#nodding at strangers weekend

[g4rchomp]

my partner is asking me if I want to attend his extended family reunion that lasts two days in a remote part of the state in august and I said yes #nobelpeaceprize #angelonearth

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

-

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

��Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

[pucksandpower]

Unremembered

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: imagine looking the love of your life in their eyes and seeing a stranger stare back — but Max doesn’t have to imagine, not when this is his reality

Warnings: serious injury and memory loss

The roar of the V6 engine fills Max’s ears as he navigates the twists and turns of the Zandvoort circuit. It’s the first practice session of the Dutch Grand Prix weekend, and Max is in his element, pushing his Red Bull to its limits.

Suddenly, his race engineer’s voice crackles through the radio. “Max, box this lap. Come back to the garage.”

Max furrows his brow, confused. “What? Why? The car feels fine.”

“Max, just box now. It’s important,” GP insists, his tone unusually stern.

Reluctantly, Max steers his car into the pit lane, frustration building. As he pulls into the garage, he notices an unusual flurry of activity. His performance coach, Rupert, is waiting with a grim expression.

“Max, out of the car. Now,” Rupert says urgently.

Max climbs out, yanking off his helmet. “What’s going on? Why did you pull me in?”

Rupert takes a deep breath. “Max, I answered a call on your phone while you were out there. It was the hospital.”

Max’s heart skips a beat. “The hospital? What”

“It’s about Y/N,” Rupert says softly. “She was in a car accident on her way here. It’s ... it’s serious, Max. They’ve taken her to the trauma center.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis. Max grabs Rupert’s arm to steady himself. “What? No, that can’t ... is she okay?”

Rupert shakes his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t give me details. But they said you should come right away.”

Without another word, Max bolts towards the exit. Rupert calls after him, “I’ll drive you!”

The car ride to the hospital is a blur. Max stares out the window, his mind racing. “This can’t be happening,” he mutters. “We were just talking this morning. She was excited to watch practice ...”

Rupert glances at him sympathetically. “Try not to assume the worst. Y/N’s tough. She’ll pull through this.”

Max nods numbly, willing himself to believe it. They screech to a halt outside the emergency entrance, and Max is out of the car before Rupert can even put it in park.

At the reception desk, Max’s words tumble out in a panicked rush. “My girlfriend was brought in. Car accident. Y/N Y/L/N. Where is she?”

The nurse types rapidly. “She’s in surgery right now. If you’ll have a seat in the waiting area, the doctor will come speak with you as soon as possible.”

Max paces the waiting room like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair. Rupert tries to calm him, but Max barely hears him. After what feels like an eternity, a doctor approaches.

“Are you here for Y/N Y/L/N?”

Max nods frantically. “Yes, I’m her boyfriend. Is she okay?”

The doctor’s expression is grave. “She’s out of surgery now. The accident was very serious. She has multiple broken bones and internal injuries. We’ve stabilized her, but ...”

“But what?” Max demands, his voice cracking.

“She suffered a significant head injury. There’s swelling in her brain. We won’t know the full extent of the damage until she wakes up.”

Max sways on his feet. Rupert steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. “Can I see her?” Max asks weakly.

The doctor nods. “She’s in the ICU. I must warn you, she’s heavily sedated and on a ventilator. It may be distressing to see her like this.”

Max follows the doctor down sterile hallways, his heart pounding. When they reach Y/N’s room, he freezes in the doorway. The sight of her lying there, battered and bruised, hooked up to machines, is like a physical blow.

He approaches the bed slowly, tears welling in his eyes. “Y/N,” he whispers, gently taking her hand. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.”

Hours pass. Max refuses to leave her side, holding her hand and talking to her softly. Nurses come and go. Rupert brings him coffee that goes cold, untouched.

As evening falls, Max notices her fingers twitch. He leans forward eagerly. “Y/N? Can you hear me?”

Her eyelids flutter, then slowly open. Max’s heart soars. “Y/N! Oh, thank God. You’re awake. How do you feel?”

But something’s wrong. Her eyes are unfocused, confused. She looks at Max blankly, then around the room in bewilderment.

“Where ... where am I?” She croaks, her voice hoarse from the ventilator tube that was recently removed.

“You’re in the hospital,” Max explains gently. “You were in an accident, but you’re going to be okay now.”

She frowns, struggling to process. “An accident? I don’t ... I don’t remember ...”

Max squeezes her hand reassuringly. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about that now. I’m just so glad you’re awake.”

But she pulls her hand away, shrinking back slightly. Her eyes narrow as she studies his face. “I’m sorry, but ... who are you?”

***

Max’s world comes crashing down with those three simple words. He stares at you, his mouth agape, unable to process what he’s just heard. The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, too bright.

“Who ... who am I?” Max repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N, it’s me. It’s Max. Your boyfriend.”

You shake your head slowly, wincing at the movement. “I’m sorry, I don’t ... I don’t know you. I don’t remember having a boyfriend.”

Max’s heart shatters into a million pieces. He takes a step back, running a trembling hand through his hair. “Okay, okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “The doctor said there might be ... complications. This is just temporary. It has to be.”

You watch him warily, confusion and fear evident in your eyes. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why can’t I remember anything?”

Max takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He needs to be strong for you, even if you don’t know who he is. “You were in a car accident,” he explains gently. “You hit your head pretty badly. The doctors said there might be some memory loss, but ... I didn’t think ...”

His voice trails off as he sees tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m scared,” you whisper. “I don’t remember the accident. I don’t remember coming here. I don’t even know what day it is.”

Max instinctively reaches out to comfort you, but stops himself, realizing his touch might not be welcome. “It’s okay to be scared,” he says softly. “But you’re not alone. I’m here for you, even if you don’t remember me right now.”

A nurse enters the room, breaking the tension. She smiles warmly at you. “It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

You turn to her, relief evident in your voice. “Everything hurts and I’m so confused. I can’t remember anything.”

The nurse nods sympathetically. “That’s not uncommon with head injuries. Try not to worry too much. Your memories may come back gradually as the swelling in your brain goes down.”

Max interjects, his voice tight with worry. “But she will remember, right? This isn’t ... permanent?”

The nurse’s expression turns cautious. “Every case is different. We’ll need to run some more tests now that she’s awake. The neurologist will be by soon to evaluate her.”

Max nods numbly, feeling like he’s trapped in a nightmare he can’t wake up from. The nurse checks your vitals and adjusts your medication before leaving the room.

An uncomfortable silence falls. You fidget with the edge of your blanket, avoiding Max’s gaze. “So ... we’re together?” You ask hesitantly.

Max nods, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, for almost two years now. We live together in Monaco.”

Your eyes widen. “Monaco? But I’m ... I’m not rich. At least, I don’t think I am.”

Despite everything, Max can’t help but chuckle. “No, but I am. I’m a Formula 1 driver. That’s why we were here in the Netherlands. It’s race weekend, and you were coming to watch me practice.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is so strange. It’s like you’re talking about someone else’s life. I can’t imagine dating a famous race car driver.”

Max’s heart clenches at your words. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through photos. “Here,” he says, holding it out to you. “Maybe these will help jog your memory.”

You take the phone hesitantly, swiping through picture after picture of the two of you together. At the beach, at fancy galas, cuddled up on the couch. In every photo, you both look blissfully happy.

“We look ... so in love,” you murmur, your brow furrowed in concentration.

“We are,” Max says softly. “Or at least, we were. I still am.”

You hand the phone back, your expression troubled. “I’m sorry. I wish I could remember. You seem like a really nice guy, and clearly we had something special, but ... it’s all blank.”

Max swallows hard, fighting back tears. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

Just then, a doctor enters the room. “Ah, good to see you awake,” he says briskly. “I’m Dr. Smeets, the neurologist on your case. How are you feeling?”

You explain your symptoms and memory loss while the doctor makes notes. Max hovers anxiously in the background, hanging on every word.

“Well,” Dr. Smeets says finally, “the good news is that your physical injuries are progressing nicely. The memory loss is concerning, but not entirely unexpected given the trauma to your brain.”

“Will she get her memories back?” Max asks, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

The doctor’s expression is guarded. “It’s impossible to say for certain. Retrograde amnesia can be unpredictable. Sometimes memories return quickly, sometimes it takes months or even years. And in some cases ...”

“Some cases what?” Max presses.

Dr. Smeets sighs. “In some cases, the memories never fully return. But,” he adds quickly, seeing the stricken look on Max’s face, “that’s relatively rare. The best thing you can do is be patient. Surround her with familiar people and places. Sometimes sensory triggers can help unlock memories.”

Max nods, clinging to that small hope. “Thank you, doctor. What’s the next step?”

“We’ll keep her here for observation for a few more days, run some more tests. After that, assuming there are no complications, she can be discharged to recover at home.”

After the doctor leaves, Max turns to you with forced cheerfulness. “See? That’s good news. You’ll be out of here soon, and then we can go home and work on getting your memories back.”

You shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Going ... home with you. I mean, you seem great, but you’re still a stranger to me.”

Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he forces himself to nod. “Of course. I understand. We’ll figure something out. Maybe you can stay with your parents for a while?”

You nod, looking relieved. “That sounds better. I remember my parents, at least.”

An awkward silence falls. Max clears his throat. “Do you want me to call them?”

“Would you mind? I don’t even know where my phone is.”

Max steps out into the hallway to make the call, grateful for a moment to collect himself. When he returns, you’re looking out the window, lost in thought.

“They’re on their way,” Max says softly. “They’ll be here in a few hours.”

You turn to him, your expression softening slightly. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Max shrugs. “Of course I did. I care about you, even if you don’t remember that right now.”

You study him for a long moment. “Can you ... can you tell me about us? How we met, what our life is like? Maybe it’ll help bring something back.”

Max’s heart leaps at the request. He pulls a chair closer to your bed and begins to talk, recounting the story of your relationship. How you met at a charity event, how nervous he was to ask you out, your first date at a little Italian restaurant in Monaco.

As he speaks, you listen intently, searching your mind for any flicker of recognition. But the memories remain frustratingly out of reach, like trying to grasp smoke.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally, interrupting his story about your first vacation together. “None of this is ringing any bells. It all sounds wonderful, but ... it’s like you’re talking about someone else’s life.”

Max tries to hide his disappointment. “It’s okay. The doctor said it might take time. We just have to be patient.”

You nod, but your expression is troubled. “What if ... what if I never remember? What if these memories are just gone forever?”

Max takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Then we’ll make new ones,” he says firmly. “I love you, Y/N. That hasn’t changed. If I have to make you fall in love with me all over again, I will.”

You look at him, a mix of emotions playing across your face. “That’s ... that’s incredibly sweet. But what if I’m not the same person anymore? What if the me you fell in love with is gone?”

Max shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not possible. You’re still you, even if you can’t remember everything right now. The core of who you are, that hasn’t changed. I know it.”

You don’t look convinced, but you offer him a small smile. “I hope you’re right.”

Just then, a commotion in the hallway catches their attention. Your parents burst into the room, faces etched with worry.

“Oh, sweetheart!” Your mother cries, rushing to your bedside. “We were so worried!”

Your face lights up with recognition. “Mom! Dad!” You exclaim, reaching out to hug them.

Max steps back, giving your family space for their reunion. He watches with a mixture of relief and jealousy as you interact easily with your parents, the rapport between you unchanged by your memory loss.

After a few minutes, your father turns to Max. “Thank you for calling us, and for being here with her.”

Max nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Of course. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Your mother looks between Max and you, sensing the tension. “Is everything okay?”

You bite your lip, looking uncomfortable. “Mom, I-I can’t remember Max. Or anything about our relationship. The doctor says I have amnesia from the accident.”

Your parents exchange worried glances. Your father puts a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, son. This must be incredibly difficult for you both.”

Max nods, not trusting himself to speak. Your mother turns to you. “But surely you remember something? You and Max have been so happy together.”

You shake your head sadly. “I’m trying, but it’s all blank. I’m sorry.”

An awkward silence falls over the room. Finally, your father clears his throat. “Well, the important thing is that you’re going to be okay. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

Max nods in agreement, but inside, he’s screaming. How can he just stand by and watch as the love of his life slips away? But he knows he has to be patient, to give you space to heal and hopefully remember.

“I should probably go,” he says reluctantly. “Let you have some time with your family.”

You nod, looking relieved. “Thank you for staying with me. And for ... for everything.”

Max forces a smile. “Of course. I’ll be back tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, that’s fine. Maybe ... maybe you can bring some more photos? Or videos? Something that might help trigger my memory?”

Max’s heart swells with hope. “Absolutely. I’ll bring everything I can think of.”

As he turns to leave, you call out softly. “Max?”

He turns back, his breath catching in his throat. “Yeah?”

You give him a small, uncertain smile. “I’m glad I have someone like you in my life. Even if I can’t remember it right now.”

Max blinks back tears as he nods. “Always,” he whispers. “I’m always here for you.”

***

Max trudges into his hotel suite, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a physical force. He closes the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing. The room is dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions swirling inside him.

He fumbles for the light switch, wincing as the bright overhead lights flicker on. The suite feels cavernous and empty without you here. Your suitcase sits untouched in the corner, a painful reminder of the plans you’d made for this weekend.

Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, seeing a flood of missed calls and messages. His team, his family, the media — all clamoring for information, for his attention. He can’t deal with any of it right now.

With trembling hands, he switches off his phone and tosses it onto the bed. He paces the room, energy thrumming through his body with nowhere to go. He should shower, should eat something, should call his manager and figure out what to do about the race weekend. But he can’t bring himself to do any of it.

Instead, he finds himself drawn to your suitcase. He kneels beside it, running his hand over the familiar fabric. Slowly, almost reverently, he unzips it. Your neatly folded clothes, your favorite perfume, the book you’d been reading on the plane — all these little pieces of you, reminders of the life you shared.

Max pulls out one of your sweaters, burying his face in the soft material. It still smells like you. And suddenly, the dam breaks.

A sob tears from his throat, raw and primal. Tears he’s held back for years, through every hardship and setback, finally break free. Max crumples to the floor, clutching your sweater to his chest as he weeps.

“Why?” He chokes out between sobs. “Why her? Why us?”

The tears keep coming, relentless. Max cries for the pain you’re in, for the memories you’ve lost, for the future that suddenly seems so uncertain. He cries for the little boy who was left alone at a gas station, for the young man who walked away from a horrific crash. He cries for every emotion he’s ever pushed down, every vulnerability he’s hidden behind a mask of determination and focus.

Through his tears, he hears a knock at the door. He ignores it, unable to face anyone right now. But the knocking persists, followed by a familiar voice.

“Max? It’s me. Open up, mate.”

Max considers pretending he’s not here, but he knows Daniel won’t give up easily.bWiping his face on his sleeve, Max staggers to his feet and opens the door. Daniel takes one look at his tear-stained face and immediately pulls him into a tight hug.

“Oh, mate,” Daniel says softly. “I just heard. I’m so sorry.”

Max breaks down again, sobbing into Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel doesn’t say anything, just holds him tightly, letting him cry it out.

Finally, Max pulls away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Daniel steers him towards the couch, closing the door behind them. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Max. You’re hurting. It’s okay to let it out.”

Max collapses onto the couch, feeling utterly drained. Daniel sits beside him, his usual joking demeanor replaced by genuine concern.

“Talk to me,” Daniel urges gently. “What happened?”

Max takes a shuddering breath. “She doesn’t remember me. She looked right at me and had no idea who I was. It’s like ... it’s like the last two years never happened for her.”

Daniel winces in sympathy. “That’s rough, mate. But the doctors think it’s temporary, right?”

Max shrugs helplessly. “They don’t know. It might come back, it might not. And even if it does, how long will it take? Weeks? Months? Years?”

“And you’re worried she won’t fall for you again,” Daniel says softly, understanding dawning on his face.

Max nods miserably. “What if she doesn’t? What if the girl I fell in love with is just ... gone? I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be around her when she doesn’t even know me.”

Daniel is quiet for a moment, considering. “You know,” he says finally, “when I first met Y/N, I thought you were crazy.”

Max looks up, confused. “What do you mean?”

Daniel grins. “Come on, mate. Mad Max settling down with a normal girl? I thought for sure it was just a phase, that you’d get bored and move on to the next model or whatever.”

Max bristles slightly. “Y/N’s not just some normal girl. She’s-”

“I know, I know,” Daniel interrupts, holding up his hands. “That’s my point. It didn’t take long for me to see how special she is, and how perfect you two are together. You bring out the best in each other. That connection, that spark — it’s still there, Max. Even if she can’t remember it right now.”

Max shakes his head. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see her in that hospital bed, looking at me like I was a total stranger. It was like ... like everything we had just disappeared in an instant.”

Daniel leans forward, his expression serious. “Listen to me. The memories might be gone for now, but the feelings? The connection you two have? That doesn’t just disappear. It’s still there, buried deep inside her. You just have to be patient and give her time to find it again.”

Max wants to believe him, but doubt gnaws at his heart. “What if she doesn’t want to? What if she decides she’s better off without me?”

Daniel scoffs. “Not a chance, mate. You’re Max fucking Verstappen. What girl wouldn’t want you?”

The joke falls flat. Max just stares at the floor, shoulders slumped. Daniel sighs, realizing humor isn’t the answer right now.

“Look,” he says softly, “I know you’re scared. But think about it this way — you’ve been given a chance to fall in love all over again. To experience all those firsts one more time. It’s not ideal, sure, but it’s not the end of the world either.”

Max looks up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You really think she could fall for me again?”

Daniel grins. “Are you kidding? She fell for you once when you were an arrogant little shit. Now that you’re slightly less of an arrogant little shit, it should be a piece of cake.”

Despite everything, Max finds himself chuckling. “Thanks, asshole.”

Daniel’s expression turns serious again. “I mean it, though. You can’t give up. Y/N needs you now more than ever, even if she doesn’t realize it. You have to be strong for her.”

Max nods slowly. “I know. I just ... I don’t know how to do this. How to be around her when she doesn’t know me. When she looks at me like I’m a stranger.”

Daniel considers this for a moment. “Maybe that’s your advantage. You get to introduce yourself to her all over again. Show her the Max that she fell in love with in the first place.”

Max mulls this over. “I guess ... I guess that could work. But what if I screw it up? What if I say or do the wrong thing and push her away?”

Daniel claps him on the shoulder. “That’s where your friends come in. We’ve got your back. Whatever you need, we’re here for you. Both of you.”

For the first time since the accident, Max feels a spark of genuine hope. “Thanks. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Daniel grins. “Probably crash and burn spectacularly. But that’s why we keep you around — you’re entertaining.”

Max rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling now. “Seriously, though. How do I do this? How do I help her remember without overwhelming her?”

Daniel thinks for a moment. “Start small. Don’t dump your whole history on her at once. Share little stories, show her pictures. Let her get to know you again naturally. And most importantly, be patient. This isn’t a race you can win by pushing harder. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

Max nods, feeling a sense of determination replacing his earlier despair. “You’re right. I can do this. I have to do this. For her.”

Daniel smiles, seeing the familiar fire returning to his friend’s eyes. “That’s the Max I know. Now, have you eaten anything? Because I’m starving, and room service is calling my name.”

Max realizes he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. “Food sounds good,” he admits.

As Daniel picks up the phone to order, Max’s thoughts turn to you. He imagines you in that hospital bed, scared and confused. He makes a silent promise to himself, and to you, that he’ll do whatever it takes to help you remember. And if you can’t remember, he’ll make new memories with you, ones just as beautiful as the ones you’ve lost.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of food, conversation, and planning. Daniel helps Max sort through the flood of messages on his phone, crafting responses to his team and family. They decide that Max will skip the rest of the race weekend — his mind isn’t in the right place to drive safely, and you need him more than the team does right now.

As the night wears on, Daniel eventually leaves, extracting a promise from Max to call if he needs anything. Left alone, Max finds himself drawn once again to your suitcase. This time, instead of breaking down, he begins to pack a bag.

Photos, mementos, little things that might spark a memory — he carefully selects items to bring to the hospital tomorrow. As he works, he talks to you in his mind, imagining what he’ll say when he sees you again.

“I know you’re scared,” he murmurs, folding one of your favorite hoodies. “I’m scared too. But we’re going to get through this together. I’m not giving up on us, Y/N. Not now, not ever.”

As he zips up the bag, Max feels a renewed sense of purpose. The road ahead won’t be easy, but he’s ready to face it. Because at the end of that road is you, and a love worth fighting for.

Max crawls into bed, exhausted but no longer despairing. As he drifts off to sleep, his last thought is of you. Of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes light up when you look at him. He holds onto these memories, these precious fragments of your life together, knowing that somehow, someway, he’ll find a way to share them with you again.

Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance to help you remember. And Max Verstappen has never been one to back down from a challenge.

***

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon as Max makes his way through the quiet hospital corridors. His footsteps echo in the empty hallway, the bag slung over his shoulder feeling heavier with each step. Inside are the stuffed versions of Jimmy and Sassy, and your favorite hoodie —his hoodie, really, but you’ve claimed it as your own.

As he approaches your room, Max takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He knocks softly before entering, not wanting to startle you if you’re asleep.

You’re awake, sitting up in bed and staring out the window. When you turn to look at him, there’s a flicker of recognition in your eyes, but it’s followed quickly by confusion.

“Max, right?” You say hesitantly.

Max forces a smile, trying to hide the pain those words cause. “That’s right. How are you feeling this morning?”

You shrug, wincing slightly at the movement. “Sore. Confused. But the doctors say I’m healing well, physically at least.”

Max nods, moving closer to the bed. “That’s good. I, uh, I brought some things for you. I thought they might help make you more comfortable.”

You eye the bag curiously. “Oh? That’s ... that’s very kind of you.”

Max sets the bag on the bed and starts unpacking. First, he pulls out the stuffed cats. “These are Jimmy and Sassy,” he explains. “Well, stuffed versions of them. They’re our cats. You can’t travel without these because you miss the real ones so much.”

Your eyes light up as you reach for the stuffed animals. “We have cats? I love cats!”

Max chuckles, a warmth spreading through his chest at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, two Bengal cats. They’re like little troublemakers, always getting into mischief. You adore them.”

You hug the stuffed cats close, a small smile playing on your lips. “Tell me about them?”

Max sits in the chair beside your bed, grateful for the opening. “Well, Jimmy is the older one. He’s very dignified, or at least he tries to be. But he has a weakness for cardboard boxes. No matter how expensive a cat bed we buy him, he always prefers a random Amazon box.”

You giggle at that, and the sound is like music to Max’s ears. He continues, “Sassy is younger and true to her name. She’s always chattering away, meowing at us like she’s telling us about her day. And she has this thing for water —she’ll sit by the sink for hours, just watching the faucet drip.”

“They sound wonderful,” you say softly, stroking the stuffed cats’ fur. “I wish I could remember them.”

Max reaches into the bag again. “Maybe this will help,” he says, pulling out the hoodie. “This is your favorite thing to wear around the house. Well, my hoodie that you’ve completely taken over.”

You take the hoodie, running your hands over the soft fabric. You bring it to your face, inhaling deeply, and for a moment, Max’s heart soars with hope. But then you shake your head.

“It smells ... familiar,” you say slowly. “But I can’t place it. I’m sorry.”

Max tries to hide his disappointment. “It’s okay. Don’t push yourself. The doctors said it might take time.”

You nod, but he can see the frustration in your eyes. “It’s just so strange,” you murmur. “I know things, like I know I love cats, but I can’t remember our cats. I know this hoodie is important, but I can’t remember why.”

Max leans forward, his voice gentle. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time to heal.”

You look at him, really look at him, for the first time since he entered the room. “You’re being so patient with me. It must be hard for you, seeing me like this.”

Max swallows hard, fighting back tears. “It’s not easy,” he admits. “But you’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

A comfortable silence falls between you. You pull on the hoodie, snuggling into its warmth. “So,” you say after a while, “tell me more about us. How did we meet?”

Max’s face lights up at the question. “It was at a charity gala in Monaco,” he begins. “I was there representing the team and you were there with some friends. I saw you across the room and ... I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on your lips. “Oh really? Was it love at first sight?”

Max chuckles. “More like anxiety at first sight for me. I was so nervous to talk to you. I must have circled the room three times before I worked up the courage to approach you.”

“You? Nervous?” You say, sounding surprised. “But you’re a famous racing driver. Surely you’re used to talking to people.”

Max shrugs. “On the track, sure. But off it? Especially with beautiful women? I’m a disaster. But something about you ... I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try to talk to you.”

You lean back against your pillows, looking intrigued. “So what happened? Did you sweep me off my feet with your charm?”

Max bursts out laughing. “God, no. I was a complete mess. I walked up to you, tried to say something smooth, and ended up knocking over a tray of champagne glasses. Drenched myself and nearly you too.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh no! That sounds mortifying.”

“It was,” Max agrees. “I was ready to run away and hide forever. But then you did something amazing. Instead of being upset or embarrassed, you started laughing. Not at me, but with me. You helped me clean up, made a joke about how I was smoother on the track than off it, and then ... you asked me to dance.”

You smile at that. “I did? That was brave of me.”

Max nods, his eyes soft with the memory. “It was. You later told me you thought I was cute when I was flustered. We danced for hours that night, talking about everything and nothing. By the end of the evening, I knew I wanted to see you again.”

“And the rest is history?” You ask.

“Not quite,” Max says with a grin. “I still had to convince you to go on a proper date with me. And let me tell you, dating a Formula 1 driver isn’t always easy. But we made it work. We’ve been together for two years now, living in Monaco.”

You absorb this information, your brow furrowed in concentration. “It sounds like a fairytale,” you say softly. “I wish I could remember it.”

Max reaches out, hesitating for a moment before gently taking your hand. To his relief, you don’t pull away. “You will,” he says firmly. “And if you don’t, we’ll make new memories. Even better ones.”

You squeeze his hand, offering a small smile. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“I do,” Max says without hesitation. “Because I know you, Y/N. Even if you can’t remember right now, I know the person you are. Your kindness, your strength, your incredible spirit. That hasn’t changed. It’s still there, inside you.”

Tears well up in your eyes. “I want to believe you,” you whisper. “But it’s so hard. Everything feels so ... disconnected. Like I’m living someone else’s life.”

Max moves to sit on the edge of the bed, still holding your hand. “I know it’s scary,” he says softly. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here, your family’s here. We’ll help you through it, step by step.”

You nod, wiping away a stray tear. “Thank you. For being here, for bringing these things. It means a lot.”

Max smiles, his heart swelling with love for you. “Always. I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. No matter what.”

Just then, a nurse enters the room. “Good morning,” she says cheerfully. “How are we feeling today?”

You turn to her, still clutching the stuffed cats. “A bit better, I think. Max brought me some things from home.”

The nurse smiles approvingly. “That’s wonderful. Familiar objects can often help in recovery. Now, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to step out for a bit,” she says to Max. “We need to run some tests and change some dressings.”

Max nods, standing up reluctantly. “Of course. I’ll be back later, if that’s okay?” he asks, looking at you.

You nod, offering a small smile. “I’d like that. Maybe ... maybe you could bring some more things next time? Anything that might help jog my memory?”

Max’s heart leaps at the request. “Absolutely. I’ll bring whatever I can think of.”

As he turns to leave, you call out softly. “Max?”

He turns back, his breath catching in his throat. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you say simply. “For not giving up on me.”

Max feels tears pricking at his eyes. “Never,” he says firmly. “I’ll never give up on you, Y/N. On us.”

As he walks out of the hospital into the bright morning sunshine, Max feels a renewed sense of hope. It won’t be easy, and the road ahead is still long and uncertain. But you’re still you, still the woman he fell in love with. And he’ll do whatever it takes to help you find your way back to him.

He pulls out his phone, sending a quick message to his team. He won’t be racing this weekend, or perhaps for a while. Some things are more important than Formula 1. Right now, his place is here, by your side, helping you piece together the memories of your life together.

***

The press room is buzzing with anticipation as Max takes his seat at the table. Cameras flash incessantly and the murmur of journalists speculating grows louder. Max’s face is a mask of calm, but inside, he’s a storm of emotions.

His manager, Raymond, leans in close before stepping away. “Remember, keep it brief. No details about Y/N unless absolutely necessary.”

Max nods curtly, his jaw clenched. The past few days have been a whirlwind of hospital visits, tense conversations with the team, and now this — facing the media to explain his decision to step away from racing.

The room falls silent as the press conference begins. A Red Bull spokesperson steps up to the microphone.

“Good afternoon, everyone. As you know, Max Verstappen has announced his decision to take a leave of absence from Formula 1 for an undetermined period. Max will now take your questions.”

The room erupts with raised hands and shouted questions. Max points to a familiar face in the front row.

“Max, can you explain the reasoning behind this sudden decision? You’re in the midst of a tight championship battle. Why step away now?”

Max takes a deep breath. “I understand this comes as a surprise to many. There are personal matters that require my full attention right now. I can’t go into details, but I assure you, this decision wasn’t made lightly.”

Another journalist jumps in before he can choose the next question. “But surely these personal matters could be handled while continuing to race? Many drivers balance personal issues with their careers.”

Max feels a flicker of irritation. “Every situation is unique. In this case, I need to step away completely. My focus can’t be divided right now.”

The questions keep coming, each one chipping away at Max’s patience.

“Is this related to your recent performance dip?”

“Are there issues within the team we don’t know about?”

“Some fans are accusing you of abandoning the sport. What do you say to them?”

Max answers each as calmly as he can, but he can feel his control slipping. Then, a question from the back of the room ignites the powder keg.

“Max, there are rumors that this is about a woman. Have you let a relationship interfere with your career?”

The room falls silent, all eyes on Max. He grips the edge of the table, knuckles white. For a moment, he considers sticking to the script, giving another vague non-answer. But something inside him snaps.

“You want to know the truth?” He says, his voice low and intense. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

Raymond steps forward, a warning in his eyes, but Max waves him off.

“My girlfriend was in a serious car accident,” Max continues, his voice growing louder. “She’s in the hospital with severe injuries and memory loss. She doesn’t even remember who I am.”

The room erupts in gasps and furious scribbling. Max stands, leaning forward on the table.

“So yes, I’m stepping away from racing. Because the woman I love needs me. Because some things are more important than trophies or championship points.”

He’s shouting now, years of pent-up frustration with the media pouring out.

“You all sit here and judge me, speculate about my personal life, accuse me of abandoning the sport. But where were you when I was a kid, pushed to the limit by a demanding father? Where were you when I was struggling with the pressure of being the youngest driver in F1 history?”

The room is dead silent now, every journalist hanging on his words.

“I’ve given everything to this sport. I’ve sacrificed friendships, relationships, a normal life. And now, the one time I need to put something else first, you question my commitment?”

Max’s voice breaks slightly, but he pushes on.

“Y/N is fighting for her life, fighting to remember who she is. Who we are together. And you want me to, what? Leave her alone in a hospital room while I zip around a track?”

He looks around the room, meeting the shocked gazes of the journalists.

“So go ahead. Write your stories. Question my decisions. But know this — I don’t regret my choice. Not for a second. Because at the end of the day, the chequered flag won’t keep me warm at night. It won’t laugh at my jokes or hold my hand when I’m stressed.”

Max takes a deep breath, his anger giving way to a deep sadness.

“I love racing. It’s been my whole life. But I love Y/N more. And right now, she needs me. So I’m going to be there for her, every step of the way, until she’s better. Until she remembers us.”

He sits back down, suddenly drained. The room is still silent, the journalists too stunned to even raise their hands for questions.

Finally, a older journalist in the front row clears his throat. “Max, I ... we had no idea. I’m so sorry about Y/N. Can you tell us more about her condition?”

Max shakes his head, his voice softer now. “I’ve already said more than I planned to. Y/N’s privacy is important to me. All I’ll say is that she’s fighting hard, and I’m going to be right there with her.”

Another journalist speaks up. “You mentioned Y/N doesn’t remember you. How are you coping with that?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, considering his words carefully. “It’s ... it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. Harder than any race, any championship battle. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and see no recognition ... it’s gut-wrenching.”

He pauses, swallowing hard. “But I’m not giving up. I’m fighting for us, for our memories, for our future. Even if I have to make her fall in love with me all over again.”

The mood in the room has shifted completely. Gone is the adversarial tension, replaced by a somber understanding.

“What can fans do to support you during this time?” Another journalist asks.

Max manages a small smile. “Just ... be patient. Understand that there are things more important than racing. And maybe, if you’re the praying type, keep Y/N in your thoughts.”

The Red Bull spokesperson steps forward, signaling the end of the conference. But Max holds up a hand, not quite finished.

“I want to say one more thing,” he says, his voice steady. “To any of you out there who might be going through something similar — don’t be afraid to step back. Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for putting your loved ones first. At the end of the day, that’s what really matters.”

With that, Max stands and walks out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. As soon as he’s out of sight of the cameras, he leans against a wall, emotions overwhelming him.

Raymond approaches cautiously. “That ... didn’t go quite as planned.”

Max lets out a humorless laugh. “No, I suppose it didn’t.”

“You okay?” Raymond asks, genuine concern in his voice.

Max nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am. It feels ... good to have it out there. No more hiding, no more vague excuses.”

Raymond squeezes his shoulder. “You did good, kid. It won’t be easy, but people will understand now.”

Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to see a flood of messages — from his team, his family, even other drivers. But one catches his eye — a text from your mom.

“Just saw the press conference. Y/N would be so proud of you. We all are. Come by the hospital when you can. She’s asking for you.”

Despite everything, Max feels a smile tugging at his lips. He turns to Raymond. “I’ve got to go. Y/N’s waiting.”

Raymond nods understandingly. “Go. We’ll handle things here. Give her our best.”

As Max walks out of the building, he’s greeted by a small crowd of fans. But instead of the anger or disappointment he expected, he sees understanding and support in their faces. Many are holding haphazardly thrown together signs with messages of encouragement for both him and you.

One young girl breaks away from her parents, running up to Max with a hand-drawn card. “This is for Y/N,” she says shyly. “I hope she gets better soon.”

Max kneels down, taking the card with a genuine smile. “Thank you. I’ll make sure she gets it.”

As he stands, the crowd starts to applaud. It’s not the roar of a race victory, but a softer, more meaningful sound. The sound of people recognizing a different kind of strength, a different kind of victory.

Max raises a hand in acknowledgment before getting into his waiting car. As the driver pulls away, he looks at the card in his hands. It’s a simple drawing of two stick figures holding hands, with the words “Get well soon Y/N! Max loves you ❤️” written in childish scrawl.

For the first time in days, Max feels a weight lift from his shoulders. The road ahead is still long and uncertain, but he’s not alone. He has the support of his team, his fans, and most importantly, he has you — even if you can’t remember him yet.

As the car speeds towards the hospital, Max makes a silent promise. To you, to himself, to everyone who’s supporting them. He’ll face this challenge with the same determination and focus he brings to the track. Because this is the most important race of his life — the race to help you remember, to rebuild your life together.

And Max Verstappen doesn’t lose races that matter.

***

Max stands outside your hospital room, the handmade card clutched in his hand. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself before knocking softly and entering.

You’re sitting up in bed, looking more alert than he’s seen you since the accident. Your parents are there too, gathering your things in preparation for your discharge tomorrow.

“Max,” you say, a small smile gracing your lips. It’s not the warm, loving smile he’s used to, but it’s a start. “We saw your press conference.”

Max feels a flush creep up his neck. “Ah, yeah. I, uh, might have gotten a bit carried away.”

Your mother steps forward, enveloping him in a hug. “You were wonderful, dear. So brave and honest.”

“Thanks,” Max mumbles, still not entirely comfortable with praise outside of racing. He turns his attention back to you. “How are you feeling today?”

You shrug slightly. “Better, I think. Still ... confused about a lot of things. But the pain is less.”

Max nods, moving closer to your bed. “That’s good. I, uh, I have something for you.” He holds out the card. “A young fan made this for you after the press conference.”

You take the card, examining the childish drawing with a soft expression. “Get well soon Y/N! Max loves you!” You read aloud. Your eyes flick up to meet his. “That’s ... very sweet.”

Max shifts uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Your father, sensing the tension, clears his throat. “We’re going to go get some coffee. Give you two some time to talk.”

As your parents leave the room, an awkward silence falls. Max takes a seat in the chair beside your bed, fidgeting with his hands.

“So,” you say finally, “you’re taking time off from racing. For me.”

Max nods. “Yeah. I hope that’s okay. I know you don’t ... remember us. But I want to be here for you, however you need me to be.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words. “It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit softly. “Knowing someone’s put their whole life on hold for me.”

Max leans forward, his eyes intense. “Hey, no. Don’t think of it like that. This isn’t a sacrifice or an obligation. It’s a choice. My choice.”

You nod slowly, but he can see the doubt in your eyes. “Tell me something,” you say suddenly. “Something about us. Something ... happy.”

Max feels a smile tugging at his lips as he casts his mind back. “Okay, how about this? Last year, after I won the championship, we took a vacation. Just the two of us, no teams, no press, no obligations.”

“Where did we go?” You ask, curiosity piqued.

“Bali,” Max says, his eyes lighting up with the memory. “We rented this amazing villa right on the beach. You were determined to teach me how to surf.”

A small giggle escapes you. “Did I succeed?”

Max chuckles. “Not even close. I spent more time eating sand than standing on the board. But you were so patient, so encouraging. Even when I was frustrated and ready to give up, you just ... you made it fun.”

“Sounds nice,” you say softly.

“It was more than nice,” Max continues, warming to the subject. “One evening, we were sitting on the beach watching the sunset.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I realized all the trophies, all the victories ... they didn’t compare to just being there with you, watching the sun sink into the ocean.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, absorbing his words. “We sound ... very happy together,” you say finally.

Max nods, blinking back tears. “We are. We were. We will be again.”

You reach out hesitantly, taking his hand. It’s the first time you’ve initiated contact since the accident, and Max feels his heart soar.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m being discharged tomorrow, and I don’t ... I don’t know where I belong anymore.”

Max squeezes your hand gently. “You belong wherever you feel comfortable. If that’s with your parents for now, that’s okay. If you want to try coming home with me, that’s okay too. There’s no pressure, no expectations. We’ll figure this out together, at your pace.”

You nod, looking grateful. “Thank you. For being so understanding. I know this can’t be easy for you either.”

Max shrugs. “It’s not. But you’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

A comfortable silence falls between you. Max is content to just sit there, holding your hand, savoring this small connection.

After a while, you speak again. “Can you tell me more? About our life together?”

Max’s face lights up. “Of course. What do you want to know?”

You consider for a moment. “What’s a typical day like for us? When you’re not racing, I mean.”

Max leans back in his chair, a fond smile on his face. “Well, you’re definitely the early riser between us. You usually get up first, make coffee. Sometimes you go for a run or do yoga on the balcony.”

“I do yoga?” You ask, sounding surprised.

Max chuckles. “Yeah, you got into it as a way to help me relax between races. Said if it could calm me down, it could work miracles for anyone.”

You laugh at that, a genuine, full laugh that makes Max’s heart skip a beat. It’s the first time he’s heard that sound since the accident.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I usually drag myself out of bed when I smell the coffee. We have breakfast together, usually something healthy that you insist I need.”

“Sounds like I take good care of you,” you observe.

Max nods, his expression softening. “You do. Better than anyone ever has.”

“What else?” You prompt, clearly engrossed in the story of your shared life.

“Well, if I’m training, you often come to the gym with me. You say it’s to support me, but I think you just like ogling me when I lift weights.”

You swat his arm playfully, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. “I do not!”

Max grins, delighted by this glimpse of your old dynamic. “Oh, you absolutely do. Not that I mind. I return the favor when you’re doing your yoga.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “What else do we do?”

“We cook together a lot,” Max says. “Or rather, you cook and I try not to burn the kitchen down. You’re teaching me, slowly but surely. We have this tradition of trying to recreate dishes from all the countries I race in.”

“That sounds fun,” you say, a wistful note in your voice. “Do we have a favorite?”

Max thinks for a moment. “There’s this amazing pasta dish we perfected after the Italian Grand Prix. You said it was better than sex.”

Your eyes widen. “I did not!”

Max laughs. “You absolutely did. Then you made me prove you wrong.”

You blush furiously, but you’re laughing too. “I can’t believe I said that!”

“Believe it,” Max says, grinning. “You’re full of surprises, schatje. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

The word ’love’ hangs in the air between you. You grow quiet, your expression thoughtful.

“Max,” you say finally, “I want you to know ... I’m trying. To remember. To ... to feel what you feel.”

Max squeezes your hand. “I know you are. And it’s okay if it takes time. Or if ... if you never feel exactly the same way. We can build something new, if we need to.”

You nod, looking relieved. “Thank you. For understanding. For being patient.”

“Always,” Max says softly.

Just then, your parents return, breaking the intimate moment. Your mother smiles warmly at the sight of your joined hands.

“Everything okay in here?” She asks.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Max was just telling me about our life together.”

Your father clears his throat. “Speaking of which, we should probably discuss arrangements for after your discharge tomorrow.”

You tense slightly, and Max can feel your grip on his hand tighten. “Right,” you say, your voice uncertain.

Max jumps in. “Y/N, remember what I said. Whatever you’re comfortable with. There’s no pressure.”

You nod gratefully. “I think ... I think I’d like to stay with my parents for a bit. If that’s okay?” You look at Max, worry in your eyes.

Max forces a smile, ignoring the pang in his heart. “Of course it’s okay. Whatever you need.”

Your mother steps forward. “Max, you’re welcome to visit anytime. We know how important you are to Y/N, even if she can’t remember everything right now.”

Max nods, grateful for their understanding. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

As the conversation turns to logistics of your discharge, Max finds his mind wandering. It’s not the outcome he’d hoped for, but he understands. You need time, space to heal and rediscover yourself. And he’ll be there, every step of the way, however you need him.

As visiting hours come to an end and Max prepares to leave, you call out to him.

“Max?”

He turns back. “Yeah?”

You hesitate for a moment, then say, “Thank you. For everything. And ... I’d like to hear more stories. About us. If that’s okay.”

Max feels a warmth spread through his chest. It’s not a declaration of love, not a magical recovery of memories. But it’s a start. A willingness to explore, to learn, to possibly fall in love all over again.

“Anytime,” he says softly. “I’ve got plenty of stories to tell.”

***

The Monaco apartment feels cavernous and empty as Max pushes open the door. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the soft padding of paws as Jimmy and Sassy come to greet him. They meow insistently, weaving between his legs, clearly searching for someone who isn’t there.

“I know,” Max murmurs, kneeling to scratch behind their ears. “I miss her too.”

He moves through the space, every corner filled with memories. Your favorite mug sits on the kitchen counter, lipstick stain still visible on the rim. A half-read book lies on the coffee table, your bookmark peeking out from the pages. Your scent lingers on the throw pillows on the couch.

Max sinks onto the sofa, and immediately, Jimmy jumps up beside him, headbutting his hand for attention. Sassy follows suit, curling up in his lap.

“At least I’ve got you two,” Max says softly, stroking their fur. “But it’s not the same, is it?”

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through photos of happier times. You and him on vacation, at race weekends, lazy Sundays at home. Your smile, so bright and full of love, now feels like a distant memory.

“Come on, Max,” he mutters to himself. “You can’t fall apart now. Y/N needs you to be strong.”

But in the quiet of the apartment, with only the cats for company, it’s hard to maintain that strength. For the first time since the accident, since the press conference, since leaving you at your parents’ house, Max allows himself to truly feel the weight of everything that’s happened.

A sob escapes him, then another. Soon, he’s crying in earnest, all the pent-up fear and frustration and loneliness pouring out. Jimmy and Sassy press closer, as if trying to comfort him.

“I don’t know what to do,” Max confesses to the empty room. “How do I help her remember? How do I make her fall in love with me again? What if ... what if she never does?”

The cats, of course, don’t answer. But their presence is comforting, a reminder that he’s not entirely alone.

As his tears subside, Max takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He needs to focus, to come up with a plan. You might not remember your life together, but he does. And he’s determined to help you rediscover it, piece by piece if necessary.

He stands, moving to the bookshelf where you keep photo albums. Maybe he could put together a scrapbook of your relationship, something tangible for you to look through. As he reaches for an album, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

His heart leaps when he sees your name on the screen. He answers immediately, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Y/N? Is everything okay?”

“Hi,” you say, and he can hear a note of confusion in your voice. “Everything’s fine, I just ... this is going to sound weird, but I needed to ask you something.”

Max sits back down on the couch, curious. “Of course. What is it?”

You hesitate for a moment before speaking. “I’ve been having these ... cravings. For food I don’t remember ever eating before, much less liking. And I thought maybe ... maybe they mean something?”

Max’s pulse quickens. Could this be a sign of your memories returning? “What kind of food?” He asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Tomato soup,” you say. “And beef carpaccio. I know it sounds strange, but I can’t stop thinking about them. Do they ... do they mean anything to you?”

Max feels like his heart might burst out of his chest. “Y/N,” he says softly, “those are my favorite foods.”

“Oh,” you breathe, and he can hear the surprise in your voice. “I ... I didn’t know that.”

“The tomato soup is something my mom used to make for me when I was a kid,” Max explains, his voice thick with emotion. “And the carpaccio ... that was what we had on our first real date in Monaco.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “I don’t remember that,” you say finally, a note of frustration in your voice. “But I can almost ... almost taste it, you know? Like my body remembers even if my mind doesn’t.”

Max nods, even though you can’t see him. “That’s good, Y/N. That’s really good. It means the memories are still in there somewhere.”

“Maybe,” you say, sounding uncertain. “I just wish I could remember more. It’s so frustrating, having all these ... these echoes of a life I can’t quite grasp.”

“I know,” Max says soothingly. “But this is progress. We just have to be patient.”

You sigh. “You’re right. I just ... I feel bad, you know? You’re being so patient and understanding, and I can’t even remember our first date.”

Max’s heart aches at the sadness in your voice. “Hey, no. Don’t feel bad. This isn’t your fault. We’re in this together, remember?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Together.”

There’s another pause, and Max can almost picture you biting your lip, the way you do when you’re thinking hard about something.

“Max?” You say finally. “Can you ... can you tell me about our first date? The one with the carpaccio?”

A smile spreads across Max’s face. “Of course. It was about a week after we met at that charity gala. I was so nervous, I must have changed my shirt five times before picking you up.”

You laugh softly. “You, nervous? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” Max chuckles. “You had me completely flustered. Still do, if I’m honest.”

He launches into the story, describing how he’d taken you to a small, intimate restaurant overlooking the harbor. How you’d laughed at his attempts to pronounce the French dishes, how your eyes had lit up when you tasted the carpaccio.

“You said it was the best thing you’d ever eaten,” Max recalls. “But I barely tasted the food. I just couldn’t believe someone as amazing as you was interested in me.”

“Max ...” you start, your voice soft and a bit uncertain.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I don’t mean to push. I know this is all still ... complicated.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure him. “I like hearing these stories. They help, even if I can’t remember them myself yet.”

Max feels a warmth spread through his chest. “I’m glad. I’ve got plenty more where that came from, whenever you want to hear them.”

“I’d like that,” you say. “Maybe ... maybe next time we could do it in person? If you’re not too busy, I mean.”

“Y/N,” Max says seriously, “I’m never too busy for you. Just name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”

You laugh softly. “Careful, I might hold you to that.”

“Please do,” Max says, meaning every word.

As you say your goodbyes, Max feels lighter than he has in days. It’s not a magical fix, not a sudden return of all your memories. But it’s progress. A willingness to explore, to learn, to possibly fall in love all over again.

An idea strikes him as he ends the call. He quickly pulls up a food delivery app on his phone, searching for restaurants near your parents’ house. Finding one that offers both tomato soup and beef carpaccio, he places an order, adding a note.

A taste of our memories. Hope this helps satisfy those cravings - Max

As he completes the order, Max feels a surge of hope. It’s a small gesture, but maybe it will help trigger more memories. Or at the very least, it will show you that he’s thinking of you, that he’s here for you in whatever way you need.

He looks around the apartment, seeing it with new eyes. Yes, it’s empty without you here. But it’s not a sad emptiness anymore. It’s a space waiting to be filled again, with new memories alongside the old.

Max scratches Jimmy and Sassy behind the ears. “What do you think, guys? Should we start planning how to win your mom’s heart all over again?”

The cats purr in response, and Max chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Even if you can’t remember everything yet, your body remembers. Your heart remembers.

And Max is determined to help you rediscover every beautiful moment of your life together, one memory at a time. Starting with a bowl of tomato soup and a plate of beef carpaccio.

***

The shrill ring of his phone jolts Max awake. He fumbles for it in the darkness, heart racing as he sees the caller ID: your mother.

“Hello?” He answers, voice thick with sleep but mind rapidly clearing.

“Max, I’m so sorry to wake you,” your mother’s voice comes through, tense and worried. “It’s Y/N. She woke up about an hour ago and she’s ... she’s not okay.”

Max is already out of bed, fumbling for clothes. “What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” your mother assures him quickly. “She’s just ... she’s crying and she keeps saying she needs you. We can’t calm her down. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing,” Max says, pulling on a shirt haphazardly. “I’m on my way. Can you put her on the phone?”

There’s a rustling sound, then your voice comes through, small and broken. “Max?”

His heart clenches at the pain in your voice. “Y/N, I’m here. What’s wrong, liefje?”

“I don’t know,” you sob. “I had this dream and now everything hurts and I can’t ... I can’t remember but I know I need you. Please, Max. I need you here.”

“I’m coming,” Max promises, already dialing his pilot with his other phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hold on, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Please hurry.”

As the call ends, Max is already rushing out the door, barely remembering to grab his wallet and keys. He calls his pilot as he takes the stairs two at a time, not willing to wait for the elevator.

“Frank, I need the jet ready as soon as possible. We’re flying to-” he rattles off the name of your parents’ hometown. “How fast can we be in the air?”

“Mr. Verstappen, it’s the middle of the night,” Frank starts, but Max cuts him off.

“I know what time it is. This is an emergency. How soon?”

There’s a pause, then Frank sighs. “Give me 30 minutes. I’ll call the crew.”

“Make it 20,” Max insists. “I’ll double your rate.”

“We’ll be ready,” Frank assures him.

Max ends the call as he reaches his car, peeling out of the parking garage with a screech of tires. His mind races as fast as the car, worry for you overwhelming everything else.

What could have triggered this? You’d been doing better, or so he thought. The memory of food had seemed like progress. But now ...

He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the road. Getting to you safely is what matters now. Everything else can wait.

Max makes it to the airport in record time, barely bothering to park properly before he’s sprinting towards his private jet. Frank meets him at the stairs.

“We’re fueled and ready,” he says. “Weather looks clear, we should have a smooth flight.”

“Good,” Max nods, already climbing the stairs. “Let’s go.”

As the jet takes off, Max finds himself unable to sit still. He paces the cabin, checking his phone every few seconds even though he knows there’s no signal at this altitude.

The flight attendant approaches cautiously. “Mr. Verstappen? Can I get you anything?”

Max shakes his head, then reconsiders. “Actually, yes. Coffee. Strongest you’ve got.”

She nods, retreating to the galley. Max resumes his pacing, his mind a whirlwind of worry and speculation.

What if you’d remembered something traumatic? What if this setback undid all the progress you’d made? What if ...

He forces himself to stop that line of thinking. Catastrophizing won’t help anyone, least of all you.

The flight seems to take an eternity. As soon as they land, he’s out of his seat, barely waiting for the stairs to fully deploy before he’s racing down them.

A car is waiting, arranged by his ever-efficient team. Max barely registers the driver’s greeting as he slides into the backseat.

He recites the address tersely. “As fast as you can.”

The drive is a blur of streetlights and quiet suburban roads. Max’s leg bounces nervously, his hands clenched into fists.

Finally, mercifully, they pull up to the familiar house. Max is out of the car before it fully stops, racing up the front steps.

Your father opens the door before he can knock. “Thank God you’re here,” he says, ushering Max inside. “She’s upstairs.”

Max takes the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding. He can hear muffled sobs coming from your old bedroom.

He pauses at the door, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Then he knocks softly. “Y/N? It’s me. It’s Max.”

The sobs quieten slightly. “Max?” Your voice comes through, small and uncertain.

“Can I come in?”

There’s a pause, then: “Please.”

Max opens the door slowly. The room is dimly lit by a bedside lamp, casting long shadows. You’re huddled on the bed, knees drawn up to your chest, eyes red and puffy from crying.

The sight of you so distressed nearly breaks him. In two long strides, he’s at your side.

“I’m here,” he says softly. “I’m right here.”

You look up at him, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “Max,” you whisper, and then you’re launching yourself into his arms.

Max catches you, holding you close as you sob into his chest. He strokes your hair, murmuring soothing words.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Gradually, your sobs subside, replaced by hiccuping breaths. Max continues to hold you, rocking slightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently.

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. “I had this dream,” you start, your voice hoarse. “It was so vivid. We were ... we were in a car, I think. And there was a crash and I couldn’t ... I couldn’t reach you.”

Max’s heart clenches. Is this a memory of your accident trying to surface?

“It felt so real,” you continue. “And when I woke up, I was so scared and confused. I couldn’t remember where I was or why you weren’t there. I just knew I needed you.”

“I’m here now,” Max says, cupping your face gently. “I’ll always come when you need me.”

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. “I’m sorry for making you fly out in the middle of the night.”

Max shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. There’s something different there, something Max can’t quite identify.

“Max,” you say slowly, “I think ... I think I remembered something.”

His breath catches. “What did you remember?”

You furrow your brow, concentrating. “It’s not clear. Just ... feelings, mostly. But when you walked in, when you held me ... it felt familiar. Safe. Like ... like coming home.”

Max feels hope bloom in his chest. “That’s good, schatje. That’s really good. It means the memories are still there, even if they’re hard to reach right now.”

You nod, then yawn widely. The emotional toll of the night is clearly catching up with you.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Max says, moving to stand up.

But you grab his hand, holding him in place. “Will you ... will you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”

Max’s heart swells. “Of course. As long as you need.”

You scoot over, making room for him on the bed. Max kicks off his shoes and lies down next to you, careful to maintain a respectful distance.

But you close that distance, curling into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. Like the accident never happened.

“Tell me a story,” you mumble, already half-asleep. “About us.”

Max smiles, wrapping an arm around you. “Okay. How about the time we tried to teach Jimmy and Sassy to swim?”

You make a soft sound of agreement, nuzzling closer.

As Max recounts the tale of your misadventures with the cats and a kiddie pool, he feels you relax against him, your breathing evening out.

He continues the story even after he’s sure you’re asleep, partly out of habit, partly because he’s not ready for this moment to end.

Eventually, he falls silent, just listening to your steady breathing. He knows he should leave, go sleep in the guest room or on the couch. But he can’t bring himself to move, to break this fragile peace.

Just a few more minutes, he tells himself. Just a little longer.

Before he knows it, sunlight is streaming through the windows. Max blinks awake, momentarily disoriented. Then he feels you stir against him, and everything comes rushing back.

You lift your head, looking up at him with sleep-clouded eyes. For a moment, just a moment, Max sees recognition there. The look you used to give him every morning.

But then you blink, and it’s gone, replaced by confusion, then embarrassment.

“Oh God,” you mutter, sitting up quickly. “Max, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you here all night.”

Max sits up too, trying to ignore the ache in his heart at the loss of contact. “It’s okay. I wanted to be here.”

You run a hand through your hair, not meeting his eyes. “Last night ... it’s all a bit fuzzy. Did I ... did I say anything? About remembering?”

Max nods slowly. “You said being with me felt familiar. Like coming home.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, staring at your hands. “I wish I could remember more,” you say finally, your voice small. “It’s all still so ... jumbled.”

Max reaches out, then stops himself, unsure if the touch would be welcome. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out together.”

You look up at him then, a small smile on your face. “Together,” you repeat. “I like the sound of that.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, and your mother pokes her head in. “Oh good, you’re both awake. Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry.”

As you both stand to head downstairs, Max feels a mix of emotions. Disappointment that the night didn’t lead to a magical recovery of your memories. Hope at the small signs of progress. And an overwhelming sense of love for you, memory or no memory.

He knows the road ahead is still long and uncertain. But as he watches you smile at something your mother says, he feels more certain than ever that it’s a road worth traveling.

Because even if you can’t remember all of your history together, you’re still you. Still the woman he fell in love with. And he’ll spend every day helping you rediscover that love, one memory at a time.

***

The rhythmic clanging of weights fills the air as Max pushes through another set of bench presses. Sweat beads on his forehead, his muscles straining with each repetition. Rupert stands nearby, counting softly and offering encouragement.

“Nine ... ten ... good, Max. One more set and we’ll move on.”

The sharp ring of Max’s phone cuts through the gym’s atmosphere. Max grunts, arms shaking as he finishes his reps.

“Can you grab that, Rupert? Might be important.”

Rupert nods, retrieving the phone from Max’s gym bag. “It’s Y/N’s parents,” he says, eyebrows raised.

Max’s heart skips a beat. “Put it on speaker,” he says quickly, sitting up on the bench.

Rupert answers the call, holding the phone out between them. “Hello? This is Rupert, Max’s trainer. You’re on speaker.”

“Oh, hello Rupert,” comes the familiar voice of your mother. “Is Max there? We have some news.”

“I’m here,” Max says, leaning closer to the phone. “What’s going on? Is Y/N okay?”

There’s a pause, and Max feels his anxiety spike. Then, your father’s voice comes through, barely containing his excitement.

“Max, it’s ... it’s incredible. Y/N says she can remember. Not everything, but ... a lot. She woke up this morning and it was like a flood of memories just came back to her.”

The words hit Max like a physical force. He stands abruptly, forgetting the weight still balanced precariously on his legs. It crashes to the floor with a deafening clang, missing Rupert’s foot by mere inches.

“Whoa!” Rupert yelps, jumping back. “Easy there, Max!”

But Max barely notices. His entire world has narrowed to the voice coming from the phone. “She ... she remembers? Are you sure? How much does she remember?”

Your mother’s voice comes back on. “It’s still patchy, but she remembers you, Max. She remembers your life together, your home in Monaco. She’s been talking about the cats all morning.”

Max feels his knees go weak. He sits back down heavily on the bench, his head spinning. “Can I ... can I talk to her?”

“I’m afraid she’s with the doctors right now,” your father explains. “They want to run some tests, make sure everything’s okay. But she’s been asking for you. We thought you’d want to know right away.”

Max nods, then remembers they can’t see him. “Yes, of course. Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll take the jet, I can be there in”

“Actually,” your mother interrupts, “Y/N has been asking to come home. To Monaco. She says she misses you, and the cats, and ... well, her life with you.”

Max feels a lump form in his throat. “She wants to come home?” He repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

“If that’s alright with you,” your father adds quickly. “We understand if you need time to prepare, or if you think it’s too soon”

“No!” Max exclaims, perhaps a bit too loudly. He clears his throat. “I mean, no, it’s not too soon. It’s perfect. I can send the jet for her right away. If ... if that’s what she wants.”

He can hear the smile in your mother’s voice as she responds. “It is. She’s quite insistent, actually. Says she wants to sleep in her own bed.��

Max feels a grin spreading across his face. “I’ll make the arrangements right away. Can you have her ready to go in ... let’s say five hours?”

“We can do that,” your father confirms. “And Max? She’s ... she’s really excited to see you.”

Max swallows hard, emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “I can’t wait to see her too. Thank you both, for everything.”

As the call ends, Max looks up to see Rupert grinning at him. “So,” his trainer says, “I’m guessing our workout is over for the day?”

Max laughs, a sound of pure joy and relief. “Yeah, I’d say so. Sorry about almost crushing your foot.”

Rupert waves it off. “Small price to pay for good news like that. Go on, get out of here. Go prepare for Y/N’s homecoming.”

Max doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already dialing his pilot as he rushes towards the locker room. “Frank? I need the jet ready as soon as possible. We need to pick someone up ...”

That evening, Max is pacing the length of his — your — living room, unable to keep still. He’s tidied the already immaculate apartment three times, checked on the cats twice, and changed his shirt four times.

Max takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He sinks onto the couch, and immediately Jimmy jumps into his lap.

“Hey, buddy,” Max murmurs, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Mama’s coming home. You excited?”

Jimmy purrs in response, kneading Max’s leg. Sassy, not to be left out, appears from nowhere and curls up next to them.

“Yeah, me too,” Max says softly. He looks around the apartment, memories flooding back. Your first night here together, nervous and excited about taking this step. Lazy Sunday mornings cuddled on this very couch. The time you tried to teach him to dance in the living room, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand.

The next hour crawls by at an agonizing pace. Max alternates between sitting rigidly on the couch and pacing the floor. He checks his phone obsessively, waiting for updates.

Finally, blessedly, his phone rings. It’s his pilot. “We’ve landed, boss. Y/N’s parents are helping her into the car now. Should be at your place in about 20 minutes.”

Max feels his heart rate double. “Thanks, Frank. Until next time.”

The next 20 minutes are the longest of Max’s life. He stands by the window, watching the street below, waiting for the familiar black SUV to appear.

When it finally does, Max feels like he might pass out. He watches as the car pulls up, as the driver gets out to open the back door. And then ... there you are.

You look tired, a bit pale, but to Max, you’ve never been more beautiful. You look up at the building, a soft smile playing on your lips. And then your eyes meet his through the window.

Max feels his breath catch in his throat. Because in that moment, he sees it. Recognition. Love. You’re really back.

He’s at the door in an instant, yanking it open just as you step off the elevator. For a moment, you both freeze, taking each other in.

“Max,” you whisper, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

“Y/N,” he breathes, and then you’re in his arms.

He holds you tightly, burying his face in your hair, breathing you in. You cling to him just as fiercely, and he can feel your tears soaking through his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur against his chest. “I’m so sorry I forgot you.”

Max pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands cupping your face. “Hey, no. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re here now. You’re home.”

You nod, a watery smile on your face. “I am. I remember, Max. Not everything, not yet. But I remember us. I remember loving you.”

Max feels tears spill down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care. He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you so much, liefje. God, I was so scared I’d lost you.”

You shake your head, your hands coming up to wipe away his tears. “Never. You could never lose me, Max Verstappen. Not really.”

And then you’re kissing, and it’s like coming home after a long, difficult journey. It’s familiar and new all at once, and Max never wants it to end.

A loud meow interrupts the moment. You break apart, laughing, to see Jimmy and Sassy winding around your feet, demanding attention.

“Oh, my babies!” You exclaim, kneeling down to scoop them up. “I missed you too!”

Max watches, his heart so full it feels like it might burst. This is what he’s been missing, what he’s been fighting for. You, here, in your home, with your little family.

As you straighten up, cats in arms, Max wraps an arm around your waist. “Welcome home,” he says softly.

You lean into him, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “It’s good to be home.”

Max knows there’s still a long road ahead. Your memory isn’t fully restored, and there will be challenges to face. But right now, in this moment, with you in his arms, he knows everything will be okay.

Because you remembered. You came home. And together, you can face anything.

***

The neon lights of Las Vegas blur into streaks of color as Max races through the city streets, his Red Bull car a blur of blue and red and yellow. The roar of the engine fills his ears, but it can’t drown out the beating of his own heart. This race feels different, more important than any he’s ever driven before.

As he navigates a tight corner, Max’s mind flashes back to the conversation that led him here...

“Max, you need to go back,” you had said, your voice gentle but firm. “Racing is part of who you are. I’m better now, and I want to see you out there doing what you love.”

Max had shaken his head, pulling you closer on the couch. “But what if something happens? What if you need me?”

You had laughed, a sound that still made his heart skip a beat. “I’ll always need you, silly. But I don’t need you hovering over me 24/7. Plus,” you added with a mischievous grin, “I miss seeing you in that race suit.”

Now, as he pushes the car to its limits, Max feels a renewed sense of purpose. He’s not just racing for himself anymore, or for the team. He’s racing for you, to make you proud, to show you that your faith in him wasn’t misplaced.

“Max, you’re pulling away,” GP’s voice crackles through the radio. “Gap to P2 is now 3.5 seconds. Keep this up, mate.”

Max grunts in acknowledgment, too focused to form words. He knows you’re watching from the garage, probably biting your nails like you always do during his races. The thought makes him smile behind his helmet.

Lap after lap, Max maintains his lead. The famous Las Vegas Strip becomes a blur of light and shadow as he speeds past the iconic hotels and casinos. In the back of his mind, he remembers your excitement when you found out about this race.

“Vegas, Max! It’s going to be incredible. Promise me we’ll stay a few extra days after the race?”

He had promised, of course. He’d promise you the moon if you asked for it.

As the final laps approach, Max’s concentration intensifies. He’s been in this position before, leading a race, victory within grasp. But it’s never felt quite like this.

“Two laps to go,” GP informs him. “You’ve got this. Just bring it home.”

Max takes a deep breath, visualizing the remaining track in his mind. He can almost hear your voice, the way you’d whisper “You’ve got this” before every race, a private moment just for the two of you amidst the pre-race chaos.

The last lap arrives, and Max is in the zone. Every turn, every straight, every gear change is perfect. As he rounds the final corner, the chequered flag comes into view.

“Yes!” Max shouts as he crosses the finish line, pumping his fist in the air. The team erupts in cheers over the radio, but Max is waiting for one particular voice.

“Brilliant drive, Max!” GP exclaims. “Absolute masterclass. How does it feel to be back on the top step?”

Max takes a moment to catch his breath, emotions threatening to overwhelm him. When he speaks, his voice is thick with feeling.

“It feels ... it feels incredible,” he says. “But this win, it’s not for me. It’s for Y/N.”

He can hear the surprise and emotion in GP’s voice as he responds. “That’s beautiful. I’m sure she’s over the moon right now.”

As Max begins his cool-down lap, he continues, knowing his words are being broadcast to millions around the world, but speaking only to you.

“Y/N, liefje, this one’s for you. For your strength, your courage, your unwavering support. You pushed me to come back even when I wanted to stay home with you. You believed in me when I doubted myself. This victory is yours as much as it’s mine.”

He pauses, swallowing hard. “I love you, Y/N. More than any trophy, any championship. You’re my biggest win.”

As he pulls into parc fermé, Max can see the team gathered, ready to celebrate. But his eyes scan the crowd, looking for only one person.

And there you are, pushing through the throng of mechanics and officials. Your eyes are shining with tears, but your smile is radiant.

Max practically leaps out of the car, not even bothering with his helmet. He meets you halfway, sweeping you up in his arms and spinning you around.

“You did it!” You exclaim, laughing and crying at the same time. “Oh Max, I’m so proud of you!”

Max sets you down but doesn’t let go, pressing his forehead to yours. “No, we did it. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “This was all you, Max. I just watched from the sidelines.”

“You’ve never been on the sidelines,” Max says firmly. “You’re the reason I’m here. The reason I push myself to be better, on and off the track.”

Before you can respond, the team descends upon them, whooping and cheering. Max is pulled away for the podium ceremony, but his eyes never leave you.

The champagne flows, the anthems play, but it all feels like a blur to Max. All he can think about is getting back to you, celebrating properly.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of photos and interviews, Max is able to escape back to the team’s hospitality area. You’re waiting for him, a glass of champagne in hand and a proud smile on your face.

“There’s my champion,” you say softly as he approaches.

Max pulls you close, not caring who might be watching. “I meant what I said on the radio,” he murmurs. “This win is yours.”

You laugh, a sound that still makes his heart soar. “Well, in that case, I guess I should start preparing my acceptance speech for the Prize Giving Ceremony.”

Max grins, playing along. “Oh yeah? And what would this speech entail?”

You pretend to think for a moment. “Let’s see … I’d like to thank the academy, and of course, my incredibly handsome and talented boyfriend, without whom none of this would be possible ...”

Max laughs, feeling lighter than he has in months. “Handsome and talented, huh? I like the sound of that.”

You smack his arm playfully. “Don’t let it go to your head, Verstappen. I’ve seen you first thing in the morning, remember?”

“Hey, I thought you said I was cute when I’m all sleepy and rumpled,” Max protests.

“Cute, yes. Handsome is a stretch,” you tease.

Max clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me. And after I just dedicated my win to you and everything.”

You soften, reaching up to cup his face. “It was beautiful, Max. Really. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Max turns serious, covering your hand with his own. “You existed. That’s more than enough.”

You stand there for a moment, lost in each other’s eyes, the celebration continuing around you unnoticed.

Finally, Max breaks the silence. “So, about that promise to stay a few extra days in Vegas ...”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, you remembered! I was hoping you would.”

Max grins. “Of course I remembered. I was thinking... maybe we could make it a bit more special than just a few extra days?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”

Max takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous. This wasn’t how he’d planned to do this, but standing here with you, flush with victory and love, it feels right.

“Well,” he says slowly, reaching into his pocket, “I was thinking maybe we could celebrate our engagement.”

Your eyes widen as Max drops to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box. The noise of the celebration fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble.

“Y/N,” Max begins, his voice shaky but determined, “these past few months have been the hardest of my life. But they’ve also shown me, without a doubt, that you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Through good times and bad, wins and losses, I want you by my side.”

He opens the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring. “Will you marry me?”

You gasp, tears filling your eyes. For a heart-stopping moment, Max fears he’s misjudged, moved too fast. But then you’re nodding, a radiant smile breaking through the tears.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, Max. A thousand times yes.”

Max slips the ring onto your finger with trembling hands, then stands to pull you into a passionate kiss. The team, finally noticing what’s happening, erupts into cheers and applause.

As you break apart, breathless and giddy, Max rests his forehead against yours. “I love you. More than I ever thought possible.”

You beam up at him, your eyes shining with happiness. “I love you too. Always and forever.”

As the team swarms around them, offering congratulations and calling for more champagne, Max holds you close. This, he realizes, is his true victory. Not the race win, not the trophies or the championships. But this moment, with you in his arms, promising a future together.

***

Emma settles into her favorite armchair, a steaming mug of tea on the side table and Max Verstappen’s newly released autobiography in her hands. As a long-time fan of Formula 1 and Max in particular, she’s been eagerly anticipating this book.

She flips through the early chapters, smiling at familiar stories of Max’s rise through the ranks of motorsport. But it’s the chapter titled “The Race of My Life” that catches her attention. This, she knows, is where Max will finally open up about the period when he stepped away from racing — a time that had puzzled and worried fans.

As Emma begins reading, she’s immediately struck by the raw emotion in Max’s words.

I thought I knew what pressure was. The weight of expectations, the split-second decisions that could mean victory or defeat. But nothing in my racing career could have prepared me for the day I walked into that hospital room and saw the love of my life look at me without a hint of recognition.

Emma feels a lump form in her throat. She remembers the press conference where Max had revealed the reason for his absence, but this ... this is different. This is Max laying bare his soul in a way she’s never seen before.

In that moment, I realized that all the trophies, all the victories, all the adoration from fans — none of it mattered. The true test of my life wasn’t on any track. It was right there, in that sterile hospital room, facing the possibility of losing the one person who saw me not as Max Verstappen the driver, but just as Max.

Emma finds herself blinking back tears. She’s always admired Max for his skill on the track, his determination, his fierce competitiveness. But this vulnerability, this raw honesty, shows a side of him she never knew existed.

The chapter continues, detailing the days and weeks following the accident. Max describes the pain of seeing you struggle to remember, the hope that would flare with each small recognition, and the crushing disappointment when progress stalled.

I’ve faced some of the best drivers in the world, pushed myself to the absolute limit of human capability. But nothing — nothing — has ever been as challenging as sitting by her bedside, day after day, telling her stories of our life together and seeing no spark of remembrance in her eyes. It was like watching the person I loved most in the world slip away, inch by inch, and being powerless to stop it.

Emma has to pause her reading, overwhelmed by the emotion. She tries to imagine what it must have been like for Max, known for his control and precision on the track, to face a situation where he had no control at all.

As she continues reading, she’s struck by Max’s honesty about his own struggles during this time:

There were moments — dark, terrible moments — when I wondered if it would be easier to walk away. To accept that the woman I loved was gone, replaced by this stranger who wore her face but didn’t know my heart. The guilt I felt for even thinking such thoughts nearly crushed me. But I realized that true love, real love, isn’t just about the easy times. It’s about choosing to stay, to fight, even when every instinct is screaming at you to run.

Emma finds herself nodding, moved by Max’s profound realization. She remembers following his career, cheering his victories, sympathizing with his defeats. But this … this feels like she’s truly seeing the man behind the racer for the first time.

The chapter takes a turn as Max describes the day you started to remember:

When she looked at me that day, really looked at me, and I saw recognition in her eyes — it was like winning every championship, every race, all at once. No podium celebration could ever compare to the joy of hearing her say my name, of feeling her arms around me, knowing that she remembered us, our love, our life together.

Emma feels tears rolling down her cheeks now, unashamed. She’s always been moved by stories of love and perseverance, but knowing this is real, that it happened to someone she’s admired for so long, makes it all the more powerful.

As the chapter nears its end, Max reflects on how this experience changed him:

I returned to racing eventually, but I was never the same driver … or the same man. I had faced my greatest fear and come out the other side. I had learned that there are things more precious than any trophy, more thrilling than any race. I learned the true meaning of love, of commitment, of fighting for what really matters in life.

Emma closes the book, needing a moment to process everything she’s read. She feels like she’s seen a completely new side of Max Verstappen, one that goes far beyond the confident, sometimes brash young driver she remembers.

Picking up her phone, she opens Twitter, scrolling through reactions to the book. It seems she’s not alone in her emotional response. Fans and fellow drivers alike are sharing their thoughts.

Just finished @Max33Verstappen’s book. I’m in tears. What an incredible story of love and perseverance ❤️

Always respected Max as a driver, but this book shows what a truly remarkable person he is.

Emma adds her own tweet to the mix.

Thank you, @Max33Verstappen, for sharing your story. You’ve shown us that the greatest victories in life often happen off the track 🥺

She picks up the book again, turning to the final pages of the chapter. Max’s closing words resonate deeply.

In the end, life isn’t about the races you win or the records you break. It’s about the people you love, the bonds you forge, the differences you make. My greatest achievement isn’t any trophy or title. It’s the life I’ve built with her, the love we’ve nurtured through good times and bad. That’s my true legacy, and it’s one that will last far beyond when the chequered flag last waves for me.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Sunshine

AN: Hi my loves! So, this is the first installment of a oneshot series and I hope you’ll like it! Please don’t forget to tell me what you think!

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: The first ray of sunlight holds many promises.

Word Count: 2844

You were no stranger to the feeling of inadequacy.

For you it was around every corner; impossible to get away from at least for the last couple of years. Even now, in the clothes you had borrowed from your best friend in an attempt to look more formal and serious, you couldn’t help but feel way out of your element.

Yet in your humble opinion, the very intimidating mansion you were currently gawking at didn’t make this any easier.

Your heart was slamming against your chest as you tried to keep your breathing under control, your tongue shooting up to wet your dry lips, then you looked down when you felt a tug on your sleeve. Theo stared up at you with wide eyes, making your heart clench but you managed to give him a bright smile despite the fear clouding your mind, and crouched down to get to his eye level.

“Hey bean,” you said, pushing his round glasses up the bridge of his nose. “What’s going on?”

“What if they don’t like me?”

You gasped and pressed a hand over your chest, feigning shock.

“Are you kidding?” you asked. “They will absolutely adore you. I myself am more worried that they will love you too much.”

He blinked a couple of times in confusion. “Too much?”

You nodded fervently.

“Yeah!” you said. “And then I’ll have to fight everyone in there to get you to myself every weekend.”

That managed to make him giggle and you pretended to be offended, narrowing your eyes.

“You don’t think I could take them down?”

“Can you?”

“Why yes I can,” you said, sticking your nose in the air. “I just don’t like to brag about it because that’ll scare people off, you know?”

He smiled wide and you pinched his cheek, then turned your head when a pretty girl with gloves on her hands cleared her throat.

“Hi, I’m Rogue,” she introduced herself. “New enrollment?”

 “Yeah,” you said after a beat. “Yeah, hi.”

“Professor is expecting you, please follow me,” she said and you stood up, then took Theo’s hand and followed her into the building.

The interior of the mansion was as gorgeous and intimidating as it was on the outside. Theo looked like he was nearly hypnotized -which made sense, your apartment had to be the size of a simple storage room in this place- and he stared at the ceiling with his mouth hanging open, his eyes darting around.

“I feel like you should know that because of the new policy Professor will need his parents’ signature in order to enroll him,” Rogue said, making you snap out of your haze before you cleared your throat.

“Um, I’m the parent.”

That made her pause only for a moment and she pulled her brows together, looking between you and Theo.

“Oh, sorry about that!” she said. “I just assumed…”

“No no I get that a lot, please don’t worry about it,” you assured her quickly, waving a hand in the air. “I had Theo the first year of college and—”

Never got to finish that year or the rest.

“As I said, I get that a lot.”

She gave you an apologetic smile, then stopped in front of a door.

“Wait a moment please,” she said, knocking on the door before stepping inside and Theo tugged at your sleeve.

“It’s so pretty here!” he whispered and you tried to swallow the nervous lump in your throat, then smiled at him.

“Isn’t it?” you whispered. “It’ll be fun to go to school here huh? The brochure said they even have a maze!”

“A maze?” he asked, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “Like in the movies?”

“Mm hm, just like in the movies,” you said. “And a lake!”

“Where is the lake?”

“I don’t know yet but they’ll show you,” you said and frowned when the thought hit you. “But you’re not going there without a teacher, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he said as you hooked your pinky with his and the door opened again.

“You can go in,” Rogue said and you thanked her, then turned to Theo.

“Don’t go anywhere, okay?” you asked and entered the huge office to see the man in the wheelchair behind the desk.

“Hello sir,” you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts as you approached him to shake his hand, then took the seat across from the desk.

“Hello,” he said with a calm smile. “I’m Professor Charles Xavier, we spoke on the phone. Y/N, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir,” you said. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Of course, it’s my pleasure,” he said. “I take it you’re here to enroll your son as we spoke?”

You nodded your head, fighting the urge to bite at your nails and took Theo’s file from his other school out of your backpack, then put it in front of him so that he could examine it.

“He’s um, he’s really good at math,” you said, stumbling over your words. “I don’t know if that’ll be helpful here but he’s—he’s very good at a lot of classes really.”

“I must admit, he is going to be the youngest student here and the fact that his power has shown itself this early on…” Professor Xavier trailed off, your stomach doing a painful flip. “We will have to work hard, but I’m confident that we can guide him and teach him how to use his abilities for good.”

You nibbled on your lip, clenching and unclenching your hands.

“I know it’s a boarding school but he’s not used to being away from me and I’m not used to being away from him,” you admitted, “You said on the phone that the students’ weekends are free?”

“Of course,” he said. “Some of our students only stay here on weekdays to attend their classes, and they spend their weekends with their parents.”

You let out a relieved breath. “Okay. That’s nice to hear.”

“I know you’re worried,” he said, his voice completely calm and soothing. “It’s very normal to be worried but trust me, you’re making the best decision for him.”

“I know,” you said, trying to convince yourself and him at the same time. “I’ve done a lot of research and—and I want him to be safe and this place seems like the best place to teach him how to be safe.”

Professor Xavier pulled out a paper from his drawer, then pushed it in your direction with a pen.

“We only need your signature,” he said and paused for a second. “That is if the father…?”

You shook your head.

“Not in the picture, sir,” you said as you signed the paper, your heart beating in your ears. “Um, it’s just me and Theo.”

“I see,” he said. “Well, I promise you that Theo will be in good hands, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you said, putting the paper back on the desk and fixed your hair with a shaky hand just so that you could keep yourself busy, and Professor Xavier offered you a small smile.

“You can always contact me if you have any other questions,” he said. “I’ll talk to Theo after Rogue gives him his tour, and I’ll see you on Friday?”

“Yes sir,” you said. “Thank you, have a nice day.”

“You too.”

When you walked out of the office, you caught the sight of Rogue talking to a tall man with tousled dark hair, but you couldn’t see his face since his back was turned to you. For a moment you considered letting Rogue know that you were out, but figured it would be rude to interrupt, so you approached Theo who was patiently waiting for you.

“Alright bean,” you said as you crouched down to look him in the eye, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, desperate to keep the tears at bay at least until you were back in the car and Theo couldn’t see you. “What day is it today?”

“Tuesday.”

“And then we have…?”

“Wednesday, Thursday and Friday,” he said, counting with his fingers and you nodded your head, holding his fingers together.

“And on Friday I’ll come and get you, okay?” you asked him and he pursed his lips, then pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Just three days.”

“Just three days,” you repeated. “But before I leave, you need to promise me something.”

“What?”

“You’ll tell me all about how pretty this place is, in detail,” you said. “And how much fun you have. So you kind of have to see everything here and have fun, promise?”

“Promise.”

“And the signal?”

He smiled, tapping over his heart three times and you did the same.

“See? I feel it,” you told him. “When you do that, I’ll do the same even if I’m not here. Okay?”

“Mkay.”

 “Ready for your tour, Theo?” Rogue asked and he looked up at her, then turned to you and you pulled him into a tight hug, then smothered him in kisses as he let out an embarrassed whine.

“Mommy!”

“Okay okay, sorry,” you said with a small laugh, then adapted an overly serious expression and held out your hand. “A handshake then?”

He let out a giggle, then shook your hand and you forced yourself to smile, then stood up and straightened your back while he made his way to Rogue. Theo waved at you and you waved back, but as soon as he turned the corner with Rogue, your shoulders dropped.

Okay.

It was fine.

It was going to be just fine.

 “New enrollment?” a deep voice reached you and you looked over your shoulder, then turned around to see him better.

It was the same man who you’d seen talking to Rogue just now and God, he was so handsome. If your mind wasn’t numb with anxiety, you would have stood there and gawk at him for a good minute, but perhaps your worries were for once working in your favor. His intense gaze raked over you, making your cheeks burn and your heartbeat speeding up, and a small smile curled his lips as if he could hear it.

“That obvious?”

“Just a little,” he said as your hand shot up to pinch your bottom lip, his gaze following the motion.

“People don’t get killed or maimed here, do they?” you asked and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Not on weekdays.”

“Great,” you said after a beat, offering him a weak smile. “Thanks. I’m gonna go on a limb and say there’s a reason why they didn’t put you in the welcome committee?”

That made the corners of his mouth twitch and he nodded in the direction Theo had walked away from you.

“Isn’t he a bit too young to have powers?”

“Funny you should ask that because I repeated the same question over and over again until I cried myself to sleep last night,” you pointed out and scrunched up your nose when he tilted his head. “Sorry. My jokes get a bit grim when I’m stressed.”

“You look like a very relaxed individual.”

“Do I?”

“Not really, I’m convinced that you’re having a heart attack right now.”

You blinked a couple of times in confusion before the idea hit you and your jaw dropped, your stomach doing a flip.

Right. He—

Everyone here had powers.

Well if there was anything more embarrassing than making bad jokes in front of a very hot man, it was that when the said hot man could hear your heartbeat. You managed to close your mouth and shifted your weight, your hand shooting up to your mouth again so that you could bite at the hangnail on your thumb nervously.

“Yeah that’s kind of my factory settings,” you managed to mumble. “I generate enough stress to light up a whole city.”

He hummed, his unwavering gaze making your heart skip a beat and as always, your brain took it as a sign for you to ramble about absolute nonsense.

“I’ll be a very rich person the moment they find a way to monetize stress,” you stated. “Which should be any day now, and I kind of have a list prepared for that day; the first thing I’m gonna do is probably cry because knowing me—I cry like all the time, I cried this morning and I will probably cry when I get to my car after this but— but then I’ll buy one of those very expensive coffees, I don’t know if you’ve tried them—”

“Logan, Storm wants to see us,” someone called out from the end of the hallway, cutting through your rambling but he didn’t even look at the owner of the voice. Instead, a small smirk curled his lips as if he was amused with your nonsense and you swallowed thickly, biting at your thumb again.

“I’m Logan by the way,” he said and you raised your brows, then nodded fervently.

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself, lowering your hand. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

The silence that fell upon you felt like it would explode your head so you cleared your throat, throwing your shoulders back.

“I should—I should get back to work before I get fired,” you stammered, jerking your thumb over your shoulder and took a step, then turned around on your heels. “But um, nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he said, his voice completely calm unlike yours and you shot him a tentative smile, then made your way out of the hallway, then walked out of the building as fast as you could as if someone was chasing you.

“Oh I’m an idiot,” you sang to yourself, drawing out the last syllable like an opera singer while fished your car keys out of your backpack, your heart still beating in your ears. “I’m an idiot, I’m such an idiot…”

 The moment you got in your car, you heaved a sigh and pressed your palms on your eyes but your head shot up when your phone started ringing. You unzipped your backpack to grab it, then tossed the backpack back in the passenger seat and checked the screen to see your best friend’s name. You let out a breath, then touched the screen and took it to your ear.

“Julie, I’m an idiot I think,” you greeted her and she paused for a moment.

“Hello to you too sunshine,” she said with a laugh. “What happened?”

“Well the good news is, Theo liked the school,” you said, looking out the window at the mansion. “But I miss him already. Do you think—”

“You’re not changing your mind about this, we talked about helicopter parenting,” she said. “It’s going to be good for him.”

“Right.”

“Is that why you’re freaking out?”

“Not really but I will cry about it,” you pointed out. “Tonight I’m guessing.”

“Didn’t expect anything else, I’m bringing drinks to your place,” she said. “So? What is it then?”

“There’s a very, very, very attractive man there,” you murmured and she hummed.

“Just so I get it clear, how attractive is he again?”

“Very.”

You could practically hear her grin. “Good.”

“It’s not good!” you whined. “I’ve made a fool of myself.”

“It’s a part of your charm.”

“It really isn’t,” you said and looked down at your clothes. “And I look like a tax collector.”

“People other than tax collectors wear white shirts, we’ve been over that.”

“He thinks I’m a tax collector who can’t form a logical sentence,” you said, slipping a little in the driver’s seat to lean your knees to the steering wheel and she scoffed.

“Not really, he probably thinks you’re a—”

“We’re not calling me that,” you cut her off, making her laugh.

“Fine.”

You pinched your lip between your knuckles, then heaved a sigh.

“Theo will be okay, right?”

“He will be more than okay because he is going to be surrounded by the people who can in fact teach him how to use his powers, something you can’t do,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with getting a little help, sunshine.”

You clicked your tongue, still keeping your gaze on the mansion.

“So let me guess,” she said, pulling you out of your thoughts. “This very very very hot man is tall.”

“Yes.”

“Looks cocky.”

“Uh…”

“And older than you.”

You blinked a couple of times, pulling your brows together. “How did you—?”

“You have a type.”

You drummed your fingernails on the steering wheel, then heaved a sigh.

“It’s fine,” you said. “I…I doubt I’ll talk to him ever again and you know, with Theo, I just don’t have the time for anything else right now.”

“I’m going to convince you otherwise but I’m going to need drinks for that.”

You breathed out a laugh, then checked the time.

“Gotta go,” you said. “I’ll see you tonight then?”

“Yep, love you!”

“Love you too!” you said and hung up, then tossed the phone on the passenger seat and started the car.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself. “I’m so gonna get drunk tonight.”

[2] - Summer Breeze

[theonottsbxtch]

LOVE - LOCKED | FC43

an: this is based off of this request and i hope you like it bc i had sm fun writing a romantic slightly angsty thing i cant wait to hear what y'all thin, i also think it may be slightly rushed tho so lol ALSO LOL WE'RE GONNA PRETEND CARLOS IS YOUNGER IN THIS BC I NEEDED HER TO BE HIS OLDER SISTER

summary: carlos' sister has lived her life completely separated from him and their family name, instead she went and made a name for herself in the tennis world - she likes her life like that. that is until she meets franco colapinto

wc: 8.7k

The roar of engines, even from a distance, unsettled her.

They reminded her of the long days her father and brother spent in garages, the low rumble of motors and sharp tang of fuel in the air. Those were the hours she’d spend alone, working on her serve in the empty court across town, each hit ricocheting off the walls with a hollow, lonely echo. Her own choice, of course. She’d had no interest in the world of carbon fibre and grease, no desire to be the girl who simply tagged along, her name always in her brother’s shadow.

Now, years later, she’d become someone entirely on her own terms. A name people knew on its own — Vázquez de Castro — a name that meant something outside of her family, outside of her brother’s fame.

She slipped her phone into her bag and looked around the chaotic pit lane. Journalists, engineers, teams in matching shirts, faces alight with anticipation for the weekend's race. She knew she’d stand out here; her face might be familiar, but she was a stranger in this world.

The hum of voices around her faded as she felt his gaze. She’d been hoping to move through unnoticed, just a face in a sea of faces, but there he was: tall, familiar, unmistakably Carlos. His brow furrowed in surprise as he caught sight of her, his quick steps carrying him closer before she had a chance to dodge. She braced herself, turning to him with a calm that she didn’t quite feel.

“No aquí,” she murmured, her voice low, hoping that would be enough to keep curious ears at bay.

He paused, just a moment, his expression softening in understanding, and he tilted his head, his face somewhere between a grin and a frown. “You came.”

It wasn’t an accusation exactly — more surprise than anything. But she couldn’t miss the faint hope in his eyes, as if he thought she might be here to see him, to share a piece of his world after all this time. She let his words linger for a beat before she replied, her tone steady.

“I was invited,” she said, giving a slight shrug, “by Fernando.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the green and silver canopy, keeping her tone casual, but she saw his shoulders fall ever so slightly.

He nodded, glancing away for a moment, his jaw set. “Right. Fernando.”

There was something she wanted to say, something to soften the look in his eyes, but the pit lane was crowded, the eyes and cameras trained on every inch of the paddock sharper than she’d ever expected. They’d notice anything. And the last thing she wanted was for the papers to start spinning stories, putting her under a headline right next to him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Te hablo en el hotel. I’ll speak to you at the hotel.”

As she made her way toward the exit, ready to slip back into the background and disappear, she heard a voice calling out just over the rumble of engines and chatter.

“¡La princesa española!”

The words were unmistakable, lilting and clear, even with the crowd and machinery all around. The Spanish Princess. The nickname made her falter. It was something she sometimes heard on the tennis courts in Madrid or whispered by fans in distant cities when she played in international tournaments. But here? She scanned the area, puzzled at who would recognise her in this world of racing.

When she turned, her eyes met those of someone unfamiliar yet striking. He was tall, with an easy, disarming smile, his race suit gleaming with the bright, bold colours of his team’s livery. He looked young, not much older than she was, but he carried himself with that unmistakable energy she’d seen in rising stars before. The rookie, she realised, though she hadn’t kept up enough to know his name.

He held her gaze a moment too long, that same smile lingering as he approached, his eyes sparking with something between amusement and curiosity. She felt herself tense, almost involuntarily, her instinct telling her to slip away, to avoid whatever came next.

“Es realmente la princesa española,” he said, his tone playful yet certain.

Then it hit her.

Franco.

That was his name.

Franco’s grin widened as he closed the distance between them, his eyes bright with an almost boyish enthusiasm. “Soy un gran admirador de tu trabajo,” he said, his Argentine accent softening his words. “I’ve watched almost all your matches — I love the way you play.”

She blinked, taken aback. This wasn’t the usual kind of recognition she got, especially not here. She could count on one hand how many times she’d been recognised in public. She looked at him, trying to reconcile this confident young driver with the earnest fan in front of her.

“¿Me conoces?” The question slipped out before she could think, her voice tinged with disbelief.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering. “¿Quién no te conoce?” he replied, with a touch of humour. “La princesa española, queen of the clay court, unstoppable backhand — yeah, I know you.”

There was something genuine in his tone, something that set him apart from the usual strangers who said they knew her. 

And before she could stop herself, she found herself almost smiling. She cleared her throat, searching for a response, but her mind was blank. What could she say? That she knew nothing of him, or any of these people — that she had only set foot here today by chance?

She settled for a simple, “Gracias.”

Franco’s curiosity didn’t waver. He leaned in slightly, folding his arms with an amused glint in his eyes. “So, what brings la princesa española to the F1 paddock?”

She shrugged lightly, careful not to reveal too much. “I’m here as one of Fernando Alonso’s guests. Aston Martin.” She left it at that, hoping he wouldn’t dig further. Noticing that she looked a bit like another driver on the paddock. Thankfully, he didn’t.

His grin only grew wider, and she had the feeling that her mystery intrigued him. “Well then, if you’re one of Fernando’s guests, that means you’re not tied to my team,” he said with a glint of mischief. “Come with me — I’ll give you a tour of my garage. It’ll be like… a private tour.”

She hesitated, her gaze shifting back toward the exit, where she’d planned to slip out and leave all of this behind. If she went with him, there was a chance people would recognise her, start to connect her with her brother’s world. She’d spent her whole career carefully avoiding this — the headlines, the whispers, the inevitable questions about why she’d chosen such a different path. But the look on his face, that open, boyish enthusiasm, was hard to resist.

She let out a sigh, then looked up at him with a sudden, defiant glimmer in her eye. “Screw it. ¿Por qué no?”

His whole face lit up. She could practically see the excitement radiating off him as he extended his hand, his confidence a little too easy, a little too certain. She eyed his hand for a moment before raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“Modales,” she chided, her tone playful. “I’ve known you for five minutes. We’re not dating.”

“Yet,” he replied without missing a beat, a spark in his eyes.

Despite herself, she smiled, a real one, something she hadn’t felt since stepping into the paddock that day.

He led her through the bustling paddock with an easy confidence, weaving between crew members, equipment, and cameras as if none of it could touch him. She was impressed, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. The chaos of the pit lane, the narrow spaces and the clang of metal, all seemed to bend around him.

When they reached his team’s garage, he stopped by a young assistant stationed just outside, who looked at them with curious eyes.

“Do me a favour,” he said, barely containing his grin, “and grab a VIP lanyard for Williams’ guests, will you?”

The assistant glanced at her, his eyes widening slightly in recognition before he nodded and ducked away, returning a moment later with a crisp, team-branded lanyard. Franco took it with a pleased smile, then held out his hand for hers. She unclipped the Aston Martin lanyard from her neck and handed it over, watching with a mix of surprise and amusement as he replaced it with the one from his own team.

“There,” he said, adjusting the lanyard’s position with exaggerated care. “Now you’re officially part of the team.”

She couldn’t hold back her smirk. “You know, I don’t think lanyards change allegiances so easily.”

“Maybe not. But I do think it’s an improvement.” He winked, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Besides, the only lanyard you should be wearing here is mine.”

She laughed, caught off guard by his unfiltered charm, as he held out his arm with an exaggerated flourish. “And now, mi princesa, a grand tour.”

He led her into the garage, his tone switching between informative and teasing as he explained the various stations. “Over here, we have the engineering bay — where the magic of data happens.” He gestured toward a row of monitors displaying endless streams of numbers. “And these guys in the corner? They’re the wizards of aerodynamics. Make a mess, they won’t let you forget it.”

As they moved through each section, he offered her a glimpse into the world of F1, his energy and excitement almost contagious. She watched him with quiet intrigue; he seemed to belong here completely, as if he thrived in the chaos and intensity of it all.

“Now, over here,” he continued, leaning a bit closer to her as they approached a sleek wall of tires and tools, “this is where I go for my pre-race pep talks. I think it helps the tires, too.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You talk to the tires?”

“Only on occasion,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “And they listen. Or at least, I hope they do.” He grinned again, that glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Besides, they never talk back.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but there was a smile in it, one she couldn’t quite suppress. He was disarming, funny in a way that felt refreshingly different from the sharp, serious world she’d known. He noticed the hint of a smile and held her gaze, leaning in just slightly.

Before she could say anything else, Franco led her deeper into the garage, weaving through the maze of tools, car parts, and engineers, who looked up now and then with curious glances. She followed, intrigued despite herself, and finally, unable to keep silent, asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, shooting her a look over his shoulder that was both charming and infuriatingly vague.

He stopped in front of a nondescript door tucked away from the bustle of the main garage. She glanced around, realising they were in the private part of the team’s area. He opened the door to his driver room, gesturing for her to step inside. The room was small but comfortable, filled with team memorabilia, spare racing gloves, and a neat rack of team-branded clothes. Before she could take it all in, he went over to a stack of neatly folded shirts and pulled one from the pile.

He turned back to her, holding up the shirt with a proud smile. “Here,” he said, offering it to her. “Wear this tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and the shirt with mock scepticism. “Bold of you to assume I’d wear your merch.”

His grin only widened. “I think you’d look great in it,” he said, undeterred. “Besides, it’d be an honour to have la princesa española in my colours.”

She took the shirt, running her fingers over the soft fabric, and met his gaze with a slight smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me,” he replied, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He looked like he wanted to say more, but just then, his phone buzzed on the nearby table, and he glanced at it with a slight frown before pocketing it again.

“So,” he continued, his tone shifting to something a little more casual, “what are you doing for dinner?”

The question surprised her. She hadn’t planned on lingering much longer after her brother’s race prep finished. She hadn’t planned on any of this, really. But he was watching her expectantly, and for a moment, she let herself consider it.

“Dinner?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Not at all,” he admitted with a grin. “What do you say? Let me take you out. I promise I’m as good at picking places to eat as I am at tours.”

She couldn’t resist a small laugh. “Alright,” she said, glancing up at him with an easy smile. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but just then, a voice called out from down the hallway. “Franco man, we’ve been looking all around for you!” A team manager appeared in the doorway, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

Franco sighed, flashing her an apologetic look as he straightened. “Duty calls,” he muttered with a smirk. He lingered a moment, as if reluctant to leave, then glanced back at her with a warm smile.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, feeling a thrill she hadn’t expected. “See you tonight.”

He nodded, his grin returning full force, then turned to follow the manager out, giving her a final, backward glance that lingered just a second too long.

Back in her hotel room, she brushed a final touch of mascara over her lashes and glanced at her phone, where a text from Franco glowed on the screen.

Franco: “Ready whenever you are. No rush. See you soon :)”

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Tonight felt surprisingly… normal. Like she was just someone getting ready for a date, no stakes attached. She straightened her dress, checked her reflection, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at her door snapped her from her thoughts, and she felt a small flutter of excitement, assuming it was him. But when she opened the door, her breath caught.

Her brother stood there, his expression a mixture of confusion and something she couldn’t quite read. She masked her surprise quickly, stepping aside to let him in, though her voice was firm. “I can talk for a bit, but I have plans tonight.”

“With Franco?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

He gave a soft, humourless laugh, crossing his arms. “I saw you two in the paddock,” he said. “And I overheard him talking about it in the garage. Apparently, he couldn’t stop telling anyone who’d listen about his ‘date with la princesa de España.’” He looked at her, and his voice softened. “So why is it you have no problem being seen with him, but not with your own brother?”

His question hung heavily in the air, the familiar tension between them settling back into place. She took a breath, struggling for the right words. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be seen with him — it was the weight of everything that came with it. The press, the fans, the inevitable comparisons. She could already see the headlines if they were spotted together, her name placed directly beside his, stripping away the hard-won independence she’d fought for.

She sighed, glancing at him. “It’s not… about you,” she said carefully. “It’s just… everything that comes with it. You know how it is.”

He shook his head, looking slightly hurt. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve always thought we were supposed to be in this together. But I feel like… I don’t know, like you’re just trying to run from anything that connects us.”

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe, her voice dropping to something softer, more serious. “It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I just don’t want to be known as Carlos’ sister everywhere I go. I’ve worked hard to build my own name, my own career, and sometimes… being around you, it overshadows that.”

Her brother studied her, his face a mix of understanding and something else, a flash of protective instinct. “You know, if you date Franco, you’ll just end up being known as his girlfriend,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s just a date, Carlos. Nothing more.”

He shrugged, his mouth quirking in a small smile. “Yeah, well, with him, nothing ever stays ‘just’ anything. Just saying.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth behind it. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.”

They shared a quiet moment of understanding before she gently nudged him toward the door. “Go get some rest. And good luck tomorrow. I’ll be cheering from the sidelines.”

The evening was soft and cool, the sky painted in shades of violet and indigo as the city stretched out below them. The balcony they’d stepped onto was tucked away from the bustling noise of the hotel, private and intimate, offering only the sounds of the night breeze and the occasional far-off hum of the city.

Franco had arranged it all—quiet, serene, away from prying eyes. The dinner was simple but elegant: a few delicate dishes of fresh seafood, wine that wasn’t too heavy, just enough to let the conversation flow freely. It was just the two of them, and she realised as she stood there, her hand brushing the railing, how rare that felt.

She’d worn a dress that was understated, yet elegant—a deep midnight blue that mirrored the evening sky, the fabric light enough to catch the breeze. She hadn’t given it much thought; it wasn’t for anyone but herself. But when Franco first saw her, the look in his eyes told her that, maybe, it had been the right choice after all.

His gaze lifted from the table where he had been adjusting the wine glasses, and the moment he saw her, the words spilled out before he could even stop them.

“Dios mío, qué hermosa estás.” His voice was low, his gaze sweeping over her with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

She felt her cheeks flush, the compliment unexpected but not unwelcome. She had been nervous about the evening, unsure of what this was or what it would become. But his words, simple and sincere, relaxed something inside her.

“Gracias,” she replied with a small smile, feeling the warmth in her chest spread, her eyes meeting his.

He stood up, taking a small step toward her as if to take in the full picture, his gaze never leaving her face. “I swear,” he continued, his voice filled with genuine awe, “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more stunning than earlier. It's like... you're glowing.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’re just being kind.”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head as he closed the distance between them. “I’m not the kind of guy to throw compliments around just to be polite. Te ves increíble, you look incredible.”

After a decent amount of eating, a stretched out silence, Franco spoke up. “So,” he began, his voice casual but warm, “what’s it like to be the la princesa española outside of tennis?”

She raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine. “I don’t really think of myself as that,” she said lightly. “It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t know,” he teased. “I think it suits you. You have a... regal air about you.” His eyes glinted with mischief as he added, “I’m sure you’d never get away with being late for anything. Everyone would just wait for the princess to show up.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “You really are persistent with those compliments, aren’t you?”

“Solo con la verdad,” he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself.

The evening unfolded easily after that. They spoke about everything and nothing: about their childhoods, what had brought them to this point in their careers, how it felt to always be in the spotlight. She told him stories from her tennis matches, and he shared wild tales of racing, of the constant pressure and adrenaline.

But it was the quieter moments, the small pauses between their words, that felt the most significant. When he leaned in to pass her the bottle of wine, their hands brushed, and the air seemed to thicken for a moment. His gaze lingered a bit longer than it needed to, and she noticed the subtle way his smile softened when their eyes met. She wasn’t used to this — this ease, this comfort that felt so unforced — but it was exactly what she hadn’t realised she’d been searching for.

“You know,” Franco said, his tone thoughtful, “I can’t remember the last time I had a night like this. Just—” He waved his hand toward the view, the quiet that surrounded them. “It’s nice. To not be rushing off to something. No cameras, no expectations.”

She looked out over the balcony at the skyline, the city lights twinkling in the distance. “I know what you mean. There’s always so much noise, so many people trying to pull you in different directions. It’s rare to just… be.” She turned to look at him, her voice lowering slightly. “It’s a little surreal, actually.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, there was a silence between them that felt like a shared understanding. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at her, his expression genuine. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight. I’m glad I got to spend this time with you.”

Her heart did a little flip at the sincerity in his voice. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the evening, but this — this felt right.

“So,” he continued, his voice lightening again, “any chance I can convince you to wear my team’s shirt tomorrow?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said with a wink, “but only because I know you’d look amazing in it.”

She rolled her eyes but could feel the warmth in her chest spread. “I’ll think about it,” she teased, mirroring his playful tone.

The conversation drifted back to lighter topics, the evening unfolding with ease as the world seemed to blur around them. As the night deepened, they shared stories, laughter, and quiet glances that spoke volumes. It wasn’t the fireworks, the grand gestures of a first date. But it was something else — something that felt like a beginning.

When the last of the wine was finished, and the candles flickered low, Franco stood, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. He didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes told her everything. His fingers brushed against hers, and she didn’t pull away.

As the night grew later, the air around them cooled, and they moved to the edge of the balcony, gazing out over the city. The quiet was comforting, the soft hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the stillness between them.

She let out a small sigh, her mind wandering, and with it, the weight of everything that had brought her to this moment. She looked up at him, caught in the calm but uncertain about what this night might mean.

"Well, this has been lovely," she said, her voice light but tinged with something else. "But, just so you know… this is probably going to be our only date."

His eyebrows furrowed, his smile faltering for just a fraction of a second. “Why?” he asked, his tone suddenly laced with concern. “Have I done something wrong?”

She met his gaze, her chest tight for reasons she couldn’t quite place. There was no logical reason for her to feel that way — he had been nothing but kind, charming, and genuine all night. But there was still that lingering sense of hesitation, a wall she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to tear down.

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to reassure him. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked at her for a long moment, studying her face. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer, something quieter, as if he were trying to understand her better.

“I’m not really a person who runs from things," she said, her voice lowering slightly, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. “But there are parts of my life I’m... careful about. I can’t help but keep them to myself.”

She hesitated, feeling a strange tug in her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she found herself wanting to share something personal, something she had hidden away. She took a breath and let it slip out before she could second-guess herself.

“I have a brother,” she began, looking out at the city below them, trying to steady her voice. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Franco froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Wait... what?”

She glanced at him, a slight laugh escaping her lips at the look of genuine surprise on his face. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Carlos.”

He blinked, his surprise turning into a quiet sense of disbelief. “Carlos Sainz?” He repeated her brother’s name, almost as if he were trying to process it. “I had no idea…”

She looked at him, a slight sadness settling in her chest. “Most people don’t,” she said, her voice quiet now. “I never tell anyone. I’ve worked my entire life to be known for me—for what I do, not because of who I’m related to. I don’t want to live in someone’s shadow.”

Franco didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence stretch out between them. He was thinking, she could tell. It was as though he were weighing her words, weighing the tension in her tone. Then, slowly, he spoke, his voice steady but sincere.

“With me, you wouldn't,” he said, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that took her by surprise. “You wouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow. Not if you didn’t want to be.”

She was quiet for a long moment, his words sinking in. Part of her wanted to dismiss it, wanted to keep pushing away the idea of anyone in her life stepping into that shadow. But there was something in his eyes—something honest and unwavering—that made her hesitate. He wasn’t offering her fame or status. He was offering her something far simpler. The space to be herself.

Then, he said something that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ll be your WAG,” he said, his voice surprisingly matter-of-fact, his smile just a little crooked.

She laughed, a quick, startled sound. “What?” she teased, shaking her head. “Are you serious? ‘WAG’—really?”

He leaned in slightly, the smile still on his face but his eyes unflinching. “En serio. I’m serious.” he added with a little more emphasis, the words flowing naturally from him.

Her laughter died down, replaced by a brief, curious silence. She was still processing his words, still trying to understand how it had escalated from a simple dinner to this.

“You’re joking,” she said softly, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously.

“No,” he7 replied, his voice now calm, almost earnest. “I’m not. Look, I get it. The whole ‘WAG’ thing... it sounds ridiculous, I know. But the way I see it, we’d be a team. You’d have my back, and I’d have yours. No shadows, no expectations, just us. What we make of it.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms as she considered what he was saying. The idea of it felt foreign, a little intimidating, but something about it also felt right in a way she hadn’t expected. No grand gestures, no drama. Just… us, as he’d said.

“Don’t you think I’d look good in a sponsored Channel crop top?” he joked, and the thought of it made her laugh.

Before she could stop it, however, her mind flashed to her brother, to the years of keeping her life private, to the way she had fought so hard to remain in the background of her family’s legacy. And yet here was Franco, offering something different. He wasn’t asking her to be a part of his world—he was offering her a partnership, an equal footing.

For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to truly think about what that might mean. To be seen, not as someone’s sister or someone’s girlfriend, but just as herself.

“Maybe... maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she said quietly, her voice uncertain but filled with a growing sense of possibility.

Franco looked at her, a quiet confidence in his eyes. “Entonces, we’ll figure it out together. No shadows. Just us.”

“Just us.”

“You better wear my shirt tomorrow,” he said, his voice teasing but hopeful.

She smirked, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at him. “I’ll think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You better. I’ll be watching.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his persistence. “We’ll see.”

The next morning arrived with the usual rush, the anticipation of race day filling the air. She woke up to a sunlit room and a few messages on her phone, the familiar bustle of the paddock already beginning to take shape outside her window. As she moved around the room, preparing for the day ahead, her mind wandered back to the previous evening.

She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair back into a sleek ponytail, glancing over her outfit choices. She’d packed a nice pair of fitted trousers and a smart blouse for the day. But then, as she opened her suitcase to grab something, she saw it—the shirt.

It was sitting on top of her suitcase, folded neatly, the soft fabric of his team’s shirt catching the light. The sight of it made her pause. She could feel a flutter of uncertainty in her chest as she stared at the shirt. It wasn’t like her to let herself be swayed by someone else’s request. But something about Franco, about the way he’d looked at her, made her reconsider.

She bit her lip, considering her options. The shirt was casual, simple, but it also felt like a statement. She could wear it for him, just this once, maybe just to see how it felt. There was no harm in that, right?

She grabbed the shirt, examining it for a moment. It was an understated design—his team’s logo in the corner, a soft fabric, nothing too flashy. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would normally wear, but for some reason, she felt drawn to it. And then it hit her—maybe it wasn’t about the shirt at all. It was about the confidence to wear it, to stand beside him and let the world see her as she was, without hesitation.

She had a moment of inspiration.

Instead of simply slipping it on with jeans like she’d imagined, she decided to give it a bit of a twist. She styled it with an oversized blazer, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the shirt underneath, and a pair of high-waisted pants. The look was effortlessly cool, edgy, but still very much her. She paired it with a pair of sleek, minimalist sneakers, and, just before she finished, added a bold red lip to complete the ensemble.

When she looked in the mirror, she felt a sense of pride. It was a simple shirt, yes, but it was her way of wearing it. And somehow, it made her feel like she was making her own mark, not hiding behind anyone else’s expectations.

She grabbed her phone, checking the time, then sent Franco a quick message.

“I thought about it. I’ll wear the shirt. But only because it goes with my outfit.”

She added a playful winking emoji before hitting send, knowing that he’d appreciate the humour in it.

The morning was just beginning to pick up its pace as she finished getting ready. The weight of the day’s events, the race, the energy of the paddock, all began to settle in. But for the first time in a while, she felt a small sense of excitement, an eagerness she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t about the race itself, but about the people she was meeting, the connections she was making, and—perhaps most unexpectedly—what might lie ahead with Franco.

She was just about to head out of her hotel room when there was a knock on the door. She knew that knock—steady and familiar. Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find her brother standing there, his usual calm exterior softened by a quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded, stepping back to let him in. She could tell he was a bit surprised when he saw the shirt she was wearing—the shirt of a rival team. He glanced at it, one brow raised slightly, but he didn’t comment, just closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.

He took a deep breath, as if he’d been building up to this. “Are you… thinking of seeing him again?”

There was something tentative in the way he asked, a kind of brotherly concern that she hadn’t seen in a long time. She shrugged, trying to keep her tone casual. “Maybe. I’m considering it.”

He nodded slowly, looking away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “Why are you okay with being seen with him, and not with me?”

The question landed heavily between them, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She looked at him, seeing the vulnerability in his expression, the unspoken hurt in his eyes. It was rare for him to open up like this, to say exactly what was on his mind. She let out a long breath, searching for the right words.

“It’s different,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Different how?” he pressed, his tone gentle but persistent.

She met his gaze, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t realised just how much this division had affected them both, how much it lingered in moments like these. “I never felt like I was a part of your world,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “It wasn’t just about you. It was Dad, too. He… he made it clear that I wasn’t cut out to be a part of it. I wasn’t… enough. Not like you.”

He looked at her, the quiet hurt in his eyes turning into something deeper, something sadder. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “How could you? You were busy making him proud. And you were great at it. I always saw how he looked at you, how proud he was of everything you were doing. He saw you as this… continuation of him, of his legacy. But me… I was never part of that.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he processed her words. “I never wanted it to be that way. I thought you just didn’t care about what we were doing. I thought you were happy doing your own thing.”

“I am,” she said, and she meant it. “Tennis is my world; it’s where I feel strong, where I feel like I belong. But… it didn’t come without sacrifices. I grew up watching you and Dad bond over racing, and it was like there was this door between us that was shut for good. I could watch, but I couldn’t be a part of it.”

There was a long pause, her brother absorbing her words, the weight of years of misunderstanding settling between them.

“I wish I’d known,” he said finally, his voice soft, tinged with regret. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to be a part of it. I thought it didn’t matter to you if Dad and I had that bond. But I get it now. I see what it must’ve felt like, standing on the outside.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken years filling the space between them. And then he added, “You know, you don’t have to keep yourself hidden to be in my life, right? I get it now. But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Her throat tightened, a wave of unexpected emotion rising within her. She’d spent so long feeling like an outsider in her own family, so sure that her brother had never noticed. But now, here he was, standing in front of her, wanting to bridge that gap.

“It’s hard to just undo it all,” she admitted. “Sometimes, it feels easier to just… stay on my own path. To keep these things separate.”

He nodded, understanding. “But if you’re thinking of seeing Franco… letting yourself be part of his world… doesn’t it mean you’re ready to be seen? To be yourself, even in places that are unfamiliar?”

She considered this, his words striking a chord deep within her. He wasn’t wrong. She’d spent so long hiding parts of herself, keeping herself separate to avoid comparison or judgement. But with Franco, she hadn’t felt the same need. For once, she had felt like she could be herself—no shadows, no expectations.

“I think… I just want to find something that’s mine,” she said finally. “A space where I’m not just ‘your sister,’ where I don’t have to carry someone else’s legacy.”

Her brother gave her a soft, understanding look. “You’ve already done that. You are more than just my sister. You’ve made a name for yourself that has nothing to do with anyone else. You’re not living in anyone’s shadow… but if you ever want to step into our world—my world—I’d like to be part of yours too. Just… let me be there for you, even if it’s only sometimes.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of warmth, a sense of connection that hadn’t been there before. Maybe there was room for both worlds, after all. For the first time, she felt like she didn’t have to choose.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, echoing her words from last night.

He smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I hope you do.”

With that, he gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, a wordless acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared. And as he left, she felt a sense of closure, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to keep running from her family’s legacy to be seen as her own person. She could walk her own path, even if it sometimes crossed into theirs.

She arrived at the paddock a little while later, weaving her way through the bustle of race day, her heart beating a little faster than usual. Wearing Franco’s shirt under her blazer felt like a small, bold choice—one that had her both excited and slightly nervous. She walked through the crowd until she reached his team’s garage, where the energy was already crackling with anticipation.

As soon as she stepped in, Franco spotted her from across the garage. His face lit up the second he saw her, and he immediately started making his way toward her. When he was close enough, he lowered his voice and said in Spanish, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Wait here for just a second. Don’t move.”

Before she could respond, he turned and jogged back toward his driver’s room, leaving her standing in the middle of the garage, a little bewildered but smiling to herself. She watched as he disappeared into the room, curious about whatever he was planning. Within a moment, he was back, holding a bouquet of flowers—a mix of deep red roses and bright sunflowers, their colours vivid against the greys and metallics of the garage.

“For you,” he said, handing them over with a grin, his accent warm and lilting. His eyes softened as he added, “To celebrate your first race day as my guest.”

She took the bouquet, feeling a rush of warmth as she held the flowers. “You know, you didn’t have to do this,” she said, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just here as… well, just as me.”

“And I think that’s worth celebrating,” he replied smoothly, his gaze locked on hers with unmistakable admiration. “Besides, you didn’t say no to the shirt, so I think I’m allowed a little celebration, no?”

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she looked down at the bouquet. “Alright, fine. You win. Thank you—they’re beautiful.”

Franco glanced around the garage, then leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a playful murmur. “You know, you’re even more beautiful than I remember from last night. I thought maybe I was exaggerating, but… no. I wasn’t.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Careful, or I’ll start to think you’re trying to distract me from the race.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, chuckling. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, he looked around the garage again and spotted one of his engineers nearby. Franco gestured to the man, who quickly nodded, understanding exactly what Franco was after.

The engineer handed him a headset, and Franco turned back to her, holding it up. “Here—so you can listen in and watch from inside the garage. You’ll get the best seat here.”

She blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You’ll get to hear all the comms, see how it all works up close. Plus”—he leaned in, his voice low—“you’ll have an excuse to stay around here.”

She shook her head with a smirk, taking the headset from him. “Alright. But only because you’ve convinced me with flowers and shameless flattery.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin widening as he watched her settle the headset over her ears. “I’ll keep it coming if it means you stay.”

As the team began their pre-race preparations, Franco showed her the best spot to watch from, and he took a few moments to explain some of the technical details. She found herself captivated, not just by the race, but by the way he was so eager to share his world with her. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite herself, she felt the thrill of race day in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Before he had to step away to start his own warm-up routine, he gave her one last look, his gaze holding a touch of that familiar mischievous glint. “Enjoy the show, princesa. And don’t go falling in love with the cars now—they’re not as charming as I am.”

She laughed, giving him a playful shove. “No promises.”

Franco winked, backing away with a grin as he joined the other drivers and team members preparing for the race. She stayed in the garage, feeling the weight of the headset and bouquet in her hands, both of them symbols of the way her world had shifted in just a few days.

As she watched him walk away, his words echoing in her ears, she realised just how different today felt. For the first time, she wasn’t just watching as an outsider; she was here, part of the energy, sharing a moment in his world, just as he’d promised. And maybe—just maybe—she was finally ready to be a part of something new.

The race was intense, the roar of engines filling the air as she watched Franco’s car weave through the track, making his way up from P16 to P12, gaining positions one by one with determined precision. Her heart raced with every turn, every overtake. She’d never felt the thrill of Formula One from this close before, and she found herself completely absorbed, balancing her attention between the live race and the screens in the garage that tracked every driver’s progress.

And then, in the final laps, her eyes moved to another part of the screen—a familiar car that was in the lead. A red car. Her brother was out front, defending his position with expert skill, pushing with everything he had toward the finish line. She held her breath, fingers tightening around the edges of the headset as she watched the seconds count down. When he crossed the finish line in first place, a feeling she hadn’t expected washed over her—pride, pure and radiant, filled her chest. She found herself clapping, cheering, a bright smile spreading across her face.

Franco, having just finished his own race and done the mandatory weigh-in and debrief with his engineers, finally found her in the garage. He looked exhausted but happy, his face still flushed from the adrenaline of the race. When he walked over, he paused, noticing the way her eyes were glued to the screen as her brother celebrated his victory, lifting his fists in the air in triumph.

“You’re glowing,” Franco murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her reaction.

She blinked, glancing back at him and realising how giddy she must look. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it would feel like this. I’m just… so happy for him.” Her voice was breathless, filled with a genuine joy she couldn’t hide.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Then you should go to him. He’s probably waiting for you.”

She shook her head, hesitating, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t… I don’t belong over there, with everyone. That’s his world.”

Franco tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. “Maybe that’s true most days. But today, you belong there just as much as anyone else. He’s your brother. Go celebrate with him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She bit her lip, uncertainty still holding her back. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Start with congratulations,” Franco said, flashing her a gentle, reassuring grin. “Trust me, it’ll be enough.”

He gestured toward the edge of the garage, where the barriers separated the track from the paddock. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded, taking a shaky breath as he guided her forward. The crowd around them was roaring with excitement as her brother’s car was pulled into parc fermé, fans and teammates celebrating around him. She could feel her heart pounding, each step filling her with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

At the barrier, Franco gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Go on. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

With that, he released her hand, and she took a step forward, catching sight of her brother through the haze of people and cameras. He was laughing, practically glowing as he embraced his team, still basking in the thrill of his victory. And then, as if sensing her, he turned and saw her standing there, just beyond the barrier.

His expression softened, and a smile broke across his face, one that was filled with surprise and unmistakable happiness. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made his way over, reaching out to pull her into a tight, heartfelt hug. She hugged him back, feeling the last remnants of the old distance between them dissolve as she held her brother close, finally sharing in his moment.

When they pulled apart, he looked at her, pride shining in his eyes. “You came,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She laughed softly, tears threatening to sting her eyes. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick, brotherly kiss to her forehead. “Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here. Really.”

As the team around them cheered and the cameras continued to flash, she felt the enormity of the moment—a sense of belonging, not just as a tennis player, or his sister, but as herself.

She grinned at her brother, reaching up to ruffle his hair in a rare show of sibling affection. “Te quiero mucho, hermanito,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

His smile softened, and he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Te quiero también,” he replied, wrapping her in one last quick hug. “Thank you for being here. Really.”

The moment was brief but profound, a quiet reassurance that, despite the different worlds they had each chosen, they were still connected. He glanced back toward his team, who were waving him over for post-race celebrations and interviews.

“I have to go,” he said, releasing her. “But I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” she replied, giving him a nod and a small wave as he returned to his crew. She watched him for a moment longer, feeling a sense of pride she hadn’t felt in years—one that was entirely unclouded by the complexities of the past. Then she turned and made her way back toward Franco’s garage, her heart still racing from the intense energy of the day.

When she found him, Franco was waiting near the garage entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a proud smile lighting up his face as he saw her approach.

“You did it,” he said softly, admiration in his eyes. “You finally let yourself be a part of all this.”

As she reached Franco, he turned to face her, his expression softening with a mixture of pride and relief as he took her hands in his. Her heart pounded, the intensity of the day lingering between them like a magnetic pull. She gazed up at him, her breath catching as she saw the warmth in his eyes—the genuine care and admiration there, as if he saw every part of her that she had worked so hard to keep separate.

Without a word, she stepped closer, her hand moving up to rest gently against his cheek. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching hers, as if waiting for her to close the last small gap between them. Finally, she leaned up, closing her eyes as her lips met his in a slow, lingering kiss.

The world around them seemed to dissolve, the roar of the crowd and bustle of the paddock fading as the kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch both steady and tender. She felt the warmth of him seep into her, grounding her in the moment, and she responded instinctively, fingers threading through his hair as he held her tighter. There was a gentleness in his touch, but an undeniable passion too, a desire that built slowly between them.

Time slipped away as they shared this unguarded moment, the boundaries she had set for herself crumbling with every heartbeat. She could feel the strength in his arms, the quiet reassurance he offered, and a warmth that sparked through her, as if he was silently promising that he would be there, no matter what.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing a little harder, their foreheads touching as they lingered close, unwilling to step away. Franco’s thumb traced a gentle line along her jaw as he looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with an affection so deep that it nearly overwhelmed her. “I needed that push,” she murmured against his lips.

His arms came around her, but he laughed as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Come on,” he said with a teasing glint, “the cameras have probably caught enough kissing for one day.”

She chuckled, letting him lead her back toward the quiet of his garage, away from the noise and eyes of the crowd. For the first time, she felt an undeniable sense of belonging—not just to the world she had worked so hard to create for herself, but to this moment, with him, with her family. She’d finally allowed herself to be part of it all, and it felt right in a way she hadn’t expected.

the end.

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … SHARPEST TOOL ♡

track five of the short n’sweet series. pairing: babydaddy!rafe x reader. based loosely on the song sharpest tool by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

it’s not like you expected a marriage proposal or anything.

rafe was going to be rafe, you knew that— it was the whole reason he was your babydaddy and not your husband or even boyfriend. the cameron man was bright where it counted but not even nearly emotionally equipped enough to handle the trials and tribulations of an adult relationship paired with a baby. he got the baby on fridays and tuesdays. that was the agreement.

but that didn’t mean you didn’t see him inbetween.

“mmh, fuck— s’mine isn’t it? huh? c’mon—” rafe cups your chin, encouraging you to speak words that were incoherent whines as he drives his cock repeatedly through your gummy walls.

“yours, still yours rafey.”

god, you’d think the two of you were still together. it was sex talk, nothing more nothing less — you assumed anyway. unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances in your love life, and the fact you were somewhat soul tied to the cameron boy, you meant every word. there was no way he felt the same, merely doing you a favour even — due to your raging hormones post pregnancy recovery that were adjacent to a teenage boys. he was helping you out.

“this pussy is — goddamn, still as good as the first time i fucked it.” he groans into your neck because you know he’s close.

you roll your hips, forever trying to please him.

as aforementioned, it’s not like you expected him to suddenly come forward with a proposal after he’d finished into the condom. he drops a kiss to your temple like always, cleans himself off in the bathroom, awkwardly stands in your door making small talk, and occasionally decides that then is the time to drop your wad of allowance money that he gives you for raising his kid. you told him to stop putting money on your dresser after sex because it made you feel like a ‘paid service’. he rolled his eyes.

the problem didn’t lie with how rafe treat you within the four walls of your bedroom. rafe was going to be rafe, and that was that. it was how he’d behave upon seeing you in public. you’d think the two of you were merely strangers. if you were to stroll through the country club where you rightfully belong just as much as him, he’d turn his back, look away. like he’d forgotten everything.

at this point, you couldn’t tell if he was nonchalant or just plain stupid. you couldn’t keep chasing the feeling of the rare little nod of acknowledgement he’d send your way when you’d accidentally lock eyes. he wasn’t ashamed of the situation, no — you’d seen him proudly walk around the club with his little girl in his arms, letting everyone surround them, fawn over them. it was you that got left behind.

you’d decided enough was enough, coming to the conclusion you’d ignore him right back. it was approaching the weekend, and you knew you’d have to see him — so you prepared yourself to be strong. resilient. play him at his own game. you were simply there to drop off the baby and go home.

rafe comes and stands by you at the country club bar on a thursday evening.

“usual time tomorrow?” he nudges you gently with his arm, and you were shocked he was even speaking to you. not allowing the shock to cause you to jump straight into friendly conversation, you stare ahead.

“yep.”

“alright…yeah, yeah…” he nods, itching his cheek, eyes glancing back over to you. “i assume you uh, you’re gonna want something to help get you right huh? nothing some dick can’t fix…” you can hear the smirk on his voice and you exhale shakily, not wanting to react in the usual pavlovian way with your panties practically dropping.

so you say nothing. you stare ahead.

the bartender brings his beer, and yet he stays, staring at your profile. “a’ight… fucks a’matter with you?”

“you clearly don’t care, you can skip the formalities.” you find yourself spitting out before you can help yourself. he stares for another moment before he scoffs.

“the fucks your problem, little miss attitude?” he drawls, blinking in irritation but your order comes and you take it and walk away. he doesn’t chase you, of course not.

you drop the baby off the next day, and he tries his luck again, welcoming you inside wearing grey sweats. “c’mon.” he croons quietly, nodding his head inside after you’d got the sleeping baby situated and you stand up straight, look him in the eye, and smile.

“so you can treat me like i’m not a person afterwards? i think i’ll pass.” you turn your daughter, blowing her a kiss. “bye baby, mommy will see you tomorrow.” rafe stares after you, watching you go.

to answer your previous pondering, it turned out rafe was more stupid than he was nonchalant. truth be told, he hadn’t realised he’d been acting all that much differently. you were co-parenting, not a couple — so he figured his time at the country club was his time and yours was yours. he didn’t wanna bother you a whole bunch and put you off visiting.

but the dots were starting to connect, and rafe remembered that women do infact need more emotional stimulation to live happily beside you — and he’d be damned if he weren’t to look after the mother of his child properly. if that’s what you needed, he’d be happy to play ball.

the two of you don’t say much to eachother when you pick the baby up the next day, yet when monday rolls around, and you step into the country club with three of your friends to discuss an upcoming event — rafe cameron doesn’t waste any time.

he cuts topper off mid conversation, holding up a dismissive hand as soon as his eyes meet you and he begins to swagger over to you in his usual aggressive and demanding manner. you think he’s about to give you an earful infront of your friends so you stop nervously, brow creasing. however, when he reaches you — he grips you and brings his lips to yours, cutting off any potential confused greeting on your tongue with a kiss.

“gonna stop pouting about this whole thing now? huh?” he raises his eyebrows and you blink up at him, turning to your friends and shooing them to their table. turning back, you eye him.

“why did you—”

“you think i don’t care about you, that’s it right? like — like i don’t supply your ass with endless money, threaten any asshole that tries to make a move on you, defend you like my god damn life depends on it, fuck you when you need it? hm? nah, nah you really think—”

“wait, who do you threaten?”

“thats— ahh… thats not important, alright?” he scratches his temple, buzzcut bristling against his blunt fingernails as he quickly wets his lips with his tongue. “i didn’t know i was fucking up. okay?” his drags out his version of an apology and you feel the tiniest smile creeping up on you. it was pathetic, really.

“i just didn’t want you to be ashamed of me.” you sigh, looking down and he’s lightly gripping your chin immediately so you looked up at him when he spoke. old habits die hard.

“i’m not. you think i’d put a baby in someone i was ashamed of? that shits for the pogues.”

“rafe.”

“look,” he pulls his sunglasses on over his eyes and wraps an arm around you, the two of you now looking out over the club. the eyes of his friends and yours are quickly averted, having being watching the entire interaction. “i don’t know what more you want, okay i’m— i haven’t done this before. i don’t know if you’re aware but i haven’t had a kid before. this shit is my first fuckin’ rodeo too.” he turns to look down at you through the dark frames, a serious and promising look on his face. “but whatever i need to do… to keep that little attitude at bay, i’ll make shit happen. yeah? even if i gotta fuck you infront’a the whole club.”

he might not have been the sharpest tool, but he knew what you wanted to hear.

[thinkinonsense]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO✿

old!logan howlett x young fem!reader

cw: pure fluff, sad lonely old man, brief mention of possible sa, soft logan

wc: 500+

a/n: this is part two to my 'work song' one-shot. thinkin' about making a hozier mini-series for old logan. if anyone is interested...

part one here

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

Your old apartment building was close to the club downtown where Logan would drop customers off every weekend. Some nights on your walk home from work, you would pass him in the parking lot where he sat alone with a lit cigar in his mouth and waited until he needed to take people back home.

The handsome stranger always managed to catch your eye but the two of you never spoke; till the night in the alley.

It was later than usual, almost three am when a group of men approached you. They called after you, harassing you until they caged you in against the brick wall of the club. You couldn't even hear your cries for help over the loud music. When one of the men placed his hand on your hip, the sound of metal rang in your ears, and blood splattered across your upper body and abdomen.

The blood belonged to the man who touched you. His friends scattered and that's when you saw Logan standing there. His claws hid back into his hands as you ran into his arms.

"Are you alright?" He bent down to ask.

"Y-Yes, Thank you." Your voice trembled as you cried into his suit. Believe it or not, you had seen crazier things than a man with claws.

Logan was confused by your kindness. He has just killed a man in front of you; both of you are still covered in blood. You didn't even ask where he came from or how he knew you were in trouble. None of that mattered though, when you offered him into your apartment to clean him up.

"I um, I shouldn't" Logan hesitated in your doorway.

"Please, allow me to help." You begged with pouty lips and wide eyes that he couldn't say no. He waited on your couch while you grabbed a wet towel and bandages.

"You first." He said, taking the rag from your hands.

You nod then give him room to run the towel down your neck and collarbones. His huge hand lifts the bottom of your shirt to get the blood underneath. All you could do was watch him take care of you.

When he finished, you sat closer to him than he expected. The scars around his knuckles weren't pretty but you took your time cleaning off any dried blood, kissing each knuckle softly before wrapping them up.

"You're good at this," Logan muttered.

"My mother was a nurse." You smile at him.

Logan already thought you were beautiful but now he stared at you like you had just hung the moon with your own two hands.

You spoke the same secret language to each other, and neither of you questioned how he managed to pull you from the earth. Logan thought you deserved a real explanation though.

"I heard you behind the-"

"Shh..." You cut him off. "Doesn't matter."

In the close proximity, he could see the longing in your eyes and before he could stop himself, he leaned forward to kiss you. It was quick and innocent, more of a thank you Logan thought; but the second you tasted him, you couldn't stop.

He knew not to get attached. After tomorrow, you wouldn't want some old pathetic man like him. Logan had to savor this moment though.

"Stay." You whispered.

"I appreciate everything but I should get-"

"Please, I want you to stay."

And so he did.

The two of you lay on the couch and talked for hours. Logan kept telling himself that when you fell asleep, he would quietly leave. That was before you crawled on top of him and decided to rest there for the evening. You felt safe here with Logan. He looked down at you as you slept on top of him then down at his bandaged hands. For the first time in a long time, he felt cared for.

[maxlarens]

OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)

word count: 2.7k+

an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]

You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.

The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.

You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)

It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.

So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”

The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.

You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.

Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”

He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”

You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.

“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.

“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”

You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”

You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.

Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.

Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.

It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.

But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.

You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.

“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”

“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”

You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”

Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”

You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”

“Definitely.”

The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.

“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.

You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”

“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”

“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”

“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.

The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”

Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.

He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.

“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”

He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”

“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”

A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).

He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”

“Okay. Apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”

You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.

“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”

He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”

He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.

Then he stalks off into the throng of people.

You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.

“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”

Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”

“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”

Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”

He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.

“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”

You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”

You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.

You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”

🏎️ title taken from this song :)

[23victoria]

Jealousy, Jealousy

f1 grid x fem!reader

wc: 2.1k

warnings: just the guys being jealous, a lil uncomfortable situations ig,

authors note: sorry i took so long with this anon 🥹🤍! also sorry if this is bad for some reason i was struggling 😓 also ignore any typos any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!! if you wanna join my taglist, click HERE!

f1 masterlist

Lewis

You were at a quaint bookstore in London, browsing through the latest bestsellers. Lewis was busy with a media event, so you decided to take some time to yourself. While searching the shelves, a charming young man approached you, striking up a conversation about the book you were holding.

"So, are you a Ana Huang fan?" he asked, flashing a friendly smile.

You smiled back, appreciating the casual conversation. "Yes, I love her Twisted series! Currently reading book 2."

"That's one of the best books!" he said, inching closer. "I can definitely recommend some more books similar to hers! Maybe if I could get-"

Unbeknownst to you, Lewis had wrapped up his event early and decided to surprise you. He walked into the bookstore just as you were chatting with the stranger. He immediately noticed the man's enthusiastic gestures and your engaged expression. His protective instincts kicked in.

He approached with a confident stride, sliding an arm around your waist. "Hey, babe. Who's your friend?" Lewis's tone was polite, but his eyes were intense.

"Oh, Lewis! This is Tom, we were just talking about The Twisted Series!" you said, trying to ease the tension.

Tom extended his hand, but Lewis's grip on your waist tightened slightly. "Nice to meet you, Tom. I'm Lewis."

Tom picked up on the vibe and quickly made his exit. "Nice to meet you too. I'll let you two enjoy your day."

As Tom walked away, you turned to Lewis, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?"

Lewis chuckled, relaxing his hold. "Maybe a little. Can you blame me? He was cleary interested."

You kissed his cheek, reassured by his protectiveness. "You’re cute when you get like this, you know you're the only one for me."

Max 

You were at a trendy bar in Monaco with some friends, celebrating your  movie premiere. Max was racing that weekend, so you hadn't expected to see him. While chatting at the bar, a guy approached you, complimenting your dress.

"That dress looks amazing on you," he said smoothly.

"Thanks," you replied, smiling politely.

Max, who had finished his practice session early, decided to surprise you. He walked into the bar and immediately spotted you talking to the stranger. His mood darkened as he saw the guy leaning in closer to you.

Max wasted no time, walking straight over and placing a possessive hand on your lower back. "Hey, schatje. Who's this?"

You turned, surprised and delighted to see him. "Max! This is Jason. He just complimented me on my dress."

Jason, sensing the tension, took a step back. "Nice to meet you, Max. You look beautiful Y/N, nice talking to you."

Max nodded curtly, watching Jason leave before turning his attention back to you. "What was that about?"

"Just a compliment," you said, smiling. "Why are you jealous?"

Max pulled you into a deep kiss, making sure everyone in the bar knew you were his. "No."

You laughed, hugging him tightly. "Yes you are, but it’s okay, I like when you get jealous. Besides you're the only one I want, Maxie."

Charles 

You were at the university library, studying for an upcoming exam. Charles was away for a race, so you decided to focus on your studies. A fellow classmate approached you, asking if he could join you at your table.

"Sure," you said, moving your books to make space.

The two of you started discussing your coursework, but the conversation soon shifted to more personal topics. Just as the guy was about to ask you out for coffee, Charles walked in. He had flown back earlier than expected to surprise you.

He saw you laughing with the guy and felt a pang of jealousy. Charles walked over, his presence commanding immediate attention. "Hey, love. Mind if I join you?"

You looked up, surprised and thrilled. "Charles! Of course, sit down. This is Peter, we were just studying."

Peter quickly excused himself, sensing the unspoken tension. "I'll see you around, Y/N."

As Peter left, Charles took his seat beside you, his arm draped protectively over your shoulders. "Who was that?"

"Just a classmate," you said, amused by his reaction. "Jealous much?"

Charles sighed, pulling you closer. "Maybe. But I have every right to be, I mean look at you, you're gorgeous. Any person with common sense would want you."

You kissed his cheek, whispering, "You're adorable, Char! You never have to worry about that. Trust me, you're the only one I want."

Oscar 

You were at a cozy café in Melbourne, waiting for your boyfriend. He had a busy schedule, but you managed to find time for a quick coffee date. While waiting, a guy at the next table struck up a conversation.

"Do you come here often?" he asked, clearly interested.

"Not really, just waiting for someone," you replied, hoping he would take the hint. 

He leaned in a bit closer, a confident smile on his face. "Well, maybe while you wait, we could get to know each other better."

Oscar walked in at that moment, his eyes narrowing as he saw the guy leaning in closer to you as he spoke. He walked over, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Hey, baby. Ready to go?"

The guy quickly backed off, realizing he was intruding. "Oh, I'll leave you two to it," he said, standing up and walking away.

Oscar watched him go before turning to you. "Who was that?"

"I don’t know, just some random guy," you said, smiling up at him. "You feeling okay? You look a little red?"

Oscar shakes his head, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Looking at him you say, “You sure it’s not because you got a little jealous?”

Oscar chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Maybe a little. I just can't stand the thought of anyone else getting your attention."

You hugged him tightly, giving him a short kiss. "You just have to get used to having a very attractive girlfriend baby."

“I guess I do.” he says cheekily wrapping his arm around your waist as you guys walk out. 

Carlos 

You were in the pit lane, watching the preparations for the upcoming race. Carlos was busy with the team, so you decided to explore the area. A fellow fan, noticing your VIP pass, struck up a conversation.

"Are you here for the race?" he asked, clearly impressed by your pass.

"Yes, I'm here with my boyfriend," you replied, trying to be polite but distant.

"That's great," he said, undeterred by the mention of your boyfriend. "Is this your first time attending, or are you a regular?"

"Regular." you responded, hoping the conversation would end soon.

"Oh, so your boyfriend's rich, huh?" he remarked with a smirk.

"Uh, sure…yeah," you replied, taken aback and uncomfortable with his comment.

Carlos, having finished his briefing, spotted you talking to the guy. His protective instincts flared up as he saw him getting a bit too friendly.

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, cariño. Everything okay?"

The guy quickly stepped back, realizing who Carlos was. "Oh, hey, big fan. Just talking about the race."

Carlos nodded curtly, his grip on your waist firm. "Enjoy the race."

As the fan walked away, you turned to Carlos, smiling. "Thanks for the save."

"No problem," he replied, his expression softening.

"You know, I love how protective you are," you said, leaning into him. "And maybe when you get jealous just a little. It's cute."

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Lets go get some food, cariño."

Lando 

You were at a gaming convention, enjoying the various booths and activities. Lando was busy with a panel discussion, so you decided to explore. A fellow gamer struck up a conversation, discussing the latest games.

"Have you tried the new VR game?" he asked, clearly excited.

"Not yet, but it looks amazing," you replied, sharing his enthusiasm.

"Yeah, it's fantastic," he said, his eyes lighting up. "I wouldn't mind showing a beautiful girl like you how to use it sometime. It'd be fun."

Lando, having finished his panel, spotted you chatting with the gamer. Jealousy panned over him as he saw the guy flirting with you. 

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey baby! What are we talking about?"

The gamer quickly felt the energy shift. "Just talking about the new VR game."

Lando nodded, his grip on your waist firm. "Cool."

As the gamer walked away, you turned to Lando, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

Lando sighed, pulling you closer. "What?! It’s not my fault he was interested in my girlfriend."

You smiled, kissing his cheek. "Key word in that sentence is “my girlfriend”."

Sebastian 

You were attending a charity event, mingling with various guests. Sebastian was busy with the organizers, so you decided to socialize. A charming gentleman approached you, engaging you in a lively conversation about the event.

"It's great to see so many people supporting this cause," he said, smiling.

"Absolutely," you replied, enjoying the conversation.

He leaned in a little closer, his tone becoming more personal. "Especially when someone as beautiful as you is here."

You smile nervously, not expecting his direct approach. "Oh, thank you," you responded, trying to look around and grab Seb’s attention.

Sebastian, having finished his duties, spotted you talking to the guy, looking around. He saw the man getting too friendly and walked over to you.

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, honey. Would you like a drink? Oh! Who's this?"

The gentleman quickly realized he was intruding. "Just talking about the event."

Sebastian nodded, his grip on your waist firm. "Enjoy the evening then."

As the man walked away, you turned to Sebastian, raising an eyebrow. "I love when you get protective, it’s hot, the jealousy too."

Sebastian smirked, pulling you closer. "Jealous? Me?! Don’t know what you’re talking about."

You smiled, kissing his cheek. "Mhmm, yea, yea. Let’s get my drink."

Jenson 

You were attending an award ceremony, mingling with various celebrities. Jenson was busy with interviews, so you decided to socialize. A charming actor approached you, engaging you in a lively conversation about the a.

"It's great to see so many talented people here," he said, smiling.

"Agreed," you replied, engaging in the conversation."All nominees this year were very talented and impressive."

He nodded thoughtfully, then leaned in a little closer, his gaze lingering on you. "Speaking of impressive, I couldn't help but notice how stunning you look tonight."

You chuckled softly, flattered but unsure how to respond. "Thank you, that's very kind of you."

He grinned charmingly. "So, are you here with anyone special tonight?"

Jenson spotted you talking to the guy. And started to walk towards you. 

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, baby. Who's this?"

The actor quickly realized you were taken. "Just talking about the event."

Jenson nodded, his grip on your waist firm. "Yea, it’s a nice thing."

As the man walked away, you turned to Jenson, raising an eyebrow. "Nice thing?"

Jenson sighed, pulling you closer so he can squeezing your waist. "Didn’t know what to say without being rude so that's what came to my mind."

You smiled and kissed him gently. "Let’s go check out the catering at this 'nice thing'."

Daniel

You were exploring a quaint art gallery in Paris, enjoying the serene atmosphere and the beauty of the artwork on display. Daniel had left his phone in the car, leaving you to appreciate the art alone. As you admired a painting, a friendly gallery assistant approached, eager to discuss the artist's work.

"This piece here is quite exceptional," he said, gesturing towards a vivid abstract painting. "It really captures the essence of movement and emotion."

"It truly does," you replied, appreciating his enthusiasm. "The color blending and stippling is beautiful."

He smiled warmly. "You have a keen eye for art. Beautiful art for a beautiful girl."

"Oh, thank you," you said, trying to show no interest.

Daniel walked into the gallery, He approached, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, baby. Finding any new favorites?"

The gallery assistant reacted quickly to Daniel's presence and backed away. "Just discussing the beautiful artwork," he explained.

Daniel nodded casually. "Thanks for your insights, but we're good here."

As the gallery assistant politely excused himself, you turned to Daniel with a playful smirk. "Oh, someoness jealouss?"

Daniel chuckled softly, pulling you closer. "No, no. Protective, yes. Jealous, could never be me."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Mhm hm, if you say so."

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[hoshifighting]

Stripper! Reader x Business Man! Lee Chan

— Synopsis: Workaholic Lee Chan's Friday night takes an unexpected turn when he joins friends at a strip club, only to find himself captivated by you, a dancer he can't seem to stay away from. Despite his reservations, Chan finds himself drawn to your company, booking time with you night after night. — WC: 8.8k — WARNINGS: Strangers to lovers, smut, mentions of alcohol, strip clubs, money throwing, booking, fluff, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), riding, g'spot stimulation, clit stimulation, male sensitivity.

Lee Chan held the weight of being the CEO of the imperium that his dad left at a very young age. Frat parties, hanging out, late-night talks? Nah, not for him. He had to take care of the company and honor the inheritance that fell into his lap. His co-workers could remember very well the times that Chan walked around and around his office, shoulders tense as if he carried the world on them.

His days started early and ended late, filled with back-to-back meetings, strategy sessions, and endless paperwork. The once carefree and spirited young man had transformed into a focused and driven leader, his every move calculated to ensure the success and stability of the company.

Chan's office was a testament to his dedication—shelves lined with business books, awards, and framed photos of his father, a constant reminder of the legacy he was determined to uphold. The large windows offered a panoramic view of the city skyline, but Chan rarely had time to enjoy it. He was always too engrossed in his work, too preoccupied with the responsibilities that consumed his every waking moment.

Even though his life felt like being stuck in traffic on a rainy day, Chan couldn't deny that he loved the results of his hard work. He looked at the luxurious cars parked in his garage—sleek, powerful machines that represented the pinnacle of automotive engineering. 

His closet was a veritable treasure trove of sartorial excellence. Different types of watches, ties, suits, and shoes from every high-end brand imaginable filled the space, each piece carefully chosen to reflect his impeccable taste and status. The feel of finely crafted leather shoes, the weight of a bespoke suit on his shoulders, the precision of an intricate timepiece on his wrist—all these were constant reminders of what he had achieved.

Chan's wealth allowed him to indulge in the kind of extravagances most people could only dream of. He could spend an exaggerated amount of money in a matter of seconds on something completely futile, like a super shaver with a gold coating—exotic and utterly unnecessary.

The week was ending, and Chan listened to the fuss inside his friend group about hanging out this Friday. Jeonghan, seeing his colleagues leaving their desks, noticed Chan still at his desk, tapping his fingers on the glass table. With his bag slung over his shoulder, Jeonghan approached him.

"I know it's a stupid question, but will you come with us?" he asked. Chan was usually seen only at corporate events. Jeonghan couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed a beer with his friend.

Chan looked up, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. He opened his mouth to respond, the automatic refusal ready on his tongue, but something made him pause. He glanced around the office, now emptying out as people headed off to start their weekends. The thought of another solitary night of work made him feel a twinge of longing for something different.

"Come on, man," Jeonghan urged, sensing the hesitation. "Just one night. It’ll be fun. You need a break."

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew Jeonghan was right. The constant grind was wearing him down, and maybe, just maybe, a night out with friends was exactly what he needed.

"Alright," Chan finally said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'll come."

Jeonghan's eyes widened in surprise. "Seriously?"

Chan nodded, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "Yeah, let's do it."

Jeonghan grinned, clapping him on the back. "That's the spirit! You won't regret it."

Before they left the building, Chan paused and asked, "Jeonghan?"

"Yes?" Jeonghan answered, turning to face him.

"Where are we going?" Chan inquired, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Jeonghan just smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You'll see," he said, leaving Chan to wonder what the night had in store for him.

[...]

"A strip club? You must be kidding me!" Chan exclaimed as he took in the sight of the half-dark establishment. Neon lights flickered and danced around the room, casting colorful glows on the walls. Music blasted from speakers, filling the air with a pulsating beat.

He could see several women with different curves, colors, and hairstyles, dressed in scanty outfits—or sometimes nothing at all. The atmosphere was electric, a stark contrast to the corporate environment he was used to.

Jeonghan laughed, clapping Chan on the back. "Come on, man, loosen up! It's just for fun."

Chan hesitated, his eyes darting around the room. He felt a mix of discomfort and curiosity. "I don't know, Jeonghan..."

"Relax," Jeonghan said, guiding him further inside. "We all need a break sometimes. Just enjoy the night. You deserve it."

Chan took a deep breath, deciding to go along with it. Maybe Jeonghan was right—maybe he did need this. As they found a spot to sit, Chan tried to shake off his reservations.

His friends immediately ordered bottles and bottles of soju, beer, whiskey—whatever the bar had. Chan downed his whiskey in a single gulp, exclaiming, "If my dad knew I was here..."

Chan's eyes widened in surprise. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Jeonghan replied, pouring more whiskey into Chan's glass. "He said every hardworking man deserves a break. Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, huh?"

Chan couldn't help but laugh at that. The thought of his father, the man he idolized for his strict work ethic, letting loose in a place like this was almost too surreal. 

As some of his friends disappeared one by one, Chan found himself alone on the couch they had booked. "Great," he muttered under his breath, feeling a twinge of discomfort at being left alone in such a place.

Just as he was about to sink further into the cushions, the little stage that he hadn't even noticed until now suddenly lit up. A tall pole stood in the middle, and Chan tilted his head in curiosity.

Then, a pair of really, really high heels appeared, and Chan's throat went dry. You emerged onto the stage, your skin shining under the purple light. The outfit you wore was scandalous, barely covering anything, and Chan couldn't help but notice the little glitters spread on your skin, catching the light as you moved.

You took hold of the pole and began to dance around it, moving with a grace and confidence that left Chan mesmerized. Your movements were fluid and controlled, every sway of your hips and arch of your back drawing him in deeper. It was as if you were performing just for him, and Chan felt like he could get lost in the rhythm of your dance forever.

As you held yourself up on the pole like a pro, Chan couldn't tear his eyes away. He felt like he was being swallowed by the couch, completely captivated by the sight before him. In that moment, nothing else mattered but you and the hypnotic spell you cast over him with your dance.

As you made eye contact with Chan, a devilish smile played on your lips. He looked like a new piece of meat, a pretty young man who had never been seen before in the club. You got down from the stage, the sway of your hips drawing all eyes to you as you walked towards him.

"First time here, sweetie?" you asked, laying your hands on his shoulders. Chan felt like he couldn't breathe with the view of your tits practically in his face.

"My eyes are up here," you said, chuckling as you caught him ogling your chest.

Chan blinked, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, tearing his gaze away from your cleavage. "First time."

You chuckled, running a hand through your hair as you leaned in closer. "Well, lucky for you, you've got me to show you the ropes," you said, your voice low and sultry.

"You're tense," you observe, noticing the stiffness in Chan's shoulders. Without waiting for a response, you step behind him and begin to massage his shoulders, your fingers working their magic as you knead the tension away.

Chan lets out a sigh of relief, his muscles melting under your skilled touch. "Yeah," he admits, his voice soft. "Work's been... stressful lately."

You nod in understanding, continuing to work out the knots in his shoulders. "I get it," you say, your voice soothing. "But you're here now, and tonight is all about letting go of that stress and just enjoying yourself."

Chan leans back into your touch, closing his eyes as he relaxes into the sensation. "I guess you're right," he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You smile too, glad to see him starting to unwind. "That's better," you say, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his skin. "Just focus on the here and now. Forget about everything else for a while."

Chan nods.

You walk around Chan again, swaying your hips seductively in front of him. His mind races, unsure of what to do next, but before he can even think, you're sitting on his lap, circling your hips against his.

Chan smiles shyly, feeling the heat from your body as you move against him. He can't help but notice the money tucked into the sides of your little shorts, a reminder of where he is and what's expected of him.

It's exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once, but there's something undeniably thrilling about having you so close, your body pressed against his.

As you continue to dance, Chan's hands hover uncertainly over your hips, unsure of where to touch or how to respond. He feels a flush of embarrassment at his own inexperience, but he's determined not to let it show. Instead, he focuses on the way your body moves against his.

And you smile knowingly, sensing his hesitation, and guide his hands to your waist, encouraging him.

Chan's hands move from your waist to your hips and then down to your thigh, his fingers grazing the soft skin as he explores the contours of your body. His pulse quickens as he feels the warmth of your thigh pressed against his pocket, and he can't resist the urge to reach into his wallet and retrieve a pouch of money.

With a mischievous grin, Chan brings his hand to the top of your head, letting the notes rain down on you like confetti. You laugh, delighted by the unexpected gesture, and give him a big smile.

"What's your name?" you ask, your voice playful.

"Chan," he replies, feeling a surge of confidence.

You lick your lips, your gaze lingering on his. "Nice to meet you, Channie," you purr, the nickname, and Chan blushes. 

[...]

The next Monday, Chan sat at his desk, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. His mind raced with a million thoughts, his thoughts still consumed by the events of that night. He was lost in his own thoughts, replaying every moment, every touch, every glance.

A knock on his door startled him out of his trance, and he quickly tried to compose himself, pretending to be engrossed in some papers spread out on his desk.

"Come in," Chan called, his voice slightly shaky.

The door opened, and Jeonghan stepped inside, giving Chan a knowing smile. "Hey there, sleepyhead," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Chan felt a flush of embarrassment heat his cheeks. "Oh, hey Jeonghan," he replied, trying to sound casual.

Jeonghan chuckled, walking over to Chan's desk and leaning against it casually. "So, how was your night?" he asked, his tone laced with amusement.

Chan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a suitable response. "Um, it was... interesting," he finally managed, his voice trailing off uncertainly.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Interesting, huh?" he said, his tone teasing. "Well, if you ever need any pointers on how to navigate the world of strip clubs, you know who to ask."

Chan's cheeks burned even hotter, and he couldn't help but laugh at Jeonghan's playful teasing. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass," he said, relieved to have the topic of conversation shifted away from his night of unexpected adventure.

Chan spent the entire weekend consumed by thoughts of you, unable to shake the memories of your encounter at the club. As Monday rolled around, he found himself itching to see you again, the usual routine of work feeling dull and uninspired.

Deciding that today was not the day for extra hours at the office, Chan made his way to the club, a sense of anticipation building in his chest. He arrived at the club, his eyes scanning the room eagerly in search of you.

As he looked around, a receptionist approached him, sensing his lost expression. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice polite and friendly.

Chan nodded, grateful for the assistance. "Yes, I'm looking for a girl with hair like this," he said, mimicking the length and curl of your hair with his hands.

The receptionist's eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah, you must be looking for Y/N," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "Follow me, I'll take you to her."

There you were, dancing around the pole with a big smile on your face, as if you were truly enjoying every second of it. Chan watched from the corner of the room, his arms crossed and a big smile on his face as he observed you.

The club was crowded, with many people gathered around you, admiring your performance. Chan felt a pang of jealousy as he watched others vying for your attention, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from you.

As the night wore on and people began to leave, Chan noticed you finally catching sight of him. Your eyes met his, and you gave him a playful wink, rolling your hips as you glanced at him over your shoulder.

Chan's heart skipped a beat at your playful gesture, and he couldn't help but grin back at you. Despite the crowd around you, it felt like you were dancing just for him, and in that moment, Chan felt a surge of warmth and connection unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

As you took a break from dancing, you bent down to pick up some notes from the stage floor. Before you could gather them all, Chan approached, leaning on the stage with a playful grin.

"Leave it on the ground," he said, extending a big wad of money towards you. "Take it."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I didn't even have time for you today," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Did I ask?" Chan replied, his smile widening. "Take it."

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful response, taking the money from his hand. "You liked me that much, huh?" you asked, knowing full well the answer. You were well aware of the power you held.

"Hmm, I think I need to see more," Chan teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You giggled, enjoying the banter between you. "Well, if you want me all to yourself, you'll have to book," you replied with a playful wink.

Chan's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "Can I book all of your agenda?" he asked eagerly.

You stood up, giving him a coy smile. "Don't be greedy, Channie," you teased, enjoying the way he looked at you with eager anticipation.

You glanced down at the wad of money in your hand, barely able to fit into your shorts, and then looked back up at Chan with a playful smile.

"Well, I think I can spare some time for you," you said, glancing over at the clock on the wall. "But just a little while."

Chan's face lit up with excitement as he nodded eagerly. "That's all I need," he replied, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

[...]

As Chan began appearing almost every day, he became a familiar face at the club, a quiet yet eager client of yours. The receptionist would often give you a knowing look, silently conveying that Chan had arrived and had booked time with you once again.

Of course, there were other loyal clients who frequented the club, but none seemed to hold the same level of fascination for you as Chan did. There was a certain shine in his eyes whenever he entered the club, a distinct aura of anticipation and eagerness that set him apart from the other customers.

You couldn't help but wonder why you had let him know about the option to book time with you. Perhaps it was the way he looked at you with such genuine interest and excitement, or maybe it was the thrill of having someone so captivated by your presence. Whatever the reason, you found yourself looking forward to his visits, eager to see where each encounter would lead.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of surprise when Chan didn't show up for his usual visit. It was as if a small piece of the excitement and anticipation that had become a part of your routine was suddenly missing. Without even realizing it, you found yourself scanning the crowd, searching for his familiar face.

Then, just as you were starting to wonder where he was, you spotted him entering the club. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched him make his way to his special seat, right in front of you. His genuine smile lit up his face, and you couldn't help but smile back, the warmth of his presence washing over you like a wave.

With renewed energy and enthusiasm, you danced with even more passion and heart than before. You knew that Chan was watching, appreciating every move, every moment. 

Over the following weeks, Chan's visits became a cherished routine. Each time he arrived, you could sense the anticipation in his eyes, the unspoken hope that maybe tonight would be different.

One evening, as you were finishing your performance and making your way to his table, he finally mustered the courage to ask. "Hey, would you like to grab a drink with me sometime? Outside of here, I mean," he said, his voice full of genuine warmth and a hint of nervousness.

You smiled softly, appreciating his boldness but knowing you had to set boundaries. "I'm flattered, Chan, but I don't hang out with customers outside of work," you replied, your tone gentle yet firm.

A few nights later, he tried again, this time with a different approach. "There's this amazing new restaurant that just opened up downtown. I'd love to take you there," he offered, his eyes hopeful.

You shook your head slightly, maintaining your friendly demeanor. "I appreciate the invite, but I have a policy about not mixing my work life with my personal life," you explained, hoping he would understand.

Undeterred, Chan continued to ask, each time finding new ways to express his interest. "There's a gallery opening this weekend. I thought it might be fun to check it out together," he suggested one night, his enthusiasm palpable.

Once again, you gently declined. "That sounds lovely, but I really can't. I have to keep things professional with my clients," you said, feeling a pang of regret at having to turn him down yet again.

Each time he asked, you could see the slight disappointment in his eyes, but he always respected your boundaries. And despite your refusals, he never stopped coming back, never stopped watching you with that same genuine admiration and respect.

Tonight, you made sure every detail was perfect. Your hair cascaded in flawless waves, and you wore your best outfit, accentuating every curve just right. You were eager to dance for Chan, feeling a flutter of excitement as you anticipated his arrival. Sure enough, Chan appeared, booking the rest of the night with you as he had been doing lately.

When he approached, you greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, a small gesture that had become part of your interactions. "Hey, Channie," you said with a playful smile. "So, what’s it gonna be tonight? Shorts or no shorts?"

Chan smiled warmly, a bit of that usual nervous energy in his eyes. "Actually," he began, his tone softer than usual, "I just want to talk tonight. I want to spend time with you."

You blinked, taken aback. No customer had ever asked for just your company before. "You... you just want to talk?" you repeated, making sure you heard him right.

He nodded, a sincere expression on his face. "Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love watching you dance. But tonight, I just want to get to know you better. You know, beyond all this," he gestured vaguely around the club.

Still processing his request, you motioned to the couch. "Alright, let's sit then." You both settled onto the plush seats, the atmosphere suddenly feeling more intimate and less transactional.

"So, what do you want to know?" you asked, trying to mask your nervousness with a casual tone.

Chan leaned forward slightly, his eyes earnest. "Everything. What's your favorite color? What's your dream vacation? What do you do when you're not here?" He paused, then added with a chuckle, "I know it sounds silly, but I really want to know the real you."

You smiled, touched by his genuine curiosity. "Well, my favorite color is …" you began, feeling a bit shy. "As for a dream vacation, I've always wanted to visit Santorini. The pictures look so beautiful, like a place out of a fairytale."

Chan listened intently, his focus unwavering. "Santorini sounds amazing. I can picture you there."

You chuckled, the image of you in Santorini bringing a warm feeling to your chest. "And when I'm not here, I love to paint. It's my way of unwinding, letting my creativity flow."

His eyes lit up. "Painting? That's incredible. What kind of things do you paint?"

You shrugged lightly, feeling more comfortable as the conversation flowed. "Mostly landscapes and abstract pieces. It's like putting a piece of my soul onto the canvas."

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence, both of you absorbing the depth of the conversation. Chan finally broke it, his voice soft. "You know, I've always admired how dedicated you are to what you do, I know it's now easy at all. But hearing about your passions and dreams, it makes me admire you even more."

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you found yourself opening up more than you had with anyone in a long time. "Thank you, Chan. It means a lot to hear that."

He reached out, gently squeezing your hand. "Thank you for sharing with me. I know this isn’t what you usually do, but it means a lot to me."

Chan observed the small figurine on the table, curiosity lighting up his eyes. “Where do you get these?” he asked, leaning closer to get a better look.

You smiled, a bit shyly. “I make them myself,” you said, enjoying the surprise that flickered across his face.

“Really? That’s amazing,” he praised, his admiration evident. You shrugged modestly.

“It’s not that hard,” you replied, still smiling. “They’re always small.”

Chan chuckled, a warm sound that made you feel even more at ease. He started to remove his blazer, and before you knew it, he placed it gently around your shoulders, covering a good part of you. The gesture was so kind and considerate that it made you feel even more comfortable, despite usually feeling at ease in your usual skimpy outfits.

As you nestled into the blazer, you couldn’t help but notice how much more at ease you felt. Chan’s presence was different; it wasn’t just about the physical attraction or the lavish spending. There was a gentleness, a genuine care that made you feel safe and valued.

“I don’t usually do this,” you admitted, looking at him with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Chan smiled back, his eyes soft. “It’s my pleasure. You deserve to feel comfortable.”

The conversation flowed easily as Chan began to share bits and pieces of his life. He spoke about his responsibilities as CEO, the pressure of living up to his father’s legacy, and the sacrifices he had to make. His words were carefully chosen, mindful of not coming across as boastful despite his affluent lifestyle. You could tell he was trying to be as honest as possible while downplaying the extravagance.

“And that’s pretty much my life,” Chan concluded with a slight sigh. “It’s demanding, but it’s what I have to do.”

You admired his humility, realizing how grounded he remained despite his wealth. “It sounds like a lot to handle,” you said softly, your eyes reflecting your newfound respect for him. “But you do it so well. It’s impressive.”

Chan’s expression softened, a mixture of gratitude and weariness in his eyes. “Thank you. It’s not always easy, but I try.”

“You’re more than just a pretty boy,” you teased lightly, wanting to lift the mood. “You’re a hardworking, humble man.”

He laughed, the sound filling the space between you with warmth. “And you’re not just a beautiful dancer. You’re talented and creative.”

[...]

The next morning, you were chatting with the girls—your coworkers—as they finished their hair for the night.

“And he just wanted to talk,” you said, a bit incredulously. “He even asked about my favorite color.”

The girls collectively let out a heartfelt “Awww,” their eyes wide with interest and affection.

“Seriously?” one of them, Mina, asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “That’s so sweet.”

“He seems different,” another added, giggling.

“Yeah,” you nodded, still a bit surprised yourself. “We just talked. It was...nice.”

Before the conversation could continue, the receptionist entered the room, a knowing smile on her face. “Ya! Y/N-nie! Your Channie is here,” she announced, her tone teasing.

It was unusual for any customer to visit on a Saturday morning, a time usually reserved for the staff to unwind and prepare for the week ahead. 

“It’s Saturday morning,” Mina whispered, nudging you playfully. “No customers come in unless they lost something.”

“Let him in,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual but feeling the flutter of anticipation.

As Chan walked in, he was met with a scene unlike the usual vibrant atmosphere of the club. The girls were dressed in comfortable clothes, some with bobs in their hair, others doing their nails or simply lounging around.

You were drying a glass behind the bar. He looked around, slightly surprised but smiling.

“Good morning, girls,” he greeted, his voice cheerful. "Good morning Y/N…" He says in a special and tender tone, just for you.

“Good morning,” the girls chimed back in unison, their eyes following his every move.

You put down the glass and walked over to him, a wide smile on your face. “Channie, what are you doing here?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“I wanted to see you,” he replied, his gaze soft and sincere. He seemed a bit out of place in the relaxed environment, but his presence was a welcome one. You could feel the girls watching the exchange with rapt attention, like they were watching an opera unfold.

Chan noticed that you didn’t have bobs in your hair like some of the other girls. Gesturing toward your hair, he asked, “No bobs for you today?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s my day off. I’m not dancing today.”

The girls exchanged knowing looks, some stifling giggles. One of them, Lisa, leaned over and whispered loudly enough for you to hear, “Looks like someone’s here to see you even when you’re not performing.”

You blushed, glancing at Chan, who seemed equally flustered but amused by the comment. He recovered quickly, his smile returning.

Chan stood there, his eyes filled with hope and a hint of nervousness. "Would you like to spend the day with me?" he asked, his tone gentle and inviting.

You chuckled, a playful glint in your eye. "Hmm, I've already told you about hanging out with my customers," you teased, enjoying the banter.

Before Chan could respond, Mina chimed in from the background, her voice filled with encouragement. "Oh, come on! You should accept it!"

Chan seized the opportunity, smiling wider. "You’re not on your work schedule now, are you?"

That shut your mouth, leaving you momentarily speechless. The girls burst into giggles, clearly enjoying the exchange.

“Well, when you put it that way…” you trailed off, pretending to think it over.

Chan’s smile grew, sensing victory. “So, is that a yes?”

You sighed theatrically, then grinned. “Fine, you win. I’ll spend the day with you.”

“Great!” Chan said, visibly relieved and excited. “I promise it’ll be fun.”

You nodded, your smile widening. “Let me just finish up here, and we can go.”

As you gathered your things, the girls couldn’t resist a few more teasing comments, but it was all in good fun, as Chan waited patiently.

As the day unfolded, Chan took you to places you hadn't had the time to visit in years. You sipped coffee at a cozy café, strolled through the park, and even caught a movie at the cinema. With each passing moment, you found yourself enjoying his company more and more, feeling a sense of freedom and joy you hadn't experienced in a long time.

"This has been the best day off ever," you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement as you walked side by side with Chan.

His heart swelled with happiness at your words, his smile growing wider. He could have taken you to a luxurious restaurant or shopping for designer labels, but he sensed that wasn't what you wanted. Instead, he decided to let you choose how to spend the rest of the day.

Careful to open doors for you and ensure your comfort, Chan drove you around in his luxurious car, enjoying each other's company and the simplicity of the moment. As he glanced at you from the driver's seat, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him.

"Where to next?" he asked, his voice filled with anticipation.

You playfully pretended to ponder your options, teasing him about having more surprises up his sleeve. Chan laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he drove. You noticed that you were nearing your apartment, and the idea popped into your head.

"How about we go to my place?" you suggested, surprising even yourself with the invitation.

Chan's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he quickly masked it with a smile. "Your place? Are you sure?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of excitement building in your chest. "Yeah, why not? I'd love for you to see where I live."

Chan couldn't hide his delight at your invitation, his curiosity piqued. He parked the car and walked with you to your apartment building, taking in the surroundings with interest.

Chan's eyes wandered around the apartment, taking in the details of your life that adorned the walls. He saw framed photographs capturing cherished memories – graduations, family gatherings, outings with friends. The images painted a picture of a life rich in experiences and relationships.

His gaze shifted to the plushies scattered across the couch, a playful and endearing touch that brought a smile to his face. It was clear to him that you had a warmth and sweetness that extended beyond the confines of the club where he first met you.

As you disappeared into the kitchen, Chan took a moment to soak in the atmosphere of your home. The tranquility of the space, combined with the personal touches that reflected your personality, made him feel strangely at ease.

In that moment, he realized that he was seeing a side of you that few others had the privilege of witnessing – the real you, beyond the glamorous facade of the club.

As you settled back onto the couch with snacks in hand, Chan joined you, his presence filling the space with warmth. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he began recounting his visit to the strip club earlier that day.

You listened intently, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as he shared the details of his adventure. When he mentioned Jeonghan's involvement, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards your friend for unknowingly setting this day in motion.

"Looks like I owe Jeonghan a big thank you," you said, your voice muffled as you took a bite of your snack. 

Chan raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, Jeonghan is the reason we met, huh?" he teased, leaning closer to you.

You chuckled, feeling a playful energy between you. "Looks like it," you replied, unable to suppress a smile.

Chan's teasing grin widened at your response, and he leaned in closer, his playful demeanor evident. "Oh, so you're thanking Jeonghan, but not me?" he teased, raising an eyebrow in mock indignation.

With a soft smile, you turned to Chan, gratitude evident in your eyes. "Thank you, Channie," you said, your voice sincere as you expressed your appreciation.

Chan returned your smile, his gaze warm as he listened to your words. "For what?" he asked, though he already had a feeling of what you meant.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before replying. "For everything," you began, your tone heartfelt. "For the moments we've shared, the conversations we've had... Even on the nights you booked me, we talked more than danced," you admitted, a fondness evident in your voice.

Chan's smile widened at your words, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Well, I guess I'm just a talkative guy," he joked, though there was a hint of sincerity in his tone.

Chan's touch was tender as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze lingering on your lips with a mixture of hesitation and longing. You could feel the tension building between you, an unspoken desire hanging in the air.

When he spoke your name, you couldn't help but respond with a soft sound of acknowledgment, your heart fluttering with anticipation. His next words sent a shiver down your spine, his voice barely above a whisper as he confessed his thoughts.

"I know it's not allowed to kiss the dancers in the club," he began, his words laden with a sense of urgency, "but... we're not in the club right?"

His question hung in the air, heavy with possibility. In that moment, the boundaries that had separated you in the club seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, alone in the intimacy of your shared space.

You met Chan's gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as you considered his words. Despite the rules and restrictions that governed your interactions in the club, here, in this moment, you felt a freedom that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

With a hesitant smile, you leaned in closer to him, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, "No, we're not in the club." And in that simple acknowledgment, you gave voice to the unspoken truth that had been lingering between you all along.

Chan's hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips crashed into yours. His tongue explored your mouth with a fervent passion, and you found yourself breathing hard, your fingers clutching the collar of his shirt to deepen the kiss.

The truth was, the more you refused Chan's invitations to dinner, the more you denied the gifts he insisted on giving you, the more you avoided his attempts to kiss you—his feelings for you only grew stronger. And now, seeing his insistence on simply having your company, and not just as the girl who would entertain him at night, made you feel all your girlhood feelings again.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, you looked into his eyes, your breath mingling with his. "Chan..." you whispered "Why do you keep coming back? Why do you keep trying so hard?"

He held your gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and tenderness. "Because you matter to me, Y/N. More than just a dancer, more than just a pretty face. I see you, the real you, and I want to know you better."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you felt a rush of warmth and affection for this man who saw beyond the surface. "But I'm not used to this," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not used to someone caring this much."

Chan's grip on your neck tightened slightly, a comforting reassurance. "Then let me show you how it feels. Let me show you that you deserve to be cared for, to be cherished."

"Show me," you whisper, your eyes locked on Chan's lips. He captures your mouth in a passionate kiss, his lips trailing down to your neck. His hands find the hem of your shirt, and he pulls it over your head. You pull him closer, desperate to feel him, your hands sliding under his shirt to caress his warm skin.

His hands slide to your thighs, lifting you onto his lap, your breasts now level with his face. He glances at the pretty lace bra you’re wearing and lowers the cups, exposing your nipples. He kisses each one tenderly before sucking on one and pinching the other. You melt into him, your hips grinding against his automatically, drawing a groan from deep within his chest.

"Do you know how hard it was to control myself when you grinded on my cock like this?" he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire.

A wicked smile crosses your lips as you continue to grind against him, feeling his erection growing beneath you. "I could feel it, Chan," you purr, your voice dripping with seduction. "I could feel how much you wanted me. I wanted you just as badly."

His hands tighten on your hips, guiding your movements as he presses you harder against him. "God, Y/N, you drive me crazy," he groans, his eyes darkening with lust.

You lean in, your breath hot against his ear. "I want to feel you inside me, Chan. I want you to lose control. Show me how much you want me."

His control snaps, and he flips you onto your back, his body pressing you into the couch. "You don’t know what you’re asking for," he growls, his hand sliding down to unbutton your pants.

"I know exactly what I want," you whisper back, your eyes burning with the same desire. "I want you, all of you."

Chan's lips crash into yours again, more fiercely this time, as his hands work to remove the rest of your clothing.

In a blur of movement, clothes are discarded, and his skin is pressed against yours. He pauses to look into your eyes. "Tell me you want this," he demands, his voice rough with need.

"I want you, Chan," you breathe out, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. 

Chan giggles softly, his breath hot against your skin. "Wait for me to prepare you," he whispers, his voice laced with anticipation. He opens your legs wide, his eyes dark with desire as he lowers himself between your thighs. His lips find your wet folds, kissing them gently before his tongue delves deeper.

The sensation sends shivers through your body, and you let out a soft moan. Chan's mouth works expertly, sucking on your clit while his tongue teases and explores. As you gasp his name, "Channie," he responds with a moan of his own, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

His hand slides up your thigh, and you feel the gentle pressure of his finger at your entrance. He slips it inside you slowly, his finger curling to find that perfect spot. Your back arches off the couch, your hands gripping the cushions as he continues to worship your body with his mouth and fingers.

"Oh, Chan," you breathe, your voice quivering with need. The way his tongue moves, the way his finger pumps in and out of you—it's all too much. Your hips begin to move on their own, seeking more of the intense pleasure he's giving you.

He adds another finger, stretching you gently, and your moans grow louder. His mouth never leaves your clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue in a rhythm that drives you wild. You can feel your orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

Chan's free hand comes up to hold your hip, steadying you as you writhe beneath him. He looks up at you, his eyes full of lust and admiration, and the sight of him between your legs pushes you closer to the edge.

"Channie, I’m so close," you manage to say, your voice barely a whisper.

He doubles his efforts, his fingers moving faster, his mouth more insistent on your clit. The world fades away, and all you can focus on is the overwhelming pleasure building within you.

With a final, deep moan, you come undone. Your body trembles, your muscles clench around his fingers, and a powerful wave of ecstasy crashes over you. Chan doesn't stop, drawing out your orgasm until you're completely spent, every nerve ending tingling with satisfaction.

Finally, he pulls away, his fingers and mouth glistening with your arousal. He looks up at you with a triumphant smile, his own need evident in his eyes. "You taste so good," he murmurs, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a heated kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it only fuels the fire between you.

"Now," he says, positioning himself at your entrance, "I think you're ready."

You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist, and with one smooth thrust, he fills you completely. 

Your pussy was wet enough, spasming, welcoming him perfectly. Chan's eyes were closed, his face contorting as he tried to compose himself. You reached up and gently held his face, and he opened his eyes, scoffing softly, trying to pretend he didn't almost cum right then and there from the sensation of your sopping cunt wrapping so perfectly around him and the pornographic moan that just left your mouth.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with lust. "You feel so good."

You smiled, your own arousal mirrored in his gaze. "Don't hold back, Channie," you whispered, your fingers brushing through his hair. "I want all of you."

He groaned, his hips starting to move, slowly at first, savoring the way you clenched around him with each thrust. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, the connection between you deepening with every movement.

"You're so tight," he murmured, his hands gripping your hips as he picked up the pace. "So perfect for me."

You bit your lip, your body responding to his every word, his every touch. "Chan," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he hit that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure through your body. "Don't stop."

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he rolled his hips, stopping momentarily before hitting your g'spot with a sharp thrust. He repeated this motion, each thrust more deliberate, and the most sinful moans left your mouth. "Yes, Channie," you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure, "fuck this pussy with that big fucking cock. Yes, yes!"

Chan groaned, the sound deep and guttural, spurred on by your words. "You like that? Hm?" he panted, his pace quickening as he watched the ecstasy play out on your face. "You like how I fuck you?"

"Yes," you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders. "God, yes, I love it. I love how you fuck me– ah! Channie."

"So wet... all for me."

Your body arched beneath him, your hips moving to meet his thrusts, chasing the pleasure that was building to an overwhelming peak. "Only for you," you whispered, your voice breaking with a whimper as he drove you closer to the edge. "No one else, just you, Channie."

He growled, the possessiveness in your words igniting something primal in him. His thrusts became harder, faster, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. "Say it again," he demanded, his breath hot against your ear. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," you cried out, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. "I'm yours, Channie, only yours."

His hips snapped forward with even more intensity, and you could feel the coil tightening in your core, ready to snap. "Cum for me," he urged, his voice a low growl. "Cum all over my cock, baby."

Your pussy throbbed as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you, your eyes closing tightly, mouth falling open in a silent scream. You wrapped your legs around Chan's waist, locking him in place as you rode out every wave of pleasure. Chan hissed, his abdomen trembling, signaling that he was on the brink of release but unable to escape your grip.

You opened your eyes to find Chan watching you intently, taking in every reaction. "Sit," you commanded, your voice breathless yet authoritative.

"Hm?" Chan responded, his expression a mix of curiosity and lingering pleasure.

"Sit," you repeated, firmer this time. He complied, a small laugh escaping his lips.

"Are you going to dom me?" he teased, scoffing lightly.

Instead of answering, you simply lowered yourself onto his cock, making him flinch and let out a whiny moan in your ear, your legs trembling from the intensity of your recent orgasm.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. 

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear. "You like that, Channie? You like when I take control?"

"Yes," he gasped, his breath hitching as you began to move, rolling your hips slowly at first. "God, yes."

You smirked, picking up the pace, each movement sending shivers of pleasure through both of you. "You look so good like this," you whispered, your voice low and sultry. "So desperate, so needy. You want to cum, don't you?"

"Yes," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whimper. "Please, let me cum."

You tightened your grip on his shoulders, riding him harder. "Not yet," you commanded, enjoying the power you held over him. "Not until I say so."

Chan's eyes fluttered closed, his body trembling as he tried to hold back. "Please," he begged, his voice raw with need. "I can't... I can't hold on much longer."

"Look at me," you ordered, your tone firm. His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours. "You’re going to cum when I tell you to, understand?"

"Yes," he panted, nodding eagerly. "Yes, I understand."

You imagined riding him since the moment he entered that club, young, hot, with his sleeves rolled up, the scent of masculine fragrance mingling with whiskey on his breath. Feeling this man, needy and sly, with his cock buried deep inside your pussy, spilling all that pre-cum, and fighting his demons not to cum, made you so horny.

 You licked your fingers, circling your clit to help yourself climax, making you clench around him again. A strangled moan escaped his mouth, his eyes were rolling back.

You leaned in close, your voice husky with desire. "You're so close, Channie," you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. "I can feel how badly you want to cum inside me. Do it, baby. Give it to me. Fill me up with your cum."

Chan's hips bucked against yours, his grip on your hips tightening. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. "I need to cum, please..."

You smirked, your fingers still working furiously on your clit. "You want to empty those balls for me, make me feel every drop of your cum inside me? Hm?"

Chan nodded frantically, his eyes glazed with lust. "Yes, god, yes. Please, let me cum. I can't hold on much longer."

With a wicked grin, you increased the pressure on your clit, feeling the tension building inside you. "Then cum for me, Channie," you urged, your voice a sultry whisper. "Cum deep inside my pussy."

Chan's entire body tensed, his breath hitching as he finally let go, his cum flooding you with warmth. You cried out in pleasure, feeling your own orgasm crashing over you in waves as you rode out the ecstasy together.

As you collapsed against his chest, Chan wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. You could feel your legs trembling in soreness, his cum still dripping from your pussy, and both of your bodies slick with sweat. Despite the exhaustion, Chan's embrace felt comforting and secure.

He ran his hands soothingly over your back, his touch gentle yet firm, as if trying to convey all his affection through his fingertips. You raised your head to meet his gaze, finding him looking back at you with a mixture of satisfaction and tenderness in his eyes.

You pressed a series of soft kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his jawline, savoring the warmth and intimacy of the moment. Chan smiled in response, his own lips curved upwards in a contented –fucked out– expression.

You summoned the last vestiges of your strength just to tease Chan, circling your hips ever so slightly, just enough to elicit a reaction from his sensitive body. 

"Wait, wait," Chan gasped, his voice strained with sensitivity. "I can't... I can't take it."

He held you firmly against him, his grip almost desperate as he tried to steady himself. The sensation of your hips circling against his heightened his arousal to a point where he felt like he might lose control at any moment.

You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. Despite the exhaustion and the intensity of your encounter, you found his vulnerability endearing.

"Sorry," you chuckled softly, the sound mingling with his labored breaths. "I couldn't resist teasing you a little."

Chan let out a breathless laugh, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain his composure. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment before he spoke again.

"You're... you're something else, you know that?" he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "I don't know how you do it."

You grinned up at him, feeling a surge of warmth at his words. Despite the intense physical connection between you, there was an undeniable emotional bond that had formed, deepening your connection even further.

"I guess I just have a way with you," you replied playfully, winking at him before snuggling closer into his embrace.

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - Pt II

Pairing - Teacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 4.3k

Contains - slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, single motherhood, kindergarten teacher AU, school field trip, awkward bashful stevie, ONE use of y/n bc the story called for it sorry i don’t make the rules, mention of parent death

AN - here’s part two! I’m so thankful for the love and support you all showed on the first part and continue to show on all my works. It means so much that you guys enjoy my silly little delusions that i happened to turn into silly little stories!

Much love ~ emma

“Well, she’s excelling in English and reading, but struggling a bit with our math unit,” your daughter’s new kindergarten teacher informs you across a maplewood desk clad with plenty of miscellaneous trinkets; Abbey sits on a plastic chair next to you. Normally, it’s not recommended to bring your child to a parent/teacher conference, but with the cost of hiring a sitter lately, this was your only feasible option.

“That being said,” he continues optimistically, “I have plenty of practice worksheets I can send home with you, and if she’s still not getting it in a few weeks, I'm more than willing to stay after hours to work with her.”

You cringe at the idea of him working overtime for you or Abbey, even if it’s literally his job.

“That’s very generous, Mr. H, but–”

He cuts you off, speaking your name in a reassuring tone, “I promise, I’m happy to. It’s not as if I have anywhere else to be,” he chuckles, gesturing to the empty room where you sit.

He senses your hesitation but continues anyway, “Look, I’ll give you the worksheets, and check back in next week. Deal?” he’s clearly asking you, but Abbey beats you to the punch, “Can I use my crayons?”

“Obviously,” he phrases it as though he would expect nothing less.

Abbey gives a barely noticeable little pump of her fist. She’s wriggling around in her seat and you can tell she’s getting antsy with all the ‘grownup talk’. Steve rises first and sticks his hand out for you to shake and when you return the gesture, he takes your palm in both of his.

“Hey, Abbey’s doing great, seriously. You have nothing to worry about,” maybe you look anxious at the prospect of your child struggling in a subject because you somehow weren’t attentive enough, or maybe he can just read you like a book. Either way, his hands on you are dizzying.

“I appreciate that,” you offer him a tender smile as he releases you from his grasp. “What do you say, Abbey? Wanna head home?”

She immediately deflates at the question. School has been in session for barely two months, and all she can seem to talk about is her new teacher. The car rides home and dinners at the table are spent telling tales of his Star Wars impressions, or how he hangs up every picture he’s given on the corkboard behind his desk– how he lets the class have extra recess time if they behave all day long, and how he ‘never ever’ raises his voice.

You can always picture it so easily. There’s something naturally whimsical about him, and anyone can tell he was made for this career. There’s a distant fear that the infatuation Abbey seems to have with him is caused by the absence of her own father, and you wish constantly to be able to give her that– to be two parents for the price of one– but as much as she adores you, there’s always going to be a void in her life that you alone can’t fill. It makes you ache to dwell on it for too long.

“Can’t we stay just a little bit longer?” She pleads with glistening eyes.

“I’m sure Mr. H wants to get home too, Ab,” at that, her features twist into a pout.

Steve kneels in front of her, “I’m gonna see you on Monday though, right?” She tearfully nods, “Good,” he grins and gives her hair a little ruffle when he stands.

“You two have a good weekend, and drive home safe, okay?”

You send him a shy wave, “You too, Mr. H,”

As you’re making your way down the hallway towards the exit with Abbey's hand clasped tightly in yours, you hear a voice along with heavy footfall echo after you, “Wait!--”

When you turn around, Steve’s lightly jogging towards you with a flyer in his hand, “I forgot to give you this,” he pants when he catches up. He hands you a colorful paper advertising a class field trip to Spiller Farm– an orchard a few miles outside of town.

He runs a hand through his hair, mussed from a stressful day doing exactly that, “We still need a few more chaperones, I wanted to ask if you’d be able to?”

Abbey’s demeanor becomes instantly lighter as she begins tugging on your arm, “Please, mommy?!” she begs, as if she’d even have to. “Definitely! Let me double check my schedule and make sure I’m not working,” you smile kindly, “I’ll let you know on Monday when I drop her off,”

For a split second, Steve considers just giving you his number before he thinks better of it. You barely know him, for Christ’s sake. I’d look like a complete creep, He thinks.

“Y-yeah– that’s fine,” he winces at his own awkwardness, “Trip’s on Wednesday,” again feeling like a blundering idiot, as the flyer he just handed you clearly states as much.

If you notice though, you don’t mention it. You simply say,

 “See you Monday,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Abbey seemed to be in better spirits by the time you made it home and popped a frozen pizza into the oven. You’ve always envied the rebound rate of her sour moods; maybe you should take a page out of her book.

She sits at the table playing with two perfectly groomed Barbie Dolls. Her other toys were a different story– baby doll’s with botched haircuts, stuffed animals with unidentifiable stains and the occasional hole, but her Barbies were always considered with the utmost care a five-year-old could offer.

“Mr. H says his favorite pizza is pepperoni,” she says from where she sits behind you, “is that what kind we’re having?”

“No, silly goose, you don’t like pepperoni,” you remind her, “you always say it’s too spicy,”

“Oh, okay,” she sounds indifferent; she trusts you to remember what she likes and dislikes on her behalf, sparing no room in her growing brain for such trivial facts.

“Can I have four slices?” She asks sweetly. You hum and pretend to give it some thought before bargaining, “How about I give you one slice first, and then if you’re still hungry, you can have more?”

She nods, taking the bait. You eventually make it to the table, plates in hand, and eat the greasy slices in a comfortable silence until Abbey asks,

“What kind of pizza did my daddy like?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked questions about Jeremy, and you know it won’t be the last, but your heart still sinks a little every time she does.

“Your dad liked hawaiian pizza, that was his favorite,”

“‘ha-way-en’?” she mispronounces, “what’s that?” her little features contort with confusion.

You correct her pronunciation and reply, “Well, technically It’s a state, but hawaiian pizza has ham and pineapple on it,”

Her confusion morphs to disgust and she giggles, “Ew!”

“I know,” her laughter is contagious, “I don’t like it either,” you wave your hand in front of your nose in a ‘P.U’ gesture.

Her father is no longer a topic of conversation after that. It was always like this– the questions generally mundane and inconsequential, not realizing that the images she’s conjuring are covered in cobwebs and dust; buried deep in the forgotten corners of your subconscious.

When you’re a kid, nothing holds that kind of weight. Petty things like broken toys or an early bedtime are the most of her worries and memories aren’t so burdening– yet another thing you envy of her youth.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The next few days go by without a hitch– school, ballet class and homemade dinners every night– that is until Wednesday morning when you wake up and are immediately confronted with the sun cascading through your curtains, and your alarm that's been beeping for thirty minutes longer than it normally does.

Abbey is straddling your lap and vigorously shaking your shoulders, “Mom! Mom, we have to go!” The panic you feel outweighs the embarrassment of being woken up late by your own child, and you rush to slip on a pair of jeans and the first sweater you make out on top of your hamper.

A sideways glance at the clock tells you that you have exactly three minutes to get out the door– it appears that your go-to look lately is bags under your eyes and your hair scooped up into the nearest claw clip. The trend continues today, though you’re able to dab on a little concealer while Abbey puts her boots on in the mudroom.

You’re both shocked and amazed that she’s dressed– her outfit even mostly coordinating. Unfortunately, the remains of what was supposed to be a ham and cheese sandwich are littered all over the counter. Crackers for lunch today it is.

Grabbing her mostly empty backpack, you ask, “You got everything, Ab?”

“Yep!” She shouts, mostly because she was already outside and standing in the driveway, waiting for you to unlock the car for her.

When you get to the school, several golden buses are parked in a single file line and opening their doors for dozens of children to pour in.  A little mortified, you realize you’re the last parent here, and silently pray that there’ll still be a seat for you and Abbey on the bus.

You’re searching for Steve, albeit unconsciously. You aren’t acquainted with any of the other teachers, and he’s your life raft in this sea of chaos and PTA soccer moms. You don’t have to look for very long though, before your name is being shouted from a few feet away on the tarmac. Grasping Abbey’s wrist, you shoulder your way over to where he stands waiting.

“Hey–I’m so sorry, I somehow slept through my alarm this morning,” you blush and muss Abbey’s hair, “this little gremlin woke me up, actually,”

She shakes your hand off her head, “Hey!” she frowns.         

“You’re good, promise. I saved you a seat, and Abbey,” he redirects his attention, “Clarissa B. asked to sit with you, is that okay?”

She’s too excited to bother responding, instead dashing inside in an attempt to find her friend. You hear a muffled warning of ‘no running!’, eliciting a shared laugh between the two of you.

“After you,” Steve steps back to let you in first. You spot the only available seat which is dead in the front of the bus– and when you sit down, Steve sits down next to you.

“Well, uh,” he scratches his neck nervously when you scoot to make room for him, “I saved us a seat. Is what I meant.”

“It’s okay,” you give a reassuring breath of laughter, “I don’t mind,”

“Right,” he clears his throat and you feel the bus shift gears to make its way towards the

orchard.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You’ve never been this close to Steve before and right away the space is enveloped with whatever cologne he’s wearing and the spearmint scent of the gum he’s been absentmindedly chewing. He smells of cedar and something musky; cinnamon and spice. You notice now all of the freckles and moles that form constellations over his forearms and neck.

When the silence between you becomes a little too stiff– pleasantries about the weather having subsided nearly ten minutes ago– he asks, “Have you ever been to Spiller Farm?”

“Yeah I– I have,” you say, unsure why you’re suddenly nervous, “My parents used to take me every year when I was Abbey’s age to go apple picking. Have you?”

“Oh, no,” he’s fixated on his hands folded in his lap, shaking his head, “this’ll be my first time, I actually grew up in Indiana,”

“Indianapolis?” You question curiously.

He gave a humorless laugh, “I wish. It was a uh…much smaller town,” he finally looks at you then, faces much closer than you realized in the cramped bus seat, “I came to Maine for college, liked it so much I guess I didn’t want to leave.” This time when he smiles, it looks genuine.

He clears his throat and continues, “Abbey tells me you work in a hospital– RN?

It was remarkable how much you knew about each other despite having very little conversations that didn’t surround Abbey; thanks to your oversharing kindergartener.

You wish that you could tell him you were a nurse, feeling increasingly embarrassed at your lack of a college education, but instead you reply, “Reception,” with a tight lipped smile. Having Abbey so young, and doing it alone at that, left no time for degrees or prestigious jobs.

You expect a sympathetic expression in response, maybe even distaste, but you find only sincerity etched across his features when he says, “That’s really neat, I could never do that. Hospitals they…kinda give me the heebie jeebies,”

“It’s definitely not for the faint of heart,” you agree, “I have so many crazy stories,”

“Well, I’d love to hear them sometime,” he smiles at you so tenderly that it makes you want to disintegrate and float away among the air that breezes through the open bus windows.

“Yeah, I’d like that”, you say, distracted by the hazel flecks in what you had previously thought were brown eyes. Luckily, the distinct jolt of tire on gravel bails you out of more awkward silence and before you know it, you’re filing off the bus and breathing in the scent of freshly picked apples and cow manure.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You foolishly forget that Steve isn’t just here with you and your daughter on his own accord, and does actually have to do his job of wrangling children and organizing the day's activities. He proceeds to do a headcount, looking like he means business with one hand propped on his hip and a clipboard gripped in the other.

He captures everyone’s attention with ease as he does a quick call and response gesture, ‘Clap, Clap, Clap Clap Clap,’ you’re shocked at how efficiently it works to halt their chattering.

“Good morning, everyone!” He beams and the class responds with a choir of high-pitched ‘Good Morning, Mr. H!’’s, he continues, “Alright, so, I’m going to be splitting everyone into small groups. Each parent will have about five kiddos, and I’ll just be floating around to make sure everything goes smoothly. Sound like a plan?”

Everyone agrees in a sea of nods and murmurs and the kids bounce with anticipation– hoping that they might get placed in the same group as their friends. Finally, you hear your name called and Steve pairs you with five children: your own daughter, her friend Clarissa B., a little boy named Beck, his younger sister and a timid little girl named Sophia. You breathe a sigh of relief that you hadn’t realized you were holding when it becomes obvious that all the kids you were assigned seemed to be fairly reserved and not too rowdy.

You lead your little flock over to the barn, where several farm hands are waiting to assist the children in petting the cows, pigs and other various animals. There are red buckets full of pellets that you assume is feed for the goats scattered along the ground, and you can practically feel Abbey buzzing with excitement beside you. She had been begging you for a pet practically the second after she said her first word.

Steve makes his way over to you from the rows of apple trees in the orchard section of the farm while you supervise the kids holding their tiny palms out to the ravenous livestock– slightly anxious that one of them might lose a finger.

You feel a strong hand on your shoulder, “C’mon, don’t wanna pet a dirt-covered sheep?” Steve quips when he reaches you.

“Not particularly,” you huff a laugh, “I was never really a ‘farm animal’ person. I think a dog would suit me just fine,”

“Do you have one?”

“Oh, no. Abbey’s been asking me for one since she was, like, two? I think? I just don’t have the time, you know?”

“Believe me, I get it.” He seems pensive when he responds, looking out over the expanse of the farm, “I never had a pet growing up, either,”

Before you have the chance to express your remorse, Abbey calls, “Mommy, look! Come pet the goat!”

“Be right there!” You call back with thinly veiled reluctance.

“You heard the girl,” Steve pats your shoulder where his hand had been as if to say ‘Go on’. He has an amused if not smug expression when you turn to face him.

“Why don’t you go pet the goat, Mr. H,”

“Hey, she asked for you! Don’t shoot the messenger,” He laughs, “Don’t worry, I'll take over supervising for a minute,” he sends you a wink and it makes your stomach drop, just a bit, like when you miss a step on a staircase but catch yourself just before you fall.

A similar feeling strikes you when you actually do fall, slipping on a particularly slick patch of mud and landing flat on your back. It temporarily knocks the wind out of you, but the sensation is quickly replaced by a white hot embarrassment. Steve’s at your side in an instant, albeit poorly concealing a laugh, “Oh my God, are you okay?” he asks, a little bewildered as he kneels down to help you up and getting his own jeans muddy in the process. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.

You groan, out of discomfort or humiliation, you’re not sure. He wraps two calloused hands around your biceps and hoists you up with a surprising amount of strength. By the time you’re on your feet again, Abbey’s also rushing towards you.

“Mommy, you have mud on your butt,” she giggles. Always Captain Obvious, your daughter.

“Thanks baby, I see that,”

She’s trying to shrug off her jacket to tie around your waist, even if she finds your current predicament rather amusing, but you stop her before she can get very far, “Keep it, Ab, it’s chilly out. I’m okay,” you falsely promise.

“Here, you can have mine,” Steve takes his windbreaker off to hand to you.

“Oh– you don’t have to do that, Steve,” feeling guilty that he’s even offering, “I’ll get mud all over it– and won’t you be cold?”

“Nah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “I run warm, plus I hear they just came out with these cool things that clean your clothes for you when they get dirty– washing machines I think they’re called?”

You playfully smack his arm and he smirks, “Don’t get smart, Harrington,” taking the jacket from him nonetheless, “Thank you. I’ll wash it for you tonight,”

He shoves his hands in his pockets after you take the garment, unsure what to do with them now that they’re empty, “Don’t mention it,” and there's that damned smile again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You promised Abbey yesterday that you could pick a bag of apples to make a pie together, so once everyone is satisfied with the time spent at the barn, you all make your way to the dozens of rows of trees, adorned with fresh, bright red fruit for plucking.

“What kind of apples do you think, Ab?” you look down to ask her, “They have Gala, Empire, Granny Smith,” you read off the signs marking each aisle.

“Whichever is the most juicy!”

“That would probably be HoneyCrisp, those are over this way, I think,” you say, putting a hand on her shoulder to guide her in the right direction.

Abbey does more eating than picking, leaving you with all the heavy lifting, despite the numerous ‘No Eating’ signs. You just can’t bring yourself to stop her– not when she looks at you with so much unbridled joy. Eating the apples straight off the tree had always been your favorite part, too.

A row over from the one you were in, you watch as Steve lifts another student onto his shoulders so he can pick the specific apple he was jumping for, and you have to fight the corners of your lips from quirking up into a smile.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There was a small wooden cabin near the gravel parking lot that doubled as a gift shop, and the shelves were stocked full of handmade knick knacks, glass bottles of maple syrup, and all sorts of treats. It smelled wonderfully of freshly baked fritters and cinnamon.

“Can I get this candy apple, mom?”

“I don’t know, baby, we have to make sure it doesn’t have any peanuts,”

Petulant whining follows before a cheerful, silvery voice declares, “Don’t worry, dear, It doesn’t.” When you turn to find the source, you’re met with an older, stout woman with grey hair adorned in a bandana– the owner, you presume.

“Can I, mommy?”

“Alright, okay. Put it on the counter with the bag of apples,”

She makes a beeline to the wooden counter, barely able to reach over the top as she slams the treat down, sporting a toothy grin.

“Thank you–” you search for her nametag but find nothing.

She fills in the blank for you, “Dorothy,” her lips wobble just a little when she smiles, face wrinkling from decades of laughter and grinning.

“Any time, honey. You two take care now,” she says when she finishes checking out your items. She wags a finger at Abbey, “You be good for your momma, missy,”

“Yes ma’am,” Abbey replies politely.

She skips in front of you contentedly, apple in hand, out of the shop and towards the rest of the waiting students.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Back on the bus, Abbey naps against your chest despite being slightly too big and the candy apple she begged you for is now getting stuck to your sleeve, but you don’t dare disturb her. Steve sits beside you again and this time the silence is much more tolerable; both of you exhausted from a day of governing twenty children, give or take.

“Abbey, uhm, told me about her dad,” he says timidly, nervous that the subject might cross a boundary, “I wanted to offer my condolences.”

You’d already resigned yourself to the fact that you’d have this conversation eventually– especially with Abbey being school aged now.

“I appreciate that,” you reassure, “It was a long time ago, I don’t think Abbey even remembers anything about him.” You realize in real time that this is the reason her questioning of her father has increased in the past few weeks.

He nods and pauses before he continues; contemplating, “Can I ask what happened?”

You turn only your head to look at him and he clarifies, “Abbey only said he ‘went to heaven’,”

“He, uh– car accident.” you answer simply, returning your gaze back to the crown of Abbey’s head resting peacefully on your chest, “She was just about a year old,”

The expression twisting his features urges you to reiterate that you’re okay– you’re both okay. You’ve had nearly six years to reconcile the loss of Jeremy; you’ve mourned, you’ve grieved and you’ve placed his memory tight in a sector of your heart that was designated just for him. But you didn’t want the pity anymore– you didn’t want to be the widow.

He seems to comprehend this despite you having said very little, and decides to drop the topic for now.

“She talks about you all the time, you know.” You nudge him gently with your shoulder and he becomes suddenly shy– a slight blush tinting his cheeks.

“She talks about you all the time,” he counters, “just goes on and on about how her mom makes the best boxed mac and cheese, and always plays make believe with her– even when she says she’s tired.”

You feel the sting of unwanted tears welling behind your eyes, “Well, I–”

“--You do the best you can, and you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit,” he interrupts before you have the chance to discount yourself, “You’re a great mom, Y/N.”

One of the aforementioned tears breaches the edge of your lash line and falls rapidly down our cheek, dropping onto the soft cushion of Abbey’s hair. When the bus abruptly stops, you wipe your face quickly and smear the salty trail it left in its wake.

You harshly clear your throat, “Thanks, Steve,”

“You do that a lot,”

“I feel it a lot.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Back at home, you set Abbey up in front of the television and peel your mud stained jeans off to throw them immediately in the wash, along with Steve’s jacket; not bothering with the hamper.

Once you’ve taken a quick shower to rinse the remaining crusted dirt off your thighs, you make your way back into the dimly lit living room to find Abbey asleep, once again, with her knees tucked into her chest, and the technicolor screen illuminating her features in tones of muted blue.

You strain your back to pick her up, but it’ll be worth it when she’s no longer small enough to carry bridal style into her all pink bedroom, and set atop her princess sheets. You’re thankful to have gotten her into her pajamas already– foreseeing this would happen.

There’s a dull longing in the center of your chest as you kiss her forehead and tuck the comforter up to her chin. It’s that same tug you felt after Jeremy died, when you realized you’d be putting your daughter to bed alone from that point on. It festered and grew until one day it became so routine that you didn’t remember what it felt like to have your partner there next to you, and then it dissipated completely.

Until tonight.

Except for this time the longing wasn’t for Jeremy. It wasn’t even for that ‘perfect man’ you’d sometimes conjure up in your mind’s eye just before you fell asleep at night.

It was for someone new.

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

tag list - @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @cali-888 @jamdoughnutmagician @kolsmikaelson @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @mrsnarnian

[yndrgrl]

your boyfriend, katsuki bakugo, loves you dearly, but you're scared you'll never be deserving of him

cute lil dabble. lowkey songfic. fem! reader. angst to comfort. fluff. established relationship. any au. overthinking! reader.

warnings: there are none :D

a/n: picture a "too sweet" by hozier girl x "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys boy relationship !

-

katsuki is always characterized as hostile yet calculating, a man who knows exactly what he wants. he's destined to be the top of the food chain, everyone knows it. he's powerful man with a deadly gorgeous face, his fangirls would describe.

& in comes you. plain old you.

you honestly have no idea what katsuki sees in you. like, if you're digging deep in yourself, maybe he likes your for your dark, crude sense of humor that always seems to make him belly laugh.

it's said that he's an early bird. he's awake before you every single day, asleep & sound by 8:30-- on the weekends, he'll push it to 10:00. before you've said your first words of the day, he's already made his side of the bed, made & ate breakfast, put away the laundry, & is off to his morning run after his morning workout. his good habits he's developed early in life has benefited him in every way.

he never procrastinated on chores, his paper work is flawless, & you could learn a thing or two from his time management skills. he's always making time for spontaneous dates you wanna go on, festivals you wanna visit, & he makes sure that the pantry is stacked with your favorite snacks. any of your interests are his interests, even if he doesn't fully understand it.

when it comes to katsuki, you ought to wonder if he ever wants to experience something different from his strict, repetitive lifestyle. you sometimes feel stupid for wanting more out; you want to travel somewhere far away, you want to go out clubbing with a bunch of strangers, you want to move to the country side & live in a cottage. katsuki always reels in your dreams, encouraging you but also reminding you that you need to stay consistent to achieve them. you're jealous with how fast he can accept reality.

"babe? you listening?" katsuki questioned, snapping you out of your thoughts. you blinked a couple of times then nodded almost-too enthusiastically. he let out a little chuckle & stroked your cheek with his thumb. "what're you thinking about?"

"nothing, i'm sorry," you sighed with your hands in your lap. you both were on the couch, doing your own thing. he was on his phone, & you were supposed to be doing some work on your laptop, but you found yourself spacing out again.

"don't apologize. i'm just curious about what's going on in that pretty, little head of yours," he told you before he took your hand & pressed his lips against your knuckles. you thought to yourself, i'm not good enough for this man.

you debated whether or not to tell the truth. on one side, he has been your devoted boyfriend for years now, but on the other, he could just be asking out of curtesy. like, what if he actually does not care at all- "(y/n)? talk to me. i know you have something you wanna say," katsuki commented, scooting closer to you. he set the pillow that you placed your laptop on the coffee table so he could get your undivided attention. he caressed your thigh to help ground you.

you stayed silent for a moment, & he waited patiently. you swallowed, your eyes darted from his piercing red ones to the floor to his hands. finally, you said, "you're too sweet for me." he laughed & laughed, & you couldn't help but crack a smile. "what? what's so funny?" you pouted.

"sorry for laughing, princess. it's just no one ever calls me sweet. like, ever," admitted katsuki as he settled down from his fit of laughter. what he said was true though, he didn't have a problem with it. he was not sweet at all, he was rough around the edges & egotistical with the skills to back him up. he only ever thinks about himself & you. "but what makes you say that, hm?"

"well, for one, you always treat me out & take me anywhere i want. we never go where you wanna go," you pointed out, jabbing your finger in his toned chest playfully.

"that doesn't make me sweet. i have the money, & i don't fuckin' care about where we go to eat."

you chose to ignore him, rolling your eyes at him because that was his excuse every time. "two, you're literally in the prime of your life, & you choose to go to sleep at 8:30? how do you sleep so well?"

"(y/n), what is this really about?" he questioned. katsuki brushed your hair away from your face, tucking the silky strands behind your ear. "& don't lie to me, i know you."

"ugh, fineee," you groaned as you threw your head back. maybe it was for comedic effect, or to gather your thoughts & regulate the tears that started to well in your eyes. "do you think i'm like, worthy of you?"

"worthy of me?"

"yeah, do you think i'm good enough for you?" you rephrased, pulling your hands away from him to rub your upper arm. it's embarrassing to admit something, it's scary too. what if, once you point it out, he'll agree & leave you?

"'course i do! i'm the best around & i got the best fuckin' girl, why are you thinking this shit?" katsuki exclaimed, his passion that you wish you had seeping through to his tone. a moment of thick silence followed, you took a deep breath. you suck at emotions.

"you're too good for me, okay! you're so much stronger than everyone, & if that wasn't enough, you're insanely smart! i'm just... here. average at best. people praise you like the morning after an eternity of darkness. you're the rain after a heatwave. everything works out for you, & i'm just the one holding you back from even better things-"

"babe, you're not holding me back or whatever. you've never held me back," he stated like it was a fact, but you felt as though he was just saying that to calm you down. it angered you, & you were ashamed that you were angry because it wasn't even directed at him, it was directed at the fact you felt unworthy.

"no, you don't get it! i aim low because it's realistic for me, i can't afford to aim for anything else because i'm destined to fail. you, on the other hand... you have so much potential. don't you get embarrassed about having a girlfriend like me?"

"no." he answered so quickly, like it was rehearsed, like he knew what you were going to say. "i've never felt embarrassed of you ever. you're so fuckin' dense, you know that?"

you paused just to stare at him. katsuki sure had a way with comforting people. even after years of being a hero, he never learned how to traditionally comfort people. tough love, everyone would call it. but with you, he forced himself to be tender because you deserve treatment no one else gets from him.

there were so many things he wanted to say to you. don't you realize what you do for him? god, katsuki would go mad living without you now that he knows what life is like with you, his missing rib. the two of you are meant to be, you're two sides of the same coin. so what if he's as bright as the morning? you were his darling night, the very universe was visible through your eyes.

"you must be dense if you really thing you're just average. would i go for an average girl?"

"i mean-"

"no, the answer is no. you're deserving of love, my love. everything you've accomplished, everything you've overcome, you're just diminishing it because what? you think you're dumb or something? you- you..." you're the reason my world goes round, you are so talented, he was so desperate to shout these praises at you.

he was never one for romantic gestures through words. if he did, he would've been the best damn poet in the game. "i am yours."

it was such a simple sentence, yet it shook you to the core. you stared into his lively, crimson eyes. the look he gave you in return made your breath hitch; he was so deeply devoted to you, as deep as the pacific ocean.

you leaned in, capturing him in a kiss. tears rolled down your cheeks, your despair melting away. you felt like the two of you were kids again, sharing your first kiss. how could you doubt a man who so clearly, who so desperately, loves every bit of you.

[hadersversion]

‘tis the damn season.

“so we could call it even, you could call me babe for the weekend.”

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue! reader

warnings: 18+, SMUT, p in v, fingering, begging, overstimulation, use of babe....let me know if i forget anything lol. ALSO in some places in america, thansgiving eve is literally just a holiday to get drunk in your hometown

your home for the holidays for the first time in years. you've been avoiding rafe, the reason you've been away for so long, but after seeing him again all the old feelings come back. when rafe sends a text one night, you end up in the back of his truck like old times.

i parked my car out front of my childhood home, staring at the old exterior.

somethings never change.

being back in the outer banks felt strange. it has been a while since i have been back, avoiding come home for as long as i can. but with a few begging phone calls from my mom and kiara, here i am.

i knock on my front door and am greeted with a bright smile.

"jj?" i ask, confused.

"welcome home, stranger." he says, with a hug and grabbing my bag.

i walk into my living room and see the pogues, sitting with my mom. a homemade 'welcome home' banner hanging above their heads.

my mom comes over and gives me a big hug. "i thought i would never see this face again." she says with a squeeze.

"boston isn't that far, mom." i tell her but i know she would never leave the outer banks. never in a million years. i turn towards the others and smile. "i wonder who could've put this together?" i say, looking at kiara.

"hey it wasn't all me, pope was the one who brought it up." she says, engulfing me in her arms.

"guilty." pope chimes in, joining the hug. i feel jj and john b join in as well. my family.

we break away and hang out in the living room, catching up.

"don't tell me you went all city on us, y/n." john b pokes fun at me.

"not completely. but it is nice having more things to do than hang on the beach and smoke." i wink.

"who could want more than that?" jj asks, making us all laugh.

"speaking of," kiara starts. "there's a little thanksgiving eve celebration happening at the wreck. just some people from high school. nothing big."

"just a chance to get drunk of our asses and go to dinner the next day hungover." jj says, causing kiara to nudge him.

"what do you say? want to join us?" i look around the room at my friends, all eager waiting for my response. with a sigh, i nod and they all cheer. "thank god, i don't think i could've done that alone."

i smile and nod. it should be fun, it will be. but my brain can't help to wonder if the one person who's kept me away from coming home will be there. no, he wouldn't. not with the pogues. but a part of me can't help but hope to see his face.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

i fix my sweater in the mirror in my room, my body fidgeting from anxiety. it's been a few days and i still can't shake that feeling from my body about being home. sure, i'm happy but this place holds so many memories. memories i wish to bury. i stare at the photo booth picture tucked into my mirror of him and i. i guess i forgot to hide this with the rest of the stuff. i take it off the mirror and sigh, examining it.

almost four years since it was taken. almost four years since we called it quits. and yet, he still haunts my memories. his presence making itself known through cheap beer at the bar, expensive men's cologne at the mall, exhaust that leaves motorbikes as they ride down the street. he's always there, whether i like it or not.

the sound of a horn breaks me free of my thoughts.

"y/n, they're here!" my mom calls from downstairs.

"coming!" i open my dresser drawer and slip the photo in before racing downstairs. i kiss my mom on the cheek and slip out the door, rushing into the van.

"ready to get fucked up?" jj asks with his devilish smirk.

i roll my eyes and laugh. "let's go."

we pull up to the wreck, it's already dark outside and a slight breeze fills the air. we all hurry in, greeted by familiar faces. my name is called from every direction, old friends from high school or the beach. all my fellow pogues who i know and love. when i'm done making my rounds, i head over to our table. everyone has some drink in their hand, beer or cocktail, and they all smile up at me.

"who would've though little y/n y/l/n would be a pogue celebrity?" pope jokes.

i flip him off and slide in next to john b. kiara hands me a beer and i take a sip. "i'm not a celebrity, i'm just one of the only people from this island who actually made it off."

they all make jokes at my despair, teasing me in any way they could when sarah walks up. i feel my stomach flip and i smile at her. "y/n!" she embraces me. "i'm so happy to see you!"

i hug her back and smile. "me too, sar. how's everything been?"

"the usual but i can't complain." she sits next to me and lays her head on my shoulder. "it's been forever."

"it has." i sigh. "it really has."

we all share stories and laugh around the table. we take shots, chug beer, and play different drinking games. just like old times sake.

"i need another beer." i say with a slight slur in my voice, standing up. "anyone else?" everyone shakes their head as i excuse myself.

i walk up to the bar and wait my turn, twirling my debit card in my hand. it could be the alcohol but i feel content and happy to be home.

"y/n?"

until that moment.

i don't want to turn around, i don't even want to accept my fate in this situation.

i know that voice, i could recognize it in a crowd of millions of people. it was the voice that lingered in my dreams, my thoughts.

i turn around and look at the man.

"rafe."

he looks older, his hair buzzed and some facial hair covering his face. but those eyes. they are the same eyes of the boy i loved.

we stood there, not saying a word. just taking the sight of one another in.

"i didn't know you were home." he says, not breaking eye contact.

i nod, biting my lip. "i am, i got home monday."

he chuckles to himself and shakes his head. "how long you here for?"

"till saturday. then i'm going back to boston." my throat feels scratchy and my face is on fire. i want to be anywhere but here now.

his eyes continue to study me. "two more budweiser's, please." he says to the bartender. i open my mouth to protest but he shakes his head. "on me, think of it as a welcome home gift."

the bartender hands me the beer and i smile. i turn back to rafe and tip the bottle to him. "thanks."

"no problem." he clinks his bottle to mine. we both take a long sip. my eyes are desperately trying to find a place to land, ending up on the bright sign above the bar. but rafe's are still on me.

"you okay?" kiara asks as she walks behind rafe. she is my gurdian angel.

"yeah, just waiting for my beer. excuse me." i squeeze past rafe and walk back to my table. i look back at him and smiles. i hate him.

a few drinks more and my ears are ringing. it was loud and everyone was far too drunk. i excuse myself for air outside. there are a few people lingering, smoking cigarettes or waiting for ubers. i smile and take in the nostalgia.

"you know, it would've been nice to know you were home." i hear rafe's voice next to me.

i roll my eyes and look up at him. "oh, would it have been? sorry, i didn't think you'd care." i say coldly. that liquid courage is taking control.

he looks down at me. "and why would i have not cared?"

"hmm, let me think." i put my finger to my chin. "oh, right. 'don't ever contact me again. we're so over. i wish i never met you. blah. blah. blah.' do you want me to go on?" i say to him.

i watch as he processes what i said to him, the words of our last fight. he looks guilty, for once in his life. "that was years ago, y/n. w-we were just kids."

"oh, really? then why haven't i heard from you for the past few years? phone works both ways, rafe." i say, shrugging.

he stands there quietly, i got him.

"how's school been?" he asks, nonchalantly.

"are you for real?" i ask.

"what? i'm being nice." he says.

i huff with frustration. "you are such an ass." i push pass him and walk onto the sidewalk.

"where are you going?" he asks, following after me.

"away from you." i say, not looking back.

i hear him run up behind me and he gently grabs my arm. "y/n. y/n, stop."

i turn to look at him. "what do you want from me, huh? you want to torture me even more?"

he stares at me, hand still on my arm. "what? of course not. y/n, i missed you."

"fuck off." i spit out without thinking.

"you're drunk."

"and you're an asshole." i say, flatly. "you...you fucking broke my heart and you expect me to act like everything is fucking dandy?"

"y/n." he tries to plead his case.

"no, rafe. you don't get to waltz in here and act like everything is okay with us. do you know how much you fucked me over? one day you're telling me you love me and you want to move to boston with me and the next, you're dumping me over the phone." i poke his chest. "i did everything you wanted, i kept what we had between us a secret, i took care of you. and nothing was enough for you."

he looks down at his feet in guilt. "i-i know, i'm sorry. i was...i was fucked up back then. with my dad on my case and the drinking...i wasn't okay. i felt like..." he cut himself off.

"what, rafe? you felt like, what?" i ask.

"like i was going to hold you back, alright?" he raises his voice. "you are too good for this place, for me. i didn't want to hold you back. i loved you too much to do that to you." i stare at him and laugh. "what? what's so fucking funny?"

"you, rafe. you." i sigh. "instead of being a man and handling your emotions, you ran and hid. we could've worked that out. but you were too scared." i close my eyes and shake my head. "goodbye, rafe."

i walk down the street, hugging my body as the wind blows. a weight has been lifted off my shoulders but there's still that feeling i get whenever i think of him. that feeling that i miss him.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

thanksgiving flew by, even though i had a hangover that felt like it would last a lifetime.

i helped my mom clean up the kitchen as the pogues did the dishes and took the trash out. just like old times.

once we were done, we sat outside around the bonfire. you would think after yesterday, drinking would come to a halt but jj found a bottle of vodka in the freezer and mixed it with kiara's apple cider. we all enjoyed each other's company but my mind could not help but wander. my last conversation with rafe ringing through my head.

"instead of being a man and handling your emotions, you ran and hid."

i shake my head and take a sip of my spiked cider. as much as it rang true, there was still that part of me that wonders 'what if?'. the more i thought about it, the more i wanted to pick up my phone.

no, i need to be the bigger person. i'm stronger than that. i can't text him first.

then i felt my phone buzz in my lap.

rafe: hey

i stare at the text and bite my lip. i know i should ignore it, let it go unread. but my fingers work against my brain and type 'hi' back to him. i sit there, eagerly waiting for a response.

rafe: can we talk?

rafe: i'm sorry about last night, i'm a fucking idiot.

rafe: there's so many things i could say to you rn

rafe: but i miss you.

rafe: i wanna see you.

i look around at my friends and sigh, they would be so mad at me for this.

y/n: sure, give me like an hour.

y/n: park down the street at the usual spot.

my friends leave my house, mainly due to me faking another wave of hungover puking. i run upstairs and check myself out in the mirror, i look damn good. when i get his text, i sneak out the backdoor and hurry down the street. i see his truck parked under the big tree, the spot he always parked in.

i open the truck door and hop into the passenger seat. i look over at him, he's still in his dressy clothes. a blue polo that hugged his arms right and khakis that made his thighs look exceptionally big. he knew what he was doing and i can't tell if i hate him or love him for it.

we drive in silence for a bit, his radio playing music faintly. his hands grip the steering wheel as his mind looks like he's on another planet. i play with the ends of my sweatshirt, anxiously waiting for him to do something. anything.

he pulls up to the beach, the spot where we would always come to. it was dark and the waves crashed against the shore loudly. he turns the car off and looks over at me.

"thanks for meeting me." he says simply.

"sure."

"i'm sorry about last night. you went out to have fun and i ruined it, i know i did."

i just nod at him.

"and...you were right. about it all." he sighs, running his hands over his face. "i should've manned up, talked to you about how i was feeling. but you know how i get. i get too in my head and just jump to conclusions. it wasn't fair to you." he looks into my eyes. "these past few years without you have been a living hell and i have only myself to blame."

"are you drunk? high?" i ask.

"w-what?"

"are you not sober?" i ask again.

"i'm sorry, what? of course i'm fucking sober." he says. "why would i not be?"

"rafe cameron...taking accountability? i'm sorry, it just seems so...foreign?" i laugh.

"i'm being serious, y/n."

i laugh again. "oh, i'm sure. and...the sky is green. we live on the planet pluto. aliens exist and so do unicorns!"

he pinches the bridge of his nose. "y/n, i'm telling the truth! god, you always joke around."

"yeah, because i know you." i say to him. "and you would rather eat concrete than admit you are wrong."

"eat concrete?" he asks, with a smirk.

"you know what i mean!" i huff with frustration.

he grabs my hand and stares in my eyes. "y/n, i am fully sober. we are not in another universe, it is not opposite day. i was wrong and i am sorry."

my brain malfunctions as i look into his eyes. "y-you mean it?"

"every word i said."

my brain not working means i experienced a lack of better judgment. i grab rafe by his collar and connect our lips for the first time in years. this kiss, the one i have longed for since i left this place, was the missing puzzle piece i've been searching for in my life. everything seemed to make sense again.

his hands cupped my cheeks as his tongue slipped into my mouth. he was hungry for me and i wasn't going to stop him because i felt insatiable as well. his hands roamed from my cheeks down to my neck and onto my shoulders.

i needed more.

i climbed onto his lap and straddled him. my arms connected around his neck as he pressed against me. i felt his cock hard against his khakis and i wanted it. i wanted it all. i rubbed myself against him, causing us both to moan.

he continued to kiss me until he broke away and looked at me. his puffy lips formed a cocky smile as he brushed his nose against mine. "you missed me."

"shut up." i was itching for more.

"admit it, you missed me. you missed the way i made you feel." he states.

"rafe, shut up and kiss me, please."

"ah ah ah." he shook his head. "not until you tell me."

"you're such an ass." i roll my eyes, trying to catch my breathe.

"yet, here you are, rubbing yourself against me in my truck." he says, kissing my cheek. his lips then go to my ear and down my neck. "i want it all with you, right now, babe. but i need to hear it."

"fine! fuck, i missed you. are you happy?" i groan, needing him.

"very. get in the backseat." he demands. i quickly follow his order, hopping in the back over the seats. he gets out of the truck and opens up the back door, sliding in next to me. "come here." he pulls me back onto his lap and we pick up where we left off. i continue to rub myself against him as he sloppily kisses me. "just like old times." he jokes and i hit his shoulder. "c'mon, don't act like you don't think about it."

"oh, i do. but i bet you think about it more than i do." i smirk.

"probably." he laughs. his fingers fall to the hem of my sweater and he plays with it. "now are we only here to kiss or?"

"why? you wanna fuck me in your truck? just like old times." i say, making fun of what he just said.

"i do, i wanna fuck you right here, right now. it's all i've been wanting to do." he kisses my jawline. "do you want me to fuck you?"

this is what i missed the most, our back and forth.

"yes, rafe. i want you to fuck me." i moan out.

with that, he practically rips my sweater off my body and starts to kiss down my chest. his large hands palm my clothed breast. i bite my lip and let my head fall back, missing the way he affected my body. i felt his hand snake around to the back and unclip my bra quickly.

"show off." i say, out of breathe.

i smirks and connects his lips to my nipple, sucking and licking it. his hand massaging my other. "don't pretend you don't like it."

i smirk and shake my head.

he continues to focus on my tits, going back and forth between the two.

"more." i whisper, eyes clenched shut.

"what was that?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"i need more, rafe. please." i beg.

"look at you all needy for me. i knew you missed me." his hand slipped under my jeans and panties, stopping right at my core. i felt his fingers curl inside me, going in and out. "all wet for me, huh? what a good girl." he pushed in, fingering my cunt, when his thumb found my sensitive bud. he added pressure, circling it, and i felt as though i was seeing stars.

"s-shit." i cry out, moving my hips to try and gain some friction.

"feel good, baby? let me hear how could i make you feel." he picked up his pace and a pornographic moan escaped my lips. it's been forever since someone has made me feel this good. rafe knew my body like it was his own, he knew how to get me going. "there we go, like how my fingers feel?"

"u-uh huh." i nod, mouth hanging open.

his fingers worked their magic, rubbing my clit at a pace that'll make me come undone in no time. "love the way you look on top of me, baby. so fucking sexy." he attached his lips to my tits again and continued fingering me.

i felt on fire.

i place one hand on the window and the other on his shoulder, holding on for dear life. the more he whispered about me and the faster his fingers were going, i was cumming on his fingers before i knew it. i rode out my high, screaming his name. once i was done, i felt him pull his fingers out of my pants, my juices getting all over myself. i stared down at him, trying to catch my breathe, as he popped his fingers into his mouth and sucked.

"just as good as i remember." he cleaned his fingers off and kissed me again. my hands ran down his buff chest and stopped at the bottom of his polo, lifting it up. his gold chain laid against his chiseled body, he was perfect. i felt as though i was in a trance as i began to kiss down his chest. i could feel his groans vibrating in his chest and i smirked because i was the one making him feel this way. "i need to fuck you."

"you need to?" i laugh, kissing lower and lower.

"yes, y/n. i need to bury myself inside of you, please." he pleaded.

"i like when you're the one begging." i bite him lightly, causing him to hiss.

"i bet."

i unbuttoned his khakis and sat up so he could slip them off. his grey boxers were discolored from the precum leaking off his cock. he took his underwear off and his cock sprung out. "i-i don't have protection." he said, mentally cursing himself out.

"well, are you clean?" i ask.

"yes. i-i haven't been with anyone since." he openly admitted.

i felt the darkness overtake my eyes as i lower myself down onto him. his breath hitched as he slipped all the way in. he was deep inside of me, causing a few tears to leave my eyes. but the pain subsided as he started to rock my hips with his hands, moving me back and forth. i picked up the rhythm he started with me and placed my hands on his shoulder to steady myself. i felt the truck rocking back and forth as i did so.

his hands found my ass and rested there. "fuck, i missed your pussy. so good, takes me so well." he kissed my chest as i grinded back and forth.

i felt my finger nails dig into his shoulder as his cock hit all the right spots. i looked down at him and he stared at me in awe, like i was some work of art. "fuck, rafe. you're so big."

i bite my lip as i let my head fall back in pleasure. i ride him fast as i keep saying his name. "shit, y/n. you're such a good girl, you're so hot. you feel so tight."

i connect our lips, i feel his hands tighten around my ass. this means he was close. "i want you to cum in me, rafe." his eyes widen as he opens his mouth to ask for permission. "p-please fill me up. i miss it so much." i say, trying to catch my breathe.

with that, he lets out a groan and my name falls from his lips like a prayer. "y/n." i feel him coming inside me, painting me. it doesn't take long for his thumb to find my clit again. with the extra pressure applied to my overstimulated cunt, i feel my head reeling. the air in the truck is hot, making it almost hard for me to breath. it all feels too much, my body releasing onto rafe yet again.

we sit there, panting with our eyes closed. i rest my head on his sweaty chest and he kisses me gently. he rubs my back, tracing circles into it.

"felt even better than i imagine." he says, his voice gruff.

"you thought about it a lot, huh?" i smirk.

"all the fucking time."

i take him out of me and sit next to him in the truck. the windows are foggy and our hands find each other, holding them. i get a sense of weird nostalgia, from how things used to be with us.

"well that was a thanksgiving to remember." i joke, trying not to feel overwhelmed by what happened.

"'tis the damn season." he replies.

i slowly slip my sweater back on and try to find my pants.

"w-wait." rafe says. "is this...is this it? just a single fuck and you're gone."

i look at him, his eyes pleading with me.

"i go back to boston on saturday rafe, we only have like a day and a half."

i wish we could keep this going, i wish this was how things always were. but i had to think realistically. i have to go back home, i have to move on with my new life.

he grabs my hand and squeezes it. "boston is only an 11 hour drive. hour or two by plane."

"rafe." i say.

"i can't lose you again. i can't, y/n. these past few years have sucked without you. i can't wait until you come home for christmas again. now that i've got you again, i can't risk it."

i sigh and kiss his hand. "i know. i know." i close my eyes and shake my head. "we'll make it work. we almost did it before."

"we can do it again." he smiles sweetly. i kiss his lips gently, laying my hand against his chest.

"you'd do an 11 hour car ride for me?"

"y/n, i'd fucking walk if i have to." he smiles.

i roll my eyes and kiss his cheek. "you're so cheesy."

he lays me back against the truck seats and kisses me. "don't act like it doesn't work for you."

[punkshort]

Seasons Change

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Miserable and lonely after Chucho drags him to the farmers' market in town, Javier's day turns around when he runs into you asking for his help.

Warnings: Javi being a little depressed/down on himself, fluff, meet-cute, tiny bit of possessiveness, flirting

WC: 3.2K

For @jolapeno & @goodwithcheese's fall challenge: I picked Javi P + Farmers' Market 🍂

thank you @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️

-

Javier stared out the passenger window of his father's old truck, sulking in his seat with his arms crossed. The changing leaves blurred by on the side of the road: deep reds, bright yellows and oranges, and the occasional stubborn green. Fall was certainly in the air, so much so that he had to pull on his red checkered flannel before Chucho practically dragged him out the door, muttering to him in Spanish about how he never leaves the ranch and getting a change of scenery would be good for him.

But Javier didn't like to leave the ranch. He didn't like the looks he got, the whispers he heard, and especially hated when some stranger insisted on stopping him with a firm handshake to express how proud they were of him.

He always had to bite his tongue. He politely nodded and smiled, but inevitably the ride home was always filled with distressing images of innocents caught in the crossfire, or the shady deals he felt he had to make with the wrong sort of people just to get a lead. Every time he shook one of their hands, more blood transferred to his own palm, and now he felt like he could never get them clean.

But he couldn't explain all that to his father, although Chucho likely had some inkling. He must have noticed the change in him, the shift, when he returned home. When he asked his son why he didn't want to buy a place of his own, why he didn't want privacy, Javier replied it's easier, don't have to wake up so early and drive over to help.

But Chucho wasn't stupid. He knew Javier had nightmares, he saw the clouds in his eyes the following mornings, could practically see the weight pulling his son down around his neck.

Javier didn't want to be alone, but he was too proud to say it.

"Quit pouting. Maybe you'll meet someone," he offered from the driver's seat. Javi scoffed and shook his head.

"What? You're a catch, m'hijo."

"It's not that, Pop," Javi said, although a big part of him was beginning to wonder if he really did have anything to offer a woman anymore. "I know everyone in this town. There's no one here for me."

"You don't know that," his father replied sternly. "The farmers' market brings in customers from all over. You could meet the love of your life today."

Javi tilted his head and gave Chucho an incredulous look.

"You gettin' sick of me, Pop?"

His father laughed heartily and shook his head as he turned into the parking lot.

"You know I love having you around, Javi. Just wish you'd have a reason to smile more."

Chucho abandoned him ten minutes into arriving, claiming he wanted to check in with a couple friends from neighboring farms, and encouraged his son to wander around to see if anything interesting caught his eye.

Javi was beginning to think his presence at the ranch wasn't as necessary as he thought. When he left Colombia, he had expected to arrive home to a mess, but the ranch was in surprisingly good shape. Not only that, but his father was busy. He had to give his dad credit - he had a lot of friends and a hell of a lot more night and weekend plans than himself. Chucho was even casually seeing a woman he met at the pharmacy two months ago.

Javier was wallowing in self-pity when he heard a man and woman's voices a few feet away discussing which cheeses they should buy that would best complement the crackers they had waiting for them at home.

He glanced up and saw the man and woman holding hands and gazing at one another like they were madly in love. Something sharp twisted in his chest at the display, so he tore his eyes away to focus on a package of bread he held in his hands, doing his best to ignore that familiar twitch in his fingers, the one that wanted to lead his hand to his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes that wasn't there.

"Hey, buddy, excuse us," the man's voice said, cutting through Javier's fog. His eyes snapped up and after a moment of confusion, realized he was in the happy couple's way. He dropped the bread and stepped back with a tight smile, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned away.

It took all of thirty seconds to realize he was completely surrounded by happy couples picking out flowers, fresh produce, and unique trinkets sold by locals. He normally wouldn't care. His focus lately had been entirely fixed on his father and the ranch, surprising even himself that women were the furthest thing from his mind. But something Chucho said that morning must have gotten under his skin because on that particular day, he felt lonely. Out of place. Tainted.

He saw a few people doing a double take as they passed by, no doubt recognizing him and whispering to their partner about his exploits. And just like that, it all felt like too much. The sun was too bright, the scent of apples and cinnamon was too heavy, the laughter was too loud.

He didn't belong there.

Javier swiveled around on his heel, deciding in that moment he would rather wait by his father's truck for an hour than subject himself to... whatever was happening to him. He managed to take one step when a pair of arms wrapped around his bicep, surprising him when he looked down to find a pair of bright beautiful eyes staring back up at him.

"I need your help," you whispered, fingers digging urgently into his arm. Immediately, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he scanned the crowd for danger. When you realized that you sounded a little alarmist, you quickly corrected yourself.

"Not like that. My ex is standing right behind you and I need you to play along because-"

You didn't get to finish your sentence and Javi hardly had a chance to process what you just said because the next thing he knew, your eyes flickered over his shoulder and you plastered a fake smile across your face.

"Charlie, hi!" you gushed, clinging to Javi's arm.

"Hey," a shorter man with light brown hair replied slowly, followed by your name. Javier repeated your name over and over in his head while Charlie's eyes bounced between the two of you, the gears churning. Even Javi could see the look of disappointment slide across his face.

"I've been thinking about you, wondering if you changed your number, but..." Charlie trailed off weakly. Then, for some reason, Javier stood up a little straighter when a flash of annoyance shot through him. Who the hell did this guy think he was? For all Charlie knew, you were in a loving and committed relationship with him. How dare he admit to trying to contact you with your boyfriend standing right there?

"Javier," he suddenly said, deepening his voice and stretching out an arm while simultaneously giving Charlie a stern look that said back off.

"Sorry!" you exclaimed from his side. "Charlie, this is my boyfriend, Javier."

Javi puffed up his chest and shook the man's hand a little harder than he usually would, secretly enjoying the look of discomfort on his face.

"Hey, man, nice to meet you," he replied, then Javi saw it. The flash in his eyes, the double take, the familiar look of someone trying to place who he was.

Javier cleared his throat and slid his arm out of your grasp, only to drape it protectively around your shoulders instead. Much to his delight, you leaned into his side and rested your hand on his chest, your touch making his heart unexpectedly flutter.

"Is there something wrong?" you asked Charlie innocently while batting your lashes. Slowly, your ex shook his head and forced an awkward smile.

"No, just... just happy to see you. Glad you're doing well."

"We're great," you replied. Javi's lips twitched and he had to look away. For just a moment, he wasn't the pathetic single guy at the Farmers' Market. For those few minutes, he was yours.

"Alright, well, I'll see you around I guess," Charlie said as he took a single step backwards. His eyes slid to Javi and he added, "Nice to meet you."

"Take care," he called after Charlie, his arm remaining around your shoulders until he slinked back into the crowd. You let out a huge sigh of relief and stepped out from under his hold, Javi's side instantly feeling cooler from the lack of contact.

"Thank you so much," you said, gazing up at him while you readjusted the bag over your shoulder. "You're, like, the only other person here without someone so I figured you were a safe bet, I hope you don't mind."

Javi smiled. So he wasn't the only one who noticed all the adoring couples. "Not at all. Is he bothering you? I know some guys down at the station-"

"No! Oh, god, no, nothing like that," you exclaimed with a giggle. "He's harmless, he just can't accept it's over, you know?"

"Yeah," he replied, but he didn't know. Not really. Not when he filled the past several years of his life with quick trysts.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, scanning his face for something, and then he felt that familiar churning in his stomach begin. You were about to connect the dots, about to recognize him for who he really was, so he dropped his gaze to the ground. But then your next question took him by surprise.

"How do you know people at the station? Are you a cop?"

He dragged his eyes up to meet yours again, searching for any sign that you were messing with him, but he found none. Just genuine curiosity.

"No," he replied, then awkwardly cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "Well, I used to be, but not here. I work on a ranch now with my Pops."

"Oh, that sounds nice. How kind of you to help out your dad," you said with a sweet smile that held him in a trance for a moment.

"Uh, y-yeah," Javi stammered before tearing his gaze away. "Seems like he doesn't need me as much as I thought, though."

You laughed again, the sound like music to his ears.

"I'm sure that's not true. I bet you're very helpful. You helped me today, so, there's that," you reminded him, leaning forward a little bit and biting your lip playfully. Were you flirting with him?

"That was nothing," Javi replied sheepishly. His mind began to race, trying to desperately think of ideas to keep you around before it became clear his usefulness had come to an end. Then, to his delight, you came up with an answer all by yourself.

"Well, do you mind continuing to help me? Because I wanted to buy some pumpkins and a hay bale for my front porch -"

"Yes," he responded almost immediately. The eagerness in his voice made you both blush and you reached out for his hand.

"My hero."

He grinned and let his fingers lace together with yours, your warmth spreading to his palm as you walked hand in hand through the market. Javi couldn't stop smiling. He was still surrounded by couples, all the smiling and happy faces, but now he didn't feel so out of place. Now he blended right in with everyone else because he had you by his side, leading him around to different vendors to show him something you found interesting or strange. And in those ten short minutes, he realized he wanted to hear it all. He wanted to know why you wrinkled your nose when you passed by some eggplants, or smiled fondly when you saw some colorful homemade crafts.

You suggested getting some hot chocolate and finding a spot to sit down, something he felt foolish for not thinking of first, but at least he had the good sense to insist on buying while he waved you off to find an empty bench.

"So, Javier," you began, saying his name in a way that made warmth bloom in his chest. "You said you used to be a cop and now you work on a ranch. Is there a story there or were you just looking to shake things up?"

He squinted at you over his hot chocolate, like he was trying to figure out if it was possible you really didn't know who he was. But you just kept looking at him so sweetly, your fingers curled around the paper cup, your lips blowing air over the liquid to cool it down, giving absolutely no indication you were being dishonest.

"Do you really not know who I am?" he blurted out. Your eyebrows shot up and you cocked your head to the side.

"Should I?"

Javi smirked and leaned back on the bench in disbelief.

"No. Well, not necessarily. Guess I'm just used to it."

"Used to... people recognizing you?" you asked. He nodded and figured now he was in too deep, so he told you. He told you about Escobar and the Cali Cartel while leaving out a few of the sensitive details, details that still haunted him at night. He didn't tell you why he wasn't a hero, he didn't tell you about Los Pepes. He didn't tell you how all the pain and lives lost made hardly any difference.

He didn't tell you he felt like a complete failure every time he saw those damn boats cruise by the ranch.

"Oh," you finally murmured when he stopped talking. He chewed anxiously on his lower lip, waiting for your reaction. But after you took a moment to absorb what he said, you brightened up and shrugged.

"I'm so glad you're working on a ranch, now. It sounds much safer."

He slowly nodded in agreement.

"Except when the cows get hungry, they get a little pushy."

You giggled and a wide smile stretched across his face.

"Jav! There you are," Chucho's voice called from a few feet away, putting a quick end to both your laughter. His heart sank when he realized his time with you was about to end.

"Pops," Javi said in greeting. You both stood from the bench to face him, ignoring the mischievous look on his father's face when he introduced you. Javi pulled nervously at his hair when he ran his fingers through the thick locks, scrambling to figure out what to say after Chucho announced he was ready to leave.

"Wait, I promised I'd help carry the pumpkins and hay-" he began, grateful that he thought of something to prolong your time together. Your eyes dropped shyly to the ground and you lowered your voice.

"I didn't actually come here to buy that stuff, I was just looking for a reason to keep talking to you."

His father coughed into his fist and hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll meet you at the truck, m'hijo."

Javi nodded and he may have said something but for the life of him, he couldn't remember. His heart was thudding too loudly in his chest at your confession. You liked him. You wanted to keep him around.

"Well, uh, it was great meeting you," he said, thumb and forefinger swiping over his mustache. You smiled up at him, murmuring your agreement and thanking him again for saving you from Charlie.

Do it. Do it, you coward.

But he couldn't. His nerves got the best of him and he took a couple steps backwards.

"Maybe I'll see you around," he said, cringing at how stupid he sounded. You tried to hide the disappointed look on your face when you gave him a little wave, then turned back to the bench to collect your bag and hot chocolate.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

He shook his head at himself as he began to slowly walk in the direction of the parking lot. His hands balled up into fists at his sides, his anger and disgust with himself growing with each heavy step. He thought he knew everyone in town, thought everyone knew him. Or, at least, of him and his reputation. If it wasn't his work in Colombia, then the rest of the town would have remembered how he left Lorraine. He thought he had to hide away on the ranch to avoid the attention and scrutiny, and he was content enough to do that. But now? The thought of going back home to his quiet little life, knowing he would spend countless days wondering about you made him suddenly stop dead in his tracks and spin around.

He spotted you walking in the opposite direction, your off-white tote back draped over your shoulder, about to disappear into the crowd. Panic clawed at his throat and he broke out into a jog, calling your name as he made his way closer and ignoring the looks he got from strangers as he went.

When you heard him, you immediately swiveled around and broke out into a smile, looking just as relieved as he felt.

"Hey," he said, slightly short of breath when he slowed his pace to a stop in front of you.

"Hi," you replied, gazing up at him with those beautiful eyes he would dream about later instead of the nightmares that usually plagued him.

"I meant to - can I get your number? I'd like to take you out sometime, if you-"

"Yes!" you cried out excitedly, making both of you laugh. He handed you his phone, then wiped his sweaty palms over the backs of his jeans and watched while you entered your number. You handed the device back to him with a dazzling smile and he felt his nerves start to settle.

"I'll call you," he promised, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

"You better, Javier," you teased with a poke to his shoulder.

It might have been the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him or the sweet way you said his name, but before he had a chance to overthink it, he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly against yours. He felt you melt into him once the shock wore off, and his lips curved into a smile before pulling away.

"You taste like chocolate," he said softly, mouth still hovering over yours, and you giggled when you swiped the pad of your thumb over his lower lip.

"So do you."

He grinned and forced his feet to move, walking backwards a few steps so he could continue to smile at you like a fool until he finally had to turn around before he ran into someone, but not before shooting you a quick wink just to hear you laugh one more time.

As he walked through the farmers' market, already dreading all the questions Chucho would be firing his way the entire ride home, he looked around at the happy couples in a completely different light. His stomach no longer churned and his chest no longer ached when he saw them kiss or laugh, because with any luck, he might just find himself in their shoes soon enough.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[chunghasweetie]

𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐃 | J.JK

— pairing | stranger!oc x stranger!jjk

— summary | jungkook being dragged to a party ends up with him fcking namjoon’s homegirl

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best)

sexy sex, cursing, praising

— word count | 2.9k words

— song suggestion | privacy — chris brown

“Got fuckin’ work in the morning I don’t have time for this shit.” Jungkook grumpily complained once again.

His friends here and there would drag him out to some parties downtown. Nights full of drinking and meaningless conversations with random people.

He used to be a party guy but after his career jump started, he had no interest in going out.

His friend group went out every weekend, bars, clubs, parties, etc. It didn’t matter. Any social event, you’d be sure to see them.

“Stop complaining. You’re here aren’t you?” Jimin groaned. “You’re getting annoying.”

“Whatever.” Jungkook shook his head.

“Don’t know why you’re mad. Maybe you’ll actually get some tonight.” Taehyung added.

“Yes Jungkook! We know hella girls here and I know they be down for some Kookie.” Jimin teased. “Are our usual girls going? What about the Kim girls? Or the Choi twins? Yo see is Y/n is gonna pull up!” He nagged Namjoon.

“I ain’t even check. Do it matter? You’ll hang with anyone.” Namjoon rolled his eyes in response.

The men eventually pulled up to the function, hearing the loud music blaring from the outside before they even went in.

“Smells like weed and cheating partners, my favorite.” Taehyung inhaled. “Aren’t you excited Jungkook?”

Jungkook glared in response, still annoyed.

The men flashed their IDs to the security at the front before entering.

His friends weren’t wrong about the smell. It grew stronger with each step, it burned into his nose.

“Ah shit my main ones already here!” Jimin pointed at a group of skimpy dressed girls dancing near the bar, “Hey ladies!”

The men walked their way, girls giggling at their enthusiasm.

“Ladies.” Taehyung smooth talked them, making them giggle and shy away.

Except one anyway.

“We missed you!” One of them pouted, attempting to be cute.

“Yeahhh! Jiminie it’s been a week why haven’t you texted me?” The others screechy voice could make Jungkook’s ears bleed.

“Oh my gosh.” One of them froze. “Omg omg omg!!! Jungkook finally came!! You brought him!” She jumped in excitement.

“Woah!”

“He’s so handsome in person!”

“How’d you get him to come out? Who cares! I want him to dance with us!”

“Come on girls.” Namjoon calmed them. “Let him breathe, he not used to the spotlight like us.”


Jungkook shot him a glare. “You act like I’m scared of em’.” He mumbled

“I know you not.” Namjoon shook his head. “But one of them, you might be.”

“What?”

“Fuck, it’s hot in here.” A voice came from behind the other girls. “Can you guys move out the way? I’m tryna get another drink.”

And his heart stopped.

He had never imagined he’d see the most beautiful face at some ghetto underground function.

“Hey Y/n.” Namjoon greeted, giving her a side hug.

“Hey Joon.” She smiled, turning to Jungkook. “You brought your other friend.” She smiled his way, waving.

He just stared back at her, with a dumb look on his face.

“What’d I tell you? Told you he wouldn’t talk.” Namjoon shrugged.

“It’s cool.” She shrugged. “Probably won’t see him again.”

“This why I can’t stand either of you. Never want to go out and live up your youth!” Jimin interrupted, two girls on his arm.

“Because some of us actually have lives outside nightclubs.” She rolled her eyes, refacing Namjoon. “Hold my purse? I need to go to the bathroom real quick.”

Namjoon nodded and she walked off.

“Bad as hell huh!” Namjoon blurted, bro-hugging Jungkook.

“She’s cool.” Jungkook tried to stay nonchalant.

“He’s lying!” Jimin laughed. “Nah we knew you’d like her that’s why we begged her to come out too!”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Jungkook groaned “You guys are annoying as shit.”

“Eugh look at him! My man’s smitten!” Jimin pretended to swoon, making all the girls laugh.

“Nah. She pretty yeah, but that’s about it.” He shrugged.

The man was lying through his teeth.

That weed smell? Turned to straight vanilla when she walked his way. His attitude? Complete 360.


Damn was she pretty. They didn’t even meet her here they had to drag her out.

The comment she made to Jimin? Instant green flag.

He felt more delusional than the time Taehyung through a Las Vegas stripper actually loved him.

He shook his head, ignoring his heart pounding out of his chest.

“Whatever man. Get this man a drink!” Taehyung flagged down the bartender.

“Okay I’m back.” Y/n grabbed her purse from Namjoon. “Thank you.”

“No worry about it. Yo, my boy said he’ll buy your drink. Get whatever.” Namjoon told her, winking at Jungkook.

“Really?” She rose her eyebrow, turning her attention to Jungkook.

“Uh— Yeah I got you. Get whatever.” Jungkook swallowed.

Namjoon made eye contact with the rest of the boys, signaling them to move away from the bar so they could be alone.

“I’ll take a Malibu Bay Breeze.” She ordered.

He ordered after her, “I’ll just take a Gin and tonic.”

“Sorry they’re annoying.” He apologized for his friends. “But I haven’t formally introduced myself, my names Jungkook.” He put out his hand.

“Y/n.” She shook Jungkook’s hand. “I heard you don’t like coming out like that huh?”

His lips curve into a slight smile. "Nah, I ain't really a party guy. My boys dragged me out.”

“But now that you hear, I'm glad I came." He takes a sip of his drink, eyeing her. “They never mentioned you before.”

The bartender came back around with their drinks, the two thanking them.

“I don’t come out like that either.” Y/n replied, sipping on the drink she was just served. “Namjoon and I dated a bit in college but now we just cool. He just asked me to come out tonight to hang out with you guys.”

His eyes widen briefly. "Oh so you know Namjoon, huh?”

She nodded.

“Well, I gotta say, Namjoon's got good taste.” His eyes linger on her face, then slowly drift down to her body. “Real good taste.”

“Yeah you think so?” She chuckled, “You definitely have a good eye.”

"Oh, you have no idea.” He leans in closer, growing more comfortable and confident. “Like I’ve said, I'm not really into the whole party scene, but if I had known there'd be beautiful women like you here, I'd have come more often."

“Really?” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t think Namjoon would pull up with a friend I wouldn’t find immature and annoying.”

“Well, I’m glad I'm not disappointing. And just so you know, I'm far from immature."

“You ain’t gotta tell me. I can see you compared to the boys. You’re more reserved than them” She responded.

"That's one way to put it.”

Jungkook reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, “I like to think I'm more... refined. More put together."

He was pulling out the stunts now.

“I can tell.” She grinned.

Y/n was definitely giving him a major ego boost. Not in a desperate way, enough for him to want more.

“Refined and interested.” His voice dripped with passion. “So tell me, Y/n, what else can you tell about me based on first impressions? Since you’re so observant.”

“You seem to be very forward, I can already pick that up.” She chuckled. “Might be the playboy type.”

“Forward, yes. Playboy? I don’t know about that one Y/n.” He leans back slightly, “Hey now, I’m not that bad.” He grinned.

“But I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy women.” He admitted."

“How’s that working out for you? Since you never go out.”

"Well, it's not like I haven't had options. He leans in close My bed's not empty every night, if that's what you're implying.”

He winks, clearly enjoying her company.

“So you are just like your friends is what you’re telling me?” She rose her eyebrow.

He noticed a small change in Y/n’s expression.

He was realizing he was getting a bit ahead of himself, getting cocky.

He needed to slow it down.

“Hell no, I'm nothing like those horny bastards.” He shakes his head, “I'm just... selective. And skilled. But hey, don't go spreading that around."

“Nah, now I have to tell everyone.” She teased.

Back on track.

He gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "You wouldn't dare. I'd have to take drastic measures to keep you quiet."

“Really? And what are those measures?”

Damn was Y/n beautiful. The light highlighted her face beautifully in every way.

She didn’t even need to show all out because her body was already built so perfectly.

Everytime she spoke it was like honey to his ears.

He grins, his eyes locking onto hers "Well, I could always make sure you forget all about telling anyone.”

He reaches out and gently brushes his thumb across her lower lip. “Or maybe I could just keep you occupied all night, so you don't have a chance to say a word."

She was definitely feeling him as much as he was feeling her.

“I like the sound of that…” She mumbled.

“I’ll be honest Y/n, I usually ain’t the type of guy who asks this to random women but,” He paused. “Would you want to get outta here and head back to my place?”

༊—

He nuzzles into her neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell amazing. His hand slides further up her thigh as he speaks. “Fuckin’ finally got you alone."

They had already made out during that entire taxi ride.

The two barely could barely make it through the door of his house, lips smacking and saliva dripping from their passionate mouths.

As soon as the door clicked shut, he was all up on her, his hands gripping her hips as he spun her around to face him.

His kisses was passionate and demanding, his hands roaming over her body possessively. He broke the kiss only to speak against her lips. “Bedroom. Now. I gotta have you.”

“You’re turning me out” she chuckled against his mouth before heading up his stairs into his room.

He followed close behind, his hands gripping her backside as they entered his room.

He gently pushed her onto his bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to unbutton his shirt. “You’re driving me crazy. So fuckin’ pretty.”

“I didn’t even do anything” She mumbled.

“You exist. That’s enough.” He crawled onto the bed, his hands finding the hem of her shirt.

“Lift your arms.” His voice was low, commanding.

He gently lifted her shirt over her head, tossing it aside as he took in the sight of her. His hands roam over her bare skin, his fingers tracing patterns on her stomach.

“Fuck, you're gorgeous.” He murmurs, his lips pressing against her collarbone.

“I’ll be honest I haven’t uh— done anything like this in quite some time.” She confesses.

Jungkook pauses, looking at her with a soft expression. "Okay, baby. Whatever you're comfortable with.”

He continues to kiss and nuzzle her neck, his hands staying above the waistband of her pants. "I just want to be with you, however you need me to be.”

That almost immediately set her off. It was the bare minimum yes, but she couldn’t help but smile.

She grabbed him by his hair and crashed her lips back onto his and sloppily made out with him once again.

His response was equally fervent, his hands gripping her hair as he deepened the kiss.

His body covered hers, his hips grinding against hers. He broke the kiss to trail his lips down her body, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. “Unbutton my pants.” He rasped out.

She nodded, doing as she was told.

He lifted his hips, allowing her to slide his pants and boxers down. His erection sprang free, waiting for her.

He guided her hand to it. “Stroke me. He groaned, his head falling back. “Just like that, baby. Your hand feels so good.”

She had no problem touching him, almost like she had already known his body.

He groaned at her touch, "Fuck, just like that." His hands found her breasts, kneading the soft flesh as he continued to grind against her.

He could feel her heat through her pants and it was driving him crazy. “Take these off— fuckin’ now.”

She loved being directed what to do. He was demanding and instructed her well. She quickly slipped her pants off, leaving herself in a dark red glittery thong she didn’t think anyone would’ve seen.

His eyes darkened as he drank in the sight of her. He ran a hand up her thigh, his touch rough.

"You look...addicting. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her underwear, slowly pulling it down. "Lift up, baby. So pretty”

She nodded slowly, biting her lip as she stared down at him.

He tossed her thong aside, leaving her bare before him. He took a moment to admire her, his hands caressing her thighs. "Spread your legs for me." His voice was low, almost a growl.

She slowly spread out her legs, her heat throbbing for him.

He settled between her thighs, his eyes locked on her center.

He reached up to spread her lips open, exposing her to his gaze. "You just pretty from head to toe." He murmurs, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against her clit.

"I'm going to eat you out until you can't remember your own name." He smirked in excitement.

“Jungkook” She whined, mesmerized by his words.

He grinned up at her, his breath fanning over her heated center. “I’m just getting started.”

He leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste her.

He explored her thoroughly, his tongue delving deep inside her.

“Oh fuck” A curse word slipped from her lips, not expecting his warm and wet tongue so soon.

“Fucking amazing. Tastes so fucking good.” He mumbled against her head.

He chuckled against her, the vibration causing her to shudder. “Perfect girl.” He continued his assault, his hands holding her thighs apart as he devoured her.

“You’re fuckin’ good at that” She hummed, mind numb from how overwhelmed she was with pleasure.

He could feel her walls clenching around his tongue, her juices dripping down his chin.

He lifted his head, his chin glistening as he looked at her. “And I’m just getting started.”

He climbed up her body, kissing her deeply so she could taste herself on his tongue. His hands wrapped around her wrists, pinning them above her head. “Keep them there.”

He leaned over, grabbing a condom packet he had previously tossed on the bed. He ripped it open with his teeth and slid it over his length.

“Now just let me know if I need to go slow okay? Gotta let me know if you’re hurting.” He kissed her forehead.

“O-Okay.” She nodded.

He aimed himself at her entrance, his broad tip stretching her as he slowly inched inside her tight heat.

The two immediately gasped as it went in, exhaling as he fit himself inside her.

He groaned low in his throat, “Fuck, you’re so tight. You weren’t kidding”

“W-Whatever. You’re just too fucking big.” Y/n mumbled.

“Mm but you’re taking me so good beautiful.” He picked up his pace.

Jungkook grunted, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he slowly thrust deeper.

“Take a deep breath, baby. You can do it.” He encouraged her.

“Fuckkkk” She groaned “Shits starting to fit perfectly.”

He pulled back to look at her, a smirk on his face. “That's it, take every inch. Your pussy takes it so good.”

He started to move, his thrusts deep and steady. One hand released her wrists to grab her hip, pulling her into each thrust.

“Feels so good.” She breathed out.

“You have no idea.” He growled, his pace increasing as he pounded into her.

“Fuck, I love this tight pussy.” He reached between them, rubbing her clit in time with his thrusts. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you squeeze my dick more.”

“You’re so rough” She giggled, blushing.

He grabbed her ankles, spreading her legs wider as he continued to rail her.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixed with their heavy panting and her screams of pleasure. “That's it, baby. Take it. Fuck.”

She whined “So…Fucking…Mmm…Good”

He leaned down to kiss her, muffling her cries as he continued to thrust into her hard and fast.

His own grunts of pleasure filled the gaps between her moans. “You're so close, baby. I can feel your body gripping me tighter. Let go pretty girl.”

Her body trembled, “Y-yeah.” She was under him, shaking and whining.

He felt her walls clamp down on him, her orgasm hitting her hard. He didn't hold back, letting her cum before quickly pulling out and cumming all over her stomach through the condom.

He quickly rolled over beside her, the two panting.

“You better not tell Namjoon.”

“Oh I have to tell Namjoon.” He chuckled.

“You can’t!” She tried to catch her breath. “Then he’ll be right.”

“About?” He cocked his eyebrow.

“He told me that I would end up going home with you tonight.” She mumbled.

“Oh yeah?” He chuckled. “Worked out for me.” He wrapped his arm around her.

“Worked out a little too well, I actually did it.” She shook her head.

“Mm it worked out for me real baby I got a pretty girl in my bed.” He taunted.

“Whatever! I was supposed to not be here tonight.”

“But are you regretting this?” He stared at her.

“No…”

“Then it doesn’t matter. Let him be right.” Jungkook shrugged. “At the end of the day, I’m the real winner.”

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Two

— Little Big Flight

Read part one here

Series Masterlist

Note: Max isn’t a major part of this chapter.

wc: 1.7k

Isabella hadn't stopped talking about Max since the day the two of you met him—in the grocery store of all places.

Her excitement was beyond imaginable, and that says a lot coming from you, a mother of a six year old that should be familiar with her big imagination.

As promised, Max had contacted you for the details later that day, surprising you with flight tickets and hotel already booked. You called him as soon as you saw the message, and gave him a little earful about doing too much for two strangers.

His response, "we don't have to be strangers anymore."

The harder part however, was explaining to Isabella's father, Tyler, that you were gifted a paddock pass for yourself and your daughter. Unfortunately, the race weekend was during your ex's days to keep Isabella, so you had to tell him about the plans.

While he might've been an okay father, he wasn't the best partner. Which is why when you told him, he laughed, not believing you for a second. That is, until you showed him the flight ticket to the Netherlands, where the next race was held.

You didn't have to tell him that you met Max, your daughter already did because she couldn't contain her excitement.

You spoke to him when you were standing by the door to his house when dropping Isabella off during your week so Tyler would still able to spend time with her before you leave. When he attempted to playfully ask why he wasn't invited to the race, Isabella shrugged but you knew he was actually asking you.

"You're flying out for work, it wouldn't have been possible." You didn't tell him that Max never offered, that secret was yours to keep.

The conversation didn't last long, since a woman you hadn't met, came and stood behind Tyler. Now you usually didn't care about who comes and goes in his house, but it mattered when your daughter was there. Fortunately, the woman was leaving so you didn't have to bring up the topic. A so-called rule he created when the two of you separated.

"Alright angel, I'll see you in a few days," you crouched down and kissed Isabella's forehead. Wrapping her arms around you, she whispered in your ear, "I love you, mama."

"I love you too, angel. Have fun here yeah?" Watching her nod, Tyler sent her inside and remained standing at the door to speak to you.

"I should get going," you told him and turned to leave, but he called your name to stop you. "Thank you for sending her over this week."

"Yeah, no worries." While you were fine with keeping things formal between you and Tyler, you didn't really want to spend any extra time with him without Isabella.

Truthfully, you were still in contact with him because of Isabella as she deserved to grow up around both parents and so far, it was going well.

As soon as you sat in your car, you received a text from a newly familiar person, Max. A small smile grew on your face at the thought of him. While he might've asked for your number to send the pass details, there were a few unrelated texts that were sent as well.

Whether it was just asking about your day, or how Isabella is doing, it made your days a little sweeter knowing that he genuinely wanted to know.

Even in his latest text, he was asking about your day. You responded, telling him about dropping off Isabella at Tyler's, mentioning how much you'll miss her over the next few days. Then, you drove off, dreading to think of ways to spend time without your little one.

—

You had a lot of free time on your hands during the week that Isabella was at Tyler's house. Even after checking off every errand you had to complete, you decided to do some research about the sport. It was a lot of information to take in and all you remember, is that you would miss the practices, but would be able to watch qualifying and the actual race.

It was now Friday, ten days later, and you were boarding a flight to the Netherlands with Isabella to watch your daughter's favourite driver race.

You were quite nervous to take Isabella on a flight, as it would be the second time. The first time was four years ago, and that too was necessary at the time or else you wouldn't have taken a two year-old Isabella on the plane.

However, Isabella wouldn’t have remembered many details from that flight, so it could also be considered her first.

Truth is, you didn't travel much after giving birth to your beautiful daughter, so you kept glancing at her to ensure she was okay during the boarding process.

While Isabella was still very excited to visit a new country, you could tell that she became slightly nervous as she sat down, all buckled in her assigned seat beside yours in anticipation for takeoff.

She was looking out the window, taking in the beauty of the early morning hours. That was, until she noticed the plane beginning to move.

"Mama," she exclaimed a little loudly, immediately finding your hand and grasping on to it tightly. "It's okay, Bella, we're flying to see Max right? Are you excited?" You asked, knowing the answer to the question very well but it was just a little way to distract her. As expected, she nodded eagerly, rambling on about everything she learned about Formula 1 with her daddy.

Clutching on to her favourite teddy bear, that she's had since birth, with one hand and the other still holding on to yours, she closed her eyes tightly once the plane picked up speed on the runway. You ran your free hand through her hair, whispering words and asking questions to distract her until the plane was stably in the air.

Fortunately, it was a seven hour flight which wasn't excessively long and wouldn't cause any additional stress on how to keep Isabella entertained.

Having downloaded the movie Cars on an iPad, you were able to keep her busy for two out of seven hours. She was happily watching, forgetting the fact that they were many miles up in air. Despite the fact that Isabella has watched this movie one too many times, it was still her favourite.

Especially after watching Formula 1, she quickly considered Charles Leclerc as Lightning McQueen when she first saw him in the red car on track. Even if Max was her favourite driver, she would speak of the Ferrari driver almost as often.

Fortunately, there was a tad bit of more privacy considering you and Isabella were seated in first class. The credit for that could be given to Max. When you asked him why first class was necessary, he responded with, "you two are my guests for the race, and my guests always need to have one of the best flight experiences."

Although, he didn't mention why it was one of the best and not the best. He held back on the fact that the best experience would be in his private plane. Perhaps one day, you and Isabella would travel with him and he would be able to share the experience. Which he believes would be a whole lot better than flying with his usual team.

The only time Isabella tightly clutched on to your hand, was during takeoff, landing, and some mild turbulence. Other than that, she had a lot of fun constantly finding a way to speak to the flight attendant.

She considered the flight attendant her friend, mainly because she kept bringing Isabella snacks to pass the time. Since Isabella stayed awake during the majority of the flight, she was close to falling asleep near the end.

After the events in the grocery store, you ensured to never leave Isabella's hand in a public place even after she assured you that she wouldn't run away. So, throughout the process of getting your small suitcase, Isabella was standing right beside you, holding your hand.

"Is Maxy gonna pick us up?" Isabella asked as you walked towards the exit. You shook your head, "no, angel, he's busy."

Dejected, Isabella pouted and you had to keep yourself from chuckling at her antics. "We'll see him tomorrow, just one more night," you reassured and the pout was replaced with a smile. If she could wait over a year for Tyler's promise that was never fulfilled, she could wait one more night until it is fulfilled by you.. and Max.

After a thirty minute drive from the airport to the hotel, you were able to get off your feet and relax. While Isabella was fascinated by the view from your hotel room, you picked up your phone and sent Max a text stating that you and Isabella safely arrived as per his request.

Usually, you'd get that request from your mother, as she always needed a text or a call to ensure your safety, especially whenever you were out with Isabella.

As expected, you had an unread message from your mother asking the same. "Bella, come here," you called out and heard patters of her small feet running towards you.

"Are we sending nanna a picture?" She asked, already knowing what was going on and you laughed, nodding.

You snapped a photo of her blowing a kiss to the camera and sent it to your mother. Two minutes passed before you got a response from her, "cutest as always but what about my little girl?"

Opening the camera again, you took a snapped a photo of yourself, holding your thumbs up playfully and sent it to her. "Your little girl is perfectly safe too"

Dropping your phone on the bed, you called Isabella’s name, “I’m gonna catch you!” You playfully chased your daughter, easily picking her up, as there wasn’t a lot of space to run, and attacking her with kisses and tickles.

Your phone buzzed with a text, “beautiful”

You had accidentally sent your photo to Max after it was sent to your mother, who was supposed to be the only recipient.

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