#so I had to stop everything I was doing and make this instead

[lechrts]

Sweet Tea. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: When Lando tries to find forgiveness after an argument through acts of service.

Word Count: 1.3k

Disclaimer/s: established rel, fluff, kinda angst…. ish.

Vera’s Voice! Hi. this was fun to write :3 hope u enjoy mama ^_^ the lando oneshot grind doesn’t stop.

The hum of the heating system filled the stillness of the apartment. It wasn’t exactly peaceful—more like tense, suffocating, and heavy.

You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders, your phone glowing faintly in your hands. You scrolled aimlessly, not really reading anything, but it was better than thinking about the argument that had left you and Lando in this standoff.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him pacing between the living room and the kitchen. He wasn’t saying anything—he hadn’t since you’d gone quiet—but his restless movements said enough.

He hated silence, especially when it was because of you.

The fight hadn’t started as anything serious, just a playful back-and-forth after a long day. But his teasing had crossed a line without him realizing it, and you’d snapped.

“You don’t need to be so dramatic about everything,” He said, half-laughing, when you’d voiced your frustrations about something that had been bothering you for days.

The words had stung, lodging themselves deep in your chest. You didn’t know if it was the dismissive tone, the laughter, or just the stress of the week catching up to you, but you’d shut down completely after that.

No sarcastic comeback, no explanation, just cold, steely silence.

And Lando?

He hadn’t done much to help himself. Instead of apologizing, he’d groaned, muttering, “Oh, come on, don’t do this,” as if your feelings were an inconvenience to him.

That was what had really sealed it.

So now you were here, refusing to meet his eyes, letting the silence stretch longer and longer.

From the kitchen came the faint clink of dishes. You glanced up briefly, noticing Lando hunched over the counter, his brows furrowed in concentration.

He was making something.

But what?

You couldn’t quite tell.

You wanted to stay mad—wanted him to feel the weight of how much his words had hurt—but curiosity gnawed at you.

Lando wasn’t exactly a chef, and him fumbling around in the kitchen was unusual.

A few minutes later, his footsteps padded softly toward you. He stopped just in front of the couch, hesitating before placing a small plate on the coffee table.

Beside it, a steaming mug of tea.

You looked down, your stomach tightening at the sight. It was your favorite treat, carefully prepared just the way you liked it.

The tea even seemed to have the right amount of honey—he must’ve measured it out because he always teased you for how sweet you liked it.

“Here,” Hr said quietly, his voice almost timid. “I, uh… I thought you might be hungry.”

You stared at the plate for a moment, then looked up at him. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“I’m sorry,” He added quickly, before you could say anything. “I was a complete ass earlier. I didn’t mean to brush you off like that—I wasn’t thinking.”

You didn’t say anything, though the sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Instead, you reached for the mug, cradling it in your hands.

Lando shifted awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or give you space.

After a moment, he sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. “I don’t like seeing you upset. Especially when it’s my fault. I know I messed up, but I hate this—” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, “—this cold shoulder thing. Can we please talk?”

You finally set the mug back down, fixing him with a pointed look. “Talk? Like how we talked earlier and you laughed at me?”

He winced, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I thought I was being funny, but I wasn’t. I didn’t realize how much it was bothering you. That’s on me.”

“You made me feel stupid for being upset,” You said quietly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Like I was overreacting.”

His expression softened, and he dropped onto the couch beside you, careful to keep some space between you. “You weren’t overreacting,” He said, his voice low. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I was just being an idiot. You know I’m terrible at serious conversations.”

“That’s not an excuse, Lando.”

“I know,” He said quickly. “I know. I’m not trying to make excuses. I just… I’m sorry. Really. I should’ve listened instead of brushing you off.”

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. Part of you wanted to hold onto the anger, to make him sweat a little longer, but the vulnerability in his voice was breaking down your walls.

Lando reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against your knee. “I’ll do better,” he sighed, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t want to make you feel like that again.”

You glanced at him, taking in the way his brows were knit together, the way his lips were pressed into a thin line. He looked genuinely remorseful, and your heart softened despite yourself.

“I just want you to take me seriously,” You said quietly.

“I will,” he promised, his hand gently resting on your knee now. “I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, finally, you let out a small sigh. “Okay.”

His head shot up, hope sparking in his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

He grinned, leaning in slightly. “Noted.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away when he shifted closer, his hand sliding up to your cheek. “I’m sorry again.” He muttered as he shifted even closer.

You didn’t answer, but the way you leaned into him was all the permission he needed. His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, then firmer as you kissed him back.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Are you still mad at me?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “When am I never mad at you.” Rolling your eyes as you slightly joked. “But, seriously. I am still a little mad.”

He grinned, pressing another quick kiss to your temple before pulling you into a warm hug. “I’ll take what I can get,” he murmured, his arms wrapping tightly around you.

As you leaned into his embrace, the weight of the argument melted away, leaving only the warmth of his love—and the promise to do better.

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tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress

[alllgator-blood]

'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'

(part 3/3)

I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.

As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january

Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.

I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.

That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."

Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you

[cutielando]

game night | l.n.

synopsis: in which game night gets a little too competitive

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

As the winter break finally came around, Lando had made plans for him, you, Max and Pietra to take a trip to the mountains, just the four of you.

Which is how you guys found yourselves nestled comfortably in a cabin deep into the Swiss mountains, chatting it up and just enjoying the quiet atmosphere that the off-season provided you with.

But, knowing Lando, he couldn’t stay still for more than an hour at times, and would always find something else to do.

Just like he did now.

“I’m bored” he had announced, groaning and throwing his head back against the couch.

You chuckled, knowing he would have said that sooner or later.

“So?” Max asked, looking up from his phone at his friend.

Lando was silent for a moment, contemplating about how he could cure his sudden found boredom.

“Let’s play a game or something” he suggested, his eyes lighting up.

"Like what?" you asked, your hands running through his curls softly.

He pondered for a moment, his eyes glancing around the cabin living room before his eyes landed on a shelf full of board games.

Not saying anything, he jumped up from his spot on the couch next to you, beelining for the shelf to analyze what he was working with.

"Let's play Monopoly" he said, his eyes twinkling as he took the box in his hands and rushing back to sit down next to you.

You, Max and P all groaned in unison, the last thing either of you wanted was to play Monopoly with Lando.

Lando stopped in his tracks, looking at the three of you with wide eyes.

"What?" he asked, his shoulders deflating.

"Mate, you know how you get whenever we play Monopoly" Max said, glaring at him.

He pouted, looking at you for support.

You bit your lip and shrugged, making him gasp.

"You too?" he asked, looking at you with a hand over his heart.

"Baby, I love you, but you know how competitive you get whenever we play" you said, trying to be as gentle and nice as possible.

"But I want to play..." he said, pouting and looking at the ground.

You sighed, shaking your head as you exchanged looks with Max. Both of you knew Lando was playing the both of you, wanting to make you feel bad for not wanting to let him play.

Max sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Fine, we'll play" he muttered, making Lando erupt into a wide smile as he sprinted towards the coffee table to lay everything out.

You laughed at his antics, shaking your head fondly.

"I wanna team up with P" you called out as she took your hand.

Lando whipped his head around, staring at you with betrayal written all over his face.

"What? Why? We always team up together" he said, his eyes sad.

He almost made you change your mind, but flashbacks of past game nights with Lando made you stand firm.

"That's exactly why we should change things up a little bit" you argued, trying to keep his spirits up.

He pouted, glaring at you while setting up the board. He kept it up for a minute or two longer before he sighed and nodded.

"Fine, but just this time" he said, pointing to you.

You nodded and leaned over to kiss his lips quickly before you got and moved so you were sitting next to Pietra.

Lando huffed once again before he finally let go of his anger and instead focus on "discussing strategies" with Max.

As the night went on and the game was in full swing, Lando's competitive side slowly started to show itself when Max landed on one of your properties and had to pay you almost all the money they had.

"MAX! What the fuck, mate? You just walked right into their trap!" Lando shouted, pushing Max as he stared at him with wide eyes.

“I can’t control the fucking dice, now, can I?” Max argued back.

You and P, on the other hand, were trying not to laugh, finding the exchange between them too funny.

They continued to bicker like this until late into the night before you called it quits on the game.

Instead, you were now snuggled up on the couch with Lando, the fireplace doing a fantastic job of warming you up.

The world around you was silent, the only sound echoing through the warm cabin being the crackle of the fireplace.

Lando was staring at the crackling fire, his hand playing with the ends of your hair.

Looking down at you, he noticed that your eyes were shut, your breathing evened out as you peacefully slept on him.

Smiling a little, he pressed a soft and gentle kiss on your forehead, whispering a quiet "I love you" as he let himself succumb to a peaceful sleep.

Dreaming of you.

...and beating you at Monopoly.

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[heavyhitterheaux]

How did wife feel about Joe buying the bat mobile?

She was NOT happy 😭😭

Especially since she had told him literally two weeks before that she was pregnant

Joe's eyes fluttered open from feeling the weight shift on the bed, meaning that his wife was awake. He was facing away from you and let his eyes adjust for a minute before turning around to face you. Once he did, he instantly saw that you were giving him a death glare.

“Uh? Princess? Good morning. Is everything okay?” He asked as the same expression remained on your face.

“Your name is not baby right now to me. It's Jos…”

“No! Don’t you dare say it.”

“Don't interrupt me, Joseph. Because I am pissed at you right now.” You told him as he looked around confused.

“What did I do? I literally just opened my eyes.”

“I will throw you across the room if you don't lose that attitude.”

“Baby! I don't have an attitude! I'm just confused as to why you're mad at me! Are you going to tell me what's wrong?” He asked as he sat up against the headboard.

“Why did I wake up at 2 in the morning to throw up because your children know absolutely no chill and I glance down at my phone to see a bombardment of text messages AND alerts having to do with my husband?”

“Well Hard Knocks premiered last night…. I did look pretty good if I do say so myself.”

“It's what you said on Hard Knocks that has me pissed off.”

Just then Joe had a realization.

He bought the BatMobile and forgot to tell you.

And the first thing after he said it to Ja'Marr and Tee was them asking the question if he had told you yet.

“Oh um… I forgot to mention that.”

“Joseph Lee. That thing costs 2.9 MILLION DOLLARS. HOW DO YOU JUST FORGET TO TELL YOUR WIFE!?”

“And Justin did mention that it wasn't the smartest financial decision…” He muttered and you continued staring at him.

“Hmm, is it going to come equipped with two car seats? Because you better figure out how to fit them in there.” You told him and he gave you a tight lipped smile.

“Well I don't get it for a year, I can always make a call and ask for adjustments. Who knows? They might be able to fit the car seats in there.” He answered but you did not look amused.

“You knew that you were going to be a father to twins and you still decided to buy it?”

“The opportunity was right there, babe! Like when am I going to have another chance like this!? And this was before I knew you were pregnant!”

"When we have no money to feed our kids, I'm going to tell them that daddy decided to buy a batmobile instead and that's why everyone's stomach is EMPTY."

"Okay little miss dramatic much."

"I'm about to tell Ja'Marr to come and get you because between me not sleeping and you buying things for 2.9 MILLION DOLLARS you are on my nerves."

"Just think about us fucking in the front seat."

"No. Stop trying to break my focus from me being mad at you."

"But is it working?"

"A little, but if you ask me again later, I'll deny it."

But she's obviously going to let him keep it despite how annoyed she is about the entire thing.

And now she's going to try and get her elephant 😭

[eu-nicola]

the fastest driver part 2

summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc

warnings: cheating (?), car accident

word counter: 9896

author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request, thanks for the comments 🤍

tags: @ilovechickenwings @amortentiaaaa @wierdflowerpower @malvikareader @freyathehuntress

The sound of the rain softly hitting the hotel windows muffled any noise from the outside world. Inside the room, the air was thick, charged with a tension that had taken months to reach its breaking point. You were there, tangled with Max in a kiss that burned like fire, as if both of you had been waiting for this moment for far too long. His hand rested on your waist, firm yet trembling, as his lips sought yours with a mix of urgency and doubt.

You knew it was a mistake. You both knew it. But in that moment, logic and consequences seemed irrelevant.

You pulled away just a few inches, breathing heavily, and looked into his eyes. His were dark, filled with something you hadn’t seen before, a mix of desire, regret, and something else you couldn’t identify.

“We shouldn’t be doing this” you whispered, though you made no move to pull away.

Max closed his eyes, as if trying to find strength in the darkness.

“I know” he replied, his voice hoarse. “But I can’t stop.”

It had all started that same night, after the press conference in Singapore. You’d had an intense day, with endless training sessions and meetings. When the day finally ended, the team had organized a small informal dinner at the hotel. It was something routine after the toughest workdays, a way to unwind and reconnect as a group.

During dinner, Max had been sitting next to you, as always. The conversation flowed naturally between the two of you, alternating between technical topics and light jokes. But beneath the surface, you felt that tension that hadn’t faded since that conversation on the terrace. Every time your gazes met, every time your arms accidentally brushed, it was like a reminder that you were playing with fire.

After dinner, everyone started to disperse. Some engineers stayed at the hotel bar, while others decided to retire early to their rooms. You were about to do the same when Max approached you.

“One more round?,” he asked, holding a couple of water bottles in his hands. “We could go over some ideas for tomorrow.”

It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to stay talking about strategies or techniques outside official hours, so you didn’t think anything was out of place. You nodded, following him to a common room in the hotel, where you sat on a couch to go over some data on his tablet.

At first, everything was strictly professional. Max showed you a replay of your fastest lap and pointed out small adjustments you could make. You listened attentively, asking questions and taking notes. But as the conversation progressed, something changed. His comments became more personal, and his eyes seemed to study you more than the screen.

“You’re amazing, you know?,” he suddenly said, breaking the rhythm of the conversation.

You looked at him, surprised.

“Why do you say that?.”

“Because you are. Everything you do, how you handle all of this… It’s impressive.”

His voice was soft, and there was something in his tone that made your heart race. You tried to respond, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, you just looked at him, and he returned your gaze with an intensity that made time seem to stop.

That was when you felt it: that moment when the line between you two was about to break.

You tried to break the tension by standing up from the couch, but he did the same, stepping in front of you.

“Max…” you began, but you couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “If you tell me to stop, I will.”

You didn’t. Instead, you stayed there, looking at him, knowing you didn’t want him to stop. It was he who took the first step, moving slowly, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips finally found yours, it was as if all doubts and barriers crumbled instantly.

After that first kiss, everything became a blur. You didn’t remember exactly how you had ended up in his room, only that the elevator had gone up too slowly, and every second had felt eternal. When you crossed the door, neither of you wasted time with words.

Now, standing in the middle of the room, with his hands on your waist and your fingers tangled in his hair, you felt like you were walking on the edge of an abyss. You knew there was no turning back, but you weren’t sure you wanted to.

Max pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“This is wrong,” he said, but his hands didn’t move from your waist.

“I know,” you replied, not letting go. “But I can’t help it.”

You both stood in silence, trapped in that moment that seemed to hold everything you had been repressing for months. Finally, Max sighed and took a step back, as if he were struggling with himself.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound convinced.

“Then why are we here?,” you asked, your voice heavy with frustration.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked at you as if searching for an answer in your face.

“Cause I can’t stay away from you,” he finally confessed.

Those words fell like a bomb, tearing down any walls that remained between you. Without thinking, you kissed him again, and this time, neither of you tried to stop.

As the night went on, you knew this would complicate everything, that you had crossed a line you could never undo. But in that moment, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was him, and what you felt when you were with him.

You knew that dawn would bring questions, doubts, and maybe regrets. But in that moment, you chose to stay in the room, in his embrace, letting the world wait a little longer.

Since that night in Singapore, something between you and Max had changed. Though you tried to keep things as they were, it wasn’t long before the bond you had formed became deeper and more complicated. Max, with his impulsive character and his unshakable philosophy that personal success came above all, began to influence you in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

At first, you resisted admitting how much he had started to shape your way of being. But the truth was undeniable: his intensity, his ambition, and his lack of remorse started to seem attractive, even necessary. Being by his side made you feel invincible, as if the rules didn’t apply to you. And in the chaos of Formula 1, where every little mistake could cost you everything, that mentality was dangerous but intoxicating.

It was in Mexico that you first noticed how much Max was influencing you. During qualifying, your engineer suggested a conservative strategy to secure a decent grid position. But as you listened to his explanation over the radio, you felt Max’s gaze from the other side of the garage.

“Take risks,” he had told you the night before in a casual conversation while reviewing data. His voice echoed in your mind. “If you don’t, someone else will.”

So you ignored the team’s suggestion and attacked the lap aggressively, pushing the car to its limits. When you crossed the line, you had secured a better position than expected, but at the same time, you had worn the tires more than necessary. Your engineer was frustrated, but Max was pleased.

“That’s what I want to see,” he said to you afterward, with a crooked smile as the two of you reviewed your data in the paddock. “You can’t expect them to do it all for you. Sometimes you have to take control, even if that means breaking a few rules.”

You returned his smile, knowing those words were dangerous but also addictive.

As the season progressed and the end drew closer, the two of you spent more and more time together. The professional and personal aspects blended in a way you couldn’t stop. Max was your mentor, your friend, and now, your lover. It was a secret you both guarded carefully, aware of what it would mean if anyone else found out. But in private, you couldn’t stay away from each other.

After every race, no matter whether you had won or lost, he found a way to seek you out. Sometimes it was a conversation in a secluded room in the paddock, other times it was in the privacy of a hotel. There was something in the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person who mattered, that made everything else seem irrelevant.

It was in Brazil that things intensified even more. You had finished second behind Max in a tight race, and although you were proud of your result, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you could have won if the team had adjusted the strategy. After the press conference, while everyone was celebrating, Max found you in a corner of the motorhome.

“Not bad for someone who’s still learning,” he joked, with that arrogant smile that always made you roll your eyes.

“Shut up,” you replied, laughing, though his words had alleviated some of your frustration.

He took one step closer, and his expression changed. The intensity in his gaze trapped you, and before you could think of the consequences, he took your hand and led you out of the motorhome, away from the noise of the party. You ended up in his room, and, as always, the tension between you two overflowed.

The line no longer existed.

That night, you realized there was no going back. Max was a whirlwind that had swept away your boundaries and doubts. In his company, you felt more powerful, more confident, but also more vulnerable. You had crossed the line between professional and personal, and it was becoming harder and harder to distinguish where your career ended and where your life with him began.

The next morning, while you watched him sleep beside you, you wondered how long you could keep this secret. You knew the truth would eventually come to light, but for now, you held on to the moment, to the feeling of being invincible by his side, even if the price was high.

Max was right about one thing: to win, sometimes you had to break the rules. And you had decided you were willing to do so, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

On the other hand, the change in your driving style quickly caught the attention of the media. What had started as an evolution in your competitive style soon became a hot topic of debate. Your more aggressive approach, your willingness to take risks, and your refusal to give up ground on the track were interpreted as a radical transformation, and not everyone was willing to accept it.

The comments started subtly, during live broadcasts.

"Looks like she's adopting a bolder style," a journalist commented after a risky maneuver you made in Las Vegas to overtake Carlos Sainz. "Although some might say she's pushing the limits of what's acceptable."

But soon, the criticism turned more personal.

In the weeks that followed, headlines grew more aggressive. Sports newspapers and social media were filled with comments about your "masculine attitude" on the track. Some praised you, saying you had stopped being a driver who played defensively, while others criticized you for abandoning what they considered a "more elegant" and "appropriate style for a woman."

"Is this what we want to see in Formula 1?" asked a commentator on an analysis program. "I'm not saying she shouldn't be competitive, but it seems like she's trying to imitate the more aggressive drivers instead of finding her own way."

The words hit hard. You knew exactly who they were referring to with "more aggressive drivers." It was an implicit reference to Max, and the fact that your relationship with him remained a secret didn’t help divert the suspicions.

The pressure reached a boiling point during the Qatar Grand Prix weekend. In the pre-race press conference, a journalist threw a question that seemed designed to unsettle you.

"You've been accused of adopting an 'overly aggressive' driving style. Some even say you're trying to copy Max Verstappen. What do you have to say about that?"

You took a deep breath, maintaining the calm you had practiced so many times.

"My driving style is mine," you replied firmly. "Every driver has their own way of approaching races, and what I do on the track is the result of years of work and learning. If being aggressive means fighting to win, then yes, I am aggressive."

But the journalist didn’t stop there.

"Don't you think this aggression might be considered inappropriate for a woman in a traditionally male-dominated sport?"

There was a murmur in the room, and you could feel the rage beginning to bubble inside you. Max, sitting beside you, shot you a quick glance, as if reminding you not to lose control.

"I think that question says more about the person asking it than about me," you said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "We're in 2025. Are we really still questioning whether a woman can be competitive in Formula 1?"

The response earned a discreet applause from some journalists, but you knew the damage had already been done.

That night, while you were in your room going over your notes for the race, Max appeared at the door. He didn’t say anything at first, simply sank into a chair in front of you, watching you in silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked finally.

You shook your head, but he didn’t accept your answer.

"Look, I know what they’re saying about you," he continued, his tone more serious than usual. "And I understand how it feels. I went through the same thing when I came into Formula 1. They called me irresponsible, dangerous, immature..."

"And how did you handle it?" you asked, not hiding your frustration.

Max shrugged.

"I let them talk. In the end, the only thing that matters is what you do on the track. Winning shuts everyone up."

"And what if I don’t win?" you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

Max leaned forward, fixing his eyes on yours.

"You will win."

His words, though simple, carried a weight that managed to calm some of your anxiety.

On Sunday, with the criticism still fresh in your mind, you decided you couldn’t afford to doubt yourself. The race was one of the most intense of the season, with risky overtakes and moments where it seemed like everything was about to collapse. But in the end, you crossed the finish line in second place, just behind Max.

When you got out of the car, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Although the media still questioned your style, the fans seemed to be on your side. As you climbed onto the podium, trophy in hand, you understood what Max had meant.

The comments would continue. The criticism wouldn’t disappear. But as long as you kept performing on the track, as long as you kept fighting for your place, no one could take away what you had earned.

That night, as you celebrated with the team, Max approached you and whispered something in your ear.

"I told you you’d win."

The end of the season had arrived, and with it, the culmination of a year full of triumphs, tensions, and decisions that would change the course of your life. In the final race, in Abu Dhabi, Max had secured his fifth consecutive championship with an impeccable victory, while you finished second in the overall standings. You had fought until the end, and although you didn’t take the title, you were satisfied with what you had achieved.

When you stepped off the podium, the joy of your team was palpable. The atmosphere was filled with euphoria, hugs, and congratulations, but you felt something else: a deep exhaustion, a need to escape the noise and find some clarity. While Max raised his trophy under the fireworks, you looked at him and couldn’t help but wonder what would happen between you two now that the season was over.

Hours later, the Red Bull party was in full swing. Laughter and music filled the air, but you found yourself apart, in a quiet corner, holding a glass of champagne and watching your teammates. Max was surrounded by people, as always, his easy smile and magnetic energy lighting up the room.

Finally, your eyes met, and he walked over, leaving the group around him.

"What are you doing here alone?" he asked, leaning slightly so only you could hear.

"I'm just taking a moment for myself," you replied, forcing a smile. "It’s been a long year."

Max looked at you in silence for a moment, as if trying to read your thoughts. Then, he took your hand and led you away from the noise, to a private terrace.

The cool night air was a relief. You both leaned on the railing, gazing at the lights that still shone on the track.

"Congratulations, champ," you finally said, breaking the silence.

"Thanks," he replied, though his tone was softer than usual. "And congratulations to you, too. This was your strongest year."

"Not strong enough to beat you," you joked, but he didn’t laugh.

"You’re closer than you think."

The conversation turned to vacations, the break they both desperately needed. But as they spoke, you couldn’t ignore the unease that had settled in your chest. Vacations meant time away from the chaos of Formula 1, but they also meant time away from Max.

He, on the other hand, seemed carefree, talking about plans to travel, relax, and disconnect from everything. But in his gaze, there was something else, something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“What are you going to do during the holidays?,” he asked, finally.

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe visit my family, spend some time at home. I need a little normalcy.”

Max nodded, but didn’t respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his tone was more serious.

“You know this... what we have... is complicated.”

Your heart tightened at his words, even though you knew it was true.

“I know,” you said, trying to maintain composure.

“I don’t want you to think that this doesn’t mean anything to me,” he continued, looking out at the horizon. “But in this world, it’s difficult...”

“Difficult...” you finished for him, feeling a lump in your throat.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned toward you, placing a hand on your cheek.

“You’re amazing, you know that? Not just as a driver, but as a person. But...”

You didn’t need him to finish the sentence. You knew that what was everything to you, for him, was a way to escape the pressure, an adventure without attachments. And yet, there was something in his gaze, the way his hand trembled slightly as he touched you, that made you think maybe it wasn’t as simple for him as he wanted it to seem.

When you finally returned to the party, neither of you said anything more about the matter. Max went back to being the center of attention, and you joined the group, pretending everything was fine. But as you watched him laugh and joke with the others, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

The holidays would be a turning point, you knew. It was a time to reflect, to decide what your relationship with him really meant and whether you were willing to stay on that tightrope.

As the night came to a close, you said goodbye to everyone and headed back to your room. You sat on the bed, staring at the trophy you had won that day, but your mind was far from the track.

Max had been your first everything. But now, as you faced weeks of uncertainty, you wondered if it was also your first great lesson on what it meant to love someone who might never love you in the same way.

You knew you’d figure it out soon. But for now, all you could do was wait.

When the holidays began, you knew that, inevitably, your paths and Max’s would cross again. Even though both of you needed space, the geographical proximity in Monaco made it almost impossible to avoid each other. And, deep down, you didn’t want to. There was something unfinished between you two, something that needed to be said.

The first time you saw him was on his yacht, where he organized a discreet meeting with a few close friends. The atmosphere was relaxed, with laughter and wine glasses, but your eyes always found his. Max acted as usual: charming, relaxed, pretending like the weight of the world never touched him. But you knew better. You knew how he hid his emotions under that facade.

The second time was more intimate. He invited you to dinner at one of his apartments, a quiet evening that ended with a palpable tension.

It all started with a seemingly harmless conversation about his plans for the rest of the holidays.

“Are you planning to travel?,” you asked as you dined, trying to keep the tone light.

Max shrugged.

“I’ll probably spend a few days in the Netherlands with my family. Maybe make a quick trip to Spain.”

“And what about us?,” you asked, almost without realizing it. The question came out before you could stop it.

Max looked up, surprised by your tone.

“Us?.”

“Yes, Max. Us. This... whatever it is we’re doing. What does it mean to you?.”

He put his fork down and sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“You know I don’t like putting labels on things.”

“I’m not asking for a label,” you replied, feeling frustration bubbling inside. “I just want to know where I stand.”

Max frowned, as if trying to find the right words, but his tone was colder than you expected.

“Why do we need to define it? What we have works, right?.”

That response was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Works for who, Max?,” you spat, your voice rising slightly. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like this only works for you. I’m the one who has to hide, the one who has to accept that we’re nothing more than a distraction to you.”

He stood up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That’s not fair. I never promised you anything.”

“No, you didn’t!,” you admitted, standing up as well. “But you didn’t let me go either. Every time I try to put some distance, you do something that makes me stay. And I, like an idiot, keep falling for it.”

Max seemed to stagger at your words, but his pride didn’t allow him to back down.

“It’s not my fault if you expect something I can’t give you.”

“Then what am I to you, Max? A distraction? A pastime between races?,” you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain.

“That’s not fair,” he repeated, but this time his tone was softer.

The room fell silent for a moment. Max looked away, unable to face you directly. You knew there were feelings behind his cold demeanor, but you also knew he wasn’t ready to admit them, not even to himself.

“Look, I don’t know what you expected,” he said finally, his tone tired. “This isn’t easy for me either. You know I have someone.”

“Oh, really?,” you said sarcastically. “Because from here it seems like you’ve got everything under control.”

“I don’t have everything under control!,” he exclaimed, raising his voice for the first time. “Do you think this doesn’t affect me? Do you think I don’t think about you more than I should?.”

You froze at his confession. For a moment, you thought he was going to say something more, something that would explain everything. But instead, Max shook his head, as if he were fighting with his own thoughts.

“But I can’t give you what you want. Not now.”

That was the statement that ended the argument. You didn’t know whether you felt more sadness or anger, but you understood that you couldn’t keep going like this.

“Then don’t ask me to stay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Don’t ask me to keep being the one who adapts, the one who hides, the one who’s always available when you decide you need me.”

He didn’t respond. You waited, giving him one last chance to say something that would make you change your mind. But the silence was deafening.

Finally, you grabbed your things and left the apartment, leaving Max alone in his own storm.

As you walked through the quiet streets of Monaco, you felt a mix of liberation and sadness. You knew you had made the right decision, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Max had been an important part of your life, but now you understood that you couldn’t keep being a shadow in his world.

The vacation had just begun, but you already felt like you were in a new chapter. And while you didn’t know what the future held, you were determined to find your own path, even if that meant leaving Max behind.

The decision to spend your vacation in Italy wasn’t impulsive. After the emotional storm that marked the end of the season, you needed a place where you could find yourself, far from the hustle and bustle of Monaco and the ever-watchful eyes that seemed to follow you. Italy had always been a refuge for you: the peaceful hills of Tuscany, the small cafes in Rome, the calm of Lake Como. There, you felt like you could breathe.

However, what began as an attempt to find peace turned into something more. During long walks down cobblestone streets and endless nights of reflection, you began to question your place at Red Bull and in Formula 1 in general. Something didn’t fit, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to recognize it.

One afternoon, while sitting on a terrace overlooking Florence, you found yourself writing a list in a notebook. One column listed the things you liked about Red Bull: competitiveness, top-level engineering, the chance to fight for the title. The other column, however, was longer: constant pressure, the tense relationship with Max, the feeling that you were always fighting to be seen as something more than a “second driver.”

It was then that you knew. You couldn’t stay at Red Bull anymore. You had reached a point where your success didn’t fulfill you, because it always seemed to come at the cost of your happiness. You needed a change, and you knew exactly where you wanted to be.

A few days later, you found yourself on a video call with Zak Brown. The conversation started off cordial, with Zak asking how your vacation was going and casually mentioning that Piastri was considering options outside McLaren. Then, you dropped it:

—Zak, I want to talk about the possibility of joining McLaren.

There was a brief but intense silence on the other side of the screen. Then, a slow smile began to form on his face.

—Are you serious? —he asked, clearly intrigued.

—Completely. I feel like Red Bull is no longer the right place for me. I’m looking for a team where I can build something, not just adapt to what already exists. And I think McLaren can be that place.

Zak nodded, leaning back in his chair as he processed your words.

—I can’t deny it would be a big move for us. If you’re willing to take the leap, we are too.

In the following days, negotiations began. Everything was done in the strictest secrecy, far from the eyes of the media and the ears of Red Bull. You knew the news of your departure would be a bombshell, especially since Piastri was being considered as your replacement.

You didn’t tell anyone, not even Max. It wasn’t a conversation you were willing to have with him, not after how things had ended. This decision was yours alone, and you needed to keep it that way.

The news broke on the first day of the new year, as the holidays were coming to an end. While you were at the Milan airport, waiting for your flight back to Monaco, your phone started vibrating incessantly. Opening Twitter, you saw the headlines:

“Oscar Piastri joins Red Bull as Max Verstappen’s teammate” “Red Bull confirms the departure of its star driver after a successful season” “McLaren signs the star driver for 2025 in a surprising move”

You took a deep breath as you read the comments. Most fans were shocked; some criticized you for leaving such a competitive team, while others praised your decision to find a place where you could shine on your own.

You didn’t have to wait long to find out how Max would react. As soon as you landed in Monaco, you received a message from him.

Max: Is this a joke? You went to McLaren without telling me anything?

You sighed, knowing this conversation would be inevitable. After getting to your apartment, you called him.

“Hi, Max.”

“I can’t believe it,” was the first thing he said, his tone filled with disbelief. “You decided this without even mentioning it to me?.”

“Max, this decision has nothing to do with you,” you replied, trying to stay calm. “It’s something I needed to do for myself.”

“For yourself?,” he repeated, almost laughing. “You were in the best team, with the best car, fighting for titles. Why would you leave that?.”

“Because I don’t want to be just an extension of your success,” you said, feeling your voice fill with determination. “I want to build something of my own, and McLaren gives me that opportunity.”

Max fell silent for a moment. When he spoke, his tone was softer, but also colder.

“I hope you don’t regret it.”

“I won’t,” you answered, with more confidence than you felt in that moment.

Even now, with all the drama, you had flashbacks of you and Max during your early days at Red Bull, which had also been quite a whirlwind. He wasn’t just a driver: he was the driver. His confidence, almost arrogance, permeated every conversation, every strategy, every decision. But rather than intimidate you, that pushed you. You wanted to prove that you belonged at that level too.

Max respected you as a driver, but kept a clear distance. It was his way of protecting himself in an environment where emotional alliances often complicated things. You weren’t interested in anything else either. At least, not at first.

You remember everything started to change after the third race of the season. You had a difficult weekend: mechanical issues in practice, a crash in qualifying, and a minor contact in the race that left you out of the points. You were exhausted, frustrated, and harder on yourself than you should have been.

That night, while reviewing the data in the motorhome, Max walked in and sat down across from you, with a beer in hand.

“Why are you still here?,” he asked, leaning forward.

You looked up, confused.

“I’m reviewing the data. I need to understand what happened.”

Max shook his head, a slight smile on his lips.

“You already know what happened. You had bad luck. That happens to anyone. Don’t obsess over what you can’t change.”

His words surprised you. Max Verstappen, the driver known for his obsession with perfection, was telling you to let go of a bad day.

“Easy for you to say,” you replied, with a sharper tone than you intended. “You’re the World Champion.”

Max leaned back, taking a sip of his beer before answering.

“Do you think I haven’t had shitty days? What matters is how you come back. And you... you’ve got what it takes to come back.”

That small, unexpected gesture of support was the first step.

With each race, the relationship between you two grew stronger. Max started seeking you out to review strategies together or just to chat during flights. You, in turn, started seeing him as more than just a driver: someone passionate, fun on his good days, and deeply competitive.

One time, during a trip to Canada, the two of you ended up sitting next to each other on the team’s private plane. While everyone else slept, you started talking about everything and nothing: your childhoods, the races that had marked you, the sacrifices you’d made to get to Formula 1.

“Sometimes, I wonder if it’s all worth it,” you said, after a long silence.

Max looked at you with curiosity.

“Seriously?.”

You nodded.

“Of course I love this, but I also wonder what I’d be doing if I weren’t here. If I’d have a simpler life, with less pressure.”

Max thought for a moment before replying.

“I never ask myself that. Not because it’s not hard, but because I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

That comment made you see him in a new light. For Max, F1 wasn’t just his job, it was his life. And while you shared that passion, you also realized that he lived it in a way no one else could understand.

The tension between you began to become more evident in the little things. The way he would look for you with his gaze when you entered a room. The private jokes you shared during breaks. The way your hands would accidentally brush when checking data on the screen.

It was after a particularly difficult race in Austria when the tension reached its peak. You finished second behind Max, but only because the team had ordered you to hold position. You were furious, though you tried to hide it.

That night, Max came looking for you at your room. When you opened the door, you saw him with an expression you hadn't seen before: a mix of concern and something else you couldn't identify.

"Are you okay?,” he asked, though both of you knew that wasn't the case.

"Why do you care?,” you replied, tired of everything.

Instead of answering, Max took a step toward you, crossing the threshold of the door. The space between you was minimal, and you could feel the intensity in his gaze.

"I care because you're my teammate," he said at first, but then added in a lower tone. "And because... I can't help it."

That was the moment when everything changed. Nothing happened that night, but the line between you two had been erased. You both knew it, though neither of you wanted to admit it.

That tension, that undeniable connection, was what led you to cross the line later. But that was the beginning: a brush of hands, a gaze that lingered too long, a silence full of things neither of you dared to say.

After that, there was another night in Singapore where the story had started, your story.

Now that was behind you, and you were far from him and from the team.

A few weeks later, the new season had started, but not with Red Bull. Now you wore McLaren's iconic papaya orange, a decision that had taken the motorsport world by surprise. Despite Red Bull's initial resistance to letting you go, you broke the contract after unbearable tension. Now you shared a garage with Lando Norris, on a team that seemed ready to give you the spotlight you had longed for. However, leaving Red Bull behind didn’t mean leaving Max behind.

Max remained a constant, though now from the other side of the paddock. The first official encounter of the season in Bahrain was everything you had expected: tense and full of silent reproaches. Although both of you tried to maintain professionalism, the media quickly picked up on the coldness between you. And with each practice, that coldness transformed into a dangerous mix of rivalry, resentment, and something that never seemed to disappear: the history you both shared.

In the first race of the season, the problems between you transferred to the asphalt. During lap 32, you were fighting for the podium with Max behind you, pressuring you on every corner. His insistence was suffocating, and in an aggressive attempt to overtake you, he made contact with your car, forcing you off track.

"This is unacceptable," you shouted over the radio, your voice full of frustration.

Although the stewards didn’t impose any penalties, the incident made it clear that Max wasn’t willing to give you any mercy. But what hurt you the most was seeing him after the race when he completely ignored you in the paddock, as if you were a stranger.

After the race, you were in your Motorhome, reviewing the replays of the incident, when someone knocked on the door. You opened it, and there he was, with a frown and arms crossed.

"What the hell was that today?,” he asked, walking in without waiting for an invitation.

"What the hell was what?,” you replied, closing the door behind him. "You're the one who knocked me off track."

Max let out a sarcastic laugh.

"Please. If you hadn't closed so much on the corner, none of this would have happened."

Your blood began to boil.

"Are you really going to blame me for this? Because I didn’t let you pass like when we were at Red Bull? I hate to break your illusion, Max, but I'm not your teammate anymore."

He turned toward you, his eyes filled with anger, but also with something you couldn’t quite identify.

"You made that clear when you left. But you know this goes beyond that."

"What are you talking about?,” you asked, crossing your arms.

Max took a step toward you, closing the distance between you two.

"About you. About us. About how you can’t handle all of this without it becoming a personal problem."

You felt your heart beat faster, but you weren’t going to let it affect you.

"This has nothing to do with 'us.' This is about racing, Max. And if you can’t handle that I’m no longer part of your little world, that’s your problem, not mine."

For a moment, Max seemed like he wanted to respond, but instead, he shook his head and walked toward the door.

"You know, I thought you were different. But it seems like everyone in this sport is the same."

His words hit you like a bucket of cold water, but you refused to show it.

"And I thought you could be professional for once. Seems like we were both wrong."

Max left, slamming the door open behind him, and you collapsed on the couch, feeling exhausted.

The first days after the tension with Max passed quickly, but not for the reason you expected. You didn’t obsess over what had happened with him or the hurtful words that still echoed in your mind. What worried you most now was your integration into McLaren, especially your relationship with Lando Norris, your new teammate.

Lando was the complete opposite of Max: relaxed, fun, and with an attitude that, although professional, never lost its laid-back vibe. Instead of pressuring you or criticizing you constantly like Max did in his "mentor" version, Lando preferred to offer support without overwhelming you. He had a way of making everything seem easier, even when things on the track got complicated.

At first, you felt like a bit of an outsider. McLaren was a team with its own culture, and even though it wasn’t your first year in F1, you always carried that sense of nervousness at the start of a new chapter. Lando, however, did everything possible to make you feel welcome. At first, it was something as simple as joking about the team’s coffee, which according to him, always tasted like "hot water with a touch of desperation." After some laughs, the atmosphere started to relax, and little by little, you began to feel more comfortable with him and the rest of the team.

The first official team event, a press conference, was when things really began to change. During the interview, a journalist asked Lando how he felt about having a new teammate, and he, without losing his composure, gave a quick answer that made you smile.

"Well, the truth is it’s been an interesting experience. She brings a positive energy, and... she makes me feel like I'm still the 'young guy' on the team, even though technically I'm not. So, it’s fun having her on board!"

Everyone laughed, and, to your surprise, that broke the ice. The journalists quickly turned the focus to you, and Lando passed the ball with a mischievous smile.

"What I can say about my teammate is that, although she seems very serious, she has a good sense of humor. I can’t wait to see what happens this season."

From there on, things felt easier. It was as if, without even trying, Lando had smoothed the transition. The chemistry between you two flowed quickly, with no tension or unreachable expectations. You didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, just be yourself.

The ease with which you communicated impressed you. It wasn’t like with Max, where you always felt like you had to "prove yourself" or show something. With Lando, everything flowed naturally. If something didn’t work, you just adjusted it, with no drama or expectations. He was a teammate who truly believed in collaboration, not internal competition.

By the end of the first month at McLaren, you knew joining them had been the right decision.

Little by little, the start of the season at McLaren seemed to be going in the right direction: your relationship with Lando was strengthening, the team was improving, and, little by little, you felt like you were finding your rhythm in a car that, although not the fastest on the grid, gave you the sense of control you had lost the previous year. However, things with Max weren’t going well; in fact, they were getting even more complicated.

Although he was still racing for Red Bull, with his undeniable dominance on the track, the rivalry that had ignited the previous year seemed to intensify with every race. No matter how many times you told yourself it wasn’t worth focusing on what Max was doing or not doing, he was always there, whether in interviews, in media comments, or even on the track, challenging you to prove you were still more than his shadow.

In the first lap of Australia, a circuit you both knew inside and out. In practice, Red Bull had been clearly superior, but McLaren was more competitive than ever. The chance to snatch a win from Max wasn’t impossible, but it wouldn’t be easy. During the race, Max constantly pressured you. Although he wasn’t being as aggressive as he had been in the past, his presence behind you was suffocating, his car always right next to you in the fast corners.

You remember how, at one point in the race, during an overtaking move in turn 8, Max tried to pass you on the inside, clearly with the intention to intimidate you. It was a risky maneuver, and although logic told you to give way, you decided not to. You had enough space to hold your line, and although you didn’t manage to block him completely, the resistance you offered forced him to brake a little more than expected. That small detail allowed you to keep the position, something that seemed to irritate him.

When the race ended, Max finished in second place, right behind you. As you passed through the cooling area, you could see him in his car, staring at you with that defiant look he was so good at putting on. The crowd noticed it, the journalists noticed it, and, of course, you noticed it too.

At the end of the race, while you were getting ready to leave the paddock, one of McLaren’s engineers told you that Max had requested to speak with you. You didn’t understand why he wanted to do that, and honestly, you weren’t in the mood to face him after what had happened on track. But, as always, appearances mattered, and you couldn’t just ignore him. So, you agreed, even though you knew it would be an uncomfortable encounter.

Max was waiting for you near the Red Bull hospitality, arms crossed, a typical defensive posture. He didn’t say anything at first, but when you looked at him, his face was more serious than usual.

“What’s wrong with you?” he finally said, his tone as direct and blunt as ever. “You know that if you’d let me pass, we could’ve fought more cleanly. Why do you keep acting like it’s all personal?”

You were surprised that the conversation was going in that direction, as if you weren’t racing, as if it was a matter of pride. But, you knew this was Max. It always had to be him first.

“Personal?” you repeated, letting sarcasm fill your voice. “You’re the first one to make it personal. If you’d given me space, we wouldn’t have this problem, but no, you always have to be the one to set the pace, don’t you?”

Max took a step toward you, but not enough to invade your personal space. His gaze hardened.

“It’s not about setting the pace. It’s about being competitive. You still don’t understand how this sport works. You have to go for it, not care about what others think.”

Your breath quickened, not out of fear, but from the anger that had been building up for months.

“I think the problem here isn’t that I don’t understand the sport, Max. The problem is that you’ve never learned how to be a true teammate, and now you’re trying to dictate how I should race. I’m tired of you doing this.”

Max, as expected, didn’t say anything more. He just stared at you for a couple of seconds, as if waiting for you to change your mind or apologize. But you wouldn’t. Not anymore. Not when you knew that, for him, everything had always been about ego, about being the best, the fastest, the one who wouldn’t let anyone overtake him.

The rivalry between you and Max continued to grow. Every time you saw him on track, you knew that, at least for him, it had become personal. What once was a professional competition had become something much more visceral, and every time the two teams met on the track, the tension between you was palpable. But far from being a negative thing, it motivated you to improve. You no longer just wanted to beat Max for the sake of it; now, it was a personal necessity.

The revenge came for him in Monaco. On such a tight, technical circuit, any mistake could be fatal, and Max, although he initially seemed to have the advantage, began to falter in the final laps, losing traction in the trickiest parts of the circuit. It was then, on lap 68, that you seized your opportunity.

Max was charging full throttle, but as you exited the tunnel, his car began to slide slightly. That was enough for you to pass him on the inside at Sainte-Dévote. As you passed him, you felt a mix of adrenaline and satisfaction. Finally, the competition that had defined you for so long, you had surpassed.

At the end of the race, while celebrating your podium, Max’s gaze from the other side of the garage was clear. It was no longer just a rivalry; now, it had become a personal duel.

The victory in Monaco was a milestone in your career. Not only because it had been one of the best races of your life, but because at the end of the day, you didn’t just celebrate with the McLaren team, but also felt a kind of personal vindication. You had beaten Max, done what many thought was impossible. Not just as a driver, but as someone who had constantly been underestimated for a lack of “aggressiveness” or for once being seen as Red Bull’s “perfect teammate” or “pretty girl.” But now, at this moment, you were neither of those things. Now, you were his rival.

The sense of achievement was gratifying, but deep down you knew the victory had its price. Something in you had changed during that last overtake, in the way you had faced Max, in how, when you looked at him for the last time on track, something inside you had broken. That part of you that still wanted him, that still thought maybe things could have been different, was gone, or at least overshadowed by the fierce determination to win. The relationship you once shared was buried, replaced by pure competition, an unfiltered rivalry. But at the same time, you knew it wasn’t just the competition that drove you; it was something much more personal. Max had let you go. And now, you had left him behind, though not without a certain sadness.

On the other side, Max was in his motorhome, lights off, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the mirror. The race had ended, and although he had made an effort not to show his emotions to the journalists, something inside him was consuming him. He was used to winning, he had always been the leader, the reference. But this time, in Monaco, the result made him realize something he had been avoiding for a long time.

He had lost. And not just the race. He had lost the person who had mattered most in his life.

It was ironic because he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. He had been the first to fuel the rivalry, the first to not know how to handle his own feelings, the first to ignore the boundaries between the personal and the professional. But now, when he saw your victory trophy on his phone screen, when he saw the images of you celebrating with Lando, he felt something he had never felt before: regret.

Over the years, Max had gotten used to seeing life as a series of challenges and battles he had to win. The world was black or white, no shades of gray. But with you, everything had been different. He had been your mentor, your teammate, your rival, and at some point, more than that. He had been someone who, in a way, had been the only person capable of pushing him out of his comfort zone. The relationship you shared, although never fully admitted, had been unique. Max knew that when he was with you, he felt more human, more vulnerable. But competition, the need to be the best, had led him to distance himself from what really mattered.

That night, Max couldn’t sleep. The feeling of being lost, of having destroyed something valuable, haunted him. He didn’t know how you had come to mean so much to him, or when the rivalry had stopped being just that and turned into something more complicated. But he knew it clearly: he had lost you. And the worst part was that, in his head, there were still unanswered questions. Could he have done things differently? Should he have spoken up earlier, when there was still time to explain? The answers to those questions tormented him, but what really hurt was what he didn’t know: if you felt the same way.

Weeks later, it was the Canadian Grand Prix. The combination of fast corners, technical sections, and the closeness of the walls, all contributed to the magic of that weekend. But this time, for some reason, it felt different. The tension in the air was palpable, and although Max and you hadn’t spoken for days, hadn’t exchanged more than a fleeting glance, something felt off. But you ignored it, focusing on the track, on what you did best.

The qualifying had been tough, but you had stayed in the top positions. The McLaren car had responded well, and you knew you could be fighting for a podium. Lando had qualified just behind you, both with the same motivation, knowing this race would be key for the team. However, in your mind, there was always that little thought that crept in: Max. The rivalry, that constant pressure to prove you could be better, the feeling that he was watching from a distance, waiting for you to make a mistake. And that haunted you.

The race began under the overcast sky of Montreal, with the excitement of the crowd contagious to the drivers. At first, everything seemed to be going well, although the temperatures were higher than expected, making tire control difficult. The first laps passed quickly, and you found yourself fighting wheel to wheel with Lando, in a clean and constant battle, looking for the best line to overtake some rivals. But on lap 32, everything changed.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. You reached turn 6 at a dizzying speed, trying to maintain your position, with the brakes slightly overheated. The car became unstable, and before you could react, the rear wheels lost traction. You tried to correct, but the car violently slid, and in an instant, you were crashing into the safety barriers. The sound of the crash was deafening, an explosion of metal, rubber, and carbon fiber. It was as if the world stopped for a moment, as if the air became heavy and dense.

The radio was filled with static, and the McLaren pit wall erupted into chaos. Engineers shouted orders, but everything was a distant echo. Your car had been destroyed in turn 6, one of the toughest corners of the circuit, and the impact left you unconscious for a moment. The medical staff and FIA officials arrived quickly at the scene, but in those seconds that felt like an eternity, the world felt distant and alien.

When you finally woke up, the sunlight blinded you, and the sound of fans, the buzzing of the medical teams, and the murmurs of people filtered into your head like a storm. The pain was unbearable, but the worst part was the confusion. What had happened? Why couldn’t you move your legs?

The voice of one of the doctors reached your ears, low and worried.

“Stay calm, don’t move, we’re here to help. You have a head injury, and probably a concussion. We need you to stay still until we evaluate you.”

Outside the circuit, the chaos was even greater. Journalists were already surrounding the area, television cameras focused on every detail of the accident, and the paddock was filled with people who could do nothing but watch in silence. The faces of your teammates reflected anguish. Lando, on the other side of the pit wall, had stopped focusing on his own race, and his fixed gaze on the screen showing your wrecked car said it all. He was desperate.

Max, who had seen everything from his car on the following lap, braked abruptly when the yellow flag appeared on his screen. It was as if the world had stopped for him too. Max’s face turned serious, his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he seemed to forget that, on track, he had to continue with the race. Somehow, he was searching for you on the screen, wanting to know if you were okay, if you had survived the crash. But the truth was that, in that moment, neither he nor anyone else knew what had happened.

The medical team worked quickly to stabilize you, and the doctors’ shouts became more urgent. There was worry on their faces, in the way they spoke to each other, but you could barely understand what they were saying. The noise in your head was deafening. What had happened? Why couldn’t you move? Was your body okay?

News of the crash spread quickly on social media. The media flooded the internet with photos of the wrecked car, images of the chaos at the circuit, and the medical staff surrounding you while they tried to keep you conscious. The race continued, but the world of Formula 1 had stopped for a moment. In the hospital, the first reports were arriving through television screens.

Journalists crowded around, asking everyone involved in the accident for the smallest bit of information. Cameras focused on your teammates, who were being approached by the press.

“How is she?,” they asked your mother, whose face was pale, marked by worry.

“She’s being evaluated,” she replied, her voice trembling, unable to hide the anxiety consuming her. “They’ve told us she has a concussion, but they’re doing more tests.”

At that moment, your name became a trending topic on Twitter, and reporters couldn’t stop talking about you, but all you wanted was for everything to stop, for the pain to go away, for the voices in your head to quiet.

Max didn’t know how to react. As he prepared for his last lap, he felt the weight of what had happened, the weight of having been so distant, so focused only on the victory, that he had forgotten what truly mattered. Throughout the entire race, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, about what might be happening at that very moment. The crash had been severe, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.

In the following hours, the news became clear: the crash had left consequences. The concussion was just the beginning. The impact had been so strong that doctors couldn’t yet say whether the physical and psychological effects would be temporary or if you would be left with permanent damage. The fear was palpable, and as exams and tests progressed, it was clear that everything had changed. The accident, the pain, and the uncertainty were now an inevitable part of the story. Your career, your life, everything you had built up until now, was at stake.

[pickingupmymercedes]

A Christmas Carol - Lewis Hamilton

A Christmas Special

genre: fluff (there's a bit of angst because it wouldn't be me without it)

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Wasn't planning on doing one, but alas, like the Grinch "I'm toasty inside and I'm leaking". Hope you guys enjoy it.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Christmas was supposed to feel magical. It was supposed to smell like cinnamon and pine, sound like kids laughing over the crinkle of wrapping paper, and taste like mulled wine and homemade cookies.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as I power-walked from the kitchen to the dining room, a tray of meticulously arranged appetizers wobbling precariously in my hands.

“Where’s the rosemary garnish?” I called out, my voice sharper than I intended.

“On the counter where you left it,” my mom’s voice floated back, tinged with just enough exasperation to make me grit my teeth.

“Right, okay. Thanks!” I tried to sound upbeat, but it came out brittle, like one of the ornaments I’d already broken this week.

The house was perfect. Lewis’s Colorado cabin looked like it had been ripped from the pages of a Christmas catalog.

Snow blanketed the landscape outside, and the living room’s towering evergreen glittered with gold and red ornaments.

Both our families were here—mine and Lewis’s—mingling in various states of holiday cheer.

Everything looked exactly as it should.

So why did it feel like everything was on the verge of collapse?

I was usually the type to wing things. I’d always believed the joy was in the process, not the end result.

But this was different. This was the first Christmas we were hosting as a couple, the first time our families were all under one roof, and the first time I felt the weight of needing everything to be flawless.

“You’re overthinking it,” Lewis had said a week ago, catching me mid-panic as I tried to finalize the seating chart. “It’s Christmas. Nobody’s going to care if the napkins match the table runner.”

I’d rolled my eyes at him then, brushing off his easy confidence. “This is important, Lewis. It’s our first big family Christmas. I need it to be right.”

But now, with the pressure mounting and the hours slipping away, I was starting to wonder if he’d been right all along.

Still, I couldn’t stop.

There was too much to do, too much riding on this. It wasn’t just impressing everyone else; it was proving to myself that I could pull this off. That I could create something perfect.

“Y/n, the caterer just called. They’re going to be an hour late,” came Lewis’s voice from the kitchen, calm as ever.

I barely acknowledged him, my brain too busy spiraling into contingency plans.

Late appetizers meant a delayed dinner schedule, which meant the kids would get restless, which—… Okay, breathe.

“It’s fine,” I said tightly, not looking up from my task. “I’ll… figure it out.”

“Babe, it’ll be fine,” he replied, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe him. How could he be so relaxed about this?

This was the first time I could show everyone that I wasn’t just good at planning vacations—I could host the kind of Christmas that would make everyone look back and say “Remember that year at Lewis and Y/n’s place? That was perfect.”

But perfect came at a price. A steep one.

I was usually laid-back on holidays, but this one… well, I was turning into someone I didn’t entirely recognize.

Someone who had snapped at Lewis when he joked ironing the napkins was a bit much. Someone who brushed off my mom’s attempt to help set up because “I’ve got it, thanks.” Someone who hadn’t stopped to sit down—or breathe—since the day before.

I knew I was being ridiculous.

Rationally, I knew that no one cared if the table settings matched the garland on the fireplace or if the cranberry sauce came from a can instead of being homemade.

But rationality didn’t exactly have a seat at the table in my mind. Instead, it was crowded with doubts, insecurities, and the quiet, nagging fear that if I didn’t get this right, it meant something about me.

I wanted so badly to prove that I could do this—not to Lewis, not even to our families, but to myself. To prove that I could handle blending traditions, making everyone feel at home, and creating a holiday memory worth cherishing.

The irony? In chasing that, I was starting to lose the very thing that made Christmas special.

“Y/n,” Lewis called again, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. I realized I had been staring at the same strand of lights for a tad too long. “Why don’t you take a break? Have some wine or something.”

“I’m fine,” I said, sharper than intended. He didn’t reply, and the quiet that followed made me feel worse than any argument ever could.

I sighed, sinking to the floor, the lights still tangled in my hands.

I glanced around the room, the half-decorated tree leaning slightly to the right, the dining table still bare, and the unmistakable hum of chatter from the kitchen where both families mingled.

It wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But as I sat there, surrounded by the mess of my own making, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispered that it didn’t have to be.

I had just managed to shove the last box of ornaments under the console table when I heard a familiar voice call out, “Y/n! You didn’t even say hi when we walked in. What the hell?”

I turned, my brother already halfway across the room, his lopsided grin in place and a lumpy gift bag dangling from his hand. He had that look he always got when he was about to annoy me out of spite.

“Hey,” I muttered distractedly, glancing at the clock. Dinner prep was starting to fall behind, and I still hadn’t decided which candles to put on the table.

He stopped in front of me, arms crossed. “That’s it? Not even a ‘Merry Christmas, so glad you’re here, oh wise older sibling who taught me everything I know?’”

“I don’t have time for this, asshole” I said, brushing past him to fix the garland over the fireplace. “You and everyone else are so very welcome here, but I have a million things to do.”

He let out a low whistle. “Wow. Someone’s really leaning into their inner Scrooge this year.”

I didn’t bother responding, too busy adjusting a stocking that was slightly off-center.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked, softer this time. “You didn’t even notice when your niece tried to hug you.”

Guilt hit me like a truck, but I pushed it aside. “Nothing, I swear. I just… I want everything to be perfect, for her too, okay?”

“Perfect?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who once wrapped all Christmas presents in newspaper and duct tape because you forgot to buy wrapping paper.”

“I was sixteen and broke.” I snapped.

“And happy,” he countered, his voice pointed but not, at all, unkind. “We all were. Because no one cared what the presents looked like. Or if the tree was crooked or the turkey was dry. We were just… together. That’s what made it Christmas.”

I turned to face him, arms crossed. “Are you seriously trying to give me some kind of Christmas ghost speech right now? Because I don’t have time for—”

“Maybe you should make time” he interrupted, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone.

I hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in despite my resistance.

“Look, I get it” he continued, his voice softening again. “You want this to be special, and it will be. But not because of the table settings or the garland or whatever else you’re obsessing over. It’ll be special because you’re here, and we’re here, and that’s all that ever mattered to us as kids. It’s all that matters now, too.”

“Thanks for the Hallmark moment. Really. But I have things to do.” I sighted instead of admitting he was right, as I turned back to the fireplace.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped back. “Suit yourself, sis. But don’t come crying to me when the ghost of Christmas present shows up later to say ‘I told you so.’ over dessert”

I was halfway into rolling my eyes when it hit me. The pie.  but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my lips as he walked away. Still, his words lingered, like the faint smell of cinnamon that seemed to follow me everywhere this week.

“Seriously, what’s going on, now you look like you seen a ghost?” my brother asked, peering into the living room.

“Oh, no,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a freight train. I had forgotten dessert.

My brother smirked. “Guess perfection really is a myth.”

Lewis appeared in the doorway; eyebrows raised in concern. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I forgot the dessert. I can’t believe I forgot the dessert.”

“Babe, it’s not a big deal,” he said gently, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got plenty of food.”

“It’s Christmas, Lewis!” I suppressed a yell. “You’re supposed to have something sweet.”

Lewis exchanged a glance with my brother, who shrugged as if to say, ‘Your turn.’

“Hey,” Lewis said, tilting my chin up so I’d look at him. “What’s the one thing you always say when things don’t go according to plan?”

I blinked at him, tears threatening. “I don’t know.”

“You say, ‘We’ll figure it out.’”

“I’ve got it” I replied, careful to keep my tone light.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he came closer, a quiet warmth that made me hyper-aware of how tightly I was holding onto the matchbox in my hand.

“Y/n,” he said softly, and that was all it took for my defenses to wobble.

I set the matchbox down with a shaky exhale, staring at the empty plates in front of me. “I just want everything to be perfect” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

He stepped closer, his hands brushing lightly against my arms before resting on my shoulders. “It already is” he said.

I laughed under my breath, a sound that came out more bitter than I intended. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the cranberry sauce yet.”

“Babe” he said, his voice full of that frustrating calmness that made me want to hug him and throw something at him, at the same time. “No one’s here for cranberry sauce.”

I turned to face him, ready to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me cold.

They weren’t teasing or dismissive or even annoyed, like I probably deserved after snapping at him all day. They were warm, steady, and so full of love it made my chest ache.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked gently, his thumbs rubbing small circles against my arm. “You’ve been running around for days like you’re hosting the royal family instead of our families. What’s really going on?”

I swallowed hard, my resolve starting to crack. “I just…” My voice wavered, and I hated how small I sounded. “I want them to have a good time. I want them to see that we’re good at this, that we’ve got it all together.”

He tilted his head, studying me with that quiet intensity he always had when he was trying to read between the lines.

“You mean you want to prove that you’re good at this,” he said softly, and the truth of it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I dropped my gaze, staring at the floor like it might hold some kind of answer. “It’s stupid, I know” I whispered.

“It’s not stupid,” he said, his voice firm. “But you don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Y/n. Not to our families, not to me, and definitely not to yourself. You’ve already done more than enough by bringing them all over.”

I shook my head, tears prickling at the edges of my eyes. “It doesn’t feel like enough. I just… I want them to look back at this and remember it as something special.”

He reached out, tipping my chin up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “They will,” he said simply. “Not because of the candles or the napkins or whatever else you’ve been stressing over, but because they’re here. Together. And because you made that happen.”

His words settled over, softening the tension in my shoulders and quieting the storm in my mind.

“I don’t know how you always do that,” I said with a shaky laugh, brushing at my eyes.

“Do what?”

“Manage to say the exact thing I need to hear, even when I don’t want to hear it. Especially then”

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. “It’s a talent,” he said lightly, his tone teasing but his eyes still serious.

I leaned into him, letting the steady beat of his heart anchor me. For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe again.

“You’re right,” I admitted quietly.

“About everything?”

“Don’t push your luck” I muttered, earning a soft laugh from him.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands still resting on my waist. “Come sit with us for a while,” he said. “The table can wait. Dinner can wait. Right now, I just want you to stop and enjoy this.”

I hesitated, my gaze flicking toward the half-finished table.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “Please.”

The weight of that single word unraveled the last of my resistance.

“Okay,” I said softly, letting him guide me toward the living room and let myself just be.

Dinner was still salvageable, the table was mostly set, and the stockings—mercifully—were straightened.

It was fine. I was fine. We would be fine.

I hadn’t slept much. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the last few days finally wearing off, or maybe it was the quiet nagging feeling that I hadn’t quite nailed it.

Either way, when Lewis stirred beside me at the crack of dawn, his alarm buzzing softly, I was already awake.

He leaned over to kiss my forehead, murmuring something about taking a quick shower before the kids woke up. I mumbled back something that sounded vaguely coherent, but the moment he stepped into the bathroom, I slipped out of bed.

Still in my pajamas, hair a mess, and not a speck of makeup to hide behind, I padded softly down the stairs. The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes in those fleeting moments before the day begins.

The living room came into view, and I froze for a moment, leaning against the doorway. The tree stood tall, its lights casting a soft, golden glow over the room.

The presents we’d spent hours wrapping were still neatly stacked, though I knew that wouldn’t last long.

I sat down on the edge of the couch, tucking my knees under me as I watched the room come alive in slow motion.

First came one of Lewis’s nieces, her sleepy face lighting up the moment she spotted the tree. She gasped, then bolted back upstairs, her little feet pounding against the steps as she woke her brother.

A chain reaction followed—one by one, the kids tumbled into the room, wide-eyed and buzzing with excitement.

Next came my mom, her robe tied loosely around her as she headed straight for the kitchen.

I could hear her humming a Christmas carol as she rummaged for the hot cocoa mix. Within minutes, the scent of chocolate and marshmallows filled the air, mingling with the pine of the tree.

I didn’t say anything; I just watched.

Watched as the kids tore into their presents, the floor quickly becoming a chaotic sea of wrapping paper.

Watched as my mom handed a steaming mug to each child, all looking up at her with a grateful smile.

Watched as my brother shuffled in, still half-asleep but smiling as he plopped onto a chair with his coffee.

And then, almost as if she sensed I needed it, my mom came over to the couch and sat beside me, handing me a mug of cocoa, the marshmallows bobbing at the surface, and settled in with a soft sigh by my side.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said, her voice as warm as the drink in my hands.

“Merry Christmas, Mom” I replied, leaning my head on her shoulder.

We sat there for a while, watching the chaos unfold.

One of the kids trying to explain a new gadget to my dad, while my niece proudly displayed her new doll to Lewis’s mom.

It was loud and messy and completely uncoordinated.

And it was perfect.

“This reminds me of Christmas when we were kids,” I said quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the laughter and chatter.

My mom turned to look at me, her brow lifting slightly.

“You know,” I continued, smiling faintly at the memory. “When we’d open our presents in the morning, and you and Dad would be in the kitchen getting food ready. All the relatives would be there, the cousins running around, someone always spilling something…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “It was chaos, but it felt like Christmas.”

My mom chuckled, her hand brushing against mine as she squeezed it gently. “That’s what makes it special, honey. It’s never about the perfect decorations or the perfect dinner. It’s about… this.”

She gestured to the room, where Lewis’s nephew was now gleefully dragging people to play with him, everyone looking thoroughly confused but nodding enthusiastically anyway.

“The mess?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“The mess,” she affirmed, smiling. “The people. The noise. The love in all of it.”

I blinked back the sting of tears, resting my head against her shoulder again. For so long, I’d been chasing perfection, thinking it was the key to creating something memorable.

But sitting there, surrounded by laughter and torn wrapping paper and the occasional shout of “Where are the batteries?”—I realized I already had everything I’d been looking for.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“I hope I get it this messy, this right, every year” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion.

She didn’t reply, just leaned her head against mine, and we sat there in the quiet chaos, letting it all wash over us.

It wasn’t what I had planned. It wasn’t perfect.

It was better. So much better

And as if on cue, my mom glanced up and caught sight of Lewis standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.

His hands tucked into the pockets of his pajama pants, his grin warm and knowing as he watched us. With a soft smile, she nudged me gently.

“Someone’s waiting for you” my mom murmured before excusing herself, her footsteps light as she headed toward the kitchen.

Lewis didn’t waste a second, crossing the room to take her spot beside me on the sofa. He flopped down with exaggerated effort, his arm draping lazily along the back of the couch.

“Well, well,” he teased, tilting his head to look at me. “I don’t think I’ve seen you out of the bedroom without a fully picked-out outfit, perfect hair, and makeup in days?”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “I’ve been… intense. Haven’t I?”

“A bit” Lewis replied, grinning as he reached over to tug my hands away. “But only because you care”

I lowered my hands, glancing at him shyly. “I just... I wanted this to be perfect. I needed it to be perfect. Not just for everyone else but—” She hesitated, her voice faltering.

“But?” he prompted, his tone gentle.

I bit my lip, my gaze flicking to the kids tearing through their gifts, then back to him. “But for me. For us. For... the possibility that this might be our future someday.”

The words faltered, vulnerable and unsure.

Lewis didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he reached out, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to try so hard. You’re already more than perfect.”

I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, but he pulled back just enough to cup my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over my cheeks as he looked me in the eyes.

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “I’ve been dreaming about a future with you long before these past few days. Ever since I saw you barefoot on that trail, convincing Willow it was the best way to feel the earth beneath her. Since you let Roscoe slobber all over you on the beach the very first time you met him. Since we spent three days on that road trip, eating two-day-old sandwiches and drinking from streams, and you still made it feel like the greatest adventure of our lives.”

My eyes glistened, a shy smile tugging at my lips. “You’re really pulling out all the stops here, aren’t you?”

“Whatever it takes” he replied with a playful grin before his expression softened again. “ You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Least of all me.”

We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, watching the kids dive into their presents. The room buzzing with laughter and the occasional triumphant shout of “Look what I got!”

My chest felt lighter than it had in days, my worries dissolving like the marshmallows in my cocoa.

I rested my head against Lewis’s shoulder, my heart settling into a steady rhythm that matched his.

But then, a thought struck and I sat up abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Lewis asked, trying to pull me back by the waist.

I swatted his hand away with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

I sprang to my feet, clapping my hands to gather the kids’ attention. “Alright, who’s ready to make a mess in the kitchen?”

A chorus of enthusiastic “Me!” erupted as they abandoned their toys and raced toward me.

I led them to the kitchen, my laughter echoing through the house as I opened cabinets and pulled out bowls, flour, and cookie cutters.

Within minutes, the kitchen was alive —flour flying, cookie dough being enthusiastically rolled and eaten, and the sound of uncontainable giggles filling the air.

Lewis stayed back, leaning against the back of the sofa, watching the scene unfold with a smile tugging at his lips.

I caught his eye once, winking at him as I smeared a dollop of cookie batter on one of the kids’ noses, eliciting a delighted squeal.

This could be our forever. Far from perfect, but perfectly us.

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[railingsofsorrow]

Back To Normalcy

[JJ Maybank x reader]

summary: JJ often caught your unfocused gaze drifting to a random corner, lost inside your head. After Morocco, he noticed that a lot.

pairing: jj maybank x f!reader

w.c: 2.8K

warnings/content: near death experiences (flashbacks); obx4 ending is discussed (as in graphic descriptions of what happened so be aware); jj being the best whipped boyfriend; PTSD is hinted; hurt/comfort (trust me, no one dies); paragraphs in italics are flashbacks.

A/N: this is kind of a fix-it and it is set after the pogues find the blue crown. it will have discrepancies regarding canon cause I didn't watch obx4 part 2. bear with me. I'm editing this in the middle of class lol. merry christmas to those who celebrate and a happy new years!!!

navi

masterpost

obx masterlist

request me something

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So it's like... We gotta think of everything. Yeah, we found it, but we gotta—”

“... Have a solid plan, yeah, Pope.” John B cut him off, earning a glare which made the edge of his lips quirk up in amusement. If there was one thing the Pogues had fun in doing, that thing was annoying Pope Heyward. It was just too easy. “Sorry, sorry.” The Routledge boy raised his arms, pretending to surrender but the grin in his mouth betrayed him. John B never felt the will to smile more than he did in that moment. He had his friends. His family. With him. Safe and sound. Finally. Everyone in one piece. Barely. . . And back home. What more could he ask for?

What more could any of them ask for, really?

You tuned out the conversation for the tenth time that night. You loved bonfires. Especially the ones where your friends organized, where you felt at home around their stupid jokes and drunk laughter.

But you couldn't focus tonight. Somehow you always ended up right back in the scalding sand of Morocco, blood sipping through your fingers as tried desperately to stop it. Your screams of agony even though you weren't the one stabbed echoed through your brain like you had worked hard to memorize it.

You'd rather it had been you, actually. No doubt about that.

The soft nudge in your leg made you step out of the infusion of bad memories your head had conjured up. As your eyes adjusted to the bonfire's flames, you noticed all your friends staring at you in expectancy.

“What?”

Instead of the nudge, you felt cold fingers come in contact with your thigh and you almost flinched at the coldness — that coldness — before you caught the beer bottle in his hand. With a gentle squeeze to your thigh, JJ brought you back to Earth.

“I was just tellin' them here,” he began, leaving his beer aside to scoot closer. “how I'm gonna kidnap you to South America any moment now.”

“Hey.” You forced your breathing to slow down. He didn't need you freaking out now, he needed you to be on your best sane behavior, that's what JJ needed. He needed you. “Jay? Baby, take a deep breath, it's alright.”

“He, um...” JJ's shaky hands reached yours and you shook your head when his fingers curled around your bloody ones in his stomach. “I can't— You—”

“I'm here. It's okay. It's gonna be okay, yeah? You just, you just have to keep breathing. Slowly, like me? Okay?”

Where was everybody?

“And how are you gonna do that?” You forced out, taking a long sip of your beer in a foolish attempt of drowning the memories in your head.

Sarah let out a snicker and Cleo's thick accent scolded somebody but you couldn't bring yourself to the present moment. No, you were still fucking there.

“Pope!” You bellowed now unable to control the shakiness of your hands as they tried to stop the blood. So much blood. So much blood. Why? “John B! Where is— Kiara! Baby, hey, hey!” You used one of your hands to grab his cheek, tilting his head to look at you, his half-lidded eyes showed you how weak he was. You didn't care that his pretty face was smeared with your bloody hands, you had to make him stay awake. “JJ? JJ!”

He blinked with difficulty, gazing up at you. “Hi...” And he had the decency to smile. He smiled! How can someone who has been stabbed smile and it takes your breath away the same away? You never thought you'd see his last smile and you shouldn't even be thinking of that because you both are young and have a whole life ahead of you so why would you be thinking of your boyfriend's last smile?

“Hey.” You cried out. “J, you gotta stay awake for me, okay? I'm getting help. You just have to—”

“I love you.”

Certainly, your whole body froze right at that second. That hadn't been the first time he said it, no. JJ made sure to let you know he loved you thousands of times ever since he said the three little words for the first time. And every time he said it, you felt the warmth of his arms around you, his sunbathed skin against yours and the softness of his lips curling in his favorite spot on your neck after a long day.

That's what “I love you” means when JJ says it.

Except now there was no warmth because he felt cold. Everything regarding him was cold. The kind of coldness a boy with the sun in his smile shouldn't have. There was no smile, not the same smile, at least. There was no life because your favorite boy was saying goodbye and that's what his words meant this time.

Coming back to the bonfire was almost as if a bucket of cold water had been splashed in your face. Your friends had vanished. Nobody was around but you.

“Hey.”

. . . And JJ.

You should've thought he wouldn't have left you alone.

“Hey,” you offered him a half-assed smile. “Where's everyone?”

“Inside.” He mentioned towards the house with a jerk of his head before turning back to you. His cerulean eyes studied your frame for a bit before he let out a sigh, standing up and outstretching a hand in your direction.

You stared at it and him with a raise of your brow. A question.

There was nothing JJ hated more than waiting. So, he didn't wait. He lowered fully to kiss your lips since you were sitting down, enjoying the way they parted in surprise. Stealthily, he wrapped an arm behind your back and beneath your knees and before you could react he pulled you up as if you weighted a penny.

“Jesse James Maybank!”

Oh, he was well aware he was in deep shit when you say that but hell, he missed having a reaction from you that was something other than forced smiles and blank stares.

JJ often caught your unfocused gaze drifting to a random corner, lost inside your head. After Morocco, he noticed that a lot.

“Not the government name, babe.”

“Dude, put me down.”

A gasp. “And now I've been called dude what has this world become!”

He halted near the water, after walking across the beach for a few long minutes with you in his arms. You just stopped fighting, slapping his butt at every step he took.

“You think it's the drums or somethin'?”

“Could be.”

As he sent a look of disapproval your way once he placed you down on your feet, it pulled a laugh out of you.

His fingers — no longer cold — cupped your cheeks and brought you closer. “Do it again.”

“Do what?”

His eyes carried that glint of pure joy mixed with the ocean blue that would get you hypnotized. You just didn't know why this time.

“Your laugh. Haven't heard it in so long.”

Oh.

“That's not true.” You held his wrists just to feel the warmth of his skin when he began caressing your cheeks.

JJ hummed, the sound a gentle protest against your claim. He's come a long way to know your little tells, so he wasn't not easily fooled. With a glance in your way, he knew the hidden meanings.

“Uh, yeah. It is, babe.”

You pulled your hair behind your ears, burying your toes in the sand as you racked your brain to seek an excuse that would work to get you out of that conversation. Any excuse would do, really. But you feared you used all of them since you came back from Morocco. And he knew that.

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed down with difficulty.

“Are you?”

“That's not what I asked.”

You finally glanced up, finding him staring forward at the waves, almost distracted. No, not almost. The look in his eyes, you recognize in yourself when drifted back to two weeks ago and the horror took over your mind. It didn't only happen to the two of you, you remember that every time you caught John B outside in the middle of the night, arms behind his head as he stared at nowhere in particular. Or Sarah, when she would crawl up into your bed saying she missed you but you knew exactly what she meant by that. Or Cleo. Oftentimes you needed to force something out of her given everything she went through otherwise she would shove it all in and then never share. Or Pope, because he lost a lot and yes he would never say he hated the whole chasing gold adventure or Poguelandia but he missed safety and a time when you didn't have to worry about danger at your every corner. He's getting used to peace a little more now. Or Kiara, the girl who was a fighter through and through and would choose her friends over anyone in the world, but she needed reassurance once in a while and you all would coddle her a little when you knew it was time for it.

The look.

They all had it. They all suffered through stuff that made them carry it.

And not talking about it made it worse, you told Cleo that once, but since when did you ever take your own advice?

“Yeah, well, Jayj.” You begin, crossing your arms over your chest as the wind picked up. “It happened to you, not to me. It's you who should be ready to talk about it, not me.”

“I remember the blood in your hands, my blood,” JJ still didn't look at you. He was ready to talk about it, not ready-ready but he could accept what happened. That he almost wasn't here. “I remember your voice asking—pleading for me to not close my eyes—”

“Stop.”

JJ finally turned to you, his lips tugging downwards with sadness. “See? It's you who can't talk about it.”

“You almost died in my arms and you expect me to just accept that as if it was a common occurrence?!” It came out as an accusation but in reality you didn't really blame him. He had no fault whatsoever in being stabbed and almost dying. The fault relayed only on the person who caused this torture on all of you. “I can't...” Your voice cracked with newfound emotion. “I can't imagine living in a world where you're not in it, JJ.”

Before he could speak, you cut him off. The dam had broke and now everything you had been hold it in was going to be unleashed.

“You told me you loved me and then you... You stopped breathing.”

He blinked, brows furrowing in thought. JJ knew there was some things he couldn't entirely recall that day, but he didn't remember that.

“I love you.”

If his heartbeat was faint before, now it was non-existent and if felt like the weight of the world had crumbled down on you.

“Open your eyes,” you begged, grabbing his cheeks as a cry of pain left your lips. He was cold. His eyelids shut as if he was sleeping. He was calm. “JJ, open your eyes!” And that's when you felt something touch your shoulder, different hands and voices beside you. All you could focus was on him. “No, c'mon. Jay. Jay? I didn't—” you held his head to your chest, fully sobbing. It was like your heart was being ripped apart. “I didn't say it back.”

Even if she had told him she loved him as many times before, she hadn't say it one last time in time.

You flinched slightly when you were pulled into a pair of arms, fingers reaching the back of your neck to gently press you against a chest. A beating heart welcomed your ears and you didn't realize you were crying until the sobs must've echoed the entire beach.

“I'm sorry, I don't— I don't remember that.”

Your cries were muffled by his shirt. “It wasn't your fault,” you said, your chest tight. “I wish it hadn't gotten to that point cause it was... Fuck.”

JJ tightened his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into your neck. He was still clearly shaken up by what happened, reasonably so. But seeing you like that... He would've take back every decision he made that took your group to that moment just so you wouldn't have to go through that.

He complained when you pulled back a little, drying your tears to glance up at him. Your lips stretching into a timid smile. A real one.

“I'm glad you're okay.” You said with a nod, exhaling as the fog diminished significantly. “I'm happy. But I'm so deeply sorry that I couldn't do more. That I almost let you—”

“Hey, no, no.” JJ was quick to interrupt your train of thought, grabbing your shoulders. “Do not even go there, alright? Absolutely not. Don't even— babe.” He leaned down to connect your foreheads. “You saved my life. All of you. You really think I'd be fine with going... wherever that I wouldn't be able to annoy the shit out of you? I mean— ow!”

You glared at him after punching his forearm though you weren't upset as soon as he gave you his disarming grin that turned your legs to Jell-O.

“You told me you can't imagine living in a world where I'm not in it, right? Well.” JJ brought your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles as his blue eyes full of life studied you in a serious manner. “I happen to absolutely not want to live in a world without in it either...” He tugged you closer. “It would be boring as hell and that's why I would probably, I don't know, crawl out of whatever grave I was in to tickle your feet during the night.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned with a laugh and he shut you up with a kiss, his hand crawling up on your back to press your closer.

“I can't live without your sounds,” he kissed the edge of your mouth, then moved towards your jaw. “Any of them. I can't live without your smile or seeing your lashes fluttering before you wake up. Or without seeing you when you're pissed at me and you pout the entire time, it just makes me want to kiss you but I know it would earn me a punch in the neck.”

“Yeah it would.”

He chuckled, lifting you so you could wrap your legs around his middle. He held the back of your thighs, thumbs running through your smooth skin.

“Hey.” He said softly, bumping his nose with yours as the waves crashed a few feet away, butting in on your moment. “I love you. And I'm gonna stay in your life for as long as you let me. There will be no stupid rushed goodbyes or near-death experiences that will stop that, alright?” He smiled when you nodded, pressing your lips to his. “Yeah.” He started kissing your whole face then just to listen to the inevitable sound of your laugh again. He could never get tired of it. JJ would crawl out of hell just to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

“And about that South America trip—”

“I'm in.” You said, resting your chin on his shoulder, fingertips scratching his scalp as you stared at the sea. “You can kidnap me to wherever you want.”

His excited laughter echoed in your ears like your favourite song chiming in during a stormy night.

“Oh we're gonna have so much fun.” JJ started rambling on his way back to the house, you in his arms because he refused to put you down. “I'm finally teaching you how to surf! And we can visit all the beaches in Brazil, 'm gonna show you some pictures, it'll be amazin', baby, you'll see.”

“I can't wait.” You mumbled with a kiss to his temple. “Are you just gonna carry me around or...”

“Yes.” He pecked your lips, hands squeezing your waist lightly which earned a proper curse out of you and his usual untamed laugh that you were crazy about. “Just stay put and look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, wrapping both arms around his neck and didn't complain. Why would you? You had your favorite boy holding you in his arms, rambling about your future plans to South America on his way to your place. You had nothing to complain about.

You just had to get used to getting back to normalcy.

━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @hoeshissworld

[katboykirby]

Everyone's making great points about Beel and Belphie, although I do have to say something about Mammon (this is a good-faith argument, dw)

There's definitely a point where you could say that all of the brothers are at least somewhat compelled by their sins, but it's simply not true that Mammon specifically is some kind of exception who's sin is so unique that he literally can't control himself.

Because...he can control himself. We've seen him do this in the games many, many times. How often have Lucifer or Barbatos told him "don't you dare even think about taking that" and Mammon immediately bailing on whatever scheme he was cooking up? He also consciously avoids stealing anything from MC 99% of the time, and goes after his brothers' things instead (because he's a huge simp) and that's a choice he makes intentionally.

Mammon can definitely control his sin, and we see him do so very often. Whenever he scams people or goes gambling or comes up with a scheme to steal stuff, it's very intentional and deliberate. It's actually one of Mammon's defining character traits - his actions look selfish and scummy on the surface (and they often are) but he puts way more thought and effort into his heists than people realise. Everything is premeditated, everything is consciously planned, and he's a surprisingly good strategist as long as it has to do with stealing and theft. His brothers, and the other characters, have been caught off guard by how resourceful and meticulous Mammon can be. Because they believed that he was just an impulsive thief, and it was a surprise to learn that he isn't.

That's why we've had multiple scenes where Lucifer tells him "I wish you would put all that effort and planning into your schoolwork" or "why can't you use your brain for something good instead of petty theft?"

The reason his brothers aren't as forgiving with Mammon is because they know he does that shit to them on purpose. Beel often can't help eating too much, and Belphie can't stop himself from passing out, but Mammon can absolutely control himself. He just makes the deliberate choice to steal their stuff anyway.

As we've seen in the games multiple times, Mammon is more than capable of targeting other people besides his brothers, going gambling at casinos or horse races, scamming people online, etc etc. He doesn't HAVE to go out of his way to break into his brothers' rooms and steal their personal, valuable belongings. But he does it anyway. Just like when his debts screw him over and he lands in hot water, he doesn't HAVE to drag his brothers down with him (when they were totally uninvolved and had nothing to do with his scams) but he does it anyway. Like the Summer Lantern Festival and original Bunny Boys event stories - Mammon easily could have worked off his debts by himself. But he went behind his brothers' backs and sold them all out as well, forcing them (and MC) to work off his debts too.

This isn't me shitting on Mammon or claiming that he's a bad character or anything like that. I love Mammon, including his shithead behaviour. He's a selfish jerk and I love that. I love that these characters have depth and flaws and negative qualities, not just because they're demons (so it's natural for them) but because it makes them interesting and fun. They aren't one dimensional. The fact that Mammon chooses to be a thieving dick to his family so often makes it all the more significant whenever he chooses NOT to target them. It makes it hit even harder when he makes the conscious choice to help his brothers out and be kind to them instead. That's why they're always so surprised (positively) when he genuinely helps them.

If you think about it, the twins are the ones who suffer the most with their sins. The other brothers know how to control their sins well, especially Satan, he can keep his wrath at bay, or calm himself: because they can control their emotions, since their sins are mostly related/correlated to one or to a feeling, not to a physical need, like the twins. Beel is hungry all the time, and Belphie is tired most of it. It’s not like Beel can supress his hunger, he can try, but it wouldn’t work. He will eventually have to eat; same thing happens with Belphie, he can’t help but feel sleepy, and the only solution to it is to sleep. For example, Mammon isn’t greedy all the time, his sin is “activated” when something triggers it - opportunity makes the thief - but we cannot say the same for the twins. Thoughts? :c

[the-clock-of-the-time-dragon]

Musings on how magic works in the Wicked musical/film(s):

So I've actually never really heard anyone explore in-depth how the powers work in Wicked, because I guess they're both simple AND mysterious enough that most people regard them as self-explanatory. But I think there's actually a lot of interesting things we might learn about the characters and world through observing how and when magic happens in Oz.

So with the Grimmerie, it seems to work by reading people's hearts and granting them an approximation of what they ask for. I've pointed out before how it's kind of a mirror version of what the Wizard does: people come asking for their "heart's desire", and both the Wizard and the Grimmerie want to grant that desire and make people happy. But whereas the Wizard must do this with charlatanry (and in the end, people always end up having to either go and get what they came for themselves, elsewhere, or they already had it all along), the Grimmerie can actually twist reality to give people some version of what they wanted (and didn't already have): but it always comes with some fucked up cost that makes them regret it. It plays into the overarching theme of "what is happiness? Is it getting your heart's desire? What will you give up to get it? Is it worth it?", etc. I think it could even be inferred that every character who ever comes into contact with the book — directly or indirectly — is in a way "cursed" to never obtain true happiness, only a mockery of what they'd imagined happiness to be. This extends to the Wizard, Glinda, Morrible, Elphaba, Nessa, and even Chistery. And the grander the desire, the graver the cost for getting it — Chistery is able to get away with physical pain for his dream of flying, but the human characters all have their dreams come true only in ways they are never able to actually enjoy. I think the reason Elphaba is the only one able to not only read the book but get away with using it repeatedly, is due to her own innate power.

Elphaba's power is very different from that of the Grimmerie. She seems to have the ability to just flat-out REJECT ACCEPTED REALITY. She defies the law of gravity; even TIME (essentially "remembering" things that have yet to happen). Every time we see her use her powers, she does so to STOP what is transpiring, or simply to say NO to what is before her. Making things fall up instead of down, recalling the future instead of the past, reading books that are illegible. It's in keeping with her overall character, being off, or backwards, or at odds with everything around her: crowds part as if repelled when she comes near; her first day of school she's already being told she's going to excel far beyond what any of the other students could ever hope to achieve. The idea of "I clash with everything" isn't just a joke about color coordination, it's quite literally how she interacts with the world, including on a metaphysical level. She distorts and repulses.

The reason she has such a different relationship to the Grimmerie than everyone else who's tried to use it, is precisely because she clashes with everything. More importantly: she rejects both the world as it is, AND the world as she wants it. She denies her own desires for the sake of what she considers more important. She knows that she can have all she ever wanted: but she can't. She won't. She chooses to go AGAINST heart's desire, REJECT happiness — to deny HERSELF. Something that, perhaps, only a child of both Oz and Kansas — of fantasy and reality — is able to do. She's so at odds with the fantasy world she's been born into, so committed to Truth — a world of objective non-fiction — that she actively says no to her own dreams, and can literally disrupt and challenge the basic laws and logics of the story that she's in. She can use the Grimmerie because she uses the same language: negation. You can't reverse the Grimmerie's spells because they ARE reversals — distortions of a twisted nature. But Elphaba can't want what she truly wants in her heart; she rejects it; it's already reversed. To the "what are you willing to give up to get what you want?" question, Elphaba is the only one in Oz who can honestly just reply "NO", and give up her heart's desire of her own accord.

Now, how Morrible's powers work seem to be a lot different from the others. Her abilities aren't derived directly from the Grimmerie (though we know she has at least studied it), and appear to be innate like Elphaba's, but they manifest very differently. But why weather?? I think it pertains to her innate nature. She's a manipulator whose temperament changes like the wind (warm with some and cold with others), capable of clouding the truth or making things clear as she pleases, and acts as if the world revolves around her like a cyclone. She has total control over her powers because her power is control. There might have been a time when her powers were more benign — she says her talent is "encouraging talent", so perhaps we could infer that her true powers are motivating/suggesting things, giving directions, and that whenever she developed into the truly wicked person she is now, that power darkened into coercion/manipulation. So she can direct a cloud to disperse, encourage a wind to blow, or persuade a crowd to become a raging tempest.

As for Glinda: the musical/film(s) kinda implies she doesn't have any powers?? At least not the innate kind that Elphaba and Morrible have. We haven't seen her use any spells (except a simple one that got cut way back in the pre-Broadway tryout run of the musical), her bubble is shown to be mechanical rather than magical, and she's obviously interested in learning sorcery but fails the only time we really see her try to use it, and she doesn't believe she can read the Grimmerie. So whatever magic Glinda possesses has to be developed, and given she has never really been encouraged to do so (whether in school or when she's Glinda the Good), she probably hasn't had much of a chance to become a real witch by the time the story wraps up (although it would be a fun inclusion if the second film shows her using a spell at some point). Also: since magic seems to be related to character's personal qualities or narrative themes, it's actually quite meaningful that Glinda (at the very least) struggles to use it — she's constantly questioning who she is, what she wants, etc., and so whether she possesses a natural power of her own or needs to develop it through training, we might infer that her magic is similarly "unsure" of what it's supposed to do.

Feel free to respond with any thoughts — I just find this aspect of the story really interesting and hopefully this all came together to at least mostly make sense, lol

[wandascosmic]

Could you write just a cute fic where Wanda and reader do a bunch of autumn season activities. Like Wanda loves to bake so she makes some halloween themed desserts with the help of reader (who in reality just makes a mess and eats all the ingredients).

Wanda would also probably be the type to just want to take a walk because she likes seeing the trees that change color, and of course reader wouldn’t listen when Wanda told her to dress warm so Wanda sacrifices her scarf or hat or both for her to wear instead.

Then for halloween all the avengers could dress up in costumes to hand out candy to the kids, and reader would convince Wanda to do a couples costume.

autumn appreciation (request)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: in which you and your girlfriend make the most of the wonderful autumn season.

word count: 965

tags: unedited, fluff, domesticity, idiots baking together, our favorite couple going for a walk, couples costume!!!, kids trick or treating at the avengers compound, we love halloween so much

“Hey, Nat, have you seen Wanda?” you ask the assassin in the compound. 

Nat shrugs. “I’m pretty sure she’s making ghost cookies, pumpkin cookies, and a witch-shaped cake on a broom. Which is odd because couldn’t she just make a self-portrait–”

“Got it, thanks Nat!” you cut her off, running in the direction of your girlfriend. 

Stopping in the kitchen, you grin at the sight before you. Wanda was in deep focus, mixing a bunch of cake batter in various bowls, trying her best to bake to perfection. However, she was covered in flour, food coloring, and every baking ingredient you could think of had somehow stained her apron. 

“Witchy,” you greet, walking over towards her. 

“Y/N!” Wanda’s eyes light up before you as she makes her way over, giving you a tight hug before you could protest. 

“Wands,” you say, as Wanda refuses to let go. 

“Hm?” Wanda hums. 

“You’re covered in every baking ingredient in America,” you say, snickering. 

Wanda gasps, immediately letting go and seeing your shirt stained with everything that was on her apron. “I’m so sorry, detka! I’ll go get you a new shirt and change this apron– I didn’t even realize–” 

“Wands, don’t worry,” you cut off. “You’re not really baking if you’re not covered in head to toe in flour and confectioner’s sugar.” 

Wanda grins in response.

“Besides, I came over here to help you, since it looked like fun and I haven’t seen you yet today,” you reassure. 

“Oh!” Wanda says excitedly. “Yes, that would be so much fun. Okay, so I need some help with the ghost cookies since the frosting is a little tricky cause it’s a different kind than the pumpkin ones, so let’s do that!” Wanda grabs your hand and begins to lead you to the kitchen.

You grab a measuring cup and start getting to work per Wanda’s instructions. 

Two hours later, you and Wanda are still hard at work. 

“Detka, I think the kitchen is even messier with you than when I started. And that’s saying something since it looked like a flour bomb had gone off in front of me,” Wanda giggles. 

“Hey, you put me to work, woman,” you say, grabbing a piece of cookie dough and munching on it. 

“And you’ve mostly just eaten our ingredients.” 

“You put candy in front of me, you can’t expect me not to eat it,” you shrug. “Plus, we’re basically almost done now! We’ve just got to put everything in the oven.” You grin. “What do you say to your wonderful girlfriend?” 

“Don’t eat all the marshmallows next time?” Wanda retorts with her arms crossed. 

You give her a look, causing Wanda to finally let her smile shine through. 

“Fine, thank you, I love you,” Wanda gives you a kiss. 

“I love you too, my grumpy Sokovian witch.” 

And by the end of the day, every treat you and Wanda had worked so hard on has been eaten by a member of the compound.

*** “Baby,” Wanda shakes you lightly on the couch as you sleep on top of her chest. 

“Hm?” you hum sleepily. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” Wanda says. 

“Why?” you ask, looking at Wanda confusedly. “We rarely take walks.” 

“That’s why we should start!” Wanda responds. “I want to see the leaves change color, please,” Wanda stretches out the last syllable and gives you a pleading look. 

“Fine,” you agree reluctantly. 

“Thank you!” Wanda says, giving you a kiss. “I’m gonna grab my coat, you grab yours too since it’s cold.”

But, of course, you don’t listen to your incredibly smart girlfriend.  

Two minutes into your walk, in which Wanda’s already gushed about seven yellow trees, eight red trees, and five orange trees, you’re completely freezing, and trying your best to hide your shivers. 

But, of course, Wanda notices. 

And silently, Wanda wraps her scarf around your neck and gives you her hat, pulling you into your arms as you continue your walk down the beautiful trail. 

***

“Wanda, come on, it’ll be fun!” you argue, the morning of Halloween. 

“I don’t know,” Wanda says reluctantly as you show her the peanut butter and jelly costume you had bought for the two of you. Wanda was going to be the jelly, of course. 

“Please, witchy?” you give her your best pleading look to which Wanda’s incapable of saying no to. 

“Fine,” Wanda agrees. “But you owe me,” she says, grabbing the costume and going into the bathroom to change. 

“You got it,” you agree, yelling past the door. 

The kids love yours and Wanda’s costume, every single child who’s rang the doorbell and said trick or treat has pointed out your costume, making Wanda blush every time. 

“Trick or treat!” the last group of kids said in unison as Steve opened the compound door. 

“It’s the Avengers!” one of them remarked. 

“You guys are so cool,” another one said. 

“Hey, you guys are the best couple!” a girl, about five years younger than you pointed at you and Wanda. “I love you guys so much.” 

“Aw, we love you,” you respond, giving her a few extra pieces of candy as well as her friends. 

The kids take a few pictures with a couple of you, and you wave as they leave, “Have a great evening!” you call out.

Closing the door, Steve turns to you all, “I think we’re good for tonight, goodnight everyone,” he says, heading off in the direction of his room. 

You turn to Wanda with a grin. “So, wasn’t the costume worth it?” 

“I look ridiculous,” Wanda retorts. “But, unfortunately, anything for you, detka.” 

“I’ll return the favor next year,” you tell her with a kiss. 

“You better,” Wanda says, wrapping her arms around your waist as you both head off to bed together.

[wangxianficrecs]

Rewind 2024 - Part IV

WangxianFicRecs - Rewind 2024

The final part of our favourite stories published in 2024. Thank you everyone for your support this year and most of all, thank you to all the dedicated fanfic authors this fandom has - you're really the heart of it all.

~*~

Thief's kiss

by danegen (@danegen)

E, 6k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: "This time, I’ll run, and you can chase me.” Lan Zhan’s eyelashes flutter in delicate, adorable confusion. “When I catch you . . .” “If you catch me.” Wei Wuxian wags a finger at him. “If you catch me, you can do whatever you want.” That makes . . . something happen on Lan Zhan’s face. Something that makes Wei Wuxian shiver. Wei Wuxian accidentally tells Lan Wangji about their strange game of chase that night at the inn. His solution to this predicament? Obviously, they need to play again!

~*~

cookin' up a storm, piece of cake

by livinginaworldofnoise (@gh0st-0f-luke)

G, 9k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: yiling_patriarch: first time making a cake with alcohol! it’s still in the oven but it smells great so far ↳ Gusu Lan Kitchen: There is no alcohol listed in the ingredients for this recipe. yiling_patriarch: i didn’t have any oranges or orange juice so i replaced those with a can of orange sparkling margarita! tasted super weird [★★☆☆☆] ↳ Gusu Lan Kitchen: Are you being deliberately obtuse? OR: life is tough for baker!lwj when online troll!wwx won't stop commenting on his recipe blog

~*~

In the end

by apathyinreverie (@apathyinreverie)

T, 4k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Ying does not die. He falls. But he has fallen before. Death devours him. But the dead have devoured him before. He falls and he breaks and still he lives. Or something like it, at least. (An AU where WWX does not die. Well, mostly.)

~*~

Looked so alive, turns out i'm not real

by KatAnni (@kat-anni)

M, 36k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Part of MDZS Big Bang 2024

Summary: "Nothing leaves the Burial Mounds alive." Lan Wangji goes on a side mission night hunt with Wei Wuxian during the Sunshot Campaign, and finds out just how true that statement is. Inquiry rings through the room, and Wei Wuxian answers. This of course, has consequences. For the MDZS Big Bang 2024, Collab with @sweetlittlevampire

~*~

Devil Flute Upon Graves, Wei Ying

by cloudyrobinwrites (jwyoomi) (@chirpycloudyrobin)

M, WIP, Series, 53k, Wangxian & Hualian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Wei Wuxian received the news of his first death a little bit too late.

~*~

🔒 baby fever

by Mamoonde (@mamoonde)

T, WIP, 4k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Lan Zhan wakes to a pounding on his door in the middle of the night. For a moment, he assumes Wei Ying must’ve come over after all. Instead, it is Jiang Cheng, soaked and covered in mud, and holding a child— A child who looks up sheepishly, with the same light grey eyes as Wei Ying. “I told him we didn’t need to bother you, but he insisted you would want to help.” Jiang Cheng says. or: yet another wwx age regression fic. but modern cultivation au.

~*~

had a marvelous time ruining everything

by livinginaworldofnoise (@gh0st-0f-luke)

G, 8k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: “Great news, though—well, actually, it may depend how you define ‘great.’” Wei Wuxian folds himself into a cross-legged position and makes a sweeping gesture with one arm toward the closet, from which Lan Wangji can now hear a strange rattling noise. “While you were gone I managed to catch another one!” “Another . . . cat?” Lan Wangji pulls the closet door open wider and stares at the cage he finds there, inside of which a small black cat is clinging to the ceiling bars with all the desperation of a cornered wild animal. “That’s Volcano!” Wei Wuxian says by way of explanation. “She’s a little spicy.” OR: 5 times wangxian's feral kittens get in the way of lan wangji proposing + 1 time they help

~*~

🔒 sweet decadence

by breaththrou

M, WIP, 27k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Lan Xichen breathed in sharply, a crazed laugh escaping him. He lifted his gaze to meet his eyes, a look of despair etched onto the hard lines of his face. "My brother... my brother has always been our mother's child. For that, he could not live. He is gone. I could not find him, and I could not have brought him home. I can only hope now that Wangji is at rest," he said quietly, the wind whipping the greying locks of his hair around his face. Wei Wuxian stared at him, horrified. Lan Xichen looked away as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. "I have only ever wished happiness for my brother, but I fear I have instead brought him death."

~*~

Catharsis

by Starfell123

T, 9k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: “Look, I know I’m probably foolish. I know that the chances of this not being a business-meeting are slim to none, but I need to know for sure. If Uncle Jiang wants to apologize, I’ll give him a chance to do so. If not, I want to tell him where to stick it in person.” Thirteen years after being thrown out by the Jiangs, Jiang Fengmian contacts Wei Wuxian and asks to meet. Wei Wuxian goes in the hopes of reconciling with his adopted family, but the circumstances he finds himself in wont allow that to happen. What will he do when his former guardian tries to arrange a marriage for him that will benefit the Jiang-sect?

~*~

To Love the God of Death

by Amber_Horizon

E, WIP, 27k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Jin Guangyao, God of the Sky, sees Mo Xuanyu's interest as an opportunity to gain control. Just before Mo Xuanyu is to be appointed the new God of the Underworld, he performs a self sacrificing ritual to escape his fate. Wei Wuxian returns from the dead after 13 years. He wakes in a new body, surrounded by evil talismans, and perhaps worst of all, face-to-face with Lan Xichen, God of the Sea.

~*~

Tides

by Anonymous

G, 1k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: When their routine is interrupted, Wei Ying gets himself and Lan Zhan ready for bed.

~*~

咏红尘 | an ode to red dust

by auberjing (@wrecklwj)

E, 39k, Wangxian | Mojo's Rec to be posted soon!

Part of Bottomji Big Bang 2024

Summary: A-Fu apologises for intruding. Shall I bring you a woman?” Lan Wangji recoils. The question lands like a physical blow: violent, distasteful, and absurd. “No.” “Then,” A-Fu murmurs. “If you wish, I could… relieve you. As a servant, it is my duty.” Or: Crown prince Lan Wangji is taken hostage by Wen Ruohan, who has taken the throne after deposing the incumbent emperor. While imprisoned, Lan Wangji is assigned a handsome eunuch servant named A-Fu. Outwardly, A-Fu is mild and attentive, but his whispered hints at rebellion appear to be the start of something momentous and revelatory…

~*~

redemption, repentance

by stiltonbasket (@stiltonbasket)

G, 3k, Xuanli | Kay's Rec

Summary: Five months after the Sunshot Campaign, Jin Zixuan travels to Lotus Pier to ask for Jiang Yanli's hand in marriage.

~*~

Watch me ignite it

by tawaen

T, 10k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: The news spreads quickly across the cultivation world – Wen Ruohan is dead and his murderer declared himself the new leader of the Qishan Wen sect. Wei Wuxian is described as a demon, as a brutal warlord, as a threat to the very existence of the cultivation world. He is also, unfortunately, the most attractive person Lan Wangji has ever met.

~*~

🔒 counting the hours back to you

by ribena

E, 17k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: It has been three months, two days, eleven hours, thirteen minutes, and fifteen seconds since Wei Ying broke up with him, which is why he is the last person Lan Zhan expects to be knocking on his door at one in the morning. “Wei Ying,” he says, the name already strange and unfamiliar on his tongue, “what are you doing here?” “The trains are cancelled,” Wei Ying says miserably, and then looks up at Lan Zhan properly for the first time, if only for a split second. There’s nothing but utter defeat in his eyes. He wouldn’t be here, of course, unless all other avenues of rescue have been exhausted, because it has been three months, two days, eleven – “I have to get home. It’s my sister’s wedding.”

~*~

A Dragon's Tail

by IamTheLemonLord (@iamthelemonlord)

E, 36k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec to be posted soon!

Part of TopXian RBB

Summary: While visiting the Cloud Recesses for the first time, Wei Wuxian's tail intertwines with Lan Wangji's, a boy who wants nothing to do with him. Now engaged, the two have until they reach adulthood to get to know each other and decide if a future together is something they want. Things would be easier if horny voices in their head would stop yelling at them at inappropriate times.

~*~

Practical Considerations

by teawater & the_anthropologist

E, 96k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec to be posted soon!

Summary: After the Sunshot Campaign Wei Wuxian is fooling around in Lotus Pier, and Jiang Cheng decides that he'd be more useful to the sect if he was to enter a diplomatic marriage. Especially since Lan Wangji seems so keen on dragging him away to Gusu. Only Wei Wuxian doesn't expect any good to come from it...

~*~

Where No Flesh Decks The Bone

by deliciousblizzardshark (@deliciousblizzardshark)

E, 20k, Wangxian | Mojo's Rec

Summary: When Wei Ying falls into the Burial Mounds, he’s rescued not by the Yin Iron, but by a strange, twisted creature who heals his body and slips into his mind. Now ridden by Lan Zhan, a bodiless creature ignorant of human customs and brimming with the desire for revenge against the cultivators who threw his mother into the Burial Mounds, Wei Ying has the power to take down the Wen sect for good– if he and the creature can learn to work together. (Or the Venom-inspired canon-divergence Untamed fic no one asked for.)

~*~

Push It

by phonciblepbone

E, 7k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec to be posted soon!

Summary: "Wei Ying. Good morning. I assumed you had the same sex education as I had, and thus did not need to be informed of the existence of the prostate." "Not the existence, Lan Zhan, of course I knew they existed! I mean that it's…" Wei Ying trails off, looking at Lan Zhan imploringly. "Like that."

~*~

Comfortable in your skin

by Dooiney_Oie (@lexicals)

T, 17k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec to be posted soon!

Summary: "Lan Zhan?" he stuttered, his own voice too deep, looking into a face that should be his and which was now flushed pink with anger. "What did you do?" was the answering reply. Despite the sheer fury being directed his way, Wei Wuxian started to laugh. "Me?" he asked, feeling a touch hysterical, not least because he was being scolded by himself, "You were the one who broke it!" - That nightmare scenario where you end up stuck in the body of the one guy who hates(?) you.

~*~

💙 I'll Take Such Great Care of You

by CheekyBrunette

G, 49k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec to be posted soon!

Summary: Sizhui has grown up with a single father. Now, he learns what it is like to have a mom.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter Warmers day 19: Holiday magic. Maxiel, hurt/comfort. About 1k. (yes I know I am a couple days late. yes I also know they saw each other for padel, just...ignore it.)

When Daniel goes to bed, he's in Perth. He is in his bed, with his blankets, his white noise machine, his podcast, and his loneliness. He is a little too sad and a little too warm, thinking about all the ways his life has changed, is still changing. Thinking about the messages he has been ignoring, the calls he hasn't picked up.

When Daniel wakes up, none of those things are true.

When Daniel wakes up, he is in a different bed, just a light blanket covering him, with the distant sound of traffic filtering in through the windows, city lights slicing the shadows through the half closed curtains. He is a little confused, but comfortably warm.

And there are arms wrapped around his waist.

It's that really that makes him freeze, breath stuttering in his chest. Sometimes, with all the traveling, he does end up forgetting where he fell asleep. And even if he never got quite this confused, it wouldn't be too weird to be in an unfamiliar room, but there hasn't been anyone in his bed for weeks, so Daniel is pretty sure he would remember that.

Especially because whoever is spooning him is almost certainly male, broad chest pressed against his back, the slightest scratch of a scruffy beard against his neck.

He doesn't know what's happening. He doesn't know where he is, who he's with, and his heart rate is steadily picking up when whoever is holding him sighs, tugging him closer.

"Are you awake?"

And oh. Daniel knows this voice. Daniel knows the rasp of it, deeper with sleep.

But how in the hell did he end up in Max's bed?

"Stop panicking, Daniel, everything is of course fine," Max murmurs, moving his head to nuzzle his shoulder, one of his hands rubbing gentle circles on his hip.

Like this is normal. Like this is something they do, wake up together, in Max's bed. When Daniel was just in Perth, had not answered Max's calls in weeks, and the last time they had seen each other Daniel had gotten tears and snot all over Max's team kit, sweaty in the Singapore heat.

He tries to breathe, tries to will his heart to slow down, but all he manages is a small, breathless whine, as a shudder travels down his spine.

He feels untethered, shaken and lost, emotions mixing and bubbling over, threatening to spill, making a mess, like everything else in his life.

"Daniel, hey, no."

Concern drips from Max's words, and Daniel lets himself be turned around and tucked into his chest, hiding his face into Max's shirt. Lets Max breathe deep and exaggerated, trying to get Daniel to copy him. Lets Max murmur in his ear, careful and tender, almost the same tone of voice he uses for when his cats are spooked.

"I'm sorry," Max says, contrite, when Daniel's breathing is back to almost normal, even if he's still hiding into Max's chest. "I should have probably given you more space."

Maybe the reasonable answer to that would be a nod, since it was pretty confusing and scary to wake up in Max's arms, but at the mention of space all Daniel can do is tangle his fingers harder into Max's shirt, pressing closer.

He doesn't know how he's here, doesn't know what kind of miracle teleported him from his sad and lonely bed to Max's hug, doesn't know if he even deserves to be here, after avoiding him for so long, but now that he is here, he doesn't want any fucking space. Now that he's being held, talked to so softly, he realises how stupid he'd been, to shut everyone one like this, especially Max.

Max, who had been by his side on the worst weekend of his life. Max who had called, over and over, trying to stay inside of Daniel's walls, instead of being shut out. Max, who apparently held no grudges for all of it, taking care of him without questions.

He doesn't realise his breathing has picked up again until Max shushes him softly, rubbing his back with big, gentle hands.

"It's okay, you are okay, I am here now. You are here now."

"What happened?" Daniel finds himself ask, half choked, muffled by his unwillingness to move away.

Max's hands stutter on his back for a second as he shrugs, almost dislodging Daniel from his position.

"I am not sure. You appeared in my bed, and you did not even wake up. And you looked very tired, so of course I didn't wake you. I think..." Max pauses, uncertain, but then carries on. Never one to not go for the gap. "I think maybe I was thinking very hard about you, and you maybe needed to be here. Or not there."

As if the universe would be that simple. Daniel needed Max, so Daniel was with Max.

Daniel knows nothing worked that way. You don't get everything you need just because you want it, and you don't get everything you want because you need it.

And yet, here he is. Where he needs and wants to be, despite denying it for so long.

"Christmas magic," he says, forcing a rough chuckle out, feeling Max laugh a little with him.

"Yes," he agrees, as if Daniel hadn't been joking, trying to build up at least some of the fragile walls that Max had knocked down so easily, just with a hug.

"I think we should go back to sleep," Max adds after a while, still rubbing Daniel's back, "and then tomorrow I can lend you my plane, or we can talk about why you are sad."

Daniel flinches, still surprised, even after all these years, by Max's ability to cut straight to the core of things, no nice words to beat around the bush.

"I'm not..." he starts, but Max cuts him off, making his mouth snap shut.

"Don't lie to me, Daniel."

His voice is still warm but there's steel behind it, an order Daniel doesn't want to defy. So Daniel doesn't.

He doesn't know what time it is, how much he's already slept, but he's still tired, and he's comfortable and warm in a way he hasn't been in forever.

And Max knows him, and Max has got him, and Max won't leave.

So Daniel closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

[svnluns]

⋆ boarding school

It had been a week since my stepmom decided I would go to an all-girls boarding school. I hated everything about this place. But what I hated the most was my fucking roommate.

Billie would always tease me or make fun of me. What really bothered me was that I liked it. It would turn me on.

I was now sitting in the school library. It was around 12 p.m., and I was studying for my history test. No one was around, which was perfect.

I was almost done when I heard the door open. I raised my head to see Billie.

Obviously.

She walked toward one of the bookshelves and turned so she was standing behind me.

"Boo!" she said, sticking her head in front of mine.

"Wow, you scared the shit out of me," I replied sarcastically.

"Whatever. You're no fun. Did you miss me?" she asked, pulling up a chair to sit in front of me.

"No, actually, I was good on my own. So, if you could leave-"

"Yeah, right. Oh, by the way, I hear you in your dreams. So, if you could stop fantasizing about me and saying, ‘Hmm, Billie, every night, that would be fantastic," she said, grabbing my notebook to see what I was studying.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't do that," I said with a nervous chuckle, trying not to look obvious.

She stood up as I grabbed my notebook back, but instead of leaving, she got closer to me. Standing behind me, she rested her hands on my shoulders and slowly slid them down to my chest.

I felt my body betray me. I was becoming wetter with every move of her hands.

She tugged my necktie loose, letting it fall onto the table, and began unbuttoning my shirt until my bra was on full display. My breath hitched, but I didn't stop her.

She slipped the straps of my bra off my shoulders, one by one, her hand sliding down to cup my breast.

"C'mon," she whispered, grabbing my wrist and pulling me behind one of the bookshelves for privacy.

"You actually look pretty," she said softly, fully removing my shirt and sliding her hand under my plaid skirt, feeling how wet i already am. "If you wanted to get fucked that badly, you should've just told me. You didn't have to send weird signals in your sleep."

Her lips crashed onto mine, and I kissed her back instinctively, feeling my frustration and desire meld into one.

"You're so wet for me," she murmured with a smirk.

I was done with her teasing. "Billie, please stop talking. Just fuck me," I begged, struggling to catch my breath.

She wasted no time. She pulled my panties down and tossed them aside, then slid three fingers into me without warning.

"Fuck you," I groaned, my hands gripping the edge of the shelf for balance.

"That's what you get for telling me to shut up," she said, her tone sharp but laced with desire. "Now, be a good girl and stay quiet."

Her fingers moved faster, her other hand gripping my hip to hold me steady.

My legs trembled as the pleasure built, my moans growing louder despite my attempts to stay silent.

"C'mon, baby, cum for me," she coaxed, her voice softer now.

I couldn't hold back anymore. My body tensed as waves of pleasure crashed through me. I clung to the shelf, gasping as I finally let go.

When I opened my eyes, Billie was watching me with a smug smile.

"Look at the mess you made," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

"You've been waiting for this forever, haven't you? I didn't know you were this needy for me."

I glared at her, but the blush on my face gave me away.

She stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You're even prettier when you're like this," she said softly.

I didn't know what to say. All I knew was that l hated her. And I wanted her again.

[childrenofcain-if]

When I saw the snippet where Mc was being just plain mean, I came running to ask you how would it go if an argument breaks out between Mc and C because Mc is a little too condescending about C's broken knee which leads to them getting called out for being an arrogant jackass? My Mc means well but god they're such an asshole 😭

the only clearly audible sound in C’s suite was the low hum of the heater working overtime against the december chill.

but you could still hear C’s uneven steps, their limp heavier than usual as they crossed the room. you supposed that ever since they had told you about it, they’d gotten more comfortable about not hiding it from you anymore.

yeah, the limp wasn’t new, but it was worse tonight. C’s gait was uneven, jagged, every step catching slightly as if the bones in their knee were grinding against each other. you’d been watching it for weeks now, how they soldiered through it, jaw tight and posture straight, as though sheer willpower could replace cartilage.

tonight, though, after watching them wince when they thought you weren’t looking, you decided it was enough.

“C,” you began, and they stopped in their tracks. the way they turned, furrowed brows and jaw clenched, should have been enough warning to stop you from saying the next words. but you were you—brazen, brilliant, thoughtless. “i noticed you’re limping worse than usual. maybe it’s time to consider getting a cane.”

you saw their expression hardened immediately, but you kept going, your voice infuriatingly calm, like a teacher correcting a student.

“it would make things easier for you, don’t you think? i mean, i know it’s not ideal, but considering the structural integrity of your knee—”

“the structural integrity of my knee?” C repeated your words incredulously. “you’re really pulling out your SAT vocabulary for this, aren’t you?”

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your own voice rising now, confused about their reaction. “i’m just trying to help, C. god, i don’t know why you have to make everything so difficult.”

“are you this fucking dense?” C’s voice cracked on the word, and they took a step closer to you, their hands clenched at their sides. “you think i want to be like this? you think i don’t know how i look, how i walk? i don’t need your—” they broke off, shaking their head, their face a mask of barely-contained fury.

“i never said any of that,” you said, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“no,” C said, their voice cold. “you didn’t have to.”

you could feel the argument spiraling out of control, but you didn’t know how to stop it. instead, you reached for something—anything—to regain the upper hand.

“you’re being obstinate,” you said, and the word felt strange in your mouth, too big, too formal, but you didn’t care. “you’re acting like an overly sensitive child.”

C’s eyes narrowed, and they let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

“obstinate,” they repeated, rolling the word around like it was a sour taste in their mouth. “jesus christ, could you sound any more condescending? do you ever stop trying to sound like you swallowed a thesaurus? what, you think using words like that makes you better than me? smarter than me?”

“that’s just how i talk,” you snapped, your voice sharp and venomous, the words spilling out before you could think them through. “i’m sorry if it’s not simple enough for you to understand. i’m sorry you always jump to conclusions without hearing me out. i’m sorry that your father never bothered to teach you words like that—he was too busy bashing your head against the wall of your old house while you apologized for even existing.”

the room went silent.

C stared at you, their mouth slightly open, their chest rising and falling like they couldn’t quite catch their breath. their face was now pale, and their chalcedony green eyes blazed with something that wasn’t just anger—it was hurt. deep, raw, soul-deep hurt that made your heart squeeze uncomfortably.

“fuck you,” they said finally, their voice low and trembling with barely-contained fury and tears. “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

“C—” you started, but they flinched when you stepped closer, their body jerking like you were the one who struck them.

“don’t,” they said, their voice sharp and broken all at once. “don’t fucking touch me.”

and then they were gone, the door slamming behind them so hard it rattled the walls.

you stood there, the words still hot on your tongue, searing and damning. you could still see the look on their face, the way their eyes had gone wide and vulnerable, the way they’d looked at you like you’d taken something sacred and smashed it to pieces.

you sank onto the couch, your head in your hands, the weight of your regret pressing down on you like a boulder. you hadn’t meant it. you hadn’t meant any of it. but meaning didn’t matter now. the damage was done.

you’d known—instantly, the moment the words left your mouth—that you’d crossed a line. not just crossed it, obliterated it. and now, the consequences were as painful as the regret slicing through you.

and you were alone, left to drown in the bitter aftertaste of your own words.

[cuntphoric]

can u do a bf gojo eating u out roughly out of nowhere and even after begging and crying for him to stop he doesn’t 😛😛

a/n; I GOT YOU, i hope this reached your expectations because i know it certainly didn't for me lol, i'm still working on how to write a fem!reader receiving cunnilingus so bare with me. not proofread!!

you were already gasping, hips twitching as gojo worked his tongue against you in a way that made your brain cloudy. he started soft, slow enough to make your chest ache with how carefully he was taking you apart. he was taking his time to ruin you. his lips brushed over your clit like he was tasting something delicate, and every gentle swipe of his tongue had your toes curling. he was dragging his tongue out - then pushing it back in.

his hands rested firmly on your thighs, thumbs drawing lazy circles into your skin as you shifted under him. you tried to squirm away, just a little for more friction, just so he can go faster- but his grip held you steady. "mm, where’re you goooinng?" he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh, nipping at the skin to make you whine, before returning back to your clit. "stay still for me, yeah sweetheart? i've got you, don't you worry."

but.. yeah no, now he's the one getting impatient.

everything about him was deliberate. his tongue traced slow, teasing circles around your clit, never quite giving you enough to push you over the edge but more than enough to make your breath hitch. he was in control, and he knew it. every now and then, he’d glance up at you, his pretty, lightening blue eyes that were half lidded and just was glittering with lust. this was a game to him and he was winning, unsurprisingly..

until he shifted that is, because without warning - his grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. his mouth that was just gentle, became fast, lips latching onto your clit as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud with a rough, feverish lick. you jolted, your back arched instantly, a sharp cry slipping out as your hands flew to his hair.

"s-satoru, wait!" you suddenly choked out, your hand flying to his hair in an effort to pull him away but instead, instinctively, your thighs wrapped around his head, locking him in place. it wasn’t intentional, but the pressure only seemed to spur him on, his tongue working meaner, harsher, as if he wasn’t already driving you insane. he let out a low, muffled chuckle, one of his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pressed his face even closer, nose brushing against your bud.

until his free hand grabbed your wrist, pinning it to your side effortlessly to look up at you.

"wait?" he murmured, his voice thick and dripping with a mocking, mean tone. his lips were slick, chin glistening with your wetness from how thoroughly he’d been working you over. "hmm.. nope! i don’t think i will."

before you could protest, he dove right back in, sucking your clit with a bruising force while his fingers slid between your wet folds. two fingers plunged into you without hesitation, curling perfectly to hit that spot. you thrashed under him, the overstimulation felt too much for you, tears spilling down your cheeks as you begged and begged.

"b-baby, please! it’s too much- i c-can’t!" your voice cracked, broken and desperate, but he didn’t let up. if anything, your pleas seemed to fuel him, a low, short laugh rumbling against your core as he pressed his tongue in harder, drawing another strangled cry from your lips.

"too much?" he said, pulling back just long enough to taunt you, his voice almost a low growl. "nothing's too much, silly!"

your legs trembled uncontrollably, your body writhing as he bullied your cunt. his fingers moved faster, thrusting into you while his tongue circled your clit in quick, rough strokes. your sobs and moans were basically all he heard, your hands clawing at the sheets as you felt yourself on the verge of cumming.

"pleaase, i.." you couldn’t finish, your body jerking as the pleasure ripped through you in waves, but even then, he didn’t stop. he continued to lap your pussy, his hands kept your hip and wrist pinned down as his mouth stayed latched to you, dragging you through a mean orgasm until you were shaking and crying, completely wrecked.

and WHEW. what a mess.. you were sobbing and shaking as your orgasm came through you, your whole body trembling and spent.

only until then when you were finally able to push him off did he finally pull away, lips and chin shining as he grinned up at you. that bitch ass grin. "see? told you you could take it," he teased, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, rubbing the inside of your thigh gently.. back to square one.. again.

"you’re doing soo good for me though.. just one more, yeah? maybe two."

[woozinhos]

Hi, can i request for a breeding kink with dk pls

Anon you know I had to drop everything I was doing and write this hehe my ult bias anyways enjoy!

You and Dokyeom had spent the day with your extended family, surrounded by children of all ages.

As you watched the kids play and interact with their parents, you couldn't help but feel a pang of longing in your chest.

You glanced over at Dokyeom, noticing the wistful look in his eyes as he watched a couple with a newborn baby.

Dokyeom seemed lost in thought, his gaze fixated on the baby in the couple's arms.

There was a softness in his expression that you had seen before, a vulnerability that he only ever showed around you.

You knew he had always wanted to be a father, and seeing all the children around him today had likely reignited that desire.

After a long day of family activities, you and Dokyeom finally found yourselves alone in the privacy of your bedroom.

As soon as the door was shut behind you, Dokyeom's demeanor changed.

He pressed you against the wall, his hands roaming over your body as he kissed you hungrily.

There was a desperate edge to his touch, a need that had been building all day.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as he pressed his body against yours.

"You have no idea how badly I need you right now," he growled, his voice low and rough. "Watching those kids today, seeing all the families... it's been driving me crazy."

Dokyeom's usual softness and sweetness had completely disappeared, replaced by a raw, almost animalistic desire.

He spun you around, pressing your chest against the wall as he pushed your hips back against his.

"I can't stop thinking about it," he murmured, his hands roaming over your body as he spoke. "About having a family with you, about filling you up and watching you grow with our child."

Dokyeom practically throws you onto the bed, his movements rough and impatient.

He quickly follows, his hands grabbing your hips and pulling you up onto your knees.

He stands behind you, his body pressing against yours as he runs his hands over your curves.

Dokyeom leans over you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers in your ear.

"I need to breed you," he growls, his voice low and possessive. "I need to fill you up and make you mine in every way possible. I want to see you round with my child, carrying a piece of me inside you."

Dokyeom's hands are rough and impatient as he pulls up your dress, revealing your bare skin to him.

He doesn't even bother taking off your panties, instead just tearing them away from your body with a sharp, decisive movement.

Dokyeom hastily unbuttons his pants, pushing them down just enough to free his aching erection.

He's too desperate to bother taking them off completely, the need to claim you overwhelming all other thoughts.

He lines himself up with your entrance, his breath hot against your neck as he speaks.

"I'm going to fill you up," he promises, his voice low and guttural. "I'm going to breed you so deeply, so thoroughly, that there's no doubt in your mind that you belong to me."

With one swift thrust, he enters you, his hips slamming against yours as he buries himself to the hilt.

He lets out a deep groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he savors the feeling of being inside you.

Dokyeom doesn't waste any time, immediately setting a fast and brutal pace as he starts to thrust into you.

He grips your hips so tightly that it's almost painful, using them as leverage to drive himself deeper and harder with each movement.

As he pounds into you from behind, he reaches up and grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back so that your neck is exposed to him.

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers dirty things to you.

"You feel so good, baby," he growls. "Your body is so perfect, so tight and hot around me. I can't get enough of you."

He tugs on your hair, forcing you to arch your back even further as he continues to pound into you relentlessly.

"You're mine, all mine," he murmurs, his voice thick with possessiveness. "No one else can have you, no one else can touch you like this. You belong to me, body and soul."

His voice gets louder and more urgent as he continues to speak, his words coming out in ragged gasps between thrusts.

"I want to breed you," he repeats, over and over again like a mantra. "I want to fill you up with my cum, watch it drip out of you, and know that I've claimed you as mine,"

His pace becomes even more frantic, his hips slamming against yours with such force that it's almost bruising.

He's completely lost in the moment, consumed by the need to claim you and fill you with his seed.

"You're going to be so beautiful, round and full with my child," he grunts, his fingers digging into your hips. "I can't wait to see it, to see you carrying my baby inside you."

Dokyeom's usually gentle demeanor has completely transformed, replaced by a fierce, almost animalistic passion.

As he continues to pound into you from behind, he suddenly raises his hand and delivers a sharp slap to your ass.

You let out a surprised gasp, the sting of the impact sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

Dokyeom notices your reaction, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

He slaps your ass again, harder this time, watching as your body jerks forward from the impact.

"You like that, don't you?" he growls, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You like it when I get rough with you, when I show you just how much I want you."

Dokyeom keeps up the rough treatment, his hands roaming over your body as he continues to pound into you from behind.

He alternates between slaps and squeezes, his touch both rough and possessive.

He leans down, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers in your ear again.

"You're such a good girl for me," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "Taking me so well, letting me do whatever I want to you. You were made for this, made to be mine."

As Dokyeom gets closer to his climax, his usual sweet and gentle personality starts to reappear beneath the rough exterior.

His whimpers and gasps fill the air, his body trembling as he struggles to hold on.

"I'm so close," he pants, his hips stuttering against yours. "Please, baby, I need to cum. I need to fill you up, I need to breed you."

Dokyeom's movements become even more frantic, his thrusts coming faster and harder than ever as he chases his release.

He's completely lost in the sensation, his body taking over as he desperately tries to reach his peak.

"Please, please, please," he chants, his voice broken and needy. "I can't hold on much longer, I need to cum inside you now."

"Then cum," you gasp out, your own body trembling with pleasure. "Fill me up, give me what I need."

Dokyeom's smirk widens at your words, his eyes dark with lust as he takes them as a challenge.

He grabs your hips tightly, pulling you back onto him with each thrust as he tries to get as deep as possible.

"Oh, I'll fill you up alright," he growls, his voice low and feral. "I'll give you so much cum that it'll be dripping out of you for days."

Dokyeom's body tenses, his muscles coiling tightly as he feels his orgasm building.

He lets out a deep, guttural groan, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he buries himself deep inside you.

"I'm coming," he gasps, his voice barely more than a strangled whisper. "Oh god, I'm coming!"

Dokyeom's body shudders as he reaches his peak, his hips jerking against yours as he empties himself inside you.

He lets out a long, low moan, his face contorted in pleasure as he spills his seed deep inside your body.

"Yes, yes, yes," he gasps, his fingers digging into your skin as he rides out his orgasm. "Take it all, take every drop of me."

Dokyeom's body finally goes slack as he finishes, his breathing heavy and ragged as he slumps against you.

He stays inside you for a moment, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Dokyeom pulls out of you slowly, watching as his cum drips out of your body and onto the floor.

He lets out a low groan, his eyes fixed on the sight as he admires his handiwork.

"Look at that," he murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and possessiveness. "Look at how much I filled you up."

Dokyeom smirks as he takes his fingers and pushes his cum back inside you, not wanting to waste a single drop.

He watches with intense focus as his fingers disappear inside you, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Can't let any of it go to waste," he says, his voice low and rough. "You need to keep all of me inside you, to feel it deep within you."

Dokyeom continues to play with you, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of you as he works to keep his cum inside your body.

Dokyeom pulls his fingers out of you and leans down, his lips brushing against your ass as he presses gentle kisses to the sensitive skin.

He runs his hands up and down your thighs, his touch soft and tender now that he's finished claiming you.