#the loyalty was there….the love was there

[harrysfolklore]

but daddy i love him, part one - mv1

summary: in the world of formula 1, where competition runs deep and loyalties are tested, yn wolff and max verstappen found themselves caught in the middle . as the daughter of mercedes team principal and the rising red bull star, they must navigate the balance between rivalries and love. wc: 17k

folkie radio: HERE. IT. IS. FINALLY !!!!!!!! as i've stated before i'm absolutely terrified of posting this, this is my longest fic ever and different from what i've done before. i know it's a long read but i'm really proud of it and i think it's worth it. IN THIS FIC MORE THAN ANY OTHER. I ENCOURAGE YOU TO LEAVE FEEDBACK.

DISCLAIMER: as stated in the title THIS IS PART ONE!!! part two is ready in my drafts and will be posted shortly (in a week tops). i'll stop talking now. BUCKLE UP AND ENJOY (and please leave feedback okay)

Melbourne, 2015

The hotel lobby is quiet at this hour - that strange liminal space between late night and early morning when most reasonable people are asleep. But you've never been great at reasonable, and jet lag has your body clock completely scrambled.

That's how you end up in the hotel's deserted coffee shop at 1 AM, nursing a hot chocolate and trying to calm your nerves about tomorrow.

You're so lost in thought you don't notice someone else enter until they speak.

"They're still open?"

You look up and your heart skips. Of course you recognize him immediately - Max Verstappen, the 17-year-old prodigy your father hasn't stopped talking about for months. "The next big thing," Papa had said, watching testing footage. "He's going to shake up the whole paddock, just watch."

"Sort of," you gesture to your drink, trying to keep your voice casual. "The barista took pity on me. Said she'd make one last drink before closing."

He glances at the now-dark counter and sighs. Up close, he looks even younger than in the photos you've seen, but there's something in his eyes - a fierce determination that makes you understand why everyone's been talking about him.

"Here," you push your barely-touched hot chocolate towards him. "I'm not really drinking it anyway."

He hesitates. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Probably shouldn't have caffeine at this hour anyway."

He sits across from you, taking a careful sip. "Thanks. I'm Max."

I know, you think. Everyone knows. The youngest F1 driver in history, Jos Verstappen's son, the rookie everyone's watching.

"You're not from around here," you note his accent, playing along with the pretense that you don't know exactly who he is.

"Neither are you," he grins, and something warm flutters in your stomach. His smile transforms his whole face, makes him look his age.

"Fair point. Here for the Grand Prix?"

"You could say that." He studies you, and you wonder if he can hear your heart racing. "You?"

"Something like that." You're enjoying this little game more than you probably should.

"Cryptic."

You laugh. "Says the equally cryptic stranger."

"Okay, okay." He takes another sip. "I'm one of the new drivers. Toro Rosso."

You try to hide your smile. You've watched every clip of his testing sessions, heard every conversation your father has had about his potential. "Ah. The youngest F1 driver in history. That must be a lot of pressure."

He shrugs, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of expectations already heavy on him. You know that weight - you've carried your own version of it your whole life.

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Scared?"

"No," he answers too quickly, then sighs. "Maybe a little. You won't tell anyone I said that, right?"

There's something vulnerable in his admission that makes your heart ache. Behind all the hype and headlines, he's just a boy on the verge of something enormous.

"Your secret's safe with me." You lean back. "For what it's worth, I think you'll do great."

"You sound pretty confident for someone who just met me."

If only he knew how many hours you'd spent watching his karting videos. How many times you'd heard your father say "That Verstappen boy is going to change everything."

"Let's call it intuition."

He laughs - a genuine, unguarded sound that makes your pulse quicken. "You're different."

"Different good or different bad?"

"Just… different." He finishes the hot chocolate. "Most people, when they find out who I am, they either get weird about it or start asking about Jos."

"Your father?"

He nods, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes - the same shadow you sometimes get when people mention Toto.

"Well, I know a thing or two about father-related pressure, so…"

"Yeah?" He looks interested. "What does your father do?"

You check your watch, knowing it's time to end this little charade. "Oh wow, is that the time? I should probably head up."

"Wait," he stands as you do. "I didn't catch your name."

You pause at the door, turning back with a small smile, savoring what you know will be his reaction. "I'm YN Wolff."

His eyes widen. "Wolff? As in…"

"See you in the paddock, Max Verstappen."

You leave him standing there, but not before catching his surprised laugh. Your heart is racing as you walk away - from the deception, from his smile, from the way his eyes had lit up when he laughed.

The next morning, you spot him in the paddock. He does a double-take when he sees you with the Mercedes team, then grins and shakes his head. You're wearing your team kit now, no more pretending to be just another girl in a hotel coffee shop.

"Cryptic stranger," he mouths at you as he passes.

You just smile, trying to ignore how your stomach flips when he winks at you.

Neither of you could have known then - in that quiet hotel coffee shop at 1 AM - that this was the beginning of something that would change your lives.

Singapore, 2015

The paddock is eerily quiet now, the usual chaos of race day reduced to a whisper of distant maintenance and soft lighting. You're sitting on one of the team benches, the night air cool against your skin. Max is close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that the line between friendship and something more feels increasingly blurred.

It wasn't a sudden thing, this connection with Max. It had been a slow burn, a gradual unraveling that began that night in the hotel coffee shop and grew through stolen moments between races, brief conversations in crowded paddocks, and late-night messages that became increasingly frequent.

At first, it was simple curiosity. You'd catch each other's eye across the paddock, exchange a knowing smile. Then came the texts - random observations about races, inside jokes about team dynamics, comments that walked the line between friendly and flirtatious. Max had a way of making you laugh like no one else could, his wit sharp and unexpected.

He nudges you playfully. "So, daughter of the most powerful team principal in Formula 1. Must be interesting."

You roll your eyes, but there's a smile tugging at your lips. "Not as glamorous as you might think."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "Try me."

You pause, considering. The weight of your father's reputation is something you've carried your entire life - a constant backdrop to every interaction, every moment.

"Imagine," you say slowly, "having every conversation potentially recorded, every interaction analyzed. One wrong move and it's not just about you, but about your family's reputation."

Max's expression shifts. There's understanding there - he knows something about familial expectations, about the pressure of carrying a name.

"My father," he says quietly, "Jos Verstappen. Not exactly a walk in the park."

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. These moments have become more frequent - brief windows where the polished racing personas fall away, revealing something raw and real.

"Tell me," you prompt softly.

He takes a deep breath. "Constant pressure. Every race, every test, every moment - it's like I'm living not just for myself, but for some expectation he's created. Sound familiar?"

You laugh, but it's a sound tinged with something harder. Sadness. Recognition. "Absolutely."

Your conversations have been like this lately - layers peeling back, revealing something raw and real beneath the polished exterior of Formula 1.

"Sometimes," Max continues, "I wonder if I'm racing for myself or for the legacy everyone else wants me to create."

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the night. "Little Wolff?"

Lewis approaches, his team kit still impeccable despite the late hour. His eyes narrow when he sees Max, taking in your proximity.

Lewis had been a constant in your life long before Max entered the picture. Since joining Mercedes, he'd taken on a role that was part mentor, part protective older brother. It wasn't an official designation, but in the Mercedes family, it might as well have been law.

Lewis knew everything about you - your hopes, your fears and everything in between. He was more than just your father's driver. He was family.

"Oh," Lewis says, a mix of surprise and something else - protection, wariness. "Verstappen."

Max stands immediately. "I was just leaving," he says quickly, a touch of nervousness breaking through his usual confidence. "See you around."

As Max walks away, Lewis turns to you, his protective big brother persona fully activated. "What," he says slowly, "was that about?"

You start walking together, the paddock lights casting long shadows. Lewis' stride is purposeful, matching yours.

"Nothing," you say, but the word sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, "He's my friend."

"Friend," he says, uncertainty in his voice, "Just be careful, okay? Things are never that simple in this paddock" he'd said, and you knew he meant more than just about Max.

You said nothing. But you heard him. You always did.

Barcelona, 2016

The champagne sparkles in the late afternoon sun as you watch from a secluded corner of the paddock. You smile as you watch Max on that podium - the youngest winner in Formula 1 history. Your smile is wide, uncontrolled, and you're grateful for the relative privacy of your spot. If anyone noticed that your eyes never left Max, that your smile was meant only for him, they didn't say.

You remember the first time you saw him race, really race - not just in videos or testing. The raw talent, the fearlessness that made your breath catch. Over the past year, you'd watched him grow from that confident teenager in the Melbourne coffee shop into someone who commanded respect on track. And somewhere along the way, between stolen moments in the paddock and late-night conversations, he'd become so much more than just another driver.

The past year had been a dance of almost-moments and careful distances. Shared glances across crowded rooms, text messages that made you smile at 3 AM, touches that lingered just a second too long. You'd both known the complications, the impossibility of it all - the Mercedes team principal's daughter and Red Bull's rising star. It was like a modern Romeo and Juliet, except instead of warring families, it was competing Formula 1 teams.

Later that evening, you stand in your father's office doorway, heart hammering but determined. Toto is absorbed in post-race papers, reading glasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the formidable team principal even hours after the race.

"Papa?"

He looks up, his expression softening slightly at the sight of you. "Yes, Schatz?"

"I'm going out," you say, trying to keep your voice casual while mentally rehearsing your prepared explanation.

Toto's eyebrows rise slightly. "Out?"

"With some friends," you elaborate, grateful for years of practice at maintaining your composure under his scrutiny. "To celebrate the race."

He sets his papers down, removing his glasses. "Friends from the team?"

Your heart skips. "Just… friends from the paddock," you say carefully. "Daniel invited me."

"Ricciardo?" His tone sharpens slightly.

"He's always been nice to me," you reason, which isn't a lie. Daniel has been a friend since his early days, always treating you like a friend rather than just the boss' daughter.

Toto studies you for a long moment, and you force yourself to meet his gaze steadily, even as your pulse races. You've always been close to your father - he's been your hero, your guide, your biggest supporter. The weight of potentially disappointing him sits heavy in your chest.

"Be careful," he finally says, though his tone suggests he's not entirely convinced. "You know how complicated things can be in this world."

"I know, Papa," you say softly. "I'll be careful. Promise."

Getting into the Red Bull celebration is easier than expected, thanks to Daniel's help. He meets you at a side entrance, his trademark grin wider than usual.

"Looking good, Wolff," he winks, pulling you into a quick hug. "Though I'm pretty sure your dad would kill me if he knew I was helping you sneak in."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," you say, trying to ignore the guilt that accompanies the words.

"Just…" Daniel's expression turns serious for a moment. "Be careful, yeah? With Max. He's my teammate and you're like my sister, and I don't want either of you getting hurt."

You're saved from responding by the noise of the party as he leads you inside. The atmosphere is electric - the joy of Max's first win filling the air along with music and laughter.

When Max spots you, his eyes widen, champagne glass freezing halfway to his lips. The surprise on his face quickly melts into something softer, more private. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over, that familiar smirk playing on his lips - the one that never fails to make your heart skip.

"Should I be worried about Mercedes spies in our midst?" he teases, but his eyes are soft, drinking you in.

"You know me," you counter, matching his playful tone while trying to ignore how good he looks in his race winner's shirt, "I live for trouble."

"That you do, Wolff." He steps closer, just slightly, but enough to make your breath catch. "I didn't think you'd come."

"And miss your first win celebration? Never." You mean it to sound light, teasing, but your voice comes out softer, more sincere than intended.

"Still can't believe it," he says, shaking his head with a boyish grin that makes him look his age for once. "My first win."

"I can," you reply, taking a sip of champagne. "I've seen how you drive. It was only a matter of time."

He looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. "You've been watching me drive, then?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on the competition," you tease, but you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Is that what I am? Competition?" He moves closer, and suddenly the music seems far away.

"Among other things." Your voice comes out breathier than intended.

The conversation flows easily between you, as it always has. You talk about the race, about his incredible overtakes, about the moment he realized he was going to win. His eyes light up when he describes the feeling of crossing the finish line, and you find yourself caught between admiring his passion and getting lost in the way his hands move as he talks.

As the night progresses, the party gets louder, more crowded. Max notices you glancing around at the growing crowd.

"Want to get some air?" he asks, nodding toward a door that leads to a quieter area.

You follow him to a private terrace overlooking the city. The music is muffled here, and the night air is cool on your skin. You lean against the railing, city lights twinkling below.

"Better?" he asks, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Much." You turn to face him, drawn in by the way the lights play across his features. "Though I have to say, you throw quite a party for a rookie winner."

He laughs, the sound low and warm. "Rookie? I've been racing since before I could walk."

"Oh right, I forgot - Max Verstappen, born in a go-kart," you tease, making him smile wider.

"You're impossible, you know that?" He shakes his head, but his eyes are fond.

"Part of my charm," you counter, feeling bold in the privacy of the moment.

"Is that what you call it?" He's even closer now, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

"Would you rather I was predictable?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging.

"Never." His voice drops lower, sending shivers down your spine. "Predictable is boring. And you, YN Wolff, are anything but boring."

The tension between you is electric, years of carefully maintained distance crumbling in this quiet moment. Your heart is racing so fast you wonder if he can hear it.

"Well," you say, stepping into his space until there's barely a breath between you, "I think the winner deserves a reward."

Before you can second-guess yourself, you're kissing him. It's everything and nothing like you imagined - soft at first, tentative, like you're both afraid of breaking something precious. Then his hand comes up to cup your face, and the kiss deepens, becomes more urgent. You can taste champagne on his lips, feel the solid warmth of him against you. Your fingers curl into his shirt, anchoring yourself as the world spins around you.

It's a perfect moment, suspended in time, until he pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

"You're trouble, Wolff," he murmurs against your lips, but he's smiling that smile that makes your heart flip. "Beautiful trouble."

"Scared?" you challenge softly, echoing your first conversation in Melbourne.

"Terrified," he admits, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "But in a good way."

You stay at the party longer than you should, caught in Max's orbit. Every smile, every touch, every shared look feels charged with possibility. But reality crashes back hours later when you return.

Your dad is waiting, his expression thunderous in a way you've rarely seen directed at you. Your stomach drops as soon as you see him, the lingering warmth from Max's kisses turning to ice in your veins.

"Would you like to explain," he says slowly, each word precise and controlled, "why did I receive a call informing me that my daughter was at a Red Bull celebration?"

"Papa, I-" you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp gesture.

"Don't." His voice is hard. "Don't try to fool me. I've seen you with Max Verstappen."

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words. You want to defend yourself, explain that Max isn't just the Red Bull driver he sees, that there's more to him.

"Do you have any idea," he continues, "what position this puts me in? Puts the team in?"

"It's not about the teams," you say quietly, finding your voice. "It's just-"

"Just what?" he challenges. "Just you and him? Nothing is ever just anything in Formula 1, YN. Every action has consequences. Every relationship has implications."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "This sport isn't about fair. It's about winning. About loyalty. About trust." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "How can I trust you to put the team first when you're sneaking around with our biggest rival?"

The words hit you like a physical blow. "I would never betray the team," you whisper, hurt that he could even think that.

"Maybe not intentionally," he says, his voice softening slightly. "But this… whatever this is with Max Verstappen… it can't continue. I won't tell you again. Stay away from him."

You want to argue more, to make him understand. But you recognize the finality in your father's tone, the immovable force that has made him such a successful team principal. In this world of racing and rivalry, some lines aren't meant to be crossed.

As you leave, you touch your lips, still feeling the ghost of Max's kiss. Your phone buzzes - a message from Max: "Worth the trouble?"

You stare at the screen, tears threatening to fall. Sometimes the biggest crashes in Formula 1 aren't on the track at all. Sometimes they're in the space between what your heart wants and what the sport demands.

Germany, 2016

The German summer air is thick with tension. You can feel it crackling through the paddock like electricity before a storm. Nico and Lewis' rivalry has turned the Mercedes garage into a pressure cooker, and your father's stress is palpable. Being around him feels like walking on eggshells, which makes your secret meetings with Max even more dangerous.

You've gotten good at this dance over the past few months - stolen moments between practice sessions, hidden corners of the paddock, coded messages about "casual meetings" that are anything but casual. Every stolen kiss feels like a victory and a risk all at once.

The sun is setting over Hockenheim when you slip behind the Red Bull motorhome, your heart racing with the familiar mix of excitement and fear. Max is already there, leaning against the wall with that cocky smile that still makes your stomach flip.

"Cutting it close, Wolff," he murmurs as you approach. "Your father's been prowling the paddock all day."

"Worried?" you tease, even as you glance around to ensure you're alone.

His answer is to pull you against him, one hand sliding to your waist while the other cups your face. "About your father? Always. About this? Never."

The kiss is heated from the start - months of practice have taught you both exactly how to make each other breathless. His thumb traces your jawline as he deepens the kiss, and you press closer, fingers curling into his team shirt. You love how solid he feels against you, how his breath catches when you bite gently at his lower lip.

"You're going to get me in trouble," he whispers against your mouth, but his smile suggests he doesn't mind at all.

"You love trouble," you remind him, trailing kisses along his jaw.

His hands tighten on your waist. "I love-" he starts, but cuts himself off, choosing instead to capture your lips again in a kiss that makes you forget everything else.

You lose track of time, lost in the taste of him, the feel of his hands on your skin, the way he whispers your name like a prayer. It's dangerous and perfect and everything you shouldn't want but can't resist.

A sound makes you both freeze. You pull apart quickly, straightening your clothes, but it's too late.

Jos Verstappen stands at the corner of the motorhome, his expression dark and unreadable. Your blood runs cold at the sight of him.

"I… I should go," you manage, your voice shaky. Max's hand brushes yours briefly - a small comfort - before you hurry past his father, avoiding his stern gaze.

Behind you, you can hear Jos' voice, low and harsh in Dutch, but you don't stop to listen. Your heart is pounding as you make your way back to the paddock, wondering if this is the moment everything falls apart.

Max stands his ground as his father's disapproval fills the space between them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jos demands in Dutch, his voice controlled but sharp. "The Wolff girl? Have you lost your mind?"

"It's not what you think-" Max starts, but Jos cuts him off.

"It's exactly what I think. You're letting yourself get distracted. By a Mercedes girl, no less. Toto Wolff's daughter?" Jos steps closer, his presence intimidating despite Max now being taller than him. "You're just starting to prove yourself in Formula 1. This is when you need to focus more than ever."

"I am focused," Max argues. "My results prove that."

"For now." Jos' voice turns cold. "But girls like that, from families like that - they're nothing but distractions. She'll get in your head, make you soft. And then what? You think Toto Wolff wants his daughter with a Red Bull driver? You think this ends well?"

Max clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to defend you, to explain that you're different, that you understand the sport as well as he does. But he knows his father won't listen.

"Stay away from her," Jos says finally, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Focus on what matters. On winning and being champion. That's what we've worked for all these years. Don't throw it away for some girl."

The words hit harder than Max wants to admit, echoing his own doubts, his own fears about what this thing with you means. But he can't forget the way you look at him like you see past the racer, past the name, to who he really is.

Jos leaves him there in the growing darkness, with only the weight of expectations and the lingering taste of your kiss on his lips.

Monaco, May 2017

Another year, another dance of stolen moments and secret smiles. If anything, the warnings and opposition have only made whatever this is between you and Max more intense. Like a forbidden drug, each stolen moment leaves you craving more, even as the risks grow higher.

"This is a terrible idea," Max whispers as you pull him through your back door, "Your dad is literally upstairs."

"He's dead asleep," you assure him, carefully closing the door. "He took sleeping pills for his flight tomorrow. Besides, he sleeps like the dead anyway."

Max still looks like he's ready to bolt at any second. "YN, if he catches me here-"

"He won't." You tug him closer by his shirt. "Unless you keep talking so loud."

He glances nervously at the stairs. "Your room is up there? Past his?"

"Scared, Verstappen?"

"Terrified, actually." But he follows you anyway, both of you carefully avoiding the creaky third step you'd mapped out years ago during teenage sneaking attempts.

You're almost at your door when Max freezes. "Was that-"

"Just the house settling," you whisper, but your heart is racing too. "Come on, we're almost-"

A door opens down the hall.

Max actually whimpers. You shove him into your room just as Toto's voice calls out, "YN? Is that you?"

"Just getting water, Papa!" you call back, praying your voice sounds normal. "Go back to sleep."

"Everything okay?"

"Fine! Those pills should be kicking in, right?"

A yawn. "Ja, starting to feel them. Goodnight, Schatz."

"Night, Papa!"

You wait until you hear his door close before slipping into your room. You find Max standing perfectly still in the middle of the floor, looking absolutely terrified.

"I think I'm having a heart attack," he announces in a whisper. "I'm actually having a heart attack. I can see the headlines now: 'F1 Driver Dies of Fear in Team Principal's House.'"

You try not to laugh. "You're being dramatic."

"Dramatic?" His voice rises slightly before he catches himself. "YN, your father was ten feet away from me. Ten feet! Do you know what he would do to me if he found me here?"

"Well, first he'd probably have a heart attack himself-"

"Not helping!"

"Then probably murder you-"

"Still not helping!"

"And Lewis would hide the body-"

"Why did I agree to this?" He runs his hands through his hair. "I'm a professional athlete. I have championships to win. I can't die in Toto Wolff's house because his daughter is too pretty to say no to."

You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're trying to kill me." But his hands settle on your waist automatically. "If your father walks in right now-"

"He won't."

"But if he does-"

"Max." You kiss him softly. "Stop talking about my father when you're in my bedroom."

"Missed you," he murmurs against your mouth, hands already sliding under your shirt. "Watching you in the paddock all day, not being able to touch you…"

You smile against his lips. "Poor baby. Must be so hard being professional."

He responds by lifting you up, making you laugh as he carries you toward your bed. "You have no idea."

Hours later, you're tangled in your sheets, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. The city's lights cast shadows across his face, making him look older than his twenty years.

"We should sleep," you say, even as you press closer to him. "You have meetings tomorrow."

"Meetings are overrated," he mumbles into your hair, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Says the guy who's already breaking records." Your fingers trail down his chest. "Future world champion can't skip meetings."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "Future world champion can do whatever he wants."

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other, pretending the world outside doesn't exist. But morning comes too soon, sunlight streaming through your windows and your alarm blaring way too early.

Max groans, burying his face in your neck. "Five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago," you remind him, even as you run your fingers through his hair. "You're already going to be late, and my father is still next room, remember?"

He lifts his head, giving you that boyish grin that still makes your heart skip. "Worth it."

But reality can't be held at bay forever. Max rushes to get dressed, stealing kisses between looking for his scattered clothes. You watch from your bed, sheet wrapped around you, trying to memorize how he looks in the morning light.

"Tonight?" he asks, pausing at your bedroom door.

"Text me," you say, and he gives you one last smile before he's gone.

Max is still smiling when he arrives at the Red Bull office, nearly an hour late for his morning meeting. The smile dies on his lips when he sees his father waiting outside, arms crossed and expression thunderous.

"You were with that girl weren't you? Nothing's changed" Jos demands without preamble, switching to Dutch.

"I was just-"

"Don't lie to me." Jos' voice is low, dangerous. "Are you trying to destroy everything we've worked for?"

"I'm not destroying anything," Max argues, frustration creeping into his voice. "My results-"

"Your results could be better," Jos cuts him off. "You could be focused on becoming champion instead of sneaking around with Toto Wolff's daughter. Do you think this is a game?"

"It's not a game-"

"Then what is it?" Jos steps closer, his presence still intimidating despite Max being taller now. "Love?" He spits the word like it's poison. "You think love wins championships? You think that girl is worth throwing away everything we've sacrificed for?"

Max clenches his jaw, the weight of years of his father's expectations pressing down on him. "I can handle both-"

"No." Jos' voice is final, absolute. "You can't. And you won't. This ends now. Cut her off."

"Or what?" The words slip out before Max can stop them, a rare challenge to his father's authority.

Jos' eyes turn cold. "Or I'll make sure Toto knows exactly what his precious daughter has been up to. How do you think that ends for her? For her relationship with her father? For her position in the paddock?"

The threat hangs in the air between them. Max feels his stomach turn to ice, knowing his father well enough to know this isn't an empty threat.

"Your choice, Max," Jos says, already turning away. "But make it soon. This distraction ends now, or there will be consequences. For everyone."

Max stands there long after his father leaves, the taste of your kisses still on his lips, now bitter with the weight of choices.

Monza, 2017

The Italian late summer heat feels suffocating as you finally corner Max behind the Ferrari motorhome - neutral territory. He's been dodging you since Hungary, responding to texts with one-word answers before stopping altogether. You've seen that look in his eyes when he spots you in the paddock - the way he quickly turns away, finds somewhere else to be.

"Hey stranger," you say, aiming for casual despite your racing heart. "Been a while."

He looks everywhere but at you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "YN…" There's a warning in his voice that you choose to ignore.

"I've missed you," you continue, taking a step closer. "We haven't talked since-"

"We can't do this anymore." His words cut through the air like a knife.

You freeze, the practiced speech you'd prepared dying in your throat. "What?"

"This." He gestures vaguely between you, still not meeting your eyes. "Whatever this is. It has to stop."

"Just like that?" Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "After everything?"

"I need to focus on racing." He sounds like he's reciting a rehearsed speech. "Just racing. No distractions."

The word 'distraction' hits you like a physical blow. "Is that what I am? A distraction?"

Finally, he looks at you, and for a moment you see something crack in his carefully constructed facade - pain, regret, something more. But then it's gone, replaced by a coldness you've never seen directed at you before.

"This was never going to work," he says flatly. "We both knew that. It'll only cause trouble - for you, for me, for our families. It's better to end it now."

You think about all the stolen moments, the late-night conversations, the way he'd look at you like you were the only person in a crowded room. All reduced to 'trouble'.

"Fine." You straighten your spine, channeling every ounce of Wolff pride you possess. "See you around, Max Verstappen."

You turn and walk away before he can respond, each step measured and controlled despite feeling like your world is crumbling. You make it all the way to the Mercedes motorhome before the tears start to fall.

You duck into what you think is an empty corner, trying to get yourself under control, when a familiar voice makes you jump.

"Little Wolff?"

Lewis stands there, concern etched across his features. He's known you since you were a kid, has watched you grow up in the paddock. In many ways, he's your brother.

"I'm fine," you say automatically, wiping at your eyes. "Just… allergies."

"Right," he says softly, not believing you for a second. "Because Monza is famous for its allergies."

A sob escapes before you can stop it, and suddenly Lewis is pulling you into a hug. You break down against his chest, all your carefully maintained composure crumbling.

"Hey, hey," he soothes, rubbing your back. "What happened? Who do I need to beat up?"

You laugh wetly against his shoulder. "Nobody. It's stupid. I'm stupid."

"You're one of the smartest people I know," he counters. "So whatever it is, it's not stupid."

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. "I just… I thought…" You shake your head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. Clearly I was wrong."

Understanding dawns in Lewis's eyes. He's not blind - he's probably noticed more than most about your relationship with Max, even if he's never mentioned it.

"Sometimes," he says carefully, "people make choices out of fear rather than what they really want. Especially in this world."

"He said I was a distraction," you whisper, the words still burning.

Lewis's expression hardens slightly. "He's young. And scared. And probably being pulled in a hundred different directions." He pauses. "Doesn't make it hurt any less though, does it?"

You shake your head, fresh tears threatening to fall.

"Come here." He pulls you into another hug. "For what it's worth, I think he's an idiot. But maybe this is for the best, he's not good for you."

You stay there for a while, letting Lewis comfort you, grateful for his presence and his wisdom. But you can't shake the image of Max's face, that moment when his mask slipped, and you'd seen the pain in his eyes. You wonder if Lewis is right - if this is really about fear rather than feeling.

But in the end, you suppose it doesn't matter. A choice is still a choice, even if it's made for the wrong reasons.

Monaco, Summer 2018

The bass thrums through your body as you down another shot, Lando cheering beside you. The club is packed - all of Monaco's elite young crowd mixed with racing's next generation. Your father would have an aneurysm if he saw you here, but that's half the fun.

"Another!" Lando shouts over the music, already signaling the bartender. He's technically too young to be here, but money and fame open most doors in Monaco.

"You're a bad influence, Norris," you laugh, but you don't stop him.

"Me?" He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'm an angel. You're the one corrupting the youth."

"You're literally younger than me."

"Details, details." He hands you another shot. "To being young and irresponsible!"

You clink glasses with him, the alcohol burning pleasantly as it goes down. This is what you needed - no paddock politics, no disappointed looks from your father, no thoughts of…

"Oh shit," Lando says suddenly, following your gaze. "We can move to another section if you want."

Max has just walked in with a group of friends. He looks good - he always looks good - in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt. Your stomach does that familiar flip before you forcefully squash it down.

"Why should we move?" you say, perhaps a bit too loudly. "We were here first."

Lando gives you that knowing look he's perfected over the past year of friendship. "YN…"

"Don't start," you warn him. "I'm fine. It's fine. Ancient history."

"Right," he drawls. "That's why you drunk-called me crying about him last month."

"I did not!"

"'Lando,'" he mimics in a high voice, "'why doesn't he want meeeee?'"

You shove him playfully. "I hate you."

"You love me." He grins. "I'm your favorite driver now."

"You're not even in F1 yet."

"Yet!" He wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Next year though. Then I'll be beating your ex's ass on track."

"He's not my ex," you mutter. "We were never actually together, remember?"

"Right, just sneaking around making out for like a year and a half. Totally casual."

You're about to retort when movement catches your eye. Max is at the bar now, and there's a girl with him. Tall, blonde, model-beautiful. She's touching his arm, laughing at something he's saying, and he's leaning in close to hear her over the music.

"YN…" Lando's voice has that warning tone.

"I need another drink," you announce, turning back to the bar.

Three shots later, you're on the dance floor with Lando, trying to forget the scene playing out at the bar. But your eyes keep drifting over, watching as Max gets closer to the blonde, his hand now on her waist.

"Stop torturing yourself," Lando says in your ear.

"I'm not-" you start, but the words die in your throat as you watch Max lean down and kiss the girl.

Something inside you snaps. You scan the crowd, spotting a guy who's been eyeing you all night. He's good-looking enough - dark hair, nice smile, probably a trust fund kid like half the people here.

"YN," Lando tries to grab your arm, but you're already moving.

You approach the guy with purpose, channeling every ounce of confidence the alcohol has given you. "Want to dance?"

He looks surprised but pleased. "Absolutely."

You let him pull you close, perhaps closer than necessary. You can feel eyes on you - Lando's concerned ones, and maybe, just maybe, someone else's too.

The guy - you think he said his name was Alex or Alec - is a good dancer. His hands are respectful but firm on your hips as you move to the music. When he leans down to kiss you, you let him.

It's not a bad kiss. He knows what he's doing. But he doesn't taste right, doesn't feel right. His hands aren't calloused from racing. He doesn't smell like motor oil and expensive cologne. He's not… him

But you kiss him anyway. When you finally pull back from the kiss, Lando is at your elbow.

"I think we should head out," he says, glancing meaningfully at your nearly empty glass.

"I'm having fun," you protest, even as the room spins slightly. Alex-or-Alec's hands are still on your waist.

"YN." Lando's voice is firmer now. "Come on."

You turn back to Alex-or-Alec, pulling him down for another kiss. It's messy and desperate and you can taste the expensive whiskey on his breath. You're proving something, you think, though you're not sure what or to whom anymore.

Through the haze of alcohol and bass-heavy music, you hear a familiar voice.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Max is standing there, his face tight with anger. The blonde from earlier is nowhere to be seen, but there's another girl hovering behind him - brunette this time.

"Having fun," you say sweetly, pressing closer to Alex-or-Alec. "You should try it. Oh wait, you already are."

"You don't even know this guy," Max snaps.

"His name is Alex." You pause. "Or Alec."

"It's Adrian," the guy supplies helpfully.

"Whatever." Max steps forward. "You're drunk. You need to go home."

"And you need to mind your own business." You turn to Adrian with an exaggerated smile. "Want to get out of here?"

"YN," Lando pleads. "Don't."

"Sure," Adrian grins, clearly oblivious to the tension. "My place isn't far."

Max moves so fast you barely register it, suddenly between you and Adrian. "She's not going anywhere with you."

"Excuse me?" You push at his chest. "You don't get to decide that. You lost that right when you-" You cut yourself off, aware you're saying too much.

"When I what?" Max challenges, his eyes dark. "When I did exactly what you're doing right now?"

"No," you laugh, but it comes out bitter. "When you decided that sneaking around was fine until it wasn't. When you started showing up to every event with a new girl on your arm. When you-"

"YN," Lando tugs at your arm. "Not here."

You shake him off. "Go back to your girlfriend, Max. Or girlfriends. I lost count tonight."

"You're being ridiculous."

"And you're being a hypocrite." You grab Adrian's hand. "Let's go."

Max's hand closes around your wrist. "You're not leaving with him."

"Get your hands off me." Your voice is ice cold. "You don't get to play protective boyfriend when it suits you. Go find another model to add to your collection."

Something flashes in his eyes - hurt maybe, or anger. "Fine. Do what you want. You always do anyway."

"Exactly. I do what I want." You turn to Adrian. "Sorry, but I've changed my mind. Turns out I have standards."

You shake off Max's grip and push past him, heading for the exit. Lando hurries after you, already calling for a car.

"YN, wait-" Max calls after you.

"Go to hell, Verstappen."

Outside, the Monaco air is cool against your flushed skin. Lando wraps his jacket around your shoulders as tears start to fall.

"I hate him," you whisper.

"No, you don't." Lando pulls you into a hug. "That's the problem."

The morning sunlight streaming through the windows feels like actual daggers in your skull. You're nursing your third cup of coffee, wearing sunglasses indoors like the walking cliché you are, when your father's voice cuts through your hangover haze.

"Would you care to explain these?"

Toto slides his phone across the breakfast table. Your stomach drops as you see the photos - you dancing with Adrian, Max confronting you, your tearful exit with Lando. The Monaco nightlife paparazzi are relentless, and you were too drunk to notice them.

"Papa, I-"

"No." His voice is quiet but firm. That's worse than yelling. "This stops now, YN. This... rebellion phase of yours. It stops."

Lewis and Valtteri are suddenly very interested in their breakfast plates. Susie, your stepmother, places a gentle hand on your father's arm, but doesn't contradict him.

"It wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" Toto's accent gets thicker when he's angry. "Wasn't you, drunk in a club, making headlines again? Wasn't you creating another PR nightmare for the team?"

Your head throbs. "I'm not part of the team."

"No? Then why does every tabloid headline read 'Mercedes Boss's Daughter in Club Drama with Red Bull Star'?"

You wince. Both at his words and at the volume.

"The drinking, the parties, the public scenes - it needs to stop." He leans forward. "You're not just any teenager, liebling. Everything you do reflects on this family, on this team."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair." He softens slightly. "I know this past year has been... difficult."

You feel Lewis shift beside you. He knows - of course he knows. He's probably the only one at this table who knows the full story of you and Max.

"But this self-destructive behavior cannot continue." Your father's voice is final. "You're grounded."

"I'm twenty one!"

"And living on my yacht, in my house, representing my name." He raises an eyebrow. "Would you prefer to go back to boarding school?"

The threat lands. You sink lower in your chair.

"No, sir."

"Good." He turns to his own coffee. "No more clubs. No more parties. And for God's sake, no more scenes with Max Verstappen."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You know without looking it's probably Lando checking on you. Or worse, Max.

"YN." Your father's voice draws your attention back. "I mean it. Whatever is going on between you two... it ends now."

"Nothing is going on," you mutter.

"Then it should be easy to maintain distance."

Susie finally speaks up. "Why don't you come work with me for a while? Help with the She Moves Forward initiative?"

You know it's a peace offering - a way to keep you busy and out of trouble. But the thought of structured days and responsible tasks makes your hangover worse.

"Fine," you concede, if only to end this conversation.

Lewis nudges you under the table - a small gesture of solidarity. Valtteri offers a sympathetic smile.

"Good." Your father stands. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have damage control to handle."

After he leaves, Lewis slides a bottle of Advil towards you. "Here. You look like death."

"Thanks," you grumble, dry-swallowing two pills.

"He's right, you know," Lewis says quietly. "About Max."

"Not you too."

"YN." His voice is gentle. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. The drinking, the acting out - it's not going to make it hurt less."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." He stands, squeezing your shoulder. "Just... think about what you're really angry at. Because I don't think it's your father, or the team, or even Max."

"I'm going back to bed," you announce to no one in particular.

"Honey," Susie calls after you. "This doesn't have to be a punishment. Maybe it's an opportunity."

You pause at the door. "For what?"

"To figure out who you are without all the drama. Without..." she hesitates. "Without defining yourself by who you're trying to hurt."

You think about Max's face last night, about the girls he was with, about how none of it made you feel better.

"Yeah," you say quietly. "Maybe."

The air feels thick and oppressive as you stumble out of another club, the world spinning slightly. You're not entirely sure how you ended up here - after the disastrous night a few weeks ago, you'd promised yourself (and your father) that you were done with the party scene. But one text from Lando about needing to "get out" had quickly spiraled.

Except Lando had bailed last minute with food poisoning, and you'd gone anyway. Because you're nothing if not stubborn.

The familiar figure of Charles Leclerc materializes beside you. "YN? Are you okay?"

"Charles!" You throw your arms around him, nearly losing your balance. "My favorite Ferrari boy!"

He steadies you with practiced ease. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Lost count," you admit cheerfully. "But it's fine. Everything's fine."

Charles sighs, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling Lewis."

"No!" You grab for his phone but miss entirely. "Not Lewis. He'll tell Papa."

"Good. Maybe he should."

You slump against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "Everyone's so disappointed in me."

Charles' expression softens as he puts the phone to his ear. "We're worried, not disappointed."

Twenty minutes later, you hear the distinctive rumble of Lewis's car. He jumps out, concern etched on his face.

"YN? What were you thinking?"

"That alcohol makes feelings go away?" you offer weakly.

Lewis turns to Charles. "Thanks for calling me."

"Of course. Take care of her."

The ride home is quiet until Lewis finally speaks. "This has to stop."

"I know," you whisper.

"No, I mean it really has to stop. You're hurting yourself, and for what? To prove something to Max?"

"It's not about Max."

"Isn't it?"

You stare out the window, tears forming. "I need to get away from here."

"What do you mean?"

"The paddock, the drama, all of it." You turn to him. "I can't keep doing this. Being the Mercedes princess, the ex-whatever of Max Verstappen. I need… space."

Lewis is quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's not a bad idea. Take some time, figure out who you are away from all this."

"Will you help me convince Papa?"

"Yeah," he says softly. "I'll help. But you have to promise me - no more nights like this."

You nod, the weight of everything finally catching up to you. "I promise."

As Lewis helps you out of the car, you freeze. Toto is standing in the doorway, still in his sleeping clothes. Your stomach drops and fresh tears spring to your eyes - this is it, the final disappointment.

But instead of the anger you expect, your father simply opens his arms.

You practically fall into them, suddenly sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Papa. I'm so sorry."

"Shh," he soothes, holding you tight like he did when you were little. "You're alright, liebling. You're alright."

"I can't-" you hiccup against his chest. "I can't do this anymore. I need to get out of here."

"Out of where?"

"Monaco. The paddock. All of it." You pull back slightly to look at him. "I need space. To figure out who I am without… without all of this."

Toto exchanges a look with Lewis over your head. "I know," he says softly, surprising you. "I've seen it coming."

"You have?"

He cups your face in his hands, wiping away tears with his thumbs. "You're my daughter. Of course I have. I just needed you to realize it yourself."

"I'm tired, Papa," you whisper. "Of being the Mercedes princess, of the gossip, of seeing…" You trail off, but they all know what you mean. Who you mean.

"Then go," he says simply. "Find yourself. The paddock will still be here when you're ready."

"You're not mad?"

He laughs softly. "Oh, we'll discuss tonight's adventure when you're less drunk. But no, liebling. I'm not mad. Sometimes we need to step away to see things clearly."

Lewis steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We've got your back, little Wolff. Whatever you need."

Fresh tears fall as you're overwhelmed by their support. "I love you both so much."

"And we love you," Toto kisses your forehead. "Now, let's get you to bed. We can make plans tomorrow."

As they help you inside, you feel lighter somehow. Like maybe this isn't an ending, but a beginning. A chance to become someone new - or maybe to find who you've been all along, underneath the labels and expectations.

Austria, 2020

The familiar scent of rubber and fuel hits you as you step into the Mercedes garage for the first time in almost two years, your heart doing a little flip at being back after so long. Everything looks exactly the same, yet somehow different - or maybe you're the one who's different now.

"Little Wolff!" Lewis' voice booms across the garage before you're engulfed in a bone-crushing hug that lifts you off your feet. "Finally back where you belong!"

You laugh, squeezing him back just as tight. "You literally saw me at Christmas, Lewis!"

"That's not the same and you know it," he sets you down but keeps his hands on your shoulders, studying your face. "Christmas is family time. This," he gestures around the garage, "this is home."

Looking at him now, you can see the genuine joy in his eyes. Lewis has always been your second father, and these past two years, he's been your biggest cheerleader from afar, always sending encouraging messages when you were climbing mountains in Nepal or teaching English in Thailand.

"She's hardly been here five minutes and you're already monopolizing her, Lewis?" Your father's voice carries that familiar warmth that makes your chest tight with happiness. Your relationship with him has transformed during your time away - all those long phone calls and video chats where you really talked, not just about racing but about life, dreams, fears. Distance made you both realize what you'd been missing.

"Papa," you smile, walking into his open arms. He holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Welcome home, liebling," he murmurs. "The garage hasn't been the same without you."

"I missed you too," you say, then pull back with a grin. "But I need to go see someone else before he thinks I've forgotten him entirely."

Toto laughs. "Go on then. Lando's been asking about you non-stop since he heard you were coming back."

You practically skip your way to the McLaren garage, your heart light. The past two years have given you perspective, helped you understand yourself better. You're not the angry, lost girl who fled Monaco anymore. You're stronger now, more sure of who you are outside of being "Toto Wolff's daughter" or "Max Verstappen's conquest."

"YN!" Lando's screech of delight echoes through the garage as he launches himself at you. "You're back, you're finally back!"

"I missed you so much, you idiot," you ruffle his hair, noting how he's grown even more into himself. He's not the shy rookie anymore - he's coming into his own as a driver.

"Group hug!" Carlos appears, wrapping his long arms around both of you. "Welcome back, pequeña. It's been too quiet without you here to keep this one in line."

"Oi!" Lando protests, but he's beaming.

You're in the middle of telling them about your adventures in Japan when movement catches your eye. Your words trail off as you see him - Max, walking past the garage with Christian. He's filled out more, shoulders broader, face more mature. Your heart does that familiar stutter-step it always did around him.

Two years haven't completely erased the memory of his hands on your skin, his laugh against your neck, the way he used to look at you like you were his entire world. First loves leave permanent marks, and Max Verstappen had branded himself onto your heart when you were both too young to understand the weight of it all.

He must feel your gaze because he turns, and for a moment, your eyes lock. There's something there - recognition, remembrance, maybe even regret. You see him swallow hard, his step faltering just slightly. But neither of you moves to bridge the gap.

You turn back to Lando and Carlos, forcing a smile, but your mind is still with that brief moment of eye contact. You're not that lovesick teenager anymore, but part of you wonders if you'll ever fully get over Max Verstappen. If anyone ever really gets over their first love, or if they just learn to live with the echo of what could have been.

"YN?" Lando's voice brings you back to the present. "You okay?"

You look at your friend's concerned face and give him a genuine smile this time. "Yeah, I am. Just… remembering."

Carlos squeezes your shoulder knowingly. "The past is the past, si? You're here now, that's what matters."

You nod, grateful for their understanding. You're not the same person who left two years ago, running from heartbreak and confusion. You're stronger now, wiser. Ready to write a new chapter.

Even if sometimes, just sometimes, you still feel the ghost of an old love story tugging at your heart.

Barcelona, 2020

The Barcelona night is warm and heavy with memories as you sit at the outdoor terrace of the restaurant. Daniel's telling some ridiculous story about a kangaroo, but your attention keeps drifting to the other end of the table where Max sits, deliberately positioned as far from you as possible.

Five years ago, you'd kissed him for the first time just a few streets from here. After his first win, giddy with freedom and teenage rebellion.

"So how was Bali?" Charles asks making your come back to your senses,"The surfing photos were insane."

"Almost died about twelve times," you laugh. "But worth it."

"She's exaggerating," Max comments casually, surprising everyone at the table. It's the first time he's directly addressed anything about your travels. "I saw the videos. Your form wasn't that bad."

You catch his eye across the table. "Been keeping tabs on me, Verstappen?"

He shrugs, a hint of that old smirk playing at his lips. "Hard not to when you're all over everyone's Instagram stories."

The tension at the table shifts slightly - not gone, but different. Lando kicks your foot under the table, raising an eyebrow when you look at him. You ignore him.

The conversation flows easier after that, stories and laughter bouncing around the table. You find yourself watching Max when he's not looking - the way he's grown into his features, how his laugh is deeper now, how he still runs his hand through his hair when he's trying not to smile.

As the night winds down, you end up being the last two waiting for cars. The others had filtered out gradually - Daniel dragging Charles off to some club, Lando claiming early training, Carlos heading home with his father.

"So," Max breaks the silence first, hands in his pockets. "Two years."

"Two years," you echo, leaning against the wall. "Feels longer sometimes."

"And shorter," he adds, then glances at you. "You look good. Happy."

"I am. Mostly." You study his profile in the streetlights. "You've changed too."

He laughs softly. "Had to grow up sometime, right? Can't be the paddock's problem child forever."

"No more sneaking around in garages?" The words slip out before you can stop them.

His eyes darken slightly at the memory. "Bit harder to get away with that these days. Plus, there hasn't been anyone worth the risk."

The weight of unspoken things hangs between you. All those stolen moments - behind motorhomes, in empty conference rooms, dark corners of victory parties. Never official, never acknowledged, but burning so bright it scared you both.

"Want to come up to my place?" he asks suddenly. "Just to talk. Properly. Without…" he gestures vaguely at the paddock world around you.

You should say no. But two years of distance have made you forget how magnetic he is, or maybe just made you brave enough to pretend you can resist it. "Okay."

The penthouse is exactly what you'd expect - sleek and modern, with a view that makes you catch your breath. You walk to the windows, Barcelona sprawling below like a constellation.

"Remember that night after your first win?" you ask softly. "When we snuck onto the roof?"

"Papa Wolff nearly had a heart attack," Max comes to stand beside you, close enough that your arms almost touch. "Worth it though."

"Was it?" You turn to look at him. "All of it? The sneaking around, the fights with our families, the constant hiding?"

"You know it was." His voice drops lower. "At least, it was for me."

"Max…"

"I've missed you," he admits quietly. "Not just… not just the physical stuff. I missed talking to you. Making you laugh. The way you'd roll your eyes every time I said something stupid in press conferences."

"I still do that," you smile despite yourself. "Some things don't change."

"Maybe they shouldn't." He steps closer, and suddenly you're eighteen again, heart racing at his proximity. "Maybe some things are worth holding onto."

When he kisses you, it feels like muscle memory. Your body remembers this dance - the way his hands find your waist, how he tastes like wine and possibilities. It's softer than the desperate kisses you used to share in dark corners, but somehow more dangerous for it.

You pull back first, breathing hard. "We can't."

"Why not?" His thumb traces your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. Who cares what anyone thinks?"

"I do," you step away, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I left to get away from this, Max. From sneaking around, from being the paddock scandal waiting to happen. I built a life where I'm not defined by who I'm secretly sleeping with or whose daughter I am."

"It wouldn't be like before-"

"Wouldn't it? The politics haven't changed. Our families still wouldn't approve."

"I don't care about any of that," he reaches for you but you step back.

"That's the problem," your voice cracks. "I had to live with all of it. The whispers, the judgment, watching my father's face every time there was another rumor about us. I can't go back to that."

"YN, please-"

"I should go." You grab your phone from the counter. "This was a mistake."

At the elevator, you turn back one last time. He's still by the window, silhouetted against the city lights. "For what it's worth," you say softly, "you were my first love. Maybe that's why we have to let it stay in the past."

The elevator doors close on his response, and you lean against the wall, heart pounding. Some part of you will probably always want Max Verstappen. But you've worked too hard to become your own person to let that want destroy everything again.

Even if walking away feels like leaving part of yourself behind.

Monaco, 2020

The yacht party is winding down, the late hour thinning out the crowd until somehow you find yourself alone on the upper deck. The Mediterranean breeze carries fragments of music and laughter from below, but up here it's quiet enough to hear your own thoughts - dangerous, when they all seem to revolve around him.

You hear his footsteps before you see him. You don't need to turn around to know it's Max - your body has always been attuned to his presence, like a compass finding north.

"Hiding?" His voice is soft as he comes to stand beside you at the railing.

"Just needed some air." It's not entirely a lie. "Shouldn't you be downstairs? This is your best friend's party."

"Daniel can handle it on his own," he shrugs, looking out at the harbor lights. "Needed some air too."

The silence that follows should be uncomfortable, but it isn't. That's the problem with Max - everything still feels as natural as breathing. Two years away hasn't changed how your body relaxes in his presence, how the air seems to crackle with possibility when he's near.

"Remember that party in Singapore?" he asks suddenly.

You smile despite yourself. "When we hid from Lewis for half of the night?"

"You were wearing that blue dress," he continues, and something in his voice makes your heart skip. "I couldn't take my eyes off you all night."

"Max…"

"I still can't," he admits quietly. "Even now. Even when I'm supposed to be focusing on other things, my eyes just… find you."

You grip the railing tighter. "We can't do this again."

"Can't we?" He turns to face you now. "Because ever since Barcelona, since that kiss…"

"That was a mistake."

"Was it?" He steps closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Because it didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like coming home."

The words hit you right in the chest, because he's right. That's exactly what it felt like - like every cell in your body recognizing where it belonged.

"Nothing's changed," you say, but your voice wavers. "The politics, our families, the media…"

"Everything's changed," he counters. "We're not those kids anymore, sneaking around without putting a label on it because we didn't know better. I know exactly what I want now. Who I want."

"Max, please-"

"Two years, YN. Two years of watching you live your life through Instagram stories and paddock glimpses. Two years of trying to convince myself I was over you." His hand finds yours on the railing. "But the truth is, a part of me has belonged to you since that first night in Melbourne, and I don't think that's ever going to change."

You should pull your hand away. Instead, you turn it over, letting your fingers intertwine with his. "I tried so hard to become someone new," you whisper. "Traveled the world, built this whole independent life. But the moment I saw you again…"

"I know." His other hand comes up to cup your face, and you lean into the touch instinctively. "Because I felt it too."

"It scares me," you admit. "How easy it is to fall back into this. How right it feels when it should feel wrong."

"Maybe that's exactly why it isn't wrong." His thumb traces your cheekbone. "Maybe some things are just meant to be, despite everything else."

When he kisses you this time, it's different from Barcelona. That kiss had been hesitant, testing. This one feels like surrender, like finally stopping a fight you were always meant to lose. Your hands find his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palm, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispers. "You're the first girl I ever loved, and I think maybe you'll be the last. I know it's complicated, I know there are a million reasons why we shouldn't, but I don't care about any of them. I just want you."

You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the truth in his words, by how perfectly they mirror your own feelings. "I never stopped loving you," you confess. "I tried. God, I tried so hard. But it's like… it's like a part of me just belongs to you, and no amount of distance can change that."

"Then be with me," he pleads softly. "For real this time. No more running."

"How?" But you're already melting into him as he pulls you closer. "Nothing's changed, Max. My father would still lose it, Christian would still disapprove, the media would have a field day…"

"So we don't tell them." His hands slide to your waist. "We keep it between us. No sneaking around in garages this time, no risky moments in the paddock. Just us, in private, doing this properly."

You should say no. You know all the reasons why this can't work. But as his lips find yours again, you realize you're tired of fighting this magnetic pull between you.

"If anyone finds out…" you start.

"They won't," he promises. "We'll be careful. We're not those reckless kids anymore."

And maybe that's the key difference - you're not acting on impulse anymore, not diving in blindly. You're choosing this, fully aware of the consequences, of what you both stand to lose.

"Okay," you whisper against his mouth. "Okay."

When he kisses you again, it feels like every kiss you've ever shared and completely new all at once. Like coming home and starting an adventure. Like an ending and a beginning wrapped into one.

Later, you'll figure out the logistics, the careful dance of secrecy. But for now, you let yourself exist in this moment.

Some things, you realize, are worth keeping secret. Some loves are worth protecting, even if it means hiding them from the world.

Morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max's apartment, painting everything in soft gold. You're awake before him, taking in the familiar weight of his arm around your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck. It feels surreal - like stepping back in time, but with the sharp edge of awareness that comes with being older.

You feel him stir, his arm tightening slightly around you. "You're thinking too loud," he mumbles against your shoulder.

"Sorry," you turn to face him, finding his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Hard not to."

He props himself up on an elbow, studying your face. The morning light makes everything feel more raw, more real. "Having second thoughts?"

"No," you say honestly. "Just… thinking about how we make this work."

"We managed before."

"And look how that ended." You trace a pattern on his chest absently. "We were reckless then. Every stolen moment was a near-miss."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "So we're smarter this time. No more risky moments in the paddock. No sneaking around where anyone could see us."

"It's not just that." You sit up, pulling the sheet with you. "Max, if this gets out… it's not just about our families being angry. It could affect your career, the team dynamics. And my father-"

"Would probably try to have me assassinated," he finishes with a half-smile, but you can see the seriousness in his eyes. "I know. Trust me, I've thought about all of it."

"And you still want this?"

He sits up too, cupping your face in his hands. "More than anything. The question is, do you?"

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. "You know I do. That's what scares me. How much I want this, despite everything."

"Then we figure it out." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. We know how to be discreet. Your place, my place, private locations only. No public appearances together unless we're with the whole group. No suspicious social media activity."

"No telling anyone," you add. "Not even Lando or Charles."

"Especially not them," he agrees. "The fewer people who know, the safer it is."

You open your eyes to find him watching you with that intense focus he usually reserves for racing. "It's going to be hard," you warn. "Pretending there's nothing between us in public. Watching you from a distance at races."

"We've had years of practice at that," he reminds you softly. "At least now I get to hold you afterward."

The simple statement makes your heart clench. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. "When did you get so good with words?"

"Must be all those media training sessions," he smirks, but then turns serious. "I meant what I said last night. I love you. Whatever we have to do to make this work, I'm in."

"I love you too," you whisper back. "God, I really do."

He kisses you then, slow and deep, like he's trying to memorize the moment. When you pull back, you're both breathing harder.

The morning light is brighter now, reality creeping in with the rising sun. Soon, you'll have to leave separately, go back to pretending there's nothing between you. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, memorizing the feeling of being here, being his.

"This is crazy, isn't it?" you murmur against his chest.

"Probably," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your hair. "But some of the best things in life are a little crazy."

You know there will be challenges ahead - difficult moments, close calls, the constant strain of secrecy. But as Max pulls you back down onto the pillows, his lips finding yours with familiar hunger, you think maybe he's right.

Some things are worth the risk. Some loves are worth keeping secret.

The key card clicks softly as you slip into Max's Monaco apartment late on September 30th. You'd made your excuses to your friends early - a headache, an important call - knowing they wouldn't question it too much since they'd already planned Max's official celebration for tomorrow.

But tonight is just for the two of you.

You find him in the kitchen, already changed into sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, pulling something from the oven. The domestic scene makes your heart flutter.

"Is Max Verstappen actually baking?" you tease, dropping your bag.

He turns with that smile that's become exclusively yours - soft, unguarded, real. "It's just heating up the cake Victoria made. I'm not completely useless."

You cross the space between you, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "Happy birthday, baby."

He turns in your embrace, backing you against the counter. "This is already better than last year's birthday."

"Mm, because last year you weren't secretly dating your rival team principal's daughter?"

"Because last year I couldn't do this," he murmurs, before kissing you deeply, hands sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

The timer dings, making you both jump and then laugh.

"The cake can wait," he starts, but you push him back gently.

"Let's do this properly. Cake first, then presents, then…" you trail off suggestively.

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes are sparkling. "But I'm holding you to that 'then'."

You sit cross-legged on his massive couch, sharing pieces of Victoria's chocolate cake straight from the tin. It's comfortable in a way that still surprises you sometimes - how easily you've fallen into these private moments, these glimpses of normalcy in your decidedly abnormal situation.

"Got you something," you say, reaching for your bag.

He raises an eyebrow. "Thought you were my present?"

"Cheesy," you throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily. "Here."

He unwraps the small package carefully. Inside is a simple leather bracelet, dark brown with a subtle pattern worked into it. "Turn it over," you say softly.

On the inside, barely visible unless you know to look, are your initials and the date from Monaco - the night everything changed.

"YN…" his voice is rough as he runs his thumb over the engraving.

"I know we can't do obvious things," you explain. "But I wanted you to have something… something that's just ours. Something you can wear without anyone knowing what it means."

He pulls you into his lap, kissing you with an intensity that makes your head spin. "I love it," he murmurs against your lips. "I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper back, heart full with how natural those words feel now. "Even if you are getting old."

He retaliates by tickling your sides until you're both breathless with laughter, ending up horizontal on the couch with you pinned beneath him.

"Twenty-three isn't old," he protests, pressing kisses down your neck.

"Ancient," you tease, but it turns into a gasp as he finds that sensitive spot below your ear. "Max…"

"Mm?"

"The cake…"

"Can wait," he finishes, hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. "Right now, I want to unwrap my other present."

Later, much later, you're tangled in his sheets, your head on his chest as he plays with your hair. The city lights twinkle through the windows, creating patterns on the ceiling.

"Thank you," he says softly.

"For what?"

"For this. For making my birthday special even though we have to hide. For loving me despite everything."

You prop yourself up to look at him, trace the line of his jaw with your finger. "Thank you for making it worth it."

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Sometimes I wish we could just tell everyone. Walk into the paddock holding your hand, take you on real dates, post about you on Instagram like a normal couple."

"I know," you sigh, settling back against his chest. "Me too. But…"

"But it would cause chaos," he finishes. "I know. Doesn't stop me from wanting it though."

You lift your head again, kissing him softly. "Maybe someday. But for now, I'm happy just having you like this. These moments are ours, just ours."

His arms tighten around you. "I love you," he says again, like he can't help himself. "More than racing, more than winning, more than-"

"Don't," you laugh, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't say more than racing. We both know that's a lie."

He grins, rolling you under him again. "Maybe it's a tie?"

"I can live with that," you smile up at him, pulling him down for another kiss.

The world outside keeps turning - tomorrow there will be the official party, the public celebrations, the careful distance you'll have to maintain. But tonight, in this space that's become your sanctuary, you can just be Max and YN, two people in love, celebrating another year together.

Even if the rest of the world doesn't know it yet.

Monaco, 2021

You're curled into Max's side on your couch, some Netflix show playing in the background that neither of you is really watching. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm while you scroll through your phone, both enjoying the calm before tomorrow's storm - the start of a new season, new expectations, new pressure.

"Nervous about tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head to look at him.

He shrugs, but you can feel the slight tension in his shoulders. "Not nervous. Just�� ready. The car feels good, testing went well."

"Mm," you press a kiss to his jaw. "Maybe this is your year."

"Maybe," but his smile is confident as he turns to capture your lips properly. "Though right now I'm more interested in-"

Your phone buzzes loudly, Lando's name flashing on the screen. You answer it without thinking.

"Hey Lan-"

"I'm outside your place!" his cheerful voice cuts through. "Charles and I brought wine and that awful reality show you love. Open up!"

Your heart stops. "What?"

"Come on, it's freezing out here! I can see your lights on."

You sit up straight, panic flooding your system. "Lando, I-"

"Don't even try to say you're busy. It's the night before the first race, I know you're just sitting there overthinking everything."

Max is already moving, gathering his shoes and jacket silently. Your eyes meet across the room, both knowing how catastrophic it would be if Lando found him here.

"Give me five minutes," you say into the phone, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm… I need to put clothes on."

"Gross, too much information," Lando laughs. "Five minutes!"

You hang up, heart racing. "Shit, shit, shit."

"It's fine," Max is surprisingly calm as he pulls on his shoes. "I'll go out through the back stairs."

"What if they see you?" You're already scanning the room for any evidence of him - his Red Bull cap on the coffee table, his phone charger by the couch.

"They won't." He grabs his things efficiently, muscle memory from two years of sneaking around kicking in. "I'll text you when I'm clear."

Another knock at the door makes you both freeze. "YN!" Charles's voice this time. "We can hear you moving around!"

Max pulls you in for a quick, hard kiss. "I love you. Don't worry."

"Be careful," you whisper against his lips.

He flashes that cocky grin you love. "Always am."

You watch him disappear through your bedroom toward the back stairwell, then take a deep breath, running your hands through your hair to mess it up slightly - making your "just got out of bed" excuse more believable.

When you open the door, Lando immediately pushes past you with wine bottles clinking. "Finally! What were you really doing?"

"Told you, getting dressed." You accept Charles' hello kiss on the cheek, praying your face isn't as flushed as it feels.

"Your shirt's inside out," Charles points out, smirking.

You look down - shit, he's right. You'd thrown it on hastily after… earlier activities. "I was sleeping," you say quickly. "You guys interrupted my pre-race nap routine."

"At 9 PM?" Lando's already making himself at home on your couch - right where Max was sitting minutes ago. "Sure, sure."

Your phone buzzes with a text: "All clear. They didn't see me. Missing you already x"

Relief floods through you as Charles pours wine and Lando queues up the show. You settle into the evening, letting their familiar banter wash over you, trying to act normal even as your skin still tingles from Max's touch.

"You seem different lately," Charles observes suddenly, studying your face. "Happier."

"Just excited for the new season," you deflect smoothly, a skill you've perfected over the past year.

"Mm," he doesn't look entirely convinced. "No secret boyfriend we should know about?"

You laugh, the sound only slightly strained. "Right, because that worked out so well last time."

"Last time was Max," Lando points out. "Thank god you're both over that whole thing."

If only they knew. But you just smile and take a sip of wine, letting them move on to discussing tomorrow's race.

As the evening progresses, the wine flows and the reality show plays in the background. You're carefully avoiding any topics that might make Charles or Lando suspicious, laughing a bit too loudly at their jokes.

Lando, ever restless, decides to raid your kitchen for snacks. "Where do you keep the good stuff?" he calls out, opening cupboards.

Your heart immediately races. You know exactly what might be lurking in those cupboards - Max's favorite energy drink, a Red Bull can he'd left behind last time he was here. You stand up quickly, "I'll get it for you-"

But Lando's already moving, pulling open the refrigerator door. "Found it!" he announces, then pauses. His hand emerges holding a Red Bull can, but something else catches his eye. A water bottle with a distinctive Red Bull Racing team logo sits next to it.

"Huh," Charles looks over. "Isn't this Max's water bottle?"

You feel the blood drain from your face. "Oh, um-" Your mind races, searching for an explanation. "I... must have picked it up from somewhere. You know how these things get mixed up."

Lando turns, one eyebrow raised. The playful smile slowly morphs into something more knowing. "Mixed up, huh?"

Charles is watching you now, that sharp observant look that made him such a good racing driver now focused entirely on you.

"Yeah, I must've picked it up by accident, didn't even realize."

Lando shrugs and cracks open a packet of chips, seemingly satisfied with your explanation. But Charles continues to study you with that piercing gaze that makes you want to squirm.

Keeping this a secret is becoming harder and harder.

Silverstone, 2021

The English countryside blurs past your window as Max takes another curve, maybe a bit faster than necessary. It's nearly midnight, and you should both be resting before tomorrow's race, but these night drives have become your thing - the only time you can be truly alone during race weekends, truly free.

"You're showing off," you accuse, but you're smiling.

"Me? Never." He takes his eyes off the road for a second to grin at you, his hand finding yours across the console.

The radio plays softly in the background, some British pop song you don't know. The summer air rushing through the open windows carries the scent of grass and freedom. It feels perfect. Until it isn't.

It happens so fast - a deer appears out of nowhere, Max swerves to avoid it, but the road is narrow and dark. The tires lose grip on loose gravel, and suddenly you're spinning, the world turning into a kaleidoscope of shadows and panic.

The impact when it comes is brutal. Metal crunches, glass shatters, and everything goes still.

"YN?" Max's voice is tight with fear. "Baby, are you okay?"

You do a quick mental check. Everything hurts, but nothing seems broken. "I'm okay. You?"

"Fine." He's already trying to open his door, but it's jammed. The front of the car is wrapped around a tree, steam hissing from the hood. "Fuck. Fuck!"

Your phone is somewhere on the floor. When you retrieve it, the screen is cracked but working. "We need help."

"We can't call emergency services," Max says immediately. "It'll be all over the news in minutes."

He's right. You can already see the headlines: "Verstappen in Late Night Crash with Mercedes Boss's Daughter."

"Christian?" you suggest.

"He'll kill me. We have a race tomorrow." Max runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "We need someone who can be discreet, who has the resources to handle this quietly, who-"

You both realize it at the same time.

"No," Max says.

"He's the only one who can help us without this becoming a scandal."

"YN, he's the last person-"

"Max." You reach for his hand. "We don't have a choice."

He knows you're right. With a resigned sigh, he nods.

Your hands shake slightly as you dial Lewis's number. It rings three times before he answers, voice groggy with sleep.

"Little Wolff? It's midnight, what-"

"Lewis, I need your help. And I need you to not ask questions."

There's a pause, then rustling as he presumably sits up. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, but… we're stuck. Had an accident on the back roads near Silverstone. We need help getting the car towed without anyone finding out."

There's a pause. "We?"

You close your eyes. "I'm with Max."

The silence that follows is deafening. "Send me your location. Don't move. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

True to his word, headlights appear eighteen minutes later. Lewis steps out of his car, taking in the scene - the wrecked vehicle, you and Max standing by the roadside, the unspoken truth of why you were together at this hour.

"Are you both alright?" He asks first, concern overriding any other emotions.

"Just bruised," you answer. "The car took the worst of it."

He nods, already on his phone. "Angela's on her way with a tow truck. She'll be discreet."

Max steps forward. "Lewis, I-"

"Don't." Lewis holds up a hand. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for her." He looks at you, something sad in his expression. "How long?"

"Since last year."

He lets out a low whistle. "Well, that explains a few things."

The wait for Angela is tense. Lewis keeps his distance, occasionally speaking quietly into his phone. Max doesn't let go of your hand, thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

When Angela arrives with the tow truck, she doesn't bat an eye at the situation. The car is loaded efficiently, and arrangements are made to have it repaired at a private garage Lewis trusts.

"I'll drive YN home," Lewis says, and it's not really a question.

Max tenses beside you, but you squeeze his hand. "It's safer this way," you whisper. "Less suspicious if anyone sees us."

He knows you're right, again. "Text me when you're home?"

"Promise."

The drive with Lewis is quiet at first. Then the storm pours down.

"Of all the stupid, reckless things," he mutters, running a hand over his face. "A year? You've been sneaking around with him for a year? Again?"

"Lewis-"

"No." He turns to face you, anger and worry warring in his expression. "Do you have any idea what could happen if this gets out? What your father would-"

"I don't care!" The words burst out louder than intended, making your head throb. "I don't care what anyone thinks anymore."

"Well, you should!" Lewis's voice rises to match yours. "This isn't some game, YN. This is your life, your career, your family-"

"You think I don't know that?" You bite back. "You think we haven't spent the last year terrified of exactly that? Hiding everything, sneaking around, lying to everyone we care about?"

"Then why?" He throws his hands up in frustration. "Why risk everything for him?"

"Because I love him!" The words echo in the car. You lower your voice, tears threatening to fall. "I love him, Lewis. And he loves me. Isn't that enough?"

Lewis' expression softens slightly, but the worry remains. "Love isn't always enough, YN. Not in this world. Not with everything at stake."

"It has to be," you whisper. "Because I can't do this anymore - pretending I don't feel what I feel, acting like my heart doesn't race every time he walks into a room. I'm tired of hiding."

"He's not good for you," Lewis says quietly. "You remember how broken you were after-"

"He was nineteen," you cut him off. "We were both kids, both scared. Things are different now."

"Are they?" his voice is gentle but firm. "Because from where I'm standing, you're still sneaking around in the middle of the night, still hiding from everyone. That doesn't sound different to me."

You sink back into your seat, suddenly exhausted. "I'm not asking for your approval, Lewis. I'm just asking for you to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"Do you? Because getting into a car accident at 2 AM doesn't exactly scream good decision-making."

"That wasn't-" you start to defend, but he holds up a hand.

"You shouldn't have been out there in the first place. These secret meetings, these late-night drives… it's not sustainable, YN."

"I know," you admit quietly. "We know. We've been talking about telling people, about doing this properly."

Lewis studies your face for a long moment. "And what happens when the media finds out? When your father finds out? When the pressure becomes too much and he runs again?"

"He won't." Your voice is firm despite your injuries. "He's not that scared kid anymore, Lewis. He knows what he wants now."

"And what is that?"

"Me." You meet Lewis's gaze steadily. "He wants me. All of me, no matter what it costs. And I want him."

Lewis sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. "I can't support this, YN. I've watched him hurt you too many times."

"I know," you say softly. "And I love you for wanting to protect me. But I'm not asking for your support. I'm just asking you not to make this harder than it already is, I know you're worried. But please… please don't tell anyone. Not yet. Let us do this our way."

He doesn't respond, just pulls up the car outside your hotel and unlocks it so you can get out.

Silverstone, 2021. Race day

Your hands are still shaking slightly as you make your way through the paddock. Last night's crash left more than just physical bruises - the tension with Lewis, the close call, the reality of how fragile your secret is, it all weighs heavily.

The Mercedes garage is already buzzing with pre-race energy when you spot Lewis by his car, going through data with Peter. You wait until he's alone before approaching.

"Lewis," you say softly. "Can we talk?"

He glances around before responding, voice low. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Please. What you did last night-"

"Was a mistake," he cuts you off, finally turning to face you. "I should have called emergency services, protocol be damned."

"You know why we couldn't-"

"No, YN. You couldn't because you're sneaking around like teenagers. Do you have any idea what could have happened? If that tree had been a few inches to the left-"

"But it wasn't," you interrupt. "We're fine."

"Fine?" He scoffs. "You're both bruised, his car is wrecked, and I'm now complicit in your little romance."

"It's not a little romance-"

"Then what is it?" His voice rises slightly before he checks himself. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the same pattern as before. You, him, secrets, lies."

"I told you last night - I love him."

"Love?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "Love doesn't hide, YN. Love doesn't put people in dangerous situations. Love doesn't-"

"Don't." Your voice cracks. "Don't pretend you understand what we're dealing with."

"Oh, I understand perfectly. You're playing girlfriend with my biggest rival while there's a championship at stake. You're risking everything - your reputation, your father's position, the team's integrity-"

"This isn't a game to me!" The words come out sharper than intended. A few mechanics glance your way, and you lower your voice. "This isn't about the championship or the team. This is about me and him."

"Nothing in this paddock is ever just about two people," Lewis says coldly. "You of all people should know that."

Before you can respond, Bono approaches. "Lewis, strategy meeting."

"I need to focus," Lewis tells you, his expression hardening. "I suggest you figure out where your loyalties lie before someone gets really hurt."

He walks away, leaving you standing there with a hollow feeling in your chest. Angela catches your eye, her expression sympathetic, and you wonder how much she knows.

The pre-race preparations pass in a blur. You go through the motions, smile when appropriate, but your mind keeps drifting to Max. You haven't seen him since Lewis dropped you off last night - you both agreed it was safer to stay apart until the race.

Then you're in the garage, watching the formation lap. Your father stands beside you, discussing something with the engineers, but their words sound distant.

Lap one. Copse Corner.

The contact happens so fast - Lewis's Mercedes alongside Max's Red Bull. The touch of wheels. Then Max's car is airborne, spinning, crashing into the barriers with devastating force.

The garage erupts in chaos. Screens show the replay from every angle. Your father is immediately in discussion with the stewards.

You can't breathe. Can't move. Your eyes are fixed on the smoking wreck of Max's car, willing him to move, to get out, to be okay.

"Racing incident," Toto argues. "Lewis had the line-"

Their voices fade to background noise as you watch the medical team reach the car. Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, but you can't check it - not here, not with everyone watching.

"YN," Angela touches your arm gently. "You look pale. Maybe some water?"

You follow her away from the garage, grateful for the excuse. As soon as you're out of sight, your composure breaks.

"I don't know if he's okay," you whisper, hands shaking. "I can't- I can't check my phone, I can't ask anyone, I can't-"

"Breathe," Angela steadies you. "Just breathe."

"I should be there. I should be with him. After last night, after everything-"

"I won't say anything," she promises quickly. "But YN... this is bigger than just keeping a secret now."

"I know," you admit. "God, I know. But I can't- I can't even ask if he's okay without raising suspicions."

The race continues. Lewis gets a ten-second penalty but fights back to win. The garage celebrates, and you have to join in, have to smile and cheer while your heart is somewhere else entirely.

Hours pass with no news. Social media is full of speculation, but nothing concrete. You catch snippets of conversation - "hospital for checks" and "conscious but shaken" - but nothing official.

It's torture, pretending everything is normal. Pretending you're just concerned in a general, professional way. Pretending last night never happened, that you don't still have bruises from a different crash, that your world isn't falling apart all over again.

Finally, after what feels like years, you manage to slip away to the Red Bull motorhome.

The motorhome is quiet when you enter. GP looks up from his laptop, surprise crossing his features.

"YN? You shouldn't-"

"Please," your voice breaks. "Please, I need to see him."

GP studies you for a long moment, then sighs. "Last door on the right. But be careful - he's pretty beaten up."

You find Max lying on the small bed, eyes closed but breathing steady. The room smells of medical cream and defeat.

"Max?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

His eyes open immediately, finding yours in the dim light. Despite everything, his lips curve into a small smile.

"Two crashes in twenty-four hours," he mumbles. "Must be some kind of record."

"Don't," tears spill over finally. "Don't joke. Not now."

"Come here," he tries to move over but winces.

"Careful," you rush to his side, perching carefully on the edge of the bed. "How bad is it?"

"Everything hurts," he admits. "But nothing's broken. Well, except my championship lead."

"I was so scared," your voice breaks. "When I saw the crash, and then I couldn't- I couldn't even ask if you were okay. I had to stand there and pretend like I wasn't terrified."

"Hey," he reaches for your hand, wincing at the movement. "I'm okay. Well, relatively speaking."

"This is my fault," you whisper. "If I hadn't called Lewis last night-"

"Stop," he squeezes your hand. "This had nothing to do with last night."

"Didn't it? He was so angry this morning, about us, about having to help us-"

"Lewis and I race hard regardless of personal feelings," Max says firmly. "What happened today was racing. Stupid, dangerous racing, but still racing."

You study his face in the dim light, cataloging every bruise, every sign of pain he's trying to hide, "Max, don't you think it's time?"

"Time?"

"To tell people. About us." The words rush out now that you've started. "I can't keep doing this - watching you race and pretending I don't care, hiding how I feel, lying to everyone we know. Today made me realize… if something had happened to you, really happened…"

He's quiet for a long moment, thumb tracing patterns on your hand. "What about your father?"

"I don't care anymore. Well, I do care, but… not more than I care about you. About us." You meet his eyes. "When the season's over. Before next year starts. We tell everyone."

"You're sure?"

"Are you?"

He pulls you closer, carefully, until you're lying beside him. "I'm sure if you are."

"Even with the championship? The media circus it'll cause?"

"Especially then." He kisses your forehead. "Today… when I hit that barrier, all I could think about was you. Not the championship, not the points, just… you. And how much time we've wasted hiding."

You curl into his side, mindful of his bruises. "So we're agreed? After Abu Dhabi, whatever happens with the championship…"

"We tell everyone." He lifts your chin to kiss you properly. "No more hiding."

"Promise?" You need to hear him say it.

"Promise," he pulls you closer, careful of both your injuries. "Besides, after last night's adventure and today's crash, I think we've filled our drama quota for a while."

You stay there, tangled together in the quiet darkness, both battered from different crashes but somehow still whole.

"I should go," you whisper eventually. "Before someone comes looking."

"One of the last times we'll have to say that," he reminds you.

"Promise me something else?"

"Anything."

"No more late-night drives for a while?"

He laughs, then grimaces in pain. "Deal. Although technically, both crashes were Lewis' fault."

"Max..."

"Kidding," he kisses your forehead softly. "Kind of."

You stand carefully, already missing his warmth. "Text me when you're feeling better?"

"Text me when you're home safe," he counters.

At the door, you turn back one last time. He's watching you with those eyes that made you fall in love twice - once when you were too young to know better, and again when you were old enough to know exactly what you were risking.

"Max?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you. Even when I have to pretend I don't."

His smile, despite the pain, lights up the dark room. "I love you too. Even when Lewis Hamilton tries to kill me. Twice in twenty-four hours."

You shake your head, but you're smiling as you slip out into the night. A few more months of hiding, of pretending, of careful distances and secret meetings. Then everything changes.

You just hope you're both ready for whatever comes next.

Abu Dhabi, 2021

The final showdown. Equal points, one race to decide it all.

The morning of the race, you slip into the Red Bull garage before sunrise. Max is already there, going through his pre-race routine, but his face softens when he sees you.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, pulling you into his arms.

"Not really," you nestle into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "Too much going on in my head."

"Talk to me."

You pull back slightly to look at him. "I'm nervous. For you, for the race, for what comes after…"

"Hey," he cups your face gently. "Whatever happens today, we're in this together. Remember?"

"I know," you try to smile. "It's just… everything's going to change after today."

"Good changes," he kisses your forehead. "No more hiding, remember?"

You've had this conversation countless times over the past months, planning how you'll handle the revelation of your relationship. Your father still doesn't know, though you suspect he's noticed something's different.

"I brought you something," you reach into your pocket and pull out a small charm - a tiny silver racing car. "For luck."

Max takes it, turning it over in his hands with a soft smile. "You're my luck."

"That was incredibly cheesy," you laugh, but your heart swells.

"You love it," he pulls you closer, kissing you properly this time. "And you love me."

"I do," you whisper against his lips. "So much it scares me sometimes."

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, before reality intrudes again.

"I should go," you sigh. "There's something else I need to do before the race."

Max knows without asking. "Lewis?"

"Yeah," you bite your lip. "I can't let things end like this between us."

"Go," he squeezes your hand. "Just come back to me after?"

"Always."

Finding Lewis proves harder. He's been avoiding you since Silverstone, your relationship reduced to professional nods and carefully maintained distance. But you finally spot him in the Mercedes garage, alone with his thoughts.

"Lewis?" your voice is hesitant.

He tenses but doesn't turn around. "YN."

"I know you probably don't want to talk to me-"

"Then why are you here?"

You take a deep breath. "Because you're my brother, Lewis. Not by blood, but by choice. And I can't stand how things are between us."

He finally turns, and the pain in his eyes matches your own. "You chose him."

"I chose love," you step closer. "That doesn't mean I stopped caring about you."

"You could have told me," his voice cracks slightly. "Before Silverstone, before any of it. I thought we told each other everything."

"I was scared," you admit. "Scared of exactly this - losing you, losing my family, losing everything I've known."

"So instead you just lied? Snuck around?"

"I know it was wrong," tears prick at your eyes. "And I'm so sorry, Lewis. Not for loving him, but for hurting you. For breaking your trust."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying your face. "Does he make you happy? Really happy?"

"Yes," you whisper. "More than I ever thought possible."

Lewis sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. "Come here, little sister."

You practically fall into his arms, tears flowing freely now. He holds you tight, like when you were kids and he would protect you from everything.

"I'm still mad at you," he mumbles into your hair.

"I know."

"And I still think you're crazy."

"Probably."

"But," he pulls back to look at you, "I love you. And I miss you. And if he ever hurts you, I'll end his career so fast-"

You laugh through your tears. "There's my overprotective brother."

"Someone has to look out for you," he wipes your cheeks gently. "Even if you make it incredibly difficult."

"I'm sorry," you say again. "For everything."

"I know," he kisses your forehead. "We'll figure it out. After today."

"About that…" you hesitate. "We're planning to go public. After the race."

Lewis nods slowly. "I figured something like that was coming. The way you look at each other isn't exactly subtle."

"You noticed?"

"YN, everyone with eyes has noticed. They're just too scared of your father to mention it."

You both laugh, and for a moment it feels like before - easy, comfortable, safe.

"Lewis?" you grab his hand. "Whatever happens today… I'm proud of you. Always have been, always will be."

He squeezes your hand. "Right back at you, little Wolff. Even if you have terrible taste in men."

"Hey!"

"I'm just saying, there are other drivers-"

"Goodbye, Lewis," you start walking away, but you're smiling.

"YN?" he calls after you. "For what it's worth… he better know how lucky he is."

An hour later, you're standing in the Mercedes garage, heart in your throat, watching the screens as though your life depends on it. In a way, it does. Six years of loving Max in secret, two years of running away from it all, and now here you are - watching the man you love fight your father's driver for the championship in the most intense finale you've ever witnessed.

When Nicholas Latifi crashes, everything changes. The safety car comes out, and suddenly the garage erupts with activity. Your father's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and authoritative as he argues with race control. You've never seen him like this - the usual composed Toto Wolff replaced by someone desperately fighting against what feels like destiny shifting.

"No, no, no, Michael, that is so not right!" Your father's voice booms through the garage as the lapped cars are allowed through. You flinch at the fury in his tone, at the way he slams his headset down.

The final lap is unbearable. You watch Lewis getting hunted down by Max on fresh tires. Your nails dig into your palms, torn between family loyalty and the love you've kept hidden for so long.

When Max makes the pass, when he crosses the line as World Champion, the Mercedes garage falls silent. The contrast between the Red Bull celebrations on screen and the devastation around you is stark.

Your father looks destroyed, a mixture of anger and disbelief on his face. But it's Lewis who breaks your heart - the way he sits in his car, processing what just happened, the dignity with which he eventually emerges to congratulate Max.

You find Lewis in the drivers room a few hours later, away from the cameras. His eyes are red, his shoulders slumped in a way you've never seen before.

"Lew," your voice breaks.

He looks up, and suddenly you're both crying. You wrap your arms around him as he breaks down.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this," he whispers.

"I know," you hold him tighter. "I know."

You stay with him, through the protests, through the appeals, through the obligatory congratulations he has to give. You stay because he's family, because he needs you, because some things are more important than celebration.

Through it all, you catch glimpses of Max - being crowned champion, celebrating with his team, searching the crowd with eyes that keep finding you. But you stay where you're needed most.

Hours pass before you make it to Max's hotel. The celebrations are still going on somewhere, but he's in his room when you arrive, pacing like a caged animal.

"Where were you?" he demands as soon as you enter.

"I was with Lewis."

His face darkens. "Of course you were. Consoling the Mercedes garage while I won my first championship."

"Max, don't."

"Don't what? Don't be upset that my girlfriend wasn't there to celebrate with me? That she was too busy comforting the opposition?"

"That 'opposition' is my family!" Your voice rises to match his. "Lewis is like my brother, my father is devastated-"

"Your father?" He laughs bitterly. "The same father you've been lying to for years? The one we're supposedly telling about us after this race?"

"Are you seriously doing this right now?"

"When else am I supposed to do it? When you're ready? Because I've been waiting for you to be ready since 2015!"

The words hit like physical blows. "That's not fair. You know why I left in 2018, the way you cut me off like I was nothing, it tore me apart."

"Yeah, because it got too hard. Because loving me was too complicated." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "And now here we are again. I just won the World Championship, and where were you? With them."

"They're my family!"

"And what am I?" He steps closer, eyes intense. "What are we, YN? Because right now it feels like I'm still your dirty little secret."

"That's not-"

"Then prove it. Let's go tell Toto right now. Let's end this charade."

"Today? After everything that happened? Are you insane?"

"Why not today? When will it be convenient enough for you? When will loving me not conflict with your perfect Mercedes family?"

Tears are falling freely now. "You're being cruel."

"No, I'm being honest. Finally." He sits heavily on the bed. "I love you. I've loved you through everything - through you leaving, through you coming back, through all the hiding and sneaking around. But I can't do this anymore."

Your heart stops. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want all of you. Not just the parts that are convenient, not just the stolen moments between races. I want to celebrate with you when I win, hold you when I crash, build a life with you in the open." He looks at you, and you see the tears in his eyes too. "But I don't think you want that. Not really. Not enough to risk everything else."

"Max…"

"Go home, YN. Go console your father. Go be the perfect Mercedes daughter." His voice breaks slightly. "Just… don't come back unless you're ready to choose me. All of me. The rival, the champion, everything."

You stand there, frozen, both of you crying. Everything you've built, every secret moment, every whispered promise, feels like it's crumbling around you.

"I love you," you whisper.

"I know." He doesn't look at you. "That's never been our problem."

As you stand in the doorway of Max's hotel room, the weight of seven years of love, secrets, and choices bears down on your shoulders. The championship trophy gleams on the table behind him, a symbol of everything he's achieved and everything that's torn you apart.

[petrichormore]

So I’m watching Ros’ pov and I’m taking notes because tr!Ros’ mindset interests me and I just want to point out a few things.

(Bad and Ros are my main realm povs btw, I have watched almost every single one of both of their streams, but Bad moreso than Ros. The following is about tr!characters obviously)

(THIS IS KIND OF LONG)

So Ros tells Pangi and Aimsey what happened with Sneeg and Lukey. She clearly doesn’t want to, she tries to avoid saying it. When she finally admits it, she severely downplays it - she describes it as Sneeg “tapping” Lukey on the head. She tries to make it seem like it’s not a big deal. She says that Foolish resolved the situation and that everything is fine. Neither of these things is correct, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s trying to deceive. She’s downplaying it for Pangi’s sake, and Bad used an advanced wartime technique known as lying to convince Foolish he had prevented war when he’d actually made everything worse - Foolish passed that mistaken belief onto Ros.

Pangi, and then later Ros, and then later twitter, immediately draw a parallel between this incident and Pangi killing Pili which happened the day before. Pangi is the first one to make the connection and it’s because he’s trying to be understanding. He’s trying not to get angry, he’s reminding himself that he hurt Ros in much the same way.

But there’s a difference in how Ros handled it versus how Pangi handled it. Pangi did not try to downplay his actions nearly as much as Ros does - he admits to killing Pili, he says he isn’t trying to justify his actions (he brings up Pili’s behavior towards him as his motivation but he doesn’t try and make the argument that yellow faction shouldn’t be upset by it) and he says he is sincerely sorry for putting Ros in a difficult position. Ros also apologizes, and I think this is where Ros (and twitter) is having a misunderstanding:

Pangi is obviously upset that Ros and Sneeg tried to kill Pangi, but him bringing up Pili proves that he understands he did the same and is trying to take that into account because he cares about Ros. Ros thinks it’s unfair - why can he can attack Pili but she can’t attack Lukey? But listening to the conversation, Pangi seems to be more upset because he thinks Ros is purposefully misleading him about the situation. She says Sneeg only delivered a warning which purposefully didn’t do lethal damage, and then Lukey (more accurately) tells him that no, it definitely could’ve killed him, Sneeg just missed - and Bad later confirms this (Lukey calls Sneeg incompetent for missing by the way, which is funny). I don’t think Ros is purposefully misleading him, though, I think it’s a combination of her not remembering the event perfectly and her clinging to any explanation that will put her faction in the best light possible, even if that explanation is shaky at best.

She also complains to Aimsey, after Aimsey (correctly) points out that Ros killing people will, in fact, lead to them disliking her. She responds by saying she only does it “once in a while” and that “there are people more evil and more full of hatred than her”

This is interesting because it’s… not actually a response to Aimsey’s statement. The argument here is… what? That Ros personally believes she is not evil and therefore Lukey and Pangi don’t have the right to hold her actions against her? That if someone kills for a reason that is ‘righteous’ (I’m coming back to this later), and if they do it less frequently than someone who kills for unrighteous reasons, that it’s different? Are they not both murderers? Ros evidently believes she deserves leeway in this category, from Pangi and Lukey anyway.

And the way she brings up this concept of people “more evil than her” in response to being told to accept that murdering people will stir up resentment. She is right, there are people more “evil” by most people’s definition of the word. People like Bad, who Ros seemingly implies Lukey is wrong not to hate more than her. But… Ros doesn’t hate Bad either. She is actually pretty unique in that respect, with the way she has always treated Bad with respect and kindness even as his kill count rose. She hates Owen, of course, but Owen has not caused nearly the same amount of damage that Bad has - to yellow faction or to the realm in general. Owen’s largest crime so far, that Ros is aware of, is that he’s been absolutely horrid to her. That’s not good, obviously, but if this was really about morality, if this was really about who’s evil and who’s good - then Ros should by all accounts be ranking Bad lower than Owen, and definitely lower than Lukey. Except Bad is her friend. Her friend that she calls evil and thinks deserves to die. But still, somehow, her friend?

So I think that’s where this interesting dissonance is coming in. Ros thinks of herself as good, of her actions as righteous. She wants the freedom to be “a little silly” and “hateful and evil, for once” like other murderers on the server are, but she doesn’t want to align with the ideology that allows them to behave that way so freely. She thinks of herself as separate from that nebulous, undefined Evil, which she and her faction are strictly Not. Except when they want to be, then it’s okay and everyone should accept it. Because at least they’re not Evil all the time. In Ros’ opinion, anyway.

Ros’ moral compass is tearing her apart, spinning in all different directions, pulled by a million different motivations - some of which crumble to stress and overwhelm under scrutiny. She has named the compass ‘Righteous’ and wherever it points must be the right direction. If Bad kills people (even yellow faction!) he is still a friend, but if Owen is cruel to her specifically he is not a friend, and he is worse than Bad the serial killer. Slowly, her compass breaks away from this ‘objective’ morality that she tried so hard to follow in the past, but she cannot bear the mental strain of this realization and so she ignores it. But even if she ignores it, others do not, so what is Ros to do? The yellow faction might reinforce her beliefs, but Owen is the one who claimed befriending people from outside factions is wrong and harmful, and he is Evil. So she reaches out to others, but they look at her compass’ name and they ask “are you sure?” and they don’t realize it will break her to realize she isn’t.

[starry-on-ao3]

I want to take all of these sentences and make them into a Farmody multichapter. Each sentence is a prompt for a different chapter, it tells the story of their romance in a modern AU. I'm envisioning:

I want romance. Tristan chatting Carmody up in a bar, using dorky pick up lines to make him laugh. Carmody's very charmed and writes his number on a napkin. "Call me."

I want laughter. Their first date: they go see a comedy gig together, dinner afterwards. By the end of the night, they're laughing so much their sides hurt and their cheeks ache. Tristan walks Carmody back to his house and kisses him under a streetlight.

I want the 3am love making. Ngl I'd probably skip this one or off-screen it but it would still be cute, not for me to write tho.

I want consistency. They're dating, they're at the stage of constantly texting all day when they're at work, just waiting for the next moment they can see each other. They're learning to trust each other.

I want loyalty. They get tested: an ex comes back into one of their lives, for perhaps a moment they're tempted by the familiarity - but ultimately, choose to leave it in the past.

I want the random looks of admiration. Maybe tristan decides it's time for Carmody to meet the Skeldale family, he brings him around for dinner. Carmody can't help notice how often Tristan glances across the dinner table at him. All of the others notice it too. "Tristan hasn't looked at anyone like that in a long time."

I want to know you're just for me. The one who got tested by an ex reappearing confesses whatever happened/didn't happen/nearly happened - obviously this causes a bit of tension which is ultimately overcome. "S/he means nothing, alright? I promise. It's in the past. My future is you."

I want date nights and flowers. This would be the space for shameless toothrotting fluff, a staple of Farmody fanon and probably would be my favourite chapter to write. They could go to a cooking class together, they could go roller skating together, they could go on park walks and coffee dates and lunch dates and they could go to a petting zoo together.

I want truth. They're really ready to open up to each other now, let the other one in and have a peek at the deepest parts of their souls. This is the point of no return. This is the space for Carmody to describe how he kept himself busy the summer he was forgotten at boarding school, and for Tristan to describe his mother's voice which is now only a distant memory, but which still haunts his dreams on cold nights. It makes him think of the cold nights in his childhood when he looked for comfort in her bed.

I want priority. Now comes the time for Tristan and Carmody to choose each other over and above anything else (of course, within the bounds of a healthy relationship).

I want love that's pure and calming. Nobody else could compare to the way that Carmody's forever racing thoughts slow down when Tristan is near. No one else could make Tristan feel as seen, as appreciated, as heard as Carmody does. "I'm only me when I'm with you." "You complete me."

I want romance. I want laughter. I want the 3am love making. I want consistency. I want loyalty. I want the random looks of admiration. I want to know you're just for me. I want date nights and flowers. I want truth. I want priority. I want love that's pure and calming.

[dix0nspretty]

Ours

Summary: Your boyfriends get jealous when the soldiers on base get overzealous and prove who you belong to.

Task Force 141 x GN!Reader, 1.3k words.

Era: MW2-ish

TW: Polyamory, jealousy, marking (hickeys), the 141 being grumbly assholes. Unwanted advances (not 141), Ghost being ghostly. AFAB genitalia.

Can you believe it's only one more week of TCoD? I don't want to let her go :((

Day 25 of my bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt. This first whump prompt!

Day 25: Hickeys with the 141 (kink)

It goes without saying that any good thing a 141 member manages to get their hands on is shared between the four men. Price’s fancy bottle of bourbon is split with Simon first before the Sergeants are allowed their tastes. Despite Soap’s bitching and moaning about all of his food being eaten, he’ll always bring enough leftovers from home to feed his lovers.

Ghost shares his cigarettes and his bed, glimpses of the face under the mask and the gentleness he tries to smother into nothing. Gaz frets after his teammates like a mother hen- using every bandage and suture in his kit before he even thinks of patching himself up.

So when you make your way onto the team, it’s a matter of who got to you first. If Gaz would charm you with his perfect white teeth and admirable loyalty. Maybe Johnny with incessant flirting or his infectious rambunctiousness. Or maybe you were a little cracked, with a sex drive driven by a need for praise and an insatiable daddy kink only Price could fix.

No one expected you to latch onto Simon first- the person least happy to have you joining the team and interrupting the perfectly balanced polycule. These are his lovers, his group that he reluctantly let into his scarred, traumatized heart and gave access to the most vulnerable parts of him. Then you show up and throw a wrench in everything.

Debriefs lose their touch of intimacy, meals feel almost formal again. There’s not as much touching and contact because no one knows how to introduce the very-against-regulations romantic situation that you aren’t a part of yet. Simon didn’t want you or the change in routine you brought along. Losing his frequency of physical contact that he only just got back after decades nearly killed him.

He wants his Johnny, his Gaz and his Cap, but you’re fucking everywhere, looking at him with those big eyes and the slightest pout on your pink lips that he can’t decide whether he wants to slap or kiss you.

The latter eventually happens, tensions boiling over during a late-night training exercise until it’s all teeth and tongue and spit. You’re not trusted enough to catch more than the smallest glimpse of his mouth, the balaclava rolled up to sit right above his eyes and a flash of pale skin before spit and sloppy kisses turn to rough thrusts into the gym mat and scraping bites to your throat, intent on leaving a claim.

When you stumble into the 141 wing over an hour later than normal, limping and covered in blossoming hickeys with the worst sex hair known to man as you trail after Ghost like a dazed puppy, that’s all the rest of the team needs to know.

You’re theirs and they’re yours, even if it takes you a while to catch on. Soap shoves his tongue down Ghost’s face right in front of you just to watch you bristle, but the second your eyes turn wet with hurt and confusion about how the Lieutenant you’re screwing is kissing someone else, they’re falling over themselves to explain the situation to you. They can’t have their newest love crying, after all.

Once things are explained and your tears soothed, you melt into the polycule and everything finally feels right. The four-person relationship felt perfect before you, but now it feels complete. Like there was a piece missing they were unaware of until the space was suddenly filled. Now they share everything with you, too.

Slowly, you start gaining attention from men on the base. Your lovers can hardly blame them- you’re fucking stunning with the perfect body, the brightest smile, the kindest heart they’ve ever seen. Who wouldn’t look at you as if you’re the sun when you shine as bright as one?

But then one of the soldiers becomes overzealous, corners you in the weapons locker while you’re cleaning guns and gets handsy. All it takes is Price seeing how flustered and nervous you are when you crash into his chest to know something happened. You’re avoiding his eyes the way you did before you knew him as a lover, how you always show submission to a superior.

That won’t do.

“Come on, pet,” John’s task is forgotten immediately, his arm winding around your waist to tug you into his side as he walks you to Soap’s quarters- he knows for a fact the Sergeants are in there, having heard the noises as he passed earlier. He would’ve stopped but he had work to do… except now you’re flustered and quiet and something needs to be done about it. He knows without checking the security footage that one of the many Sergeants and Privates that have had their eyes on you finally crossed the line. “Let’s go see your boys, hm?”

He doesn’t bother knocking when he gets to Soap’s quarters, instead opening the door and ushering you in even as Gaz and Soap startle. The two Sergeants are scrambling to cover naked flesh before they realize it’s just you and John and settle. “Steamin’ Jesus Cap, give a warning next time. Gaz was going tae…”

Soap trails off, brows furrowing unhappily when he sees the way you’re acting. Like a shy little kitten, avoiding eye contact and picking at your shirt. “What’s wrong, bon?”

“One of the men got too close,” Price speaks for you. Your head snaps up, startled that he knew considering you didn’t say a word about it, but he continues with nothing more than a kiss to your hair. “About time we let base know the pet’s taken.”

“C’mere, love.”

Gaz emerges from the sheets, pretty cock bobbing as he steps close and wraps you in his arms to press kiss after kiss to your face. He leads you slowly to the bed, leaving Price behind to undress as he kisses your brow, your nose, cheekbone, chin.

Soap gently eases you into the sweat-dampened sheets as Gaz’s mouth latches onto your throat, suckling a mark onto the skin and drawing a quiet whine of pleasure into the air. “There’s my love. Sweet as always.”

Gentle hands undo your clothes, slowly stripping you until you’re just as bare as the others. The bed dips when Price crawls in. You don’t notice how he leaves the door unlocked, undoubtedly for the ghostly Lieutenant to slip in when he deems it time. You’ve never been quiet when melting under their touches.

It's hard to tell who’s where, three sets of hands working through hair and caressing over soft skin, a calloused finger swiping through your arousal to make you whimper. Someone shushes you before ever so gently feeding your weeping cunt two fingers, curling unhurriedly and caressing that perfect spot. No matter what’s being touched, two mouths are coating you in marks that’ll undoubtedly bruise onto every inch of skin.

You mewl at the first nip of teeth against that sensitive spot on your pulse point and your first orgasm unravels so softly it’s nearly soothing even in its intensity.

No one hears Simon approach except for Price, greeting him with a murmured “There you are…” from where he’s busy leaving beard burn between your thighs, eating you out as you cum on his tongue repeatedly. John’s always been a munch.

Simon smells like blood, but you know better than to ask. Someone messed with a 141 member, so he acted according to his own ethics.

“Not enough hickeys,” He critiques in the soft tone reserved only for the people in this room, nipping at your bottom lip in a rough but not unloving manner. “That won’t do.”

By the time your lovers finally let up, you can’t remember your own name or the year, much less the irrelevant Private healing in medbay for daring to touch 141 property. “You’re ours…” Price whispers as you all doze together in the bed, sated and spent to the ends of your reserves.

[lady-luckk]

love twisted into madness

# pairings: yandere concubine harem x reader

# synopsis: you’re the unwilling ruler of a country with obsessive concubines who are trying to kill each other.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession, possessiveness, drugging, and murder. if you are uncomfortable please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: this is a rewrite of my previous yandere concubine harem from my old blog, @screeching-bunny. reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

they called you mad. insane, even. but you didn’t care. insanity was a refuge, a safe place in a world so deeply fractured. you hated your life with a burning passion, a disgust for the bloodline that bound you to a throne you never asked for. the family that birthed you, each one more power-hungry than the last, seemed like a curse. if given the chance, you would’ve chosen to be born to a pauper, far away from the twisted games of royalty.

but fate had no mercy.

once, you were nothing more than an afterthought, a shadow, the last person anyone would have expected to rule. the line to the throne stretched out ahead of you, and you were nowhere near it. but then the scheming mothers and the poisoning, the subtle betrayals and the bloody coups… one by one, your half-siblings, your full siblings—gone, each one murdered to clear the path. and just like that, the unwanted heir became the sole ruler.

you remember the day the crown was placed upon your head like it was yesterday. the moment the weight of it settled on your skull, the vultures swarmed. smiling, whispering, each noble hoping for a taste of your favor. you despised them all. they were like flies, buzzing around you, pretending to admire you while secretly planning to feast on your downfall. even your closest childhood friends, the ones you had trusted without question, turned on you. you couldn’t believe your eyes when your best friend, the one who had sworn loyalty to you, kneeled at your feet and asked for your love. then came another. and another. the shameless petitions for courtship were endless, their hunger unbearable.

love? what even was that? you had never known it. your mother had been slaughtered when you were young, and your father had always been a distant, cold figure. the only love you had ever felt was the strange, suffocating devotion of those who wanted to possess you, to claim you as their prize. people were a nuisance to you, nothing more than obstacles in your path. you’d long ago retreated into your own mind, where no one could hurt you, where the expectations of others didn’t matter. but that world, your sanctuary, was slipping away, one manipulative touch at a time.

when you turned twenty, your father, ever the schemer, presented your first concubine—a princess from a neighboring country. she was clingy, obsessive, a tiny spark in a world of insanity. she watched your every move, her eyes glued to you like a hawk, and whenever your gaze shifted, a storm brewed in her. her jealousy simmered beneath the surface, and with each new concubine, it grew worse.

your harem was a battlefield of madness, a twisted circus of egos and power plays. each day, one of your concubines would try to outdo the others—some showing off their skills, others pushing for attention in the most devious ways. the jealousy was sickening, feeding into a cycle of betrayal, lies, and violence. assassination attempts weren’t a rare occurrence; they were an expectation. each poisoned drink, each knife in the dark, was just another step in a game you never wanted to play.

you couldn’t escape them, not even for a moment. the madness of your harem was unrelenting. you could feel their eyes on you constantly, watching, waiting for their chance. every night was a war for your affection, a contest to see who would be the most adored, the most loved. the prize? a night in your bed. and as the days passed, their obsession grew darker, their need more desperate.

"your majesty, you’re the sun to my dark sky," they would whisper, their voices sickly sweet, desperate. "let me be your first spouse, your most cherished."

the words were the same, day after day, night after night. the promises of eternal loyalty, of adoration, of power. and you, trapped in a world where affection was a commodity, were left with no choice but to indulge them. it was a game, a power play that you didn’t want to be a part of, but you were the one they wanted. you were the crown, the prize, and they would destroy anything or anyone who stood between them and that title.

your chambers were no sanctuary. every time you entered, you could feel the undercurrent of madness. a concubine would always be there, waiting for you, dressed in provocative clothing, eyes filled with a strange hunger. they would make their move, their voices trembling with longing.

"please, your majesty," they would beg, their breath hot against your skin. "i need you. won’t you be mine tonight?"

but there was something more terrifying in their eyes, something darker. their love wasn’t just love—it was obsession. an obsession that twisted them, made them forget what was real, and pushed them to do things that were unspeakable. it was suffocating, it was frightening, and worst of all—it never stopped.

your harem was a breeding ground for monsters. not just the scheming foxes and the conniving lotuses, but the crazed, broken individuals who had lost all sense of reason. they would cry for your attention, manipulate your emotions, and twist their reality to get you to notice them. and the worst part? they knew how to play the game better than you ever could. each tear was a weapon, each sob a carefully crafted plea for power.

but you were not without your own tricks. you learned the game quickly—how to play with them, how to break their spirits before they could break yours. and every time one of them would try to manipulate you, you would feign sympathy, guiding them to your chambers, watching as they thought they’d won. but you knew the truth: they were all pawns, each one playing into your hands without realizing it.

as you led the newest concubine to your bed, her eyes glistening with hope and love, you could feel the fury of the others behind you. a smirk tugged at your lips as you heard their thoughts burning through the air.

"i’m going to make her regret this… i’ll make her suffer."

and so, the madness continued. each day, each night, a new battle, a new war for control. and you, the unwilling queen, stood at the center of it all, watching the chaos unfold with a cold, detached smile.

as the days bled into one another, your mind began to fracture under the weight of it all. the constant flurry of false affection, the endless manipulation, the dark undercurrents of obsession—everything blurred into a maddening fog. you had learned to expect the chaos, to accept that your life was one long, twisted game. but even now, they still found ways to surprise you.

you awoke every morning to the oppressive sound of whispers, the shuffle of feet, the flutter of silk against marble floors. your concubines, the ones you had chosen to stay, would surround you like shadowy figures, each one vying for attention, for a moment of your time, of your affection. and though you had learned to tune them out, to shut down the noise, it was a constant bombardment, a storm that never relented.

one evening, as you prepared for your nightly routine—slipping into the silk robes that once felt like a symbol of power but now merely served as another prison—you felt something new, something unsettling. the air was thick with a strange tension, an undercurrent of unspoken rivalry that seemed to be growing. at first, you tried to ignore it. another day, another ridiculous attempt to win your favor. but tonight, there was something different.

a new concubine, a girl so fresh and untouched by the games, had been added to your harem just days ago. she was beautiful, yes, but there was something off about her. her eyes—too calculating, too sharp—gave away more than she intended. at first, you had brushed it off as naivety, the innocence of someone still unfamiliar with the madness that consumed this place. but now, something in her gaze told you that she wasn’t as ignorant as the others.

you had given her a chance, of course. you always did, to see how they would behave, how far they would go to earn your favor. and tonight, she was ready to make her move.

you had just finished dressing, your fingers brushing against the cold metal of your crown, a crown that now felt more like a curse than a symbol of power. you turned to find her standing at the entrance of your chambers, her posture immaculate, her hands folded demurely in front of her. the soft glow of candlelight danced across her delicate features, casting shadows that seemed to distort her expression.

"your majesty," she whispered, her voice sweet but with an undertone of something far darker. "i need to speak with you. it’s important."

there was a brief flicker of something in her eyes—a glimmer of certainty, a challenge, perhaps. your gaze narrowed, but you motioned for her to come closer. the others were watching from the shadows, as they always did, but this time, you didn’t care. you were tired of the games, tired of pretending that this wasn’t the reality you had to face every day.

she stepped forward, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor, each step deliberate, calculated. when she reached you, she knelt—something you hadn’t expected. most of them, even after all these years, still tried to assert their superiority, to play the role of the dutiful concubine. but not her. she was different.

"your majesty," she began, her eyes never leaving yours, "i would die for you. but i have a question."

you raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but gave no response. you knew that any movement could give her more power, more ground to stand on, so you remained still, letting her feel the weight of your silence. it was a game you had perfected long ago—let them speak, let them reveal their desires, their fears. and then, you would tear them apart with a single word.

"what would you do," she asked, her voice trembling now, just slightly, "if i told you that the one who truly controls you… is me?"

the words hit you like a thunderclap. at first, you thought it was a joke, some petty game she was playing to test her limits, to see how far she could push. but the look in her eyes was dead serious. she wasn’t playing. she wasn’t afraid of you. she was looking right into the abyss, daring you to blink. then it hit you. you had consumed an aphrodisiac.

you took a step forward, your pulse quickening. the room seemed to close in on you, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. you could hear the others shifting outside, the sound of their breathing rising in the stillness of the night. your body felt like it was on fire. but you didn’t care.

this wasn’t about them. this wasn’t about the power struggles that had consumed your life for so long. this was about her. this was about the fact that she had just declared war without even realizing it.

for the first time in years, you felt a stir of something in your chest. it wasn’t love—god, no. but it was something else. something darker. something that recognized the challenge for what it was.

you leaned down, your lips brushing her ear as you whispered, "try me."

her breath hitched, but she held her ground. she was daring you. she was throwing down the gauntlet, expecting you to crumble, to prove her right. but you wouldn’t. no. you had been molded by this life of manipulation, betrayal, and blood. you had been raised on a diet of lies, and now, you were the one who made them.

as you pulled away, you locked eyes with her, a wicked smile curving your lips. "you think you control me?" you said softly, letting the words sink in. "you’re just another pawn in this game. and if you think for one second you can win… well, let’s see how long you last."

she stiffened at the threat, but she didn’t back down. there was something maddeningly beautiful about her defiance. and that, you realized, was the problem. she wasn’t like the others. she was the spark that could set everything ablaze.

and yet, there was a part of you that admired it. she was a mirror to your madness, a reflection of your own broken mind. she wasn’t afraid to burn everything down, to turn the world upside down.

but what she didn’t understand was that the game wasn’t just about power. it was about survival. and in this palace, there could only be one survivor.

you guided her to your bedchamber, her hand trembling with excitement slightly in yours. but as you crossed the threshold, the game began. you could hear the others following you, footsteps growing louder, the silent battle already starting. you could feel the fury and the desire building, the relentless drive to claim what was yours.

as you turned to face her, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, you realized one thing: this would be the last time you let someone else think they had control. you would own this game, and anyone who thought they could take that from you would be burned in the flames of their own ambition.

you were the king of this madness. and in the end, they would all bow to you, or they would burn.

among the many concubines, there was one who stood out—not for his looks or his talents, but for his unnerving obsession with you. zhang wei, a general’s son from a distant province, had initially seemed like just another handsome face vying for your favor. but over time, something darker began to reveal itself beneath his polished exterior. he didn’t chase you like the others, with desperate displays of affection or teary eyes. no, his devotion was quiet, almost suffocating in its intensity.

zhang wei would watch you from the corners of rooms, his gaze never wavering, never blinking. he’d smile when you spoke to him, but it wasn’t a smile born of genuine warmth—it was something colder, something more dangerous. his words were always careful, calculated, as if he were speaking to a deity, not a mere mortal. every conversation felt like a subtle attempt to claim you, his eyes gleaming with an obsession that went far beyond admiration. and the longer you ignored him, the more intense that obsession became.

one evening, long after the others had retreated to their chambers, zhang wei stayed behind, his posture stiff with a quiet desperation that made your skin crawl. he approached you slowly, eyes wide, almost reverent, but the hunger beneath the surface was unmistakable. when he spoke, his voice shook with a mixture of longing and madness.

"your majesty," he said, his words nearly a whisper, as though confessing a secret. "i have waited so long, watched from the shadows, and now… i cannot stand it any longer. i would do anything for you, my love. let me be your first husband. i will prove my loyalty, my devotion. i would die for you."

his voice wavered with desperation, as though his very survival depended on your acceptance. it wasn’t love, not in the way most would understand. it was a twisted devotion, a need to possess you, to claim you as his, to make you his entire world.

the more you rejected him, the deeper his obsession grew. zhang wei followed you everywhere—his eyes constantly on you, his voice whispering in the hallways. it didn’t matter what you did to distance yourself; he was there, waiting, always lingering just out of sight. every time you turned a corner, you could feel his presence, his eyes on your back, never faltering.

"your majesty," he would say, his voice soft but urgent, "you are everything to me. no one else matters. no one but you."

his devotion was not a simple desire to be loved—it was a suffocating obsession, one that threatened to swallow you whole. you could insult him, ignore him, even tell him to leave, but it never mattered. zhang wei would still look at you with those maddeningly adoring eyes, his love unshaken, unwavering.

the others in your harem noticed, of course. they saw the way zhang wei hovered near you, his possessive gaze never leaving your side, and they whispered in corners. his presence was unsettling to them, but they knew better than to challenge him directly. his obsession had become so profound that he no longer sought your affection. he sought only to be near you, to breathe the same air, to be the one closest to you, even if you never returned his feelings.

he was no longer a mere concubine. zhang wei was something far worse. he was a predator, driven by a singular, dangerous desire: to make you his, at any cost. and no matter how much you pushed him away, no matter how many times you rejected his advances, you could feel his grip tightening, his obsession growing darker with each passing day. there was no escaping zhang wei. and the thought of what he might do next—should you finally push him too far—left a cold, unsettling shiver running down your spine.

zhang wei’s obsession with you went beyond his twisted devotion to you. as his fixation deepened, so too did his sense of entitlement. he began to view every other concubine not as rivals, but as obstacles standing in the way of what he believed was rightfully his: your undivided attention, your affection, your love. he didn’t just want you; he needed to eliminate anyone who dared to take even a fraction of what he desired.

it started subtly at first. zhang wei would approach his rivals with a false politeness, his smile sharp, his words dripping with honeyed charm. he would compliment them, flatter them, even offer gifts—tokens of his ‘respect.’ but there was always something in his eyes, something dark lurking beneath that calm exterior, that made every exchange feel like a thinly veiled threat. the others, blissfully unaware at first, accepted his advances, thinking they could win his favor with kindness. they didn’t know that with each word, each token of ‘affection,’ zhang wei was marking them as targets in his twisted game.

one of the first to fall was mei-ling, a young princess known for her beauty and her melodic voice. zhang wei, in one of his more insidious moments, invited her to his private quarters under the guise of a ‘friendly conversation.’ he made her feel special, important—like she was the only one who truly mattered in his world. he listened to her sing, praised her endlessly, and made her believe that she was the one he desired above all else. but when she least expected it, he cornered her, locking the door behind them. his tone shifted, became harsh, and he told her that she would never win his or your favor.

"you’re just a pretty face, mei-ling. but that's all you’ll ever be." his grip tightened on her wrist as he whispered, "if you ever think you could take my place, you’re mistaken."

the next day, mei-ling fell ill—deathly ill. the court physicians couldn’t find any explanation, and her voice, once so sweet and full of life, was silenced forever. it was a slow, agonizing process. by the time anyone realized what had happened, it was far too late. zhang wei’s smile remained ever-present as he continued to express sorrow for her passing, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. mei-ling had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

but the elimination of mei-ling was only the beginning.

lian was next, a fiery and bold concubine who had dared to openly challenge zhang wei's claim on your attention. lian had never been one to back down, and unlike the others, she didn’t fear confrontation. but that was precisely what made her dangerous to him. one evening, in the middle of a gathering, zhang wei calmly approached her, his eyes betraying nothing of his inner rage.

"don’t you understand, lian?" he asked, voice low but full of an unnerving calm. "do you really think you can win our majesty’s affection? you’re nothing more than a distraction to them, a fleeting thing. i’m the one who will stand beside him. i’m the one who will be at their side forever."

lian, always quick with a sharp tongue, didn’t back down. she laughed, dismissing him as a fool. that night, zhang wei followed her back to her chambers, knowing she would be alone. what happened there was a mystery—no one truly knew what transpired behind those doors, but when lian was found the next morning, her throat had been slit cleanly. the bloodstains on her sheets painted a chilling picture. her body had been posed, her eyes wide with fear, and the note beside her read: “you were never meant to win.”

the harem grew uneasy, whispers spreading like wildfire. but none of them dared speak openly of what they suspected. zhang wei had become a silent terror, a looming presence that only tightened his grip the more you pushed him away. his love for you had mutated into something sickening—no longer about desire, but about possession. he wasn’t just fighting for your affection; he was fighting to destroy anyone who stood between him and his claim over you. the harem had become a twisted reflection of the palace itself—a gilded cage, beautiful and suffocating, where the concubines were both trophies and pawns. each one of them, whether driven by love, ambition, or survival, wore a mask of devotion, but beneath it, desperation simmered. there were the ones who had learned to play the game—silent, calculating, waiting for their moment to strike or be struck down. the others were the broken ones, their eyes hollow from endless manipulation, their spirits crushed beneath the weight of constant competition and violence. in this toxic arena, loyalty was a currency that could be bought and sold, but trust was a concept that had long since been abandoned.

every whisper, every glance, every touch was laced with suspicion and jealousy. some sought power, others affection, but all were bound by the same ruthless need to survive. and then there were those who, like zhang wei, had descended into madness, their love twisted into obsession, their hearts warped by a desire to control, to own. none of them were truly free, not in this place, not while you, the center of their world, remained unreachable, a god they could never fully possess. the harem, a symbol of wealth and power, had become their prison, and each day was a fight for dominance, a battle where only the strongest would remain.

[yuliciagaming]

there is something from echoes that haunts me. and its this

The Conductor claims, had Osiris not created the Sundial, had I remained forgotten, Sagira would live still.

that. i’m tapping the microphone. that was the beautiful recontextualisation of why saint was acting like he was, why he and osiris couldn’t simply talk through it. saint was not just questioning his existence but weighing the worth of his own life against not only sagira’s life, but osiris’s immortality, his strength, and in a way his joy. if that was true and sagira could have lived does that not then make saint the cause of osiris’s suffering under savathûn? of everyones? is he also responsible for the subsequent months osiris lost to a coma? to the outside observer, obviously not. but i think about this from season of the haunted:

saint was already blaming himself for that. maya’s suggestion was already in his head, she just needed to bring it up.

and there’s this from season of the hunt, too:

saint’s existence, to him, has always been a quiet source of guilt. what makes him any more worthy of cheating death than anyone else? what could his life have cost? in maya he had a confirmation that his life cost something, whether it was actually true or not. that he was led to believe he had caused the person he cares about the most to suffer a loss so personal, and one saint was personally incredibly aware of the fallout of… man. of course he withdrew. especially when more and more evidence pilled up that there was something wrong about him. and how could he possibly explain to osiris any of it, when the root of it was something that would just open old wounds?

saint’s emotions—his loyalty, his love—are truly both his greatest strengths and his greatest weaknesses. i love it.

[littelovelunette]

Fuck it

what are some of YOUR favorite HCs for our ladies? Any subjects, just things you haven't been able to bring up or talk about through requests

I wanna hear your thoughts :3c

~💜

Oh my gosh, finally someone wants to hear me outttt, you're the sweetest, anon 💜, thank youuu

Headcanons (Ft. Sevika, Ambessa Medarda, Violet, Jinx)

Author's Choice

Sevika

Multilingual through and through but sometimes a little bit of this language slips in through a little bit of that language because there's just so much in her vocabulary that she can't get across by using one singular language (Am I projecting? Yes.)

Sensitive to South Asian stereotypes and butch lesbian stereotypes

Likely to beat someone up over it

Grew up in a mysoginistic society which made her feel that she was somehow below men in the past but she doesn't let that affect her now

Considers dyeing her hair because she's insecure of the gray

In her past relationships, her ex girlfriends always made her feel like she needed to wear the pants in the relationship, so she never really was the one being spoiled, spooned or even simply headpatted

Loves being able to show even the slightest bit of feminity when she can with you, but it's rare because she's so insecure of it

If you bring it up, she'll say "Ridiculous," with a scoff and a head shake

Immensely insecure ever since she lost her arm and struggles with body image issues. Please reassure her

Has anger issues and breaks things when she's angry

She's just a kitten when she's angry so hold her close and hug her. Tell her it's okay and coo praises to her

No matter what I've seen other authors say, I think Sevika does get sort of abusive when she's angry, but she doesn't hit you of course. Instead, she slams and breaks things in the house

Ambessa Medarda

Brings you expensive gifts just because she can

When you sleep next to her, Ambessa hums a song and you can't help wonder of her melodious voice, and that she should sing more

Makes honey tea for you with her own hands and goodness does it taste like heaven, she tastes better though

Kneels down and does your straps for you even if her ego is so high, she loves kneeling before you in front of people to flash the dynamic of your relationship with her

Likely to propose only if you share the same loyalty for family as her

Eye contact means everything to this woman whether it's a normal setting, intimate setting or simply sex— look into her golden eyes and whisper "I love you"s

Would figuratively die out of concern if you ever got hurt in any way possible, wouldn't let you out of the Medarda Estate in fear you'll get hurt again. It may take a while for her trust in the world to build again, but she's not all that controlling

Shockingly lets you wear whatever you want to wear when outside but don't expect her to coddle you and take her time stripping you form those clothes. She is feral, she'll tear them off

Her love language is providing all sorts of protection that you need from whoever even if it may be the most dangerous person on the planet, you're safe with Ambessa

Vows to keep you safe whenever you fall asleep, mumbling them to herself as a constant reminder that whatever happens, her loyalty was to you and her family

Her kisses are surprisingly warm, gentle and calculated. She doesn't want to rush, and takes her sweet time. Sometimes it's barely tongue, and she just enjoys the feeling of your sweet lips against hers

Violet

Although she claims she doesn't care for your commands, if you told her to sit she'll sit

Favorite part of your body is your boobs no matter if they're big/small. She'll bury her face in them and even use them as stress balls. Nothing lewd really, she just likes sniffing them. What a pervert but come on, it's Vi

Loves interlacing her fingers with yours, rubbing the top of your hand with the pad of her thumb

Always carries sanitary pads/tampons for you to be your saviour at times of crisis

Can't stand your pout or your tears. Crocodile tears or not, Vi is buying you whatever you want or beating someone up over something that you want. She can't stand seeing her princess all pouty

"You're not scared of me, are you?" Vi's sometimes afraid what impression she gives off to you

Worried because you may be exposed to Shimmer. She doesn't care what the living conditions are, but she doesn't want you to get addicted to any sort of substance that can cause your life to go downhill

Stares at you so much you're sometimes worried whether she's even listening to what you have to say, or when you're just casually conversing she's staring at you as if you've grown two heads.

In reality, Vi takes one long look at you, one that could battle a stare contest, and decides you're too good for her. But she'll never say that out loud in fear you're gonna leave her

Scared she's gonna lose her shit and hit you when she's angry because poor baby has anger issues

Very much capable of confidently arguing with a child and losing

Jinx

Has anxious attachment issues with you, she knows it and you know it. But you both silently acknowledge that

Perfect dates mean bombing and terrorising Pilties with her... Or, you both could decide on a sugar marathon. Whichever you prefer

Her love language is putting effort into remembering the things that you like, often stealing the best of it from Piltover. Jinx makes you your favourite weapons in your favourite colour, with little scribbles that say you belong to her

Blushes when you hug her and she awkwardly returns it back but when she gets comfortable she can't stop hugging you

If you ever left her, she'd actually lose her shit, she's way too attached with you

Overthinks the whole love confession thing before you both dated and she lit your yard on fire with the words "I LOVE YOU"

Cried in your arms after Caitlyn shot her middle finger off. She was so upset, you almost gutted the woman for doing that to your baby

Sometimes she loses her shit, hallucinates and you wake up tied to her chair, her knife poking at your heart. "Love me. Love me. Love me." She repeats, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying. Jinx calms down eventually, unties you and asks you if she scared you. You always tell her no and give her headpats

Jinx is way too scared of relying on anyone emotionally and you can tell. You don't force her to trust you immediately but it is a slow process, she slowly starts to open up more

Swings her legs back and forth from the edge of the bed while you do her hair. Your arm workout is doing her hair

You motivate her to actually take care of herself, eat properly and shower. But you have to do it all with her

Surprisingly can pick you up

[rainydayathogwarts]

Mrs. Malfoy Riddle - Mattheo Riddle

summary: mattheo doesn't care that you're betrothed to his best friend, especially not when you're so in love. so he guarantees one last night before you're officially his. wc: 1k+ cw: smut, public sex (on private property), fingering, kind of cheating (r! is arranged to marry draco)

Ever since you were a young girl, you knew how likely it was that you’d end up marrying Draco Malfoy. Your families had pushed you together, ensuring a close-knit friendship between you, so that when the day came for them to reveal the news of your engagement, you wouldn’t put up a fight. But ever since Mattheo Riddle whizzed into your life, you knew he was the love of your life.

It was risky, yes. The gazebo wasn’t far off on the estate to the manor, but he was irresistible, and in that moment, the only thing that mattered was Mattheo’s lips against yours, his hand softly placed on your chin to keep your lips slightly parted, tongue dipping in and out of your mouth as he kissed you.

Your legs were strewn over Mattheo’s laps where you both sat on the gazebo’s cold stone bench, but the summer’s chilly wind was shielded by Mattheo’s kiss, sending warmth through your veins. You tightly gripped Mattheo’s collar, tugging him as close to you as possible as he ran one hand up and down your thigh, the other one travelling to hold your left hand, pulling it away from his collar to intertwine your fingers together. Mattheo groaned into your mouth, tongue aggressively pushing past your lips to glide against yours, assertively claiming control of the kiss as his fingers brushed against the cold ring on your finger.

The rich metal banding your finger had a big diamond placed atop it, tying your loyalty to the Malfoy boy whose best friend had stolen your heart. Mattheo broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips together. He looked down to where you held hands, pulling his hand away from yours to trace the expensive ring on your finger. You saw Mattheo’s eyebrows furrow, his lips pulling into a frown. You moved a hand to cup his cheek but Mattheo had already averted his attention from the ring, placing possessive kisses on your neck, biting just softly enough that it wouldn’t leave marks.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell my father I want to marry you.” He started in between kisses, snaking your fingers together once more. “And you’ll be mine.” You gasped as he started sucking on a spot on your neck, eyes widening as you realised he was intending on leaving bruising hickeys on your skin. “Mattheo, you can’t-” “Draco will be out of your way before he gets to realise I’ve made my mark on you.” Your thighs unconsciously clenched together at his words and a moan broke past your parted lips. Mattheo smiled slightly, finally connecting your lips in a kiss as his hand trailed under the skirt of your dress, with no intent of stopping as he reached the hem of your panties.

“Come on, one last orgasm before you’re officially mine.” And just as you were about to object, questioning your location, he started toying with your clit, immediately extracting a high-pitched moan from you. Mattheo kissed you deeply, swallowing all your cries of pleasure as he gathered your wetness, bringing two fingers to your entrance so he could slide them inside you. You gasped, mumbling your lover’s name as he swung a leg over the other side of the bench, manoeuvring you so your back rested against his chest.

Mattheo curved his fingers into you, pulling one of your legs to the side to spread them wider, giving him easier access to plunge his digits inside you. You arched your back against Mattheo’s chest, and the boy cursed loudly when your sounds dispersed into the air. He quickly moved his free hand over your mouth, glancing around the gazebo to make sure there was no one nearby.

Mattheo heard the muffled cry of his name and he shushed you softly, muttering words of praise in your ear before beginning to press kisses wherever he could reach. He looked at you questioningly as you took hold of Mattheo’s hand over your mouth, moving his hand around so you could take two of his fingers in your mouth, immediately beginning to suck on them. Mattheo groaned as your tongue ran over his digits, the feeling going straight to his cock.

He pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth, causing tears to gather in your eyes as he continued thrusting into you, palm pressing against your clit ever time his hand thrusted closer to your cunt. Mattheo grinned as your moans vibrated against his fingers, feeling you grind down on his hands as you chased your orgasm. Mattheo curled his fingers softly, chuckling softly when you threw your head back on his shoulder, thighs clamping together as you finally came all over his fingers. Mattheo pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth as your moans grew louder, gagging you slightly before he pulled his fingers out of your cunt. You grabbed his second wrist, pushing his fingers out of your mouth and turning around on the bench just in time to see him put his cum-coated fingers into his mouth, sucking on them while keeping his eyes trained on you.

Mattheo was quick to have his hands on you again, pulling you closer to him to slam his lips against yours. You moaned softly, snaking your fingers into Mattheo’s dark curls before pulling away softly.

“Go to bed sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Riddle.”

Your cheeks flushed at Mattheo’s use of his last name, and you stood on shaky legs before making your way back into the manor. You shot one last look at the gazebo, watching closely as Mattheo waved at you before apparating away.

The next day, you were woken up by your mother, who was demanding the Malfoys’ engagement ring back. “The Dark Lord has demanded you marry his son. You're no longer getting married to Draco Malfoy, but to Mattheo Riddle. You’ll be meeting him and his family tonight, start getting ready.” And as she walked away, you did something you never thought would happen: you held both your hands in front of your chest and shut your eyes, thanking Tom Riddle for the happiness he would bring upon you.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl,, @juliet-017, @boromoony

[duskidolsmut]

The Dark Symphony of Success

Tags: submission, corruption, power, domination, control, fetish, pleasure, scandal, violation, manipulation, prostitution, desire, gangbang, mouth fucking, dp, anal

W: 3.562

It all started months ago, when Hanni discovered that their agency was facing financial problems due to an internal scandal involving one of its executives. To protect the group and ensure that NewJeans would not be affected, she made a secret deal with a group of powerful investors who were funding the agency. The deal, however, was not just about money—they demanded something more personal. Inspired by dark fetishes of control and pleasure, the investors proposed a private “entertainment system” where Hanni would be the “star” in monthly meetings, submitting to their desires in exchange for financial support. 

Hanni, initially reluctant, eventually gave in, not only because of the pressure, but because she discovered that the adrenaline and forbidden pleasure excited her in ways she never imagined. She convinced Haerin, her closest colleague and confidant, to join her, arguing that together they could deal with the situation and protect the future of the group. Haerin, though younger and shy, agreed, driven by a mixture of loyalty to Hanni and a repressed curiosity about her own desires. Thus, the two began to participate in these meetings, transforming themselves from impeccable idols into submissives willing to do anything to satisfy the men who controlled them. 

That night, the meeting was scheduled at a secluded mansion on the outskirts of Seoul, a place that investors used for their "private events." Hanni and Haerin arrived together, dressed in outfits that had been chosen for them: Hanni wore a red, body-hugging dress with a neckline that highlighted her small but firm breasts, and Haerin wore a black skirt and top set that showed off her slim waist and long legs. Both knew that they would not be wearing these clothes for long. 

The main hall of the mansion was spacious, with dark walls, a black leather sofa in the center, and soft lighting that created an atmosphere of mystery. Five men were waiting for them—all investors from the agency, in their 30s and 40s, dressed in expensive suits but with hungry eyes that belied their elegant appearance. There was Kang, the leader of the group, a 42-year-old man with an authoritative air; Park, a younger investor of 35 with a sadistic smile; Lee, 38, a control freak; Choi, 40, who loved to humiliate; and Min, 37, the quietest, but with a look that promised intensity. 

Hanni and Haerin walked in hand in hand, their hearts racing as they felt the men’s eyes on them. “Good evening, gentlemen,” Hanni said, her voice firm but with a hint of rehearsed submission, while Haerin remained silent, her eyes lowered, the nervousness evident in her posture. Kang stood, adjusting his suit as he stared at them. “You know why you’re here,” he said, his voice deep. “From now on, you’re ours. Take off those clothes and show us what you came to offer.” 

Hanni exchanged a quick glance with Haerin, giving her hand a light squeeze to reassure her. “Let’s do this together, like always,” she whispered, before letting go of her hand and starting to unbutton her red dress. Haerin, taking a deep breath, followed suit, taking off her top and skirt with hesitant movements, revealing the black lingerie she wore underneath. The men murmured in approval, their eyes shining with desire as the two idols undressed, the tension in the air growing by the second. 

Hanni and Haerin now stood naked in the center of the mansion’s hall, except for the black lingerie that still covered Haerin, the air thick with tension as the five men—Kang, Park, Lee, Choi, and Min—watched them with hungry eyes. Hanni, who had already taken a few shots of whiskey that she found on a side table, felt the alcohol warm her body, loosening her tongue even more and revealing her slutty side. "Fuck, look at these guys, Haerin, they're dying to fuck us!" she exclaimed, laughing out loud, her voice a little slurred as she tossed her hair back, her eyes shining with lust and amusement. 

Haerin, more shy and nervous, just nodded, her hands shaking as she tried to prepare herself for what was to come. Hanni noticed her colleague's hesitation and decided to take the reins, wanting Haerin to have as much fun as she did. "Relax, you little kitten, unnie will help you enjoy this," Hanni said, her voice full of mischief as she grabbed Haerin by the shoulders and made her kneel on the polished wooden floor. "On your knees, let's start right, damn it!" she ordered, laughing as she gave Haerin a light slap on the ass, the sound echoing in the room.

The men, who had already taken off their suits and opened their pants, approached, forming a tight circle around Haerin. Kang was the first to reveal his cock, a thick, throbbing member that made Haerin's eyes widen. "Look at this, girl, you're going to suck it all," he said, his voice deep as he held it and rubbed it against her face. Park, Lee, Choi, and Min followed, each showing off huge cocks that made Haerin even more nervous. "They're big..." she murmured, her voice trembling, while Hanni laughed at her side, already taking another shot of whiskey and spilling some on the floor on purpose. "That's what I like to see, Haerin! Suck it already, you shy bitch!" Hanni exclaimed, pushing Haerin's head towards Kang's cock. 

Haerin hesitantly took Kang's cock in her small hands, her mouth slowly opening as she tried to swallow it. But the size made her stop halfway, her lips stretched and her eyes watering as she gagged slightly. "It's too big, Hanni, I can't..." she gasped, but Hanni, now with a naughty glint in her eyes and her tongue loose from the alcohol, didn't accept the hesitation. "You can't, for fuck's sake! You're going to swallow this cock to the hilt!" she shouted, laughing as she grabbed Haerin's head with both hands and pushed her forward, forcing her to choke on Kang's cock. "That's it, you little slut, choke nicely for them!" Hanni teased, laughing loudly as Haerin moaned and choked, saliva running down her chin.

The other men didn't stand still. Park approached Haerin from behind, his large hands sliding down her back and ripping off her black bra, exposing her small but firm breasts. "Look at those little titties, perfect for squeezing," he murmured, pinching her nipples hard, which drew a muffled scream from Haerin, still with Kang's cock in her mouth. Lee and Choi knelt beside her, rubbing their cocks on her faces, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing as they laughed. "Take it, girl, feel my cock on your face!" Lee said, laughing as he rubbed the head of his cock on her cheek, leaving a sticky trail.

Min, quieter, focused on Hanni, who was still laughing and shouting orders at Haerin. He grabbed her breasts from behind, groping them hard as he whispered in her ear, "You're enjoying being in charge, but now you're going to take it too, you drunk bitch." Hanni turned her face away, her eyes half-lidded with lust and alcohol, and responded with a dirty smile. "Fuck, use me then, you son of a bitch, I want it all!" she exclaimed, laughing as Min pinched her nipples, eliciting a loud moan.

The caresses rolled loosely on both of their bodies, hands exploring every curve in insatiable ways. Park was now rubbing his cock against Haerin's ass, his hands squeezing her thighs while Kang fucked her little mouth mercilessly, her gasps filling the room. "Fuck, that mouth is so fucking tight!" Kang grunted, while Hanni laughed at his side, pushing Haerin's head harder. "Suck it right, you bitch, or they'll fuck you even harder!" she yelled, her tone full of amusement as she took another sip of whiskey straight from the bottle.

Soon, Hanni decided to join in the action, kneeling next to Haerin, but with her back to her, their bodies pressed together as they faced the men. "Come on, Haerin, let's suck it together, damn it, show them what we can do!" Hanni exclaimed, grabbing Park's cock and sticking it in her mouth with a loud moan, her tongue swirling around the head as she jerked Lee off with her free hand. Haerin, inspired by Hanni's energy, grabbed Choi's cock and started sucking it, now with more confidence, while jerking Min off with one of her small hands.

The two idols, kneeling back to back, had their mouths and hands busy, the wet sounds of sucking and gagging echoing in the hall. "Fuck, these bitches know how to suck so fucking hard!" Park grunted, grabbing Hanni's hair and fucking her mouth hard. "Fuck, Haerin, swallow deeper, you shy little slut!" Choi ordered, and Haerin obeyed, her eyes watering as she choked on his cock. Hanni, between muffled moans, laughed out loud. "That's it, Haerin, you bitch, choke so good, they fucking love it!" she screamed, saliva dripping down her chin as she continued to suck Park, her hands working quickly on the other cocks.

The hall of the mansion was filled with the heat and sounds of sex, the air heavy with the smell of sex and sweat. Hanni and Haerin, kneeling with their backs to each other, had already had their mouths fucked mercilessly by the five men. Kang and Park held their heads tightly, pushing their cocks deep into their throats, their gagging echoing as saliva dripped down their chins. "Fuck, these bitches swallow like pros!" Kang grunted, while Hanni moaned loudly, her eyes half-closed with lust and alcohol. "Fuck my mouth more, you son of a bitch, I can take it!" she screamed between gagging, laughing as Park laughed back. "You're a crazy bitch, huh?" he replied, thrusting even deeper. 

Haerin, more shy, choked on Choi's cock, her eyes watering as she tried to keep up with the pace. "I'm going slow with you, kitten, but it won't be like this for long," Choi teased, pulling her hair and fucking her mouth harder. Haerin moaned softly, her face flushed with embarrassment and pleasure, while Min and Lee rubbed their cocks on the girls' faces, smearing them with pre-cum. "Look at those faces, ready for more," Lee muttered, laughing as he lightly slapped Haerin's face.

The action quickly escalated. Kang and Park lay down on the king-size bed in the center of the room, their hard cocks pointing to the ceiling as they called out to the girls. "Come on, bitches, ride us!" Kang ordered, and Hanni, laughing loudly, was the first to act. "Fuck, finally, I'm going to ride this dick!" she exclaimed, climbing onto the bed and straddling Kang, her soaking wet pussy sliding easily over his cock as she moaned loudly. "Fuck, that's so good!" she screamed, beginning to bounce hard, her small breasts bouncing as the sound of flesh on flesh filled the room.

Haerin, more hesitant, climbed onto the bed and straddled Park, her tight pussy making him moan as she descended. "Fuck, this girl is so fucking tight!" Park grunted, holding her hips and starting to fuck her from the bottom up, each thrust eliciting a shy moan from Haerin. "It hurts a little..." she mumbled, but Hanni, already sweating and bouncing on Kang, turned her face to her with a dirty smile. "Stop complaining, you bitch, and fuck them properly! They love that tight pussy of yours, damn it!" Hanni shouted, laughing as she took another sip of whiskey from the bottle she had left next to the bed.

The other men climbed onto the bed, positioning themselves around the two of them. Hanni was left with three guys — Lee, Choi, and Min — while Haerin was left with two, Park (who was already fucking her) and Kang, who took turns watching and participating. Lee approached Hanni, shoving his cock into her mouth as she bounced on Kang. "Suck it, you drunk bitch, swallow it all!" he ordered, and Hanni obeyed, moaning loudly as she sucked, saliva dripping down her chin. "Fuck, I love a cock in my mouth while they fuck my pussy!" she screamed, laughing as Choi and Min masturbated nearby, rubbing their cocks against her breasts. "Slap my face with those cocks, you bastards!" she teased, and Choi complied, lightly slapping her face with his cock, which made her laugh even harder.

Haerin, meanwhile, moaned loudly, her sweaty body glistening under the soft light as Park fucked her with brutal thrusts. Kang, now at her side, grabbed her hair and shoved his cock into her mouth, fucking her throat while Park continued below. "Fuck, this girl is the tightest I've ever fucked!" Park exclaimed, slapping her ass hard, the sound echoing as her flesh turned red. Haerin screamed, the sound muffled by Kang's cock, and her eyes watered even more. "It hurts, but... it feels good..." she managed to mumble, her voice timid but full of pleasure.

The fucking was intense, the two moaning loudly and sweating like crazy, their bodies glistening as the men used them mercilessly. Hanni, with the three guys around her, looked like she was in heaven, bouncing on Kang while sucking Lee and jerking off Choi and Min with her hands. "Fuck harder, you sons of bitches, I want to cum screaming!" she screamed, the alcohol making her even more foul-mouthed as the slaps on her ass made her moan louder, her skin red from so much abuse. "Look at this bitch, she can take it all!" Lee laughed, giving her ass another slap, which made her laugh and moan at the same time. "Fuck, I love it, break me!" Hanni replied, her eyes shining with lust.

Haerin, on the other hand, was clearly the men's favorite. Her shyness and incredibly tight pussy drove them crazy, and Park kept commenting as he fucked her. "Fuck, this pussy is an addiction, I could fuck it all day!" he grunted, speeding up his thrusts as he slapped her ass more, leaving it red and marked. Kang, who was now masturbating nearby, had an idea when he saw Haerin's virgin ass exposed as she bounced. "Look at this ass, it's never been used, has it?" he said, laughing as he ran his finger along her tight entrance, making Haerin stiffen and moan in panic. "No, please, not that..." she started to say, but Hanni, hearing the conversation, laughed out loud.

"Fuck, Haerin, let them fuck your ass, you shy bitch! It's going to be so fucking good!" Hanni screamed, laughing as she bounced on Kang, the whiskey spilling a little on her chest. Kang didn't wait any longer, spitting on his cock to lube it up and lining himself up against Haerin's asshole. "Relax, kitten, you're going to love it," he said, thrusting slowly, the initial pressure eliciting a high-pitched scream from her. "It hurts so much!" Haerin screamed, tears streaming down her face, but Park, still fucking her pussy, laughed. "You're so fucking tight, that's what drives us crazy, take more!" he grunted, synchronizing his thrusts with Kang, who was now going deeper into her ass.

Haerin moaned loudly, her body shaking with pain and pleasure as they both fucked her at the same time, the double penetration pushing her to the limit. "I... I can't take it..." she muttered, but Hanni, still laughing and moaning beside her, shouted at her. "Hold on, you little slut, you were born for this, damn it! Let them fuck you!" Hanni teased, as the three men around her sped up, Lee cumming in her mouth and Choi and Min smearing her breasts with hot cum. "Fuck, I fucking love this!" Hanni screamed, licking her lips as she continued to bounce on Kang, her body sweaty and red from the slaps.

Everything was chaos, the sound of moans, screams and flesh against flesh echoing off the dark walls as Hanni and Haerin were fucked mercilessly by the five men. Haerin, riding Park, moaned loudly, her sweaty body shaking as Kang fucked her virgin asshole with ever deeper thrusts, the double penetration pushing her to the limit. "Fuck, this ass is so tight!" Kang grunted, holding her hips tightly as he sped up, the wet sound of his thrusts mixing with her moans. Park, below, laughed as he fucked her pussy with equal intensity. "Look how she's moaning, this shy bitch is loving being fucked!" he exclaimed, giving her ass another hard slap, the skin already red and marked. 

Haerin, with tears streaming down her face, could no longer hold back her moans, the initial pain of anal turning into overwhelming pleasure. "It's... it's good now!" she managed to say, her voice trembling as she bounced between the two, her body adjusting to the cocks filling her. "I... I want more, fuck me harder!" she screamed, shyness giving way to raw desire, which made the men laugh and speed up even more. "Fuck, she's letting loose, look at that!" Park exclaimed, while Kang laughed, "I'm almost cumming in that ass, fuck!"

Hanni, next to her, was in her own world of pleasure, riding Kang while dealing with Lee, Choi and Min around her. Lee had already cum in her mouth, and now Choi was fucking her throat hard, gripping her hair as she choked, saliva running down her chin and dripping onto her cum-slicked breasts. "Fuck, fuck my mouth, you son of a bitch, I love it!" Hanni screamed between gasps, laughing loudly as she bounced on Kang, her soaking wet pussy making wet sounds with each thrust. Min, next to her, rubbed his cock against her breasts, squeezing them hard as he slapped her ass, her red skin glistening with sweat. "You're such a crazy bitch, Hanni, look how you take it all!" Min grunted, and Hanni laughed, her voice slurred with alcohol. "Fuck, I was born for this, fill me with cum, you bastards!" 

The fucking was insane, both of them moaning loudly and sweating like crazy, their bodies shining under the soft light of the room. Hanni, with the three men around her, seemed tireless, bouncing on Kang while sucking Choi and masturbating Min with her hands, the whiskey she had drunk making her even more uninhibited. "Fuck, I want to cum screaming, fuck me harder, you dicks!" she screamed, laughing as the slaps on her ass echoed, her skin burning from so much abuse. "Look at this bitch, she doesn't stop!" Lee exclaimed, laughing as he masturbated next to her, waiting for his next chance. 

Haerin, now more relaxed, moaned nonstop, her body trembling with pleasure as Park and Kang fucked her in sync, the double penetration bringing her to an overwhelming orgasm. "I... I'm cumming!" she screamed, her voice high-pitched as her body convulsed, her tight pussy squirting a little as Park laughed below. "Fuck, she came on my dick, how delicious!" he exclaimed, speeding up his thrusts until he came inside her pussy, the heat filling her as she moaned loudly, her legs shaking. Kang, feeling her asshole tighten even more with the orgasm, couldn't hold back and came right after, filling her virgin asshole with hot jets. "Fuck, that ass made me cum too fast!" he grunted, pulling out with a wet sound, cum dripping down her thighs.

Hanni, hearing Haerin's moans, laughed out loud, still bouncing on Kang. "Fuck, Haerin, you slut, you came good, huh? I'm so fucking proud!" she screamed, while Kang, beneath her, sped up his thrusts, feeling his own climax approaching. "I'm almost cumming in your pussy, you drunk bitch!" he grunted, and Hanni laughed, bouncing faster. "Then cum, you son of a bitch, fill me with cum!" she screamed, and Kang obeyed, cumming inside her with a roar, heat exploding in her pussy as she moaned loudly, her body shaking with pleasure. 

Choi, who was still fucking Hanni's mouth, pulled out and came on her face, covering her with hot jets that mixed with saliva and sweat. "Take it, you slut, swallow it all!" he ordered, and Hanni licked her lips, laughing as cum dripped down her chin. "Fuck, I love this cum, give me more!" she screamed, as Min came on her breasts, smearing her even more. "You're such a slut, Hanni!" Min exclaimed, laughing as she laughed back, her body covered in cum and sweat. 

Haerin, exhausted, collapsed next to Park, her body shaking as cum dripped from her pussy and ass, her legs still spread and her ass red from slapping. "I... I can't take it anymore..." she mumbled, her voice weak, but a shy smile on her lips showed that she had enjoyed it. Hanni, still full of energy, laughed out loud, lying down next to her and slapping her thigh playfully. "Fuck, Haerin, you were such an amazing bitch, damn it! I'm so fucking proud!" she exclaimed, laughing as she grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took another sip, the liquid running down her chin and mixing with the cum on her face.

The men, now exhausted, sat around the bed, laughing and exchanging comments as they caught their breath. "Those two are fucking insane," Park said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Haerin is tight as hell, but Hanni is a crazy bitch who can handle anything," Kang added, laughing as he looked at the two of them, still lying on the bed, their bodies sweaty and covered in cum.

[amyzworldds]

Title: Midnight Snack Adventure

Masterlist

Rookie life is strict under Seungcheol’s watchful eye, especially for the group’s wild maknae, yn, and her reluctant partner-in-crime, Dino—both 17 and the youngest of the 14-member team. One restless night, YN’s hunger leads to a risky plan, pulling Dino along despite his protests and the 9 PM curfew. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor Timeline: 2016

It was a quiet night in the dorm—or at least it was supposed to be. The clock had long struck midnight, and the members of the still-trainee group were tucked into their beds, recovering from another grueling day of practice. Well, most of them were. Yn, the 14th member and self-proclaimed wild child of the group, was wide awake, sprawled across the couch in the living room. Her eyes were glued to the flickering TV screen, where Love in the Moonlight played its latest episode. She was giggling at the cute moments, her loud voice barely hushed despite the late hour.

Her stomach growled mid-scene, loud enough to rival her usual chatter. “Ugh, why am I always hungry at the worst times?” she muttered, pausing the drama to shuffle toward the kitchen. She rummaged through the pantry—empty. The fridge? Nothing but a half-empty bottle of soy sauce and Seungkwan’s labeled yogurt (which she didn’t dare touch after the last lecture). “This is a crime,” she huffed, slamming the fridge door shut.

Meanwhile, Dino—her fellow 17-year-old maknae and partner-in-crime—stumbled into the kitchen, half-asleep. His hair stuck up in every direction, and his eyes were barely open as he made a beeline for the sink. “Water… need water…” he mumbled, brushing past yn without even registering her presence. He nudged her aside with his shoulder, too water-deprived to care.

Yn’s eyes lit up. This was her chance. She sidled up to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Dino-yah, wanna come with me to the convenience store? It’ll be quick, I swear. I’m starving.”

Dino froze mid-sip, his sleepy brain slowly processing her words. “What? No way. It’s past midnight. Coups hyung will kill us. You know the curfew—9 PM, no leaving unless it’s with a hyung or a manager.” His voice trembled slightly, the fear of Seungcheol’s wrath waking him up a little more.

Yn waved a hand dismissively. “Psh, I’m not scared of Coups oppa. I need food, Dino. If I don’t eat, I’ll waste away, and then you’ll have to explain to my rabbit back home that I didn’t make it. You want that on your conscience?”

Dino groaned, rubbing his face. “Yn, why are you like this? If I let you go alone and something happens, Coups hyung will still kill me for not stopping you. If I go with you, he’ll kill us both. Either way, I’m dead!”

“Then come with me and we’ll be quick!” she chirped, already tiptoeing toward the door with her sneakers in hand. “What’s life without a little adventure?”

Dino hesitated, torn between his loyalty to the rules and his worry for yn. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m telling them you dragged me into this.”

“Deal!” yn grinned, her wild energy infectious as she yanked him out the door.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The convenience store was only a block away, and the two maknaes managed to sneak out without waking anyone—at least, they thought so. Inside the brightly lit store, yn went wild, grabbing armfuls of chips, ramen cups, and soda cans. “Dino, get the chocolate bars! Oh, and those gummy worms!” she called, her voice way too loud for a stealth mission.

Dino, still half-asleep, obeyed like a zombie, piling snacks into his arms. “This is too much… we’re gonna get caught…”

“Nonsense! We’re pros at this,” yn said confidently, balancing a stack of instant noodles as they wobbled toward the counter.

The cashier rang up their haul—a mountain of junk food that screamed “rookie rebellion.” “That’ll be 25,000 won,” he said flatly.

Yn reached for her pocket. Then froze. “Uh… Dino, where’s your wallet?”

Dino blinked, patting his pajama pants. “I… didn’t bring it. You said this would be fast!”

“I forgot mine too!” yn gasped, her eyes wide. “We were so busy sneaking out quietly!”

The cashier raised an eyebrow. “Cash only. No card, no online payment.”

Panic set in. Yn clutched the snacks like they were her lifeline. “We can’t leave these babies behind! We need a plan B.”

Dino’s face paled. “We have to call someone. But they’ll tell Coups hyung…”

YN bit her lip, then pulled out her phone. “Joshua oppa. He’s our only hope. He’s too nice to snitch, right?”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Back at the dorm, chaos was brewing. Seungcheol had woken up shivering, his blanket inexplicably on the floor. Grumbling, he shuffled to the kitchen for water—only to stop dead in the living room. The TV was still on, paused on Love in the Moonlight. “Yn,” he growled under his breath. That girl and her dramas.

He turned it off, but a nagging feeling tugged at him. Something wasn’t right. He marched to yn’s room and flung open the door—empty. “Yn’s gone,” he muttered, his leader instincts kicking into overdrive. He stormed into Joshua and Jeonghan’s shared room, shaking them awake. “Guys, yn’s missing!”

Jeonghan groaned, pulling his pillow over his head. “She’s probably just in the bathroom…”

“She’s not! Her room’s empty!” Seungcheol barked, his voice waking up half the dorm.

One by one, the members stumbled out, bleary-eyed and confused. “What’s going on?” Mingyu yawned.

Vernon squinted down the hall. “Wait… Dino’s gone too.”

The realization hit like a thunderclap. “Those two idiots,” Seungcheol seethed, just as Joshua’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up with yn's name.

Joshua answered, his voice groggy but gentle. “Yn? Where are you?”

“Shua oppa!” yn’s voice crackled through, loud and panicked. “We’re at the convenience store, and we forgot our wallets, and they only take cash, and we need help, but don’t tell Coups, okay? Please?”

Seungcheol loomed over Joshua, his shadow practically radiating fury. “Put it on speaker. Now.”

Joshua gulped and obeyed. yn’s voice filled the room. “—and Dino’s freaking out, but I told him it’s fine, we just need someone to bring cash—”

“YOU TWO ARE WHERE?!” Seungcheol roared, snatching the phone. The line went silent for a split second before yn squeaked, “Oh no.”

“Stay right there,” Seungcheol ordered, already grabbing his jacket. “You’re both grounded for life.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Seungcheol, Joshua, and a still-half-asleep Jeonghan arrived at the convenience store, yn and Dino were sitting on the curb outside, surrounded by their unpurchased snacks like guilty puppies. yn flashed her cutest pout, holding up a bag of chips. “Coups oppa, I got your favorite—”

“Save it,” Seungcheol snapped, though his glare softened just a fraction at her antics. “You’re lucky I don’t make you sleep outside with those kittens you dragged home last time.”

Dino hung his head. “I told her it was a bad idea…”

“And yet here you are,” Jeonghan teased, ruffling his hair.

Joshua quietly paid the cashier, shaking his head with a small smile. “Next time, just ask me to stock the pantry, okay?”

As they trudged back to the dorm, snacks in tow, yn whispered to Dino, “Totally worth it, right?”

Dino sighed, but a tiny grin crept onto his face. “Maybe. But if Coups hyung puts a lock on the door, I’m blaming you.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, the sun peeked through the dorm windows, casting a soft glow over the chaos of the previous night. Yn and Dino, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing, were still lost in dreamland. yn was sprawled across her bed in her own room—the only girl in the group, she’d fought tooth and nail for that tiny slice of privacy. Dino, meanwhile, was snoring softly in the room he shared with Vernon, one arm dangling off the bunk like he’d collapsed after their convenience store adventure. Both maknaes slept with the smug satisfaction of thinking they’d gotten away with it, their cuteness once again their ultimate shield.

In the living room, the rest of the members were already awake, lounging in various states of exhaustion. Hoshi was sprawled on the couch, tossing a cushion in the air absentmindedly. “You know,” he said, breaking the sleepy silence, “what if those two sneak out again and Dispatch catches them? They’d spin some wild story—‘Rookie Maknaes in Late-Night Scandal!’”

Seungcheol, nursing a cup of coffee and still glaring at nothing in particular, cut him off sharply. “That’s not happening again. I’m making sure of it.” His tone was final, the kind that made even Hoshi sit up a little straighter.

Jeonghan, leaning against the wall with a smirk, raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s the plan, fearless leader?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned to Seungkwan and Vernon, who were sprawled on the floor playing a lazy round of rock-paper-scissors. “You two,” he said, his voice carrying that no-nonsense edge. “Wake up YN and Dino. Now.”

Seungkwan blinked, mid-scissors. “Us? Why us?”

“Because you’re younger but not as wild as yn,” Seungcheol said matter-of-factly. “And Dino’s too soft to argue when she drags him into trouble. Go.”

Vernon sighed, hauling himself up. “Fine. But if Dino sleep-talks at me again, I’m out.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

In Dino and Vernon’s shared room, Vernon shuffled over to Dino’s bunk and gave him a gentle shake. “Yo, Dino. Coups hyung says get up.”

Dino groaned, rolling over and mumbling, “Five more minutes, hyung… tell him yn made me…”

“He’s not asking,” Vernon said, nudging him harder. “Come on, man, you’re in deep already.”

Meanwhile, Seungkwan barged into yn's room with all the dramatic flair he could muster. “Yn! Wake up! Coups hyung is mad—like, mad mad. You’re done for!” He clapped his hands loudly, making yn jolt upright, her hair a wild nest.

“What?! He’s mad?!” yn yelped, clutching her blanket. “But we got snacks! He ate the chips!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Seungkwan said, crossing his arms. “You’re about to get the lecture of your life. Move it.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Ten minutes later, yn and Dino shuffled into the living room, still in their pajamas, looking like scolded puppies. The three oldest members—Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Joshua—stood in a line, arms crossed, while the rest of the group sat silently on the couches and floor, too scared to make a sound. Even Hoshi, usually the chatterbox, kept his mouth shut, sensing the tension.

Seungcheol started, his voice low but firm. “Do you two have any idea how reckless you were last night? Sneaking out past curfew, no wallets, calling Joshua in the middle of the night? What if something happened to you? What if someone saw you?”

Yn opened her mouth to protest, but Jeonghan cut her off with a raised hand. “Don’t even try the cute act, yn. It’s not working this time.”

Joshua, ever the gentle one, sighed softly. “We’re just worried about you guys. But you can’t keep breaking the rules like this. It’s not safe.”

Dino shuffled his feet, staring at the floor. “I told her it was a bad idea…”

“And yet you still went,” Seungcheol snapped, making Dino flinch. “You’re both responsible.”

Yn puffed out her cheeks, crossing her arms. “Okay, but we didn’t get caught by dispatch or anything! And we brought snacks for everyone! That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Seungcheol’s glare could’ve melted steel. “No, it doesn’t. And since you two think you’re so clever, here’s your punishment: for the next two weeks, you’re cleaning the dorm. Room by room. Every corner, every speck of dust, every tiny crumb. If I find even one sock out of place, you’re starting over.”

“Two weeks?!” yn wailed, her wild energy deflating. “That’s torture!”

“You should’ve thought of that before sneaking out,” Jeonghan said with a sly grin. “Maybe next time you’ll remember the curfew.”

Dino groaned, slumping against the wall. “I’m never listening to her again…”

“Good luck with that,” Vernon muttered from the couch, earning a snicker from Seungkwan.

And so, the maknae duo’s dreams of a successful sneak-out were dashed. For the next two weeks, the dorm echoed with YN’s dramatic complaints—“This dust is older than me!”—and Dino’s quiet sighs as they scrubbed floors and organized closets under Seungcheol’s watchful eye. The older members made sure the pantry stayed stocked, though, because one thing was clear: YN’s midnight hunger wasn’t going anywhere, and they’d rather deal with snacks than another convenience store crisis.

[slutoru1207]

Viltrumite!Mark Grayson x Reader HC — Taken to Viltrum

Fiercely Possessive, Utterly Devoted, and Unwilling to Let You Go

You’re his and he won’t let you go. Mark didn’t ask you if you wanted to come to Viltrum. He decided. He’s stronger, faster, and he knows what’s best for you—even if you don’t understand it yet. Earth is weak. Humanity is fragile. But you? You’re his, and he refuses to leave you behind.

He carries you like you’re the most precious thing in existence. Even with his strength, even in the brutal landscape of Viltrum, Mark holds you carefully. His touch is firm but never rough with you. You’re the one thing in this universe that he refuses to harm, the one person who matters. Even when surrounded by warriors, his hands never stray far from you—on your waist, gripping your wrist, a protective arm slung around you.

The other Viltrumites don’t understand his obsession. Love isn’t a concept Viltrumites prioritize. Mates are chosen for strength, for genetics, for survival. But Mark? He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the universe. His loyalty isn’t to Viltrum—it’s to you. And that confuses the others.

If anyone dares question your place beside him, they don’t question it twice. Another Viltrumite—strong, calculating—makes a comment about how Mark is “wasting his potential” being so focused on you. Mark doesn’t even hesitate. He moves so fast you barely see it happen—one second the other warrior is speaking, the next they’re on the ground, groaning, blood dripping from their mouth. Mark wipes his hands, unfazed. “Anyone else?” Silence.

You’re the only soft thing in his world. Viltrum is harsh—constant training, war, strategy. Mark has become harder, colder. But with you? That fades. He touches you with reverence, whispers your name like a prayer when you’re alone. You see the side of him that no one else does—the part of him that wants to be gentle, that wants to love, even in a place that doesn’t value it.

He’ll never let you feel unsafe. You don’t belong here, not really. You’re not like the others. But Mark makes sure you never feel like an outsider. If someone so much as looks at you wrong, his fingers tighten around yours, and his grip alone is enough of a warning: They won’t hurt you. They wouldn’t dare.

He still calls you by your name like you’re his home. No matter how far from Earth you are, no matter how much blood is on his hands, the way Mark says your name is still full of warmth. You are his home. Not Viltrum, not the empire—you.

He won’t force you to love Viltrum, but he will make sure you love him. He knows this world is brutal. He knows you might hate it, might resent him for bringing you here. But one thing is non-negotiable: You will love him. He refuses to let you drift away, refuses to let you think for one second that you’re alone. You are his, and he’ll remind you of that every time he kisses you, every time he pulls you close, every time he whispers against your ear, “I told you—I’m never letting you go.”

He still brings you things from Earth. No matter how far from home you are, Mark refuses to let you forget where you came from. Every time he visits Earth—whether for a mission or something more personal—he brings you back something. A book. Your favorite snack. A hoodie that still smells like Earth. If he sees something that reminds him of you, it’s yours.

He brings you roses, even though Viltrumites don’t get it. One day, he comes back from a mission with a handful of slightly-crushed roses. He holds them out like it’s normal, like it isn’t strange to see a hardened Viltrumite warrior carrying delicate flowers. “I know you used to like these,” he mumbles, averting his gaze like he’s embarrassed. The other Viltrumites don’t understand why he’d waste time on something so trivial—but Mark doesn’t care.

He still tries to cook for you—even if he’s terrible at it. Viltrumites don’t need to cook. They eat for survival, not for pleasure. But he remembers that food mattered to you on Earth, so one night, he actually tries. The result? A disaster. He burns something, something else is questionable, and when you take a bite, he’s watching you way too closely. “...Is it bad?” he asks, jaw tight. You smile, trying not to gag. “It’s… thoughtful.”

He lets you paint his nails (once). It starts as a joke. You mention how human couples do silly things together, and somehow, that turns into him letting you paint his nails—black, obviously. He grumbles the whole time but doesn’t stop you. Later, when another Viltrumite points it out, Mark just stares at them until they drop it. (You catch him redoing it himself weeks later.)

He watches Earth movies with you, even if he doesn’t get them. You introduce him to Modern Family and The Notebook—and he’s so confused. “Why are they wasting time talking instead of just fixing things?” But even though he complains, he still sits through them because you likethem. And sometimes, when he thinks you’re not looking, he actually pays attention.

He still calls you pet names in English. Viltrumites don’t really do pet names. They barely do affection. But Mark? He still calls you babe, sweetheart, baby—and when he says it, it sounds so out of place in the cold, brutal world of Viltrum. Like a little piece of Earth that only exists between you two.

He carves out a space on Viltrum just for you. Viltrum is rough—cold architecture, sterile environments. But your living space? It’s different. Mark makes sure of it. He brings soft blankets, Earth-made furniture, anything that makes it feel more like home. He even lets you fill it with unnecessary things (sentimental things) because he knows you need it.

He doesn’t care what Viltrum thinks—he’ll love you how he wants. They don’t understand him. They don’t understand why he does these things. But Mark doesn’t care. If bringing you roses, watching dumb Earth movies, or holding you too gently makes him weak, then fine. He’ll be weak for you. Because you’re his, and he’ll show you love exactly how you deserve it.

[brendaonao3]

The Top Gun fandom treating Mav like some sort of self-destructive, unsocialized, bratty, feral cat that Ice needs to train and discipline will forever and ever be my villain origin story

Mav is a highly competent, highly skilled, highly trained, and highly decorated fighter pilot and Naval officer and is every single inch Ice's equal, which is THE ENTIRE GODDAMN POINT of their 30 year friendship-slash-relationship

They both learn from each other in the first film and have decades of loyalty in the second film and you don't get that sort of deep trust in each other without it being a relationship built on mutual love and admiration for each other's talents and for knowing exactly where each other's strengths lie

They may have differing methods for how they Get Shit Done, but they respect each other more than anything else, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

(ps, Ice is more of a brat to Mav in canon than Mav is to Ice - the only person Mav is an actual brat to in either film is Charlie)

[musicalyume]

selfship reblog game \(^o^) ♪

hihii everyone ^_^ reblog this post with a picture of your f/o(s) (any type) and/or your sona or ocs and i'll assign them a flower + its meaning in flower language !! feel free to yap abt them as well or else i'l pick based on vibes alone :3 up to five characters is fine !! current status: closed ♪ will reopen once i'm finished w the current rbs

example ♪ ciel is blue heliotrope, meaning "eternal love," devotion, loyalty and trust while elie is pink baby's breath, meaning love, affection, gentleness and charm !!

pros.hip dni please and thank you ^_^

[rosiewitchescottage]

When portraying the character as a 'Strong Female Character' becomes more important than giving her character and personality, then yes. We're not going to connect with her.

The perfect example that I can think of is the contrast between animated Mulan and live action Mulan.

Animated Mulan achieves some amazing feats, she saves China, for goodness sake.

And yet, she doesn't lose her vulnerability, she has to work hard to get to where she needs to be.

And we love her, because she's real! Of course she doesn't get into the army and can do everything the same way as the men.

Clearly she's got some serious potential, waiting to be let out. But she hasn't got the same bodily strength and speed as her fellow soldiers.

She has to put in extra time and effort, which pays off in buckets.

There's something of Joan of Arc to be seen in Mulan. I remember watching a video about the French National Saint, and it was speculated that she probably didn't do much of the hand to hand fighting, but there's good reason to believe that she had very good leadership skills.

She lead her men in battle and they were inspired to follow her.

And we see that with Mulan, she's a soldier, not an officer, but once her comrades realise that the woman Mulan is still the same person as the man Ping, they listen to her, and realise that her ideas have the makings of success.

She doesn't lose any of this by having her love story with Shang. In fact they have a fascinating journey together, as Shang learns to love the woman that he grew to like and respect when she was pretending to be a man. He learns why she did it, and he respects that family loyalty. He realises that it's all the same person in the end.

And he's proud to be able to say that his wife saved China!

Contrast to live action Mulan. What can we say about her? She's got super powers so of course she can already whoop every ass in her way.

No coconut for guessing which is the more satisfying character to watch. 🙄

With animated Snow White we get the strength of her pure heart. All she wishes for is to be loved and spoken to kindly.

The animals aren't afraid of her, because they know there's no cruelty in her.

The dwarves are happy to give her a home because she's willing to give back to them by keeping house.

My theory about The Prince is that there had to be something extra special about this girl for him to keep looking for her.

In his world beautiful girls who can sing will be plentiful.

If Snow White was just a pretty servant that he wanted to have fun with, why go all out to find her again?

Cinderella (both animated and live action) shows the power of never giving into bitterness. She keeps believing in the power of dreams and she loves, despite the only kindness that she gets is from her animal friends.

Animated Belle loves her father and when the condition of her father's freedom is for her to remain with The Beast, she does it, even though it breaks her heart. Loyalty and Honour.

And she's determined to make the best of the situation. She gets to know the castle. She takes the time to get to know The Beast, and as she's showing interest in him, it makes him want to know and care about her.

The more "empowered" Disney tries to write their heroines as, the less interesting and charismatic they become, ironically.

[winterblues]

chaotic and salty is when beloved’s at his best. [serenading fitz with an ominous love song and then proceeding to moon him in the halls of buckkeep castle] [teasing starling for ‘assuming his gender’ and suggestively singing about the mystery of his androgyny] [fearlessly standing his ground against the mutinous first mate on Paragon’s deck] [aggressively flirting with both civil bresinga and his betrothed] [getting absolutely hammered and nearly passing out on a bench so fitz has to carry him back to his chambers like a sack of potatoes] [implying fitz is bad at sex in the middle of a heated argument] [challenging chade fallstar over fitz’s loyalty with all the confidence of a betting man who’s already rigged the pot]

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

Far too few women understand that this is what men actually most want from a relationship: loyalty and self-sacrifice. We don't care about your new haircut or your fake nails or you wearing the same outfit twice: we want to know for sure you love and value us as much as you do yourself.