you go, whether you like it or not, I'm goin' too."

"Stalker," you quipped, though your voice could barely reach a whisper as you stared at the tiny box in his hand, watching as he came closer.

He cracked a smile, but he continued. "Everywhere you are, anywhere you want to be, if you'll let me, since you're right...I just can't stay away," he teased, watching as you short circuit as he approaches steadfast. "...and if you want me, as you'll have me...I wanna be everywhere you are."

The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "The best thing I've ever held onto in this life is you. It will always be you."

Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming expression, though yours freer in its willingness to express. He was being serious. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos without you."

With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. His eyes momentarily flickering downwards before gathering the nerve to look you in the eye again. “We’ve been through hell, we're in the aftermath of it now, another glimpse not far behind, but there’s no one I'll ever know, that I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."

As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.

“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. "I'll choose you. I'll choose you every time..." The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare. "Marry me..." his voice is a breath against your skin.

You feel your heart race with feelings that seared itself into your soul, a moment that would never leave you, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"

Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love.

Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.

---

The clouds, still held hostage by the night, moved almost imperceptibly through the midnight air, the rain having stopped by now and the stars taking action to be seen beyond.

You breathe evenly, stroking the broken skin of your knuckles, smearing the blood that still leaked through and picking at the dried specks of it along your nails.

Heavy hangs the air as you sit in your silence, nothing but the light scrapes of your nails along your own skin. Then, a heavy padding of footsteps outside the door, your eyes drawing to the movement as a shadow pulls along the flooring of the lighting beneath the doorway, the door clicks open.

A round-faced, army suited man, your attorney, enters the room, behind him two men standing at attention, stomping his dark boots down onto the old wood eager to be noticed, lifting a document to read. "Sergeant (L/N), due to potential endangerment of yourself and your fellow man, you are to be supervised continuously throughout the night until the remainder of your scheduled departure from central Orloz Military Base.

From there, as requested, all contact will be terminated, all personal and packaged requests, terminated. All inquiries, all personal and otherwise familial advises for continued contact, terminated. Due to the nature of your injuries and the unprecedented circumstances brought upon by the events of June 23rd 2023, you've been pardoned from additional..."

What use is there listening to more?

Leaning your head against the cool glass, you let yourself fall blissfully unaware of his voice, drowning in the sea of your own mind.

You stare down at the scars enveloping your hands, your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.

You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.

Who would've thought things would've turned out this way.

The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement.

Letting the absent, warm tears fall down your cheeks, soaking into the dampness of your shirt.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat till it hurt.

So, when he leaves, claiming to be back to escort you back to your quarters, you sit there. You sat there for hours. Or maybe it just felt like it. Either way, it didn't matter.

This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen of no one, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...

What was there to look forward to now?

Your hand comes up, tracing the water lines running down the glass, the ray of light from the street lamps that burn into the room, stinging at your eyes and lighting up the evening.

A streak of red follows your stained fingers.

Dried blood melting off your skin and running down the glass, falling slow.

Nothing to look forward to at all...

Multiple Endings coming soon. The end of Traitors Among Us... STAY TUNED

[yaniluvs]

going back to you 日 ── your tired boyfriend returns home after a long schedule, wanting nothing else but to be close to his lover.

𓍯 idolbf!han ʚଓ gn!reader ：（ 𝒾 ） 0.8k ── ༯ DRABBLE, fluff, humour, flirting, cuddles, kisses, cutesy, req. by anon! ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY. /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖ ˙ ᰋ haha see what i did? with the title? i'm so creative..? you're a boomer if you don't get it i don't make the rules SORRY. my hannie i love you sm. my first gender-neutral-reader fic !! written in second pov. (not my usual writing pov., but oh well !) how have you been doing? a little domestic fluff to make you smile >< thank you anon for the request, hope you like it !! comments, requests, asks, likes, follows and reblogs are always appreciated ! comment/ask if you want to be added to my mastertag ! happy reading <3

the apartment was dimly lit, bathed in the soft glow of string lights you’d insisted on hanging months ago. the scent of your vanilla candle lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth of home.

his home.

jisung trudged through the door, dropping his bag with a thud and kicking off his sneakers without care for where they landed. his hoodie hung loosely off his frame, his face buried in its collar to stave off the cold he'd carried in with him.

“baby?” his voice was tired, scratchy.

you popped your head out of the kitchen, spatula in hand. “you’re home! i made—”

he didn’t let you finish, crossing the distance between you in three long strides to wrap his arms tightly around your waist.

the flour-coated spatula clattered to the counter as you instinctively looped your arms around his neck.

“rough day?” you murmured, your chin resting atop his shoulder.

“you have no idea,” he groaned, voice muffled against your hoodie. “just let me stand here. let me hold you. please.”

“the cookies aren't gonna bake themselves,” you teased lightly, brushing a hand through his messy, slightly damp hair. “but i’m all yours.”

his grip tightened, and you felt the deep sigh he released against your neck. “sorry.. i just, missed you so badly today. you have no idea how much.”

you pulled back slightly to cup his face, your thumbs brushing the dark crescents under his eyes. “talk to me?”

he shook his head, lips pouting slightly. “later. i just wanna be with you right now. can we cuddle?”

“you didn’t even eat—”

“don’t care.” he tilted his head, his lips brushing the curve of your thumb before pressing a soft kiss there. “babe. please.”

you melted. because of course you did. you always did when it came to him.

“fine,” you relented, threading your fingers through his as you led him to the couch.

he didn’t let go of your hand, not even as you tried to sit. instead, he pulled you down on top of him, sprawling across the cushions with you practically cocooned in his arms.

“jisung,” you laughed, “i’m going to crush you.”

“crush away,” he mumbled, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “this is exactly what i needed.”

“you’re like a koala,” you teased, although your heart fluttered at how tightly he was holding you, like you might disappear if he let go.

“and this koala hasn't seen you all day. he's in withdrawal.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t move, instead running your fingers gently through his hair. he sighed contentedly, his body relaxing against yours.

for a moment, there was nothing but the steady rhythm of his breathing and the quiet hum of the city outside. however-

“do you know how channie hyung made me rewrite my rap three times?” jisung grumbled, his nose still pressed into your neck.

“did he now?”

“three times, yeah! and then minho hyung told me it sounded fine the first time.”

“of course, you're minho's baby,” you huffed sarcastically, unable to hold back a smile.

“god forbid a man is loveable-”

you giggled, brushing your lips against the top of his head. “okay, but you're my boyfriend first.”

“i am,” he replied, tilting his head up to look at you with a pout. “and you know what i really need right now?”

“what?”

“a kiss.”

you raised a brow. “just one?”

he grinned, boyish and soft, his eyes sparkling despite his earlier exhaustion. “okay, maybe, like, twenty. or a hundred. start anywhere you want. i’m not picky.”

you giggled, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his lips. he hummed happily, his hands finding your waist and squeezing gently.

“more,” he mumbled against your lips, pulling you closer.

“someone’s greedy,” you teased, but you kissed him again. and again. soft, slow, like the world outside had paused just for you two.

“i missed this,” he whispered between kisses, his voice barely audible. “missed you. you’re my favorite place, love. my home.”

your chest ached, and you held his face in your hands, kissing his forehead, his nose, the mole under his eye that you adored. “you’re mine too, you know.”

he smiled, bright and blinding, his fingers drawing little patterns on your back. “good. because i’m not going anywhere. ever. you’re stuck with me.”

“oh no,” you deadpanned, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “whatever will i do?”

“give me more kisses, for starters,” he quipped, leaning up to steal another from you.

hours passed like that, tangled up together in warmth and love, the troubles of the day forgotten in the safety of each other. and as he drifted off, his head tucked against your chest and your fingers playing with his hair, you pressed one last kiss to his temple, whispering the words you knew he loved to hear.

“i love you, sung. always.”

his lips curved into a sleepy smile. “love you too, baby. forever.”

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger

[jjkarmy091]

Second Best- Jungkook (part 8 )

Summary: Being friends with someone who has your heart it’s already hard, let alone when that special someone ends up falling in love with your best friend, the one you think would never make anything to hurt you . Will you be able to ignore it and move on? what will happen when everything gets too much for you to handle?

Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; body insecurities; bullying; friend betrayel;

Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader

Wordcount: 5.781

Author's note: It took me a lot but here it is. Got so many blocks writting this and I'm not satified with it. It doesn't matter how many time I write and rewrite it, it feels like it's never good enough but I tried my best so please go easy on me. Hope you like it and let me know if you want a next chapter or not. Also: I'm sorry for any mistakes

Love you loads <3

When Y/n woke up the next morning she could swear her head was gonna fall off. It was one of those headaches it makes you wanna clung onto the bedsheets and never leave ‘till the next day. Flashbacks of the night before went through her brain but she brushed them off. She wanted to enjoy the few days she had taken, yet she’s still thinking about the same. She thought she was doing a good job but Taehyung’s words didn’t really help too, she definitely was going to face Sewoon with all these facts. Y/n always chose kindness over anything else but would all of that have gotten her anywhere? Looking back, she had serious doubts about that. 

Getting up from the bed and heading to the bathroom she notices everything is still very quiet which means Lisa is still asleep. Y/n wants to do something nice for her so she decides to make a huge breakfast once she knows that food is Lisa's undoing and starts preparing things without making too much noise (or at least trying to). Everything’s almost ready when Y/n listens to steps aproaching the kitchen/living room area as she pours some orange juice in Lisa’s cup saying good morning. Lisa looks at her and smiles, answering her back and sitting down.  

“what’s all this?”  

“It’s just a way to thank you for being such a great person to me. I know I've been hard to handle these last days but I want you to know that I truly feel grateful for everything you’ve done for me so far. If it wasn’t for you I don’t know how things would’ve ended up for me, I’d probably be crying in my room, thinking how much I suck because the guy I’m in love with doesn’t love me back” 

“I told you Y/n, it’s completely fine. I always liked you. You bring such a positive vibe and you’re so kind and fun to be around. It’s good to be around you and if I can help you somehow I will.” A few minutes of silence passed until Lisa asked what she was dying to know. “Did you talk to him?” Y/n stops suddenly, swallows hard and shakes her head.  

“No” 

“care to explain why?” 

“I’ve been thinking about your words and you’re right! I have to stop being a pussy and be real with myself and my feelings, not for others but for me. All this mess started because I'm always comparing myself to others all the time. I was so scared that Sewoon and Jungkook would meet and I was the bridge for them to start something. I allowed this. If only I wasn't so afraid and had more confidence in myself maybe it would be me in Sewoon's place and that kills me inside Lisa. For once in my life it would have been simple and sincere and I'm the only one to blame for this."

"What makes you think he was never interested in you Y/n? Because from what you told me it seemed to me that he was quite into you” 

"He definitely wasn't Lisa, you're confusing things. He found my attitude towards him funny when we first met, I don't know. But he never showed any signs, he never said anything and I was afraid of destroying the friendship we were building by saying something. He even used to go on dates. At the end he would go to the coffee shop and we would talk about it and stuff.” 

Lisa frowned “So he went on dates but never hooked up with them afterwards? a boy in his prime, with basic needs and would always come to you afterwards? You never found anything weird?” 

“For what he told me he had just gotten out of a complicated relationship. I think he was more interested in meeting new people, go out for a bit, clear his head.” 

“and come back to you in the end” Lisa mocks while Y/n throws a piece of bread at her, hitting her in the forehead. “Don’t be annoying” 

“Y/n you may not understand much about boys but I do and that's not normal for someone who don't have feelings for you. At best, he would go home.” Y/n drank some of her juice. "stop it! if that was true he wouldn't have gone straight to my supposed best friend. Why would he do that if he was interested in me?  The way he looked at her, how he said she was the best thing that ever happened to him and that he would never be able to love anyone the way he loves her. Not to mention what he did for Sewoon. She told me some things and all I could think about was how I wish it was me instead. I hoped it was me but I'm a coward, that's why I'm still here, 23 years old and a virgin. Even in that regard, Sewoon was lucky.” Y/n looks at her plate, trying to avoid eye contact with Lisa, knowing that would be enough to make her start crying but kept talking

“How she described the way he touched her, grabbed her, how he -- in short, everything. There was this one time she couldn't stop talking about how and where they did it so I invented that I was super busy and couldn't talk so she could leave and I could cry in peace. I swore never again.” 

“After everything Tae told you do you still think things are as Sewoon says?” Y/n didn’t answer, instead she got up and started taking the dishes onto the table, washing them. Lisa got up too, leaving her plate in the sink "always listen to things with a hint of doubt but specially with your heart." Y/n decided to change the subject. 

“What are we doing today?” Lisa laughed “let’s introduce you to this place the right way. See something else than snowboards” With this they got ready for the day. Lisa already knew the place with the palm of her hands so she knew what and where to go with Y/n.  

Even tho her mind was still in another place she actually found herself enjoying their time there. She enjoyed it so much that she didn't even notice the days passing by until the day for them to leave had arrived. Although the first days were complicated now she didn't mind staying another day or two but there were things to fix that she was eager to mend and she wouldn't find the so needed peace she wanted until everything was cleared up.

On their last day there Lisa suggested to go for a hot chocolate where they found Tae and his friend once again. They saw each other a lot during their staying and ended up clearing everything up and agreed that Sewoon was a NO topic. That night they went to a club all together and Y/n remembers having so much fun and getting so drunk that she ended up on top of Tae's friend. (Not the way you guys are thinking, pervs ;)

Y/n already had too much to drink and once they were stepping out of the club she tripped and Tae's friend was there and tried to hold her only for Y/n to bring him down with her. All of them laughed and they even took a picture of them both on the floor in a suspicious position. She just hoped any of it would end up on social media, at least for now because she knew either Sewoon or Jungkook would see it, but of course things never go the way she wanted them too. On their way home Y/n got a notification on instagram saying Taehyung tagged her in a photo so she opened it and saw a set of pictures, the first being Y/n, Lisa, Tae and his friend with drinks on their hands and Tae's arm around Y/n's waist and the second just a photo of Y/n and Tae making a funny face among with other random pics with the caption “Glad to see an old flame again. Loved these days with the best people. Let's repeat it next year” Fuck

She still had two days before going back to work and a few hours' journey ahead of her and the last thing she wanted was to end these wonderful days in an anxiety attack at an airport far from home because of a set of pictures.

It was a peaceful trip, they both took the opportunity to sleep and rest during the flight since when they arrived they had a lot to do. Y/n agreed to move to Lisa's house just as she had proposed. One night before going to sleep she spoke with her landlord and canceled the lease so she had little time to organize her stuff and take them to Lisa's. As soon as the plane landed they looked at each other and smiled, grabbed their things and slowly walked out of the airport where Lisa's father was waiting for them. As soon as they got into the car, Lisa said 

“I'm sad it's over but I'm happy we're getting home. I honestly love traveling but the moment I get to my space and make myself comfortable at home is always the best of all. Speaking of it, we still have to get your things. How about we go to my house, unpack, have lunch and then pack the rest of your stuff? Unless you're tired”

“I agree with you Liz, nothing feels better than the comfort of home, and yes, I was thinking the same. I still have two days before going back to work so I have to make the most of it. Right now, i just really want to eat I’m starving and I can’t function without food” They both laugh. Lisa asked her father to turn on the radio and as soon as he did, Tate mcrae's new song started to play. Needless to say they started singing with all their power until they arrived at Lisa's house. Y/n didn't remember having that much fun, not even with Sewoon and she had known her for years.  

After arriving at the place, her father said goodbye to them and left their bags at the front door so they could unpack them. They decided to order Taco Bell and while they waited for food and for the washing machine to stop, they sat down on the sofa. Y/n was looking at her phone until she heard herself say 

“I don’t know what to do” Lisa gets confused and kept her silence in order for Y/n to say something else, getting comfy on the couch. It took her a while to speak again.

“I-  we got back to reality and I can't ignore the fact that I never spoke to Jungkook again ever since that day. It's making me nervous because my mind is racing 1000 percent, I mean, imagine he no longer wants to talk to me or listen to what I have to say.. In hindsight I should have said something to him but I was so hurt. Furthermore, I received a message from Sewoon asking what the hell I was doing with Tae without telling her. Let's just say it wasn’t a very nice message. What should I do Lisa?” 

“First of all breath Y/n. Being like this won't get you anywhere. Second: I honestly think you should send a text to Jungkook, tell him that you need to talk to him and that you know that ignoring him wasn't the right choice but that there are a lot of things he doesn't know and that it's difficult to explain. Ask him to meet, preferably in a place other than your work because it will draw a lot of attention on you. You still have time to get back to work, make the most of it before - " Before Lisa finished, the washing machine was heard making its characteristic sound and Lisa apologized and said she'd be right back while Y/n continued sitting on the sofa looking stupidly at her phone. Lisa was right, she couldn’t drag this anymore.

“Hi Jungkook, how are you? I hope you’re doing well. I’m doing good. I know i probably kept you up at night, or maybe you didn’t even think of me but still I’m writting this to give you some heads up on why I disappeared the way I did. Truth is, I had a lot going on these last few months and I know that’s not an excuse and I was on the wrong for not replying to your texts but honestly I didn’t know what else to do. I was in a real mess. I still am and the way I thought it was possible to get out of this chaos inside my mind was to escape my reality and move away. I'm sorry, I know I should have said something but I'm ready to explain everything to you now, if you still want to.  

I love you.” 

During the rest of the day Lisa helped Y/n move her things to her new place. The fact that she didn’t have a lot of things made it easier. After that, they went grocery shopping and ended up passing by Y/n’s work and decided to walk in being greeted for her co-worker Sana 

“Ohh well well well. Who do we have here? Good evening lady and welcome back! thought you’d never show your face around here again. I already miss you, how are you doing? And most importantly, when will you return? I'm so tired of putting up with the boss alone, everyday he gets more and more annoying” She says making Y/n and Lisa laugh. 

“It’s been wonderful having some days to actually rest, sad to see it end” Yn says with a smile. “How’s it going around here?” 

“Pretty much the same you know. Had your really hot friend coming over everyday at the same hour he used to come. I guess he didn’t believe me when I told him you took some days off. Weird you didn’t, you guys were so close and were together all the time I thought you’d end up together after he broke things off with Sewoon. The last time I saw him was two days ago with her actually. They came here together.” Y/n’s heart stopped for a second and she had a hard time breathing all of a sudden 

“Together how?”  

“Like I said they came in here together, sat at that table over there and chatted for a while. It was a very busy shift and I was alone here so I couldn’t see or hear a lot. When it calmed down I looked at them, Jungkook was holding her hand and saying something to her while she looked like she was crying or about to. Then I couldn't understand anything else because several customers came in at the same time. When I noticed, he was already coming to pay and Sewoon was at the entrance waiting for him. That day he didn't say anything, he looked somewhere behind me but didn't speak, he just smiled, paid and left but I couldn’t see if he went alone or with her. I’m sorry”  

Of course this was going to happen, all she had to do was disappear for a few days and they wouldn't waste time getting on top of each other. She was so stupid. Was she really worthless? Lisa looked at her worriedly but didn't say anything, simply ordered two drinks while Y/n thanked her and looked out the window. If she had known, she would have enjoyed the trip even more without thinking about those two. She felt bad about leaving Jungkook in a vacuum and he was very much entertained. She always had a tiny bit of hope but what for? Sana had left to prepare their order when Lisa spoke 

“Don't pay attention to it Y/n. It could be many things, you don't know. If he really was with her why was he always coming over and asking about you?” 

“Because that’s what friends are supposed to do Lisa! They worry about each other, which makes sense given how I left the club that night and the fact that I didn't say anything to him in the following days made him think that something bad had happened to me. Everything friendship based.. Maybe that's why he didn't answer me, because he's with her. Sewoon must have shown him the photos we took with Tae on vacation. He was sure I was okay so he moved on with her, again.  

Lisa didn't have the chance to say anything because their order was given to them and they said goodbye to Sana and made their way to the car. Lisa started driving and to get home they had to pass by Y/n's old house. As they approached the road Y/n saw someone she knew very well, Sewoon and next to her was Jungkook in front of her old appartment. As if they could see her, Y/n leaned as far back as she could against the seat.  

""Lisa, for all that is most sacred to you, please don't stop here, don't look, don't do anything other than move as quickly as possible. Don’t ask me anything just go!" 

Always the second, never the chosen, as always. 

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

As they get to their now shared apartment Y/n tells Lisa that she's not hungry and if she doesn't mind she's going to rest because it was a very long day and that tomorrow is the last day and she wants to take the opportunity to organize the rest of her things and relax. Lisa says she doesn't mind at all, that she also feels the same and is going to rest, specially because the next day she has a last minute meeting.

Y/n tried to make Lisa not notice it but she's not stupid. As she drove past Y/n's old building she saw the silhouettes that bothered her so much and all she had to do was put two and two together upon seeing her reaction. The only thing she wanted was to park and give Sewoon a good slap and tell her everything she had been holding back so far.  

After getting home both went to their rooms. Y/n couldn’t get any sleep. She tossed and turned but sleep was far away.  Y/n looked at her phone and still no text or call from Jungkook. Why was she stupid and sent him a text? Clearly he wasn't worried at all, not even an "ok" he had responded. Suddenly she felt her eyes blurry and that was when she realized the tears rolling down her cheeks. She thought she was worth more, even if it was just in terms of friendship. After some time lost in her own thoughts, she decided to put on her headphones and try to get some sleep and managed to do so after a few hours. 

The next day, when she woke up it felt like she had been hit by a bus. Lisa had also gone out to deal with some matters at work, at least she remembered mentioning something about it. Once alone, Y/n had decided to stay in bed. Honestly she wasn't in the mood to do anything else and wanted to take to relax since she was going back to work the next day. Willingness? none. It was going to be hard but the way things were going neither Jungkook nor Sewoon were going to show up there or so she thought.

The next day her alarm went off and Y/n got ready for the day. She was going to do a double shift today since Sana was off, so she was on her own. For some reason she was nervous, it seemed like it was her first day again so her anxiety was on the roof. 

As incredible as it may seem, as soon as she arrived she saw her regular customers greeting her and telling her how much they missed her (most of them elderly people who used to frequent the shop even before she worked there and who had loved her since her first day) relaxed her immediately. Everything went very well. During her break Lisa went to see her and they chatted and drank coffee before going back to do the other part of the shift. Until then, everything was going perfectly. No sign of people she didn't want to see, she hadn't had any rude customers and her boss was in a very good mood. It was all too good to be true since luck is not something that goes on her side. 

Y/n was getting ready to close the shop and at that point she was usually alone. She was putting the chairs on the table when she heard the entrance bell signal that someone else was there with her. When she turned to inform the customer that they were closed, she came across someone she didn't want or even expeected to see.

In front of her was Jungkook with wet hair and helmet in hand. He seemed agitated, confused and angry. Very angry. Y/n couldn't help but notice the dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in days. She stopped on the spot, what would she say or do? They hadn't seen or spoken to each other for almost a week and the atmosphere was tense and she just wanted to disappear. 

He looked at her with such an intense gaze that she had to turn away while saying "we are closed" and pretended to keep doing what she was doing. 

"Really? After days of complete silence while i was worried sick about you. After leaving without any kind of warning? After that stupid fight on the club and sudden departure with someone that neither Sewoon nor I knew, that's all you have to tell me? we are closed? Are you for real?” 

Y/n stopped doing what she was doing but kept her back to him. It’s a good thing he couldn't see her because her hands were like jelly, shaking so much that she thought she was going to faint right there, however continued to act tough and ignored him, took a deep breath and started walking to the counter until she felt a hand grab her arm.  

“Y/n please stop shitting me. I’ve been going crazy these last few days because of you and you act like you don't care. I don't know what's worse, your attitude or the fact that I don't recognize you at all" and with these words Y/n turned around and looked at him with tears threatening to fall. She released herself from Jungkook's hand and turned completely towards him. She was on the verge of bursting. 

“You. Out of all people YOU are the only one who can't say that. I did everything for you Jungkook. I was always there for you when you needed me, remember? I knew when you were good, when you were sad, when it wasn't the best time to talk and when you wanted to say something but didn't know how. You needed me and I was there but when it was the other way around, were you there for me? Did you care at all?” she sighed “All this because I didn't answer to some calls and texts from you? You were so worried about me that you were always tied to Sewoon, don't tell me you were also worried about me when you were inside her. Be honest Jungkook, you only remembered me when it suited you. Admit it, when it comes to me you don't think twice." 

Jungkook didn't say anything, he looked at her as if she had just stuck a knife into him. He expected everything but this version of Y/n. He had noticed for some time she was different but he never asked her because he didn't want to bring up the subject that was bothering her hoping she’d be the one to open up to him yet it seems like it was a bad decision to wait. Maybe he should have talked to her when he noticed it, he knows he was stupid but he wasn't going to give in now. He was about to speak again when Y/n continued her speech.

“Things weren't supposed to be like this but everything is already ruined so what I'm about to say won't make a difference and honestly I'm tired of staying silent so as not to hurt other people and try to please them. That's why I'm in this shit right now, so here it goes.” Y/n looks him straight in the eyes and more tears run down her face, it's now or never. 

“I’m in love with you Jungkook”

As soon as the words left her mouth, a sob came out as well. This is where it ends and she knows it. His expression changed from angry to pure shock. She knew him very well, but at this moment she couldn't read his thoughts, everything was so confusing, he seemed so confused and she didn't understand why. She was breaking and to avoid even more suffering said

“Please let's not talk about this anymore. Things are pretty obvious and we don't need to drag this out any further. I need to close this Jungkook, I'm tired and I need--" 

“How long Y/n? How long have you felt this way?” Jungkook's look was anything but disappointed. It was a look she couldn't decipher and she also didn't know if she wanted to. Y/n looked down and replied 

“ A few months after we met and started hanging out more” Jungkook turned around and placed his elbows on the counter and his hands resting on his head.  

“And you never thought to tell me? Don't you think that would be a good thing to do?” he sounded so mad. “All this time you had feelings for me and you never said anything, never showed any signs and now I'm the bad guy for moving on with my life? And why you’re talking about Sewoon? We broke things off a long time ago and you know it. You were there!” 

“Ohh please Jungkook, anything but that. I'm not blaming you for anything, in fact, I even supported you, remember ? it was ME who introduced you to Sewoon  because YOU wanted me to! Even if I told you earlier what would change? Every time you came to me it was either because you just had a dinner date or someone had asked for your number. You love to say I'm always on your mind, I guess that I wasn’t on it those nights. I'm just the girl you would share things with and ask for advice, you don't have to be very smart to see that.” 

“Is that why you left without saying anything?” Y/n looked at him and when he saw that he wasn't getting a response, he went to her and got so close that she could see all the moles on his face, some that she hadn't even realized he had.  

“Y/n answer me. It's the least I deserve.” Even though there was some distance between them, Y/n felt trapped so she decided to move away a little, hitting her back on the counter. 

“Yes. After our conversation at the club and the way I saw you look at Sewoon I realized that there was no chance for me, not that I didn't already know, but I got the confirmation that day and the way you were more interested in going to her than hearing me confirmed my guesses once again, yet it was when you went to her and you kissed in the middle of all those people that my heart was left in pieces. I looked at you and instead of being happy that my best friend was back with the girl he's in love with, I just wished it was me in her place. I had to get out of there before everyone saw me break." Y/n cleaned some tears that were running down

"In Sewoon's eyes I'm already pathetic, but in yours? I preferred to die than to know you had that image of me. I went to the bathroom and that's when I met a friend from school, we ended up talking and exchanging contacts. She asked me if I wanted a ride and I took the opportunity to leave, that's when you found me. That night I spent at her house and she made me an offer and invited me to go traveling with her. For my mental health I accepted and only God knows what it cost me not to have said anything to you and I'm really sorry for that, I know it wasn't the right thing to do, but Jungkook you didn't care either because when I texted you back you never answered me. You can't judge my actions after having done the same thing.”

“You could never be pathetic y/n. I've always said how much I admire the way you are and I keep praising that, I would never get that impression of you. I know you went on a trip with Lisa and two other boys, Sewoon had shown me pictures of you, that's why I don't understand Y/n, none of this adds up. And I never received any text from you because unlike you, every day I checked if you had come to work, if you sent anything or if Sewoon knew anything about you. That's the reason I was with Sewoon a lot more these last few days. It's sad that I only found out that you were back because I saw your friend here yesterday, I recognized her from those photos, so I went to her and asked her about you. She told me you were coming back to work today and to show up around this time because you'd be alone. I was crazy looking for you, wondering if you were in a dead end, that's when Sewoon called me saying you were okay, hanging with some guys you probably met there. She also sent me the pictures, that's when I calmed down.”

Y/n didn't know which part made her more shocked, if the fact that Lisa spoke to Jungkook or knowing Sewoon sent the photos to him and omitted the fact that they both know the boy in question.

"Oh my god. After all this time Sewoon is still keeping you in the dark. Well just so you know the guy who posted the pictures is Sewoons ex-boyfriend, the one she left you for. Remember when she broke up with you? Yeah it was because of him. There are definitely things you should clarify with her, as she changes everything that corresponds to reality. Things that don't concern me at all and to be honest I'm tired of this conversation, it doesn't matter anymore. Things happened and it's ove, so if you don't mind it was a complicated day --” She didn't expect Jungkook to get so close to her but the truth is that they were centimeters away from each other and that was making her even more nervous and uncomfortable. She tried to get around him but he put his arms on either side of Y/n's body, trapping her there.  

"Did it work? Did you forget about me there? Did any of those guys help you forget me?”  Y/n had no response, she was completely surrendered to looking between his eyes and lips. She wasn't brave enough to grab him and kiss him, specially since he was still fooling around with Sewoon or so she thought, even tho the denied it. Still she wouldn't feel good doing that even if Sewoon hadn't been the best friend, so she did what she does best, avoided the interaction.  

“"I had fun and regardless of things I don't owe you any kind of explanation. I finally learned my lesson and you're not the exception, Jungkook. You're the rule and I don't give second chances to get me hurt, not even to you. I don't want to continue in this agony every time I see you and ask myself why others and not me? It took me a long time to get there but I finally managed to understand that as long as I don't like and accept myself as I am, neither will others and for that reason I ask you not to come here again. This is a closed subject and one that I want to bury.”  

“We’re not done having this conversation Y/n, I have to tell you some-”  

“Yes we are Jungkook, don’t you get it? I just told you I’m in love with you. My best friend who’s in love with my other best friend, who's still into her ex boyfriend. Did you even hear what I said about Sewoon?"

" I don't care about Sewoon,Y/n. Don't you fucking get it? All this time the only person on my mind was you. I tried really hard not to call you because why would I need to know where you were or who you were with. In your eyes I dated your best friend but in my eyes the only thing that connected me to her was you."

"Lisa has been fixing something she didn’t break because of how weak I was to stand for myself. I’m tired of being this innocent and naive girl everyone can step on. I'm not blaming you Jungkook, you didn't know and things turned out this way and it's okay. It's over and I think it's the best for you and me. I’ll be here if you need something but right now I don’t want to be around you. I need to fix myself before being there for you or Sewoon again and if you really care about me you’ll respect that” 

“Y/n, you're not understanding I--"

“Please Jungkook, just go. Let me do this for me and maybe we can talk about this in the future and laugh about it.” He didn't say anything else, he swallowed hard, shook his head, picked up his helmet and left, slamming the door loudly and that's when y/n collapsed. 

"I love you Jungkook. I love you so much but I can't be your second option." Y/n said as she slid down the wall, succumbing to the pain of something she never had.

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tags: @esposadomd @joonlover1207 @eegyo @furrywonderlandwolf @minghaosimp @differentrunawayperson @nikkinikj @jksusawife @jk97bam @cryingoverpixelsetc @bhonbhon @lostinneocity @almostpurplelady @meowforluv @imagine-this-motherfucker @jk-190811 @cryingoverpixelsetc @11thenightwemet11 @rinkud @ayatie97 @jk-190811 @shaku1995

[mrsfancyferrari]

We're Saved

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay. PT 3

Song: Let The Light In - Lana Del Ray

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4

Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. Unfortunately this will not be the finale! The FINALE is officially in part 4! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Taglist: @ahhhhhm, @daniskywalkersolo, @friendshipis-magic, @tellybearryyyy, @lanadelray1989, @owl778, @almostuniversallyface, @maluzets55, @dying-inside-but-its-classy, @noooway555, @unknownmystery22, @forensicheart, @a-beaverhausen, @moonstruck-poet, @mendes-bae.

Word count: 27.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

"I’m innocent! I was cheated on by Y/N with Max Verstappen! She left me for this other guy. It’s all her fault. She slept with him when we were dating! I'm innocent! Please!" His voice, frayed with desperation, sends shockwaves through your system.

You feel your heart racing, an uneven rhythm that reverberates in your chest, drowning out the echoes of the world around you. The bowl of popcorn slips from your fingers, scattering pieces across the living room floor.

You blink rapidly, the words blaring from the TV like a siren wailing through the night. Jake stands there, disheveled yet defiant, claiming innocence while slandering your name.

“Y/N, calm down, breathe,” Christian implores, his own voice laced with worry as he pauses the TV. He steps in front of the screen, blocking your view of Jake’s dramatic claims.

The concern in his eyes cuts through the fog of anxiety descending over you. “It’s okay. It’s just Jake. You know he’s lying.”

You shake your head, the reality of his words spinning through your mind like a tornado. “But, how can he just say that? People will believe him!”

“Hey,” he takes a step closer, his presence a steady anchor against the rising tide of panic. “Listen to me. You know the truth. You didn’t cheat on him. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just him trying to save face.”

“But what if they don’t see it that way? What if they think I really did—”

“They won’t,” Christian interrupts softly, his eyebrows knitting in concern. “You’re not going to let some headlines dictate your worth, are you?”

Taking a deep breath, you fight against the tide of emotions crashing over you. It wasn’t just Jake’s words that hurt; it was the betrayal, the way he twisted your love story into something ugly.

“I just don’t understand,” you finally whisper, feeling the weight of the world pressing heavily on your shoulders. “Why would he say something like that?”

“Because he’s angry and scared,” Christian replies. “He’s lashing out because he knows he messed up. But you’re stronger than this, Y/N. You didn’t cheat. You ended a toxic relationship. We both know that.”

The flicker of hope ignites momentarily within you, but it quickly dims as that familiar pang of uncertainty tugs at your heart. “I never wanted things to end like this. Did I really mean that little to him?”

Christian places his hands on your shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. “You meant a lot to him once. But people change, Y/N. Sometimes they become someone you no longer recognize. It sounds like he’s trying to rewrite history because he can’t accept the truth of his mistakes.” His words wash over you like a soothing balm. You nod slowly, attempting to absorb his encouragement.

“Have you thought about confronting him?” Christian asks. “Not on TV, of course, but in private. He needs to understand the ramifications of his words.”

You shake your head, the very thought of Jake and his betrayal makes you feel exhausted. “I don’t know if I can,” you admit. “Just seeing his face makes me—”

Your voice catches, and Christian pulls you closer, enveloping you in an embrace that feels like home. “Then don’t confront him. Focus on what matters right now—yourself. Your peace of mind. We can figure this out together.”

“Can we—can we just turn the TV off?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. The thought of hearing Jake’s voice again fills you with dread.

“Absolutely,” Christian replies, pushing the button on the remote, the screen fading to black. It feels like a weight has been lifted. “What do you want to do now?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, feeling defeated. “Maybe just distract myself? I can’t think about this right now.”

Your phone buzzes against the coffee table as it lights up, cutting through the haze of despair. Christian glances at the screen, squinting at the name flashing across it.

“It’s Max,” he says, his brows furrowing slightly. “Do you want to talk to him?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice, relief flooding through you at the thought of speaking with him. Max always knew how to make you laugh, how to pull you back from the edge of your spirals. Christian takes the call, speaking softly into the phone.

“Max, do not, under any circumstances, talk about Jake. Y/N is not ready for that now. Just take her mind off it.”

“Of course, I understand. Can you give the phone to Y/N now?” Max’s voice, warm and buoyant, crackles through the line.

“Okay, but remember,” Christian warns as he hands you the phone.

“Hey schat!” Max’s voice floods your ear, bringing with it an instant warmth that begins to thaw the tension coiling around your heart.

“Hey, Max,” you reply softly, trying to match his enthusiasm. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, just wanted to tell you that the cats are missing you,” he says, and you hear a distant meow in the background, a confirmation that in their own way, they too are longing for your presence.

You chuckle, trying to hold back the mass of emotions threatening to rise within you. “Of course they do! I’m their favorite after all.”

“It took me so long to get them to like me and you did it in three minutes. Oh—Sassy, stop! Schat? Do you mind going on video call? They really want to see your face.”

“Of course, Max,” you say, feeling a soft smile break through the tension.

Christian watches you, his heart swelling with hope. Just seeing you smile, even slightly, is a relief. After a moment, you hear the familiar ringing tone on your phone as the video connects, and suddenly, you see Max’s face beaming back at you, framed by the chaos of your shared lives.

“Look who’s here,” he says in a mock-serious tone, gesturing dramatically toward the camera. Then, just outside the frame, two furry figures leap into view.

“Hey, you two!” You coo, leaning closer to the screen, your spirit lifting as the cats vie for your attention. “Missed you so much!”

A sudden giggle escapes you as one of the cats gets distracted, pouncing at something invisible offscreen. You can’t suppress the smile that spreads across your face, and in that moment, Christian knows he made the right call in bringing Max into the situation.

Meanwhile, in another room, Christian picks up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he finds Geri’s name. Her voice always managed to calm him, a soothing balm to the chaos of parenthood and life.

“Hey love,” she answers on the second ring.

“Hey, Y/N had seen the news about Jake, and I think she just had a panic attack,” he explains, worry lacing his words.

“What! I told you to not show her just yet! Where is she?” Geri’s voice is sharp, full of concern.

“Don’t worry, she’s calmed down,” he says, glancing into the living room where he can still hear your laughter.

There’s a pause on the other end, and Christian can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “Is that her? She sounds fine to me.”

“She’s talking to Max. I told him to cheer her up,” he replies.

“Sounds like it’s working miracles! I heard that a loved one can help panic attacks,” Geri states matter-of-factly.

“Love,” Christian warns softly.

“What? They love each other,” she says, disbelief threading her tone.

“But she may still like Jake.” His voice is a whisper now, almost a prayer that you’ve moved on.

“After this? She’s probably forgotten about that bastard now she’s speaking to Max,” Geri says with fierce confidence.

“Honey, no cursing, I’m with the kids,” he chuckles lightly, trying to lighten the mood.

A few moments later, squeaky yet bright, and it’s Montague, their little one. “Hi Mommy, love you!” he chirps.

“Hey, baby! Love you too! I’m coming home soon,” Geri replies, her own voice turning softer, more maternal than ever.

“Dear? I’ll speak to Y/N when I get home; just keep her distracted, okay?” Geri adds, a hint of authority in her tone.

“Of course, love, I’ll keep her entertained,” Christian promises, a smile creeping on his face as he glances back at you.

You’re still deeply engrossed in Max’s antics, and he can see it’s working wonders.

As the call continues, laughter and lightness fill the room, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. For the first time in what feels like weeks, you're allowed to forget the chaos outside—if only for a moment.

Christian watches you, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this is the first step toward healing. Amid the blankets of pain Jake left you buried under, your laughter is a fresh thread, weaving you and Max closer, and as the minutes slip by, you know that this is where your heart wishes to be, in the company of those who truly care.

Time passes, and the shadows cast by your past begin to lighten, revealing new paths forward, ones that glimmer with potential and hope.

You don’t have to think about Jake anymore—not right now, anyway. You’ve found solace and comfort in friends, and maybe soon, you’ll find a little love too.

You went to sleep after dinner, the phone call with Max had calmed you down for now, but now all you wanted was sleep. Unfortunately, sleep didn’t want you back. After what felt like an hour of tossing and turning, you heard a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you said, sitting up on your bed, the sheets pooling around your waist.

The door opened slowly, and Geri walked in, closing the door behind her. “Hey, Y/N,” she said sweetly, her voice warm and motherly, like you were one of her children. It felt that way sometimes, especially in moments like this.

“Hi, Geri,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Geri sat down on your bed, her presence calming in a way that was both comforting and suffocating. “I heard about what happened today. Are you alright?”

You looked down, avoiding her gaze, a lump forming in your throat. “No,” you said, honesty spilling out before you could think better of it. You didn’t feel like lying to this woman who had always been a source of support.

“And that’s alright,” she replied gently, her hand reaching out to squeeze yours. “You’re allowed to feel that.”

“Geri, I don’t even know where to start,” you confessed, your voice cracking. “He… he just turned everyone against me. People I thought I could trust. They’re all believing him.”

“Not everyone, from what I heard. Max still believes you,” Geri said, her eyes sparkling with a glimmer of hope.

Your heart skipped at the mention of Max. You felt a flicker of warmth in your chest, but it was quickly extinguished by the cold reality of the situation.

“But what does that even matter? Jake was on national TV! He lied about me. He said I cheated on him, Geri! Everyone is hearing that, and all they see is him, crying over how I betrayed him. I can’t compete with that.”

Geri leaned in, her eyes earnest. “Y/N, people who know you will see through the lies. You’re not that person. You didn’t cheat on him.”

“I thought I knew him. I thought he cared about me,” you said, tears spilling down your cheeks. “How could he do this to me?”

“He’s scared,” Geri replied softly. “People do crazy things when they’re afraid. It’s easier for him to deflect the blame than to face his own issues. You know that.”

You nodded slowly, but the hurt was still fresh, like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. You felt exposed, raw, and utterly devastated by the public humiliation.

“You know something like this happened to me a long time ago,” Geri said gently, moving to sit beside you on the bed. “Shall I tell you about it?”

You nodded, desperate for a distraction, for the comfort of shared experience.

“I had a boyfriend called Kyle. I thought he was the one for me until one day, after the concerts with the girls, he told everyone I knew I had cheated on him with one of the backup dancers. Word got out and it became a scandal,” Geri started, her eyes clouding with memories.

“What happened after?” you asked, intrigued. You leaned in closer, wanting to absorb every word.

“I didn’t know what to do. No one other than my friends and family believed me. The press was calling me a cheater. My manager said to forget about it and write a statement on social media about the truth,” Geri recounted, her voice steadying.

You felt a flicker of hope. “And did you? Did you write a statement?”

“Sort of,” Geri replied with a smirk. “I took a break and decided to take some time for myself. Friends suggested that I go to a Formula 1 race, and that’s when I met Christian. He helped me through the dark times. Just like Max is doing for you.”

“Max…” you murmured, a soft blush creeping up your cheeks. You didn’t want to think about how much you liked him, especially now.

“He’s been really supportive, hasn’t he?” Geri asked, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You two have this incredible chemistry. It’s nice to see you smile again, even if it’s under these circumstances.”

You sighed, your heart heavy with conflicting emotions. “I don’t want to drag him into my mess. What if Jake twists the narrative again? I can’t let that happen to someone else.”

“Max cares about you, Y/N. He’s not just going to abandon you because of what Jake said. Trust me, he sees who you really are,” Geri encouraged.

“I know, but it just feels so complicated right now,” you confessed, pulling your knees to your chest. “What if it gets worse? What if I end up hurting him?”

“Love is complicated, but you don’t have to face this alone,” Geri reassured her. “You can lean on Max, just like I leaned on Christian. It’s not a sign of weakness; it’s just how relationships grow. And trust me, no one who truly cares about you is going to abandon you because of someone else’s lies.”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth. You knew Geri was right, but her heart was a battlefield, torn between past affections and the promise of a better future with Max.

“What if I lean onto Max and he thinks I’m just a mess?” your voice cracked. “What if he sees me as broken?”

“Y/N, you are not broken. You’re human, and you’re allowed to feel hurt and lost after everything that’s happened. But if you push him away because of that fear, you might miss out on something beautiful,” Geri urged.

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke, “I just need a moment. I’m so scared of getting hurt again.”

Geri nodded, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay to be scared. Just remember that Max has shown you kindness and support. It’s a risk worth taking.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” you said, earning a gentle rub on your shoulder from her. “But what should I do now? This scandal is not going to disappear.”

“Talk to your manager and I’ll ask Christian for advice,” Geri suggested, her brow furrowing in concentration. “We’ll talk in the morning. Good night, okay?”

You nodded, your mind swirling with thoughts. As Geri stood to leave, you called out, “Geri?”

“Yeah?” Geri turned back, her expression open and warm.

“Thank you. For everything,” You said, your voice steadier now.

“Anytime,” Geri smiled before disappearing into the hallway. . . .

You woke up to the sound of hushed conversations drifting up from downstairs, an unfamiliar mix of voices that hinted at urgency and unease. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pushed back the covers, feeling a mix of anxiety and dread wash over you.

You took a moment to collect yourself before deciding to face the world beyond your bedroom. The soft morning light spilled into your room, illuminating the racing memorabilia that decorated the walls.

You rummaged through your wardrobe, searching for something that would help you regain a semblance of confidence amidst the turmoil.

Finally, you settled on a crisp, fitted polo shirt paired with tailored black jeans. You wanted to project strength and professionalism, even if your heart was in turmoil.

As you stepped into the living area, the chatter ceased momentarily, and all eyes turned toward you. The room felt charged with a palpable tension.

There, gathered in the living room, were Christian, Geri, your manager, and a Red Bull staff member you didn’t recognize. They all bore expressions of concern mixed with an eagerness to discuss the recent scandal.

“Good morning, did we wake you up?” Geri’s warm smile felt like a small comfort amidst the chaos.

“No, you didn’t. Did I interrupt a meeting?” you replied, your voice steady, even though your heart raced.

“Oh no, actually this meeting is for you,” your manager said gently, his brow furrowing slightly as he gestured for you to take a seat. “We were discussing the news of yesterday.”

Christian leaned forward, his eyes searching yours. “This is Rebecca, Red Bull’s Public Relations Manager,” he said, gesturing toward the young woman standing by the table.

She was poised and confident, her blazer sharp against her athletic frame. As she stood to shake your hand, you noticed her expression was one of sympathy.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” you said, squeezing her hand firmly. “Can I drink some coffee before I join the meeting?”

“Join us whenever you’re ready,” Geri replied, her voice soothing as she motioned toward the coffee machine in the corner of the kitchen.

You walked into the kitchen, your heart pounding with uncertainty. You could hear snippets of conversation as you waited for the coffee to brew.

When the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, you poured yourself a steaming cup and took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves before rejoining the group.

As you returned to the living room, you found the atmosphere had shifted slightly, the weight of the discussion palpable.

“So,” you began, trying to sound more composed than you felt, “what’s the plan?”

Rebecca cleared her throat. “We’re here to strategize your public response. The situation with Jake has escalated, and we need to manage the narrative before it spirals out of control.”

You set your coffee down on the table, the cup trembling slightly in your grip.

“I didn’t cheat on him, you know that, right?” You felt the urgency to clarify, to assure them of your innocence. “I’m not sure why he’d say that.”

Geri nodded, her expression one of understanding. “We know, and we’ll make that clear. But we need to address the media first. They’ll be relentless.”

“Could you please tell us in detail what events happened prior to know how to strategize?” Rebecca asked, her voice gentle yet firm.

You looked at Geri, seeking her reassurance. She nodded, her presence grounding you. Taking a deep breath, you began, “Jake had been getting more aggressive with me ever since I joined Red Bull. He said he didn’t want to lose me, but he would hit me, break things in the house… and then he’d apologize for being angry. I thought it was normal. I forgave him until the Austrian Grand Prix.”

You paused, the memory flooding back—laughter and cheers from the crowd, the thrill of victory, and then Jake’s face, twisted in anger.

“I won the race, and he was really furious for some reason. He hurt me… saying I cheated on him with Max. I didn’t. Max then came in and stopped him.”

As you recounted the incident, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The tension hung like a heavy fog. You could see the disbelief in Rebecca’s eyes, but there was also a flicker of understanding.

You stare at the table, your heart heavy with shame. “I still have some bruises and scars if you don’t believe me,” you mutter, ashamed to meet Geri’s gaze.

“Oh, honey,” Geri whispers, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We believe you. You deserve so much better than this.”

“I just don’t understand him anymore,” you say, shaking your head, your fingers brushing over the faint marks that Jake left on your skin.

Rebecca, your team manager, cleared her throat, drawing your attention. “We need to handle this carefully. The media is already buzzing, and we have to prepare a statement. But first, let’s talk about your safety. Have you thought about what you want to do regarding Jake?”

You looked down at your hands, heart racing as you contemplated the question. Fear and liberation wrestled within you. “I—I don’t know. I still love him, but I know I can’t go back to that. I don’t want to be that person again.”

Geri sighed, a mix of sympathy and frustration evident in her eyes. “Love shouldn’t feel like a prison. He put you in a terrible position, and you don’t deserve it.”

“I know,” you murmured, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. “But he’s always been a part of my life, and it’s hard to just... let go.”

Rebecca shifted in her seat, her expression softening. “What about Max? Do you like him?”

A flush crept up your cheeks, and you bit your lip. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted. “I mean, he’s always been there for me, especially during races. He’s so talented, and he respects me as a driver.”

Geri raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “That sounds like more than just teammate admiration, love.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at your lips despite the gravity of the situation. “You’re ridiculous, Geri. It’s not like that. I’m just… trying to get through this mess with Jake.”

“But is it a mess you want to get back into?” Rebecca pressed gently. “What’s your heart telling you?”

Your heart raced as you pondered the question. The truth was, part of you craved the affection and validation Jake had once given you, but another part craved something deeper, something healthier.

“Well, I think the best thing to do is write your statement on social media, seeing as it will reach more people,” Rebecca suggested, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“Do I really have to? I mean, what if I make it worse?”

“Nothing can be worse than what Jake has already done,” Geri interjected. “You need to take control of your narrative, and you can’t let him dictate your life.”

You nodded slowly, knowing deep down that they were right. You grabbed your phone and opened your social media app, hesitating as your finger hovered over the screen. What could you say? How could you explain something so complex in a simple post?

“Just be honest,” Rebecca encouraged, leaning closer to you. “Let people know the truth. You can’t let them believe Jake’s lies.”

Taking a deep breath, you began typing. “I want to address the recent events. I am deeply hurt by the accusations made against me. My focus has always been on my career and my passion for racing. I never cheated on Jake. The truth is, I deserve to be respected and loved without betrayal.” You paused, your heart racing as you added, “I hope to navigate this situation with grace and find a way forward.”

Once you hit “post,” an unexpected wave of relief washed over you, but it was quickly replaced by anxiety. What would the backlash be? How would Jake respond?

Max’s comment reads, “You deserve the world after all this 💙.”

Your heart skips a beat. You knew it would look like flirting to the public, but you couldn't care less. Max had always been the guy who treated you with respect, unlike Jake.

Rebecca notices your reaction. “Well, at least that’s the first step done. The next will be what you’re going to say in the press,” she states, her tone shifting to that of a strategist.

As a driver, you’ve always had a passion for racing, and this unexpected break has given you the chance to reflect on your upcoming press conference in Las Vegas in just two weeks.

The support you’ve received on social media has been overwhelming, with many women expressing their gratitude for your representation in a sport that often lacks it, even though that was never your intention.

“I want to see you as soon as possible,” he had said, his tone serious yet tender.

You had told him that you would be tied up babysitting Geri and Christian kids tomorrow night while they enjoyed their date night. He had agreed, a hint of concern lacing his voice.

“Don’t be nervous,” Geri teases, applying a final touch of lipstick. “He’s just a friend, right?”

“Geri, don’t,” you groan, rubbing your temples. You know she means well, but the flutter of emotions within you is a tempest you’re struggling to control.

The thought of Max brings you a sense of comfort, but also an undeniable tension. Your heart races just thinking about how he’d react to Jake’s lies.

The doorbell rings, shattering your train of thought. You jump up, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, and barely hear Geri chuckle as you rush to the door.

You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself as you swing the door open.

Max stands there, his familiar figure cutting a striking silhouette against the evening light. For a moment, you both just stare at each other, taking in the sight. It feels surreal that after more than a week apart, he’s here.

You can see the concern etched on his face, mingling with a flicker of relief that he’s finally found you.

“Max,” you whisper, feeling a rush of emotions bubble to the surface. Without thinking, you step closer and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.

He freezes for a moment, and then you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in tighter. It’s a crushing hug, and you need it more than anything in that moment.

The world fades away, and it’s just you and him. “I missed you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice slightly muffled.

You pull back just enough to look into his eyes, searching for reassurance. “I missed you too. More than I can say.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, knowing that he doesn’t need to say his name for you to understand.

You nod, pushing your face back into his neck. You didn’t feel like talking about it. The last week had been tumultuous; you had lost your job, and the burden of uncertainty weighed heavily on you. But for now, you just wanted to bask in Max’s presence.

He seems to sense your hesitation. Instead of pressing further, he rubs your back in circles, grounding you with each gentle movement.

“Sorry to bother your reunion, but me and my wife need to go,” you hear a voice behind you. You let go to turn and see Christian, looking both happily and slightly irritated.

Geri comes out of nowhere, carrying her bag before playfully hitting her husband on the shoulder. “Oh, don’t be so sour, love! Don’t disturb young love,” she chides.

Max’s face turns crimson, and you can’t help but chuckle at his embarrassment.

“Oh, hello Geri and Christian,” Max says politely, but there’s an undercurrent of nervousness in his voice as if he hasn’t known them for years.

“Hey, Max, it’s been a while! I hope you don’t mind taking care of the kids,” Geri says, gesturing to her two children watching Moana, blissfully unaware of the adult world swirling around them.

“I don’t,” he replies quickly, a bit too quickly, as though he’s eager to impress.

After Geri and Christian bid goodbye to the kids, Geri pulls you into a warm embrace. “Don’t forget about the kids when you’re with him,” she teases, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I won’t,” you assure, a smile spreading across your face as you pull back.

You wave as they enter their car and drive off, leaving you alone with Max. The quiet of the evening settles around you, a comfortable silence that feels right.

You turned back to see Max still lingering near the entrance, his eyes darting around, a shy expression plastered on his face.

“I’ve never seen you this red before; is something the matter?” you teased, stepping closer to him, feeling a strange thrill at the proximity.

“Nothing is wrong,” he muttered, though the way his cheeks flared made it hard to believe him.

Before you could respond, Olivia’s voice rang out from the living room, “Y/N! The movie stopped!”

You quickly walked to the living room, with Max trailing behind you. Upon entering, you found Olivia and Montague staring at the blank screen, their eyes wide and expectant.

When they noticed Max behind you, Olivia jumped to her feet, an expression of curiosity and surprise painting her face.

“Who is that?” she asked, pointing at Max, her eyes sparkling with interest.

“That’s Max Verstappen, your dad’s driver and my teammate, remember?” you explained, stepping in between the two children and Max, who was waiting for them to process the information.

Slowly, Olivia approached Max, her little brows furrowed in concentration. Montague, on the other hand, hid behind your leg, peeking out shyly.

Max, sensing the little girl’s hesitance, knelt down to be on her level, his warm smile making him more approachable.

“Hey there, Olivia,” he said softly, “I hear you like racing.”

Before he could say more, Olivia squealed, “Maxie!” and rushed to envelop him in a tight hug.

Max looked taken aback for a moment, surprise flickering in his eyes before he returned the hug, clearly relieved that she recognized him.

Montague peered from behind you, his gaze curious. You nodded encouragement, and the three-year-old cautiously waddled over to Max.

“Can I hug you too?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course!” Max replied, opening his arms wide. Montague dashed into his embrace, a shy grin breaking through his earlier timidity.

“Wow! You’re really strong!” Montague exclaimed as he pulled back to look at Max, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

Max chuckled, “You know it! But you’re a strong little guy too.” He ruffled Montague’s hair affectionately.

The room filled with warmth and laughter as you watched the unlikely trio connect. “You’ve got a great way with kids, Max,” you remarked, leaning against the couch, feeling a swell of fondness for him.

Max shrugged, a modest smile creeping across his face. “I guess they’re just a bit like racing—just need to know how to make them feel comfortable.”

Olivia, still bubbling with excitement, chimed in, “Can we watch Moana now, Max? Please?”

Max stood, dusting off his knees, “Absolutely! But only if you promise to sing along with me during the songs!”

“Deal!” Olivia declared, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. Montague nodded vigorously, and the two rushed back to the couch.

As Max settled in beside them, you felt an unexpected flutter in your chest watching him interact so effortlessly with the kids.

It was a sight you never knew you needed to see, and somehow, it made the day feel even more special.

You shook your head to clear your thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. With the TV remote in one hand and a big bowl of freshly popped popcorn in the other, you navigated the living room and prepared to join the trio on the couch.

As you walked back in, you couldn’t help but marvel at the picture before you—Olivia and Montague snuggled up against Max, their faces alight with excitement as they chatted about the adventures of Moana.

Max was the only one who noticed your presence at the doorway. “Hey, you’re missing the best part!” he teased, his voice warm and inviting, gesturing with his hand for you to come over.

You chuckled and placed the popcorn on the table before joining them on the couch. As you settled in, you felt Max's arm rest casually behind you, a simple gesture that sent a thrill down your spine.

Montague then decided to plop himself down on your lap, grinning from ear to ear.

“Can I have some popcorn?” he asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Of course, little buddy!” you replied, scooping a handful of popcorn and offering it to him. He giggled, delighted.

As the movie began, you found yourself lost in the vibrant animation and the infectious songs. The familiar tunes filled the room, and soon, Olivia was singing along, her voice loud and enthusiastic.

Max joined in, his deep voice blending harmoniously with hers, and you couldn't help but smile.

“Isn’t this the best?” Olivia shouted over the music, her little hands dancing in the air.

“It totally is!” Montague agreed, leaning back against you. “Moana is my favorite!”

As you sat there, enveloped in the laughter and song, you couldn’t shake the thought that this moment felt like a family—your heart warmed at the idea of it. You looked at Max, who was entirely focused on the kids, his face lit up with joy.

The thought of a family with him, of laughter, love, and shared moments, flickered in your mind. You didn’t hate the idea; in fact, you found it rather comforting.

Max must have sensed your distraction because he leaned a little closer and whispered, “Don’t think for now; focus on the movie.”

His voice was low, a playful grin on his face as he nudged your shoulder with his hand.

You nodded, attempting to push the thoughts away, immersing yourself instead in the colorful world of Moana. But it was hard not to feel that flutter again as Montague snuggled deeper into your lap, and Olivia continued to sing her heart out.

Time slipped away, and when you finally woke, you found yourself fully lying on the sofa, a soft blanket draped over you.

As you blinked awake, your eyes adjusted to the sight of Max cross-legged at the table, Olivia and Montague by his side, helping them with their homework. They were distracted, giggling softly as they tossed playful glances at each other.

You decided to keep quiet, wanting to listen to their innocent chatter.

“So Maxie! Do you like my sister?” Olivia asked in a tone that was surprisingly confrontational for someone so small, though no one could mistake it for intimidating.

“Who?” Max replied, his brow furrowing in feigned confusion.

“Y/N! She’s basically my sister,” Olivia declared, her expression matter-of-fact, as if the truth of the universe had just been revealed.

Max’s eyes darted to you, and you felt your cheeks warm. “Oh, Y/N, it’s complicated,” he said, shrugging in a way that made you feel he was hiding something.

“Love can’t be complicated! If you like my sister, then you two should date! I think you two will look cute together,” Olivia stated matter-of-factly.

“I do like Y/N,” Max began, a smile creeping onto his face. “She’s pretty, and she makes me feel happy—”

Olivia’s squeal interrupted him, a piercing sound that made Montague cover his ears dramatically. “So you do like her!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

You could feel your heart race, a mix of embarrassment and delight. It was one thing to think about your feelings for Max; it was another to hear him admit them so openly, even if it was to a seven-year-old.

You stretched, stretching the blanket away from your body, pretending to wake up. “What are you guys yelling about?” you asked, your voice thick with feigned sleepiness.

"Nothing," Max said, hastily shushing Olivia as she burst into giggles.

“Oh, uh, just some kid stuff,” Max said, his cheeks slightly pink as he averted his gaze from yours. You noted the small, shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and your heart raced again.

You had always liked Max. But tonight, hearing him confess to Olivia that he liked you stirred something deeper within you, a mixture of hope and fear that made you hesitate.

Olivia looked at you with wide eyes, the kind that meant she knew more than she should. “Y/N, Max said you’re pretty! And that you make him happy!”

Max's face turned a bright shade of red, and he quickly covered Olivia's mouth with his hand. “Okay, that’s enough of that! Let’s focus on your homework!” he said, trying to redirect the conversation.

You slipped off the sofa and moved to sit with them at the small dining table. “Let’s see that homework then,” you said, suppressing a smile.

As the three of you tackled Olivia’s math problems, the air was filled with laughter and the occasional playful bickering.

Every time Max’s hand brushed against yours while reaching for a pencil, electricity shot through you, making it hard to concentrate on the numbers sprawled out on the page.

After dealing with the homework, you decided to watch another movie as a reward for concentrating that long.

The atmosphere turned lighter, and as the movie started playing—Toy Story 3, an old favorite of theirs—Montague was already dozing off, snuggled against you.

You smiled, gently pushing his hair back as he slept.

Max leaned closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re really good with them,” he said, his gaze earnest.

You felt your heart flutter, and you turned to meet his eyes. “Thanks, Max. I really enjoy spending time with them and you too. It’s nice to take a break from everything else,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual even though you felt the weight of his words.

As the movie played on, Montague shifted in his sleep, and Olivia was slowly getting drowsy as well.

Max helped you tuck them into bed, his hand brushing against yours as you carried Montague upstairs. In the dim light of the hallway, you caught Max watching you, a soft smile on his face.

After you tucked Montague in and turned off the light, you returned to find Olivia snuggled under her blanket, her big eyes heavy with sleep.

“Goodnight, Y/N. And Max, too!” she mumbled, her voice fading into slumber.

Max turned to you, a warm smile lighting up his face. “You really are amazing with them. They adore you,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “I love spending time with them. They’re like little sponges, soaking up everything.”

The evening had flown by, and you were pleasantly surprised by how easy it felt to be with him. You thought he would leave, but to your surprise, he headed to the living room, starting to clean up the popcorn mess from earlier.

“Are you not going to go?” you asked, your brow furrowing slightly as you watched him gather the scattered kernels.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he replied, looking up at you with those warm blue eyes that always seemed to find a way to melt the edges of your heart. “But if not, I’m going to clean this mess and then we’re going to talk.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding at the thought of what he might want to discuss. “Talk about what?” you asked cautiously, trying to mask your nervousness.

Max set the popcorn bowl down and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he regarded you.

“About Jake, what you’re going to do about it, and everything else,” he stated plainly.

You froze, the air thickening around you. You had thought that was a conversation you could avoid for a while longer to be face to face.

“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s just typical Jake, you know? He loves to stir the pot.”

Max sighed, clearly unconvinced. “It’s more than that, and you know it. You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.”

“Why are you so invested?” You couldn’t help but challenge him, crossing your arms defensively. “It’s my mess to handle.”

“Because I care about you,” Max replied, his voice softening. “And I can see it’s bothering you more than you’re letting on. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You looked away, heart racing. You liked Max—really liked him—but the idea of him getting too involved in your drama felt like a lot to ask. “It’s just… complicated. I don’t want to drag you into my issues.”

“Too late,” he said with a slight grin, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m already knee-deep in popcorn and Jake drama. Might as well make a mess of it together.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a small, genuine smile breaking through. “That’s one way to look at it.”

After a moment of silence, you helped him clean up the mess of popcorn that had spilled onto the floor. As you gathered the stray kernels, he made you sit down and wait for him to finish cleaning. When he finally returned, he was holding two glasses of water, the cool liquid glistening in the light.

He handed one to you before sitting down beside you, his knees brushing against yours. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a moment, you forgot about the chaos surrounding Jake.

“So why do you want to talk about it?” you asked flatly, wishing he would drop the subject.

“Because I really needed to see if you were okay,” Max stated, his gaze steady. “I know we already talk about it on the phone, but you could have been lying.”

“What if I lie right now?” you challenged, a hint of defiance in your voice.

“Then I’ll know,” Max replied simply.

It was true. Max had a way of seeing through the facades you put up, his perceptive nature both comforting and unnerving.

“So what do you want to know?” you asked, taking a sip of water to buy yourself a moment.

“Are you really okay?” Max asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.

You stared at him, momentarily taken aback by the sincerity in his eyes. “Honestly?” you sighed, finally allowing the vulnerability to creep in. “No, I’m not okay. Jake’s always been dramatic, but this… this is just too much. He’s painting me as the villain in his story.”

Max nodded, processing your words. “And it hurts.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, feeling a knot form in your throat. “It feels like everything I built with him is unraveling, and I’m left to pick up the pieces. I didn’t cheat on him, but no one’s going to believe me when he’s the one on TV.”

“People will believe you,” Max reassured you. “I believe you. I’ve seen the way you are, and it’s not like you to betray someone. Jake’s just trying to shift the blame.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, your heart warming at his support. “It’s just so exhausting.”

You never thought it would come to this—a therapist’s office, the sterile smell of freshly cleaned upholstery, the soft hum of the air conditioning.

“Hello Y/N, I’m Dr. Sullivan. I’ll be your therapist. I’m sure Mr. Horner told you about me,” the woman said as she stood up to shake your hand.

“Good afternoon, yes, Mr. Horner told me about you,” you replied, your voice slightly wavering. You felt small, yet determined. You had made the choice to be here, to reclaim your life.

Dr. Sullivan gestured to her couch, and you took a seat, trying to find a comfortable position in the plush cushions. It felt strange to be here, talking to a stranger about the most intimate parts of your life.

“Why don’t we start by talking about what brought you here?” Dr. Sullivan suggested, her eyes gentle but probing.

You took a deep breath. “I… I’ve been struggling ever since my relationship with Jake ended. He wasn’t just my boyfriend; he was… he was everything. But he became controlling and abusive. I thought I could handle it, but… now it’s all falling apart.” You swallowed hard, feeling tears welling up in your eyes.

Dr. Sullivan nodded. “It’s normal to feel this way after leaving an abusive relationship. Can you tell me more about the abuse?”

You hesitated, the memories flooding back. “He would get angry over small things, like how I dressed or who I hung out with. At first, I thought he was just protective, but then it became suffocating. He would shout and belittle me. I felt like I was walking on eggshells all the time.”

Dr. Sullivan maintained a compassionate expression. “That sounds incredibly difficult. It’s understandable that you feel scared and anxious. This is not just about your past; it’s about your future, too. What do you want to feel instead?”

“I just want to feel normal,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to go out without feeling like everyone is judging me or thinking I’m a liar. I don't want to be having panic attacks when I see someone who looks shady because I think it's him.”

Dr. Sullivan leaned forward slightly. “It’s important to understand that what he said doesn’t define you. You are not a liar, and you did not deserve the treatment he subjected you to. We’ll work through these feelings together.”

As the session continued, you slowly opened up about everything—the fear, the shame, the isolation you felt after the breakup. Dr. Sullivan listened intently, offering small affirmations that helped you feel validated.

“Tell me about Max,” she said softly. “How does he fit into this?”

You felt your heart skip a beat at the mention of his name. Max was your teammate, a kind and encouraging presence in your life. “Max has been my friend for a while now. He’s supportive and always encourages me to be better. I’ve never seen him as anything more than that…until recently.”

“Do you think there are feelings there?” Dr. Sullivan probed gently.

“I don’t know. I mean, after everything with Jake, I’m terrified of getting hurt again. But sometimes, when Max looks at me, I feel safe. It’s strange… like I can breathe for the first time in months.” You smiled slightly, lost in the thought of him.

“Exploring those feelings is an important part of your healing process,” Dr. Sullivan advised. “You don’t have to rush into anything, but acknowledging that you can feel something for someone again is a positive step.”

As you left the office that day, the air felt lighter. You were still plagued by Jake’s accusations, but you began to understand that his words didn’t dictate your worth.

You made a promise to yourself: to heal, to grow, and to allow yourself the chance at love again, even if it scared you. . . .

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The paddock buzzed with excitement and nervous energy as the sun cast long shadows over the grandstands. The atmosphere was charged, as if everyone could feel the weight of the headlines swirling outside the circuit.

As you made your way through the bustling paddock, you felt a steadying presence beside you. Max walked with a casual confidence, his Red Bull cap pulled low, shielding his eyes but not his smile.

You couldn’t help but grin at the sight of him; despite the chaos of the past days, he always had a way of making everything seem more manageable.

“So, you think you’re going to be okay with the questions?” Max asked, taking a swig from his can of Red Bull as you both entered the hospitality room.

You sighed, the tension creeping back in. “Yeah, but you know they’re going to shoot so many questions. I’m not even sure what to say.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, giving you a reassuring nod. “I’ll help if it gets too much. Just look at me and I’ll step in.”

You shot him a playful glare. “I think that would just assist the rumors. The last thing we need is for people to think we’re a couple now, too.”

Max chuckled, a warm sound that lifted your spirits. “Well, that might not be the worst thing,” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly. “But seriously, just stick to the facts. Ignore the drama.”

Before you could respond, a staff member approached, signaling it was time for the press conference. Your heart raced as you followed the staff into the room, where a group of journalists awaited, cameras flashing and questions ready to roll.

You took your place on the sofa, flanked by Yuki, Charles, and Alex. Max settled beside you, giving you an encouraging thumbs-up.

“Right, so let’s start now,” the interviewer said, eyes focused on you. “First question: What are your thoughts on the allegations made against you?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the microphone. “Well, I think it’s important to clarify that—”

“Are you currently in a relationship with Max?” a journalist interrupted, his tone cutting through the air like a knife.

You looked at Max, who raised an eyebrow, silently asking if you wanted him to step in. You shook your head slightly, determined to handle this on your own.

“No, I’m not in a relationship with Max,” you replied, your voice steady. “He’s my teammate and a great friend. The rumors are just that—rumors.”

Another journalist chimed in, “What do you have to say about your ex’s claims? Do you think they’re rooted in jealousy?”

A flurry of questions followed, each more intense than the last. But with every inquiry, Max’s steady presence calmed your racing heart. Every time you looked at him, you found reassurance in his supportive gaze.

The questions came flying at you like a barrage of arrows, each one aimed to wound. “Why do you think Jake would say something like that?” one reporter pressed, while another shouted, “Are you saying he’s lying?”

Taking a breath, you replied, “Jake is going through a lot right now, and I can’t speak for him. But I can tell you this: I have never cheated on him, nor would I. We broke up for reasons that were our own, and I wish him no ill will.”

You could tell Max was getting restless as they pressed further, so you decided to change the subject.

“Can we talk about the upcoming race instead?” you interjected, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m really looking forward to the challenges this circuit presents. It’s a fantastic track, and I think we have a great chance to show our skills.”

Max jumped in seamlessly. “Absolutely. I think our team has made some significant improvements since last season, and I’m excited to see how we can push each other on the track.”

The journalists seemed momentarily distracted by your shift in focus, jotting down notes and exchanging glances.

After a few more questions about racing and strategy, the conference finally began to wrap up. As you stood to leave, a reporter called out, “One last question! How do you feel about your ex’s accusations?”

You took a moment, glancing at Max, who was watching you intently. “I feel like it’s time to move on from that chapter. The truth will always come out, and I’m excited to focus on my career and the people who truly support me—like Max.”

As the press conference wrapped up, you stepped away from the cameras, the weight on your shoulders feeling a little lighter.

The chaos of the last few days—the headlines, the rumors, the betrayal—was still echoing in your mind, but at least now you felt like you had a little control over the narrative.

“You handled that really well,” Max said, his voice warm and encouraging as he fell into step beside you. He flashed a genuine smile that sent a flutter through your chest.

“Thanks,” you replied, a hint of shyness creeping into your tone. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Max’s support had been a lifeline.

“It’s nothing, really,” Max said, shrugging off your compliment as you both approached the conference room door. “I just hope it makes them shut up.”

He opened the door for you, and as you walked into the meeting room, you immediately felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. The team was gathered around the large conference table, and their expressions ranged from concerned to curious.

“Sorry we’re late,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you sat down in one of the seats. Max took the spot beside you, his presence calming. Christian was already there, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Good to see you both,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I watched the press conference. You did an incredible job.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I just tried to stay calm.”

Max nudged you playfully with his shoulder. “You were calm like a pro. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were born for the spotlight.”

You chuckled, trying to shake off the nervous energy. “I think the spotlight is the last place I want to be right now.”

“Totally understandable,” Christian said, glancing between you and Max. “It’s a lot of pressure. But you two handled it like champions.”

You nodded, but inside, your mind was racing. The press conference had felt surreal.

The meeting shifted to strategy for the upcoming race, but you found it difficult to concentrate. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Jake’s betrayal, the hurtful accusation that hung in the air like a bad smell.

You glanced at Max, who was animatedly discussing the course with Christian. His passion was palpable, and in that moment, you felt a tug at your heart.

You liked him. A lot. More than you had dared to admit.

“Okay, what do you think?” Christian asked, breaking through your reverie.

“Uh, sorry, what?” you replied, your cheeks flushing as you realized you had completely zoned out.

“About the race strategy,” Max said, smiling gently. “We’re thinking of tightening the turns on the first lap. You know, give us a better chance at the inside track.”

“Right, sounds good,” you nodded, trying to catch up. “That could definitely give us an edge.”

“See?” Max grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “You’re back with us!”

As the meeting continued, you found yourself stealing glances at Max, a smile creeping onto your face whenever he laughed or made a point. The warmth between you was undeniable, but guilt lurked in the back of your mind.

How could you feel this way when your past was still hanging over you like a storm cloud?

When the meeting wraps up, you stand to leave, but then you hear Christian’s voice. “Y/N, can you stay back for a minute?”

Shit. That’s what you get for daydreaming during a meeting.

Max catches your eye and tilts his head, concern etched on his features. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just a quick chat,” you say, forcing a smile, but inside, your stomach churns. You watch as he exits the room, leaving you alone with Christian.

“What’s up?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

Christian leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, his arms crossing over his chest, a gesture that always seemed to amplify his imposing presence.

He regarded you for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before speaking, his tone smooth as silk, yet somehow it didn't reassure you. “I heard you went to Dr. Sullivan, how is she?”

The unexpected question caught you off guard, making you pause for a moment. You mentally retraced the events of the past couple of weeks, remembering Christian’s subtle recommendation of her after you had opened up about needing help navigating through your toxic ex.

“She’s helped quite a bit, actually, thanks for advising her to me," you replied, your voice a touch softer, a touch more genuine than you had intended.

He was trying, wasn't he?, you thought, even though the knot in your stomach stubbornly remained, a reminder of all that had happened.

A beat of a pause, then Christian stated, "Good, just so you know she will tell me if there is something serious going on," he warned, a playful seriousness lacing his tone.

A genuine chuckle escaped your lip, a small burst of the old you that you hadn’t seen in a while, "What? Are you my dad or something? I think I'm old enough to go talk to my therapist." you joked, your eyes sparkling in laughter. 

“I might as well be the closest to it,” he replied, a quiet tenderness coloring his features. His lips curled into a small smile, a fondness you hadn’t seen in a long time.

The roar of the crowd was a distant hum as you peeled off your racing gloves, the leather still warm from the day's practice. Friday had been a revelation.

You’d practically glided around the track, the car feeling like an extension of your own body. No jitters, no second-guessing, just pure, unadulterated speed.

You’d attributed it to the release, the feeling of all the mounting stress finally draining out of you, leaving you light and free. You’d finally found your rhythm.

“Good run today,” a voice rumbled from behind you. You turned to see Max, his usual calm demeanor etched across his face. He leaned against the garage wall, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, it was…good,” you echoed, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

You liked seeing him like this - relaxed, confident, not burdened by the weight of expectations. “Felt like I could finally breathe out there.”

“You looked like it,” he chuckled, pushing off the wall and walking towards you to look at the data. “You were practically flying.”

You blushed, a little embarrassed by his observation. “Well, someone had to put on a show,” you teased, throwing a playful punch at his arm.

His gaze met yours, a flicker of something undefinable sparking in his usually placid blue eyes.

“You always put on a show, don’t worry,” he said softly, as he turned away, the comment hanging in the air between you, leaving you breathless and confused.

Saturday was an entirely different beast. The pressure had returned, tangible and heavy. It was in the air, in the hushed tones of the team, in the nervous energy buzzing around the paddock.

Max, however, seemed unfazed. He’d stormed through qualifying, each lap faster, more precise, culminating in a blistering pole position. You, on the other hand, had struggled to match his pace, despite your best efforts.

Third place wasn't bad, but it felt miles behind him.

The team, of course, was ecstatic. This was it. The culmination of years of hard work, the potential for a historic double victory hung heavy in the air.

If Max won tomorrow, he’d secure his second championship. And if you managed to finish in the points, Red Bull was so close to clinching the constructors’ title.

It was a monumental task, a pressure cooker of emotions.

"Mate! I swear you are so in love with her," Charles declared, leaning back against a wall, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Max's face flushed, a telltale sign that his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance was crumbling. "No, I'm not. I just... care for her," he stammered, avoiding Charles's gaze.

He busied himself with holding the red bull in his hands , anything to distract from the intensity of his friend’s scrutiny.

Charles chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "Right, 'care'. Do you think about her too often?"

Max hesitated, his mind flashing to recent moments: her reaching for something on a high shelf, the way her hair caught the sunlight as she walked across the paddock, the way she’d smiled after he'd helped her with the data.

He felt a heavy knot settle in his stomach. He let out a breath, resigned. "...Yeah," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

"Do you think you're protective of her?" Charles continued, pressing his advantage.

Max frowned. The word felt too strong, too possessive, not that that’s not exactly how he felt. “Not protective, but I like to be by her," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the ground as if the answers lay hidden in the cracks of the pavement.

He didn't want to be protective, he just wanted to be someone she could rely on, someone she could turn to.

Suddenly, Charles’s voice boomed, startling Max, “Oh hey, y/n!” he said, waving enthusiastically at someone behind Max.

Max's head snapped around, a strange mix of hope and panic surging through him. He nearly twisted his neck, trying to see if y/n was actually there, his hand instinctively moving to cover a nearby potted plant as he turned.

When he finally turned back, he found Charles doubled over in laughter, clutching his stomach.

"I swear, you almost snapped your neck!" he gasped, tears forming in his eyes.

"Mate, not funny," Max grumbled, his cheeks burning hotter than before. He tried to ignore the way his heart was still pounding, a frantic hummingbird caught in his chest.

Charles wiped the tears from his eyes, his grin still wide. "But hey, I just did some tests on you, and I found out…" he paused for dramatic effect, raising his eyebrows.

"Found out what?" Max asked, his curiosity piqued despite his irritation.

"That you love her too much," Charles declared, his grin now bordering on mischievous. "You're a book, my friend. All the symptoms are there: the blushing, the constant thinking, the almost-neck snapping… It’s clear as day."

Max felt a knot of apprehension tighten in his chest.

He didn’t want Charles, or anyone else for that matter, to see the truth that was slowly coming to light. . . .

The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, a wave of sound that crashed over you as you unbuckled your helmet. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and hot metal hung heavy in the air of the parc fermé, a stark contrast to the champagne that would soon be flowing.

You pushed your helmet off, shaking your hair free, and your gaze immediately sought him. Max was already out of his car, his dark blue jumpsuit a beacon in the throng of team personnel and photographers.

His face, usually so tightly controlled, was lit with a grin that could rival the floodlights overhead. He’d done it.

Another championship secured.

A surge of warmth, something akin to pride and something more complicated, bloomed in your chest. It wasn't your win, but still, the sight of him like that—unburdened and triumphant—it was a sight you cherished.

You’d finished second, a bittersweet position after Lando's heartbreaking crash had bumped you up. The race had been a rollercoaster of emotions — tense overtakes, strategic tire changes, and then the shock of the yellow flags followed by the red.

You’d been locked in a tight battle with Lando, then suddenly, you were fighting to keep yourself in the second position. It felt hollow, a win by default.

But this was Max's moment, and you couldn't let the disappointment of your near-miss dull his shine. You pulled off your gloves and pushed through the crowd, a smile firmly plastered on your face.

Your eyes met his the moment he turned, and you noticed the flash of something akin to relief cross his features.

He pushed through the few team members still trying to reach him, making a beeline directly towards you.

“You did it!” you exclaimed, your voice a little higher than usual, the adrenaline still coursing through you. “Two-time champion! That’s incredible, Max!”

He engulfed you in a bear hug, his familiar scent of aftershave and something indefinable that was purely his filling your senses. He smelled like victory.

"Thank you," he said into your shoulder, his voice roughened by exertion.

"It was... it was a good race.” He pulled back, his hands still resting lightly on your arms. His blue eyes, usually so sharp, were filled with an uncharacteristic softness.

"You were fast out there, too. Second place after Lando… that sucks. But you did amazing to pick up the position so quickly.”

“It's okay,” you said, shrugging, though a small pang of disappointment still lingered. "It's your day, though. You deserve all the celebration.”

He shook his head. "No, not just mine. You fought hard. We both did.” He stepped closer, his voice lowering.

“You always do.” The way he said it, so intimately, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost as if he was saying something more than the literal words.

The photographers closed in, cameras flashing, and the moment was broken. Team members swarmed around Max, pulling him away for interviews and podium preparations.

You reluctantly stepped back, watching as he was swallowed by the throng. Your heart gave a funny little flutter, a feeling you tried to ignore, chalking it up to the adrenaline.

You were herded towards your own team, receiving pats on the back and words of encouragement. You went through the motions, half-listening to the congratulations, your eyes still straying towards Max.

He had finally broken away from Christian's chatter and was standing beside the race engineers, a small smile playing on his lips as he listened intently to their debrief.

You saw something flicker in his gaze when he caught your eye, a moment of shared understanding in the chaotic aftermath.

Later, during the post-race press conference, you answered questions distractedly, your mind still replaying Max's words, his touch.

You managed to give coherent answers, but the only thing you could remember was his voice resonating in your ears - “You always do.”

The podium was a blur. You remember the flash of the camera lights, the sea of upturned faces, and the deafening roar of the crowd. You stared at Max out of the corner of your eye as his national anthem played, his expression a mix of pride and exhilaration.

He looked utterly invincible, a king on his throne. And then it was your turn. The second place you took made you happy, but you felt like you could have done better.

Your own anthem played, and you tried to soak it in, but your eyes were drawn to Max again.

The champagne spraying was chaotic, a shower of bubbly and laughter. You decided to target Max first, aiming your stream directly at him, catching him in the chest.

He laughed, the sound loud and genuine, and retaliated in kind, soaking your jumpsuit in the sticky liquid. It was playful, a moment of shared joy and release, and you couldn't help but laugh with him.

The roar of the crowd was still a physical presence, thrumming in your chest even as the lights of the Las Vega circuit began to dim. It was a cacophony of joy, fueled by the sheer adrenaline of the race and the history that had just unfolded.

Max, his face flushed with victory, stood beside you, the sweat still clinging to his dirty blond hair, his breath coming in slightly ragged pants. Around you, the Red Bull crew was a sea of red and navy, their faces lit by pure, unadulterated elation.

You stood shoulder to shoulder, each of you holding one end of the banner that proclaimed "2X Champion Max P1 Y/N P2." You couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride despite coming in second.

The banner was a testament to your shared journey, the countless hours you both had poured into this season, culminating in this euphoric, unforgettable moment.

"Alright everyone, let's get this photo!" an admin yelled, their voice barely audible over the lingering cheers. "In 3, 2, 1!"

The number one was still hanging in the air when, with a collective roar, everyone erupted, and suddenly, a downpour of champagne came from nowhere. It cascaded down on you and Max, the cold liquid instantly soaking through your fireproofs, leaving you shivering and laughing at the same time.

You and Max, without a word, instinctively turned and ran, the wet track presenting a new, slippery challenge. It was pure chaos, a beautiful, ridiculous mess of laughter and celebration.

Just as your feet were about to slip out from under you on the slick asphalt, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back and steadying you. It was Max, his face close to yours, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Careful now,” he chuckled, his voice warm and low and suddenly, too close for your heart’s liking.

And then, the rest of the crew descended, a joyful, champagne-soaked mob, trapping you both in a giddy, bubbly circle. They all cheered, spraying you mercilessly, their laughter adding to the symphony of the night.

You found yourself looking into Max's eyes, a small smile mirroring his own. In that crowded, chaotic moment, it felt like it was just the two of you. The world melted away into the blurry, bubbly frenzy.

You had grown to admire him, his unwavering focus and talent, the genuine kindness that he often hid behind his competitive façade. You enjoyed his teasing, his relentless drive, and the rare, unguarded moments when his vulnerability surfaced.

You were brought back to reality as the champagne deluge began to subside. You were both drenched, your hair plastered to your scalp, your clothes clinging to your skin.

“Well that was… intense,” you finally managed, laughing, the bubbles still tickling your nose.

Max’s arm was still around your waist, his touch sending shivers not from the cold. He finally released you, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “Intensely fun, I’d say. You know, you almost took your own personal dive out there.” He grinned, playfully nudging you with his shoulder.

“Almost,” you retorted, shoving him back, a playful smile gracing your lips. “You weren’t much better. I saw you sliding like you were on ice.”

“Hey,” he protested, a mock hurt look on his face, “I recovered, didn’t I? Showed my champion agility.”

“Sure, champion agility while grabbing my waist so I won’t fall,” you teased, “I think you were just trying to feel me up.”

Max’s eyes opened wide and a small blush tinted his cheeks. “Hey, I was only trying to be a gentleman. You’re the one with the dirty mind.”

You laughed again, shaking your head, the sound echoing in the near-silent garage. “Yeah right. You just wanted an excuse for an embrace.”

“Well, you’re not rejecting it are you?”

“No,” you mumbled under your breath.

“Did you say something?” Max asked, leaning closer to you with a smirk playing on his lips.

“No, I said, let’s get out of these wet clothes,” you said quickly, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Good idea. I'm starting to feel like a drowned rat," he said, running a hand through his now-soaked hair.

He walked away and you followed behind him, your heart beating faster with every step closer to the driver’s room where you could finally dry yourself up.

The walk back was a bit surreal. It seemed like just moments ago, the tension had been so thick you could cut it with a knife. Now, there was this quiet ease between you two, a strange, comfortable bubble of celebration.

You found yourself stealing glances at Max, his still-damp hair forming tiny curls on his forehead, his shoulders relaxed, the weight of the race finally lifted.

He caught your gaze once, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips, and you quickly looked away, your cheeks burning.

"You’re coming to the party after this, right?" he asked as he veered towards his driver’s room door, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, a little rough, but the easy tone sent a flutter through your stomach.

“The party?” you repeated, pretending to be surprised, even though you knew about it.

The team always celebrated after a big race, but for some reason, the idea of being in the same room as him, surrounded by the celebratory energy, was a little overwhelming.

“Yeah, the team’s hosting a private party. Everyone is invited, including you, so you better come,” he stated, a hint of playfulness in his tone. He paused, looking at you, his bright eyes sparkling with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"I don't know..." you started, your fingers nervously fiddling. You were desperate not to sound too eager, not to betray the feeling he had evoked so easily.

Your mind was a whirlwind of "yes, of course" and "no, it's too much", with the scales of indecisiveness tilting back and forth.

"That's not the right answer," Max said, his smile widening. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking your path, making it impossible for you to just brush it off, and your heart skipped a beat.

He was so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, and your brain seemed to have shut off, making it near impossible to form a coherent response.

"After a win like this, you should be celebrating with us. Besides," he lowered his voice, "I want you there."

The confession sent a shockwave through you. He wanted you there? Your mind reeled from the casual yet charged statement.

Was it just a friendly gesture, or did that small ‘want’ mean something more? You desperately hoped it was the latter, but pushed the thought aside so you wouldn't get ahead of yourself.

"Okay," you said, the word barely a whisper, and you felt a blush stain your cheeks. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine.

"Great," he said, finally stepping aside and opening his door. "I’ll see you there then. Don't take too long getting ready." He winked and disappeared inside, leaving you standing there with a pounding heart and a stupid grin.

You finally made your way to your own room, the encounter playing over and over in your mind. He wanted you there. Those words kept echoing in your head. You tried to tell yourself it didn't mean anything, but deep down, you knew it did.

At least, you wanted to believe it did.

You stood in the bathroom, the steam from the shower wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You replayed the final buzzer in your mind, the roar of the crowd, and most importantly, the triumphant grin on Max’s face.

You hurried through the shower, your mind already racing to the night ahead. You quickly dried off, pulling a simple yet elegant black dress from your closet. It was the kind of dress that made you feel confident, yet effortless.

You smoothed it down, adjusted the delicate straps and quickly put on a pair of small heels; a last-minute addition to make it feel more celebratory.

Then, as you were putting on your lipstick, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Max, a single line: ’Club Zenith. See you there’ followed by an address. You grinned, your heart fluttering at the thought of seeing him again.

You grabbed your keys and bag, rushing out of your apartment and hailing a taxi. The ride felt like an eternity, each traffic light a cruel delay. You kept glancing at your reflection in the side window.

You hoped the dress was ok and worried about whether it made you look too overdressed.

Finally, the taxi pulled up in front of Club Zenith. The bass thrummed even outside, a low vibration that resonated through you. Taking a deep breath, you paid the driver and stepped out, the city lights creating a dazzling backdrop to the building.

The party was already in full swing when you arrived. The club pulsed with a chaotic energy, a symphony of music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You scanned the crowd, your eyes searching for Max amidst the throng of people.

And then you saw him, across the room, surrounded by a boisterous group of his teammates. He was laughing, his head thrown back, and you couldn't help the little surge of emotion that coursed through you.

He looked genuinely happy, relaxed, and a wave of affection washed over you. You took a deep breath and started to make your way towards him, feeling a little out of place amidst their triumphant celebration.

He spotted you almost instantly. His face lit up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He excused himself from his group, making a beeline towards you.

“There you are,” he said, his voice a little louder to cut through the music. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you said, offering a small smile, surprised at how calm your voice sounded when inside you were a whirlwind of nerves and excitement.

“Good,” he said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment. “Come meet some people.” He gently placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you further into the crowd.

The touch was brief, but it sent an electric current through you, and you found yourself struggling to focus on the new faces and introductions he was making.

You were acutely aware of his proximity, the warmth of his skin, the subtle scent of his cologne.

The rest of the night was a kaleidoscope of conversations, laughter, and stolen glances with Max. You were introduced to his team members, their partners and friends who had flown in to see his victory.

He kept you close, making sure you were included, offering you a quick smile when he caught your eye across the room. He seemed so comfortable, so at ease, and his presence had a strange calming effect on you. You found yourself relaxing too, finally letting go of the nervous energy that had plagued you all day.

As the night wore on, the crowd thinned slightly, and the music became a little less frenetic. You stood by the bar with Max, the flashing lights reflecting in his eyes making them seem even brighter.

“So, how does it feel?” you asked, leaning against the bar, a playful smile on your lips.

“How does it feel?” he echoed, tilting his head as he thought about it. “Pretty awesome, actually. A bit surreal. All that work, all those hours... and it paid off.”

“You earned it,” you said, nudging his arm with your shoulder. He deserved this, every single cheer, every congratulatory hug. You knew how hard he’d worked. “You did an amazing job.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You did a great job too.”

You laughed, a warm, melodious sound that filled the space between you. “Thanks Max.”

He glanced over to the bartender, quickly catching their attention. “Do you want a drink?” Max asked, having already grabbed a glass of virgin cocktail for himself.

“What, like a gin and tonic?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. He always joked about how predictable your choice of drink was to his.

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made your heart flutter. “Sure! I’ll make it if you want?” He was grinning now, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Really?” you asked, feigning surprise. “You, mixing drinks? I’m not sure if anyone is ready for that.”

“Hey!” he protested, playfully shoving your arm. “I’m a man of many talents. Bartender extraordinaire is just one of them.”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” you said, trying to hide a smile. “Surprise me.”

He grinned, turning to the bar and asking the bartender for the necessary ingredients. He poured carefully, a concentrated look on his face, as if he were performing brain surgery rather than mixing a simple cocktail.

You watched him, your heart swelling with a strange mixture of affection and admiration. You liked him, more than just a friend. You always had, but you tried to just push it aside and appreciate his friendship instead. Tonight, that felt harder than usual.

He finished the drink, sliding it towards you with a flourish. “Ta-da! One custom-made gin and tonic, served with the finest victory vibes.”

You took the glass, a light smile playing on your lips. “I’m impressed,” you said, taking a sip. “Not bad, Max. Not bad at all.”

He leaned closer, his arm brushing against yours. “Only the best for you,” he said, his voice dropping to a low hum.

The proximity made your skin tingle and you found yourself focusing on the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light.

You glanced around, realizing that most of the other partygoers had started to leave. “It’s getting late,” you said, your voice a little breathless.

“Yeah, it is,” he murmured, his gaze locked on yours. “But we don’t have to go home just yet.”

There was a pause, a silent question hanging in the air between you. You knew what he meant and a thrill ran through you. Your breath hitched slightly, your heart fluttering like a trapped bird.

You took another sip of your drink and decided to just go for it. "No," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music. "We don't."

He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes. He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, sending another shockwave through your body.

"Then let's not," he said, his voice soft and intimate.

You'd made your rounds, offering sincere praises to the team, sharing in the collective joy, but your eyes kept drifting back to Max. He was sitting on a plush, low-slung chair, a small island of relative calm amidst the boisterous revelry, waiting for your return.

You felt a peculiar pull towards him, an audacity bubbling beneath the surface that you couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was the celebratory atmosphere, the heady mix of adrenaline and alcohol, or perhaps it was something else entirely.

You weren't sure. You just knew you wanted to be closer to him, to break through the polite camaraderie and truly connect. As your conversation with a team mechanic finally wound down, your gaze locked with Max’s.

A small, almost hesitant smile graced his lips, and something in you snapped. Impulsively, you walked towards him, your movements feeling both deliberate and strangely detached.

You settled onto his thigh, facing him, your gaze unwavering. His eyes widened, a flicker of surprise – and something else you couldn't quite name – registering in their deep blue depths.

You saw his jaw clench slightly, a subtle reaction that only fueled your newfound audacity.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

It was a gentle question, laced with amusement and a hint of something more.

"Nope," you grinned, your heart beating a little faster. You leaned closer, the scent of his cologne, a crisp, masculine fragrance, filling your senses.

"Are you?" you teased, your voice a low murmur, your eyes locking with his.

His reaction was immediate and utterly captivating. You watched as a subtle panic flickered across his features, a blush rising to his cheeks. He looked away for a split second, trying to regain composure.

"No, I'm driving you to mines, Christian orders," he stated, his voice laced with a kind of frustrated urgency that made you want to laugh.

"Oh," you said, a playful smirk twitching your lips. "So, you're the designated driver for the night's festivities?"

He nodded, his gaze returning to yours, a hint of amusement replacing the initial panic. "Something like that."

The air crackled between you, charged with unspoken words and a palpable electricity. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, toying with a man who held a significant spot in your heart, and the fact that he was so close was making your heart beat faster.

You leaned in a little more. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. It was an action you wouldn't have considered if it wasn't for how you were feeling at that moment.

"And what if I didn't want to go home just yet?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the din of the party.

His eyes narrowed, their blue depths swirling with something akin to confusion and desire. He swallowed hard, the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Then what, exactly, would you propose we do?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper, tinged with a raw edge that made your pulse race.

You took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne filling your lungs and somehow making you feel braver than you had any right to. “Can I kiss you?” you dared to ask, the words tumbling out, a little too quick, a little too raw.

Max looked shocked. His jaw went slack, and his eyes widened in surprise, a comical contrast to his usual cool demeanor. He glanced around at his team, a quick sweep of the room, his fingers drumming nervously on the armrest of the couch.

“What if it gets out? I don’t want to have another rumour for you to deal with,” he said, his voice strained with concern.

The mention of the tabloids and the gossip columns made your stomach twist. You hated the way they hounded him, invading every aspect of his life.

“They won’t, it’s a private club, everything that happens here stays here,” you muttered, willing yourself to be confident, willing him to believe you.

He looked back at you, his gaze searching yours, trying to gauge your sincerity, your intentions. Then, he sighed, a mixture of resignation and anticipation in his posture.

"Just…one," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You barely registered his words before you leaned in, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, your thumb caressing the line of his jaw. The feather-light touch on your lips sent a jolt through you, a feeling that was both electrifying and incredibly comforting.

His lips were warm, soft, and tentatively seeking. The kiss was gentle, a tentative exploration, a silent question. It was the first time your lips were meeting, but you immediately knew that it wouldn’t be the last.

When you moved back, Max was completely red under the lights, a blush that spread across his cheeks, traveling down his neck. He looked like a teenager caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his ears flushed a deep crimson.

He quickly tucked his head into your neck, his arms wrapping around you, holding your back from not falling off his lap.

You chuckled, a soft, gentle sound, while rubbing his exposed neck, the skin warm and velvety to the touch. “See, it wasn't that hard,” you said, your voice light and teasing.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Max muttered, placing a kiss on your neck, his lips leaving a trail of warmth against your skin. His grip on you tightened, as if afraid you would disappear.

You smiled into his hair, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the club's temperature.

You didn’t notice the rest of the team watching from afar, their faces lit up with knowing smiles. They’d seen the way you looked at each other, the way you moved together, the way you were drawn to each other like magnets.

They had all quietly placed bets on when you two would finally get together. As you kissed, they all knew that tonight, finally, their wait, and yours, was over. . . .

You didn't see the rest of the team observing, their faces conspiratorial in the dim light, their eyes flicking between you and Max like they were watching a tennis match.

They saw the subtle shifts – your body angling towards him, the lingering touch of his hand on your arm, the way your smiles seemed to mirror each other. They saw the unspoken tension, the pull that was as undeniable as it was unspoken.

Bets had been placed, whispered predictions of when the inevitable would finally occur. They watched, breaths held, as Max's face drew closer, as his gaze locked onto yours and, finally, as he kissed you.

The rest of the team exchanged triumphant looks and knowing nods. Tonight, they thought, it was finally happening.

But the next morning, everything was different. Or rather, nothing was. As you walked into the office, the memory of the kiss felt like a dream, fuzzy and distant.

You greeted Max with a casual "Hey Max," and he responded in kind. The ease of the club had vanished, replaced by a self-conscious awkwardness.

The team, however, their eyes full of expectation, watched you both carefully, a sense of bewilderment slowly creeping into their expressions. They’d been so certain.

The weeks that followed were a masterclass in miscommunication wrapped in a cloak of hesitation. You and Max acted as if that night had never happened.

There were stolen glances, moments of near-confession, but always, someone would pull back. It was torture to watch, the team felt. A silent, agonizing dance of ‘what ifs’ and unspoken desires.

You walked into the conference room for what you assumed was a regular weekly meeting, only to find the team looking at you with an odd mix of excitement and exasperation. The air was thick with tension, but not the same, nervous tension you were used to. This was more akin to a pot about to boil over.

Then came your birthday.

The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, washing over you in waves as you stood there, the sun beating down on the asphalt. You held onto the haphazard collection of presents, a ridiculous tiara perched precariously on your head, a bright pink sash proclaiming you "Birthday Girl" draped across your shoulder.

Lando had a knack for finding the gaudiest tiaras, and George and Alex… well, they were always the purveyors of ridiculous humor. The balloons were back in the paddock, along with the suspiciously large cake Carlos and Fernando had promised, but at least these little tokens of affection were portable.

“How does it feel racing here on your birthday?” The interviewer’s voice cut through the noise, microphone hovering near your lips. You tried to smile, knowing the cameras were trained on you, the world watching.

“It’s… surreal,” you admitted, adjusting the tiara that threatened to slip over your eyes. “It’s always surreal to race, but on my birthday it’s… heightened, I guess.”

You laughed, a nervous sound, and gestured to the gifts you clutched. “It’s pretty special. I’m definitely feeling the love from the whole pit lane today.”

“The fans call you the grid’s princess, how does that make you feel wearing all these gifts from the grid?” they pressed, their pen poised above their notepad.

You felt your cheeks flush, a familiar warmth spreading up your neck. The “grid princess” moniker was a bit embarrassing, if you were honest, but it was also… endearing. “It’s… it’s kind of funny, actually,” you said, the word catching in your throat.

“I definitely don’t feel like a princess, especially not today in my race suit with my helmet. But I appreciate the sentiment. I think some of the guys might be taking it a bit too literally,” you added, glancing at the sash with humor in your eyes.

You could see Max speaking to Carlos in the distance from where you stood. You knew he was probably watching, the cameras probably on him too as he waited for his turn on the interview, observing.

He hadn't given you a present, not in the public eye anyway. He'd just given you a quick nod, a small smile at breakfast, then he'd gotten straight back to his pre-race routine.

You knew he was focused, that he wouldn't be distracted, and you respected that massively.

The interviewer asked one more question about your expectations for the race. You rattled off the usual platitudes about doing your best, about hoping for a clean race, about the challenges of the circuit.

But your mind kept drifting back to Max. His silence. His focus. You wanted to know what he was thinking.

Finally, the interview wrapped up, and you were released back into the controlled chaos of the grid. You made your way through the throng of people, the tiara feeling increasingly ridiculous, the sash a reminder of your self-proclaimed princess status.

As you approached the garage, you saw him. He was standing by his car, his back to you, but you recognized the set of his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head.

You took a deep breath, smoothing down your racing suit with a slightly trembling hand. "Hey," you said, your voice a little softer than you intended.

He turned, his gaze momentarily snagging on the tiara before meeting your eyes. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Happy birthday,” he said, his voice low, a rumble that vibrated somewhere deep inside you.

"Thanks," you replied, feeling a nervous flutter in your stomach. You felt self-conscious now you had closed the distance and were near him.

You didn't want to be just the grid's princess, you wanted to be seen by him. You subconsciously adjusted the garish pink sash, feeling your cheeks warm again.

"I almost didn't recognise you," Max said, his eyes flicking back to the tiara. He was trying to be light, you could tell, but you were still hyper aware.

You were desperate to not talk about the race. The pressure of the constructors hung heavy in the air, a silent weight that clung to everyone.

“You haven’t given me a present. Did I do something wrong?” You tried to sound as light and joking as possible, trying to hide the undertone of insecurity in your tone.

“I don’t know, did you?” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile anyway. He always managed to make you smile.

"Maybe," you replied, matching his playful tone, "but I'm going to assume it's because you're holding out for something really special."

His smile widened, a genuine flash that made your breath catch in your throat. You'd known that smile for years; the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the slight lift of his lips that could make your heart feel like it was about to beat out of your chest.

"I'll give it to you after the race if you do good," he said, his gaze holding yours. The promise in his voice, the way he said it felt like more than just a casual comment.

You felt your cheeks flush. "You're being mysterious," you accuse, trying to sound unimpressed. But the truth was, your heart was pounding.

You knew he wasn’t a particularly sentimental person, but the anticipation of a gift from him, something chosen specifically for you, was intoxicating.

"Maybe," he said again, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Or maybe I just haven’t figured out how to wrap it yet."

You laughed, the sound light and free. With him, you found yourself capable of being yourself, something you appreciated so much.

“I hope it’s not a giant stuffed panda,” you quipped, referencing a childhood incident involving a particularly large stuffed animal and a rather embarrassing photo that still surfaced at family gatherings.

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. It was a sound that was both familiar and yet still managed to set your stomach fluttering.

"No pandas, I promise. It's something a bit more…fitting." He let the words hang in the air, his gaze lingering on you.

The conversation was interrupted by the final call for the race. A wave of nervous energy coursed through you. You could feel the adrenaline starting to kick in.

You knew you needed to focus, put everything aside and race, but the thought of his ‘present’ after the race was intoxicating.

“I should go,” you said, a touch of reluctance in your voice. You wanted to stay, to keep talking, to continue basking in the warmth of his smile.

“Good luck,” he said. “I expect you to be fast out there.”

“Only if you are,” you retorted, a competitive edge creeping into your voice. “Wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of having it any other way,” he replied.

He watched you walk away, a smile playing on his lips again, his eyes lingering on you as you made your way towards your car.

The roar of the engine is a symphony in your ears, a familiar comfort in the chaos of the race. The world is a blur of color and motion, the other cars mere obstacles in your relentless pursuit of the finish line.

But there’s something else today, something that ignites a fire in your belly, a drive that transcends the normal ambition. A birthday present, he’d called it, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The way he’d said it—the husky tone, the knowing look—had sent a shiver down your spine, a thrilling anticipation that has nothing to do with the race itself.

You glance at the rear-view mirror, more out of a subconscious need than any real tactical advantage. You know he’s there, somewhere behind you, always pushing, always a threat.

It’s a dance you’ve performed countless times, a delicate balance of rivalry and respect, but today, there’s something more. Today, there’s an undercurrent of something… warmer.

You can almost feel him, a presence that is both challenging and strangely comforting.

Your engineer, Joseph, crackles in your ear. “Pace is good, you’re opening the gap. Stay focused, you’re looking strong.” You acknowledge him, but your mind is elsewhere.

You steal another look at the mirror and can just make out his car, a flash of red in the periphery. His presence on the track is a tangible thing, a constant hum of energy that vibrates through you, as if he’s tethered to you by an invisible string.

The laps blur, each one bringing you closer to the finish, closer to the promise that awaits. You push harder, the engine screaming in response, every fiber of your being focused on the road ahead.

The final lap. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a frantic rhythm that matches the engine's roar. The checkered flag waves, a triumphant black and white blur.

You cross the line, a surge of adrenaline and relief coursing through you. You did it. You won. And on your birthday, no less.

You pull into parc fermé, the roar of the crowd a deafening wave. The team is waiting, a sea of familiar faces, cheering and clapping. You are surrounded by hugs and congratulations, the energy infectious.

You're grinning, almost giddy with the win, but your eyes are searching, looking for one particular face. He's not here yet. You know he's coming, he's been in the car behind you the whole time and the thought is not as frustrating as you thought it should be.

Max is a few minutes behind, which is strange. Typically he’s right there.

You pull off your helmet, the noise of the crowd becoming a little clearer. You feel a hand on your shoulder. "You were incredible out there today," Joseph tells you, still wide-eyed from the race.

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside of you. "I had to be, after all." You glance to the side to see if you can see Max anywhere.

The next few minutes pass in a whirlwind of celebrations, wild yelling, team members patting you on the back and laughing. The victory is sweet, especially on your birthday.

You keep your eye on the road where Max will arrive, and finally, you see his car pulling it. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the giddy fluttering in your chest.

He pulls up to the stall next to you, and gets out of the car, pulling off his helmet. He looks a little frustrated, but when he sees you he smiles. It's a small smile, not the ones he does for the cameras.

It's a smile that makes your heart soften a bit. He walks over, his eyes sparking with something that seems suspiciously like amusement.

"Second place isn't bad, eh?" he says, his voice a low rumble that sends another shiver down your spine.

You raise an eyebrow. “Second place for you is like admitting defeat, isn't it?” you joke, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

He chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that makes you want to hear it again. "Only when I'm behind you,” he says, his eyes locking with yours.

The words hang in the air, charged with an undercurrent that you can’t ignore.

Before you could formulate a response to his suggestive comment, another car pulled up. It was Lewis, a smile on his face. He seemed happy enough with his third-place position.

“Great race,” Lewis said, dabbing you up with his fist. “Also, happy birthday,”

“Thanks, Lewis,” you grinned before letting him go. You chugged down some water, and placed the Red Bull hat on your head, making sure the logo was front and centre, before making your way over to the interview area.

"Y/N! how does it feel winning on your birthday?!" Nico asked cheerfully, holding the microphone up to you.

"It's amazing! I'm so incredibly happy, what a way to celebrate!" you said, the smile on your face was honest and you knew it was genuine. Winning a race was always an incredible feeling, but winning on your birthday was an extra special type of happiness.

"Have you gotten everything you wanted?" Nico asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Well, I've gotten everything I could ever want. A win, lovely fans, and a great car! I'm expecting a gift from Max though, he might not give it to me because he lost against me," you teased, glancing to your side to see Max grinning at your comment, giving a thumbs up.

Your heart did a little flip as you made eye contact with him.

"Well, I'm sure he will get you something," Nico chuckled before turning back to you. "So, talk me through the race, what was the turning point?"

You went on to talk about the race, the specific moments where you pulled ahead, the strategies that had paid off. You could feel Max’s eyes on you as you spoke, making it difficult to concentrate, but, you managed to get through it. You smiled at the camera as Nico finished the interview and thanked you.

Suddenly, amidst the cheering of the crowd, a familiar melody filled the air. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..." The crowd started singing, their voices a wave of happy noise washing over you.

Your eyes darted around, a smile spreading across your face. This was such a beautiful moment, you felt overwhelmed with joy.

You looked over to see Max looking at you, and he had a soft gaze, which made your heart melt. He mouthed 'Happy Birthday', and you felt a small blush rise to your cheeks.

After the official ceremonies, the post-race frenzy began to settle, you found yourself heading towards the Red Bull hospitality area, the buzz of the celebrations still clinging to you.

The air was thick with the smell of champagne and victory, a potent cocktail of exhilaration. You were just about to grab a drink, to raise a toast to the day, when you felt a hand on your arm, gently turning you around. Your eyes met a staff member, her smile warm and inviting.

"Hello, Y/N," she said sweetly, her voice cutting through the remaining noise, "Christian told me to come get you."

A small knot of curiosity tightened in your stomach.

You nodded, a slight question mark hanging in your eyes, and followed her.

She led you away from the main throng, down a corridor you hadn't noticed before. The air grew quieter, the noise of the celebration fading with each step. You found this space intriguing.

Then the staff member pushed a door open and you stepped inside a dark room, a confused frown creasing your forehead. Before you could even form a question, the lights went on.

"SURPRISE!" a chorus of voices yelled. You blinked, suddenly blinded by the brightness, before your vision adjusted and you took in the scene.

There they were, all of them: Sarah, the engineers, the mechanics, even some of the other drivers, their faces alight with laughter and excitement, all shouting “Happy Birthday!”. It was almost too much to take in.

A wave of warmth spread through you, a warmth that had nothing to do with the recently illuminated room. This was… incredible. You’d been so focused on the race, so caught up in the pressure of the weekend that you'd almost forgotten about your birthday. To see so many people, people you worked with, people you considered friends, all gathered here, just for you... it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Christian stepped forward, a hand landing heavily yet affectionately on your shoulder. "We've been planning it for a while now," he said, his grin infectious. "We knew the race fell on your birthday, so we figured a little surprise was in order." He paused, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Thought you deserved something special."

You couldn't stop smiling. You knew he was right, this was something special. You spent the next little while weaving through the crowd, making small talk, thanking everyone profusely for their efforts.

From the enthusiastic pats on the back from the mechanics to the genuine smiles from the engineers, every moment was a balm to your heart. You received a thoughtful gift from Sarah, a personalized scrapbook with pictures of the both of you since you two started being friends, and shared a laugh with a few of the drivers as they teased you about how old you were getting.

Every gesture, however small, made you feel appreciated and valued, more than just a driver on the team. For the first time all week, you felt completely at ease.

But then, a nagging question began to form, a question you couldn't ignore. Amidst the cheers and congratulations, one face, a face you’d been hoping to see, was conspicuously absent.

Where was Max? You searched the room again, your eyes scanning the crowd, but he wasn’t there.

Finally, when you felt you could politely excuse yourself from the crowd, you found Christian standing by one of the tables. You approached him hesitantly, a hopeful lilt in your voice.

"Hey, Christian," you said, "this was amazing, seriously. I, uh, just had a question. Do you know where Max is?"

Christian's grin widened, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Max is doing something in that room," he said, his voice a low murmur, pointing to a door at the far end of the corridor.

Then he winked, a gesture that made your stomach do a weird flip. "He said he had a 'special project' going on."

Your heart pounded in your chest. A ‘special project’? You nodded slowly, thanking him with a smile, but inside, anticipation was building. You began to walk towards the door, your steps feeling lighter than usual.

As you passed the others, you noticed their eyes were on you, their faces lit with knowing grins. Did they know something you didn’t?

A flush crept up your neck, your cheeks warming as you imagined what ‘special project’ Max could be working on.

You found yourself standing before the door, your hand hovering over the handle. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter in your chest. 

You had no idea what to expect on the other side of this door, but the feeling of nervous excitement was almost overwhelming.

The anticipation had twisted your insides into a tight knot, but you decided you weren’t going to stand here all day. You turned the handle, and stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, only a few scattered tea lights illuminating the space. The change from the bright, harsh lights of the paddock was disorienting for a moment.

You could hear soft music playing, something instrumental and calming, a melody that seemed to wrap around you like a warm hug. And in the center of the room, stood Max. He was facing away from you, his broad shoulders tense, his posture almost rigid.

He wasn't wearing his usual Red Bull shirt, instead opting for a simple black t-shirt. It was jarring to see him out of his racing suit - he looked almost vulnerable.

“Max?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. He turned around, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. He was holding a bouquet of vibrant red and blue roses, the colours stark against the soft light, and his face was… soft.

Not the usual hardened mask you were used to seeing on the racetrack, the intense focus replaced with something almost childlike. He looked nervous, almost hesitant. It was an expression you had never seen before.

His eyes, usually so intense, held a different kind of fire, a nervous vulnerability that made your heart do a strange little flip.

“Y/N!” he said, the usually booming voice tight with what you realized was panic. “These are for you,” He offered the bouquet, his hands trembling slightly.

You reached out and took them from him, your fingers brushing against his. The contact sent a shiver up your arm, not unpleasant, but definitely unexpected.

“Really? No one’s ever bought me flowers before,” you muttered, your voice a breathless whisper as you inhaled their sweet perfume.

The roses were a beautiful mix of classic red and a deep, almost electric, blue. It was unusual and completely fitting of the man who stood before you.

“Yeah, and there’s more,” he said, fixing his cap, a nervous gesture you recognized, though you couldn’t remember him ever being nervous before.

“Really? This is more than enough, you know,” you replied, feeling a tear prickle the corner of your eye. Not because you were sad, but because this unexpected gesture felt like something out of a movie.

Did this really happen to people? Did this happen to you?

“Nothing, of course, is enough for you, Y/N, you should know that,” Max stated with a small, genuine smile that sent a bolt of warmth right through you. His gaze was intense, locking onto yours, making the room feel smaller, more intimate.

You felt your cheeks flush once more, the warmth spreading across your skin. “I… I don’t know what to say.” You looked down at the roses, suddenly feeling flustered.

It was one thing to work alongside Max on the track, but this? This was completely different territory.

He stepped closer, and you looked up, your eyes meeting his. He was closer than he had ever been before. “Say you like them,” he said softly, his voice a husky murmur that echoed in the quiet room.

“I… I love them, Max. They’re beautiful,” you confessed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. The sincerity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat and you felt that butterfly feeling flutter in your stomach.

You looked down at the bouquet again, the vibrant colours a stark contrast to the soft atmosphere of the room.

“Good. Cause I picked each one of them,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. He reached out and gently touched your arm. “Look, I… I’m not good at this. This whole… thing.”

You chuckled, a soft sound that echoed in the room. “You’re doing a pretty good job so far, Max,” you said, finding your voice as you looked up into his eyes again. “Flowers, soft music, dimmed lights… it’s all very… thoughtful.”

He let out a soft relieved exhale, his shoulders finally relaxing. “Thoughtful? That's good,” he said, “I was hoping for thoughtful. The guys told me I needed a ‘good vibe’ and they weren't specific of what that vague term meant."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking endearingly flustered. “Okay so… this isn’t just about flowers, Y/N.” His gaze intensified. “I asked you here… because… because I wanted you to know… that I like you. A lot. More than I like fast cars, maybe even more than winning. Which is saying something.”

Your breath hitched. The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected, and your mind scrambled to catch up. It wasn’t as if you hadn't felt something between you two, a subtle pull that resonated every time you were near, but to hear it spoken aloud, so candidly, so… him… it was a shock.

“Oh. Oh no, no no, you don't-” you stammered, your hand flying to your mouth.

“What?” Max said, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“You don’t want to like me, I am no good,” you blurted out, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

The admission felt like a confession of a dirty little secret you’d been holding onto for far too long. But it was true, look at what happened to Jake.

“But I do,” Max said, his gaze unwavering. He leaned forward slightly, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and concern.

“Yeah, no, I’m sorry, I can’t- you can’t,” you insisted, shaking your head, trying to force some sense back into the situation.

You could feel the panic rising in your chest, a familiar feeling you hadn’t experienced in a while, but now this.

“Why?” Max asked, his voice laced with genuine confusion. The easy laughter that usually danced in his eyes was completely gone.

"Because I said – I am no good!" you said, your voice rising with a touch of desperation. You wanted him to understand, you needed him to understand.

“What do you mean? I can’t just stop liking you because you told me to!” Max said, there was a glint of annoyance now, a sign that he was not going to give in easily.

He was the kind of man who went after what he wanted and that was becoming more apparent than ever.

“Well, you will have to! Because I don’t- I’m not doing this. You don’t get to just...throw this at me!” you said, your hand moving wildly in the air, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“W-what, now you’re just being mean, if you don’t like me just say so,” Max said, the confusion morphing into hurt, and it hurt you to see the hurt in his eyes as they looked into you.

“I do! -like you… And- and that’s the problem,” you whispered, the admission ripped raw and honest.

You hated how vulnerable you felt in this moment, how naked your emotions were, laid bare before him.

“What are you even saying, I don’t get it,” Max said, his voice laced with frustration. This conversation had taken a turn he certainly hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m saying we can’t, not right now, hell, not ever,” you said, the finality of the statement solidifying the fear that had been swirling in your stomach into a concrete truth.

You walked over to the nearest table and placed the bouquet down before walking to the door, your hands shaking as you reached for the door handle.

You could feel his gaze burning into your back, the weight of his confusion pushing down on your shoulders.

“Y/N, wait!” Max’s voice was behind you, but you kept walking faster now. You couldn’t let him see the tears that were threatening to spill, the vulnerability you guarded so fiercely.

You had to get away. You had to escape this room and the feelings it was causing, before you broke down completely.

“Please,” he said, his voice softer now, his steps quickening till he was right behind you, his gaze unwavering, “Just… explain. Tell me what’s going on. I… I don’t understand.” He was close now, almost too close, and you could feel yourself start to crumble.

You stopped, your hand still on the doorknob, and turned to face him. You searched his eyes, saw the genuine care there, the utter confusion. You knew you owed him that much, at least.

You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to find the right words, the ones that could convey the turmoil inside you without completely breaking down.

“Max,” you began, your voice raw with emotion, “You… you’re amazing. You’re kind and funny and… and ridiculously talented. And that’s… that’s the problem.” The words felt inadequate, like they failed to capture the depth of your internal turmoil, but it was the best you could do.

His brow furrowed further. “But… I don’t understand. You’re saying I’m too… good for you? That’s ridiculous, Y/N.” He moved closer, his hand hovering near your arm, unsure if he should touch you.

“No, it’s not that!” You insisted, your voice cracking. “It’s… it’s me. I’m… messed up. I’m… a disaster waiting to happen. I ruin everything I touch, everything I care about.” You felt your throat tighten, your eyes burning with unshed tears.

“I can’t… I can’t do that to you. You deserve better. You deserve someone… someone who is not me.” The confession was like a dam breaking, the words pouring out, unfiltered and raw.

You’d finally said it. After weeks of agonizing, of rehearsing lines in your head, of second-guessing every feeling, you’d admitted your insecurities.

You’d spilled the messy truth about how you felt undeserving, how you believed that he, Max – kind, intelligent, and impossibly handsome Max – could, should, find someone better than you.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering, taking in the vulnerability that you were so desperately trying to hide. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, gentle, almost a whisper.

“Y/N,” he started, his own vulnerability showing through, "I don't understand where this is coming from. I know you are the kindest and most amazing woman I know." He paused, taking your hand in his, as though wanting to give you his strength. "I don't want better, I want you, just you."

“But…” you started, but the words caught in your throat, the weight of your fears and insecurities still present, but somehow… smaller, diminished by the way he spoke, the vulnerability he showed and how gently he held your hand.

“No buts,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips, that nervous, sweet smile that made your heart twist.

“Just… tell me what to do. Tell me what I need to prove to you. Give me, give us, a chance. Please.” His eyes sparkled with hope, pleading with you to just… trust him. Just a little bit.

You looked into his eyes and you knew that you couldn't walk away. You knew that this would most likely end up breaking you, hurt you in ways you couldn't imagine, but his eyes, they held you captive.

You had only one answer so you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to organize your thoughts, to be as transparent as possible.

“It’s not that I don’t want this, Max. I do.” You say, your voice is soft, hesitant. “I like you, I really like you so much that it scares me, a lot.” The truth hangs in the air, vulnerable and raw, and you brace yourself for his reaction. Any reaction but the one he gives you.

He doesn't flinch or pull away. Instead, he squeezes your hand and smiles, that disarming, melting smile. "I think, if we work through it together, we might just make it. I think, that if we try, you will see, that whatever you are going through, you don't have to go through it alone. I want to be there for you, through it all."

His words are like a balm, soothing the anxieties that have been gnawing at you. It's not just the words themselves, but the way he delivers them, the sincerity in his voice, the unwavering look in his eyes.

He's not promising you a fairytale, he understands that the reality will come with challenges. But he’s offering you companionship, partnership, in navigating those challenges together.

A small smile plays on your lips as you look at him, hope blossoming in your heart. Maybe this would work out. Maybe you could finally be happy. But the fear still lingers, a quiet voice whispering in the back of your mind.

“But… what if I mess it up? What if I’m not good enough?” Your voice is barely a whisper, the insecurities finally bubbling to the surface. You feel so vulnerable to his gaze and the way he carefully holds your hand, like you are a precious glass.

Max’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, a gentle, grounding motion. “Y/N, you are more than good enough. You are amazing. And we all mess up. That’s part of being human. The point is, being able to say you're sorry, learn from it, and continue to move forward. Besides, we’ll make mistakes together, learn and grow together.”

His smile widens, adding, “And who knows, maybe those mess-ups will be some of our best memories.” He chuckles, a sound that always makes your heart flutter.

You felt like crying again, a mix of relief and overwhelming emotion flooding through you. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, seeking comfort in his warmth.

“I'm sorry for trying to push you away,” you muttered against his skin, the words muffled.

Max rubbed your back, his touch light and comforting. “Don’t apologise after what you’ve been through. I, of course, was never going to let you go,” His voice was quiet, his sincerity palpable. You pressed closer to him, feeling incredibly safe in his arms.

The fear was still there, a low hum in the background, but it was now overshadowed by his presence.

You pulled back slowly, your cheeks flushing slightly. The boldness of the previous confession had temporarily left you, and suddenly shyness enveloped you.

You felt the flutter of your eyelashes, the nervousness of the moment. "Can... can I kiss you?" The question was soft, barely audible, but it hung in the air between you.

Max grinned, a radiant, dazzling expression that made your heart skip a beat.

"Of course, schat," His response was immediate, filled with affection. Schat. It was a term of endearment he often used, a Dutch word meaning "treasure" or "darling," and it always made you feel safe and cherished.

You moved towards him, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow and tender, a silent promise of forgiveness and understanding. It wasn't a passionate, desperate kiss, but a soft exploration, a gentle reaffirmation of the connection that had always been there, humming beneath the surface.

When you pulled back, your gaze locked with his, and you felt a warmth spread through you, dispelling some of the lingering fear.

“I like you, Max. A lot,” you said, your voice a little shaky, your cheeks still warm. You felt vulnerable, laying your feelings bare like this, but it also felt incredibly right.

He reached up, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I like you too, Y/N, more than you know,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with affection. He had waited patiently for you, had given you the space you needed, and had never once wavered in his affections.

You knew, without a doubt, that he was someone who would always be there, no matter how difficult things got.

A nervous energy seemed to buzz around him as he took in another breath, the kind that a teenager would have before asking his crush to prom.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked, his voice laced with a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

You didn’t hesitate. You nodded, your smile widening as you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend,” you replied, the words flowing easily and naturally.

It felt as if that had always been the plan, like everything had been leading up to this very moment.

A relieved sigh escaped him, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his touch sending a wave of warmth along your skin.

"Great," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "Because your second present would have been awkward."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, silver object. It glinted in the dim light – a key.

“Max…” you started, confusion and a touch of incredulity mixing in your voice.

“It’s my house key, of course. You need a key to get in when I’m doing something else, like sim training,” he explained, his tone casual, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He offered the key to you, his eyes filled with an innocent earnestness.

That was the tipping point. The dam broke. You felt a lump form in your throat, and tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You were crying. Not the dramatic kind of crying, but the quiet, choked-up kind that comes from being overwhelmed by emotion.

“Schat! I’m sorry! Don’t cry,” Max said, his voice filled with concern. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. You buried your face in his neck, letting the tears fall freely.

His embrace was grounding, his hand gently stroking your back, a soothing rhythm against your trembling form.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, his voice soft and reassuring. "What is it? Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to make you cry."

He sounded genuinely panicked, and a part of you felt guilty for making him worry.

You pulled back slightly, wiping away tears with the back of your hand. "No, no, it's not you," you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s just… it’s a key, Max. And it’s such a... you thing to do.” You chuckled slightly, the sound shaky and watery.

He looked at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. “But you need a key to get in. I mean, what if you wanted to come over and I wasn’t home yet? I wouldn’t want you to be waiting outside.”

“That’s… exactly what I meant,” you said, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. “You just… you think of everything.” The fact that he had already considered you needing the key, the fact that he was already thinking about you coming over and feeling safe… it was all just too much.

He looked at you as if he couldn't comprehend why you'd be crying at that, and that was the most endearing thing you had ever seen.

“I thought you wouldn’t like it,” he admitted, his voice small. “I wasn’t sure if it was too much, too soon. But… I really wanted you to have it. So you can feel like… you can feel like a home when I’m not home.”

His confession was raw, honest, and laced with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

You reached up and cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing gently against his cheekbones. "I love it, Max. I really love it," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "It's... it's more than I could have ever asked for."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes searching yours. “You’re not upset?” he asked, his voice still tinged with worry.

You shook your head, a genuine smile finally breaking through. “No, I’m not upset. I’m… overwhelmed. In the best way possible.” You paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, letting the reality of the moment sink in. “You’re amazing, Max.”

He mirrored your smile, his own eyes lighting up with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “So, the key?” he asked, holding it out again.

You took it from him, the metal cool against your palm. “It’s perfect,” you said, your gaze locking with his. “Thank you, Max.”

He pulled you close again, wrapping you in a tight, comforting embrace. "You're welcome, schat," he whispered, his voice muffled against your hair. "Does this mean you'll try my cooking for dinner this time. Since you'll have the key and all?"

You chuckled, leaning into his embrace. "Only if you promise not to set the kitchen on fire."

He pulled back, a playful glint in his eyes. "No promises, but I'll try my best," he said with a grin.

The dim room no longer felt oppressive, but warm and safe. The fear, the uncertainty, all seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a sense of belonging, of love, of home.

You held the key, not just a key to his house, but to his heart, and suddenly, everything felt right.

You reached the doorway and stepped out, the bouquet leading the way. You expected the hushed silence of an empty hall, perhaps the echo of distant conversations. What you didn't expect was the wall of faces that greeted you.

The entire hall, which you had assumed was deserted, was lined with people, their eyes all fixed on the corner where you and Max had emerged. Their expectant gazes, a mixture of delight and curiosity, made your cheeks flush with heat.

Silence hung heavy, thick with unspoken questions, then, like a dam bursting, the cheers erupted. Shouts, whistles, and clapping filled the hall, their collective voice a tidal wave of delighted celebration.

You felt your face grow hotter, and your grip tightened on the bouquet, the stems pressing into your palm. This was not how you envisioned this moment. You had expected the awkwardness to occur in the small room, not right here, under the scrutiny of a hundred pairs of eyes.

You turned, your gaze searching out Max behind you. He was a study in sheepish charm, his cheeks flushed a shade darker than yours, his eyes wide with a mix of apprehension and something that looked a lot like exhilaration.

He shuffled his feet for a moment, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, before meeting your gaze with that familiar, gentle smile of his.

"They helped me confess," he said, his voice a quiet murmur that barely reached your ears over the continuing cheers, "I… I didn’t think I could do it alone.” He looked away for a brief moment before looking back into your eyes. "They knew you were in the room."

The pieces clicked into place. The hushed whispers you’d overheard earlier, the strangely insistent nudging toward the small room, the seemingly innocent way to get you to Max – it had all been meticulously orchestrated.

Your first instinct was to feel embarrassed by the blatant manipulation, but the warmth in Max’s eyes melted your irritation away. They had done it for him, and for you.

They had recognized something before you had even allowed yourself to truly believe it.

"I... They did?" You managed, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt the bouquet tremble in your hand, its vibrant colours suddenly feeling like a spotlight on your face.

He nodded, a faint grin spreading across his face. He straightened his posture and looked at you with an earnest look on his face, "Yeah. I told them how I felt about you, and they all decided that I needed a little push."

He took a small step closer, his hands coming out of his pockets to gently rest on your arms. "I know it's kind of awkward right now but..."

"Awkward?" You laughed, a surprised sound that cut through the noise. "Max, the entire office is watching us, and they're practically throwing a party. This is beyond awkward."

He chuckled softly, his thumb gently stroking your arm. "Okay, maybe slightly more than awkward, but I wouldn't change it for anything. Not now that I can finally say that I’ve been completely and utterly smitten with you for months, now that you know, and now that you… well…”

He trailed off, his eyes shifting to the flowers you held before meeting your gaze again. “You said yes. In the room. Right?"

You felt a giddy warmth spread through your chest. You did say yes, didn’t you? It had all happened so fast, the nervousness, the confession, the kiss.

Your mind, still reeling, struggled to keep up with the rapid turn of events. You hadn't really processed the magnitude of it all, not yet, not with so many eyes on you.

"Yes, Max," you said, your voice steadier this time. "I said yes."

A grin bloomed across his face, lighting up his features. It was a grin you’d seen countless times, but this one, this one felt different, more intimate, reserved just for you.

"Well you can thank them if you want to," Max grinned, gesturing vaguely to the throng of people gathered behind him.

You heard laughter and some shuffling through the crowd before Lando and Charles appeared in front of you, their grins equally wide. Their appearance, and the knowing looks in their eyes, sent a fresh wave of bewildered warmth through you.

"Hey Y/N! I'm guessing he finally did it," Lando teased, nudging Max playfully in the ribs.

"No way! You knew too?" you asked, surprised. You had genuinely thought Max’s clumsy confession and the subsequent proposal were a spontaneous act, an outpouring of feelings he could no longer contain.

The revelation that it had been a calculated performance added another layer of bewilderment.

"Of course, I did! I helped with it the most," Lando declared proudly, puffing out his chest slightly.

Charles immediately scoffed. "No mate, I did," he said, matching Lando’s posture with narrowed eyes. He crossed his arms, clearly in the mood for a playful argument.

"Actually it was Daniel that thought of most of it," Max corrected, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched his friends bicker.

"Daniel?" you repeated, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Daniel Ricciardo? The notoriously jovial Australian was the mastermind behind this entire thing?

You were beginning to feel like you were living in some bizarre, slightly surreal rom-com.

Just then, the door opened from the other side of the room and a familiar voice boomed, "Heya! Am I too late?"

You turned to see Daniel standing in the doorway, his signature grin plastered on his face.

"Nope Daniel, you're just in time," Max yelled back, his voice full of genuine joy. The room was suddenly buzzing with life, with laughter and light, and you felt a strange sense of belonging, of being caught up in something bigger than just you and Max.

You took a shaky breath, grounding yourself in the reality of the moment. He was yours, and you, in a dizzying but wonderful twist of fate, were his.

"Okay, so here's the thing," Daniel started, clapping his hands together in a way that demanded attention. "Max came to us, months ago, practically begging for help. He was a lovesick puppy moping about how amazing you were and how he was too scared to actually do anything about it."

Your cheeks flushed crimson, the image of the usually confident Max reduced to a moping puppy both adorable and hilarious.

You glanced at him, a playful smirk forming on your lips. He just shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face.

"We tried subtle hints, we tried blatant pushes, we even tried a completely ridiculous interpretive dance,” Charles interjected, his face scrunching up in a grimace. “That was… not our finest hour."

"Oh god, please don't remind me of that" Lando said, cringing slightly, "we were terrible"

"And finally," Daniel continued, "after months of agonizing, Max decided he was going to pull out the big guns so to speak." He winked at you. "Hence the very public, yet very romantic, proposal."

"It wasn't that public!" Max protested, but his voice held no real conviction. "Only like, half the paddock knew about it."

"Yeah, half the paddock who all happen to be great conversationalists," you said, laughing.

You wrapped your arm around Max's waist, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours.

"So, you knew?" You looked at Max, a hint of accusation in your eyes.

"I… might have had a little bit of help," he admitted, his gaze locking with yours. “But the feelings, those were one hundred percent mine, Y/N. Every single smitten, completely ridiculous, hopelessly in love bit of them. I just…” he paused, his gaze searching yours for something.

“I really wanted it to be special. For you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He was looking at you, the way a person looks at home, with a mixture of comfort and longing.

The room faded into the background and it was just you, and him, the weight of everything that had just transpired, and the overwhelming happiness swelling in your chest.

"Well, it was special," you said softly, and then, just for him, you added. "It was perfect."

He leaned in and kissed you. It was soft, gentle, like the first kiss all over again, but with a depth that the first hadn’t held. He pulled away, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"So, you really said yes?" He asked again, a playful lilt in his voice.

"Yes, Max," you laughed. "I really said yes. And you can thank your friends all you want but I was saying yes to you, to us. Not them."

You looked at the friends, still standing there and smiling and you could see that, despite the playful teasing and back and forth, they all seemed genuinely happy for you.

And in that moment, you knew that this room, those people, this bizarre and wonderful moment, was where you belonged. You were surrounded by people who loved you, who cared for you, and who were just as excited about your future as you were.

But most importantly, you were with him, the man who had made you feel like the most cherished person in the world. . . .

The worn floral print of Christian and Geri’s spare bedroom felt a little too familiar, a little too much like a childhood bedroom you’d long outgrown. The chipped paint on the windowsill, the baby blue coloured walls – they all seemed to be silently judging the contents of the open suitcase on the floor.

It was a suitcase, you realized with a sigh, that Olivia, a tiny force of nature with bright eyes and a stubborn chin, was currently using as a rather uncomfortable throne.

“No!” she declared, her voice small but firm. Her little legs, clad in rainbow-striped leggings, were splayed across the suitcase, effectively barring any further attempts at packing. “You can’t leave!”

You fought the urge to smile, a knot of tenderness and exasperation tightening in your chest. You loved Olivia like she was your own niece, which she was in all but blood.

You’d spent countless evenings reading her stories, building Lego castles, and braiding her unruly hair. It was going to be hard leaving, harder than you’d anticipated.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning beneath you. “Why can’t I leave, Liv?” you asked, your tone gentle. You already knew the answer, but you needed to hear her say it.

Her brow furrowed, a miniature version of Geri’s expression when she was deep in thought. “Because… you make the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation. “And you always let me pick the movie.”

It was a weak argument, but it was hers. A genuine, heartfelt argument against your departure. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“I taught you how to make your own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, remember?” you pointed out, teasing lightly. “And I promise, Max and I will invite you over for movie nights. We just won’t have this giant, comfy bed.”

Her eyes widened, the argument about sandwiches forgotten. “Max’s house has a giant bed?” she asked, her voice filled with awe.

“Well,” you said, chuckling, “It’s big enough for him and me, but maybe we can squish you in sometimes.”

You immediately regretted it when her face lit up, all thoughts of your departure suddenly focused on whether this “giant bed” would be a good place to jump.

You were about to derail the entire thing, even before you’d managed to pack a single pair of socks.

Olivia bounced off the suitcase, her earlier resistance seemingly forgotten. “Can we go now?!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining with anticipation. “I want to see Max’s giant bed!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Not yet, sweetie. I still need to pack, remember? And anyway, you'll have to ask your mom and dad if you're allowed to go over to Max's.”

The thought of Max, his warm smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, always warmed you from the inside out.

Moving in together felt like the most natural thing in the world, a gentle step forward in a relationship that had blossomed so effortlessly.

“Oh, okay,” Olivia said, her enthusiasm slightly dampened but still there. She plopped down on the bed next to you, her back leaning against you. “But you can’t forget to pack the sparkly socks you let me borrow!”

You reached out and ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry, they're not on my packing list,” You said, hoping she wouldn't notice how your hand was shaking a little.

It had felt like an eternity since you'd found the little courage to break from the "safe" life you'd built, the one where you were just their 'friend' who lived at Christian and Geri's.

It had felt like an eternity since you'd allowed yourself to feel this happy.

She was quiet for a moment, her little face serious. “I’m going to miss you, you know,” she said in a small voice. It wasn’t a whiny statement, but it was filled with a heartbreaking honesty that tugged at you.

You leaned in and hugged her tight. “I’m going to miss you too, Liv,” you mumbled into her hair, the scent of strawberries and sunshine filling your nose.

"But it’s not goodbye forever. I'll still be around. We’ll have so many sleepovers. And I'm not all the way gone yet. We can bake cookies and do crafts and watch shows together. Okay?”

She nodded against you, and the silence stretched for a moment, the only sounds the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the low rumble of a car passing on the street outside.

You could feel her small hand gripping the edge of your t-shirt, her grip surprisingly strong despite her size. You were so grateful to have her. What would you do without them all? The thought of leaving now seemed more daunting than it had an hour ago.

“You like Max, right?” Olivia asked, finally breaking the silence.

You tensed. You hadn't expected that question. It caught you off guard, though you knew she wasn’t going to pry. She was just a kid, trying to understand the changes happening around her.

“Yeah, Liv. I like Max a lot,” you admitted, your voice soft. You wondered if she could hear the smile in your voice. It was a simple statement, but it carried so much weight.

It was more than just liking him. It was the easy way he fit into your life, the way he understood your vulnerabilities and supported your dreams, the way he made you feel like the most important person in the world. You loved him.

Olivia nodded, her gaze fixed on her hands. "He's nice I guess," she conceded grudgingly.

Her head snapped up, her eyes widening. “Really?” Her voice was full of surprise, a spark of genuine interest finally flicking to life behind her eyes.

“Yeah! He said he wanted to do it for all of your friends, like a big group thing as a surprise.” you beamed at her.

The tension in the room seemed to lessen slightly. Olivia’s shoulders relaxed, her small frown softening. She actually looked… curious.

“He’s doing that?” she asked, her voice laced with a hint of disbelief. “That’s… nice.”

“See?” you said, a playful tone creeping into your voice. “He is! He’s not just some random boyfriend, Liv. He’s actually pretty amazing.”

She finally looked up at you, a small smile playing on her lips. “I guess. It's just… it’s going to be really different without you here.”

“I know,” you said, your heart clenching slightly at the thought of leaving your shared space. “But it's not like I'm moving to another country. We can still hang out whenever you want.”

“Yeah, I know,” she mumbled, picking at a loose thread on her skirt.

“And,” you added, hoping to lighten the mood further, “Max said we could do movie nights at his house after the season is over. Your movie pick would be first.”

“Really?” Her smile grew a bit wider. “He said that?”

“Yep! He’s actually really excited to have you all over. He thinks you’re cool, you know.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly. “He does?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, Liv. He’s not some monster trying to steal me away. He just… makes me happy.”

She sighed, the last vestiges of her earlier frustration seeming to melt away. “Okay, okay. I get it. He sounds like a decent boyfriend. And a big Moana fan.”

“He kind of is,” you said, grinning. You picked up another outfit from the wardrobe. “Hey, do you want to watch Peppa Pig while I finish packing? Or do you have a better suggestion?”

Olivia's face brightened. “Oh yes please! But only if we have pizza after you finish.”

You laughed, relieved. “Deal,” you said.

The melody pulsed through you, a vibrant current that mirrored the excitement fizzing in your stomach. “Ik sloeg mijn ogen open, knipperde wat en de lucht leek helder, hij wil dat ik hem geloof nu…” you sang, the Dutch words rolling off your tongue with a practiced ease.

You weren't fluent, not by a long shot, but you'd been diligently working on your pronunciation, fueled by a secret desire to impress Max.

Your phone, perched precariously on a stack of books, continued to belt out the infectious pop tune by a Dutch artist you'd discovered.

You grabbed the last stray top from your drawer, a soft, faded blue, and made your way back to your suitcase, which lay open and waiting on your bed.

“Als ik schrik van hem, kom ik niet meer zo dichtbij als ik zou willen,” you continued, a small smile playing on your lips.

You envisioned Max’s reaction, the surprise in his eyes, maybe even a chuckle, when he heard you singing in his native tongue. You'd been teasing him about learning Dutch for weeks, a little game to keep the anticipation of this visit high.

You carefully folded the top, fitting it neatly into the already packed case. The song reached its crescendo, a final flourish of synth and pounding drums before fading out.

The silence that followed felt… different. Too sudden. You were about to reach for your phone, to put on something else, when the sound of slow, deliberate clapping startled you.

Your heart leaped into your throat, and you spun around, a gasp escaping your lips.

There, leaning against your bedroom doorframe, stood Max. His arms were crossed over his chest, a knowing smirk playing on his face.

He looked effortlessly handsome, like he had just stepped out of a magazine. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

“Max!” you exclaimed, your hand flying to your chest. “How long have you been standing there?” Your face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and sheer joy.

You hadn't expected him until much later in the day, and the element of surprise was nearly overwhelming.

He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into your room, his gaze lingering on you. “Long enough to witness a very impressive performance,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“Your Dutch is… well, it’s coming along.” There was a teasing note in his voice, but also something else, a hint of genuine admiration that made your stomach flip.

“Oh god,” you groaned, your cheeks burning a fiery red. “You heard all of that? It was awful, probably.” You started to fidget with your shirt, feeling terribly self-conscious.

Max chuckled, a sound you loved. “Awful? I thought you sounded like a natural.” He walked closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You know, ‘ik schrik van hem, kom ik niet meer zo dichtbij als ik zou willen’ is quite a romantic line. What does it mean?”

Your mind raced, trying to translate the words without sounding like a bumbling fool. “Uh, it’s… it’s something like… ‘if I am scared of him, I won’t come as close as I would like to’,” you mumbled, your gaze dropping to your feet.

He stopped in front of you, tilting your chin gently up with his finger. His touch sent a jolt through you, making you forget, for a moment, how silly you probably looked.

“Scared of me?” he asked, his voice softer now, laced with a hint of concern.

You shook your head quickly, “No, of course not! It’s just the song. I was just trying to get the pronunciation right.” You felt your face growing even hotter.

“Well, you were certainly dedicated,” he said with a smile. “And I must confess, it was rather charming.” He stepped around you to look at the open suitcase.

"You're almost done?" Max asked, turning back to you with that smile that always made your heart flutter.

You nodded, still slightly dazed, thinking, how did you even get in?

As if reading your mind, Max let out another chuckle. "Your sister let me in and gave me a 10 minute lecture of how to take care of you, I already feel like a better boyfriend," he said with a smile, a playful glint in his eyes.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Olivia peek her head in before getting caught and running off, a stifled laugh echoing from the hallway.

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. Olivia and her dramatic theatrics were a constant in your life.

“She’s ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.

He held your hand delicately, his touch sending a familiar warmth through you. His fingers intertwined with yours, a silent reassurance.

"Are you sure you're ready to move in with me, schat?" he asked, his voice soft, laced with a tenderness that always made your heart melt.

A wave of emotion washed over you, a mixture of excitement and a slight trepidation. Officially moving in with Max was a step, a big one, and the reality of it finally sank in.

This wasn't just a casual dating thing anymore; it was a commitment, a joining of lives, a leap into the unknown with the person you loved most.

“Ik ben meer dan klaar om met jou te leven,” you responded in Dutch, the words flowing smoothly, a secret language just for the two of you. I am more than ready to live with you.

Max grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He loved the way your native tongue sounded, the way the words rolled off your tongue, the intimacy of a language he didn't quite understand but felt deeply.

"God, you have to speak more of it later, okay?" he muttered, his voice low and slightly husky, a look of genuine adoration in his eyes. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

“Of course, Liefje,” you smiled, leaning into his embrace, the word darling slipping naturally off your tongue.

His scent, a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely his, filled your senses, and you felt safe, secure, like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You tilted your head back, looking up at him. "I can't believe this is actually happening," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. "Me neither," he confessed, "but I’m really excited. We're going to make a home together."

You laughed, the tension easing from your shoulders. He had a way of making even the most daunting things feel like an adventure. "I can already see the chaos unfolding," you joked. "And I actually can't wait for it."

"Good, because I have a feeling it's going to be one hell of a ride," he replied, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

He released you from the hug but kept your hand in his, guiding you towards the door. "Come on, let's get out of here. I’ve already loaded the other suitcase and Geri is waiting with lots of snacks for the road. Plus, I’m sure Olivia has something dramatic planned as your departure performance.”

As you walked out of your room, the weight of the move, the finality of it all, settled in. You glanced back at the empty space, a small pang in your chest.

It was a chapter closed, a book put back on the shelf, ready for the next story to begin.

Downstairs, Geri engulfed you in a hug, a mixture of sadness and happiness in her eyes. Olivia was holding a tissue to her face, fake sobbing, dramatically letting the tissue fall to the floor as she pretended to faint.

“Oh please,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes.

“This is a great occasion,” Geri chuckled, “A bittersweet one. I’m so happy for you two, truly, but seeing you leave is definitely a change.”

“Don’t worry, Geri, I’ll come back whenever you need me,” you said, giving her another hug. “And you can always visit.”

“Of course,” your mom said softly. "I’ve already planned the Christmas dinner to be at your new place. I expect you two to work hard making it a home,”

You laughed and turned to Max. "Ready to go?" you asked, a genuine smile lighting up your face.

He squeezed your hand, a silent reassurance. "Always," he said, his eyes full of affection.

You took one last look at your home for a few months, a place filled with memories, both good and bad. Then you turned away.

The future was here, waiting for you, and you were ready to embrace it, hand in hand with the man you loved.

The car ride was filled with laughter and excited chatter. Max’s hand rested on your thigh, a comforting weight that grounded you. You listened to him talk about his plans for the apartment, how he envisioned you both filling it with your personalities.

He told you about painting the kitchen walls and adding some of your favorite books. Your heart swelled with affection.

It was going to be perfect.

Arriving at the apartment, you were greeted with the sight of Max's place, and it was better than you had imagined. It was filled with light and open spaces, with a balcony overlooking a small park. This space, your space, was waiting for you to make it a home.

You took a deep breath, the feeling of anticipation and joy bubbling in your chest.

Max looked at you. "What do you think?" he asked, his eyes filled with a touch of nervousness.

You turned to him, your heart overflowing. "It's perfect," you said, your voice soft, filled with love. "Absolutely perfect."

And you knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within your soul, that this was where you were meant to be. This was the start of your next chapter, and you couldn't wait to see where it would take you.

As Max took your hand and pulled you inside, his smile telling you everything you needed to know, you knew, that this was home.

The key turned in the lock with a satisfying click, and the door swung inward, revealing the entryway of your new life together. Sunlight poured through the large windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, eager spirits.

You stepped inside, and for a moment, everything else ceased to exist. It wasn't just a house; it was a testament to shared dreams, a physical manifestation of the love you and Max had carefully cultivated.

Your gaze immediately lifted, drawn to the soaring vaulted ceiling, the exposed beams a rich, dark wood that contrasted beautifully with the soft, off-white walls. You ran your hand along the smooth plaster, marveling at the craftsmanship.

Your feet carried you forward, deeper into the house, your suitcase forgotten by the door. You traced the curve of an archway that led to what you assumed was the living room, then peeked into a cozy nook tucked away near the kitchen, already imagining long evenings curled up there with a book.

You explored each room as if it were a precious artifact, finding beauty in every detail. The kitchen was a chef’s dream, with a large island, gleaming countertops, and a pantry that seemed to stretch on forever.

Sunlight streamed through the large, almost floor-to-ceiling windows in the dining area, promising sun-drenched breakfasts and candlelit dinners. You could already picture yourselves here, laughing and creating memories in the home that belonged to both of you.

You were so thoroughly captivated you hadn't even noticed Max watching you from the entryway, his eyes filled with an adoration that made your heart melt. He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

Finally, you completed your impromptu tour, circling back to the entryway practically vibrating with excitement. You turned to him, your eyes wide, a genuine smile lighting up your face.

“What do you think, schat?” he asked, his voice soft, laced with anticipation.

You didn’t hesitate, your heart full to bursting. “Liefje, it’s amazing,” you breathed out, the Dutch term of endearment rolling off your tongue with ease. It was more than amazing; it was everything you had ever hoped for, and more. It felt like coming home.

He pushed himself off the doorframe and came towards you, his hand reaching out to take yours. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, his smile widening. “I knew you would. I’ve spent weeks picturing you here.” He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Picture me here?” you teased, tilting your head. “Doing what?”

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through you. “Reading in that little nook, probably. Or cooking up a storm in that kitchen. And dancing, maybe? We have plenty of space for that now.”

You laughed, imagining the possibilities. “Dancing, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, playfully challenging him. “Are you going to finally teach me the tango?”

“Maybe,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “But first things first: we need to get your suitcase inside before someone mistakes it for an abandoned piece of luggage.” He gestured towards the forgotten suitcase with a playful wink.

You blushed slightly, realizing how completely you had gotten caught up in the moment. “Oh, right.” You turned to grab your suitcase, but he was already there, easily lifting it as if it were weightless.

“Let me take care of that,” he said, his voice gentle. “You’ve been exploring; I’ll be your pack mule.”

You followed him further into the living room, placing your case near a large, plush couch. He placed his suitcase next to yours, the gesture a small symbol of the life together you were building. “So, what’s next?” you asked, feeling a jolt of excitement run through you.

“Well,” he said, turning to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I was thinking we could unpack? Then maybe open a bottle of wine? And then…” He paused, drawing out the word. “Then we officially break in the house.”

You laughed, playfully nudging him with your elbow. “Break in the house? What does that exactly entail?”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Well, I was thinking… we could christen each room. One by one.”

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson as you caught the meaning behind his suggestive tone. “Max!” you exclaimed, with a mixture of embarrassment and delight, your heart rate picked up from his words.

He laughed again, the sound warm and comforting. “What? It’s a big house; it needs to be properly inaugurated, don’t you think?”

“Maybe after we pack...” you began, your smile matching his mischievous one.

The next few hours were a flurry of activity, filled with unpacking, laughter, and the occasional stolen kiss. You found yourself working seamlessly alongside Max, each of you knowing exactly what to do, a testament to the quiet harmony you shared.

You unpacked your clothes, placing them side by side in the spacious wardrobe; you organized your things in the bathroom, your toiletries now lined up next to his. It was amazing how quickly this space was becoming a home, a reflection of the life you were building.

As the sun began to set, casting long, golden shadows across the house, you collapsed onto the sofa, finally allowing yourself to relax. Max joined you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you close. You nestled into his side, the warmth of his body a familiar comfort.

He opened a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses. He handed one to you, and you clinked them together. “To new beginnings,” he said, his eyes locking with yours.

“To new beginnings,” you echoed, taking a slow sip of the wine. The taste was rich and smooth, a perfect complement to the moment.

You looked around the living room, now slowly filling with your presence. It was cozy, inviting, and overflowing with possibilities. Soon it would be filled with the sounds of your laughter and the echoes of your life together.

You turned to Max, his face illuminated in the soft glow of the setting sun. “Max,” you said, your voice filled with emotion, “thank you. For everything.”

He smiled, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart swell with adoration. “You don’t have to thank me, schat. This is just the start.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss. “And I can’t wait to see where this journey takes us.”

The news hit you like a rogue wave, leaving you gasping for air. "My mom and sister are coming over in two days," Max had said, his voice casual as he stirred the pasta sauce. He hadn’t looked at you, too focused on the simmering pot, and for a moment, the kitchen seemed to shrink, the walls closing in.

Two days. . . .

[theereina]

New Year, Same Bullshit

Pairing: Toxic Babydaddy!Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +3.8K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, use of pet names (Daddy, Mama, baby girl, lil' mama, pretty girl, good boy, etc.), oral (male receiving), P in V, Toxic Dom!Terry *if you squint and turn your head*, cum play *sort of*, brattiness galore, facials *no spa*🤭

A/N¹: This is a single one-shot with no planned sequels.

A/N²: I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by ME (theereina). Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

ding

Terry: I hope all is well. My mom told me she has TJ. Hope you enjoy yourself tonight.

Me: I hope I do, too.

Terry: I was thinking about something earlier.

Me: ???

Terry: New Year, new us?

I paused for a second in disbelief. I knew this man was not trying this bullshit tonight. I guess this year's motto was “new year, same bullshit”. I sat there for a second and stared at myself in my vanity's mirror.

I could feel the petty in me rising. I texted Terry back with nothing but ill intentions. “New year, new us”, huh?

Me: Nah. New year, and new dick. Cheers to 2025!🥂✨

I waited until I knew Terry saw the message and blocked his number. I knew I was pushing Terry's buttons but oh well.

2 hours later

“Lele, ain't that Terry?” asked one of the women who came out with me and my best friend.

“Aww, hell. Lele, it is him. He's coming this way, and he looks pissed!” my best friend, Tyler, said.

“I don't care. What he gonna do? Whoop me!” I laughed out loud, spinning to see Terry barreling through the crowd.

I stopped dancing when I saw his face. Maybe, I shouldn't have said that.

“Terry, wait? I didn't mean—,” I said as soon as he stood before me.

“Nah… You meant that shit. New dick, huh?” Terry said, eyeing me down.

As much as I was scared for my life, I was hoping that this night would end the way I wanted it to. Fuck! I needed this.

“You think that shit was funny? Ty, y'all here alone, or did she come with someone?” he asked, looking towards Tyler.

“Terry, I didn't come h—,” I started to speak.

Terry's eyes darted back to meet mine.

“Love, I wasn't talking to you. I asked Tyler. When I want you to speak, I'll let you know.”

“Oh, shit. He not playing with her ass,” said one of the women in the group.

“Yes, we came alone. No, she didn't come here with anyone. I promise,” Tyler said, looking at me.

“I can't believe you're doing this shit right now,” I mumbled under my breath.

“What did you say? I couldn't hear you,” Terry spat, glaring down at me.

“Nothing,” I whispered.

“Yeah, that's what the fuck I thought. Enjoy yourself, sweetheart. I'll be waiting for you when you get home,” he said, holding the back of my head and kissing my forehead.

“Huh? You don't live with me,” I uttered in confusion.

“I still have my key, and I pay the bills there. Don't I? Oh, okay then. Like I said, I'll see you when you get home,” he said, letting me go.

“Oh, and do me a favor, love. Don't drink too much. I need you alert and responsive tonight,” Terry said, walking away.

As I watched Terry leave, I felt my heart racing. There was no calming down from this.

“Fuck me!” I yelled quietly as soon as Terry was out of sight.

“Girl, what the fuck did you do this time?” Tyler asked me, handing me a drink.

I looked at the fruity concoction like it was poison. I knew this sugary ass shit wasn't going to do anything to call my nerves. I shrugged my shoulders and swallowed the drink in two full gulps.

“Damn! That man finna tear yo' ass up. Ain't he?” one of the women asked while laughing.

“You don't even know the half. Tyler, can you keep yo’ godson tomorrow? I got a funny feeling I'm not gonna be straight after tonight,” I asked Tyler, searching her eyes for sympathy.

“Yeah, I got my baby. Now, you just tell me what the fuck you did,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, Ty. I think I fucked up this time,” I said, shaking my head. I pulled her over to one of the couches in the section, hoping that I could talk to her privately.

As I proceeded to tell Tyler what happened, I could see her face shift from concern to amusement.

“Why do you look like you wanna laugh?” I asked when I finished.

“Uh, sis… How did he know where you were?” Tyler asked, looking at me with concern.

“I don't… I don't know. How the fuck did he know I was here?” I asked, questioning myself more than Tyler.

4 nerve-racking hours later

I had literally spent all night trying to come up with a reason not to come home. I knew that whatever was on the other side of that door was going to be— something memorable.

I made sure to stop drinking hours ago. His “alert and responsive” remark was a warning that only WE understood. My insides were screaming because I knew Terry had a way of breaking me down and putting me back together again in the most— sensual and pleasurable way. Yes, there may be pain involved, but I couldn't care less.

I was well aware of what came with provoking Terry. At this point, it was a game for me, and my prize was always the best dick a girl could ever ask for. That was definitely the one thing I missed about having Terry living at home— the in-house, on-demand dick. Always hard, and always ready.

It was a little after 4 in the morning. I was pushing my luck coming in this late, but I might as well fully enjoy what may be my last night out for a while. I was either about to get fucked up, be fucked, or both.

After realizing that Terry's truck was nowhere to be found, I scanned the streets to see if he parked there instead. Nothing.

I reluctantly began walking to the door. How was this possible? Even the walk up to my front door was causing me anxiety. Every goddamn step felt like I was approaching the gates of hell. Was I really letting this man make me feel like a child coming home when they know they're getting an ass whooping? Yes.

I slowed my steps and began putting my hair in a ponytail. If it's one thing I knew, this ponytail may save my life. Then again, it may do the opposite. Aww, fuck!

I tossed my heels and purse into one hand while adjusting my keys with the other. Placing the key into the keyhole, I quietly unlocked the door. I paused before opening the door, praying that Terry wasn't standing on the other side.

Sliding inside as quickly as I could, I tiptoed inside the house and locked the door. From what I could see, he wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. I took a deep breath and relaxed my shoulders. I stood quietly in an attempt to possibly hear if he was somewhere in the house. I flattened my back against the door since I was still unsure of my surroundings.

From somewhere to the right of me, I heard something dart towards me. I turned around in a panic. Right as I was about to make a run for it, I saw that the culprit had a tail. I WAS ABOUT TO RUN FROM MY DAMN CAT!!!

I took a deep breath and leaned down to pick up the cat. But… As soon as my knees hit the floor, I felt a hand on the back of my head. I screamed out in shock, startling the cat.

“Oh, nah. Shit that shit up! I told you I would be waiting for you. Didn't I?” Terry growled, pulling me by my ponytail.

Like I said. The ponytail was a gift and a curse.

“Just…” I yelled, grabbing his hands in my hair.

“Touch me again. I dare you. Imma do more than tie yo’ ass up!” Terry said, holding my face to look up at him.

“Terry, I'm sorry. I was just jo—!” I started, letting my hands fall beside me.

“That was supposed to be a joke. Ha! We gone see what's funny in a minute.” Terry said, letting go of my hair.

As much as my brain was telling me to run, my pussy was begging me to stay even more.

Terry's hand wrapped around my forearm. “Stand up!” he barked.

“Please, I said I’m—,” I said, standing to my feet.

“If I have to tell you to shut up again…” Terry said, pulling me to face him.

I used the back of my hand to wipe the tears that were now falling.

“I hope you don't think those tears are stopping shit. Ain't no sense in crying. You did this to yourself, Alicia. I was trying to be nice to you, but you just don't know when to leave me the fuck alone,” Terry said, stepping closer to me.

I gulped as he glared at me, blinking slowly. Every breath he released was hot and heavy— weighed down in anger. It's as if he was battling to control himself.

“You thought that shit was so cute. Didn't you? I bet you and your little friends had a good laugh at that, huh?” Terry said, leaning down and resting his forehead on mine.

“You can speak, now. Choose your words wisely,” he said. He straightened his posture and stood to his full height, holding his hands in front of him.

“I'm sorry. I didn't tell anyone but Tyler. I swear,” I spat out as quickly as I could.

Terry paused to look at me. His eyes darkened in lust and anger. I let my gaze drop to the floor.

“Nah, you know better. Eyes on me at all times, right?” Terry demanded.

“Yes,” I said, trailing my eyes up Terry's body. I let my gaze linger on the bulge that had grown in his jeans.

“Unh unh. You gone see that in a minute. Look at me, Alicia!” Terry said, forcing me to look at him.

I rubbed my forearm nervously. I waited for Terry to say something else. Instead, he turned on his heels and sat on the couch.

Leaning back on the couch, he placed his arm over the back. “Better yet. Come here and bring your phone with you,” he said, motioning for me to approach him.

I slowly picked up my phone from the floor and walked up to him. I stood between his legs. He dropped his gaze to the floor, letting me know to kneel. I kneeled in front of him while never breaking eye contact.

“Good girl. Thank you for finally listening. Give me your phone.”

Handing him my phone, my mind immediately started to race. I knew if this man went through that phone. My ass was grass!

“Terry, wait!” I yelled, stopping him.

“Oh, you must be hiding something. You are crazy as hell if you think I can't go through a phone that I pay for every month. However, that's the least of my concerns right now,” he scoffed, tossing the phone beside him on the couch.

“I just… I… I know that… if…,” I stuttered.

“Don't even worry about it, love. Because after tonight, it won't matter what nigga is in that phone. You'll know who you belong to. I can promise you that.”

Terry leaned forward, grabbing the side of my face firmly. I gasped in anticipation.

“I don't understand why you choose to play with me, baby girl. Here I am asking for my family back, and your ass wants to play these childish ass games.”

“Terry, baby. I—,” I said before he placed his hand around the front of my throat. I instantly shut my mouth.

“Look at that! How sweet. I didn't even have to do it, and you knew.” Terry said, biting his bottom lip. He moaned as he watched me. He was more than thrilled with my natural obedience.

Moving his hand to cup my chin, he let his thumb trace the silhouette of my bottom lip.

“Mmm… Daddy misses these lips. The way they look, the way they feel— everything!”

Terry's hand let go of my chin as he sank back into the couch. I watched fervently as he undid his belt. Making quick work of his pants, he freed himself from the confinement of his boxers.

I eyed his dick, waiting for his permission to even touch it.

“I told you you'd get to see it. Unfortunately, touching it ain't an option. At least not right now, especially with that foul mouth of yours.”

My face dropped in disbelief as I began to pout.

“What you will get to do is watch me. Watch me while I… uh… make you wish it was you handling this for me.” Terry laughed while lifting my head back up to watch him.

So, it begins. This is the part where he breaks me.

Terry wrapped his hand firmly around the base of his dick. “All you had to do was behave, but you just can't. I bet you'll be on your best fuckin’ behavior after tonight.”

Terry's hand stroked the length of his shaft. His contentment was already evident as small droplets of precum began to leak from his tip.

I rested my hands on my thighs, pressing my fingertips into the cushion of my thighs. I was fighting the urge to lick what I felt was mine; however, I knew that wouldn't end the way I wanted. Licking my tongue out, I let it slide across the flesh of my bottom lip.

Terry grunted in response. My eyes darted from his dick to his face. His eyes were low and wanton. He was just as needy as I was. Our gazes locked in fervor, passing a mutual message that intensified the salacious hunger between us.

Terry's hand sped up and tightened around his head. His grunts grew deeper and more primal. He was feigning to cum.

I tilted my head and lowered my gaze, pleading with my eyes. Sitting here with my hands in my lap wasn't enough for me. I whined while wiggling my hips, trying to feel something to help the ache between my legs.

“Fuck! You got 3 minutes to make me cum or else!” Terry said, leaning up and grabbing the back of my head.

He didn't even have to finish his movement. My mouth was on his dick before he could even grab me. I was horny, I was needy, and most importantly, I was hungry.

I took all of Terry in on a single inhale not giving a fuck about my throat. I needed this. I let saliva fall from my mouth and down the sides of his shaft. Pulling back, I hollowed out my cheeks and created a vacuum around the head of Terry's dick.

“Ahhh, fuck. You… you always know… ugh.. exactly what to do, baby girl. That's right. This dick is yours, mama. Ahhh, shit. Keep going, baby,” Terry said, stroking the side of my face.

I moaned around his dick. Swallowing his full length again with pride, I smiled around him. Opening my mouth slowly, I sunk down further until my nose hit the patch of hair he grew there. Relaxing every muscle in my throat I let him sit in the back of my throat while I hummed and moaned in pleasure. This… this was the ache I was seeking. This was what I wanted to feel— the burn and stretch of this very moment.

I pulled off of Terry with a pop, watching as a thin string of saliva and cum fell from my lips. Grabbing him mid-shaft, I began to jerk his dick. Fully consumed by my own pleasure, I failed to immediately take notice of Terry's silence.

I looked up to see Terry's eyes closed as he released a slew of low, rough moans. I instantly put my mouth back on him, focusing solely on his head. Using my tongue to massage his tip, I was hoping to push Terry over the edge.

Watching him closely, I marveled at the sight before me. His head had rolled back on his shoulders, and his bottom lip was tucked in between his teeth. As I felt Terry's dick begin to pulse, I took him into the back of my throat again. I wanted every drop of him, and I was going to make sure I got it.

Letting him paint the back of my throat was the only thing on my mind. I started sucking Terry like my life depended on it. His hand gripped the back of my head, but even that didn't stop me. I rested my hands on Terry's legs for support as I put my all into it.

As soon as I felt like the first drops of cum were about to make an appearance, Terry grunted and pulled me back. His dick fell from my mouth and into his own hands. Leaning my head back, Terry stroked himself twice before erupting— all over my face.

I closed my eyes, feeling the warm sticky substance coat my eyelashes along with my forehead, nose, and lips. I exhaled as I thanked God that I closed my eyes in time.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue!” Terry barked as I felt him moving around.

I opened my mouth and felt him push his dick inside again. Resting the full weight of his dick on my tongue, he told me to keep my mouth open.

“Smile!” he said as I heard a camera shutter.

Without a second thought, my eyes shot open.

“For memories. Adding it to the stash.”

Of course! That's what the fuck he wanted the phone for. I pulled back, letting his dick fall out. “I told you that you're mine. Didn't I?” he said, leaning up.

“Oh, don't think we're done either. Stand up!” he nodded.

I rose to my feet, wobbling. As I stood before Terry, I went to wipe my face. His hand reached out to grab my hand.

“Nah, baby girl. You gone wear that shit with pride. I plan on marking my territory in more ways than one. There will be no creampies tonight,” he warns, standing from the couch.

“But Terry I—,” I said.

His arms wrapped around my waist as he lifted me. Wrapping my legs around him, he turned to walk towards the hallway. My body practically melted into him as I clung to his back. I began to whine and moan while kissing his neck.

“Daddy missed this pussy— MY pussy,” Terry moaned as his hands pushed the strapless dress I wore up past my stomach. The thin fabric began bunching up.

“Ahhh, mmmm. Fuck!” I moaned, placing my hands around his neck.

As we approached the bedroom door, Terry didn't even reach to open it. Instead, he opted for kicking it open.

“Don't worry. I'll fix it!” he grinned.

Walking to the foot of the bed, he laid me directly in the middle. He stepped back and completely undressed himself. God Lord, I missed this body.

I leaned up and began kissing and touching his abdomen. Moving my hands out of the way, Terry's hands went to the neckline of the dress as he leaned over me. In one swift move, he tore the top of the dress in half, continuing to tear the fabric from my body until nothing was left.

While I was preoccupied with my own thoughts, he pushed me down onto the bed. Climbing onto the bed and settling between my thighs, he wrapped my legs around his waist.

Looking at me with the most sinful smirk, he entered me in one thrust. I gasped out in both pain and pleasure. We hadn't had sex in over four months. The feeling of him stretching my pussy out sent my eyes rolling into the back of my head.

“You gone feel me tonight, baby. All of me,” he said, leaning down to kiss my neck.

Pulling every inch of his dick out to the tip, he inserted himself again. He was clearly on a mission.

Thrust after thrust…

“So, you gone give my pussy away? Huh? Answer me when I'm talkin' to you!” he said, thrusting into me harder.

“No!” I yelled as my back arched off the bed.

Using nothing but his body weight, Terry flattened me out again. “No, ma'am.” He said, pulling out to thrust back in again. “The fuck you moving for? You gone take this dick. It's yours, ain't?” he asked, kissing my chin.

“Yes, this… this is… ahhh, fuckkk… This is my dick!” I screamed out as he pounded into me. Every thrust knocked the syllables from my lips.

“That's right. This your dick, baby. All of it! Every fuckin' inch, mama! Now, what you gone do with it, huh?” he growled in my ear, taunting me.

“I'm… gonna… fuckin'… take… it!” I whimpered. His thrusts began to pick up speed.

“Good girl, and you gone let me cum wherever I want to, right?” Terry coaxed, hitting my g-spot over and over again.

“Yes!” I yelled, clawing at Terry's back.

I was so close to cumming, and this shit felt so damn good. Hell, I'd even let him cum on my face again.

“I knew my baby would. Who pussy this is, mama?” he asked, smirking.

“Yours! For… ever! Terry, please! Can… ohhhh… can I cum?” I begged as I felt my climax quickly approaching.

“You better wet this dick up, too. Come on, baby.” Terry uttered softly, talking me through it. “Oouu… look at my baby,” he said, fucking me through my orgasm.

“Terry!” I moaned out, digging into his forearms.

“Look at that shit! Wet as fuck!” he said, watching himself slip in and out.

“Yes! Shit! Ohhh, fuck!” I gasped as he slowed his strokes.

“Yeah! Just like that. You ready? Tell Daddy that you're ready,” he groaned clearly at his peak.

“Please, Daddy! Cum for me!” I yelled.

Terry pulled out, aiming straight for my pussy and stomach. I watched intently as ropes of cum landed on my lower abdomen and the mound of my pussy. Using his dick, Terry began to mix the remainder of his cum into my own. He beamed as he created a disgusting and sloppy mess between my legs.

“I wish you could see it, baby. It's so pretty,” he said, looking up. His eyes roamed over the entirety of my body, lingering on the areas covered in his cum. “You look so pretty, mama,” Terry praised.

“I know I do, and it's all because of you,” I said, pulling Terry in for a kiss.

Taglist: @episodes-ff @babybratzmaraj @persethegawd @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @kimuzostar @confessionsofadramaqueenn @luvrsluxe @blackmoonchilee @meannaim @nayaesworld @msdmc1 @megamindsecretlair @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymindisneverhere @brattyfics @avoidthings @honeytoffee @peachbuttetfly @melaninadorned @theglamclosetsl @simplyzeeka @dxddykenn @charismablu @blackerthings @slutsareteacherstoo @vivaalenaa @becauseimswagman1 @keehendrixx @teeresaresa @beenathembo @inthekeyofshe @notapradagurl7 @blowmymbackout

This taglist is random and sort of thrown together. Sorry.😔

[cannedbabs]

‼️What media would you like my RBTI rewrite in?‼️

I’ve been debating sticking to a comic format, or if I should hit AO3 and make it a written out story!!

Let me know your thoughts and opinions!!

(More stuff under cut)

Doodle page! Featuring just a small little sneak peak outside of my RBTI rewrite: the turbo twins!! I’ve had an ongoing side storyline for them even before this rewrite but I never knew how I wanted them to look. Simplistic answer is just a watered down, blue turbo (with one twin being just a little more spiffy for lore reasons). Meet Nitro and Gasket!

Extra scene doodle from a comic idea I had but scrapped (honestly kinda considering making a Patreon for this rewrite alone, just since I have so much back logged and scrapped art that idk if people wanna see)

I’ve completely worked the story and I’m so excited to share it. Idk what method would be the most effective!!

Doing a comic would take a LONG time and I may get burnt out on it, but visually it may be nice to have (imagine drawing the internet tho ohh my god 😭 nightmare) and I’d be willing to do it if that would be easiest for people. Ahh I’m just so giddy!! Idk what else to add. It’s 8AM I haven’t slept yet. Fish be upon yee

[thoughtfulfiction]

The Plague

Author’s note: This is another request that was sitting in my inbox for a year. Posting another new Justin fic after this but still working on rewrites so if you’d like me to work on an old fic to repost let me know!

On Friday, you woke up with a headache that felt like it came out of nowhere. Everything was foggy, like you were in a daze, and you couldn’t figure out why. The day before was relatively normal and nothing happened that would warrant this sudden bout of persistent and annoying pain. You hadn’t yelled or gotten too riled up the night before when the Chargers beat the Broncos in primetime. To be fair, Justin had made you sign a contract—yes, literally—with a pen, back when you were 16 weeks pregnant, before the season started. The contract, which was both ridiculous and endearing, essentially vowed you’d take it easy and not stress yourself out on game days. You couldn’t recall the exact wording, but you remembered something about calm, no exertion, and ease. Honestly, remembering things in general hasn't been your strong suit lately, pregnancy brain making it's appearance more frequently than you liked to admit. At 27 weeks pregnant though, you’d kept your end of the bargain—remaining cool and collected throughout the chaos of the game. So, this headache? Was just untimely and inconvenient.

Saturday morning, you woke up with a stuffy nose. Not ideal, especially after yesterday’s headache. You knew something was coming on, so you quickly decided that when the sniffles hit, you’d retreat to the guest room to spare Justin from catching whatever you had. The team was in the midst of defying all odds, on the road to a very successful season and solid playoff hopes in the first year of their rebuild and the last thing they needed was their starting quarterback coming down with a mysterious illness when they needed him most. You packed a bag with your essentials—clothes, toiletries, your phone charger, and laptop—anything to make you more comfortable while you isolated. As you made your way to the basement, you couldn’t help but be grateful for the full kitchen and fridge down there, greatly eliminating the trips upstairs you'd have to make and keeping Justin from constantly breathing your germ filled air.

The house felt so much quieter without him home, and as you cleaned feverishly, scrubbing surfaces and disinfecting everything in sight, you could feel your body protesting. But you couldn’t stop.

You woke up to your phone vibrating on the bed beside you, your hand weakly reaching for it. You didn’t even remember falling asleep.

“Hello?” Your voice was hoarse and rasping, worse than you thought it would be. Whatever bug was taking over your body was moving fast.

“Where are you?” Justin’s voice came through immediately, frantic. “I’ve been home for twenty minutes, calling your name like a crazy person. Thought something happened to you, I was ready to send out a search party.” He let out a breath, but there was no humor in it. Only worry, the kind that gnawed at him until he couldn’t focus on anything else.

You blinked, forcing yourself to stay awake, aware of how much energy it was taking just to stay alert. “I’m downstairs. Didn’t want you to catch whatever I’ve got, so I moved everything down here. Believe me, you don’t want this.”

Justin didn’t hesitate. “Gimme a second. I’m coming down.” His voice was firm, but the urgency behind it was undeniable.

Less than 15 minutes later, the door creaked open, and Justin poked his head in, his eyes immediately scanning the room before landing on you. His face was a mixture of concern and something else—fear, maybe.

“Babe…” His voice softened, and his eyes darted over your flushed face. “…You look—”

The look you gave him could melt diamonds. “Do not finish that sentence.”

Justin held up both hands in surrender, but his gaze lingered on you a moment too long, worry still clear in his eyes. He stepped fully into the room and reached out to touch your forehead, his palm warm against your clammy skin. “You’re burning up,” he murmured, the concern in his tone deepening.

“I changed the sheets on our bed. I tried to clean up a little bit too so you should be good in case I'm contagious,” you sniffle, forcing a weak smile, Justin frowning at you when the smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

He waves you off, standing next to you but maintaining a respectful distance. "You didn’t have to do that. Cleaning up is my job, remember?" His eyes scan your face, his concern obvious. "What hurts? Head? Throat? How’s your stomach?"

You hesitate when he reaches for your belly, having discovered that the baby readily responds to the sound of his voice. And he hasn't felt her kick since the morning and you want nothing more than to allow him to continue to bond with her, but you know it's not a good idea right now. "Justin, I'm sick. You can't touch me."

"I'm not touching you," he says, his tone almost comically serious. "I'm touching our baby."

You raise an eyebrow, your exhaustion making the sarcasm come out sharper than usual. "Our baby, who is currently living inside my body."

Justin sighs, retracting his hand as slowly as you've ever seen him move, although every inch he backs away causes him physical pain. "Fine, I'll try to keep my hands to myself. But you never answered my question."

You blink at him, confused. "What question?"

"What’s hurting?" he asks again, his voice softer now.

You sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on you. "Oh…everything? My head was hurting yesterday, but I didn’t think much of it. Then my nose got so stuffed up I couldn’t breathe, and now… I just hurt all over."

The man’s brow furrows deeply, concern etched into every line of his face. You can almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he processes everything. "Okay, here’s the plan: you rest. I’ll call the doctor and figure out what we need to do to get you feeling better. Deal?"

You nod, a yawn overtaking you before you can respond. Your body sinks deeper into the pillows, already surrendering to sleep.

Justin lingers for a moment, watching you with a mixture of worry and tenderness before quietly turning off the light. His footsteps retreat up the stairs, and you’re barely awake enough to register the soft click of the door closing behind him.

Dr. Shaw's number is dialed by the time he reaches the top step.

"Yeah she's running a fever, started with a headache and it's progressed since. She's clammy and achy everywhere and she's got a stuffy nose."

The doctor takes minute to take everything in, running though your symptoms in her head. "I won't know for sure until she comes in on Monday but it sounds like some kind of viral infection or the flu. Just make sure she's staying hydrated and getting lots of rest and I'll see you all first thing Monday morning."

He thanked the doctor and ended the call, dialing your mom's number as soon as he was done. Justin let her know the situation and that he needed her chicken noodle soup recipe, taking detailed notes along the way, hanging onto every word she said. When that was complete, he looked around the house and in the fridge before making a quick grocery list to figure out what you needed. The "quick" grocery trip ended up taking a couple hours because one stop turned into three. He looked at every pack of cough drops at CVS to check the ingredients list after googling "best cough drops for pregnant women" so that took some time. And then at Target he debated which fuzzy socks to get for about 20 minutes. As soon as he thought he was done he came up with something else that you might need and had to drive over to the next store to find it. After his latest stop he took a look in his trunk to examine the inventory, checking everything off the list before heading home.

The quarterback realized he may have gone overboard when he set all the bags on the counter but it was too late. And hopefully most of the stuff would come in handy until you were back to 100%. Justin could hear the shower running as he began to stock the downstairs kitchen with the new items. He bought fresh lemons, from Whole Foods no less, breaking a personal oath, for you to have in your tea. Whole Foods was usually way too pricey for him but since he found out the two of you were expecting, sparing no expense for you and the baby had become second nature. So he bought a bag of organic lemons for $6. The old Justin would’ve laughed at him—and probably teased him for buying a new electric kettle just so you wouldn’t have to wait for water to boil.

Yeah, he'd definitely gone overboard.

He shook his head at himself with a sigh, placing the cold compresses in the freezer. The cough drops, tissue boxes and the new humidifier were all lined up neatly in your new room for easy access. He even moved one of the side tables out from the living room and placed it by the door so he could have a hand sanitizer station in attempt to keep the germs at bay. Satisfied with his work, he headed back upstairs to gathering the soup ingredients and jumped right in. This was his style of cooking. Give him a recipe to follow and he can execute it to perfection. The aroma filled the kitchen, and as he ladled the soup into a bowl and prepped crackers and peanut butter as a backup, pride swelled in his chest.

You knew he was downstairs as soon as you stepped out of the shower. It dawned on you pretty early on that everywhere Justin went he brought this calming, grounding energy with him. Even though you didn't feel the best, it brought you peace. Once you were dressed you stepped out of the bathroom and looked around at your newly elevated sleeping arrangements. You gave your belly a soothing pat, making small circles along your front where you were feeling her move. "Your dad is the best angel, I can't wait for you to meet him." Smiling to yourself, you grabbed the pair of fuzzy socks he laid out for you on the bed and put them on, already starting to feel better.

Justin heard the bedroom door open before he saw you. “Are you hungry, babe?” he called out, carefully arranging the tray. “I made soup.”

You rounded the corner, moving slower than usual, but the sight of in front of you brought a sense of relief. “Thank you for all this,” you said softly. “I don’t deserve you.”

Justin froze mid-step, the emotion in your watery eyes hitting him like a punch to the chest. He wanted nothing more than to scoop you into his arms, but for now, he kept his distance. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, voice low but steady. “It’s my job to take care of you. Both of you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you glanced at the room, noting all the little touches he’d added. “Alright, let’s get you eating. How’s your energy? You still look wiped.”

You tried to brush it off, but he wasn’t buying it. “Go lay down,” he said, nudging the tray closer. “I’ll bring this in to you.”

“Fine,” you relented, heading for the closet. You returned moments later with a box of masks and gloves, setting them down on the counter. “But you’re wearing these if you’re gonna be around me. No arguments, Justin. We can’t risk you getting sick too.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, knowing better than to push when you were in this state. “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a small smile.

Satisfied, you made your way back to the bed, the simple task draining what little energy you had left. Justin watched you go, already slipping on the gloves, his heart full despite his worry.

Turning on the main light was too intense for your headache, so you settled for the soft glow of the TV when Justin walked in, balancing a tray with more items than you could have imagined. He gently set it down on the side table, his movements careful but deliberate.

"I brought several options," he pointed at each item as he listed them. "You've got tea, your water bottle and some Gatorades—Dr. Shaw said the electrolytes will help you get some of your energy back so I brought you a couple. There's some lemon and honey for your tea and if you need more I can bring the whole kettle in here and plug it in. Oh, and—” he looked around the room, considering the space, “maybe I should grab another table? So you don’t run out of room. I could also bring some extra water just in case…”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, breaking through your headache. “I think I’m good for now, Justin. You’ve already managed to bring half the kitchen in here.” You rested your hands on your lower belly and added, “If I need anything, I’ll text you.”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between you and the tray as if he hadn’t done enough. “Promise? If you need anything—anything at all—please don’t hesitate.”

The tension in his voice made you smile. Gesturing to the spot on the bed beside you, you said, “Come here.”

He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, holding out a gloved hand as you guided it to your belly. A strong, steady kick greeted him, and his breath hitched audibly. His eyes, crinkling above the mask, told you everything his covered face couldn’t: he was overwhelmed with joy. Tears glistened in his eyes, and you could practically feel his heart swelling with love.

You placed your hand over his, offering quiet reassurance. “She’s okay. And you’re doing great.”

For a moment, he simply sat there, soaking it in. Then, his shoulders relaxed slightly, his gaze meeting yours with a renewed determination.

“I promise you’ll be the first to know if I need anything,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

He nodded, his gloved hand still resting where the baby had kicked. “Good. Because I’ll be right here.”

While you were in a cycle of falling asleep, waking up to blow your nose, shifting uncomfortably in bed and soothing your throat with cough drops before eventually falling asleep again, Justin was eating dinner, his laptop open watching film on the Patriots. They were playing the Bills the next day which would be a good game to watch but he wanted to get a head start and breakdown how their defense is set up and figure out ways to exploit their weaknesses. Checking his phone periodically, he couldn't hear anything coming from the room so he allowed himself to focus for two hours, going through New England's previous games and jotting down a few notes. His mind began to wander after he was done because the team was leaving for the East Coast on Thursday. If you were still sick by then who was going to stay with you? He wrote himself a reminder in his phone to tackle that problem later in the week. Around 9pm Justin decided to turn in, checking on you one more time, turning his ringer on before heading across the hall in the closest room to yours to get some much needed rest.

The sound was faint, but eerily familiar. He flew out of bed, his body moving way faster than his mind could process, trying to get to you. Justin's steps faltered at the bathroom door, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you hunched over the toilet without a second thought about being too close.

He knelt beside you, one hand gently holding your hair, the other rubbing slow, steady circles on your back. “It’s okay,” he murmured, though his heart was racing. “I’m here.”

By the time you were done, his mask and gloves were a distant memory. He helped you stand, his grip firm but gentle as he guided you to the sink. “Here's this to rinse your mouth if you need to,” he said handing you the cup full of the only mouthwash that didn't make you feel nauseous, his voice low and soothing. He stayed close as you brushed your teeth and gargled, his hand never leaving your back.

Once you were back in bed, he stepped out briefly to wash his hands, grabbing a water bottle on his way back. “Do you think we need to head to the ER?” he asked, his voice tighter than he intended.

His worried voice breaks through the silence but you shake your head, basically becoming one with the comforter. "I actually feel a lot better now believe it or not, probably a mix of the congestion and everything else already going on in my body but now? I'm serious I actually do feel better. Just tired."

Justin sighs, his body finally relaxing as he's looking at you. He can tell that you're less uncomfortable and there's less tension in your features, which brings him a flicker of relief. "Here I thought the morning sickness days were behind us," he teased, his tone much lighter now.

“That was not morning sickness, that was war. I was literally fighting for my life," you quipped, a faint smile playing on your lips. "This? This is much more manageable. And temporary." You yawn, your body finally finding the ideal sleeping position you'd been searching for since you woke up feeling like you were underwater. In the most unexpected way, getting sick in the middle of the night felt like a reset and hopefully you were turning a corner. For the first time since the day began, you melted into the bed, looking so peaceful it almost hurt to watch.

Justin lingered, his hand brushing the doorframe as he debated staying longer. Leaving you alone felt wrong, but he knew you needed rest...and so did he. Still, as he crossed the hall to his room, he couldn’t shake the image of your calm, serene face. It was the only thing that made the distance bearable.

When he woke up the next morning without any signs of illness he was both surprised and relieved to still be healthy. And he kind of wanted to use this as an excuse to reduce some of the physical distance. Not wanting to push it, he texted you and asked if you wanted breakfast and you let him know you were in the mood for something light. He brought you a banana and a few pieces of buttered toast. “Promise me you’ll drink more water today,” he said, setting the tray down.

Throughout the day he went back and forth between morning games, continuing his New England film and periodically walking by to check in...every hour like clockwork. During your third bathroom break of the day you heard him walk by and asked him to come in.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s fine, I wasn't sleeping," you laugh a little, feeling more like yourself, "I knew you were coming by soon. The Bills-Patriots game is starting soon isn't it?"

"Yeah..." a smile forms on his face as he inches closer to the bed. "What if I watched it in here? You’re feeling better, right? I’ll keep my distance, I swear. We can, I don’t know… make a pillow wall or something?"

"Oh please, as if a pillow wall could stop you. Get over here." You haven't even finished your sentence and he's already making himself comfortable under the blankets.

His large hand found it's way to your bump, feeling her kick like she realized her dad is back where he belongs. “Hi, sweet girl,” he murmured, leaning down. “I missed you too. Soon as we get your mom feeling better, we’ll get back to normal, okay?”

"I think she's a fan of that plan," you laugh at her kicking and moving around like she agrees.

"Hey," he mock-scolded, "we're having a private conversation here. Do you mind?"

You laugh even harder as he peppers soft kisses to your rounded stomach. "I didn't realize how much this yesterday."

“Me too,” Justin admitted softly. “You scared me yesterday, you know? You looked so…”

“Like death?”

“Not funny.” He deadpanned, but his playful smirk gave him away. “I’m just glad you’re better.”

Before you could respond, Justin’s phone rang. Coach Day. He stared at it for a beat too long, visibly torn.

"It's okay, you should go. I'm not going anywhere."

Justin steps out of the room, the weight of real life staring at hitting him in the chest. This was just the beginning of having to balance being a dad and having a job that was not only demanding but a job that was his dream. He loved playing football and lived for it. The competition, the camaraderie with his teammates and the chance to win a Super Bowl is what every football player dreams of. And here he was struggling to pick up his phone because of what he was leaving behind. It had taken so long to commit to someone, to find that person to compromise for, and with you there was no debate. He was without a doubt a devoted husband who could compartmentalize like the best of them, at home he balanced work and your relationship. It had taken a lot of practice and some difficult conversations but now with a baby in the picture he wasn't sure about how to navigate this new territory. This unbelievable hold that his child already had on him was hard for him to put into words and the two of you hadn't even named her yet. He wasn't sure he wanted to compromise this much when she was born, not wanting to miss a moment of her growth and the thought of that made him feel like a failure already. Coach Day's words barely registered throughout the call as Justin went over all these scenarios in his mind. They'd just have to rehash this discussion during their meeting in the morning.

When he returned after the call, Justin’s face was a storm of emotions. "How are we gonna do this?"

"Babe? What do you mean? How are we gonna do what?" You sat up, extremely confused as to what could've happened on that call.

"How... how am I supposed to do this?" Justin ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room. "I mean, I’m gone half the time—meetings, film, travel—and then what? You’re here sick, or she’s sick, and I’m thousands of miles away—"

“Justin.” You grabbed his hand, pulling him to sit beside you. “Breathe. It’s okay. Look, I know what I signed up for. And you're going to be the most amazing dad in the world. She's already in love with you and doesn't even know what you look like, she's gonna love you even more. Honey don't worry about any of that okay? You literally dropped everything yesterday to nurse me back to health I think you can handle a few diaper changes. You might as well have a PhD in caring for people, it's like you're meant to be a dad. And everything else with work we will figure it out, we always do."

"You're right." His lips quirk up. "We make a pretty good team don't we?"

"The best. That's why we're adding another player soon."

Justin smiles, feeling less overwhelmed. "We should probably find a name for our new player at some point."

"I know...do you have any that you're feeling?"

He pulls out his phone with the baby name list that you've compiled the last few months. "What about Georgia?"

"Cute but I'm not really feeling it," you scroll, "Willow?"

Justin shakes his head, "Willow Herbert sounds kind of weird. And if we want to give her a nickname what are we supposed to call her? Will? That just doesn't sound right."

"Okay fair. Wait...I like this one," you point at the name in the middle of the screen.

Justin nods, finding the name interesting. "Remington. Remi. That's not bad. I kind of like it too. What does she think?" You grab his hand to place it along your rib cage, the baby had been relatively quiet the last few minutes but had decided to make herself known as soon as her parents started to go through names. "Remi, huh?" Justin’s grin widened as he felt the kick. His eyes softened, and he gently pressed his hand against your rib cage. "She approves. I mean, that was practically a yes, right?"

[comeforthepizza]

TW: Pedophilia Men., Abuse Men.

Note: I've talked some about people in the past, but I don't want to name any specific names here to keep the peace of myself and my loved ones in the fandom. That being said, I will openly suggest staying away from the Showbiz Mafia as an entity. If you don't know what that is- you're already on the right track!

Okay. So. I wanna take a step back and rewrite the post I wrote yesterday with a clearer mind. Because a lot of it came from a genuine place, but I want to make my point clearer/less aggressive.

I love the Rock-afire. I want to keep making content for it. I was in an exasperated place yesterday, but today I've resolved not to let terrible people destroy something that has meant so much to me since I was a kid.

But the gist of it is: this fandom has a genuine problem with terrible people. And I don't mean slightly mean people, I mean bullies. I mean predators. I mean abusers, manipulators, suicide baiters. And what's just as scary are the people who seem nice but will turn on you and go to bat for any of these people in the blink of an eye.

I'm genuinely glad that a lot of people have responded to my posts about predatory behavior in the fandom with actual surprise, because it means that there's a part of the fandom that's spearheaded by genuinely goodhearted people who are here because they love Showbiz, and because they want to make friends with other people who love Showbiz. I LOVE the Tumblr side of the Showbiz fandom, because y'all have such a legitimate passion for it. As far as I know, the problem has NOT made it here.

But I've witnessed a lot of it firsthand in other spaces. If not the abhorrent behavior outright- adults preying on teenagers, doxing, death threats- then definitely people outwardly defending the behavior, or the people who did it. And that makes me genuinely sick to my stomach. And it's teaching a LOT of kids- especially young boys- that this behavior is okay as long as you have a solid collection.

My enjoyment of the Rock-afire comes secondhand to the real problem here: that too many spaces in this fandom are facilitating a place where REAL people are GENUINELY getting hurt. And too many fandom members are banding together to protect the people responsible for that pain.

That being said, I warrant you: protect yourselves. I'm not trying to cause anything, I'm not trying to tell you that you can't trust anyone in this fandom, but I am saying that personal safety is more important than EVER in Showbiz spaces. Trust me when I say the block button is your friend. If ANYONE- and I mean ANYONE- says anything that makes you uncomfortable, block them! Even if they're a prominent fandom member, they have no real power.

You have a right to curate your fandom experience in a way that keeps you safe. NEVER let ANYONE tell you otherwise.

TL;DR: Please understand that while there may not be a predator/bullying problem in the Rock-afire fandom on Tumblr, there definitely is in other spaces. Always put your own safety and protection above a pervy adult's feelings. Love you guys. <3

[bluarlequinno]

I know we joke about it, about how they cut the scenes between Elphaba and Glinda because they were too gay, about them being played very fruity and shit, but it always rubs me the wrong way that it still is left into this terrain of deniability or uncertainty that the jokes feel bitter sweet now, like they were willing to cut a crucial scene of character development for Glinda and Elphaba that was essential for their relationship in the movie because it was too suggestive on the romantic intentions of it, and regardless of what they say publicly is very obvious why they cut it, so I'm genuinely heartbroken about how Wicked still cowards away from it's queerness, and unfortunately it does make me inevitably lack some sort of respect for it.

Did I love the movie? Yes, but in such a way where I feel bitter about it.

I adore it the same way I do a show, as book Elphaba would say, it is a theatrics, yes and it is a beautiful spectacle, but it is just that, a spectacle, that never fully commits. Don't get me wrong, the musical has its merits, but there's this insatisfaction, this conformity this fear of being more that leaves me feeling unsatisfied when it's over, and not because it's a tragedy, but because it feels shallower than it's book counter part.

Because the book, as much as it also only suggests, it never cowards away from how weird and queer it is and never uses a veil of heterosexuality to cover up Glinda's and Elphaba's unsaid romance, (basically the existence of musical Fiyero), the book suggests Gelphie and let's it linger to become real for those with enough sensibility to comprehend it, enhancing the romance that never flourished, but the musical is just the same cowardice it so blatantly criticizes, and for that it may never actually gain my respect the same way the book has done before.

There's much I could say about how the musical just downright destroys its original material for the sake of making the audience comfortable, without actually being this revolutionary piece of media it calls itself to be, but I am frankly tired. Sadly the movie commits quite a lot of the same mistakes as the musical, and that's why I can't love it like I wish I did, it hurts more knowing the movie had the opportunity to change it yet didn't and I'm not only talking about Gelphie, I'm talking about many other things, Fiyero himself as well, because if you look closer, it seems as though the movie tries to fix it, to rewrite what was once a butchering of the original material, but it never commits, too afraid to diverge, because committing would mean to let the queerness and the uncomfortable topics flourish in the text if ever so lightly, but they can't have that, so the movie is between this very thin line between trying to be faithful to the musical and wanting to improve it, but never achieving either perfectly for it's fear of commitment. I didn't expect it to be a book one on one because it is first and foremost a musical adaptation, but they had a chance to bring what was only subtext into text and they threw it away. I want to hope that in part two they will improve it and I still hold onto said hope because the movie also does a lot of things right, but they cling so desperately to such mediocre romance between Fiyero and Elphaba and such waste of narrative that it is for the three of this characters with Glinda that it's so pathetic, why are they so attached to such mediocre 2000s stereotypical straight love triangle is beyond me, obviously if you read between the lines it is more than that, but it's subtext, like it always has been.

So yeah, as much as I adore the musical now movie as the spectacle of theater it is, it will never gain my respect the same way the book does, it feels like being gaslighted and manipulated just for there to be people who say "what? No you're seeing things".

And it's sad because you'd think we're on a day and age that has the ability to do this, to make what was once buried subtext, text, but it doesn't, and it may never will, but whatever had happened between Glinda and Elphaba was real to me, and real to them in a way beyond their comprehension and their control and time, it was then, what went unsaid that became buried for us who seek.

Also before the movie, there was never this amount of stupid discourse between Gelphie and Fiyeraba shippers, maybe because most of the fandom was a Gelphie shipper because well what we couldn't get from the mainstream we sought in the community, but now that so many straight people are joining in they not only feel threatened by the overwhelmingly queer community, but they actively want to shame it.

And although I do think Fiyeraba is boring, made there too be palatable so the straights don't get mad and shit, and to hide the intense level of tragedy that is Gelphie, I never bothered to mess with the Fiyeraba shippers before or give much though to them because there was no need, but suddenly they feel the need to be so annoying and homophobic and have some gotcha moment because their ship is the one that ends up together and all I can say is ... What a superficial way of viewing the story, because Wicked is a tragedy and that part is in itself a tragedy, but I digress, I don't want to hate on Fiyero it's not even worth it, but people will do anything to hate Glinda, without understanding her character, praise a male character clearly written to be a narrative device for Elphaba more than his own character, a cheap attempt at writing a Glinda that does abide by Elphaba's narrative necessities, then they bring down a queer ship and act self righteous about it while also being discretely homophobic. Like the irony, they feel so self-righteous about it too is ridiculous.

Talking about irony, it's funny because if musical Fiyeraba shippers read the book I might actually say, yeah book Fiyeraba has its merit and I agree Fiyero meant as much to Elphaba as Glinda IN THE BOOK, but they don't even bother reading it. They can't even grasp Glinda's musical complexity I doubt they'd understand the book, but I'm being bitter and pretentious.

Oh and everything they did to Fiyero is a blasphemy, book Fiyero has my appreciation.

This already lasted way too long, but I couldn't stay quiet about it anymore because I had never felt so attacked on what was once a really safe fandom for queer people specially sapphic/queer women

[achilles-rage]

leaning in for a kiss but pulling away last second from the psychical intimacy list with also 3)friends with benefits from the smut prompt list with buck

yay i love this!! (also so sorry this is ass. i wrote the entire thing, and then tumblr mobile went down and i lost it all, so i had to rewrite it from memory)

also please keep sending these, they're fun!!

"leaning in for a kiss but pulling away last second" from this post, and "friends with benefits" from this post

MDNI- 18+ only!

you know you shouldn't be here. you know that this can only end horribly. buck is one of your best friends, and you can't imagine how awkward it would be if things went wrong, but you still find yourself here, on buck's doorstep, close to midnight.

your situation had started a couple months ago when you both came home drunk from the bar. one thing had led to another and you were sprawled out on his bed, both of you completely naked as he thrusted into you slowly, yet deeply.

you had both woken up the next morning slightly embarrassed, vowing it would never happen again, but somehow, when either one of you were lonely, you always end up in this same situation.

tonight is no different. you came to his house after an exceptionally bad date, hoping that buck could take your mind off of things.

he pulls you into his apartment quickly, and after telling him every painful detail of your date, your lips find his, and pretty soon, you're straddling his lap on the couch.

your kisses are hungry, yet lazy, and your hips set the pace as a slow grind against his lap as you claw at his shirt, eager to feel his skin against yours. he parts from your lips just long enough for you to take his shirt off of him, his hands not leaving your hips as they help you move against his hard cock beneath his jeans.

when you finally sink onto him, feeling the burning stretch of him filling you up so perfectly, you grip his shoulders hard. you catch yourself thinking about having him like this all the time. having him as yours completely, not just as a fuck buddy.

it’s not just that he’s good at what he does, either, although he definitely is, he also makes you feel so loved, so seen. 

“god, you’re gorgeous,” he always tells you while his hands roam your body, “always so good for me.” and your heart always soars.

you’re always so overwhelmed with his attention, and he has such a special way of making you feel adored. if it wasn’t with his words, it would be with his touch; groping and squeezing at every part of exposed skin while his eyes follow the path of his hands, drinking in your soft belly, and your chest, and your thick thighs. you can see the way he looks at you, but you can also feel the way he treasures having you like this. all his for the night.

he helps you roll your hips against his, eyes trained on the way your face contorts in pleasure and the way his cock disappears past your glistening folds. and, when you both finally cum, he buries his face into your chest, using one arm wrapped around your soft middle to keep you pressed firmly against him while the other hand focuses on your clit, fingers circling the sensitive bud and ensuring that you get every last bit of pleasure that he can give you.

he always kisses you after too, and then cleans you up, but tonight, you can’t bring yourself to kiss him back. the entire night you’ve been thinking about how much you want him as more than just this, and you feel embarrassed that you’ve fallen for the man that you have a friends with benefits situation going on with.

you can’t let him kiss you. it’s always gentle, and you’re afraid that if he kisses you one more time, your heart will break completely. as if his kisses are more intimate than having him inside of you.

he brings his lips towards yours, pulling you into him with one hand on the side of your neck, and at the last second, you drop your head and lean back slightly. 

he notices immediately, and pulls back, brows furrowing in confusion when he sees your sad eyes.

“hey, hey, hey. what’s wrong? look at me.” he says softly, bringing a finger up to the underside of your chin and forcing your face back up.

“i can’t do this anymore.” you whisper. you look up into his eyes, and you can feel your heart breaking more. he’s everything you could’ve asked for, and he’s nothing more than a friend.

“why not? did i do something wrong?” he asks nervously, feeling all the air being knocked out of him as your words settle in. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and he silently prays that he hasn’t done something to fuck everything up.

“no. you did everything right. so right that you’ve ruined every man for me. and all i can ever think about is you.” you explain defeatedly, finally feeling a tear roll down your cheek as you laugh pathetically at your situation.

you’re not sure if you’re crying from sadness, or embarrassment, but either way, you know that you can’t let another tear fall. you don’t want things to get any worse than they already are.

without another word, buck pulls your lips to his, kissing you passionately. he tries to convey all his feelings into this kiss, trying to tell you that there’s no reason to cry, that he wants you too. you feel dizzy as you kiss him back, melting into the kiss and feeling unable to think about what this kiss means. all you can think about is his skin against yours. his cock still buried inside of you. his hands moving up and down the bare skin of your sides.

“i love you.” he whispers when he pulls away, bringing your foreheads together as his thumb moves in comforting strokes along your cheek.

“you- you do?” you ask, unable to speak louder than a whisper. you feel like what you heard couldn’t have been what he just said. surely you misheard him, and if you speak any louder, you’re sure your voice will crack, which will cause more tears to fall.

“i’ve always loved you.” he clarifies, pulling your forehead away from his and looking deeply into your eyes as he holds your face in his hands.

you let out a shaky breath, searching his eyes for any hint of deception. but you find none. his eyes are full of love, and you can see the hint of fear as well, as if he’s afraid that you don’t feel the same, despite all that you’ve said.

“i love you, too.” you whisper, sniffling softly as a grin erupts on your face. he grins as well, and then his lips are on yours again, claiming you as his own. 

“god, i love you so much.” he murmurs against your lips, hands moving in a desperate attempt to pull you impossibly closer. you’re finally his. all his.

[mythicmanuscripts]

I want to overstimulate aegon !

You and me both anon!! You and me both.

I've definitely written about overstimulating Aegon before because I don't think it's possible to write NSFW Aegon without it. Thinking about how obvious it is that Aegon would love that made me think about how most of the castle would be at least a little aware that you dom Aegon and that without you doing that he turns into a little terror no one can handle.

So that's what you'll find below the cut! I hope that's alright with you anon. If you or anyone else wants a more in-depth response about overstim then feel free to request it again and just made sure to add some form of detail about it so that I'm not just rewriting my overstimulating thoughts again. Enjoy!

Before you came along Aegon was definitely known for being willing to fuck and get fucked by just about anyone. He could have single handedly kept king's Landing's brothels open.

Aegon liked you from the moment he met you. Even though it was an arranged marriage and done for political power, he would still much rather have married you than any of the other possible spouses he could have chosen from. You were the only one who seemed to have a sense of humour, the only one who could joke with him and clearly wasnt afraid of him. He loved that from your very first conversation with him.

Once you're married, you and him both know your duties. You and him are to produce a few heirs, enough that there will definitely be someone to take over the iron throne even with a few deaths and then after that you could both sleep with whoever you wanted and you hardly had to even see each other after that.

You were prepared to do that, but you had promised yourself that you would not take it laying down (literally). You refused to allow it to be 10 minutes of boring fucking where you just wait til he's finished and then he leaves. Absolutely not. You were going to get some enjoyment out of this.

Aegon also expects for it to be like that, until you walk into your new shared chambers and push him up against the wall. And well... he is most certainly not complaining. You expect some resistance from him but nothing even close to that happens. You take control and he just becomes to pliant?

You have absolutely no idea where the man you had heard so many bad things about was. You had heard so much about his selfishness and desire and how rough he would make it, but you see absolutely none of that. From the moment you had him against the wall he was yours to play with.

You swear he was made for this purpose. There's no other explanation for it. He begs so quickly and so easily, wanting so badly to be good for you.

So of course you have your fun, and you very quickly discover how pretty he looks when he cries after his third orgasm. Poor little thing can't even get his legs to stop shaking.

And when you finished and you got into bed to let him cuddle into you? Well now you're it for him. He got completely wrecked AND he also got cuddles? Yeah no one else will ever be accepted again.

The entire castle is in shock for the next few weeks because Aegon doesn't leave for a brothel once? In fact he sent letters to three brothels informing them that he would no longer need his weekly booked room.

Things start to make a little more sense when they start to see you two together more often. Aegon looks at you like you hung the moon and all the stars. He's always holding your hand, always looking for you, always making sure there's space beside him for you.

It's very clear that you have a grounding effect on him, but what people don't know is how much of that effect comes from you absolutely wrecking him at least once a week.

You always know you've got to make time for that soon when he starts to get even whinier than usual (yes, it's actually possible) and he may genuinely cry if you have to go somewhere alone. Even when he is with you he's alls squirmy and unsettled, constantly moving around and snapping at anyone else who tries to get his attention.

You sort that out by getting an evening free of obligations and taking control the moment you're alone with him. Aegon needs to be pushed to his limits, needs to cum so many times he can barely even think never mind string a sentence together.

(You always start by letting him get you off, because you've learnt the hard way that if he realises at the end of a scene that you havent cum he will go straight into subdrop and feel like a failure.)

After that his favourite is when you sit next to him and drape his leg over your thigh to get full access. He whines and cries against your shoulder, mumbling broken pleas and cumming all over your hand every time you tell him to. He always cleans it up though!!! He'll lick your hand hand clean and then if you don't move your arm quick enough he will take your fingers into your mouth and then you're in trouble because if you pull away without giving him something else to suck on then he will just start crying. Poor thing is too fucked out you must help him!!

You spend the entire night and most of the next morning in bed with him after that. When he does emerge he's always in a much, much better mood and actually does all the things he's supposed to do.

[fall0utmind]

Medical Leak AU pt 12

Hi friends!!

Finally got around to finishing this chapter - after almost a full rewrite - I hope you like it. Thank you sooooo much to everyone who has shown me love, appreciation and support for my works. I feel v lucky x

Anyways I hope this lovely almost 6k chapter makes up for the delay. It's very very angsty - finally all that Vale guilt you wanted.

TW// Suicide (more graphic than anything else I have written) - crashes - death - injury

Probably about 2-3 more chapters left!!!!!

Love you all - ch below cut

AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59751640/chapters/158547442

CH 12 - REGRET

Valentino gets home late on Monday evening with a million thoughts in his head and the heavy weight of exhaustion clinging to him. The beginnings of a headache are throbbing behind his temples, an indicator of a long weekend of overthinking. Despite this, Valentino cannot rest, too wired from a weekend full of mistakes and surprises. It has categorically been one of the worst weekends of Vale’s life. From finding out about Marc’s past and watching him fall apart in front of his eyes, to somehow making it even worse by opening his mouth. In hindsight, he realises that historical emotions with no place in the present fuelled their exchanges, lighting the spark for an inevitable detonation. He let his ego rule his mind, took it out on Marc and was disbelieving even as he stared down the truth. Not his finest moments. It has taken too many years to realise that he loves Marc and now he is faced with the incomprehensible fact that he might lose him altogether if he can’t make amends.

He used to know Marc so well; he doesn’t know when he stopped understanding every intricacy and started attributing them all to some form of evil. But somewhere along the way, every little thing Marc did was labelled as corrupt and dangerous in his mind. It costs his pride to set the habitual instinct aside, knowing he has made mistakes along the way. He is now going against years of conditioning intended to forget the affection he once felt for Marc. And yet here he is sitting in his kitchen, back at square one, after years of messing things up for both himself and Marc, with that same affection reignited and his heart shattered by his own mistakes.

Despite a greater acceptance of his shortcomings in the past years, Valentino struggles to swallow the realisation that this was his fault. Somewhere deep inside, a stubborn part of him protests the concept; it is the same fragment which is still bitter about 2015 and the loss of his tenth title. When Valentino allows himself to think about it, he still feels some frustration about the 2015 season, both with himself and Marc. But he can also look back and realise that he was a grown adult and Marc was 22; one of them should have known better, and it wasn’t Marc. Moreover, instead of choking down his anger at the time, and talking to Marc privately, Valentino decided to air it out to the world at large. He tries to push the feelings down and bottle them up, unwilling to let something as fragile as an ego ruin this. Valentino’s ego destroyed their relationship last time- a combination of his self-importance and visceral need to win. Alongside, there was a self-doubt which niggled at the back of his mind for years until he let it engulf him. He began to doubt Marc’s loyalty and trustworthiness, even though Marc looked at him like he held the sun. He can now identify that his feelings were a combination of the dread that Marc could be better than him and the fear of his overwhelming and undeniably romantic feelings for the younger man.

It's all irrelevant now. Valentino has spent a decade screwing it up and denying his feelings. Now, he must weigh up whether Marc, the continuation of his legacy as the best, or his pride are more important.

(The choice is surprisingly easy)

Valentino takes a deep breath, blowing it out between his teeth and screwing his eyes shut. He needs a plan. And yet, he’s still at a loss about how to get Marc back. He has tried begging, reasoning, and telling the truth but none have worked.

 Albeit, he thinks bitterly, after each attempt, he promptly screwed it up again. He imagines it might take time for Marc to come around. It had taken Valentino years to destroy him and almost a decade to realise his own stupidity - he should give Marc time now. But patience has never been Valentino’s virtue, and he reckons he can speed up the process a little – some more positive interviews, or some flowers and much sweet talking. Nothing too overbearing, but Marc has always had a bit of a thing for praise, especially from Valentino.

No matter how hard he tries though, it is uncertain whether Marc will ever be able to trust him again. After everything that has happened between them, it feels like a far-off prospect. It doesn’t help that Marc had physically run away from him in Misano, fleeing his motorhome and leaving Vale standing there like an idiot, feeling bereft.

Now he almost wishes that he stayed, waiting for Marc to come back. He doesn’t focus too much on the small voice saying that he probably deserved to be abandoned by Marc. Thankfully, he didn’t have a long drive afterwards, and it was even quicker when he had barely paid attention to the road, too tied up in his thoughts. He was glad that the winding roads had been almost deserted, allowing him to follow the route by muscle memory, barely twitching at the occasional set of oncoming headlights.

His thoughts are running away from him, spinning off on tangents like what his journey home was like, rather than the task at hand. It is a solid indicator of his fatigue. The next time he looks at the clock, it’s almost midnight, signifying that he’s been sitting in one position for far too long. He groans as he hauls himself out of his chair, his knees cracking. He feels like this weekend has aged him. He pops his back and stretches his arms above his head, shifting as he tries to gather the will to move to his bedroom.

Exhaustion weighs heavily on him whilst he half heartedly brushes his teeth, skipping along shower until tomorrow.  He shucks his clothes off before throwing himself into bed, feeling overwhelmingly grateful that he has the money for the fancy mattresses he adores. He falls asleep quickly, his overactive mind shutting down to give him a brief respite. Before he retired, sleeping used to be tough after a race weekend fuelled by adrenaline, now though he usually sleeps like a baby.  Dreams come in hazy wisps of half-formed scenes. A young Marc giggles at something Valentino has said, an older version of him studiously avoiding his eyes. A flash of tanned skins and thundering engines. The harsh words which were cruelly spat at each other all those years ago. He is thrown from dream to dream, his imagination running wild.

Valentino sleeps until the sun is already high in the sky. He is endlessly grateful for mornings in bed on Mondays. The joys of retiring early. He showers quickly, perfunctory, and avoids thinking of Marc or his perfect face and plush lips lest his body betrays him. He towels himself down in much the same way and sets to start his day. He’s already written off a productive week, content to relax and wallow in self-pity after the shit show of a weekend. He putters around the kitchen for a bit, making himself some breakfast and a coffee, taking the time to do it in the fancy way that he usually brushes off as too excessive. Clutching his mug and plate, he wanders into the living room, laying his breakfast on the coffee table. He grabs his laptop and settles on the sofa. Now that he has returned to the safety of his own home, Valentino has plans to go online to read watch and consume every piece of literature about Marc Marquez that he had missed over the last decade. Thankfully, he already knows plenty: his rookie years, family, and success he is intimately familiar with. But he’s shied away from much of it: the crashes, his recovery, relationships, and the recent news. He has to start somewhere – for some reason, he thinks the crashes (and there are many) might be easiest.

Before he even consciously thinks about it, the video of Jerez is loading on his laptop – go big or go home and all of that. He watches in a half-daze and winces when Marc is thrown off the bike; the high side seems to happen in slow motion as he is flung through the air before slamming back into the earth. Valentino’s sharp gaze focuses on how Marc grits his teeth, his arm hanging limply by his side. He knows it was bad; he was there. He hadn’t seen the actual crash, and it is different now seeing it as it happened. He remembers that day, his bitter and forced indifference at the time. The vicious kind of vindication that Marc could not finish after Vale’s race had ended prematurely. Looking back now, it was fairly indicative of Valentino’s not-normal feelings. Afterwards, when he became aware of the surgery, an odd combination of panic and pleasure coursed through him. It was one less championship to Marc’s name, but Valentino also dedicated himself to researching the surgery and ensuring the doctors were the very best that money could buy. He had stopped looking into Marc's treatment after the second surgery, attempting to distance himself and by surgery number four, he thought Marc would retire – he didn’t know how to feel about that.

The video loops. He rewatches it until he can memorise the exact second Marc lost the bike, the angle at which it bucks, and the pain on his face when he thinks the cameras are no longer watching. Marc looks like he wants to scream in agony every time. Valentino wants to burn the circuit to the ground. The next time through, Valentino doesn’t click replay, staring numbly at the screen, the vision of Marc falling seared behind his eyelids. The next video loads before he can stop it. It’s a clip of Marc talking to a camera, a distant look in his eyes; it’s from that stupid documentary - the one Valentino has been avoiding for years. He hums thoughtfully, if he wants to get to know Marc again, this might be a good idea. How bad could it be? A quick Google search tells him where to watch it and it’s all too easy to set it up on his too-large TV and press play.

Valentino didn’t expect it to be so excruciating, seeing it so clearly laid out in front of his eyes. It’s difficult to watch. Whenever Valentino is mentioned, Marc’s face shutters slightly and Valentino finds himself physically recoiling from the pain in Marc’s voice. He trains his eyes on the screen, no matter how much he wants to look away. Surprisingly, the documentary cements that Marc is willing to rip himself apart to win, sinking his teeth into success and clutching on for dear life. Although Valentino already knew this; he didn’t realise Marc was willing to show everyone else. What he didn’t know is that, before it all fell apart, every time Marc did something wildly impressive, he looked to Valentino after, as if to seek his approval. In this light, Marc looks unbearably enamoured and so keen to please. He can see how Marc tore his heart open to keep Vale, only to be left with the tattered remains of their relationship – it aches. Unsurprisingly, there is also venom in Marc’s family’s descriptions of Valentino. Watching Roser talk about throwing his merchandise away after their fallout makes him wince. He remembers the smugness he felt when he lied to the Italian media as if he didn’t see the awe in Marc’s eyes. He remembers the first time he met a young Marc and the startling clarity that he was Marc’s world back then. (He remembered then too). Guilt engulfs him. He turns off the documentary and closes his eyes, unable to continue. His coffee is cold.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur, he organises his bookcase and then his room. He ambles around the track and rewatches some races from before Marc’s premier class debut. He locks himself in his office, passing the time by organising and doing trivial admin tasks which he has been putting off for months. He doesn’t feel like eating but forces himself to choke down a slice of plain toast, it still makes him nauseous. By the time he’s settled on the sofa again, the clock has struck nine and the light has faded to a pale dusk. The TV feels like it’s taunting him, its red light winking threateningly. He stares at the black screen.

A memory springs to life from the depth of his mind, unbidden. Marc, baby-faced and eager in 2013, in some shitty bar God knows where. He was drunk, absolutely hammered, his phone clutched in his hand as he waved it around, showing Valentino the pictures of his childhood room, full of old merch (most of it was Valentino’s). He remembers being unbearably fond, incredibly old, and slightly embarrassed on Marc’s behalf. A strangled noise erupts from the back of his throat. He had lied, to everyone; he had always known Marc had idolised him and he had taken that vulnerability and stabbed him in the back. Valentino feels sick, a vivid picture of Marc’s mum in the documentary, her disapproval clear to the world, even as Marc had remained hopeful.

Valentino can’t bring himself to turn the TV back on. He is a coward. He stumbles to his feet and fills a tumbler from the kitchen with whiskey - the expensive shit that Pecco got him last Christmas. He doesn’t want to think about it, about Marc, and he certainly doesn’t want to feel anything. So, he does what he does best and ignores it all, playing melancholy music through his too-expensive sound speaker and drinking away his sorrows and regrets. He doesn’t think of anything, or maybe he does – it all passes in a blur. The remnant shred of his sanity takes charge after three drinks, reminding him that alcohol is not actually the solution to all his problems. He leaves the glass on the side, promising himself that he will wash it up tomorrow. Staggering to his bedroom is an unwelcome reminder that he is far too old to be drinking alone in his empty house, he suddenly feels strangely lonely. He avoids looking the single toothbrush in the holder and the shower which only contains one set of body wash and shampoo. He ignores the thought that he wishes there were two. By the time he has finished in the ensuite and crossed the room to his bed, his eyes are already drooping. Valentino falls into a dreamless sleep the minute he hits the mattress.

*

The next day, Vale plans to watch the 2015 season from start to finish, and then study the replays of all the worst races across their time as competitors - Sepang, Argentina, Jerez, and Philip Island, the ones Valentino considers the turning points for their relationship. He is determined to pick apart the catalysts of their supernova implosion. It is a strange sensation to watch the worsening of their relationship as an outsider on the screen. He can barely bring himself to watch Sepang, too embarrassed by his childish and unsportsmanlike behaviour. He didn’t like Marc’s behaviour that year and didn’t enjoy losing (he never had). But the lies were atrocious, let alone thinking of what they led to. He turns it off before the press conference. He remembers how Marc had looked all too well, how he looked amused at first like it was all some elaborate joke before his face fell and shock took over.

He watches some of the better ones too, where he would pull Marc close in parc fermé and spray him with champagne on the podium. Marc looked so happy, so young, and in awe of Valentino. A startling difference from the Marc he now knows, to the one he created. His current Marc ignores Vale, putting up his walls whenever they interact, so much so that Valentino can barely recognise the real him. In his head, he can’t seem to reconcile all the Marcs, the real and the fake, the ones he knows and doesn’t. Valentino wonders which Marc is real, which Alex gets, and which Dovi gets. Is there even a real one, is it all an act, or is he all the Marcs in one?

It is a testament to how little Valentino knows Marc because, as much as he doesn’t want to think about it, apparently, he also relied on painkillers and was so hurt after everything that happened that he tried to end his life (twice). And even though he was there to witness it all, Valentino hadn't even realised. Marc fears vulnerability (he didn’t before), keeps his cards close to his chest, and doesn’t let anyone in; it makes him want to scream. He doesn’t understand how he missed it. He watches the end of the 2015 season particularly closely, searching for an indicator that Marc was feeling so low, any slip of his mask to see the true feelings beneath. He tries to find the clues that he missed, back then, the hints that Marc was struggling, if only he had looked. It hurts, watching, seeing Marc go from joyful and naive to guarded over a year is so obvious now that he is not overwhelmed by resentment. The pain wrenches at his gut, pulling painfully like a fishhook and making unnamed emotions rise within him. To the rest of the world, Marc is indifferent, a jokester, portraying a happy persona despite his internal turbulence, just like he was before Valentino. It is almost unfathomable that he didn’t notice him shutting down, the way his face would fall when Valentino was cruel or blasé. In the early years, of 2015 and 16, Marc hadn’t learnt how to throw up his walls quickly enough and his eyes betrayed him, if you knew what to look for. Over time he got better, or maybe he just stopped caring and became numb to it all.  He did this, he hurt Marc in unspeakable ways. He thinks that if he were Marc, he would never forgive himself.

For a split second, he pauses and wonders why he is doing this to himself, putting himself through all this pain. But then he considers the pain he caused for Marc, how his face had crumbled at the press conference of Friday, and the awful truth of the past which stares him down. Marc deserves better, and Valentino wants to give him that. He imagines his face after winning, looking so alive, his beautiful smile which lights up a room, and his ability to overcome anything. So, Valentino mentally prepares himself, turns on the documentary and wades his way through the rest of the programme, for Marc. Occasionally, he must tear his eyes away when it becomes too much, and Marc’s pain becomes too apparent. He feels sick at the end of it, sick and wrung out. So weighed down by his guilt that he doesn’t think he will ever stand up again.

Valentino’s curious though, wondering quite how bad it all was medically, how much he fucked up. He opens his phone, searching for every article he can find about Marc’s extensive injuries and hospital records. It is like one of those sick fascinations where he doesn’t want to keep reading, to torture himself, but he cannot help it, he wants to know more. He reads it all until it’s tattooed on his brain. The surgeries, the failed attempts at recovery, mainly due to Marc’s frankly stupid plan to get onto a bike again so soon. The man has always had a death wish, unafraid of falling, throwing himself into the deep end. Fall or win – die or live. Marc ran on a scale of dichotomy. He looks at the scars marring Marc’s skin, how they transform him into something unbearably more attractive, determination written on his skin. The medical records are difficult to digest. Of course, he has already seen them, but this time he imagines, feels, and believes it (he still feels guilty about that too). He is shocked that the descriptions are so… vivid. He puts himself in Marc’s shoes, well as much as he can, and considers how he would feel if suddenly everyone knew his secrets, an intimately private part of his life. Evidently, the whole arm situation isn’t new, but Valentino doesn’t think that anyone knew Marc experienced chronic pain – every day. He must admit, riding through that is incredibly impressive, but also terrifying. He can’t believe that Marc hides it so well, the fact that he is constantly in agony is chilling.

Valentino reads on. He didn’t know about the medication, but why would he? The word addiction haunts him. He doesn’t think too much about the suicide, he just reads. If he does it will break him. He might already be broken. At some point, he switches from putting himself in Marc’s shoes to imagining if he was there. What if he had been the one to find Marc and not Alex? If he and Marc were still friends, would Marc fall asleep on him as he does with Dovi? Would he trust Marc to give him the right dose of painkillers when he needs them? The more he thinks about it, he realises that he wants to be the person Marc turns to when his arm aches; the one to massage it and look after Marc when he’s on the strong shit that they give you for this kind of pain. The domesticity of the fantasy shocks him, it was never like this before. He wishes he could turn back time, to be that person, but instead, he is sitting alone in his empty house, reading about the man he used to adore because he has been too busy lamenting in hatred to care.

Valentino gives up on functioning afterwards, devastated by the loss of the life and love he could have had if he had opened his eyes. He cries until he can’t produce another tear. He gets drunk on an expensive bottle of wine and wrecks his kitchen in a fit of anger. He flits between despair, rage, and depression. He sobs into his hands, before he throws his glass against the wall, spilling red wine everywhere, staining the floor. It’ll be a bitch to clean. He doesn’t care, not when he’s staring into the face of a reality where he almost lost Marc. His Marc, who overdosed twice because of Valentino's stupid actions and his belief that it was a God-given right for him to win a tenth title. He doesn’t think Marc was wholly right, even now, for what he did back then, for how he raced. But he never needed to react the way he did, to cause a stir and turn everyone against him. He let them break into Marc’s home, threatening him and his family. At the time, he had thought it was funny, now he recognises the concealed fear and anger in Marc’s eyes. Upset. Not for himself, but for his family, especially his little brother. He imagines if it was him in Marc’s position. If it was Luca. His stomach sinks. Suddenly he is filled with an overwhelming sense of self-hatred. The most painful part is his own failings- that he wasn’t there for Marc when he needed it most, that he caused it. If it wasn’t for his own stubborn misconceptions or his overinflated ego, this might have all been prevented. Guilt eats him alive. He is a horrible person, he hates himself. He does not deserve Marc.

The dreams start that night. He begins to have nightmares, screaming himself awake at 2 am as he once again watches Marc hit the gravel and fall still, lying motionless on the ground. Lifeless, like he had thought for a heart-stopping moment on Saturday. He sits bolt upright, drenched in sweat and panting like a dog. He has to make himself tea to calm down. After, he sits in bed, with the light on, staring at the wall for an undetermined amount of time. By the time he settles, it’s 4 am and the first cracks of dawn are rising – he doesn’t sleep again.

The next night is the same, this time an endless montage of Marc screaming in pain after Jerez, of him high siding so severely that he gets double vision again, or shatters both arms, an ambulance taking him away on a stretcher as he shouts himself hoarse. It shifts into something different, darker. It starts okay, a normal race weekend, except Valentino is on the bike again and he kicks out at Marc, who goes flying. He doesn’t move again after that, dead or paralysed or some other awful fate. He shouts himself awake in the middle of the night once more. There is a soft, wet nose pushing against his leg – one of the dogs. He must have woken them. He shifts, moving to the side of the bed and letting his toes dig into the soft rug, trying to ground himself. He stands quietly and pads down into the kitchen. He has only slept a few hours, but the thought of going back to bed makes him feel sick. He makes a coffee and goes outside. He walks until the sun is rising and his feet hurt. He is aware he must look crazy, in sleep clothes and hair mused. He is glad no one else can see.

When he gets back, he looks in the cupboard for food but then he imagines Marc, still as a statue, and promptly loses his appetite. He doesn’t know what he does that day, time is thick and sticky, moving slowly as he simply exists. He dreams again at night, Valentino is stuck in the garage, unable to move or help as Marc slips from his bike, high sides, and crashes. Again, and again. Misano, Jerez, Silverstone, Sepang, Malaysia.  It turns fuzzy after the 30th crash, the 30th time he watches Marc die. This time he is in an unfamiliar home, empty and quiet. He calls out but gets no answer, so he begins to wander. The house is huge, cavernous and bare – all stark whites and polished surfaces. It feels vaguely familiar, certain items on the sides that tickle his memory. He pushes a door open, there’s an unmade bed and a helmet on the side. It clicks - Marc’s house. Valentino wants to run, but he also wants to stay. Curiosity gets the best of him. Marc’s room is the only part of the house which looks like him, it is strange to have such exuberance and such a boring house. He pushes open the adjoining door, opposite the bed, it leads to an ensuite – he sees the gigantic shower head. Then he sees the body. It’s Marc’s body with blood pooled around him and soaking his clothes, the source unidentifiable. There is an empty box of pills and a half-full vodka bottle next to him. Valentino dry heaves. He bends down, touching Marc’s face, searching for a pulse. Valentino screams.

He's crying when he opens his eyes, tears that roll down his cheek and turn into big, gasping sobs. He can barely breathe and he’s shaking. Getting his legs steady enough to walk into his ensuite takes nearly half an hour. He looks at the shower and automatically scans the floor. Almost immediately he is bent over the toilet, throwing up the minimal food he has eaten recently. He doesn’t look at the floor again, he is smart enough not to make the same mistake twice. When he looks in the mirror, he doesn’t recognise himself. There are dark purple bags under his eyes and his cheeks look gaunt. His face looks puffy and red from crying. He washes his face and cleans his teeth without meeting his gaze. It's like déjà vu, silently tiptoeing down his hallway to the kitchen before the sun has risen for the third time in as many days. They have blurred together into a montage of his own imagination. Between daytime and nighttime, he is plagued by horrible thoughts. He imagines Marc not recovering after Jerez or 2015, a life without Marc, and MotoGP without Marc. He doesn’t sleep again.

It’s Pecco who finds him, maybe 4 days later, barely functioning and no longer sleeping at all. He doesn’t know what day it is, and his only indicator of time is the sun in the sky. His house is a mess, and he doesn’t remember the last time he ate, let alone cooked. There is still glass on the floor from when he smashed it. Pecco looks at him with barely disguised panic which melts into sympathy when Vale feels tears burn in his eyes. Valentino guesses there's something rather off-putting about seeing your mentor in such a state. He watches in a daze as Pecco begins to tidy before ordering Valentino to shower. He finds new clothes out of his dresser, wincing when he realises how disgusting he is. The shower is nice, he turns up the heat as high as it will go, almost scorching, trying to burn the feelings out of him. Once he’s out of the shower, feeling slightly more human, he wanders back into the living after. Luca is pushing through the front door simultaneously, his eyes wide as he takes in the messy house and Valentino’s appearance.

“Oh, Vale” he whispers, striding forward and pulling his big brother into a hug. Valentino lets go, sobbing into Luca’s shoulder and letting the younger man haul him to the sofa. He clutches onto his little brother’s hoodie, shoving his face into the crook between his shoulder and neck. He tries to quieten his crying, but still ends up gasping in between sobs, it is slightly mortifying. At some point, he must fall asleep because the next thing he knows a glass of water is being pushed into his hands and a bowl of soup placed on the table. The washing machine is humming in the background, the curtains have been opened, letting in midmorning light, and the room is much tidier. Luce is standing over him, with Pecco loitering over his shoulder.

“When did you last eat?” Pecco asks, his trepidation apparent.

“Um, I’m not sure”, Valentino answers under his breath, embarrassed.

Luca sighs but does not reply, pushing the bowl towards Vale and staring at him expectantly until he begins eating. He hums appreciatively. It’s good, probably home cooked, and he is a little hungry. He knows once he’s finished, they’ll try to talk to him, he’s endlessly grateful to them for helping but it’s humiliating; he’s 46, and he should have his life under control. Pecco and Luca continue to tidy the house and feed him as if he is in his twenties and not them – he did not think he would ever sink so low. Once they are done, and Valentino has finished eating, they come back into the room, sitting on the opposite sofa and observing Vale in silence. He clears his throat awkwardly; it makes Luca sigh.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” He starts, “you are going have to talk to him at some point, rather than wallowing in self-pity”.

Valentino stares at the floor, gulping a deep breath before he speaks.

“Did you know? About Marc, the surgeries, chronic pain, the suicide.” He asks; it is unclear whether he is directing the question at Luca or Pecco.

Pecco shakes his head, trying to catch Valentino’s eyes to convey his earnestness.

“No, not the suicide, or the painkillers – I don’t think anyone had any idea, apart from Alex. Dovi said he didn’t know either.” Pecco whispers. At the mention of Dovi, Vale whips his head towards Pecco.

“You spoke to Dovi?” Valentino questions, he knows his voice is doing something funny, the now familiar feeling of jealousy stirring within. Luca groans.

 “On Sunday, after the race. I knew about the pain, Marc never quite rode the same since Jerez, I asked him about it ages ago but knew that he was lying – I pieced together the rest myself.” Pecco reveals. “He hides it well, I am not sure how he does it, considering everything that we now know”

Luca interrupts him, “Vale, what happened?”

Valentino sighs, telling them about the past few days – researching Marc, freaking out, the nightmares. By the time he is done, they have established that it is Saturday, 3pm. Luca suggests that he should contact Marc, get some closure to it all or try again, but Valentino immediately vetoes the idea, countering that now is not the right time. Luca rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath about it never being the right time and then he changes tact. He suggests that the boys should come over, they could stay a few nights, maybe practice. Even though Valentino knows it is to keep an eye on him (because he's incapable of being an adult), he doesn’t protest. Some company sounds nice right now, he doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts at the moment, and maybe it could also distract him from Marc.

(Wishful thinking)

[moontheoretist]

Banters I wish existed in DA2:

Anders: I'm sorry about what I said earlier, Fenris. Fenris: You must be more specific, mage. You said many awful things to me. Anders: sighs Yeah, I did. I apologize about all of them, but also specifically about my Qun comment. I didn't intent it as a slight, but I realized it was offensive and I apologize. Fenris: Hm… no matter. You didn't know. Anders: I just… let me explain. Those elves we met. They seemed so happy under the Qun, so I just thought that maybe there is a better life there to be had for the elves. Fenris: I see why you may have thought that way, but no. Living under the Qun is living as an occupation, not a person. I wouldn't be allowed to do anything other than fighting. Anders: I made a very poor assumption then, I apologize.

Fenris: … me too. Anders: What? Fenris: I apologize too about what I said about taking you with me to join the Qun. Anders: Oh, no. It's ok. I understood what you meant. You just wanted me to shut up. Fenris: Yes, but in my attempt to shut you up I said something wrong. And I want to apologize. Anders: I know I will regret asking, but… can you tell me why? Fenris: Under the Qun mages are not seen as anything else than a weapon. Especially the mages born outside the Qun. If I took you with me, I would doom you to the similar or maybe even worse fate than the one I had with Danarius. Knowing you, you would be rebellious, and they would give you qamek to make you docile. You would be a mindless slave. Anders: … let's just both avoid the Qun, shall we?

I could imagine them having banters as such if companions had the relationship bars with each other too, or if you were taking them a lot to the same missions so they would spend enough time with each other to actually apologize (if we can have Adoribull we can have this too). This is also a direct continuation of my rewriting banters post.

[cacw]

beloved

[eviesqueezie]

NEED Darry and curly chilling

darry pushes the screen door open, catching it before it can slam against the wall which had one to many cracks the shape of the handle in it.

he was expecting ponyboy to be sat on the couch, maybe next to two-bit. he expected sodapop to be cooking in the kitchen with steve hot on his tail. he didn’t expect to see a certain curly shephard half asleep on his couch with his feet on the coffee table. he didn’t even take his shoes off, his muddy- steel toed boots he was so proud of.

at the sound of the door, curly jumps up in his seat, eyes suddenly wide.

“pone?- oh, hey darry.”

darry sighs, hanging his jacket on the coat rack next to the door.

“what’re you doin’ here? and get your feet off the damn table, would ya?”

curly obliges but stays sat down, still facing him.

“just waitin’ for pony, we’re goin’ to the drive in.”

darry raises an eyebrow, kicking off his boots and placing them neatly below the coat rack he’d just made use of.

he falls down into the couch next to curly, grabbing the remote and switching on the tv. curly leans back again, crossing his arms.

he flicks through the channels until it lands on some old western from a few years ago, watching out of the corner of his eye as curly begins to grin.

“this okay?”

curly nods, tilting his head back to rest it on the wall behind him.

darry sighs, setting down the remote and running a hand through his hair.

“what are y’all watchin’?”

curly tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed in confused.

“at the drive in.” darry rolls his eyes as curly makes a little ‘oh’ noise before replying.

“dunno really, just one of those old black and white movies pony likes. i’m just goin’ for the popcorn.”

darry nods, smiling a little.

“that sounds like pone-“

“shh- it’s getting to the good bit.”

curly leans forward, watching with intent as the two characters start to have what seems like an intense shootout. darry scoffs, placing a hand on curly’s chest and pushing him backwards.

“man, don’t shush me in my own house.”

curly looks up at him, shaking his head and smiling.

“sorry, forgot you were the man of the house now.”

darry grins back, against his will. wrapping an arm around the shoulder of the boy he’d grown up knowing.

[aqours]

i've shared my thoughts on this in dms with like 3 people so i wanted to put it on paper so i can always get it

so i think one of the biggest questions that goes around tcoaatl is regarding it's incest, asked in both good faith and by annoying antis: "so is the incest... actually like portrayed as bad? or is it just hot and fetishized and romanticized?" and y'know, i think the most genuinely HONEST answer regarding that is this: "it's both." (the later mostly romanticized)

the Graves siblings have a horrifically co-dependent relationship which even the steam page is very happy to make you remember, multiple characters acknowledge it, it's a fucking awful terrible thing and you can make decisions that acknowledge it and its obvious to anyone with two eyes and a brain capable of basic critical thought that realistically while you can do w/e you want in a fanfic in a canon sense there's no way gravecest cannot result in what will ultimately be a lifetime of suffering even if both parties don't want to admit it. you're condemning them both to a chance of ever finding real genuine happiness that can exist without the other

that being said? they're both conventionally attractive and the game doesn't really shy from making its physical intimacy look hot and it's clear that nemlei doesn't want that physical intimacy to be disgusting or something that will make you feel ashamed if you intentionally pursued

i feel like this is the aspect of tcoaal that is debated the most on all sides of the fandom and i just wanted to post my own two cents in that i think the answer is "its both." the extent of how co-dependent these two are is very clear that it's not good and that most likely in the final release the best outcome for these two will probably involve acknowledging it

but also if you were to approach nemlei and just told her "listen i just think it's hot i don't give a shit about any of that other stuff i just wanna ship them." i think nemlei herself would nod and respect your decision completely. probably feed you even more if anything

you're free to disagree with me, i just wanna state my own thoughts somewhere, so i think the answer is a very solid "it's both" when it comes to this. tcoaal portrays the incest as horribly psychologically damaging for these two but also at the same time it's obviously not gonna judge you for liking it and if you find it hot nemlei would never judge you for it i think

but i just cannot in any capacity really take the argument it's a hard one or another seriously. i think if tcoaal wanted gravecest to only be seen as bad and horrifying that nemlei would've made different decisions in writing it bc it's obvious she COULD have if she wanted to, but also it's not fair to say it just makes incest look hot and sexy when it does show how fucked up it's characters are because of it

so... just wanted to say yeah- i think it's both