#nodding at strangers weekend
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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
#putting this down in my agenda as 'psychological torture weekend'#nodding at strangers weekend#bigotry olympics weekend#exhaustion speedrun weekend#I don't know anyone there except his brothers and parents. who I get along with bc I need to.#I already don't have any time off for holidays this summer and now I have to do this on one week-ends. cries forever
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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
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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.
#i dont know whats wrong with me ok#ceil writing#cod x reader#price x reader#price/reader#john price x reader#john price x you#price x you#captain john price x reader
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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.
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take two
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you weren’t expecting to see him again, but here he is. jake’s back, and with him comes everything you’ve been trying to move on from. so, what now?
PAIRING : ex!jake x y/n
GENRE : second chance love, ex's to lovers, smut, angst. bathroom sex, choking + hair pulling :D
WC : like 7k?
MDNI
your coworkers convinced you to go out with them after work. it is friday, after all, so you thought it would be a good start to your weekend after a long week of work.
across the street from your workplace is a bar that your coworkers and other workers nearby visit regularly. it's not too small and not too big, but on weekends, it's particularly busy. there are some booths that align the edges of the place, a counter area to order drinks, and a pretty large dance floor.
your coworkers and you snag a booth in the far corner.
your nails tap against the scratched wooden table as your coworkers look at the menu, thinking about ordering an appetizer for you all to share. to be honest, you aren't really hungry, and you are getting tired of them arguing about what to order.
"i'm just going to the bar to get a drink," you inform them, causing them to glance up at you.
"oh, can you get me a beer, y/n?" lila asks, her eyes lighting up.
"can you get me one, too?" daisy adds hopefully.
"why don't you just get us a jug of beer to share, y/n?" serena suggests instead.
"yeah! that would be better!" lila nods, her smile taking up her entire pretty face. daisy nods in agreement, looking between the two at the table and you.
"uh, yeah, okay! no problem!" you agree with your coworkers and turn towards the bar.
you sigh to yourself as you ask the bartender for a jug of beer and slide him $30 across the counter. you don't like beer, but you've just started working at this company and quickly realized how cliquey it is. the girls you came with tonight are more popular at your work. they're pretty and good at their jobs. you were shocked when they invited you to go out with them tonight.
since you're new at your job and don't know anyone properly yet, you decide to go out with these girls, even if they aren't your usual friend type. that's why you're ordering beer instead of your normal drink. you're used to trying to fit in with other groups and surrendering your authentic self, though you thought you wouldn't have to once you graduated college.
the bartender places a jug of beer on the counter; you reach for it simultaneously with someone else—your hand brushes against the stranger's hand on the jug's handle. you pull back quickly and start to apologize, "oh, i'm so sorry i thought that was mi-," the words die on your tongue.
"y/n?"
the way he says your name is too familiar for your liking. you've heard him say it many times before and never thought you would hear it again.
"jake?" you respond, and as you do, you realize it's the first time you've said his name out loud in years.
jake looks the same but different all at once. his features are more mature than they were in freshman year, and his hair is longer. his chest is more built, and you can't help but notice how the shirt he's wearing is so snug against his arms, which are bigger than you remembered. his eyes are more tired and sunken than they were those years ago.
"yeah, it's been a while." he speaks awkwardly, but he doesn't make a move to escape.
his words force you to think back about when you last saw him, the pain of that memory is suppressed but still somehow fresh. you remember the both of you yelling and crying and him leaving your dorm room for the last time by slamming the door behind him.
jake was your first boyfriend.
you met in your first year of college, and within a week, you were dating. the first half of your relationship was perfect. if only it could have stayed that way.
before the beginning of the sophomore year had even started, your relationship with jake sim had faltered. you think it was both of your faults as to why it ended. he began to get more popular and wanted to go out and neglected your needs for his social life, and you started to get more self-conscious and insecure.
it wasn’t long after your breakup that jake sim had disappeared.
you hadn’t even known he left until your mutual friends and acquaintances had started asking you where he went. but you were as shocked as they were.
you aren’t sure where he went, but you knew for a fact that he had dropped out of your university. there was a few rumours about where he had gone, like to france to learn french or that he went back to australia because his family had gone bankrupt.
you (and probably everyone else he ever knew) checked his social media daily to see if he changed anything or posted anything. he never posted on his snapchat again, didn’t retweet a stupid meme on twitter (i will never call it X). his instagram only had one small change suddenly, a few months after he had left. the first letter of your name that was in his instagram bio had been deleted.
you remember the feeling of your heart sinking into your stomach when you pressed his username in your recent searches, thinking that nothing would have changed, that his instagram would still look like he was forever stuck in the past. but the first thing you noticed when it slid onto his account was your initial gone. it comforted you but devastated you at the same time.
on one hand, he was at least alive and safe if he was editing his insta bio, and on the other hand, he really had moved on from you.
after he removed your initial you stopped checking all of his social media. at some point, he had deleted his instagram completely, but you weren’t shocked by that as much.
you had thought you would never see jake sim ever, again and that you could move on with your life.
but that didn't last long since he's standing directly in front of you right now.
he continues with your lack of response, "you look good, though, y/n."
you glance down at your work attire, just some dress pants and a blouse, "thanks, i'm just here after work."
"oh, where do you work?"
"uh, across the street, at the law firm, across the street."
his eyes light up at the information, "oh my god, you always wanted to work there! that's great!"
you smile painfully at his remembering of what you wanted to do after college. your gaze softening with a sadness you couldn’t quite hide. it was like you’re scared that if you blink he’d disappear again.
"what?" he asks you with a curious smile, obviously picking up on your expression.
"sorry," you shook your head to come back to reality, "i just… i never thought i’d see you again."
jake’s laugh was quick and full, like how you remembered it, “yeah, me neither to be honest.
your head tilted slightly, yourbrows knitting together. "where did you go, anyways? like, when you dropped out?"
his smile faltered at that, just a fraction, but it was enough for you to notice. there was a hesitation in his eyes, his mouth opening like he was searching for the right words to be able to explain himself.
but before he could speak, "here's your beer, miss." the bartender places another jug of beer beside jake's. you thank him before he moves on to the other customers, demanding his attention.
you glance back at jake, "i've got to get back to my coworkers…"
jake nods, and you can sense some disappointment in him, "right, i guess uh, i'll see you around maybe."
"yeah, maybe."
"it was nice seeing you, though. have fun with your coworkers."
you offer him a faint smile, "it was nice seeing you too; bye, jake."
you turn on your heel and start to walk back to your table. you feel like the blood has entirely left your body as your heart quickens. you can't believe you just saw your ex after all these years. you realize how fresh the pain is still.
you place the jug of beer on the table, and the other girls barely speak to you as they cheer for the alcohol and pour it into their cups.
for the rest of the night, you force yourself to sit there, listening to lila complain about the girl in the cubicle beside her, serena whining about how your boss has been avoiding her since their most recent hookup, and daisy hating the way the other girls in the office dress.
you try to focus on their conversations, but it feels draining. you wonder how you got yourself in this position.
you thought your life would be so different after college—that you'd actually enjoy life. but you're starting to think it's all the same no matter where you are. you're holding a cup of a drink that you don't even like and pretending to fit in with these coworkers that you really don't like.
in the same bar, there's jake sim, your ex-boyfriend of all people. you can't help but wonder how he's genuinely been and what he's been up to now.
it's a thought that keeps you up at night every few months: what would have happened if you had stayed together during college if you hadn't let your insecurities get the best of you, if you had gone out with him to those parties he was always going to?
before you can stop yourself, your gaze shifts across the room. there he is. jake is sitting at a table with a few friends, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he listens to someone speak. your heart clenches as his eyes suddenly lift, locking onto yours through the crowded bar.
the noise around you silences. his gaze feels heavier than it should—like he's reading every thought you've buried, every emotion you swore you'd moved past. you want to look away, pretend that you don't see him, but you can't. his eyes are prettier than you remembered.
just as your thoughts start spiraling, a waitress steps in front of his table, breaking eye contact. it's enough to jolt you back to reality, enough to remind you of where you are and who you're supposed to be now.
"i think i'm gonna head home," you tell your coworkers, forcing a weak smile as you grab your bag.
they barely notice as you slip away, the bar noise fading behind you as you step outside.
every step you take home leads to a new memory you've suppressed about jake. like when he used to hum his favorite song as he drove, how he pulled his jacket off and covered your head with it from the sudden rain one night, and the memory of how his voice sounded so deep and raspy in the morning as he begged you to stay "just a little longer" in bed.
how could jake still affect you after all these years?
you wipe the tear falling down your cheek.
you spent the rest of the weekend wondering why you had the worst luck. you could’ve run into anyone you’ve ever met, but it just had to be jake sim.
your break up with jake was hard on you. he was the first boy you ever loved. sometimes you wondered if he would be the only boy you’ll ever love.
since jake, you’ve gone on a few dates with other boys; some you’ve met on shitty dating apps and others your friends had set you up with. most of them never went to a second date and the rest didn’t last more than a year.
it was starting to frustrate you and you were beginning to think you’d be single forever.
your friends asked you what was wrong with all the boys you’ve dated, and you could never tell them a straightforward answer. you felt like you were looking for something in each of them that they never had. sometimes your mind would tell you that you’re looking for jake within them, but you never let yourself ponder on that thought for long.
when monday rolled around again, you realize you spent the entire weekend holed up in your apartment with thoughts of jake sim taking up your entire mind. you tell yourself that the past 48 hours was the final time you’d ever think about him and you went to work.
you are kind of proud of yourself for not thinking too much about jake sim all week.
everytime your ex boyfriend would seep into your mind, you reminded yourself to not think about him. there is no good about thinking about all the what if’s that surround him and your relationship. that your history with jake sim is done, and you’ll never see him again.
this friday night, you aren’t spending it in a corner of a bar with your coworkers that you mildly hate, but spending it in a corner of a bar with your college friends for one of their birthdays.
you had met the birthday girl, aeri, during your freshman year of college and she had easily become one of your best friends. even after college aeri and you have made sure to remain close, despite both of you working a lot of longer hours now.
you show up at the bar she had texted you the address to earlier on time, wearing a short black dress that you always wanted to wear but never a reason to. you’re quick to spot your friend group in the bar. they were loud and already filling up two tables pushed together.
“oh my god! y/n!” aeri suddenly squeals as she sees you over the many heads of your friends.
the whole group turns at your name and you’re suddenly being pulled into many hugs as you greet all your friends. some of them you haven’t seen since graduation, but others you’ve seen last week.
“happy birthday, aeri,” you greet your best friend finally, handing her her gift in a pink bag.
“aw, thank you so much, y/n!” she pulls you into a tight hug, your chin squeezed against her shoulder and neck.
“it’s no problem! i hope you like it!”
“oh, you know i will.” aeri moves her hand dismissively, but then her eyes suddenly light up. “oh my god, y/n, wait, guess who showed up!”
you tilt your head curiously, “who?”
“jake!”
his name makes your blood run cold and your body heat up at the same time. you follow with your eyes where your best friend's finger is pointing, and sure enough, jake sim is sitting at the table.
unlike last week, jake’s hair is pushed back neatly and he’s wearing an all black suit, he looks more put together. it makes your heart stop for a minute as you take in his appearance. his chocolate brown eyes are looking back at you with a sheepish smile on his face.
“isn’t it great y/n? he’s back!” aeri continues, not being able to contain her own excitement for her old friend returning.
“uh, yeah, it is.” you nod, not being able to form any other words.
some servers suddenly approach the table with some drinks, distracting everyone, so you take your chance to sit down at the only empty chair at the table. which just so happens to be across from jake.
you curse yourself for taking so long to pick an outfit out, you could’ve been here earlier and not forced to sit directly looking at your ex.
thankfully, sora is sitting beside you, she’s the sweetest girl you’ve ever met. you met her during your final years at college, though you wish you could’ve met her much sooner. she always knows how to cheer you up.
“hi, y/n! i love your dress.” sora greets you, her lovely smile already on her pretty face.
“thanks sora, i love your dress too, it’s super pretty!”
she thanks you before she takes a sip of her drink, “so you were friend’s with jake too, then?”
dammit sora.
your wide eyes meet jakes wide ones across the table. both of you look at each other and then at sora. since sora had joined your friend group later on, she never got to meet jake. maybe she’s heard some stories about him, but that’s all she would’ve known about your ex.
“uh yeah, we were.” jake speaks for you, keeping his voice so calm compared to how you were feeling inside.
from down the table you hear aeri scoff, “please sora, they weren’t just friends.” everyone turns to look at aeri, who bless her heart, is already wasted, “they dated!”
your stomach drops further at your best friend reminding everyone about your past relationship with jake. the table laughs as you see everyone remembering. you stare down at your lap, wishing you could disappear.
“yeah, sora,” you hear your friend heeseung speak from down the table, “jake and y/n use to be like attached at the hip.”
sunghoon, who’s sitting beside heeseung chimes in with a teasing smile, “jake and i use to live together in freshman year. it was like y/n was our third roommate. i remember us joking about her having to start paying rent she was there so often!”
the laughter around the table is lighthearted, with everyone remembering freshman year. but you leave your gaze fixated on your lap. you glance up at jake quickly, wanting to see if he’s just as awkward and embarrassed as you are, but of course he’s not.
jake is calm and seems completely nonchalant about the whole thing.
before you could spiral further, the servers return with plates of food for everyone. the conversation shifts as everyone starts to prepare to eat, mumbling about how hungry they are.
sora leans toward you, her expression apologetic as she whispers to you, “i’m so sorry about that y/n. i should’ve been quieter or something.”
you shake your head, giving her a small smile. “it’s no problem sora. it’s okay— you didn’t know.”
from down the table, aeri’s voice cuts through, “more shots!” she yells, raising her glass high. you realize she must be really going full out for her birthday this year.
suddenly, you feel something brush against your calf. the gentle but purposefully movement makes you jump slightly. your eyes dart across the table, meeting jake’s calm gaze. his leg is the one stretched out under the table with his foot gently rubbing yours. you can tell that the look in his eyes is asking if you’re okay. it makes your chest tighten.
you can’t hold his gaze for long.
you take the chance to excuse yourself. “i’m going to the bathroom,” you murmur quietly to sora, who nods in understanding. you can tell she still feels bad for triggering the jake conversation.
you leave the table quickly, making a beeline straight for the hallway that leads to the bathroom. when you reach the door though, it’s locked.
“great,” you sigh to yourself and spin to lean against the wall, it’s cold against your warm skin.
you close your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. everytime you think you’ll never see jake sim again, you’re always proven wrong. and now, he’s back with your friend group, so you’ll have to see him even more often. you don’t know if you can do it. you think about going home early. aeri is too drunk to notice if you disappear before her fourth round of shots.
another person walks in the tight, dark hallway to the bathrooms which makes you glance up and realize it’s jake.
he stops in front of you, “are you okay?”
“yeah, just someones in there,” you nod towards the closed bathroom door, “so i’m waiting.”
jake nods as his mouth forms an “O” in understanding. he leans back against the opposite wall of you, so you’re both facing each other.
now, in the dark, you recognize how much his facial features have matured since you last saw him. he’s not boyish and silly like he used to be when you dated. jake looks more serious and stoic and you wonder if you would even know parts of him anymore.
“why are you acting like nothing happened between us?” jake suddenly asks you.
it takes you by surprise, how blunt his question is. you try to remember if jake was this blunt when you dated.
“what do you mean?”
jake pushes off the wall behind him and he steps towards you, closing the distance in the small hallway. his movements have your pulse racing. his frame is enclosing you against the wall, he leans one of his hands against the wall beside your head.
“you know what i mean, y/n.” jake’s voice is low as he speaks. he looks down at you, right into your eyes. you feel your knees buckle. “you’re sitting there, acting like we’re strangers or something. like none of it mattered. like i didn’t matter to you.”
your whole body feels like its on fire. your fingers grip the hem of your dress, trying to keep you present and upright against the wall behind you.
“jake,” you whisper, trying to tell him anything. but the intensity in his eyes and how close his body is to yours make it hard to think straight.
“just tell me, y/n,” jake says slowly, his free hand brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face, making your breath hitch at his touch that you haven’t felt in years, “is this really how you want it to be between us?”
his words hang in the air. the tension between you is so thick in this small hallway that it feels almost suffocating. his hand lingers on your cheek. the touch of his fingers makes your brain fuzzy. you want to respond to him, saying something or anything to him, but you can’t focus on anything but how close he is to you. how familiar his touch is.
“tell me you don’t feel it anymore.” jake tells you, his breath warm against your skin. his fingers fall to your jaw, titling your face up so you’re forced to look directly at him. you feel hyper-aware of the fact that his lips are just a mere inch away from yours.
“f-feel what?”
the bathroom door opens right beside your head, the light from inside brightens the hallway. you both freeze as you look at a girl you don’t recognize step out of the bathroom. her eyes widen slightly as the light behind her exposes both of you pressed up against the wall. her face is contorted as he awkwardly walks around you and back to the bar.
before you can say anything, jake is pushing you into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it with both of you inside.
jake doesn’t give you a second to breathe, he’s pushing you up against the sink’s counter, your hips pushed against the ledge.
“the neediness y/n,” jake answers your question from the hall, “you used to be so needy for me. you used to make me make you cum at least twice before we could even leave the house. do you remember that, y/n?”
his words make you gasp, the memories of all the times jake has made you orgasm come flooding into your mind. no one’s ever known your body as well as jake has. no one’s ever been attentive as him. with all the boring dates you’ve been on through the years, the sex was just as boring.
“do you want me to remind you why you were so needy for me, baby?”
“please,” you whine out, suddenly caving into your desires, to your neediness.
within seconds jake is lifting you up onto the bathroom counter behind you, your back pressed up against the cool mirror. his hands don’t hesitate to roam your body, feeling your body again, like he once did all the those years ago. you bite your lip to suppress a moan. you’re quickly remembering how easily his touch affects you.
“did you miss my touch, baby?” jake whispers, his hot breath fanning your neck. it sends goosebumps across your skin. his lips start to trail down your neck, kissing the skin there so softly, teasing. his hands are the complete contrast to his lips, they’re rough like they own you.
even after all these years, it still seems like jake knows exactly how to tease you and touch you. it feels as if there was no time gap between then and now.
jake’s fingers start trailing up your bare thighs, so gently and warm, “you missed the way i make you feel? the way i make you cum?” his words further light the fire within you. you nod against the mirror behind you, watching as he stands between your legs, his fingers finding the already damp fabric of your panties.
jake hooks his fingers under the elastic and pulls them down, leaving your bottom half completely exposed to his eyes. the sudden rush of cool air on your core makes you gasp. but jake wastes no time and slides two fingers inside your wet folds, eliciting a soft cry from your lips at the feeling of being stuffed.
“you’re so fucking wet baby,” he growls, his fingers starting to push in and out of your hole. he curls them in just the right way that has you moaning already. he knows your body already, he doesn’t need to probe around to find that one spot that has you writhing in pleasure. he knows what makes you weak. “do you want me to fuck you right here? in this bathroom with all of our friends outside waiting for us?”
you can only nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps as his fingers still fuck into you. he leans directly over over pussy, allowing a string of spit to fall from lips and right onto your core, mixing with your juices all over his fingers. the sounds emanating from your pussy fill the bathroom. the slick noise jake’s fingers slicking against your juices mingle with your moans.
jake adds a third finger, stretching you, filling you. its the most full you’ve been in years. the sensation is addicting.
“tell me you missed me, baby.” jake demands, his fingers twisting and thrusting inside of you. “tell me you’ve been thinking about my touch— my cock pounding into you.” his words are even more addicting as you’re forced to listen to him in your ear. you whimper out in response, trying to keep your eyes open to watch him, to watch his fingers sink into your wet core over and over again.
“say it,” he insists, his fingers slowing their pace, teasing you. “say you need my cock, that you want me to remind you why you loved my cock so much.” his free hand reaches up, gripping your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your thoughts swirl. the choke sends a rush of adrenaline through your body, heightening your senses. you feel so submissive to him that it only fuels your desire for him.
“i, i need it!” you manage to croak out, your voice so hoarse. “please fuck me, jake, please.”
your words make him release your neck, and instead he grabs your hair. the pain feels good as it mixes with the pleasure his fingers are giving you.
with both of his hands busy and your hips bucking off the counter and legs squeezing around jake’s wrist, jake’s access to your sweet spot inside of your pussy was disrupted.
“hold your legs open for me,” jake tells you. your hands reach around to hook underneath your knees to spread yourself bare for him. “good girl.”
you whimper at the name. jake keeps your head pinned back against the mirror and keeps his other hand delved deep inside your pussy as he curls and swirls his fingers around your g spot, stretching you.
you felt so dirty— fucking your ex in a bathroom with your friends all outside waiting for you. you’re bare on the sink counter and holding your own legs open, spreading yourself for your ex.
“f-fuck!” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as he finger fucks you. everytime his fingers enter you you feel closer and closer to the edge— you can practically taste your orgasm. “i want your cock so bad! i need it, please!”
jake groans, he swears he feels his cock twitch in his pants at how needy your voice sounded, “fuck, you know how much i love hearing you beg. i can’t say no to it,” jake then takes his fingers out of you, chuckling at your whine and the way your pussy tries to clamp around them, wanting them to stay inside.
he leaves you panting and writhing on the counter as he starts to unbuckle his pants and pull his hard cock out. the sight of you with your hair messy from his hand pulling it and your pupils blown out makes his cock drip more with precum.
you spread your legs again for him to stand in between them. his large, hard cock only inches away from sliding into your pussy. he leans between your bodies again, letting spit drip from his mouth and land right on his cock. you forgot how much jake loves to make it as messy as possible.
jake presses his cock against your throbbing clit. it makes your squirm as it rubs up and down your wet folds, collecting more of your juices and his spit. you whine out into the bar’s bathroom as he teases you. your hips try to grind against his cock that is vertical with your slit as he rubs it up and down. you really are so desparate and so needy, especially for jake’s cock.
you’re getting tired of his teasing and smirking as he watches you try to grind yourself onto his cock. “jake, please fuck me already!” you urge him to take you then and there.
“someone’s impatient,” jake continues smirking. before you could complain further, jake thrusts forward, filling your wet pussy in one swift motion. you instantly cry out, throwing your head back against the mirror behind you.
the feeling of finally being stuffed full satisfies and overwhelms you at once. but, jake holds himself still for a moment, with his cock fully lodged inside of you, letting you adjust. he doesn’t pull out until you nod at him that it was okay to start.
his first thrust back in is rough and hard. the force of his hips meeting yours makes your entire body jerk against the bathroom counter. the mirror behind you holds you in place for his harsh thrusting. jake’s hands are holding your legs tight as he begins to fuck in and out of you.
the sound of the wetness from your juices and his saliva fill the room along with the sound of skin slapping against skin. jake’s grunts are low and his face is already contorted into pleasure as he focuses on fucking his cock deep inside of you.
“fuck you’re such a good girl, taking all of my cock like this,” jake groans out, his pace becoming relentless and wild as he fucks you on the counter. “you’re gonna cum all over my cock right? show me how needy you are— how much you need to cum on my cock?”
“oh fuck yes!” you cry out, your legs wrapping around his waist tighter, latching onto him, “please fuck don’t stop!”
yor nails dig into his shoulders through his black shirt. jake reaches between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and starts to circle it the way he knows you like it.
jake seemingly knows everything about your body, even more than you do. you swear he makes you cum than you can make yourself cum. nothing feels as good as jake— that’s all you can think about as he is pounding into you.
suddenly, jake pulls out of you completely and steps away, making your legs drop from around his waist.
“jake,” you whine out, “what the fuck? i was so close!”
he only chuckles in response, “turn around, let me see your ass.”
you shut up and get off the counter, turning around like he told you to. jake’s hand is on your back, pushing you down so your ass it up and your chest is pressed flush against the cool bathroom counter.
jake’s other hand harshly slaps your bare skin on your ass, “spread your legs.” you do as he says again, whining at the pain and pleasure you’re feeling all at once.
you feel jake’s hands wrap around your waist before he slides his cock back into you, both of you groaning at the feeling of the different angle. jake’s grip on your waist tightens as he starts to fuck into you from the back now. your ass moving every time he slams his cock back into you all the way.
without jake holding you in place, you’re sure your hips would be bruised from the bathroom counter from how hard and fast he’s pounding into you. you keep your hands on the edges of the bathroom counter, letting jake fuck you at whatever pace he wants. your moans are getting louder and louder as both of you start to fill the bathroom up with the smell of sex and sweat.
“fuck, this pussy is just as good as i remembered it,” jake grunts out behind you. his once neat, pushed back hair is now messy along his forehead from his harsh movements and sweat. his bottom lip is swollen from biting down on it as he fucks you.
“mhm,” you nod against the counter, “y-you’re cock is still so good, fuck.”
jake’s hand lands harshly on your ass again, your hand quickly covers your mouth to prevent you from screaming. you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as jake fucks you, his cock stretching you so fucking good.
jake suddenly pulls your hair backwards, “stand up.” you do as he says yet again, but you need to grip the counter in front of you and lean on his body behind you to stand up. “look,” his nods beside your face from behind you, now that your back is pressed against his chest, his cock still lodged deep inside of you.
you look ahead of you into the mirror and see what you and jake look like pressed up against each other. jake’s one hand is still in your hair, pulling it back so you’re forced to look at yourself in the mirror. both of your hair is a mess either way, and your black dress is pulled up way past your waist, it’s almost like a crop top now.
yours and jakes eyes both look blown out, high on sex, pleasure and adrenaline. even though you’re both sweaty, you can’t help but think how good jake looks with a few sweat droplets gathering around his hairline.
“don’t you look so sexy, baby?” jake whispers into your ear, he starts to thrust upwards into your pussy again, it makes your knees buckle underneath yourself. you whimper in response, not being able to take your eyes off of yourselves in the mirror.
“y-you look so hot,” your voice is hoarse as you tell him. in the mirror you see him smirk at you, before he leans over and starts sucking on your neck, biting and nipping at all the spots that he knows drives you crazy.
jake doesn’t stop thrusting his cock up inside of you as he lets go of your hair with his hand. he then trails his hand down the front side of you and circling your clit again with two fingers. you throw your head back onto his shoulder, but still keep your eyes on the mirror in front of you. it was like watching your own personal porn, the way both of you were groaning and grabbing each other. the way your entire body would jerk everytime jake thrusted inside of you.
“that’s it, keep watching us, baby,” jake groans into your ear, your eyes meet his through the reflection of the mirror, “don’t we look so good together?”
“y-yes,” you whimper out, the pressure on your clit making you lose yourself within the pleasure.
“did you miss my cock, y/n? did you miss me?”
“mhm, yes, fuck, missed you so much.”
jake smirks against your cheek at your response, his thrusting getting more erratic, wanting to make you cum all over his cock just like you had done before, years ago.
“then cum all over my cock baby, show me how much you missed this.”
his words push you to the edge, your orgasm finally done building as it courses through your body almost suddenly. “fuck!” you cry out, your nails digging into the bathroom counter in front of you. without jake holding you you would’ve fallen right down from how the pleasure completely takes over your body. his two fingers don’t stop circling your clit all the way through your orgasm, making you cry out his name, your pussy clamping around his cock.
jake continues to thrust through your orgasm, his own release building. He grips your hips tightly, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he empties himself deep inside you. "That's it, baby, milk my cock," he growls, his voice hoarse with pleasure.
As your bodies slowly calm, Jake leans forward, his lips finding yours in a hungry kiss. The taste of him, the feel of his body against yours, reminds you why you had always found it so hard to forget him.
“I missed this, missed you," he breathes against your lips, his fingers gently caressing your cheek.
with his words and now that he wasn’t inside of you or making your mind all fuzzy, his words only brought you back to reality.
the reality that you just had sex with your ex in a bathroom of a bar at your best friends birthday party.
jake can physically see you tense in front of him, he lets you step away from him, turning away from him to pick up your panties from the floor and quickly slip them back on.
“y/n?” he questions you, “are you okay?”
“mhm,” you tell him, it’s all you can manage, your mind too confused with anything else.
the air in the bathroom suddenly feels suffocating. your lips and body are still tingling from his touch.
it feels like just a second ago, jake was just a memory from your college days, someone that you thought you'd’ never see again, and now, you’ve just been pressed against the bathroom counter with his hands all over your skin and his lips claiming yours. you feel like nothing makes sense right now.
you take a step back, putting distance between you and jake, your heart pounding erratically. “i can’t do this,” you whisper, avoiding his gaze as you reach for the door handle.
“y/n, wait.” jake’s voice is soft but urgent, and his hand wraps around your wrist gently, trying to stop you. “can we just talk?”
but you shake your head, pulling free from his grasp. “i can’t,” you repeat, your voice cracking slightly. without another word, you slip out of the bathroom and into the bar and then out the front door.
the cool night air hits your face as you push open the door and step outside, trying to steady your breathing. it’s a relief compared to the heat inside that bathroom. you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to think about everything that just happened and how you’re going to get home right now.
“y/n!” his voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see him jogging toward you. before you can react, his hand catches your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. his grip is firm but not forceful, his eyes searching yours desperately. “please, talk to me.”
you pull your wrist from his grasp, a lot harder than you had meant to, but you were angry and confused. “you don’t get to just walk back into my life like nothing happened, jake! you don’t get to just show up, fuck me, and act like—like you didn’t just leave me!”
ake flinches, his expression twisting with guilt. he runs a hand through his hair, looking down for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “i know,” he says softly. “i know i don’t deserve to just… come back like this. but y/n, i couldn’t stay away.”
“then why did you leave?” you demand, your voice cracking as you step back from him. “why did you disappear? you weren’t even home half the time anymore.”
“because i was scared,” he’s blunt again, something you don’t recognize in the man you thought you knew, but you prefer it like this than him bottling it up and leaving. scared of how much i loved you. it was overwhelming, y/n. you were my whole world, and it terrified me. i mean, we were so young and, i didn’t know how to handle it, so i ran.”
your breath catches, tears stinging your eyes as his words sink in. “you hurt me, jake,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “you broke me.”
“i know,” he says, stepping closer, his expression full of regret. “and i’ve thought about you every day since i left. i just didn’t know how to fix it.”
his voice softens as he reaches for your hand, but he stops short, giving you the choice to take it. “but i’m here now, y/n and i’m not scared anymore. i love you.”
you stare at him, his words hanging heavily in the space between you. part of you wants to push him away again, to protect yourself from the pain he’s already caused. but another part—the part that still remembers how he made you feel, how he made you laugh, how we always seemed to know you better than you knew yourself.
“jake,” your voice weak, “you can’t just say you love me and expect it to fix everything. i mean, we dated years ago.”
“i don’t,” jake jumps to say, “i know its not that simple, but i mean it y/n. and i had to tell you what i’ve been feeling for years, even if you don’t love me anymore.”
you sigh, trying to sort all of your thoughts out. the person standing before you is no longer the boy you fell in love with all those years ago, even the simple interactions you’ve had with him so far you can tell he’s different.
“it’s going to take time,” you start to say, finally, “but i can forgive you.”
you see jake’s eyes light up in the dark night, he steps closer to you, his body heat warming yours. he takes your hands into yours, wanting you to focus only on him. “i’ll wait as long as it takes y/n. just tell me there’s a chance.” jake’s lip purse into a pout, wanting you to say yes to him.
his round eyes looking up at yours makes you scoff, “yes jake, there’s a chance.”
jake pulls your hands closer to him, making your body rush into his, making your faces only inches apart, “i won’t mess this up, y/n.”
“i believe you.”
“so… take two?”
“take two— and it’ll be the only other take, jake!”
“okay, okay, i believe you.”
@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.
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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!
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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
#ꨄ࿎victoria’s writings!! ࿎ꨄ#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton x reader#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#carlos sainz#carlos sainz x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x reader#lando norris#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#sebastian vettel#sebastian vettel x reader#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#jenson button#jenson button x reader#daniel ricciardo#daniel riccardo x reader#f1 grid#f1#f1 one shot#f1 smau#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 imagines
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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
#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#deadpool#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool 3#wolverine#wolverine x reader#logan wolverine#logan x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x you#james howlett#fluff#logan howlett imagine#logan x you
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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.
#f1#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#williams#franco colapinto#franco colapinto x reader#franco colapinto x you#franco colapinto x yn#williams f1#williams racing#williams formula 1#f1 social media au#formula one x reader#f1 x reader#ann speaks#formula 1#franco colapinto imagine#franco colapinto fanfic
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frat flu luigi mangione x virgin!reader 18+
summary!!! (smut inspired by this request) you’re set to interview frat president luigi mangione for the penn newsletter!
note: fratboy!luigi but not reallyyyy associated to that cheating demon storyline. written as a standalone but could be seen as a prequel if you squint. unedited but happy new years
warnings: long fic cuz we need a reason to be fuckin, sad bc luigi’s sad, comfort, an attempt at fluff, and of course smut, dubcon (he grinds on you while you’re sleeping), so dry humping, p in dis v (VIRGINNN)
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luigi mangione, as described by his fraternity brothers: “cool,” “mega smart,” and “totally chill.” all phrases you could blindly draw from a hat to describe a stranger walking down the street.
surely, this couldn’t be your debut in penn today. a spotlight on the brightest mind on campus, phi kappa psi fraternity president luigi mangione. top of his class at a mysterious luxury private high school, started a hash brown business at sixteen, and, according to his linkedin, volunteers at local libraries, elderly homes, and animal shelters during breaks back home. he’s got a first aid/cpr certification, a bartending license, and a squeaky clean record.
“he doesn’t even complain on yelp,” you groan.
your friend, lacy, sits in the drivers seat, shaking her head. “maybe he’s just nice.”
you shoot a glare at her.
she raises her hands, defensive. “i’ve only heard good things!”
“oh, well, if he was really so nice, he wouldn’t have canceled on me a hundred and one times.” as if he’d heard you, your phone pings—his name flashing on the screen.
from luigi Hey pretty! Something came up today. So sorry. Can I see you another time?
“one hundred and two,” you declare, showing her your phone screen. at this point, it felt less like inconvenience and more like cruelty. his constant rejections, delayed responses, and last-minute reschedules were a relentless reminder of your looming failure to finish the piece on the phi kappa psi house. journalism club was going to fucking kill you.
“y/n, he literally could not have been nicer.” she finally puts the car into park. the both of you look outside.
frustration had been simmering for weeks, growing with every missed promise. almost two months ago, he’d smiled big and earnest, assuring you he’d meet for the interview—yet here you were, still waiting. the distance between you two seemed to stretch with every passing day, and you couldn’t summon the energy to pretend you still cared for niceties.
you’re outside his fraternity house, calling him, he surprises you by answering almost immediately, his voice low and hoarse, like he’s just woken up. “hello?”
“hi, it’s y/n.”
“oh,” he says, tone dipping as he cleared his throat. “hey, how are you?”
“yeah, i’m fine,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt. “i just wanted to talk—”
“yeah, i know ‘m sorry,” he tells you, sincerity to be debated. “i’ve just been a bit all over the place these past few weeks.”
lacy mouths, “im staying in the car.”
nodding, you hop out, a familiar sense of anticipation lingering. it’s not your first time at the fraternity house, but each visit feels different. the mansion, though grand, has a worn charm—earth-toned walls and overgrown grass, with boys constantly darting across the yard. trash cans overflow with aluminum cans, remnants of the never-ending chaos.
“no, i get it, i do. i, you know, am busy all the time.”
“oh, i’m sure,” he says. “are you free next weekend?”
you didn’t even have to check your schedule to know you were free. but you were already here. “well, actually, i just, um…” you feel a bit of your confidence deflating as you trespass their yard. your face flushes and you suddenly feel the eyes of the other brothers staring at your silhouette like curious dogs, unsure of whether to bark or bite. “i was just passing by the neighborhood, i was wondering if i could come over now?”
he yawns. “what? you mean right now?”
“is that alright?”
“how far away are you?”
“yeah, uh, i’m outside your front door.”
“oh?” he says, clearly taken off-guard. the embarrassment finally settles in. what the hell were you doing?
“you know what, never mind. i’m so sorry,” you flush, spinning on your heel and rushing down the steps, avoiding eye contact with the other guys.
you’re not sure if it’s your heart stopping or the phone call ending, but it’s in that moment that the blackwood door opens. you turn around, and the brown-haired boy steps through, looking disheveled, with dark bags under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept. though, despite that, he’s in gray sweatpants and a long sleeved black compression shirt.
“y/n, come on in,” luigi says, his voice booming, almost too loud for the quiet pennsylvania street. he glances toward the team of players in the front yard, bringing attention to you all over again. “this is the journalist for the penn.”
you shuffle up the steps again. “it’s called penn daily.”
“right,” he nods, eyes searching your body up and down. “you want a jacket?”
you’re in leggings and a tank top. you’re shivering. “no, no, i like the cold.”
the brown-haired boy shakes his head, grabbing one off the coat rack anyway and tossing it over to you.
“you’ll like the jacket even better.”
as he guides you through the house, the weight of the silence surrounds you. you’ve only ever seen the place during parties—neon LED lights casting strange shadows, tables covered in empty Solo cups and suspicious piles of random powders. it always felt like a place of unrecognizable chaos, where everyone was too busy to think about much else but the next round of shots or whatever game they were playing. but today, in the quiet of the late morning, the house feels different. the lights aren’t flashing, the music isn’t blasting, and there’s no throng of people rushing around. it feels oddly intimate, even though it’s still just as cluttered as always.
“is this what it looks like clean?” you ask, only half-joking.
“be nice,” luigi barks, tone plain as he rolled his eyes in faux annoyance. “we had a long night yesterday,” he gestures to the crowds of twentysomethings outside, one group cleaning off the mountain of soda and beer cans off the plastic gray tables, the other playing ping pong. “another long night ahead. you should come.”
the invitation doesn’t sway you, you’re distracted by his face. though his curly hair is neatly cut, and his chocolate brown eyes hold a quiet, dark intensity. his tall frame fills up the room, the way he stands commanding attention without trying. his features are sharp, framed by thick eyebrows, and his smile is small, barely there, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. he offers it to you as if it’s expected. there’s an underlying feeling you can’t shake. it’s like you can tell it’s forced. you’ve seen enough of him in passing (and in stalking) to know this isn’t the usual “luigi” you’re used to seeing at parties or around campus.
you bite the inside of your cheek. “you know, if today’s a bad day, you don’t have to—”
“no, babe, it’s fine,” he says, the term rolling off his tongue like it’s second nature.
in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve picked up on his knack for nicknames and gathered you probably shouldn’t be flattered—all the boys in this frat were entirely too flirty.
he pushes the door to his bedroom open, stepping aside to let you in. “shouldn’t take too long, right?”
“sure,” you lie as you slip past him, fingers brushing over the notepad tucked in your back pocket, your mind racing with questions you’re suddenly too aware of.
“well then, it’s no rush,” he says.
quickly, you notice the collection of allergy medication at his desk. a heinous amount of nyquil, half-empty bottles scattered among crumpled tissues and unopened water bottles. it’s almost comical, the way his organized chaos betrays the “untouchable golden boy” image you’d pieced together. his desk, once probably neat and deliberate, now looks like the scene of a losing battle against the flu. curious, you ask, “bad fever?”
luigi laughs dryly. “something bad, that’s for sure.”
you feel yourself sink at the admission. instinctively, you reach up to feel his forehead, your fingers hovering just shy of his skin. it’s a simple gesture, something you wouldn’t think twice about doing for one of your roommates, but as soon as your hand makes contact, he stiffens, his body recoiling ever so slightly. the movement is subtle but enough to make you hesitate, pulling your hand back as his lashes flicker up to meet yours.
“jesus christ,” you gasp. “you’re burning up.”
luigi doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on you just a moment too long, his eyes a little softer than usual.
“think i’ll be fine,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice, like he’s trying to brush it off. it feels more like he’s saying it for both of you than for himself.
a pang of guilt hits you hard—a reminder of how you’d pushed for this interview while he was clearly feeling terrible. all those ridiculous, relentless messages, the nagging about deadlines while he was probably just trying to get through the day. god, you feel like an idiot.
you cup his cheeks, serious. “you should really get to bed.”
“what, and miss the privilege of being interrogated by the penn’s finest?” he teases, leaning into you. you’re struck at how warm he was, how utterly unprofessional you were coming off as, how awful it would be to pull away.
the article, you remind yourself, inching away. “if you pass out mid-question, it’s not going to make for a great article.”
“least i’ll be a shoo-in for the sympathy vote next semester,” luigi says with a wry chuckle, his tone light but laced with something deeper as he glances back up at you, almost as if testing your reaction.
“come on,” he reaches for your hand when you frown, interlocking your fingers and swaying you. he doesn’t pull you too close, something about the way he’s looking at you has you sure he’ll never give you the satisfaction, but your fingers interlock and there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the edge of his lips, smugness plain. “i couldn’t let you walk out here so fast. you know what they would say about me if they thought i let down a pretty girl like you?”
you feel your face go pink but your ego won’t let his flirting power last. his forehead was burning hotter than sauna, he probably didn’t know what was even happening. “you look like you haven’t even slept,” you say, matter-of-factly. “would you just sit down?”
“trust me, this headache’ll be gone before you can even say sto meglio con te,” he says, his voice a little softer than usual.
he grins as your brow furrows. “you could put that in your article. successful, speaks italian, looks like shit.”
“i didn’t mean that. i’m just worried.” ignoring the fluttering in your stomach and his persistent gaze, you turn your phone over. “i could order you some soup. there’s a really nice pho place down the road—”
“what’re you, my girlfriend?”
“mangione,” you sigh. “you’re being impossible.”
“baby,” he says, the word slipping from his lips with a teasing familiarity that catches you off guard. it pierces straight through your ego, sharp and unexpected. “i promise, ive got way more interesting things to talk about than allergies. come on, ask me.”
before you can react, another voice calls from outside, and you hear hurried footsteps approaching the door. luigi hesitates for a second, glancing at you. a younger group of fraternity brothers peeks in, looking urgent.
“hey, we’ve got a problem with the fundraising paperwork—someone made a mistake with the donations, and it needs to be fixed or we’re going to miss the deadline,” one of them explains, his voice tight with stress.
“who was in charge of that?” luigi asks, a lilt of accusation in his tone.
the younger twentysomethings look around, feigning innocence, avoiding eye contact. “whatever, it doesn’t matter,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes. “i’ll take care of it.”
he squeezes your hand before he leaves the room, saying, “stay put for me.”
so you sit on his navy blue bed, stiff and idle, your mind wandering as you wait. you text lacy and tell her you’ll catch up with her later as the constant sound of chaos fills your ears. you hear the house scrambling through the halls and luigi’s answering calls and questions, directing people, moving them out the way. the speakers for the party this weekend just got delivered, the delta 3 girls are inviting them to volunteer at their annual car wash, and there’s a leak in the basement that needs immediate attention. after what feels like hours, you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. exhaustion pulls at you, and without even realizing it, you fall asleep on his bed, the rhythmic noise of his busy life buzzing around you.
“y/n,” luigi exhales as he finally re-enters the room, his exhaustion evident in every step.
he’s greeted at the sight of your body sprawled across his bed, eyes fluttered shut with his jacket blanketed over your silhouette. he’s not so sure what comes over him, but he locks the door. your peaceful slumber is a stark change from the drunk mayhem on the other side of the door, and he’s intent on keeping the peace. the bed dips under his weight as he sinks down beside you, too tired for niceties. without a word or a second’s hesitation, he pulls the jacket off you and brings your tired body closer to his.
it starts off innocent. his arms are wrapped around your stomach, your body limp against his. he cradles into the nape of your neck—and you’re so soft and you smell so good, he can’t help himself. he tells himself he won’t take it too far. starting with small, sweet kisses against the side of your neck, almost tickling you out of your unconsciousness. you sleepily squirm under his hold and he’s straining in his sweatpants before he can make sense of it.
“you’re so pretty,” luigi whispers. it would be a waste, really, to have you this close without touching you. using you.
he grinds his hips against your plump ass. he’s so fucking hard, he really can’t help it. he has to have you, but he can’t bring himself to wake you—you’d been so sweet to him earlier, doe eyes wide with concern—he figures he has to return the favor somehow, right? letting you nap in his bed feels like the least he can do.
“you’ve got no idea how often i lose my mind thinkin’ about this, about you,” he confesses. the noise outside is loud, chaotic—a world away from the quiet intensity between you. it’s too loud for anyone else to know of the secret unfolding here, in the space of his touch and the weight of his gaze.
he’s rougher now, tightening his grip on your hips as he jerks himself into you. you were so worried about him earlier. you’d want this, wouldn’t you? to help him out, make him feel better?
his defense of plausible deniability falls apart piece by piece. one of his hands stray from your hip to your clothed core, rubbing you, desperate for friction. he groans into your back. you were wet, he was sure of it, he had to make sure of it. he slips his hands down your leggings and rushes to palms your wetness. he has to make sure you’re feeling just as good as he was.
you shudder at the touch, slowly bringing yourself from rem to reality. the room is hotter than you remembered, and you almost shriek as you realize luigi’s hands had been all over you. he’s quick to put his hand over your mouth, talking in your ear, “‘m sorry baby, couldn’t resist.”
his sloppy wet kisses are hot against your neck, so frantic, so desperate, so needy, his stubble unnerving you as you squirm under his hold. you can hardly make sense of what’s happening. “luigi.” you mewl as he grinds his clothed cock into you. “what’re you doing?”
he moans at the perfect blend of innocence and surprise twined through your voice. its undeniable now — he can’t spend another second not experiencing you.
“you said you wanted to make me feel better, yeah?” luigi grunts. before you can respond, he’s slipping a finger into your wet pussy. you jolt at the wild unfamiliar storm that grasps you, trying to turn your head over to him, to look at him, to ask him what the hell had gotten into him. he kisses you when your head tilts, his free hand wrapping around your throat.
“that’s so much fuckin’ better,” he tells you, stretching your core out with another two fingers. he’s so eager—so intent on making a mess of you, you’re almost humiliated at how easily you fall apart underneath.
you quiver and shake, and try to twist out of his groping hands, but he doesn’t budge, pressing harder into you. “you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart,” he swears.
“luigi,” you cry, helpless. the friction felt so hot it made you light-headed. the pleasures storms out any logical part of you. “i don’t—i don’t know what to do.”
of course you don’t. you were entirely too sweet, too well-meaning, too fuckin’ stupid to realize how badly he wanted you. running up to him after his gym workout, bright-eyed as you asked him to hang out. not on a date, not even as friends, but for a stupid fucking college paper. he should’ve taken you right there, in the parking lot, let you scream on it so loud the entire campus knew you were his, saved all this goddamn time.
“you’re a fuckin’ virgin?” luigi asks. he needs to hear you say it.
he rips his hand from your aching cunt and you cry out at the loss of friction.
“yes,” you pout.
“any good journalist knows to use specifics.” you see a cocky grin etch onto his lips before he flips you over and brings you in for a proper kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as he sinks into you. you kiss him back. you wanted this, whatever it was. “tell me again.”
“i’m a virgin,” you admit, reddening.
he smiles against your cheek before kissing you again—“been waiting for me, yeah? you want me to take you?”
“luigi, please.”
“what’s that?” he says, cruel.
you pout again and try to please him, rushing into another kiss. he captures your lips gladly, but refuses to bring you to the satisfaction of salvation.
all too mean, he points out, “you don’t even know what you’re begging for.”
at this point you were sure you could get drunk off the warmth of him. if you bucked up into the air, you could feel his bulge raging against his sweatpants.
“i want you,” you whine. “i mean—i just—i thought you wanted me too..?”
“of course i do. look at you.” luigi grunts before he strips off his shirt, ripping down your leggings with a force that pulls your body down the bed with him. his dark gaze drifts down.
you flush at the sight of the wet mess all over your legs. “you did all that just for me?” luigi mocks. “you want me that fuckin’ bad?”
“yes,” you have no idea why but you do. you can’t imagine a world where you walk away now and never experience him.
luigi never had any intention of being nice about this. his morals and his plans for the night unraveled the moment his eyes found you sprawled across his bed. harshly, he grips your hips—sure to leave marks, hoping for it—before pounding the entirety of his length into your purity.
the stretch scorches, searing into you. you see white, red, and hell all at once. “luigi—!” you cry out.
“you’re so good,” luigi assures. he tries to pace himself as you fall apart underneath him. he tries he tries he tries—but your inexperienced pussy molds around him, so perfect and wet, he can’t help himself.
you feel everything but perfect. unnerved and wild and overwhelmed, whimpering underneath him like a sick puppy. he fucks into you like he’s itching to see if you’ll break.
“it hurts,” you whine.
“you look so fuckin’ pretty with your legs spread,” luigi says. “can’t get enough of this perfect pussy.”
you paw at him, desperate for sacred ground, grip landing on his arms, hard and toned underneath your fingertips. he smirks. “feelin’ me up, sweetheart? you like my arms?”
the sound of skin slapping overtakes your corner of the world. you’d seen him before, but never like this. you’ve never had anything like this.
“luigi.” you whimper. “i can’t, you’re so big—”
“i know, pretty, i know,” he murmurs, kissing the running wet tears down your cheeks. “d’you remember the night you went up to me after the gym? d’you remember what you were wearing?”
you can’t help but claw your fingers deep into his arm muscles, desperate to find a vice for the pain. “oh my god,” you gasp. he pounds into you relentlessly and before you realize, you’re rolling into waves of foreign pleasure.
“stupid fuckin’ tank top,” luigi groans. pleasure storms you as he gets more brazen. he pulls down your camisole, lapping at your tits, biting you, marking you. “wind blew over and i got to see your perfect fuckin’ nipples. wanted to tear you apart right there.”
“what? really?”
“had to jack off in my fuckin’ car thinking about you, about this,” he murmurs before smashing his mouth back onto yours—and this time, you feel more prepared to bear it, melting into his warmth, lips perfectly reunited. you’re shivering under the heat. he fucks you hard into the mattress, hellbent on breaking you in. you’re sure he’s accomplished it already. you’re dizzy and light and on top of the goddamn world.
he sees through you. “fuckin’ close?”
“i-i think so—”
“so fuckin’ stupid,” he muses. “stupid fuckin’ virgin, doesn’t even know when she’s gonna cum.”
“you’re so mean,” you whine.
“yeah, you think so?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous as his hand strikes your cheek. the sting blooms like fire, another cruel signature of his dominance, a mark left behind in his endless quest to tarnish the golden purity you wear so effortlessly. his wicked touch moves down to your delicate clit and the sparks of pleasure turn into storms. you’re done for, waves of white gushing around him as you cry out his name.
“oh god,” luigi groans. “such a good girl, creamin’ on it like that. so perfect.”
the jolt of pleasure within you only makes you more sensitive. this time, when his hands return to your body, they’re clamped around your neck. he’s pulling into you, punishing your delicate cunt. as you quiver and froth, his thrusts grow sloppy and he rasps again—this time more guttural, more intense—and soon enough you feel his huge cock twitch inside of you, sending streams of his seed into your stomach.
he joins your silhouette on the bed, his warmth melting into yours as he pulls you close. his arms wrap around you, steady and secure, and his lips press softly to your forehead.
“‘m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and soothing. “didn’t mean to get so rough.”
you struggle to find the breath, then the words, “no, i—i think it was fine.”
he looks at you, his smile fading into something more thoughtful, his gaze deepening with quiet admiration. “just fine?” he asks, his voice laced with a hint of playful disbelief.
you meet his gaze, your heart fluttering, and with a mischievous glint in your eye, you hum,
“penn’s finest.”
MASTERLIST ! leave me suggestions and review me <3
#1 italian word for the italian truthers#free luigi mangione#luigi my beloved#luigi mangione smut#luigi mangione x reader#luigi mangione#luigi mangione x y/n#free luigi#luigi fanart#luigi mangione fanclub#uhc shooter#real person fiction#smut#luigi mangione imagine
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⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)�� ♡ … SHARPEST TOOL ♡
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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.
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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.
#logan howlett#james logan howlett#deadpool and wolverine#wolverine angst#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x reader#logan x reader#wolverine x reader#logan howlett angst#hugh jackman wolverine#wolverine smut#wolverine#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#mcu#x men#avengers#marvel comics#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x oc#logan howlett oneshot#logan howlett fluff#logan howlett imagine#wolverine x you#wolverine fluff#wolverine x oc
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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 :)
#oscar piastri#f1#formula 1#oscar piastri x reader#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#oscar piastri x driver!reader#oneshots:op81#driver!reader#Spotify
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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.
#seventeen#seventeen imagines#seventeen reactions#seventeen x reader#seventeen x you#svt reactions#seventeen fluff#lee chan#lee chan fluff#chan fluff#dino fluff#dino seventeen#svt dino#dino x reader#dino x you#dino x y/n#lee chan x reader#lee chan x you#seventeen reaction#seventeen headcanons#svt smut#seventeen smut#seventeen scenarios#svt imagines#dino smut#chan smut#lee chan smut#chan reaction
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Chalkboard Hearts - Pt II
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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
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Hiiiii! i was so obsessed with your lando cooking one but i have another idea kinda where’s its a little similar but reader is his private chef or something ??? Plz i love you’re writing so much 🥰
Stay With Me. ✷ Lando Norris
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Pairing: Lando Norris x Privatechef!reader
Summary: When he finally musters the courage to talk to his private chef and eventually invite her to stay for dinner.
Word Count: 2.3k
Disclaimer/s: flufffff :3 meet cute ,, ish??? and forced proximity almost (not at all) Just Squint idk
Vera’s Voice! LOVE THIS REQUEST AYYEEE , hope u enjoy!!!! thank u for reading my fics!!! mwaaahhh
Lando never thought he’d end up with a private chef.
The idea sounded unnecessarily extravagant when his management first proposed it. He wasn’t a picky eater, and takeout worked just fine. But after months of rigorous travel, racing every other weekend, and well… his need to somehow always mention the disgusting food pile in his pantry on live streams… his team insisted on the idea.
It wasn’t about luxury, they claimed—it was about nutrition, recovery, and convenience. Lando reluctantly agreed, figuring it would be just another stranger in his house.
And that’s exactly what you were.
The first time you arrived, Lando only caught a glimpse of you—a short, polite nod as you introduced yourself by name.
You didn’t linger. No small talk, no unnecessary pleasantries. You brought bags of fresh groceries, prepared everything with quiet efficiency, and left him with neatly plated meals stored in his fridge.
And this routine went on for weeks.
Lando grew used to hearing the door click open mid-afternoon, a soft shuffle of feet in his kitchen as you unpacked your things.
He kept his distance, a little unsure of how to approach you. You worked so intently that he didn’t want to interrupt, and honestly, he didn’t know what to say.
So, he settled for his usual routine: nodding, mumbling a quick thanks, and letting you go about your work.
But as the weeks passed, he found himself oddly intrigued.
He noticed how precise your movements were—the way you diced vegetables or measured out spices. He caught whiffs of garlic and herbs wafting through the house, making his mouth water.
Once, he saw you pause by the stove to taste a sauce, your face lighting up with the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to pique his curiosity.
He wanted to know more about you.
It wasn’t until a quiet Tuesday afternoon that Lando finally mustered the courage to do something about it.
You’d just arrived, placing your bags on the kitchen counter and rolling up your sleeves. Lando was sitting on the couch, his laptop open in front of him, pretending to be preoccupied.
But he wasn’t working.
He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, nervously tapping his fingers against the keyboard.
Finally, he took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over.
“Hey,” He said, voice a little shaky.
You turned, startled. “Oh. Hi.”
Your voice was soft but firm, and your eyes quickly darted back to the chopping board as if you didn’t want to intrude.
Lando scratched the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself. “I was, uh, wondering…” He hesitated. “Do you ever get to eat what you make?”
You blinked, genuinely surprised by the question. “Not usually,” You admitted. “I just cook for you.”
“Oh.” He shifted on his feet, feeling a bit awkward. “Well, that doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I don’t mind.”
Lando cleared his throat. “Still, you’ve been cooking for me for weeks, and I don’t even know if you think it tastes good.”
You laughed at that, a quiet, melodic sound that made Lando’s chest feel a little lighter. “I taste as I go. You haven’t complained, so I assumed all was fine.”
“It’s more than fine,” He said quickly, then winced, realizing how eager he sounded. “I mean, it’s really good. Like… amazing.”
“Thank you.” Your cheeks flushed a faint pink, glancing back down at the cutting board to hide your sudden blush.
Lando watched you for a moment, then blurted, “Can I help?”
You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You want to help?”
“Yeah,” He said, trying to sound casual. “I feel bad just sitting around while you do all the work.”
Your lips twitched, almost as if you were holding back a laugh. “Well that’s technically what I get paid for…so..”
“Well, I don’t mind lending a hand..” He stepped closer.
“Um.. Alright,” You said slowly. “But I don’t think I can trust you near a stove from what your management told me, so how about slicing and dicing?“
“Sounds good.” He flashed a smile, quickly coming to your aid.
And Lando wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to help, but you quickly realized he was hopeless in the kitchen.
He now stood next to you, an apron tied loosely around his waist (as he insisted to feel official), struggling to peel a carrot. His grip was awkward, and the peels kept getting stuck in the blade.
“Like this,” You said, stepping closer and wrapping your hand around his to guide him.
Lando froze at the contact, his pulse quickening. Your hand was warm against his, and for a moment, all he could focus on was the soft scent of your vanilla shampoo and the gentle lilt of your voice as you explained the technique.
“There,” You said, releasing his hand. “Try now.”
He nodded, a little dazed, and attempted to mimic your movements. The carrot peeled more smoothly this time, though not without a few mishaps.
“You’re a pro.” You complimented, earning a wide smile from him as he continued.
Lando watched you, his confidence growing with each little laugh he managed to pull from you.
The atmosphere felt easy now, the awkwardness from before fading into something warmer. He grabbed another carrot and set to work, determined to keep up with you.
As the meal came together, the smells filling the kitchen made his stomach growl audibly.
You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” He admitted.
You flashed him a smile before you mindlessly tidied around the kitchen, thankfully washing dishes as you cooked. You made sure to plate his food, sliding a portion toward him as usual.
But before you could reach for your bag and finish cleaning up, Lando hesitated, leaning against the counter.
“Wait,” He said suddenly.
You paused, glancing at him. “Hm?”
“Stay with me.” Lando said almost too eagerly, quickly catching himself before stuttering. “Like stay for dinner.”
You felt your eyes widen at the offer, your heart skipping a beat. “Oh, I don’t usually—” Your voice started, but he cut you off, his words tumbling out in a rush.
“I insist.” He smiled before shifting on his feet, suddenly shy. “You’re always here, making these amazing meals, but you never eat them. It feels wrong. Like… you deserve to enjoy this too.”
You hesitated.
The idea of sitting down to dinner with him felt… different. But there was something in the way he looked at you—hopeful, genuine—that made it impossible to say no.
“Um.. Okay,” You said softly, nodding as you set your bag back down.
Lando’s face lit up, and he immediately set about pulling plates from the cabinet, his excitement almost contagious.
And it was… nice.
You sat across from each other at the small dining table, sharing the meal you’d just prepared—a hearty steak, (opposed to the salmon you were incredible at making but you were instructed to never prepare him seafood), roasted vegetables, and a side of creamy mash. It wasn’t anything overly fancy, but it was perfect, and Lando couldn’t stop himself from saying so.
“You’re too kind,” You said, your tone teasing.
“I’m serious!” He insisted. “I don’t know how you make the vegetables taste this good. It’s like magic or something.”
You laughed again, a little less reserved this time. “No magic. Just practice.”
You talked as you ate, the conversation flowing easier than Lando expected. He learned that you’d gone to culinary school, that you loved experimenting with new recipes, and that you preferred baking to cooking.
And to his surprise, you were extremely funny, with a dry sense of humor that caught him off guard.
“I’ll need to try your pastries one day then?” He said with a quirked brow as you shook your head.
“Unfortunately, not on the nutrition plan your management gave me.” You bit down a laugh.
“One cheat day won’t hurt…” He pushed for it.
You sheepishly shrugged. “I’ll consider.” Another laugh escaping your lips as he let out a stupid groan with a roll in his eyes.
And, for the first time, Lando felt like he really saw you—not just as the chef who came and went, but as someone he genuinely wanted to know.
When the meal was finally over, you started to stand, reaching for the dishes, but Lando stopped you.
“I’ll take care of it,” He said.
Your brow furrowed. “But—”
“You cooked. I’ll clean. That’s the deal now.”
You hesitated, then nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay… Thanks.”
Soon, you grabbed your bag to leave, Lando walking you to the door, feeling an odd pang of disappointment as you stepped outside.
“Same time tomorrow then?” You asked, glancing back at him.
Lando grinned. “Only if you’re eating with me again.”
Your smile widened, and for the first time, you didn’t look like you were in a hurry to leave.
“Deal,” You tried to hide your excitement.
“Goodnight.” He smiled.
“Goodnight.”
And as you walked off while he closed the door, Lando was already looking forward to tomorrow.
likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!! ^_^ and please lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tags list :D
tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx
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Pound Puppy
Leon S. Kennedy x puppy!reader
A little more savory tier commission from anon 💜
word count: 2340
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, hybrid au, hybrid reader, bestie Claire making an appearance, praise kink, oral (m receiving), shower sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, piss kink, marking
proofread
Leon walks by the same alley on his way home. Unfortunately for him, the parking for his neighborhood is a complete crap shoot, so he always ends up parking at the end of the street to walk to his house. It’s a pain in his ass, but until work cuts down on his hours, he’s stuck with it.
He doesn’t see you every time he passes the alleyway, but, now and again, he’ll catch sight of you hunkered down, tinkering with something in your hands. You're a hybrid, practically a pup from what he can tell. You don’t seem to have a collar or an owner. Dirt smudges your face and hands, and your clothes look worn and ratty. Leon feels a bit bad leaving you out there, but you always run off when you notice him at the lip of the alley.
He mentions all of this offhandedly on the phone one afternoon with Claire, who throws a complete fit. She takes the time to drive over that weekend and spends hours coaxing you out of that dingy and dirty alleyway. Your hesitant, which Leon can understand; he and Claire are total strangers.
Claire brings you into his house, and to his surprise, with the intention to keep you at his place.
“She’d probably be more comfortable with you,” he hisses to the red-haired woman once you’re out of earshot. “And besides, you’re the one who talked her out of that place.”
“Yes, I did, Leon,” Claire rolls her eyes at him. “But this neighborhood is familiar to her. I’m not going to force her to leave the only place she can kind of call home. Suck it up.”
Leon throws his hands up and leaves Claire to help get you settled after giving you a bath and clean clothes. Before leaving, Leon’s supposed friend gives him a quick rundown of the information she was able to glean.
She ticks off each point by throwing up a finger. “She’s in her 20s. She’s afraid of water. She has no family. And her last owner dumped her as soon as she quit being a cutesy puppy.”
He frowns at that last bit, but Claire pushes on giving him your name and how long you’ve been a stray.
“So, just be nice and keep a routine until she adapts. Call me if you need me!”
And with that, Leon watches her leave out of his front door and climb onto her Harley Davidson. After slipping on her helmet, Claire gives him a little wave while he sees her off from his front porch. He tosses up a lazy two-finger salute, and she revs her bike, then peels off down his street.
Sighing, he walks back into his house. Looking up, Leon sees you hovering in the living room, biting your nails nervously. You fidget in place, toes curled into the rug while you tug on an old shirt of his, the hem fraying.
Leon gestures to the couch. “You’re welcome to watch the TV. Uh, the cable should be set up.”
You cock your head, soft ears flopping with the movement. “I can sit on the couch? At my old place, I wasn’t allowed on the furniture.”
Leon’s lips twitch, but he keeps his face neutral. “Yeah, I don’t mind what you do as long as you don’t make a mess of the place. Just be courteous and clean up after yourself.”
Nodding, your tail wags slowly. “Okay, thanks, Mister.”
“Leon,” he scratches a hand through his hair, a sigh leaving him. “Just call me Leon.”
You nod, a small smile crossing your face. “Alright. Thanks, Leon.”
He keeps you at arms length, but you’re slowly starting to grow on him. Being greeted at the door when he gets home is nice. He’s forgotten what it’s like to have someone around—another presence taking up space in his home. It’s not stifling like he thought it would be; you’re sweet, and Leon’s realizing he needs sweetness in his life.
From that weird afternoon of you moving in all the way until now, Leon has lived with you for a couple of months. He’s noticed you’re more cuddly and have even taken to sneaking into his room to sleep with him. You’ve wormed your way into his life, and he’s all the happier for it.
He bathes you every night, helping you stay calm and cool while he washes your ears and tail. At first, it was all very clinical and quick, but now he lets you relax and take your time. It’s helped tremendously with your fear of the water. However, it’s also led to a dilemma.
There’s no denying; you’re a very pretty pup. Leon tries his best, but he can’t help but sneak glances at your naked tits and cute pussy. He’s able to keep it under wraps, wearing jeans to help hide any stiffness he may develop. His plan works for a while—until he ends up staying late one night.
You greet him at the door like usual, tail wagging and ears perked up. He kicks off his shoes and ruffles your ears.
“Bath time?” You smile, tugging on his sleeve.
Leon glances at his watch. “Shit. Yeah, sorry work ran long, sweetheart. We’ll get you your bath so you can go to bed.”
You clasp your hands around his bicep, nuzzling into his arm while he guides you over to the bathroom. Once inside, you stay glued to him, watching with wide eyes as the tub fills up with water. As soon as it’s ready, Leon turns to let you undress and climb over the lip. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over the towel hook on the door.
He moves back over to you naked and wet in the tub. Too little, too late. Leon remembers that he’s just wearing slacks and not his usual jeans. Cock thickening, he quickly kneels on the mat next to the tub, keeping his waist out of your line of sight. You smile at him, titling your head so he can help scrub your ears.
Leon listens as you tell him about your day, asking questions about his—your voice soothing and soft. You dip your head back to rinse off the soap, and as you raise back up, he watches the suds trickle down your neck across the swell of your breasts. Shaking your head, you sling water from your hair and ears, giggling when Leon calls out a lighthearted hey.
Reaching in, he splashes you, making you giggle harder, splashing him back. You smack the water harder than intended, and a deluge covers Leon, soaking his shirt and pants.
“Oh no! I’m sorry,” you raise up onto your knees, peering over the side of the tub to see how much of a mess you made.
“It’s okay,” Leon blinks water from his eyes, then freezes in place when he feels a warm hand pet across his bulge.
Wiping a hand across his face, his blue eyes warily take in your expression, but what he finds is nothing but interest. You rub his cock through his slacks, and he throbs, making you giggle—tail wagging happily.
“I just thought my nose was getting mixed up,” you murmur, eyes dropping down to his bulge. “You always smelled turned on.”
He groans when you squeeze him gently.
Biting your lip, you whisper, “It always got me really wet.”
“What a naughty little puppy,” he murmurs, reaching forward to grope your wet tits. Whining, you arch your back, pressing your breasts more firmly into his palms.
He massages the soft peaks, fingers digging into your breasts and squeezing. Dragging his fingertips around your areola, he pinches your nipples until you whimper, thighs rubbing together underneath the water. Letting go of your tits, he leans forward to pull the stopper on the bath.
Pouting, you gaze at him as he stands up. “Is it time to get out?”
“No, we’re gonna take a shower together, sweetheart,” he murmurs, flicking on the water before undressing and stepping into the tub.
The cool spray hits his back, making him shiver. His hard cock bobs in front of your face, and you lean forward to lick across the tip. Groaning, Leon’s hips buck forward, cockhead grazing your cheek and smearing precum across your skin.
“Pup—“
His sentence cuts off with a moan when you open your mouth and begin lathing your tongue across his dick.
“Taste so good,” you pant, tail a blur behind you, ears relaxed against your head. “Can I lick you whenever I want?”
“Fuck,” Leon rubs your soft ears. “Yeah, pup, you can lick my cock as much as you want.”
Humming, you let your tongue lap at his tip before nosing your way down to his balls. He tips his head back, water wetting his hair as your hot little mouth sucks and kisses his squishy sac. You smear your own spit across your face, tongue bathing his balls in your drool.
“Come on, sweetheart, suck my dick,” Leon coos, grabbing the back of your head to guide your mouth back up to his leaking cock.
“Mmm hmm,” you sigh, eyes half lidded, while Leon feeds his cock past your lips.
“God, such a good girl,” he groans, and you whine around his thick length. “Yeah, you are. Such a good puppy for me.”
He rocks his hips against your face, forcing his tip to kiss the back of your throat. Spit bubbles and spills from around your lips as he keeps his cock in your mouth. Every time you swallow around him, his dick twitches and throbs on your tongue, precum leaking down your throat.
Leon grunts and presses closer, pushing his dick a little deeper; it makes you gag hard, and he pulls out—thick, slimy spit hanging from his cock in strings. His abs and hips flex, arousal burning hot in his blood.
“Look at you, so gorgeous,” he praises, and your eyes flutter. “My good puppy.”
Moaning, you sink your mouth back down on his cock, choking when you press too far but not stopping in the slightest. He pulls his dick from your swollen lips, then bends forward to slip his hands underneath your armpits to pull you up on your feet.
“Let me feel this sexy pussy,” he rumbles, lips brushing across your fuzzy ear.
Whining, you cant your hips toward him. “Please, Leon. Play with my pussy.”
Both of you let out sounds of pleasure when his fingers part your slick folds, digits pressing teasingly at your hole.
“Such a wet puppy pussy,” he coos, dropping a kiss at the corner of your lips. “Does she need a cock stuffing her cute hole?”
“Please, oh please,” you mewl, tail bumping against the tiled wall. “Wanna feel full.”
He hikes one of your legs around his hip before gripping his cock and notching it at your clenching heat. Pressing the tip inside, he uses both hands to grab the fat of your ass to pull you onto his cock as he sinks deeper into your cunt.
“So tight, fuck,” he groans, pelvis flush against your own. “God, gonna make me nut so fast, sweetheart.”
“Leon,” you moan loudly, nails clawing up his back and making his cock pulse inside your snug pussy.
Leon blames his recent celibacy for his quick trigger response to having your soft wet pussy clamping down on his dick. You don’t seem to be much better off, pussy walls rippling and squeezing around his cock while you moan and pant against his chest. He moves a hand between your bodies, fingers circling your swollen clit.
“So slippery and soft, baby,” he growls. “Cum for me so I can cream your sweet little pussy.”
“I’m so close,” you drool, hips humping your cunt down onto his cock. “G’nna cum, Leon. You’re gonna make me cum.”
“Good girl. I want you to cum. Want you to squeeze my cock with that fat puppy pussy,” he groans, fingers strumming across your clit faster and faster.
You sink your sharp teeth into his shoulder and scream, body twitching and shuddering as your orgasm hits you hard and fast. Leon can’t stop himself, fucking you through your aftershocks to chase his own climax. He buries his cock to the hilt in your hole, spilling hot and thick inside your cunt. You moan, pussy milking him for every drop of cum in his balls.
After you both catch your breath, Leon slides his cock from your tight hole with a sigh. He then helps ease your leg back onto the ground. Rubbing your arms, he leans forward and kisses your forehead, making you preen. Letting another few seconds pass in comfortable silence, Leon drops his arms to his side.
“Gotta piss,” he mutters, moving to get out.
Your fingers latch onto his arm, big eyes pleading up at him.
“Mark me up,” you nuzzle against his neck. “Mark your territory.”
Leons half-hard cock twitches in interest but stays soft. “Baby…”
“Please,” you bat your eyes, and he’s quickly nodding in agreement.
There’s no sense denying it to himself— he thinks it’s hot as hell you want him to piss on you. Too bad his refractory period isn’t immediate. He grips his cock, and you kneel down in front of him. A few drops of urine leak from his tip. You whine, and Leon relaxes into it, hot piss steadily streaming onto your neck and tits. His eyes watch it coat your skin, a possessive satisfaction settling in his chest.
Shifting his feet, he uses his grip to aim his cock at your face, piss hitting your lips and chin. You drop your mouth open with a moan.
“Fuck, such a good fucking puppy for me,” he grunts, directing the stream of urine onto your tongue.
You keep your mouth open, swallowing Leon’s piss until it slows down to a trickle before tapering off completely. Humming, you look up at his with glassy eyes.
“Thank you, Leon.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
#ko fi commissions#kofi commission#commissions#fic request#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x you#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy smut#hybrid!reader#puppy!reader#leon kennedy x puppy!reader#fem!reader#leon s kennedy x hybrid!reader
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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 !
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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.
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