#max realizing he's in deeper and deeper every time

[wethotcrazy]

Lando Norris x reader where the reader is a singer? 👀

SHE GOT AWAY

pairing: Lando Norris x Singer! Reader

word count: 1029

just something short, it’s my first time writing for lando pls spear me for taking creative liberties. THIS IS A BREAK UP FIC THATS BASED LOOSELY OFF OF THE LYRICS OF THE SUBWAY BY CHAPPELL ROAN

Lando hadn’t realized how empty a city could feel until she was gone. Racing had always taken him away from her, from everyone, but he could always come back to find her waiting. Now he walked the streets of London alone, watching strangers go about their lives, passing through his like shadows. And every once in a while, he thought he saw her—a flash of her hair, a laugh in a crowd that sounded just like hers, a beauty mark on a stranger’s cheek that almost made his heart stop.

It had been months since they said goodbye. Months of quiet car rides, restless hotel nights, and half-finished meals because his appetite had disappeared with her. He’d thought this was what he wanted. To be able to focus entirely on racing, to chase his career, to let nothing hold him back. He’d told her as much, the last time they’d sat across from each other in her little kitchen, hands clenched on their respective sides of the table.

“It’s just not… practical,” he’d said, forcing the words out despite the knot in his throat. He could still remember the hurt in her eyes, the way she’d held herself back, holding back the words she probably knew would tear him apart if she said them out loud.

And she’d left without looking back. He’d watched her disappear down her street, wondering if it would feel as final as it did.

But now, everywhere he went, he saw her. He felt her. Her hair color flashed through crowds, her beauty mark lingered in every stranger’s glance. Her shadow followed him, slipping into every quiet space, haunting every silence. Lando had expected the ache of missing her to ease with time, but it only grew, filling his thoughts until she was everywhere.

One night, on the subway, he nearly lost it. He’d glanced up and there she was—or someone who looked painfully, uncannily like her. The stranger’s profile, the slight tilt of her head, the way she rested her hand on her thigh—it was all her. And just like that, every wall he’d put up to stop himself from thinking of her collapsed, and he felt the full weight of the loss he’d chosen.

Lando quickly looked away, forcing himself to breathe, gripping the edge of the subway seat so tightly his knuckles turned white. He felt like he was falling apart, breaking into pieces he had no idea how to put back together. And all he could think was how badly he wanted to go back, to erase the stupid decision he’d made in the name of ambition.

In another bar, a few weeks later, he caught a whiff of her perfume, delicate and warm, like she’d just brushed past him. His stomach twisted as he looked around, desperate, trying to convince himself it was her. But when he saw the source—a random girl laughing with her friends—he felt a new wave of emptiness wash over him. The scent, the sound, it wasn’t her. Nothing was.

He stayed long enough to finish his drink, but he could feel the walls of the room closing in, suffocating him. He had to leave, stumbling out into the night, eyes blurring as he tried to outrun the thought that he might never see her again.

“Lando, mate, you’ve got to stop doing this,” his friend Max said over a late-night call. Lando had confided in him, admitted just how hollow everything felt since she’d left. He’d been counting days, four months now, and the ache hadn’t eased. If anything, it had rooted itself deeper, taking up residence in his every thought, his every waking moment.

He tried to shake it off, to convince himself it was just another day, that he’d feel better once he got back on the track. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. She was still everywhere, in the places they used to go together, in the laughter he couldn’t join in anymore, in the shadow that stretched beside him, refusing to leave.

He found himself thinking about something she’d said once, during one of their late-night talks, curled up on his couch, her head resting on his shoulder.

“You ever think about soulmates?” she’d asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He had laughed it off, said he didn’t believe in things like fate. But now, as he lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, he felt the hollow ache of what she’d believed all along. She’d thought they were meant to be. He’d dismissed it, dismissed her, and now… now he would do anything to hear her say it again, to see that soft, hopeful look in her eyes.

He was losing her to memory, piece by piece, and he was helpless to stop it. Every day, he’d tell himself it was over, but it never felt over. Not really.

One night, Lando found himself alone in his apartment, staring out at the city lights. He’d heard she was happy now, moving on with her music, her life—maybe even with someone new. He tried to be glad for her, to let her go with some grace, but he could still feel her, like she was right there in the room with him, her voice wrapping around him in a way that hurt.

“Maybe I’ll just… go somewhere,” he muttered to himself, as if leaving the city would free him from her memory. Saskatchewan, some remote place where he could drown his regrets in silence. But he knew he’d only carry her there too, because no matter how far he ran, he’d never really left her.

As the days passed, Lando found himself counting down, hoping that one day, she’d just be another face on the subway. Someone he could pass by without feeling like his whole world was caving in. But he knew better now. He knew he’d carry her with him forever, as someone he’d let slip through his fingers, a dream he’d never be able to shake.

She got away.

And he’d be chasing that ghost of her for as long as he lived, trying to fill the silence she’d left behind.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Betty

Hii guyss, here's the second one-shot about Taylor Swift's folklore love triangle, starring Max as James. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist or August's point of view :)

Max stood on the uneven cobblestones outside her house, heart pounding like a drum in the silence of the neighborhood. The sharp, crisp scent of autumn mingled with the dying sweetness of summer on the breeze. He’d been here countless times before, but tonight felt different—like a last chance, a thin thread he was desperate not to lose.

Each step up the path to her door echoed in his ears, the weight of guilt pressing on his chest. He could still see her eyes from that day at the paddock, wide with disbelief and betrayal before she’d turned away, taking the light with her. The memory was a blade that cut deeper with each replay.

Rumors had spread like wildfire—cruel, twisted versions of the truth whispered by voices that never knew how much it hurt. It was Kika who told her, who confirmed what was real, and even though she was often dramatic, this time, there was no exaggeration. The worst thing he ever did was what he did to her, and every time he thought about it, the shame dug deeper.

The summer had started as an escape, a fleeting thing that he thought wouldn’t matter. But it had turned into something far worse—a betrayal of the one person who did matter. He hadn’t planned to get so caught up, hadn’t realized that with every stolen moment and whispered laugh, he was tying knots in a web that would eventually ensnare them all.

He clenched his fists, rehearsing the words he’d been practicing for weeks. Apologies that felt empty and hollow in his own mouth, promises that seemed small compared to the hurt he had caused. His throat tightened as he rang the doorbell, the sound sharp and final in the night air.

The seconds dragged, and just as doubt began to gnaw at him, the door opened. There she stood, framed in the golden glow of the hallway light, arms crossed protectively over her chest. Her expression was guarded, eyes searching his face, and it took everything in him not to break under her gaze.

“I know I’m the last person you want to see,” Max started, voice rough with emotion. “But I need you to hear this, even if it changes nothing”

She said nothing, but the fact that she didn’t shut the door was a thread of hope. He took a breath, forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“I messed up,” he continued, the words tumbling out like a confession. “It’s always been you. I spent the summer running from that, but all I did was run in circles that brought me back to you.”

Her gaze flickered, something unreadable shifting there. The silence stretched, so heavy he thought he might drown in it.

“I hate that I hurt you. The worst thing I ever did was betray your trust, and I’d give anything to take it back,” Max said, his voice cracking. “I thought I was protecting myself, being careless, but I ended up losing the only thing that really matters. I know it’s asking too much, but if there’s even a chance… if there’s even a piece of you that could forgive me…”

He took a small step closer, close enough to see the way her lashes trembled. “I’m here now, not knowing anything but this: I miss you, and I’m sorry. And I need to know if there’s a chance—any chance—that you could forgive me.”

She looked away for a moment, her lashes brushing her cheek as she blinked back whatever thoughts clouded her mind. The silence between them felt fragile, like a breath could shatter it.

“I know I can’t erase what I did, but I need you to know I’d spend forever trying to make it right,” he whispered, stepping just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her presence.

Her eyes met his, and he held his breath, searching for anything—any flicker of the girl who’d once welcomed him with a smile that felt like home. But she said nothing. And though the silence was filled with the tension of words unsaid, he felt a faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, she was listening.

“I’ll wait,” he said, voice almost breaking. “For as long as it takes.”

[bellysoupset]

Sick at Home - Part 3

@beanizsmol

----------

Vince slept past his alarm. He never did that, no matter how tired he was, the noise always managed to wake him up. But this time, he slept past it and then past a phone call from Wendy at seven thirty and then past one from his mother at 8 AM.

He woke up with coughing, eyes peeling open like they had been glued down and for a second he just sat there, rubbing at his face and trying to pinpoint what exactly was going on.

He was freezing and his stomach hurt like he had swallowed nails. His head was pounding and there was an incessant noise that took Vince a second to realize was Sophia heaving over her bucket.

He jumped up and immediately regretted it when the room spun around him and caused his knees to buckle. Vince grabbed her desk, bringing a bunch of glittery pens and notebooks to the ground, but managing to stop himself from faceplanting her floor.

Behind him, Sophia let out a wet belch and he heard another heave, followed by her hyperventilating. Vince swallowed a heave of his own, stumbling towards her bed. He wasn't able to stand upright, so he crawled on it and flinched as he saw just how red Soph's face was. There weren't tears running down her cheeks, but she was clearly sobbing, a rope of saliva hanging from her bottom lip and her blue eyes all bloodshot.

"Vin-" Her voice came out hoarse and Vince scooted up on the bed so he managed to sit almost behind her. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but he managed to hold back her hair with one hand, the other one rubbing her back up and down.

"My head is killing me, Vin..." Sophia whined, turning so she could bury her face against his chest. Normally he'd be over the moon with such affection, but at that moment all that the gesture caused was more pressure on his stomach and Vince pressed a fist to his mouth, muffling a gag against it.

"Water," he grumbled, squeezing her, "you need water."

"Can't- Won't stay down..." Sophia sniffled pathetically and Vince pressed his eyes closed, trying to muster up energy to force her to drink something. Hell, he needed to check on Livia, the panic was starting to cling to him like cold sweat and making him claustrophobic.

"Stay- Stay here..." Vince rolled off the bed and stumbled up, bracing against her wall and taking shallow breaths.

"Vin?" Sophia called in a little voice and he forced his eyes open, ignoring the little colorful pulsating spots that were dancing around her head. His sister was curled up as much as she could, frowning at him and he wasn't entirely sure why she was angry. He hadn't done anything- "are you okay?"

"Liv," Vince answered instead, taking deep, steadying breaths and forcing his legs to keep moving, "gotta check on Liv, high fevers are dangerous with little kids," and if something happened to Livia because he was too sick, he'd die.

Vince nearly went down to his knees when he entered Livia's bedroom and she was starfished in bed, peacefully asleep. Vince sat at the foot of her bed and let out a relieved sigh when he touched her and she felt cold to the touch. The seven year old had sweat through another set of PJs, but she seemed sound asleep and Vince grabbed the thermometer abandoned on her bedside table, holding it to her ear.

"How high is it?" Sophia asked, startling him. Vince stomach soured up even more at the mild jump, causing him to gulp down.

"Hmm-" he swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, "101ºF.... That's good, right?"

Sophia nodded, then let out an exhausted sigh and climbed Livia's bed, wrapping herself up around her little sister as if the kid was a teddy bear. Vince felt almost envious, that was exactly what he wanted to do, but his stomach had other ideas.

"Give me that," Soph opened her hand to grab the thermometer, then held it to her own ear, "you look like shit, Vin."

He huffed out a breath, staring at his shoes. The room was pulsating, he wasn't sure how that was even possible.

"Uhm... A little under 102," Sophia announced, holding the device for him to read, but Vince couldn't even begin to put the numbers together, "your turn."

Vince shook his head, then ignored Soph's complaints as his belly flipped. He slammed a hand to his lips, but didn't have any strength to get up.

Instead, he collapsed out of Livia's bed, to his hands and knees, and gagged fruitlessly. His senses were tricking him, his stomach felt full and his head was swimming, he was freezing as if he had dipped into a frozen lake and Vince wanted to cry...

"Shit, you're super warm," Sophia was draped on his back all of sudden, her voice filtering through the ringing in his ears. Vince coughed, managing to bring up a splash of bile, all over the floor. What a mess.

"Sophie..." Livia sounded pitiful and terrified and he had no idea when she had woke up, "Soph, I don't like this, I want mamma-"

"I don't like this either," Sophia scoffed, shaking Vince a little, "Vin? Vin, please, I'm scared, what do I do? I'm going to call mamma-"

"No," Vince managed to say, shaking his head. He dizzily reached behind him, grabbing the bed to pull himself up and Livia promptly latched on his wrist as if she could be of any help. He took a breath, wiping his mouth, "get my phone, please."

Sophia was happy to be bossed around and she bolted out of the room, while Livia crawled on his lap, puke be damned, her little fingers all over his face, "Vin?"

"I'm'kay," he turned his head to kiss her palm, closing his eyes for a second-

"Is he passed out!?" Sophia's voice was too loud and Vince frowned, forcing his eyes open. He was flat on his back now, although he didn't remember lying down at all. Livia was sitting by his side, curled up, bottom lip trembling, face all red as she was clearly crying.

"Not-no..." Vince squeezed his eyes shut and open again, staring at the ceiling, "call Max."

He wanted Wendy, but she was 4 hours away and even feverish as he was, Vince knew they needed someone now.

"Who?"

"Max," Vince rolled on the bed, his face met Livia's lap and he couldn't bring himself to move when his baby sister wrapped her arms around his head like an octopus, "Daniels."

"Mr. Daniels?" Sophia held the phone to his face, so she could get the face ID, before snatching it back, "my chemistry teacher?"

"Yea-" Vince muffled a sick burp against Liv's lap, "tell him to come over."

He was floating in and out of consciousness. Half listening as Sophia stammered and nearly died of embarrassment as she called Max, then as she peeled off Livia from him, ignoring the kid's complaints.

He was drifting, sinking into the dark, when suddenly he was shaken harshly, "Hey, Monacelli," Max's voice was rough, alarmed, "man, wake up. C'mon, don't have me call an ambulance."

Vince frowned, forcing his eyes open.

Daniels was standing over him, looking more than a little pissed off. His blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail, so the undercut was showing, and he was wearing what Vince assumed were gym clothes, although he'd never peg Max as the type to frequent one.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Max huffed, "can you sit up?"

Vince nodded, although he wasn't so sure. He looked around the room, dizzily, "where- Where-"

"Livia and Sophia are in your bedroom. The bed is bigger and its not as messy. Livia is having breakfast, I got her some cereal. Sophia is sleeping."

"Fever-" Vince slurred, trying and failing to push himself up. He was flooded by a sense of relief that his sisters were taken care of, which was a bad thing, since panic was the only thing holding him together. It was suddenly much harder to keep his eyes open.

"Livia's fever is almost gone," Max moved and grabbed Vince's hoodie by the front with both hands, using all his force to pull the other man sitting up, "Sophia took some Tylenol, I'll check on her in a second. None of them are half as bad as you- You're burning up."

"Hmmm," was Vince's sleepy answer, all fight leaving him. Max slapped his cheek, not too kindly.

"Wake up, don't pass out on me-" he pushed something against Vince's lips and the man frowned, forcing his eyes open again. He didn't remember closing them. Max was suddenly really close, forcing a straw in his mouth, "drink up, you're super dehydrated. Sophia said you didn't drink anything."

"Snitch," Vince scoffed, then took a gulp and immediately groaned as it settled like a punch in his stomach. He didn't even quite swallow it down, before his belly was squeezing with a retch, rejecting it. Max barely had time to scramble back, as Vince puked the little splash of Gatorade on his front and let out a sob, "fuck-"

"Shit, Vince," Max chewed on his lip, worried, "I think you need a hospital, man."

"No," Vince shook his head, grimacing at the wet spot on his hoodie, "help me-"

"Oh yeah, yeah, sorry-" Max cringed at his own lack of action, helping Vince strip off the piece of clothing, "don't go anywhere, I'll be back in a second."

Vince let out an amused huff at the prospect of him moving, when he could barely stay awake. He closed his eyes once again, hating the way the room was spinning and the heavy weight in his stomach... Something like ice touched his face and Vince scrambled, only for Max to grab him by the shoulder.

"HEY! Stay put!" Max's bedside manners were atrocious, as he all but shouted at Vince in order to snap him out of the fever induced panic. Nevertheless, it worked. Vin settled back down against the pillows, his heart hammering, eyes darting around in a paranoid way until he realized Max was simply holding a wet towel to his face.

"Christ, you're a mess," Max pouted, wiping him face and chest, "we need to cool you down, your brain is probably melting..."

The visual caused Vince to grimace and gag and the blonde widened his eyes, "oh, for fuck's sa- Vince!" he snapped his fingers in front of the other man's eyes, "stop that. No more puking."

"Check on the girls," Vince rasped out, "Sophia's in bad shape..."

"Sophia is fine," Max glared at him, "her fever was going down and she managed to keep down water, unlike you. Livia-"

"She doesn't like cereal," Vince let his eyes slip closed again, turning his head so he could press his forehead to the inside of Max's wrist, "she'll puke again."

"You're insufferable," Max scoffed, draping the wet towel over him like a blanket, "I'll be right back."

Next time Vince woke up, he was alone in the room. The towel draped over him had changed into a different one and it was dry by then. He could hear giggling down the hall. Vin's throat was scratchy and he had a killer headache, but the floaty feeling from before had diminished.

He stumbled up, using the wall as support and forcing himself to get out of the room.

Max was sitting with his legs crossed, boots gone and just in his socks, in Vince's bed. Livia was sitting on his lap and Sophia lying down, rolled on her side, they were playing UNO cards.

Vince braced against the threshold, squinting at how bright the room was. All windows were open in the house, which caused him to shiver.

"You're such a cheater, Daniels," Sophia said in a raspy voice, although it sounded amused. Max rolled his eyes, noticing Vince in the doorway, but all he said was:

"No, I'm not," he kissed Livia's head, "are we cheating, Liv?"

"No, we're not!"

"See," he grinned at Sophia, smugly, before grabbing Livia's waist and planting her sitting on the mattress, "keep kicking your sister's ass. I'll be right back."

Vince moved out of the doorway before the girls could see him and Max met him in the hallway, planting his hands on his hips and looking a whole lot like a worried mother, "the fuck are you doing out of bed?"

"Thirsty," Vince whispered and Max rolled his eyes.

"You could've asked for water," he said, grabbing Vince's arm and shoving him in the direction of Livia's room, only for the other man to stop moving altogether.

"Tired of the bed," he rubbed at his forehead, grimacing at his greasy hair, "need a shower."

"You're gonna slip and die," Max glared at him, "you can barely stand."

"I feel gross," Vince groaned, wrapping an arm around his stomach - Since when he was shirtless? - "I wanna shower."

Max stared at him, seemingly not sure of what the hell to do, before sighing and nodding, "okay... You're gonna leave the door open," he steered Vin back in his own bedroom, where the girls were.

As soon as they stepped inside, Livia was rushing up, squealing "VINNY!" and hugging him by the legs. He wanted nothing more than scoop her up, but just the idea of bending to pick her up was enough to have his head swimming again. Max's grip around his arm was iron tight.

"Hey bambi," he messed Livia's greasy curls, she needed a shower as well. Sophia didn't get up from the bed, but she sat up, staring at him worriedly.

"You sure you should be standing?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I'm fine," Vince said, at the same time as Max answered:

"No, he shouldn't."

"I'm fine," Vin insisted, stroking Livia's face when she hugged his stomach, "I just need a shower and some water."

Daniels scoffed, but didn't say anything, only crouching down and grabbing Livia by her armpits, stopping her from attempting to climb Vince like a cat would, "c'mere, little monster," he threw her up, hugging her closer, then pointed at Vince, "keep the door open, go."

"He's bossy," Sophia giggled from her spot and Vince nodded, stumbling forward.

Showering proved to be a bigger challenge than Vince was expecting and he was panting and dizzy by the time he managed to wash his hair. He didn't have any energy to get out of the shower, so he only braced against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cold tiles and trying to will his stomach to stay in place as the nausea returned with vengeance.

He ended up stumbling out of the shower in order to lean over the toilet, still naked, and retch weakly until his body managed to bring up a splash of bile and trickle of red. Vince's head swam and he slumped forward, hugging the toilet, just as Max said, "What the- Is that blood?!"

"Uhm," Vince answered unhelpfully, as Daniels stepped around him to close the shower and threw a towel over him. The blonde crouched down next to him, a hand squeezing Vince's nape.

"God, Vince, how- Yeah, I'm dragging your ass to the emergency room," Max decided, "c'mon, get up. Hope keeping your curls pretty was worth it, you idiot."

"No- No'spital..." Vince slurred, leaning against Max's arms and nearly sending the blonde flat on his back, "I'm not... Not puking blood," his stomach flipped once more and he groaned, swallowing down the nausea, "scratched throat."

"Yeah, I don't believe you," Max sighed, forcing him to sit up right, "up, get up. You need some clothes, I don't want you to catch pneumonia on top of this plague."

"Gon... Gonna be sick again," Vince groaned, feeling dangerously close to tears. He was tired of being strong, he wanted to be in bed and feeling fine, "sorry."

"You don't have anything to bring up," Max's voice was strained as he threw one of Vince's arms around his neck and used his whole body to pull him up, "Girls, close your eyes."

Vince cringed in embarrassment as he stumbled in the room, naked, the towel had already slipped down his waist and was on the ground, and saw Sophia with her eyes shut and covering Liv's with a hand.

"Sorry..."

"Vinny," Livia grabbed Sophia's wrist, "are you-"

"I'm not dying," he scoffed, already knowing what she was going to ask. He was going to find whoever taught his baby sister about death and strangle them.

"He's just stubborn and annoying and-" Max dropped him on the bed, causing the whole thing to jostle and Sophia to let out a squeal, "really fucking heavy."

"I keep telling him to go on a diet," Soph said unhelpfully, causing all three of them to let out a scoff.

"He doesn't need a diet," Max said, at the same time that Liv exclaimed, "Vinny is fluffy! Stop being mean!" and Vince answered, "fuck off, Sophia."

She let out a little whine at all three answers and Vince struggled to sit up as Max let go off him in order to dig up a fresh set of sweatpants.

"We're getting way too friendly here, Monacelli," Max teased him, as he had to crouch down and help Vince slide up the pants. He straightened up, patting Vince's thigh, "alright, you can open your eye- Livia!"

Livia had jumped Vince the second Sophia let go of her, causing her brother to let out a groan and squeeze his mouth in a tight line. Max let out a tired sigh, feeling a wave of sympathy for his...Friend? Yeah, Vince was his friend, he decided. He had just hauled the guy around naked, they were more than acquaintances, they were friends.

He had been in the house for around six hours now and he was already done for, he couldn't fathom how Vince was able to keep up with the girls while so sick himself.

"It's okay," Vince breathed out, moving on the bed so he was in the middle of it and Sophia, for all her attitude and bark, promptly curled up against his side, just like Livia was, "I'm alright, Max, relax."

"You're insane," Max breathed out, circling the bed to grab the Tylenol and a bottle of Gatorade. He figured it was fine if Vince shared with Sophia, since they were both sick, "drink."

"No, man, I don't-"

"Drink," Max's patience was gone, "drink or I'm calling an ambulance, do not try me."

Vince let out a groan, but gave in as soon as Livia lifted up her head from his chest and said, "no hospital, Vinny."

"Fine," he said sourly, taking the pills with a small sip and planting the bottle on his bedside table, "happy?"

"Ecstatic," Max replied just as sharply, then sat on the foot of the bed, fishing out Vince's phone from his own pocket, "you should call your girlfriend, she called like 3 times already. And your mom-"

"Did any of you tell mamma about this?" Vince looked between the girls and they all shook their heads, "good. We're not gonna."

"Very smart," Max said dryly and Vince opened a sheepish smile.

"It's their anniversary, man, I don't want to ruin it. Besides, everything is fine here, right?"

"Now that Daniels is here," Sophia scoffed, but didn't move her head from where she had her cheek pressed to Vince's bicep, yawning. Vince let out an amused huff, noticing Max's face turning all red.

"You hear that? She likes you better than me," he said, then his call connected and he said, "Hey, honey-" and Max could clearly hear Wendy going frantic over the line.

He lied down on the foot of the bed himself, looking up at the ceiling and rubbing his face, trying to fight the horrible warm feeling that was washing over him. It shouldn't feel this nice to be surrounded by three sick people.

[twirlyleafs]

“Bet”

Lando Norris x Verstappen! Reader

TW: Angst, betrayal, huuuurt

A/N: this pained me

~~~~

Lando started to sense something was wrong when you weren’t in the garage after qualifying. Usually, you’d be there, waiting with a bright smile and open arms. Just before he got into the car, he’d kissed you, feeling his chest tighten with affection as you laughed, cheeks dimpling, when he barely ghosted his lips over your skin. Like always, you’d whispered the same playful, “Break a leg,” but then softened, as you added, “Just… be careful, okay?” He’d winked, like he always did, flicked down the visor, and sped away.

When he returned, he instinctively searched for you, expecting that warm, familiar presence, only to feel the slight pang of disappointment settle in his chest when you were nowhere to be found. A hint of a frown tugged at his lips as he asked around, and one of the team members mentioned they thought they’d seen you leave. The uneasy feeling took root in his stomach, coiling tightly.

By the time he checked the Red Bull paddock, Lando was certain something was wrong. He found your brother, Max, and casually tried to play down his worry, not wanting to raise suspicions. Max’s relaxed shrug was far from reassuring. “I haven’t seen her,” he said, and Lando’s heartbeat drummed a little faster. Why would you leave without telling either him or Max? The question buzzed in his mind, feeding his anxiety. He tried texting and calling, but each time he was met with silence, the unanswered messages adding weight to his growing dread. In between interviews, he dialed your number, his patience thinning with every call that went straight to voicemail.

When he finally returned to the hotel room that night, the relief he’d been hoping for evaporated in an instant. You were there, but instead of the embrace he’d longed for, he found you frantically stuffing clothes into your suitcase, your expression stormy, tear-streaked, and entirely closed off.

“Baby?” His voice was tentative, almost afraid, as he quietly shut the door behind him. You didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. He took a few slow steps closer, his hand reaching toward you as if touching you might make you turn to him, might ease whatever pain seemed to radiate from you in waves. “Angel, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Save it, Lando.” Your voice cut through the room like a blade, as cold and sharp as he’d ever heard. Lando’s breath hitched, and he withdrew his hand, caught off-guard. He had never seen you like this. His fingers found your arm again, a gentle, almost desperate attempt to ground you, to ground both of you.

But the instant he touched you, you flinched away, spinning to face him with a look that made his heart feel as if it had shattered on impact. Your eyes were red-rimmed, and fresh tears shimmered there, but what undid him was the sheer intensity of your gaze. Anger, betrayal, and hurt mingling together into something he could hardly bear to look at.

“Baby—” he tried, his voice cracking as he spoke, but you cut him off, every word like a dagger.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare call me that.” Your voice wavered despite your anger, and the way it broke only mirrored the turmoil he felt. Lando’s confusion deepened, a tangle of emotions twisting inside him.

“What is going on?” he asked, voice thin with barely restrained panic. His mind raced, every possible explanation slipping out of reach, leaving only the dread settling deeper in his chest.

“I heard them, Lando. I heard them talk about us.” Your lips twisted, the disgust evident in your expression. “How crazy it is that we’ve been together for this long. How crazy it is that you actually kept up a bet,” you took a deep breath. “That a bet has been going on for over a year.”

A surge of cold washed over him as he realized what you were saying, the pit in his stomach opening wider as he saw the pieces fall into place in your mind. His eyes squeezed shut for a split second, regret flooding his face. How could he have been so careless?

“I can explain,” he said quickly, desperate to salvage the fragile remains of the trust he felt crumbling between you two. But the scoff you gave felt like another slap. He reached for you, voice trembling with emotion, “Y/N, please—”

You took a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield from him. Your voice broke, anger and sorrow mingling together in a heartbreaking mix. “A bet, Lando? You’re dating me because of a bet?” Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you didn’t bother to brush them away, too devastated to care about holding yourself together.

“No, no, of course not!” He took a hesitant step forward, his hands raised slightly as though approaching something fragile.

“Why?” you choked, hurt radiating from every word. “Why did you let it go on so long? You could have just, had your fun and ended it. But now, after everything we’ve shared, after I’ve—” Your voice caught, and you angrily wiped at your cheeks. “I thought we had something real. I love you, Lando. And you…“

“I love you, too,” he whispered, almost to himself. The sight of you in such pain was unbearable. He gently pushed your suitcase aside, capturing your wrists, and brought your hands to his face, his thumbs brushing away the tears spilling from your eyes. “I love you, baby. Of course I do. God I love you so-.”

“You don’t love me,” you whispered, voice hollow, the spark that once defined your every smile and laugh extinguished. “If you did, you wouldn’t have kept this going. You wouldn’t have let me fall so deeply.”

“Please, it’s not what you think,” he pleaded, voice breaking, his heart pounding in his chest as he held you, praying you’d let him explain. “It was a stupid mistake, something I never took seriously. You have to believe me.”

For a fleeting moment, he saw hesitation in your eyes, a glimmer of hope. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by steely resolve. You pulled your hands away from him, and the emptiness that filled the space between you left him frozen, helpless.

“You’re cruel, Lando. Cruel. And I never want to see you again.”

The weight of your words crushed him. He was drowning in the guilt and the sorrow, unable to breathe as he watched you bend to zip your suitcase, your movements quick and determined. Desperation took over, and he dropped to his knees, his hands pressing down on the suitcase to keep it closed.

“Please, please don’t go,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper as the tears fell freely down his cheeks. “Just let me explain, don’t walk away without letting me explain.”

A knock at the door interrupted, and both your heads snapped toward the sound. Your brother’s voice called your name softly, and Lando’s heart sank even further. Max stepped in, his expression darkening as he took in your tear-stained face and Lando’s distressed form on the floor. Instinctively, Max wrapped a protective arm around you, pulling you behind him as if to shield you from the man who had broken your heart.

“Please,” Lando whispered, his voice hoarse, but the words felt useless, meaningless in the wake of the devastation he’d caused. He felt paralyzed as Max picked up your suitcase, his gaze hard and unyielding, offering no sympathy as he guided you toward the door.

And then you were gone, the door clicking shut with a finality that echoed through the silent room, leaving Lando alone, his world collapsing around him. He stayed on the floor, staring blankly ahead, numb with the knowledge that he had lost you.

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Fifteen

— Little Big Aftermath [aka the end]

Series Masterlist

wc: 3k

we’ve made it to the end guys! I just have to say I never thought I’d complete this story and that too fifteen parts of it but to all those who read it and motivated me to keep writing, thank you. While it is the end of the official story, I will continue to take requests for blurbs on specific scenes you’d like to see. However, there won’t be a set posting date on these blurbs, it’ll be out whenever it’s requested and completed. Once again, thank you so much for those who were here since the first chapter, and here’s to more fic series in the future. P.S lemme know if you want to be tagged in the blurbs.

Your frown grew deeper as you turned in the direction your daughter had pointed, unfortunately spotting Tyler. Luckily, he wasn't looking at you two since he was focusing on the podium celebrations about to happen.

"I didn't know daddy was here, mama." Picking Isabella up, you shook your head, "I didn't know either, angel, but let's focus on Max for now okay?"

She gave a nod of agreement and applauded for the drivers, Oscar and Lando in particular, who finished second and third in the race. She did, however, cheer the loudest when Max, as he has done after almost every race this season, stepped onto the top step of the podium.

He was having trouble finding you and Isabella right away in the crowd, and you could see the slightest frown forming on his face until a smile emerged when he succeeded, connecting his gaze with yours.

Isabella giggled as Max held his hand up to wave at her before blowing a kiss in the air in your direction. His behaviour drew Lando and Oscar's attention to you as well, with the former driver rolling his eyes at Max jokingly and Oscar smiling at the interaction.

However, you didn't realize that someone else was also looking at you because your gaze didn't waver away from Max.

The champagne bottles were popped, and this time Isabella was awake to see it all, watching with fascination as it was the first time she was able to see it in person. "I wanna do that, mama," she pointed at the drivers spraying the alcoholic drink, soaking each other's race suits while laughing. "Maybe when you're older, Bella."

"When I'm 7?" She asked, and you chuckled, "a little more than that, sweetheart."

Once the celebrations were over, a huge part of the crowd dispersed, the teams resuming to their usual scheduled routines, preparing for post-race debriefs and other meetings. "Where's Maxy going?" Isabella asked, watching as he was led away by someone clad in a RedBull uniform.

"He's a little busy with interviews, but he told me that he'd come back as soon as he's done," you explained, knowing that Max had a post-race conference and a few other duties lined up.

Isabella huffed, "but he won the race." She rested her head on your shoulder for a moment while playing with a strand of your hair—the habit formed back when she was a few months old.

"Yeah he did, which means he's very famous right now and so many people want to talk to him," you explained and while she nodded in understanding, she still pouted, "I wanna talk to him too."

"Why don't we wait for him inside his driver's room?" You asked, turning around when she nodded.

You had almost reached Max's driver room—a place he had suggested for you and Isabella to stay to wait for him, but pausing in a secluded area as a familiar voice called out, "Isabella!" then heard your name as well. Isabella squirmed in your lap, wanting to get down after seeing Tyler walk up to you both. You sighed, knowing that you'd have to stop and chat.

"Tyler," you greeted, and awkwardness hung in the air for two seconds before Isabella decided to speak up. "Daddy, you said you were busy, what are you doing here?"

Despite her hesitance to stay at her father's place, which she still hasn't done since the day she was discharged from the hospital, she frequently spoke to him over the phone.

Unfortunately for him, Isabella rarely forgets promises. While he was busy playing the "good father" role after your ultimatum, he had make false promises, agreeing to everything she asked for without hearing her out properly. In that conversation, she asked about the promise he made of taking her to a race before she had met Max.

While you and Max had taken her once, she still wanted to experience the thrill with her father since he was the one who introduced the sport to her.

He glanced at you, silently asking if he did in fact claim that he was busy, and frowned when you nodded. "Oh Bella, sweetheart, I didn't know that I would have the time to be here, it was an unexpected decision or else I would've brought you along, but you're here anyways!" He tried to uplift her mood, but instead of hanging on to every word he spoke like she used to do, she just shrugged.

Deciding to divert the topic of conversation, Tyler asked, "did you enjoy the race?" He stepped forward, kneeling down to be closer to her but on instinct, Isabella moved away, clutching on to your hand tightly.

He frowned, once again glancing up at you after noticing her behaviour, but you didn't let an ounce of emotion show on your face. "I'm so happy Maxy won!" She exclaimed, her mood improving for a moment as she thought about him.

Standing up to his full height, Tyler looked at you, "why don't we sit and chat for a moment?" Pressing your lips together in a tight smile, you replied, "I don't think that's a good idea."

He scoffed, then shrugged, "fine, have it your way like always." You were not in the mood to indulge his stupid comments which would eventually lead to an argument, in fact you were here to enjoy the weekend with your boyfriend who you dearly missed in this moment.

His eyes widened briefly when you didn't respond to his comment, wondering how you changed so much in a matter of a few weeks that you couldn't care less about him anymore.

"Hey Bella, why don't you show daddy the caps that you got?" You prompted another topic, that Isabella quickly agreed to. Tyler's gaze remained on you for a moment, understanding that you truly had no intention on speaking to him longer than necessary. The conversations you did have were only necessary due to your daughter, but even those texts and calls started becoming less and less frequent.

Isabella took off her Red Bull cap, which had autographs from Max and Checo, to expose a Ferrari cap with two more signatures from Charles and Carlos, and then a McLaren cap that undoubtedly featured two signatures from Oscar and Lando. She caught up to Lando and Charles, who had given her their hats earlier, as well as their teammates, to obtain signatures. She then wanted to get autographs on her RedBull cap as well. When she asked Max and Checo, they chuckled with the latter claiming she had them all at her beck and call, but they nevertheless signed the cap.

Isabella ended up stacking all three caps on her head because she couldn't choose which one best matched with her outfit. She began explaining the story behind the signatures, and Tyler intently listened, asking a few questions in between as well.

"And then-" Isabella's gaze wandered off, eyes lighting up in excitement as she spotted, "-Maxy!"

Without any hesitation she ran up to him, colliding with him as she tried to wrap her arms around him, earning a low, "oof" from him.

Picking her up and settling her on his hip, holding her up with one arm, he held up his other hand that had a medal hanging from it. Max placed the medal around Isabella's neck, which he received on the podium earlier along with his trophy. "We won, princess," he commented, smiling as wide as she did.

She held both of her hands up, imitating the action Max did as he held his trophy on the podium, causing him to laugh. You watched the interaction with a smile on your face, and could hear their laughter from a few feet away.

Walking towards you as Max was initially planned on doing, he noticed a man next to you, which based on your descriptions was Tyler. He decided to overlook him for now, instead greeting you with a kiss to your cheek.

Tyler held his hand out, "great race, congratulations on the championship. I'm a huge fan by the way." Max, nodded politely, still holding Isabella in his arms but shaking his hand nonetheless. "Thank you," he prompted, waiting for the man to introduce himself to confirm his suspicions.

"Oh, so you're Tyler." Max glanced at you for a moment, watching as you tried to hide your smile behind your hands because of his antics. "Why do you say it like it's a bad thing?" He questioned, and Max was quick to retort, "well, it's not really the best thing now is it?"

"I don't understand," he trailed off, and your boyfriend shrugged, "I figured you wouldn't understand, it's okay," he patted Tyler's shoulder in faux consolation. You had to take a step back so Tyler wouldn't see your expression, placing a hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh.

Tyler was quick to catch on to the condescending tone Max spoke with, looking at you—after you composed yourself fortunately. "So what, you get invited to one race and you guys are best friends now?" He asked, a hint of jealousy you were familiar with revealed in his tone.

"More like she's my girlfriend and they're here to support me," Max clarified. Tyler looked at Max, then Isabella, finally understanding why she was always so enamoured by him.

He scoffed, "oh great, enjoy my sloppy seconds then mate, I will warn you though, it's not worth it because a few months later she'll show you a positive pregnancy test and force you to be a father."

Your jaw dropped, instantly responding, "in front of my daughter?" You glanced at Isabella who was in fact hearing all the words spoken, only frowning due to yours and Max's expressions as she didn't understand the full context of the words her father had said, just knowing that it wasn't good.

Max wiped his hand over his mouth, jaw clenching while his warm gaze turned cold within seconds. "Apologize, now," he instructed, trying to hold himself back from causing a fight.

"Now why would I do that? It's true." Max placed Isabella back on her feet who quickly shuffled over to you, standing behind your legs. "How dare you stand here claiming to be my fan yet talk shit about the person I love?" The driver placed his hand on Tyler's shoulder again, but this time you could see the fear bubbling up in his eyes as his grip tightened.

Still, Tyler managed to scoff, "love? Bold claims there. Sorry to break it to you but she's probably just with you for your mon-" he couldn't finish his sentence because he was punched square in the jaw by your boyfriend.

"Max!" You shrieked, and watching the interaction, Isabella held on to your hands tightly with tears welling up in her eyes. You picked her up again, noticing that Tyler was fuming in anger. "Gonna fucking sue you for that," he spit out some blood, but Max only shrugged, "try me."

Fortunately, you guys were stood in between the team motorhomes, which meant you were slightly hidden away from public eye due to the buildings covering the scene.

Readying himself for another punch if needed, you shook your head, "it's not worth it, Max."

"Yeah Max, listen to your girlfriend," he taunted, angering you in the process. "Will you ever shut up?" You shot back. Max glanced at Isabella who had hid her face in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you. Although he couldn't see her face, he guessed that her eyes were tightly shut.

Nodding as a silent agreement with Max, you decided to walk away from the scene as you didn't want to expose Isabella to any more of this argument than what she has already heard. Glancing at Max once more, you hoped that your expression was indicating something along the lines of, "don't do anything too bad."

However, you could hear Max's words as he began speaking to Tyler, "listen here you little shit..." but you didn't stick around to hear the entire conversation, smiling to yourself knowing that Tyler would finally be put into his place—that too by his favourite driver.

Finally entering his driver's room, you sat down on the couch sighing in relief. Isabella was still in your lap and you ran your hand up and down her back in a soothing motion because you could feel her sniffling against you. "Bella," you murmured, wanting to see her adorable face.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that, sweetheart." You kissed her head before brushing your hand through her hair. You heard her mumble but didn't catch her words, "what was that?"

She lifted her head to look at you, and you frowned seeing the tears staining her cheeks. "Why is daddy so mean? I don't like him."

"Some people are just mean for no reason, and unfortunately, your daddy is one of them," you explained, no longer covering for him knowing that after what Isabella witnessed, she wouldn't want to be near him no matter what you said.

She frowned but didn't respond, leaning her head against your shoulder again. You didn't disturb her peace, knowing that after the eventful day, she needed some quiet time.

Max entered the room a few minutes later, and he smiled to greet you but it fell flat. He pointed at Isabella, then put his thumbs up to silently ask if she was okay, but you shrugged.

"What did you say to him?" You asked, knowing that whatever conversation followed probably wasn't kind. "I told him that I'd ban him from future races if I saw him anywhere near you or Bella, and he left."

You knew that it probably wasn't that easily done, but you didn't ask for more details.

You had thought Isabella fell asleep since she hadn't moved in a while, nor could you see her face, but she lifted her head up to look at Max once she heard some shuffling about in the room.

He paused as soon as his gaze connected with hers, unsure of how to initiate a conversation because he did literally punch her father. Isabella wiggled off your lap, and both you and Max thought that she would walk away further into the room so her next action surprised you both. Running towards Max, she held her arms out, engulfing him in a hug.

"You're better than my dad, Maxy," she muttered, and he audibly sighed, the stress wrinkles on his face disappearing while wrapping his own arms around her smaller frame.

"Thank you, princess," he whispered back, and she pulled back to kiss his cheek. Isabella looked back at you, smiling when she saw you smile as well. "Thank you for taking care of my mama," your daughter told Max, and his heart warmed at her words. "Always."

The ring of your phone interrupted the beautiful sight in front of you, but your eyes widened when you saw that it was your mother calling. As soon as you pick it up, you're greeted by hearing your full name.

"Hi, mum," you stood up and walked further away just in case you were about to get a scolding although you had no idea what you could've possibly done. "Why didn't you tell me?" She asked.

"Tell you what?" You answered with a question of your own, knowing that she could be referring to anything at the moment. "That you have a boyfriend."

Your mouth dropped open, "how do you know that?" She chuckled, "because a friend of mine called me and told me that she just watched you kiss someone on live television, some racer guy."

Covering your mouth with your hand, you thought back to the moment Max kissed you in front of the huge crowd after getting out of his car, and of course there had to be cameras capturing the moment. "Max, he's a Formula 1 driver," you explained.

"Wait, the same Max that Bella talks about?" You hummed, "the same one."

"I'm glad you finally moved on from your daughter's father, but I'm also sad that you didn't tell me sooner and I looked foolish because I didn't know until my friend told me about it."

"I'm sorry, I didn't think my relationship would be broadcasted live. Plus, I think the chapter with Tyler is finally over, for both me and Isabella."

"That's good to hear, she doesn't deserve a father like him. Is Max good to you?"

"He's the best to both of us, she lights up with joy every time she sees him." Your mother hummed as she heard your response, "then me and your father have to meet him one day."

You heard some laughter in the next room where Max and Isabella were, and you smiled at your mother's words, "I hope we can come by soon, I'd love to introduce him to you and dad."

After saying goodbyes and promises to meet soon, you returned to the room Max and Isabella were in, pausing in the doorway at the sight in front of you. Just like how Isabella was sitting in your lap earlier with her head against your shoulder, she did the same to Max.

You were about to make your presence known when you heard your daughter's question. "Maxy, why do you call me princess?"

Max's gaze found yours, always finding you whether you were standing in the corner of the room or in a crowd. "Because your mama is the queen," he responded casually, as if he was stating a fact.

Isabella lifted her head, "does that make you the king?" He shrugged, "I guess it does."

She giggled, "and does that mean we get a happily ever after like the storybooks?" Max reached his hand out towards you, asking you to join them which you obliged to easily.

"Ours is better than the storybooks," he stated, placing a kiss on Isabella's forehead before pecking your lips briefly.

The End.

Taglist: @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @wonnou @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @hockeyboysarehot @formulaal @namgification @tallrock35 @bloodyymaryyy @formulanni @ellouisa17 @phantomxoxo @samantha-chicago

[coco-loco-nut]

loml

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: a journey through your relationship with max

a/n: so for a little background... my ex (he wasn't an F1 fan, it was never gonna work, let's be real) broke up with me the night before this album was released, so writing this series has been very healing; however, this one was extremely difficult to write bc it's the only song i can't analytically listen to and find the deeper meanings yet, especially after losing your first love. sorry for the rant and making this short🙃

tw: emotional abuse, manipulation

masterlist ttpd masterlist part two

________

You and Max were fan favorites, it was evident to anyone with eyes who had eyes. But they say you never know what happens behind closed doors.

“She’s the love of my life,” Max would always say about you, looking at you like you held the universe in the palm of your hand. His fans could recite your love story by heart from how much he loved to talk about you. It only made sense that he could shatter that public opinion.

“Y/n and I have divorced, I would like to ask for privacy as we navigate the changes,” Max posted one day, his socials wiped of everything. Your accounts remained the same, your last post being from the fateful race months ago. You haven’t posted since. The fans should’ve realized when the WAGs and George unfollowed Max.

Your apartment was full of things that reminded you of Max, every time you walked in it reminded you of every memory. He was embroidered in everything. You look at a printed photo of when you first met him. Despite it being six months later, you couldn’t get rid of him.

~~~

All it took was locking eyes with him across the pier for you to fall in love on that breezy summer day. He walked up to you and asked you to join him, and you did. You kissed him at the top of the ferris wheel later that night, and you didn’t even know he was famous all you knew was that he made you feel safe. The breeze reminded you of the warm ocean breeze from that day, one you called the winds of fate.

Despite being young, you married him after a year of being together. Things weren’t perfect even then, he could be incredibly mean, but he was also a standup guy when it mattered. That erased any wrongdoing of his.

“You have made me a better man, you reformed me, the love of my life,” Max had said that fall evening, repeating the one line that brought you back to him every time.

You believed his words, his lies spun to make you believe the hell you were living in was actually heaven. When he takes his anger out at you, doesn’t defend you against his father, you start to second guess him but he calls you those four words.

“I’ll never leave you, Schatje,” Max holds you in his arms, your back against his chest as you both look at a tv in the Paddock. The fans loved that photo, calling your love legendary. They didn’t know about the growing hole in your heart.

Your marriage was looking like one of those black and white movies you and Max watch on snowy winter afternoons. You and Max had been talking about starting a family, but you couldn’t get pregnant and you were watching everything you loved slip away.

“God, Max, you are like a con-man. I feel like I’ve been sold a get-love-quick scheme. What happened to you?” you ask, voice laced with hurt, during an argument about it. Max just ignored you, pushing past to stream with some friend. He ignored the sobs coming from your bedroom. He told the chat that you are the love of his life when asked about you.

“Y/n, we need to talk,” some of the WAGs pulled you aside during a race. They told you how Max was shit talking you to other drivers, saying you were a waste of a wife for your inability to get pregnant, saying he should’ve never married you, pointing out every flaw he told you was beautiful when he was lying to your face. You stand up and leave, not saying a word even when the girls try to stop you. Max is confused but simply responds to your text saying you were sick with an okay.

You are laying in your bed sobbing when Max gets back from the race. You face the terrace, where you and Max would dance under the stars. You can see the ghosts of it through your tears, and you wished you could un-recall when you thought you had everything.

“Please get out of bed,” Max says, his concerned tone laced with venom. Maybe the ghosts of your relationship are embarrassed by the scene on the other side of the glass.

“No,” you cry, mourning the loss of your counterfeit relationship.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Max sighs leaving the room. You sent a text to the WAG group chat who helped you remove all your belongings from Max’s apartment into George’s apartment that he wasn’t using at the moment.

Your phone is flooded with messages from Max, so you turn it off unless you are talking to your lawyer. Max finds a divorce petition and your apartment key on the dining room table when he comes home from training a few days later. The relationship that had such a valiant roar ended with the blandest goodbye.

You sit in George’s apartment with Carmen and Lily drinking wine. You took over George’s lease after they insisted that you did.

“For someone who claims to be a lion, he sure is a manipulative coward,” Carmen says as the three of you comb through the years of lies he spun.

You took the dreams that you thought you and Max wanted and lit the match to destroy them with your divorce papers. Despite your somber eyes, you seem more at peace, even with the sadness you will carry with you until you die.

“He’s the loss of my life.”

part two

[eu-nicola]

via

summary: In the dazzling world of high society, you are a young woman who lives an apparently perfect relationship with the pilot Pierre Gasly. However, when you discover that your boyfriend of years Pierre was unfaithful to you with one of your best friends you decide to walk away and what better idea than a vacation in the break of Formula 1 in Italy with one of your friends, Charles.

warnings: tension, infidelity

word counter: 8718

author's note: english is not my first language, btw i'm writing the third part of Max's story

You had grown up with them, in those endless summers in the south of France, where the sun seemed brighter and the air was filled with laughter and promises that seemed eternal. Pierre and Charles were like brothers to you, always there, on days of adventure and days of calm. All of your families knew each other well, and every year the summers brought you together in the same coastal corner. Sometimes, Camille would arrive, that inseparable friend with whom you shared secrets and dreams.

Pierre was the center of calm in the group; observant, with an easy laugh and a confidence that inspired trust. He was the boy who always had a logical answer to every problem and calm advice for each of you. You got used to feeling safe when he was around, to trusting in his loyalty and relying on that serenity he conveyed. He had dreamed of being a driver since he was little, and his tenacity in reaching Formula 1 did not surprise anyone; you always knew that he had the discipline necessary to go far.

Charles, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of energy, the first to jump into any challenge, no matter how reckless or absurd it seemed. Always on the edge, he was the friend who made you laugh until your stomach hurt, but also the one who could drive you crazy with his impulses and ideas. But that intensity of his, that boundless passion, was also what made him unique. He and Pierre shared the same dream, and although their personalities were opposite, they were both united by that common goal, by that desire for speed that made them talk about races all the time.

Over the years, you witnessed their triumphs and falls. Sometimes, childhood summers seemed like a distant dream; the pressure, the training, and the anxieties of the future began to infiltrate those vacations that used to be just fun. But the friendship between you remained solid. Although life took you on different paths, the connections remained strong, and there was always a message or a call to remind you that they were there.

Pierre had been more than a friend in the last few years, and that spark that had emerged sometime in their teens had grown into something more solid and deeper. The shared laughter and knowing glances had transformed into a relationship in which both found refuge amidst the demands of their lives.

You remember how it all began, almost without realizing it, like a gentle current in the sea that slowly drags you along until you are completely immersed. For years he had been your friend, your confidant; the boy who was always there. But, at some point, something in him changed, or maybe it was you who had changed.

It had started on a spring afternoon in Monaco, when both of you attended a Formula 1 event. You clearly remember what he looked like: hair messy from the wind and an expression of excitement at seeing the drivers gathered together, his idols. That afternoon you noticed how good he looked, how much he had grown and how much he meant to you. A mix of emotions washed over you, and when Pierre looked at you, holding your gaze a little longer than usual, you felt something in the air, something you hadn't felt before. And in that moment, your relationship changed.

The days that followed were filled with small details, knowing glances, and words that seemed to contain hidden meanings. Sometimes, a simple shared laugh or a silence at his side made you feel something different. Pierre began to appear in your thoughts at all hours, and, at first, you tried to ignore him, because you didn't want to risk the friendship you had with him. But it was impossible.

The first kiss was at sunset on the coast, on a beach where you both used to go when you were younger. You hadn't planned anything, you didn't even know how you had ended up there, in front of him, feeling the breeze and the scent of salt in the air. Pierre looked at you with those warm eyes, and without saying anything, he shortened the distance between you. The kiss was soft at first, as if both of you were measuring the intensity, the newness of it, until it became deeper, more real. In that moment, you felt like a line had been crossed, and although a part of you was afraid, another part knew it was inevitable. Pierre held you with a tenderness you had never experienced before, and in that instant you felt safe, as if you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

From that day on, your relationship evolved with a naturalness that surprised you. The transition from friendship to love was so fluid that, at some point, you couldn't remember what your life was like without him. Pierre became your partner in every sense. He was that constant support in difficult times, the one who listened to you patiently when you shared your fears and your dreams, and the one who always had a smile for you, even after his hardest days on the slopes.

On one occasion, after a particularly exhausting race for him, you both sat on the terrace of your apartment, looking at the sky full of stars. Pierre was exhausted, his shoulders tense and his expression more somber than usual. Without saying anything, you approached and began to massage his shoulders. He sighed, grateful, and let his head fall back, relaxing under your hands. That night you talked for hours, about his career, about the future and about how you saw the world.

The days passed and, little by little, you realized that Pierre had become an indispensable part of your life. His way of seeing the world inspired you, his patience taught you, and, above all, his love made you feel complete. When he held your hand, looked at you, or said sweet words in your ear, the rest of the world seemed to disappear, and there were only the two of you.

It had been almost a year since your relationship with Pierre began, and things between you seemed to be going better than ever. The trust between the two of you was unbreakable, and you felt that he understood you better than anyone else. Pierre was present in every aspect of your life, and you, in his. It seemed like a solid love, a relationship based on years of friendship and respect. But there was something, a detail hidden between the corners of his life and yours, something that would soon emerge, transforming that feeling of security into a wound.

The first time Camille appeared again in your lives, it was on one of your weekend getaways. You had invited your childhood friends, as you did every year, to spend a few days in a villa near the sea. Camille joined the group near the end of the trip, saying that she had been away on a trip and hadn’t been able to make it earlier. Her presence made you happy, as always; after all, she was your lifelong friend, and sharing those moments with her made you feel like everything was in its place.

Pierre and Camille seemed to get along, and that had never worried you. They had known each other for a long time, as had Charles, and they all had a unique bond, one that you had come to value greatly. But what you didn’t know was that, months ago, during one of Pierre’s trips, something had happened between them, something that had become the darkest secret your relationship kept.

It was one night in Monaco, when Pierre was at a team dinner and Camille was visiting the city. Camille had always had a weakness for glamorous nights, clubs, and the freedom to be whoever she wanted. That evening, without thinking twice, she wrote to Pierre, and he, without thinking twice either, agreed to meet her for a drink after dinner. What started as a reunion between friends quickly turned into something more.

That night, Pierre and Camille shared not only laughter and memories, but also glances that went beyond friendship. They both knew it was wrong, that crossing that line was betraying the trust of someone they loved. But, between the intoxicating atmosphere of the place and the complicity they had shared for years, they let themselves go. Pierre felt an attraction he had forgotten, and Camille, who had always had a spark with him, encouraged him, letting herself go as well.

It was a mistake, one they both knew should stay in the past. After that night, Camille returned to her normal life, and Pierre returned to you, convinced that you would never know what had happened. They swore not to talk about it and to carry on as if nothing had happened. Camille continued to be your close friend, and Pierre, your partner.

In the following months, Pierre did everything he could to act as if nothing had happened. His attentions towards you increased, the small details with which he showed his love and the constancy of his affectionate words. With every glance he took at you, he tried to redeem the guilt he felt inside. But even though he seemed to have put it behind him, the shadow of that night still haunted him in his darkest moments. At night, in moments of silence, that guilt tormented him, and he knew that if you ever found out, his whole world would fall apart.

Camille, for her part, came back into your life without showing any trace of remorse. She was skilled at hiding her emotions, and although sometimes her glances at Pierre had a trace of complicity, she managed to remain distant, as if nothing was different. She was still the same Camille as always, with her contagious laugh and carefree attitude. When you were with her, you couldn't even imagine what she was hiding behind her smile.

A few months after that meeting at the villa, something began to change. At first, it was just an intuition, a slight feeling that crossed you from time to time, like a shadow that made you frown for no apparent reason. Pierre was still affectionate, attentive, almost as if he was trying to make up for something, although you didn't know what.

One night, while you were looking through some photos from that getaway, you noticed one in particular: Pierre and Camille, sharing a somewhat peculiar smile. It was a harmless image, but, without knowing why, it made you uncomfortable. You kept telling yourself that they were your friends, that they had known each other all their lives and that it was normal for them to get along. However, something inside you kept doubting.

The weeks that followed increased that uneasiness. You noticed how Pierre looked away when you mentioned Camille, or how Camille, in a conversation, avoided giving details about some nights in which, according to her, "everyone just had fun." You began to analyze her words, her gestures, her looks. You felt trapped in a spiral of mistrust, and you couldn't help it.

You couldn't keep those concerns to yourself; you needed to vent to someone, someone you really trusted. That's when you decided to talk to Charles. After all, he knew Pierre, Camille, and you better than anyone else. You knew he would be honest with you, without trying to sugarcoat things.

One afternoon, while Charles was back at his house, you decided to call him. He answered on the second ring, in that warm, relaxed voice that always managed to calm you down a little. It didn't take you long to convince him to meet you at a secluded café, away from the eyes of anyone who might recognize you.

Charles arrived shortly after you, and upon seeing you, he immediately noticed that something was wrong. He sat down in front of you, looking at you with a mix of concern and curiosity. You tried to smile to lighten the moment, but you barely managed to keep it. So, without further ado, you blurted out what you had in store.

“Charles, I need your help. I feel like… something is going on between Pierre and Camille. I’m not sure what, but… I have this feeling that they are hiding something from me. It’s just a suspicion, but I can’t get it out of my head,” you said, your voice a little broken, trying to control your emotions.

Charles looked at you silently, evaluating every word and every expression of yours. He knew how important Pierre was to you, and the seriousness of your words made him realize that this was not just a passing doubt. He leaned forward, getting closer, and gently took your hand, as he usually did in those moments when you felt lost.

“I don’t know what to tell you… I mean, Camille and Pierre have always been close, but I never thought that…” he paused, as if he didn’t want to feed your fears. “Look, I don’t want you to be hasty. Sometimes, the mind plays tricks on us, and it’s easy to get carried away by insecurity.”

However, your words had awakened something in him, a kind of doubt that seemed to invade his mind as well. Charles knew Pierre and Camille, and, although he had always trusted them, he had never ruled out that a spark could arise between them. After all, he knew what Camille was like, how impulsive she could be, and he also knew Pierre, and how much he hated dealing with conflict. And now, seeing you so distressed, he couldn’t help but think that maybe your suspicions had some truth.

“Do you want me to talk to Pierre?” he finally asked you, looking at you seriously. “Maybe I can get something out of him, try to see if there’s something he’s hiding from you.”

You stayed silent, considering his proposal. You didn't want this to turn into a confrontation, and you didn't want to put Charles in an awkward position either. However, the idea that he could get some truth that was hidden from you seemed tempting.

"I don't know... I don't want Pierre to feel like I'm distrusting him," you murmured, lowering your gaze. "But I can't keep this doubt in my head either."

Charles nodded.

"Look, I'm going to try to find out something, in a subtle way. And if there's something you need to know, I'll tell you. But promise me that you won't do anything until we have some proof, okay?"

You promised Charles that you would be patient, that you would wait before doing anything. At that moment, you felt a mix of relief and fear. At least you weren't alone in this anymore; now you had someone on your side, someone who was willing to help you discover the truth.

The days that followed were long and heavy. Every time Pierre took your hand or looked at you with his affectionate eyes, you felt a pang in your chest, a doubt that went beyond what he could see. Meanwhile, Charles did everything he could to find out something and, in a casual conversation, try to get some clue. You didn't reveal your suspicions to him, but you watched him, attentive to any gesture or word that could give him away.

Finally, one day, Charles called you again.

That call from Charles came when you least expected it. You were at home, in your kitchen, with a cup of tea in your hands, trying to stay calm. The sound of your phone brought you out of your thoughts, and seeing Charles' name on the screen, you felt a knot in your stomach.

You answered quickly, trying to hide the fear that was eating away at you inside.

"Charles?" you asked, your voice a little hesitant.

It took him a moment to answer, and his tone, serious and slow, gave you no reassurance.

“We need to talk. It’s about Pierre… and Camille,” he said, bluntly, and you felt as if the air was being knocked out of your lungs.

You fell silent, knowing that this was the moment your suspicions were either going to come to life or fade away completely. Charles continued, with a tense calm that only increased your anxiety.

“What I suspected about you… it’s true. Pierre and Camille were together, a couple of months ago. It was… it wasn’t something they wanted you to know, and they tried to hide it, but… the pieces don’t fit, and I found out.”

Confusion and pain hit you hard. The teacup in your hands shook and nearly fell, but your fingers tightened around it, as if that small sense of control could keep everything from falling apart.

“It can’t be…” you whispered, unable to process what you had just heard. Charles’ words echoed in your head like a distant echo, but your mind didn’t want to accept them. You couldn’t believe it, not after everything you had shared. Somehow, you hoped this was just a mix-up, a cruel joke. But the seriousness in Charles’ voice left no room for doubt.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Charles said, a mix of frustration and sadness in his tone. “I know how hard this must be for you, but what I’m telling you is the truth. Pierre… I don’t know what he thought, but he wasn’t being honest with you.”

Pain gripped you immediately. You slumped into the chair, your hand still clutching the cup, which now shook as if your entire body was trying to hold on to something that was about to break. Images piled up in your mind: Pierre, so close, so loving, and Camille, your lifelong friend. It all seemed like a cruel game, a lie that was woven with invisible threads until now.

“How did you know?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. You needed to understand how something so destructive had gone unnoticed for so long.

Charles sighed, and in his tone there was a hint of helplessness, as if it hurt him too to be the bearer of bad news.

“I knew because when I was with Pierre last week, I couldn’t help but notice that something wasn’t right. He… was behaving strangely, and when I started asking him questions, everything fell into place. It wasn’t easy for me, but… that’s what I found.” I didn't like having to do it, but I did it for you.

A lump formed in your throat, and you felt the weight of everything you had taken for granted fall on you, crushing you. Everything you had lived with Pierre, all those moments of love, of complicity, suddenly seemed unreal, as if you had been living a lie.

"I... I can't believe it, Charles," you finally said, your voice cracked, full of pain. You felt like the ground beneath you was no longer firm, that everything you had built with Pierre was crumbling into a thousand pieces.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and Charles, although worried, knew he couldn't say anything to ease the pain that was now overwhelming you.

"I'm so sorry..." he murmured, not knowing what else to say. He was also sad for you, for the way things had happened, and for what you knew you would have to face.

The words seemed to flee from you. All you wanted to do was scream, to run away, to run away somewhere where no one knew you, where all of this wasn’t real. How could Pierre, the man you trusted, the one you’d put all your love into, have done this? And Camille, your friend, the one who’d always been there, how could she have crossed that line, betrayed you like that?

“Thank you, Charles,” you said at last, your words cold, automatic, as if you were somehow trying to keep some control over yourself. You knew you needed to process it, but you didn’t know how. You didn’t know how to move on when what you thought was your life had been shattered in front of you.

You hung up the call, and for a moment, everything was silent. The pain washed over you like a wave, and you felt empty, as if the betrayal had ripped a piece of yourself out of you. The space Pierre had occupied in your life suddenly seemed like an impossible void to fill, and Camille, your friend, became a distant, unrecognizable shadow.

While you were sinking into your pain, your bewilderment and the whirlwind of emotions that Pierre and Camille had unleashed in your life, the two of them continued with their own secret. Far from what was happening with you, in the distance that you could not see, Camille and Pierre

were together at an event and, as on so many previous occasions, when they crossed paths in the hallway, there was an instant clash of glances. Memories of the past came back, like ghosts that had never left. Camille, like him, felt the tension between the two of them, a tension that seemed unable to dissipate, even with the passage of time.

Pierre, with his mind full of contradictions, had managed to calm down after his return to you. But now, again in front of Camille, the old emotions invaded him again. He remembered the moment when their bodies met, the touch of their lips, the sensation of something he had not been able to reject. Camille, aware of what had happened, stared at him, and although her expression seemed relaxed, her eyes betrayed the mixture of regret and desire she felt.

“I don’t know why, but… I haven’t been able to forget you,” Pierre told her, his voice lowering in tone, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear them. The confession came out without her being able to avoid it, like a truth that had been pressing against her chest for weeks.

Camille didn’t say anything at first, she just stared at him, with a slight smile on her lips. She couldn’t deny what had happened between them, even if she tried to act indifferent. After all, she had been the one who had made the first move that night, she who had accepted the kiss, who had taken him to a place where neither of them thought about the consequences.

“Don’t forget it,” she replied, her voice soft, but with a tone that Pierre recognized as dangerous. There was something in her words that caught him, something that made him feel as if he were at a crossroads. Camille hadn't let him go, and deep down, he knew she didn't want to either.

Pierre stayed silent, watching her. There was something about her, that intense, direct gaze, that completely disarmed him. He realized that, despite his relationship with you, something with Camille was still alive, something that refused to die out.

"And what do we do with that?" Pierre asked, his tone full of uncertainty, but also of an emotion that he couldn't hide. The words tasted bitter, but also necessary. He couldn't continue living with the guilt, with the weight of what had happened between them.

Camille took a deep breath, looked around to make sure no one was around, and then whispered, almost as if she were revealing a secret truth.

"I don't know what to do with us... with what happened," she admitted, and for a moment, Pierre felt time stop between them. Camille had always been direct, and though there was regret in her words, there was also something deeper, something that kept them connected beyond betrayal.

Pierre took a step closer, a movement that was driven by a need he couldn't control.

"I should never have let this happen… but I can't ignore it, Camille. I can't ignore you," he confessed, this time bluntly, as if the words were slipping from his control.

Camille didn't back down. On the contrary, she moved a little closer to him, and although remorse was present in her eyes, there was also a spark that she couldn't hide.

"I can't forget you either," she replied, with a smile that, although bitter, was sincere. There was something in her voice that, although full of contradiction, showed that, deep down, despite the betrayal, there was still something between them, something they couldn't just leave behind.

The conversation between them ended with a heavy, but not definitive silence. They both knew that what they felt, what had happened between them, wasn't going to disappear immediately. Although Pierre had returned to your side, his mind was still caught between the love he felt for you and the temptation of what he had experienced with Camille.

When Pierre returned, everything seemed to be in its place. At first, he tried to be the same as always: caring, attentive, the kind and loving boy you had been with. But something in him had changed, and you knew it.

That evening, after he arrived at your apartment, you found him in the kitchen while you were making dinner. There was something different about him, and you couldn't ignore it anymore. You knew you couldn't keep living with the doubt and the pain in silence. You had to face it, even if it meant losing him.

You approached him decisively, your heart racing, but determined that, at last, you would have answers. You couldn't keep up with that feeling of betrayal that was eating away at you inside.

"Pierre, we need to talk," you said, trying to stay calm, but knowing that your words sounded much colder than you wanted.

Pierre looked up, surprised by the tone of your voice. He tried to smile, but the smile didn't reach his eyes, and for a moment, everything seemed to collapse between you.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked, with that typical calm of his that used to reassure you, but now only irritated you.

You knew what you had to say, you knew there was no turning back now. You had the proof, you had the truth. It was time for him to face what he had done.

“I know what happened with Camille,” you said suddenly, and the air between you both grew thick. The words came out with the force of something that had been bottled up for too long. It was as if, as you spoke them, the pain you had been carrying around with you for weeks began to release, but at the same time, it intensified.

Pierre was silent for a moment, his face expressionless. Then, you saw him tense, his jaw set. His eyes shifted for a second, as if he were looking for a way out, a way to evade the truth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally answered, but his tone was no longer the same. There was something uncomfortable, something you couldn’t ignore.

“Don’t lie!” you exclaimed, feeling the rage and pain explode inside you. The truth burned you, and you needed him to accept it, to stop hiding it. You knew you couldn’t continue with someone who was lying to you so openly. “Charles told me everything, Pierre. I know what they did, I know you were with Camille.”

Pierre tried to take a deep breath, but he couldn’t help the slight trembling in his hands, the anxiety that invaded him. He knew he couldn’t continue denying the obvious, but he also knew that if he admitted it, he would lose everything he had built with you.

“It’s not what you think…” he said, his voice now lowering, trying to control the situation. But you weren’t going to let him manipulate you anymore. You knew him too well for his empty words to convince you again.

“How is it not what I think?” you asked, unable to contain the sarcasm and pain that seeped into your words. Do you think I'm so stupid that I don't realize what happened? You lied to me, Pierre. You lied to me! I can't believe you did this to me.

Instead of apologizing, Pierre tried to turn the conversation around, like he always did when things got tough. He tried to find an excuse, a justification for his behavior, as if that could make everything go back to normal.

"It was a mistake, something that happened, but it doesn't mean what you think it does. Camille… Camille has always been a close friend, and that night, it was just a moment of weakness. I love you, not her. What happened doesn't matter, what matters is that I'm here with you."

But those words had no power over you. They weren't enough to erase the betrayal you felt. He had overlooked it so many times, ignored so many signs that now they became crystal clear. And now, in front of you, Pierre was trying to downplay it, as if it was all an accident, something weightless, when what he had done had broken everything you believed in him.

You took a step back, unable to bear it any longer.

“I can’t go on like this, Pierre,” you said, your voice shaking, but firm. Each word was another nail in the coffin of what had been your relationship.

Pierre seemed surprised, as if he hadn’t expected you to get to this point. He tried to get closer, to take your hand, but you pushed him away roughly, not allowing him to touch you.

“Don’t touch me. You won’t.” You felt empty, but at the same time liberated, as if a heavy layer of pain and disappointment had suddenly been removed.

Pierre tried to speak, but the sadness in his eyes was evident. Now he saw that everything was crumbling before him, that the lie had come to light, and that nothing could save what was left of you.

“I don’t know what to tell you… I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice cracking, but the words no longer held the power they once had. No matter how sorry he felt, the truth was there, and there was no turning back.

“Then you should have thought about it before,” you answered, with a calm that surprised you. It was as if, finally, all the pain you had been accumulating had transformed into something more solid, something that strengthened you. “I don’t want you around. Not after all this.”

And without giving her any room to say more, you turned around and walked to your room, heartbroken, but with the feeling that at least you had done the right thing. You had reached the end, and even though it hurt, you knew that your life had to go on, away from lies, away from betrayals.

Pierre stood there, alone in the living room, watching as everything he had had with her faded away, unable to do anything but accept that he had lost what he loved most.

After the confrontation with Pierre, the weight of the situation did not fade away. On the contrary, what had started as a broken hope, was transformed into an urgent need to escape. You needed to disconnect, to get away, to find peace away from all that. And there was no better way to do it than taking a breather somewhere where no one could touch you, where you could recover a little of yourself.

That was when you thought of Charles. You knew that his impulsive personality and desire for adventure fit perfectly with what you needed right now: an escape.

The idea of ​​traveling to Italy came to you as a perfect way to unwind. Italy had everything you were looking for: beautiful landscapes, tranquility, history, and culture. You called Charles, who was in the middle of training for the season, but you knew that if anyone could understand what you needed, it was him. At first, you took him by surprise, but upon hearing your voice, he immediately recognized the anguish you were trying to hide.

“Charles…” you said, hesitantly at first, but with the determination of someone who had already made up their mind. “I need to get away from all this. I want to go to Italy, to a villa in the mountains, away from everything. Away from Pierre, away from everything that happened.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. You knew he was processing what you had just told him, but you also knew that he would never leave you alone in something like that.

“Of course,” he finally answered, without a moment’s hesitation. “If that’s what you need, let’s go. To Italy then.”

The relief you felt upon hearing his answer was immediate. Charles never questioned your decisions. He had always been there for you, and his unconditional support gave you the strength you needed at that moment.

“Thank you, Charles,” you said, unable to stop your voice from cracking a little.

The idea of ​​traveling to Italy began to take shape quickly. Charles took care of everything, from flights to accommodation, looking for a secluded place in the mountains, far from the hustle and bustle of tourist cities. A place where they could rest, explore, and above all, unwind.

As soon as you had everything ready, the anticipation grew.

The day of the trip arrived quickly. You packed your things with more excitement than ever, relieved to finally get away from the pain and Pierre’s constant presence in your life. It was clear that you needed this change, and, although you knew that the wound Pierre had left would not heal immediately, at least you could give yourself the space to heal, without the pressure of the media that already knew about the crisis between the two of you stalking you every day.

Arriving in Italy, the beauty of the landscape enveloped you like a warm hug. The mountains rose majestically, covered in green, the villas scattered among the vineyards gave a feeling of peace and tranquility that you had not felt for a long time. The villa in which they would stay was hidden between hills, and the rustic and cozy decoration made you feel as if you were in another world, one in which the past had no place.

You and Charles spent the first few days exploring the place, walking through the small towns nearby, tasting wines and eating fresh pasta at local restaurants. Every day was a respite, a chance to unwind, to forget about the pain for a bit and focus on the present.

Although Charles was his usual impulsive and lively self, he sometimes surprised you with his more reflective side, the one that appeared when he noticed that you were pensive, that the shadow of what you had experienced with Pierre had reached you.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he told you one day while you were walking through a small medieval town. The narrow streets, full of flowers and color, gave you a sense of calm that only Italy could offer you.

“I know,” you answered, smiling slightly, although it was evident that you still had a hard time letting go of what you had experienced. “It’s just that sometimes I think about everything that happened, and I think I should never have let it go so far.”

Charles looked at you and approached, placing a hand on your shoulder. He didn’t need to say more, because his gesture said it all. He was there for you, not just as a friend, but as someone who wanted to see you happy, free of any kind of emotional burden.

“Don’t worry about it. What matters is that you’re here now, and we’re in this together,” he said, and the sincerity of his words gave you the strength to keep going.

As the days passed in Italy, things between you and Charles began to change in subtle, but inevitable ways. The first day was just an escape, a respite from the pain Pierre had left behind, but you soon realized that being with Charles in that environment, without the shadows of everyday life, was making you feel something new, something you hadn’t anticipated.

Charles was excellent company, with his sarcastic humor and contagious energy, always ready to make you laugh even when your thoughts wandered to pain.

One afternoon, as they walked down a path between olive trees, Charles began to talk about his life, about his unfulfilled dreams of becoming a world champion, as if he was truly enjoying the company, as if the noise of the world had disappeared. When dinner time came, they sat together at a small table in the garden, with candles lighting the atmosphere and a glass of wine in their hands.

“Did you know that when I was a kid, I thought Italy was the perfect place to live?” Charles said, looking out at the landscape, as if he was reliving his childhood. There was something in his voice that made you think that, although he was always the impulsive and fun-loving boy, there was a side of him that he never fully showed.

“Really?” you asked, intrigued, and smiled at him as you took a sip of wine.

“Yes,” he replied, smiling back, but now with a softer touch on his face. “My family used to come here during the holidays. Italy has something magical, don’t you think?”

You nodded slowly. Something about the atmosphere, the tranquility that enveloped everything, was certainly special.

Every day passed so naturally. On the walks, the comfortable silences, the shared laughter, the deep conversations during dinner or at the end of the day, when you sat on the terraces to watch the sunset, everything seemed to fit together, as if you were both in the right place, at the perfect time. Charles' presence calmed you, made you feel protected and, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe without the anguish that had been drowning you.

On one of those afternoons, after a long walk in the hills, when the light of day was already beginning to fade and the fresh air was felt on your skin, Charles moved closer to you.

“You know, I’m glad we made this trip,” he said, walking close to you, with a look you couldn’t quite read. “I want you to know that even though I’m a little… unpredictable at times, you can count on me for anything.”

There was a silence between you as you walked together, as if the words had become more meaningful, heavier. At that moment, you realized something: Charles had been an unconditional friend.

The tension in the air between you was palpable, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was more of an attraction that grew little by little, unhurriedly, but inevitably.

Despite the serenity that Italy brought, there was something you couldn’t avoid, something that kept stalking you. Camille’s messages were starting to become more and more frequent. At first, you ignored them, thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be the right time to deal with what had happened between her, Pierre, and you. But, as the days went by, the messages became more persistent, more urgent.

Camille: "I need to talk to you, please. I know things aren't right, but we have to talk."

Camille: "I miss you, can we fix this? I don't know how to fix this, but I feel so bad..."

The messages were always similar, asking for a chance to explain herself, to tell her side of the story. You knew it wouldn't be easy, that nothing she said could erase what she had done, but at the same time, you couldn't help but feel guilty for not giving her the chance to explain. The problem was that, deep down, you knew you didn't want to talk to her. You had been so devastated, so broken by the betrayal, that it was impossible for you to find the right words to forgive her, or even to listen to her.

One day, while walking through a nearby villa, Charles noticed that you were staring at your phone, distracted. You didn't give it much importance, but he, as always attentive to your gestures, came a little closer.

"Everything okay?" “He asked softly, stopping beside you.

You looked at the phone in your hand, seeing Camille’s latest text. The temptation to respond, to end it all, was rife, but then you remembered what Charles had said: “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You took a deep breath, feeling like even if you wanted to work things out, this wasn’t the right time or place to do so.

“It’s Camille,” you said, trying to sound calm. “She’s been texting me all the time. She wants to talk… but I don’t know if she should.”

Charles didn’t say anything at first, but his look said it all. He didn’t need to explain further.

“I understand,” he replied, his voice firm, but also soft. He moved a little closer, walking beside you. “Sometimes people do things they can’t undo, and even if she wants to explain herself, I don’t think that will change what happened. I don’t want you to feel pressured to do something out of responsibility or fear. You have every right to decide what’s best for you.”

You were surprised by how Charles had handled the situation. It wasn’t just a matter of being there for you; he seemed to understand you beyond words. You felt cared for, supported, and that was something you had never experienced so clearly. Camille’s words seemed to fade away in Charles’ calm presence.

‘What if I just stop responding? What if we never talk again?’ you thought to yourself.

“Sometimes when someone hurts you, it’s best to let it go,” Charles said, not looking at you, but his confident voice made a shiver run through your body. “You don’t need to solve everything. You don’t have to heal the wound right away.” Just do what makes you feel better.

His words resonated within you. For the first time in days, you began to feel like you could truly let go of Camille and Pierre without feeling the pressure of having to face it all. The relief of taking control of the situation spread like a wave of calm.

You decided you wouldn’t respond to Camille. Not right now. You were learning to set boundaries, to recognize what really mattered at this point in your life.

The next night, after dinner, Charles sat next to you on the terrace, looking up at the stars, and broke the silence with a smile.

“Have you?” he asked, knowing what he meant.

You looked at him, a little surprised by his question, but the answer came easily, as if you had been waiting for that moment to finally make a decision.

“Yes,” you said, looking at your phone one last time before putting it back in your pocket. “I’ve decided not to respond. I need to focus on myself now.”

Charles nodded, satisfied, and moved a little closer.

“That’s good,” he said, his tone making it clear that, in his eyes, you had done the right thing.

And even as Camille continued to text, your mind and heart were beginning to free itself.

The atmosphere in Italy had already changed by then. Everything felt different, more intense. Although it had all started as an escape, a simple respite from what you had left behind, now things between you and Charles were clear. There was something else in the air, something you couldn't deny, even if you tried.

That evening, the villa was particularly quiet, the fresh mountain air caressing the skin, and the dim lights on the terrace creating an almost magical atmosphere. They had spent the afternoon touring a small nearby town, exploring local shops and enjoying Italian cuisine. It had been a day full of laughter, of shared glances, of small gestures that, although not obvious to the rest, were clear as day to both of them.

After dinner, in which everything seemed to happen with overwhelming naturalness, they retired to the living room, where the fireplace was already burning softly. The villa was silent, as if the outside world had been left behind. Charles approached you, offering you a glass of wine as he sat down beside you, closer than he usually was. Your breathing quickened a little, as if a fate you couldn’t resist was drawing nearer.

The words trailed off little by little. The silence between you two was filled with a palpable tension, an energy that only the two of you could understand. You realized that, in all that time, what was between you two wasn’t just friendship, it wasn’t just support. It was something much deeper, more visceral. And, for the first time, fear didn’t invade you. There was no doubt in your mind, only an overwhelming desire to be closer to him.

“You know, sometimes I wonder how we got here,” Charles said, his voice deep and low, as he looked into your eyes. There was something in his tone that made you understand that, just like you, he already knew. You already knew that tonight wouldn’t be like the others.

Without thinking, you took a sip of wine, trying to calm the racing heartbeat in your chest, but you knew it wasn’t just the wine that was affecting you. It was Charles’ closeness, the warmth of his body beside you, the way his eyes kept scanning your face, like he was searching for something, like he was waiting for your permission, or like he had already crossed that line without either of you saying it out loud.

“Maybe…” you whispered, staring at him. “Maybe this was all meant to be.”

Charles’ response was immediate, and before you could say anything else, he moved a little closer. His breath, warm and slightly intoxicating, mingled with yours as his hands, gentle but firm, settled on your shoulders. At that moment, you knew. There was no turning back.

The contact between the two of you was subtle at first, almost like a test, a check to see if you were both willing to move forward. But the desire, that raw, unadorned desire, became unstoppable. He didn’t say anything else. His mouth moved closer to yours, and when your lips finally met, it was like all the weight of the world melted away. It was a soft kiss at first, but with each second it intensified, as if the touch of your lips was just the beginning of something much deeper.

Your hands slid to his neck, pulling him towards you, as you gave yourself over completely to that moment, to that connection that had been slowly building over those days in Italy. The barrier between the two of you was completely broken. There was no longer room for doubt or the past. There was only the now, the shared present in which Charles and you were no longer just two friends, but something more, something that could not be ignored.

The intensity of the kiss increased, and Charles gently laid you down on the couch, his body now closer to yours, almost merging. Everything you had been holding back, all the pain, doubts and uncertainties, vanished in the electricity of the moment. There were no words, only the sound of labored breathing and the beating of hearts in unison. Each touch was more urgent, more demanding, as if the world around you did not exist and only the palpable desire between you remained.

Desire took hold of both of you without reservation. The connection you shared went beyond physical attraction; There was a deep need to be together, to explore everything you had been holding back, to take that friendship to a whole new place. And, even though you knew things would never be the same again, you couldn't do anything but surrender to the intensity of the passion you shared in that instant.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathing heavily, but with a feeling of having crossed a line that could no longer be erased.

Charles, with a mischievous smile on his lips, looked at you and, with his voice heavy with desire, whispered:

“That… wasn't just a kiss, was it?.”

The sparkle in his eyes reflected the same thing you felt deep within your soul. You knew that what had happened between you two wasn’t just a passing desire. It was something that would change the dynamic between the two of you forever. But at that moment, in that villa, with the cold wind blowing outside and the fireplace burning softly inside, it didn’t matter what the future held for you.

All that mattered was the desire you shared and the fact that, for the first time in a long time, you felt completely alive, completely present in what was happening between you and Charles.

The night dragged on, but time seemed to have stopped, as if the universe itself had been suspended between the accelerated heartbeats of both of you. The air in the villa, permeated with the mixture of your perfume and the woody scent of the fire, seemed to envelop you, making you feel closer to Charles, more connected to everything you had just shared.

You lay back in the chair for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, still processing what had happened. The taste of his mouth was still on yours, and the warmth of his body was still there. Despite the unexpectedness of the situation, there wasn’t a hint of regret.

Charles, for his part, was also silent, his eyes fixed on you. He seemed so serene, so calm, as if everything was natural, as if you had both been waiting for this moment. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, his tone soft but with a slight tension, as if he was searching for any sign of doubt in your eyes.

You turned to him, looking into his eyes, and felt a warmth run through your body. You could see in his expression that he already knew the answer. There was no need to talk about it, but something inside you needed to confirm that you were both on the same page.

“No,” you answered, the word firmly coming out of your lips. “I don’t regret it.”

Charles smiled, his expression relaxed, as if he had dropped an invisible burden that you had both been carrying for days. He leaned back, his body close to yours, as if he didn't want to separate for even a second.

"Me neither," he said in a deep voice, his hand sliding towards yours and intertwining it with yours, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Time passed without you noticing, between soft conversations, shared laughter and knowing glances. There was no need for more words, just the feeling that the moment was flowing in a way that neither of you had anticipated, but that, somehow, both of you wanted.

[kanri-domo]

Erm uh so basically uh um

Public play with dottore? With either sounding or a small vibrator on his cock.. he'd probably be trembling and whining while you drag out any interaction with someone else. Bonus public humiliation when he inevitably cums at the worst possible time.

Sorry this took half of forever 💀

Characters: Il Dottore/Zandik, NB! Reader, can be read as either/or

Kinks: Public Play, Public Humiliation

You’re such a perverted sadist, Dottore thinks dazedly. There’s a prostate massager inside of him at max strength and he’s expected to meet with Scaramouche in a little bit. Usually, he’d leave a segment to deal with the puppet, but this time, he actually needed to meet the other harbinger in person. He was still tempted to though, if just to avoid this humiliation.

“H- how much longer?” He questions you, “It’s too much,” he adds on.

“Just for the rest of the day,” you reply with no small amount of amusement, “You promised me you’d do anything after all.” Inwardly, he curses his past self for promising something so open-ended.

“Oh, there you are!” It’s Tartaglia and Dottore bites back a curse. If only it was one of the segments, then he could tell them to go away. With Tartaglia, you were fond of the kid enough that Dottore couldn’t curse him without upsetting you. You’re both standing there, chatting. One of your hands wrap around Dottore and to no small amount of dread, he realizes that your hand has lowered to his ass and has begun to push the massager deeper inside, forcing it at an angle that pressed up against his prostate even deeper than before.

“ – misses you too!” He hears the other harbinger yap, before blissed silence. “Are you okay, Dottore?” The orange-haired fools stares at the other man cluelessly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You smile innocently at him and inwardly, Dottore curses you.

“Oh, he’s fine!” You chirp out, “Just a feeling a bit down. You know how it is around this time of the year,” you say, waving away Tartaglia’s concerns with a cheery disposition. The fool accepts it without much questioning. Dottore wished you’d hurry up the conversation before he became the fool himself for cumming in public.

You talk a little more before you finally grant mercy for the poor man by lowering the vibrations and waving Tartaglia goodbye.

“Good job keeping quiet,” you praise him, amusement coloring your voice. He glares at you instead of responding, too busy trying to bite down on his moans. The building pleasure was starting to make it difficult to walk, so you wrap your arm around his thin waist and support him all the way back to the lab, uncaring that other members of the fatui’s staring. He sincerely hoped none of them figured out could see the redness of his face or hear the small whimpers and whines he let out with each agonizing step.

“Just one more meeting for today,” you laugh at his agony, “One more with Scaramouche and then we can go back to our rooms for some more fun.”

He looks away, embarrassed. Some days, he wonders why he lets you get away with all your perverse games, but then he’s reminded of how good you are at making him turn into a puddle of pleasure.

The meeting with Scaramouche, as expected, is torturously long. The puppet demanded to know every little thing about Dottore’s plans for the damn thing, and any other day, he’d be happy to go on about it.

Today, though, he’s biting back squeals and shrieks as you begin to raise the vibrations again. You’re just right outside his lab right now, sorting through paperwork. Scaramouche glares at him, confused at how weird the doctor was acting today.

“What the hell is wrong with you today?” he questions, venom dripping with each word.

“None of your business,” Dottore sneers back, clenching his fists to try and stop himself rocking back and forth. The urge to cum was strong and growing, and inwardly, he cursed you again and himself for agreeing to this.

You must’ve decided on something, because the vibrator quiets down to a low vibration for some time now as Dottore finishes up his talk with Scaramouche. It’s not until the other harbinger is at the door when the massager suddenly jolts back to life, stronger than ever.

“A-ahh!” Dottore yelps in surprise, and before he could stop himself, cum spilling out inside of his pants and making a wet patch. His back arches back, the pleasure too strong and too sudden, leaving his front exposed and proof of the deed out in the open for anyone to see.

Scaramouche whirls around at the strange noise before his face morphed into a disgusted sneer. “Fucking pervert,” the puppet growls out, “You’re so gross.” With that, he takes his leave, leaving Dottore red from embarrassment alone in his lab. He really was going to kill you for this, this time.

He’s still breathing hard and burning with both humiliation and need as you approach him. You smile at the view in front of you. Dottore’s legs were spread open and the wet patch of cum had become more obvious as it spread. His face was bright red, and his hands were clenching onto the arms of his chair as the vibrations relentlessly attacked his prostate, leaving him a whimpering, twitching mess. “Shall we proceed to the bedroom?” you whisper into his ear, breath hot, and everything fades to static as the need to be filled and fucked by you takes over.

He changes his mind, after you fuck him into the mattress. The mind-blowing sex is enough to convince him to keep you around for now.

[henry7931]

Freaky Friday Block Part I

In a quiet neighborhood, 40 individuals one Friday morning all woke up in the wrong body. Although, all of them know each other— none of them are sure how or what happened to cause it. So the mystery begins…

Friday 8:00AM

An alarm starts to sound abruptly.

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

Max:

“Ugh… what time is it?”

*Yawns*

“Wait, what the? Where am I?”

This isn’t my room… my feet they look huge….

Who’s bed am I in? And what’s wrong with my feet?

I climb out of bed and feel my weight hit the ground, my stomp sounds heavier.

I look at my arms, my legs, something isn’t right…

I walk to the door of the strange bedroom I’m in and open it. Looking out in the hallway, it starts to look familiar.

“This is Jacob’s house, what am I doing at Jacob’s?”

Wait my voice? It sounds deeper and has this rasp to it.

I walk into Jacob’s bathroom and turn on the light.

“AHHHHHHHHH!!!”

This can’t be possible. How is this possible? Looking at me in the mirror is… Jacob’s dad, Mr. Thomas.

I splash cold water in my face thinking this may all be a dream but I’m still Mr. Thomas.

I pinch his cheek and the feel slight stubble on his face.

My realization starts to stink in that this is in fact not a dream, I am actually my friend’s dad Daniel Thomas.

I stare into his face taking it all in, Mr. Thomas is a handsome man. At least, I’ve always thought he’s attractive. He’s single with two sons and I’ve never seen him with a woman.

I run his fingers down his arms, flexing his muscles a bit which causes me to giggle.

I repeat back into the mirror, “Hi, I’m Dan Thomas.”

It sounds funny hearing my self control such a deeper voice.

I look down at his chest and then my eyes focus in on his boxer briefs.

Curious, I pull down his boxers and Mr. Thomas’s 10 inch semi hard manhood and huge hairy balls is fully exposed.

“Not bad!” I say checking out his junk from every angle.

I turn around and get a glance of his cute hairy butt. I smack it and start laughing again.

Mr. Thomas is such a serious guy and I never see him act goofy. Making him do things so out of character is kind of a turn on.

I had a moment of fun before coming back to reality. I need to figure out what’s going on and why I’m Mr. Thomas.

But who do I even talk to about this? Should I say something to Jacob or is going to think his dad’s gone mad…

Screw it, I’ll knock on his door.

*Knock Knock*

“Hey Jacob, open up it’s uhh… it’s dad!”

Geez, I’m not good at this.

The door doesn’t open but then I hear a door across the hallway open. It’s Jacob’s little brother.

“Hey dad, what’s up?” he says to me.

“Hey Conner, I was trying to your brother up.”

“Conner? Dad did you just call me Conner?”

All of the sudden, Jacob’s door opens and Jacob is standing at the door.

“What’s going on?” he says with a big yawn.

It takes a second for everything to click but both Conner and Jacob scream on the top of their longs.

“Conner?!??”

“Jacob?!???”

“But… but how?”

“Well I have some news boys, I’m not your dad either. It’s me Max.”

“Max??!??”

Well I guess I’m glad I’m not the only one who woke up as someone else this morning.

Meanwhile Two Houses Down, a guy named Ashton is babysitting his nephew Davy.

Davy:

I woke up feeling weird and for some reason why I’m in Uncle Ash’s bed!

“Uncle Ash?”

Wow! My voice sounds funny!!!

I swing my legs out of bed but then I notice something very different….

My feet look like someone else’s!

I stand up and notice I’m so much closer to the ceiling.

I walk out to the hallway and head to the bathroom.

When I turn on the light, I COULD NOT BELIVE WHAT I SAW!!!

IM UNCLE ASH!!!

I looked in the mirror and couldn’t look away. I’m so much more tall! And hairier?

“Wow Uncle Ash had tattoos?? Cool!”

This is amazing!!! All of my friends are going to be so jealous!!

Wait… if I’m uncle Ash, then who’s me???

Across the street another house with college/ graduate students guys starts to wake up.

Kyle:

“Mhmmm… that feels so good….”

Wait…. My dick feels kinda funny….

“Wow what the fuck?”

My body look didn’t and why the hell am I in Skylar’s room?

I hope out of bed and head to the bathroom.

I know us guys partied last night but I didn’t drink that much to fall asleep in Skylar’s bed.

I get the bathroom and open up the door. Only to find Zeek on the floor with his tongue out.

“Zeek you okay?”

“Woof!”

“What the hell?”

I glance into the mirror only for eyes to get bigger. I see Skylar’s good looking face looking back at me.

Across the street from the Thomas’s house.

Daniel Thomas:

*Yawn*

“Boy that was one of the best sleeps I’ve had in awhile.”

“What a sec.. where am I?”

[doromoni]

Clash of Champions | LH44 , MV1

Act 2 . Part 4 : A Driver’s Stratagem

Ships : Lewis Hamilton x Engineer! Reader , Max Verstappen x Engineer! Reader

Genre : Drama , Angst , Romance

Warning : Morally Grey Characters , Dark Characters, Forced Drug Use , Swearing

A/N : This one took so much revisions , I swear, I put more effort and dedication into this than my Uni papers.

Summary : The rivalry between the titans of Formula 1 goes off track and only one will reign victorious

< Previous Masterlist Next >

Act 2. ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The air hummed with adrenaline and the roaring sounds of engines filled the entire circuit— as the smell of synthetic oil wafted each corner of the grid.

It was finally Sunday — it was race day. It was the day to see how truly monstrous your dynamic with the Dutch Red Bull Driver was. It was the day to make Mercedes rue the days they’d taken you for granted.

It was time to make sure that Max Verstappen would become a World Champion.

Red Bull’s garage buzzed with the sound of drills and chatters of mechanics as they set up spare parts for the cars. Everything was like clockwork, every action smooth and practiced.

It was an hour till the cars were brought out to the grid, with Max’s car placed in first— right on pole. You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Toto’s face, red from anger. You could still hear his deranged shouts and banging on unsuspecting headsets on tables.

With final checks on the pit wall; ensuring that whatever happens you’ll never be cut from Max’s radio. The memory of Mercedes‘ betrayal had made you paranoid, even when no one from RB had shown shown anything sketchy.

Nevertheless, it was still your first race with Max, anything and anyone can change anytime. You wouldn’t make the same mistake of trusting anyone that easily.

So engrossed with your thoughts and triple checking on the data on your station, that you didn’t realize Max’s presence behind you

“Well hello there pretty engineer “ And suddenly, you were engulfed by strong arms from behind. Max’s lips briefly met your own as you looked over your shoulder and up at the racer.

You both knew that you were supposed to be keeping things lowkey, however Max couldn’t care less when there were no cameras around — He didn’t care if cameras were present or not but out of respect for you, he kept the PDA to a minimum. You were his girlfriend and he needs everyone to know and back off, whenever he can.

“Hi, babe! I was just about to go see you. I just need to finish checking your stats” you explained to your boyfriend as you proceeded to point out something on your screen. You found the extra hundredths of the second in the track and began to fully explain every detail to the Dutch driver.

“I love it when you get all nerdy with me, Schat. “ Max suddenly interjected, a fond smile on his face as he gazed down at you.

Your cheeks grew redder by the second. A shy smile on your lips as your eyes avoided Max's eyes. You were used to people rolling their eyes at your intellect at Mercedes. Now with Max openly admiring you… you didn’t know how to respond.

“ Are you getting shy with me, Schat? How adorable can you be” Max laughed as he let go of your waist from behind, then held your cheeks together and looked directly at your steadily growing red face.

“Shut up! Don’t make me throw your race, Max Verstappen” You bluffed with the Red Bull driver a loving smile on your face, smacking your hand to his arms.

“Whatever happened to keep work and our personal lives separate? Huh, Schat?” You rolled your eyes to your cheeky boyfriend’s sass.

Oh boy, how you were starting to fall deeper for the Dutch Driver.

“Well I’m not the one who can’t keep my hands to myself in the office , now am I?” You sassed back.

“Well my girlfriend is hot and smart, how could I resist?” You couldn’t help but laugh at your boyfriend’s audacity.

“ you’re unbelievable! Aren’t you supposed to be resting and getting inside your driver's room? “ You asked as you spun your chair fully towards Max, him now in between your legs.

“I know, but I wanted to see you first. How are you feeling, Y/N? You ready for the race?” Your heart melted as Max took your hand in his and squeezed it for comfort.

“ I should be the one asking you that, Max.” You cooed at him as tears glazed your eyes. He was the one fighting for the championship and risking his life on track — yet he was concerned over you.

“ I’m ready. Thank you for trusting me as your engineer. Let’s give them hell” You grinned towards the Champion contender of Red Bull.

Max couldn’t help but capture your lips in his at the sight of you. He only dreamed of you looking at him like this. The look you once gave to Lewis Hamilton. The look of love and devotion. Now it was aimed at him.

However, unknown to the both of you a person clad in a black team uniform had been recording the entire encounter.

***

The hour flew by fast, and it was now time to race in the pinnacle of motorsport.

Max was strapped down in his car, helmet on and visor down — your voice in his ear ready to command. Max had zeroed in, all attention was ahead of him and nothing else.

While you were in your element, the Red Bull headset firmed on your head. As your co-engineers continue to exchange data amongst the team.

“ 1 minute to start Max” you echoed the time on your screen.

“Copy, Y/N. Let’s give them hell” Max’s voice held assurance. He was not just saying it. He was promising it.

“30 seconds, Max. Keep safe out there yeah? 10 seconds”

“5 seconds”

As the lights go out, Crofty delivers his famous lines. The race had begun and in the blink of an eye — 20 race cars had flown past the pit walls that held all race engineers and team principals.

As the green flag was waved the 1st lap of the 56-lap race began.

Max and Lewis showed no mercy to each other, already butting heads from the very start. Max was shoved out of the track by Hamilton. Lewis held the lead with Max not far in his tail.

“Max, keep it steady. We are going for strat 2” you calmly echoed towards the driver. You knew Max was pissed, but you had a plan for this.

“Copy, Y/N. Strat 2 is good” Max had replied.

The race had gone on with Lewis still in the lead. You knew that your old team was cherishing every second of it.

Yet you had everything pat down and you just needed to trust the data and Max’s ability to deliver. And that trust had solidified at lap 26, Max had been once again in the lead with fresher tires.

The race was starting to finish, it was the 2nd to the last lap. Hamilton was just 1.94 seconds behind Verstappen.

Your eyes darted towards the drivers on the grid, Max was fast approaching Mick’s lapped Haas. The Haas car looked like it was not going to move anytime soon.

And you were right as Max had complained on the radio.

“Michael should move out of the way.” At Max’s input — you’ve already sent the memo to Haas.

As Mick’s car gave way, Max zoomed past with Lewis right behind the Red Bull car— hopefully trying to gain p1.

Yet as the chequered flag had approached, Max had kept everything calm and cool — and in the blink of an eye, Max had crossed the finish line.

Cheers erupted from all corners of Red Bull. A huge grin on your face as Christian Horner shook your shoulder from the side.

Max had won! You were successful in leading him to victory. The relief washed over you like water on a blistering hot day. The motor world had seen you succeed outside of Mercedes — your talent didn’t just rely on Lewis.

Y/N L/N had led another driver towards victory. And you had proved that this was not a fluke or by chance.

Not when, Max had won the next race in Mexico. This time Max had won from 3rd place in the grid. And with 15 seconds to spare from Lewis.

“Max Verstappen! You’ve won Mexico! My goodness, and with a 15-second lead. You’re incredible! “ You praised your boyfriend openly astonished at his raw talent.

“Simply Lovely, Y//N! Wow! Your strategy was flawless, Thank you for that! From p3 to p1! Thank you everyone” Max’s voice echoed out of your earphones.

As you celebrated Max’s win on the podium —You were then informed that you were to be interviewed by Sky Sports right after. You had asked who was hosting. And the name of your ex-driver was said. Nico Rosberg.

You never thought of the possibility of talking to Nico again. Not after everything in Mercedes, not when your once close relationship with the German driver had been torn to pieces.

You admit that you had made mistakes, huge ones, both of you did. But you cannot deny that you missed him.

You were starting to get nervous and you had started to overthink, but your attention was drawn back towards Max.

He looked majestic up on that podium. It looked almost natural that he was on top.

The Dutch national anthem played, and you found his eyes on you. Your heart had skipped a beat, and you couldn't help but smile. A calming sensation drew over you. Negative thoughts left your mind as Max had overridden each one.

And to the surprise of the world, in front of live television, all cameras panned on him.

His lips echoed the words

“I Love You, Y/N ” his eyes still locked in yours.

Your surprise was an understatement, but your entire being felt like you were floating. You felt so much joy - you felt so much love. You felt seen and cherished

A piece of you had been healed by Max’s actions. Max had just done what Lewis could never do - He had shown the world that you were his and he was yours. Your eyes held tears as the smile on your face grew.

And you echoed back.

“I Love you too. “

As the anthem reached its final note. Champagnes then sprayed all over the podium, and into your section with your team below.

Everyone in Red Bull was enjoying the celebration including you, when you felt a pair of eyes on you. You searched for the person, you looked around and saw nothing.

But then you looked up, your eyes caught Lewis’. You saw pain, confusion and anger. His eyes used to make you back down — but not anymore.

You held his gaze, never looking away. You saw his jaw clench as he was forced to look away. Your eyes sight drew back towards Max, he was already looking at you with a look of question.

It was not one of doubt, but just plain curiosity. You knew that he trusted you. So you once again mouthed words to the Dutch driver.

“I’ll tell you later”

***

Later came quickly, as you and Max had been lounging inside his motorhome. Both are now clean yet exhausted after the shower you both took. Both of you took more than a shower inside that bathroom and you were sure that everyone had heard.

Nevertheless, neither you nor Max cared as adrenaline, emotions, and passion overtook both your senses.

You were now both presentable and dressed in comfier team uniforms. You and Max had occupied the small bed inside his driver's room. Max’s arms draped over your waist and your back gently laid on his chest.

“I’m being interviewed by Nico later” you blurted out.

“Really? Well, are you ok with doing it?” Max had questioned. Max knew everything that had happened inside Mercedes. Every betrayal and every crime that they’ve done to you. And that included your past with both drivers.

“Honestly, I miss him. Max” your voice broke as you said those words aloud. Max was the only person you got to tell about Nico. Everyone in Mercedes had hated him after he’d left and you knew Lewis despised him so you’ve always kept to yourself about how much you’ve missed your big brother figure.

When you started in F1, Nico Rosberg was your first driver and you were a junior engineer in his team. It was the year 2011 and you were just a rookie, everyone had given you no attention and kept pushing you aside, but Nico had seen you and put you under his wing.

The two of you became closer and closer as the year went on. You’ve been to his house, met his girlfriend and family and even celebrated his birthdays.

Then 2012 came, and you had grown and flourished; you had climbed the ladder in such a short amount of time —you were set to become Nico’s lead race engineer for the next year to come. At that point, you had thought that your bond with Nico would be strong forever.

That was until 2013 came. Lewis Hamilton was enlisted to Join Mercedes AMG F1. Nico was delighted to have his childhood friend on the team — much so that he introduced the two of you.

You didn’t like Lewis at first and Nico knew that and he laughed at you; saying that you weren’t going to be having much interaction with Lewis anyway since you were going to be his engineer.

And when you were announced to be Lewis’ lead race engineer — you were dumbfounded. Your eyes looked for Nico’s familiar figure but you didn’t find even his silhouette.

You felt betrayed and angry at Nico. You thought that he was the one who chose to remove you from his team. Your anger and resentment towards your supposed brother had just continued to fester— as he continued to grow distant from you.

And your emotions had drawn you to the arms of Lewis Hamilton. You’ve sought solitude in the embrace of a man in a relationship and Nico had been the only one to see this.

Then he had confronted you and had warned you to stay clear of Lewis. In your anger, so many harsh and cutting words were said — you had targeted all of his insecurities and you instantly felt regret as you let go of the words you didn’t mean.

That encounter had fully severed your relationship with Nico. You tried to apologize, but every time you tried shame filled all your senses and you just turned the other way instead.

2014 came and he got married. You waited for your invitation but it never came — you broke down once again. 2016 had been brutal, as you watched the love of your life and the brother you cherished killing each other on the track.

Nico won that year, you were secretly so happy for him. He did deserve it. Then Nico announced his retirement, and that was when you knew you had missed your chance to mend your broken relationship.

“Go talk to him. If what you told me was true, I’m sure he misses you too. He’s probably waiting for you to make the first move” Max’s words had brought peace within you and you knew what he said was right.

“Well he is a diva, “ you said jokingly. You knew that it should be you to apologize first. And it seemed that you were given the chance to right your wrongs.

“That’s Britney for you” You laughed at Max’s teasing words. Nico hated being called that, but when it came to you — he didn’t mind.

Suddenly you remembered the texts Lewis sent you last race ago. And you decided that Max should probably know it — you didn’t want to keep secrets from him.

“Babe, I need to tell you something about Lewis” You took your phone out and showed the concerning texts Lewis had sent you to the Red Bull driver.

“Holy Shit” Max’s eyes grew large as he went to read the conversation between you and Lewis

“ Right? This is so concerning. Should I tell Christian about this?” Your fingers fidgeted over your phone, as you surveyed Max’s expression.

Confusion, Puzzlement and Shock had shown itself in Max’s expression. You were about to question Max if he knew anything about that party with the other drivers when a knock and the voice of an RB personnel stopped you.

“Ms. Y/N? It's time for your interview in the paddock, we need to go now. You’ll go live in 10 minutes”

“I’ll be out now” You quickly stood up from Max’s embrace and checked yourself out in the mirror in Max’s bathroom.

You looked back at your boyfriend who was still on his bed.

“We’re continuing this conversation later, babe” You went near him chastity kissed his lips, and wiped the excess lipstick that transferred to his skin.

“ Sure, Schat. Don’t be scared of Nico alright? “ Max had reminded you, as he tucked a loose hair in your ear. You nodded your head and gave Max one last peck.

As you went out the door. Max’s facade quickly warped into coldness and irritability. Hamilton was getting in the way again.

Max then recalled his conversation with Toto Wolff.

“ This wasn’t in the deal, Wolff! “ Max hollered at the Austrian team principal.

“You wanted them to break up right?! And I don’t want Lewis anywhere near L/N. Lewis isn’t giving up, he wants her back” Toto had stated back to the Red Bull driver. As he nursed scotch in his hand, swirling the drink.

“I know that! I need them apart. But come on?!! You want to roofie your driver? Are you fucking insane?!”

“ OF COURSE I DON'T!! I have no other option! All of Lewis’ attention has been on getting L/N back, he’s fucking slacking. I need Y/N to break Lewis… fully. I need him angry — and what more than her going to the enemy? The girl is already leaving — yet still causing trouble for my fucking team”

“You’re crazy Wolff. Aren’t you worried that she’ll work with me and deny the 8th championship from you?”

“She’s already in your team, the bitch moves fast. And no I'm not worried, a girl like her can’t amount to her success. I’m sure she’ll drag you down”

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that! I swear I’ll break this glass and shove it down your throat, Wolff. We’re not friends, you’re still a piece of shit — fucking remember that.” Max suddenly threw the whiskey glass just behind Toto’s head. No ounce of fear nor regret in the Dutch driver.

“Well? What do you say Verstappen? I’ll have my people slip Lewis a pill then you’ll swoop right in and get your chance with the girl” Toto cleared his throat, taken aback by Max’s sudden show of aggression

“Do it. Drug Hamilton, I’ll do the rest. Y/N won't be Lewis’ problem. Nothing should come out of this room, you hear me, Wolff?” Max gritted out.

“ It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Max Verstappen. “

Taglist : @vicurious28 @xoscar03 @barnestatic @stelena-klayley @sopheeg @imagandom @4-20-21-12 @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @minkyungseokie @d3kstar @kimialaia @cosmicwintr @younxii @ssrcsm @paigem00 @seokjinkismet @wcnorris @jayjay11122 @embersparklz @sam-is-lost @peterholland04 @luckyladycreator2 @lovemesomeescapism @yettobedetermined7 @nikfigueiredo @ironmaiden1313 @alliwantisadonut @uuoozzii @marshmummy @kemillyfreitas @yaesflorist @zoeyjadetice2010 @splaterparty0-0 @likedbygaslyy @myinternettlifeimagine @ilamara @pluviophilefangirl @starssfall @haydensith @adoreleeknw @leilanixx @dr4g0ngirl @forfeityourbugs @choisannyreads @justtprachisblog @felicityforyou @jehun @halleest @closestthingtocoffee @jexxy04 @tremendousstarlighttragedy

[lw77]

Over and Over (MV x CS)

In this life or the next, Max is determined to keep meeting Carlos, over and over, to follow his tethered half as long as he'll have him.

Carlos thought back to something Max once said. “We’re soulmates. In our last life, you left me too soon, so I followed. That’s why you’re older now, and I’m younger.” Max had said it so plainly, as if it were absolute truth, sensing the hesitation Carlos never voiced. Every time Carlos felt the tight knot of anxiety form—realising it was Max’s arms he ran to, Max’s hands he clung to, and Max’s gaze that steadied him—those words unravelled the tension.

It was a softness for Max that made his father seethe, a trait he had tried to discipline out of Carlos his whole life. But when his soul was so tightly tethered to Max, pretending otherwise felt impossible.

He thinks back to that now. They're in Barcelona for testing, his home track—the place where Carlos first met Max and where he last sat in a Formula 1 car. Standing at the edge of the track, the sun high and bright, it beats down on Carlos’s back as he watches Max slip into the cockpit. The engines roar to life, and a familiar ache tightens in Carlos’s chest—a mix of pride and something deeper.

The last time he was here, he had stayed in the cockpit, helmet firmly on and head bowed. It was then that he realized he didn’t want to do it anymore. He had only ever stayed for the friends, then because his father wanted him to, and finally because it was the only place their fathers had no choice but to let them meet—bound by teams, contracts, and duties that served as a mask. He had never been the hunter his father wished him to be, never became the driver his father pushed him to be. Too soft. Always too soft to hold any shape his father pressed into him.

He wonders now if he ever truly accepted his dad pushing him into karts because some part of him knew it would lead him to Max. Was it all just fate’s twisted way of bringing them together? How cruel fate was, Carlos sneers, to let him break over and over as his father tried to shape him into someone he wasn’t meant to be. He gave years to the sport—to his father, only for them to chew him up. At least he managed to spit himself out before they could.

Back in the garage, Max prepares for the track, his eyes set with determination. The fluorescent lights cast a soft glow, a halo around him—the same Max who followed Carlos into F1 at seventeen because he always knew what they were.

As if feeling the weight of Carlos’s thoughts, Max’s gaze finds his, and when their eyes meet, he presses a kiss through his helmet to his index finger—I carry you with me.

—----

He’s leaning against the garage, waiting for Max to join him.

"Do you ever wonder if we really lived other lives?" The thought that they've been in each other's orbit far longer than they can imagine—that they've met as soulmates each time—goes unsaid as Carlos murmurs, his words barely audible above the cacophony. But then he remembers the weight of Max's gaze—how it anchors him and makes him feel like he belongs to something bigger than himself. He recalls how at peace he feels in Max's presence, how his heart slowed into a summer calm the first time they met, as if it recognized, before Carlos did, that he was whole. Carlos can't imagine a life without it; he can't envision his soul in any universe not being halved so Max can piece it together.

“Every day,” Max replies, his voice cutting through the noise as he emerges from the garage, wiping sweat from his brow. “I think about all the times we’ve found each other. It’s like we’re destined to collide, over and over.”

Carlos turns, a faint smile easing the tightness in his chest. “Maybe that’s why I can’t let go. No matter how hard I try, amor.” Leaning back against the cool garage, something stirs in his chest—something heavy and unspoken. He tilts his head, feigning confidence, but Max sees through it.

Grinning, Max steps closer, his eyes softening as he cups Carlos’s cheek in his hand, his touch both familiar and grounding. It’s as if he knows what Carlos is afraid to say. “You’re not supposed to let go, remember? Didn’t I tell you? I followed you for a reason. It’s always been you.” Max’s thumb brushes lightly over the dark circles beneath Carlos’s eyes, and Carlos lets his lashes flutter closed, feeling the tension melt under Max’s touch—the only anchor against the tide of anxiousness that threatens to wash over.

“Do you wish I never stopped? That it was still me in the garage next to you?” Carlos whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his vulnerability.

Max’s gaze deepens, and for a moment, the noise of the track fades into the background. “Always,” he admits softly. “But it’s not just about you racing. I want you everywhere, you know? When you’re not here, when I don’t see you—” Max shakes his head, closing his eyes as if whatever he thought is something he doesn’t want to hold onto. “It feels like I imagined all of this. Like I’ll have to chase you into the next life just to see you again.”

Max’s confession hits Carlos like a tidal wave, chest splitting open with the weight of it. His heart surges toward Max—this boy, now a man—ready to carry both of them. He grasps Max’s wrists, his face cradled between Max’s warm hands, and holds his gaze. Max’s fingers trace gently over his features—his brows, cheekbones, and lips—brushing tenderly against the stubble Carlos has been growing. Max’s reverent gaze never wavers, as if he’s memorising every detail, every touch, as if this moment is his last chance to do so.

It churns something deep in Carlos's chest, unaware of how fragile it all feels to Max to finally have him—for them to be together without the threat of either of their fathers looming over them ever again. He remembers when they were still boys under their fathers' guardianship, bound by filial duty and controlled by paternal pride. How the pain of their forced distance clawed at him, reminding him of all the times they could only brush hands or clasp each other’s necks in feigned sportsmanship, desperate for just a moment of warmth—a fleeting chance to soothe the ache of a bond stretched too thin.

Suddenly, it’s like Carlos is the one going 300 km/h, not Max. Carlos who waits on Max’s side of the garage, hand covering his mouth, too scared to watch the TV, too strung out to focus on anything but the data. Heart racing until Max returns, helmet off, healthy, whole—alive. Max is on the other side, speeding around the track, desperate to find him, to know he’s still there, waiting—real.

He presses a kiss to the palms still cradling his face, pulling Max from whichever depth of thought he’d fallen into—I’m here. Max answers his kiss with a gentle press to his hair, and as one hand slips to his neck, he pulls Carlos into him, drawing him closer—You are.

Author's note: This is based on the idea I had and the little blurb I wrote for it yesterday. I may make this multi-chaptered sometime in the future but this is it for now, so enjoy!

[lihhelsing]

The Adventures of Bat Eddie

Written by @devondespresso & @lihhelsing for the Upside Down/Right Side Up Challenge from @strangerthingswritersguild ❤️ Steddie | Rated T&Up | 5k words

Summary: Eddie wakes up on the Upside Down and quickly realizes he's a bat. Now his best hope lays in the hands of two dinguses.

CW: Mentions of Blood, Mild Body Horror

Read it on Ao3 Or keep reading it below the cut

Eddie wakes up to pain.

Sharp, gnawing pain around his middle, something deeper and hollow—hunger—and the heavy ache of exhaustion fucking everywhere. 

His mouth tastes sweet, like blood, and it isn't as distressing as it should be. He breathes, short, heavy and desperate, scabs pulling skin with every movement.

Eddie opens his eyes and sees a murky red sky.

He should be dead. He knows, instinctively, that he's lost too much blood for any person to have survived.

He died.

But his stomach still hurts, a lot, and he could see the red sky and he’s fucking starving, and in all honesty he imagined hell to be a lot worse than regular pain and regular hunger and regular, upside down reds.

So, somehow, he isn't dead. And he’s still in the upside down.

Eddie takes a breath—and it’s short, but he manages—and moves his hands—

Eddie freezes, and sucks in another too-short breath. 

He could feel between his arm and side. He feels movement, dirt and skin brushing skin, where he shouldn't feel anything.

Eddie looks down.

Dark gray fur coated in jagged red scabs, moving up and down from quick, heavy breathing. Thin folds of skin connected to long, thin bones.

He bends his arm—the motion to bring his hand to his face—and the boney arm bends at the same time. Bringing a pointy claw and boney long fingers, skin webbed in between to form wings, up to his face.

It's him.

There's skin between his fingers, between his arm and his side, his thumb is a claw and his breaths are small because his lungs and whole body is the size of a–

He's a fucking bat.

Eddie looks around, even as moving and twisting pulls at the scabs on his middle painfully, ripping new wounds.

He's a bat. Still in the upside down. Alone.

He needs to cry. 

Somewhere in his brain tries, emotions welling, feeling too much, too different, too pained.

Too alone.

He doesn't cry. He brings his boney hands up sideways, claw-thumb-thing up, and rubs at the skin around his eyes in a way that almost feels human, but it doesn't work. 

Apparently, bats can't cry. 

Eddie is a bat, alone, and he can't fucking cry.

He moves his thumbs to the top of his head, finger-wings spread out almost like  a blanket shielding him. He scrunches his legs in awkwardly—hurting his scabs again, but fuck it—and he screams.

He screams from his gut, but it’s high-pitched, and that just makes it worse. He screams harder, as hard as his shrunken fucking lungs let him, stopping for breaths more often than he feels like he should.

He can't cry, but he can press his claw-thumbs into the skin on his head, he can force his eyes shut tighter and tighter, and he can scream his lungs out, hard and painful until he grows lightheaded.

He has no idea how long he sits there, screaming. 

Eventually, he becomes too dizzy, nearly numbed, and he collapses back down. Looking at the red sky, he tries to figure out what the hell he's going to do now.

_

Flying is easier than Eddie expected. So is leaving the upside down.

That’s a bad sign, probably, but he decided to forgive himself for focusing on other shit at the moment.

Like how all the lights were off in Max's trailer and Harrington’s house—and he doesn't want to think about what that could mean—or how he doesn't know where any of the others live, besides Wheeler, who just had to live goddamned miles away.

He’s pretty sure he won't make it that far.

He'd only just passed Harrington’s house and his body is already aching, arms heavy and stomach in pain, maybe bleeding again, maybe just really fucking hungry. Eddie watches the ground attentively, hoping he could somehow guess where Henderson or Sinclair lives. 

Then, he spots a Beemer. The Beemer.

Eddie dives down immediately, landing roughly on the hood. It’s parked at a house that definitely isn't Harrington’s, but at least it explains the lights out at his own house.

Eddie takes off, finding a window with the lights on and heading towards it, not really thinking about his plan until it’s too late.

Eddie slows down, but he’s not used to these wings and it’s a little more complicated to aim when you’re a bat. He was hoping to land safely at the windowsill but ends up going straight through it and only stopping when he slams on a wall with a painful thunk.

He slides from the wall to the floor and he doesn’t want to call anyone hysterical, but there’s a lot of screaming happening around him. 

When his eyes finally focus on the scene in front of him, he finds none other than Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley, holding on to each other with matching horrified expressions directed at Eddie. 

Eddie wants to tell them they probably saw worse things than a bat on the Upside Down but, well, he can’t speak. And it would probably freak them out even more. 

“Do you think it’s… alive?” Robin says, frowning and then yelping when Eddie manages to move a little on his spot. He knew the sound he made when he hit the wall wasn’t good, but from the pain that shoots through him with the smallest movement he figures he probably broke something. 

“Definitely alive,” Steve says and he takes a step towards Eddie, but Robin holds him back.

“Don't poke him!” 

“I wasn’t planning on that! Just wanted to get a better look,” Steve defends, but he stays where he is. Eddie can see Robin is holding him tightly enough to bruise. 

“It’s kind of gross. You don't think he has rabies… right?” She asks.

“He might.” Steve deadpans and the two take a step back together. 

Eddie tries to fly away unsuccessful and ends up causing another comotion. Robin pulls Steve back and the two of them trip and fall on the bed. Steve lets out a low grunt and moves his hand to his stomach, where Eddie can see a small dark spot, like he’s bleeding.

“You’re bleeding,” Robin says and Steve grunts in response. “Have you changed your bandages today?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer and gets up, a frown in between her brows. 

“I’m fine. We should figure out what to do about that first,” Steve says, pointing at where Eddie is.

“It doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere, Steve,” she says, looking at Eddie and wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I’ll get bandages and the rabies book, and you can read it while I patch you up.” 

Before Steve can even agree, she’s out of the room and then Steve and Eddie are alone. 

Despite his injuries, Steve looks… curious. He gets up from the bed letting out a low grunt and moves towards Eddie. Eddie tries to move away, but one of his wings is definitely busted and he flaps uselessly with the other, managing to bump into Steve’s dresser. 

Steve keeps moving and that’s when Eddie realizes he wasn’t curious about him, but about something else. With slow and clearly painful movements, Steve crouches down and picks up something from the place where Eddie initially fell down. 

Eddie watches as he analyzes it and it looks like a piece of clothing. Was that stuck on him and he hadn’t noticed it? Probably. 

“Robin!” Steve yells and then proceeds to put the thing close to his nose and smell it. He wrinkles his nose and grunts, “Disgusting.” 

Robin shows back up on the door, heaving with a big book and a first-aid kit clutched in her arms. She’s looking alarmed as if she thought she was going to find Steve on the ground and Eddie feeding from him or something. 

“You ok, dingus?” she asks and Steve gets up, offering her the piece of clothing. 

“Yeah. This just fell down from our little guy there and guess what… it smells like the fucking Upside Down.” 

Robin’s eyes widen and Eddie lets out a small noise because he’s a little shocked Steve knows what the Upside Down smells like. 

“You think this came from there?” she asks, dropping the things she was carrying on the bed so she can take the thing from Steve’s hand to inspect it herself. 

“I think he came from there,” Steve points to Eddie, still on the floor. 

Eddie flaps his good wing and hopes they read that as a yes. 

“Seems like he agrees,” Robin says and gives the piece of clothing back to Steve. “Let’s patch you up and then we’ll figure out what to do with him.” 

Steve sits on the bed and Eddie watches, in mild amazement, as he strips down from his clothes. Steve has never cared for his modesty too much, Eddie knows it, he just didn’t think he was going to get another chance to look at his pecs again. 

And there’s something else, as Robin gets to work. Eddie can smell Steve. No, not Steve. His blood. And it makes his mouth water in a weird way. 

She takes off the old bandages and from their color, they are definitely soaked in blood. Eddie moves again, something inside his gut telling him to get close. Steve glances at him and then back at the piece of clothing, as if he’s looking for an answer. 

“You know what Dustin told me?” he asks, hissing as Robin presses a gauze on his bat bites. “I was lucky I got half-eaten by UD bats because they don’t carry diseases like regular bats do. Something about them being undead creatures or whatever. Sure, I could’ve bled to death and those are going to scar, but at least…”

“No rabies!” Robin concludes, her eyes shifting to where Eddie is. 

“No rabies,” he agrees. 

They both turn their eyes at Eddie and it’s kind of scary to be a target like that. Before he can do anything, Steve is on his feet, still shirtless for fuck’s sake, and he bends down and cups Eddie in his hands, bringing him up. 

One of the hands under him retracts and a shaky finger comes out, lifting one of his wings out carefully.

“Oh… yikes,” Robin says and Eddie looks up to find her looking over Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Eddie glances down at the scabs—which look even worse in proper lighting—as Harrington lowers his wing back down gently.

“Let’s get him cleaned up. And then we’ll figure out how the fuck he ended up here,” Steve says, taking Eddie with him to his en-suite, followed by Robin. 

_

Adopting an Upside Down bat wasn’t on Steve’s bingo card for that year, and still… that was what happened. 

The bat had crashed through Robin’s room window a week ago and they had decided to figure out what he meant–or what he wanted, depending on how sentient the thing was– before calling the party. 

After figuring out the bat couldn’t give any of them rabies or anything like that, Steve had given it a bath and had cared for its broken wing, and the bat seemed to be very grateful. 

Robin still felt a little… disgusted by it. And Steve didn’t blame her. But maybe being half-eaten by bats had made him a half-bat or something because, for whatever reason, Steve felt a connection with him. 

And, truth be told, Steve was feeling extra lonely lately. Robin had quickly found another job and she was still trying to convince her manager to hire Steve as well. Steve’s parents had vanished and he was still trying to figure out if they were alive or if they had just abandoned him and he wasn’t sure which one would be worse. 

So yeah, maybe it was pathetic that his best friend right now was a wounded bat, but Steve had weirder things happening to him. 

Besides, the bat was proving to be good company. 

Steve grew accustomed to bringing him along to anything. The bat would just happily sit on his shoulder and keep him company whenever Robin was out. Steve was dreading having to go back to his parents, scared of finding out what had happened to them, and having the bat with him made things easier. 

Even if he was left with no answers, still. 

It’s a Thursday afternoon, and Steve’s hungry so he decides to get a snack. He’s not sure what kind of food the bat eats so he mostly gives him fruit and water and he seems content about it. 

Steve gets himself an apple and the bats patiently wait as he eats. Soon enough Steve knows he’s going to be talking to the bat and he’s not sure he’s worried about it. The bat came to him after the Upside Down so it means the bat knows something, right? 

The connection was still unclear and Steve is not in any rush. Things have been pretty quiet after their last encounter with Vecna and Steve is really not looking forward to things heating up again. 

He grabs a banana and unpeels it. He tried a few different fruits, but the banana seems to be his favorite. Easier to eat, probably. The phone ring at that exact moment, so Steve says. “Hang on, let me take this,” and answers it before giving him the banana. 

On the phone, Robin called just to check-in on him. She’s worried and Steve knows it. She’s worried he’s isolating too much. She’s worried that Eddie’s death has affected him more than he’s willing to admit. 

It’s not like he hasn’t said it out loud. He misses Eddie. So fucking much. But Steve’s trying to be practical about it. Him crying or sharing how much he misses Eddie is not going to bring him back. No matter how much he wants it. No matter how many times he’s dreamed about it. 

And, there’s something else. Something he hasn’t been able to admit to Robin yet. 

Eddie seems to have woken something up in Steve. The way he talked and the way he walked and how Steve’s stomach fluttered every time Eddie touched him. It probably meant nothing. But without Eddie, Steve was left to figure out for himself what it all meant. 

There’s a part of him that knows Eddie has changed something inside of him. Steve’s just afraid that acknowledging it will break something irreparable inside of him. What’s the use of having a crush on a dead guy, right? 

“Dingus, you still there?” Robin says over the speaker and snaps Steve out of his thoughts. “And what’s this sound?” 

“Yeah, I’m just feeding him while we talk,” Steve says and he moves his hand to give him the last of the banana. 

The problem is, he’s not paying attention and the poor thing might be hungrier than he imagined because he’s taking a bite and the next thing Steve knows is pain shooting through his body from his finger. 

He keeps the scream down, doesn’t want to alert Robin or scare the bat, and tells her he has to go. 

“What? Did something happen?” 

“I forgot cookies in the oven!” Steve lies and hangs up before Robin can ask any more questions. “Fuck.” 

He moves back to the kitchen and puts the bat down with the little piece of banana left. He washes his finger on the sink but the bleeding isn’t stopping and there’s a moment where he just scrambles to find a paper towel to wrap his finger around it. 

When he finally does, his heart is beating like crazy in his chest and he has to take a second to catch his breath. He sighs, feeling his finger throbbing. The bat didn’t mean, obviously, but fuck that hurt. 

He looks up to find the bat… licking the counter. 

His first thought is that he’s underfeeding him and he feels instantly guilty. But when he looks closer he sees the little red dots sprinkled everywhere on the counter. And the little guy just licking all that he can find, cleaning every spot of Steve’s blood. 

And then, it dawns on him. 

“Fuck.” 

_

Steve has thought this through.

He considered waiting for Robin but what if he’s wrong? What if this was just a weird coincidence and the bat is really just hungry and going for anything with any taste? 

There’s no indication the bat would know the difference between a banana and blood so maybe he just thought it was nice and he was still hungry. 

So Steve tries to offer him another banana. And then an apple, some berries, cashews and even cereal. No deal. He just blinks those huge black eyes at him and waits. 

He waits and waits and waits and Steve feels like he’s going crazy. He’s also running out of time, so he figures no harm in trying. 

Steve picks up a knife and presses his thumb on the blade. It needs a little bit of force, but then the sting spreads through his body and he watches as thick, red drops drip from his hand to the counter. 

The bat squeaks and it would be cute if he wasn’t literally excited for Steve’s blood. 

“Let’s see if this works.” 

The bat moves on the counter and licks it clean again. He waits as Steve’s thumb drips blood and he licks again and again and again. 

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters under his breath. He picks up the knife again. “Hopefully you won’t need too much, huh?” 

The bat makes a noise and Steve’s not sure if he’s agreeing with him or not, but he still presses the knife on his palm and cuts it. It’s a longer cut and it hurts more. Steve bends down and presses his hand with the other, feeling his eyes welling up. 

The bat starts to flap his wings around and Steve doesn’t want to alarm him, so he just shushes him. 

“I’m ok. Let’s get you properly fed.” 

He picks the bat up and brings him to his chest before placing his hand in front of him. The bat eyes go wide and he puts his tongue out, licking what he can reach. Steve walks to one of the kitchen chairs and plops himself down, hoping the bat won’t need enough to make him dizzy, but still, better be prepared. 

“You were really hungry, huh?” Steve says and then he moves his hand and the bat seems to read that as an invitation so he sinks his tiny fangs into the meat of Steve’s hand. 

Surprisingly, the pain isn’t bad. It seems like his hand is a little numb and the bat lets out a content sigh as he sucks on Steve’s hand. 

It doesn’t take long for him to retreat and Steve is thankful for it. He’s not feeling dizzy, but he reaches for some water and drinks long gulps as the bat uses his tongue to clean every last drop. 

They survived, which is a good sign. Steve is not really surprised that the bat feeds on blood, but he knows it’s going to be a bitch of a conversation to have with Robin when he finds the words to do it. 

Which probably won’t be tonight. 

_

Steve’s a coward. He’s fine admitting that. 

He might not be a coward in the general sense of the world because he doesn’t have a good enough instinct of self-preservation. As in, he’s ready to jump in front of danger whenever. 

Creatures from the Upside Down coming for them? Steve’s ready to fight them with his nail bat. Russian military using truth serum? Sign him the fuck in. 

Having hard conversations with Robin about how their adopted bat from the Upside Down apparently feeds from human blood? He’d rather face Vecna again. 

That’s how he finds himself doing their night routine, lips sealed as if his secret might spill at any time without warning. 

They brush their teeth together while Robin complains about jackass customers she had to deal with today. Says she’s almost cracking her manager and maybe Steve should come in later in the week to seal the deal. 

“Whadidyoudotoyourhand?” she asks, mouth full with toothpaste. Steve’s glad he’s known Robin long enough that he can figure out what she means. 

“Burned my hand trying to get the cookies from the oven,” Steve lies easily and Robin spits in the sink before filling her mouth with water. 

She spits and looks at him through the mirror, “can’t believe you burned cookies. You’re really not the same, Dingus.” 

Steve laughs. It was a harmless lie to explain the bandages he wrapped around his cut hand and the lack of any cookies because he wouldn’t have time to actually bake them before Robin got home. 

“I’ll try again tomorrow,” he promises and she pats him on the shoulder, moving to the bedroom and getting in bed. 

After everything, Steve doesn’t like to sleep alone. At first, he tried sleeping in the guest bedroom but he would eventually wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, heart beating a million per second. 

Now, he just crawls in bed with Robin, no more preambles. They have no idea what her parents think about this, but Robin doesn’t worry enough to offer an explanation and they also don’t worry enough to demand one. 

Once he’s settled, Robin gets her book. She usually reads out loud at night, to put both of them to sleep. It’s nice to sleep with her voice echoing inside his head, even if he misses parts of the story because he usually sleeps first. 

The bat snuggles next to Steve’s chest. He usually slept on the floor, in a pile of Steve’s clothes, but today he whined until Steve put him in bed. He has no idea if it’s the blood sharing or just a natural change of things, but he doesn’t hate his presence in bed. 

Robin looked weird at the two of them but she said nothing. Again. Not the weirdest thing to happen in their lives so far. 

Steve falls asleep pretty quickly, the cadence of Robin’s voice all he needs to muffle everything else inside his brain. It doesn’t stop him from dreaming, though, and tonight’s dream features Eddie. 

He hasn’t dreamed about Eddie in a hot second and he’s not sure if it’s better or worse. Dream Eddie is alive, but it makes Steve miss him even more. He has that same lopsided smile and he’s looking at Steve as if he had answers to all his questions but he won’t share. 

“Stevie,” dream Eddie says, looking at him. “Wake up.” 

Steve blinks at him. The scene changes from the Upside Down to the boathouse but Eddie stays the same. Battle vest and bandana on his head. Ready for the fight. 

“Wake up,” he purrs this time, and Steve closes his eyes. 

How can he wake up? 

He senses his heart rate spiking the second his brain starts to second-guess his dream. Is it a dream or is he walking into a Vecna trap? He can’t know for sure. But he knows Eddie’s death is traumatic enough to make him vulnerable. 

Robin knows his song. He’s sure he told her the second they figured out how to save Max. Why isn’t she playing the song?

It must be a dream.

He tries the next best thing and pinches his arm willing his brain to wake up. He opens his eyes and sees more than hear dream Eddie mouthing ‘wake up’ 

Then, he blinks awake. 

Everything seems normal. His eyes are adjusting to the dark room and there’s a weight on his left arm that he figures it’s Robin. She might deny it, but they both know she will attach herself to anything when she’s sleeping. 

There’s a mop of hair covering her face and part of Steve’s, almost getting in his mouth. He doesn’t remember when her hair got so long, but time passes in a weird way nowadays. 

He sighs. He should go back to sleep. But then his brain supplies him with something else.

Robin is lying right where the bat was. 

“Robs, psst,” he whispers, trying to be gentle. He doesn’t mind her cuddling him but his arm is starting to cramp. “Wake up.” 

In his peripheral vision, he sees something moving on the far end of the bed. Which is… weird. Robin is pressed against his body so she can’t possibly also be on the far end of the bed. 

“Robin, wake up,” he says a little louder and there’s movement again. But not close to him. “Robin!” he says and then Robin gets up. 

The problem is that Robin is still on her side of the bed, book draped on her chest because she fell asleep reading and forgot to put it down. She lifts herself up by the elbows and watches Steve with a confused expression. 

“What happened?” she says, voice filled with sleep and eyes barely open. 

Steve realizes then that whoever is sleeping next to him it’s not Robin. She seems to notice the same thing at the same time because her eyes widen as she looks at the figure still glued to Steve’s side. 

“What the–” Steve starts to say, but then the person turns and the hair flips to the other side revealing none other than Eddie Munson. 

_

Everything happens way too quickly. 

Steve jumps out of the bed at the same time Robin yells and Eddie just stares, wide eyes completely horrified. 

He’s also completely naked. 

Robin covers her eyes and Steve feels his back hitting the wall as he repeats to himself wakeupwakeupWAKEUP. 

He tries pinching his arm and it doesn’t work like it did in the dream. He stays there, panting on Robin’s bedroom and watching a dead Eddie Munson pulling on the covers to hide himself. 

“Am I dreaming?” Steve sputters out, and Robin says a categorical NO. 

“Never heard of group dreaming,” she says and it’s probably meant as a joke but she’s dead serious. 

Eddie turns his head from Steve to Robin and back to Steve. He looks as scared as them, which makes Steve relax a little. 

“Is it really… you?” Steve asks, but when Eddie’s eyes lock on him all the doubt vanishes.  

“I… think so,” Eddie says, raising his hands as if he’s inspecting them. As if he’s scared he’s going to find something else. 

“How the hell did you get in my room?” Robin asks. She has her back to the window next to her bed. 

Eddie looks at her and shrugs, “through the window?”

Robin starts to argue with him, saying it’s impossible because he would’ve woken her up if that were the case, and then she goes on a tangent asking him why didn’t he wake them up, but Steve’s brain is buzzing in a different wavelength. 

“Wait,” Steve says but they don’t seem to hear him. 

He moves closer to the bed while Robin tries to find a logical explanation for Eddie to be sitting in her bed and starts patting, looking for the one thing that’s missing. 

And he knows he’s not going to find him. 

“The bat,” Steve says and that seems to finally catch Robin’s attention. She looks at him and raises a brow.

“He must be hiding somewhere. I probably scared him with my scream,” she says and Steve nods, but his eyes go from her to Eddie. 

“You definitely did.” 

She follows his line of sight and frowns. “I don’t underst–”

And then, she does. 

_

Three Months Later

“Do we have to tell them today?” Steve asks, pouting. Eddie chuckles and nods. 

“Yes, sweetheart, we do have to tell them.” 

Steve sighs. He knows it’s time. 

He might’ve been shocked at first, with the realization that not only Eddie was alive but he was also, somehow, not human anymore. But even that wore off quickly once he understood what that meant. 

He got to have Eddie back. 

The discussion was probably shorter than it should have been, but even Robin, who was scared at first, accepted it pretty quickly. Her and Steve hadn’t talked about it yet, but he had a feeling she already knew.

Obviously, it would be hard to explain to her parents why the town’s satanist was hiding in her room, so Steve moved back to the Harrington’s with Eddie in tow. And maybe that was a mistake but he didn’t regret doing it. 

Being around Eddie was easier than anything else. 

If Robin was jealous, she tried not to show it too much. Went over whenever she could to movie nights and dinner, but it was mostly Steve and Eddie. Just the two of them. Together. 

Steve decided to also keep to himself the fact that Eddie needed human blood to live. That was a longer and trickier conversation that he could have once he figured out a way to tell his best friend he was in love with a guy. 

With Eddie, out of all guys. 

It had been surprisingly easy, if he was being honest. Eddie was easy to love. Even this undead, non human version of him. Underneath the blood thirst and the constant nightmares, it was still Eddie. 

“Five more minutes,” Eddie says in his ear, face buried in his neck like he loves to do these days. 

“Five more minutes,” Steve agrees, humming satisfied. Eddie is bad at denying Steve anything he asks for, and Steve kind of loves it. 

[positively-mine]

Boyfriend Kalego Naberius

a/n: a little something while I'm working on the angsty Kalego fic ☺️☺️ also, if there’s mistake lmk!

an old fashion romantic

and you won’t change my mind about this 🫡

when he gets back from work, he hands you a bouquet of flowers

dropping his work bag and kicking his shoes off, he’ll swoop you into his arms and hug you

and kisses on your forehead

you’ll both stand there, swaying together as he tells you about his day (his class as usual😃)

once he feels that he’s ready, he’ll move you both to the living room to sit

maybeee a few more minutes of resting before you’re both getting up to prepare dinner

no microwaved dinners with this man, he insists on cooking something fresh

(which also means no more maggi and noodle cups)

ALSO

weekly dates are a thing with this man

or if you’re busy, every fortnight (max)

dates are a MUST

trying out a new restaurant, shopping and museum or aquarium dates

if he’s busy, he’ll try to find time to have a date night with you

either a late night stroll, a nice dinner outside or maybe just playing some music and swaying together

there are two ways this can go

If you’re a teacher at babyls as well, late night walks with him

if your workload seems a lot, he’ll complain about Sullivan not hiring enough staff

but in the end he’s pulling a chair to your desk to help you finish up your work

if you’re working at different places, he’s rushing his work so that he can pick you up on time

if anyone tries to give him more work he’s glaring them down

his wake up alarms are also set to ring 1 hour earlier

he can’t help that he wants to bury himself deeper into the sheets with you by his side

it’s 10x harder to get up from the bed now bc it just feels so nice to have someone beside him

becomes a cuddle monster

EVERYDAY

he needs his daily dose

it's only one too many accidents that he realizes he can't wait any longer

the fear in his heart that he would never get to propose to you

so, he grabs balam sensei and drags him ring shopping

it's both not their strong suit so it takes them weeks to decide on a ring

suddenly suggests to you that you both should take a break

have a nice holiday somewhere

you walk and explore all around the place

taking in the sights and basking in each other's warmth

it's only on the last day that he takes you somewhere secluded

highh up onto a cliff where it overlooks the entire place

and proposes to you

the words that are coming out of his mouth are so hope filled for your future together that you can't help but tear up

even he's tearing up (just a little bit 🤏)

and when it all sinks in, he can't help but fall in love with you again all over again, but with the thought of starting a family

[artiststarme]

Sometimes Sorry Isn't Enough

Sometimes Steve wondered how he was still alive. What made him more deserving of life than Barb? He kept putting his life on the line and yet he scraped by with only scars as evidence. He’d fought the demodogs and the mindflayer. He’d thrown Molotov cocktails at Vecna/Henry/One’s face. He’d been prepared to die every single time. So why was he still here?

He wished he’d chosen to jump off the quarry’s cliff when he found out that his parents had left him behind for good. Wished that he hadn’t been too quick for the demodogs to catch in the junkyard. He wished that he’d taken Max’s place in the face of Vecna’s curse. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be around anymore.

He loved his friends, loved Robin and Eddie in particular, but it wasn’t enough. Robin had better things to do than deal with his trauma that he’d roped her into without her consent. If it weren’t for him being so desperate and needy for attention, she would never have been involved with the Upside Down. She wouldn’t have been psychologically tortured by the Russians or exposed to the Hell that existed beneath them. She’d be better off without him.

And Eddie. Poor Eddie didn’t deserve any of this either. He was simply the town’s scapegoat that was at the wrong place at the wrong time and now his life was forever changed because of it. His body was marred in scars where the bats mauled him, eerily similar to the ones that existed in Steve’s flesh. Steve should’ve done more to protect him instead of forcing him to play decoy and then his friend afterwards.

Instead of forcing his problems on the Party once again, Steve stewed by himself in his empty crypt of a home. The house was dark, the air was cold, and his heart was heavy. He poured pain pills, originally prescribed to deal with his horrific migraines, into his hands and took a deep breath. Unlike all those other times, he wouldn’t escape death again. As he swallowed pill after pill, his heart sank deeper. It was better this way.

He was unconscious by the time Robin arrived, a feeling of proud terror driving her away from her family dinner and to Steve’s side. He was unconscious when Eddie gave him CPR and mouth to mouth, imagining their first kiss would be much different than it actually was. He was on the verge of life and death by the time Hopper speedily pulled into his driveway and threw him in the ranger before the ambulance could even arrive to take him to the hospital, begging him the entire way to open his eyes.

When he woke up to hospital smells and bright lights, he initially felt disappointed. He’d failed once again to leave the wretched world that never seemed to want him. But when he looked around, he felt a spark of hope in his chest. Hopper, Eleven, Robin, Eddie, and Dustin were in various chairs and cots scattered throughout the room. Eddie was curled into a ball by his feet on the bed while Robin was pressed against his side, her head on his chest as if she was waiting subconsciously to hear each beat of his heart. Hopper was sat in a chair by his bedside, his fingers loosely gripping the bed frame. Eleven was on the window’s ledge, her brow furrowed like the world was on her shoulders still. And Dustin. He was on a cot right beside Steve’s bed, his body facing him and his hand wrapped around his wrist.

Steve felt guilt flood him. He always felt like he was surviving on luck alone, deserving to die and never quite doing so. He didn’t realize that he was surviving off the love of his friends, his family, and that they were doing the same. It would take awhile to change his way of thinking and for him to start appreciating the life he had but he would get there eventually. Especially with his best friend, his boyfriend, his little brother and sister, and Hopper by his side.

[charlesslut16]

-Frostbite-

summary : you and max go on a stroll outside and it end not as planned...

PAIRING : max verstappen x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I hope that you like this lovies. The dezember is almost over...

december masterlist ; masterlist   

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

Max Verstappen glanced out the window, the snow-covered landscape calling out to him. Even though he loved the sun and warmth, he could not stay inside but go outside and take a stroll with you in the winter.

"Hey, love, want to take a stroll outside?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You grinned, knowing Max's love for adventure all too well. "Sure, why not! But it's freezing out there, don't forget your warmest coat."

Arm in arm, you both ventured into the winter wonderland. The air was crisp, the ground adorned with a pristine blanket of snow. It looked absolutely wonderful.

Max's infectious laughter echoed as he playfully tossed a snowball your way, starting a playful snowball fight. As you were both always up for a challenge, you threw one back.

Amidst the flurry of snow and laughter, time slipped away. Hours seemed like moments as you both wandered deeper into the serene landscape, indulged in your love for each other.

However, the temperature dropped rapidly, and you started to feel the chill seeping through your layers. You thought that you were clothed warm enough, but you were wrong.

"Maybe we should head back home, into the warmth," you suggested breezy, noticing the frost forming on the edges of Max's beanie. The weather service did not say that it would be this cold.

"Just a bit longer, my love," Max insisted with a plea, wanting to savor the magical ambiance a little while more. He really enjoyed this time with you off work.

But the cold proved relentless, and before you knew it, your fingers were numb, your cheeks flushed crimson from the biting chill. Max noticed your discomfort and, taking your freezing hand in his warm one, he suggested hurrying back.

Unfortunately, the walk back seemed longer, the snow heavier, and the biting wind more intense. The chill began to penetrate through every layer of clothing, and you both quickened your pace, hoping to reach the warmth of shelter soon.

As you finally returned home, relief flooded over you. Yet, when you removed your gloves, the telltale signs of frostbite started to appear on your cold, freezing fingers.

Panic tinged Max's voice as he noticed in an instant, immediately springing into action, his concern evident in his eyes. He could not have you hurt under his watch.

"We need to warm your hands gently," Max said, his voice soft yet urgent. He gently held your hands close to his body, his warmth slowly seeping into your frozen fingers.

Concern etched across his face, he reassured you. He held your hands and hoped that it would be better in a few days. But something still nagged at him. How did he not notice that you were this cold?

"It'll be okay, love. Just hang in there."

With tender care, Max tended to your frostbitten fingers, making sure you were comfortable and warm. He refused to leave your side until he was certain you were okay.

In the following days, Max took on the role of your own personal caregiver, ensuring you received the best treatment to heal your frostbite. He would do anything.

His love and concern were unwavering, and he made sure you felt supported and cared for every step of the way. Max was terribly sorry that he could not do more than he already did.

Through the ordeal, your bond with Max only grew stronger. His unwavering devotion and care during those moments solidified your love, making you realize that in both sunshine and snow, you had a partner who'd always be by your side, keeping you warm and safe.

[autumnapricot]

i know you won’t update next chapter this week but i was wondering if you had written any drafts that we could take a sneak peek 🥺🥺🥺 get well soon by the way!!! love your work so much!!

i have 7k written, actually. which is all, uhm, *scratches head* pre-rut angst? heh.

but yeah, sure 🎃🧡

Max is still sat at the edge of the bed, watching Charles with concern and he just won’t go, and Charles bites his lip but pitiful little growls escape him anyway while he tries to not grind his hips into the bed but there’s Max‘s scent on every single piece of the nest around him, and Max is right there, the source of the wonderful scent that is usually heaven to Charles, but right now it might as well be hell at the same time because he wants it, he wants Max, but he can‘t have him. He shouldn‘t have him. He can‘t allow himself to have Max. He‘s already hanging on to the last threads of sane lucidness, the rational thoughts dwindling fast because before he could at least control himself but that control is slipping through the cracks of his sweaty fingers, palms digging into the bedsheets. Now he can‘t even control his hips anymore, trying to get any sort of relief on his hard, aching cock by grinding against the mattress and he groans, making himself turn onto his back so he can‘t do that because the more he gives into it, the less he can keep composure. If he even has any left.

„Charles,“ Max sighs for the umpteenth time, and even just his voice makes Charles twitch in his pants and want to reach out, tug the Omega closer, on top of him, he wants to bury his nose in that scentgland so hard he can taste his scent and he wants to bury himself inside of him, he wants, and this want is like a growling beast thrown into a cage but the door isn‘t locked, it‘s all open, he could just waltz right out.

„Please. The only person you‘re hurting and torturing here is yourself, Charles.“

The gulp Charles swallows down hurts in his throat as if it gets caught in the dry ridges of it. He presses his eyes close and determinedly doesn‘t look at Max. To feel his presence is enough to make his last resolve fray at the edges like a poorly sewn shirt.

„Max,“ he presses out through shut teeth, „Just go.“

There‘s movement by the end of the bed but Max‘s weight doesn‘t lift off the mattress.

„No.“ Max says, because he is fucking terrible like that and never listens and his lack of regards for his own personal safety is horrifying. „Charles. I won‘t leave you like this. Come on. If you‘re not—at least use the toys or something. You can‘t spend your rut like this, stop denying yourself now. This is just painful.“

„Max.“

„No, stop being an idiot. I will not watch you torture yourself like this.“

Charles makes a wounded noise at that, planting his feet onto the mattress to feel somehow grounded, although he‘s not. He‘s not grounded to reality by anything other than Max’s voice, his scent, his presence, and it shouldn‘t. It keeps him grounded and yet lifts him afloat all the same.

He can hold out like this, he tells himself.

Three days of some discomfort, he can take that. He can power through that. The toys won‘t help him with anything other than losing his comprehension and falling deeper into rut, only to realize that it doesn‘t bring him much pleasure, barely even release, and he doesn‘t—he doesn‘t want to even just imagine himself so deep into his rut that his body figures that the toys are not enough and there is something much better, someone much better right in this house, and he can‘t. He can‘t even imagine himself seeking out Max, all out of control, attacking him even. It sends a shiver down Charles‘ back of the unpleasant kind, makes him feel nauseous.

When suddenly, a warm, steady weight crawls on top of him and settles to sit on his hips, he startles, eyes flying open. His body immediately reacts, hips slightly bucking up and he barely even restrains his hands from shooting out—instead, he forces his hands up above his head to cling onto the headboard so he won‘t reach out and touch Max.

„Max,“ he growls panickedly, „Get off.“

„No.“ Max simply counters again, so fucking stubborn.