#like as if I didn't love him enough already -

[ego13]

LOVE TALK ── yu jimin.

── finding yourself alone in paris, having found a beautiful stranger in a club who didn’t understand your language, you don’t mind hanging out with her in her car.

now playing: wayv - love talk (english ver.)

warnings, sensitive content: sex with stranger, sex in public places, marking, cunnilingus (reader recieving), dry humping, abs riding, fingering (reader recieving), hair pulling, praise kink, pet names (chéri, bonne fille, baby), making out, nipple play, spanking, cursing, cheating.

word count: 2,8k

I can hear it callin'

Loving the way you wanna talk

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

Callin'

Something in the way you wanna talk

you're finally fed up with all this, you were finally fed up with all this, all the fights with your boyfriend were going too far, because you were fed up with his baseless jealousy, lack of confidence in yourself, in you and, most importantly, in your relationship.

after another fight you sat on the floor in tears, packing your things into your backpack, while he indifferently continued playing his console, saying something to his friends on the phone, but you didn't listen to all of this, because the only thing you wanted was for it all to finally end, and for you to finally become free from him and from your relationship that was so restricting you. throwing your backpack over your shoulder, clumsily wiping the tears from your face, rubbing your makeup with your palm, you ran out of the apartment, loudly slamming the door behind you, making it clear that you're not going to look back, you're not going to ask for forgiveness and hope to make things right, you've had enough.

sitting with your friend where you were staying until you found yourself an apartment, she listened attentively to your story about what happened, shaking her head in surprise, she knew that not everything was so good in your relationship, but not to this extent...

"fuck, I told you a hundred times that he's a complete asshole!" she exclaimed, sitting closer to you, hugging you weakly, realizing that you are now in a vulnerable state, and you incredibly need support. she stroked your hair, listening to your sobs, which broke her heart, because the last thing she wanted was to see her friend like this.

"listen, you urgently need to get distracted," she said, her words made you raise your head, looking at her in surprise, because what could distract you in such a situation? "my friends are having a party in paris and you have to come."

these words threw you off track, what paris? you just broke up with your boyfriend and problems piled up on you, not allowing you to raise your head, and then she suddenly offers you to go to another country for the sake of some party? you were about to refuse, but she put her finger on your mouth, as if showing that you should keep quiet.

"keep quiet! no refusals accepted, pack your things."

to say that going to another country without knowing the language is stupid is to say nothing, because you really didn't understand a word of french, unlike your friend, who kindly translated everything for you, so at first it didn't seem like a big problem.

you stood in front of the mirror, trying on dress after dress, hoping to choose the best one, after all, it wasn't for nothing that you traveled several thousand kilometers for some party. your friend silently watched you preen, having already been dressed for a long time, waiting for you with a displeased expression.

"come on, it's been almost half an hour, we're already late! put on something already and let's go." she said discontentedly, folding her arms across her chest, which made you giggle just from the sight of her, playfully rolling your eyes and putting your makeup in her purse. finally being ready you both left the apartment, walking along the night streets of paris, heading to some club that your friend had managed to buzz your ears about over the past few days.

you got there pretty quickly, passing face control at the entrance with the same ease, finally opening the door to the club, at the same moment hearing loud music that made you shudder slightly. seeing your confusion, your friend took you by the hand, leading you to the bar counter, where there were already several people standing, looking at you with interest.

"bonjour!" one of them exclaimed, waving at you with a bright smile, your friend smiled back, hugging everyone sitting at the bar while you stood shyly to the side, realizing this, she took your hand again, moving it closer to her so that you were not standing far away.

"rencontre-moi, c'est mon amie," - meet her, shes my friend, she said, to which her friends immediately smiled, greeting you in french, but not understanding a word, you only nodded respectfully, smiling back.

it was about about an hour passed, you were all drinking, despite the fact that you couldn’t join in the conversation, because you simply didn’t understand what they were talking about. finally, the girl sitting next to you noticed your discomfort, putting her hand on your shoulder.

"chérie, ce qui s'est passé?" - darling, what happened? she asked in a worried voice, but once again, not understanding anything, you simply nodded, but her hand on your shoulder made you feel a little better, finally laying your head on her shoulder.

Falling for a stranger

Good gracious

I might even fly out to Vegas

noticing this, jimin chuckled, saying nothing, just continuing to drink the wine from her glass, chatting with the other people sitting next to her. "she has such beautiful french," you thought, realizing that you barely heard the people around you, listening only to her well-delivered speech.

the more alcohol entered your body with her, the more confident and relaxed your touches became. first her hand "accidentally" slid from your shoulder to your waist, then you just as "accidentally" touched the skin of her neck with your lips, making her sigh heavily, her eyes immediately looked at you, squeezing your waist tighter, to which you only smirked contentedly.

when your friends went to the dance floor, you both realized it was time for action, so she grabbed your hand, leading you through the drunken crowd on the dance floor, leaving the club. you immediately felt a cool spring wind blowing on your face, but her hand in yours warmed you.

you walked to the parking lot and at that very moment you saw a black supra, making your jaw drop, clearly not expecting a girl like her to have a car like that. her hand opened the passenger door, pushing you inside, climbing in after you, finally ending up with you in the passenger seat.

you immediately felt warm hands on your hips, which sat you down on her lap, causing you to instinctively place your palms on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. she tightened her embrace, one hand sliding down to possessively grope your ass while the other tangled in your locks.

"j'ai attendu ce moment toute la nuit," - I've been waiting for this moment all night, she growled into your ear, making you break into goosebumps, with that words, she crashed her lips against yours in a brutal, claiming kiss, kiss that stole the breath from the your lungs, her tongue pushed past your lips, invading, conquering, pushing it into your mouth, making you moan lowly. she was already imagining all the ways she wanted to take you right here, right now, but she knew she had to be patient.

вhe could feel the your breath, hot and heavy with anticipation, washing over her sensitive skin. yu's hands slid down to grip your slim waist, feeling the heat of your body through the thin your dress, she slid her hands up under the fabric, caressing the smooth, toned skin of her back, as could feel the goosebumps rising on your flesh as she touched you.

pulling away from the kiss, your hands lifted her shirt, revealing her well-defined abs, making you hold your breath, biting your lower lip and raising your gaze to karina, silently asking for permission.

"faites ce que vous voulez, chéri," - do whatever you want, darling, she said nodding approvingly, giving you free rein, which made you smirk, lifting the bottom of your dress, seeing this, she helped you take it off over your head, throwing it on the driver's seat, because now you won't need clothes, your underwear flew after your dress, leaving you completely naked before her hungry gaze.

she swore quietly, feeling your palm slide along her abs, causing her to break out in goosebumps, at the same moment feeling contact with your hot, wet skin of your groin, forcing her to lean her head back against the seat, placing her hands on your hips. she tightened her grip, nails digging into your soft flesh as she guided your movements.

at the same time she slid one hand up your side, tracing the curve of your breast, before roughly palming the soft mound, thumb brushed over your hardened nipple, teasing the sensitive bud, her other hand slid down to grope your ass, fingers sinking into the plump cheek, giving you a soft smack, what made you squeal, placing your hands on her shoulders.

her fingers sank into the flesh of your ass, gripping you tightly as she guided your increasingly desperate movements, she rolled her hips up to meet yours, abs rippling beneath you, her defined muscles providing the perfect and needed friction against your sensitive folds, jimin could feel how your slick arousal coating her skin, your needy whimpers music to her ears, making her feel an unpleasant wetness between her own legs, but she knew that she had to take care of you first.

she could feel your body trembling, could see your chest heaving with each desperate breath, seing how you lose yourself in pleasure, using her body for your own needs, was intoxicating, making it even harder to bear. she leaned up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving into your mouth swallowing all of your moans as her hands slid around to grip your ass, spreading your cheeks apart as she ground your core harder against her abs.

"tu es belle comme ça" - you look so beautiful like this, she whispered close to your lips before leaning back against the seat, watching with a smirk as you managed to cope on your own. she could tell you were getting close, your body tensing and trembling with impending release, she shuddered as she felt your hips moving with increasing desperation, your whimpers growing louder and more needy.

she slid one hand around to your wetness, fingers teasing through your soaked folds, feeling the slick arousal coating her digits, she let out a soft moan from that feeling, smirking as she watches you finally shudder at the peak of your climax.

"c'est ma bonne fille," - thats my good girl, she said with a smile, combing a fallen strand of hair behind your ear, she leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delved into your mouth, stroking along yours, she broke the kiss to trail her lips down your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive flesh as she panted harshly against your skin, you felt her weave her fingers into your hair, forcing you to throw your head back, giving herself more space on your sensitive skin, which at that very moment was covered with red spots from her teeth.

at the same moment she switched places with you, turning to turn off the lights in the car, moving the passenger seat to give herself more room to fit between your legs. she trailed kisses down your calves, unfastening your shoes at the same time, throwing your legs over her shoulders. the sensation of that soft, wet muscle of her tongue sliding along your slick folds sent a jolt of electricity through your body, making you back arch off the seat, your hands instantly wove into her hair, lightly pulling at the roots, causing her to let out a low moan.

your juices flowed freely, coating her lips and chin, which she didn't mind at all, squeezing your hips tighter, encouraging the way you desperately pushed towards her tongue. the musky, intoxicating scent of your sweet arousal filled the car, mingling with the faint traces of her perfume. it was damn hot in the car, the windows were already fogged up, blocking your view of the people you saw in the parking lot, but right now you didn't care about them, and you didn't care if anyone heard you or not.

your other hand slid to palm her aching for attention breast, kneading the soft mound and pinching her nipple through the thin silk of your black bra, you could feel the stiff peak of you nipple straining against the fabric, begging for more stimulation that only yu could give you.

the idyll was interrupted by the sound of a phone call, fuck, that's the last thing you need right now, who thought of calling at the moment when such a beautiful girl is between your legs fucking you with her tongue in her car? through your hazy vision you saw your friend's name on the display which made you curse under your breath, biting your bottom lip as you wondered whether or not to answer.

and yet you pressed the button to accept the call, afraid that it might raise an alarm because you had disappeared from the club so suddenly.

"hey, where have you disappeared to, are you okay?" she said in a slightly drunk but still worried voice as loud music played in the background.

"i-im fine..." you said with a trembling voice, trying your best to hold back your whining, and jimin was even more turned on by your situation, which is why she didn't even plan to stop, approaching the matter more diligently, your clit throbbed, swollen and sensitive, as her clever tongue flicked and circled the sensitive bud. your head fell back against the headrest, her eyes squeezing shut as she lost herself in the exquisite pleasure, your chest heaved with each ragged breath.

"are you sure you're okay? your voice is shaking, you disappeared so suddenly... and jimin disappeared too, are you sure everything's okay?" she said, while you were holding back with all your might, breathing heavily into the phone, "everything's fine... jimin and i stepped away for a while, i felt bad and she's just... looking after me, we'll be there soon," you said, at the same moment with these words you dropped the call, throwing the phone aside, finally allowing a loud groan to escape your lips.

your thighs trembled, the muscles flexing as you struggled to keep them spread wide, which she certainly took care of, because her strong grip prevented you from bringing your legs together, your grip on her hair tightened, holding her in place as you ground her hips more insistently, desperately fucking her face, the wet, obscene sounds of jimin's slurping and suckling filled the car, mixing with your increasingly loud moans and cries of pleasure.

you could feel the heat of her breath on your skin, could smell the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the headier aroma of your own arousal. It was intoxicating, overwhelming. your climax building fast, the coil of heat in your core winding tighter and tighter with each pass of her wicked tongue, your thighs trembled, the muscles clenching as she teetered on the brink of ecstasy, you was so close, so fucking close, and she needed jimin, needed her to make her push her to the edge, to be that one.

your pussy clenched, the walls fluttering around her tongue, trying to draw it in deeper, you cried out, voice echoing in the enclosed space of the car, with a keening moan, you finally came undone, your body convulsing as her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, your eyes rolled back, head thrown back against the seat as your rode out the aftershocks of her climax, and she with her kitten licks continued to assault on your clit, prolonging your orgasm, overstimulating you.

finally rising, she pulled you into a kiss again, pulling your lower lip, not allowing you to recover from your previous orgasm, her thumb rubbed tight circles around your aching clit, the pleasure bordering on pain, at the same moment, two fingers sliding inside you, fingers plunging in and out of her clenching heat at a brutal pace, she curled her fingers just so, brushing against that spongey spot deep inside that made you see stars.

as she fucked you harder, faster, spurred on by the desperate sounds spilling from your lips. her thumb rubbed your clit hard as she plunged her fingers into that slick, gripping heat over and over, she could feel your release surging through you, the tension snapping as you threw your head back with a guttural moan.

"allez, donne-le moi, baby," - come on give it to me, baby, she growled, pushing deeper, the obscene sound of her fingers slamming into your wet heat filled the room, punctuated by your desperate moans, you could feel your climax building, your cunt starting to flutter and tighten around her digits, your chest heaved with each ragged breath, skin flushed and damp with exertion. she could feel your pussy starting to spasm, gripping her plunging fingers like a vice, she fucked you with short, sharp jabs as you grind your clit against her palm as you teetered on the brink, your pussy clamped down, rippling and gushing around her fingers as you came hard, drenching her hand and the seet beneath you.

pulling her fingers out of you, she climbed back onto the seat, sitting you on her lap and soothingly stroking your back, leaving a light kiss on your temple.

"chérie, c'est drôle, je n'ai même pas pu te demander ton nom." darling, that's funny, i didn't even get to ask your name.

Baby we two distant strangers

I know you don't speak my language

But I love the way she's talking to me.

[secretlysimpash]

141 + Love Languages (giving and receiving)

Characters: John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley

Warning(s): none (but still, as always, MDNI)

John definitely prefers acts of service in terms of giving. For the one he loves, he's always going to open doors, pull out chairs, do things without being asked, and just...Help however and whenever he can. In return, he will ask for nothing...Except for you to spend some quality time with him. Your presence alone is a reward, and all he wants. So please, drag him to that place you want to go to, no matter what it is. Bring him anywhere and everywhere, or just stay at home with him. He won't care...Just be by his side, that's all he asks.

Kyle's love language in terms of giving is quality time. When he's home, he just wants to spend all of his time with you. Expect a lot of dates. And he'll listen to you talk for hours on end, either engaging in the conversation actively, or letting you ramble while he just gives you the most adoring looks. As for receiving, he's definitely just the inverse of John...Since he loves acts of service. If you cook his favorite meal, drop everything to help him, or just do something so he doesn't have to...He's falling in love all over again. Especially after missions...If you tell him to relax so you can take care of everything, he'll propose on the spot (even if you're already married).

Johnny is a physical touch guy for sure. He is like a dog all too excited to pounce and get his paws on you whenever you're in close proximity to him. You'll wake up with him cuddling you, face buried in your hair. The day is spend with his hand/hands on you in one way or another. The nights? That's right, your limbs are tangled together and he is not getting up or letting go anytime soon. And as much as he loves physical touch for giving and receiving...He loves receiving some words of affirmation. Compliment him and he is yours. The compliments could be on anything and everything. Same with encouragement and praise, Johnny is a BIG BIG praise guy. Hearing it from your lips is all he needs.

I could see Simon as the type to love giving gifts. If Johnny is like a dog, then Simon is like a cat...Bringing you little gifts and presents (thankfully none of his gifts are dead mice or birds). If he notices you longingly looking at something long enough, he'll decide its yours. The price is not a factor, he's getting you whatever it is. You might even forget what it is you said you wanted three days ago...But he didn't. He ordered it immediately. As for receiving...Physical touch. Simon is not the type to let just anyone touch him. In fact, he hated it for the most part...Until you. Any and all touches from you, he melts into it. Particularly loves your nails gently scratching his scalp if you're petting his head or messing with his hair. And if there's proof of your touch, like lipstick stains or hickies or scratches from an intense night, he's NOT hiding it. Wears them with pride.

[maretinelli]

SWEET DISASTERS

Lando Norris X fem!reader

Summary: All the times Y/n was so clumsy and got genuine laughs out of her boyfriend.

Words: 2.7K+

Warnings: Makeout session, broken glass, mentions of injury but very funny, disastrous and cute Lando

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. And this could EASILY happen to me, I'm a walking disaster too.

MASTERLIST

Y/n was putting her bags in the trunk of the car, already getting ready to go back to university after a long weekend at Lando's house.

He, always helpful, insisted on taking the larger suitcases from the apartment to the car, while she organized everything in the back.

"That was the last one!" Lando warned, carrying the largest suitcase with annoying ease. He gave his girlfriend a soft kiss on the shoulder.

Y/n, with her head already inside the trunk, tried to adjust each item as if it were a game of Tetris.

"Okay, just slide it in there and you're done!" She said, patting the space she'd just made. Lando put the suitcase in place, then mumbled something about getting something from the driver's seat. She just waved her hand, focused on getting everything ready.

That's when it happened.

Y/n, trying to reach a bag that had fallen to the bottom of the trunk, lost her balance.

"Ops!"

Was all he could say before he fell into the compartment with everything. The impact was enough for the lid, by pure gravity, to close with a click.

Y/n blinked a few times, processing what had just happened. She was literally trapped in the trunk.

"Lando!" She called, her voice a little muffled, but not at all desperate.

He didn't answer. He was probably still in the front seat, distracted. "Lando dear, can you come here real quick?"

Still no response, she tried something more flashy. Somehow, she managed to stretch out her leg and started tapping her foot against the back window.

Lando, hearing the muffled sound and knocking, looked up. "Y/n love, what was that?" he muttered. Getting out of the car and walking to the back, when he saw the trunk closed and Y/n's foot sticking out the side, he froze for a second.

And then he started laughing.

"Y/n, for the love of God, what are you doing in there?" He asked, almost out of breath.

"I went to pack my bags and... well, I got ready too... Now, could you open this before I turn into a statue in here?"

Still laughing, Lando opened the trunk, revealing Y/n curled up, with red cheeks and an awkward smile.

"Are you okay there or do you want me to give you a little more time to reflect on your life decisions?"

Y/n got out of the trunk, fixing her hair, while he was still trying to compose himself. "Very funny, Norris. Next time, I'll leave you stuck in there and see what it's like."

"Impossible. I'm too smart to let myself fall into a trap like that," he replied, winking at her. But still laughing.

Y/n rolled her eyes, but soon started laughing along. "Okay, but promise me one thing."

"What?"

"That you will never tell anyone about this."

Lando gave a mischievous grin. "No promises."

•••••••••••••••••••••

Winter was punishing outside, but inside the apartment, the weather was completely opposite. Y/n and Lando were on the couch, cuddled under a blanket, their cheeks flushed and not just from the heating. The kiss between the two started slowly, but it quickly intensified.

Y/n was sitting on Lando's lap, with her legs on either side of him, while their hands explored every inch of the other. Despite the cold outside, the warmth of the moment made them both forget that it was winter.

Y/n laughed between kisses, Lando's fingers wandering around her waist and up her back, leaving goosebumps along the way. She, in turn, began to run her hands over her own skin, pushing the fabric of her sweatshirt up, wanting to take it off.

But that's when disaster struck.

In her haste and in the heat of the moment, she pulled her sweatshirt over her head, but somehow the fabric got caught.

The shirt got tangled in her hair and completely covered her face, leaving only her arms raised and uselessly trapped. She started to laugh, but the sound was muffled by the sweatshirt that was still on her head.

"Lando... I think I need some help here!" She said, between muffled giggles.

Lando, who was already trying to hold back his laughter, couldn't hold it in any longer. He collapsed on the couch, laughing so loudly that his cheeks turned redder. "My God, you look like a ghost in the hoodie!" He said, his voice cracking with laughter.

Y/n crossed her arms, clearly giving up on trying to take off the piece of clothing herself. Now she looked even funnier, with her face covered and her arms crossed in frustration.

"If you don't stop laughing, I'll be here forever!" Y/n complained, but the playful tone in her voice revealed that she was having as much fun as he was.

"Sorry, sorry," Lando said, still struggling to contain his laughter. He finally leaned over to help her, pulling her sweatshirt down and tugging it back onto her body.

When her face became visible again, it was as red as his.

She got off his lap, adjusting her sweatshirt as she rolled her eyes. "Great. Now all the warm weather between us is gone to the universe." She said, trying to look serious but failing as a smile escaped at the end.

Lando, still laughing, leaned back against the couch and looked at her. "I can't deal with you sometimes. You're the most adorable disaster I've ever met."

Y/n giggled and threw a pillow at him. "Okay, okay. I'll make you some hot chocolate. Do you want some?"

"I do" Norris replied, still smiling. "But please try not to spill anything. The sweatshirt was stuck enough."

She laughed, shaking her head, and went into the kitchen while Lando stayed on the couch, the scene etched in his memory as just another of the many funny stories they would share.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The night was special. After so much dedication, love and trust, they finally had something huge to celebrate their engagement.

Y/n, with her contagious energy, said that the moment deserved champagne, and Lando agreed, smiling when he saw the excitement in her eyes.

She smiled, her eyes flicking between her future husband and the ring she had received a few hours earlier.

"Today is our day! I insist on popping the champagne!" She declared, as Lando followed her to the kitchen with a smile on his face, taking the opportunity to leave little kisses on his bride's face along the way.

In the kitchen, Lando leaned casually on the marble counter, watching Y/n grab a bottle of champagne from the small wine cellar they had in the apartment.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Remember the last time you tried to open a bottle of bubbly?" He teased with a mischievous smile.

"I'm absolutely prepared!" Y/n replied confidently. While she adjusted the bottle, Lando took two crystal glasses from the cabinet and carefully placed them on the counter, a few inches away.

"Alright, Miss Confident Norris. Do the honors," Lando said, crossing his arms, smiling and watching.

Y/n held the bottle with determination and looked at Lando. "To all the amazing moments that are yet to come." She said with a wide smile.

And then it happened.

The sound of the cork popping echoed through the kitchen. But to Y/n's horror, the cap flew like a missile, hitting the cabinet hard. The impact was so strong that it bounced directly off the glasses hanging on the counter. The sound of breaking glass was immediate - three glasses fell into the sink and shattered.

"OH MY GOD!" Y/n screamed, cowering close to the pilot as the sound of shards echoed through the kitchen. Lando also jumped a little, hugging her from the side, but soon began to laugh.

"I can't believe this happened..." Y/n said, her hand over her mouth, looking at the broken pieces in the sink. Her eyes were slightly watery, and she made a face like she was about to cry. "I broke everything..."

Lando, on the other hand, couldn't hold it in. He was laughing so hard he could barely speak, tears streaming down his eyes as he held the two glasses he managed to save.

"You're... amazing! Who else can turn an engagement celebration into a glass battlefield?!"

"Lando, stop laughing, this is serious!" Y/n complained, but his amused expression was so contagious that she couldn't help but smile a little.

Still laughing, he walked over to her, set their glasses down on the counter, and pulled her in for a quick kiss on the cheek. "You definitely made it even more memorable. I'll never forget our killer champagne."

Y/n let out a laugh, shaking her head. "Next time, I'll leave it to you. You're more used to popping champagne."

"Good idea" he replied, still smiling. "But you have to admit, this was a lot more fun."

They both laughed together as they began to clean up the pieces of glass, turning the disaster into yet another fun memory that they would always carry with them.

••••••••••••••••••••••

Lando was sitting on the couch, his arms resting on the back as he watched Y/n walk around the room, gesturing excitedly. She was telling him about the visit she made to her family while he was out running. His smile was impossible to hide, the passion with which she talked about anything always left him enchanted. seeing her

"And then my little brother...you know how energetic he is, he started teaching me some karate moves," Y/n said, laughing as she imitated the 15-year-old's serious tone. "He said I needed to learn how to defend myself, you know? Because according to him: 'You never know when you're going to need a spinning kick.'"

Lando let out a low chuckle, "Well, that sounds pretty useful. Just in case one of my adversaries decides to show up on the street."

"Exactly!" Y/n agreed, still laughing, as she stopped in the middle of the room and looked at him. "Want to see what the move looks like? It's pretty cool."

He crossed his arms, leaning forward slightly with a fond, amused smile. "Sure thing, love. Show me, Karate Champion."

She laughed, excited that he was interested, and positioned herself in the center of the room, adjusting her feet as her brother had taught her.

"See? First you prepare like this..." She showed the starting position, with her hands raised in guard. "And then you spin and-"

Before I could finish explaining, Y/n did the spin, but her foot didn't meet the air like she planned. The kick hit the side of the TV with a loud THUD, and the force of the impact was enough to knock it to the ground.

"Oh...my...God!" She screamed, her eyes widening as she clapped her hand over her mouth. She looked up to see the TV screen with a huge diagonal crack in it.

Lando froze for a second, but soon burst out laughing, holding his stomach as he fell back against the couch. "You... you just... knocked out the TV!" He said, struggling between laughs.

Y/n was still on the floor, a little scared by the situation with the TV, but also starting to find it funny. "I'm fine, before you ask. But I don't think the TV is." She said, looking at the destroyed screen with an expression of pure guilt.

Lando approached her, kneeling beside her while still laughing. "Are you okay? Didn't you sprain anything in your big epic stunt?"

"No, just my dignity," she replied, rolling her eyes but smiling. "And of course, the poor electronic device..."

He let out another laugh and ran his hand through her hair. "Well, at least the TV was the only casualty. Who knew my couch was a war zone?"

"Oh, shut up" Y/n said, still laughing, as she threw herself onto his chest, pushing him lightly. The two ended up lying on the living room floor, laughing together.

Lando took advantage of the proximity to start giving her little kisses on the face. "My love, you are the sweetest disaster I've ever seen" He murmured between kisses, drawing a smile from her. "And next time, I think it's better not to mix karate and electronics" He finished, laughing, while Y/n shook her head and promised to stay away from the TV.

"Damn, we're going to have to go out and buy a new TV."

Lando laughs and caresses her face. "That's the least of it."

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The end of year holidays were peaceful and full of special moments. Y/n and Lando had decided to spend them with her family, in the cozy country house that her mother loved. The weather was perfect - cold enough to remind her of winter, but sunny enough for outdoor games.

Lando was on the deck, sitting in one of the comfortable chairs and chatting with Y/n's father, her brothers and some of her brothers-in-law. They were laughing and exchanging stories while, on the lawn, Y/n played baseball with her nephews, trying to keep up with the children's boundless energy.

One of Y/n's brothers, laughing, commented as he looked at her on the lawn. "So, Lando, how many disasters has my sister caused since they got here?"

The family knew what a disastrous and energetic person Y/n was. This had been the case since the day she was born.

Lando chuckled, leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair and watching Y/n excitedly, holding the baseball bat with an almost childish enthusiasm.

"Oh, more than I can count. But honestly, it's part of her charm, isn't it?" He gave a knowing smile, drawing laughter from the others. "It's one of the things I fell in love with her for..." He whispers, smiling fondly.

Everyone on the deck looked in her direction, just in time to see Y/n positioning herself to hit the ball that one of her nephews threw.

She took confident aim and swung the cue, but instead of hitting the ball, she ended up swinging awkwardly and hitting herself hard in the back.

"AH!" Her scream echoed, and Y/n immediately dropped the bat, leaning over and falling backwards onto the grass.

Lando stood up quickly, as he saw the children run to her, surrounding her with worried expressions. He hurriedly got down from the deck, startled by the scream, but slowed down when he saw Y/n lying on the grass, laughing.

"Are you laughing?" He asked in disbelief as he knelt down beside her.

"I just hit myself with a bat, Lan! What else can I do but laugh?!" Y/n replied, holding her stomach from laughing so hard, even with the discomfort in her back.

Lando started laughing along, relieved that it wasn't anything more serious. He helped her sit on the grass, and Y/n, still laughing, handed the bat to one of her nephews.

"Okay, Auntie's sweet children. Please continue playing without Auntie this time." She smiled. And even though they were scared and reluctant, the little ones started playing again.

Even though his mood was light, Lando ran his hand gently down her back. "Let me see. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Oh, just a little." Lando looks at her. "Okay, maybe a lot." She admitted, grimacing.

"Excuse me, honey," he asked, lifting her shirt a little at the back. A red mark was beginning to form, indicating the bruise that would come. Lando sighed, gently rubbing his hand. "This is going to turn purple... you really are talented at getting hurt, you know that?"

Y/n held back a slight cry of pain, but soon rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the affection. "And you're talented at taking care of me. I think we make a perfect team."

He chuckled and kissed the side of her head. "My clumsy wonder woman. You are one of a kind."

Lando helped Y/n up, walking with her back to the deck.

Once they arrived, her father laughed, shaking his head. "Lando, I'm sure she does these things just to make sure you never lose the habit of taking care of her."

She rolls her eyes to try to hide the shy smile on her lips.

"Maybe" Lando replied with a smile, pulling Y/n closer. "But I wouldn't change a thing. She makes my days much more interesting."

Y/n laughed, shaking her head and leaning against her fiancé. Even with her clumsy tendencies, she knew that with Lando by her side, she would always have someone to laugh with her and love her unconditionally.

To him, his bride was nothing less than a true wonder woman.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny in Metropolis Ch2/P2

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

(much love to @fadinggalaxysalad for the idea of Kon considering his own logo)

Picking out a lunch box was surprisingly hard. It said so much about a person.

Jon's was a Robin lunch box, because of course it was. Though Kon very much doubted that Damian's was a Superboy one (especially since it wouldn't be a Superboy the Second one). Kon’s own was a simple black one that he has been doodling on all year with a silver sharpie.

Maybe predictively, school was full of lunch boxes of superheroes, pop stars, geometric colors, and semi-abstract artsy patterns. Anything deemed not too “kiddy”. Eliminating the kiddy things on the shelf didn't get Kon very far. His own logo caught his eye, sitting innocently on the shelf among the Justice League heroes.

It was a little tempting. The thought of Danny carrying around his symbol through school every day brought a flush to Kon’s cheeks.

But there was no was he was going deal with the teasing from his family for that choice.

He moved away from that area of the shelves, because he wasn't going to get Danny any other superhero's symbol either, and continued on down to the abstract section. It was small and Kon was ready to rule it out until he saw it: a mostly black bag with a stylized set of stars on it. It was a little like Kon's own bag without actually matching in a way he could be teased about. It also felt very Danny somehow.

Kon grabbed the bag before he could over think it and went to finish up the rest of the list he'd been given since he was going out anyways.

-

Danny was already at the table, head buried into his crossed arms. The rest of their table was still empty. It made it easier to walk over and set the new lunch box down in front of Danny, close enough to bump his arms.

After a beat, Danny turned enough to peer at the bag with one shadowed eye. “What's that?"

“Your lunch,” Kon said with every bit of calmness he could muster. He sat down across from Danny and put his own bag on the table.

He'd drawn a new monster in the bottom right corner during math.

“My… lunch…,” Danny repeated slowly. “I… don't have a lunch?”

“Yes you do, it's right there.”

“What.”

“Lunch, you, there, eat.”

“You Kronk,” Danny replied instantly, as if on instinct. He blinked like he was rebooting. “I'm sorry, how do I have a lunch?”

“Because my dad packed you one.”

Danny slowly reached out to poke at the bag. “…right. Why did your dad pack me a lunch?”

Kon opened his own lunch and pulled out the PB&J sandwich and took a large bite. Unabashedly, he answered with his mouth full, “Because I asked him to.”

“Con…”

“Danny, it's fine. Just eat it, okay? Not, like, don't eat anything you don't like, but there won't be anything on your no list in it.”

“Oh.” Danny reached and pulled the lunch box closer. “I… thank you? And tell your dad thank you?”

“Sure, will do,” Kon said as if it was nothing and he wasn't hiding a smile by taking another bite.

Both of them were saved from having to say anything more by the rest of their friends (a loose word, sometimes) arriving at the table. There was some shock expressed at Danny actually having lunch, but mostly good natured teasing and some expressions of how glad they were to see it.

Kon shot Danny a little look during it, and got a blush and little eye roll back for it. It was reward enough for Kon. He was just glad to see Danny eating.

[themultifanshipper]

Dom lando convincing Oscar to try different types of sex toys and lando loving it as much as Oscar and maybe I could see Oscar being a size queen just loving being filled either by lando or dildos like big bigggg ones

The first time Lando suggested it, he'd been joking. 

But the look on Oscar's face, and the fact that he came prematurely as soon as the words were out of Lando's mouth, told Lando everything he needed to know about what Oscar thought of the idea. 

Warnings:  smut, fingering, fisting, using big-ass dildos, blowjob, crying, Lando being a bit mean

Lando was big.  

Not in like, a ‘I have a big dick and an ego to match’ way, but he was fucking big. 

And he was actually quite shy about it, because sometimes it could make sex quite difficult if his partners weren't prepped thoroughly. 

Sometimes he bottomed just to avoid the conversation and hassle. Which he did enjoy, but he preferred to be the top.  

And a rather dominant top at that. 

So when Oscar mentioned to him offhandedly that he could take anything, he had to see for himself. 

They ended up in bed together several times before the afore mentioned incident. 

Oscar was a noisy bottom, and Lando had been getting a bit too into the prepping part and had decided to go up to four fingers and make Oscar come like that. 

And he jokingly said something along the lines of “What if I put all my fingers in? I bet I could get my whole fist inside you.” 

And, well. Oscar came without uttering a single word about it. But he didn't need to. 

Lando got his dick in him as soon as he could and that was the end of the conversation. 

Until the next day when he brought it up again, in the conference room of all places. 

Oscar choked on his coffee and stared daggers at Lando. Thank god they were the only ones in there. 

Long story short, that very night was the first time Lando got a whole fist in Oscar, and they both came completely untouched. 

But Lando was nothing if not greedy. He wanted more. 

He wanted to see how much Oscar could really take. 

And Oscar was insatiable in nature so he readily agreed to Lando's antics. 

Every few weeks he would come home and find Lando sitting there with an unopened amazon box. 

He never opened them on his own. He would always wait for Oscar to come home and open it, because he wanted to see the hungry look in his eyes when he saw each toy for the first time. 

Dildo number four made his eyes widen and his mouth water. 

It was a good 3 inches wide, and made Lando's cock look like a tooth pick, no offense. 

That night they did their usual ritual. 

Oscar had been wearing a big plug for a few hours to help with the prep. 

Lando grabbed a bottle of lube (they had about 30 bottles, because they were on sale and they used a lot of lube, sue them) and squirted a generous amount on one of the previously bought dildos. 

Oscar sank down on it like a pro, whining at the stretch as Lando held his hips steady so he wouldn't topple over. 

He didn't take long to start riding it, sweat already dampening his hairline as his toned thighs bounced his weight up and down. 

Lando was in awe, as usual. 

He watched as Oscar took it further and further down, moaning like a slut the whole time. It made his dick throb. 

Pretty soon it wasn't enough, and Oscar sank all the way down to the base and huffed. 

“Okay, I'm ready.” He panted. 

Lando nodded, helping him off and putting him on his hands and knees. 

“Spread your legs as far as you can” he muttered excitedly, using as much lube as he could. 

He needed Oscarwet. 

He took a second to admire Oscar, bent over and back arched, hole already gaping slightly. 

“Are you gonna put it in or do I have to do it myself?” 

Lando chuckled, placing the tip against Oscar’s rim. 

“As usual, tell me if anything feels wrong or painful” 

Oscar sighed. “Yes Lando, now put it in me” 

“What's the magic word?”  

“I will fucking leave” 

“Okay, okay” 

He put a bit of pressure on the dildo, making Oscar's rim stretch around it. 

When the head finally popped in, Oscar whimpered pathetically into the sheets. 

“Oh fuck, more” 

Lando laughed, grabbing the lube to squirt some more on the dildo before pushing it in a bit more. 

The man under him let out a bone rattling groan and that encouraged him to push another couple of inches in. 

He pumped it in and out shallowly for a minute, then added a couple more inches. 

Oscar was drooling onto the sheets as he felt the fullness inside him.

“Lando” he panted. “Lando, please. More” 

Lando obliged, and before long, he had almost pushed the whole thing in. Given the size of the damn thing, there was no way his prostate wasn't being constantly stimulated.

“Oscar… fuck. You're doing so good for me, just a little more...”  

He pumped it in and out some more, making Oscar keen and writhe beneath him. 

“Lando! Lando fuck- I'm gonna come!” he whined. 

Lando grinned, he thrusted it faster and harder. 

“Go on then baby, come for me” 

Oscar's body jolted, shockwaves traveling up his spine as he shot ropes of cum across the sheets under him. 

Lando slowly stilled his movements, letting Oscar ride out his intense orgasm. 

Now, up until this point, you could think that Lando wasn't particularly dominant. Just sort of, there, guiding Oscar more than anything. 

You would be wrong. 

The next step was what Lando was truly looking forward to. 

He put the already dirty sheet on the floor, next to the bed. 

“Osc?” 

Oscar gave him an exhausted thumbs up from where he was laying on the bed, the dildo still half way inside him. 

“You're not done yet, baby, come over here” 

He gently pulled the dildo out of his lover, and placed it upright on the floor. 

“You think you can ride it for me?” 

Oscar nodded, crawling over to him on the bed, giving him a quick kiss before standing up and crouching over it. He put his hands on Lando's thighs to stabilise himself.

He sank down on it slowly, head thrown back and his long nails digging into Lando's flesh painfully. 

But Lando didn't care, he was entranced by the way Oscar was stretched around something bigger than his fucking arm.

He managed to sink down about three quarters of the way before he gasped. 

“Jesus, the feeling is much different with this angle” 

One of Lando’s hands went to cup Oscar's jaw, pressing into his cheeks harshly. 

“I want to see you take it. All of it” he snapped.

Oscar whimpered when Lando pushed his thumb into his mouth to press on his tongue. 

Oscar obeyed, sinking further down, inch by inch until his ass met his heels. 

“Good boy”  

A bead of precum leaked from Oscar's tip at the praise, and he lifted his hips slightly only to drop them back down, moaning around Lando's thumb as he did so. 

It wasn't long before he got into a rhythm with his hips, and Lando grabbed him by the hair to bring him closer to his own leaking cock. 

“Give it a kiss” he said, and Oscar looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“Go on, you haven't touched it all night. Least you can do is kiss it”  

There it was. Lando's slightly sadistic side. 

Oscar knew better than to argue. 

He kissed the tip, then made his way to the base, placing soft kisses along the skin. 

Lando sighed at finally being touched. “Good, now open your mouth for me” 

Oscar stuck his tongue out for good measure, and wasn't surprised in the least when Lando tapped his cock on it a few times before sinking into the wet heat of his mouth. 

Because Oscar was a size queen, and it didn't just apply to his ass. 

His gag reflex was non-existent, and he adored the feeling of his mouth being stretched around Lando's thick girth. 

“You look so fucking good Osc. You were made to be fucking filled up, weren't you? Stuffed full of cock all day…” 

Being filled from both ends is what really did it for Oscar, so that plus Lando's filthy commentary drove him wild, and it didn't take long before he was whining around it as he came all over himself, eyes rolling into the back of his skull. 

Lando had been on edge for the better part of an hour, so the sight of that alone was enough to send him over himself, rocking his cock in and out of Oscar's mouth as the absolute whore swallowed it all. 

Lando pulled out and let go of his tight hold on Oscar's hair. 

“Now, you're going to do one last thing for me Osc. You're gonna come again...” 

The younger man looked up at him with wide eyes, incredulous at the order. 

"I don't know that I can come again Lando. That took everything out of me“ 

“You can, and you will…” 

He sat back on the bed, leaning on his arm as he took in the sight of his teammate. 

Flushed from his chest up to his cheeks, cock soft where it was hanging between his thighs. 

“I want you to bounce on that dildo, and get yourself off while I watch” 

Lando had a goal in mind. He wanted to see Oscar come dry. 

He'd only done so once before, and it was a beautiful sight. 

Oscar cried, tears streaming down his face while he could do nothing but ride the waves of his orgasm in pure bliss. 

He wanted to see that again. 

And the sheet below Oscar was absolutely soaked, so he had a feeling it would only take one more. 

Oscar looked at him defiantly and raised his hips. 

When he dropped back down, he couldn't help but let out a low moan, and his cock twitched. 

Lando motioned towards it. 

“Go on, give it a tug. You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to get off” 

Oscar wrapped a hand around himself, letting out a breath at the contact. 

He hadn't been touched either tonight and he found himself quickly hardening again at the new stimulation. 

His thighs burned as he bounced, hand almost a blur where he was desperately fisting his cock. 

He had tears in his eyes and was moaning freely while looking at Lando with the most torn expression on his face. 

It felt good, too good. He was so overstimulated it bordered on pain, but he kept going. 

“Lando” he whined “help me, please. Talk to me” 

Lando groaned at the almost broken sounds coming out of the younger man. 

“You want me to talk to you, baby? Want me to tell you what a good boy you're being?” 

Oscar nodded desperately. 

“Well, too bad. It's been what, five minutes? And you still haven't come yet. You're such a whore you can't even get yourself off on your own anymore. Fucking pathetic. Worthless sluts like you don’t deserve to be touched, do they? No, so be a good boy for once and fucking. Come.” 

Oscar screeched as he felt his entire body burn with pleasure. His hips stuttered and his hand pumped his cock a couple more times. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

His poor cock throbbed, but only a drop or two of cum dribbled out, dripping down his angry red tip as he cried out. 

Lando got what he wanted. Oscar had tears staining his cheeks as he whimpered pathetically, slumping forwards and panting against the side of the bed. 

Lando helped him off the dildo, laying him down on his back, on the bed with his legs spread. 

Lando looked at where Oscar’s twitching hole was gaping, trying to clench around nothing. 

He was hard again, so he took himself in hand, and with a sight like that in front of him, it didn’t take long for him to come all over Oscar's spread thighs.

When he looked up he saw that Oscar had his arms crossed behind his head and was grinning at him. 

“Did you enjoy that, Lando?” 

Lando nodded, breathing heavily after his orgasm. 

“Yeah, was mint” 

Oscar scoffed and rolled over to get off the bed and make his way to the bathroom. 

“Mint” he ranted “If that's what you want to call it, then sure, it was mint” 

Lando blushed, following him into the shower. 

“you know what I meant” he wrapped his arms around Oscar. “I loved it. Thank you” 

He pressed a kiss to Oscar's nose and the taller man rolled his eyes. 

“Sometimes I don't know why I indulge your fantasies” 

Lando smirked, pressing himself closer to Oscar's body. 

“Because you love me, Osc” 

Oscar looked down at him with pursed lips. 

“Hmm. We'll see…” 

[ihfmseatsoch]

He's sick, and he's taken, but honest 🚀🌠

Grant Curly x fem!intern!reader

Summary: Stuck in an unhappy marriage, Curly's new intern brings some much needed excitement into his stagnant life.

genre: smut

word count: 4.7k

warnings/content: cheating, (legal) age gap, a lot of pining, curly is #depressed, semi public sex

—

Marriage is a common life goal most people aim to achieve. Curly was one of them, believing it'd give his life purpose. He'd have someone special to come home to after a long haul, maybe even a couple children in the future. He'd have a family that'd mitigate his loneliness, and he'd feel more accomplished as a human being. Lord knows his career would ever give him that feeling.

That fantasy turned out to be nothing like he anticipated. Everyone always talks about married life like it's some cushy, idealistic dream, so it's only natural that he expected... more. Something fulfilling.

Maybe it's because he rushed into it. Slapped a ring on the first girl he thought could be "the one", because he didn't want to waste his twenties being alone and single, while his other friends were already hosting baby showers and inviting him to weddings. He didn't want to feel out of place, and honestly, he was a little too desperate for normalcy. Stability. Whatever settling down brings you.

No one tells you what you're supposed to do when "the one" isn't who you thought they were. When "the one" becomes bored of you in less than a year, and you're forced to spend the next decade attempting to relive your honeymoon phase, rekindle the initial spark you and your spouse once had.

In the end, it was all fruitless.

One sided arguments were frequent, Curly typically too worn down to shout back at his wife, who's nagging him about something he did, or didn't do. Most of the time, Curly finds himself dissociating throughout the bombardment of verbal assault, which causes her to accuse him of not caring about their relationship, due to his lack of a reaction.

And, perhaps there's some truth to her claim. He cares enough to stay, but... does he want to continue putting in the effort to make their failure of a marriage work? Was their partnership worth trying to salvage?

The answer was a resounding no. Not anymore. Curly came to realize that he stayed out of obligation, not out of genuine love.

At least when he was piloting the Tulpar for over a year, it was a reprieve from his home life. He never thought he'd consider his job to be equivalent to a vacation of sorts, but that's where he is in his pitiful existence.

It wasn't until Curly was informed that an intern would be assigned to work alongside him, that the painstaking boredom of his routine was replaced with a breath of fresh air. Initially, he fully expected the new responsibility of tutoring someone more inexperienced than him to be a hassle.

But as soon as he set his sights on you, a pretty young thing with the aura of an angel, the thought of spending every waking moment with you didn't seem so bad. Not bad at all. You captivated him completely, which caused a bit of guilt to stir deep inside his stomach. He shouldn't be thinking of another woman this way, especially not one that was just learning how to say their first word by the time he was in highschool.

But god, were you entrancing. The most beautiful girl he'd seen in a long time. Curly felt worse than terrible for finding you more physically appealing than his own wife back on Earth, but you were so much sweeter than her, listened to him so intently, hanging on his every word as he explained the how the controls in the cockpit functioned, your compliments on his knowledge and experience going straight to his ego—

Oh, he was doomed. Utterly fucked.

"I don't think I'll ever be as good of a Captain as you, Grant." You spoke humbly, referring to him by his first name, ever so polite and respectful. Even if the rest of the crew called him Curly, you insisted on formalities. He was your boss, after all. That's part of what he appreciated about you.

How mature you were for your age.

"Don't be so sure 'bout that," He shot you one of his signature smiles, charming, but not quite reaching his eyes. "You've got a lot of potential, more than most kids your age. And it's not about bein' as good as me, y'know. You've gotta pave your own path. Learn at your own pace."

You had that usual expression on your face whenever he gave you a bit of his wisdom, which was truthfully just him parroting back what his brain had absorbed from the Polle posters with bland motivational quotes scattered around the ship, simplistic and cliché. Your eyes were locked onto him, focused, and beautiful as ever. You took him so seriously, it was almost a little silly. Sure, he was an authority figure, but he wanted to be more of a friend to you, rather than your superior.

"Just 'cause I'm younger than you doesn't make me a kid." You tease him a bit, and he's glad you're finally comfortable enough with him to do so.

"Right, my mistake," he chuckled, "Forgot I'm dealin' with a grown woman here. Forgive me."

"Forgiven." You quip back with a short laugh of your own. Fuck, you were cute. Such a pretty little smile, lips soft and kissable, practically begging him to smash his own against them, to bite, taste, and lick, until they were swollen and red from the aftermath.

Blinking a couple times, he clears his throat. Not now, Curly, he chastises himself. Get a grip. This stupid crush was completely inappropriate. Unethical. So why couldn't he brush his lustful fantasies aside, if he was aware how wrong they were? Why was he treating his life partner as an afterthought, willingly allowing himself to be ensnared by you?

He thought pumping his aching cock in slow, deliberate strokes, late at night in the privacy of his quarters, thinking of that tempting mouth of yours full of him, taking every inch of his shaft down your throat, running your hot, wet tongue along the length from base to tip, would make all those feelings go away. He doesn't know how long it's been since him and his wife have been intimate, he just needed some relief. Right?

Even after he spilled a thick load of cum all over his muscular stomach, abs softened from months of inactivity, he still wanted you. In fact, it only made his desire for you worsen, blossoming by the second. You were an insatiable craving he couldn't ignore. Not until he got a taste.

Curly didn't want to creep on you, but how was he ever going to initiate anything? Were you even interested in him in that way? How could he even suggest anything so uncouth, so perverted, especially as your boss? He wasn't a man who took advantage of power dynamics. Confessing how he felt towards you could jeopardize his position if you took it the wrong way, or, at the very least, damage the relationship he's been steadily building with you.

Instead of being upfront, he maintained an air of casualness when asking about your personal life. It was all normal, at first, asking about your parents, your upbringing, social circle...

And, eventually, he felt as if it wouldn't feel awkward if he inquired about a possible romantic partner, since the question was on topic. "You got anyone waitin' on you back on Earth?" He broached the subject with feigned nonchalance, hoping you don't take the question as too invasive. He felt the need to backpedal, his confidence wavering. "You don't gotta tell me, if that's too personal. Just curious."

"No, nothing like that." You answer, looking down at the coffee in your mug, not particularly interested in drinking any more of it. The first, very disappointing sip was enough. "Huh." Curly made a mild sound of surprise at your response. He fully expected someone to have snatched you up before him.

The fact that you were available made him feel a sense of relief, but also... worse, in a way. There was nothing holding him back from shooting his shot with you, no one in the way. No one to stop him from possibly making a horrible decision. Besides his wife, but... in all honesty, he suspects she's not being all that faithful back on his home planet.

"What about you?" Your question catches him off guard for a moment. Had he really not mentioned that he was married? Not once? He has to think fast. He has the opportunity to lie, or be honest with you. On one hand, the less you know, the better. On the other, telling the truth would prevent anything from happening between you two.

Steeling himself, he quickly makes up his mind, deciding that he can't bring himself to be dishonest. You'd find out eventually. "I'm married." Curly admits plainly, unable to force any kind of joy into his tone. He doesn't even smile, or look proud, like most husbands would when speaking about their wives. When did he become such a shithead, he wonders.

"You don't seem too happy about it." You immediately notice how... depressed he looks at the very mention of his spouse. Catching yourself being a little too blunt, you follow up with, "Um– not that I'm implying anything! Sorry..."

He sighs, dejected, tiredly rubbing his face, as if he could wipe the evident dissatisfaction clean off. The crushing weight of pretending everything's fine and dandy is catching up to him. "Nah, don't apologize. You're not wrong." He confesses out loud for the first time, even to himself. "Goin' through a rough patch. Have been for a long time."

Curly can hardly look at the raw, genuine sympathy on your face. He doesn't want you to pity him. He doesn't want anyone to. That's why he's hidden his marital problems from everyone he knows. Besides Jimmy, that is, but he's not the best guy to vent to, and Curly's only told him bits and pieces, to which Jimmy responds with the oh so helpful advice to simply get a divorce, like it's that easy.

"Sorry to hear that." You place a tender hand on his broad shoulder in a comforting manner. "I know what it's like, being in a shitty relationship. You can always talk to me about it, if you need to."

He can't help but melt into the display of physical affection, no longer used to feeling a loving touch. It was refreshing to experience genuine compassion for once. With a forced, half-hearted smile, he speaks solemnly, "Nah, don't wanna bother ya' with my problems. I appreciate it though, really."

Curly doesn't mention anything else about his personal life for a while, too embarrassed by the smidgen of vulnerability he showed you. He's supposed to be the Captain. The strong one. The guy who has his shit together. He can't let anyone know he's the opposite of who he presents himself to be.

But having you around has made him feel emotions he hasn't experienced in god knows how long. Plus, you're good company. A good friend. You make him feel alive again.

You're exactly what he needs.

Maybe he idealized you a bit, but how could he not? You were perfect to him, delicately handcrafted by angels, everything about you so sugary sweet that his teeth hurt just thinking about you. It came to a point where he genuinely wanted you to stay in his life for good, because without you, he's sure the vitality you instilled in him would fade, and he'd immediately wilt like a neglected houseplant; visibly half-dead and parched in the corner of the room, but no one takes the time to tend to it, or even acknowledge it's suffering.

His yearning became palpable, affecting the very atmosphere whenever you two were left alone. Curly had asked you to demonstrate what you've learned so far, and as you listed off the proper names of each button, lever, dial, and switch, summarizing your basic aviation knowledge, he simply couldn't focus on your words. Didn't need to, actually. He already knew you were smart enough to fly the ship yourself, so he took the time to just... admire you.

You were the epitome of light, brightening his days, no matter how dreary.

What he would give to have you sat in his lap as he mentored you, his hands guiding your own as you learned how to take the controls, whispering instructions into your ear just to watch your cheeks flush with warm blood, and listen to the way your breathing hitches when he pulls your body closer–

"Grant?" Your voice brought him out of his own head. Must've spaced out again. He's gotta stop doing that... "You're looking at me weird. I don't sound dumb, do I?"

Curly realizes he's been staring at you with a dopey, lovesick expression for way too long, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, feeling like an idiot for acting this way. "No, no. You're doin' great. Ain't you, just... haven't gotten a proper night's rest in a good while." That's a half-lie. Sure, he hasn't been sleeping well, but that's every night. Not much of a difference there. The only problem here is him and his lack of self restraint.

If only you knew how hard he's struggled to not shove his tongue down your throat.

"Something keeping you up?" You lean in closer, so willing to listen to his problems and carry his woes in your two shoulders. He can't tell you the truth. Can he? You're a good person, much better than he is. You wouldn't want to be with a married man.

Then again, he doesn't want to lie to you. It's been so difficult to hold back from declaring his feelings for you, it's eating away at his insides, tearing him apart little by little.

Guilt weighs heavily upon him like an anchor tied to his neck, pulling him to the bottom of the lake. "...Yeah," He swallows, "S'pose there is." He keeps his voice low, sounding immensely ashamed, like a child confessing to eating a dozen cookies before dinner.

"Talk to me." You urge, so oblivious to the cause of his inner turmoil. It's now or never. He either screws this up so irreparably bad, or you accept him and his shame.

Curly takes a deep breath, before forcing it all out in a quick, rushed jumble of words.

"I– fuck, don't think badly of me for this. I can't stop thinkin' about you. Can't get you outta my head, no matter how hard I try. I know it's wrong, god, do I know, but you're... you're just so..." He trails off, his own humiliation cutting his sentence short, and he mentally prepares for the worst rejection of his life.

An awkwardly long silence falls between you, as you take the time to process his confession. He looks like a broken man in front of you, unable to make eye contact, his hands clasped together, sweaty with fear.

"Grant..." You start, unsure how to go about this situation. "I'm glad you told me, and– and I like you too, I really do. But... your wife..." You bite your lip, bashful, never expecting yourself to develop feelings towards a married man of all people.

His heart sinks like a stone as you bring up the woman whom he had vowed eternal loyalty to. He exhales shakily, avoiding your eyes. "I know. Just... me and her... ain't been the same as it used to. Not for a long time."

"I'm sorry." Your heart swells with empathy, wondering why anyone would dare to mistreat a man like him. He's nothing but a sweetheart in your eyes. Flawed, yes, but so is everyone. "I... I don't think I'll make you happy, though. And... being the other woman, it'd feel... wrong. Even under these circumstances."

He nods, silently agreeing with you. It would be downright horrible of him to cheat on his wife, especially with a younger woman who he has a position of authority over. A position of trust and responsibility. A position in which he can easily take advantage of you if he really wanted to. Isn't that a sickening thought.

He's supposed to be better than this. Stronger than this. But he doesn't feel much like a good man right now. Feels like he's drowning.

You sigh at his silence, taking his clammy hands into your own. Your heart hammers against your chest wall. The forbidden aspect of the entire situation is adrenaline inducing. His sad puppy eyes make you feel awful for rejecting him, but if you two started anything, it'd end up a terrible mess.

Yet, you can't stop your body from inching even closer to him.

"I don't want you to be unhappy." You tell him, speaking quietly, as if to avoid eavesdroppers.

He knows he's supposed to pull away, to do the right thing for once. But when has he ever done the right thing when it comes to you? He dares to look into your eyes and his body tenses. You're so close, near enough to where he can see himself reflected in your dilated pupils.

This is wrong.

"You're too damn sweet for your own good," he murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips, "Ain't makin' this easier for me."

It doesn't take long for the tension between the both of you to become unbearable, your hand finding his scruffy cheek to pull him towards you, practically smashing your lips to his. His beard tickles you as you kiss, but it doesn't deter you from allowing him to ravage your mouth.

A deep, almost guttural sound of desire rumbling out from his chest. The kiss is messy and desperate, bordering on hungry, starved of the affection you're giving him in this moment. He doesn't hesitate to hoist you up by your waist, sitting you down on the console, the sudden movement eliciting a surprised squeak from you, the sound muffled inside of his mouth.

Pulling away for air and a moment to compose yourself, your lips coated with a sheer layer of own another's saliva, you stare into each other's eyes as you breathe heavily, his large hands gripping your hips to keep you balanced and supported on the surface. "Grant..." You breathe his name, unable to come up with anything else to say in your dazed state of mind.

"You have no idea," he begins, huskily, "How fucking bad I want you." His firm tone makes your thighs press together, a jolt of arousal hitting you right in the gut. It's not the first time you've heard him speak in an authoritative voice, and it's not the first time it's made you fantasize about him using it... somewhere more private.

"The... The door isn't... locked." You point out, still apprehensive despite your growing need. Dipping his head into the slope of your neck, he mumbles against your skin, "Think you can be quiet, then?"

You don't think twice before you nod, even though you're truthfully unsure if you'll be able to hold back from crying out and alerting the others. Only one way to find out. He presses his groin to yours, the friction making your clit twitch as he makes direct contact with the clothed nerve. Curly's dick is already hard, straining through his uniform, and you can feel just how massive he is, even through the fabric.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he rasps, zipping his uniform down hastily, "You want this, yeah?" It was sweet how he asked for your consent, as if you two weren't already in the foreplay stage. You nod to ease his worries, pulling your own coveralls down, revealing the pajama shirt underneath, embarrassingly old and tattered. But you didn't exactly imagine you'd be fucking your mentor today, so there was no reason you would've thought to change into something sexier. You didn't even bring anything sexy on board. It's this or nothing at all, not that he seems to mind the less than elegant garment.

A brief, shaky laugh escapes him at the sight of you, only adoring you even more. "Cute," he comments, "Hope you don't mind if I take it off, though." Hopking his fingers under the the hem, he diligently pulls the shirt over your head, exposing the plain bra underneath. Underwhelming, but witnessing your half naked body is still a heavenly sight.

You decide you should start touching him as well, just to make it fair. You slip one hand under his shirt, feeling up his torso, your fingers exploring every groove of his defined muscle, even the slight pudge of his stomach. Not to mention, his chest is huge. Bigger than yours. You're almost jealous.

Curly's a little self conscious about the excess fat around his belly, but the way you're touching him as if he's a perfectly chiseled statue, fingertips grazing his skin with an awestruck expression on your face, makes him feel a little less insecure.

His own fingers dip down, the large pad of his thumb lightly stroking your clit through your panties. You have to bite down on your lip to keep yourself from moaning. "Nnh– Grant–" You shudder, speaking as quietly as you possibly can with the way he's touching you, sending electric shocks of pleasure throughout your cunt.

"Call me Curly." He sounds like he's demanding you, rather than asking. "Don't gotta be so professional anymore. Not when you're gettin' this wet from just my fingers." There's a hint of pride laced in his voice at the end of his sentence. He's still got it.

"C– Curly..." You stammer, as if testing out the way his name rolls off your tongue. You reach up to grasp onto his shoulders as he pulls the fabric of your underwear aside. "Atta girl," he encourages, tracing the outline of your slick folds with a finger, "Always such a fast learner."

You intake a trembling breath of air, feeling him explore you, spread you open, tease your entrance, so tantalizingly close to sliding inside of you. "Need you, Curly..." You whimper, a little pathetically, "Need you so bad, please..."

He complies with your plea, reveling in how desperate you look for him. No one has desired him like this in years, his own wife has never looked at him the way you do, even before their issues. "Shh, I know, I know... don't worry. M' gonna make you feel real good, doll." He coos, slipping his index into your hole, your slick making the insertion smooth and easy. Even just one of his thick fingers make you feel full, not to mention it's long enough to immediately nudge against all the right places.

Your eyes roll back as he adds a second finger, stretching you open, the obscenely wet sound of him pumping in and out of your heat filling the cockpit. You let out a string of soft whines from your parted lips, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

"Oh my g– goddd– Curly, fuck–" You cry out, spreading your legs even wider for him so he can prod your insides at even more angles.

Your cries are like sweet hymns to his ears, the sight of you coming undone before him is glorious, and he wants nothing more than to worship you, all of you, for the rest of his life. "Yeah? This pretty cunt likes that, huh? I can tell, she keeps squeezin' down on me, suckin' me in..." Curly can hardly believe the filth coming from his own mouth. He's been so deprived of any sexual contact with a woman, that he feels slightly unhinged now that he finally has it. His dick aches, watching his digits disappear, sheathed inside you, before pulling back out again, coated in your arousal, over and over again.

"Think she can handle more than my fingers?" He asks, his body practically jittering with the need to fuck you stupid. The way he's talking about your pussy, like it's a separate being from you, is strangely hot. You nod, the very idea of having his cock inside you makes your walls involuntarily clamp around him. "Uh– Uh huh..." You nod, already dumb and drunk off the pleasure he's giving you.

Curly slips his fingers out, leaving you feeling momentarily empty. You watch him pull his cock from his boxers, throbbing and rigid, tip flushed red. His size is intimidating, and you can't fathom why his wife would reject this for anything. You're openly gawking at his dick, which fuels his ego nicely. "Not polite to stare." He teases, and your face grows warm from being caught. "Sorry..." You avery your eyes, sheepishly. "You're just... um..." You're unable to tell him how fucking huge he is, feeling too embarrassed, but his mind fills in the blanks.

"Don't worry," He soothes, "I'll be gentle, okay?" With a kiss to your temple, he lines himself up with your hole, aching more intensely than it ever has for anyone else, the extent of your arousal almost overwhelming.

"You ready?" He asks, looking at you for permission to proceed, scanning your face for any sign is discomfort. You nod timidly, admittedly nervous, but more than willing to take him. "Mhm," you shakily hum, "I'm ready..."

With your consent, he presses himself into you, swallowing your moans with a kiss as your hole stretches to accommodate his girth, your nails raking down his buff forearms. He groans lowly into your mouth as he sinks into you, nearly orgasming from your tightness alone. When he bottoms out, he pulls away from your mouth just enough to whisper against your lips, "M' gonna start movin', okay? Be good n' stay quiet for me. I know you can do it."

You nod obediently, and he begins to rock his hips, pulling out, pushing in, rhythmic and gentle, allowing your body to ease into the feeling. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips, ensuring he stays as close to you as possible. "F– Feels so good, so good–" You babble, your voice raising to a higher pitch than usual.

He kisses your neck, your jaw, your collarbone, anything that's within his reach, murmuring praises against your skin, "I know, pretty girl. Takin' it so well, look at you... so good for me, always so fuckin' good..." You feel him all the way in your stomach, his fat tip almost punching your cervix as his thrusts accelerate, your thighs tensing around him at every harsh movement, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, making you fearful of the sound attracting the others towards the cockpit, but not scared enough to do anything about it.

You grow close humiliatingly fast, but you can't really blame yourself when the biggest cock you've ever had is slamming into you, rubbing against every sweet spot in your cunt. "Curly– M' gonna–" you can hardly choke the words out.

"Yeah? Gonna cum for me?" He pants, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, "Go ahead n' cum, sweetheart. Rub that pretty lil' clit and make yourself cream all over my cock." His tone is so gentle in comparison it his vulgar sentence. You obey his instructions without hesitation, ardently using two fingers to rapidly stroke the hard, swollen bud, enhancing the euphoria washing over your body. Your body spasms as your orgasm hits you, more explosive and perfervid than you've ever felt before, your cunt pulsing around his cock, your sticky and lustrous arousal coating your thighs.

"That's it, there you go..." He grunts lowly, thrusts growing erratic, his movements losing their fluidity as he quickly approaches his own release. "So beautiful when you cum on my cock like that... mmph– fuck– m' almost there, hold on a little longer for me–"

Thankfully, he doesn't continue to fuck your overstimulated pussy for too much longer, completely overwhelming your senses. Curly pulls out and gives his dick a couple pumps, before spilling onto your stomach, some of his seed shooting onto the console, mixing with your own juices. This'll be disgusting to clean up.

You rest your head on his broad chest, catching your breath, both of you coming down from the intensity of your high as he strokes your hair soothingly. "Shhh, shhh.... you did so well... you feelin' alright? Anything hurt?" His aftercare is sickeningly sweet, and it's evident he genuinely cares about your answers to his questions, and how you're feeling.

In your mind, it's too soon to call the affection you have for him anything veritably close to true love. On the other hand, to him, he's head over heels for you, after knowing you for two months at most. Or, at least, that's what he believes.

A nagging thought is stuck in the back of his mind, one that he'd rather not contemplate for too long:

How the fuck is he going to look his wife in the eyes when he returns to Earth?

—

[mariasont]

I love your fics so much! Could you maybe make a pre-relationship fic of Spencer x reader Spencer rescues the reader from the unsub and calms them down?? I'm a big hurt/comfort girly lmao 🫶🏼😛

Pulse Point - S.R

a/n: thank you so much!!!! so sorry for taking so long! i hope you like it <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: undescribed injury, lil bit of angst with a happy ish ending, pre-relationship ending

wc: 1.6k

Spencer had seen you in danger before. It came with the job—a stipulation of the unwritten contract you signed the day you joined the team. His mind had been conditioned to assess danger rationally, stripping away emotion to leave behind only what mattered: probabilities, outcomes, strategies. 

But then again seeing you, tied to that chair, unconscious and face drained of color, was something he wasn't sure any amount of mathematical modeling could prepare him for.

Your head had hung at an unnatural angle, the strands of hair clinging to the sweat slicking your skin in a way that sent a visceral wave of nausea rolling through him. Rope burns—thin, angry welts were already bruising—encircled your wrists. He couldn't breathe—his chest seized, ribs locking tight, as though his body itself couldn't handle the image of you in that state. The unsub's voice had faded into white noise, irrelevant against the single, all-encompassing command that had pounded in his head—get to you, get you out of here.

Now, sitting on the cold concrete of the clearing zone with you cradled against his chest, Spencer's mind spiraled in a loop—that singular thought repeating, relentless, fractal, like a Fibonacci sequence winding tighter and tighter around his sanity. The unsub was subdued—Morgan had handled it efficiently—but Spencer couldn't bring himself to focus on that, let alone process it. The edges of his awareness narrowed, his entire world reduced to you. Limp. Unresponsive. Alarmingly still. It made his heart pound so violently it felt like it might break him from the inside out.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking, a trembling he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. One arm braced under your knees, the other pressed against the curve of your back. He adjusted his grip carefully, terrified of moving you the wrong way, terrified of doing anything that might make things worse. His eyes flicked to your chest, tracking the uneven rise and fall of your breathing. Too shallow. Too inconsistent. But there.

Twelve to twenty breaths per minute—that's the normal respiratory rate for an adult at rest, he recited, mind retreating to the relative safety of cold, clinical facts. Yours, he estimated, was faster—high twenties, maybe—an expected adrenaline response to trauma. It was within the acceptable range. It should have reassured him. As long as it didn't drop below eight or spike above thirty, there was no immediate cause for intervention. The logic was sound. The science was sound. But that did absolutely nothing to stem the gnawing unease twisting through him.

Then you started to stir.

It was subtle at first, so subtle he almost thought he imagined it—a small, almost imperceptible sound slipping past your lips, the softest shift of you head against his shoulder—but it sent a jolt through him nonetheless.

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy, the muscles in your face tightening with confusion as consciousness gradually took hold. Relief bloomed, but it died just as quickly. Recognition didn't follow. Instead, your expression twisted, your features contorting with something feral, something deeply afraid. Your breathing grew erratic, breaking into rapid, shallow bursts that rattled your frame.

And then you started thrashing.

"No, no—get off me!" Your voice cracked, raw with fear.

He tightened his arms just enough to stop you from hurting yourself.

"Hey, hey—stop! It's me—it's Spencer!"

You didn't react to his voice. It was as if you couldn't even hear him. Your body twisted violently, fighting something unseen, nails scraping at his vest, frantic and clawing, desperate to escape.

Spencer swallowed thickly, forcing himself to focus on what he knew. This was textbook trauma response. Cortisol and adrenaline were flooding your system, hijacking your prefrontal cortex, reducing your mind to survival instincts alone. It all made perfect sense—he could explain it in detail, rationalize it. But none of the logic in the world could prepare him for what it felt like to hold you like this and not be able to fix it.

"Look at me. It's Spencer. You're safe now. I promise, you're safe."

The words didn't seem to do much, falling flat and useless. Spencer felt a crushing helplessness as he watched, paralyzed while panic consumed you in a way he couldn't stop. His mind scrambled, clawing through years of knowledge, training, and case studies, all of which felt painfully inadequate now. It was one thing to understand trauma as a concept, to study it in a clinical detachment. It was another to watch it consume someone you cared about, to feel it in the way your body shook.

But then—finally—something shifted.

You froze. Not the rigid, terror-fueled panic from before, but something different. Tentative. Uncertain. Your breathing stuttered, still too fast, but the wildness in your eyes began to ebb like clouds parting just enough to let a sliver of sunlight through. You blinked, once, twice, and then your gaze locked onto his face, really seeing him this time.

"Spence..." Your voice was hardly above a whisper, like a fragile filament of sound, barely there but enough for his chest to ache all the same.

Relief washed over him so fast it left him lightheaded. 

"Yeah, it's me," he said softly, nodding quickly as though the motion itself might convince you. "It's just me. You're okay."

Wide eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, stared back at him as though searching for something—anything—to hold on to. The air felt like it was holding its breath, waiting. And then he saw it—the exact second the realization hit that you were safe. The fear in your face melted, replaced by something fragile, something breaking open. Your lip quivered, your breath hitching, and then, without a word, you lunged forward, throwing your arms around his neck.

Spencer froze.

He wasn't exactly new to your hugs. They didn't happen often—his aversion to touch usually kept that at bay—but when they did, they were always simple. After a particularly hard case or when the job felt overwhelming. But this? This was not that.

For a split second, his brain failed him entirely, unable to keep up with what he was seeing. He honed in on the small details—the way your hands clutched his shirt in tight, desperate fists, the way your trembling body seemed so much smaller than he ever remembered. He'd never seen you this way. The realization terrified him in ways he couldn't articulate.

But then that rare instinct of his took over.

With painstaking care, he wrapped his arms around you, like he was afraid you might break apart in his hands. One hand slipped to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, softer than he thought himself capable of. The other stayed pressed firmly against your back, holding you to him, refusing to let go—because letting go felt unthinkable, impossible. He leaned into you, his cheek brushing against the top of your head, breathing you in. The familiar scent of your shampoo was still there, but beneath it lingered something sharper, something more metallic that made his fingers sink deeper into the hold.

"It's okay," he murmured, every word scraping against the tightness in his throat. "I've got you I'm not going anywhere."

He felt the sharp hitch of your breath against his chest, followed moments later by the damp heat of tears soaking into his shoulder. You were crying. The realization hit him like a physical weight, and his arms tightened around you instinctively. He wasn't sure who was shaking anymore—you or him. Maybe both.

He shifted his hand slightly on your back, his thumb brushing against your shoulder blade. But even as he tried to comfort you, his brain kept ticking like clockwork, unable to stop itself. Your pulse—it was still too fast. He could feel in beneath the pad of his fingers, pounding just under the surface of your skin.

The medics needed to get here soon.

His fingers moved without thinking, sliding to your neck, pressing lightly against the artery there. He told himself it was necessary, just a routine check to make sure nothing was wrong, but he knew better. It was selfish—a desperate need to feel the beat of your pulse under his fingertips, to remind himself you were here. Alive. That the worst was behind you.

It was fast, just as he'd predicted, but steady. Stable. A good sign.

Spencer let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, shoulders sagging. 

"You're okay," he murmured softly, though he wasn't entirely sure who he was trying to convince anymore.

He closed his eyes.

Minutes passed by, though they both felt impossibly long and far too short. You stayed against him just like that, breathing slowly evening out until the jagged edges of panic dulled into exhaustion. He said nothing more—words felt unnecessary, maybe even counterproductive. So he just held you.

When the sound of footsteps finally reached his ears, Spencer didn't move. Not until the medics appeared in his peripheral vision, and even then, he hesitated, tightening his grip on you for just a fraction of a second before forcing himself to let go.

"Hey," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. "The medics are here, okay? They're going to take care of you."

You nodded, but it was hesitant, your eyes swollen and puffy, and you clung to him just a little longer. Your hand wrapped around his sleeve like you were afraid to let go.

Spencer's eyes flicked to the medics, his voice low but insistent. "Be careful."

The medics nodded, stepping in to take over, and Spencer reluctantly released his hold. His arms felt empty, hollow, as they fell to his sides. Even as the medics worked, his gaze stayed glued to you, his eyes tracking every breath, every faint movement. He couldn't look away. Wouldn't.

It was then he realized a dangerous idea, that he cared about you more than he should, more than was professional. And it terrified him.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @c-losur3 @theylovemelody @alahnizamolo @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @spiderladyleah @estragos @khxna @spencerssoup @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @aecd27 @persephonestears @moonyxstars @xxmooxmooxx @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @jungchloee @she-wont-miss @duchesz @i2rapunzel @historicallyweirdandqueer

join my taglist here!

[evilmenenjoyer]

Gratitude

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

SEQUEL to City of Love. Probably not a good fic to read as a stand-alone; read City of Love first for context.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), dubious consent, rough sex after a fight, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, bruising, marking, pain play/sadomasochism, mirror sex, manhandling, hurt/comfort (but mostly hurt), lots of angst.

Tags: @apookalypse @thecutiepieishere / I do not have an official taglist yet, but I'd be willing to make one if people were interested. If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, or in any additions to this story, let me know somehow!

–––

It's three days later when you see him again, just when you were convinced he left Paris for good.

You knew it would take a lot longer for the reminders of him to leave your mind as well as your body. He's in the marks his hands left on your hips, in the scrapes and faint bruises along your back from when he tossed and squeezed you against the brick wall, in the ghost of his lips on your skin. You can still feel them every time you close your eyes, hear his voice whisper your name against your neck as he came.

It shouldn't surprise you, after everything, to have him knock on your door right as you’re getting ready to have a night out. It still nearly takes your breath away to see him, looking as impeccable as usual in his dark gray suit, smiling as if his mere presence doesn't rock your world upside down a third time.

“What part of ‘don’t ever contact me again’ did you not understand?” you ask, though right away you can tell you don't sound nearly as firm and assertive as you’d like. You wonder if he can tell you hoped, against every rational thought in your brain, that he would come back.

Judging by his smile, you’d bet he can.

“I couldn't help myself,” he responds, raising his hands slightly in mock surrender. “Can I come in?”

That part of you that still clings to rationality, that can tell a good idea apart from a horrible one, lights up like a loud siren in your brain. There's nothing good that could possibly come out of this. Hasn't he toyed with you enough already? With his weird twisted games, tracking you down all the way to a foreign country, sending you off to those horrific games?

Still, you find yourself stepping aside, leaving a gap for him to come through. You’ve never been good at controlling your impulses, after all.

The apartment you’ve been renting for the time being stands in the heart of Paris. It looks exactly what you pictured a typical, glamorous Parisian apartment to look like – high walls, hardwood floors, large arched windows with a stunning view of the city and the Eiffel Tower. It's furnished with all the essentials, and nothing more. You didn't see the need to bring in new furniture or decorations when you didn't even know for how long you’d be staying in the city. At this point, you’re already considering moving on to somewhere else.

“Make yourself at home,” you say. “But I’m going out soon.”

“I see that.” His eyes run over you as he sits at the arm of the couch, shamelessly lingering on the black dress that hugs all your curves at the right spots. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You turn your back to him, looking for the earrings you had put down somewhere when you heard the knock on the door. You feel his body heat approach you from behind, his fingertips brushing against a red spot on your shoulder blade that the spaghetti straps of the dress fail to cover.

“Did I do this to you?”

His voice doesn't sound remorseful or apologetic at all. If only, there's a hint of pride to his tone, a small smile at the corner of his lip that you can tell is there without even looking at him. It should upset you, thinking of how roughly he pushed you against that wall, but it has goosebumps blooming all over your skin around the spot he touches.

“Who else would it be?” Your voice shakes ever so slightly against your will, and you clear your throat to get rid of it.

You expect him to pull back, but instead he inches even closer. He has to lean down to mold his chest to your back, his lips brushing the delicate skin of your neck when he speaks. “I can make it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” You turn your head just enough to chase after his lips. Screw the night out. He lets you capture them, indulging you in only a quick kiss before pulling away.

“I’m serious. I have something for you.”

“Oh.” You frown at the loss of contact, turning to face him. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes.”

Your frown deepens, and he raises his eyebrows at you. “Don't you trust me yet?” he asks.

No. Absolutely not. Still, what's the worst that can happen? What would he do while you have your eyes closed that he can't do right now; that he couldn't have done three nights ago at that bar, when you gave yourself to him so willingly?

You close your eyes, with a small sigh as if letting him know it's a nuisance. There's no real heat to it, and you both know it.

The Salesman’s hands find their way to your arms, guiding you further into the apartment. You follow his lead slowly, careful not to bump into any furniture or clutter you left around the place while picking an outfit and getting ready.

“You didn't have to give me a gift,” you say, still confused about what this is about. He stops walking the two of you, leaving you in an unknown part of the apartment. Your heart beats slightly faster than normal; distrustful, but excited. No man has ever bought you a gift before. Gifts are for girlfriends, for women they're trying to impress. Somehow, in all your years on this Earth, you’d missed out on being that woman to anyone.

“I was feeling romantic,” he explains. You feel something cold land over the exposed skin of your neck and chest, and he fiddles with a clasp at the nape of your neck. “Blame it on Paris. You can open your eyes.”

You do so, finding yourself standing in your bedroom, right in front of the large mirror resting against the wall. The necklace stands out against your skin – thin white gold chain and gemstones shining so bright you can immediately tell they're real, a ruby and a sapphire encrusted by tiny crystals. The color choice is an odd one for a necklace, prompting you to take a closer look. That's when any hints of a smile vanish from your face.

The gemstones are placed beside each other, the shapes and markings in them identical to those of the ddakji tiles you and the Salesman had played together in the subway station.

“I had it custom-made for you,” he says. Standing behind you, his reflection on the mirror takes up almost the entire background, but you don't pay him any mind. Your eyes are all but glued to the red and deep blue stones hanging from your neck, hoping against hope that you had seen it all wrong, that this was just a figment of your imagination and the real necklace will reveal itself if you just look hard enough.

It never does.

Reality hits you then. This isn’t some fun new fling, or the beginning of a Paris romance. This is the man who lured you into a horribly traumatic experience when you were at your most vulnerable, who came all the way from Seoul just to rub in your face that you didn't deserve to make it out of there alive. And now here he is. Prying his way into your apartment, your body, your mind. And you just let him.

Horror floods you, nearly pushing you to your knees right here. You touch the pendant with shaky fingers, and it takes everything in you not to grab the chain and yank it off your neck. Finally, your eyes meet the Salesman’s in the mirror.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He blinks innocently. “You don't like it?”

“Why would you do this?” you ask, unsure of whether you want to burst into tears or slap him in the face.

His fingers join yours where they rest on the necklace, only grazing your skin on their way to touching the pendant. “I thought you'd like a reminder.”

That makes you spring into action, pulling away from him and pushing his hand away with a ferocity you didn't know you still had, not since the Squid Games.

“A reminder? What makes you think I want to remember that shit?” You raise your voice; something to make up for how small you feel, by the way you need to tilt your head to look him in the eye. “If I could erase that night from my memory for the rest of my life, I would.”

“I find that hard to believe. Would you erase our night together at the bar as well?” His eyes leave yours only to look back to the mirror behind you. “Look at you. Wearing those bruises so proudly.”

For a moment all you can do is stare at him, unable to believe the sheer audacity he has to stand in your house and say these things. The worst of it all is you can’t fully deny it – you picked the dress deliberately knowing it left the upper part of your back exposed, happy to catch glimpses of the bruises he left you with if you happened to stumble upon a mirror or reflective surface throughout the night.

“I would,” you insist. “What the fuck makes you think I’d want to remember the night that ruined my life?”

A laugh comes out of him; a short, but cruel sound. “I ruined your life, is that what you're saying?”

You scoff. “Don't act like you don't know you did.”

He steps even closer to you. You refuse to step back, even when it feels like his chest is about to bump into your forehead. “Your life,” he says, “was already shit way before I came around. Debt, an awful job, an even worse home, no future prospects, no friends. What exactly was there about your life that was good enough to be ruined?”

Rage consumes you to hear him talk like that about your old life. Things were bad, yes, but there was a positivity about you that's been lost ever since you stepped foot in those games. You could barely make ends meet, and your shifts were long and exhausting, but you had hopes of going to school, of turning your life around. Your home was a tiny, shitty house in an even shittier neighborhood, but you still took the effort to decorate it and try to make it feel more like a home. Where did that go? Now, you have all the money you could ever wish for, and all you do is spend it on clothes and expensive trips you don't even have the motivation to enjoy, your only goal being getting far away from Seoul.

“At least I felt like a fucking person! Do you even know what that’s like? Feeling human?” you all but yell, grateful for the language barrier in case any neighbors happen to be listening. “I’d never killed anyone. I’d never wanted to kill anyone! I didn't have nightmares, and I didn't wake up every day wondering if I deserve to be alive after everything I did to survive!”

“You had nothing,” he reminds you, his voice cold as the winter outside. “Not even your dignity. Or did you forget how we met? How you asked me to play ddakji with you, willing to get hit in the face repeatedly not for money, but just to have my attention?”

You hold back a sob, shaking your head furiously, but it's of no use. The words sting hard enough to bring tears to your eyes; it stings even more to know they're true. 

“Get out of my apartment,” you demand. You wish you'd never let him in. You wish you'd never met him at all.

“Things are different now,” he says, ignoring your order completely. “You’re rich, and you’ve matured. You’ll never struggle again in your life, if you're smart.”

“I said GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Finally at your breaking point, you push him, shoving at his chest as hard as you have the strength to. He barely budges. It's only then that you notice how cornered he’s got you, your back about to bump into the mirror.

He brings his hand towards your face, cupping your chin and forcing you to look higher up at him. You thrash and claw at his wrist, trying to push it away from you, but he only tightens his grip until it's almost painful. There’s a darkness in his eyes that’s unlike any expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“I made you stronger. You're a millionaire now because of me,” he says. “How about a little gratitude?”

Even from your position, you still manage an incredulous scoff at him. “Gratitude?”

“Yes.” A grin stretches the corner of his lips, not a trace of warmth of friendliness behind it. “You should be thankful I pulled you out of your misery.”

He moves faster than you’re ready to, grabbing you by the waist and tossing you down. You brace yourself for the impact of your head hitting the floor, gasping in surprise when your back bounces over the soft mattress instead. He hovers above you, using his heavier body to pin yours down before you even have the chance to start struggling against his grip.

“Get off me!”

“Calm down.” He holds both your wrists together with one hand, while the other manages to somehow pull your panties off your body, using your kicking legs as leverage. Your eyes widen in shock. “I’m just giving you another reminder.”

“W-what?” Your voice wavers with fear. All that fury is slowly but surely being replaced with it, or with a mixture of both feelings that leaves you heaving for breath.

He doesn't have to pull your dress up – your own struggle does it by itself, leaving the fabric rumpled up at your hips and your bottom exposed. You stop kicking him in an attempt to cover yourself, and he takes advantage of that fraction of a second to stick his knee on the spot on the mattress between your legs, stopping you from shutting them. You gasp, the heavy pressure on your core cutting off all your thoughts for a moment. You can think of nothing to do other than to yell for help.

As if reading your thoughts, his free hand covers your mouth.

You voice your displeasure through a muffled grunt. You keep on struggling, trying to kick him off you, but each movement unintentionally rubs your bare clit over his thigh that pins you down. He applies even more pressure and you cry out, mortified to feel heat pooling between your legs.

“Christ, you're wet. I can feel it.”

You can feel it too, the fabric of his pants damp and hot where it connects with you. You're torn on whether to keep fighting and essentially humping his leg or giving up, if only to have a few instants of relief.

“If you scream, I’ll slit your throat,” he warns in a hoarse whisper. “Do you understand?”

Out of options, you nod.

He releases your mouth, then your wrists. It occurs to you to scream anyway, but you force yourself to remember who you're dealing with. He wouldn’t give you empty threats. Anyone involved in bringing people into those games has no qualms about slitting your throat open and leaving you to bleed out on your silk sheets.

The Salesman makes his way down your body, now holding onto your legs with his hands.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you manage to ask, the answer rather obvious but it had all happened so fast, leaving you dazed and confused.

“Giving you yet another reason to be thankful to me.”

The sudden, damp feel of his tongue on your entrance overcomes your senses, and you wouldn't be able to hold back a shout if you tried.

Fortunately, he forgives you for it. You squirm under the sensations, but he holds your hips down against the mattress in a firm grip, immobilizing them completely and prying you open all at once. You hoist yourself up over your elbows only to be met with your own reflection on the mirror across the room, your hair a mess already and your face contorted in fear and pleasure and indignation all at once. You can’t bear to watch yourself like this, mortification entrenched into every muscle of your body that reacts to his touch as he continues to penetrate you with his tongue. You fall back towards the mattress with a broken moan.

“God– Y-you can’t–” Whatever you were about to say dies out in your throat as his lips rise to your clit, enveloping you so expertly in the wet heat of his mouth. You clench your whole body, eyelids all the way down to your toes, and for a moment you’re grateful for the hands that hold your legs open just so you don’t have to face the shame of spreading them wider.

Your hands, perfectly capable of putting up a fight once they’d been released, twist into the sheets beneath you, holding on like your life depends on it. You curse yourself for not trying harder to push him off, for not really wanting to; for always being so unwilling to say no to him. Moans leave your lips like they’re being ripped out of you, growing in volume like you just can’t help it. It makes you wish one of the pillows were within reach so you could bury it against your face and muffle them, or simply to hide yourself from how incredibly good it feels to be at his mercy.

It doesn’t take long at all. Say whatever you want about the Salesman, but this is a man who knows what he’s doing with his tongue. In only a few minutes he reduces you to whimpers and pleading, your orgasm hitting you like a wave crashing full-force over the shore. Your back arches off the bed, mouth open in a long moan, and he continues to dine on you like a starving man until the moment you fall backwards, spent.

When you come back to yourself, you’re covering your face with your hands as he presses kisses to the line of your inner thigh. You feel him make his way up your body, feel his hands on your wrists, gently moving them out of the way and exposing your face, the deep flush that has colored your cheeks.

Looking into his eyes, you’re overcome with a rush of emotions you’re not sure how to name. How can a person make you feel so many things at once? How can you still want him – ardently, desperately, profoundly want him – after everything? How can he be so addictive, leaving you already hooked from the scraps of attention he’s given you? You tilt your head just a tiny bit towards him, a silent invitation, and he leans in the rest of the way to take your lips in his.

He kisses you deeply, hungrily, holding you through the shudders that run through your body from the aftershocks of your orgasm until they subside. Kisses you like you’re more than just a hookup, tempting you to believe there must be something about you that’s special. Kisses you for long enough to get you drunk in it, like he’s happy to do nothing but this for the rest of his life.

The next time he pulls back, he removes his suit jacket and tie. You somehow manage to help him unbutton his white shirt, motivated by the promise of feeling his bare skin on yours. You nearly forget his pants are still on, letting him work on that as you press kisses to down his neck. Of course his body is as perfect as his face. He makes an approving sound that you can feel on his throat, and you follow the vibrations of his vocal chords until his pulse point, pleased to find his heartbeats as fast as yours. You can’t resist taking the skin there between your teeth.

He growls, hands tightening on your hips and flipping you on the bed so you’re facing the other side, your back to him. You hold onto the bed frame to steady yourself, body half-bent forward.

You expect him to thrust into you without warning, just as he had the last time. Before that, he brings a hand underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards, your sight landing squarely on your joined reflection on the mirror.

“Keep your eyes right there.” Now he enters you, and you watch your eyes widen at the sudden intrusion. “Watch yourself get fucked on my cock.”

The sheer filth in his voice prompts you to obey, to look. Your knuckles turn white on the bedframe and your body rocks forward with each of his thrusts; slow at first, but steadily gaining power and speed. He reaches down to rub your clit in circles, and it makes your body jerk to feel it and see it at the same time, to watch your reactions in real time. The sight of the necklace still hanging from your neck prompts you to look away, a confirmation of what’s actually happening to you that you’re not prepared to stare in the face.

His hand leaves your clit to wrap itself into your hair, yanking it back. Your body arches to follow it, your reflection on the glass confronting you once again.

“I said look,” he says into your ear. “Don’t you wanna see what a pretty mess you are for me?”

You shake your head, although his death grip on your hair makes it difficult to move. That’s precisely the issue: seeing the mess that he made you into, seeing yourself so overwhelmed and dirty and ashamed, the sounds leaving you suggesting nothing other than aching, raw need. It’s too much. It doesn’t stop you from pushing your hips back to meet his, trying to match his rhythm. 

He angles his thrusts to hit a spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “Oh God,” you croak, feeling the heaviness of tears behind your eyes and another orgasm fast approaching.

Just when you’re close, impossibly close to your release, he stops. You watch him on the mirror, panting just for a moment before he pulls out of you and releases your hair. You’re about to protest, or maybe plead for mercy, but he pushes you to lay on your back on the bed again, back inside of you before you can even think of a sentence.

“How about that thank you now?” He pounds into you, somehow even deeper from this position.  “Say it.”

“Shut up,” you say instead. The pause, brief as it was, only served to make you more desperate to come, and the last thing you need right now is to hear this. “Please just shut up.”

The necklace gleams over your chest, catching his attention. The Salesman runs a thumb over the sapphire, as if contemplating something, before he presses down on the pendant hard, digging it into your skin.

You gasp, throwing your head back. He’s moving fast enough that the bed rocks underneath you, the headboard slamming into the wall, his fingers still on the necklace like he wants to imprint it into your chest. It fucking hurts, the sharp metal edges unrelenting, digging in hard enough to leave a bruise. It makes your body sing, awakes the deeply-hidden, fucked up parts of you that crave this kind of pain.

“Every time you wake up,” the Salesman says, slightly out of breath himself, but much more composed than you, “and you look out of the window and see Paris, or anywhere that’s not the gutter in Seoul, you thank me for saving you.” He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust. “Say it.”

You don’t want to say it. Saying it makes you feel like it’s true, like you should give in and believe what he’s saying. That you are a piece of trash who got lucky, after all, and you should thank him for anything close to success that you achieve from now on. But your orgasm is so close you can feel the force of it numb your ears, your wrists; and in this moment, you would say anything, do anything, so long as he keeps you feeling this good.

“Thank you,” the words are just barely above a whisper, like you wish you could keep them to yourself as a shameful secret.

“For what?”

He gives you another hard thrust, almost painful if only the lines between pain and pleasure hadn’t been blurred a long time ago. You push your chest into an arch, the pendant digging even deeper into you until it breaks skin and the pain turns into agony.

“F-for saving me.”

“Good girl.”

You come then, thinking about the mark that the necklace will leave on you, thinking about how you’re going to feel it for days, how you’re going to remember it every time you feel it or see it. That there will be evidence on your body that he touched you this passionately. It feels like you’re floating, rising to the sky as you clench and unclench around him, as sound after humiliating sound leaves you.

You collapse back against the mattress when your orgasm finally lets you go, boneless and spent. You didn’t see or hear him come – in another situation, it might’ve upset you to miss it, if you weren’t still riding the aftershocks of that incredible high –, but he’s still against you, breathing hard into your neck. His release leaks from between your legs. He stays like that for a long time, slowly softening inside of you, before he finally pulls out and away from you.

You stay right where you are, unmoving. Somewhere far away, you think you can hear him searching for his clothes and dressing himself. You don’t want it to upset you, but it does; because of course he would come here, humiliate you, give you the best fuck of your life and then immediately leave, without so much as a word to you. Your head falls to the side, and even that small movement feels incredibly difficult, like your entire body is a limb that has fallen asleep. Your vision is blurry, far-away, until it finally focuses on the large window that overlooks the city. Tiny snowflakes flutter over the city lights and the dark night sky.

“It’s snowing.”

That pulls his attention to you. He’s got his pants and shirt on, the first few buttons undone, his once perfectly-styled hair a mess. He follows the line of your gaze to the window. “Were you looking forward to it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” It feels like forever ago since the last time you even thought about it. The Salesman was right; the city is beautiful at this time of the year.

You expect him to return to his clothes then head out the door. Instead, he reaches for the covers over the bed and wraps your naked body up in them like a baby. “Ow,” you hiss when he moves you, pain exploding on your chest where the necklace was pressed against you. A few drops of blood dry on your skin from when the skin had split. You feel the Salesman lift you bridal-style, much to your surprise, but you’re still too dazed to find it in you to question it.

He sits you both on the thick windowsill, him behind you and you leaning against his chest, framed by his legs. It’s gentle, somehow more intimate than you’ve ever been with him even after sleeping with him twice. You watch the snowfall outside, mesmerized, letting the steady rise-and-fall of his chest behind you soothe your aching muscles.

It’s the closest to safe you’ve felt in what feels like forever, and you’re crying before you even realize it.

Once it starts, it’s impossible to stop it. Your body trembles with the force of your sobs, tears flowing from your eyes like they haven’t since you were a little kid, at least not this openly. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you flush against himself and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, keeping his lips right there against your scalp. He rocks you ever so slightly, shushing your cries, the sound as soothing as a soft lullaby. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you sob. You think about the snow in Seoul, about how the first snowfall always made you excited, even when it happened every year. You can feel your tears rolling down your cheeks and into your neck, your collarbones. “I want to go home.”

“Then go home,” he says, like it’s simple.

“I can’t.” How can you walk the same streets you always did, as if your life wasn’t completely changed? As if the price you paid for this change wasn’t much, much greater than you could deal with? “You’re right. I have nothing. No one.”

“You had nothing. You can have anything you want now.” You want to tell him there are things money can’t buy, but you’re so tired, so exhausted. You can’t muster the willpower for much other than wallowing in your own misery, weeping in his arms like a child. “And you have me.”

That only makes you cry harder, shaking your head. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Look at me.” He nudges you to turn to him, the angle awkward but it’s so worth it the second he cups your face in both hands, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “I mean it. Come back to Seoul.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your heavy eyelids. “You just need to see things from a different perspective. I can help you.”

He coaxes you to lay back against him, and you do so without protest, burying your face into his chest. For a moment you actually consider it. Dropping the plans you had for a next trip and following him to Seoul, letting him finish corrupting you with whatever twisted worldview he has. Maybe it would be blissful, you think, to see all that violence and bloodshed as a blessing, as something that saved you rather than ruined you. It has to be a trap, or another one of his games. But it doesn’t hurt to dream about it, just a little bit.

Little by little your crying subsides, your breaths returning to normal. He holds you through it all, stroking your hair in a way that’s so tender, so soft, like you’re fragile. Like he cares about you, or even loves you.

You silently wonder if he can love anyone at all, much less someone as broken as you.

With his fingers drawing circles on your scalp, you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

–––

You wake up alone. You’re still naked but on the bed, tucked into your blankets. There’s no confusion over what happened last night, no delusions that your brain would come up with a dream like that. There’s only memories hitting you like a truck, one after the other, and it’s too fucking early for this.

You pull yourself into a sitting position, and you jump at the sight of yourself on the mirror. You barely notice the smudged makeup from last night, your eyes going straight to the star of the show: the angry red spot right on the center of your chest, already turning into a deep purple at the center. You flinch before you even touch it, your hand hanging in the air halfway through like you’ve changed your mind. The necklace finishes it off like the cherry on top of the cake, the pair of precious stones right next to each other like eyes watching you, mocking you.

You button your coat all the way up before you leave the house.

It’s still early enough that the sun has just begun rising, coloring the sky in a bright blue that bleeds into the buildings and streets. There’s probably nothing open right now, but you could really use some coffee. Or a drink. Probably a drink.

You find him at Pont Neuf, watching the river below. There’s no one else around, the city in a rare moment of quiet and peace. He hasn’t spotted you yet, seemingly lost in thought, and it occurs to you that you could sneak up behind him, push him over the edge and just keep on walking. Sever your ties to him forever, and simply keep going like nothing ever happened, bury it along with all the other memories you try so hard to forget.

You don’t do it, but knowing you could brings you a bit of comfort. You lower your head and keep walking in the opposite direction, not sparing him another glance.

[ptergwen]

Hi there, I'm SO HAPPY YOUR BACK! I was wondering if you could maybe write a Tom Holland Peter Parker x fem Stark reader based on this prompt?: You’re unconscious after a mission gone wrong, and Peter’s voice shakes as he desperately calls your name, when Tony comes. If you don't want to do it, its ok

stay

ask box  |  taglist  |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist

w/c: 2,005

warnings: mentions of blood, angst (happy ending!)

a/n: hi lovely thank you sm! you guys know i love my angst so i felt very in my element with this one hehe, thanks for the patience while i get used to writing again! feel free to keep sending in your reqs and chatting, i love hearing from y'all and will answer asap ♡

"y/n? it's over, i got him. i’ll come find you, okay?"

you don't answer.

"y/n/n? can you hear me?"

there's only silence on peter's end of the headset. peter isn't worried, not at first. he figures maybe you just got disconnected.

"y/n?"

nothing.

now that peter hasn't heard from you on the third try, he is starting to worry. the two of you had gotten separated during your mission. the plan was for you to distract your opponent and peter to web him up, but you lost him somewhere along the way. it was hard to stick together in the dark, twisty tunnels. he'd thought it would be best to take care of your opponent himself and find you after.

tony is going to kill him if he let anything happen to you. it's okay, though. he can just use his suit to track your location.

"friday?"

"yes, peter?"

"take me to y/n."

peter swings through the tunnels to get to you faster. friday guides him, which he's grateful for because he doesn't have a great sense of navigation as is. it's even more difficult underground. peter lands where friday tells him to, but he doesn't see you.

"are you sure this is where she is? i think she might've lost connection... maybe her location didn't update."

"y/n's watch is online, peter."

peter notices something on the ground, its blinking light catching his attention. he picks it up. sure enough, it's your stark tech watch, but where are you?

"would you like me to check again?"

peter makes out a figure a few feet away. it isn't moving. he takes a few steps toward the figure, reaching for his mask.

"that's okay. thanks, friday."

he removes his mask to see better, brows knitting together. something doesn't feel right. peter's senses confirm it, the hairs on his arms standing up and eyes focusing harder in the darkness. in peter's head, he already knows it's you. in his heart, he hopes it isn't.

peter crouches down and puts a hand on the figure's shoulder, rolling them over to face him.

it's you.

your spandex suit has some rips in it, and dirt is coating your back. your mask is pulled up part of the way. peter takes it off, revealing blood dripping down your forehead, your eyes just barely open. tears roll down your cheeks. peter cups your face tenderly in his hands, eyes desperately searching for yours.

"oh my god, baby, what happened?"

"that guy."

your voice comes out weak. despite the blood and tears staining his gloved fingers and the tightening in his throat, peter does his best to stay calm.

"what guy? the one we were fighting?"

"yeah."

"he did this to you?"

you hum in response. peter props an arm behind your head for support.

"it's okay. everything's gonna be okay."

"but... it hurts."

"i know, baby. but you're gonna be okay. we're gonna get you home and..."

your eyes flutter closed.

"hey, hey, hey. look at me."

peter strokes your cheek, willing you to stay awake. you grunt.

"tell me where it hurts so i can take a look. can you do that for me, y/n? where does it hurt?"

"my head. on top."

peter carefully parts your hair, searching for the source of your bleeding. there's a damp patch of hair near the top of your head. he moves it aside and finds a gash. it's small, but fairly deep. he doesn't think he can handle this on his own; he needs to tell tony.

"i’m gonna call your dad, okay?"

you don't respond. your eyes are closed when peter looks for them.

"y/n? you have to stay awake."

you don't say or do anything to indicate that you hear him. tears prick peter's eyes, threatening to spill over. he doesn't know much about head injuries, but he knows this isn't good.

"please wake up, y/n/n."

peter grabs both your shoulders and shakes, hard enough that it should wake you. nothing. you seem to have slipped into some sort of an unconscious state.

your watch starts to beep with an incoming call from your dad. peter accepts it with a shaking hand.

"friday tells me your vitals are suspiciously low, little lady. what's going on?"

peter fights to keep his tears at bay. he cradles your head with one hand, placing his other on your heart. he needs to feel your heartbeat to remind himself you're still here.

"it's me, tony."

"kid? where's y/n?"

a quiet sob escapes him, tears finally falling. tony doesn't need to hear anything else.

"i’m on my way."

it doesn't take long for tony to get to you and peter. he comes whirring through the tunnels, retracting his iron man suit when he lands. you lie on the ground, your head in peter's lap. you'd woken up shortly after peter spoke to your dad, but you aren't really responsive. peter is cradling your head gently in both hands and whispering words of reassurance.

he's so focused on you that he doesn't even notice tony is there until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"what happened, kid?"

tony kneels down next to peter.

"i... i don't know. the guy we were fighting... i didn't see, i think she hit her head."

"okay, okay. let me see the damage."

tony uses his watch to illuminate the dark area. there's dry blood all around the crown of your head, in your hair. it's worse than he expected. he doesn't let it show, though. he doesn't want to alarm you any more than you already are, or peter for that matter; he's a mess.

"i found this."

peter moves your hair to show your dad the wound on your head. tony shines the light on you to get a better look. concern flashes in his eyes briefly, but long enough for peter to see it.

"friday, call the med bay. tell them it's my daughter."

"yes, boss. it appears y/n may have a concussion. i've detected a large contusion."

you bring a hand up to your head, trying to feel the wound. peter coaxes your hand away with a don't touch, baby. you try to say something, but you can't. you're in too much pain. your dad and peter share a knowing look.

"we'll be there soon, fri. make sure they're ready for us. and call happy, tell him to pick us up asap."

"i’ll let them know right away, boss."

a bright light shines directly in your eyes, making you stir a bit in peter's lap. you whine and squeeze your eyes shut. fresh tears fall down your cheeks.

"it's okay, it's okay. it's just your old man."

you squint your eyes open.

"dad?"

"hey, y/n/n."

"what... what're you doing?"

"just gotta take a look at something. look up?"

you try to open your eyes again, but your eyelids feel heavy. tony holds one of your eyes open himself, then the other. he clicks his tongue.

"what's wrong? is she okay?" peter asks your dad.

"pupils are bigger than they should be. still reacting to light, though. that's good."

"what does it mean if her pupils are too big?"

"friday's right. she could have a mild concussion."

the light turns off, your body finally relaxing. peter's body stiffens.

"that's serious, isn't it?"

peter looks from tony to you, stroking your hair and cupping your cheek, then back up at tony. tony can see the fear in his eyes.

"it shouldn't be, the bleeding just gave us a scare. we'll know more when we get her home."

you grab at peter's knee. he places his hand over yours, thumb smoothing along the back of your hand. you look around the tunnel with blurry vision.

peter doesn't like the uncertainty of this. they don't even know the extent of your injuries, just that they might be serious. he knows you're going to be okay, that tony and the med bay team know what to do and you'll bounce back from this because you're you, but he's scared. you've never been hurt this badly before.

"happy's got our location. he'll be here as soon as he can," tony tells you, voice uncharacteristically soft. you blink your eyes in response. "how long is that gonna be?" peter asks.

"i’m not sure, kid."

hot, frustrated tears fill peter's eyes.

"we can't just wait around anymore. she's been like this for a while."

"trust me, pete. i don't like waiting either."

"then let's just bring her back ourselves."

tony gives peter a stern look.

"let's not."

"why not? it's faster if one of us takes her. i’ll swing her there right now."

peter is already scooping you into his arms, preparing to pick you up. you groan at the sudden movement. tony removes you from peter's arms and takes you into his own protectively.

"i said no. we're not flying her home, and we're definitely not swinging her. it isn't safe."

peter stays quiet, blinking back tears.

"you've gotta remember, y/n isn't like you. she doesn't have powers. for the stark's, it's just us out there."

he knows tony is right, of course he is. he forgets how vulnerable you actually are because you're always so strong. riding home with happy may take longer than peter wants it to, but it's safer for you. he needs to think about your best interest. putting other things first caused all of this in the first place.

if peter had found you earlier instead of finishing the fight, maybe he would have been able to get you help sooner. maybe you wouldn't be in this bad of a condition.

"i’m sorry, tony. i’m really, really sorry."

"no biggie, i get it. you're just looking out for her."

"no, that's the problem. i wasn't."

"what're you talking about?"

peter can't hold back his tears any longer.

"i wasn't there when y/n got hurt. it must've happened when we separated. when i found her, she... she was already like this."

"hey, kid. don't do that, don't blame yourself. you didn't know."

"i could've known if i paid more attention. i could've heard, or... or maybe she said something."

peter avoids tony's gaze, too ashamed to look at him, and too guilty to look at you.

"everyone gets caught up, pete. hell, you know i do. but you know what? you're here for y/n now, and we're taking care of her. that's what matters."

"you mean, you're not mad at me?"

tony surprises him by outstretching an arm and pulling him into a side hug. peter manages a small smile, wiping at his watery eyes.

"do i seem mad?"

"guess not. thanks."

tony pats him on the shoulder.

"time to go. happy'll be here any minute."

"okay, i’ll go ahead of you guys so you can see where you're going."

peter starts to collect your things while your dad helps you up. you're disoriented, head pounding, and you stumble a bit because you don't quite have your balance. tony is quick to catch you.

"easy, y/n/n. you're alright, yeah?"

"i want peter."

"he's right here, just leading the way. i’m gonna help you."

"no, i want peter."

peter's heart clenches. he looks to your dad for permission.

"alright, parker. i'll trade you. but be careful, she's precious cargo."

tony lets go of you, but he stays close just in case. he takes your things from peter. you fling yourself into peter's arms, hiding your face in the space between his neck and shoulder. peter hugs you to his chest. tony smiles at peter and nods in approval, making peter smile back.

"i got you," peter coos. "are you gonna need help walking, or you got it?"

"i dunno, i'm dizzy. carry me?"

"sure, baby."

peter picks you up bridal style, one arm secured under you and the other supporting your head. you loosely wrap your arms around his neck.

"can you stay with me when we get there?"

peter kisses the side of your head lightly.

"i’m not going anywhere."

tags (join my new taglist!)

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee @thollandsgirl2013 @pettypeety

[mrsfancyferrari]

My Saviour

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay. PT 4 - Finale

Song: Pyramids - Frank Ocean

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

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. I hope you got your popcorn ready for this finale! I made this the best ending I ever could. I've loved writing this series and hoped you loved it too. 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, @czennieszn, @widow-cevans.

Word count: 27.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

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.

That wasn’t enough time, not nearly enough time. You stared at the chipped tile of the kitchen floor, the image of Max’s father’s clenched fist flashing behind your eyelids. The last time you saw it, he had been so angry, his face contorted with a rage you still didn't quite comprehend.

Now his mother and sister were coming to this house. The house you’d built together, brick by brick, or rather, box by unpacked box. The house you had slowly and tentatively been turning into a home. The thought of them seeing you, of them judging you, sent a shiver of dread down your spine.

You didn't answer Max, and he finally turned from the stove, a questioning look on his face. "Hey," he said, gently, reaching out to touch your arm.

His touch, usually a source of comfort, felt like a brand, reminding you of how utterly vulnerable you’d felt that day, and how hard he’d fought to protect you. “You okay?”

You managed a weak smile. "Yeah, just...two days. It's fast."

He moved closer, his brow furrowed with concern. "Is it too fast? I can push it back if you want."

You shook your head, the lie forming on your lips. You couldn't ask him to push it back. It would be rude. It would be cowardly.

“No, no, it’s okay. I just want everything to be perfect.” You hated how your voice trembled almost imperceptibly.

“Perfect?” He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. “It doesn’t need to be perfect. They’re just my mom and sister. They’re… I mean, they’re good people. You’ll like them.”

You tried to believe him, tried to summon up some of the excitement he clearly felt, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach refused to loosen.

“What if they don’t like me? What if…what if they’re like your dad?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and laced with the fear that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.

Max’s face darkened. His hand dropped away, and he took a step back, his eyes clouding. "They're not like my dad," he said, his voice low and firm. "They're not even remotely like him. You know that.”

But you didn't know. All you knew was the lingering memory of his father's face, the vitriol in his voice, the power in his fist. You felt so ashamed of yourself.

You didn’t want to bring this baggage to his family, and you had just done that. "I just...I'm still a little shaken up about what happened with him," you confessed in a small voice.

He reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Look at me," he said, his gaze direct and unwavering. "My mom is… she's kind. She's funny, she's warm. And my sister, Victoria, she's... she's a bit of a free spirit. You'll get along with her, I promise. And neither of them will ever be like my father."

He squeezed your hand, his grip strong and reassuring. “I won’t let them be, not ever.”

You wanted to believe him, to let his words wash over you and erase the fear. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability, the knowledge that you’d seen a side of Max's family, a dark and ugly side, that you couldn't unsee.

“What about him?” you asked, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Will he be here?”

Max’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing dangerously for a moment. “He is never welcome in our house, ever. My mom and sister despise him, you don’t have to worry about that.” He pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to be. They’re coming here to meet you. They’re excited to meet the person I’m dating, the person I…care about very much.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and his own unique, comforting smell. "It's just...I don't want to mess things up for you," you mumbled, your voice muffled against his chest. "I don't want them to think I'm not...good enough."

He pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up so he could look you in the eye. "You're more than good enough. You're amazing. And anyone who doesn't see that isn't worth your time. Including my family. But trust me, they will.”

He smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile. “And if they don't? Then I'll deal with it. Okay?”

You nodded, a small, hesitant nod, but it was a start. He had the power to ground you, to calm the storm within you. You wished you had that power yourself.

"Okay," you said, your voice a little steadier now. "Okay, I can try."

He kissed you then, a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of hope and reassurance. "That's all I ask," he murmured against your lips. "Just try."

The next two days were a flurry of activity. You cleaned the house until it shone, you planned a menu that you thought would please his family, and you even ventured into the field closeby to pick some wildflowers to put in a vase. Max helped, of course, but mostly he seemed focused on keeping you calm, his eyes constantly searching yours for any sign of distress. The morning they were due to arrive, you felt your stomach drop into your boots. You stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing your outfit, second-guessing every decision you’d made.

You changed your top three times before Max came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, kissing the back of your neck. “They’re going to love you.”

You turned in his arms, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one about to be interrogated.”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “They’re not going to interrogate you. They’re just going to try and steal you from me.”

You smiled, finally feeling a small flicker of genuine excitement. “Don’t let them,” you teased, a bit of your old confidence returning. "You're the one who said I'm your favorite person."

"Definitely my favorite person," he agreed, giving you a quick kiss on the lips.

The doorbell rang, shattering the comfortable bubble of the moment. You took a deep breath, trying to settle the butterflies in your stomach.

“Showtime,” you said, a mix of excitement and trepidation in your voice. Max squeezed your hand, giving you a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this.”

He opened the door to reveal Sophie, her warm smile radiating familiarity, and Victoria, who had inherited her brother's playful charm. Both women stepped inside, their eyes wide, taking in the space you’d so carefully curated.

“It’s beautiful!” Sophie exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “You’ve done an incredible job.”

Victoria echoed her mother's sentiments, adding, “It’s just as Max described, only even better in person.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you. Max has been…rather vocal about how wonderful you are.”

You laughed, the tension easing a little at their warmth. “It’s wonderful to meet you both too. Come in, come in. Let me show you around.”

The next hour passed by in a flurry of introductions, compliments and laughter. You guided them through the house, pointing out the features you were most proud of – the carefully chosen artwork, the cozy reading nook, the spacious guest room you’d set up.

At one point, while you were showing Victoria the herb garden on the back patio, Sophie cornered Max, her voice a low murmur.

You watched, a fond smile playing on your lips as you tried not to eavesdrop, though you did catch the tail end of her words in Dutch. “… so happy for you, Max. She’s wonderful.”

Lunch was a relaxed affair, you’d prepared a simple pasta dish, one you’d perfected over time. The conversation flowed easily, shifting between Formula 1, your respective families, and shared travel experiences.

Victoria, who was close to your age, was particularly interested in your life as a driver, asking pointed questions about the pressure, the challenges, and of course, the exhilaration.

You found yourself opening up, sharing anecdotes about grueling training sessions and the unwavering support you'd received from your team, and, of course, Max.

You even recounted a particularly comical pit stop mishap, earning a burst of laughter from everyone at the table.

“She handles herself so well under pressure,” Max said, a note of pride in his voice, as he looked at you across the table. “It’s one of the many things I admire about her.”

Sophie beamed, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “We do, too, Max. She’s incredibly impressive.”

Later, after lunch, as the afternoon light began to mellow, you found yourself alone with Sophie in the living room. Victoria and Max had retreated to the back patio, their laughter drifting in through the open windows.

Sophie turned to you, her expression serious, but kind. “You’ve made our Max very happy,” she said simply. “It’s a good thing. He deserves to be happy.”

You felt a lump form in your throat. “He’s made me incredibly happy too, Sophie. More than I ever thought possible.”

She nodded then turned serious, bowing her head low. "I heard what their father had done to you. I'm extremely ashamed of his actions," she said, her voice now soft.

A shiver ran down your spine, as if the chill of the day you had tried so hard to forget had returned. You hadn’t wanted to burden Max’s family with the memory, especially today.

You had hoped, perhaps naively, that it wouldn’t come up. You shifted uncomfortably.

“Sophie, it’s okay, really,” you responded, trying to keep your voice even. “It was just… a moment. It’s in the past.”

She looked up at you, her eyes filled with concern. “No, it isn’t okay. It’s never okay to lay hands on another person, especially not in anger. What Jos did was inexcusable.” Her voice held a steel edge, a stark contrast to her usual warmth.

You looked down at your lap, tracing the pattern of the rug with your finger. The memory surged back with a visceral clarity. The heated argument, Jos’s face contorted in fury, the sudden, sharp pain in your ribs as his fist connected.

The way your breath had been knocked out of you. The memory was still vivid.

“He was mad,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was trying to find Max but I found him instead. I tried to leave him but he just had to say something bad to me, we argued and then he...”

“He hit you,” Sophie finished for you, her gaze unwavering. “He heard something he didn't want to hear. You are brave for speaking your mind to him." Her voice was almost a sigh as she admitted this.

You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t blame her for being angry, and you certainly couldn’t justify Jos’s actions. You knew, deep down, that you would never fully forget the moment, that it would always be a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind. Jos would never admit he was wrong either, and that was what hurt the most.

“Max knows?” Sophie asked, her voice gentle.

You nodded. “Yes, he stopped Jos. He was really… upset,” you said, choosing your words carefully. "And still is" you added under your breath.

Sophie reached out and took your hand, her touch surprisingly strong. “He’s angry for you. He loves you, you know that?”

“I do,” you replied, a genuine smile finally reaching your lips. “And I love him.”

She squeezed your hand. “Good. Because he needs you. And you deserve to be treated with respect, always. No one has the right to hurt you, ever.”

Your eyes welled up, not from sadness, but from an overwhelming sense of gratitude. You had never expected to find such an ally in Max’s mother, and her unwavering support meant more than you could ever say.

“Dank je wel, Sophie. Dat betekent veel voor mij.,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. Thank you, Sophie. That means a lot to me.

Before she could even react from your sudden Dutch, the back door slid open, and Max walked in, a perplexed look on his face. “Everything okay in here? You both look a bit serious?”

Sophie released your hand and smiled at her son. “Everything is perfect, darling. Just making sure that she knows how lucky you are.” She winked.

Max looked at you, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything alright?”

You smiled reassuringly. “Everything’s fine. We were just… talking.”

He still looked unsure, but he didn’t press the issue. He knew when to back off, when you needed space. He stood beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. You leaned into the embrace, feeling his warmth seep into your soul. He placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

"Max, you didn't tell me that Y/N speaks Dutch?" Sophie said, a hint of surprise in her voice.

Max grinned proudly, which made your heart do a funny little flip. “I did mention it a while back, Mom, when we first started dating. You must have forgotten. She’s been practicing a bit.”

You hadn’t been practicing a bit. You’d been learning the language voraciously for months, a secret project born out of your love for Max and his heritage.

It was the same with Sophie, the occasional Dutch idioms she would use, her native language was like a piece of her. And you wanted that connection, a shared language with them both.

"It's still a work in progress, though," you admitted, a little bashfully. "But I’m trying."

"Well, I'm impressed," Sophie said, clapping her hands together. "I knew there was a reason I liked you so much. You're full of wonderful surprises. You should speak Dutch more often, it sounds charming on you.”

Max kissed your temple again. “I agree. It suits you.”

Later that evening, after Sophie and Victoria had left, you and Max were curled up on the sofa, the house quiet and calm. “What did you and my mother talk about?” he asked, his voice low.

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to be honest. “She asked about… your father.”

Max stiffened beside you. “And?”

“She was angry. She said what he did was inexcusable,” you told him.

He was silent for a moment, his jaw clenched. “He doesn’t understand,” he said finally. “He never will.”

You turned to face him, your hand cupping his cheek. “It’s okay, Max. I understand.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with so much love and tenderness that your heart ached. “I wish he hadn’t hurt you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“It doesn't matter, it was a long time ago, I’m fine," you assured him.

“It does matter. You deserve better. I deserve better. I will never allow anyone to treat you that way again,” he said, his voice fierce. You knew he meant it.

You leaned in and kissed him, pouring all your love and gratitude into the embrace, making up for the words you couldn't find. His arms tightened around you, his lips moving against yours with desperate hunger.

You had each other. And that, you realised, was all that truly mattered.

The hum of Max's private jet was a low, comforting thrum against the anticipation buzzing through you. In a few days, the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix would be upon you, the last race of the season, and the pressure was palpable, even at 30,000 feet.

You were nestled between Max, who was engrossed in reviewing some documents on his tablet, and Charles, who was idly scrolling through his phone, a small smile playing on his lips. Lando, of course, was the catalyst of the chaos, sprawled out on the opposite couch, a mischievous glint in his eye.

A staff member, a young woman named Maya, approached you all and asked if she could take a quick picture for social media. You always needed to keep the public engaged, and a photo of the three drivers plus you, the public's new and exciting addition, was definitely good content.

Max briefly looked up, gave a small nod, and then returned to his screen. Charles straightened up, and Lando struck a dramatic pose, leaning back into the cushions and throwing up a peace sign with a goofy grin. You felt a little awkward, but you did your best to smile naturally as Maya snapped a few shots.

"Okay, perfect!" she chirped, showing you the picture on her phone. You all looked pretty relaxed, albeit slightly posed. "Thanks everyone! Enjoy the rest of the flight."

As soon as Maya was out of earshot, Lando, of course, had to open his mouth. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and gave you a very knowing look. “So,” he drawled, his voice full of amusement, “How’s the couple doing?”

Your cheeks warmed immediately. Max finally looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow as he glanced from Lando to you, his hand instinctively reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you on about, Lando?” he said, his tone a low rumble.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Lando said, his eyes widening innocently, “Just observing the… lovebirds. You know, the picture just screamed ‘power couple’ to me. You guys are practically glowing.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Charles chuckled, burying his face in his hands, but you could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. You shot a glare at Lando, who only grinned even wider, and then looked over at Max who was watching you closely, a gentle smile softening the sharp lines of his face.

“We’re doing fine, thank you,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, although you felt like your heart was doing a little tap dance. Dating Max was still new, a thrilling, somewhat surreal experience.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Max echoed, his hand now resting on your knee. The simple touch sent a shiver down your spine. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, you know,” Lando said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's been all the gossip, hasn't it? Max Verstappen finally settling down. The world is in shock."

He pretended to faint dramatically against the seat cushions, earning a louder laugh from Charles.

“Oh, come on, Lando,” Charles said, shaking his head. “You’re just jealous because you’re still playing the field.”

“Hey!” Lando exclaimed, feigning offense. “I’m… strategically assessing the options!”

"Strategic, huh?" you said, finally finding your voice amidst the gentle teasing. "Or is it just that you can't commit?"

He gasped dramatically. "How dare you! I'd have you know I'm just waiting for the perfect woman..." He paused, looking at me with a theatrical expression. "...or man. Whatever."

You all burst into laughter, the tension from the earlier conversation dissipating. Even Max cracked a small smile, shaking his head at Lando's antics.

“So, onto more important things,” Charles said, clapping his hands together. “Anyone want to discuss sector times?”

You four spent the next hour dissecting the data from the last practice runs, the atmosphere shifting from playful banter to serious strategy. Even Lando fell silent, his usual boisterous energy replaced with a focused intensity as they discussed the intricacies of the track.

As the flight wore on, the conversation drifted again. You talked about moving in together, the places you had visited over the short holiday, and the pressures of life under the spotlight.

You found yourself more and more comfortable with Max, your connection growing stronger with every shared laugh and gentle touch.

Later, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cabin, Lando and Charles were sleeping peacefully with the exception of occasional snores from Lando.

You felt Max’s hand gently tracing patterns on your arm. It was a simple gesture, a touch that sent a jolt of warmth through you, a silent acknowledgment of the secret bond you shared.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, the rumble of it vibrating through your body.

“Yeah,” you murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder, the scent of his cologne filling your senses. “Just thinking about… everything.”

He moved his head slightly, his cheek brushing against your hair. “Everything?” he repeated, his hand continuing its soothing pattern on your skin.

You nodded into his shoulder. “Everything. This race. The pressure. Us.” The confession was out, a soft exhale, the truth you had been holding onto now released into the space between you.

He went still for a moment, his hand stopping its gentle tracing. Then, he turned his head to look at you, his gaze soft, reassuring. “Us?” he echoed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “What about us?”

You lifted your head, meeting his eyes, the vulnerability in your chest exposed. "It's all so… precarious, isn't it? One wrong move, one slip up, and everything could come crashing down. The media, the scrutiny, our careers… I just… I don't want to lose us, Max."

His expression softened even more, his thumb now tracing your cheekbone. "Lose us?" he repeated, the words a soft question. “That’s the furthest thing from my mind.”

He paused, then added, his voice even quieter, “You think I would intentionally do anything to lose you?”

You shook your head. "No, but…" you trailed off, unsure how to articulate the fear that gnawed at your insides. "The pressure can get to anyone. And we both know how unpredictable this world can be.”

He took your hand in his, his fingers intertwining with yours. "I'm not anyone," he said firmly, his voice laced with a confidence that seemed to seep into you. "And you're not just anyone either. You're the most incredible, amazing woman I know, and you think that because of the craziness of this world I would let anything ever happen to us?”

He paused and then looked directly into your eyes, the honesty in his gaze almost overwhelming, “I won’t let anything happen to us. I promise you that.”

You stared right back at him for a moment, feeling your heart bloom – it always did every time you were with him, every time he looked at you with such raw affection. “You say the right things, you know that?” A smile now bloomed on your lips.

He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “I only mean the right things when it comes to you.”

You could feel your cheeks flush, your breath catching in your throat. “You’re going to make me cry.”

He chuckled, the sound a warm rumble that vibrated against your ear. “I’m not going to make you cry. I’m just stating the truth. You worry too much,” he squeezed your hand slightly, “I know that, and I hate that because you never need to with me.”

Your fingers tightened around his. “It’s hard not to when everything is so… big. This race… this season… all of it.”

“I know,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “But try to focus on me. Focus on us. Just for a little while. Let all the other big things be big later.”

A small smile played on your lips. “Easy for you to say, Mr. 3x Formula One Champion.”

He grinned, a flash of mischief in his eyes. “I am pretty good at what I do.”

You laughed softly, the sound genuine and free, a stark contrast to the anxiety that had been swirling within you just moments before. “You are. Okay. I’ll try. But only because you asked so nicely.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear again. “I have other ways of convincing you, you know.”

You shivered at his words, a thrill running through your veins. "Oh, really?" You whispered, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze.

His eyes darkened, a promise smouldering within them. "Oh, really."

The roar of the jet engines finally subsided, replaced by the gentle hum of the cabin’s ventilation system. Outside, the sun beat down on the tarmac of Abu Dhabi International Airport, a stark contrast to the cool, manufactured air surrounding you.

You stretched in your plush leather seat, feeling the residual stiffness of the long flight slowly begin to fade.

You glanced in front of you, where Lando was curled into a seemingly impossible ball, his head lolling precariously close to the aisle. On your right, Charles was a picture of elegant slumber, his dark hair perfectly tousled across his forehead.

A small smile played on your lips.

A sudden, sharp shove sent Lando tumbling forward, his muffled yelp echoing through the cabin. Max, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, was grinning down at him.

"Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!" he said, his Dutch accent thick with playful teasing.

You gently reached out, shaking Charles’ arm. "Charles, we’re here," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

He blinked sleepily, his hazel eyes focusing on you with a disoriented charm.

“Already?” he mumbled, stretching his arms above his head. “It felt like I just closed my eyes.”

"Time flies when you're sleeping," you quipped, earning a tired chuckle from him.

You watched as Lando rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his usual lively energy quickly returning. “Not cool, Max,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat in his tone. “Almost made me faceplant into the floor.”

Max just laughed, a low, rumbling sound that resonated through you.

"Come on," Max said, clapping his hands together, "let's ditch this flying sofa and get to the hotel."

As you moved to gather your things, your fingers brushed against Max’s. A spark, small but undeniable, ignited between you.

You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat as his blue eyes met yours. He gave you a subtle, almost imperceptible wink, and a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks.

A small army of hotel staff swarmed the plane, efficiently unloading luggage and ushering you towards a fleet of waiting cars. It was a familiar scene, the controlled chaos that preceded every race weekend, a strange comfort after the long hours spent suspended in the artificial stillness of Max’s private jet.

You followed Max, Lando and Charles into the hotel, the lobby a dizzying spectacle of polished marble, towering floral arrangements, and the hushed murmurs of staff. The receptionist, a woman with a warm smile and efficient hands, greeted Max by name.

You shifted your weight, feeling the fatigue of travel settling deep into your bones. You were so used to this pre-race routine that you could perform it on autopilot.

The adrenaline of the upcoming race, the pressure of qualifying, it was all still to come, and for now, a quiet hotel room and a long nap seemed like a distant paradise.

“Mr. Verstappen, Ms. L/N, here are your keys,” the receptionist said, sliding the cards across the polished counter.

You thanked her with a polite nod, your eyes already searching for the elevator. Lando and Charles, keys in hand, had already disappeared into the throng of people. You and Max made your way towards the elevators, the chatter of the lobby dimming to a background hum. Max, his usual energy subdued by travel fatigue, muttered, “Room 312,” as you both stepped into the elevator.

You leaned against the mirrored wall, your eyes closed, letting the subtle hum of the elevator carry you upwards. You couldn’t even be bothered to check your key card.

All you wanted was to crash on the bed. The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and you followed Max down the hallway, the carpet thick and plush beneath your feet.

Finally, you stood before room 312. Max stopped, his hand already on his key card. He turned to you, a brow raised. "Which room are you in?" he asked, his voice quiet, a touch of the Dutch accent coloring his words.

You finally looked down at your key card. Your eyes widened in disbelief. "It's… 312," you said, your voice a mix of surprise and amusement. "How is it 312?"

Max’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Well, that's a surprise.” he chuckled. He held up his own key card, and as he flipped it you could make out the number, it was indeed 312 too.

A laugh escaped you. “What are the chances of that happening.”

“Guess they really wanted us together” Max said, looking at you with his intense blue eyes, making your heart skip a beat.

“Guess so,” you murmured, your gaze lingering on his face. You felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest.

"Well, are we going in or are we going to stand here all night?" Max asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You shook your head, a smile playing at your lips. He had a way of bringing you back down to earth, always. You swiped your key card, the light flashed green, and the door clicked open.

You stepped inside, the room instantly enveloping you in its cool, quiet embrace. It was a spacious suite, tastefully decorated in neutral tones with dark wood accents. A king-sized bed dominated one side of the room, and a seating area with a plush couch and a small coffee table occupied the other. A balcony overlooked the glittering cityscape, providing a mesmerizing view of the sprawling metropolis.

Then he spoke, his usual calm demeanor settling in. "You're taking the bed," he said, already moving towards the sofa.

Your heart sank, a sharp pang of disappointment echoing in your chest. Two weeks. Two weeks of dating Max, and in those two weeks, despite living in the same house, you never once shared a bed. He had always opted for the couch or the guest room - never yours. The pattern was starting to feel deliberate, and a nagging insecurity began to take root.

Did he not want you? Was this a sign? Was all this too fast for him?

The questions, like tiny needles, pricked at your confidence. You knew he wasn't the most emotionally expressive person, but this felt… more than that. It felt like a polite, yet firm, rejection. You weren't going to let the uncertainty fester any longer.

You moved quickly, cutting him off before he could fully settle on the couch, your body a tangible barrier in his path. He stopped, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Max,” you said, your voice even, trying to project an authority you weren't quite feeling.

He blinked slowly, his gaze studying you, those intense blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that always made your pulse quicken, even now, amidst your anxiety. "Yes?"

You took a deep breath. "Why?"

He frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "Why what?"

“Why are you taking the couch?" You knew you sounded more demanding than you intended, but you were done tip-toeing around this.

He looked down at the couch, then back at you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. "Because… you’re taking the bed."

"Yes, I know. But why aren’t you?"

His jaw tightened slightly. "I just... I'm more comfortable on the couch."

The answer, so simple, so easily spoken, only served to infuriate you further. "Comfortable? Really, Max? Or is it something else?"

He shifted on his feet, his gaze darting towards the balcony, a nervous tick you had noticed when he was uncomfortable. "It's just… I sleep better on the couch. It’s… smaller.”

“Smaller? What does that even mean?” You crossed your arms, unable to keep the frustration from creeping into your voice. “We’re dating, Max. Don't you... want to be closer to me."

You tried to keep the hurt from showing on your face. "This isn't about sleep, is it? Is this about… me?"

He finally met your eyes, a flicker of something unreadable in their depth. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, forcing the words past the lump forming in your throat. “Usually couples sleep in each other's arms, and well, I don't get that. It's okay if you don't like that or feel uncomfortable about it, just tell me now because I feel like you don't want me,"

The vulnerability was raw, exposed, but you had reached a point where you needed the truth, whatever it may be. You had held back for so long in fear of rejection, but you realized it was time to stop.

Max waited patiently for you to finish speaking. When you did, you stared at the floor, the floral pattern of the rug suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. Other than your ex, you didn't have much knowledge in relationships, so you didn't even know if sleeping on the couch was a normal thing.

You wondered if you were reading too much into it, but your past experiences had taught you to trust the nagging feeling in your gut.

Max sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of unsaid things, before he crossed the room and pulled you in for a hug. His arms wrapped around you, warm and solid, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“It's not that,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper, thick with something you couldn't quite name. “It's… I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You blinked, surprised. The statement was so unexpected it almost knocked you off balance. You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, his face a mask of concern.

"Uncomfortable? Max, you're my boyfriend. How could you sleeping in the same bed as me make me uncomfortable?" You were completely baffled.

You wanted him there, close to you, not across the room. You saw his face turn a shade of red, his cheeks flushing a vibrant hue. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture you were beginning to recognize.

"People say that I'm really clingy when I'm asleep or hardly conscious," he muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable in the night so I decided to keep myself away. I do want to be closer to you and I do want you," he rushed the words out, as if finally admitting something he’d been trying hard to suppress.

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Clingy? Was that the reason? He thought he was protecting you by sleeping on the couch when all you wanted was to be wrapped in his arms?

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth wash over you. He wasn’t pulling away, he was trying to be considerate.

It was a level of care and thoughtfulness you hadn’t expected, especially so early in the relationship.

"Max," you said softly, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. His skin was soft beneath your touch, and his gaze met yours, vulnerable and filled with an earnestness that made your heart ache.

"I'm not going to be uncomfortable. In fact, I'd probably be more uncomfortable sleeping alone after having you just a few meters away. We're dating. This is what couples do, right? We’re trying new things and we’re not alone in this experience, if you're clingy in your sleep, I can just… push you off with my mighty strength and you’ll learn eventually!”

You couldn’t help but smile at how adorably insecure he was. All this time, you had thought he wasn't interested in you physically, but it turned out he was just worried about being too much.

A small smile touched his lips, and for a moment, the tension seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet understanding. “So… you’re okay with… the clingy thing?” he asked, a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

You chuckled, “I’m more than okay. I actually find it pretty endearing. But you’re going to have to show me how clingy you really are.” 

He nodded, a blush still coloring his cheeks.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, a flicker of uncertainty still lingering in his eyes.

You nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. "I'm sure. And maybe, just maybe, we can figure out this whole sleeping-together thing, together." You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. 

The hot water pounded against your skin, a welcome assault after the long, cramped flight. You let out a sigh, the steam swirling around you like a comforting embrace. Your muscles finally began to unwind, releasing the tension that had been coiled tight like a spring.

here you are, clean and fresh, ready to begin this new chapter. Well, almost ready. You couldn’t help but replay the image of Max from earlier.

Just before you'd stepped into the bathroom, you'd seen him fidgeting by the bed, his usually confident posture replaced with a nervous energy. He’d been running a hand through his already tousled dirty blond hair, his eyes darting towards the closed bathroom door.

You’d even caught him taking a deep, shaky breath before you had shimmied into the shower.

A soft smile curved your lips. It was endearing, this vulnerability he was showing. You knew he was excited, just shy. You found him utterly adorable.

You turned off the water, the sudden quiet amplifying the gentle sounds filtering in from the rest of the apartment. A shuffle of feet, the quiet clinking of glass – probably him getting a drink of water – and then, silence again.

You wrapped a towel around yourself, taking a moment to smooth it over your skin before stepping out of the shower stall and catching sight of your reflection. Your hair was damp and slightly wild, your cheeks flushed from the heat.

You took another moment to run your fingers through the tangles, trying to give it some resemblance of order. You had a feeling Max wouldn’t mind the little disarray.

He seemed like the 'messy hair is sexy' type.

You opened the bathroom door, your eyes immediately finding Max at the foot of the bed. He was perched on the edge, his back to you, but you were sure that he had been looking at the door.

His shoulders straightened with a slight jolt as he heard the door click open. He turned around, and that familiar, slightly nervous smile returned to his face.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little lower and huskier than usual.

"Hey," you responded, your own voice a gentle purr. You moved towards him, the towel making a soft rustling sound as you walked.

You could feel your own heart thumping with anticipation. You noticed there were two mugs on the bedside table, warm drinks likely made while you were in the shower, which warmed your heart.

He stood up as you approached, closing the distance between you. You were finally close enough to feel the low thrum of heat radiating from him, his eyes looking directly into yours.

You took it as an invitation, reaching out to gently cup his cheek with your hand. The stubble on his chin scratched at your palm, and you couldn't help but give a soft sigh.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your thumb gently caressing his skin.

He swallowed, his gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah, just… yeah.” He chuckled, the sound a little nervous, but no less endearing.

You smiled, your own nervousness melting away under the warmth of his gaze. “You seem a little tense,” you teased, your voice laced with affection.

He ran a hand through his hair again, the gesture making you giggle. “I’m just… excited,” he admitted. “And maybe a little… overwhelmed. This is… nice.” He gestured between you with his hand, his eyes softening on you.

“Nice?” you asked, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

He nodded, a soft blush creeping up his neck. “More than nice,” he corrected, his voice barely above a whisper, “Amazing. Terrifying. But like, in a good way?” He could finally meet your gaze head-on, a genuine warmth replacing his earlier trepidation.

You laughed, the sound echoing softly in the room. "I know exactly what you mean.” You took a step closer, your body almost touching his, and looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Terrifying in a good way too, huh?”

He mirrored your smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out and took your hands in his. His fingers were a little rough against yours, a comforting contrast to your soft skin.

“Absolutely," he said, and he finally dared a small tug, bringing your body closer. You were finally close enough, your legs finally tangling together, your breaths finally in sync.

“So, uh,” he continued, his voice a little rougher now, “Now what?”

"Now," you purred against his lips, your eyes sparkling with adoration, "you take a shower, you stink," you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

His eyes widened, a confused look replacing the earlier nervous warmth. "I do?" he said, sniffing at his own arm. You couldn’t help but laugh, a bright, melodic sound that seemed to erase all the awkwardness of the past few minutes.

“I’m kidding, silly.” You reached up and gently pushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “You smell like planes and nervous energy, but you don’t stink, not really.”

He relaxed slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Oh. Right." He chuckled quietly. "I was about to say, I showered this morning."

“I know, I know,” you said, your tone softer now. “But seriously, the shower is nice. You’ll feel even better.” You tugged his hand gently, leading him towards the bathroom. “And besides, you’ve been doing absolutely all the work setting up the hotel room and everything while I've been showering, the shower is the least I can get you to do."

He let you guide him, his earlier nervous energy replaced with a playful smirk. "Wow, such a hard worker. You wound me, truly."

"I know, I'm terrible," you said, giving him a mock pout. "You're just lucky you're cute."

He chuckled, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, watching you. “And you’re… well, you’re something else.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your look. “Oh? Something else, huh? Is that good or bad?"

He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist, pulling you gently into his embrace. “Definitely good,” he murmured, his lips finding the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Very, very good.”

“Good to know,” you whispered back, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer still. "Now, go take that shower. I can already tell you smell like lavender, you really went overboard with the perfume."

He groaned playfully, pulling back slightly. "You're right, I got carried away." He stepped into the bathroom, throwing a roguish grin over his shoulder. "Just wait for me.”

“I will,” you said, leaning against the doorframe, watching him in the reflection in the mirror, a soft smile gracing your face. You listened to the sound of the water starting again, a calming rhythm that seemed to echo the contentment settling in your heart.

Leaning back against the wall, your thoughts swirled. It was funny, how just a few weeks ago, Max was a friend and a teammate. Now, he was this endearing, slightly awkward man, who got flustered at the idea of cuddling.

It felt so natural, you knew that this was something special, this connection you had with him. You wanted to know everything about him. Every bad movie he liked, every quirky habit, every childhood fear. You wanted to be there through every high and low.

The rhythmic drumming of water against the shower tile was starting to feel less like a comforting lullaby and more like a countdown.

You shifted on the edge of your bed, the soft cotton sheet beneath your fingers feeling like a life raft in a sea of butterflies. You’d picked out the softest pajamas, a pale lavender set you’d bought specifically for this occasion, thinking they were a subtle nod to the romantic, blushing anticipation you were feeling.

Max had been adorable, a bundle of barely-contained nerves, when he'd packed his suitcase, a shy smile playing on his lips as he’d pulled out a grey hoodie, claiming it was his "coziest."

The water sounds had been going on for what felt like an eternity. You bounced your leg, a nervous tick you’d been trying to control. You picked up your phone, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, barely registering the pretty faces and perfectly curated lives.

You put it down again. This was ridiculous, you thought. Why were you so worked up? It was just cuddling. Just holding someone close while you slept.

Except, it wasn't just cuddling. It was Max cuddling, and that was a whole different ball game.

You started to imagine it. His arm around your waist, the warmth of his body pressed against yours... your breath hitched. A shiver, not entirely from cold, ran down your spine.

You got up and walked over to your dresser. You opened the top drawer and stared down at your perfume bottles. Should you put some on? Something light and floral? Or something warmer and more seductive?

You hesitated, pulled back your hand. It was just cuddling. Don't be ridiculous.

The water stopped. The silence that had followed felt amplified, like a sudden, pregnant pause in a conversation. Your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat echoing in your ears.

You heard the gentle squeak of the shower door opening, then the soft thud of bare footprints against the bathroom tiles. You quickly sat back on the edge of the bed, trying to school your expression into something resembling casual composure.

He emerged, a towel wrapped low around his waist, water still beading in his dark hair. He looked good. Ridiculously good. He caught your eye and a soft, hesitant smile spread across his face.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little husky. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Hey," you replied, trying to sound calm and collected. Instead, your voice came out a little breathier than you intended. You cleared your throat. "Took you long enough to get clean." You teased.

He let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, sorry. I uh... I might have been... procrastinating a little."

You couldn't help but smile. "Procrastinating?" You raised an eyebrow playfully. "What could you possibly be procrastinating?"

He walked towards the bed, his eyes on the floor. He reached for his bag on the floor, avoiding eye contact. "Nothing," he mumbled. "Just, you know... towels are interesting."

You laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Interesting, huh? What are they saying these days?"

He looked up, a sheepish grin forming. "They're... telling me to put on clothes." He grabbed his grey hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.

"Good idea," you agreed, your gaze lingering on his bare chest for just a moment too long. You turned your head away to not make it awkward.

You could tell this was a big deal for him despite it seeming so casual to the rest of the world.

He finally settled onto the edge of the bed, a noticeable space separating him from you. You could feel the tension radiating off of him; his leg was bouncing in a silent rhythm against the mattress.

He was practically vibrating, a human tuning fork about to go off-key. Your heart did a little flip, it was actually kind of cute seeing him like this.

"So, are you ready?" you asked, a playful lilt to your voice, trying to ease the tension.

"I, uh..." He hesitated, his eyes darting to yours and then away again, focusing intently on some abstract point in the far corner of the room. "I've never... really, you know... done this before."

A small laugh bubbled up, completely involuntarily. You reached out and gently touched his arm, the warmth of your hand contrasting against the coolness of his hoodie. “Max,” you said softly, your voice a soothing balm, “it’s just cuddling. It’s not that big of a deal, is it?”

He turned to face you, his eyes wide and a little panicked. "No, I mean... yes? I don't know! I just... I really like you, okay? And I don't want to... mess things up."

The honesty in his voice melted your heart. You'd only been dating for two weeks, but in that short time, you'd come to truly appreciate Max’s genuine nature, his shy smile, and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You understood his hesitation, the fear of doing something wrong, especially with someone he cared about.

"Hey," you started, squeezing his arm gently, "you’re not going to mess anything up. Just relax. This is supposed to be fun." You patted the space beside you invitingly, “Come here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he shuffled closer until you were side by side. It was a bit awkward at first, this careful dance between two people still getting to know each other's rhythm.

You decided to take the lead, your earlier confidence resurfacing. You maneuvered so your head was nestled comfortably on his shoulder, one arm lazily wrapping around his torso, and then you casually swung a leg over his.

You felt his body tense, then slowly relax.

The silence that fell wasn't uncomfortable, but rather a comfortable lull, the quiet hum of two people finding their space together. You knew Max was still a little on edge, you could feel the slight tremor in his chest beneath your cheek.

"Should I sing that Dutch song to calm you down?" you muttered, your voice muffled by his hoodie.

He laughed, the sound rumbling against your cheek. “Please,” he said, his voice almost pleading.

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You started, your voice soft and low, the words of the silly little Dutch song rolling off your tongue with practiced ease, a tune you'd picked up during your semester abroad and used ever since to calm your nerves.

“Kleine bloempjes, gele blaadjes, dansen in de wind…” you sang, the melody lilting and playful. You felt him relax ever so slightly beneath you, his breathing becoming a bit more even.

You continued, your hand tracing gentle patterns on his arm. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling, his heart was as loud as a drumbeat in your ear.

When the song was over, the silence that followed was different. It was a comfortable silence, a shared space of warmth and quiet affection.

“Better?” you whispered, your breath tickling his ear.

“Much,” he admitted, his voice still a little hushed. He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours, and you got lost in the deep blue of them all over again.

"I think I'm starting to like everything you do," he admitted, his voice low and a little husky. He shifted slightly and rested his hand on your back, a light, tentative touch.

"Well, I am pretty amazing," you teased, enjoying the way he blushed. Then, you grew serious. "But seriously, you don't have to be nervous, Max. I'm not some fragile flower that will break if you touch me the wrong way."

"It's not that," he rushed to explain, "it's just that... well, you're… you. And I want to make sure I'm doing things right."

You lifted your head a bit, looking directly into his eyes. “Doing what right, Max? You know how to cuddle me, right now.”

He swallowed, his eyes dancing with an unspoken depth. “I guess I was more nervous about what happens after cuddles.”

You laughed again, this time a genuine, heart felt laugh that warmed you. “What could possibly happen after cuddles?” you mocked. “The snuggle monsters will come and steal our socks?”

He laughed too, the sound lighter than before, and you felt a wave of happiness wash over you. Being able to make him laugh always seemed to be a highlight of your day.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he said, his hand moving a little more boldly across your back, his fingers tracing soft circles. "I just want to make you happy, I really do.”

“And you do, Max.” You leaned back down, tucking your head under his chin. The position was perfect; you could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear. “You make me really happy.”

He tightened his hold slightly, and suddenly the nervous tension was gone, replaced by something warmer, comfortable, soft. You both were finally just enjoying each other’s company.

"Do you like this position?" you asked, your voice sleepy. The warmth of his body, the weight of his arm around you, was making you feel incredibly content.

It occurred to you just how easily comfortable you were with each other.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice thick with sleepiness. "Yeah, I really do."

You stayed like that for a long time, a comfortable silence enveloping the room. Occasionally, one of you would shift slightly, adjusting to be a little closer.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your head, and the soft scratch of his hoodie against your cheek. The quiet was punctuated only by the occasional sounds from outside, a car driving by, the laughter of distant voices.

Later, as the sky outside began to darken, you felt yourself drift off, the events of the day melting away. You didn't even register when Max shifted, pulling the soft duvet over you both.

Only when his arm tightened a bit more, pulling you closer to him, did you stir slightly.

"Are you still okay?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

"More than okay," he replied softly, his lips brushing against your hair. "This is perfect."

And as you drifted off to sleep, his words echoing in your mind, you knew he was right. It was perfect, this first awkward, beautifully hesitant cuddle, the beginning of something real, something special. And you couldn't wait to see what else would come.

Later, you were still drifting in that blissful space between sleep and consciousness when you felt a weight on your side.

You opened your eyes slightly and saw Max, his face buried in your neck, his arm thrown possessively across your waist, and his leg tangled between yours. He was practically clinging to you, his body pressed flush against yours.

You smiled, this was definitely a clingy sleeper. He was your clingy sleeper.

The golden afternoon light, a warm, honeyed blanket, spills through the gaps in the curtains, painting stripes across your face. You stir, a deep contented sigh escaping your lips.

It's the kind of sleep that wraps you in a soft cocoon, the kind that leaves you feeling like you've been reborn anew, refreshed and light. You stretch, a slow, languid movement, and that's when you realize something’s amiss.

Or, rather, two somethings. Two very solid, very warm somethings.

Your eyes flutter open, and the first thing you see is the curve of Max's arm, draped possessively across your waist. His fingers are tucked into the hollow of your hip, pressing you flush against the length of his body.

Another arm, equally insistent, is wrapped around your chest, his hand curled just below your shoulder blade. You’ve forgotten, in that blissful, post-nap haze.

You’ve forgotten the reason you slept so well. It’s the first day you and Max shared a bed together.

A soft laugh bubbles up in your chest. You'd known Max was a cuddler, a natural contact-seeker, but ‘clingy sleeper’ felt like a vast understatement staring at you, quite literally, across the bed.

He’s a human koala, apparently, and you’re the eucalyptus tree.

You turn your head, careful not to jostle him (or, more accurately, to displace his carefully curated system of limbs) and find him still asleep. His face is relaxed, the usual playful crinkle around his eyes smoothed out.

A stray lock of dark hair has fallen across his forehead, and you're struck by a wave of tenderness so strong it almost physically hurts. You reach out a finger, tracing the line of his jaw, the slight stubble that always feels like the softest sandpaper to your touch.

You’ve always admired him, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way his smile could light up the darkest room.

Now, seeing him so unguarded, so vulnerable, a different kind of admiration, something deeper and richer, blossoms within you.

You watch him breathe, the slow rise and fall of his chest, a steady rhythm that somehow grounds you. It feels so natural, so right, to be here, tangled in his limbs.

The room, bathed in the warm, golden glow, seems to hum with a soft, content energy.

But the urge to move, the need to stretch properly, becomes too much. You decide to attempt an escape, a careful, calculated manoeuvre meant to free you from his embrace without waking the sleeping beast. You slowly, painstakingly, ease his hand from your waist. He murmurs something, a low, incoherent sound, and tightens his grip.

“Max?” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

He hums again, his face nuzzling into your shoulder. “Mmm, five more minutes?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

You smile. He's absolutely adorable, and your heart does a little flip. “Max, it’s the afternoon.”

He shifts slightly, his eyes cracking open, revealing the warm, ocean blue that you've grown to love. He blinks a few times, as if trying to focus, and then a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face.

“Oh,” he says, his voice still husky, “did you sleep well?”

“I slept wonderfully,” you reply, your voice warm. “But I'm trapped.”

He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against your body. “Sorry,” he says, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“You’re not, though, are you?” you tease, your fingers playing with the soft hairs at his nape.

He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Nope. Not even a little bit.” He lifts his head to look at you, his expression turning serious, almost vulnerable. "Is it...is it okay? That I’m like this?”

You feel a wave of affection wash over you. “Okay? Max, it’s more than okay. It’s… nice.” You reach up and cup his cheek in your hand. "You're like a human weighted blanket."

He smiles, his eyes sparkling. "I'll take that as a compliment." He pauses, his gaze searching your face. "You’re not… uncomfortable, are you? I know I can be a bit much."

You lean in slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Never. You’re perfect.”

His smile widened, a genuine, beaming smile that always made your chest ache. “Good, now let’s go back to sleep,” he muttered, nuzzling his head back into your shoulder, his arms tightening around you again.

"Max!" You let out a small gasp, a laugh bubbling in your throat. "Didn't you say you planned something today?"

He buried his face in your hair. "We can push it back," he replied, his voice muffled. "This is much more important.”

You knew there was no winning this battle. Max was, as you had quickly discovered, a hopeless romantic and a very clingy sleeper – and a very clingy morning person. You sighed, a mock exasperation in your tone, but secretly you were thrilled.

“Okay, but we’re not staying here all day. I’m starving.”

He pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I can always order something, you know.”

“No, we’re getting up. I need to move.” You gave his arms a slight push, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp. He didn’t budge.

“Not yet,” he said, pulling you back into his chest. “Just a little bit longer.”

You sighed again, giving up the fight for now. “Fine, but you have to tell me what you were planning.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your ear. “I was thinking of taking you to that fancy museum restaurant you were talking about.”

Your eyes widened. “The one with all those modern sculptures?”

“The very same.”

“Max, that sounds amazing! And why are you only telling me now?”

He shrugged, an apologetic smile on his face. “I wanted it to be a surprise. But I guess I’m not very good at surprises.”

“You’re adorable, is what you are.” You leaned up and kissed him again, a lingering kiss that made your heart beat faster. “And yes, we are still going. But we absolutely need to get out of this bed first.”

“Fine, but I get one more kiss,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

You laughed, shaking your head, but you didn’t deny him his kiss. Several kisses, actually. It took a while, and some gentle, but firm, reminding him of the day ahead, but eventually, you managed to extricate yourself from his embrace.

Max, however, decided not to get up – at least not yet. He sat up in bed, watching you with those sparkling blue eyes as you started digging through your drawers for clothes.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said suddenly, his voice soft, earnest.

You paused, your hand hovering over a dress. You turned to him, a shy smile playing on your lips. “Thank you, but I’m sure I look like a mess.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t. You always look beautiful.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You’re sweet.”

He grinned. “I try.” He then stretched out, long and languid on the bed. “But seriously, you’re like a ray of sunshine in the morning, even if it’s the afternoon now.”

“And you’re like a big, fluffy bear,” you retorted.

He laughed. “A fluffy, clingy bear.”

“Very clingy.” You turned back to him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Are you going to get up, or are you planning on staying there all day?”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine, I will get up. But only because you’re making me.”

He finally pushed himself up, and you let out a laugh, the sound light and airy. It was the start of a beautiful day, a day that had begun with unexpected warmth and affection, a day that was a testament to the connection, the love, that you and Max shared.

And as you watched him stretch, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, you knew that this was just the beginning of many more mornings, and afternoons, spent together, in each other’s arms.

And you couldn't wait.

The cool, silken fabric of your dress glided against your skin as you adjusted your earring, the small diamonds catching the light. You knew the dress was a statement, a bold choice for a first date, but you felt confident, powerful even.

Max, you knew, would be waiting. He'd been pacing the apartment for the last hour, his anticipation palpable even through the closed bathroom door. You’d heard the rustle of his perfectly tailored tuxedo as he checked his reflection in the hall mirror, the soft hum he subconsciously made when he was nervous.

Taking a final glance at yourself, you decided you couldn't delay any longer. You pushed the door open and strutted into the living room, your heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

"How do I look?" you asked, your voice a playful purr, as you fastened the delicate clasp of your other earring.

Max, lounging on the sofa, swiveled around to face you. You watched as his eyes traveled down your form, taking in the low-cut neckline of your dress, the way it hugged your waist, and fell elegantly over your hips.

His mouth parted slightly, his usually composed demeanor shattering for a moment. "I-uh- You look- You look great," he stammered, his gaze lingering on your décolletage, a hint of color rising in his cheeks.

You laughed, a soft, knowing sound. "Yeah okay, let's keep our thoughts innocent," you said, shaking your head with a smirk. The way he looked at you, captivated and slightly flustered, was intoxicating.

He blinked, looking up to meet your eyes, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Right. Innocent. Of course," he replied, clearing his throat. He stood up and offered you his arm. “Shall we, then? Or are you going to make me stare at you all night.”

You slipped your arm through his, the fabric of his tuxedo jacket smooth beneath your fingertips. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it,” you teased, as you walked towards the door, his hand resting possessively on your lower back.

The ride to the museum was a symphony of nervous excitement bubbling beneath the surface of casual conversation. Max filled you in on the details of the museum, explaining that it was a private collection, hidden away from the public eye.

His enthusiasm was contagious, and you found yourself leaning closer to him, drawn in by his passion.

Arriving at the imposing, unmarked building, you were a little surprised. It looked more like a bank than a museum. As you walked inside, the cold, marble floors reflected the dim lights of the main hall.

You were greeted by a dapper older man in a dark suit who looked like the kind of man who wouldn't break a law, but would bend them if needed.

"Ah, Mr. Verstappen, pleasure to see you again," the man said, his voice a low rumble. "And you must be the delightful…." he trailed off expectantly, his eyes on you.

"This is…" Max started, placing his hand on the small of your back again, “This is… this is my companion for the night.” He gave you a brief smile, “This is Y/N.”

“Ah, wonderful, a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/N, Mr. Verstappen has exquisite taste I must say,” the man smiled. “I will leave you to your tour. Feel free to wander as you wish, and if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”

As the man left, you turned to Max, a small smile playing on your lips. "Exquisite taste? Really?" you teased.

He blushed, the tips of his ears turning a delightful shade of pink. "Well, I do, don't I? I mean, look at you," he said, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.

The museum was a treasure trove, the kind you could spend days exploring. Ancient artifacts, forgotten masterpieces, and strange, unexplainable objects filled the dimly lit rooms.

You walked hand in hand, Max pointing out his favorite pieces and telling you the stories behind them.

He was a wealth of knowledge, and you loved seeing his eyes light up with passion.

You can’t help but feel as though you’ve been transported to another world, a world where only the two of you exist.

"This is amazing, Max," you say, your voice soft. "I’ve never seen anything like it."

He turns to face you, and his gaze holds a warmth that makes your heart flutter. "I wanted to share it with you," he says, his voice a little lower than usual. “I knew you’d appreciate it.”

You smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling. The quiet intimacy of the museum feels perfect, a secret world built just for the two of you.

Eventually, the setting sun begins to cast long shadows across the museum, painting the walls in hues of orange and gold.

Max guides you toward the outer restaurant, a haven of modern elegance that contrasts sharply with the old-world charm you've just explored.

The restaurant's large windows offer a breathtaking view of the sunset, the sky ablaze with vibrant colors. You instinctively reach for your phone, wanting to capture the moment.

You start recording, the lens catching the fiery hues of the setting sun, the silhouettes of the surrounding landscape, and finally, you pan the camera towards Max, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches the sunset.

"Oh, sorry! Did I ruin the video?" he asks, his brow furrowed with worry.

You shake your head, laughing lightly. "No, Max, you made it better," you assure him, your gaze lingering on his face. “You just added the main attraction to the video.”

He grins, relieved. “Okay, good.”

The warm light of the sunset turns his eyes to crystal blue, and you can’t help but stare for a moment. You snap some photos of him, his features illuminated by the golden glow, his smile a captivating mixture of shyness and genuine joy.

After showing him the photos, you guide him on how to take pictures of you. He takes a few, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to capture the perfect angle, following your playful prompts.

You giggle when you see the final result - he's a natural.

"Okay, one for ourselves." Max suggests, pulling out his phone and extending his arm.

You lean into him, your cheek brushing against his, and take a selfie. You both glance at the picture, a visual record of the shared joy in your eyes.

The public wasn't ready for this relationship, not yet anyway. This moment, this happiness, was meant for just the two of you, a secret you guarded like one of the treasures hidden within the museum.

“This whole day has been amazing,” you say, tucking your phone away.

Max’s hand finds yours on the table, his touch sending a pleasant shiver through you. “It was perfect,” he says, his gaze locking with yours. “And it’s only just beginning.”

A playful grin spread across your face. "Good, because I need more pictures for when I have to soft-launch this relationship," you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

You watched his brow furrow slightly, a charming look of confusion that made you want to laugh.

"What's a soft-launch?" Max asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb caressing the back of your palm.

You tilted your head playfully. "Oh, you know," you drawled, "it's when you start dropping little hints, subtle clues that you might be seeing someone without explicitly saying it. Like posting a picture of a restaurant we went to, but not showing our faces. Or maybe a shot of your hand holding a wine glass, and mine is just barely in the frame. It's all very strategic," you added with a wink.

Max laughed, a low, resonant sound that made your stomach flip. “Strategic, huh? So, you’re already planning our big reveal, even before our first date is over?” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Well, a girl has to plan ahead,” you replied, your tone light but sincere. “This whole thing, with keeping it a secret for a while… it’s exciting, but it’s not sustainable forever, right? I think our friends are starting to suspect something."

Max took a moment to digest this, his gaze thoughtful. "I guess you're right," he said finally. "It's been nice, having this just for us. Like we have our own little secret world in the middle of all the chaos."

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, your fingers intertwining with his. “And when we do decide to tell everyone, we get to decide when and how. The soft-launch is just a little… prologue to the main event, I suppose.”

“I like the way you think,” Max said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “So, what kind of pictures are we going to take tonight to fuel the soft-launch?”

You giggled, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Well, seeing as we’re surrounded by so much beauty, I think we have a lot of choices. Maybe a silhouette against the city lights?” you suggested, turning your head to admire the twinkling skyline.

“Or perhaps a shot of our hands together, holding an ancient artifact? Something artsy and mysterious.”

Max’s smile widened. “I’m in. You’re the expert. But," he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I have one suggestion of my own.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Let’s take a picture of us kissing, in front of that ancient Egyptian mural. Something that screams passionate romance, but that we keep private, for now, just for us. Something for us to look back on when this is all public and we want to remember what it felt like when it was just us in our secret world.”

Your breath hitched. The idea was undeniably thrilling, a delicious secret between two people who were navigating a very public life. “That,” you whispered back, your heart thumping in your chest, “is a brilliant idea.”

And so, you spent the next little while taking seemingly innocuous pictures, careful not to give away the intimacy of your relationship, while knowing the picture you were both looking forward to was safely stored away on your phone.

You laughed, you whispered, you reveled in the space between you both. You were no longer just living in a secret, you were thriving in it.

You were a team, making tiny decisions on how you would slowly show yourselves to the world. It was a shared excitement that buzzed through you both.

As the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the museum’s terrace, you realised that the night had flown by. The museum, once an unfamiliar and grand space was now somehow warm and comforting.

It held the secrets of you and Max, a space where you both could be yourselves, a space that gave you both this intimate peace.

“I think,” Max said, his voice soft and contemplative, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between you, “that I’m going to enjoy this soft-launch process more than I thought. And,” he added, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat, “I’m really enjoying being able to share this with you.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Me too," you whispered, pulling back to gaze into his eyes. "More than you know."

As you walked back through the halls of the museum, hand in hand, you knew that this was only the beginning. Your relationship, like a rare and precious artifact, was just being unearthed, and you were both ready to share it with the world, in your own time, at your own pace.

The secret had been sweet, but the future, you suspected, was going to be even more extraordinary, a journey of love and discovery that you were both eager to embark on together.

And you had the perfect, secret picture to carry with you, a reminder of every moment leading up to this one. . . .

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

yourusername posted a story

★・・・★・・・★

maxverstappen1 just posted a story.

★・・・★・・・★

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄��▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

The harsh studio lights beat down on you, reflecting off the polished table separating you from the rest of the Formula 1 pack. You could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a scalpel.

The interviewer, a woman with a carefully constructed smile, had just asked you, "Y/N, do you think that Red Bull will finally win the constructors this week?"

The question hung in the air, a blatant attempt to ignite a feud between Red Bull and Ferrari, the two teams locked in a bitter battle for the championship.

Your heart hammered a bit faster, not from the pressure, but from the awareness of Max, sitting just a few feet away. He was your best-kept secret, your forbidden pleasure, and the man you were now forced to appear coldly professional towards.

"Well, looking at the data and the car," you began, your voice smooth and practiced, "I think there's a high percent chance to win it." You kept your gaze fixed firmly on the interviewer, the practiced calm of a seasoned driver radiating from you.

You refused to even glance in Max’s direction, knowing that a single flicker of recognition could expose your secret.

The interviewer, clearly disappointed by your diplomatic answer, quickly moved on to Charles and Carlos, peppering them with similar questions, their responses just as measured and professional.

You could feel Max's eyes on you, a warm weight on your skin, and the urge to meet his gaze was almost overwhelming. You focused instead on your fingernails, the glossy paint a small anchor in a sea of chaos.

The questions kept coming, each one designed to stir up controversy, to extract a juicy headline. They asked about car development, track strategies, and the pressure of the championship, and you answered them all with the same practiced detachment.

You had learned to compartmentalize, to separate your personal life from the brutal honesty of the racing world. It was how you kept your relationship with Max safe, a delicate balance between public rivalry and private passion.

During a short break, you reach for your water bottle, the plastic crinkling loudly in the sudden silence. You feel a slight brush against your hand, and your eyes flick down to see one of Max’s discarded pens.

He's watching you from the corner of his eye, a small, playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You want to laugh, to reach out and touch him, but you simply pick up the pen and gave it back to him, your face a mask of indifference.

The interview continued, and you found yourself becoming numb to the constant probing. You noticed in your periphery that Max has started to subtly moved closer to yours, an inch at a time.

You almost smiled at his audacity, his need for you, but you kept your composure. The interviewer, sensing the subtle shift, tries to steer the conversation towards the relationship between teammates.

"Y/N, you've been battling Max neck and neck all season. What's it like, being such a close rival?"

Your mind raced. You couldn’t tell them the truth – that you and Max had been battling not only on the track, but in your own hearts, trying to reconcile the demands of the sport with your growing affection for each other.

You settled on a careful, albeit vague response.

"It's a challenge," you said, your voice measured, "we push each other, and that's ultimately good for both of us." You felt Max's gaze intensify, and you finally allowed yourself a brief, almost imperceptible glance in his direction.

He was watching you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

The questions continued for another agonizing thirty minutes, and you began to feel like a puppet, your words carefully chosen, your emotions buried deep beneath the surface.

"Y/N, two more question. What's your prediction for this weekend’s race?"

Max looked at you, his eyes sparkling with an unspoken challenge. You knew what he wanted, the thrill of the race, the sheer audacity of hoping to beat him on the track.

He wanted you to openly admit, within the confines of your professional persona that you were coming for him. You almost laughed at the audacity of that situation.

You straightened your back, a confident smile playing on your lips. "I intend to win," you said, your gaze unwavering.

It was a statement of intention, a promise to yourself and a silent acknowledgment of the silent game you were playing with Max, the push and pull of your hidden romance.

A low chuckle rumbled from beside you. You could feel Max’s amusement, his thrill at your audacity. It was a reaction you understood well, a kind of shared language only you two could speak.

“Okay, and the last question,” the interviewer continued, a glint in their eye, “how does it feel, this being your last race in Red Bull, since Perez is still registered to race next year?”

The words landed like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. Your face fell, a flicker of surprise and hurt momentarily taking over.

You hadn't discussed it with Christian, not officially, not in a way that would solidify your position within the team. You had been focusing on the race, the chance to prove yourself, to earn your place. You hadn't wanted to think about the possibility of leaving, not yet.

The interviewer had gotten the reaction they wanted, the crack in your otherwise impenetrable facade.

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile back onto your face. “Well, depending on my performance this week, you might be seeing me more often,” you joked, trying to keep the lightness in your tone.

The interviewer, however, looked unconvinced. The air still felt heavy with the question.

The interview wrapped up shortly after, leaving you feeling like you’d just completed a grueling qualifying session. The lights were still too bright, the tension still too thick.

You wanted to escape, to find a corner where you could just breathe.

“You okay?” Max’s voice was low, his hand brushing against your arm as you stood up. It was a fleeting contact, a whisper of affection in public, but it was enough to send a shiver through you.

“Yeah… just a bit blindsided by that last question,” you admitted. You moved away from the cameras, walking towards the quieter corner of the room. He followed, always the gravity to your orbit.

You both found solace in the small, closed off corner, the noise of the media room fading into a dull murmur.

“You said you wanted to win,” Max stated, his voice laced with the teasing note you’d grown so fond of. “You confident, are you?”

You leaned against the wall, folding your arms. “I always am, Max.” You met his gaze, the unspoken connection between you bubbling to the surface.

“Even against me?” He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you.

“Especially against you,” you whispered, the words laced with a secret challenge.

He chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that always made your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he said, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous light. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The conversation shifted, as it always did, away from the public eye and into the realm of your carefully guarded private world. “Did you see Christian after the qualifying? He was in a mood. I think they expect something big from both of us this weekend,” You began, trying to shift the focus away from the news.

Max let his hand graze your arm again, a fleeting touch that sent a wave of warmth through you. "I did," He took a cautious look around the corner before continuing, "He seemed very uneased which is very unusual for our boss."

You both shared a silent laugh, the understanding of your complicated situation binding you closer.

"I'm going to see Christian now," you said determined for your future in Red Bull.

The studio lights were harsh, reflecting off the polished table separating Christian Horner from Toto Wolff. It felt like a battlefield, not a talk show set.

Christian shifted in his seat, a forced smile plastered on his face, while Toto, ever the picture of composed elegance, offered a curt nod. Sky Sports, in their infinite wisdom, had decided this was good television – pitting the two most dominant, and arguably most antagonistic, team principals against each other for a season-review segment.

"Hello, this is Sky Sports, and I'm with Toto Wolff, the team principal of Mercedes, and Christian Horner, team principal of Red Bull," Steve Jones announced cheerfully, oblivious to the simmering tension.

"Red Bull is currently leading in the constructors, and Max has already secured the drivers' championship. Mercedes is third, but if they perform exceptionally well this last weekend, they could potentially snatch the constructors from Red Bull and Ferrari."

Christian bit back a sarcastic comment about the ‘exceptionally well’ part, focusing on the fact that Ferrari was also in the mix. They were here to be subjected to a parade of carefully selected clips from the season – highlights, lowlights, and everything in between.

It was a cruel exercise in reliving the year’s triumphs and tribulations, especially when shared with the man who had been his constant nemesis.

The first clip flickered onto the screen, a montage of Max Verstappen's dominant wins. Christian couldn't help but smile genuinely.

It had been a phenomenal season for Red Bull, a testament to the hard work and dedication of his entire team.

"Max really has been on another level this year, Christian," the interviewer prompted.

"He has," Christian replied, his gaze flickering towards Toto, who remained impassive. "The whole team has worked tirelessly. It's been a well-deserved championship." He made a point of subtly emphasizing “well-deserved”.

The next clip was a Mercedes pit stop blunder, a chaotic few seconds that cost them valuable time during a race early in the season. Toto’s jaw tightened slightly, though his expression remained remarkably controlled.

“Toto, that looks like a pit stop you’d rather forget,” Steve said, a hint of mischievousness in his tone.

“These things happen in racing,” Toto said, his voice cool, “It’s a complex sport, and mistakes are inevitable. We learn from them and move forward.” His tone suggested the conversation was closed. Christian, however, was far from finished.

"Indeed," Christian said, leaning forward slightly, "though, some mistakes seem more… recurring than others." He offered a polite, but undeniably pointed, smile. Toto's eyes narrowed, a barely perceptible flicker of anger behind the carefully crafted facade.

The clips continued – a Red Bull mechanical failure, a heated moment from a team radio message, a Mercedes podium celebration following a rare victory.

Each clip served as a new opportunity to poke, prod, and subtly undermine the other.

The show was nearing the end when a clip of Christian celebrating a win showed up. He was laughing heartily, his arm around Max, a picture of pure elation.

“You seem genuinely happy there, Christian,” Steve said.

“We had a good day. There have been many good days this year,” Christian said. He glanced at Toto who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

“And you Toto, how does it feel to watch your rival celebrate?” Steve asked, clearly trying to stir up some drama.

“It’s part of sports,” Toto said diplomatically, “They were good this year. We will be ready next year.”

They were both masters at this game, the subtle jabs masked by polite smiles and carefully worded platitudes. Christian had to admire Toto's coolness, even if he hated the man.

The segment continued, a carefully curated dance of veiled antagonism, going over their season highs and lows, the victories and the defeats. Until the screen flashed a video clip, a stark shift in tone.

It was from the press conference, just hours ago, the forced cheerfulness replaced by a raw vulnerability.

The interviewer's voice cut through, "Okay, and the last question," he continued, a glint in their eye, “how does it feel, this being your last race in Red Bull, since Perez is still registered to race next year?”

The camera zoomed in on Y/N's face, her smile faltering for just a moment, betraying the hurt she was clearly trying to hide.

She took a deep breath, forcing the smile back onto her face, the lightness in her tone almost too practiced, "Well, depending on my performance this week, you might be seeing me more often," she joked, trying to keep the lightness in her tone, though a hint of steel was there too.

The clip ended there. It had been a great final race, one of her best which made the question all the more hurtful.

Christian felt a pang of guilt, watching Y/N's forced smile. He knew why she looked mad. He still had to make an important decision, a decision that was tearing at him.

Perez was the seasoned veteran with consistency, but Y/N, the rookie with speed and an audacity that lit up the track, was a force to be reckoned with.

Toto, ever the opportunist, decided to strike. A wide grin spread across his face, the kind that made Christian want to punch him.

"Oh Christian, you're letting go of Y/N, right? Perfect! I'm sure George will be happy about finding his new teammate," he purred, his eyes gleaming with a calculated malice.

It was a low blow, and Christian knew it. Everyone knew Lewis was having a bad season, but to suggest so openly that they would kick him out for a great rookie, was cruel.

He knew that would get to Christian and it did.

“Wow, so now you want both of my drivers? That’s called being greedy,” Christian shot back, his own placid demeanor cracking under the pressure.

He had been perfectly happy with Toto's veiled insults but this was too far. He was coming for his drivers.

"Just stating the obvious," Toto simply replied, giving a small shrug. It was a blatant attempt to unsettle him, to make him doubt his own decision. And it was working.

“You’re forgetting there’s another driver in Mercedes,” Christian retorted, forcing a chuckle, “are you ready to throw your champion out?”

“He will be back, do not worry, just like you’re going to stick with Perez next year,” Toto said, his tone oozing with a false sympathy. “Let me tell you, you will regret not having Y/N, that girl will be a champion one day.”

He looked straight at Christian. “When she wins, don’t come crawling back to us to get her.”

"Who said I'm letting her go? She's already a big part of Red Bull's family and it's going to take a lot for her to go away," Christian said, his voice now raised.

Toto smiled at him. “Excuses, excuses. I’ll make sure to add you to my speech of how you helped her at the start,” he said with a sly smile.

Christian gave the mic to a staff member before leaving with Y/N. They walked in comfortable silence, the noise of the paddock fading away with each step.

She knew Christian was waiting for her to say something, to make a decision, but she wanted to process everything in her own space, away from the prying eyes and endless negotiations.

As they entered his office, a space that reflected his organized yet focused persona, Y/N finally broke the silence.

“An hour, Christian?” she said, her voice still carrying a hint of amusement. “Really? You couldn’t have wrapped it up in 30 minutes?”

Christian chuckled, leaning back against his desk. “I was enjoying baiting Toto. You have to admit, he takes the bait every single time.”

“I think you both enjoyed it far too much,” Y/N retorted. “You know that whole scene is a performance, right?”

“Of course it is,” he said, his eyes meeting hers, “But it’s an important performance. We need to show the world why Red Bull is the best option.”

“And what about what I want?” she asked. “Is that considered?”

Y/N didn't hesitate. The words were out before she could even fully form them in her mind. "I want to stay in Red Bull," she stated, the statement ringing with conviction.

There was no room for doubt or second-guessing. Despite the allure of Mercedes and the challenge of a new environment, her heart was firmly rooted here.

Christian raised an eyebrow, a small smile returning to his lips, a mixture of surprise and relief flashing through his features. “Are you sure?” he asked, the question almost rhetorical.

“Yep,” she replied, her voice firm, a genuine smile finally breaking through her earlier tension. The relief was palpable, washing over her in a warm wave. A decision, finally, made.

Christian nodded, a satisfied expression settling on his face. “Okay, I'll see what I can do. You will know by the end of this week,” he said, his tone indicating the discussion was over and he was moving onto the next item on his never-ending list of tasks.

He settled back into his chair, turning his attention to the paperwork strewn across his desk.

You lingered for a moment, your mind buzzing. You had spoken your truth, laid your cards on the table. Now, it was a waiting game.

You made your way out of the office, heading back to the garage.

Max was there, his engineer deep in discussion with him, the usual debrief in full swing. He caught sight of you and gave you a quick, almost imperceptible nod, a subtle change in his expression indicating he knew something was up.

You two might be discreet in public, but you had an understanding, a silent language spoken between two people who shared so much, not just a team, but a life.

Later, back at your hotel room, after both had showered and changed, you finally found the words to break the silence that had settled between you.

"I spoke to Christian," you said, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Max as he paced in front of the window.

He turned, his blue eyes meeting hers, a flicker of something akin to anxiety in your depths.

"And?" he asked, the single word laden with questions.

"I told him I want to stay," you stated simply, watching his reaction carefully.

The tension that had been coiled within him seemed to unwind, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. A small smile played on his lips as he walked over and sat next to you.

"Good," he whispered, taking you hand in his.

"Good?" you echoed, tilting your head, your eyebrow arched in amusement. "That's it?"

Max chuckled, squeezing your hand. “What else is there to say? I’m glad,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I want you here.”

"I know," you replied, your own smile widening.

"This whole thing has been... annoying," Max admitted, his usual confident swagger replaced by a flicker of vulnerability. "It's not like you're not good, you're amazing, I don't want you to leave, but I also don't want you to feel like you have to stay. It has to be your choice, not because of me."

You understood. He had been walking a tightrope, wanting you to stay, desperately, but also knowing it had to be you decision, not influenced by your relationship or the pressure of the team.

“I know, Max,” you said, squeezing his hand back. “It’s my choice. And I choose to be here.”

"Then that's all that matters," he replied, pulling you into a hug, burying his face in your hair.

You stayed like that for a while, the silence comfortable, a shared understanding passing between you two. You were both drivers, both driven, but together, you were something more. . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The roar of the crowd is a physical force, vibrating through your bones, through the very air you breathe. It's a familiar sensation, one you've learned to both crave and ignore. Today, though, it feels different.

More…intense. This isn't just another qualifying session; this is it. The final showdown, the battle for pole position. You're in the cockpit, strapped in, the familiar scent of fuel and hot rubber filling your senses.

Your hands grip the wheel, knuckles white, the leather warm against your skin. This is your domain. You are one with the machine, a perfect symbiosis of human and engineering.

Your eyes flick to the timing screen. Okay, you’re P2 heading into this final run. Your teammate is some distance back. Max's name glares at you from the top spot, a bright, taunting beacon. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

He's fast, no doubt about that, the fastest today in fact – but you're not about to let him take it without a fight, especially not when you know you have the pace.

Especially when you want to make him work for it.

You take a deep breath, the tension in your chest a knot you need to unravel. ‘Ok y/n just focus,’ Joseph, a calm voice amidst the chaos, crackles over your headset. ‘Tyres are warmed, engine temp okay. Let’s go show them.’

You acknowledge with a nod, although he can't see it, and grip the wheel tighter. The green light snaps on, and you’re away, the car launching forward with a brutal, exhilarating surge of power.

The first corner is a dance of precision, every input deliberate, every movement calculated. You apex perfectly, feeling the tyres bite into the asphalt. The G-force presses you into your seat, a heavy hand forcing you to stay locked in.

You’ve been working hard to perfect that corner all weekend. This is your track, you know every bump, every camber change. You’ve poured every ounce of your energy into this run.

You shift up through the gears, the engine screaming behind you like a furious beast. You throw the car into the next chicane, the tyres protesting with a high-pitched squeal, but you're in control, a masterful conductor of speed and precision.

The car feels alive beneath you, surging forward in a symphony of mechanics.

You push, and push harder, daring to go right to the limit, every inch, every hundredth of a second, matters now. You see the sector times flashing on your steering wheel. Purple. Purple. Purple.

A surge of adrenaline floods your veins, a heady mix of excitement and focus. You’re on a flyer, everything is falling perfectly into place.

You navigate through the hairpin, the car teetering on the edge, the slightest misstep and you could be in the wall. You dance with the car, balancing it on a knife's edge. And you nail it.

As you accelerate out, your eyes flick to the timing screen again. You're on course, right there, on pace with Max. The final sector is your strength, the fast, flowing curves where the car is allowed to breathe.

You push the car to its absolute limit as you begin to glide through the section, each corner a blur of colour and speed. You flow through the corners effortlessly.

You power out of the final corner, pushing the pedal to the floor, the engine roaring in protest. You feel the car give its all, vibrating as if it could explode under the pressure. You shoot across the finish line, the car shuddering to a stop.

The pit wall explodes in chatter. Your engineer's voice rings loud in your ears. ‘Y/N, that was incredible!’.

And it was. You can feel it.

You take a deep breath, hands still gripping the wheel, waiting for your final time to register. It appears on your steering wheel. Your jaw drops. You've done it! But then… your heart sinks a little.

You’re in second. Max has gone faster. By just a fraction.

You plastered a fake smile on your face, attempting to engage with the journalists.

You answered their questions with practiced ease, praising the team, thanking the sponsors, and saying you tried your best, before rushing into the Red Bull building, desperate to escape.

After your debriefing, you retreated to your drivers’ room, locking the door behind you. 

You didn’t want to see anyone, especially not Max. You felt like a failure. You thought that, today, you would beat him in qualifying, and it was just not happening, no matter what you do. 

A soft knock echoed through the room, and instinctively, you knew who was on the other side. “Y/N?” Max’s voice filtered through the door, a gentle rumble that was usually enough to make your heart flutter. 

Now, it just felt like another layer of pressure. He knew you too well. 

“Go away, Max,” you called out, your voice surprisingly rough. 

You didn’t want to talk, not right now. Especially to him. Not in this state. 

“No,” he replied simply. That was the thing about Max. Once he wanted something, or to talk to someone, he was persistent. 

Usually, you loved him for that. Today, however, it just made you feel more irritated. 

“Please, just leave me alone,” you said, your voice laced with that irritation. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.” He knocked again; this time, the sound had a gentleness to it, almost pleading. “I just want to talk to you.” 

You sighed, leaning your head back against the door. “What is there to talk about, Max? You won, I lost. Again. You’re better than me, end of story.” The words were sharp, laced with the bitterness of disappointment. 

A moment of silence passed before Max spoke again, “That’s not true, and you know it. Qualifying is just one part of the weekend. I know you pushed. I could see it.” 

You scoffed softly to yourself, “Oh really? Could you ‘see it’ from pole position?” 

“Don’t be like that, Y/N. I know you’re upset, but I’m not trying to rub it in. I’m here because I care about you.” He let out an audible sigh and you heard him lean against the door. “Can we just talk?” 

You knew you should just open the door, you wanted to open the door. He was your boyfriend after all, even if it was a secret to the rest of the paddock. 

But that just made it worse. You knew that you could be vulnerable with him, but the constant competition and him being better was just eating you alive. 

“No, Max. I don’t want to talk.” You could hear the plea in your own voice. 

“So you’re going to stay locked in there? You need to get some rest, we have the race tomorrow,” he said with a sigh. You could hear the worry in his voice. 

“I will. Just not now.” 

“Fine.” His voice was low now, defeated. “But I’m not going far. If you need anything, I’ll be here.” 

You heard his footsteps walk away, and you felt a pang of guilt with his tone and words. You didn’t want to hurt him or make him feel as if he was the reason you were upset. He was the one of the reasons you were okay. 

You sighed once more and got up to open the door. You knew that if you let this linger, it will keep eating at you, and with the race tomorrow, you wanted to feel better. 

You softly opened the door and his eyes met yours instantly. He hadn’t gone far after all. Standing there in his racing suit, and his hair slightly messed up, he looked more handsome than ever. 

You knew, deep down as you looked at him, that even though the competition was difficult, what you had with him was worth it. 

“Hey.” You said softly, and in an instance, he had stepped between the doorway and pulled you into a hug. 

“Hey,” he whispered back, his face buried into your hair. “I’m sorry you feel this way. You were amazing today.” He pulled back slightly to look at you straight, his blue eyes concerned. “And I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” 

You shook your head gently and snuggled into his chest again, “I know, Its just… I wanted to beat you today.” 

He let out a soft chuckle and pulled you into the room, shutting the door behind you. “I know that too.” 

“It’s just… this competition… it’s relentless,” you admitted, finally letting your guard down.  

He held you tighter and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. “I know. But you have to remember why you do it.” 

You shrugged. “I don’t even know anymore. Maybe I’m just not good enough.” 

He quickly pulled back and raised his eyebrow. “Don’t you ever say that. You’re incredibly talented, Y/N. The best in the paddock. Even better than me.” He smiled gently at you. “We both know I just got lucky today.” 

You looked up at him, not believing his words. He knew you well and he knew that you always doubted yourself. “Sure.” You said, rolling your eyes jokingly. 

“I’m serious, you know? You have so much potential. And to be honest, I love the competition with you. It makes me better.” He took your hands and looked at you dead in the eye. “And you will beat me one day. I know it.” 

You smiled, feeling the tension ease away. “You really think so?” 

“I do.” He grinned and squeezed your hands. “Now, how about we get some food and just relax before the race tomorrow?” 

A smile spread across your face. “I like the idea.” 

He kissed you softly, and you forgot, for a brief moment, the pressure of the competition, the frustration of losing. All that faded away with the touch of his lips.

As you pulled away, you knew, deep down, that as much as you desired to be on the top step, the most important thing was what you had with Max and that was something more special than winning. 

You would never give that up. And you knew, as you looked into his eyes, that you would indeed beat him one day.

But until then, you were happy to just try. Together. 

You followed Max out of your room, towards your shared space, and you knew, that as long as he was by your side, you could face anything. Your competition, with him and against the rest of the grid, would push you. 

But your love for Max would make you stronger. . . .  

The roar of the crowd is a distant hum, a low thrumming against the frantic rhythm of your pulse. You grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, the leather slick against your palms.

The air in the cockpit is thick with anticipation, the scent of burning rubber and high-octane fuel a heady, almost intoxicating mix. The red lights above the start line blaze, each one a hammer blow against your already strained nerves.

You’re acutely aware of the weight of the moment - the last race of the season, the last race of your career if you don't pull this off.

“Lights out and away we go!” David Croft's voice explodes through your headset, a sudden, almost jarring jolt. You react instinctively, your foot slamming down on the accelerator, the car lunging forward like a caged beast freed.

The world becomes a blur of color and motion. You’re in second, to your left, is the crimson and navy blur of his car. Max.

The first few laps are a brutal ballet of speed and precision. You weave through the pack, battling for position, your heart pounding against your ribs. There's a crash behind you, the sickening sound of tearing metal and screeching tires.

The safety car is deployed, bunching the cars together, a brief lull in the chaos. You exhale deep, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

The safety car pulls in, and the green flag flies again. The race explodes back into life. Max accelerates, pulling away slightly. Your eyes narrow. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.

This isn't just about the race anymore; it's about proving something to yourself, to everyone who ever doubted you. And maybe, just maybe, to him.

You push your car, inching closer, taking every corner with calculated risk. You can feel the heat radiating from your engine, the vibrations of the tires screaming against the asphalt.

You’re glued to Max’s rear wing, calculating every move, searching for an opening, a single mistake that might give you the edge.

The laps tick by, each one a grueling test of your skill, your endurance, your will. You’re breathing hard, sweat stinging your eyes, your muscles aching.

You’re pushing yourself beyond the limit, chasing the tail of his Red Bull, the finish line growing closer with every agonizing lap.

You see an opportunity on the next corner, the perfect turn, the perfect braking point, the perfect chance. It’s a risky move, one that could easily send you spinning into the wall if you miscalculate.

But you have to try. This is it.

You lock your brakes, your tires screaming in protest, and cut to his inside, your car lunging forward. Your heart is in your throat, the world narrowing to the car in front of you and the sliver of asphalt you're now occupying.

You’re neck-and-neck, your wheels inches apart, the air thick with the tension.

There's a moment of pure, raw speed, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You are pushing yourself and your car to the max. This is it; the final corner, in the final lap, of the race, before the end of your career

You hear Joseph’s voice, sharp and urgent, “Y/N, be careful!” He knows the risk you’re taking.

You don’t reply, your focus laser-sharp. You keep your foot on the gas, your knuckles white as bone, and then, you do it. You’re ahead, the nose of your car inches into first place, the finish line a blur of colors and emotions.

You cross the line, the world exploding in cheers and the deafening roar of the crowd. You’ve done it. You've won.

Your mind struggles to catch up. You barely register the immense relief that washes over you, the adrenaline still flooding your body. You glance to your right and through the fence you see a sign being held aloft.

Your team.

And it reads, just as you hoped, ‘Y/N P1, Max P2, and Constructors' Champions.’ The confirmation you’ve been longing for, the culmination of a season of dedication and teamwork.

You pull into the pit lane, your heart pounding, your hands shaking. As you unbuckle your helmet, you can barely believe what you’ve just accomplished. You and Max were the champions. You’ve won it.

You run, not walk, to the pit wall, your team is already celebrating. Christian stands proudly in front of the crowd, and as you reach him, his face breaks into a fatherly grin.

You embrace him tightly, a hug that holds more than just victory—it’s a lifetime of shared dreams and unwavering support.

"You did it, kid," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "You absolutely did it."

You pull back, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “We did it, Christian,” you correct, “All of us.”

He chuckles, a warm, rumbling sound. “Aye, we did. You just went and made sure of it, didn't you?"

The crowd is chanting your name now, a rhythmic wave of sound that washes over you. You want to soak it all in, every single second of it.

As the celebrations continue, you scan the crowd, your eyes searching for a familiar face. Max.

Max approaches you, his eyes wide with a mix of admiration and disbelief. He pulls you into a tight hug, his body trembling against yours.

“You were incredible,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Absolutely incredible.”

"It was a wild one," you say, still catching your breath. He pulls away slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his eyes searching yours.

“You scared me, Y/N. That move was…insane.” There's a mixture of concern and affection in his expression.

“I had to,” you say, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. “I wasn’t going to let you get away with it.”

“I know,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “You never do.” He leans in, his lips a breath away from yours, the tension suddenly building between you in this very public space.

The air crackles with unspoken tension, a magnetic pull that draws you closer. The roar of the crowd recedes further, replaced by the roaring in your own ears. You want to kiss him so badly, to taste the victory on his lips and share this moment of triumph.

But you know, with a sharp pang of reality, that thousands of cameras are trained on you. The world is watching. Your private romance is anything but.

As if on cue, the team swarms around you, a joyous cacophony of cheers and backslaps.

They engulf you and Max, creating a human shield, obscuring you from prying eyes. It’s a coordinated effort, a protective circle forming around you two.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” they chant, their voices a chorus of encouragement. The sudden change is disorienting, the privacy you had for a moment now replaced with raucous enthusiasm.

Your heart hammers in your chest, a mixture of nerves and excitement flaring through you. You glance at Max, who is looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He raises an eyebrow, a silent question passing between you.

You take a deep breath, knowing he reads your every expression. The world might be watching, but the only opinion that matters right now is Max’s. You nod once, a small, decisive motion.

With a grin that could light up the entire paddock, he leans back in for what feels like the longest kiss of your life. There is no hesitation, no reservation as your lips finally meet. It tastes of victory and relief, the culmination of weeks of tension and pressure.

His hands move from your face to clutch the back of your neck, as if to pull you deeper. The kiss is everything you imagined, fierce and tender, a perfect blend.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. The team is in uproar, cheering as if you’ve just won another race.

He nuzzles his face within the crook of your neck, his voice a low murmur, "Well, that was something."

You giggle, the tension finally starting to ease out of your body, "I think we just gave them a show."

"They've been wanting it for a while though," You can hear the grin in his voice.

The team started to separate, a sign that the interviewers would be waiting for you both. You subtly pulled away from Max, the silent agreement to continue with the charade still in place.

Nobody could know, not yet anyway. Max headed off first, giving you a small wink before disappearing into the waiting crowd. You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips.

He was such a tease.

Your time came soon after, you took a deep breath and smoothed down your fire suit and walked out into the fray.

The cameras flashed, the voices of the interviewers assaulted you, but you kept your smile plastered and your answers as vague as you could manage.

The interviewer, a woman with a microphone the size of your fist, was already beside you, her bright smile a stark contrast to the sweat clinging to your brow.

"Absolutely incredible race, you just won the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix," she began, her tone a blend of excitement and professional poise. "How does it feel to finish the season with such a monumental victory?"

You managed a grin, the corners of your mouth stretching tight with the effort. "Honestly," you breathed, your voice still raspy from exertion, "it feels incredible. It's been a short season for me yet a tough season, and to end it like this… it's just… wow."

“You seemed to really pull it through in the last part of the race, what was going through your mind when your closest competitor was right behind you?” she asked.

“I was just trying to stay focused, that’s all.” You responded, smiling.

The questions kept coming, but you were well versed in keeping the conversation on the racing and not on you.

You knew you couldn't slip, not out here, not yet.

"So has there been an official talk about next year? Will you be replacing Perez, or going to a different team?" the interviewer asked, a knowing grin plastered across his face.

You were waiting for this one, the inevitable question that skirted the edge of your secret.

"Yeah, there has been, but I'd rather not say until the announcement is made. Red Bull is my family after all," you stated, your tone light, casual, but your inner voice was screaming.

The truth was more intricate, more nuanced, than any simple team transfer. Your future wasn't just about a car or a team; it was inextricably linked to a man.

The interview moved on, finally deeming you squeezed dry of any revealing information.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you make your way to the cool down room. It's a sanctuary, a place where the pressure of the race can begin to dissipate before the long night of media duties and debriefing.

The door slides open, revealing Max and Charles already settled on the plush sofas, their eyes glued to the monitor on the wall. The race replay is unfolding, a ghost of the events that just transpired.

"There you are," Charles says, tilting his head in acknowledgment as you enter. He offers a small, genuine smile, one that reaches his eyes. "Congratulations, you were absolute dynamite out there."

"Thank you," you reply, settling onto the empty sofa opposite them. Your gaze slides towards Max. He's watching the screen intently, his jaw clenched slightly, a telltale sign of the intensity that still lingers.

You know him so well. You see the pride swimming beneath the surface, the subtle tightening of his shoulders. It’s a different kind of pride than if you were someone he saw as a rival.

It’s the pride of someone who loves you.

"Insane drive,” Max finally says, turning his attention to you, a genuine grin spreading across his face. “You were untouchable.”

"Thanks,” you say, your heart doing a little flip-flop at the way he's looking at you, a mix of admiration and something deeper, something only you would recognize.

It’s a look that makes the exhaustion start to fade, the adrenaline beginning to settle into a warm comfortable thrum. “It wasn’t easy though.”

The replay on the screen has reached the crucial point in the race, where you made that daring overtake, the move that sealed your victory.

Re-watching it now, it still takes your breath away, the sheer audacity of it all.

"That move," Charles murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief, "I still can't believe you pulled that off."

"Calculated risk," you say, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"You’re sure it wasn’t just blind luck?” Charles laughs, and you roll your eyes playfully. “It really was amazing though, you were on fire all weekend."

"Maybe both," you say, turning serious for a moment, “I’ve been working real hard this whole season to be able to do those kind of moves.”

Max shifts his position slightly, leaning back on the couch. His eyes meet yours once more, and a silent understanding passes between you.

In that brief, unspoken moment, you feel a wash of comfort, a sense of belonging that comes from sharing a secret with someone you love.

The knowledge that he sees you, truly sees you, is almost a greater reward than the victory itself.

The room settles into a comfortable quiet as the race unfolds on the screen, the commentary filling the space. The tension from the track begins to release, replaced by a quiet camaraderie.

You steal glances at Max, the easy familiarity between you like a warm blanket on a cold night. It’s always like this when the two of you are around Charles.

You’re both relaxed, and while you are not displaying it, there is a clear feeling of warmth between you. It’s the kind of relaxed feeling that you’re sure Charles can’t help but notice.

"So," Charles says, breaking the silence, his gaze moving between you and Max, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Big celebrations tonight? Champagne showers?"

You laugh, a genuine laugh that echoes in the quiet room, "Probably, if the team has anything to say about it."

Max snorts, a sound of quiet amusement, "They usually do."

"I know what I'm going to do," Charles continues, his eyes twinkling, "I'm going to party until tomorrow."

"I could say the same," you said. “We’ve got celebrate the whole night."

The end of the race replay starts to come to a close, and Max shifts his attention from the screen to you, his lips twitching into a teasing smile.

"So, who’s going to make the drinks for the post-race party tonight? Surely the race winner has to."

"I'm sure there's someone more talented than me in that department," you say, your eyes meeting his challenge, a playful energy dancing between you. "I’m sure that you will do a better job."

“Oh I’m sure I will,” Max says, standing up and offering you his hand to help you to your feet, “but the champion needs to practice being a gracious host.”

You accept his hand and let him pull you up, a smile playing on your lips. Your touch sent a rush of excitement through your body, a silent signal that always passed between the two of you.

The walk to the podium felt like wading through a dream. The air crackled with energy, a symphony of cheers, whistles, and camera flashes. You saw the podium ahead, three steps waiting for their occupants.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, building the anticipation. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! For third place, representing Ferrari, please welcome Charles Leclerc!”

The crowd erupted as Charles, with his signature charming grin, stepped onto the lowest tier. He waved to the masses, his eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and good-natured defeat.

Then, it was Max’s turn. “In second place, representing Red Bull Racing, your champion, the one and only Max Verstappen!” The roar intensified, a wave of orange crashing through the air. Max, ever stoic, offered a small nod of acknowledgment before taking his place.

He caught your eye, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and gave you a quick wink. Your heart skipped a beat.

Finally, the announcer's voice reached its crescendo, "And now, for the winner of the final race in first place… Y/N L/N!!" You could barely hear your name being yelled over the collective scream of joy.

You felt a surge of adrenaline, a second wind fueled by the sheer adoration of the crowd. You took a deep breath, a smile stretching across your face, and stepped onto the top step of the podium.

The bright lights felt hot against your skin, but you barely noticed. You raised your arms in victory, taking in the magnificent sight of thousands of people cheering for you. It truly was magic. The national anthem started and you felt a beautiful sense of pride fill your heart. 

The champagne bottles were popped, and the podium was engulfed in a spray of bubbly liquid. You laughed, brushing the droplets from your hair, your eyes meeting Max’s across the small space.

After what felt like an eternity, the podium celebrations came to an end. You were being ushered towards the press area when you felt a hand grasp your arm.

You turned to see Max, his eyes a mix of impatience and amusement.

“Meet me in my room later,” he whispered, his voice low.

You nodded, a warm sensation spreading through your chest. “I’ll be there,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The rest of the evening was a blur of questions, flashing cameras, and polite smiles. You answered the questions with practiced ease, your mind drifting back to the quiet intensity in Max’s eyes.

The constant chatter of journalists faded into background noise as you yearned for the peace of your garage and the promise of Max’s company.

Finally, the interviews were over. You could feel the exhaustion pulling you down, but a surge of anticipation kept you moving. You quickly made your way back to the garage, the place where you felt most at peace when you weren’t on the racetrack.

You found the door slightly ajar and with a gentle push, you entered the dimly lit space.

He sat on the small, worn sofa, his head tilted back against the cushion, eyes closed. You paused just inside the doorway, watching him. He looked relaxed, the tension that always seemed to coil within him seemingly absent.

He looked, in that moment, utterly vulnerable.

You cleared your throat softly, and his eyes snapped open, focusing on you with an intensity that always managed to make your breath catch.

"You're here," he said, his voice a low murmur, a hint of relief coloring his words. He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners.

You walked towards him, the silence between you comfortable and intimate. You sat down beside him on the sofa, the worn leather yielding to your weight.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, content in the quiet intimacy of the space.

Then, Max reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand, sending another warm shiver through you. He laced his fingers with yours, the contact both grounding and electrifying.

“You were incredible out there today,” he said, his gaze locked on your eyes, his thumb stroking the back of your hand.

A flush of pleasure warmed your cheeks. "So were you," you countered, a smile playing on your lips. "You were pushing hard."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that always made your heart skip a beat. "Someone had to try and keep it interesting," he teased, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief. “But you stole the show, as usual.”

You glanced down at your interlocked hands, a surge of emotion flooding your chest. Despite the public persona, the competitive edge, there was a tenderness in him, a vulnerability that only you seemed to see.

It was a side of him that you cherished, that you protected fiercely.

He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear again, just like it had been before the interviews.

“I have to admit,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, “I’m really glad you won today. It means I finally get you all to myself. No more cameras or journalists.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, the warmth spreading through your entire body. He could always make you feel this way, with just a few softly spoken words.

You leaned in closer, mirroring his movement. “You know, it’s funny,” you said, your voice barely a breath. “I thought I was coming here to celebrate the win. But all I really wanted, was just to be here with you.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “You mean that?” he asked softly, the playful teasing gone.

You nodded, the honesty in your heart plain for him to see. “Always.”

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was resting against his shoulder. The comfortable silence descended once more, this time even more intimate than before.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

A small, almost hesitant smile touched his lips, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a touch so tender it sent a jolt of warmth through you.

He kissed the top of your head, his touch feather-light, and a small contented sigh escaped your lips.

“God, I’ve missed this,” you murmured into his shoulder, the tension finally leaving your body.

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated against you. "Missed what?" he teased, his voice a smooth caress.

You pressed closer to him, nuzzling your face into the warmth of his neck. "This," you whispered, "just... this."

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was resting against his shoulder. The comfortable silence descended once more, this time even more intimate than before.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, grounding you, reminding you that you were real, that this was real.

He pressed a small kiss to the top of your hair before shifting slightly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

You could feel his shy smile curve against your neck as he peppered small kisses there, each one sending a fresh wave of warmth through you. You turned your head slightly, offering him more access to your damp skin.

The shyness in his touch was endearing, a stark contrast to the confident racer the world saw. It was this side of him, only for you, that made your heart swell.

"We're going to party so hard," Max muttered, his voice a low purr against your skin. "We deserve it."

You chuckled softly, the sound muffled against his neck. “We absolutely do," you agreed. "I think I can finally feel all the tension leaving my body. I was so nervous before the race, I was practically buzzing.”

The roar of the crowd was still a tangible thing, vibrating under your skin and making your heart thump like a hummingbird's wings. The confetti, a glittering storm of victory, tickled your face.

You held the trophy aloft, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of the moment, the weight a solid reassurance of the triumph you had just achieved.

"3.. 2.. 1..!" the team admin's voice boomed, cutting through the din. Then, the collective roar, a joyous, guttural yell that vibrated in your bones.

Champagne erupted, the sweet, sharp tang filling the air, soaking into your racing suit, adding another layer of sensation to the already overwhelming experience.

Max, standing beside you, mirrored your pose, his own trophy gleaming under the stadium lights. He caught your eye, a familiar warmth flickering in his gaze before he offered a wide, celebratory grin to the cameras.

You both knew the drill. Hold the trophies high, look ecstatic, spray the champagne, and be the perfect picture of sporting camaraderie.

The flash of cameras punctuated the moment, capturing the manufactured joy. Smiling until your cheeks ached, you followed Max’s lead, swigging from the bottle and spraying the effervescent liquid with abandon.

Later, the team announced the location for the after-party. Not the usual quiet bar, but a nightclub big enough to hold the entire grid. A place that promised a night of uninhibited celebration.

A genuine space for everyone to let loose.

As exciting as the prospect was, you found yourself craving a moment of quiet before the storm. You caught Max's eye across the throng, a silent understanding passing between you.

He offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, a promise of sanctuary. You both made your excuses to the team, promising to meet them at the club later.

The short drive back to the hotel was filled with a comfortable silence, the earlier adrenaline slowly giving way to a calm satisfaction. In your shared room, the relief was palpable.

You kicked off your shoes, your clothes feeling suddenly cumbersome.

"That was… something," you said, your voice husky.

Max chuckled, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “Something is an understatement. You were incredible.”

His eyes, so often serious and focused on the track, held a warmth that always made your stomach flip. “But yeah, shower?”

“Definitely shower,” you agreed, already peeling off your clothes.

The hot water was a balm to your tired muscles, washing away the grime and stress of the race. As you stood under the cascading water, you couldn't help but smile.

You’d won, you’d done it, and you had him, waiting for you on the other side.

When you finally emerged, a towel wrapped around you, Max was dressed, looking utterly devastating in a simple black top and trousers. His hair, still damp from his own shower, was styled just so.

And then, the detail that made your heart skip a beat - a silver chain nestled against his collarbone.

"Wow," you breathed, unable to stop staring. "The chain. You actually wore it."

He smirked, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. "After some serious persuasion," he admitted, a playful edge to his voice. "You look good, too," he added, his gaze lingering on you.

"I figured it was only fair," you said, heading to your suitcase and pulling out an identical black dress, pairing it with tailored black heels.

Max watched you as you changed, a silent appreciation in his gaze that made you blush. Getting dressed was always easier when he was in front of you, admiring you openly.

You had fallen for him hard, and the private world you shared, hidden from the prying eyes of the racing world, made your love feel all the more precious.

Downstairs, Max's car was already waiting. The short drive to the club was filled with a sweet anticipation. The bass from the music vibrated through the car, a promise of the chaos to come, but also a reminder of the secret you both shared.

The nightclub was even more enormous than you’d imagined, pulsating with strobe lights and the throb of electronic music. The air crackled with energy as drivers, team personnel, and their plus-ones mingled on the dance floor.

You spotted your friends already in the thick of the party, their faces flushed with excitement.

Max took your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a low murmur against the noise of the club.

You squeezed his hand. "As I'll ever be," you said, a thrill coursing through you.

The night unravelled in a blur of music, laughter, and celebration. You danced with your teammates, you toasted with the other drivers, but always, your eyes sought out Max.

His presence was a constant anchor amidst the chaos. You occasionally met his gaze, a shared smile, a silent communication that spoke volumes.

You were laughing at something Sarah had said, her arm slung on your arm, when suddenly you felt a familiar heat against your back.

Max’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The soft press of his chest against your back sent a jolt through you, a spark that had nothing to do with the strobe lights.

“You know you can drink as much as you want, it’s your party and I’m driving,” he murmured into your ear, his breath sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. “Are you sure you can handle me?” you teased, turning to face him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief under the club lights. “I’m pretty sure I can handle anything you throw at me.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Especially a race winner who’s celebrating a season well-won.”

You could feel your cheeks flush. Even after months of stolen moments, his gaze still had the ability to make your heart race.

You leaned against him, enjoying the feel of his arms around you as he talked to some people from his team. You knew he was the leader, the one everyone looked to.

He was charismatic, a natural in front of the camera, but here, in the soft light of this lounge, you saw a different man.

A man who was quieter, more thoughtful, more…yours.

"Hey, you," a voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned to see Sarah, her bright pink dress a stark contrast to Max’s dark suit.

She was already holding a bottle of champagne, and you knew that look in her eyes – it was a look that promised a night of unadulterated fun. "You just made history! We need to celebrate properly."

You laughed, "Sarah, I think I've had enough champagne to last me a lifetime."

"Nonsense," she scoffed, already popping the cork. "Tonight, we drink like champions! And I have a feeling you're not going to be the only ones celebrating, there is a certain someone celebrating on the sidelines." She threw a playful glance at Max, who chuckled.

"Go on," Max murmured, leaning against the lounge’s velvet wall, "Have some fun. I'll be here." He winked, that flash of playful mischief again.

You knew he wasn't genuinely worried, he knew how close you and Sarah were. He also knew how much you deserved to let loose after the pressure of the season.

You allowed yourself to be pulled away by Sarah, laughing as she poured you another glass. "To the future legend," she declared, clinking her glass against yours. "And to finally kicking that season into the dust."

The rest of the night was a blur. You drank, you danced, you laughed until your sides ached. You and Sarah traded recent stories, some old, some new, some best left untold. You talked about the season, your favorite moments, the times you almost gave up.

Hours later, the room had thinned out. You were sitting on a plush velvet sofa, your head resting on Sarah's shoulder, both of you giggling over some ridiculous inside joke.

You were definitely drunk, your thoughts a little fuzzy, your speech a little slurred.

"You are the best," you mumbled, nuzzling closer to Sarah. "Best friend ever."

"And you are the best driver, ever," she replied, squeezing your hand. "You deserve all of this."

A shadow fell over you. You looked up and saw Max, his expression a mixture of amusement and mild concern. “Okay, ladies, I think it's time to wrap it up. You’ve both had enough excitement for one night."

You blinked up at him, your vision a little blurry. "But…but we were having fun," you protested, your words slurring.

He chuckled, kneeling down beside you. "I know, schat, but tomorrow is going to be a long day. Remember how bad your hangover gets?".

“Oh, right,” you mumbled.

"Come here," Max said softly, helping you to your feet. His touch was gentle, steady, a stark contrast to the chaos that had begun to swirl in your head.

Sarah was grinning, a knowing look in her eyes. "Alright, love birds," she teased, "I think I'm going to grab a taxi home. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you," you mumbled, leaning heavily on Max.

He nodded at Sarah, then guided you out of the lounge and towards the back exit. Your head was spinning, the alcohol making the world tilt precariously.

But when Max's arms were around you, you felt a sense of calm settle in your chest.

As you stumbled into the cool night air, you felt his hand slip into yours. You squeezed it tightly, grateful for the warmth and the strength he exuded.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yeah," you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Just a little…fuzzy."

He chuckled, pulling you closer. "I figured. You and Sarah were having quite the party."

"She's the best," you said, a small smile playing on your lips. "You know, she’s like...my sister."

"I know," he replied softly. "And I'm glad you have her."

The silence that followed was comfortable, the quiet hum of the city surrounding you. You walked hand in hand to his car, the cool night air slowly beginning to clear your head.

Once inside the car, the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminated his face. You looked at him, really looked at him, and a wave of affection washed over you.

Even after all the champagne, all the laughter, all the chaos, he was still the most beautiful person you had ever known.

“Thank you, Max,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “For…for everything.”

He smiled, a soft, gentle smile that melted your heart. “You don't have to thank me. You earned this. All of it.”

He started the car, and as it rolled out of the parking lot, you leaned back against the headrest, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. The city lights blurred into a vibrant streak of colors as he drove.

You knew in that moment, as Max drove you home, that the victory was so much more than a trophy, it was the moment you knew you had someone who would always be there to celebrate the highs and navigate you through the lows.

He led you towards a small, unmarked door, the entrance to a private elevator used for discreet entrances. Inside, the metal walls reflected your image back at you: flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a victorious but tired smile.

But it was Max who held your attention. He stood beside you, his presence filling the small space. He was too damn hot. The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins. But it now mixed with a different kind of energy, a desire that was making your face flush with heat.

You could feel your body temperature rising, a warm sensation spreading from your chest to your face and beyond.

You stared at him, your heart hammering against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed the earlier roar of the race.

He shifted slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and you knew he felt it too—the silent tension that crackled between you.

“You’re staring,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you.

“Am I?” You asked, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out breathy.

He took a step closer, his body almost touching yours. “Yes. Like you want to eat me.” His eyes held a playful glint, but there was something else there too, something hungry.

“Maybe a little," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. You felt your cheeks burn redder. “You’re just…well, you’re very distracting right now.”

He grinned, a slow, sensual smile that sent another wave of heat through you. “Distracting? Is that a problem?”

“It could be,” you said, your gaze dropping to his lips, imagining the feeling of him kissing you.

The elevator doors slid open, and for a brief moment, you forgot where you were. It was just you and him, two hearts beating in time, wanting so much more.

He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Let’s not worry about it here,” he whispered, pulling you out of the elevator and into the dim hallway. “There are better places to be distracted.”

He led you towards the suite, the luxurious space a far cry from the sterile atmosphere of the paddock. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamps creating a sensual ambiance.

He closed the door behind you, the soft click sounding like a promise.

The weight of secrecy lifts subtly, a permission granted to be solely yourselves. You turn to face him, your heart hammering in your chest, his eyes are dark, pupils dilated, mirroring the intensity you’re feeling.

He steps closer, his body heat radiating towards you, and the tension in the air thickens like honey.

“You were incredible today,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Absolutely incredible.”

"So were you," you admit, your voice barely a whisper, though you know he didn't place as high as you.

The humility in his eyes when he came to congratulate you was endearing, your victory was as much his as it was yours.

He leans in, his eyes locking onto yours, and your breath hitches in your throat. It's not just the victory, or the adrenaline, it’s the pull, the magnetic force between you that has always been there, simmering beneath the surface of stolen glances and whispered conversations, now unleashed.

His lips brush against yours, a featherlight touch that makes you tremble, and then they are on yours, a heated claim, a silent demand for more.

The kiss isn't gentle – it's urgent, hungry, fueled by the pent-up desire you’ve both held captive for too long. Your hands find their way into his soft hair, tugging gently as you deepen the kiss, not caring about being careful.

You can taste the champagne on his tongue, the lingering sweetness mixing with the heat of your passion. His hands roam, finding the bare skin of your arms, sending shivers down your spine as they trace the curves of your body.

He nibbles on your lower lip, a playful bite that makes you moan, and the sound is like music to his ears, a melody that only he is privy to within the four walls of this room.

There is a heavy breathing against your neck and you match him in rhythm.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes filled with a desire that ignites a fire within you. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he murmurs, his voice husky with want.

“Me too,” you admit, the words a breathless sigh against his lips.

He moves then, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body. The wall, cold against your back, makes the heat of his body feel even more intense.

He braces his arm above your head, trapping you with his gaze, his eyes dark and intense. You tangle your fingers in his hair again, pulling him closer for another heated kiss.

He tugs at your dress, his touch sending sparks along your skin, and you reciprocate, your fingers finding the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head. He breaks the kiss and begins kissing down your neck, his teeth gently grazing your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Your head falls back against the wall and you gasp quietly as his hands explore your body, mapping the curves and valleys of your skin with a practiced intimacy.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear, his hands leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You’ve seen him at his worst, sweat-soaked and frustrated after a bad race, and at his best, confident and triumphant. But here, in the privacy of this room, he’s simply Max – yours.

He pulls away just enough so he can look at you. His eyes roam your face, taking you in, and there’s a raw hunger in his gaze. He leans back in, his body pressing against yours.

His legs went between yours and you moaned, the sound catching in your throat.

“Max,” you whisper, your voice husky and low, your hands reaching for him, pulling him closer to the wanting ache that had been begging for release ever since the race had ended.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your nails scoring the skin. “Please,” you beg, needing his touch, craving the shared release that only came when you were both wrapped up in each other.

He hesitated, his body still as he moved his hands down, cupping your face between them. “You’re drunk,” he says, his voice a low rumble. It’s not a question, but an observation, a gentle reminder that you’re not entirely in control right now.

The words break through the fog of champagne and adrenaline a little, and you realize he's right. You were a little tipsy, the victory buzz mixing with the after-party atmosphere had left you wanting, but hazy.

You reach up, your hands capturing his against your face. “I am,” you admit, your fingertips tracing the lines of his face, the roughness of his stubble. “But I still want you. So much.”

The intensity in his gaze deepens, and for a moment, it's almost frightening. He wanted this too, you could feel it in every fiber of his being. He steps back, his hands releasing your face, his eyes now searching.

“We can’t,” he stated, his voice firm but laced with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “You are still drunk and I want you to be sober when we do it.”

“Please,” you repeated shamelessly, your leg moving instinctively, humping against his. The brazenness you wouldn’t usually allow yourself felt entirely natural in this moment.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Don't worry schat," Max muttered, his eyes sparkling with that familiar glint, "I can please you in other ways."

With surprising ease, he scooped you up in his arms, his strength a comforting reassurance. You let out a small yelp of surprise, but quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face against his warm skin, inhaling the scent of him.

The room spun for a moment, but with Max holding you tightly, you felt grounded, safe. . . .

The harsh, fluorescent light of your bathroom felt particularly cruel this morning, mocking the throbbing in your skull. Last night’s celebratory party – or, more accurately, the aftermath of that party – was a monster you were still wrestling with. You squinted at your reflection; dark circles underscored your eyes, your hair was a tangled mess, and the faint smell of stale champagne clung to you like a persistent ex. Today was the day. The day you found out if you'd be back for another season on the racing circuit. The weight of it settled in your stomach, heavy and cold, a stark contrast to the residual warmth from the alcohol.

And then there was Max.

He was currently draped over you like a particularly affectionate koala, his arm a dead weight across your back as you tried, and failed, to tame your unruly hair. “Don’t go,” he mumbled into your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “Stay here.”

You sighed, a sound that was half-exasperation, half-affection. “Max,” you said, your voice still rough from sleep, “I have to, you know, function. Or at least try to.”

He shifted, nuzzling his face further into your neck, his grip tightening. “But you smell so good,” he purred, his voice thick with a morning-after huskiness that always made your heart do a little flip. “And you’re warm.”

“You smell like a brewery and I’m probably radiating regret,” you retorted, finally managing to wrestle yourself free enough to reach for your toothbrush. You squeezed a generous dollop of toothpaste onto the bristles. “Besides, I have an appointment.”

"Oh," he said, his earlier playfulness dissipating, replaced by a hint of anxiety. "The... the thing?"

You nodded, your mouth full of toothpaste. The ‘thing’ was the dreaded meeting with team management. It wasn't just a formality; it was the culmination of your season, the final judgment on whether they saw potential in you, or if your time with the team was over.

You rinsed your mouth and turned back to face him, leaning against the sink. He looked like a lost puppy, his usually vibrant blue eyes clouded with concern. "It'll be okay, Max. Either way, it'll be over."

He frowned, pushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. "But... you're amazing, you know? You're the best. They'd be stupid not to keep you."

You knew he meant it, his unwavering belief in your talent always a comforting constant in your life. It was one of the reasons why you'd fallen so hard for him, the hidden depths behind his public persona. “You’re biased,” you said, managing a small smile. "And thank you. For everything."

He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, his touch reassuring. "I just... I don't want to see you upset. Not today."

You rested your head against his chest, inhaling his familiar scent of engine oil and a hint of expensive cologne. It was a comforting chaos, a reminder of the world you both occupied, a world of adrenaline and speed and relentless competition.

"Then wish me luck," you murmured, pulling away. "And maybe make some coffee while I get dressed?"

He grinned, the anxiety momentarily banished. "Coffee? Coming right up. Anything for the best damn driver I know."

The drive to the team headquarters felt like entering a pressure cooker. Every street sign, every red light, felt like a countdown, each second ticking away towards either elation or heartbreak.

You parked the car, the engine ticking in protest as it cooled. Taking a deep breath, you smoothed your clothes, trying to project an air of calm you didn’t feel. You walked through the familiar halls of the headquarters, the silence amplifying the nervous flutter in your stomach. Each step felt heavier than the last.

You reached the conference room, the door standing ominously closed. You paused, your hand hovering over the handle. There was no going back now. Taking another deep breath, you turned the handle and went in.

Helmut Marko was already seated at the long table, his expression unreadable. You sat down, your back ramrod straight, trying not to fidget. He offered a curt nod, his eyes, however, didn't meet yours.

“So,” he began, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Let’s get straight to it.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

He spent the next twenty minutes discussing your performance throughout the season. He highlighted your strengths, acknowledged your weaknesses, and spoke in a monotone that offered no hint of his final verdict. He referenced stats and figures, each word further tightening the knot in your stomach. You listened, nodding occasionally, your mind racing, trying to decipher his cryptic language.

Finally, he stopped, the silence that followed almost deafening. He looked at you, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his eyes. “So, here it is.”

You held your breath, your heart thudding in your ears.

"We have decided... to offer you a seat for next season."

The relief that washed over you was so intense, it almost made your knees buckle. You let out a breath, a quiet, almost disbelieving sound. “Really?” you managed to say, your voice a little shaky.

He nodded, a rare, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your potential is undeniable. There are things to work on, but we believe you have what it takes.”

You felt a grin spread across your face, a genuine, unadulterated smile of pure joy. “Thank you,” you said, your voice overflowing with gratitude. “Thank you so much.”

The rest of the meeting was a blur of contract details and future plans. You nodded, agreed, and signed, your mind still reeling with the good news. You practically floated out of the room, the weight that had burdened you for so long finally lifted.

You pulled out your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed a message to Max. "I got it!"

His reply was instantaneous. “Finally! You had me worried. I’m buying you pizza to celebrate tonight!”

And just like that, the world seemed brighter, the hangover a distant memory. You made your way back to the car, a smile playing on your lips, the prospect of seeing Max again filling you with a warmth that had nothing to do with celebratory drinks and everything to do with love. You couldn't wait.

The soft glow of dawn hadn't quite conquered the darkness yet, but it was enough to paint the room in a gentle, hazy light. You stirred, a slow, languid stretch rippling through your body. A warm weight pressed against your back, a familiar comfort. Max.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the gentle heat emanating from his body, and it was the most perfect thing to wake up to on Christmas morning.

You turned carefully, mindful not to disturb him, and faced the man whose presence had transformed your life in the most wonderful way. His dark hair was tousled against the pillow, a stray strand falling across his forehead. His face, usually animated with laughter, was placid in sleep, a peacefulness that tugged at your heart. He looked younger, somehow, more vulnerable, and you couldn't resist the urge to reach out and trace the line of his jaw with your fingers.

Your touch must have been more than the softest feather, because his eyelids fluttered open, revealing sleep-hazed brown eyes. He looked at you, the corners of his mouth curving upwards into a sleepy smile that made your stomach flip.

"Merry Christmas," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Merry Christmas," you whispered back, your voice equally soft, "Did I wake you?"

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours, "Just the perfect way to wake up." He reached for you, pulling you closer, and you settled against him with a contented sigh.

"We should probably get up," you said after a moment, even though all you really wanted to do was stay tangled in his arms forever, "Presents, remember?"

"Presents can wait," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, full of warmth and affection, a silent promise of all the love you shared. You kissed him back, your hands cupping his face, savoring the moment, the feeling of his lips on yours.

When you finally broke apart, you were both slightly breathless. You managed a small laugh, a nervous flutter in your chest. "Okay, presents it is then." You reluctantly pulled away, the cool air hitting your bare skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you’d just known in his embrace.

You both padded barefoot into the hallway, the scent of pine needles and cinnamon from the Christmas tree in the living room filling the air. It was the first Christmas in your shared home, a landmark you’d both been looking forward to with a mixture of giddy excitement and nervous apprehension. Would it be as magical as you’d both hoped? So far, it was proving to be even more enchanting.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, its branches laden with shimmering ornaments, each one a tiny reflection of the light, and of the love you’d built together. There was a small pile of beautifully wrapped presents under the tree, each carefully chosen and thoughtfully placed.

You both stood there for a moment, just taking it in, the magic of the day settling around you like a warm blanket.

"This is...perfect," you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Max slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side, "It is, isn't it?" he said, his voice full of tenderness.

You both sat down on the rug, your legs touching, the warmth of his body a comforting anchor. You began to carefully unwrap the presents, each one a small gesture of love and understanding. He gave you a soft, cashmere scarf in your favorite shade of blue, a leather-bound journal with a quote from your favorite author engraved on the first page, and a delicate necklace with a tiny silver charm of a star.

You, in return, gifted him a vintage record player he’d always talked about wanting, several new records by his favorite artists, and a handmade, knitted beanie in his favorite colour. You'd spent hours carefully making it, a labor of love that you'd hoped he would appreciate.

He pulled it out of the box, his eyes widening as he instantly recognised what it was. "You actually knitted this?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and delight.

You nodded, a shy smile playing on your lips, "I did. I hope you like it."

He pulled you closer and kissed you again, a long, lingering kiss that spoke more than words ever could, "Like it? I absolutely love it. Thank you," he whispered. You snuggled into his arms, a sense of contentment washing over you.

"I'm starving," Max said after a few minutes, pulling away and ruffling your hair playfully. "What do you say we actually make some breakfast instead of only giving gifts?"

"Sounds perfect," you replied, getting to your feet. You followed him into the kitchen, the familiar sounds of clanging pans and sizzling bacon filling the air.

While he cooked, you poured the orange juice, the two of you working side by side, a comfortable rhythm developing between you. You felt a sense of belonging, of home, in this shared space, in this shared life.

As you ate breakfast, the morning light streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the floor. You looked at Max across the table, his face lit up by that signature smile, and you felt a rush of love so deep it almost took your breath away.

"This is the best Christmas," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you, his eyes twinkling with happiness.

"It is," he echoed, reaching across the table for your hand, his fingers lacing through yours, "And it's just the beginning."

You squeezed his hand, his words sending a shiver of excitement through you. You knew that this was just the start of your journey together, a journey filled with love, laughter, and the soft comfort of shared moments like this.

This first Christmas with Max, in your shared home, was a beautiful promise of the magic to come. And you knew, without a doubt, that you were exactly where you were meant to be. . . .

maxverstappen1 just posted.

liked by yourusername, lando, and others

maxverstappen1 It's been a year, a full revolution around the sun, since I first fell head over heels for you. A year of laughter, whispered secrets, and building a world together, a world that feels so uniquely ours. And yet, despite this beautiful year, there's still one mystery that eludes me: what exactly is a "hard launch?" Happy birthday, schat. Thinking back to this day last year, it makes my heart swell to remember I was so bold as to ask if I could be yours. To be invited into your amazing world, to share life with such a remarkable woman – that's been the greatest gift. Happy birthday again, and yes, for those who might be wondering, I am dating Y/N, and she's everything I had never imagined wanting and so much more.

comments have been limited

yourusername just posted.

liked by yourusername, lando, and others

yourusername Another year older, and this one feels extra special! It's my birthday, and I'm beyond lucky to be celebrating it alongside our first anniversary. Max, this past year with you has been more incredible than I could have ever dreamed. Every moment, every laugh, every shared experience has meant the world to me. You make life an adventure, and I’ve loved every second of it. Feeling so grateful for today and for you. Here's to many more birthdays and anniversaries together! 💙

comments have been limited

[gyaruhana]

hiii i have a request for gwinam ^_^ - maybe something when he is walking in the school after being bitten and he finds reader, who is a ver shy & overvall cutesy person, and gwinam has had a crush on her for a very long timee ,, maybe him founding her leading to a confession and then it gets spicy ??

take ur time !! 🎀 (dont mind it if u take the request and turn it into headcanons, i know u are just writing like that rn :33)

Yoon Gwi-Nam - Shy!reader (detailed) headcannons

Synopsis: gwinam with a shy reader (me core)..

A/N: i love him so much he will return in season two trust !! this is not proof read for the record..

Warnings: smut content, it's yoon gwinam (actually he's sort of soft i'm ngl)

➠ Gwinam very much felt like God given his current situation. He was bitten by zombies after Cheongsan had the guts to both gouge his eye out and push him off the bookcase into the hoard of zombies but Gwinam had survived. He was convinced that it was destiny. That he was given the gift of immunity so he could carry out what he believed to be his sole purpose: revenge on Cheongsan.

➠ At least, that was what he had believed to be his reason for surviving. Until he caught a very familiar scent. Being bitten by zombies had given him enhanced strength, enhanced vision- enhanced everything really. But it most importantly gave him an amazing sense of smell. He could smell the light, lingering scent of perfume and he knew exactly who it belonged to.

➠ You. Pretty and adorable you. Far before the apocalypse had occurred, he had formed a crush on you. You were shy and there was something so endearing about your nervous behavior that had him desperate for you. He was very aware of the fact that his feelings may not be reciprocated because, well, he was the total opposite of you and quite violent but now, with every other student being living corpses and no one for you to turn to, it's only logical you'd depend on him, right?

➠ A smirk settled on his face at the idea of having you utterly dependent on him. Now, he had two reasons for survival. One: Kill Cheongsan, and two: have you all to himself. With your scent clouding all his senses, he pushed Cheongsan to the back of his mind and set out to find which classroom you must be hiding in. He was sure that if he swooped in like a knight in shining armor, you'd immediately fall in love with him and live a sweet happy ever after.

➠ When he stumbled across the room you were hiding in, he came face to face with a very scared you. He could hear how fast your heart was racing and you quiet sniffles - a clear indicator you were (or at least had been) crying. The sound of your fear drove him mad for all the wrong reasons. He had already promised himself to never let anything happen to your sweet and innocent face so you could stay happy and that promise especially applied to the current problem.

➠ Without another word, he slammed the door open and walked in, an action that made you flinch as you quickly stood up. You had assumed a zombie had somehow forced it's way in but, when you looked at the source, you couldn't exactly tell. He didn't look like a rotting corpse but there was a lot of blood on him that gave you the feeling he wasn't exactly human either.

➠ He shut the door behind him to ensure no zombie could follow after him and eat your pretty flesh. After all, he didn't want you to die now that he found you. You'd be useless as a zombie and he'd rather not have to leave your rotting corpse behind.

➠ "What's wrong? You look a little scared," he spoke with a slight smirk. He found your fear slightly amusing now since he knew you'd absolutely be fine with him around to protect you. He'd be damned if he let you die in this hell hole.

➠ The surprise on your face when he finally talked was enough to make him laugh. He found your evident confusion amusing and he watched your eyes look him up and down several times as you assessed his condition.

➠ As if realizing he looked less than decent, he quickly raised a hand and wiped the blood around his mouth away and onto the sleeve of the white jacket he had stolen. He wasn't trying to scare you away from him, just scare you toward him but the blood on his face certainly wouldn't help him at all.

➠ "W-what happened to you..?" You questioned nervously as you made no move to get closer. He didn't want to be entirely honest because he could only assume you'd run if you realized he had already been bitten several times. It'd be better to lie to you for now so he could get close to you and make sure you don't escape him.

➠ "Nothing. Just got in a fight with another student," he responds as he slowly starts walking closer to you. Of course, you seemed skeptical of his words but he wasn't lying - he was just hiding certain parts of the story.

➠ It was quiet for a few seconds before you seemed to relax in his presence, believing his slight lie. He was slightly taken aback when you immediately walked over to him and pulled his face down to investigate his injury. The way your eyes scanned over his wounded eye made him feel something very new. A different warm feeling in his heart.

➠ "I don't really know much about health and injuries but maybe your eye could get infected if you don't treat it soon," you speak with a sheepish smile before pulling back a little. Your genuine concern for him was so adorable given what type of person was. He definitely didn't deserve your kindness but he took it anyway because he was greedy for you.

➠ "There might be a medkit in here," you speak as you make a move to turn away to search the room. Gwinam doesn't let you get far though and quickly grabs your hand to pull you back. "It's fine, it doesn't hurt or anything. I'm used to it," he speaks as he looks down at your concerned face.

➠ God, you were the cutest thing to him. Your big eyes, you're pretty eyelashes, the way your lips were in a slight pout because you were oh so concerned for him. Not to mention how you were noticeably smaller than him. God, every inch of you was perfect - utterly adorable.

➠ "Are you sure?" You ask curiously and he smirked as a thought crossed his mind at your words. "Well, there is one issue," he spoke as he looked down at you. Of course, your curiosity was peaked so you immediately questioned what the issue was - hoping to help him fix it.

➠ "I lied when I said it doesn't hurt. It does. I think I need someone to kiss it better," he says, his smirk only growing wider. His words pushed you into a stunned silence before you looked away and awkwardly smiled with a slight blush. Your reaction to his words only fueled his confidence as he pushed you to do it.

➠ Miraculously, he had actually managed to convince you despite how shy you seemed about the whole situation. He watched as you stood on your tippy toes and leaned closer. It was an adorable sight, watching you try reach up to give him a quick kiss. He couldn't stop the smile that spread on his face just like he couldn't stop himself from pressing his lips to yours.

➠ To ensure you didn't try pull away, he placed a hand on the back of your head to keep you close as he kissed you. You didn't reciprocate the kiss at first and he knew he'd have to coax you into it. He knew you were probably freaking out internally and far too shy to return his forward action.

➠ After what was a very long kiss, he pulled away with a smirk before licking his lips. "You're so tense. It's just me. Unless.. you don't want to kiss me?" he says teasingly. He can see the look on your face and, god, he'd love to still have his phone right about now so he could take a photo and capture it forever.

➠ If you were being honest with yourself, you weren't exactly against the kiss. You had seen him around school before the outbreak and you had heard of his tendency to bully students but you felt so drawn towards him. You couldn't help yourself - especially when he made it a point to stare at you from afar or brush his hand against yours when walking past in the hallway. He had really wormed his way into your heart.

➠ He stayed quiet for a few moments, letting you process what just happened before he leaned down and kissed you again. This time you reciprocated, more in tune with how you felt, and he was a little too pleased about that. He couldn't help himself when he started to kiss you with more passion before pulling away and trailing messy kisses down your neck and throat.

➠ It didn't take long before he had his cock inside you, pounding away at you with a bundle of grunts and groans leaving his mouth. He had you pressed against the wall, his hands on your thighs as he held you up and fucked his cock up into you. You felt so perfect around him - like you were made for his cock and it was driving him crazy.

➠ Every cry and moan and whimper that escaped your mouth drove him to use more force. He wanted you to cum on his cock. He wanted to fill you with his own cum too. He wanted to claim you and keep you as his forever. Not like you had anywhere else to go, Gwinam had decided that nobody would have you like this except for him. He'd be the only one allowed near you - allowed access to your perfect, tight hole.

➠ As he neared closer to the edge of what was sure to be his best release, he opted for a new position. He quickly moved you to the floor and pinned you down before practically folding you in half and thrusting fast and hard once again.

➠ The new position helped him to reach even deeper and he could feel your walls tighten around him, a clear sign you'd cum all over his cock soon. God, he couldn't wait to watch you come undone. He wanted to make you scream even if it caused every zombie within the school to run towards the classroom. Not like they could lay a finger on you anyway. He'd be damned if he let some corpse kill you now when he finally got his dick wet with your cum.

➠ The moment you do cum, he's cumming with you and neither of you were quiet about it. You both let out a loud moan as he continued to thrust inside of you as he orgasmed. "You're so fucking tight, fuck!" Gwinam cursed out as his thrusts slowed before eventually coming to a stop. He made no move to pull out though, wanting to make sure his seed stays inside of you.

➠ The classroom went quiet as the only sounds were the heavy breaths of both you and Gwinam. He had never felt so amazing in his life and now he knew for sure you were perfect for him.

─── "I'm never letting you go, you hear? I'm going to fuck your tight hole everyday now and make you my pretty doll,"

[evnseokz]

꒰ ☆ cologne ~ s.es ꒱

pairing: bf! eunseok x f. reader

contents: p in v, unprotected sex (don’t), established relationship, insecurity, vulnerability, eunseok is whipped, soft dom eunseok, praise, pet name baby, kissing, light choking

this is loosely based off the song cologne by beabadoobee

a.n: been working on this for days trying to get it exactly how i envisioned originally and i think im finally happy with it! w.c: 1.5k

MINORS DNI

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“seok, am i attractive?”

your voice was soft, almost tentative, as it cut through the stillness of the room. the only light came in from the faint glow of a street lamp outside, filtering through the curtains and casting pale streaks across the bed.

eunseoks fingers, which had been lazily tracing invisible patterns on your bare arm, stilled for a moment. then they resumed, this time slower, more deliberate, like he was thinking through your question as he moved.

“what kind of question is that?” he asked quietly, his tone laced with warmth, though his brow furrowed slightly.

“its a simple one,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest. “yes or no.”

he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath your cheek. “you think a question like that can be answered with a yes or no?”

“maybe,” you said, your voice light but tinged with uncertainty. you shifted slightly, your fingers toying with the hem of the blanket covering you two. “i guess i just… want to know what you see when you look at me.”

eunseok didn't answer right away. his hand moved from your arm to your shoulder, his thumb brushing your skin in slow, soothing circles. you closed your eyes, inhaling deeply, catching the faint scent of his cologne—warm and musky with a hint of citrus, something that lingered on the sheets and in the air around him. it was comforting, familiar, and entirely him.

“baby, you’re beautiful,” he said, breaking the silence, his voice steady and sure. “you’re beautiful in a way that’s not just about how you look, though that's definitely part of it. its the way you smile when you’re trying not to laugh at your own jokes or how your face lights up when you talk about something you love.”

you tilted your head slightly to look up at him, your eyes searching his face. “thats… sweet, but it's not really any answer,” you said, though your cheeks had already warmed at his words.

eunseok smiled, his fingers gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “fine. you want the short version?”

you nodded.

“yes, you’re attractive,” he said simply, his voice firm. “you’re stunning, y/n. i mean it. you make it hard to think sometimes, and trust me, i’ve tried to act normal around you.”

your lips parted slightly, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart caught somewhere between disbelief and something deeper. the scent of his cologne seemed even stronger now, grounding you, making the moment feel even more real.

your heart raced as you shifted closer to him, the desire to have his lips on your skin suddenly burning through you. it was overwhelming, almost consuming, the kind of need you didn't know you could feel so strongly until now. the weight of the blanket draped over your tangled bodies made the air between you feel heavier, warmer. every subtle shift of your skin against his beneath the covers was a reminder of just how little was separating you.

and as if he could read your mind, eunseok leaned in, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder, then grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. the warmth of his breath sent a shiver rippling down your spine, and you couldn't stop the soft sigh that escaped your lips.

his lips worked slowly against your neck, savoring every inch of your skin like it was something precious, something he couldn't get enough of. his movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he wanted to memorize how you felt beneath him. the heat of his body pressed against yours only heightened the sensation, the closeness between you almost unbearable in its intensity.

your breathing quickened, your chest rising and falling against his. his hands, warm and steady, skimmed along the curve of your back, the sensation of skin on skin igniting sparks of heat that spread through you. with each kiss, the warmth in your stomach grew, spreading through your body like wildfire.

his lips finally trailed upward, brushing the edge of your jawline as his hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling gently in your hair. he placed small, lingering kisses along your jaw, each one drawing out a quiet hum of pleasure from you.

when his lips finally found yours, it wasn't hurried. it was soft at first, exploratory, like he was still savoring the moment. then, as the heat between you grew, the kiss deepened. his other hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face slightly as if to make sure he could reach you perfectly.

the world outside the room seemed to fade completely, leaving only the sound of your breath mingling with his and the pounding of your heart in your ears. his kiss was intoxicating, pulling you further into him, your body pressed against his in a way that felt like you belonged there.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against one another, your breaths heavy and uneven. his thumb brushed your cheek as he looked into your eyes, his gaze soft but burning with something deeper.

"you're incredible," he murmured, his voice low and rough from the heat of the moment. "you have no idea how much I need you right now."

your lips curved into a small, breathless smile, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. "then don't stop," you whispered, pulling him back toward you, your lips meeting his once more.

the kiss intensified quickly, your salivas mixing as you ran your hands up and down eunseoks firm chest. his skin, warm and soft against your touch. eunseok moves himself to where he is slotted between your legs. his hardened length resting on your bare cunt. the weight making you sigh against his lips. 

“seok…” you trailed off, voice breathy with need.

eunseok practically melted at the sound of your voice, pulling back to look at your kissed-out face. “yeah baby?” his breath fanned over your face as he spoke, reminding you how close you two were in proximity.

"please," you whined, beginning to writhe underneath him with impatience. "please, i need you, please—" 

"you have me," he murmurs, cutting you off by attaching his lips to yours again, one of his hands moving down the curves of your sides, the other caressing your head gently. his hand moves in between your bodies, taking hold of his thick length and lining it up with your soaked entrance. he gathers some of your wetness on his tip before slowly pushing himself inside of you.

your jaw falls slack at the feeling of him stretching you out, your walls fluttering around him. you arms make their way to his biceps, fingernails digging into his skin as he eases inside of you.

“i got you, baby, doing so well for me.” he cooed, dropping his head to place a kiss on your forehead. he stilled for a moment after he bottomed out completely, letting you adjust to his thickness. his head fell forward again, heavy breaths leaving his lips at the feeling of your tight, warm walls around him.

after a moment, he began to move, starting off slow before picking up speed. his hips snapped against yours at a quick pace; moans fell from your lips at every thrust. his arm that wasn’t holding himself up trailed up your stomach and chest, eventually resting on the base of your neck.

the light pressure he applied sent your eyes rolling into the back of your head. a sense of overwhelming pleasure washing over you as the knot in your stomach tightened. eunseoks thrusts became sloppy, his balls tightening with every thrust. your walls clenching around him, making it hard to hold himself back from spilling into you at that very moment.

he can tell by the way you tense with every thrust and the way your face is contorting that you’re close. his hand falls from your neck, and in between where you two are connected. his thumb finds your clit as his palm rests on your pelvis, preventing you from squirming too much. heat travels up your skin, your entire body flushing as your orgasm washes over you.

“eunseok!” you cry out, your legs shaking and your eyes squeezing shut. “doing so—so good for me, baby. im c-close,” his eyes screw shut as he speaks, the way your walls spasm around him sending him over the edge, hips stilling as his cock twitches inside you, painting your insides white with his seed.

he collapsed on top of you, your chests heaving in sync as you come down from your highs. your hands found his face, cheeks flushed, and sweat dripping from his temples. he’s never looked so good. his hand has found your hip again, his touch setting your skin alight.

the tension between you built again, humming and electric, until you couldn’t hold it back any longer. you tugged him closer if that was even possible, your lips brushing against his ear.

“lets go for another round,” you murmured, the words hanging heavy and deliberate in the charged air between you.

eunseok didn't answer with words. instead, his lips found yours, and the world outside you began to fade.

…

..

.

[romancherry]

Wheels & Whiskey

Chapter 1: A Night Out

pairings ➝ biker!joel miller x doctor!reader

summary ➝ you have been evoiding him for a while. now, your friend unknowingly drags you somewhere you cannot escape him.

warnings ➝ none

word count ➝ 951

author’s note ➝ i will post this now, without editing it or adding a cover and whatever. i'll pray for the best, and if i wake up in the morning and see this blowing up, i'll continue it. love yall!

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

After busy days at work in the hospital wore you down completely to the point you were literally married to the job and never leaving the house unless you had to go to work; it was clear your best friend had to do something about it.

Maria is your well trusted nurse, but a devilish little friend. She moved into town at the same time you did, which was about two months ago, so she didn't know how things really went around here; and neither did you. But you thought it would be common sense not to come here.

You almost jump back into the car when you see where she has driven you: to none other than Wheels & Whiskey, where the big bad bikers gather every day and every night.

You begged her to go home and enjoy yourselves there, but she was too excited to see what all the fuss was about. "I wanna know what bikers eat for dessert," she said. So that's when you realized you had no chance.

It didn't help that everyone knew who you were. The second you walked inside, people made space for you to pass through. "How are you so popular?", Maria asked. "I stitched all the people in here at least twice," you replied.

It was half the truth. Indeed, some of the privilege was granted because you had earned it through your medical capabilities. But most of it came from someone else entirely.

Joel Miller. The owner of the local and the leader of his stupid gang of bikers. The one who's been flirting with you ever since you came into this small town, where everyone knew anyone. You couldn't escape him even if you wanted to.

Joel sat at the far end of the bar, his usual spot, nursing a beer and watching the crowd like a hawk. As the door swung open, his eyes flicked toward it, locking onto you the moment you stepped inside.

Your entrance didn't go unnoticed. The usual murmur of conversation died just a moment, and everyone gave you a little extra space. Joel smirked into his drink, taking a slow sip. He knew why they did that. It wasn't just because you were a doctor.

It was because you were his — and everyone in here knew it, apart from you.

He found you very interesting. He wasn't sure if it was the way you didn't fall for the small-town charms or how you'd walk past him with that cool, detached look on your face, but you weren't like anyone else in this place. And if he was being honest with himself, it made you damn hard to resist.

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes never left you as you made your way through the crowd.

Maria, the one who had no idea what she was walking into, was giddy with excitement as you passed her.

Joel's smirk twitched. He could already see her trying to play it cool, acting like she wasn't intimidated by the sheer presence of everyone in this room.

But you? You walked around here like you owned the place. And Joel wasn't one to let you slip by without a little something, a little spark to keep the fire going.

He stood, stretching, before crossing the room in a few long strides, stopping just in front of you and your friend.

"Good evenin', ladies." Joel said, his voice laced with amusement. "Guessin' you didn't come here for the food." He looks up and down at you twice. "Not that I blame you. It's pretty damn good, but I wouldn't say that's what brings most people in here."

He leaned closer just enough to let you feel the heat from his body and that familiar scent of him. "So, what's got you all worked up tonight? You need a drink, or maybe just some company?"

His eyes flicked to you and then to Maria, and then back to you. "I could show you around, if you're interested. I can think of a few things that might keep your attention." His voice dropped a little, playful but with an edge of something deeper.

"Though, I'm not sure your friend can keep up." Joel's grin was easy, but there was something behind it. He wasn't looking for you to turn him down tonight.

"Maria, this is Joel, the owner of this local. Joel, she is Maria, my friend from work."

Joel's smile didn't falter, even as you dismissed his advances with practiced indifference. He was used to your cool demeanor, but it never stopped him from trying to chip away at it.

"Nice to meet you," he said, his tone smooth as velvet. "I'm sure you'll find the place... interesting," he added, looking around with a knowing glance that made it clear this wasn't just any regular bar.

"This is... a lot," Maria's eyes widened as she took in the surroundings, looking around at the rough crowd, the tattoos, the flexing muscles.

Joel chuckled, the sound warm but tinged with the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly who he was. His gaze shifted back to you, that flicked of challenge still in his eyes.

"I'll take care of you tonight, Doc. You need anythin', you let me know. Drinks are on me, as always."

Maria shot you a glance, clearly impressed by his boldness.

Joel tipped his beer toward you in a small salute, the unspoken challenge still lingering in the air, before he turned back to the bar, sliding back into his seat, his eyes flickering toward you one more time, almost like a promise.

He wasn't going anywhere tonight.

[miange1]

(if you're still up for another suggestion)

What about a male reader who catches onto Donnie's stalking and finds it hot. So the reader decides to confront Donnie about it, teasing and purposely making him freak out that his secret is out before letting him know that he's totally okay with it and that his feelings are reciprocated

DONNIE DARKO

'rappers ain shi, i might fw a baller'

male reader, stalking, reader purposely teasing donnie in multiple ways, jerking off, anal fingering, creepy ass shit, sniffing clothes, ew donnie, implied bottom reader, donnie and reader are best friends, might do a pt2 idk, not proof read at all

you were absolutely perfect. he couldn't ever take his eyes off of you even if he wanted to. you were so addicting, like a child's love for candy, or an adults love for nicotine.

you and donnie were close, not far too close, but close enough. but to him, the two of you were like two peas in a pod, absolutely inseparable. he was fully convinced at the fact that you would never ever leave him, that you absolutely needed him and that he absolutely needed you.

now, it'd start some time ago when he was staying over for a few nights. the two of you played on the newly bought consle hooked up to the big and bulky tv, before he had needed to use the restroom.

the bathroom was all the way downstairs, so it would take a while for him to go down, piss, then come back up.

so you had taken advantage of that time to just..have a small quickie. when he had come back a couple of minutes later to hear heavy breathing, he stopped. only peeking through the small crack of the door to see what was going on.

his dick practically sprung up seeing you had your shirt in your mouth, fist going up and down while your hips bucked into the air and you whimpered from the feeling.

he just couldn't look away, how could he? he noticed the way your teary eye would glance over in his direction but he quickly moved to the walls side where you couldn't see him through the crack

his heart was pumping so quick it may as well squirt blood from across the room.

when he came back you acted like you couldn't see him, like you hadn't just jerked off right in front of him. you couldn't see him, right? cause he stared for a pretty long time with hopes of it lasting longer.

now it was a habit. every single, "bye donnie, see you tomorrow." was him staring into your window at night, maybe even coming inside to watch you sleep directly. sometimes he'd even touch you, but would stop and quickly just go back to staring everytime you moved.

he'd watch you listen to music on your walkman, watch you do homework, watch movies, change.

his favorite part was watching you change, he liked it even more when he was hiding somewhere and being able to watch you pretty closely. he might take a few things, there was only one time he took something big but he had to put it back cause you had been sulking about it being gone the whole week.

he felt terrible when he was watching you at your most vulnerable moments. he sat on a tree branch close to the furthest window that still had a clear view of your bed side. he perked up seeing you put your book down, and your eyes drift the the middle of your sweatpants.

he dryly swallowed, getting closer to the window to see your movements. it was the usual, jerking off— but something was just.. different?

your fingers went into your mouth while you were already doing it, he didn't understand. then when you were done your fingers drifted lower, and lower. you had shimmied your pants off somewhere else and now you were completely without pants.

donnie felt a tent in his own pants, breath hitching as he started to feel tingly.

"donnie.." he snapped out of it.

did you call his name? did you know he was here watching you? no, that couldn't be because if you knew then you wouldn't be masturbating right now, would you?

you were masturbating thinking about him. shit, oh shit. was this bad or good? he didn't understand? were you thinking about him the first time he saw you jerk off? and all the other times he secretly watched you?

he observed as your back arched into your own touch the way you got louder the more you curled your fingers inside. "oh..mh.."

he hands pressed to the window, heavy breaths puffing onto the glass and fogging it up.

"don..nie.." and your eyes gazed over to him. not like last time— you looked right at him. he freaked out, backing up and quickly climbing out of the tree.

dick hard, heart pounding, panic coursing through him. how was he gonna face you tomorrow?

heading home was awkward. his little sister was up late getting a snack, and was just as confused as he was. "..where do you go at night?"

next day he wasn't allowed to stay home because it was friday, and his mother had seen no point in making him stay from school.

it was a few minutes before class, and everyone was talking and messing around before the teacher would get back.

he was hoping to God that you wouldn't show up, the words 'please stay home, please stay home' repeating over and over in his mind.

"donnie!" god damn it.

"hey man, how you doin'? didn't see you at the bus stop, you alright?" he gave you a look of what he hoped wasn't nervousness to give him away. "i walked." you pouted playfully, as if to piss him off.

"what? man, i was with your dork friends for at least fifteen minutes." he tuned out most of your words static in his brain before,

"and i think i have a stalker." his head snapped up to face yours, his arms tightening around his bag. "a..stalker?" "mhm."

his mouth had that dry feeling again, but not in a good way. "why..why do you think so?" damn it, he needed to stop stuttering!

"well, every time i sleep i swear i hear someone breathing next to me." he should have held his breath, or contained himself. "and something tickled my skin? im not too sure." fuck did he have to touch you?

"and even some of my stuff is missing, you remember when– yeah, you do." a smirk graced your face, you knew and better yet you were teasing him about it.

"you got an idea of what he looks like?" it's the way you kept eye contact with him, like you waited for him to ask that damn question.

"eh..maybe 5'11 or so." you shrugged,

"brown hair maybe? i saw a bit of it, or maybe it was my imagination." then your hand would take his, and press against it as if to compare sizes but that wasn't it.

"and last night, i saw a hand print on my glass about..this big." you glanced at his hand, only to look at him again. "think you can find him for me?" he felt himself smile a bit, now understanding what you had meant.

"yeah..yeah, i can find him." you moved your hand away once the teacher had come back and students started to get quieter. "thanks man, i appreciate that."

[sporadicallyanenthusiast]

It's interesting, because I'm reading a Brazilian Portuguese translation and I've been finding some differences from the English one, which I suspect may be truer to the original Greek. For example, in Portuguese, Menelaus is described as a blond instead of a ginger, and Athena is described with green eyes instead of gray. So I think that's the reason there might be a misconception on my part, since in the scene when Menelaus tells Telemachus what he knows about Odysseus, he says Proteus told him so after Menelaus captured him, instead of it being a dream.

I mean, if it had been described as a dream, it'd be very understandable why he wouldn't say anything! That's not trustworthy information you just go sharing out of nowhere, indeed. But since it was a prophet God that told him that (in the book I'm reading, at least), I thought it was a bit jarring he didn't try to warn anyone, you know?

Especially after he told Telemachus he liked Odysseus so much, he'd empty the island of Ithaca and relocate all of its inhabitants to Laconia, make a whole new kingdom for Odysseus there, just so they could rule nearby each other. Which is why I made the gay joke, by the way haha It's my first time reading Ancient Greek mythology and I admit I was caught off guard by such an earnest expression of Menelaus' love for his friend. Honestly, I get it, I would do the same for my best friends! Haha And I agree, I don't ship them either (even tho I haven't read the Iliad yet - yeah, I know 🥲) and I think it should be more normal to express how much we care about our friends the way Menelaus does.

Regardless, you are right the poor man had enough on his plate already.

And when you put it like that, indeed it's an awkward letter lol

Still, maybe I'm projecting too much here, but if I were in Penelope's or Telemachus' place, I'd like to know something, anything. As useless as the information may sound. They knew Odysseus didn't die in the Trojan War, so what happened? I'd find some semblance of comfort in knowing someone heard my loved one is still alive and he wants to get back to me. I can understand where Menelaus would be coming from, if he thought knowing wouldn't help Penelope of Telemachus at all, but if it were my husband or my father, I'd be furious no one told me.

And maybe it's wishful thinking on my part, but who knows, Penelope might have had some leverage to hold the suitors back in that scenario. It would be extremely disrespectful to try for the Queen's hand if there's a chance the King's still alive. And maybe then Telemachus would have had a chance to prove himself earlier, to show he is already a man and capable of taking over the throne, if he had traveled to look for his father sooner. I mean, Athena herself goes to Telemachus and essentially asks him "Why don't you finally kick those men (the suitors) out of your palace? Why don't you go try to get information about your father?". So maybe having a lead earlier on may have had saved them some of the trouble. At least that's what I was thinking when I read that scene.

And yes, you're right! There is a chance Menelaus did try to send a letter and it never arrived. And maybe he thought he ought to "repeat" the whole story to Telemachus, since the poor boy went through the trouble of getting to Sparta and asking him about Odysseus in person.

Well, at the end of the day, you are the scholar here, I'm just reading those myths for the first time hahaha. To be honest, I wrote the og post as a silly joke when I was half asleep, I didn't expect it to get any attention at all. So I apologize for any misinformation I may have spread on accident!

Telemachus is so much stronger than me for real. Cause if I had traveled for days, by sea AND land, arrived at the palace of my father's friend and my mother's cousin to humbly ask if they know anything about my missing father and instead of just fucking telling me already, this mf started a monologue about how gay he is for my dad and about the time he captured a God that granted him wishes three, I'd already be telling him to Hurry The Fuck Up. IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS, I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY.

But if the same motherfucker then turned around and told me that he had known FOR YEARS NOW that my dad is trapped on an island AND THE MOTHERFUCKER DIDN'T TELL ANYONE!!!! NOT A SINGLE LETTER!!! I would have already strangled Menelaus with that fucking blond hair of his in front of his wife and children, unhelpful son of a bitch.

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

You're gonna hate me but I can take Sky, Hyrule, Warriors and Twilight all at the same time. And not in a fight.

Oh my god that’s terrible /j.

Consider it written 👀

Five's a Party

Pairing: Sky, Hyrule, Warriors, Twilight x reader

Warning(s): Wrestling ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Notes: Not my first time writing a fivesome (I've actually written a eightsome for a fic a while back), but I'm a bit new to this, so enjoy!! @skylover69 I swear you requested this so enjoyyy.

Masterlist

The sounds of metal colliding filled the clearing as you fought Warriors, sweat beading on your brow when you just barely blocked his swing, the muscles in your arms trembling from the force of the attack.

"Tired already?" Warriors called, leaning close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his chest, which was bare. He had taken his tunic off early in your impromptu training session, claiming that he needed to 'concentrate.' You thought it was a load of bull, but who were you to refuse when he was so graciously teaching you how to wield a sword with a modicum more grace than a flailing child.

"Not on your life, Captain," you bit back, a loud shiiiing ripping through the air when both blades collided once more. You held firm, locked in a stalemate that you weren't sure you'd end up winning. Warriors was taller and definitely stronger, but it didn't mean that you couldn't use a few tricks of your own.

With a huff, you pushed, using one of your feet to kick his ankle. Warriors shifted to regain his balance, grunting in surprise, and you took the opportunity to break the stalemate, sliding to the side and training the tip of your sword at his side.

Unfortunately, Warriors recovered quickly, blocking the swing with more grace than you thought necessary. He twisted his wrist and pushed, forcing the flat of your blade to the ground and kicking the sword to the ground.

"Hey!" You watched as the weapon clattered to the ground, frowning deeply at the man before you. "That was dirty and you know it."

Warriors opened his mouth to respond with what was likely an even dirtier joke that you absolutely did not want to hear when he was shirtless, but stopped when another voice broke through the clearing.

"Booo!" Hyrule called from the tree line, flanked by Sky and Twilight. The Traveler walked forward, eyeing you for any injuries before refocusing on the captain. "Aren't you supposed to be teaching them?"

Warriors shrugged, unbothered. "All's fair in love and war," he said nonchalantly.

"What love?" You snarked, sticking your tongue out at him when he gasped fauxly.

"Really, (Y/n)? After all these years–"

"–months, ya wet rag–"

"–shut up, Twilight, I'm trying to have a moment," the Captain snapped with a grin, actually flipping his hair in a way that made you slap a hand over your mouth and exchange glances with the others. "Besides, how are you going to get better if you aren't exposed to everything the enemy could do?"

He had a point–not that you would admit it this early in the game. You snapped your fingers, grinning. "Dunno, that's why I have you guys."

"Damn right, darl'," Twilight chuckled, throwing a heavy arm over your shoulder. You laughed and pushed at his chest, realizing just how gross and sweaty you probably were.

"Ew, get off! I'm all gross!"

But Twilight only held you tighter, his laughter rumbling through your body. "'M a rancher, darlin', this ain't nothin'."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "'Ain't'? At this point, you don't even have to tell me you're from the country."

The others chuckled as the Rancher grumbled, releasing you, though not without a hearty ruffle to your already mussed hair. "Now tha's just mean, yer just as bad as Legend."

"First of all, rude, and second of all," you made sure there was at least a good three feet of distance between the two of you before making your next quip. "At least I know what a double negative is."

"...A what?"

Just like that, you were all laughing. You ended up leaning against Hyrule, one arm thrown over the Travellers shoulders while your knees threatened to buckle from the force of your chortles, while Sky and Warriors pretended to have some tact, only chuckling a bit before composing themselves. Twilight just stared on in confusion, looking between the three of you with brewing bafflement. "'M serious, what in th' goddesses is tha'?"

You only guffawed harder, with Hyrule snorting beside you. "It's– oh my Hylia, I can't–"

"It's okay, we know your delicate human airways need time to recover," Warriors said in a rare expression of sarcasm, and you nearly died right them and there. The fact that Hyrule was also losing his shit didn't help in the slightest.

"You–! I'll show you weak airways–"

"We'll wait," Sky grinned, and you had the urge to challenge him to a race to knock him down a few pegs, but you liked the skyloftian a bit too much to resort to that level of pettiness.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, willing yourself to calm down. "Once I stop [snrk] laughing, it's over [snort] for you."

"I'm shaking in my boots," Sky responded dryly, and it was a battle unto itself to not launch into another laughing fit, or, more accurately, him. Preferably with your sword.

Twilight cleared his throat. "Ah still don' know what tha' 'twice negative' is."

You reached over to pat his shoulder. "It's okay, Twi, we love you without it."

The rancher's eyes narrowed. "Tha's ominous, darl'."

"I know," you grinned. If he was really curious, he'd ask Time, who would either give him a straight answer or some riddled bullshit. "So, what brings you three here?"

Sky shrugged, smiling good-naturedly. "We just wanted to check on you, it's been a long day."

"You're right about that," you ran a hand through your hair, remembering the horde of bokoblins that had blocked the road a few hours prior. "Who knew Wild's Hyrule would have so many bokoblins? I thought they only travelled in groups of three."

"Me too," Hyrule shivered slightly at the memory. "At least they're easy to spot... and smell."

You made a face, as did the others, at the mere insinuation to the stench the foul creatures emitted like it was their jobs. "Hylia, don't remind me."

You all chatted until Wind came barreling into the clearing, proclaiming it was dinnertime, to which you followed the sailor to meet the rest of the group, laughing and joking like everything was right in the world.

"You can't be serious," you groaned in Twilight's direction, leaning against the doorframe of your room with an exhausted, flabbergasted expression. The weather had gotten progressively sketchier as the day wore on, which was how you ended up in an inn with your own room–a rare comfort, these days. Until a loud knock interrupted your hard-earned peace, and there were suddenly four bedroom-less men at your doorstep. You eyed each of them individually, noting how Sky and Hyrule looked rather sheepish at the unexpected turn of events, while Warriors and Twilight simply appeared done with life. "...In two rooms? Why didn't anyone get him a basket?"

"'Fraid so, darl'," Twilight confirmed, grimacing a bit at the memory of Wild's series of stomach issues regarding the moldy apples he decided to consume a few hours earlier, particularly the part where it ended up in two separate beds... in two separate rooms. "Time's tryin' t' get 'im ta settle down, but 'e's bein'... wild."

You deadpanned. "Rancher," you ran a hand through your already mussed hair, praying to the goddess to give you strength. "That was the worst pun I've ever heard from you."

The Rancher merely shrugged. Damn him for being so cool. "Won't be th' first time, won't be th' last."

Your deadpan deepened. "You say that every time and I still end up surprised."

"What can ah' say? 'M a man o' many talents," he said proudly, and you snorted.

"I think the word you're looking for is 'menace', but whatever floats your boat–" you paused, squinting a bit as you realized they were all carrying their bedrolls. Hyrule and Sky looked especially expectant at the prospect of sleep. "Well, c'mon in, unless you're just here to tell me I'll be making breakfast tomorrow?"

Hyrule winced. "I can help–"

"Absolutely not," you vetoed without missing a beat, opening the door and stepping back to allow them to enter. "The floor doesn't look too bad, but–"

"Sweet Hylia, is that a roach?!" Warriors gasped, and you immediately spun around in search of the creature. Sure enough, there was a big black roach roaming the hardwood floor, antenna waving intimidatingly in the air.

You blanched, wondering if it would be appropriate to squish the thing under your boot when they were the ones sleeping on the floor. "Uh... I stand corrected."

Sky made a noise of disgust, as did Warriors, though it sounded significantly more pained. Fortunately, Twilight came to the rescue, quickly scooping the bug up and tossing it out of the open window before shutting it. "There ya go, all gone."

"Thanks," you said, still in shock at the thought that you had been sleeping with an actual roach in the room. "Um... I think the floor's clean now."

Out of the corner of your eye, Warriors shuddered, but the others seemed to have no qualms, rolling their bedrolls down on the floor. You were just about to head to your bed when a soft scuttling noise broke through the quiet.

"Did you hear...?" Warriors' tone was edged with apprehension, and you shivered, eyes finding the chipped dresser in the corner of the room. The Captain's gaze followed your own, and he went pale. So much for the Hero of Courage–or, one of them, if you were being factually correct. "No. Hylia, no."

Slowly, you crept to the dresser. Even slower, your hand edged to the first drawer, casting a terrified glance at the group of heroes.

You pulled the drawer open.

You screamed, slamming the drawer closed with enough force to crack it, stumbling back as your companions rushed to your aid, with Sky at the forefront, Master Sword pointing squarely at the offending piece of furniture. "What is it? Are you okay?!"

"R-Roaches," you managed to spit out, trying desperately to calm your racing heart. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you knew there was something wrong with this place. "A whole colony of them... oh Goddesses, I'm going to be sick–"

"Oh, no no no no no," Warriors practically whimpered, backing away with his hands raised, palms facing outward. "Not today, Ganon–"

"Wait, there's a colony!?" Hyrule piped up, looking simultaneously horrified and fascinated. You watched in terror as he crept closer, peeking into the drawer. "Wow, I haven't seen one this large before!"

You made a disgusted face, following Warriors lead and slowly edging to the door. Twilight did the same, looking as grossed-out as you felt. You nearly jumped out of your skin when the Rancher laid a hand on your shoulder, voice shaky as your tired mind struggled to grasp the situation. "That's... that's great, Hyrule. Let's get out of here before they, uh, come out, okay?"

"Good idea," Sky murmured, resheathing his sword as he tugged Hyrule back, the Traveler shooting a sad look at the dresser whilst being pulled from the danger zone.

The door shut with a click, leaving the five of you to stand awkwardly in the hall. Sky was the first to break the silence, rubbing his temples with a long-suffering sigh. "By the three... do we know if they have any more rooms?"

"I don't think so," you grimaced, picking at the corners of your tunic, then the straps of your pack, which had managed to remain on your shoulder amidst the chaos. "The innkeeper said they're all booked when Time and I tried to negotiate."

"Well," Warriors made a face, having recovered now that the dresser from hell was out of sight. "I'm not going back in there," the terror returned slightly, and you had no choice but to agree. Heavily. "It's unclean."

"You can say that again," Hyrule muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "But it looks like our only options are roach room or outside."

"Outside," you said without missing a beat.

Warriors nodded vigorously.

The cave was... adequate.

Damp, cold, with the faint stench of mildew that your mind and nose desperately tried to ignore. You ran your hand on the surrounding wall with a hum, only cringing when your fingers made contact with the slick moisture clinging to the rock, eyes turned skyward to inspect the dripping ceiling. Turning to Warriors, you shook your head sadly. "I hate to say it, but I think we'll have to go without a fire, Cap."

The Captain heaved a sigh, like he'd already expected that. You knew he had, because it was just the type of person he was. "Right," a hand ran through damp blonde hair because, hard as he may try, his scarf could only do so much against the storm, which currently raged outside like a pack of rowdy wolves. "We'll have to move further in, I don't like being this close to the opening."

Hyrule raised a brow. "How much further? We'll be in just as much danger from falling rocks and cave-ins as monsters and lightning."

"Ah second tha'," Twilight put in his two cents, arms crossing over his broad chest in a manner that should have been illegal. Not that you were looking. Obviously. The Rancher cocked his head in the direction of Sky, who had remained largely quiet through the journey that was convincing Time it was totally okay and safe for half the group to venture out because none of you were willing to touch the roach room. "Ya've been awfully quiet, Sky."

"Ah, sorry," the Skyloftian rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly sheepish. "I was just thinking."

"That's dangerous," you joked, nudging his shoulder with your arm. "Cheer up, at least we're not sleeping with the roaches!"

Sky laughed, though it was more of a quiet rumble than anything. "You've got a point," he acquiesced with a friendly smile. "Onwards, then?"

"Looks like it," you grinned, cracking your knuckles. There was a collective chuckle from the rest of the group, though they were mercifully quiet as the journey resumed, you and Warriors in the lead, weapons drawn and ears perked. The dampness only increased, as did the... temperature? Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? You glanced over your shoulder, brows furrowing when you noticed Twilight fanning his pelt, cheeks slightly pink. "Tell me if I'm going crazy, but is it getting hotter in here?"

"Ya ain't crazy," the Rancher said immediately, reaching to his collar to yank the fabric from his neck, looking just as warm as you felt. Beside you, Warriors was tugging his scarf so the looped portion wasn't as tight around his throat. Even Hyrule, who was usually one of the most temperature-resilient individuals in the group, looked distinctly uncomfortable, one finger hooked on the curve of his tunic in an attempt to release some heat. Only Sky looked unfazed, but you didn't miss the way he kept shaking his arms and tugging at his sleeves. "Hylia, this bett'r not be volcanic–"

"It's not," Warriors interjected. Out of everyone, he and Twilight were the most heavily clothed, so you weren't surprised when the Captain's ears seemed to flush. "At least, it shouldn't be. We're half a world away from Death Mountain."

"It might not be a volcano, but I've seen magma pools in caves before," Hyrule mused with a slight frown. "Maybe the roach room–"

"NO." You and Warriors hissed in unison. The Traveller shrugged unapologetically, and you wondered how much trouble you'd get in with Time if you decided to throttle him.

Sky made a curious noise, pointing towards something at the end of the tunnel. "Hey, what's that?"

Your gaze followed the Skyloftian's gaze, and you narrowed your eyes at the patch of flowers sitting innocently in the middle of the path. They were large and white, with a bell-like curve that reminded you of a mug. The only problem was that flowers typically didn't grow in caves, especially one as deprived of light as this one. "Are those... flowers?"

"In here?" Hyrule slipped past you, approaching the patch with cautious steps. They didn't appear dangerous, but it was better safe than sorry. The hero reached out, poking one. It bobbed softly. "Huh."

Warriors edged closer, with you, Twilight, and Sky at his heels. "What's wrong?"

"They're warm," the Traveller mused, poking the flower once more. Again, it bobbed, but nothing spectacular happened, so you allowed yourself to relax, sword falling to rest by your side. "Anyone know what they're called?"

"No clue," you responded, scanning the area before your gaze landed back on the patch. You'd seen your fair share of plants, and knew enough to identify bad from good, but never ones quite like this. "They don't look dangerous, though."

"Agreed," Hyrule straightened, wiping his hands on his tunic. "Let's keep m–"

CRACK!

The cave gave a mighty quake and an absolutely massive stalagmite came plummeting from the rocky heavens. You went stiff with shock, and it was by the grace of whatever Deity was out there that Hyrule managed to dodge the falling formation, swiftly rolling to the side as it came down next to the flower patch, shattering into several large pieces, one of which landed square in the flower patch, which released a large cloud of shimmery dust upon impact. You didn't bother covering your mouth, scrambling to where Hyrule lay, eyes wide as he came to terms with what had just happened. "Rule, are you okay?!"

There was another crack, and you nearly shrieked when a hand grabbed the back of your collar, yanking you back through the cloud into a hard chest, one arm tossed over your torso while the other crossed your collarbone. Twilight pulled you close just as another stalactite fell, and Hyrule's yelp could be heard when Sky dragged him to safety by the leg. "Holy–!"

The cave settled with a soft rumble. Several coughs could be heard as the cloud dissipated, leaving behind an almost shimmery layer on the surrounding rock. You blinked, sneezing softly as the dust tickled your nose. It smelled... sweet, like you expected flowers to smell, but there was something incomprehensibly spicy in the scent's undertone. Fuck, had it gotten hotter? "T-Thanks, Twi."

A hand patted your head and you shivered when the Rancher's chin landed on the top of your hair, his breath tickling the strands. "No probl'm, darl'."

Why... why was that so attractive? Let it never be said that you didn't find his accent... nice, but your hazy brain was positive that the way your thighs clenched together was most definitely not an appropriate reaction to your teammate's voice.

"Ugh..."

There was a loud thwap, and you looked over just in time to watch Warriors rip his scarf off, throwing it to the ground with a grimace. "Oh, that's it," he all but growled. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when his hands began fiddling with his paldon's buckle, yanking the armor off like it had burned him.

"What are you doing?" You hissed. The Captain proceeded to remove the rest of his armor and your mind went curiously blank. Was he stripping?!

"It's too damn hot," Warriors grunted back and, fuck, he was all but ripping his outer tunic off. You tried to wiggle from Twilight's grasp to feel his forehead–or do something–but the Rancher held you tighter.

"Twilight–"

Your mouth clicked shut when an actual growl rumbled from the Hero of Twilight's mouth. Or, you assumed it was him, because of the face currently shoved into your neck.

What the fuck was going on here??!!

Your eyes flicked to Hyrule and Sky, and, lo and behold, the Traveller's outer tunic had also been removed, while Sky was undergoing the arduous process of undoing the clasp of his sailcloth.

...And why the fuck was it turning you on?

A wave of liquid heat ripped through you like a set of poison-tipped claws. Twilight's nose brushed the shell of your ear, sending a ripple of shivers racing down your spine. "Hey–"

A pair of lips brushed your skin, and every nerve in your body seemed to ignite. Maybe you should take something off. They were your... friends, and friends didn't care. Right? "Hm?"

You twisted in his grip, just managing to pull yourself back, landing on the cold stone floor with a soft oof. Eyes flicking around the cave, you noticed that Warriors was completely shirtless, chest rising with each panting breath he took, and Hyrule wasn't far behind. With his hands free, Twilight joined you and the others on the floor, pulling his armor off before getting to work on his tunic and chainmail. Your own hands moved on instinct, tugging at the collar of your shirt, which felt more constricting than a thousand chains encircling your form. "Y-Ya okay?" the Rancher huffed. He was edging closer.

"What the fuck," you breathed, pulling the tunic over your head, leaving you in your undershirt and bindings. There had to be some sort of explanation to this madness. "It wasn't this hot before..."

"Yeah," Hyrule agreed eloquently, shoulders and torso slick in the fading light, and it was downright embarrassing how your eyes slid down the exposed curve of his body, down to the band of his trousers, where a large bul–

Wait.

"Fuck," you hissed as reality crashed down on you. This was bad. So, so bad. "The flowers–"

"Oh no," Warriors groaned, catching your drift, and your face went crimson when you realized that he too was sporting a bulge in his trousers. They all were, but Sky was the only one with the decency–or awareness–to attempt to conceal his... problem, though you were sad to say that a sailcloth over his lap made the fact that he was hard even more glaringly obvious. Shit, this was not good. "We have to get out of here."

"No shit," you hissed, moving to stand, but your knees immediately buckled, sending you right back where you started, ass flat on the ground as the throbbing between your legs became harder and harder to ignore. Maybe you could sneak a hand– no! Bad thoughts! "Goddesses..."

"I think..." all eyes turned to Sky, who was redder than Legend's tunic. The Chosen Hero kept shifting his hips, ears pinned back in discomfort. "We can't go back... out there," he managed to force out. "Not like this."

"Then wha'...?" Twilight asked, droplets of sweat running down his torso as his hands trembled at his sides, biceps flexing deliciously. He looked like a mess; a hot, sexy mess that you couldn't wait to–

"Oh Hylia..." Warriors whispered. His hands were on his belt, half-heartedly fiddling with the buckle. Your name passed over his lips.

"What?" you panted, seconds away from throwing caution to the wind and slipping a hand into your pants. Fuck propriety when they basically had their dicks out.

"Come here?" Asked the Captain in a tone that bordered on pleading, and you broke. Nary a second passed before you were clambering into his lap, straddling that hot, hard bulge like you belonged there. Hands found your shoulders, tracing firebrand lines down your arms, and you kissed Warriors, tightly gripping his hair as your mouths moved together. He tasted vaguely of mint, cool and clean, but it hardly registered in your mind when the hero's tongue traced the seam of your lips with a fervor that surprised even you, though you had no qualms about opening up and letting him do as he pleased because, fuck, when was the last time you had felt this way about, well, anyone.

A quiet groan filled the cave, and you jolted slightly when another hand cupped your chin, pulling your face over to allow Twilight to press his own lips against yours. Unlike with Warriors, this kiss was all tongue and teeth, saliva dribbling from the corners of your mouth to drip into the Captain's lap. Your hips jerked when he nipped your bottom lip, pulling a groan from the Hero of Warriors when your core ground against the thick bulge of his cock. "Yer perfect," the Rancher murmured, tone husky with what you could only assume was lust, and your stomach positively broiled.

A pair of arms encircled your torso, pulling it back just enough so that your back was resting against Sky's chest. The Skyloftian's head bent, and yours turned, lips meeting in a fierce kiss. A large, calloused hand gripped your hip, moving you to grind more fully against Warriors, and the two of you moaned in unison. Goddesses, you couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched you like this, much less three–

But it wasn't three of them.

You broke the kiss with Sky, using the last of your brainpower to address the brown-haired hero still lingering on the cold floor, face practically crimson as he fisted his tunic. "R-Rule?"

Hyrule's eyes snapped to meet yours, and he flushed darker, averting his gaze. "S-Sorry," he mumbled, like he expected you to be mad. "...I didn't mean to stare..."

"You c-can stare," you huffed, thankful that the others had paused long enough to let you speak. "You can join, if you want."

Like a switch being flipped, Hyrule's ears shot up, and he seemed to be in disbelief. Silly boy, you weren't going to help the others and just leave him like this. "R-Really?"

"Mhm," you nodded, biting your lip when Warriors' hips began to rock once more, while Twilight took your whimper as a cue to run his hands up and down your stomach, fingers occasionally grazing the soft flesh where your undershirt rode up. Hyrule practically scrambled over, sitting on his knees by your unoccupied side, and you had to wonder if this was his first time. "C'mere," you said, sitting up a bit so you weren't laying quite so firmly against Sky.

This time, there was only a single beat of hesitation on the Traveler's part. He moved closer, cupping your face in his battle-rough hands, and brushed his lips against yours. Unlike the others, there was something deliciously precise in his movements, like he was afraid of hurting you. Definitely a virgin, but it was far from a problem. "Is this... okay?"

He was asking for all of them, you knew. You also knew that they would stop in a heartbeat if you voiced even a hint of discomfort. It came with the territory, but that also implied that you wanted them to stop, which was obviously not the case. "Yeah," you murmured against the Traveler's lips. "It's okay."

You kissed Hyrule again, and, suddenly, Twilight's fingers hooked beneath the hem of your undershirt, carefully moving the fabric upwards until it bunched snuggly at your collarbone, revealing the wrapped swell of your chest to their hungry gazes.

Warriors was the first to reach your chest, sitting up slightly as the hand on your hip moved to cup a breast; gently, like he was testing the weight of it, memorizing the feel of bandages against rough flesh. You shuddered when his thumb stroked the width of it, leaning back against the Skyloftian, who seemed more than happy to support you, if the cock prodding your backside was any indication. Hylia, this was not how you intended the night to go, but, by the Three, you were not complaining.

"Tha's it, darl'," Twilight rumbled in your ear, and you were sure your underwear would be ruined by the time they were through with you. "Jus' relax, we'll take care 'o ya."

Oh god, oh fuck, you were not going to survive if he kept talking like that. Fortunately, a slightly aggravated growl from Warriors, fingers sliding over the tightly-wrapped masterpiece that were your bindings, provided an adequate distraction from the wildfire burning in your pants. "Din in– how do you...?"

You broke the kiss with Hyrule long enough to give him an incredulous look. "You," you paused to catch your breath, all the while wondering if you were truly seeing what you thought you were seeing. The self-proclaimed 'ladies man'... unsure of how to undo some simple chest bindings? What was the world coming to?? "You've got to be shitting me. After all that big talk about your time in the capital?"

"–It's different in the capital!" the Captain defended, but it was weak, and his ears were beginning to redden. "No one– hardly anyone wraps their chest–!"

"Tha's weak an' ya know it, cap–"

You cocked a brow, cooly unimpressed despite the fact that you were currently sitting on his dick. "So you're saying I'm the first person in the capital to do that?"

"No–"

"Golly, I'm a trendsetter!" you grinned, thoroughly amused by this turn of events. Beside you, Hyrule cringed for reasons unknown. "But I guess I can show–"

At least, that's what you would have said had Sky's hands not moved up to slide along your chest in the Captain's stead, then to your back, where he found the loose end and deftly undid it, the others watching as the cloth loosened, falling from your chest in strips. You blinked, both impressed and turned on.

"–wow, Sky! Where'd you learn that?"

You felt his shrug before you saw it. "Zelda taught me when we were kids," the hero explained, and you perked up when his tone took a distinctively deeper lit, a grin breaking across his handsome features. "Don't worry, Captain, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually."

"You smug bastard," was Warriors' growled response. Your lips parted to tell them both off, only to slam your mouth shut when Warrior's mouth closed around your nipple, the Captain giving you a fierce look, as if daring you to tease him further. A short whimper escaped your lips, and you found that it was getting harder and harder to hold yourself back when Hyrule's lips suctioned to your neck, tongue darting out every once in a while to taste the salt forming on your skin.

The hand on your other breast kneaded softly, thumb flicking over your now pebbled nipple. Sky made a pleased humming noise, pressing himself more firmly against your back, while Twilight busied himself with your trousers, eyes trained on your face to detect even the slightest indication of discomfort.

"Doing al'right, darlin'?" the Rancher questioned, fingers hesitating at the junction where your skin met the thick hem.

You nodded to the best of your hazy ability, feeling a spike of desperation shoot straight through your belly. Right, those flowers. Those fucking flowers. "Please touch me."

His hand was in your pants before you could blink, or, really, do anything but bite your lip when a large, warm hand slid into your underwear.

Unfortunately, I'm going to have to cut this in half because Tumblr is being finicky and we're at 5k words LOL.