#would you believe me if i said this wasn’t even ALL my thoughts

[retiredteabag]

I’m listening to you

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Yuuji, and Megumi

Synopsis: You stop talking because you assume they aren’t listening… how silly of you, but how do they react?

my masterlist

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Satoru

It would probably be like any other day, he had probably just come back from a mission, laying across the couch and you would be in the kitchen making a snack board as you talked about numerous different things.

The conversation would shift through a multitude of topics as one thing would then reminded you of the next.

As you were getting the chips, you would explain the drama at work after that you would go and get some hummus while you explained the love life of one of your coworkers thereafter you would be reminded of a friend of yours from high school while piling up some cheese cubes.

Throughout all of this, there were very few breaks in your speech. When you finally came to the living room, Satoru would be facing towards you, with his head slightly tilted back on the armrest and his feet dangling off the other edge.

You could see him, just not very well. His blindfold would also be on, not an uncommon occurrence, but it would still be hard for you to see the slight changes in his facial features that typically depicted his emotions to you.

After awhile, you might start to wonder if he was feeling tired from the mission or if he just wasn’t paying attention. It’s okay, getting distracted happens to everyone sometimes.

Your words would taper off.

Believe me when I say it would not take this man any longer than say…five seconds for his head to raise and voice to pipe up,

“Well what happened next?”

And with a grabby hand he would add,

“Aren’t you gonna share those?”

Turning to point at the snacks in your lap.

For such a chatty guy, you would be surprised by how much he enjoyed just listening to others. Especially if it meant listening to you.

Nanami

Let’s be realistic here, this man would never take his undivided attention away from you.

That being said, the situation would be a little bit different with him. You guys would probably be out for coffee. Maybe the both of you had been busy for a while and felt the need to make a day out of catching up.

You know that embarrassing feeling when you get the notion you’ve been talking too much? It would be something like that.

You would have been gesturing and looking around the room while you talked about this and that. Unbeknownst to you, he would have hearts in his eyes while he listened to your ramblings.

That sudden itch would get to you though, the notion that, maaaaaaaaybe you have been talking about yourself too long.

One quick look at your man caused a shiver to run up your back at the eye contact.

There would be a pause in your speech, and he would nod at you to encourage more words to spill fourth, but now you were all flustered.

You would trip over your words, stuttering every so often before eventually apologizing.

“What is it, dear?”

He would ask, after a moment of you trying to collect yourself, he would assume that you had simply lost your train of thought and remind you of the topics you had been previously sharing.

You would thank him even though that wouldn’t have been the issue at all.

How could you not get shy when he was looking at you like that?

Choso

This would have to occur after a long day. Either during nap time or before you both went to bed.

He would be laying his head on your chest as you played with his freed hair. Talking about stuff you had seen online, talking about your plans for the next day, talking about what you were planning to eat for lunch tomorrow, the list could go on.

Every so often he would hum or nod his head. But after a while, you would look down and see that his eyes were closed.

It wasn’t hurtful, or embarrassing. It has been a long day for the both of you, and he was probably just tired. He often fell asleep easily when you combed through his hair with your nails. So you wouldn’t be offended as you go silent.

After you stop talking, though, he would grab your free hand and fiddle with your fingers, saying,

“I like those tacos too… we should get lunch together!”

You would giggle and tug on a lock of his hair, “I thought you were asleep.”

He would spin around onto his chest, chin pressed slightly into you while he looked up at your eyes through those big, long, lashes of his, “But you were talking to me?”

Sukuna

This man :| he would get offended if you insinuated that you could possibly be boring him.

Of course, it would be his fault, too. He would complain and whine all the time about how uninterested he was in your life. Griping that he had better things to do than just sit around and listen to you talk.

But don’t misunderstand, there was nothing he desired more than to watchyou speak about things that impassioned you.

But perhaps one of those instances you would take to heart, he was a busy man after all. It’s not like he had all the time in the world to listen to you yap about nonsense.

So after a long while in his chambers, you would just kind of go silent. ‘Allowing’ him a little time to himself.

Just earlier that day, you would have been telling him a story about one of your fellow workers at the estate. Sukuna had rolled his eyes at the incompetence of his staff as you giggled on about how a man got his hand stuck in a jar full of fertilizer.

You would take his disinterested countenance to assume that he was bored with you. For someone so ancient, he did have an attention span fitting to the times.

He always told you not to make assumptions about him, but after him asking you on several occasions, “and why are you telling me this?” You couldn’t help or conclude that he wasn’t all that interested.

I’ll tell you now. As much as he would like to pretend that was the case, it is far from the truth.

He would frown while laying on his bed. “Why did you stop?”

You would spin around, slightly surprised that he had even been paying attention. “Oh I just thought maybe I was boring you…”

That would cause him to sit up, scowling in your direction, “Did I say that?”

“Well…”

“Did. I. Say. That.”

“…no?”

Undeniably, sassy, he would splay out his arms in a “see??” type of motion. Waiting rather impatiently for you to continue on so he could relax to the sound of his lovers soothing voice while pretending to be impartial to it all.

Toji

This prick.

He wouldn’t do a thing lol

This man would let you assume he isn’t listening, let you think he’s off somewhere else, let you think he’s checked out.

But that could not be more wrong.

Maybe he’s eating his lunch, or watching tv, or texting someone. Whatever the case, there’s nothing he’s more locked into than your words.

In fact, it would take you a while into your relationship for you to realize this, but sometimes you would have to be careful around Toji because once you said something, this man would remember it forever.

You probably wouldn’t even think about it when you stopped talking, deciding to put your efforts into something else. But Toji would notice.

He wouldn’t bring it up though, not for days. But eventually he would crack the conversation back again, flipping the newspaper over and avoiding your eyes.

You would spin around on him, wondering how he even knew the things he was talking about. Then it would hit you.

“Wait… you were listening?”

He would scoff, elbows on the table, finally looking at you over his reading glasses. “Excuse me?” He would point an accusatory finger at you and set down the paper. “Was I listening?”

You would gape at him open mouthed, “Well… how was I supposed to know?”

He would roll his eyes in the most dramatic of fashions, getting up from the kitchen table to stroll over to you. “Please,” he would groan, grazing a knuckle over your neck,

“You’ve always got my attention.”

Yuuji

One might think this would happen early on in the relationship but I would argue this situation would happen after years together.

Why? Well, Yuuji is a super excitable guy, he also just loves talking to you. You both make a great pair because the two of you always converse in a way suitable to each other.

For example, sometimes you’d interrupt one another, never in a rude way, but in a way that shows passion about the topic at hand. That would bring on a whole new discussion and keep the conversation flowing.

Yuuji was a great listener when he needed to be but mainly he was a great conversationalist. Neither of you needed to do heavy lifting when you talked. It was great!

After awhile though, the two of you would become more and more comfortable around one another and more accustomed to the way you spoke.

That’s why it was so weird to see him less active in a conversation. He wasn’t interjecting with his little agreements or experiences. He would still be looking at you, but it was different.

It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he might just be uninterested in the topic so you would get all quiet, focusing on something else until he spoke up.

“No, keep talking.”

Grinning at you, he looked just like he always did.

“You’re not bored?”

He would squint, confused at the notion, “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, you just seem a little quiet I guess.”

But he would just smile at you, “I don’t know what it is… but recently I’ve been liking just admiring you.”

He would say things like that out of the blue all the time by the way.

“Yuuuuujiiiii” you would groan.

“What? Doesn’t mean I’m not listening!”

Megumi

Inversely to Yuuji, this would happen with Megumi early on in y’all’s relationship, likely pre-relationship when the two of you were just getting to know one another.

Megumi wasn’t really shy at all, he was more reserved, even though you weren’t all that talkative, he could still unintentionally make you feel like a blabbermouth at times.

The two of you would probably have been out on a walk together, or maybe in the cafeteria getting lunch, wherever, you would have been sharing some piece of yourself with him.

It would also probably have been a long time since he had spoke up. Sometimes he wouldn’t even give listening cues so it’s not too unusual to suppose that he was checked out.

Megumi was NOT checked out though. He was filing every little word you said away into his brain, and thinking of the best way to respond to you.

You might not know this though, so after awhile you might get all shy, suddenly looking off, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Embarrassed that he hadn’t heard a word, that’s when he would turn to you,

“I’m listening.”

Simple as that.

Reassuring but not overly affectionate.

He would do it in public and in private. If you were in a group and he could tell your confidence was slipping he would jump in to let you know that he cared about your thoughts and opinions.

And like in this instance when it was just the two of you, he might reach over to grab your hand, letting you know,

“I’m still here.”

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[mrsfancyferrari]

My Saviour

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay. PT 4 - Finale

Song: Pyramids - Frank Ocean

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. I hope you got your popcorn ready for this finale! I made this the best ending I ever could. I've loved writing this series and hoped you loved it too. Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Taglist: @ahhhhhm, @daniskywalkersolo, @friendshipis-magic, @tellybearryyyy, @lanadelray1989, @owl778, @almostuniversallyface, @maluzets55, @dying-inside-but-its-classy, @noooway555, @unknownmystery22, @forensicheart, @a-beaverhausen, @moonstruck-poet, @mendes-bae, @czennieszn, @widow-cevans.

Word count: 27.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The news hit you like a rogue wave, leaving you gasping for air. "My mom and sister are coming over in two days," Max had said, his voice casual as he stirred the pasta sauce.

He hadn’t looked at you, too focused on the simmering pot, and for a moment, the kitchen seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. Two days.

That wasn’t enough time, not nearly enough time. You stared at the chipped tile of the kitchen floor, the image of Max’s father’s clenched fist flashing behind your eyelids. The last time you saw it, he had been so angry, his face contorted with a rage you still didn't quite comprehend.

Now his mother and sister were coming to this house. The house you’d built together, brick by brick, or rather, box by unpacked box. The house you had slowly and tentatively been turning into a home. The thought of them seeing you, of them judging you, sent a shiver of dread down your spine.

You didn't answer Max, and he finally turned from the stove, a questioning look on his face. "Hey," he said, gently, reaching out to touch your arm.

His touch, usually a source of comfort, felt like a brand, reminding you of how utterly vulnerable you’d felt that day, and how hard he’d fought to protect you. “You okay?”

You managed a weak smile. "Yeah, just...two days. It's fast."

He moved closer, his brow furrowed with concern. "Is it too fast? I can push it back if you want."

You shook your head, the lie forming on your lips. You couldn't ask him to push it back. It would be rude. It would be cowardly.

“No, no, it’s okay. I just want everything to be perfect.” You hated how your voice trembled almost imperceptibly.

“Perfect?” He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. “It doesn’t need to be perfect. They’re just my mom and sister. They’re… I mean, they’re good people. You’ll like them.”

You tried to believe him, tried to summon up some of the excitement he clearly felt, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach refused to loosen.

“What if they don’t like me? What if…what if they’re like your dad?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and laced with the fear that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.

Max’s face darkened. His hand dropped away, and he took a step back, his eyes clouding. "They're not like my dad," he said, his voice low and firm. "They're not even remotely like him. You know that.”

But you didn't know. All you knew was the lingering memory of his father's face, the vitriol in his voice, the power in his fist. You felt so ashamed of yourself.

You didn’t want to bring this baggage to his family, and you had just done that. "I just...I'm still a little shaken up about what happened with him," you confessed in a small voice.

He reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Look at me," he said, his gaze direct and unwavering. "My mom is… she's kind. She's funny, she's warm. And my sister, Victoria, she's... she's a bit of a free spirit. You'll get along with her, I promise. And neither of them will ever be like my father."

He squeezed your hand, his grip strong and reassuring. “I won’t let them be, not ever.”

You wanted to believe him, to let his words wash over you and erase the fear. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability, the knowledge that you’d seen a side of Max's family, a dark and ugly side, that you couldn't unsee.

“What about him?” you asked, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Will he be here?”

Max’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing dangerously for a moment. “He is never welcome in our house, ever. My mom and sister despise him, you don’t have to worry about that.” He pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to be. They’re coming here to meet you. They’re excited to meet the person I’m dating, the person I…care about very much.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and his own unique, comforting smell. "It's just...I don't want to mess things up for you," you mumbled, your voice muffled against his chest. "I don't want them to think I'm not...good enough."

He pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up so he could look you in the eye. "You're more than good enough. You're amazing. And anyone who doesn't see that isn't worth your time. Including my family. But trust me, they will.”

He smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile. “And if they don't? Then I'll deal with it. Okay?”

You nodded, a small, hesitant nod, but it was a start. He had the power to ground you, to calm the storm within you. You wished you had that power yourself.

"Okay," you said, your voice a little steadier now. "Okay, I can try."

He kissed you then, a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of hope and reassurance. "That's all I ask," he murmured against your lips. "Just try."

The next two days were a flurry of activity. You cleaned the house until it shone, you planned a menu that you thought would please his family, and you even ventured into the field closeby to pick some wildflowers to put in a vase. Max helped, of course, but mostly he seemed focused on keeping you calm, his eyes constantly searching yours for any sign of distress. The morning they were due to arrive, you felt your stomach drop into your boots. You stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing your outfit, second-guessing every decision you’d made.

You changed your top three times before Max came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, kissing the back of your neck. “They’re going to love you.”

You turned in his arms, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one about to be interrogated.”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “They’re not going to interrogate you. They’re just going to try and steal you from me.”

You smiled, finally feeling a small flicker of genuine excitement. “Don’t let them,” you teased, a bit of your old confidence returning. "You're the one who said I'm your favorite person."

"Definitely my favorite person," he agreed, giving you a quick kiss on the lips.

The doorbell rang, shattering the comfortable bubble of the moment. You took a deep breath, trying to settle the butterflies in your stomach.

“Showtime,” you said, a mix of excitement and trepidation in your voice. Max squeezed your hand, giving you a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this.”

He opened the door to reveal Sophie, her warm smile radiating familiarity, and Victoria, who had inherited her brother's playful charm. Both women stepped inside, their eyes wide, taking in the space you’d so carefully curated.

“It’s beautiful!” Sophie exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “You’ve done an incredible job.”

Victoria echoed her mother's sentiments, adding, “It’s just as Max described, only even better in person.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you. Max has been…rather vocal about how wonderful you are.”

You laughed, the tension easing a little at their warmth. “It’s wonderful to meet you both too. Come in, come in. Let me show you around.”

The next hour passed by in a flurry of introductions, compliments and laughter. You guided them through the house, pointing out the features you were most proud of – the carefully chosen artwork, the cozy reading nook, the spacious guest room you’d set up.

At one point, while you were showing Victoria the herb garden on the back patio, Sophie cornered Max, her voice a low murmur.

You watched, a fond smile playing on your lips as you tried not to eavesdrop, though you did catch the tail end of her words in Dutch. “… so happy for you, Max. She’s wonderful.”

Lunch was a relaxed affair, you’d prepared a simple pasta dish, one you’d perfected over time. The conversation flowed easily, shifting between Formula 1, your respective families, and shared travel experiences.

Victoria, who was close to your age, was particularly interested in your life as a driver, asking pointed questions about the pressure, the challenges, and of course, the exhilaration.

You found yourself opening up, sharing anecdotes about grueling training sessions and the unwavering support you'd received from your team, and, of course, Max.

You even recounted a particularly comical pit stop mishap, earning a burst of laughter from everyone at the table.

“She handles herself so well under pressure,” Max said, a note of pride in his voice, as he looked at you across the table. “It’s one of the many things I admire about her.”

Sophie beamed, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “We do, too, Max. She’s incredibly impressive.”

Later, after lunch, as the afternoon light began to mellow, you found yourself alone with Sophie in the living room. Victoria and Max had retreated to the back patio, their laughter drifting in through the open windows.

Sophie turned to you, her expression serious, but kind. “You’ve made our Max very happy,” she said simply. “It’s a good thing. He deserves to be happy.”

You felt a lump form in your throat. “He’s made me incredibly happy too, Sophie. More than I ever thought possible.”

She nodded then turned serious, bowing her head low. "I heard what their father had done to you. I'm extremely ashamed of his actions," she said, her voice now soft.

A shiver ran down your spine, as if the chill of the day you had tried so hard to forget had returned. You hadn’t wanted to burden Max’s family with the memory, especially today.

You had hoped, perhaps naively, that it wouldn’t come up. You shifted uncomfortably.

“Sophie, it’s okay, really,” you responded, trying to keep your voice even. “It was just… a moment. It’s in the past.”

She looked up at you, her eyes filled with concern. “No, it isn’t okay. It’s never okay to lay hands on another person, especially not in anger. What Jos did was inexcusable.” Her voice held a steel edge, a stark contrast to her usual warmth.

You looked down at your lap, tracing the pattern of the rug with your finger. The memory surged back with a visceral clarity. The heated argument, Jos’s face contorted in fury, the sudden, sharp pain in your ribs as his fist connected.

The way your breath had been knocked out of you. The memory was still vivid.

“He was mad,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was trying to find Max but I found him instead. I tried to leave him but he just had to say something bad to me, we argued and then he...”

“He hit you,” Sophie finished for you, her gaze unwavering. “He heard something he didn't want to hear. You are brave for speaking your mind to him." Her voice was almost a sigh as she admitted this.

You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t blame her for being angry, and you certainly couldn’t justify Jos’s actions. You knew, deep down, that you would never fully forget the moment, that it would always be a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind. Jos would never admit he was wrong either, and that was what hurt the most.

“Max knows?” Sophie asked, her voice gentle.

You nodded. “Yes, he stopped Jos. He was really… upset,” you said, choosing your words carefully. "And still is" you added under your breath.

Sophie reached out and took your hand, her touch surprisingly strong. “He’s angry for you. He loves you, you know that?”

“I do,” you replied, a genuine smile finally reaching your lips. “And I love him.”

She squeezed your hand. “Good. Because he needs you. And you deserve to be treated with respect, always. No one has the right to hurt you, ever.”

Your eyes welled up, not from sadness, but from an overwhelming sense of gratitude. You had never expected to find such an ally in Max’s mother, and her unwavering support meant more than you could ever say.

“Dank je wel, Sophie. Dat betekent veel voor mij.,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. Thank you, Sophie. That means a lot to me.

Before she could even react from your sudden Dutch, the back door slid open, and Max walked in, a perplexed look on his face. “Everything okay in here? You both look a bit serious?”

Sophie released your hand and smiled at her son. “Everything is perfect, darling. Just making sure that she knows how lucky you are.” She winked.

Max looked at you, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything alright?”

You smiled reassuringly. “Everything’s fine. We were just… talking.”

He still looked unsure, but he didn’t press the issue. He knew when to back off, when you needed space. He stood beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. You leaned into the embrace, feeling his warmth seep into your soul. He placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

"Max, you didn't tell me that Y/N speaks Dutch?" Sophie said, a hint of surprise in her voice.

Max grinned proudly, which made your heart do a funny little flip. “I did mention it a while back, Mom, when we first started dating. You must have forgotten. She’s been practicing a bit.”

You hadn’t been practicing a bit. You’d been learning the language voraciously for months, a secret project born out of your love for Max and his heritage.

It was the same with Sophie, the occasional Dutch idioms she would use, her native language was like a piece of her. And you wanted that connection, a shared language with them both.

"It's still a work in progress, though," you admitted, a little bashfully. "But I’m trying."

"Well, I'm impressed," Sophie said, clapping her hands together. "I knew there was a reason I liked you so much. You're full of wonderful surprises. You should speak Dutch more often, it sounds charming on you.”

Max kissed your temple again. “I agree. It suits you.”

Later that evening, after Sophie and Victoria had left, you and Max were curled up on the sofa, the house quiet and calm. “What did you and my mother talk about?” he asked, his voice low.

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to be honest. “She asked about… your father.”

Max stiffened beside you. “And?”

“She was angry. She said what he did was inexcusable,” you told him.

He was silent for a moment, his jaw clenched. “He doesn’t understand,” he said finally. “He never will.”

You turned to face him, your hand cupping his cheek. “It’s okay, Max. I understand.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with so much love and tenderness that your heart ached. “I wish he hadn’t hurt you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“It doesn't matter, it was a long time ago, I’m fine," you assured him.

“It does matter. You deserve better. I deserve better. I will never allow anyone to treat you that way again,” he said, his voice fierce. You knew he meant it.

You leaned in and kissed him, pouring all your love and gratitude into the embrace, making up for the words you couldn't find. His arms tightened around you, his lips moving against yours with desperate hunger.

You had each other. And that, you realised, was all that truly mattered.

The hum of Max's private jet was a low, comforting thrum against the anticipation buzzing through you. In a few days, the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix would be upon you, the last race of the season, and the pressure was palpable, even at 30,000 feet.

You were nestled between Max, who was engrossed in reviewing some documents on his tablet, and Charles, who was idly scrolling through his phone, a small smile playing on his lips. Lando, of course, was the catalyst of the chaos, sprawled out on the opposite couch, a mischievous glint in his eye.

A staff member, a young woman named Maya, approached you all and asked if she could take a quick picture for social media. You always needed to keep the public engaged, and a photo of the three drivers plus you, the public's new and exciting addition, was definitely good content.

Max briefly looked up, gave a small nod, and then returned to his screen. Charles straightened up, and Lando struck a dramatic pose, leaning back into the cushions and throwing up a peace sign with a goofy grin. You felt a little awkward, but you did your best to smile naturally as Maya snapped a few shots.

"Okay, perfect!" she chirped, showing you the picture on her phone. You all looked pretty relaxed, albeit slightly posed. "Thanks everyone! Enjoy the rest of the flight."

As soon as Maya was out of earshot, Lando, of course, had to open his mouth. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and gave you a very knowing look. “So,” he drawled, his voice full of amusement, “How’s the couple doing?”

Your cheeks warmed immediately. Max finally looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow as he glanced from Lando to you, his hand instinctively reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you on about, Lando?” he said, his tone a low rumble.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Lando said, his eyes widening innocently, “Just observing the… lovebirds. You know, the picture just screamed ‘power couple’ to me. You guys are practically glowing.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Charles chuckled, burying his face in his hands, but you could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. You shot a glare at Lando, who only grinned even wider, and then looked over at Max who was watching you closely, a gentle smile softening the sharp lines of his face.

“We’re doing fine, thank you,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, although you felt like your heart was doing a little tap dance. Dating Max was still new, a thrilling, somewhat surreal experience.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Max echoed, his hand now resting on your knee. The simple touch sent a shiver down your spine. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, you know,” Lando said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's been all the gossip, hasn't it? Max Verstappen finally settling down. The world is in shock."

He pretended to faint dramatically against the seat cushions, earning a louder laugh from Charles.

“Oh, come on, Lando,” Charles said, shaking his head. “You’re just jealous because you’re still playing the field.”

“Hey!” Lando exclaimed, feigning offense. “I’m… strategically assessing the options!”

"Strategic, huh?" you said, finally finding your voice amidst the gentle teasing. "Or is it just that you can't commit?"

He gasped dramatically. "How dare you! I'd have you know I'm just waiting for the perfect woman..." He paused, looking at me with a theatrical expression. "...or man. Whatever."

You all burst into laughter, the tension from the earlier conversation dissipating. Even Max cracked a small smile, shaking his head at Lando's antics.

“So, onto more important things,” Charles said, clapping his hands together. “Anyone want to discuss sector times?”

You four spent the next hour dissecting the data from the last practice runs, the atmosphere shifting from playful banter to serious strategy. Even Lando fell silent, his usual boisterous energy replaced with a focused intensity as they discussed the intricacies of the track.

As the flight wore on, the conversation drifted again. You talked about moving in together, the places you had visited over the short holiday, and the pressures of life under the spotlight.

You found yourself more and more comfortable with Max, your connection growing stronger with every shared laugh and gentle touch.

Later, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cabin, Lando and Charles were sleeping peacefully with the exception of occasional snores from Lando.

You felt Max’s hand gently tracing patterns on your arm. It was a simple gesture, a touch that sent a jolt of warmth through you, a silent acknowledgment of the secret bond you shared.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, the rumble of it vibrating through your body.

“Yeah,” you murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder, the scent of his cologne filling your senses. “Just thinking about… everything.”

He moved his head slightly, his cheek brushing against your hair. “Everything?” he repeated, his hand continuing its soothing pattern on your skin.

You nodded into his shoulder. “Everything. This race. The pressure. Us.” The confession was out, a soft exhale, the truth you had been holding onto now released into the space between you.

He went still for a moment, his hand stopping its gentle tracing. Then, he turned his head to look at you, his gaze soft, reassuring. “Us?” he echoed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “What about us?”

You lifted your head, meeting his eyes, the vulnerability in your chest exposed. "It's all so… precarious, isn't it? One wrong move, one slip up, and everything could come crashing down. The media, the scrutiny, our careers… I just… I don't want to lose us, Max."

His expression softened even more, his thumb now tracing your cheekbone. "Lose us?" he repeated, the words a soft question. “That’s the furthest thing from my mind.”

He paused, then added, his voice even quieter, “You think I would intentionally do anything to lose you?”

You shook your head. "No, but…" you trailed off, unsure how to articulate the fear that gnawed at your insides. "The pressure can get to anyone. And we both know how unpredictable this world can be.”

He took your hand in his, his fingers intertwining with yours. "I'm not anyone," he said firmly, his voice laced with a confidence that seemed to seep into you. "And you're not just anyone either. You're the most incredible, amazing woman I know, and you think that because of the craziness of this world I would let anything ever happen to us?”

He paused and then looked directly into your eyes, the honesty in his gaze almost overwhelming, “I won’t let anything happen to us. I promise you that.”

You stared right back at him for a moment, feeling your heart bloom – it always did every time you were with him, every time he looked at you with such raw affection. “You say the right things, you know that?” A smile now bloomed on your lips.

He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “I only mean the right things when it comes to you.”

You could feel your cheeks flush, your breath catching in your throat. “You’re going to make me cry.”

He chuckled, the sound a warm rumble that vibrated against your ear. “I’m not going to make you cry. I’m just stating the truth. You worry too much,” he squeezed your hand slightly, “I know that, and I hate that because you never need to with me.”

Your fingers tightened around his. “It’s hard not to when everything is so… big. This race… this season… all of it.”

“I know,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “But try to focus on me. Focus on us. Just for a little while. Let all the other big things be big later.”

A small smile played on your lips. “Easy for you to say, Mr. 3x Formula One Champion.”

He grinned, a flash of mischief in his eyes. “I am pretty good at what I do.”

You laughed softly, the sound genuine and free, a stark contrast to the anxiety that had been swirling within you just moments before. “You are. Okay. I’ll try. But only because you asked so nicely.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear again. “I have other ways of convincing you, you know.”

You shivered at his words, a thrill running through your veins. "Oh, really?" You whispered, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze.

His eyes darkened, a promise smouldering within them. "Oh, really."

The roar of the jet engines finally subsided, replaced by the gentle hum of the cabin’s ventilation system. Outside, the sun beat down on the tarmac of Abu Dhabi International Airport, a stark contrast to the cool, manufactured air surrounding you.

You stretched in your plush leather seat, feeling the residual stiffness of the long flight slowly begin to fade.

You glanced in front of you, where Lando was curled into a seemingly impossible ball, his head lolling precariously close to the aisle. On your right, Charles was a picture of elegant slumber, his dark hair perfectly tousled across his forehead.

A small smile played on your lips.

A sudden, sharp shove sent Lando tumbling forward, his muffled yelp echoing through the cabin. Max, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, was grinning down at him.

"Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!" he said, his Dutch accent thick with playful teasing.

You gently reached out, shaking Charles’ arm. "Charles, we’re here," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

He blinked sleepily, his hazel eyes focusing on you with a disoriented charm.

“Already?” he mumbled, stretching his arms above his head. “It felt like I just closed my eyes.”

"Time flies when you're sleeping," you quipped, earning a tired chuckle from him.

You watched as Lando rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his usual lively energy quickly returning. “Not cool, Max,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat in his tone. “Almost made me faceplant into the floor.”

Max just laughed, a low, rumbling sound that resonated through you.

"Come on," Max said, clapping his hands together, "let's ditch this flying sofa and get to the hotel."

As you moved to gather your things, your fingers brushed against Max’s. A spark, small but undeniable, ignited between you.

You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat as his blue eyes met yours. He gave you a subtle, almost imperceptible wink, and a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks.

A small army of hotel staff swarmed the plane, efficiently unloading luggage and ushering you towards a fleet of waiting cars. It was a familiar scene, the controlled chaos that preceded every race weekend, a strange comfort after the long hours spent suspended in the artificial stillness of Max’s private jet.

You followed Max, Lando and Charles into the hotel, the lobby a dizzying spectacle of polished marble, towering floral arrangements, and the hushed murmurs of staff. The receptionist, a woman with a warm smile and efficient hands, greeted Max by name.

You shifted your weight, feeling the fatigue of travel settling deep into your bones. You were so used to this pre-race routine that you could perform it on autopilot.

The adrenaline of the upcoming race, the pressure of qualifying, it was all still to come, and for now, a quiet hotel room and a long nap seemed like a distant paradise.

“Mr. Verstappen, Ms. L/N, here are your keys,” the receptionist said, sliding the cards across the polished counter.

You thanked her with a polite nod, your eyes already searching for the elevator. Lando and Charles, keys in hand, had already disappeared into the throng of people. You and Max made your way towards the elevators, the chatter of the lobby dimming to a background hum. Max, his usual energy subdued by travel fatigue, muttered, “Room 312,” as you both stepped into the elevator.

You leaned against the mirrored wall, your eyes closed, letting the subtle hum of the elevator carry you upwards. You couldn’t even be bothered to check your key card.

All you wanted was to crash on the bed. The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and you followed Max down the hallway, the carpet thick and plush beneath your feet.

Finally, you stood before room 312. Max stopped, his hand already on his key card. He turned to you, a brow raised. "Which room are you in?" he asked, his voice quiet, a touch of the Dutch accent coloring his words.

You finally looked down at your key card. Your eyes widened in disbelief. "It's… 312," you said, your voice a mix of surprise and amusement. "How is it 312?"

Max’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Well, that's a surprise.” he chuckled. He held up his own key card, and as he flipped it you could make out the number, it was indeed 312 too.

A laugh escaped you. “What are the chances of that happening.”

“Guess they really wanted us together” Max said, looking at you with his intense blue eyes, making your heart skip a beat.

“Guess so,” you murmured, your gaze lingering on his face. You felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest.

"Well, are we going in or are we going to stand here all night?" Max asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You shook your head, a smile playing at your lips. He had a way of bringing you back down to earth, always. You swiped your key card, the light flashed green, and the door clicked open.

You stepped inside, the room instantly enveloping you in its cool, quiet embrace. It was a spacious suite, tastefully decorated in neutral tones with dark wood accents. A king-sized bed dominated one side of the room, and a seating area with a plush couch and a small coffee table occupied the other. A balcony overlooked the glittering cityscape, providing a mesmerizing view of the sprawling metropolis.

Then he spoke, his usual calm demeanor settling in. "You're taking the bed," he said, already moving towards the sofa.

Your heart sank, a sharp pang of disappointment echoing in your chest. Two weeks. Two weeks of dating Max, and in those two weeks, despite living in the same house, you never once shared a bed. He had always opted for the couch or the guest room - never yours. The pattern was starting to feel deliberate, and a nagging insecurity began to take root.

Did he not want you? Was this a sign? Was all this too fast for him?

The questions, like tiny needles, pricked at your confidence. You knew he wasn't the most emotionally expressive person, but this felt… more than that. It felt like a polite, yet firm, rejection. You weren't going to let the uncertainty fester any longer.

You moved quickly, cutting him off before he could fully settle on the couch, your body a tangible barrier in his path. He stopped, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Max,” you said, your voice even, trying to project an authority you weren't quite feeling.

He blinked slowly, his gaze studying you, those intense blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that always made your pulse quicken, even now, amidst your anxiety. "Yes?"

You took a deep breath. "Why?"

He frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "Why what?"

“Why are you taking the couch?" You knew you sounded more demanding than you intended, but you were done tip-toeing around this.

He looked down at the couch, then back at you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. "Because… you’re taking the bed."

"Yes, I know. But why aren’t you?"

His jaw tightened slightly. "I just... I'm more comfortable on the couch."

The answer, so simple, so easily spoken, only served to infuriate you further. "Comfortable? Really, Max? Or is it something else?"

He shifted on his feet, his gaze darting towards the balcony, a nervous tick you had noticed when he was uncomfortable. "It's just… I sleep better on the couch. It’s… smaller.”

“Smaller? What does that even mean?” You crossed your arms, unable to keep the frustration from creeping into your voice. “We’re dating, Max. Don't you... want to be closer to me."

You tried to keep the hurt from showing on your face. "This isn't about sleep, is it? Is this about… me?"

He finally met your eyes, a flicker of something unreadable in their depth. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, forcing the words past the lump forming in your throat. “Usually couples sleep in each other's arms, and well, I don't get that. It's okay if you don't like that or feel uncomfortable about it, just tell me now because I feel like you don't want me,"

The vulnerability was raw, exposed, but you had reached a point where you needed the truth, whatever it may be. You had held back for so long in fear of rejection, but you realized it was time to stop.

Max waited patiently for you to finish speaking. When you did, you stared at the floor, the floral pattern of the rug suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. Other than your ex, you didn't have much knowledge in relationships, so you didn't even know if sleeping on the couch was a normal thing.

You wondered if you were reading too much into it, but your past experiences had taught you to trust the nagging feeling in your gut.

Max sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of unsaid things, before he crossed the room and pulled you in for a hug. His arms wrapped around you, warm and solid, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“It's not that,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper, thick with something you couldn't quite name. “It's… I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You blinked, surprised. The statement was so unexpected it almost knocked you off balance. You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, his face a mask of concern.

"Uncomfortable? Max, you're my boyfriend. How could you sleeping in the same bed as me make me uncomfortable?" You were completely baffled.

You wanted him there, close to you, not across the room. You saw his face turn a shade of red, his cheeks flushing a vibrant hue. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture you were beginning to recognize.

"People say that I'm really clingy when I'm asleep or hardly conscious," he muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable in the night so I decided to keep myself away. I do want to be closer to you and I do want you," he rushed the words out, as if finally admitting something he’d been trying hard to suppress.

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Clingy? Was that the reason? He thought he was protecting you by sleeping on the couch when all you wanted was to be wrapped in his arms?

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth wash over you. He wasn’t pulling away, he was trying to be considerate.

It was a level of care and thoughtfulness you hadn’t expected, especially so early in the relationship.

"Max," you said softly, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. His skin was soft beneath your touch, and his gaze met yours, vulnerable and filled with an earnestness that made your heart ache.

"I'm not going to be uncomfortable. In fact, I'd probably be more uncomfortable sleeping alone after having you just a few meters away. We're dating. This is what couples do, right? We’re trying new things and we’re not alone in this experience, if you're clingy in your sleep, I can just… push you off with my mighty strength and you’ll learn eventually!”

You couldn’t help but smile at how adorably insecure he was. All this time, you had thought he wasn't interested in you physically, but it turned out he was just worried about being too much.

A small smile touched his lips, and for a moment, the tension seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet understanding. “So… you’re okay with… the clingy thing?” he asked, a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

You chuckled, “I’m more than okay. I actually find it pretty endearing. But you’re going to have to show me how clingy you really are.” 

He nodded, a blush still coloring his cheeks.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, a flicker of uncertainty still lingering in his eyes.

You nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. "I'm sure. And maybe, just maybe, we can figure out this whole sleeping-together thing, together." You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. 

The hot water pounded against your skin, a welcome assault after the long, cramped flight. You let out a sigh, the steam swirling around you like a comforting embrace. Your muscles finally began to unwind, releasing the tension that had been coiled tight like a spring.

here you are, clean and fresh, ready to begin this new chapter. Well, almost ready. You couldn’t help but replay the image of Max from earlier.

Just before you'd stepped into the bathroom, you'd seen him fidgeting by the bed, his usually confident posture replaced with a nervous energy. He’d been running a hand through his already tousled dirty blond hair, his eyes darting towards the closed bathroom door.

You’d even caught him taking a deep, shaky breath before you had shimmied into the shower.

A soft smile curved your lips. It was endearing, this vulnerability he was showing. You knew he was excited, just shy. You found him utterly adorable.

You turned off the water, the sudden quiet amplifying the gentle sounds filtering in from the rest of the apartment. A shuffle of feet, the quiet clinking of glass – probably him getting a drink of water – and then, silence again.

You wrapped a towel around yourself, taking a moment to smooth it over your skin before stepping out of the shower stall and catching sight of your reflection. Your hair was damp and slightly wild, your cheeks flushed from the heat.

You took another moment to run your fingers through the tangles, trying to give it some resemblance of order. You had a feeling Max wouldn’t mind the little disarray.

He seemed like the 'messy hair is sexy' type.

You opened the bathroom door, your eyes immediately finding Max at the foot of the bed. He was perched on the edge, his back to you, but you were sure that he had been looking at the door.

His shoulders straightened with a slight jolt as he heard the door click open. He turned around, and that familiar, slightly nervous smile returned to his face.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little lower and huskier than usual.

"Hey," you responded, your own voice a gentle purr. You moved towards him, the towel making a soft rustling sound as you walked.

You could feel your own heart thumping with anticipation. You noticed there were two mugs on the bedside table, warm drinks likely made while you were in the shower, which warmed your heart.

He stood up as you approached, closing the distance between you. You were finally close enough to feel the low thrum of heat radiating from him, his eyes looking directly into yours.

You took it as an invitation, reaching out to gently cup his cheek with your hand. The stubble on his chin scratched at your palm, and you couldn't help but give a soft sigh.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your thumb gently caressing his skin.

He swallowed, his gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah, just… yeah.” He chuckled, the sound a little nervous, but no less endearing.

You smiled, your own nervousness melting away under the warmth of his gaze. “You seem a little tense,” you teased, your voice laced with affection.

He ran a hand through his hair again, the gesture making you giggle. “I’m just… excited,” he admitted. “And maybe a little… overwhelmed. This is… nice.” He gestured between you with his hand, his eyes softening on you.

“Nice?” you asked, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

He nodded, a soft blush creeping up his neck. “More than nice,” he corrected, his voice barely above a whisper, “Amazing. Terrifying. But like, in a good way?” He could finally meet your gaze head-on, a genuine warmth replacing his earlier trepidation.

You laughed, the sound echoing softly in the room. "I know exactly what you mean.” You took a step closer, your body almost touching his, and looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Terrifying in a good way too, huh?”

He mirrored your smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out and took your hands in his. His fingers were a little rough against yours, a comforting contrast to your soft skin.

“Absolutely," he said, and he finally dared a small tug, bringing your body closer. You were finally close enough, your legs finally tangling together, your breaths finally in sync.

“So, uh,” he continued, his voice a little rougher now, “Now what?”

"Now," you purred against his lips, your eyes sparkling with adoration, "you take a shower, you stink," you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

His eyes widened, a confused look replacing the earlier nervous warmth. "I do?" he said, sniffing at his own arm. You couldn’t help but laugh, a bright, melodic sound that seemed to erase all the awkwardness of the past few minutes.

“I’m kidding, silly.” You reached up and gently pushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “You smell like planes and nervous energy, but you don’t stink, not really.”

He relaxed slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Oh. Right." He chuckled quietly. "I was about to say, I showered this morning."

“I know, I know,” you said, your tone softer now. “But seriously, the shower is nice. You’ll feel even better.” You tugged his hand gently, leading him towards the bathroom. “And besides, you’ve been doing absolutely all the work setting up the hotel room and everything while I've been showering, the shower is the least I can get you to do."

He let you guide him, his earlier nervous energy replaced with a playful smirk. "Wow, such a hard worker. You wound me, truly."

"I know, I'm terrible," you said, giving him a mock pout. "You're just lucky you're cute."

He chuckled, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, watching you. “And you’re… well, you’re something else.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your look. “Oh? Something else, huh? Is that good or bad?"

He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist, pulling you gently into his embrace. “Definitely good,” he murmured, his lips finding the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Very, very good.”

“Good to know,” you whispered back, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer still. "Now, go take that shower. I can already tell you smell like lavender, you really went overboard with the perfume."

He groaned playfully, pulling back slightly. "You're right, I got carried away." He stepped into the bathroom, throwing a roguish grin over his shoulder. "Just wait for me.”

“I will,” you said, leaning against the doorframe, watching him in the reflection in the mirror, a soft smile gracing your face. You listened to the sound of the water starting again, a calming rhythm that seemed to echo the contentment settling in your heart.

Leaning back against the wall, your thoughts swirled. It was funny, how just a few weeks ago, Max was a friend and a teammate. Now, he was this endearing, slightly awkward man, who got flustered at the idea of cuddling.

It felt so natural, you knew that this was something special, this connection you had with him. You wanted to know everything about him. Every bad movie he liked, every quirky habit, every childhood fear. You wanted to be there through every high and low.

The rhythmic drumming of water against the shower tile was starting to feel less like a comforting lullaby and more like a countdown.

You shifted on the edge of your bed, the soft cotton sheet beneath your fingers feeling like a life raft in a sea of butterflies. You’d picked out the softest pajamas, a pale lavender set you’d bought specifically for this occasion, thinking they were a subtle nod to the romantic, blushing anticipation you were feeling.

Max had been adorable, a bundle of barely-contained nerves, when he'd packed his suitcase, a shy smile playing on his lips as he’d pulled out a grey hoodie, claiming it was his "coziest."

The water sounds had been going on for what felt like an eternity. You bounced your leg, a nervous tick you’d been trying to control. You picked up your phone, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, barely registering the pretty faces and perfectly curated lives.

You put it down again. This was ridiculous, you thought. Why were you so worked up? It was just cuddling. Just holding someone close while you slept.

Except, it wasn't just cuddling. It was Max cuddling, and that was a whole different ball game.

You started to imagine it. His arm around your waist, the warmth of his body pressed against yours... your breath hitched. A shiver, not entirely from cold, ran down your spine.

You got up and walked over to your dresser. You opened the top drawer and stared down at your perfume bottles. Should you put some on? Something light and floral? Or something warmer and more seductive?

You hesitated, pulled back your hand. It was just cuddling. Don't be ridiculous.

The water stopped. The silence that had followed felt amplified, like a sudden, pregnant pause in a conversation. Your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat echoing in your ears.

You heard the gentle squeak of the shower door opening, then the soft thud of bare footprints against the bathroom tiles. You quickly sat back on the edge of the bed, trying to school your expression into something resembling casual composure.

He emerged, a towel wrapped low around his waist, water still beading in his dark hair. He looked good. Ridiculously good. He caught your eye and a soft, hesitant smile spread across his face.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little husky. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Hey," you replied, trying to sound calm and collected. Instead, your voice came out a little breathier than you intended. You cleared your throat. "Took you long enough to get clean." You teased.

He let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, sorry. I uh... I might have been... procrastinating a little."

You couldn't help but smile. "Procrastinating?" You raised an eyebrow playfully. "What could you possibly be procrastinating?"

He walked towards the bed, his eyes on the floor. He reached for his bag on the floor, avoiding eye contact. "Nothing," he mumbled. "Just, you know... towels are interesting."

You laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Interesting, huh? What are they saying these days?"

He looked up, a sheepish grin forming. "They're... telling me to put on clothes." He grabbed his grey hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.

"Good idea," you agreed, your gaze lingering on his bare chest for just a moment too long. You turned your head away to not make it awkward.

You could tell this was a big deal for him despite it seeming so casual to the rest of the world.

He finally settled onto the edge of the bed, a noticeable space separating him from you. You could feel the tension radiating off of him; his leg was bouncing in a silent rhythm against the mattress.

He was practically vibrating, a human tuning fork about to go off-key. Your heart did a little flip, it was actually kind of cute seeing him like this.

"So, are you ready?" you asked, a playful lilt to your voice, trying to ease the tension.

"I, uh..." He hesitated, his eyes darting to yours and then away again, focusing intently on some abstract point in the far corner of the room. "I've never... really, you know... done this before."

A small laugh bubbled up, completely involuntarily. You reached out and gently touched his arm, the warmth of your hand contrasting against the coolness of his hoodie. “Max,” you said softly, your voice a soothing balm, “it’s just cuddling. It’s not that big of a deal, is it?”

He turned to face you, his eyes wide and a little panicked. "No, I mean... yes? I don't know! I just... I really like you, okay? And I don't want to... mess things up."

The honesty in his voice melted your heart. You'd only been dating for two weeks, but in that short time, you'd come to truly appreciate Max’s genuine nature, his shy smile, and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You understood his hesitation, the fear of doing something wrong, especially with someone he cared about.

"Hey," you started, squeezing his arm gently, "you’re not going to mess anything up. Just relax. This is supposed to be fun." You patted the space beside you invitingly, “Come here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he shuffled closer until you were side by side. It was a bit awkward at first, this careful dance between two people still getting to know each other's rhythm.

You decided to take the lead, your earlier confidence resurfacing. You maneuvered so your head was nestled comfortably on his shoulder, one arm lazily wrapping around his torso, and then you casually swung a leg over his.

You felt his body tense, then slowly relax.

The silence that fell wasn't uncomfortable, but rather a comfortable lull, the quiet hum of two people finding their space together. You knew Max was still a little on edge, you could feel the slight tremor in his chest beneath your cheek.

"Should I sing that Dutch song to calm you down?" you muttered, your voice muffled by his hoodie.

He laughed, the sound rumbling against your cheek. “Please,” he said, his voice almost pleading.

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You started, your voice soft and low, the words of the silly little Dutch song rolling off your tongue with practiced ease, a tune you'd picked up during your semester abroad and used ever since to calm your nerves.

“Kleine bloempjes, gele blaadjes, dansen in de wind…” you sang, the melody lilting and playful. You felt him relax ever so slightly beneath you, his breathing becoming a bit more even.

You continued, your hand tracing gentle patterns on his arm. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling, his heart was as loud as a drumbeat in your ear.

When the song was over, the silence that followed was different. It was a comfortable silence, a shared space of warmth and quiet affection.

“Better?” you whispered, your breath tickling his ear.

“Much,” he admitted, his voice still a little hushed. He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours, and you got lost in the deep blue of them all over again.

"I think I'm starting to like everything you do," he admitted, his voice low and a little husky. He shifted slightly and rested his hand on your back, a light, tentative touch.

"Well, I am pretty amazing," you teased, enjoying the way he blushed. Then, you grew serious. "But seriously, you don't have to be nervous, Max. I'm not some fragile flower that will break if you touch me the wrong way."

"It's not that," he rushed to explain, "it's just that... well, you're… you. And I want to make sure I'm doing things right."

You lifted your head a bit, looking directly into his eyes. “Doing what right, Max? You know how to cuddle me, right now.”

He swallowed, his eyes dancing with an unspoken depth. “I guess I was more nervous about what happens after cuddles.”

You laughed again, this time a genuine, heart felt laugh that warmed you. “What could possibly happen after cuddles?” you mocked. “The snuggle monsters will come and steal our socks?”

He laughed too, the sound lighter than before, and you felt a wave of happiness wash over you. Being able to make him laugh always seemed to be a highlight of your day.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he said, his hand moving a little more boldly across your back, his fingers tracing soft circles. "I just want to make you happy, I really do.”

“And you do, Max.” You leaned back down, tucking your head under his chin. The position was perfect; you could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear. “You make me really happy.”

He tightened his hold slightly, and suddenly the nervous tension was gone, replaced by something warmer, comfortable, soft. You both were finally just enjoying each other’s company.

"Do you like this position?" you asked, your voice sleepy. The warmth of his body, the weight of his arm around you, was making you feel incredibly content.

It occurred to you just how easily comfortable you were with each other.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice thick with sleepiness. "Yeah, I really do."

You stayed like that for a long time, a comfortable silence enveloping the room. Occasionally, one of you would shift slightly, adjusting to be a little closer.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your head, and the soft scratch of his hoodie against your cheek. The quiet was punctuated only by the occasional sounds from outside, a car driving by, the laughter of distant voices.

Later, as the sky outside began to darken, you felt yourself drift off, the events of the day melting away. You didn't even register when Max shifted, pulling the soft duvet over you both.

Only when his arm tightened a bit more, pulling you closer to him, did you stir slightly.

"Are you still okay?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

"More than okay," he replied softly, his lips brushing against your hair. "This is perfect."

And as you drifted off to sleep, his words echoing in your mind, you knew he was right. It was perfect, this first awkward, beautifully hesitant cuddle, the beginning of something real, something special. And you couldn't wait to see what else would come.

Later, you were still drifting in that blissful space between sleep and consciousness when you felt a weight on your side.

You opened your eyes slightly and saw Max, his face buried in your neck, his arm thrown possessively across your waist, and his leg tangled between yours. He was practically clinging to you, his body pressed flush against yours.

You smiled, this was definitely a clingy sleeper. He was your clingy sleeper.

The golden afternoon light, a warm, honeyed blanket, spills through the gaps in the curtains, painting stripes across your face. You stir, a deep contented sigh escaping your lips.

It's the kind of sleep that wraps you in a soft cocoon, the kind that leaves you feeling like you've been reborn anew, refreshed and light. You stretch, a slow, languid movement, and that's when you realize something’s amiss.

Or, rather, two somethings. Two very solid, very warm somethings.

Your eyes flutter open, and the first thing you see is the curve of Max's arm, draped possessively across your waist. His fingers are tucked into the hollow of your hip, pressing you flush against the length of his body.

Another arm, equally insistent, is wrapped around your chest, his hand curled just below your shoulder blade. You’ve forgotten, in that blissful, post-nap haze.

You’ve forgotten the reason you slept so well. It’s the first day you and Max shared a bed together.

A soft laugh bubbles up in your chest. You'd known Max was a cuddler, a natural contact-seeker, but ‘clingy sleeper’ felt like a vast understatement staring at you, quite literally, across the bed.

He’s a human koala, apparently, and you’re the eucalyptus tree.

You turn your head, careful not to jostle him (or, more accurately, to displace his carefully curated system of limbs) and find him still asleep. His face is relaxed, the usual playful crinkle around his eyes smoothed out.

A stray lock of dark hair has fallen across his forehead, and you're struck by a wave of tenderness so strong it almost physically hurts. You reach out a finger, tracing the line of his jaw, the slight stubble that always feels like the softest sandpaper to your touch.

You’ve always admired him, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way his smile could light up the darkest room.

Now, seeing him so unguarded, so vulnerable, a different kind of admiration, something deeper and richer, blossoms within you.

You watch him breathe, the slow rise and fall of his chest, a steady rhythm that somehow grounds you. It feels so natural, so right, to be here, tangled in his limbs.

The room, bathed in the warm, golden glow, seems to hum with a soft, content energy.

But the urge to move, the need to stretch properly, becomes too much. You decide to attempt an escape, a careful, calculated manoeuvre meant to free you from his embrace without waking the sleeping beast. You slowly, painstakingly, ease his hand from your waist. He murmurs something, a low, incoherent sound, and tightens his grip.

“Max?” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

He hums again, his face nuzzling into your shoulder. “Mmm, five more minutes?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

You smile. He's absolutely adorable, and your heart does a little flip. “Max, it’s the afternoon.”

He shifts slightly, his eyes cracking open, revealing the warm, ocean blue that you've grown to love. He blinks a few times, as if trying to focus, and then a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face.

“Oh,” he says, his voice still husky, “did you sleep well?”

“I slept wonderfully,” you reply, your voice warm. “But I'm trapped.”

He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against your body. “Sorry,” he says, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“You’re not, though, are you?” you tease, your fingers playing with the soft hairs at his nape.

He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Nope. Not even a little bit.” He lifts his head to look at you, his expression turning serious, almost vulnerable. "Is it...is it okay? That I’m like this?”

You feel a wave of affection wash over you. “Okay? Max, it’s more than okay. It’s… nice.” You reach up and cup his cheek in your hand. "You're like a human weighted blanket."

He smiles, his eyes sparkling. "I'll take that as a compliment." He pauses, his gaze searching your face. "You’re not… uncomfortable, are you? I know I can be a bit much."

You lean in slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Never. You’re perfect.”

His smile widened, a genuine, beaming smile that always made your chest ache. “Good, now let’s go back to sleep,” he muttered, nuzzling his head back into your shoulder, his arms tightening around you again.

"Max!" You let out a small gasp, a laugh bubbling in your throat. "Didn't you say you planned something today?"

He buried his face in your hair. "We can push it back," he replied, his voice muffled. "This is much more important.”

You knew there was no winning this battle. Max was, as you had quickly discovered, a hopeless romantic and a very clingy sleeper – and a very clingy morning person. You sighed, a mock exasperation in your tone, but secretly you were thrilled.

“Okay, but we’re not staying here all day. I’m starving.”

He pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I can always order something, you know.”

“No, we’re getting up. I need to move.” You gave his arms a slight push, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp. He didn’t budge.

“Not yet,” he said, pulling you back into his chest. “Just a little bit longer.”

You sighed again, giving up the fight for now. “Fine, but you have to tell me what you were planning.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your ear. “I was thinking of taking you to that fancy museum restaurant you were talking about.”

Your eyes widened. “The one with all those modern sculptures?”

“The very same.”

“Max, that sounds amazing! And why are you only telling me now?”

He shrugged, an apologetic smile on his face. “I wanted it to be a surprise. But I guess I’m not very good at surprises.”

“You’re adorable, is what you are.” You leaned up and kissed him again, a lingering kiss that made your heart beat faster. “And yes, we are still going. But we absolutely need to get out of this bed first.”

“Fine, but I get one more kiss,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

You laughed, shaking your head, but you didn’t deny him his kiss. Several kisses, actually. It took a while, and some gentle, but firm, reminding him of the day ahead, but eventually, you managed to extricate yourself from his embrace.

Max, however, decided not to get up – at least not yet. He sat up in bed, watching you with those sparkling blue eyes as you started digging through your drawers for clothes.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said suddenly, his voice soft, earnest.

You paused, your hand hovering over a dress. You turned to him, a shy smile playing on your lips. “Thank you, but I’m sure I look like a mess.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t. You always look beautiful.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You’re sweet.”

He grinned. “I try.” He then stretched out, long and languid on the bed. “But seriously, you’re like a ray of sunshine in the morning, even if it’s the afternoon now.”

“And you’re like a big, fluffy bear,” you retorted.

He laughed. “A fluffy, clingy bear.”

“Very clingy.” You turned back to him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Are you going to get up, or are you planning on staying there all day?”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine, I will get up. But only because you’re making me.”

He finally pushed himself up, and you let out a laugh, the sound light and airy. It was the start of a beautiful day, a day that had begun with unexpected warmth and affection, a day that was a testament to the connection, the love, that you and Max shared.

And as you watched him stretch, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, you knew that this was just the beginning of many more mornings, and afternoons, spent together, in each other’s arms.

And you couldn't wait.

The cool, silken fabric of your dress glided against your skin as you adjusted your earring, the small diamonds catching the light. You knew the dress was a statement, a bold choice for a first date, but you felt confident, powerful even.

Max, you knew, would be waiting. He'd been pacing the apartment for the last hour, his anticipation palpable even through the closed bathroom door. You’d heard the rustle of his perfectly tailored tuxedo as he checked his reflection in the hall mirror, the soft hum he subconsciously made when he was nervous.

Taking a final glance at yourself, you decided you couldn't delay any longer. You pushed the door open and strutted into the living room, your heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

"How do I look?" you asked, your voice a playful purr, as you fastened the delicate clasp of your other earring.

Max, lounging on the sofa, swiveled around to face you. You watched as his eyes traveled down your form, taking in the low-cut neckline of your dress, the way it hugged your waist, and fell elegantly over your hips.

His mouth parted slightly, his usually composed demeanor shattering for a moment. "I-uh- You look- You look great," he stammered, his gaze lingering on your décolletage, a hint of color rising in his cheeks.

You laughed, a soft, knowing sound. "Yeah okay, let's keep our thoughts innocent," you said, shaking your head with a smirk. The way he looked at you, captivated and slightly flustered, was intoxicating.

He blinked, looking up to meet your eyes, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Right. Innocent. Of course," he replied, clearing his throat. He stood up and offered you his arm. “Shall we, then? Or are you going to make me stare at you all night.”

You slipped your arm through his, the fabric of his tuxedo jacket smooth beneath your fingertips. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it,” you teased, as you walked towards the door, his hand resting possessively on your lower back.

The ride to the museum was a symphony of nervous excitement bubbling beneath the surface of casual conversation. Max filled you in on the details of the museum, explaining that it was a private collection, hidden away from the public eye.

His enthusiasm was contagious, and you found yourself leaning closer to him, drawn in by his passion.

Arriving at the imposing, unmarked building, you were a little surprised. It looked more like a bank than a museum. As you walked inside, the cold, marble floors reflected the dim lights of the main hall.

You were greeted by a dapper older man in a dark suit who looked like the kind of man who wouldn't break a law, but would bend them if needed.

"Ah, Mr. Verstappen, pleasure to see you again," the man said, his voice a low rumble. "And you must be the delightful…." he trailed off expectantly, his eyes on you.

"This is…" Max started, placing his hand on the small of your back again, “This is… this is my companion for the night.” He gave you a brief smile, “This is Y/N.”

“Ah, wonderful, a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/N, Mr. Verstappen has exquisite taste I must say,” the man smiled. “I will leave you to your tour. Feel free to wander as you wish, and if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”

As the man left, you turned to Max, a small smile playing on your lips. "Exquisite taste? Really?" you teased.

He blushed, the tips of his ears turning a delightful shade of pink. "Well, I do, don't I? I mean, look at you," he said, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.

The museum was a treasure trove, the kind you could spend days exploring. Ancient artifacts, forgotten masterpieces, and strange, unexplainable objects filled the dimly lit rooms.

You walked hand in hand, Max pointing out his favorite pieces and telling you the stories behind them.

He was a wealth of knowledge, and you loved seeing his eyes light up with passion.

You can’t help but feel as though you’ve been transported to another world, a world where only the two of you exist.

"This is amazing, Max," you say, your voice soft. "I’ve never seen anything like it."

He turns to face you, and his gaze holds a warmth that makes your heart flutter. "I wanted to share it with you," he says, his voice a little lower than usual. “I knew you’d appreciate it.”

You smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling. The quiet intimacy of the museum feels perfect, a secret world built just for the two of you.

Eventually, the setting sun begins to cast long shadows across the museum, painting the walls in hues of orange and gold.

Max guides you toward the outer restaurant, a haven of modern elegance that contrasts sharply with the old-world charm you've just explored.

The restaurant's large windows offer a breathtaking view of the sunset, the sky ablaze with vibrant colors. You instinctively reach for your phone, wanting to capture the moment.

You start recording, the lens catching the fiery hues of the setting sun, the silhouettes of the surrounding landscape, and finally, you pan the camera towards Max, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches the sunset.

"Oh, sorry! Did I ruin the video?" he asks, his brow furrowed with worry.

You shake your head, laughing lightly. "No, Max, you made it better," you assure him, your gaze lingering on his face. “You just added the main attraction to the video.”

He grins, relieved. “Okay, good.”

The warm light of the sunset turns his eyes to crystal blue, and you can’t help but stare for a moment. You snap some photos of him, his features illuminated by the golden glow, his smile a captivating mixture of shyness and genuine joy.

After showing him the photos, you guide him on how to take pictures of you. He takes a few, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to capture the perfect angle, following your playful prompts.

You giggle when you see the final result - he's a natural.

"Okay, one for ourselves." Max suggests, pulling out his phone and extending his arm.

You lean into him, your cheek brushing against his, and take a selfie. You both glance at the picture, a visual record of the shared joy in your eyes.

The public wasn't ready for this relationship, not yet anyway. This moment, this happiness, was meant for just the two of you, a secret you guarded like one of the treasures hidden within the museum.

“This whole day has been amazing,” you say, tucking your phone away.

Max’s hand finds yours on the table, his touch sending a pleasant shiver through you. “It was perfect,” he says, his gaze locking with yours. “And it’s only just beginning.”

A playful grin spread across your face. "Good, because I need more pictures for when I have to soft-launch this relationship," you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

You watched his brow furrow slightly, a charming look of confusion that made you want to laugh.

"What's a soft-launch?" Max asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb caressing the back of your palm.

You tilted your head playfully. "Oh, you know," you drawled, "it's when you start dropping little hints, subtle clues that you might be seeing someone without explicitly saying it. Like posting a picture of a restaurant we went to, but not showing our faces. Or maybe a shot of your hand holding a wine glass, and mine is just barely in the frame. It's all very strategic," you added with a wink.

Max laughed, a low, resonant sound that made your stomach flip. “Strategic, huh? So, you’re already planning our big reveal, even before our first date is over?” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Well, a girl has to plan ahead,” you replied, your tone light but sincere. “This whole thing, with keeping it a secret for a while… it’s exciting, but it’s not sustainable forever, right? I think our friends are starting to suspect something."

Max took a moment to digest this, his gaze thoughtful. "I guess you're right," he said finally. "It's been nice, having this just for us. Like we have our own little secret world in the middle of all the chaos."

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, your fingers intertwining with his. “And when we do decide to tell everyone, we get to decide when and how. The soft-launch is just a little… prologue to the main event, I suppose.”

“I like the way you think,” Max said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “So, what kind of pictures are we going to take tonight to fuel the soft-launch?”

You giggled, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Well, seeing as we’re surrounded by so much beauty, I think we have a lot of choices. Maybe a silhouette against the city lights?” you suggested, turning your head to admire the twinkling skyline.

“Or perhaps a shot of our hands together, holding an ancient artifact? Something artsy and mysterious.”

Max’s smile widened. “I’m in. You’re the expert. But," he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I have one suggestion of my own.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Let’s take a picture of us kissing, in front of that ancient Egyptian mural. Something that screams passionate romance, but that we keep private, for now, just for us. Something for us to look back on when this is all public and we want to remember what it felt like when it was just us in our secret world.”

Your breath hitched. The idea was undeniably thrilling, a delicious secret between two people who were navigating a very public life. “That,” you whispered back, your heart thumping in your chest, “is a brilliant idea.”

And so, you spent the next little while taking seemingly innocuous pictures, careful not to give away the intimacy of your relationship, while knowing the picture you were both looking forward to was safely stored away on your phone.

You laughed, you whispered, you reveled in the space between you both. You were no longer just living in a secret, you were thriving in it.

You were a team, making tiny decisions on how you would slowly show yourselves to the world. It was a shared excitement that buzzed through you both.

As the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the museum’s terrace, you realised that the night had flown by. The museum, once an unfamiliar and grand space was now somehow warm and comforting.

It held the secrets of you and Max, a space where you both could be yourselves, a space that gave you both this intimate peace.

“I think,” Max said, his voice soft and contemplative, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between you, “that I’m going to enjoy this soft-launch process more than I thought. And,” he added, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat, “I’m really enjoying being able to share this with you.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Me too," you whispered, pulling back to gaze into his eyes. "More than you know."

As you walked back through the halls of the museum, hand in hand, you knew that this was only the beginning. Your relationship, like a rare and precious artifact, was just being unearthed, and you were both ready to share it with the world, in your own time, at your own pace.

The secret had been sweet, but the future, you suspected, was going to be even more extraordinary, a journey of love and discovery that you were both eager to embark on together.

And you had the perfect, secret picture to carry with you, a reminder of every moment leading up to this one. . . .

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yourusername posted a story

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maxverstappen1 just posted a story.

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The harsh studio lights beat down on you, reflecting off the polished table separating you from the rest of the Formula 1 pack. You could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a scalpel.

The interviewer, a woman with a carefully constructed smile, had just asked you, "Y/N, do you think that Red Bull will finally win the constructors this week?"

The question hung in the air, a blatant attempt to ignite a feud between Red Bull and Ferrari, the two teams locked in a bitter battle for the championship.

Your heart hammered a bit faster, not from the pressure, but from the awareness of Max, sitting just a few feet away. He was your best-kept secret, your forbidden pleasure, and the man you were now forced to appear coldly professional towards.

"Well, looking at the data and the car," you began, your voice smooth and practiced, "I think there's a high percent chance to win it." You kept your gaze fixed firmly on the interviewer, the practiced calm of a seasoned driver radiating from you.

You refused to even glance in Max’s direction, knowing that a single flicker of recognition could expose your secret.

The interviewer, clearly disappointed by your diplomatic answer, quickly moved on to Charles and Carlos, peppering them with similar questions, their responses just as measured and professional.

You could feel Max's eyes on you, a warm weight on your skin, and the urge to meet his gaze was almost overwhelming. You focused instead on your fingernails, the glossy paint a small anchor in a sea of chaos.

The questions kept coming, each one designed to stir up controversy, to extract a juicy headline. They asked about car development, track strategies, and the pressure of the championship, and you answered them all with the same practiced detachment.

You had learned to compartmentalize, to separate your personal life from the brutal honesty of the racing world. It was how you kept your relationship with Max safe, a delicate balance between public rivalry and private passion.

During a short break, you reach for your water bottle, the plastic crinkling loudly in the sudden silence. You feel a slight brush against your hand, and your eyes flick down to see one of Max’s discarded pens.

He's watching you from the corner of his eye, a small, playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You want to laugh, to reach out and touch him, but you simply pick up the pen and gave it back to him, your face a mask of indifference.

The interview continued, and you found yourself becoming numb to the constant probing. You noticed in your periphery that Max has started to subtly moved closer to yours, an inch at a time.

You almost smiled at his audacity, his need for you, but you kept your composure. The interviewer, sensing the subtle shift, tries to steer the conversation towards the relationship between teammates.

"Y/N, you've been battling Max neck and neck all season. What's it like, being such a close rival?"

Your mind raced. You couldn’t tell them the truth – that you and Max had been battling not only on the track, but in your own hearts, trying to reconcile the demands of the sport with your growing affection for each other.

You settled on a careful, albeit vague response.

"It's a challenge," you said, your voice measured, "we push each other, and that's ultimately good for both of us." You felt Max's gaze intensify, and you finally allowed yourself a brief, almost imperceptible glance in his direction.

He was watching you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

The questions continued for another agonizing thirty minutes, and you began to feel like a puppet, your words carefully chosen, your emotions buried deep beneath the surface.

"Y/N, two more question. What's your prediction for this weekend’s race?"

Max looked at you, his eyes sparkling with an unspoken challenge. You knew what he wanted, the thrill of the race, the sheer audacity of hoping to beat him on the track.

He wanted you to openly admit, within the confines of your professional persona that you were coming for him. You almost laughed at the audacity of that situation.

You straightened your back, a confident smile playing on your lips. "I intend to win," you said, your gaze unwavering.

It was a statement of intention, a promise to yourself and a silent acknowledgment of the silent game you were playing with Max, the push and pull of your hidden romance.

A low chuckle rumbled from beside you. You could feel Max’s amusement, his thrill at your audacity. It was a reaction you understood well, a kind of shared language only you two could speak.

“Okay, and the last question,” the interviewer continued, a glint in their eye, “how does it feel, this being your last race in Red Bull, since Perez is still registered to race next year?”

The words landed like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. Your face fell, a flicker of surprise and hurt momentarily taking over.

You hadn't discussed it with Christian, not officially, not in a way that would solidify your position within the team. You had been focusing on the race, the chance to prove yourself, to earn your place. You hadn't wanted to think about the possibility of leaving, not yet.

The interviewer had gotten the reaction they wanted, the crack in your otherwise impenetrable facade.

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile back onto your face. “Well, depending on my performance this week, you might be seeing me more often,” you joked, trying to keep the lightness in your tone.

The interviewer, however, looked unconvinced. The air still felt heavy with the question.

The interview wrapped up shortly after, leaving you feeling like you’d just completed a grueling qualifying session. The lights were still too bright, the tension still too thick.

You wanted to escape, to find a corner where you could just breathe.

“You okay?” Max’s voice was low, his hand brushing against your arm as you stood up. It was a fleeting contact, a whisper of affection in public, but it was enough to send a shiver through you.

“Yeah… just a bit blindsided by that last question,” you admitted. You moved away from the cameras, walking towards the quieter corner of the room. He followed, always the gravity to your orbit.

You both found solace in the small, closed off corner, the noise of the media room fading into a dull murmur.

“You said you wanted to win,” Max stated, his voice laced with the teasing note you’d grown so fond of. “You confident, are you?”

You leaned against the wall, folding your arms. “I always am, Max.” You met his gaze, the unspoken connection between you bubbling to the surface.

“Even against me?” He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you.

“Especially against you,” you whispered, the words laced with a secret challenge.

He chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that always made your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he said, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous light. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The conversation shifted, as it always did, away from the public eye and into the realm of your carefully guarded private world. “Did you see Christian after the qualifying? He was in a mood. I think they expect something big from both of us this weekend,” You began, trying to shift the focus away from the news.

Max let his hand graze your arm again, a fleeting touch that sent a wave of warmth through you. "I did," He took a cautious look around the corner before continuing, "He seemed very uneased which is very unusual for our boss."

You both shared a silent laugh, the understanding of your complicated situation binding you closer.

"I'm going to see Christian now," you said determined for your future in Red Bull.

The studio lights were harsh, reflecting off the polished table separating Christian Horner from Toto Wolff. It felt like a battlefield, not a talk show set.

Christian shifted in his seat, a forced smile plastered on his face, while Toto, ever the picture of composed elegance, offered a curt nod. Sky Sports, in their infinite wisdom, had decided this was good television – pitting the two most dominant, and arguably most antagonistic, team principals against each other for a season-review segment.

"Hello, this is Sky Sports, and I'm with Toto Wolff, the team principal of Mercedes, and Christian Horner, team principal of Red Bull," Steve Jones announced cheerfully, oblivious to the simmering tension.

"Red Bull is currently leading in the constructors, and Max has already secured the drivers' championship. Mercedes is third, but if they perform exceptionally well this last weekend, they could potentially snatch the constructors from Red Bull and Ferrari."

Christian bit back a sarcastic comment about the ‘exceptionally well’ part, focusing on the fact that Ferrari was also in the mix. They were here to be subjected to a parade of carefully selected clips from the season – highlights, lowlights, and everything in between.

It was a cruel exercise in reliving the year’s triumphs and tribulations, especially when shared with the man who had been his constant nemesis.

The first clip flickered onto the screen, a montage of Max Verstappen's dominant wins. Christian couldn't help but smile genuinely.

It had been a phenomenal season for Red Bull, a testament to the hard work and dedication of his entire team.

"Max really has been on another level this year, Christian," the interviewer prompted.

"He has," Christian replied, his gaze flickering towards Toto, who remained impassive. "The whole team has worked tirelessly. It's been a well-deserved championship." He made a point of subtly emphasizing “well-deserved”.

The next clip was a Mercedes pit stop blunder, a chaotic few seconds that cost them valuable time during a race early in the season. Toto’s jaw tightened slightly, though his expression remained remarkably controlled.

“Toto, that looks like a pit stop you’d rather forget,” Steve said, a hint of mischievousness in his tone.

“These things happen in racing,” Toto said, his voice cool, “It’s a complex sport, and mistakes are inevitable. We learn from them and move forward.” His tone suggested the conversation was closed. Christian, however, was far from finished.

"Indeed," Christian said, leaning forward slightly, "though, some mistakes seem more… recurring than others." He offered a polite, but undeniably pointed, smile. Toto's eyes narrowed, a barely perceptible flicker of anger behind the carefully crafted facade.

The clips continued – a Red Bull mechanical failure, a heated moment from a team radio message, a Mercedes podium celebration following a rare victory.

Each clip served as a new opportunity to poke, prod, and subtly undermine the other.

The show was nearing the end when a clip of Christian celebrating a win showed up. He was laughing heartily, his arm around Max, a picture of pure elation.

“You seem genuinely happy there, Christian,” Steve said.

“We had a good day. There have been many good days this year,” Christian said. He glanced at Toto who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

“And you Toto, how does it feel to watch your rival celebrate?” Steve asked, clearly trying to stir up some drama.

“It’s part of sports,” Toto said diplomatically, “They were good this year. We will be ready next year.”

They were both masters at this game, the subtle jabs masked by polite smiles and carefully worded platitudes. Christian had to admire Toto's coolness, even if he hated the man.

The segment continued, a carefully curated dance of veiled antagonism, going over their season highs and lows, the victories and the defeats. Until the screen flashed a video clip, a stark shift in tone.

It was from the press conference, just hours ago, the forced cheerfulness replaced by a raw vulnerability.

The interviewer's voice cut through, "Okay, and the last question," he continued, a glint in their eye, “how does it feel, this being your last race in Red Bull, since Perez is still registered to race next year?”

The camera zoomed in on Y/N's face, her smile faltering for just a moment, betraying the hurt she was clearly trying to hide.

She took a deep breath, forcing the smile back onto her face, the lightness in her tone almost too practiced, "Well, depending on my performance this week, you might be seeing me more often," she joked, trying to keep the lightness in her tone, though a hint of steel was there too.

The clip ended there. It had been a great final race, one of her best which made the question all the more hurtful.

Christian felt a pang of guilt, watching Y/N's forced smile. He knew why she looked mad. He still had to make an important decision, a decision that was tearing at him.

Perez was the seasoned veteran with consistency, but Y/N, the rookie with speed and an audacity that lit up the track, was a force to be reckoned with.

Toto, ever the opportunist, decided to strike. A wide grin spread across his face, the kind that made Christian want to punch him.

"Oh Christian, you're letting go of Y/N, right? Perfect! I'm sure George will be happy about finding his new teammate," he purred, his eyes gleaming with a calculated malice.

It was a low blow, and Christian knew it. Everyone knew Lewis was having a bad season, but to suggest so openly that they would kick him out for a great rookie, was cruel.

He knew that would get to Christian and it did.

“Wow, so now you want both of my drivers? That’s called being greedy,” Christian shot back, his own placid demeanor cracking under the pressure.

He had been perfectly happy with Toto's veiled insults but this was too far. He was coming for his drivers.

"Just stating the obvious," Toto simply replied, giving a small shrug. It was a blatant attempt to unsettle him, to make him doubt his own decision. And it was working.

“You’re forgetting there’s another driver in Mercedes,” Christian retorted, forcing a chuckle, “are you ready to throw your champion out?”

“He will be back, do not worry, just like you’re going to stick with Perez next year,” Toto said, his tone oozing with a false sympathy. “Let me tell you, you will regret not having Y/N, that girl will be a champion one day.”

He looked straight at Christian. “When she wins, don’t come crawling back to us to get her.”

"Who said I'm letting her go? She's already a big part of Red Bull's family and it's going to take a lot for her to go away," Christian said, his voice now raised.

Toto smiled at him. “Excuses, excuses. I’ll make sure to add you to my speech of how you helped her at the start,” he said with a sly smile.

Christian gave the mic to a staff member before leaving with Y/N. They walked in comfortable silence, the noise of the paddock fading away with each step.

She knew Christian was waiting for her to say something, to make a decision, but she wanted to process everything in her own space, away from the prying eyes and endless negotiations.

As they entered his office, a space that reflected his organized yet focused persona, Y/N finally broke the silence.

“An hour, Christian?” she said, her voice still carrying a hint of amusement. “Really? You couldn’t have wrapped it up in 30 minutes?”

Christian chuckled, leaning back against his desk. “I was enjoying baiting Toto. You have to admit, he takes the bait every single time.”

“I think you both enjoyed it far too much,” Y/N retorted. “You know that whole scene is a performance, right?”

“Of course it is,” he said, his eyes meeting hers, “But it’s an important performance. We need to show the world why Red Bull is the best option.”

“And what about what I want?” she asked. “Is that considered?”

Y/N didn't hesitate. The words were out before she could even fully form them in her mind. "I want to stay in Red Bull," she stated, the statement ringing with conviction.

There was no room for doubt or second-guessing. Despite the allure of Mercedes and the challenge of a new environment, her heart was firmly rooted here.

Christian raised an eyebrow, a small smile returning to his lips, a mixture of surprise and relief flashing through his features. “Are you sure?” he asked, the question almost rhetorical.

“Yep,” she replied, her voice firm, a genuine smile finally breaking through her earlier tension. The relief was palpable, washing over her in a warm wave. A decision, finally, made.

Christian nodded, a satisfied expression settling on his face. “Okay, I'll see what I can do. You will know by the end of this week,” he said, his tone indicating the discussion was over and he was moving onto the next item on his never-ending list of tasks.

He settled back into his chair, turning his attention to the paperwork strewn across his desk.

You lingered for a moment, your mind buzzing. You had spoken your truth, laid your cards on the table. Now, it was a waiting game.

You made your way out of the office, heading back to the garage.

Max was there, his engineer deep in discussion with him, the usual debrief in full swing. He caught sight of you and gave you a quick, almost imperceptible nod, a subtle change in his expression indicating he knew something was up.

You two might be discreet in public, but you had an understanding, a silent language spoken between two people who shared so much, not just a team, but a life.

Later, back at your hotel room, after both had showered and changed, you finally found the words to break the silence that had settled between you.

"I spoke to Christian," you said, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Max as he paced in front of the window.

He turned, his blue eyes meeting hers, a flicker of something akin to anxiety in your depths.

"And?" he asked, the single word laden with questions.

"I told him I want to stay," you stated simply, watching his reaction carefully.

The tension that had been coiled within him seemed to unwind, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. A small smile played on his lips as he walked over and sat next to you.

"Good," he whispered, taking you hand in his.

"Good?" you echoed, tilting your head, your eyebrow arched in amusement. "That's it?"

Max chuckled, squeezing your hand. “What else is there to say? I’m glad,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I want you here.”

"I know," you replied, your own smile widening.

"This whole thing has been... annoying," Max admitted, his usual confident swagger replaced by a flicker of vulnerability. "It's not like you're not good, you're amazing, I don't want you to leave, but I also don't want you to feel like you have to stay. It has to be your choice, not because of me."

You understood. He had been walking a tightrope, wanting you to stay, desperately, but also knowing it had to be you decision, not influenced by your relationship or the pressure of the team.

“I know, Max,” you said, squeezing his hand back. “It’s my choice. And I choose to be here.”

"Then that's all that matters," he replied, pulling you into a hug, burying his face in your hair.

You stayed like that for a while, the silence comfortable, a shared understanding passing between you two. You were both drivers, both driven, but together, you were something more. . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The roar of the crowd is a physical force, vibrating through your bones, through the very air you breathe. It's a familiar sensation, one you've learned to both crave and ignore. Today, though, it feels different.

More…intense. This isn't just another qualifying session; this is it. The final showdown, the battle for pole position. You're in the cockpit, strapped in, the familiar scent of fuel and hot rubber filling your senses.

Your hands grip the wheel, knuckles white, the leather warm against your skin. This is your domain. You are one with the machine, a perfect symbiosis of human and engineering.

Your eyes flick to the timing screen. Okay, you’re P2 heading into this final run. Your teammate is some distance back. Max's name glares at you from the top spot, a bright, taunting beacon. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

He's fast, no doubt about that, the fastest today in fact – but you're not about to let him take it without a fight, especially not when you know you have the pace.

Especially when you want to make him work for it.

You take a deep breath, the tension in your chest a knot you need to unravel. ‘Ok y/n just focus,’ Joseph, a calm voice amidst the chaos, crackles over your headset. ‘Tyres are warmed, engine temp okay. Let’s go show them.’

You acknowledge with a nod, although he can't see it, and grip the wheel tighter. The green light snaps on, and you’re away, the car launching forward with a brutal, exhilarating surge of power.

The first corner is a dance of precision, every input deliberate, every movement calculated. You apex perfectly, feeling the tyres bite into the asphalt. The G-force presses you into your seat, a heavy hand forcing you to stay locked in.

You’ve been working hard to perfect that corner all weekend. This is your track, you know every bump, every camber change. You’ve poured every ounce of your energy into this run.

You shift up through the gears, the engine screaming behind you like a furious beast. You throw the car into the next chicane, the tyres protesting with a high-pitched squeal, but you're in control, a masterful conductor of speed and precision.

The car feels alive beneath you, surging forward in a symphony of mechanics.

You push, and push harder, daring to go right to the limit, every inch, every hundredth of a second, matters now. You see the sector times flashing on your steering wheel. Purple. Purple. Purple.

A surge of adrenaline floods your veins, a heady mix of excitement and focus. You’re on a flyer, everything is falling perfectly into place.

You navigate through the hairpin, the car teetering on the edge, the slightest misstep and you could be in the wall. You dance with the car, balancing it on a knife's edge. And you nail it.

As you accelerate out, your eyes flick to the timing screen again. You're on course, right there, on pace with Max. The final sector is your strength, the fast, flowing curves where the car is allowed to breathe.

You push the car to its absolute limit as you begin to glide through the section, each corner a blur of colour and speed. You flow through the corners effortlessly.

You power out of the final corner, pushing the pedal to the floor, the engine roaring in protest. You feel the car give its all, vibrating as if it could explode under the pressure. You shoot across the finish line, the car shuddering to a stop.

The pit wall explodes in chatter. Your engineer's voice rings loud in your ears. ‘Y/N, that was incredible!’.

And it was. You can feel it.

You take a deep breath, hands still gripping the wheel, waiting for your final time to register. It appears on your steering wheel. Your jaw drops. You've done it! But then… your heart sinks a little.

You’re in second. Max has gone faster. By just a fraction.

You plastered a fake smile on your face, attempting to engage with the journalists.

You answered their questions with practiced ease, praising the team, thanking the sponsors, and saying you tried your best, before rushing into the Red Bull building, desperate to escape.

After your debriefing, you retreated to your drivers’ room, locking the door behind you. 

You didn’t want to see anyone, especially not Max. You felt like a failure. You thought that, today, you would beat him in qualifying, and it was just not happening, no matter what you do. 

A soft knock echoed through the room, and instinctively, you knew who was on the other side. “Y/N?” Max’s voice filtered through the door, a gentle rumble that was usually enough to make your heart flutter. 

Now, it just felt like another layer of pressure. He knew you too well. 

“Go away, Max,” you called out, your voice surprisingly rough. 

You didn’t want to talk, not right now. Especially to him. Not in this state. 

“No,” he replied simply. That was the thing about Max. Once he wanted something, or to talk to someone, he was persistent. 

Usually, you loved him for that. Today, however, it just made you feel more irritated. 

“Please, just leave me alone,” you said, your voice laced with that irritation. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.” He knocked again; this time, the sound had a gentleness to it, almost pleading. “I just want to talk to you.” 

You sighed, leaning your head back against the door. “What is there to talk about, Max? You won, I lost. Again. You’re better than me, end of story.” The words were sharp, laced with the bitterness of disappointment. 

A moment of silence passed before Max spoke again, “That’s not true, and you know it. Qualifying is just one part of the weekend. I know you pushed. I could see it.” 

You scoffed softly to yourself, “Oh really? Could you ‘see it’ from pole position?” 

“Don’t be like that, Y/N. I know you’re upset, but I’m not trying to rub it in. I’m here because I care about you.” He let out an audible sigh and you heard him lean against the door. “Can we just talk?” 

You knew you should just open the door, you wanted to open the door. He was your boyfriend after all, even if it was a secret to the rest of the paddock. 

But that just made it worse. You knew that you could be vulnerable with him, but the constant competition and him being better was just eating you alive. 

“No, Max. I don’t want to talk.” You could hear the plea in your own voice. 

“So you’re going to stay locked in there? You need to get some rest, we have the race tomorrow,” he said with a sigh. You could hear the worry in his voice. 

“I will. Just not now.” 

“Fine.” His voice was low now, defeated. “But I’m not going far. If you need anything, I’ll be here.” 

You heard his footsteps walk away, and you felt a pang of guilt with his tone and words. You didn’t want to hurt him or make him feel as if he was the reason you were upset. He was the one of the reasons you were okay. 

You sighed once more and got up to open the door. You knew that if you let this linger, it will keep eating at you, and with the race tomorrow, you wanted to feel better. 

You softly opened the door and his eyes met yours instantly. He hadn’t gone far after all. Standing there in his racing suit, and his hair slightly messed up, he looked more handsome than ever. 

You knew, deep down as you looked at him, that even though the competition was difficult, what you had with him was worth it. 

“Hey.” You said softly, and in an instance, he had stepped between the doorway and pulled you into a hug. 

“Hey,” he whispered back, his face buried into your hair. “I’m sorry you feel this way. You were amazing today.” He pulled back slightly to look at you straight, his blue eyes concerned. “And I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” 

You shook your head gently and snuggled into his chest again, “I know, Its just… I wanted to beat you today.” 

He let out a soft chuckle and pulled you into the room, shutting the door behind you. “I know that too.” 

“It’s just… this competition… it’s relentless,” you admitted, finally letting your guard down.  

He held you tighter and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. “I know. But you have to remember why you do it.” 

You shrugged. “I don’t even know anymore. Maybe I’m just not good enough.” 

He quickly pulled back and raised his eyebrow. “Don’t you ever say that. You’re incredibly talented, Y/N. The best in the paddock. Even better than me.” He smiled gently at you. “We both know I just got lucky today.” 

You looked up at him, not believing his words. He knew you well and he knew that you always doubted yourself. “Sure.” You said, rolling your eyes jokingly. 

“I’m serious, you know? You have so much potential. And to be honest, I love the competition with you. It makes me better.” He took your hands and looked at you dead in the eye. “And you will beat me one day. I know it.” 

You smiled, feeling the tension ease away. “You really think so?” 

“I do.” He grinned and squeezed your hands. “Now, how about we get some food and just relax before the race tomorrow?” 

A smile spread across your face. “I like the idea.” 

He kissed you softly, and you forgot, for a brief moment, the pressure of the competition, the frustration of losing. All that faded away with the touch of his lips.

As you pulled away, you knew, deep down, that as much as you desired to be on the top step, the most important thing was what you had with Max and that was something more special than winning. 

You would never give that up. And you knew, as you looked into his eyes, that you would indeed beat him one day.

But until then, you were happy to just try. Together. 

You followed Max out of your room, towards your shared space, and you knew, that as long as he was by your side, you could face anything. Your competition, with him and against the rest of the grid, would push you. 

But your love for Max would make you stronger. . . .  

The roar of the crowd is a distant hum, a low thrumming against the frantic rhythm of your pulse. You grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, the leather slick against your palms.

The air in the cockpit is thick with anticipation, the scent of burning rubber and high-octane fuel a heady, almost intoxicating mix. The red lights above the start line blaze, each one a hammer blow against your already strained nerves.

You’re acutely aware of the weight of the moment - the last race of the season, the last race of your career if you don't pull this off.

“Lights out and away we go!” David Croft's voice explodes through your headset, a sudden, almost jarring jolt. You react instinctively, your foot slamming down on the accelerator, the car lunging forward like a caged beast freed.

The world becomes a blur of color and motion. You’re in second, to your left, is the crimson and navy blur of his car. Max.

The first few laps are a brutal ballet of speed and precision. You weave through the pack, battling for position, your heart pounding against your ribs. There's a crash behind you, the sickening sound of tearing metal and screeching tires.

The safety car is deployed, bunching the cars together, a brief lull in the chaos. You exhale deep, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

The safety car pulls in, and the green flag flies again. The race explodes back into life. Max accelerates, pulling away slightly. Your eyes narrow. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.

This isn't just about the race anymore; it's about proving something to yourself, to everyone who ever doubted you. And maybe, just maybe, to him.

You push your car, inching closer, taking every corner with calculated risk. You can feel the heat radiating from your engine, the vibrations of the tires screaming against the asphalt.

You’re glued to Max’s rear wing, calculating every move, searching for an opening, a single mistake that might give you the edge.

The laps tick by, each one a grueling test of your skill, your endurance, your will. You’re breathing hard, sweat stinging your eyes, your muscles aching.

You’re pushing yourself beyond the limit, chasing the tail of his Red Bull, the finish line growing closer with every agonizing lap.

You see an opportunity on the next corner, the perfect turn, the perfect braking point, the perfect chance. It’s a risky move, one that could easily send you spinning into the wall if you miscalculate.

But you have to try. This is it.

You lock your brakes, your tires screaming in protest, and cut to his inside, your car lunging forward. Your heart is in your throat, the world narrowing to the car in front of you and the sliver of asphalt you're now occupying.

You’re neck-and-neck, your wheels inches apart, the air thick with the tension.

There's a moment of pure, raw speed, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You are pushing yourself and your car to the max. This is it; the final corner, in the final lap, of the race, before the end of your career

You hear Joseph’s voice, sharp and urgent, “Y/N, be careful!” He knows the risk you’re taking.

You don’t reply, your focus laser-sharp. You keep your foot on the gas, your knuckles white as bone, and then, you do it. You’re ahead, the nose of your car inches into first place, the finish line a blur of colors and emotions.

You cross the line, the world exploding in cheers and the deafening roar of the crowd. You’ve done it. You've won.

Your mind struggles to catch up. You barely register the immense relief that washes over you, the adrenaline still flooding your body. You glance to your right and through the fence you see a sign being held aloft.

Your team.

And it reads, just as you hoped, ‘Y/N P1, Max P2, and Constructors' Champions.’ The confirmation you’ve been longing for, the culmination of a season of dedication and teamwork.

You pull into the pit lane, your heart pounding, your hands shaking. As you unbuckle your helmet, you can barely believe what you’ve just accomplished. You and Max were the champions. You’ve won it.

You run, not walk, to the pit wall, your team is already celebrating. Christian stands proudly in front of the crowd, and as you reach him, his face breaks into a fatherly grin.

You embrace him tightly, a hug that holds more than just victory—it’s a lifetime of shared dreams and unwavering support.

"You did it, kid," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "You absolutely did it."

You pull back, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “We did it, Christian,” you correct, “All of us.”

He chuckles, a warm, rumbling sound. “Aye, we did. You just went and made sure of it, didn't you?"

The crowd is chanting your name now, a rhythmic wave of sound that washes over you. You want to soak it all in, every single second of it.

As the celebrations continue, you scan the crowd, your eyes searching for a familiar face. Max.

Max approaches you, his eyes wide with a mix of admiration and disbelief. He pulls you into a tight hug, his body trembling against yours.

“You were incredible,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Absolutely incredible.”

"It was a wild one," you say, still catching your breath. He pulls away slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his eyes searching yours.

“You scared me, Y/N. That move was…insane.” There's a mixture of concern and affection in his expression.

“I had to,” you say, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. “I wasn’t going to let you get away with it.”

“I know,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “You never do.” He leans in, his lips a breath away from yours, the tension suddenly building between you in this very public space.

The air crackles with unspoken tension, a magnetic pull that draws you closer. The roar of the crowd recedes further, replaced by the roaring in your own ears. You want to kiss him so badly, to taste the victory on his lips and share this moment of triumph.

But you know, with a sharp pang of reality, that thousands of cameras are trained on you. The world is watching. Your private romance is anything but.

As if on cue, the team swarms around you, a joyous cacophony of cheers and backslaps.

They engulf you and Max, creating a human shield, obscuring you from prying eyes. It’s a coordinated effort, a protective circle forming around you two.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” they chant, their voices a chorus of encouragement. The sudden change is disorienting, the privacy you had for a moment now replaced with raucous enthusiasm.

Your heart hammers in your chest, a mixture of nerves and excitement flaring through you. You glance at Max, who is looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He raises an eyebrow, a silent question passing between you.

You take a deep breath, knowing he reads your every expression. The world might be watching, but the only opinion that matters right now is Max’s. You nod once, a small, decisive motion.

With a grin that could light up the entire paddock, he leans back in for what feels like the longest kiss of your life. There is no hesitation, no reservation as your lips finally meet. It tastes of victory and relief, the culmination of weeks of tension and pressure.

His hands move from your face to clutch the back of your neck, as if to pull you deeper. The kiss is everything you imagined, fierce and tender, a perfect blend.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. The team is in uproar, cheering as if you’ve just won another race.

He nuzzles his face within the crook of your neck, his voice a low murmur, "Well, that was something."

You giggle, the tension finally starting to ease out of your body, "I think we just gave them a show."

"They've been wanting it for a while though," You can hear the grin in his voice.

The team started to separate, a sign that the interviewers would be waiting for you both. You subtly pulled away from Max, the silent agreement to continue with the charade still in place.

Nobody could know, not yet anyway. Max headed off first, giving you a small wink before disappearing into the waiting crowd. You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips.

He was such a tease.

Your time came soon after, you took a deep breath and smoothed down your fire suit and walked out into the fray.

The cameras flashed, the voices of the interviewers assaulted you, but you kept your smile plastered and your answers as vague as you could manage.

The interviewer, a woman with a microphone the size of your fist, was already beside you, her bright smile a stark contrast to the sweat clinging to your brow.

"Absolutely incredible race, you just won the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix," she began, her tone a blend of excitement and professional poise. "How does it feel to finish the season with such a monumental victory?"

You managed a grin, the corners of your mouth stretching tight with the effort. "Honestly," you breathed, your voice still raspy from exertion, "it feels incredible. It's been a short season for me yet a tough season, and to end it like this… it's just… wow."

“You seemed to really pull it through in the last part of the race, what was going through your mind when your closest competitor was right behind you?” she asked.

“I was just trying to stay focused, that’s all.” You responded, smiling.

The questions kept coming, but you were well versed in keeping the conversation on the racing and not on you.

You knew you couldn't slip, not out here, not yet.

"So has there been an official talk about next year? Will you be replacing Perez, or going to a different team?" the interviewer asked, a knowing grin plastered across his face.

You were waiting for this one, the inevitable question that skirted the edge of your secret.

"Yeah, there has been, but I'd rather not say until the announcement is made. Red Bull is my family after all," you stated, your tone light, casual, but your inner voice was screaming.

The truth was more intricate, more nuanced, than any simple team transfer. Your future wasn't just about a car or a team; it was inextricably linked to a man.

The interview moved on, finally deeming you squeezed dry of any revealing information.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you make your way to the cool down room. It's a sanctuary, a place where the pressure of the race can begin to dissipate before the long night of media duties and debriefing.

The door slides open, revealing Max and Charles already settled on the plush sofas, their eyes glued to the monitor on the wall. The race replay is unfolding, a ghost of the events that just transpired.

"There you are," Charles says, tilting his head in acknowledgment as you enter. He offers a small, genuine smile, one that reaches his eyes. "Congratulations, you were absolute dynamite out there."

"Thank you," you reply, settling onto the empty sofa opposite them. Your gaze slides towards Max. He's watching the screen intently, his jaw clenched slightly, a telltale sign of the intensity that still lingers.

You know him so well. You see the pride swimming beneath the surface, the subtle tightening of his shoulders. It’s a different kind of pride than if you were someone he saw as a rival.

It’s the pride of someone who loves you.

"Insane drive,” Max finally says, turning his attention to you, a genuine grin spreading across his face. “You were untouchable.”

"Thanks,” you say, your heart doing a little flip-flop at the way he's looking at you, a mix of admiration and something deeper, something only you would recognize.

It’s a look that makes the exhaustion start to fade, the adrenaline beginning to settle into a warm comfortable thrum. “It wasn’t easy though.”

The replay on the screen has reached the crucial point in the race, where you made that daring overtake, the move that sealed your victory.

Re-watching it now, it still takes your breath away, the sheer audacity of it all.

"That move," Charles murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief, "I still can't believe you pulled that off."

"Calculated risk," you say, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"You’re sure it wasn’t just blind luck?” Charles laughs, and you roll your eyes playfully. “It really was amazing though, you were on fire all weekend."

"Maybe both," you say, turning serious for a moment, “I’ve been working real hard this whole season to be able to do those kind of moves.”

Max shifts his position slightly, leaning back on the couch. His eyes meet yours once more, and a silent understanding passes between you.

In that brief, unspoken moment, you feel a wash of comfort, a sense of belonging that comes from sharing a secret with someone you love.

The knowledge that he sees you, truly sees you, is almost a greater reward than the victory itself.

The room settles into a comfortable quiet as the race unfolds on the screen, the commentary filling the space. The tension from the track begins to release, replaced by a quiet camaraderie.

You steal glances at Max, the easy familiarity between you like a warm blanket on a cold night. It’s always like this when the two of you are around Charles.

You’re both relaxed, and while you are not displaying it, there is a clear feeling of warmth between you. It’s the kind of relaxed feeling that you’re sure Charles can’t help but notice.

"So," Charles says, breaking the silence, his gaze moving between you and Max, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Big celebrations tonight? Champagne showers?"

You laugh, a genuine laugh that echoes in the quiet room, "Probably, if the team has anything to say about it."

Max snorts, a sound of quiet amusement, "They usually do."

"I know what I'm going to do," Charles continues, his eyes twinkling, "I'm going to party until tomorrow."

"I could say the same," you said. “We’ve got celebrate the whole night."

The end of the race replay starts to come to a close, and Max shifts his attention from the screen to you, his lips twitching into a teasing smile.

"So, who’s going to make the drinks for the post-race party tonight? Surely the race winner has to."

"I'm sure there's someone more talented than me in that department," you say, your eyes meeting his challenge, a playful energy dancing between you. "I’m sure that you will do a better job."

“Oh I’m sure I will,” Max says, standing up and offering you his hand to help you to your feet, “but the champion needs to practice being a gracious host.”

You accept his hand and let him pull you up, a smile playing on your lips. Your touch sent a rush of excitement through your body, a silent signal that always passed between the two of you.

The walk to the podium felt like wading through a dream. The air crackled with energy, a symphony of cheers, whistles, and camera flashes. You saw the podium ahead, three steps waiting for their occupants.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, building the anticipation. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! For third place, representing Ferrari, please welcome Charles Leclerc!”

The crowd erupted as Charles, with his signature charming grin, stepped onto the lowest tier. He waved to the masses, his eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and good-natured defeat.

Then, it was Max’s turn. “In second place, representing Red Bull Racing, your champion, the one and only Max Verstappen!” The roar intensified, a wave of orange crashing through the air. Max, ever stoic, offered a small nod of acknowledgment before taking his place.

He caught your eye, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and gave you a quick wink. Your heart skipped a beat.

Finally, the announcer's voice reached its crescendo, "And now, for the winner of the final race in first place… Y/N L/N!!" You could barely hear your name being yelled over the collective scream of joy.

You felt a surge of adrenaline, a second wind fueled by the sheer adoration of the crowd. You took a deep breath, a smile stretching across your face, and stepped onto the top step of the podium.

The bright lights felt hot against your skin, but you barely noticed. You raised your arms in victory, taking in the magnificent sight of thousands of people cheering for you. It truly was magic. The national anthem started and you felt a beautiful sense of pride fill your heart. 

The champagne bottles were popped, and the podium was engulfed in a spray of bubbly liquid. You laughed, brushing the droplets from your hair, your eyes meeting Max’s across the small space.

After what felt like an eternity, the podium celebrations came to an end. You were being ushered towards the press area when you felt a hand grasp your arm.

You turned to see Max, his eyes a mix of impatience and amusement.

“Meet me in my room later,” he whispered, his voice low.

You nodded, a warm sensation spreading through your chest. “I’ll be there,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The rest of the evening was a blur of questions, flashing cameras, and polite smiles. You answered the questions with practiced ease, your mind drifting back to the quiet intensity in Max’s eyes.

The constant chatter of journalists faded into background noise as you yearned for the peace of your garage and the promise of Max’s company.

Finally, the interviews were over. You could feel the exhaustion pulling you down, but a surge of anticipation kept you moving. You quickly made your way back to the garage, the place where you felt most at peace when you weren’t on the racetrack.

You found the door slightly ajar and with a gentle push, you entered the dimly lit space.

He sat on the small, worn sofa, his head tilted back against the cushion, eyes closed. You paused just inside the doorway, watching him. He looked relaxed, the tension that always seemed to coil within him seemingly absent.

He looked, in that moment, utterly vulnerable.

You cleared your throat softly, and his eyes snapped open, focusing on you with an intensity that always managed to make your breath catch.

"You're here," he said, his voice a low murmur, a hint of relief coloring his words. He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners.

You walked towards him, the silence between you comfortable and intimate. You sat down beside him on the sofa, the worn leather yielding to your weight.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, content in the quiet intimacy of the space.

Then, Max reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand, sending another warm shiver through you. He laced his fingers with yours, the contact both grounding and electrifying.

“You were incredible out there today,” he said, his gaze locked on your eyes, his thumb stroking the back of your hand.

A flush of pleasure warmed your cheeks. "So were you," you countered, a smile playing on your lips. "You were pushing hard."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that always made your heart skip a beat. "Someone had to try and keep it interesting," he teased, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief. “But you stole the show, as usual.”

You glanced down at your interlocked hands, a surge of emotion flooding your chest. Despite the public persona, the competitive edge, there was a tenderness in him, a vulnerability that only you seemed to see.

It was a side of him that you cherished, that you protected fiercely.

He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear again, just like it had been before the interviews.

“I have to admit,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, “I’m really glad you won today. It means I finally get you all to myself. No more cameras or journalists.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, the warmth spreading through your entire body. He could always make you feel this way, with just a few softly spoken words.

You leaned in closer, mirroring his movement. “You know, it’s funny,” you said, your voice barely a breath. “I thought I was coming here to celebrate the win. But all I really wanted, was just to be here with you.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “You mean that?” he asked softly, the playful teasing gone.

You nodded, the honesty in your heart plain for him to see. “Always.”

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was resting against his shoulder. The comfortable silence descended once more, this time even more intimate than before.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

A small, almost hesitant smile touched his lips, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a touch so tender it sent a jolt of warmth through you.

He kissed the top of your head, his touch feather-light, and a small contented sigh escaped your lips.

“God, I’ve missed this,” you murmured into his shoulder, the tension finally leaving your body.

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated against you. "Missed what?" he teased, his voice a smooth caress.

You pressed closer to him, nuzzling your face into the warmth of his neck. "This," you whispered, "just... this."

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was resting against his shoulder. The comfortable silence descended once more, this time even more intimate than before.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, grounding you, reminding you that you were real, that this was real.

He pressed a small kiss to the top of your hair before shifting slightly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

You could feel his shy smile curve against your neck as he peppered small kisses there, each one sending a fresh wave of warmth through you. You turned your head slightly, offering him more access to your damp skin.

The shyness in his touch was endearing, a stark contrast to the confident racer the world saw. It was this side of him, only for you, that made your heart swell.

"We're going to party so hard," Max muttered, his voice a low purr against your skin. "We deserve it."

You chuckled softly, the sound muffled against his neck. “We absolutely do," you agreed. "I think I can finally feel all the tension leaving my body. I was so nervous before the race, I was practically buzzing.”

The roar of the crowd was still a tangible thing, vibrating under your skin and making your heart thump like a hummingbird's wings. The confetti, a glittering storm of victory, tickled your face.

You held the trophy aloft, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of the moment, the weight a solid reassurance of the triumph you had just achieved.

"3.. 2.. 1..!" the team admin's voice boomed, cutting through the din. Then, the collective roar, a joyous, guttural yell that vibrated in your bones.

Champagne erupted, the sweet, sharp tang filling the air, soaking into your racing suit, adding another layer of sensation to the already overwhelming experience.

Max, standing beside you, mirrored your pose, his own trophy gleaming under the stadium lights. He caught your eye, a familiar warmth flickering in his gaze before he offered a wide, celebratory grin to the cameras.

You both knew the drill. Hold the trophies high, look ecstatic, spray the champagne, and be the perfect picture of sporting camaraderie.

The flash of cameras punctuated the moment, capturing the manufactured joy. Smiling until your cheeks ached, you followed Max’s lead, swigging from the bottle and spraying the effervescent liquid with abandon.

Later, the team announced the location for the after-party. Not the usual quiet bar, but a nightclub big enough to hold the entire grid. A place that promised a night of uninhibited celebration.

A genuine space for everyone to let loose.

As exciting as the prospect was, you found yourself craving a moment of quiet before the storm. You caught Max's eye across the throng, a silent understanding passing between you.

He offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, a promise of sanctuary. You both made your excuses to the team, promising to meet them at the club later.

The short drive back to the hotel was filled with a comfortable silence, the earlier adrenaline slowly giving way to a calm satisfaction. In your shared room, the relief was palpable.

You kicked off your shoes, your clothes feeling suddenly cumbersome.

"That was… something," you said, your voice husky.

Max chuckled, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “Something is an understatement. You were incredible.”

His eyes, so often serious and focused on the track, held a warmth that always made your stomach flip. “But yeah, shower?”

“Definitely shower,” you agreed, already peeling off your clothes.

The hot water was a balm to your tired muscles, washing away the grime and stress of the race. As you stood under the cascading water, you couldn't help but smile.

You’d won, you’d done it, and you had him, waiting for you on the other side.

When you finally emerged, a towel wrapped around you, Max was dressed, looking utterly devastating in a simple black top and trousers. His hair, still damp from his own shower, was styled just so.

And then, the detail that made your heart skip a beat - a silver chain nestled against his collarbone.

"Wow," you breathed, unable to stop staring. "The chain. You actually wore it."

He smirked, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. "After some serious persuasion," he admitted, a playful edge to his voice. "You look good, too," he added, his gaze lingering on you.

"I figured it was only fair," you said, heading to your suitcase and pulling out an identical black dress, pairing it with tailored black heels.

Max watched you as you changed, a silent appreciation in his gaze that made you blush. Getting dressed was always easier when he was in front of you, admiring you openly.

You had fallen for him hard, and the private world you shared, hidden from the prying eyes of the racing world, made your love feel all the more precious.

Downstairs, Max's car was already waiting. The short drive to the club was filled with a sweet anticipation. The bass from the music vibrated through the car, a promise of the chaos to come, but also a reminder of the secret you both shared.

The nightclub was even more enormous than you’d imagined, pulsating with strobe lights and the throb of electronic music. The air crackled with energy as drivers, team personnel, and their plus-ones mingled on the dance floor.

You spotted your friends already in the thick of the party, their faces flushed with excitement.

Max took your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a low murmur against the noise of the club.

You squeezed his hand. "As I'll ever be," you said, a thrill coursing through you.

The night unravelled in a blur of music, laughter, and celebration. You danced with your teammates, you toasted with the other drivers, but always, your eyes sought out Max.

His presence was a constant anchor amidst the chaos. You occasionally met his gaze, a shared smile, a silent communication that spoke volumes.

You were laughing at something Sarah had said, her arm slung on your arm, when suddenly you felt a familiar heat against your back.

Max’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The soft press of his chest against your back sent a jolt through you, a spark that had nothing to do with the strobe lights.

“You know you can drink as much as you want, it’s your party and I’m driving,” he murmured into your ear, his breath sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. “Are you sure you can handle me?” you teased, turning to face him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief under the club lights. “I’m pretty sure I can handle anything you throw at me.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Especially a race winner who’s celebrating a season well-won.”

You could feel your cheeks flush. Even after months of stolen moments, his gaze still had the ability to make your heart race.

You leaned against him, enjoying the feel of his arms around you as he talked to some people from his team. You knew he was the leader, the one everyone looked to.

He was charismatic, a natural in front of the camera, but here, in the soft light of this lounge, you saw a different man.

A man who was quieter, more thoughtful, more…yours.

"Hey, you," a voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned to see Sarah, her bright pink dress a stark contrast to Max’s dark suit.

She was already holding a bottle of champagne, and you knew that look in her eyes – it was a look that promised a night of unadulterated fun. "You just made history! We need to celebrate properly."

You laughed, "Sarah, I think I've had enough champagne to last me a lifetime."

"Nonsense," she scoffed, already popping the cork. "Tonight, we drink like champions! And I have a feeling you're not going to be the only ones celebrating, there is a certain someone celebrating on the sidelines." She threw a playful glance at Max, who chuckled.

"Go on," Max murmured, leaning against the lounge’s velvet wall, "Have some fun. I'll be here." He winked, that flash of playful mischief again.

You knew he wasn't genuinely worried, he knew how close you and Sarah were. He also knew how much you deserved to let loose after the pressure of the season.

You allowed yourself to be pulled away by Sarah, laughing as she poured you another glass. "To the future legend," she declared, clinking her glass against yours. "And to finally kicking that season into the dust."

The rest of the night was a blur. You drank, you danced, you laughed until your sides ached. You and Sarah traded recent stories, some old, some new, some best left untold. You talked about the season, your favorite moments, the times you almost gave up.

Hours later, the room had thinned out. You were sitting on a plush velvet sofa, your head resting on Sarah's shoulder, both of you giggling over some ridiculous inside joke.

You were definitely drunk, your thoughts a little fuzzy, your speech a little slurred.

"You are the best," you mumbled, nuzzling closer to Sarah. "Best friend ever."

"And you are the best driver, ever," she replied, squeezing your hand. "You deserve all of this."

A shadow fell over you. You looked up and saw Max, his expression a mixture of amusement and mild concern. “Okay, ladies, I think it's time to wrap it up. You’ve both had enough excitement for one night."

You blinked up at him, your vision a little blurry. "But…but we were having fun," you protested, your words slurring.

He chuckled, kneeling down beside you. "I know, schat, but tomorrow is going to be a long day. Remember how bad your hangover gets?".

“Oh, right,” you mumbled.

"Come here," Max said softly, helping you to your feet. His touch was gentle, steady, a stark contrast to the chaos that had begun to swirl in your head.

Sarah was grinning, a knowing look in her eyes. "Alright, love birds," she teased, "I think I'm going to grab a taxi home. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you," you mumbled, leaning heavily on Max.

He nodded at Sarah, then guided you out of the lounge and towards the back exit. Your head was spinning, the alcohol making the world tilt precariously.

But when Max's arms were around you, you felt a sense of calm settle in your chest.

As you stumbled into the cool night air, you felt his hand slip into yours. You squeezed it tightly, grateful for the warmth and the strength he exuded.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yeah," you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Just a little…fuzzy."

He chuckled, pulling you closer. "I figured. You and Sarah were having quite the party."

"She's the best," you said, a small smile playing on your lips. "You know, she’s like...my sister."

"I know," he replied softly. "And I'm glad you have her."

The silence that followed was comfortable, the quiet hum of the city surrounding you. You walked hand in hand to his car, the cool night air slowly beginning to clear your head.

Once inside the car, the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminated his face. You looked at him, really looked at him, and a wave of affection washed over you.

Even after all the champagne, all the laughter, all the chaos, he was still the most beautiful person you had ever known.

“Thank you, Max,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “For…for everything.”

He smiled, a soft, gentle smile that melted your heart. “You don't have to thank me. You earned this. All of it.”

He started the car, and as it rolled out of the parking lot, you leaned back against the headrest, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. The city lights blurred into a vibrant streak of colors as he drove.

You knew in that moment, as Max drove you home, that the victory was so much more than a trophy, it was the moment you knew you had someone who would always be there to celebrate the highs and navigate you through the lows.

He led you towards a small, unmarked door, the entrance to a private elevator used for discreet entrances. Inside, the metal walls reflected your image back at you: flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a victorious but tired smile.

But it was Max who held your attention. He stood beside you, his presence filling the small space. He was too damn hot. The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins. But it now mixed with a different kind of energy, a desire that was making your face flush with heat.

You could feel your body temperature rising, a warm sensation spreading from your chest to your face and beyond.

You stared at him, your heart hammering against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed the earlier roar of the race.

He shifted slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and you knew he felt it too—the silent tension that crackled between you.

“You’re staring,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you.

“Am I?” You asked, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out breathy.

He took a step closer, his body almost touching yours. “Yes. Like you want to eat me.” His eyes held a playful glint, but there was something else there too, something hungry.

“Maybe a little," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. You felt your cheeks burn redder. “You’re just…well, you’re very distracting right now.”

He grinned, a slow, sensual smile that sent another wave of heat through you. “Distracting? Is that a problem?”

“It could be,” you said, your gaze dropping to his lips, imagining the feeling of him kissing you.

The elevator doors slid open, and for a brief moment, you forgot where you were. It was just you and him, two hearts beating in time, wanting so much more.

He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Let’s not worry about it here,” he whispered, pulling you out of the elevator and into the dim hallway. “There are better places to be distracted.”

He led you towards the suite, the luxurious space a far cry from the sterile atmosphere of the paddock. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamps creating a sensual ambiance.

He closed the door behind you, the soft click sounding like a promise.

The weight of secrecy lifts subtly, a permission granted to be solely yourselves. You turn to face him, your heart hammering in your chest, his eyes are dark, pupils dilated, mirroring the intensity you’re feeling.

He steps closer, his body heat radiating towards you, and the tension in the air thickens like honey.

“You were incredible today,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Absolutely incredible.”

"So were you," you admit, your voice barely a whisper, though you know he didn't place as high as you.

The humility in his eyes when he came to congratulate you was endearing, your victory was as much his as it was yours.

He leans in, his eyes locking onto yours, and your breath hitches in your throat. It's not just the victory, or the adrenaline, it’s the pull, the magnetic force between you that has always been there, simmering beneath the surface of stolen glances and whispered conversations, now unleashed.

His lips brush against yours, a featherlight touch that makes you tremble, and then they are on yours, a heated claim, a silent demand for more.

The kiss isn't gentle – it's urgent, hungry, fueled by the pent-up desire you’ve both held captive for too long. Your hands find their way into his soft hair, tugging gently as you deepen the kiss, not caring about being careful.

You can taste the champagne on his tongue, the lingering sweetness mixing with the heat of your passion. His hands roam, finding the bare skin of your arms, sending shivers down your spine as they trace the curves of your body.

He nibbles on your lower lip, a playful bite that makes you moan, and the sound is like music to his ears, a melody that only he is privy to within the four walls of this room.

There is a heavy breathing against your neck and you match him in rhythm.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes filled with a desire that ignites a fire within you. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he murmurs, his voice husky with want.

“Me too,” you admit, the words a breathless sigh against his lips.

He moves then, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body. The wall, cold against your back, makes the heat of his body feel even more intense.

He braces his arm above your head, trapping you with his gaze, his eyes dark and intense. You tangle your fingers in his hair again, pulling him closer for another heated kiss.

He tugs at your dress, his touch sending sparks along your skin, and you reciprocate, your fingers finding the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head. He breaks the kiss and begins kissing down your neck, his teeth gently grazing your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Your head falls back against the wall and you gasp quietly as his hands explore your body, mapping the curves and valleys of your skin with a practiced intimacy.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear, his hands leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You’ve seen him at his worst, sweat-soaked and frustrated after a bad race, and at his best, confident and triumphant. But here, in the privacy of this room, he’s simply Max – yours.

He pulls away just enough so he can look at you. His eyes roam your face, taking you in, and there’s a raw hunger in his gaze. He leans back in, his body pressing against yours.

His legs went between yours and you moaned, the sound catching in your throat.

“Max,” you whisper, your voice husky and low, your hands reaching for him, pulling him closer to the wanting ache that had been begging for release ever since the race had ended.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your nails scoring the skin. “Please,” you beg, needing his touch, craving the shared release that only came when you were both wrapped up in each other.

He hesitated, his body still as he moved his hands down, cupping your face between them. “You’re drunk,” he says, his voice a low rumble. It’s not a question, but an observation, a gentle reminder that you’re not entirely in control right now.

The words break through the fog of champagne and adrenaline a little, and you realize he's right. You were a little tipsy, the victory buzz mixing with the after-party atmosphere had left you wanting, but hazy.

You reach up, your hands capturing his against your face. “I am,” you admit, your fingertips tracing the lines of his face, the roughness of his stubble. “But I still want you. So much.”

The intensity in his gaze deepens, and for a moment, it's almost frightening. He wanted this too, you could feel it in every fiber of his being. He steps back, his hands releasing your face, his eyes now searching.

“We can’t,” he stated, his voice firm but laced with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “You are still drunk and I want you to be sober when we do it.”

“Please,” you repeated shamelessly, your leg moving instinctively, humping against his. The brazenness you wouldn’t usually allow yourself felt entirely natural in this moment.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Don't worry schat," Max muttered, his eyes sparkling with that familiar glint, "I can please you in other ways."

With surprising ease, he scooped you up in his arms, his strength a comforting reassurance. You let out a small yelp of surprise, but quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face against his warm skin, inhaling the scent of him.

The room spun for a moment, but with Max holding you tightly, you felt grounded, safe. . . .

The harsh, fluorescent light of your bathroom felt particularly cruel this morning, mocking the throbbing in your skull. Last night’s celebratory party – or, more accurately, the aftermath of that party – was a monster you were still wrestling with. You squinted at your reflection; dark circles underscored your eyes, your hair was a tangled mess, and the faint smell of stale champagne clung to you like a persistent ex. Today was the day. The day you found out if you'd be back for another season on the racing circuit. The weight of it settled in your stomach, heavy and cold, a stark contrast to the residual warmth from the alcohol.

And then there was Max.

He was currently draped over you like a particularly affectionate koala, his arm a dead weight across your back as you tried, and failed, to tame your unruly hair. “Don’t go,” he mumbled into your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “Stay here.”

You sighed, a sound that was half-exasperation, half-affection. “Max,” you said, your voice still rough from sleep, “I have to, you know, function. Or at least try to.”

He shifted, nuzzling his face further into your neck, his grip tightening. “But you smell so good,” he purred, his voice thick with a morning-after huskiness that always made your heart do a little flip. “And you’re warm.”

“You smell like a brewery and I’m probably radiating regret,” you retorted, finally managing to wrestle yourself free enough to reach for your toothbrush. You squeezed a generous dollop of toothpaste onto the bristles. “Besides, I have an appointment.”

"Oh," he said, his earlier playfulness dissipating, replaced by a hint of anxiety. "The... the thing?"

You nodded, your mouth full of toothpaste. The ‘thing’ was the dreaded meeting with team management. It wasn't just a formality; it was the culmination of your season, the final judgment on whether they saw potential in you, or if your time with the team was over.

You rinsed your mouth and turned back to face him, leaning against the sink. He looked like a lost puppy, his usually vibrant blue eyes clouded with concern. "It'll be okay, Max. Either way, it'll be over."

He frowned, pushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. "But... you're amazing, you know? You're the best. They'd be stupid not to keep you."

You knew he meant it, his unwavering belief in your talent always a comforting constant in your life. It was one of the reasons why you'd fallen so hard for him, the hidden depths behind his public persona. “You’re biased,” you said, managing a small smile. "And thank you. For everything."

He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, his touch reassuring. "I just... I don't want to see you upset. Not today."

You rested your head against his chest, inhaling his familiar scent of engine oil and a hint of expensive cologne. It was a comforting chaos, a reminder of the world you both occupied, a world of adrenaline and speed and relentless competition.

"Then wish me luck," you murmured, pulling away. "And maybe make some coffee while I get dressed?"

He grinned, the anxiety momentarily banished. "Coffee? Coming right up. Anything for the best damn driver I know."

The drive to the team headquarters felt like entering a pressure cooker. Every street sign, every red light, felt like a countdown, each second ticking away towards either elation or heartbreak.

You parked the car, the engine ticking in protest as it cooled. Taking a deep breath, you smoothed your clothes, trying to project an air of calm you didn’t feel. You walked through the familiar halls of the headquarters, the silence amplifying the nervous flutter in your stomach. Each step felt heavier than the last.

You reached the conference room, the door standing ominously closed. You paused, your hand hovering over the handle. There was no going back now. Taking another deep breath, you turned the handle and went in.

Helmut Marko was already seated at the long table, his expression unreadable. You sat down, your back ramrod straight, trying not to fidget. He offered a curt nod, his eyes, however, didn't meet yours.

“So,” he began, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Let’s get straight to it.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

He spent the next twenty minutes discussing your performance throughout the season. He highlighted your strengths, acknowledged your weaknesses, and spoke in a monotone that offered no hint of his final verdict. He referenced stats and figures, each word further tightening the knot in your stomach. You listened, nodding occasionally, your mind racing, trying to decipher his cryptic language.

Finally, he stopped, the silence that followed almost deafening. He looked at you, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his eyes. “So, here it is.”

You held your breath, your heart thudding in your ears.

"We have decided... to offer you a seat for next season."

The relief that washed over you was so intense, it almost made your knees buckle. You let out a breath, a quiet, almost disbelieving sound. “Really?” you managed to say, your voice a little shaky.

He nodded, a rare, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your potential is undeniable. There are things to work on, but we believe you have what it takes.”

You felt a grin spread across your face, a genuine, unadulterated smile of pure joy. “Thank you,” you said, your voice overflowing with gratitude. “Thank you so much.”

The rest of the meeting was a blur of contract details and future plans. You nodded, agreed, and signed, your mind still reeling with the good news. You practically floated out of the room, the weight that had burdened you for so long finally lifted.

You pulled out your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed a message to Max. "I got it!"

His reply was instantaneous. “Finally! You had me worried. I’m buying you pizza to celebrate tonight!”

And just like that, the world seemed brighter, the hangover a distant memory. You made your way back to the car, a smile playing on your lips, the prospect of seeing Max again filling you with a warmth that had nothing to do with celebratory drinks and everything to do with love. You couldn't wait.

The soft glow of dawn hadn't quite conquered the darkness yet, but it was enough to paint the room in a gentle, hazy light. You stirred, a slow, languid stretch rippling through your body. A warm weight pressed against your back, a familiar comfort. Max.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the gentle heat emanating from his body, and it was the most perfect thing to wake up to on Christmas morning.

You turned carefully, mindful not to disturb him, and faced the man whose presence had transformed your life in the most wonderful way. His dark hair was tousled against the pillow, a stray strand falling across his forehead. His face, usually animated with laughter, was placid in sleep, a peacefulness that tugged at your heart. He looked younger, somehow, more vulnerable, and you couldn't resist the urge to reach out and trace the line of his jaw with your fingers.

Your touch must have been more than the softest feather, because his eyelids fluttered open, revealing sleep-hazed brown eyes. He looked at you, the corners of his mouth curving upwards into a sleepy smile that made your stomach flip.

"Merry Christmas," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Merry Christmas," you whispered back, your voice equally soft, "Did I wake you?"

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours, "Just the perfect way to wake up." He reached for you, pulling you closer, and you settled against him with a contented sigh.

"We should probably get up," you said after a moment, even though all you really wanted to do was stay tangled in his arms forever, "Presents, remember?"

"Presents can wait," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, full of warmth and affection, a silent promise of all the love you shared. You kissed him back, your hands cupping his face, savoring the moment, the feeling of his lips on yours.

When you finally broke apart, you were both slightly breathless. You managed a small laugh, a nervous flutter in your chest. "Okay, presents it is then." You reluctantly pulled away, the cool air hitting your bare skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you’d just known in his embrace.

You both padded barefoot into the hallway, the scent of pine needles and cinnamon from the Christmas tree in the living room filling the air. It was the first Christmas in your shared home, a landmark you’d both been looking forward to with a mixture of giddy excitement and nervous apprehension. Would it be as magical as you’d both hoped? So far, it was proving to be even more enchanting.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, its branches laden with shimmering ornaments, each one a tiny reflection of the light, and of the love you’d built together. There was a small pile of beautifully wrapped presents under the tree, each carefully chosen and thoughtfully placed.

You both stood there for a moment, just taking it in, the magic of the day settling around you like a warm blanket.

"This is...perfect," you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Max slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side, "It is, isn't it?" he said, his voice full of tenderness.

You both sat down on the rug, your legs touching, the warmth of his body a comforting anchor. You began to carefully unwrap the presents, each one a small gesture of love and understanding. He gave you a soft, cashmere scarf in your favorite shade of blue, a leather-bound journal with a quote from your favorite author engraved on the first page, and a delicate necklace with a tiny silver charm of a star.

You, in return, gifted him a vintage record player he’d always talked about wanting, several new records by his favorite artists, and a handmade, knitted beanie in his favorite colour. You'd spent hours carefully making it, a labor of love that you'd hoped he would appreciate.

He pulled it out of the box, his eyes widening as he instantly recognised what it was. "You actually knitted this?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and delight.

You nodded, a shy smile playing on your lips, "I did. I hope you like it."

He pulled you closer and kissed you again, a long, lingering kiss that spoke more than words ever could, "Like it? I absolutely love it. Thank you," he whispered. You snuggled into his arms, a sense of contentment washing over you.

"I'm starving," Max said after a few minutes, pulling away and ruffling your hair playfully. "What do you say we actually make some breakfast instead of only giving gifts?"

"Sounds perfect," you replied, getting to your feet. You followed him into the kitchen, the familiar sounds of clanging pans and sizzling bacon filling the air.

While he cooked, you poured the orange juice, the two of you working side by side, a comfortable rhythm developing between you. You felt a sense of belonging, of home, in this shared space, in this shared life.

As you ate breakfast, the morning light streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the floor. You looked at Max across the table, his face lit up by that signature smile, and you felt a rush of love so deep it almost took your breath away.

"This is the best Christmas," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you, his eyes twinkling with happiness.

"It is," he echoed, reaching across the table for your hand, his fingers lacing through yours, "And it's just the beginning."

You squeezed his hand, his words sending a shiver of excitement through you. You knew that this was just the start of your journey together, a journey filled with love, laughter, and the soft comfort of shared moments like this.

This first Christmas with Max, in your shared home, was a beautiful promise of the magic to come. And you knew, without a doubt, that you were exactly where you were meant to be. . . .

maxverstappen1 just posted.

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maxverstappen1 It's been a year, a full revolution around the sun, since I first fell head over heels for you. A year of laughter, whispered secrets, and building a world together, a world that feels so uniquely ours. And yet, despite this beautiful year, there's still one mystery that eludes me: what exactly is a "hard launch?" Happy birthday, schat. Thinking back to this day last year, it makes my heart swell to remember I was so bold as to ask if I could be yours. To be invited into your amazing world, to share life with such a remarkable woman – that's been the greatest gift. Happy birthday again, and yes, for those who might be wondering, I am dating Y/N, and she's everything I had never imagined wanting and so much more.

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yourusername just posted.

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yourusername Another year older, and this one feels extra special! It's my birthday, and I'm beyond lucky to be celebrating it alongside our first anniversary. Max, this past year with you has been more incredible than I could have ever dreamed. Every moment, every laugh, every shared experience has meant the world to me. You make life an adventure, and I’ve loved every second of it. Feeling so grateful for today and for you. Here's to many more birthdays and anniversaries together! 💙

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[terrestrialnoob]

He watched as Constantine finished the chalk circle, double checking all the little symbols and lines. It was more intricate than what Batman would have thought, but he only dabbled in magic when necessary; able to perform it sure but didn’t have a talent for it. “You’re sure this will work?”

“I’m sure it’ll summon the protector spirit and keep it contained until we can explain the situation.” Constantine answered. “Alright, stand back.”

The circle began to glow.

Off in the distance, Batman could hear the fight that was still ongoing. A cult that worshiped a deity of death had managed to summon a being known as The Ghost King. His forces only had a handful of standout powers, but the rest were undead skeletal being that pulled themselves back together after being downed. They needed to take out the King in order to stop the hoards, but the hoards prevented enough of them to get to the King to really fight him. Superman might have been able to save the day if their enemy wasn’t magic based. Wonder Woman came in on her day off, but she couldn’t handle both the King and the Fright Knight.

Constantine had conveniently remembered that while the Ghost King that had all but taken over a dimension known as the Infinite Realms, was defeated twice. First by a counsel of ancients no one remembered the identities of, and when he’d been released by some fool looking for power, was defeated by a singular protector spirit with a known name.

The circle suddenly burst into a pillar of flame and in the center of it stood a singular being.

He tilted their head at Constantine and looked annoyed. There was an echo to his voice, layered over itself in what Batman recognized as a translation spell, the original language echoed by the translation. “Wow, can’t say I was expecting to get summoned by I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-A-Conman and a living Spirit Halloween costume tonight, but here we are.”

Batman looked at Constantine. “That looks like a teenager.”

“Protector spirits like to either look big and scary or like someone you’re more likely to trust.” Constantine shrugged. “It does seem really into the role though.”

“Hey, fellas,” the spirit waved his hand to get their attention, “it’s a school night and I’ve got homework to ignore. So lets get this sleepover over with.”

“You really a protector spirit? They tend to be more…” Constantine waved his hand in a circle and started walking around the magic circle, examining the ghost. “…pleasant to talk to.”

The ghost squinted at him, “Then you must have the wrong guy! I'll just leave-” He walked up to the warding wall and tried to walk through it. He hit it and stared at it, then pressed his hand against it and was clearly trying to get through it.

“Not going to work, mate.” Constantine said and came to a stop in front of where the ghost was trying to get out. “Even if you’re not the spirit we were aiming to summon, you can’t leave until we say so.”

The ghost looked far too convincingly panicked. He tried to claw through the spell, push his feet through the floor, and tried to fly up just to be knocked back by the containment spell’s lid.

Constantine must have sensed Batman’s misgivings, because he said, “Don’t worry, the containment will hold.”

“That’s not what has me worried.”

“Yeah, yeah, I bungled the spell and got the wrong guy…” Constantine gave him a tilted smile to hide his disappointment in himself. “Or maybe this trickster spirit thought it would be funny to disrupt my summoning. Either way, we’re wasting time with Pariah Dark out there destroying the world.”

Batman was about to add that he was also uncomfortable with a being that looked like a kid, and on the slightest chance might actually be a kid, looked like they were on the verge of a panic attack.

“Pariah?” The spirit stopped and stared at them with wide eyes, glowing toxic green, and seemingly on the verge of tears.

Constantine nodded, “Yeah, we were trying to summon the protector spirit that defeated him a while back, but we got you instead.”

The kid looked like he just got slapped in the face. “I – no, you got the right guy. I’m Phantom.”

“You?” Constantine asked with an air of disbelieving condescension. “You’re the protector spirit that defeated Pariah Dark?”

“I had some help.” Phantom replied. “Is that what you want? You’ll let me go if I fight Pariah again?”

Constantine looked between Phantom and Batman – thought Batman didn’t do or say anything, paranormal negotiations were why Constantine was there. “Yeah, that’s exactly what we want.”

Batman watched the looks on Phantom’s face, he was terrified but resigned. He glanced between the two of them. “Okay.”

Vaguely inspired by that one post where Danny gets summoned by the JL and keeps throwing his shoes and stuff at them bc HE might not be able to leave the summoning circle but his clothes sure can!

I think the twist for that was that the circle doesnt effect him at all because hes a halfa and he was just goofing with the JL.

But imagine if the summoning and containment WORKED.

Like, he gets summoned and its startling, but once he realizes hes been summoned hes mostly annoyed.

Its a school night! He has work to do! Sure he wasnt DOING it, but it was still a possibility!

And hes trying to banter with the JL. Which for him just means being vaguely-obnoxious-but-somewhat-charming.

But then he tries to leave.

Maybe hes worried about his friends reaction to seeing him disappear.

Maybe the JL are saying some anti ghost/demon/whatever they think he is nonsense.

Maybe he changed his mind about doing that homework.

But either way, it doesnt work.

He drags his hand along the edge of the spell. It doesnt give, and he realizes hes not sure what this spell is supposed to do.

Its all along the floor beneth him, he cant fly through the floor.

He tries to get away from the walls and floor, worried whatever spell makes up the container can be triggered to hurt him or brainwash him or SOMETHING.

Its not his best guest, but he has never been summoned before, at least not with this type of barrier, and he doesnt know what to expect.

He barely gets a few feet off the ground when he hits the spells invisible roof.

And he is trapped.

And now this fourteen year old child is caged in a room with clearly dangerous adult strangers.

After hes been more or less kidnapped.

He’s suddenly regretting insulting them.

And its not his first time beimg kidnapped. Or his first time being in danger in general (obviously).

but its usually some ghost! Or Vlad “Loser, I hardly know her!” Masters!

Both of whom explain literally everything they plan in long ass evil monologues! It usually takes danny five minutes tops to learn their entire life story Dr Doofenshmirtz style!

He knows most of them personally! They hang out sometimes! Heck! even the local ghost hunters are either literally related to him or someone he’s dated!

He knows their powersets, their strengths, their weaknesses.

Most importantly, he knows their goals

But now hes trapped. In a room of clearly superpowerd strangers. With magical abilities strong enough to trap him for real.

And has no idea what they want

And Danny just freezes up

This could be super angsty if the JL were told that he was evil and think his panic + young features are only done to manipulate them.

You can also add angst with a language barrier/translation issue

I imagine the JL would be trying to get information about ghosts/ are trying to get someone to fight a villain they can’t defeat

Its going to scare the shit out of Danny either way- like imagine fourteen year old you gets kidnapped by strangers and they start asking you about your weaknesses or say they will only let you out if you agree to fight this monster.

And if Danny doesnt know this villain or how tf hes going to fight them he might feel like hes being sent off to get his ass kicked.

I can just imagine Danny being told he has to fight this supervillain and being like “…if i like..die…trying to fight this guy…what are you going to do with my body? Like will you send me home? Cause my family will freak if my corpse is teleported into the living room”

JL would not be happy about any of his responses.

Im begging someone to write this please have a nice day

[ssa-danhotchner]

please i need a least angstier version of happier maybe reader has to go to a mision like s7 aaron in pakistan a he sees how much he really misses her

What we left behind | Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

note: I tried my best, I hope you like it!

english isn't my first language so please be kind

cw: BAU reader, beth is in here, angst, regret, past relationship struggles, unspoken feelings

wc: 1.5k maybe?

It wasn’t like you hated Beth.

She was kind, warm, and approachable—the kind of woman people gravitated toward without hesitation. She seemed good for Aaron, too. For all his years of shielding himself, she brought out something softer in him. When you saw them together, he smiled more. He laughed in a way that had felt rare, almost forgotten.

But watching them together hurt in a way you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t jealousy exactly. It was grief.

Grief for what you and Aaron had been, for what you thought you might have been.

He was the one who ended it, after all.

You remembered the night so clearly it still stung, like a bruise you kept accidentally pressing. He’d invited you over, his voice softer than usual on the phone. At first, you thought nothing of it. But when you arrived, the heaviness in the air made your stomach twist.

Aaron wasn’t one to stumble over his words, but that night he did. “You mean the world to me,” he’d said, his voice breaking slightly. “But I can’t give you the life you deserve.”

You’d stared at him, stunned. “What are you talking about? We’re fine.”

“No, we’re not,” he said quietly, looking at you like it physically pained him. “You deserve someone who can be there for you, who isn’t constantly distracted by the job, who can give you all the things I can’t. And I... I can’t keep holding you back.”

His words shattered something in you. “I didn’t ask for perfect, Aaron. I asked for you.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw tight, and shook his head. “You’ll see, one day, that this is what’s best.”

You didn’t fight him after that. You couldn’t. And maybe some part of you even believed he was right. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

--

For months, you carried that pain with you like a shadow. You buried yourself in work, throwing yourself into cases until you were so exhausted you couldn’t think about anything else.

It helped, a little.

But then Beth showed up.

The team was supportive of Aaron’s new relationship, of course. They were profilers—they could see how happy Beth made him, and they teased him lightly about it. Even Rossi, who had a knack for keeping things professional, cracked a joke now and then about Aaron’s “smiling problem.”

You played along, smiling and laughing at the right moments, even as it chipped away at you.

“You okay?” Emily asked one day, catching you lingering at the coffee machine longer than usual.

“Yeah, fine” you replied quickly, avoiding her eyes.

Emily didn’t press, but the look she gave you made it clear she didn’t buy it.

---

When the opportunity to work with the State Department in Pakistan came up, you jumped at it. The mission would take you halfway across the world for months, giving you the distance you desperately needed from Aaron, Beth, and the suffocating reminders of what you’d lost.

“It’s a great opportunity” you told the team, forcing a smile as you shared the news during a team meeting.

Morgan gave you a skeptical look. “You sure about this, kid? Seems... sudden.”

“I’m sure,” you said firmly.

Rossi, always perceptive, gave you a knowing look but said nothing.

Aaron, however, was harder to read. He’d been quiet during the meeting, his dark eyes flicking to you now and then, but he didn’t say a word.

Later, as the team dispersed, he stopped you outside the conference room.

“You’re really going?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

“I am,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “You didn’t mention you were thinking about this.”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Aaron flinched slightly, his jaw tightening. “Of course it matters.”

You sighed, softening your tone. “Look, this is a good opportunity for me. I need... a change.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he nodded. “Be careful,” he said quietly.

---

Pakistan was everything you expected and more. The work was intense, the days long, and the challenges endless. But it was exactly what you needed. The distance, the change in pace, the focus on something new—it all helped you start to piece yourself back together.

And yet, there were nights when the loneliness crept in, catching you off guard. You missed the team. You missed Garcia’s bright enthusiasm, Morgan’s playful teasing, JJ’s steady calm.

You missed Aaron.

You told yourself you didn’t have the right to miss him, not after everything. But you couldn’t help it. You missed the way he grounded you, the quiet strength he carried even in the hardest moments.

---

Back in Quantico, Aaron found himself drifting. The bullpen felt emptier without you, and he hated how often he caught himself looking at your desk, expecting to see you there.

He tried to focus on work, on Jack, on his relationship with Beth. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the nagging emptiness you’d left behind.

Beth noticed, of course. She was too perceptive not to.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said one evening as they sat on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand.

“I’ve just been busy,” he replied, though they both knew it wasn’t the whole truth.

Beth studied him for a moment before setting her glass down. “It’s because she’s gone, isn’t it?”

He froze, his heart skipping a beat.

Beth sighed, setting her wine glass down. “I’ve always felt like I was competing with someone who wasn’t even here.”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said quietly, his throat tightening.

“I know you care about me, Aaron,” Beth said gently. “But it’s not enough, is it?”

He looked at her, guilt and regret twisting in his chest. “You deserve better than this. Better than me.”

Beth nodded, her eyes sad but understanding. “And so does she.”

---

When you returned to Quantico, the familiarity was both comforting and suffocating. The bullpen buzzed with the usual energy—Garcia’s colorful office lights glowed from the corner, Morgan leaned casually against Spence's desk, and Rossi greeted you with his characteristic warmth. But despite the smiles and hugs, there was a lingering sense of unease.

You tried to shake it off. You were home now, and that was what mattered.

But then you saw Aaron.

He stood at the far end of the bullpen, just outside his office, his dark eyes locked on you. The usual stoicism in his expression faltered as you met his gaze, something softer, almost hesitant, bleeding through.

Your breath caught in your chest. It had been months since you last saw him, and yet it felt like no time had passed at all. He looked the same—polished suit, perfect posture, the slight furrow of his brow that you’d memorized years ago.

He started walking toward you, his steps slow and deliberate. You tried to prepare yourself for the moment, but when he finally stopped in front of you, the carefully constructed walls around your heart wavered.

“Welcome back,” he said softly, his voice carrying a gravity that made your pulse race.

“Thanks,” you replied, forcing a small smile, though your throat felt tight.

There was a beat of silence. The bullpen buzzed with life around you, but all you could focus on was him—the way his eyes lingered on your face, the way he seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

“Can we talk?” he asked finally, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to say no, to protect yourself from whatever this conversation might bring. But the way he looked at you—vulnerable and intent—made it impossible to refuse.

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

He led you to his office, holding the door open for you before closing it behind him. The sound of the latch clicking seemed to echo, amplifying the tension in the room.

You stood awkwardly near the desk while he lingered by the door, as if trying to keep some distance between you.

“How was it?” he asked, gesturing vaguely. “Pakistan, I mean.”

“It was... intense” you admitted. “Challenging, but good. It gave me a lot to think about.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening as he seemed to weigh his next words. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thanks” you said again, the word feeling hollow on your tongue. You couldn’t take the tension anymore. “Aaron, what did you want to talk about?”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and when he finally looked at you, his eyes were heavy with regret.

“I owe you an apology” he said, his voice low and rough.

You blinked, startled. “An apology? For what?”

“For walking away” he said, stepping closer. His gaze held yours, steady but full of something you couldn’t quite name. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought letting you go would... would give you the chance to find someone better, someone who could give you what I couldn’t.”

Your heart clenched painfully at his words, but before you could respond, he continued.

“But I was wrong” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt both of us. And every day you were gone, I felt it—I felt how wrong I was.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “Aaron, I—”

“I missed you” he interrupted, taking another step closer. “Every day you were gone, I missed you. And I realized that I’d rather spend my life trying to be enough for you than spend another day without you.”

Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away, trying to process his words.

“You ended it” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You told me I deserved better.”

“I thought I was doing the selfless thing,” he admitted, his expression pained. “But all I did was rob us of the chance to fight for what we had. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The rawness in his voice cracked something open inside you.

“Aaron, I...” You trailed off, shaking your head as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He stepped closer again, closing the remaining distance between you. “You don’t have to say anything. Just... tell me if there’s still a chance. If there’s even a small part of you that still feels the same way.”

His vulnerability was overwhelming. This was Aaron Hotchner—the man who never wavered, never let his guard down. And yet here he was, standing before you, baring his heart.

“I missed you too” you admitted finally, your voice breaking. “But I don’t know if I can do this again. I don’t know if I can survive losing you a second time.”

“You won’t” he said firmly, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I swear to you, I won’t let you down again. I’ll fight for this—for us. Every day, if I have to.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way his dark eyes held yours, left you breathless.

And in that moment, you realized something: you still loved him. You always had.

Slowly, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. His breath hitched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.

“Okay” you said softly, your voice trembling but sure. “Let’s try again.”

Aaron’s shoulders sagged with relief, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

And as he squeezed your hand, you felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

---

[my-mind-mansion]

❣️Dancing with Alastor in his radio tower❣️

{you all seem to like my fanfics!!❤️❤️Nsfw next time??🤭}

It was late. 2 am. No sign of falling asleep any time soon. You decided to pay the radio demon a visit; you knew he would be awake.

As you approached his door, you heard his old-timey jazz music playing and smiled. His on air sign was off so you knew he wouldn’t mind you coming to see him. You held your fist up to the door, but it opened before your knuckles even touched it. You didn’t even have to knock; he knew your presence was there. “Hello there!” He smiled, as always. “Have you come to keep me company?” He asked as you took in every bit of his handsome appearance. Even at 2 am, he was dressed up in his fitted suit and bowtie. You blushed in embarrassment as you looked down at your pajamas and socks. Maybe I should’ve changed first. “Well, I couldn’t sleep so-“ you got cut off by him pulling you into the room by your arm. “Well I’m happy you’re here!” He exclaimed as he walked back over to his radio panel. “You know I’m a night owl myself, haha! It’s always nice to have someone to talk to! Would you like something to drink? I’ve got coffee, tea, water… or perhaps you’d like something stronger? Haha, I’m kidding!” As he rambled on and on, you smiled. You liked the sound of his voice and how much he talked; he liked when someone was there to listen to him yap.

You smiled and spaced out as he continued to be chatty. The warmth of his voice was friendly and comforting. You averted your eyes to the side and got lost in thought as his voice played in the background. “Well? What d’ ya’ say?” Was the line that snapped you back to reality. You blinked at him as he smiled at you. You were embarrassed. “Oh uhh..” you smiled nervously. He laughed. “Oh that’s quite alright, my dear.”

“I asked if you wanted to dance with me.” he smiled as he held his hand out. You gasped and took his hand without thinking. You could hardly contain your excitement. You couldn’t believe what he had just asked you. His smile was ever present as he pulled you in close to him, wrapping his other arm around your waist. You quickly became shy as your senses came flooding back. You were so overwhelmed with joy that you had forgotten something important. “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you don’t know how to dance?” He teased as he looked down at you. It was true. You smiled nervously. He sighed. “Here. Put your other arm around my shoulder like I’m doing to your waist.” You followed his instructions. “Now, don’t you go stepping on my new shoes.” He teased as he took the lead. “And do try to keep up, dear.”

He smirked as he started spinning you around the room. The song that was playing had a quick and upbeat tempo. He moved through the steps like it was second nature, while you were tripping over your own feet. He laughed each time you tripped. You could tell he was enjoying watching you struggle as he smiled menacingly down at you. You let him have his fun for a while until you couldn’t take it anymore. “Alastor..” you said quietly. “Yes?~” he responded slyly. “Can you please show me how to do the steps?” You asked through a fake grin. “But you’re doing SO well!” He teased sarcastically. Obviously, that wasn’t true. You frowned and looked down as you tried hiding your disappointment. You were actually looking forward to dancing with him. He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He sighed and let go of your hand, walking back over to the radio. You watched him change the station to a slower song. He snapped his fingers and your pajamas turned into the dancing dress of your dreams, accessories and all.

Your eyes widened as he held out his hand again. “I’ll show you the steps this time.” He said, apologetically. You gave him a small smile before taking his hand again. “Now, when I move my right foot forward, move your left back.” He said softly. You did. “Good.” He praised. You followed along and got the hang of it pretty quickly. Soon, the two of you were waltzing around the room with no trouble at all. Though every once in a while, you’d trip and he’d bite back a laugh. “Now, remember what I showed you, dear.” You smiled in embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah..”

A few songs had passed and you were getting tired. You started nodding off while waltzing. You gently rested your head on his chest and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him. He gasped and widened his eyes. He froze. “The audacity of this girl.” he thought to himself. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I guess I can allow this.” He hugged you back. You smiled and nuzzled your face into his chest, feeling the fancy fabric of his signature coat. His embrace was warm and comforting. You felt safe to close your eyes knowing that he was there. At this point, the two of you were just swaying back and forth with no rhythm whatsoever. His soft humming along to the song acted as a perfect lullaby. Eventually, you stopped swaying. He tried to see your face but it was buried in his coat. You barely felt him pick you up as your eyes stayed closed. “Just as I thought.. she’s asleep.” He softly smiled and laid you down on his couch. He snapped his fingers and you were back in the comfort of your pajamas. Snapping his fingers again, he summoned a blanket. He tucked you in. He stood there and simply looked at your sleeping face for a moment; you were still wearing a smile. “Goodnight.” He spoke softly as his radio continued to play. You had spent the night sleeping in his radio tower as he watched over you.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Mexican GP part 2

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

Waking up this morning was awful. Sure, I felt fine physically—no soreness or stiffness from yesterday’s qualifying session—but mentally, I was dragging myself through the motions. Dreading the moment I’d step into that paddock, knowing Henry would be glued to my side, invading my space, throwing his condescending comments, and forcing his "help" where it wasn’t wanted. The only bright spot ahead was the cockpit. The second I climbed into my car, I knew I’d find some peace, if only for a while.

I forced myself to get out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water work its way over me as I planned my day. My mind, as usual, wandered back to Henry’s endless pestering and inappropriate comments. The "compliments" that weren’t compliments at all, the subtle digs at my abilities, the way he always seemed to loom over me with his too-familiar tone.

It wasn’t just infuriating anymore—it was exhausting. And it wasn’t stopping.

As I wrapped myself in a towel and headed back into the main room, I grabbed my phone and stared at it for a moment. There was no way I could go to management without proof. What if they didn’t believe me? Or worse, what if they dismissed it and I ended up with an even bigger target on my back?

I opened the voice recorder app and stared at it for a long moment, hesitating. Could I really do this? Was it even worth the risk?

Yes, I told myself firmly. If I wanted this to stop, if I wanted a shot at feeling like a human being again, I had to do something.

I tested the app, slipping my phone into my pocket to make sure the microphone still picked up audio clearly. Satisfied, I turned it off for now and finished getting ready, pulling on my team polo and jeans and brushing my hair into a sleek ponytail. If I looked the part of a calm, confident professional, maybe I’d feel it, too.

A knock at my door startled me, and I frowned, wondering who it could be. Opening it, I found Fernando Alonso standing there, dressed and ready for the day, looking as collected as ever.

“Morning,” he said casually, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe.

“Uh, morning?” I replied, still confused.

He held up his hands in mock surrender at my skeptical tone. “Relax. I just thought I’d ride to the paddock with you today. Of course if that is fine with you?”

I raised an eyebrow. Fernando wasn’t exactly known for hanging out with his teammates outside of the track. Sure, we got along, but this was out of character for him. Still, I couldn’t exactly say no.

“Fine,” I said, grabbing my keys from the counter. “But don’t touch my music. Driver’s picks only.”

He grinned. “Fair enough.”

As we rode down in the elevator, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to this than a simple carpool. Fernando wasn’t exactly the type to go out of his way for casual company.

When we reached the parking lot and I unlocked the car, he slid into the passenger seat without a word, letting me set up my playlist before we pulled out.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked after a few minutes on the road.

“Just thinking,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the road.

He hummed in acknowledgment, not pressing me further. It was a relief, really. Having someone like Fernando with me—someone who commanded respect just by existing—gave me a small hope that maybe Henry wouldn’t be quite so unbearable this morning.

I parked in the paddock lot, and as we walked in together, I couldn’t help but glance sideways at Fernando. His presence felt like a protective barrier, and I clung to that feeling, telling myself I could handle whatever the day threw at me.

At least for now.

As I entered the paddock with Fernando, the buzz of the pre-race atmosphere filled the air—engines humming, team personnel rushing around, fans lining the barriers hoping for a glimpse of their favorite drivers. It was a world I loved, but today, it felt more like a battlefield.

I spotted Henry almost immediately. He was standing near the garage, arms crossed, already looking irritated. His eyes locked onto me and then flicked to Fernando beside me, his jaw tightening. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t thrilled about my choice of company this morning.

Good.

I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let him see the satisfaction bubbling under the surface. If Fernando noticed Henry’s sour look, he didn’t say anything, though I caught the slightest smirk tugging at his lips.

“See you out there,” Fernando said casually as we parted ways, heading toward our respective garages.

I made my way through the paddock, greeting a few drivers as I went. Lando gave me a bright smile and a quick thumbs-up, and Charles paused to ask how I was feeling about the race. Even Max gave me an approving nod as he walked by. Their small gestures of support were like tiny sparks of warmth in the cold shadow Henry had cast over my week.

Finally, I reached my driver’s room and closed the door behind me, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. For the first time all morning, I felt like I could breathe freely. This was my space, my sanctuary, and Henry couldn’t touch it.

I started to change into my racing gear, the familiar ritual grounding me as I pulled on the fireproof layers and zipped up my suit. But as I worked through the motions, my mind started to churn.

Henry’s voice echoed in my head, his cutting remarks replaying like a broken record. “Don’t screw this up.” “You’re lucky to even be here.” “Do you even understand how this car works?”

Anger began to simmer in my chest. I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was done letting his words define me.

For too long, I’d let Henry make me feel small, like my achievements didn’t matter, like I wasn’t worthy of the seat I’d fought so hard to earn. But not today. Today, I was going to prove to myself—and to everyone else—that I belonged here.

My jaw tightened as I secured my helmet bag and gloves. This race wasn’t just about points or podiums anymore. It was about taking back what was mine. The joy of racing, the confidence in my abilities, the pride in knowing I deserved to be here.

I grabbed my radio and earpieces, shoving them into the bag with a determined glare. Henry might think he had control over me, but he didn’t. Not where it mattered. Not out on the track.

By the time I left my room and headed toward the garage, the fire in my chest had turned into a roaring blaze. I was ready for this. Henry could glare all he wanted, but today, I wasn’t racing for him, or the team, or anyone else.

I was racing for me.

The moment I made my way to the car, Henry was there, as usual, lingering far too close for comfort. He had that smug, self-satisfied look on his face, like he knew exactly how much he got under my skin. He always seemed to find a way to insert himself into my space, to make himself the center of my attention, even when I didn’t want it.

As I settled into the cockpit, the tight fit of the car around me should’ve been comforting. I was in my element, surrounded by the familiar hum of the engine, the feel of the steering wheel under my hands. But Henry was there, too close, and his presence made everything feel suffocating.

I could feel his eyes on me as I prepared for the race, the way he loitered just out of my line of sight, hovering like a cloud that wouldn’t go away. As if sensing my discomfort, he leaned in even closer, his breath brushing against the side of my neck, sending a wave of unease through me.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a touch of arrogance that made my skin crawl, “if you do well today, I’ll make sure to give you a well-deserved... congratulations.”

The words were veiled in that same suggestive tone, a tone that twisted something as simple as praise into something gross, like he was offering more than just acknowledgement. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to react, but the moment the words left his mouth, I felt the bile rise in my throat. I had been dealing with his crap for days now—weeks, really—and it was getting harder to just ignore it.

I didn’t want to show him that he was getting under my skin, that his comments were starting to break through my tough exterior. But the truth was, they were. Every time he opened his mouth, every time he made some inappropriate remark, it felt like a little piece of me was eroding, like I was losing my place here, losing the confidence that I had worked so damn hard to build.

With a final, disgusted breath, I shoved the thoughts out of my head as I snapped myself into focus. I could hear the pit crew’s final adjustments happening all around me, the last checks before I was cleared to go. The buzz of the radio crackled to life, but my focus remained on the track. Henry wasn’t worth the energy, not right now.

But I swore to myself that I’d get the proof I needed. He wasn’t going to walk all over me anymore. I just had to bide my time, hold on long enough until I could catch him in the act, and when I did, I would expose him for what he was.

The lights on the grid flashed brightly, one by one, signaling the start of the race. The tension in my chest, the frustration, the anger—it all collided into a single burst of adrenaline, and suddenly, the only thing that mattered was the car in front of me, the track stretching out ahead like a challenge I was ready to conquer.

I felt the revs of the engine rumble under me, the anticipation thick in the air as the lights blinked out one by one. And when they finally turned off completely, the sound of roaring engines filled the air, and everything else—the pressure, the weight of Henry’s words, the lingering disgust—vanished in an instant.

The car launched forward, and my foot slammed down on the accelerator, the wheels spinning as I surged ahead, cutting through the noise of the paddock and the nerves like a knife. Every turn, every shift in gear, every decision was sharper now. The anger wasn’t just a distraction—it was fuel.

Henry thought he could break me. He thought he could manipulate me into doubting myself, into questioning my worth. But instead, I was going to prove him wrong. I was going to show him that no matter what he said, no matter how much he tried to push me down, I was still a force to be reckoned with.

As I tore through the track, dodging rivals and pushing myself to the limit, his words twisted and reshaped in my mind. If you do well today, I’ll make sure to give you a well-deserved congratulations.

I laughed bitterly inside my helmet. Henry had no idea. No idea what it was like to truly race. To feel the rush of adrenaline, the power in the car, and the pride in your heart when you know you’ve earned every single second of it.

The first few laps were a blur, my focus entirely on the track, on the cars around me. I was sliding through corners, making precise adjustments, trusting myself in a way I hadn’t been able to in days. For the first time all weekend, I felt in control. I felt like me again.

But every time I passed a monitor, or saw a glimpse of Henry on the pit wall, I remembered what he had said, and I channeled that anger. Every corner, every straight, every ounce of speed—this was my victory.

As I crossed the finish line and the car slowed down, the reality of what I had just done began to sink in. P3. It wasn’t a win, but it was something significant. A solid performance, a breakthrough after everything I’d been dealing with. I hadn’t just survived the weekend—I had fought through the pressure, the frustration, and come out stronger.

As I pulled into the parc ferme, the pit crew's cheers and the roar of the crowd in the distance became distant background noise, replaced by a familiar and comforting feeling. Lando and Carlos were waiting for me, grinning from ear to ear as I climbed out of the car.

“P3! That was amazing!” Lando exclaimed, his bright smile infectious as he pulled me into a quick hug.

Carlos clapped me on the back, his smile wide. “You’ve come so far. We knew you had it in you!”

I laughed, my chest full of pride, feeling lighter than I had in days. “Thanks, guys,” I said, genuinely grateful. The camaraderie was exactly what I needed after everything.

We stood there for a moment, the friendly banter between us filling the air, until I noticed my team was waiting for me by the barriers. My heart skipped a beat when I saw them, and a rush of warmth spread through me. They had been with me every step of the way, working tirelessly to make sure I was at my best.

I gave a final wave to Lando and Carlos before heading towards my team, a smile stretching across my face. But as I approached the barriers, I spotted him—Henry. He was standing front and center, a smug look on his face like he had somehow been a big part of this victory. The sight of him made my stomach twist, but I pushed down the anger and disgust that had been building all weekend. I had worked so hard for this, and nothing—not even him—was going to ruin it.

I reached my team, and they crowded around me, clapping me on the back, cheering, and congratulating me. The warmth of their genuine support wrapped around me like a shield, and for a moment, I was able to forget about the tension I had been carrying. That was, until Henry made his move.

He came over to me, his hands too quick, too sure, as he wrapped me in a hug. His touch was supposed to be comforting, but the way his hands lingered, moving lower than they should have, sent a chill down my spine. My heart raced, and the urge to push him away flooded through me, but I couldn’t do it—not with the rest of the team surrounding me.

His hands traced over my ass, too slow, too deliberate. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from reacting, from slapping him right there in front of everyone. But I couldn’t make a scene—not here, not now. Not with my team standing around, celebrating this moment with me.

“You know,” Henry’s voice dropped, low enough that only I could hear it, “you’re looking damn good today. You earned that P3, but I’m sure you’ll be ready for more soon. I might have a little reward for you if you keep it up.”

The words made my skin crawl, and I felt the heat of fury rise in my chest. But there was nothing I could do—not with my team so close, not with everyone watching. All I could do was force a smile, nod as he released me, and try to push the disgust back down into the pit of my stomach.

The team started to break apart, their congratulations fading into background noise as I tried to focus, trying to remind myself that I had earned this moment. I hadn’t let Henry’s words get the best of me before, and I wasn’t going to let them now.

As I walked away from my team, heading towards the cooldown room, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Henry’s hands lingering, his words echoing in my mind. I clenched my fists, frustration and disgust boiling over, but I forced myself to breathe.

The cool air in the cooldown room did little to calm the racing thoughts that flooded my mind. I slumped down against the cold concrete floor, instinctively grabbing my water bottle but hardly registering it. The headphones I’d put on were more of a shield than anything else—something to block out the noise of my spiraling thoughts, the feeling that my chest was going to tighten and crush me under the weight of it all.

What had happened in parc ferme… Henry’s hands, his words. It had all happened so quickly. It had been so blatant, so blatant that it felt impossible to ignore. And the worst part? No one said a thing. No one even reacted. My team, the same people I trusted with my career, had just stood there. It was as if his actions had become so normal to them that they didn’t even bat an eye. And that terrified me.

The panic started to claw at me again, pushing its way up from the pit of my stomach, but I fought it down. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t break down, not here, not now. Not in front of the cameras.

The sound of the door opening snapped me out of my spiral, and I felt my body tense immediately. The last thing I needed right now was more attention. But when I looked up, I saw Carlos and Lando walking in. Neither of them said a word as they approached, not wanting to make it obvious they were aware of my presence, and they didn’t push me. They just quietly sat a little farther away, pretending everything was normal for the cameras, as if this was part of the routine.

But I could tell they were concerned. It was in the way Carlos kept glancing at me, his eyes flicking to my headphones, to my stillness, to the way I was avoiding everyone. Lando was just as quiet, but I could feel the worry radiating off him too, even if he was trying to hide it behind a calm façade.

I didn’t want to acknowledge them, didn’t want to give in to the thoughts swirling around inside my head. The cold concrete floor under me felt grounding, like it could somehow anchor me in the moment, but it wasn’t enough to push away the feeling of suffocating pressure.

I let the seconds stretch out, forcing myself to breathe in deeply, slowly, to remind myself that I was still in control. Eventually, when I felt the weight of the panic lift just enough, I pulled myself together. The cameras weren’t far off, and I knew I had to put on the mask again.

I pushed the headphones off and stood up, quickly wiping my face as if it would erase the emotions from earlier. My legs were shaky as I adjusted my racing suit and straightened my hair.

Carlos was the first to speak, his voice carefully neutral. “You alright?”

I plastered a smile on my face, the same one I’d learned to wear so well over the years. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, you know?” I shrugged, trying to make it sound convincing.

Lando nodded, not entirely buying it but not pressing me either. “You did great out there today,” he said, a small smile on his face.

“Thanks,” I replied, my smile faltering slightly. I couldn’t bring myself to really believe it, not when everything felt so hollow inside.

They both seemed to sense the shift, the subtle way I was trying to bury everything beneath the surface, but neither of them pushed. They just kept their distance, respecting my space without letting on that they were paying more attention than they’d like to admit.

As the cameras finally moved out, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The moment they were gone, I found myself alone in the room again, the quiet stretching out before me.

I glanced back at Carlos and Lando, who had already started to leave, and I realized they hadn’t pressed me for the truth. They knew something was wrong, but they were waiting for me to say it first.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell them what was really going on—not without risking everything. The team, my career, everything I had fought for. I couldn’t let them see me as weak. I couldn’t let them see me as someone who needed help for such a pathetic problem. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” I muttered under my breath as I walked out of the room, past the lingering shadows of my own fears. And for now, that was all I could hold onto.

The walk to the podium felt like a blur, a strange mix of pride and dread swirling inside me. The crowd’s cheers reached my ears, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was being observed. I had the weight of a thousand eyes on me—both the crowd’s and the team’s, and of course, Henry’s. I could feel his presence even though he wasn’t standing right next to me. His words from earlier still rang in my ears. But for the moment, I was determined to shut it all out and focus on the victory, no matter how hollow it felt.

As the podium ceremony started, I climbed the steps to third place, the media-trained smile sliding onto my face with practiced ease. Lando was already grinning from the second spot, and Carlos gave me a brief but genuine nod as he stood on the top step. 

The national anthem played, the flags waving around me, and I stood tall—making sure to appear every bit the champion I was supposed to be. The smile never faltered, not even when the champagne was passed to me. I knew the drill by heart.

“Alright, time to have some fun,” I muttered under my breath, already feeling a little bit lighter. A quick spray of champagne hit Carlos first, and he let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. Lando was next, taking the spray like a champ, both of them laughing and trying to spray me along with each other. There was an almost childlike thrill to the chaos of it all. The champagne dripped down our suits, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to forget about everything else.

Lando, ever the joker. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he teased. Carlos joined in, throwing his arm around me and pulling me into a half-hug. The laughter, the camaraderie, it felt good. For those few seconds, I felt good, like Henry was a whisper in the wind and everything would go back to normal. 

But even as I grinned, holding up the third-place trophy, a small voice in the back of my mind kept reminding me of the danger lurking behind the scenes. Henry. The way he had touched me earlier, the things he had said. It was all eating away at me, just under the surface.

As we made our way off the podium and back into the hustle of the paddock, I kept my distance from Henry, knowing his eyes were on me, even if I couldn’t see him. The adrenaline of the podium was wearing off, replaced by the gnawing worry that would follow me until I had proof of his behavior.

Carlos gave me a pat on the back as we walked toward the waiting cars. “You did great today,” he said quietly, his voice a little softer than usual. I could tell he meant it, even if we all knew the race had its ups and downs.

“Thanks,” I replied, forcing another smile. “It’s been a crazy weekend.”

Lando, noticing the change in my tone, shot me a look, but said nothing. He just gave me a small nudge, and we continued walking, the sound of our footsteps mixing with the fading cheers from the crowd.

But Henry’s shadow loomed over me, and the thought of him trying to undermine my every move made my blood boil. I had to make him pay. I had to get that proof. Whatever it took, no matter how long that took.

[deeplyshalllow]

I’m sorry but this is bullshit.

Let’s break this down

On Fiyero being Captain of the Guard

He is a double agent. He does not believe what he stands for and is using his position to do what he can to find and help Elphaba. I don’t know what to say to you if you missed the obvious statements about this in Thank Goodness, because I have always thought they were so obvious they really should be rewritten because I don’t know how he wasn’t found out and arrested when he said all that.

Morrible: Now you've been at the forefront of the hunt for the Wicked Witch, haven't you? Fiyero: I don't like to think of her as a Wicked Witch.

Glinda: Fiyero, I miss her too, but we can't just stop living. No one has searched harder for her than you.

I guess he doesn’t literally say “shhh I’m secretly using my position to undermine the regime” but I think the writers thought people watching the show had some basic media literacy.

Does this mean he didn’t commit atrocities? No probably not. But bear in mind if he hadn’t been doing it, someone else would have. Fiyero knows this, by placing himself here he is in the best position both to protect Elphaba but also protect the Animals in the regime. I know we don’t see him helping the Animals, but nor do we really see Elphaba doing so? Given he used the first opportunity, when they wouldn’t get in trouble, to help the Lion Cub it seems a pretty good inference that he was trying to send out warnings to Animals when he could (especially now the movieverse has made him the only character aside from Elphaba who is friends with an Animal – he probably even has a network he can tap into!).

“Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time.”

IDK about you, but I think if I were to search for someone wanted and was given the opportunity to both have the best resources and information to find her and hamper people who might find her and hurt her, I would totally do it this way too.

“He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way”

Um, yes he did? He literally succeeded in the exact goal he was planning by joining the Gale Force: to protect Elphaba. If he hadn’t been Captain of the Guard in the throne room when the Wizard called his guards she would have been captured and killed, instead she escaped which eventually allowed the Wizard to be overthrown and Elphaba’s values to be acted on in the form of Glinda ruling.

Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful.

There is a difference between keeping quiet, not protesting a regime and actively endorsing it. Glinda was doing the latter and she was not forced into that. (She also was not helping undermine it the same way Fiyero was).

Fiyero: I can't just stand here grinning pretending to go along with all of this! Glinda: Do you think I like to hear them say those awful things about her? I hate it! Fiyero: Then what are we doing here? Let's go, let's get out of here! Glinda: We can't leave now, not when people are looking to us to raise their spirits. Fiyero: You can't leave, because you can't resist this. And that is the truth. Glinda: Maybe I can't. Is that so wrong? Who could?

Elphaba: No, of course you never! You're too busy telling everyone how wonderful everything is! Glinda: I'm a public figure, now. People expect me to... Elphaba: Lie? Glinda: Be encouraging!

I promise I do not hate Glinda, I find her character fascinating, and she is starting to make up for the awful stuff she does in act two by the end of the musical. But do not pretend for one moment that she is not actively complicit in this regime, with no real desire to stop it until it starts actively hurting her.

“He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person.”

He gave up his wealth, privilege and safety to ensure Elphaba escaped from the throne room and continued her cause (this isn’t about running away with Elphaba btw, he lost everything from the moment he pointed the gun at the Wizard). He was ready to die for her in the Corn Field scene. I don’t know what more you want him to do to prove that he was not shallow and he wouldn’t die for his cause in the exact same way Elphaba was prepared to?

“He doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits.”

I don’t think there’s anything to say here except you are just actively wrong.

Fiyero is the only character of the trio to put thoughts into his actions. He is the only one who doesn’t immediately act on his impulses.

Elphaba reacts immediately to what she thinks is right without thinking of the consequences to herself or, frankly, if it will even work. This is shown metaphorically in her outbursts of magic in early act 1 but also more literally in Defying Gravity, confronting the Wizard after Wonderful and, even in some twisted sense, in capturing Dorothy.

Glinda reacts immediately to her first instinct of what she wants and feels emotionally and regrets later (often when it’s too late to backtrack) – the hat, telling Morrible and the Wizard how to capture Elphaba, even saying she’ll join Elphaba in Defying Gravity can be seen as examples of this.

Fiyero, however, (ironically) is the only one of the group who thinks. In throne room he goes in, plays the part of a loyal guard until he’s got rid of the witnesses and neutralised the threat of the Wizard, in the Cornfield scene he realises that the only way he can get Elphaba away safely is by threatening Glinda, at the end of the show he is the one who plays along as a scarecrow for days while coming up with the plan for Elphaba to escape (and make no mistake, this is Fiyero’s plan, he’s the one who knows the water melting rumour, he’s the one who knows the secret passages in Kiamo Ko).

“But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her”

He saves her life three times in act two. What the fuck are you talking about?

Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes,

I will give you that. But it’s not by any foreplaning. Glinda does become a good person, but it takes the whole musical and some very horrible consequences for her actions, ones that she quite rightly will forever regret and have to spend her whole life making up for.

And none of this would have been possible without Fiyero anyway, if it had not been for him Elphaba would have been captured, executed and Glinda would have never had the courage – or possibly even the motivation to fight back.

[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Platinum Blonde

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing:  RB! Sebastian Vettel x Engineer! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none ✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Coming back to work after the break wasn’t the most thrilling experience. Sure, she loved her job, but there was something about vacation that always seemed sweeter—maybe just a little more time off would’ve been nice. However, any lingering post-vacation blues vanished the moment she walked into the paddock and saw that sight.

Sebastian Vettel, rocking platinum blonde hair.

She blinked, doing a double take as if her eyes were playing tricks on her. That hair color—so bold, so unexpected—had an oddly magnetic effect on her. She always thought he was good-looking and undeniably charming, but somehow, the shock of bright blonde only amplified it. She found herself stealing glances, fighting the urge to stare, wondering how such a simple change could leave her feeling so off-balance.

She threw herself into her work, as focused as ever, yet every break felt like a betrayal of her resolve. Her eyes would inevitably wander, seeking him out across the garage or wherever he happened to be. What’s wrong with me? she wondered, internally chastising herself as her thoughts began to drift into muddier, more unprofessional territories.

The question that kept looping in her mind—the one that embarrassed her more than anything—was whether he noticed. Did he catch her staring? Did he notice how her words stumbled slightly whenever he walked by? That ridiculous hair color wasn’t helping either. It only made him more distracting, more present.

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the idea, but deep down, the thought made her heart race. What if he knew? What if he could see right through her calm façade? The possibility both terrified and thrilled her.

She had just managed to lose herself in her clipboard and notes when the shadow fell over her desk. She looked up, and there he was. The hair was just as bright under the sunlight as it had been in the garage, and the smirk on his face told her that he had caught her off guard.

“Busy as ever, huh?” Sebastian said, his voice warm and laced with playful curiosity.

She blinked, scrambling to gather her composure. “Yeah, you know, making sure everything’s perfect,” she replied, gesturing to the papers in front of her like they were the most important thing in the world.

His smirk deepened. “That’s good. Though I have to say, you seem... distracted today.”

Her stomach flipped. Did he know? Did he actually notice the way she’d been stealing glances all day? “Distracted? No, I’m just focused,” she said quickly, forcing a tight smile.

“Focused,” he repeated, his tone teasing, as if he didn’t buy it for a second. He leaned slightly closer, resting a hand on the edge of her desk. “Is that why you’ve been staring at me every chance you get?”

Her cheeks burned instantly, and she fumbled for a response, caught completely off guard by his boldness. “I wasn’t staring” she stated, but even to her, the denial sounded unconvincing.

His grin grew wider, and he tilted his head, studying her with those sharp, knowing eyes. “No? Must’ve been my imagination, then,” he said lightly, though his tone made it clear he didn’t believe her for a second.

She opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound like an admission. He let her squirm for a moment before stepping back, giving her space to breathe.

“I’m just messing with you,” he said, his voice softer now, though there was still a mischievous glint in his eye. “But if you do have any thoughts on the hair, feel free to share.”

She hesitated, caught between embarrassment and the undeniable pull of his easy charm. Finally, she blurted out, “It’s… bold.”

Sebastian chuckled, running a hand through his platinum locks. “Bold, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She managed a small laugh, finally starting to relax. “It’s definitely… eye-catching.”

“Good to know,” he said, giving her a wink before straightening up. “Well, don’t work too hard, okay? I’d hate to think I’m the one distracting you.”

Before she could respond, he walked away, leaving her with her heart racing and her thoughts spinning. That grin, that hair—it was going to be a very long weekend.

And it was, yet, a great weekend for the team as Sebastian won the race with a large gap behind him. The exhilaration from wins was always strong, and gosh, her stomach felt like a nest of butterflies after they had all drunk a few Red Bulls.

The team’s celebration was in full swing. Music thumped, champagne flowed freely, and laughter filled the air. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of her heart pounding for reasons beyond the race. It wasn’t the thrill of the victory—it was the sight of Sebastian, his platinum hair slightly mussed, his grin wide as he soaked up the joy of the moment. He was magnetic, more so than usual, and it was driving her mad.

After a while, she needed a break from the noise and slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the garage to find some peace. She found herself close to Sebastian’s driver’s room, the door slightly ajar. Peeking in, she saw him sitting on the couch, his race suit peeled down to his waist, a bottle of water in hand. He looked up and saw her hovering in the doorway.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than it had been all night. “Hiding from the party?”

She smiled sheepishly and stepped inside. “Something like that. Needed some air.”

He gestured to the spot beside him. “Come in. I promise not to celebrate too loudly.”

She hesitated for a moment before taking the seat, the quiet hum of the garage a stark contrast to the chaos outside. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and then he spoke again, his tone teasing. “So, was it the hair? Did it bring me luck?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, I think it was the driver.”

“Good answer,” he said, leaning back against the couch, his gaze lingering on her. “You seemed pretty excited out there. Nice to see you loosen up.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “It’s hard not to when the team does so well.”

He nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave her. “And yet, you still seem a little... distracted.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I could say the same about you,” she countered, trying to deflect.

He smirked. “Touché. But let’s not pretend we don’t both know what’s going on here.”

Her stomach flipped at his words, the intensity in his gaze making it hard to breathe. “Seb, I—”

Before she could finish, he leaned in, closing the small distance between them. His lips brushed hers softly, testing, giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned into him, her hands finding his shoulders as the kiss deepened.

When they finally broke apart, her cheeks were flushed, and his grin was wider than she’d ever seen. “Guess that’s one way to celebrate,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

She laughed, her nerves melting into something warmer. “Don’t get used to it,” she joked, though the look in her eyes said otherwise.

“Oh, I will,” he replied, his tone full of playful confidence. “You’ll just have to deal with it.”

Before she could fire back a response, he leaned in, catching her off guard as his lips pressed against hers. It was soft at first, testing the waters, but when she didn’t pull away—when she leaned into him instead—it deepened. Her hands instinctively reached up, fingers brushing through his hair. That hair.

When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, he raised an eyebrow, his playful grin returning. “So... do you hate it?”

“Hate it?” she repeated, laughing softly as she ran her fingers through the strands again, this time with purpose. “Seb, I loved it the second I saw it. It’s infuriating how much it affects me.”

His grin widened, clearly pleased. “Infuriating, huh? I can live with that.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no denying the warmth in her gaze. “I mean, it’s obnoxiously bold and completely unnecessary, but somehow... it works.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “So, you’re saying the platinum blonde was a good decision?”

She sighed dramatically, though the way her hands stayed tangled in his hair betrayed her. “I’m saying it’s... distracting. You walk into a room, and I forget how to form coherent sentences.”

Sebastian laughed, the sound low and warm as his hands rested on her waist. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind next time I need to get your attention.”

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, though her smile said otherwise.

“And you’re still holding onto my hair,” he pointed out with a wink.

“Oh, shut up,” she said, pulling him back in for another kiss, this one bolder, as if to prove a point.

He didn’t argue, and instead leaned into the kiss, his hands finding her waist.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: I really love platinum blonde hair, is such a turn on tbh

English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3

[himluv]

Together

Chapter 27 of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Find it below, or read it on AO3!

Lucanis was not a man well-acquainted with the outdoors. His youth in Treviso taught him the nature of cities – the rhythm and pulse of life that flowed in clear patterns. Even when he did travel for a contract, House Dellamorte’s wealth ensured he did so, if not in luxury, then in comfort. 

But, he’d read enough adventure stories as a boy to find Arlathan Forest fascinating, despite its utter lack of amenities. It was a place riddled with wild magic and ancient mysteries, but best of all, it was where Rook thrived. 

In the forest, Rook’s cheeks were always flushed, her eyes gleaming. She ran along the trails with an almost youthful energy, an eagerness that Lucanis found enchanting. So when she asked him to accompany her and Taash on an excursion to the forest, it was an easy thing to say yes. 

He and Taash stood by the merchant’s stall, Taash considering the wares while Lucanis watched Rook and Strife argue. The senior Veil Jumper was prickly at best, and while Lucanis couldn’t hear what they were talking about, it was clear that neither elf was happy. 

“You stare daggers any harder, maybe he’ll actually die,” Taash said.

Lucanis glared at them. 

Taash snorted. “You don’t scare me.”

He sighed. “I know.”

They moved to stand next to him, mimicking his posture – arms crossed and leaned against the wall beside the shop. They jutted their chin toward the arguing elves. “What’s his deal, anyway?”

Lucanis shrugged. “He always has a bone to pick with Rook.” Every time they came to Arlathan, Strife had a critique for Rook, some new grievance to air. It reminded him too much of Caterina, he realized. No wonder he felt on edge around the man. 

“Are you kidding me?!” Rook shouted. 

Instantly, Lucanis shoved off of the wall to come to her aid, but Taash put an arm out to block his path.

“Wait,” they said, voice low. 

Strife shook his head. “You don’t think things through, Rook.”

“This has nothing to do with the Veil Jumpers–”

“Doesn’t it? If you’re too distracted–”

“I can’t believe you think you can–”

“–or worse, heartbroken–” he continued, shouting over her.

“You’re not my dad, Strife!”

The whole camp fell silent at Rook’s outburst. 

“Oof,” Taash whispered with a wince. 

Strife blinked at Rook, and for the span of a heartbeat, there was hurt in the man’s eyes. “I’m not,” he said. “A good thing for us both, I think.”

Rook’s hands twitched at her sides, and for a moment Lucanis thought she might actually swing at Strife. Instead, she marched away and out of the camp.

Lucanis batted Taash’s arm away and hurried after Rook, shooting a glare at Strife as he went. The older man shot one right back at him, chin high and gaze imperious. 

Angry, Spite said. And scaaaaared. He glared at the man. Hurt. Rook! But… he grinned at Lucanis. Rook hurt. Him too!

Lucanis didn’t spare a single thought for Strife and his hurt feelings. He hurried down the trail, only slowing when he saw Rook standing at the edge of the lake, her back to him, wiping at her face. He paused, giving her space to regain her composure, and himself a moment to bring his anger to a simmer. 

Rook could – and would – fight her own battles. She needed him cool-headed and comforting, not spoiling for a fight.

Taash joined him and grunted. “Ugh. Why does family stuff always have to be so complicated?”

Lucanis snorted. “If I ever figure it out, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

They smiled at him as he passed on his way to stand beside Rook. 

“I’m okay,” she said before he could ask. She glanced at him and gave him a shaky smile. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her cheeks were drying. “Ugh!” She shook her head and wiped at her eyes again. “I hate that I cry when I’m mad,” she said. “It’s humiliating.”

Lucanis wanted to reach out to her, to squeeze her hand and reassure her that she wasn’t alone. But somehow, beyond the safety of the Lighthouse, he wasn’t sure if he should. They probably should have talked about this the other night. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine.” She smiled. “Really,” she added after his skeptical look. She glanced back at Taash. “Now, let’s go find this dragon.”

Taash grinned. “Hell, yeah!”

For awhile they walked in silence. Taash was certain the Fangscorcher was holed up in a ruin far to the north of the forest, so they had a bit of a hike ahead of them. The silence wouldn’t have bothered Lucanis, if he wasn’t so worried about Rook. What could she and Strife have disagreed about to the point where she’d wanted to hit him?

Ussssss, Spite hissed. 

Lucanis frowned. That didn’t make sense. Strife barely knew him. And how would the man even know about his and Rook’s burgeoning relationship? They’d only just talked it through a few nights ago. 

“Hey, Lucanis,” Taash said, pulling him from his worrisome thoughts. “When we were at that market? The lady selling ribbons was into you.”

–ahhhhhhh. “Smelled like strawberries and blood.”

“Hey. Spite. Eyes on me. That is a no. We do not talk about what other people smell like without their permission. Okay?”

Hisssssssss. “Fine.”

Lucanis blinked, suddenly back in complete control of his body. He hadn’t even noticed the seeping chill in his neck until Spite was speaking. The demon hadn’t taken control, at least, not in the way he used to. Instead, he’d left Lucanis in charge of his body, while… borrowing his mouth and sharing his senses. Lucanis had been present and aware the whole time, their voices twining, and as soon as Spite was done, Lucanis was back to his usual self. 

He frowned, and glanced at Taash. “You’re not scared of Spite?”

They shrugged. “I’m Rivaini. We’ve got all kinds of spirits.” They said it like it was nothing, as if demons spoke with mortal tongues all the time. And, from what little Lucanis knew of Rivaini Seers, he supposed that might be true. He should speak with Seer Rowan, perhaps she would have some insight about this new sort of harmony he had with Spite. 

Then Taash’s original point struck him. “What makes you think the ribbon seller was interested in me?” If the woman had been interested or, Maker-forbid, flirting with him, it’d been completely lost on Lucanis.

He caught Rook’s smirk at his question, but if she felt even a twinge of jealousy, she hid it well. 

Taash smirked. “Caught her scent.”

“Not. Fair! You just. Said!”

Rook laughed at that, which soothed Spite’s irritation some. The demon liked it when Rook laughed, especially if he was the cause. Lucanis couldn’t deny, he enjoyed her mirth just as much. And after her anger and tears earlier, he was relieved to hear her laugh again. 

“Shouldn’t be much further,” Taash said. “Come on, this way.” Their sudden shift in demeanor brought any banter to an end. Taash was in dragon hunter mode, so Rook followed after them dutifully. 

And Lucanis followed her, always ready to have her back. 

Mierda, fighting a dragon was no joke. Sure, he’d fought the one in Treviso, and been by Rook’s side in Hossberg when they’d fought both of the gods’ blighted dragons, but now he knew the difference. The Fangscorcher had been much more cunning than Ghilan’nain’s pawns. 

By the time they reached the eluvian room, Lucanis was desperate for a hot bath and even hotter cup of coffee. 

“Good job out there,” Taash said. “You guys didn’t totally suck.” They smirked and Rook laughed. 

Lucanis thought she sounded as tired as he felt. “We have a good teacher,” he said. 

Taash snorted, but there was a flicker of a smile on their face. “Yeah. Well. Thanks.” They shrugged. “Now, go be gross together or whatever.”

Rook laughed again, shaking her head as Lucanis scowled at Taash’s retreating back. When he turned to look at Rook, she was already watching him. 

She rolled her neck and sighed. “I need a bath,” she said. 

Lucanis shoved away the image that materialized at the thought of Rook in a bathtub. “Go,” he said. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”

She eyed him, noting the dust in his leathers and the smeared dirt on his forehead. He obviously needed a bath as well. Maybe someday they could bathe together, but not tonight. Lucanis’s throat tightened with anxiety merely at the thought. As much as the thought of Rook in the bath tantalized him, he definitely was not ready for that. 

Rook must have seen it in his face, or heard it in his silence, because her gaze softened. “Meet me in the music room later?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice. There was no way he could speak and not reveal just how much the thought of her affected him. 

“Bring. Rook. Coffee?” Spite asked when Lucanis didn’t speak. 

She grinned. “I’d like that, Spite. Thank you.”

Lucanis shook his head and smiled. “It’s going to take awhile to get used to that.”

Rook raised an eyebrow at him. “To what?”

Did it not seem different to her? “How Spite’s talking, now.” He shuffled his feet, rolling his neck and shoulders experimentally. There was only the barest twinge of ice at the base of his skull.

“We’re. Sharing!” Spite crowed. 

“Yes,” Lucanis said. Though he didn’t fully understand how. 

Her eyes darted over his face. “It seems like an improvement.” Her tone was careful, almost probing. She wanted to be sure he was okay. 

“It is,” he said. 

“Give is. BETTER! Than. Take!” Spite added. 

She smiled. “Good! Now–” she put her hand on his upper arm ”–you go wash up first,” she said. “I’ll check in with the other and meet you upstairs later.”

“All right,” he said, returning her smile with a small one of his own. Then he hurried upstairs to do as she said. 

Freshly scrubbed and two steaming cups of coffee in hand, Lucanis entered music room bone-tired, but happy. Rook sat at the piano, her hair damp and down around her shoulders. She wasn’t playing, her hands merely trailed the keys mindlessly as she hummed to herself. 

“Embria,” he murmured as he handed a cup to her. 

Her smile was bright as she took the coffee. She brought it to her nose, inhaling the steam and sighing in contentment. “Thank you.”

He went to his usual chair (usual chair, usual mugs – how quickly she’d become a usual part of his life) and sat with his legs outstretched and ankles crossed. 

She spun to face him, straddling the piano bench. “So,” she said. “The ribbon seller?”

“Mierda,” he chuckled. “That’s what you want to talk about?”

“Did you know she was flirting with you?”

He snorted. “No.”

She tilted her head. “Did you know when I was flirting with you?”

Lucanis scowled at her playfully. “Not at first.”

Her smile widened, and her eyes gleamed with mischievous humor. 

He shook his head. “I never know when – or why – someone is flirting.”

“It can be hard to tell,” she admitted. “As for why,” she said, and gave him a leisurely look up and down. “Have you seen yourself?”

He blushed and shifted in his seat. “Rook.”

Her smile was slow and tantalizing. “I’m just saying, you’re easy on the eyes, Dellamorte.”

Now his scowl was real. He didn’t understand how people found complete strangers attractive, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea that random people on the street might find him… desirable. But, he couldn’t deny he was curious as to what Rook liked about him. He just didn’t know how to ask such a thing. 

Lucanis shook his head. “I don’t understand it,” he said.

“What?” Her demeanor changed at his tone. Gone was the teasing glint in her eyes and she sat up a little straighter. 

“Attraction,” he said. “I know some people are objectively appealing–” like Teia and Viago ”–but I look at them like one admires a fine painting.” To be admired from a distance, never touched. 

She hummed as she considered his point. “Do those paintings ever make you feel something?”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then he smirked at her. “Though I’ve always found music to be more… stimulating.”

She huffed at that, her cheeks going pink. “That counts as flirting, you know.”

Did it? It was true, and he’d said it because he knew she’d like it. Was that all there was to flirting? He frowned. “Did it work?”

She laughed. “Yes!”

He smiled. “Good.”

“Lucanis. Rook. Belong together now?” Spite asked. 

They looked at each other and the warmth in Rook’s eyes made his chest feel flushed. 

“Yes,” they said in unison. 

“And Spite?”  The demon asked. “I belong. Too?”

“Yes,” Rook said, her voice unwavering.

Lucanis didn’t speak. He knew now that there was no ridding himself of the demon – wasn’t even sure he’d want to if he could. There was a growing fondness in his heart for Spite, like a troublesome little cousin he couldn’t avoid. 

But when he prodded at the memory of what Zara had done to him, of the dark and the pain and the isolation, of what she had stolen from him and left him in return… he found it was still tender. Even after Spite and Rook’s help, it was still a wound. Not quite open, but certainly not healed. 

Lucanis? Spite asked, just in his head, like it used to be. Just them. The demon’s voice sounded small, almost frightened. And the way that stung at Lucanis was answer enough.

“Yes, Spite,” he said, staring into his cup. “You belong, too.”

“Make. Rook. Happy?”

She grinned. “Yes. Very much so.”

Lucanis blushed again, but couldn’t contain a smile of his own. 

“Rook wasn’t happy. Today.”

She frowned, then made a displeased little noise. “You mean Strife.”

Spite growled at the man’s name.

“What was that about?” Lucanis asked. He’d been curious, but then the dragon had required his full attention. There’d been no time for wondering about Rook and her mentor’s argument. 

“Nothing,” she said, too quickly. 

He waited, but she didn’t speak or look at him. “Embria,” he said, his voice soft. “Tell me.”

She glared at him, but sighed. “It’s just Strife forgetting, yet again, that I don’t actually value his opinion.”

Lucanis’s stomach clenched with a sudden suspicion that she was protecting him. “His opinion on what?”

She gave him a stony look.

“Me?” He frowned. “How does he even know–”

“How do you think?”

He blinked and then growled. “Bellara.”

“I doubt she even realizes she mentioned it,” Rook said. “But, Strife is convinced that my being with anyone is a huge mistake.” She rolled her eyes. “As if I care about what he thinks.”

Lucanis gave her a sad smile. “Don’t you?”

She groaned. “I don’t want to!”

He understood that feeling all too well. And while he was eager to get Caterina back, he did not relish the idea of telling her about Rook. But, that was a problem for another day. 

“He cares about you,” he said.

“I know.” She shook her head, staring down into the mug cradled in both hands. “We’ve always disagreed,” she said. She dropped her voice low to mimic Strife’s. “You’re more stubborn than a hungry halla!”

“Stubborn. Is. GOOD!” Spite said. 

Rook laughed. “I’m glad you think so, Spite.”

The demon beamed at her, and then at Lucanis. See?! Rook. Likes. ME!

Lucanis said nothing, waiting for Rook to continue. 

She sighed. “The worst part is that, a lot of the time, I think he’s right about me.” She shrugged. “I don’t think things through. I let my feelings run away with me, or get in the way of the job. And I don’t know when to back down from a fight.”

Lucanis stood and moved to sit across from her on the piano bench. He mimicked her, straddling the bench and sitting so close their knees touched. “Embria,” he said. 

When she didn’t look at him, he put two fingers under her chin and guided her face up to meet his gaze. 

“All of those things?” He said. “They’re what make you, you.” He gave her a tremulous smile. “They’re your heart, Embria. Don’t ever doubt it.”

She blinked against the tears that welled in her eyes. “Even when it gets people hurt?” 

He remembered her words, warm and reassuring in his mind not even a week ago. “Whatever the consequences, I’ll be there to help you.”

“Together,” Spite added. 

He let his hand fall from her chin, but she took it in hers and pressed it to her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Both of you.”

Lucanis held her gaze, marveling at how luminous the violet tone was behind the shimmer of her unshed tears. He wanted to kiss her, and mierda they were so, so close. But he didn’t want their first kiss to be so… sad. 

So, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. Their noses brushed and she nuzzled against him seemingly on instinct. His heart raced at the proximity. They were touching in so many places at once – knees, hands, faces, so close they shared shaky breaths. The intimacy, the trust, and that she kept her word and pushed no further, all combined to leave him breathless.

Lucanis knew, when he finally did kiss this woman, it would be a life changing event. He would never be the same again. He looked forward to it more than anything else in his life thus far. 

[xlibra-rising]

The Astrology Of A Bad Friendship

So i had this super shitty friendship w/ this girl for about 6 years. Everything never worked out between us and we had our fair share of problems. We had a hot and cold relationship w/ each other and i never really understood her and she never understood me, so every time we did become friends again (this happened every year), it would always end badly.

Up top is our composite chart together and i feel like this helped me understand the foundations of our friendship and how it worked out as a whole. As a Leo, i stand my ground easily and once i said i was completely over her shit, i never went back to her ever again.

Capricorn rising should have been warning sign for this friendship from the start. This type of relationship needs structure and maturity to thrive and grow. Which, obviously, did NOT happen in this friendship. It hurts more that Saturn is in the 7th house here meaning that a good relationship grows here by seeing eye to eye.

When i was friends with her, she never got up and worked on our friendship. it was always about her and never about me. She actually didn’t care to even fix problems and just left me to fix her mistakes for her.

Jupiter conjunct Midheaven is kind of like putting someone on a pedestal and showing them off for how amazing and beautiful they are. I would call it “bestie worship”, that’s exactly how i was seen by her now that i realize it. But this can also set someone up really bad and just make you easier to get made fun of.

I wanna be nice but i kind of dont considering Pluto in the 12th here, yikes, no wonder. This was TOXIC and very manipulative. It’s like no one actually knew how she treated me because it wasn’t obvious to anyone else but me and her. I think this is also a very empowering placement in the means of breaking this relationship off. It WILL transform you, make you heal your subconscious a bit and make you realize how toxic it actually was.

Yes, she manipulated me and used me for many things. Money, my possessions and literally my whole persona. She liked what she could do with me when i got her on good terms. She told me i was pretty, funny and “rich” (i’m not by any means rich. She just liked to believe i was).

To make it even more difficult, Pisces Mars conjunct Uranus in the 3rd house. Yes, we fought a lot like i said earlier and it was usually over really unnecessary things but i never knew when she would lash out at me. I had to walk around eggshells when i was around her because if i said something she didn’t like, all hell would break loose. The Mars is also in the 2nd house of money and things of value. It’s kind of ironic that we always fought about things that were mine, not her’s. I felt like she thought she owned me at times.

the 5th house Sun made our friendship “fun” but it was more like a “what’s gonna happen next?” type of fun. But so many ups and downs with the friendship as well because i just couldn’t keep up half the time. It was exhausting and honestly she was all over the place to begin with. And yes, Taurus Sun, she wanted things her way or it wasn’t happening, she never liked when i was not doing anything so she always wanted to spice it up AKA stir drama.

[steven-g-rogers]

Despite not expecting Tony to move so quickly, Steve had clocked the blows before they happened.  He didn’t react though.  He wanted Tony to try and get this out.  Not just the physical, but all of it.  He let him spit his each word uninterrupted, even if his pain had been poisoned by an inaccurate lens.  He felt what he felt and he needed to be heard.

The hits to his chest and side were fine.  He’d taken harder and worse plenty of times.  The kick to the balls however, that had doubled him over and he stumbled back with a soft grunt, his hands going straight to his crotch.

He took a second for the pain to subside as he tried to think of the best way to formulate his response.  He didn’t want to invalidate Tony.  And Tony had said he didn’t want apologies. 

He raised his hands.  Tony had said he wanted to spar, so he’d give him that.  “You ready?” he asked.

When he was sure that Tony was ready to spar he began to throw some jabs at him, always making sure the genius was able to catch or deflect the blows.  “Tony.  I am going to say again, I wasn’t hiding it from you.  I admit, selfishly, I considered it.  Honestly, I do wonder if I did the right thing.  What good has knowing done you?  Your parents aren’t any more alive because you know they were killed over having an accident.  I’m in the process of completely erasing the organization that killed them.  All telling you has done is hurt you.  But - I told you.  I only found out a month before I told you about it.  It took time for me to process the information, to decide what the implications of that was, and to look for the right moment to tell you.  Are you seriously telling me, if our roles were reversed you would have told me immediately?  I - wouldn’t - believe - you.”  Each word of the last sentence was dotted with a series of harder blows that backed Tony up against the wall. 

Steve’s anger of the situation and Tony’s reaction to it was starting to get the better of the supersoldier.  He towered over the man, his face getting close to the mechanics as he continued to trade jabs.  “You said it yourself we could have been friends.  We weren’t though, were we?  We were two almost strangers who worked together while arguing constantly and then we went in different directions and on my own mission, I discovered a man - my best friend from childhood - hadn’t died - something I had been grieving and blaming myself for since 1942.  No. Instead it was much worse.  Because of me, that friend had been tortured for sixty years, had his mind wiped and was turned into a weapon for the same organization that we’d been fighting when he died.  And not only that, he’d been forced to kill a man, we were both good friends with.”

He stopped, breathing heavily, his eyes shining with unshed tears, his face so close to Tony’s that he could taste his breath.  “I’m sorry that I chose the moment when I realized we could actually be friends - to be …” What, Steve? More than that? “... close.  I’m sorry I had other things to process before I got to you. I’m sorry that I thought there might be a perfect moment to tell you.  I’m sorry that not every thought I had was about you and how you’d take it.  But I swear some of them were.  Some of them were about saving you the pain completely.  But either way - I did it.  I hurt you.  So now what?  How do I fix it?” 

"You want to know how I'm feeling?" Ha, wasn't that the question of the hour and Tony himself didn't even know how to answer that properly. Everything in his head was a muddled mess (more so than usual) and it rapidly switched from anger to sadness quicker than he could keep up with. "I feel like shit, Cap." Words were spat out like venom, poised to hurt and maim as part of him hoped to verbally wound the older Avenger for his transgressions.

"I feel betrayed by someone I was hoping was a friend," A forceful right-hook was sent in the direction of the blond's chest to punctuate his sentence. "-not just a teammate or a colleague but a person I could trust." Another quick jab with his other hand balled into a tight fist went for his side, followed up by a knee to the balls. A dirty trick but one that the Iron Man had no regrets doing as any pain he could cause wasn't going to even be anywhere close to how he himself felt because of Steve's mistrust of him but it still felt like a step towards making them even. "I would have helped you with your friend if you fucking trusted me, Rogers. But you assumed the worst and hid shit."

[joaosnovia]

❦ - i knew you were trouble

summary:: you and kenans relationship is falling apart but you can’t help but love him amongst it all.

warnings:: angst

writers note:: i lowkey planned on finishing this series ages ago but i need to include kenan so here we are! and also a joao fic coming too from this series nd then i need to clear my inbox ! xx thank uu all for being so patient w me 😭

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp ; lmk if you wanna be added!

The bass reverberated through the club, low and steady, like the pulse in her ears as she watched him from across the room. Kenan leaned back against the bar, head tilted, an easy smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

He didn’t see her yet, or maybe he did, and he was pretending not to. That would be his style, wouldn’t it? To play with the tension like it was his own personal game, the stakes as unimportant to him as a casual flick of his wrist.

She knew better now. Too late, but she knew.

The first time they met, he was magnetic in a way she couldn’t quite explain. He didn’t have to try to be charming; it was effortless. His voice, low and smooth, carried promises that made her breath hitch without her even realizing it. He’d been trouble from the start, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it. Not then. Not until the shine faded and the jagged edges of his confidence started to cut.

Tonight, she thought, she’d walked in knowing exactly what she was walking into. She’d come here to end it. To look him in the eye, tell him she was done, and mean it. Yet now, standing there with the echo of his laughter cutting through the crowd, she faltered.

He turned. His gaze landed on her like he’d been waiting for her all along, and her stomach sank. That smile, infuriatingly self assured, spread wider, as though he already knew she wouldn’t follow through. He pushed away from the bar and crossed the room without hesitation, his stride slow but deliberate, like a hunter cornering his prey.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said when he stopped in front of her. Her voice wavered, betraying her resolve.

Kenan tilted his head, studying her in that way he had that made her feel like he could see every thought she was trying to hide. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t be either,’ he said, his tone light, teasing. But there was a weight in his eyes that told her he wasn’t joking, not really.

She hated that he could do this. That he could stand there, so calm, so casual, while her chest burned with a thousand unsaid words. She hated that no matter how much she prepared herself, he always unraveled her in seconds.

‘You don’t even care, do you?’ she said, her voice sharper now. Anger was easier than the ache clawing at her chest. ‘You do what you want, say what you want, and then act surprised when everything falls apart.’

His expression didn’t change, but she saw the flicker of something in his eyes; guilt, maybe, or regret. ‘You’re wrong,’ he said, quietly this time. ‘I care more than you think.’

She didn’t believe him. Not anymore. But the way he reached for her hand, the way his thumb brushed over her knuckles, made her wonder if maybe she wanted to.

Maybe that was the real trouble; she didn’t want to let him go.

And he knew it.

[kathlare]

fractured reflections

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: During a late night at a wedding reception in Madrid, emotions run high as Lando struggles with unresolved feelings about the past.

Wordcount: 1.1 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

December 3rd, 2022 - Madrid, Spain

The wedding reception had been a whirlwind of laughter, music, and endless glasses of champagne. Lando had been in good spirits—at first. He’d smiled through the toasts, danced with Carlos and a few of his cousins, and joked with the other guests at his table. But as the night dragged on, the buzz of excitement that had carried him through the evening began to fade, replaced by a hollow ache he couldn’t shake.

It was past midnight now, and the reception was winding down. The bride and groom had left hours ago, but Lando remained firmly planted at the open bar, nursing yet another whiskey. The once-cozy warmth of the celebration now felt suffocating, and the sound of laughter from the remaining guests only amplified the weight in his chest.

Carlos found him slumped against the bar, his tie loosened and his usually bright eyes glassy and red.

—Lando, tío, come on. It’s time to head back to the hotel,— Carlos said, clapping a hand on Lando’s shoulder. His tone was light, but there was a hint of concern in his voice.

Lando looked up at him, his expression a mix of frustration and sorrow. —I’m not ready to leave. Just... one more drink,— he mumbled, though his slurred words made it clear he didn’t need any more.

Carlos sighed, glancing at the bartender and shaking his head to signal no more drinks for his friend. —You’ve had enough, mate. Let’s go.—

—Why does she hate me, Carlos?— Lando blurted out suddenly, his voice cracking as he turned to face him fully.

Carlos froze for a moment, taken aback. He had a good idea of who Lando was talking about—he’d suspected for a while now that there had been something more than friendship between Lando and Amelie. But this was the first time Lando had ever said anything to confirm it.

—Lando...— Carlos started carefully, his voice low.

—She ignored me. She... she pretended I didn’t even exist in Abu Dhabi,— Lando continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. —I thought... I thought we were something. I mean, we were something, weren’t we? Or was it all just in my head?—

Carlos frowned, his heart aching for his friend. —Lando, I don’t think she hates you. She’s probably just...— He hesitated, unsure of how to finish the sentence without making things worse.

—She hates me,— Lando interrupted, his voice rising slightly. —I wasn’t enough for her. I was never enough. That’s why she left. That’s why she moved on.—

Carlos sighed, wrapping an arm around Lando’s shoulders to steady him. —Come on, mate. Let’s get you back to the hotel. We can talk about this in the morning when you’re not, you know, completely plastered.—

But Lando resisted, shaking his head as tears welled up in his eyes. —Why wasn’t I enough, Carlos? I tried. I tried to be there for her, but she was always so far away. And now she’s with that footballer...— He spat the last word like it was poison, his voice filled with bitterness.

Carlos led him out of the venue, nodding politely to a few curious onlookers as they passed. Lando stumbled slightly, his weight heavy against Carlos, but he kept talking, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and heartbreak.

—I miss her,— he admitted quietly as they reached the car waiting to take them back to the hotel. —I miss her so much, and she doesn’t even care.—

Carlos didn’t know what to say. He’d always suspected there was more to Lando and Amelie’s relationship than they’d let on, but hearing it spelled out like this was something else entirely. He wanted to comfort his friend, to tell him that everything would be okay, but he knew Lando wouldn’t believe it right now.

—Let’s get you to bed, and we’ll figure this out later, okay?— Carlos said firmly as he helped Lando into the car.

The ride to the hotel was quiet, save for Lando’s occasional sniffles. By the time they arrived, Lando was barely coherent, his head drooping against the car window. Carlos practically had to carry him to his room, muttering under his breath about how much of a lightweight Lando was.

Once they were inside, Carlos helped Lando onto the bed, pulling off his shoes and tossing them to the side.

—Get some sleep, mate. You’ll feel better in the morning,— Carlos said, pulling the blanket over him.

But as he turned to leave, Lando’s voice stopped him.

—Do you think she’s happy with him?— Lando asked, his words barely audible.

Carlos turned back, his expression softening. —I don’t know, Lando. But I know you deserve to be happy too. Maybe it’s time to let her go.—

Lando didn’t respond, his eyes closing as exhaustion finally overtook him. Carlos sighed, running a hand through his hair before quietly leaving the room.

As he walked back to his own room, he couldn’t shake the image of Lando’s tear-streaked face from his mind. Whatever had happened between him and Amelie, it had clearly left a deep scar. Carlos only hoped that, somehow, they could both find a way to heal.

[thetarsier]

THE QUESTION

a/n: okay so i'm kinda sorta out of my reblog-only purgatory and i finally have some motivation to post on here again!! requests are now being accepted again and i'll try to get the motivation to write them!! i've missed u lot :)

Word Count: ~700

Warnings/notes: not proofread, hotch being happy?

<3: aaron hotchner x reader

“Are you breaking up with me?” 

You had to admit, you hadn’t wanted the question to arise so quickly and upfront, but there it was, floating in front of the two of you. 

It was a rather romantic location to be broken up with; a picnic in the park on a nice spring afternoon. But Aaron was nice and he wouldn’t break up with you over the phone, or at home where you would have to leave and then come back for your things awkwardly. Or worse: be overheard by Jack.

It took Aaron a few seconds to comprehend what you said, “W-What?”

Ah. He hadn't expected to be caught out so early. Well, you were nothing if not merciful - Aaron did not have to let you down slowly if you did it for him. You'd felt as though he'd been leading up to it for a while now.

He had gone out a few times and been cagey about where he was going, he was being secretive, jumping when you entered rooms and seemingly being very interested in how you were interacting with the other people in his life.

It's so nice how you are with Jack.

It was your fault, really. You inserted yourself into his life, jumped head-first and hoped that that was what Aaron had wanted, needed. It wasn't. You weren't.

You braced yourself.

“Usually, when the guy starts to act strange, the girl suspects cheating, but I know you wouldn’t cheat - or at least I hope I know that you wouldn’t cheat - so the only thing left is that you’re breaking up with me.”

“I’m not breaking up with you, honey.”

“You’re not breaking up with me?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly the idea of you stewing over your fictional breakup for even a few minutes was mortifyingly embarrassing. You wished you hadn't said anything at all, kept Aaron in the dark about your insecurity.

You looked up at the trees above you, trying to catch your breath.

“Though I should have guessed that you would have noticed something was going on, you’re a better profiler than I am,” He mumbled as he fished for something in his pocket. 

“Yeah, that’s why you’re the unit chief.” You rolled your eyes, giddy in your moment of relief that the best thing that had ever happened to you wasn’t changing. You didn’t even notice that he’d stopped looking for something until he went silent and you were forced to check on him. 

That’s when you saw the box. 

It wasn’t open yet, and you refused to overreact again before you were sure it wasn’t a promise ring, a necklace, or something else. But when Aaron opened the box to reveal the most engagement ring-looking engagement ring - a three-stone silver ring that was certainly too expensive to be a promise ring - you allowed yourself a small gasp. 

“Aaron-”

“I love you,” You didn’t mind the interruption when it came like that, “Jack loves you, you’re our family. I know that I’ve been acting strange recently, and that’s because I’ve been trying to keep this a secret when I’m so-” He paused to take in a breath, a grin spreading across his lips. “-So excited to put this ring on your finger. I almost just asked you to marry me last night.”

The confirmation that he was, in fact, asking you to marry him made tears form in your eyes, your heart overflowing with love but deeper. You couldn’t believe you’d thought he was breaking up with you. 

Aaron didn’t bother getting onto one knee - he’d done that before, and this time was different. He took a breath in, released it heavily, and then, with sparkling eyes:

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes!” You could barely get out the word before Aaron had closed the box and practically launched himself forward, catching your face in his hands and kissing you passionately.

Later, you would laugh with your friends about the question you'd asked, the question that had been plaguing your mind for days, and how it contrasted so wildly with the question that Aaron had asked, the question he'd been thinking about for months.

[ghostkingirl]

An analysis/rant about Alexis Ness and fear of abandonment

Seeing all the Ness hate (mainly on TikTok) is genuinely making me feel like his trauma and fears of abandonment aren’t being acknowledged enough so here’s my analysis rant about Ness because I am a Ness glazer and I feel like he has the potential to have the saddest or most important arc in NEL.

Obviously Ness is extremely insecure and sees himself as having no inherent value as a person. Especially for kids coming from toxic households, it can be hard for them to see that they are important and valuable as individuals.

Ness believed his only value was in soccer, and Kaiser was the first person who believed in him whenever he was at his lowest point. Kaiser (in a sense) acknowledged his value and helped him develop it further. Even after that, Kaiser opened up to Ness and developed a level of trust in him.

For someone like Ness, who was abandoned by the people closest to him, it’s understandable why he would attach himself to Kaiser. He saw his only value as being something for Kaiser to use to achieve his dream, and Ness probably got absorbed into that. I can see how Ness probably got so involved in Kaiser’s dream that he lost his own sense of identity, and I don’t think he realized that until after Kaiser broke things off with him. He wasn’t inherently trying to suck up to Kaiser, he was probably trying to reach that level of closeness he felt when him and Kaiser first started playing together, and he genuinely never thought about himself as an individual. When you hate every aspect of yourself because of what others have told you, having someone acknowledge even the smallest part of you means the world. You keep searching for more of that validation that they gave you, but in searching for that validation you neglect other parts of yourself and lose part of your identity until you only put value in that part that was validated in the first place. It’s honestly a tragic cycle of dependency and reinforcing toxic behaviors that I think is really well developed.

The complaint I see a lot is that Ness just hates Isagi, when i think it’s more complex than that. I don’t think Ness originally hated Isagi, he just went with what Kaiser said because (as I mentioned before) I don’t think Ness sees himself as a full individual. His attempts to only be what Kaiser wants/needs are what drives what he says and does for the first part of his involvement in NEL. I think Ness only hated Isagi when Kaiser “chose” Isagi. Not only did Ness only hate on Isagi at the beginning because it’s what he thought Kaiser wanted, when Kaiser chose Isagi I can see how Ness felt threatened by that. Until then, Kaiser had never tried to truly connect with anyone except Ness (that we know of), and Ness probably felt like his relationship with Kaiser would be sacrificed if Kaiser started working with Isagi.

I don’t think Ness is just a “Kaiser glazer” I think Ness is a deeply complex character whose abandonment issues and trauma are driving his every thought and decision making. He went from feeling totally worthless to having any part of himself validated and acknowledged. It makes sense that he put all of his self worth into that one part of himself so that Kaiser would keep him around. It also makes sense that he would be angry at Isagi considering the fact that Ness probably sees Isagi as being the one to affect his relationship with Kaiser. Ness just hasn’t realized how severely dependent he is on Kaiser’s attention and validation, and even if he has I don’t think he’s acknowledged it as problematic (yet). This is not to say Ness is perfect, he is a DEEPLY problematic character who is reinforcing his own downfall by constantly seeking validation from Kaiser (who in turn keeps pushing him away which only makes Ness try and seek MORE validation).

My hope for Ness is that like all us kids who have been abandoned and found our self worth in another person only to be abandoned again, that we find love and value for ourselves as individuals and not side characters in someone else’s world.

Anyways your local Ness apologist, out :3

[rouge-fauna]

In this discduo timeline pastebin i read, you can see tommy did care about dream for a very long time even while his friends were trying to convince him that dream was bad, he continued to praise dream and had plans to meet him irl. It wasnt until june july 2023 when tommy started believing the lies his friends and fans kept telling him and thays when he banned the words dream and discduo in his chat and said that he didnt wanna go all the way to florida. I think he genuinly thinks dream wronged him based on his body language in the podcast and how he dissocoates, like tommy now percieves all his past positive interactions with dream as a negative and jack, harry, and tommys fanbase fed into that, but he also is lying about dream with other things. And i mean he could be faking that body language to garner sympathy Im not entirely sure. Im just looking at the nuance here. He knows dream or at least he did. He used to check up on him all the time and he knew how bad dreams mental health was, but he still lies and claims dreams apathetic and thinks dream cant take accountability and thinks dream doesnt care about him when dream has always cared. I can send you that pastebin if u want, u can see the decline in where tommy starts turning against dream its aroundn the time where he and harry got closer. But before that, he saw dream as this brilliant helpful guy and referred to him as a friend, even in the past referred to him as closer than a brother. He cared for dream at some point for a long time, then ditched him and betrayed him. Also dream refers to tommy as emotional, and i can see how someone so sensitive can interpret a long dm as an attack, and apparently he did explain his issue to dream before but it never got resolved or tommys lying about that too. I dont doubt that he is doing a lot of this to get attention, but i do think some feelings could be genuine despite it logically not adding up. I can see how someone could interpret dreams dms in a stressful way. But the fact tommy even gave a shit about dream in the past to begin with makes this worse, because the way i see it, if someone close to me turned on me i would be a lot more hurt by that than if someone i was only colleagues with turned on me.

Was gonna chrck back on their past interactions to see if i can spot anything shady on tommys part if yk what i mean even if this is gonna make me sad. One of my co workers offered to do a watchparty💀

(I should preface this by saying I have not yet watched the podcast, because at the moment I’m little too triggered to even give a shit about what Tommy has to say to be honest. I don’t really see what defense or reasoning you could possibly have for calling anyone, nonetheless your past friend a “proper movie villain” while accusing him of things that aren’t true, knowing the consequences. I mean I just don’t think people have really let that fact truly sink he, Tommy publicly compared Dream to Darth Vader, Bane, The Joker, Voldemort…etc mass murderers. Just think about that for a second. That’s not okay. People are out there comparing him to Hitler and talking about brutal ways to kill him, a go fund me to kill Dream has started. I don’t think there is a damn thing Tommy can say Dream did to excuse that shit, he will get no sympathy from me. Even if Dream physically abused him, which ain’t true since they’ve never met, Dream still shouldn’t be compared to freaking Hannibal.)

Even so, as I have said in some of my past posts on the matter, I do think perhaps Tommy was hurt by something that happened with Dream in the past and in retrospect realized perhaps things weren’t as good as he thought. Which happens, sometimes we look back on things and are like - hey wait a minute that wasn’t okay and that hurt. But that doesn’t make that person a shit person.

The example I believe I previously talked about was my first kiss, but to give another example, a guy I was good friends with freshman year of college was very handsy and I didn’t really realize in the moment how I felt about it or that he was pushing boundaries he shouldn’t. At first I didn’t think much of it. I was naive and autistic and didn’t really know better, and he was too. He didn’t have sisters, hell he thought woman were always making milk lol. In other words, we were both dumb. And looking back he did a lot of things that really were not okay, but once I came to realize and set boundaries he respected them. In fact, we are still kinda friends today, we’re even roomates for a bit after I graduate back in 2023. So, suffice to say, sometimes people can do shitty things or even things that you realize later were not okay, or even things that traumatize you, but that doesn’t make that person shitty. Especially if you didn’t call it out in the moment. This is what I mean by giving Dream the benefit of the doubt, sure I could perceive my friend as manipulative and taking advantage of naivety or whatever, or I recognize that he really just doesn’t know better. Now when you tell someone to stop and then they continue (depending on what it is because ya know old habits die hard or like my adhd is gonna try my hardest but I will inevitably skews up pronouns - just like I screw up everyone’s pronouns) now you’ve entered into the malicious and intentional area.

Bringing it back to Dream, Tommy was upset and told him to stop texting his mother, so Dream apologized to both and stopped. It becomes harassment and malicious if Dream continued over and over to do it, but he didn’t. This is why Dream is frustrated because he doesn’t know what behavior is upsetting people, and in his heart that’s not what he wants to do, but if people don’t tell him how is he meant to improve. At the end of the day, he doesn’t want to offend anyone or hurt someone, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t done so though as these things happen, nobody is perfect.

So I think maybe Tommy was hurt, maybe it was in retrospect looking back, maybe it was friends pointing things out and were like - hey that’s fucked up that happened. Maybe some of that hurt is genuine. And maybe you could make the case that that hurt has spurred him to take revenge and ruin Dream in whatever way it takes. So the jokes and lies are just part of his lashing out because he feels wronged.

However, there is also a case to be made that given Tommy’s history as pointed out by Dream with Logan Paul, maybe it was all an act. Maybe he was using Dream from the start and Dream being the naive, good hearted, autistic guy made an easy target. Maybe he only pretended to be good friends, sure Dream doesn’t have anything to gain from being Tommy’s friend but that doesn’t go both ways. Tommy has a lot to gain from being Dream’s friend, but as the tides turned he had a lot to lose by being Dream’s friend and it was easier to switch sides not that there was no incentive, as Dream pointed out as the USMP fell through so did Tommy switch sides. Once he couldn’t gain clout for being on Dream’s side but being against Dream, he switches. Because a lot of his audience has always been against Dream, struggling to tell the difference between character and person and as is human nature, instinctively hating an autistic person. That has been the case for ages, Tommy could have given into his audience for ages but even during the allegations height he still did that dsmp finale and posted that picture on Twitter (which he got a lot of hate for)…

All I’m saying, is even the people who have wronged me, even the person who pushed me to almost kill myself, I wouldn’t wish death or harassment upon them. I wouldn’t do the shit Tommy has pulled, because there was a time when we were friends. There were times when they were good to me. And maybe that makes me an exception to the rule, that people would be so cruel to the people they once called friends, but I couldn’t and that’s what makes me question Tommy’s sincerity and capacity for empathy…

Though perhaps both can be true.