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pucksandpower · 10 months ago

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Unremembered

Max Verstappen x Reader

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

Warnings: serious injury and memory loss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you here for Y/N Y/L/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Some cases what?” Max presses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max? It’s me. Open up, mate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Max, right?” You say hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the rest is history?” You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this related to your recent performance dip?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Max Verstappen doesn’t lose races that matter.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds nice,” you say softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen. “I did not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” Max says softly.

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

“Everything okay in here?” She asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max?”

He turns back. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you whisper. “Please hurry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll be ready,” Frank assures him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I come in?”

There’s a pause, then: “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath catches. “What did you remember?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make a soft sound of agreement, nuzzling closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emma adds her own tweet to the mix.

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

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

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

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lov3notts · 2 months ago

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Hi there! Can I please requests Bf's Enemy!Theo where y/n's very notoriously picky cat dislikes/disinterested in her bf, but loves Theo? I've always felt pets know... y'know?

Navigation; m.list; r.r; bf's enemy!theo au; part 2

i loved this request so much!!! thank you anon<3

You’ve always said your cat has taste.

She doesn’t warm up to people easily—no amount of cooing or baby talk gets her attention if she doesn’t vibe with someone. You warned Cedric when you first introduced him.

“She’s picky,” you said, scratching behind her ears. “Like, she likes exactly three people in the world. Don’t take it personally.”

Cedric, ever the golden retriever of a boyfriend, had smiled and knelt down beside her. “Oh come on, who could resist me?”

Your cat, apparently.

She blinked up at him, flicked her tail once, and walked directly into another room.

To his credit, Cedric took it well. Kind of.

“She’ll come around,” he’d said optimistically.

She didn’t.

No matter how many treats he brought, how gently he tried to pet her, or how sweetly he spoke, your cat couldn’t care less. At best, she tolerated him. At worst, she swatted at his shoelaces and hissed when he tried to pick her up.

It became a running joke—“she’s just playing hard to get,” Cedric would say with a nervous laugh, while eyeing her like she was plotting his murder.

“She’s just… warming up to me,” Cedric tries to say, even now, as you both roam the castle hallways looking for her.

“She’s had months,” you reply. “I think she’s made her decision.”

“She let me sit near her once.”

“She scratched you when you sneezed.”

“That was startling!”

And that’s when you both heard it.

A soft, steady purring coming from around the stone wall bordering the edge of the courtyard. You rounded the corner—and froze.

There he was- Theo sat slouched like a painting, back against the bench, ankles crossed, book open in one hand and your traitorous cat purring in his lap like she’d always belonged there.

You blinked.

Your voice came out sharp, confused, almost accusatory. “Nott….Why do you have my cat?”

Theo didn’t look up from his book. “Didn’t know she was yours.”

“She is” you said, walking up fast. “That’s my cat.”

He finally glanced at you, calm as ever. “Right. Well. She came to me.”

Cedric caught up behind you, already frowning. “Of course she did.”

Theo scratched under her chin, and her purrs doubled.

You were floored.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, stunned. “She likes you?”

Cedric looked personally betrayed. “She doesn’t even let me do that,” he said flatly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” you whisper, watching in disbelief

Cedric crossed his arms, incredulous. “She literally hates everyone.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Apparently not everyone.”

You walked over cautiously, holding out your hands. “C’mere, baby. Let’s go.”

Your cat didn’t move.

Didn’t even flinch.

She just blinked at you, then flopped sideways in Theo’s lap and kept purring.

“Oh my god” Cedric said under his breath.

You folded your arms, trying to make sense of what you were seeing—your cat curled up like she was in a luxury bed and Theo treating it like the most normal thing in the world.

“She really just… came up to you?”

Theo nodded. “Walked right over. Climbed up. No questions asked.”

Your cat chirped sweetly, like she was confirming his alibi.

You exchanged a look with Cedric, whose jaw was tense, clearly not thrilled.

“I don’t get it” he muttered. “I’ve tried everything.”

Theo closed his book slowly and raised an eyebrow at the both of you. “Maybe she likes sarcasm and emotionally unavailable.”

You just stared.

“…You’re not keeping her.”

Theo shrugged, leaning back as your cat made herself even more comfortable. “Tell her that.”

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wendichester · 3 months ago

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⋆.˚ ★ the pizza man conundrum,

summary. castiel is confused about dean's most recent attempt to humanize the angel. you're the target of his questions.

pairing. castiel x reader genre. complete crack

wordcount. 489

notes / warnings. this is gonna leave you feeling a little bit confused. or amused. pick one.

Dean is dead to the world.

Sprawled out on the motel bed, one arm flung over his face, boots half-on, snoring like an idling truck. You may have accidentally worn him out after convincing him to do literally anything other than sit at a bar all night. A bet, a few rounds of pool, and one very competitive foot race later (he swears you cheated), and now he’s out.

You’re enjoying the rare moment of peace when—

“I need your assistance.”

You jump about a foot in the air. “Jesus, Cas! A little warning next time?”

Castiel stares at you, head slightly tilted, blue eyes full of celestial intensity. “I do not require a warning.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Okay, what do you need?”

“I have questions.”

Of course he does.

You pat the empty motel bed beside you, and Castiel takes it as an invitation to sit—though he does so like a man who has never properly understood chairs, his posture stiff and uncomfortably formal.

He turns to you, face unreadable. “Dean has… introduced me to something.”

You blink. “Should I be concerned?”

“I do not know,” he says seriously. “But I seek clarification.”

There’s a long pause. Then, in a tone way too solemn for the words about to leave his mouth, he asks—

“…Who is the pizza man?”

You stare at him. Hard.

He stares back.

It’s too much. You break. A snort escapes before you can stop it, and suddenly, you’re wheezing, barely able to breathe through your laughter.

Cas just waits, looking more confused by the second.

When you finally regain some control, wiping at your eyes, you manage, “Cas… why do you want to know about the pizza man?”

He frowns. “Because I do not understand his significance.”

You take a deep breath, shaking your head. “Okay, start from the beginning.”

Castiel nods, thoughtful. “Dean was watching something on his laptop.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh God.”

“I saw two humans engaging in a ritual of physical intimacy,” Cas continues, completely unfazed. “The woman seemed very eager for the pizza man’s presence. I am unsure why he was necessary for the proceedings.”

You’re biting your lip so hard you might draw blood. “Cas…”

“I attempted to ask Dean about it, but he only laughed,” Castiel says, looking genuinely offended. “And then he fell asleep.” He gestures vaguely at the still-passed-out Dean. “So I have come to you.”

You could explain it. But where’s the fun in that?

“Cas,” you say, leaning in conspiratorially. “It’s a sacred human tradition. The pizza man is a… symbol. A bringer of joy, nourishment, and—uh—other things.”

Cas nods, very serious. “I see. Like an angel, but with food.”

Your lips twitch. “Exactly.”

There’s a long pause before Cas looks at Dean, then back at you.

“Would you like me to order a pizza?”

That’s it. You’re done. You collapse onto the bed, laughing so hard you can’t breathe.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel fluff #castiel spn #supernatural #.docx

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rockingbytheseaside · 11 months ago

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Hihi!, This is my first request of something like this but here we go! Male harbingers with a reader who has constant nightmares/episodes of sleep paralysis and proceed to comfort them through the process. Obviously you don’t gotta do it if you don’t have the time, just wanted to put this little headcannon out into the world!

(I swear I’m not dead! I was busy graduating and enrolling in my next uni studies!)

✦ How they comfort you when you wake up from a nightmare

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe.

In the darkest depth of our consciousness, even we do not possess sovereignty over our dreams. Be it a curse or a blessing, your mind can become your foe. As thoughts and memories convulse into pleasant dreams or horrid nightmares, you end up with the dreaded sense of despair as you witness your own mind betraying you, and waking up with a cold sweat. Tossing and turning, there is only a certain pair of arms that can soothe you in the dimness of such nights - your beloved’s embrace.

✧ Pierro knows you’re having a nightmare before you even wake up. On a quiet night, when he is sitting beside you in bed, either reading or engrossed in some papers, you’d doze off beside him. But on such nights, he discerns the unease written on your sleeping face. Eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed or softly scowling. The Jester sets whatever he is reading aside and shifts his calculated attention towards you. You start silently tossing as if the very softness of the covers is heavy on you. Pierro sighs, his hand softly coming to rest on your forehead to confirm his suspicion - you are warm, yet breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Dear, shh… open your eyes, slowly now.” - he whispers, as his hands slowly yet deliberately caress your face. “You are having a nightmare again.”

And indeed, you open your eyes; your dazed expression is one of puzzlement yet evident fear. Pierro knows your first few minutes of waking up from a nightmare are delicate. Through the haze, your first instinct is to seek refuge in the safety of the arms holding you, knowing to who it belongs already. You turn towards him, letting him pull you against his chest.

“…Your mind is wary and played tricks on you. You're here now. Breathe.” - you kept your eyes closed, too worn out to get up or speak about your nightmare. Thus, you focused on Jester’s words, breathing deeply as the sound of his heartbeat was navigating you to inhale and exhale.

You didn't have to explain your nightmares to Pierro - he already knows they mirror the horrors of the cataclysm he once witnessed. Therefore, he squeezes you tightly against him, his lips pressed against your forehead. With silent words of comfort, Pierro continued his vows to protect you, even from your nightmares.

✧ Il Capitano kneeled beside your bed, akin to a dutiful knight. You lay there, asleep, your wounds and gashes carefully bandaged. This wasn't your first time returning from a prolonged expedition, battle scars and bruises coloring your skin. After all, he often warns you not to be reckless, while you stubbornly return home with bruises.

Hence, he silently remained beside you, his fists clenched and shoulders taut. His pitch-black helmet stared at you for a prolonged time, anxiously keeping watch of your deep slumber. The Captain's mind reeled, chastising himself for not being there to protect you. But suddenly his attention was diverted as you started to mutter in your sleep.

It was incomprehensible and lasted only a fleeting second before you jolted up with a sudden gasp, urgently grappling for breath.

“My beloved, what is the matter?” - Capitano rushed towards your side, his arm immediately around your shoulder. “Focus on breathing, steady your heart.”

You wake up, eyes wide with shock and gasping for life, like a fool rescued from drowning. You stared at your beloved in confusion, before your face sourced in melancholy. Il Capitano let you hide your face against him, his arms carefully wrapped around you to avoid pressing your bruises. He sensed your shoulders shaking, small sobs emitting from you - and that sound alone could make the steadfast Harbinger crumble. His hands brush your messy hair aside, offering soothing comfort.

“I shall hold you, my dear. These were only illusions brought about by your fatigue and injuries… It’s all safe now, I am here.” - Capitano squeezed you in his embrace as if his larger frame could shield you from harm. However, in truth, his words aimed to reassure not only you but also himself. Despite his vigilance, his hands trembled whenever he witnessed your distress, fear, or unease. "What did you see, my love?"

You sniffled, recounting the blurry bits of your nightmare. Although you were regaining your breath, you felt how Capitano’s hand trembled, his stern expression faltering with concern. Even you could tell that he was more nervous about your disposition, maybe even more than you.

“You saw such horrible visions due to your fatigue. I did not shield you from your wounds and nightmares. I shan’t forgive myself for my failure. From here on out, allow me to remedy it.”

✧ At an ungodly hour of the night, Il Dottore returned to his private chambers. With the long hours of working in the lab behind him, he entered the bedroom quietly, expecting to see you fast asleep. Instead, he noticed the bathroom door ajar, allowing a streak of light to seep into the dark room, and the faint sound of tap water running caught his attention. Most importantly, you were not in bed.

“It’s rare to see you awake at this hour…” - the Doctor remarked as he stood by the bathroom doorway, observing you cool your face with water. “Why are you not asleep?”

“I…couldn’t sleep.” - you replied briefly, yet your fatigue was evident as you tapped your face with a towel.

The Harbinger did not buy your lies, he carefully stepped closer, his gloved hands placed softly onto your shoulders. “Turn around. Look at me.”

You did so, and no words were necessary as he analyzed your sorrowful gaze: reddened eyes, darkened circles, and an ashan look of despair bestowed on you. The Harbinger sighed, keenly aware that you had woken from another harrowing dream. His hands now gently caressed your cheek, thumb trailing softly.

“Another nightmare?” - he inquired in a hushed tone, “Staying awake won’t resolve it, you know. Let’s get you back to bed.”

You wished to object, but Dottore had already sprung into full work mode. He brought you back to bed, deftly fixing the tousled pillows and covers to your liking. Once you were tucked, he instructed quickly: “Now stay here. I will brew some chamomile tea. It will help your slumber.”

Thus, with his coat removed and sleeves rolled up to the forearms, he moved through the house, swiftly ensuring that your resting area exuded comfort and tranquility. Returning with the steaming tea, he placed the cup on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. “Careful now, it’s still hot. Do you want me to give you sleeping p-”

“I’m not ill, Dottore. It was just… a nightmare. Nothing more.”

“Yet your expression says it wasn’t ‘just’ a nightmare, and your heartbeat is accelerating.” - His hand ran over your forehead, instinctively checking for your temperature. “It’s just a dream. You're awake now. Don’t exhaust yourself anymore - it’s usually my job to stay late, actually.”

You huffed at him but managed a faint smile. “Undoubtedly… And what would the doctor prescribe for my ailment?”

Il Dottore smirked proudly, planting a much-needed kiss on your cheek before finally scooting beside you in bed - “Why, a dose of me, of course!”

✧ The moment Scaramouche perceived the sound of your distress in the dead of night, he swiftly flung the sliding shoji door aside, prepared for murder. But there was no intruder or attacker, it was just you, sitting up on your futon, softly weeping. The confused Balladeer stepped into your room, kneeling beside you as his mind invoked the worst scenarios already.

“What happened? I heard a scream.”

For a moment you tried to regain your breath, gulping. Only after regaining your composure, and hearing much coaxing to tell the truth, did you finally reveal to him what transpired. It was a nightmare, plain and simple. For a moment, Scaramouche was silent. He is no stranger to dreams, particularly the ones that bring tears to the dreamer. Instead, he resented them, viewing dreams as the root of his vulnerabilities and the reason for his estrangement.

But witnessing you weep after a nightmare? It was a foreign feeling, one that left a foul pit in his being.

“Hey, calm down.” - he whispered, reaching for you. At first, the Harbinger wasn’t sure how to handle this, but he persisted nonetheless. “It was all just a dream. A jumble of thoughts made up by your mind, Do not allow such a thing to haunt your sleep.”

“I'm sorry, Scara… I know, It’s foolish to cry. I just-”

The 6th shushed you, but when you tried to glance at him in the dark, you sensed no mockery or animosity in his gaze. “I didn't say you should stop crying. It’s not foolish either.”

With a deep sigh, Scaramouche begrudgingly crawled beside you under the covers. He made sure you were lying down beside him, pulling the covers over you both. "Okay, listen. I will stay with you while you fall back asleep. Only this time! So don't expect a bedtime story."

His irritation veiled his concern for your weary expression. But thankfully, his words managed to elicit a chuckle to your sleepy face. He watched you lay on your side, his fingers idly toying with the ends of your hair.

"Say, Scaramouche...? Do puppets have bad dreams?"

The Balladeer did not think much of your innocent question. He didn't have to contemplate long to let his memories resurface; instead, he just nodded quietly with no elaboration. Regardless, that simple question from you kept haunting his mind for years to come. As Wanderer sat alone in bed, the torturous grip of dreams clutching him anew, he no longer had you beside him. The reassurance he once provided while spending sleepless nights with you was absent, just as you were no longer there to offer the same.

✧ When you jolted up with a yelp, you likely caused a bigger fright to Pantalone than your own nightmare instilled in you. The Harbinger rose from his slumber, turning the nightstand lamp with half-shut eyes.

“Oh dearie, Shhh… It’s alright, all is good,” - he tugged at you with trepidation, pulling you close to him in bed. “I’ve never seen you so frightened from a dream. There, there.”

You honestly felt ashamed at first, but both of you understood the uncontrollable nature of nightmares, especially if they caused you to scream in the awakened world. So here you were, hiding your face behind your palms while your beloved hugged you, hoping to provide solace. Once you came out of your shock, you just rested against his shoulder quietly. Once the shock subsided, you remained leaning against his shoulder in silence. However, the lingering taste of the nightmare left a sour impression on your mood, as you found yourself unable to drift back into slumber.

Pantalone observed your despondent demeanor, his arm still encircling your shoulders - “Do you think you can fall back asleep, honey?”

“... I’m sorry, Pantalone. I woke you up, too. Now I feel embarrassed.”

“Nonsense, dear. An unpleasant dream does that sometimes. You’re just… shaken by the memories of your nightmare, and now unable to fall back asleep.” - The Regrator brought the covers closer over your figure, while your head leaned on his shoulders. “Do you want me to make you something? Maybe coffee, or valerian root tea with honey?”

“No, no. Can you just… keep talking for a while?” - you requested in a sudden coy manner, “You can talk about anything. I want to hear you speak.”

“Hm, very well,” - Pantalone smiled fondly and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. “I think I have just the idea.”

Reaching for a book he usually reads before bed, the Harbinger scooted closer, ensuring the open pages were visible to you. Pantalone knew that what troubled you did not require in-depth words or solutions. Instead, you sought a distraction from your troubled mind. Something to keep your saddened thoughts at bay while he spoke about whatever he could think of.

“Then allow me to read for you while you rest easy, okay? Ahem…”

In the dimly illuminated bedroom, you found solace in the soothing voice of your beloved, your gaze tracing the words on the pages as Pantalone remained engrossed in his reading aloud. You kept quiet and still, seeing him flip the pages as he continued. Soon enough, the gentle cadence of his voice ushered you into the embrace of sleep, and you yielded willingly back to slumber. Pantalone detected your drooping head and quietly closed the book before planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Sleep well, dear."

✧ Tartaglia blinked at you, his countenance solemn as he sat upright in bed. You mirrored his gaze, knowing perfectly well what he would say. You could smell it a mile away.

“Let me beat them!”

“No,” - you crossed your arms.

“Let me beat whoever bothers you in your nightmares”

“For the last time, Ajax, you can’t physically ‘fight’ nightmares! It’s a nightmare, not a person!”

Such was the course of your evening. Startled from a haunting dream, you found Childe by your side, showing more concern for your welfare than you did yourself. Instead, he insisted on vanquishing your nightmares with his fists alone.

“Oh come on, you know I’m just joking. I saw you gasping for air after you woke up so abruptly; don’t blame me for being concerned.” - Childe rolled his eyes, gently pulling you to rest on his arms. “Tell me, what did you see?”

You sighed deeply, remaining apprehensive despite his humorous jabs. After much contemplation, you decided it would be worse if you recited your nightmares vocally. “It… It doesn’t matter. It was a nonsensical nightmare, nothing to ponder about.”

The Harbinger frowned softly, he knew you well enough when something troubled you. And it was clear you felt anguished by the recent dream you had. Pressing further would only exacerbate it, instead, he decided to annoy you in a different manner

“Well, next time you have a bad dream… Call out for me. In your dreams I mean!” - He stated with a big smile.

“...What?”

“Think about it! Something is bothering you while you’re dreaming - you call out for me, and I stop my dreams to come to your dream.”

“That’s ridiculous,” - you chuckled

“And then, you know, pow, pow!” - Childe mimicked the motion of fistfighting, pretending to punch some invisible opponent who could be your potential enemy in a nightmare. In the meantime, you started laughing even more. “And there you go! Your nightmares are now rainbows and sunshine.”

You knew well what Tartaglia was doing. He aimed to lift you out of your forlorn state by sharing lighthearted jokes - and it was working. Tartaglia watched you laughing silly as he made some childish remarks, feeling victorious to bring in that smile he adores oh so much. It was his method of alleviating the tensions in your mind, and it proved effective as the two of you snuggled in bed, entertained by amusing banter until your worries subsided. Then, and only then, would you release a contented sigh and allow yourself to drift back into slumber in the comforting embrace of your beloved.

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anantaru · 2 years ago

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4 RULES TO SURVIVE A DIVORCE (GONE WRONG)

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — deciding to end your marriage with neuvillette might've been the hardest decision you've ever had to make in your life, although now, navigating through the divorce was becoming even more difficult, especially when you suddenly fail to stick to four simple rules you have both set between each other.

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 7.8k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, fem! reader, ex! husband neuvillette, divorced couple goals lmao, fluff & crack, p with plot, lovers to strangers to lovers, size kink/size difference, rough sex, unprotected sex, unresolved tension and lots of bickering, sassy comments from the both of you, it's very much giving married old couple, office sex, cumming inside

RULE NUMBER 1: KEEP YOUR DISTANCE AT ALL TIMES

by the sixth day of waking up to an empty bed— with the left side untouched and consisting of nothing but a feeble scent of vacant perfume, neuvillette has decided that he's had enough.

which wasn't to say that he's had enough of sleep, even though that's certainly a potent route to take, yet the neuvillette the people of fontaine knew was only the one they believed they knew.

in this agonizing moment in time, he wasn't sure on how long he could act out this picture-perfect facade for the sake of his people.

they thought he was brilliant, attractive, chocolate-box pretty.

a radiant, enigmatic dragon that was quite the sight to behold, his smile reminding the flowers of spring-time to blossom to their original beauty— awakening their way of life— ah well, such lovely things to ruminate on, or when they decide to appreciate his delicateness, how uniquely he viewed the world and how otherworldly soft he chose to explore it.

in a true sense, the alluring stories the people of fontaine told each other got one single piece about him right; that neuvillette was very handsome and soft to someone's eyes.

with all ones heart, the man unquestionably had enough of the irrefutable coldness wearing down on his shoulders, sitting there alone in an empty bedroom that was previously essential to his well being, with misery written all over his face and bursting at the seams of his mental health, just enough for him to stop talking all at once.

the cold bedspread was rough against his naked body, the mattress too soft to rest on and giving in beneath his weight. wholly crestfallen did neuvillette realize that sadly, the only way to return to the life he's lived a couple months ago, return to where he should be, was to somehow learn on how to travel back in time and make things right.

which from the bottom of his heart, was impossible.

it was confusing, he has to admit, because the only factor he found somewhat common now was on how empty the bedroom was— besides his own belongings, which weren't a lot in the first place, everything else was taken by you weeks ago, beloved items that were brimful of memories stacked in cold boxes and delivered to your new home.

a predictable event, he knows, and how embarrassingly predictable it had gotten that neuvillette found himself in teething trouble, precisely the issue of his sleep schedule in this bed— one you had bought together, shared together every single day, one you had made love to each other every single night.

a slump of mindless memories waft through his psyche, resembling a wicket current of catastrophes as he ultimately came to the conclusion that the reason he was unable to sleep must be because of you— his serious issues on being unable to rest, it has to be because of you.

neuvillette's thoughts and judgments were all scattered, rummaging through the vortex of problems he had endured through the weeks, a matter much more pressing than all of the other issues put together— he continuously waits and aches, hopes and dreams, and before he notices he's slowly healing, it all comes crashing down on him again.

a recollection long gone relives itself in his mind's eye, and his previous gaze gets overturned by a new, haunting stare.

this is why he had bought the bed in the first place, he remembers it vividly now, it's because you fell in love with it right away, you liked the way it felt underneath your body, heedless of how he personally never really found it comfortable.

concealed from everyone's eyes, neuvillette was deeply saddened, but he hadn't given his mental health much thought yet, because how do you even process that your wife has left you?

how do you tell anybody that you failed as a husband?

and it's raining again? what a hassle, although now he's acquired another way to fault himself on, most importantly hurt himself, because no one deserved the bad weather other than he himself did.

for the first time after gaining the position of the iudex of fontaine, neuvillette did not want to go to work. what if someone begins to ask too many invasive questions when he visits the palais mermonia today?

if that's the immediate case that was going to happen, he begins to think about it more clearly— a person asking about his private life was definitely trespassing his boundaries, right? he could immediately do something about it and put them on trial.

by that logic of his, neuvillette cannot fathom how humiliating it was, his face clouds with a mixture of desperation and disappointment in himself, because he can already imagine the hot off the press headlines on the cover of the steambird;

ATTENTION! ATTENTION!

IUDEX OF FONTAINE LEFT STRANDED BY FORMER WIFE! ARE YOU WONDERING WHY WE THINK THIS MARRIAGE WAS DOOMED TO FAIL FROM THE START? GO FIND OUT IN THE NEW ISSUE OF THE STEAMBIRD. ©this article was written and published by journalist charlotte, do not plagiarize under any circumstances

up to the minute he was able to calm himself down, until imagining the wildfire of emotions an article like that would cause in fontaine.

all the unpleasant hours of arguing with you, even attempting to understand each other without actually coming to a conclusion on how to navigate a situation like that. aside from wanting to keep it all hidden from the outside world, leave it concealed and let the people of fontaine forget about the fact that you two had been married in the first place.

who cares, right? who gives a damn if it's husband or ex husband now? what even was the difference between a wife and an ex wife, you see that it's all the same?

ugh, who was he fooling besides himself.

the whole 'ex-wife' was aggravating him to the point where it made him physically sick.

why can't he just flip a switch and everything goes back to normal like it never happened in the first place. neuvillette wanted his normal life back, the normal life he thought you both loved and would continue to live on until your dying days.

in the end, neuvillette saw no other route around it other than to quit using it all together, maybe stop talking about you entirely.

by all means, it's not like he will talk to anybody about the divorce, maybe besides you when he has to mention it. granted that he might not talk to you about it either, because he wasn't allowed to see you right now, neither were you allowed to see him.

on how it came to that point was genuinely understandable.

after the divorce was finalized, new adjustments had to be made regarding your previous living situations, shared income and the future possibility of seeing each other.

as was anticipated, before he was able to say anything or make suggestions, you had already started to list out a couple of "important rules" that you made up, you called them rules but in the iudex mind he called them pesky little regulations.

regardless of his distaste for them, he wrote them down on a piece of paper as to not aggravate you.

well, he found it a bit bizarre, but neuvillette thought it must be a serious requirement at this point. it was his first divorce so how was he supposed to know how to navigate through one? it wasn't supposed to be easy, that's what he knew, it's very heart breaking and draining his life force.

although funnily enough, his overwhelm strengthens after you waltzed over the fourth rule of the day. that's one rule too much in his opinion.

just how many were there?

"i can't think of a better solution," you state whilst leaning your body against his desk, always facing the ground, you wouldn't want to lock gazes with him during such difficult time.

"we may even be able to talk again in the future, you know,"

but did you really want to?

it's safe to say that neuvillette would want to keep in contact, but it's certain that this would not only stress you both out in the long run, possible new partners could also get weirded out by the fact that you two were still talking and they may become jealous.

neuvillette stifles a groan, scribbling down the second rule that left your mouth before absorbing the letters on the piece of paper, "it's for the best if we keep a distance,"

to say like that was a punch in the gut would be an understatement, despite the fact that you proposed the idea in the first place.

alas and without any of you knowing before setting out those four simple rules, now— weeks after, you had found yourself in a position that made it near impossible to keep a distance from each other, or at least make eye contact in a social gathering.

for you, it has become your life in a literal sense to comb through this difficulty, for neuvillette, the possibility of seeing you in the future would secure his sanity and keep him from turning as mad as a hatter.

patience. the incurable truth was patience.

this afternoon, you have to talk for at least five minutes, with a window consisting of a maximum of ten minutes if one of you talked slowly— it's not like you want to see him, but you have to visit your ex husbands office to sign a paper regarding your previously shared finances and then you're good to go for the day again, you can leisurely exit his office and leave this failed relationship behind, exactly where it belonged in the first place, deeply stored in the past.

previously during the negotiations, neuvillette was quite persistent in leaving you the house which was located a little outside of fontaine. he was in no need of it anymore and wanted you to have it, without payments required.

between us two, it's quite obvious he wanted to get rid of it.

but so did you.

you didn't want to stay there, not now, not ever, you wouldn't sign that damned paper even if the god of contracts suddenly came knocking on your door and force you to.

all the memories in that house would eventually eat you up, they'd definitely destroy you, the gnawing grief would certainly keep you awake at night.

originally after telling your ex husband that you didn't want the house, he was able to find you a flat in the city— it's small but cute, and it had everything you needed. a cozy bedroom, a kitchen that was big enough to dance in while you're preparing dinner and an area where you can set up an office for yourself.

how convenient it was that you were previously married to the person that is in charge of fontaine.

aside from that and the fact that you were practically making neuvillette handle the most difficult parts of this— you realize how a sudden guilt was stored on your shoulders, you could barely face him after that.

the parts he needed to handle included, but were not limited to, well, a problem slightly more irritating since it was about his life, turning approximately a hundred other problems he deals with on a daily a whole lot easier.

most of the legal process was handled by him, and only him for that matter, meaning that he had to spend additional hours on it and was barely able to move on with his life after losing you.

unlike you did.

well frankly, it's only been a couple of weeks, a month at best since you've last seen him— although it has been much longer since you've last felt him.

there really wasn't a lot going on in your life after breaking things off, it's always a grueling whirlwind of;

waking up, heading to work, walking home, eating, sleeping, repeat.

most significantly, your new bed felt a bit hard as well, it's uncomfortable and drove you insane.

you missed the one you had previously shared with neuvillette— wether it was because of the way it felt underneath you or because of its much better quality.

perhaps it was also that in the past, you had the chance of leaning against a warm body whenever you were freezing— the secret on why you found your new bed worse in comparison to your old one would certainly remain a secret forever.

it can never be answered, because you do not even know the answer yourself.

it's frequent and happens all the time— when you suddenly begin to wonder late in the evening if this was the right decision after all.

then again, a divorce wasn't necessarily something you would just forget from one day to the other— aside from that, there was a reason it happened, considering the countless events of arguing and the inability of you both to find a solid middle ground.

when you notice that a relationship drains the life out of you, or makes you cry your heart out late at night, a decision has to be made eventually, especially before it would turn your love into resentment or make your respect for the other person dwindle away.

was it really that surprising that you had your doubts?

when it comes down to it, neuvillette wasn't a bad man and you would never speak poorly of him. he was everything else but bad, which reminds you of the reason you had fallen in love with him.

but in earlier days, he had a reflection less of the way he was than of the way he wanted you to see him.

it was challenging for neuvillette to open up to you.

but hell, you're certain you won't be able to find someone who'd ever make you as happy as he did, bring you sweet tummy aches when he makes you laugh all night, or be there for you when you're sick and unable to take care of yourself.

you shake your head in embarrassment, your cheeks aflame as you're drawing several deep, steadying breaths— perhaps that's just how you're supposed to think right now.

it's not real, it cannot be.

right now, you feel like you should've never broken it off, but this marriage had been on death's door for months before the decision was finally formed— albeit from afar, no one had ever suspected anything and you're quite proud of that, in fact, both of you made sure no one would notice too much of what had been going on behind closed doors— like good spouses should always protect each other.

among other things, taking into consideration just how important his work and image was, the last outcome you wanted was for your ex husband to endure dreadful gossips about him.

neuvillette did not deserve a single negative word against him, this man deserved nothing but the finest life for himself— furthermore, after spending yet another night without sleep and thinking about your ex husband, you believed that the best for him just wasn't you.

it never has been.

RULE NUMBER 2: NEVER SHOW UP TO EACH OTHERS HOME OR WORK, NOT EVEN ON EMERGENCIES, ESPECIALLY NOT IF YOU MISS EACH OTHER

it's a little clumsy when you first enter his office, accompanied by an unnerving type of awkwardness outstretching across the room as neuvillette meets your eyes right away— but his head drops after around two seconds and he puffs out a wretched sigh, sounding as if he's about to cry.

neuvillette thought that this should've been way easier— but before you, he has never felt real love like yours before, and he was quite certain that this type of love only happens once in life.

the melusines were also happy to see you, and you could tell that they were equally as confused as you were— they probably did not realize what was going on and nor did you really want them to know.

given that their love and admiration for neuvillette was bottomless and you wouldn't want them to suddenly harbor a disdain for you.

nevertheless, when you listened to what they were whispering about behind your back, they were talking about how you must've been away for travel or desperately needed a vacation from fontaine, or one even mentioned that you might've been sick— considering how dead and empty your eyes looked those past weeks.

then there's the "being busy with work". ah well, the excuses were surely endless and somewhat amusing, you know you're not taking care of yourself when every second a melusine talks about how tired you looked and if you needed a glass of water.

everything but a divorce was being spoken about, at least you managed to hide that well.

your gaze lifts to meet his own again when neuvillette stands up from his desk and looks at you from the opposite side of the table.

under further examination of your facial expression, he notices the slight discomfort that buzzes underneath your skin, especially around your eyes and how you could barely look at him for more than five seconds.

beneath the familiar emotion of being in the same room as him, the sharp bite of his aftershave slips down the back of your throat when you suck in a sharp, choked breath, tensing like a tree at each step forward.

why do you look like you haven't slept for days?

it cannot be, right? but he was paying attention to certain details, either relevant or not he notices how you're looking around without focus, or shift the weight of your body from left foot to right foot.

and well, his supernatural senses were sharp, immediately picking up on your heart pounding against your ribs as if trying to fulfill a thousand beats.

his fingers twitch slightly with the document in his hand as he remains in his position, waiting for you to come closer.

"this couch doesn't seem very comfortable for sleep," you point to the sofa in his office, in an attempt to break the awkward tension, your chin forwarding to the left where a neatly put blanket and a small pillow sat on top of the furniture.

just how many nights has he spent here? did he even sleep in the first place? was he taking care of himself and should you worry?

it's safe to say that his work shouldn't be in danger, but it really is killing you that you cannot ask without coming across like a desperate ex, and you're fully aware that it would also go against your rules.

but neuvillette has always taken his important occupation very serious, sometimes even to the point where he forgot about his own marriage and his wife waiting for him at home with freshly made dinner served and his most favorite beverage awaiting him on a beautifully set up table and— yikes, that escalated quickly.

you're beginning to remember one of the reasons as to why this marriage failed.

"i hope you do not mind if i ask," neuvillette stifles a groan, "but are you mentioning this out of curiosity or are you speaking down on my new sleeping area?" the hint of sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable, the underlying scorn making you wince.

and oh, "sleeping area" was a big statement for that little excuse of a couch, you're very much aware that he can barely fit all of him on it and always had troubles finding a comfortable spot when he fucked— uh, well, when you did things to each other there.

yes, you already know how it felt on there, and who could possibly know of the plentiful times you had been intimate with each other on that couch.

wait a minute, was that the reason? was he already having a rebound this soon after your divorce?

no, it cannot be.

not your neuvillette, hold on, scrap that and reverse, he wasn't your neuvillette anymore.

it's stinging and like pins and needles on your heart when you think about neuvillette fucking someone on the exact same place he made love to you— leading to the conclusion that simply looking at the couch made you sick to your stomach, instantly setting off another unpleasant lurch of nausea yet you could still muster enough strength to fix yourself for the sake of this conversation.

he wouldn't dare, okay, this is the last time you're discussing this with yourself;

what if he wanted you to see this, tell you that:

hey, look at me! i am so happy without you stupid witch, and i already have a new partner too, isn't that nice for me? there really is no need for you to be worried about me, so please sign this document and exit my office.

because i am getting my dick sucked every single day!

your heart beat turns feverish in your chest, and you quickly snap your head towards the direction of your ex husband, "isn't it obvious that i was just trying to make conversation with you?" you retort back, swatting away the dust lingering on your clothes while simultaneously coughing out in an awkward manner.

"although i really cannot imagine that this couch is somewhat comfortable to sleep on."

"i believe you must still remember on how it felt laying there yourself,"

yikes, what a great comeback from him, and he didn't mean to say it like he's spitting venom into your mouth, it's almost like he wanted to tell you that it's your loss you cannot make yourself comfortable on here, even though he wouldn't mind bending you on all fours again like he did last— okay, that's enough.

there was a half-visible smirk on his face that aggravated you, the absolute last expression you were expecting to see from him.

you roll your eyes, "trust me, i don't want to," you reply, pinching your eyebrows together while assessing your distaste of his answer.

just when did an innocent question about a dusty, old couch turn into— whatever that conversation was about.

RULE NUMBER 3: DO NOT ASK INTIMATE QUESTIONS ABOUT EACH OTHERS PRIVATE LIFE

no, stop it, that doesn't seem right, neuvillette shouldn't treat you this way.

right now, he was experiencing his worst nightmare and the previous gears of sadness grind to a halt upon perceiving another emotion— one, that certainly scared him.

whatever the case, he wouldn't repeat his mistake, accepting any destiny the universe would bestow on him as he silently promises himself to stop any anger from slipping past the tip of his tongue.

pressing your lips together, you dig your heels into the ground, "okay, forget it, i don't have a lot of time," an unexpected force of confidence pushes you forward until you could feel the wooden desk graze across your thighs, you're so close now and the only thing keeping your bodies apart was the desk in between.

your mind was repeatedly screaming at your frame to stop moving before you actually did, "i have to be somewhere in, uh, about a couple hours, so lets finish this quickly."

what a sweet and pretty liar that you were, terribly aware that the only thing waiting for you tonight was your bed.

what a sad image, but he must not know!

"oh?" neuvillette mutters bitterly, a nervous rasp roughening his voice.

"a date, i assume?"

you would have gasped if you had any breath to spare, because you did not think this would actually work in a million years.

"ah, ah, ah," you note in a triumphant colored tone, happily waving your pointer finger from left to right.

"this, dear iudex, goes against rule number three."

content, neuvillette resumes to the document in his hand before placing it in the middle of the desk, sucking in a short, harsh breath, eyes deepening down south, just any area that wasn't you,

"of course, my apologies," his tone was thick, sickly sweet with barely cloaked amusement.

now he knows you're lying— he knows you so well it's almost embarrassing.

"this, is why you came for, right?"

you fumble a blistering retort that died with the hard press of teeth against your tongue, "mhm," you murmur in a low, rich tone, his casual unbothered spirit was dangerously convincing.

oh well, he must have gotten it right— and ah, you were remarkably stubborn too, resisting even the most innocent type of help coming from him as you take a random pen laying across the other side of the desk instead of the one in neuvillette's hand.

your eyes slowly scatter over the document, your brain struggling to put together the authoritative choice of words displayed in front of you.

"please elaborate on that," you press a finger on a significantly befuddling paragraph.

neuvillette muses agreeably before slanting against the desk to see for himself— and when he did you got a real good taste of his perfume suddenly invading your nostrils, playing devils advocate when you flinch back a little.

"do not worry yourself about this," his answer came so quickly you barely caught it, spelled out without a flutter of hesitation.

"everything is accounted for," he adds gently, you only need to put your name, there,"

your once-vulnerable eyes now squint stormily, "that smart mouth of yours surely has been busy, i can tell," as you place the pen on the desk before dropping both arms to your side— the man before you narrowed speechless, burning his eyes through your smug face.

"oh, just how many tricks did you pick up on your way here?" he replies sternly, accentuating the "here" as to remind you on where you currently were— as if that would somehow make him look threatening, you have been in his office plenty of times before, both naked and fully clothed, so neuvillette surely must search for another way to dominate this conversation.

priding himself in front of you with his position as iudex certainly wouldn't work on his ex wife.

"why?" you retort, "you like it?"

"indeed i do, or is that what you want me say, i assume?"

"no," a soft sigh above you echoes your own, "but i do find it weird that you'd want me to sign something without explaining it to me,"

"i did explain it to you multiple times, in fact, last time we saw each other i even asked you if you understood what i was referring to,"

an instinctive flutter of frustration, anger and exhaustion slips down his throat, "and if i recollect my memories," he coughs out and walks around his desk, so that nothing was in between you anymore.

"—you have said your time was limited." the radiating dominance of his body momentarily presses your back against the table, trapping you in the middle, caging between a wooden desk and your ex lover.

"that was weeks ago," you pause, "it's normal for most people to want a quick run through on a document of this importance,"

"it's normal?"

"it's normal," you reaffirm.

"how interesting indeed. i will keep that in mind,"

you lean your weight against the desk as to keep the eye contact with him in an attempt to stand your round, and the two of you have since lost the original purpose of this meeting.

"how could you possibly forget that?"

your voices flap over in an unmusical tune when neuvillette attempts to reply to you, although your tone was far louder than his.

there was an awkward moment of silence that was practically slicing the air within your bodies and it's unusual on just how strong the tension had gotten in a span of two minutes. not to mention that he was so close— you honestly preferred it when his desk was keeping you both apart.

it was hard to remember anything and keep a rational mind, neuvillette realized that and found himself deeply saddened on how quick this meeting went out of hand and turned to this.

but a whispered sentence reaches your hearing and immediately calms you into a warm, relaxing state, "i apologise," he speaks finally and it surprises you, a nervous rasp shaking his voice,

"i shouldn't have talked to you in such disrespectful manner,"

your eyes widen, "no," and your cheeks grow hot with deep embarrassment, "it's really my fault, i need to apologize to you," as you force out a shaky laugh in an attempt to lighten up the mood.

"don't," neuvillette retorts back, contemplating wether he should or not but lastly deciding to rest a hand over your shoulder before he squeezes it, a smile manifesting on his lips— and it was otherworldly radiant, illuminating his complete face with deep warmth and joy.

"i always loved that witty side of yours."

he doesn't say anything for a moment, in fact, neither of you do— and the feeling of him touching you again after weeks of spending apart from each other, and despite it being just his palm on your shoulder, was instantly turning your knees into jelly.

the minute of silence felt like twenty years as neuvillette straightens his body upright, drawing a more serious touch along your shoulder before moving his palm from your collarbone until curving his hand along your cheek, holding your gaze through bright, gemstone-like eyes.

he must be crazy, he thinks— because right now, he's going against everything he has promised himself not to do, and everything you have told him not to do as well. but fuck, he hasn't touched you like this in so long, the last time was long before your divorce, and the helpless intensity of his desire horrified him.

it's when neuvillette suddenly realizes that he has never stopped loving you— not even for a minute, nor a searing second.

it was impossible to stop loving you.

"it's just that i…" your voice grows softer and quieter the more you attempt to speak and your heart thuds feverishly in your chest that you're pretty much aware he must notice it too, "everything feels terrible," you admit hesitantly and flutter your eyes up at him, your gaze fanning over the soft pink across his facial features.

neuvillette begins to move his thumb across your cheek, "please forgive me for failing us," he whispers weakly, on the brink of tears, "for failing the only thing that made life worth living," his throat adds a slightly hoarse perception to his tone.

your eyes widen as you attempt to drop your head if not for neuvillette holding your cheek in his palm as a whirlwind of crystallines well up in your eyes, sousing your lashes.

your mind was gone, but suddenly you can think more clear— and you're not depending on the damaging daze that was originally controlling your body's autopilot feature— the grueling circle of work, sleep, repeat.

you sniffle between words, "no!" and helplessly slant into his chest as to bury your face in the fabric of his garments, "it's my fault, not yours!" continuing to cry and wail and sob your heart out.

"please don't hate me! don't resent me!"

being able to finally let go of all those stored emotions in your heart felt utterly freeing, as if an unbearable weight was lifted off your chest.

how did you two even end up in this situation? can someone, just anyone, make this agony for the both of you stop?

neuvillette shushes your cries with a soft shhh, folding his arms around your waist before smoothing one hand across your back. he decides to rest his head on top of yours, his warm breath fanning against your hair as you return his hug, pulling him deeper into you.

"i could never hate you," neuvillette sighs, "it's because i have never stopped loving you," before putting on weight around his embrace on you— perhaps as to prepare himself, because he was sure you were about to smack him due to what he just bluntly admitted to you.

while he knows it was certainly deserved as well, no excuse would make this proclamation easier even in the slightest.

but he doesn't regret it, it's over now. he just wanted to get this off his chest even if you'd most likely break off any remaining contact to him— although now he realizes that you've given him so much and he won't let you go again, not before repeatedly telling you that he loves you, loves you, loves you.

despite him believing that his efforts went to waste.

to his surprise, you did not hit him, nor did you yell at him or ask if he's hit his head somewhere— instead, you slowly move yourself from his chest, a saddened gaze meeting his own as a single tear falls from your eye.

your answer dwells a moment before you push it out, "i love you too," and whisper, "i love you so much," before you're peering at him with an expression he couldn't begin to decipher— for what's obvious, it's pure and selfless, a startled hum immediately following the last syllable that leaves your mouth when neuvillette suddenly slants his head forward to feel your lips.

RULE NUMBER 4: DO NOT FUCK UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, PLEASE JUST DON'T DO IT, SNAP OUT OF IT, DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT SEX WHILE BEING IN THE SAME ROOM TOGETHER

by all means, this wasn't supposed to happen— hell, you don't even know how you got here.

but his eyes were enticing as they meet your gaze, a deep source of exuberance affecting your delirium and when he leans into you to kiss your lips, his soft lashes clash against your skin, his traces subtle enough to make you feel a faint tingle shiver downwards your heat.

against all odds, neuvillette was terrible at making this any easier for the two of you, no matter how hard you tried to pull away after the third, fourth or fifth kiss, there was no way of ending this and his tongue made sure to clash against yours at each lap— this passion, it had no resistance, it will always find a way to flourish.

nothing more, nothing less, and you've got the iudex right under a fucking spell because even when his life felt depressing after you left him, when he was living through all those weeks and tried to navigate through this divorce— now, his heart had suddenly begun to beat again, although neuvillette knew that this would go against the fourth, and most important rule you had set up.

but he cannot stop.

blood racing, nerves alight, he pushes you against the desk and helps you to get on top of it.

you wanted him to pleasure you, needed him to use his hands and devour those pretty lips of yours— whine as his mouth carvs in a smirk, so excited and sooth as silk when you wrap your arms around his neck to push his frame against your chest, so he could easily rest his entire weight on top of your own.

"you're gorgeous," he coos, "so utterly breathtaking," the thought of you craving his attention to that level was flooding him with pride, it made his skin crawl with a thousand thunderous vibrations that hit the bulge in his pants, your wet kisses and hot traces fueling the withdrawals of your soul on his skin.

the dizziest groan touches your glossed lips— and neuvillette flips over your skirt to expose your drenched panties to his hungry stare, his eyes instantly hard with lust and love, every measure of his yearning openly shown as his cock twitches uncomfortably in his clinging pants.

you moan a dreamy sigh when the freezing office air hits your most sensitive parts, the tone leaving your lips high-pitched and desperate to feel more of him. in response, you earn a rough groan from neuvillette as he discards of his belt, dopamine shaking his soul alive, manifesting ruthlessly and tempting as you hug him tight, your erected nipples crushing against his strong chest.

you kiss along his neck with tenderness and feel the intense force of redness on his flustered cheeks, your tongue swift to blend over the quivering skin as you lash fiercely at the outline of his jaw between sharp flares of teeth tickling his face— his bewitching expression being held captive by your hand gripping his jaw hard enough to pull him towards you.

unwinding with relief, neuvillette manages to pull his tight slacks off, sighing as he drew out his hard cock and aching balls— instantly taking himself in his palm before fisting it slow in front of your hole. a thrum of arousal around the slit of his tip intensifies his need to crowd you with his shaft, and he gracefully strokes himself until you wrap your fingers around his wrist as to stop him for a second.

"i want you to make love to me," you mumble impatiently, "it's been so long," and neuvillette follows your lead in a flash and a quick nod of his head, making sure that you're sitting all comfortable on the desk and that you wouldn't hurt yourself with a random utensil on the table before he urges you to wrap your legs around his waist, your thighs squeezing his hips close.

"everything you say, i do," neuvillette reassures you, "forever,"

your broken moans and bulging eyes excite him, not to mention when you refuse to let go of him. of course, who knows what will happen after desire subsides and you're both thinking rationally again, after all, you do trust him with your life, but you're still divorced and sure you would look stunning on your second wedding with him, he would very much prefer to marry you right after fucking the broad daylight out of your figure.

gently clutching at your clothes, neuvillette slowly lifts up the fabric until you're wholly exposed for him to feast on, at last working your panties down your legs as they hit the ground, a coy smile spreading across his lips— your naked body was prancing in front of him, reminding him on how gorgeous you were, especially now as your lips hang apart and your lewd whines spill from the tip of your tongue.

your pretty nipples were erected as well, laying a familiar caress up his spine when you grind your chest against his chiseled one, encircling the exposed skin until it comes to meet in front.

"just look at you," he mutters proudly, almost to himself, his cheeks flushed as he ducks his head to hide the beginnings of a pleased smile when he kisses your shoulder. the praises set your blood raising, pumping a hotness into your pussy as you moan out his name in sweet tandem, feeling the slight trace of his cock-head shadowing your hole.

you will do so well tonight, neuvillette thinks to himself, and before he helps you keep your legs parted, he teases your entrance with a half-hearted push of his cock. you want him closer and carry on to search for his entire weight on top of you as his dripping dick slides past the tight edges of your hole, your pussy throbbing as it began to hurt a little— just a bit, and it's important to note that you weren't used to this anymore, used to him, and it's because all the pheromones are currently leaving your body that it was worth having a slight pain come by.

because you knew neuvillette will do anything in his power to make it hurt as little as possible— so you could enjoy his erection painting your walls white as you moan avidly, your pussy rubbing deliciously on him, his hand continuously massaging the delicious, soft skin of your thighs and ass.

you breathe a shaky sigh of relief when he snakes himself half-way in, a gentle breeze of your whimpers scatter across the room as neuvillette continues to push inch after inch of himself into you, your body relaxing underneath his much bigger one as you welcome him, beautiful moans and whimpers spilling from the back of your throat.

oh, how much you missed sucking in his cock like your life depended on it— and whatever issues would arise after this sinful encounter, neither of you was giving an inch of mind to those future concerns.

"there you go, that's what you need," neuvillette grunts, tensing his jaw and limiting his breathing because fuck, how are you still so fucking tight— in any other case, he would never skip foreplay with you, knowing that his size tends to be too big for your pussy, sometimes offering you help in spreading your puffy cunt apart— but he is aware that you're extra wet today, he notices how much easier it was to slide himself through your walls and collect your slick.

a slightest raw edge of desperation made his groan sound almost like a plea when your pussy clamps down on his shaft, and neuvillette moans softly as he bows down to trap your lips against his own, sliding down his tongue and lapping at yours, wet and slow, wet and slow, a low hiss of pleasure accentuating his skilled ministrations.

your pussy squeezes him gently and wets him thoroughly so that his flushed cock glistens in your walls as neuvillette allows himself to nuzzle his face against your neck, humming appreciatively when he began to move his hips, drinking in the light tears that swell in the corners of your eyes as he kisses them away.

everything was so filthy, just like that, and you're back to square one again— it's lewd enough to make his cock throb heavily between your legs when he picks up on his shallow tempo, warm and viscous grinds of his thick cock pounding you in two, wild and passionate burning through your sore hole and matching the rhythm of your hips that were catching his shoves halfway.

fuck, you missed his cock filling you up, shaking at the added stimulation when one hand squeezes your tits— not to mention how heavy it felt to have him deep in your guts again, his slicked erection pawing through your walls and searching for your pleasure spots, until you're practically writhing of overstimulation, most importantly releasing the stress you endured those past weeks.

somehow, everything felt more intense tonight— ecstatic and as if you're drugged of his cock, like you broke off the connection from clear reality each moment his tip inches down the searing spots in your cunt— your screams muffled by his strong shoulder which resulted in your noises coming out in weak cries and sobs.

"i'm— i'm so close." it's the way you said it, the way you wanted him to hear you.

neuvillette glances down on you, "yeah?" he cannot hold back anymore, your walls were too hot and too tight, his thudding erection cornering your bruised pussy as his cheeks turn cherry red— the tip of his ears shading the same color, "will never let you go again..." the following sentence comes from under his breath, a strong utterance, holding graven significance as it ignites flames deep within the pits of your core.

it's so unbelievably sexy when you tell him that he's about to make you cum, and the repeated proclamations of love were aiding your orgasm in unraveling much more intense— neuvillette parts his lips before pinching your nipples in between his digits, never faltering nor losing the steady streams of thrusts on your sex, paying no mind to your minor struggle of keeping his thick member within your sloppy hole.

the moans you sob are bringing him such satisfaction as well, particularly the ones of his name made him swallow down the assembling saliva in his mouth, leaving small kisses against your face as his adams apple bobs harshly against his throat when he grinds his hips into your heat— your slick seeping out at the corners of your hole as your beautiful legs hover over his waist to get into that ideal position.

he cups your pretty face without stopping the shallow tempo on your cunt, "i.. want you to look at me," his rhythm becoming blistering and rapid— it almost pains him to hold himself back, or the desire to cum but wanting to make you climax first. it's like his shaft runs through satin, pressing back and forth the finest silk but it's your pussy instead, so soft and taking his shape, you're made for him and he'll never let you forget.

even though he could hardly breathe because of how achingly hard he was, caged within the tight embrace of your walls as tears spring to his eyes, slip down his flaming cheeks, being wild and free and finally one with you again— in addition to the exciting sounds of wet noises of skin clashing on skin providing the last bonus puzzle pieces to make you spiral out of complete control.

a static crushes as if underwater in your ears— and neuvillette rolls his hips fast and hard, purring deeply when your legs wrap and urge him to penetrate you further. the pleasure buried in you was coiling from the base of your spine and found the candid bubble in your belly before snapping into a million pieces— your gorgeous noises finding his ears as he fucks you faster, yanking his head back and clenching his jaw as you came apart together, moaning into each others mouths and welcoming your orgasm with melting, soothing moans.

you shake your head and bury yourself into his warm embrace, earning you a smile you cannot even see when your thighs shake around his waist as he continues to pump his seed into you, the warm covers of milky whites prolonging your orgasm and intensifying it to a tenfold.

just in time too, his hot gift soothes the soreness on your walls as neuvillette deafens your body with a post-orgasm sensitivity that catches you in a trance, his cock still buried inside and never leaving your tight hole as you work to somehow get a hold of your breath again, letting you ease the stress he senses from you.

the stone-hard desk underneath you was bruising and uncomfortable, but it's bearable when you nuzzle yourself into your ex lover, or, well— current lover? soon to be fiance again?

"do not worry your pretty head," his hand lovingly brushes over your head as you fuse into his trace, "i will take care of everything," as he's allowing you to indulge in the intimate atmosphere you have missed so dearly, "i could marry you right this second, wherever you want," and with that sort of enthusiasm, you hold in every passing word with love, knowing that whatever the case— neuvillette and you will figure out a way, but you'll do it together, as a team.

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heliosunny · 3 months ago

Note

I read the yandere! Streamer jing yuan and saw there's a yandere! Streamer Sunday.. was wondering if you would do a yandere! Streamer Aventurine, too please?

Yandere!Streamer Aventurine x Reader

Aventurine was obsessed. Not just with the game, Eclipsed Fates: Arcane Romance, but specifically with you.

And as a high-profile streamer, he made no secret of it.

"Alright, chat, you already know the drill." His voice oozed confidence as he lounged in his high-end gaming chair, adjusting his headset. "Tonight, we're doing another playthrough of Y/N’s route. Yeah, yeah, I know I’ve already maxed out their affection a dozen times, but let me have this. They’re the only one worthy of my time, after all."

The chat exploded.

"Bro is down BAD." "Another [Y/N] simp stream, let's gooo." "At this point, just marry your screen."

He smirked, barely glancing at the comments. His fingers danced across the keyboard as he navigated the dialogue choices, always picking the options that would make you smile—or, at the very least, smirk approvingly.

"This is it, chat. My favorite part. The moment Y/N finally acknowledges that they’re mine."

And then—

A flicker of the screen.

Aventurine barely had time to react before his entire setup exploded in a burst of light.

When he opened his eyes, sitting across from him, staring in confusion, was—

You.

Aventurine was used to getting what he wanted.

So when he found himself inside the game world, in a lavish office lined with scrolls and golden embellishments, draped in the elegant robes of a high-ranking noble… well.

This was even better.

"Marquis Aventurine, are you feeling unwell?"

He let out a breathless chuckle, rolling his gloved fingers against the polished surface of his desk. "Marquis, huh?" His gaze flicked over the surroundings, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "So that's the role I've been given."

He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "And what is our relationship, exactly?"

Your eyes narrowed. "You don’t remember?"

You exhaled, rubbing your temple, frustration bleeding into your otherwise composed features. "You oversee imperial intelligence. I report directly to you."

"I see. And tell me— Do you admire me?"

Your brows knit together. "Respect and admiration are not the same thing, my lord."

So even here, even when he outranked you, you still had that pride.

"You really haven’t changed at all." he murmured, mostly to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing." His grin was dazzling. "Let’s get along from now on, shall we?"

Aventurine was a fast learner.

It was a necessity in his line of work—reading opponents, analyzing patterns, knowing exactly what buttons to push to get what he wanted.

But today?

Today was an absolute disaster.

His first mistake? Assuming he could navigate the world like a normal person.

After your meeting in his grand office, he had confidently strolled out, intending to get a feel for the empire. He had expected the typical game mechanics—click on NPCs, gather intel, maybe a quest or two.

Instead, the entire day glitched past him in a blur.

One second, he was observing the bustling courtyards, taking in the regal architecture—

The next?

It was nighttime.

Aventurine stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the dark sky, his breath catching slightly. What? He swore he had only blinked. The sun had been right there.

The palace halls, once lively with officials and servants, were now eerily quiet. And worse—

He was no longer in the palace.

The dim glow of lanterns flickered around him, the scent of expensive liquor and the soft shuffle of cards filling the air. He was inside a hidden gambling den, tucked away in what was likely the empire’s underground elite circles.

What the hell?

There was no logical transition. No sense of time passing. It was as if the game had just… skipped ahead.

Was this a bug? A glitch in the system?

"Well… this is interesting."

Still, if the game had dropped him here, there had to be a reason.

He adjusted the elegant cuffs of his robe, taking in the lavish surroundings. Wealthy nobles and shadowy figures whispered behind ivory masks, placing bets in hushed tones. Gambling, huh?

If he wanted to understand his new identity, he needed information.

Aventurine stepped into a quieter corner and whispered:

"System, show character profile."

[Character Profile: Aventurine] Title: Imperial Spymaster | Noble of High Status Skills: Espionage | Strategy | Deception | High-Stakes Gambling (???) Reputation: Unpredictable | Charismatic | ??? Relationships: — [Y/N]: Imperial Strategist (Loyalty: 70, Favorability: ???) — Emperor: Trusted (Barely) — Nobles: Feared & Respected — Underground Circles: VIP Access

Aventurine’s gaze sharpened.

The gambling skill. The VIP access. The way he had been teleported here. Was this something his character did every night? Some hidden mechanic the players never had access to?

And—wait.

[Y/N]: Loyalty 70, Favorability: ???

"Question marks?" Aventurine narrowed his eyes. Favorability should have been a number. It was a trackable stat in the game. But here? It was unreadable.

If the system wouldn’t give him a number, he’d just have to measure it himself.

The system was glitchy. The world wasn’t following normal rules. And his role was clearly more complex than he had anticipated.

But none of that mattered.

Because at the end of the day, this was still his game.

Aventurine had seen countless playthroughs of your character’s story. The brilliant strategist. The one who climbed to power with nothing but sheer intelligence and determination. The one who stood among nobles despite coming from a civilian background.

It was one of the things that fascinated him about you.

So when he saw you surrounded by sneering nobles in the palace courtyard, your jaw set with defiance despite their mocking words—

Oh, he did not like that.

"You really think you belong here?" A young nobleman scoffed, flicking his fan open with a dramatic flair. "You may be the empire’s strategist, but that doesn’t change what you are."

"Indeed. No amount of clever words can change your birthright, can it?"

Their words were sharp, but you stood your ground. You always did.

"If birth determined one’s worth, then surely you wouldn’t need to insult me to feel superior."

"You should watch that tongue of yours, commoner. It would be unfortunate if someone decided they didn’t like your presence in the court."

Before they could take another step—

A hand landed on the noble’s shoulder.

"Oh? That’s quite the statement. I’d love to hear what gives you the right to decide who belongs here."

"M-Marquis—"

"That’s Lord Aventurine to you," he corrected, "And, as far as I recall, our dear strategist holds one of the highest positions in the empire. Are you suggesting the emperor himself made a mistake in appointing them?"

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances.

Aventurine chuckled, finally releasing his grip. "Ah, but perhaps I misheard. Surely, you wouldn’t be so foolish as to question imperial authority, hmm?"

"O-Of course not, my lord."

"Good. Then I suggest you walk away. Before I decide to start questioning your worth."

They scrambled to leave, their arrogance crumbling in an instant.

Aventurine turned to you, amusement dancing in his gaze.

"That was unnecessary."

He tilted his head. "Was it? I rather enjoyed it."

"I didn’t need your help."

"I know. But it was fun, wasn’t it? Watching them squirm?"

"You enjoy playing with people, don’t you?"

"Only when they’re unworthy."

----

Aventurine was used to being adored.

His viewers, his chat, the characters in the game—he had always known how to manipulate favorability. Charm was second nature to him.

So when he checked his system later that night and saw—

[Favorability Update: -5]

—he nearly dropped his glass of wine.

"Minus?"

Aventurine scoffed, setting the glass down with a sharp clink against the desk. His eyes narrowed at the glowing screen, as if sheer force of will could make the number go back up.

"This is ridiculous. I defended them. Put those arrogant nobles in their place. That should’ve gained me points, not lost them."

What went wrong?

Aventurine sighed, leaning back in his chair. It was late. The oil lamp flickered beside him, casting warm shadows against the towering bookshelves of his study. He had been trying to piece together the logic of this world, but his thoughts kept circling back to you.

What do I need to do to make you mine?

The exhaustion of the day crept up on him, and before he realized it—his eyes shut.

You weren’t expecting him to be asleep.

When you stepped into his study, documents in hand, you had fully anticipated the usual: a smug remark, a lazy smirk, some infuriatingly smooth comment meant to test your patience.

Instead, you found him slumped over his desk, deep in sleep.

For a moment, you hesitated.

This was Marquis Aventurine. The man with the sharpest tongue in the court. The one who was unpredictable, charming, and entirely too pleased with himself.

But right now, the soft glow of the oil lamp made his features appear less sharp, more peaceful. His hand was still lightly curled around a quill, as if he had dozed off mid-thought.

It would be very easy to just leave him like this.

And yet— Before you could talk yourself out of it, you moved closer, carefully draping a thick blanket over his shoulders.

He barely stirred, only shifting slightly at the warmth.

---

Aventurine woke up feeling… different.

His brows furrowed slightly as he blinked away sleep. His study was still dimly lit, the documents still scattered on his desk. But something was different.

A blanket. Draped over him.

"So that’s how it is?"

With a lazy flick of his wrist, he called the system.

[Favorability Update: ???]

His smirk faltered.

Still unreadable.

"Am I… actually losing control?"

----

Aventurine had always been confident in his skills, after a few nights in the hidden gambling den, he realized something astonishing.

His luck was beyond anything human.

He didn’t just win. He always won.

Cards, dice, roulette—every game played into his hands like fate itself bent to his will. Even in situations where probability should have turned against him, he somehow walked away with everything.

Was this part of his character’s hidden abilities? A built-in advantage coded into the game? Or was it simply him—a streamer from another world—breaking the system?

Either way, he wasn’t about to waste it.

He started frequenting the den, not just for the thrill, but for information.

He had learned that in this world, gambling wasn’t just about money. It was power, influence, and secrets—things that he could use to his advantage.

Suddenly, you showed up.

Aventurine had been enjoying a quiet evening, leisurely flipping a gold coin between his fingers when he spotted you entering the den.

Well, well.

And here I thought they hated places like this.

His curiosity piqued, he smoothly stood and followed behind.

You seemed tense, scanning the tables until your eyes landed on a young man seated among a pile of scattered bets.

"Xevian." you said firmly.

The man—Xevian—stiffened before forcing a laugh. "Ah, Y/N! Didn’t expect to see you here."

Aventurine leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, watching the exchange unfold.

"I need to talk to you," you continued. "Your father—he’s worried sick. You need to stop this before it’s too late."

At the mention of his father, Xevian’s face twisted. "No. You don’t understand. I just need one more round. Just one more win, and I can—"

"You said that last time," you interrupted, "How much have you lost, Xevian? How much more before you realize this isn’t the answer?"

Aventurine smirked, already seeing where this was going.

"You wouldn’t get it! You didn’t grow up in my position!"

Finally, you exhaled, your shoulders dropping slightly. "I just… I don’t want to see you ruin yourself."

For a moment, it seemed like Xevian might listen. That maybe, just maybe, your words had reached him.

The dealer called out the next round, and Xevian turned away, throwing himself back into the game without hesitation.

You stared at him, something dimming in your expression.

Then, without another word, you walked away.

Aventurine pushed off the pillar, smoothly falling into step beside you as you left the den.

"That was quite the show," he mused, "Didn’t expect you to be the type to chase after reckless gamblers."

"He’s not just any gambler. His father—Sir Edric—saved my life once. I owe him."

Aventurine hummed. "And yet, your dear Xevian doesn’t seem very… receptive."

Your expression darkened slightly, but you said nothing.

He grinned. "So, what’s your next move?"

"There isn’t one," you muttered. "I can’t force him to listen."

Aventurine stopped walking. "Then let me handle it."

"You?"

"Oh, come now. Surely you’ve noticed by now—I never lose."

"And you think gambling will fix this?"

"Not just gambling," he corrected. "Winning. If I take away everything he has, force him to face the reality of his losses, maybe he’ll start listening to you."

"I don’t trust gamblers"

Aventurine chuckled. "Good. I’d be disappointed if you did." Then, his voice softened, "But this time, Y/N… just this once, trust me."

You stared at him, conflict warring in your gaze.

"Fine. Just this once."

----

Aventurine had always known that the most effective lessons were the ones people felt in their bones.

Xevian wouldn’t listen to words. He needed to experience ruin.

So, Aventurine set the stage.

Getting Xevian to play was easy. All it took was a few well-placed words, the right amount of condescension, and a slight push to his pride.

“You’re good? Prove it.”

The young noble fell for it instantly.

They played a high-stakes game of chance, and as expected—Aventurine didn’t lose a single round.

It didn’t take long before Xevian had wagered everything—his money, his heirloom ring, and even the deed to his estate.

Then came the final blow.

"Ah, how unfortunate." Aventurine leaned back with a smirk, examining the losing dice roll like it was the most natural outcome in the world. "Looks like you’re completely bankrupt."

Xevian paled. "No… I-I just need another chance—"

"No second chances," Aventurine interrupted smoothly, gesturing to the guards standing nearby. "Take him."

The moment Xevian opened his mouth to protest, a cloth was shoved over his eyes. Blindfolded, restrained, and utterly powerless, he was dragged away as the murmurs of the crowd filled his ears.

He was about to learn.

Xevian woke up in chains. Around him, he heard voices—slaves whispering about their fate. About being sold to a distant land where no one would ever find them.

The guards, the merchants, the fake "buyers"—all actors, expertly placed to terrify Xevian into believing he had truly lost everything.

For a week, he was forced to work relentlessly—hauling crates, enduring harsh orders, sleeping on the cold ground with nothing but scraps of food.

Every attempt to bargain or beg was ignored.

Every night, he was left to wonder if this was truly the end of his privileged life.

And just when his hope was completely shattered—

The illusion ended.

The chains were removed.

And Xevian was told—

"Go home."

Xevian returned as a different man.

The arrogance in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a haunted, broken look. He avoided gambling dens, refused to touch dice, and listened to his father for once in his life.

At first, you thought he had simply learned his lesson after losing everything.

It wasn’t just regret. It was fear. And when you pressed him for answers, he refused to speak.

There was only one person who could be responsible for this.

You found Aventurine exactly where you expected—lounging in his study, idly flipping a gold coin between his fingers.

"Ah, Y/N," he drawled, lazily resting his chin on his hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"What did you do to Xevian?"

"Why, whatever do you mean? I simply helped a lost soul find enlightenment."

"That’s not an answer."

He tapped the coin against the desk. "Xevian has changed for the better, hasn’t he? Shouldn’t you be thanking me?"

"He looks traumatized."

"Lesson learned, then."

"...You planned this from the start, didn’t you?"

"Of course, I told you, didn’t I? I never lose."

Aventurine expected a reward.

A smile. A small thank-you. Maybe even a slight increase in favorability.

[-10 Favorability]

The invisible notification might as well have been a knife to the chest.

Wait. What did I do wrong?

Why—

Why were you looking at him like that?

Why did you turn away without a word and leave him standing there?

You threw yourself into work, hoping to drown out your thoughts about Aventurine. But just as you were finishing up your tasks, a messenger arrived.

"Sir Edric wishes to see you."

You sighed. You already knew what this was about.

At his estate, Edric greeted you with a warm smile, placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

"You did well," he said. "Xevian has finally come to his senses. I don’t know what you said to him, but I cannot thank you enough."

This wasn’t your doing.

It was Aventurine’s.

Still, you didn’t argue.

"You’ve done so much for my family" he said. "And you know, you’re at the right age to start thinking about your own future."

"…What do you mean by that?"

The older man chuckled. "I’ve arranged a meeting for you. He’s a fine man from a good family—"

Your mind went blank for a second.

"I appreciate your concern," you said carefully. "But I don’t—"

"It’s just a meeting," Edric interrupted kindly. "No pressure. Just think about it, alright?"

-----

Dressed appropriately but keeping your expectations low, you made your way toward the arranged meeting place.

Aventurine, who had been brooding about his plummeting favorability, had just stepped out into the city when he spotted you from afar.

His irritation vanished instantly.

His keen gaze followed your every step.

Then, as if fate were mocking him, a group of overly enthusiastic noble ladies flocked around him.

"Aventurine, darling! You must see these silks—"

"Marquis Aventurine, try this perfume—"

"Oh! You must buy something for your sweetheart, yes?"

His eye twitched.

Not now.

Trying not to physically push them aside, he plastered on his usual charming smile while mentally tracking your direction.

Where are they headed?

Then, you walked into a fancy restaurant.

Aventurine's expression darkened slightly.

…Wait. That’s a place for…

No.

No, no, no.

That wasn’t—

That couldn’t be—

And just like that, Aventurine abandoned the noble ladies, his mind racing with a single, burning question:

Who the hell are they meeting?

Aventurine had always been a man who calculated risks before making his move.

But right now?

He was making a very impulsive decision.

Standing at the entrance of the fancy restaurant, he scanned the room—and the moment he spotted you, smiling and laughing with another man, something in his chest twisted.

That should be him.

He didn’t even think.

The next thing he knew, a waiter was knocked out cold in the back room, hidden behind stacked crates. Aventurine smoothly adjusted the stolen uniform, fixing the cuffs, then grabbed a tray and walked back out as if nothing happened.

Now, he was close enough to hear your conversation.

And he hated every second of it.

what was his name? Who cared?—said something charming.

Aventurine kept his expression neutral, even as he seethed internally.

If there was one thing Aventurine excelled at, it was rigging the game.

A slip of a harmless yet effective powder into the man’s drink as he turned to call the waiter.

He watched as your date took a few sips, continued the conversation for a few minutes… then suddenly stood up abruptly, his face paling.

"Pardon me, I— I need to step out for a moment" he said hurriedly.

He barely made it to the restroom.

Aventurine smirked.

Perfect. Now, it was his turn.

You blinked in surprise when Aventurine suddenly slid into the seat across from you.

"What are you doing here?"

"What a coincidence, isn’t it? I happened to be in the area."

"In a waiter’s uniform?"

"Exploring new experiences, of course. One must always broaden their horizons."

"You know," he murmured, "you have something here."

Before you could react, his fingers brushed against the corner of your lips, swiping away a bit of cream from your dessert.

Your heart skipped a beat.

He examined the cream on his fingertip, then—without breaking eye contact—he licked it off.

"A shame," he mused, as if nothing had happened. "Would’ve been a waste to let it go uneaten."

You quickly cleared your throat, looking away. "That was unnecessary."

-----

You were going about your day as usual, completely unaware of the chaos happening just a few streets away.

While you were organizing documents, checking over supplies, or perhaps handling some errands—

Aventurine was handling something else entirely.

A shadow slithered across the rooftops.

They were careful, precise, a professional through and through.

Too bad they didn’t account for Aventurine’s presence.

Bang.

A bullet tore through their leg, sending them crashing down onto the cobblestone streets below.

Aventurine sighed, casually stepping onto the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the writhing figure.

"Sloppy" he mused, twirling his gun before tucking it away. "Who sent you?"

The assassin gritted their teeth, refusing to speak.

"That’s fine. I don’t actually care."

Then, with zero hesitation, he kicked them off the ledge—right into the waiting arms of the city guards he had bribed earlier.

"Take this one to jail," he instructed, dusting off his gloves. "Tell them I’ll send more soon."

By morning, another poor soul found themselves bound and gagged, being dragged into a dark prison cell.

The guards stationed there were already used to this.

"Another one?" One of them raised a brow as Aventurine strolled in, utterly unbothered, while the latest fool thrashed helplessly on the ground.

"You should really tighten security" Aventurine sighed dramatically. "I mean, how do these idiots keep sneaking in? It’s getting embarrassing."

The guard merely shook his head. "We’ll handle it."

Late afternoon.

While you were focused on work, Aventurine was beating the living daylights out of yet another group of thugs.

"Try harder" he mocked as he sidestepped an incoming dagger, grabbing the attacker’s wrist and twisting it until they screamed.

"Pathetic" Aventurine muttered, adjusting his sleeves. "You came all this way, and this is the best you can do?"

One of the injured men shakily pulled out a contract from his pocket, barely able to breathe.

Aventurine plucked it from his trembling fingers, skimming over the details.

"P-Please, I was just following orders—!"

"Tell your employers," he murmured, "that if they try this again…"

"I’ll start playing dirty."

The thug nodded frantically, his body shaking.

By the third day, He finished handling any threats that dare to approach you.

Aventurine dusted off his hands, satisfied.

Finally, peace and quiet.

Now, he could turn his attention back to you.

Aventurine was getting used to this world.

But this?

This was a whole new level of unexpected.

One moment, he was lounging in his study, pouring himself a glass of wine, flipping through reports on the people who had dared to go after you—

And the next—

He was somewhere else entirely.

The scent of warm bath oils lingered in the air.

Your room.

Aventurine blinked.

Then his eyes slowly trailed up— To you.

Standing at the doorway.

Fresh out of the bath.

Ah.…This was bad.

Your eyes widened in shock, "Aventurine." Your tone was deadly. "What. The. Hell. Are you doing in my room?"

Aventurine was a man of quick thinking.

He had seconds—no, milliseconds—to turn this situation in his favor.

So he did what he did best.

"Ah," he exhaled, "So this is what your private quarters look like. How cozy."

You grabbed the nearest object—a comb—and threw it at his head.

He caught it effortlessly, twirling it between his fingers before setting it down on your vanity with an amused chuckle.

"Relax," he said, tilting his head. "If I knew I’d be magically teleported here, I would’ve at least brought a gift."

You weren’t buying it.

"You’re trespassing," you hissed. "Explain. Now."

Aventurine sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "As much as I’d love to say I came here to steal a glance of you fresh out of the bath, I’m afraid the truth is far less scandalous."

"The glitch happened again," he said, "One second, I was in my study. The next, I was here."

You crossed your arms, still furious—but slightly less about to murder him.

Seeing the shift, Aventurine took a calculated risk.

He stepped closer.

You stiffened as he reached out—gently brushing a damp strand of hair from your face.

"If anything," he murmured, "you should be flattered."

Your eyes snapped up to his in disbelief.

"Flattered?"

"Think about it," he said, "Out of all the places in this world, the glitch sent me straight to you."

His fingers lingered for half a second longer before he finally pulled away.

"A sign, don’t you think?"

Your glare was unwavering.

"What glitch?" you demanded.

Aventurine opened his mouth to respond—

And then, before your very eyes, he vanished.

"Aventurine?"

The air where he once stood was empty.

Nothing.

Not even a trace.

The void swallowed him whole.

He barely had time to process what happened before a bright, mechanical ding echoed through the empty space.

A translucent screen popped up in front of him.

⚠ WARNING! ⚠

If Max Favorability is not reached in 3 days, the character "Aventurine" will be TERMINATED.

"Oh, come on."

If the system was going to pull this on him, then he needed to check his current favorability status.

With a flick of his wrist, another screen appeared.

[Character: Aventurine - Favorability Status]

Current Points: 55/100 Penalty Applied: -5 (Previous Incident) Recent Increase: +10 (??? Event in Room)

Aventurine whistled.

"Not bad" he mused, ignoring the penalty from earlier.

Still—55 wasn’t enough.

Not when his life was literally on the line.

He had three days to make you fall for him completely.

"Guess I’ll have to speed things up."

Day 1 - When the glitch spat him back into the world, he landed right in front of you again.

Instead of shock, your expression was pure suspicion.

"Alright," you crossed your arms. "Explain. Now."

Aventurine put on his most charming smile.

"It’s a bit complicated," he sighed, "but long story short? I need you to like me."

"Like you?"

"In the romantic sense" he clarified.

"Absolutely not."

"That’s fair! But hear me out—"

"You’ve already given me 55 favorability points without even trying," he pointed out. "Imagine how much more you’d give if I actually put in the effort."

With that, Operation: Win You Over began.

Step 1: Become the Perfect Gentleman

Aventurine pulled every trick in the book.

Carrying your things without being asked. "Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself, now would we?"

Guiding you by the waist through crowds. "Tsk, these people have no manners."

Holding out his hand. "Shall we?"

Flashing that charming, lazy smile every time you rolled your eyes.

You tried to ignore him.

You failed.

Your favorability rose by +5 that afternoon.

Step 2: Small but Thoughtful Gestures

A warm drink waiting for you on your desk. "Oh? You like it? What a coincidence—I guessed your favorite."

Fixing your cloak before you stepped outside. "Here—let me do it."

Sending a servant to make sure you ate. "Can’t have you collapsing on me, now can we?"

Your favorability ticked up another +5.

65/100. Not bad for Day 1.

Day 2 - Aventurine knew something very important about you.

You didn’t like being looked down on.

You hated being treated as lesser because of your civilian background.

So when he overheard some noble mocking you behind your back

Step 3: The Dramatic Rescue

"It’s funny, really. No matter how hard they try, people like them will never be one of us—"

"Is that so?"

"S-Sir Aventurine! I didn’t see you—"

"Clearly. And here I thought nobility required better manners."

"I wonder," he mused, "what would happen if I were to mention this little conversation to someone important?"

"Ah—w-we were just joking—"

"Oh, were you? Then laugh."

"Go on," Aventurine said, eyes gleaming. "If it’s so funny, why aren’t you laughing?"

The noble fled.

When you later heard what happened—

You were annoyed.

You didn’t need him to defend you.

But still…

Your favorability rose by +10.

75/100.

Day 3 - Aventurine had one day left. He needed something big.

Step 4: The Perfect Night

As the sun set, you received an invitation.

“Meet me at the garden. – Aventurine”

"What is he up to now?"

Still, curiosity won.

When you arrived—

The entire garden was transformed.

Hundreds of candles lined the pathways.

Soft, golden lights twinkled like stars above the fountain.

A table was set with fine silverware, exquisite dishes, and two glasses of wine.

Aventurine stood in the center—smirking, dressed in all black, looking effortlessly charming as always.

"Finally," he said, "I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come."

"What… is all this?"

Aventurine stepped closer, reaching for your hand.

"This," he murmured, "is my way of proving something."

"And what exactly are you proving?"

"That I can give you the world," he whispered. "All you have to do… is accept me."

+25

MAX FAVORABILITY REACHED

Just as your lips parted—

A pulse of glitching energy rippled through the garden, twisting the scenery like a shattered illusion.

Your vision blurred.

The soft candlelight, the warmth of Aventurine’s touch—everything shattered into fragments.

When the world stabilized, Aventurine found himself somewhere new.

A golden, endless space stretched before him. Floating panels flickered around him, displaying data, numbers, and system logs.

In front of him, a holographic screen appeared.

[Congratulations, Player Aventurine!]

As a reward, you may select ONE of the following options:

Complete Memory Reset – Your existence will be erased from Y/N’s mind. Start fresh.

Full Control – Modify Y/N’s personality, ensuring absolute devotion.

Selective Memory Erasure – Remove specific memories related to system mechanics.

Enhanced Influence – All interactions with Y/N will result in higher emotional impact.

He wanted you to love him naturally—to fall again and again, without ever knowing how much he had already twisted the game.

So, he tapped his selection.

(Y/N) will lose all memories related to system mechanics, favorability, and glitches.

A new message popped up.

Additional Effect: Your final interaction before memory reset will remain in their subconscious, leaving a lingering emotional attachment.

Perfect.

A soft breeze rustled through the garden. The scent of fresh roses filled the air.

You were still standing in front of Aventurine—but something felt… off.

Your head throbbed. A strange fog clouded your mind, like you had just forgotten something important.

"Well?" he prompted, "You never answered me."

You blinked again. "What?"

He chuckled, shaking his head.

"I proposed to you," he reminded. "And you still haven’t given me an answer."

Wait—he did?

Why couldn’t you remember?

You stared at him, feeling strangely flustered.

Aventurine only watched you with amused fascination.

You weren’t rejecting him immediately.

That meant his plan was already working.

To you, Aventurine was simply your persistent suitor—

One who had just proposed.

And now that he had reset the game, he was going to have so much fun toying with you.

After all—

He had all the time in the world.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you

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sailorsoons · 5 months ago

Text

Hush (c.sc)

PAIRING: Incubus!Choi Seungcheol x afab reader

SUMMARY: You can’t seem to sleep, but the strange man in the bar that you can’t seem to stop visiting promises he can help.

WC: 6,239

AU: Supernatural

GENRE: Smut, PWP

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Mentions of insomnia including side effects like exhaustion, dysfunction, derealization, feeling out of it/in weird headspaces, time is not supposed to feel linear in this and it’s supposed to feel kind of liminal-space in places, reader is often confused/thoughts are a little scattered and feels out of it because of proximity to an entity, there are creepy vibes in this, Seungcheol doesn’t always appear the same/mentions of feeling like in danger or on edge around him instinctually, explicit language, sexually explicit content including unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, a lot of spit and cum, nipple play, reference to subspace or an adjacent, choking, oral (f. and m. receiving) multiple orgasms, biting and scratching, I wouldn’t categorize this as explicit dom/sub dynamics but there are power dynamics in some places, mean Seungcheol in spots, like very light humiliation if you squint in one section, overall just…. Weird ass vibes and recurring scenes/reader not remembering things.

A/N: This was originally requested for my Haliween writing event by @daechwitatamic on my old blog. Hopefully you all enjoy sleep demon Seungcheol just as much the second time!

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NOTHING FEELS REAL. Your eyes burn as you stare at the computer screen, the letters and the buttons on your email becoming blurry as they swim out of focus. The dull sounds of your office feel as though they’re several rooms over, faint hums heard through walls of plaster.

Pushing away from the desk, you head to the break room, in desperate need of coffee. You know drinking caffeine this late in the afternoon will only further exacerbate your insomnia, and yet you need it if you’re going to get through the next three hours at work.

You’ve hit the point in your endless nights of no sleep where everything feels off, like you’re experiencing things in the third person. You’re there but you don’t feel like it, navigating your day knowing that it’s you doing and saying things at work without really registering that you’re doing or saying those things.

Coffee hisses from the machine into your cup. You stare at it, vision going unfocused again as the smell wafts up to you. Time passes. You stand and stare.

Someone walks into the room, bringing you back to reality as you look over your shoulder and see your coworker come in to fill up their water bottle. They raise their brows at you as though to ask if you’re okay, and you grin, gesturing to the coffee like that’s some sort of answer.

Really, you’re not okay. You have ventured past the threshold of tired into something else entirely. Something that is lesser than, something base and nearly inhuman.

Derealization. It’s a word your doctor had used when you described what it was like for you after so many nights without sleep, the disconnected feeling to the world around you. Even as you walk to your desk, it doesn’t feel real. You logically know that it is, that you exist in a specific time and space.

And yet… you remain buoyed in that space, totally untethered from everything around you. Floating. Lost.

Back at your desk, the words on the computer screen blur again. Come into focus. You type and email. The keyboard makes sounds, but you don’t really register them.

At some point, the day ends.

A bright neon sign burns against the darkness of the alleyway. You blink rapidly, holding your hand in front of your eyes to block out some of the light. Looking around, you don’t see anyone else. The sound of the city is muted and far away, but you smell the burning of fuel and the smell of stagnant water under a dripping window air conditioning unit.

You don’t remember walking here. You lower your hand as your eyes adjust to the burning pink above the door. Looking down at your clothes, you’re at least relieved to discover you put on jeans and a t-shirt before going out on an adventure out on the town.

Police sirens wail in the distance. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, thankful you brought it.

“Fuck,” you swear, flashing the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning and you know immediately you’ve sleepwalked your way to this strange, unfamiliar alleyway.

It’s a vicious circle: go days without sleep feeling like you’re a step away from death, or take just enough sleep medication to knock you out but make you sleepwalk.

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you look back up at the neon sign, reading it for the first time. Hush. A shiver goes down your spine at the name, eyes flicking to the blue crescent moon attached to the pink cursive.

There’s a magnetism about the sign. Your eyes dropdown to the door under it, a nondescript metal entrance to what you think is a bar. There’s nothing to indicate that it is a bar, just a gut feeling. Your gut feeling is also whispering at you to go inside, to open the door and step into the cool space of Hush.

Licking your lips, you take one hesitant step forward. The tingling in your spine increases and you feel static in the air. Heart racing, you take another step. Then another. Before you realize it, you’re at the door with your hand on the knob, cool to the touch.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step inside.

It’s even darker inside than the alleyway. Gentle piano music plays somewhere in the room and you swivel left and right, trying to gain your bearings as your eyes adjust. When they do, you see a very small room with a single piano in the corner, two booths, a bar at the back, and three stools pulled up to its counter.

A single person sits at the bar. You hesitate in the entrance, drinking in the stranger. It appears to be a man in a dark purple suit, his broad shoulders hunched over where he leans against the wooden bar top. You can’t make out much else beyond the wide shape of his shoulders and narrow taper of his waist, but you can see the crimson hair that glows like flame underneath the dull, flickering light above his head.

“You gonna stand there all night?” His voice is soft, a gentle pur. He turns his head to the side, his profile shadowed. “I don’t bite.” You hear the smirk in his voice when he tacks on, “Not often, anyway.”

Carefully, you approach the bar. There doesn’t appear to be a bartender of any sort or anyone else in the bar, for that matter. You realize that there’s piano music but no pianist, but decide not to focus on it as you enter the man’s line of focus.

When he looks at you, the world stops. It’s like stepping into a bubble, everything else ceasing to exist. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel your pulse hammer in your throat as you stare at him, unable to take your eyes off him.

He’s beautiful but it’s not that. His eyes are dark, but there is something more there. Something swimming in the depth of the darkness that you cannot place, something ancient and curious and awake. You feel pinned under his gaze, eyes darting to drink in the rest of his features: soft, pouty lips the color of berries, sharp jawline, thick, angular brows.

Stunning. Dangerous. Alluring.

“Hi,” he says, mouth stretching into a grin. His teeth aren’t sharp, but you have the distinct feeling that they should be. “You’re a pretty thing.”

“Um, hi.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“How can you tell?”

His grin spreads, wicked and cutting. “I have a feeling about those things.” His dark eyes drop to the seat next to him. “Have a seat. Maybe I can help.”

Tentatively, you sit down next to him. “You can help me sleep?”

“What if I said I can?”

Sitting next to him is oppressive. His presence weighs down on you, a physical entity that you can’t see. Static buzzes in your mind and your thoughts feel a little sticky, like just being close to him disrupts your frequency.

He smells like jasmine, immediately soothing. You feel your eyes grow heavy as you blink a few times, settling on the stool as you angle yourself toward him.

You’d misjudged his size when you walked in. He’d seemed broad when you first walked in, but you don’t think you fully understood the width of him. The weight of him. Or maybe it just feels that way when you look at him, your perception of him flickering like a bad TV signal.

“Tell me about your sleep problems.”

You shrug. “They’re like any other sleep problems.”

“Not all sleep problems are the same, Pretty.”

“I suppose that’s true. I don’t really know what causes them. I just… can’t fall asleep and then I start getting worried I won’t sleep, so it makes it worse. I want to sleep so bad but it’s like… wanting to sleep only makes it avoid me more.”

“Mmm. Sleep is a fickle thing, isn’t it?”

“My doctors give me meds but the normal dose doesn’t work and the stronger dose… makes me walk around.”

He pouts. “You poor, sweet thing.”

Something about his sympathy makes you flush. You sulk, looking down at the countertop as you pick absently at the peeling varnish on the wood. “I know,” you murmur. “I just want to be normal.”

“I can help. If you want it.”

You glance at him. His eyes are dancing dangerously. Half of you screams yes while the other screams run. You’re only vaguely aware that you’re in a bar alone with a strange man who knows you’re sleep deprived. No one would help you if you screamed. You don’t know where you would run.

His dark eyes seem to read your thoughts and he laughs, shaking his head as he turns to pick up his drink from the bar. “I’m not that sort of creature.”

“How would you help me sleep?”

“Are you accepting my help?”

His question hangs in the air between the two of you. The piano music has stopped, but you don’t remember when it did. Overhead, the light still flickers. On. Off. On. Off. Onoffonoffonoff-

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” His voice is kind. Warm. Soft like your blankets, cozy like your bed. “You’re always free to make your own decision.”

“I want help,” you agree slowly. “I really do.”

His red mouth curves into a smile and again, you’re struck by the thought that his teeth should be sharp. “Good. I’ll help you, Pretty.”

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me Seungcheol.” You give him your name and he tilts his head, drinking you in. “I know.”

“How are you going to help me sleep?”

Seungcheol finishes his drink. You watch him swallow thickly, suddenly fascinated with the way his throat bobs as he does. The smell of jasmine is overwhelming as he leans in, stopping an inch away from you.

The static increases. You feel your blood buzz pleasantly.

“Close your eyes for me,” Seungcheol murmurs, looking at you through silky lashes. “I promise everything will be okay.”

For a moment, you stare at him, the air charged. He doesn’t hurry you along, content to study your face with that same uncanny darkness swimming in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you do what Seungcheol says, and you close your eyes.

Sunlight wakes you up. You roll over in your bed, squinting up at the window. Your blackout curtains are open, letting the morning beam in on where you’re tangled in your comforter and sheets.

Sighing heavily, you close your eyes again, content to lay in the warm sun. Just as you start to drift to sleep again, you recall a pair of dark eyes and fiery hair. You jolt upright, heart hammering as you remember the exchange.

Snatching your phone from your nightstand, you open your walking app to look at where the hell you went last night, but there’s nothing there. Frowning, you pull the sheets off your body. You’re in pajamas and fuzzy socks that you don’t remember putting on.

Hauling yourself out of bed, you lean halfway into the laundry basket to claw through your clothing. None of the things you wore last night are there, so you go to your closet to wrench the doors open and search.

The shirt from last night and the exact pair of jeans are hanging, completely unworn. Your frown deepens as your confusion rises. Turning away from the closet, you open your phone again and try to get any sort of sense of where you went last night, but there’s no text threads. No signs you used public transportation. Nothing in any of your tracking apps that indicate you left at all.

“Was it a fucking dream?” you mutter to yourself, perplexed.

Sitting down on your bed, you try to look up Hush on the internet. You can find nothing in your city that indicates a bar or establishment like the one you discovered Seungcheol in. You even try social media to look him up - Reddit, neighborhood pages, anything to try and find the stranger from last night.

It seems Hush and Seungcheol don’t exist.

And yet… you don’t remember going to sleep last night after he agreed to help you. And you feel rested today.

Puzzled and a little freaked out, you give up your search. A dream is a dream, and you’re content that you finally feel a little less exhausted and a little more awake. You’ll take the win, getting up to start your day with a little bit of pep in your step.

By midday, you’ve mostly forgotten about the bar and the man in it, only remembering those dark eyes and that red hair.

Heat creeps up your spine. You nuzzle against the warmth behind you, the smell of jasmine coaxing you deeper into the embrace. You feel the vibration of laughter against your back, your nerves tingling as you feel feather-light fingers brush up your thighs.

“Tired?”

Immediately you know it’s Seungcheol’s deep voice, that same velvet purr whispered right in your ear. You shake your head no, suddenly not wanting to sleep at all. You press into him further, feeling the way his arms tighten around you as he chuckles, mouth pressing chastely against the spot under your ear.

“Liar,” he teases.

You pout. It might be true, but he could have the decency to pretend it’s not. You open your eyes and look up at him. His hair is like spilled blood in the dark of your room. The curtains are closed, blocking out all light from the moon and street, but your salt lamp still burns in the corner.

Seungcheol looks like the devil in the low, orange light. He’s in a black t-shirt, which is somehow more deadly than the fine cut suit. Your stomach flutters and you squeeze your thighs shut when you realize his hands are brushing up and down your thighs, touch slow.

“Thought you were a dream,” you mumble, words a little thick. “Thought you weren’t real.”

“Dreams can’t be real?” That makes you frown and he laughs, jostling you against his chest. His hands squeeze your thighs and you let out a breathy sound as he nudges you with his nose. “You don’t know anything about dreams, Pretty. Can I show you?”

More than anything you want him to show you. Suddenly your desire for him outweighs any sort of sleepiness, your nerves sparking and coming to life as you nod helplessly against his chest, trying to lean as close as possible.

“Needy,” he chides. He presses a wet kiss to your jawline and you preen, your head falling back against his shoulder. “I’ll go easy so you remember this time, alright?”

“Cheol.”

The nickname sounds familiar. Intimate. Like you’ve said it before - something tells you that you have said it before. You don’t remember where or when, but it’s with familiarity that you moan the nickname again as he nips at your neck, one hand drifting between your legs to pry them open.

He murmurs praise against your ear when your legs drift apart, spreading to accommodate his seeking touch. You’re wearing shorts but it feels entirely too hot under the blankets pooled around your waist. You kick at them and whine, managing to get them down to your knees before he huffs and presses forward, temporarily bending you in half to toss them.

When he settles back against your headboard, you follow him, turning your head to press your mouth to the corner of his. His lips twitch in a smirk, shifting to catch your mouth fully with his.

Seungcheol kisses you like he knows how you like to be kissed - devouring, consuming, hungry. His tongue brushes against yours as he drinks you in as his hand presses between your leagues, applying pressure to your clothed cunt.

You whine into the kiss and he grins against your mouth. A line of spit connects your lips when you pull away panting, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. His fingers circle your clit gently and your hips buck in his hold against the stimulation.

“Not enough,” you whisper. You grip his wrist with one hand, the other gripping the sheets to bunch them in your fist. “Cheol, please.”

“Hush,” he scolds, biting your jaw. His free hand comes up to your neck, gripping you under your jaw to angle your mouth back to his. “Kiss me.”

You melt in Seungcheol’s grip. His tongue tastes sweet, his grip on you making you dizzy. Your thighs squeeze around his wrist as he works you up, his touch teasing and not enough through layers of fabric.

He knows it’s not enough, content to string you along until you’re writhing against him, back shifting against his chest as you squirm. His kisses drift from your mouth to your jaw, open-mouthed and spit-slicked as his tongue darts out to taste your skin while he goes.

Seungheol’s grip on your chin slides down toward the base of your neck, his fingers pressed tight against your pulse. You can feel your heartbeat slamming in his grasp as he bends your head away from him, lips attaching to the softness of your throat.

His name escapes your lips in a whisper. He hums a pleased sound, tongue dragging up your neck to your ear where he nibbles. “So good for me,” he whispers. “I’ll reward you.”

You follow with an urgent nod, pleased when his hand slides down the waistband of your shorts and underwear. When his fingers brush against the flushed, sticky folds of your cunt, you keen loudly, unable to keep it together.

“So needy.” You can’t tell if it’s an insult or not the way he growls the word against your ear, grip on your throat tightening. “Need my help that bad, huh?”

“Yes, god.”

“I am not god,” he grinds out, voice dark. For a second, the illusion shatters and you glance up at him. His eyes are endless, an ancient thing looking back at you. You freeze in his hold, a prey caught in a trap. Then he softens, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Tell me what you need, Pretty.”

“Hands. Need your hands.”

A bolt of pleasure goes through you when Seungcheol’s middle finger circles your clit. Your nails dig into his wrist, leaving little crescent moons behind. His ministrations are leisurely, giving you what you want but not as fast as you want it.

That’s Seungcheol’s game. He’ll give you what you want, only when he feels like it. You feel a sense of deja vu, realizing that you’ve been here before. Snatches of memories flash through your mind. They pass through your grip like sand, none of them firm enough to grab onto.

“Missed you,” you mumble. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“Ah, there it is.”

Seungcheol is pleased with your recollection. You can tell when he relents his teasing touches, fingers drifting down to press a single digit into your heat. Your stomach flips when he does, relief sweeping through you as he shallowly fucks you with a single finger.

It’s not enough but it’s better. You shiver in his hold, going a little slack in his arms, hips twitching. He’s content to have you like this, working your cunt slowly, watching your reactions as your breathing catches and restarts.

“Feel good?”

“So good.” You can barely get the reply out, words faint. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Pretty.”

His kiss is soft against your cheekbone, at odds with the grip he still has on your throat. You feel his hand like a comforting weight, loving the feel of it resting against your pulse. He doesn’t squeeze or choke you, content just to hold you against him.

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out, the wet squelch obscene. “Take this shit off for me,” he tells you, pulling at your shorts.

His heavy hand rests on your collarbone as your hands shoot to your shorts. Hooking your thumbs in them, you shimmy down, lifting your hips with his help to kick them down your thighs and legs to the floor.

Cool air hits your heat as you settle against his chest again. He nestles against your neck, fingers resuming the task of peeling you apart as he sinks his pointer and ring finger into you. You clench around him, loving the stretch and the feeling of his fingers pressing against your g-spot as he slowly strokes you, breath hot against your ear.

Being unable to remember your previous encounter with him feels cruel. Seungcheol knows exactly how to work you toward your high. The slick sound of his fingers between your legs accompanied with his lips pressed against your neck drives you insane.

Unable to keep still, your hips come up off the bed to meet his hand. The hand not fucking you to insanity slides under your shirt. Heat trails his touch. He traces the curve of your breast and your breath stutters, catching in your throat. His nails scrape against sensitive skin, moving higher until he drags his touch over your nipple.

The heel of Seungcheol’s hand presses firmly into your clit. You mewl, thrashing against him, closer and closer to your peak. His strokes turn harsh, finger-fucking you at a brutal pace while his other hand tweaks your nipple, the pleasure-sting making you quake.

“Come on,” he urges, voice deep. Sharp teeth scrape against your throat. “Come for me, Pretty.”

Everything turns to static as you clench around his fingers. You squeeze so tight he can barely continue stroking you through your peak. There’s a high-pitched ring in your ears as you pant through it, vaguely aware that Seungcheol is muttering something against your ear that you don’t understand.

As your orgasm fades, so do you. The world becomes soft at the edges. You feel Seungcheol’s heartbeat against your back and smell jasmine, but you slowly drift away from him, barely able to catch his growl of remember me next time before you’re gone.

Cold granite countertop digs into your knees. You barely register the pain, one hand pressed flat to the counter, the other reaching behind you to tangle in Seungcheol’s hair. Your hot breath skates across the surface, the cool stone not enough to combat the heat of your skin.

Seungcheol’s face is pressed as far as he can go into your cunt, the flat of his tongue dragging from top to bottom. You’re nearly catatonic, eyes rolling behind your eyelids as he fucks you with his tongue.

He grunts when your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close as he sucks harshly at you. He’s loud as he eats you out, his hunger something more demonic and fiendish than you’re used to. You don’t care, pressing back into him as he mouths at you.

His hands firmly pry you open, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You can feel the bruising way he holds you, uncaring as he works you toward another high, so desperate for it that you’re begging.

Begging for what, you don’t know. None of the words that fall from your mouth really make sense. You’re a rambling disaster under the mastery of his mouth, and as you tiptoe the line of your high, it feels like you’ll never unscramble your thoughts again.

You come again, feeling the way you flood his mouth. He doesn’t care, growling low in his throat as his mouth becomes more insistent, fingers pressing into you even harder. Something takes over him in that moment, his grip on you so fierce that you think you might break.

But you don’t. You never do.

“Pretty,” Seungcheol murmurs, cocking his head to the side. Your mouth aches where it’s stretched harshly around his cock, spit leaking from the side of your lips. His thumb brushes across the spilled fluid, grinning as he leisurely pops it into his mouth and sucks. “Such a pretty thing, mouth full of cock.”

You hum around him eagerly, shifting back and forth on your knees. He’s got you on the floor of your bedroom in front of your bed, hands linked obediently behind your back while he stands in front of you. His stomach ripples as he flexes his hips forward, driving himself deeper into your mouth.

Your throat seizes around him again and you feel yourself gag. He pouts and pulls back, letting you gasp for breath. Your mouth is a mess of saliva and cum, wet and sore and battered. You don’t care, looking up at him with watery eyes and sticky lips.

“So important to me,” he whispers, nodding as though to assure you. Your stomach flips and you shuffle toward him eagerly, mouth open. “So perfect for me.”

Instead of using words, you stick your tongue out, eager. Seungcheol grins and the room darkens. There is a buzz in the back of your mind that you can’t place, ignoring the feeling in favor of watching him slowly slide back in, letting your tongue scrape the bottom of his shaft.

Seungcheol sighs, tilting his head back as he sets a slow pace, using your mouth as he pleases. He’s beautiful like this, all tan skin, heaving chest, sweat sliding down his neck, red hair damp. His eyes are closed but his mouth is open, cherry lips parted sweetly to show his sharp little fangs as he pants.

So pretty, you think. Even with teeth sharper than they should be.

You’re standing in front of a bar named Hush. The pink neon burns bright against the gritty night, hurting your eyes. Turning around in a circle, you notice there’s no one else in the alleyway. There’s a certain charge to the air, a hum that you can’t place, but grows stronger when you turn to face the bar again.

A single door sits under the sign, closed and waiting to be opened. Chewing your bottom lip, you stride toward the door, unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side.

With a hard yank, you pull the door open and step into the darkness of the room beyond. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the single, flickering light over the bar, but once they do, you see it’s a tiny room. A single piano sits in the corner near two booths, and there’s only one bar top in the back, a few stools in front of it.

A single man sits at the bar but he’s facing you, leaning back on his elbows as he drinks you in. He’s in a purple suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, and his red hair is bright enough to light the night like a flame.

He cocks his head to the side, a wicked smirk on his lips. “Hi,” he greets. “Can’t sleep?”

“How can you tell?”

“I’m familiar with these things.”

He looks like a devil. You can’t place your finger on what exactly about his face makes you think so. His eyes are dark as the depths of the ocean and when he smiles, you swear his teeth are sharp. “Need some help?”

You do need help sleeping. The doctors can’t help you. Therapy doesn’t help you. Something tells you maybe this stranger can help you.

“Please.”

“It would be my pleasure, Pretty.”

“Seungcheol,” you gasp, hand flying to his wrist to grip him. “Fuck, holy shit.”

Fuck is absolutely right. His hand tightens around your throat, placed just right to make it harder for you to breathe. Your thoughts swim as he fucks into you, his sweaty chest sliding against your back as his strokes grow harsher.

Your knees slide on the bed under the strength of his thrusts. He growls at you to keep up and you whimper, flexing your thighs to remain upright as he drives his cock into you at a pace that sends you hurtling toward your peak.

“So fucking difficult,” he grunts in your ear. His teeth nip your ear lobe and you whine, intoxicated by the smell of jasmine and the tightening knot in your stomach. “You’re always so difficult.”

You don’t know what he means by that, but you don’t think it’s the first time you’ve heard something like that from him. Your thoughts turn to liquid you come around him though, feeling the way you grip his cock like a vice, seizing in his hold.

Everything turns to nothing. You can’t hear, see or feel anything but static. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

And then you're gasping for air, lungs burning as you gulp it down. Falling forward, you crash into the sheets and into complete darkness.

“Why do you come and go so often?”

Seungcheol lifts his head from the bed to turn and look at you. He’s still naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, crimson hair clinging to his forehead. He’s on his stomach laying opposite of you, his head by your feet.

Something sparks in his eyes at your question, his heavy brows pulling together, cherry lips downturning. “I only come as often as you let me.”

“What do you mean?”

His face twitches in what you think might be annoyance. “You have a complicated relationship with me.”

“We have a relationship?”

He snorts and turns away from you, resting his chin on his arms as he settles back down, closing his eyes. He reminds you of a cat - a particularly dangerous cat, you think. “I suppose. Most people couldn’t say they have a relationship with me, and yet I keep letting you invite me back.”

“Invite you?”

“Hush. Stop asking questions.”

“But I don’t… understand.”

“Good,” he quips. “Because every time you do, you send me away only to invite me back in.”

“Come on,” Seungcheol teases. “You wanted it, so do the work.”

Your thighs ache. A pitiful sound leaves you as you nod, putting your hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders as you lift your hips, legs shaking. You’re exhausted and burned out, but the ache you need filled as you slowly slide up his cock drives you to keep going.

Dropping back down in his lap, you feel sparks. Your movements are slow. Seungcheol’s hands are tucked behind his head where he leans back on your pillows, fathomless eyes watching you as you ride him, a little uncoordinated and weak from the exertion he’s put you through all evening.

“Cheol, my thighs,” you protest, instead trying to grind into him. He raises a brow and you pout. “Please.”

“No. Come on, Pretty, you can do it. You can fuck yourself on my cock and make yourself come. Come on.”

“Cheol.”

“No. Do it yourself.”

Gritting your teeth, you let your annoyance fuel you. Anger burns right alongside pleasure as you find the strength to do exactly as he tells you. Leveraging your hold on his shoulders, you continue to spear yourself on him at a steady pace and slowly, your anger is replaced with bliss.

Seungcheol feels incredible. He’s hard to take, stretching you to the max and at this position, he’s so deep that you swear you can feel him in your stomach. You keep going, nails biting into his skin and drawing blood but you don’t care.

Fire burns in his eyes as he watches you. You stare right back, seething at the way he’s making you do it yourself, a little bit of humiliation stinging the edges of your pride. You can tell he thrives on this, satisfied that what you want outweighs any sort of desire to be stubborn.

Somehow, he always wins like this. Always manages to get you to do what he wants. He’s sneaky like that, knowing just what button to press to get you where he wants you.

Sometimes you feel like you’re a puppet whose strings are connected to his fingertips.

Either way, you manage to drive yourself to an orgasm, shuddering around him as you seat yourself fully in his lap, throbbing around him. He lets out a long groan, eyes fluttering shut as he struggles to keep his composure.

Leaning back against his knees, you catch your breath. He’s still painfully hard inside of you, and when his eyes open, you see his hunger isn’t sated. Your heart lips when he surges forward, fast as an adder. His mouth crashes into yours hungrily and you let him have you, eager at the flutter in your stomach as he shifts, altering the angle.

“I’m not done,” he mutters, kisses turning into sharp bites. “So hush while I take what’s mine.”

Something wakes you up from sleep. It’s too dark in your room to see, but your heart is hammering and your hands are quivering. Leaning toward your nightstand, you search for your phone. All you feel is cool wood, no device anywhere.

The dark is oppressive. You don’t remember your room being this dark, the blackout curtains serving as a good device to keep out the city and streetlights, but never so much that you feel swallowed whole. Lost. Devoured.

A tingle buzzes at the back of your neck. You freeze in bed, looking into the never ending darkness. Silence roars in your ears, the outside world completely removed. You can’t even hear your own pulse or breath, the quiet so heavy that panic starts to rise in your throat.

You can’t see but you know you’re not alone - can feel the solid press of something else in the room.

Too afraid to make noise, you resume the search for your phone, fingers moving slowly across the top of your night stand. You can’t find it.

Something presses into the mattress at the end of your bed. You feel the dip under its weight but can’t hear the creek of springs. You give up the search for your phone, snatching your hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

It’s a dream, you tell yourself. It’s a dream it’s a dream it’s a dream it’s-

The thing in your room moves closer. A scream works its way up your throat where it gets stuck, lodged and unmoving. You squeeze your eyes shut harder, fireworks of color exploding behind your eyelids as you do.

“I know you’re awake, Pretty.” The voice is so low you can barely make out the words. They scrape against you like claws. “You can’t keep doing this,” it says, almost a sigh in its voice. “You know what this is. What I am.”

“Go away,” you whisper, voice weak. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t do this again.”

“Go away, Seungcheol.”

There’s a low growl that you can feel as it vibrates the air. “As you wish.”

The neon sign above the door says Hush. It burns bright and pink against the night sky. You look around, unsure how you got here. Sighing, you pull out your phone to check the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning, which means you’re probably a victim of your sleep walking again.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you look up at the sign again. There’s a little blue moon to accompany the pink cursive neon, and though you don’t think you’ve ever seen this bar before, there's a magnetism about it that draws you in.

Curious, you walk up to the door and go in. The lights are dim and you have trouble seeing at first, but you can make out that there’s a piano in the corner, two booths and a small bar with some stools. A man sits at the bar, his back turned to you.

“We’re closed,” he grumbles without turning to look at you. You frown, cocking your head as you drink him in.

The purple suit he wears is an odd choice. His hair is the color of blood, slicked back and a surprisingly nice contrast to the bright color of his suit. A single light flickers above him, painting him in a gold hue.

“What is this place?” you ask, ignoring the fact that it’s closed.

He doesn’t answer for a second. You think he’s going to ignore you, but finally he says, “Do you have trouble sleeping?”

You’re surprised by the question. “Yes, actually.”

“I can help.”

“Really?” You step further into the bar, watching as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. He is painfully pretty, the kind of beauty that reminds you of old paintings of Lucifer. “How?”

“Are you accepting my help?”

Without hesitation you answer, “Yes.”

His cherry red lips twitch and he shakes his head. Picking up his drink, he polishes it off before standing to turn you fully. The weight of his presence presses down on you like an invisible blanket, weighing you down.

“Of course you do.” He strides toward you and though your instincts tell you to run, something else tells you to stay. He looks down at you with a pair of eyes that threaten to swallow you whole if you let them. His lashes are silky and long, a delicate balance to his heavy gaze. “You always need me, right, Pretty?”

You nod, a word - a name - buzzing on your tongue as he looms over you. “Please,” you whisper, thoughts a little cottony, a little dizzy. “Seungcheol.”

He grins, revealing sharp teeth. “Hush,” he murmurs. “You’re mine.”

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8housevenus · 7 months ago

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astrology observations

pisces suns always have this karma mindset. some people often confuse pisces suns as step-overs, but these people are always trying to spread hope and good into the world. they usually get all the good coming back to them in some way. for them it pays off to give unrequited favors, love, etc. makes sense since pisces rules over the 12th house and that usually represents our psyche and our association with present-past-future.

jupiter in 12th house people are truly blessed with navigating the unknown. these people take a shot in the dark and it turns out for the best.

wherever you have pluto in your chart is going to be the area in which will trigger you the most, also the sign can be revealing of how you need to go about these changes. ex; pluto in 12th in sagittarius. triggers will come from feeling trapped, over analyzing to the point of destruction, etc. it being in sagittarius can symbolize that the best way to get over those obstacles is to change environments (freedom), or full throttle all of your emotional investments (feel all your feels until you can fully let go).

the sign that rules over your 8th house is usually the sign you will resent the most.

partner sun as your moon and vice versa synastry is overrated. i notice the moon person will always be more secretive towards sun, and the sun person will always be more naive to moon. there can be a lot that lacks here and it isn’t a connection that remains consistent.

^ the most strongest bonds will always be when your partners sun is opposing your moon, vice versa. we call them sister signs for a reason because it is such an intimate connection. there’s a feeling of being understood from a whole new lens. these people can give you a real breakdown on who you are and can shape new experiences better than anyone else.

people with mars in water sign houses (12/8/4) usually have a lot of trauma they don’t share. mars can symbolize aggression upon us or onto others, and when it falls in these houses, there can be fears of opening up their wounds for the world to see them. a lot of their struggles are silent, and a lot of their fights are silent as well.

cancer/moon in 11th house is the friend that gets invited everywhere but chooses not to go because of minor inconveniences.

mercury dominant people are so comforting. they are so open about themselves that it makes you feel less alone about your situations. they have the best stories, the best conversation skills, and they are very charming with their expression.

it’s so easy to spot libra women. they have such harmonious features, delicate sense of style, always in company by others, and keep everything classy. they have the best composure and patience.

chiron aspecting mercury harshly can mean that somebody develops insecurities very quickly, or gets told that they need to change a lot about themselves. sometimes they can feel ashamed to speak or express themselves authentically.

saturn opposing/square jupiter people can struggle with letting life play out how it needs to. sometimes they forget that they must learn to let go of control and leave it up to chance. they are worried about things not working in their favor since they are used to needing to do a lot from scratch more than others.

capricorn moons usually turn pain into humor. many things do bother them more then they like to reveal, but they would rather make it seem under control.

the best looking men i know all have prominent libra in their big 3 and capricorn & pisces placements. men with libra placements are self assured and know they look good. men with capricorn placements are humble about their appearance and it is so important that they get the details of their aesthetic perfect. men with pisces have such a good taste in fashion and have a very adorable demeanor.

a sagittarius mercury favorite line is “im bout to crash out”.

gemini mars are the realest people i know. you would only ever call a gemini mars 2 faced if you did something to provoke them and they told you how it is. they are good at observing and thinking before acting. they are calculated and don’t take much convincing on anything, these people can make their minds up very fast and problem solve better than anyone else.

gemini and libra friendships are so unserious, in a good way though!! libra provides a safe space for the gemini, and the gemini allows libra to be themselves. it’s sweet.

2nd house/3rd house taurus/cancer, venus, mercury, neptune can make somebody a great singer or very alluring with their voices. if your mercury aspects saturn well or it is in your first house, you have a voice that people can listen to forever.

avoid synastry where the suns square each other, too much ego clashes and will bud heads on the tiniest things where there is always an ego attack.

#astrology #astrology observations #astro notess #astro tumblr #synastry

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spideyjimin · 4 months ago

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Bloodlines entwined: VI | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child.

— pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader

— genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut

— rating: 18+

— words: 11,321

— warnings: mention of morning sickness, strong language, sexual tension, teasing, a lot of making out, dry sex, implied masturbation, swearing, mention of sex, mention of abortion, mention of death, mention of murder, oc is scared, nervousness, and some crying

— author’s note: hiii angels ✨ it feels like it’s been ages since i haven’t updated this week when it’s only been a week 😅 Things are getting hot between jungkook and oc, and you finally get to know if Felix knew about the werewolf universe or not 👀 Hope you enjoy this chapter & let me know what you think 🫶🏼

Chapter VI: like supernatural

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous | next

You study your reflection in the mirror, trying to look for a pregnancy sign. There is barely a stomach appearing which you guess is normal. The insemination only happened nine weeks ago; it might be too soon to have a bump.

However, you’ve been having terrible morning sickness. It’s honestly horrible, and thankfully, it only happens in the morning. It wouldn’t have been easy if you had to leave the classroom to throw up.

You put on the first grey shirt you find, and a pair of jeans. Since you’re going to grab some stuff at the grocery store, you don’t feel the need to put on your best outfit for that. Something very simple is quite enough.

Before leaving the apartment, you put on your headphones with music blasting in your ears. You also grab your coat with your purse and a bag for your groceries and then leave your apartment.

As you’re walking on the streets, a woman suddenly appears in front of you, a very pretty one. She’s wearing a fancy pink dress underneath a white coat. She exudes so much confidence and power. You’re very much caught off guard, especially since she looks you up and down with disdain. Who the hell is this woman?

One thing you’re sure, she’s a werewolf. She has a strong bestial scent; one different than Jungkook, but she has it. Outside your father’s child and Mister Song, she’s the first werewolf you’ve seen. Do they all have this strong aura?

“So you’re the one carrying Jungkook’s child?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, and you remove your headphones to hear her.

“Sorry, what did you say?” you politely say, trying to make sure you hear it right. However, she totally dismisses your question. “Who are you?” you ask with evident confusion.

She ignores you again, her eyes focused on your body. She might definitely hear your child’s heartbeat or smell their scent.

“Are you a surrogate or his new toy?”

You’re almost offended by her question, and it definitely irritates you that she doesn’t even bother to introduce herself. What kind of person is she? And who the hell does she think she is?

“I asked you a question,” your tone is firm, and her eyes finally look up at you.

A smirk appears on her face as if she’s happy you talked like that to her. “Yuna,” she holds out her hand to you. “Jungkook’s future queen.”

You tilt your head and frown before you shake her hand. Jungkook never mentioned any girlfriend, and to be honest, it hurts a bit to find this out like this. Was he cheating on her when he kissed you and gave you pleasure?

“Nice to meet you,” you play along.

She clearly doesn’t know who you are, and if he didn’t say anything about you to her, there must be a reason. He should be the one revealing your existence to her.

“How do you know I’m carrying his child?” you ask.

Now, you’re quite curious about that.

“Let’s just say that I know,” she says.

A little smile appears on your face as she carefully chooses her words. She definitely seems to ignore what you truly are and since she can’t reveal her world to a human, she remains vague. However, you don’t want to make it look like you know about the werewolves.

“Well, if you really knew, you’d know if I’m a surrogate or his new toy,” you use her words against her. “And if you’re his future queen as you said, this is something you’d definitely know.”

She’s taken aback by your words. She seems like she wasn’t expecting you to stand up against her. She doesn’t know what to say, and you look at her, expecting her to say something.

Jungkook appears out of the blue, his body standing tall next to you. His eyes quickly roam your face and body, making sure Yuna didn’t do anything to you. A smile appears on your face when you see him. For a brief moment, you let your eyes wander on this handsome man.

As you’re starting to notice, he’s most of the time wearing a suit, today not being an exemption. It’s a completely black outfit, even the classic shirt under his jacket. He pushes his hair back, clearly trying to rearrange it, and making you understand that he came under his wolf form.

“What are you doing here, Yuna?” his tone is rigid, his jaw clenched.

“Meeting the woman carrying your child and checking up on those rumors.”

You frown, not understanding what she’s making reference to.

“Now, I’m trying to understand if she’s a surrogate or…” Jungkook doesn’t let her finish her sentence.

“She’s my girlfriend if that’s what you want to know,” his tone is as sharp as a knife.

Your face turns to Jungkook while you try to remain composed. This is incredibly surprising, especially since you haven’t put into words what is going on between you. There’s only been a few kisses and his fingers in your pants three days ago. Based on that, you wouldn’t especially call him your boyfriend.

“Oh,” she says.

It’s clear as day that she’s hurt to find out about that. You don’t know this woman, but it’s written all over her face, and you kind of feel sorry for her.

“I didn’t know that,” she continues.

“Now, please leave her alone,” he says. “Leave us alone.”

You’ve never seen Jungkook speaking like that, and it sends shivers down your spine. He’s quite harsh, and it might come from the fact that he’s a king. However, you’re also convinced that this woman did something to him. This isn’t just about him as a king; it’s also personal.

When the woman disappears, you turn fully to Jungkook. For a moment, his eyes don’t leave Yuna, making sure she doesn’t come back. Then, once she’s out of sight, his eyes finally meet yours, and they instantly soften. He gives you a little smile.

“Who’s that woman?” you finally ask.

This man’s beauty is truly breathtaking. How can someone be this good-looking? You hope that your kid will inherit his beauty.

“Yuna,” he says. “My ex.”

Well, that would explain everything, and you kind of sense that she hasn’t moved on just yet. She might definitely still love him a lot. Or maybe she might love the crown he wears.

“She presented herself as your girlfriend,” you inform him.

“I’m not even surprised,” he rolls his eyes. “She has reappeared in my life as if she’s expecting me to welcome her back with open arms.”

Does it surprise you? No, because as a king, you expect him to have many women drooling over him, and trying to get his attention. On top of that, he’s extremely handsome. His beauty is mesmerizing, and you feel lucky to have the opportunity to see him this close regularly.

“But why did you tell her I’m your girlfriend?” you curiously ask.

For a moment, he seems to hesitate, and his eyes look behind you. You also note the way his cheeks redden, which makes him look absolutely adorable.

“That’s the only way she’ll leave you alone,” he answers, his eyes finally meeting yours again.

“I hope so,” you say. “She’s impressive,” you admit.

A smile appears on his face at your words.

“Yep,” he says. “She’s from a powerful family too so she feels like the world is at her feet.”

“I’m only meeting important people from your world,” you smile at him. “I’m starting to think that I’m privileged.”

A chuckle leaves his lips while he shakes his head.

“Technically, you’re more important and powerful than all her family combined,” he admits.

Your eyes widen with surprise. It seems impossible that you have some kind of privilege in this werewolf world. You’re a hybrid, a forbidden being.

“How’s that possible?” you ask. “Nobody knows about me, and I’m…” you lower your voice. “You know what.”

Jungkook nods as he understands you’re referring to your hybrid nature.

“You’re the heir’s mother,” he answers.

“Oh,” you say. “Didn’t know it was a privilege too.”

“It is,” he tells you. “Everybody deeply respects the woman carrying the heir.”

It’s good to know. However, you’re pretty much confident that the privilege will disappear the second, people will find out about who you truly are.

“If you don’t mind, I need to do some grocery shopping,” you show him your little bag. “Want to join?” you ask.

His eyes quickly look around as if he’s making sure nobody sees him here.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he answers once his eyes are on you again. “I’ve actually never done that, so it’ll be a first time for me.”

“What?” you ask with surprise. “You never did this?”

This man won’t even stop surprising you, but it sort of warms your heart that he’ll experience it for the first time with you. You feel honored to introduce him to grocery shopping. It’s nothing glamorous, but it’s still so normal for you. The two of you start walking in the store’s direction.

“As you might have seen, I’ve many people working for me and they take care of that.”

You’re still impressed by how huge his mansion is, and how many people you saw working there.

“It makes sense, but still,” you say. “It’s something so normal to do.”

“My normal is very different than yours,” his eyes quickly glance at you.

It’s for sure very different, but you thought that was something he would have at least done once in his life.

“Speaking of different,” you begin. “How did this ex of yours find me?”

Jungkook nervously bites his lower lip, hesitating to reveal the truth.

“The baby’s scent,” he answers.

Your eyebrows furrow because you don’t really understand. The baby doesn’t really have any particular scent, and on top of that, it’s mixed with yours.

“As a king and son of a king, I have a particular scent. It’s different than any other wolf,” he explains. “So all my kids will also have a particular one. She only had to follow that scent.”

Everything seems so peculiar with Jungkook—and with you too. But it’s strange to have been brought to this world by the king himself. It could have been anyone else, but you had to end up with him.

Once inside the store, it seems like Jungkook has entered a completely new world. He looks like a five-year-old who’s discovering something new, making him look extremely cute. He helps you gather what you need and even buys some stuff for himself. He’s so proud of himself, and it leaves you wondering what other ‘normal’ things he doesn’t do.

Jungkook accompanies you to your place to ensure his ex-girlfriend isn’t waiting at your door. This thoughtful gesture fills your heart with warmth. Inside your apartment, you invite him to stay a little while and offer him something to drink and eat to thank him.

The two of you are sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a piece of apple cake. As you look at him innocently drinking and eating, you lose yourself in your own thoughts. Even if he’s powerful in his world, he can’t protect you from your truth. He can’t protect you from the fact that you’re afraid of everything. He can’t protect you from who you are.

There is so much more to unveil about yourself, your family, and your parents, and hurt and pain might come along. On top of that, you’re a hybrid, something so deeply forbidden. You shouldn’t exist, and you’re not even sure he will be able to protect you from how the others react. Because, in all honestly, you strongly believe that nobody will accept you. Nobody will even acknowledge your child as the next ruler.

In the middle of all this chaos, there is that tiny little life growing inside you. One that units you to Jungkook, and it will be a forever bond. No matter how your relationship might evolve, there will always be this baby, and all you hope is for you to remain on good terms.

“Yn,” his voice in your head brings you back to the real world.

“Yes,” you say out loud.

“Are you okay?” he asks with concern.

You simply nod. Even though you want to share all your concerns with him, you’ve already discussed them with him more than enough times. You don’t want to bother him anymore.

“You’re sure?” his voice still echoes in your mind.

“I am,” you answer this time through your thoughts. “Just thinking about all the recent events.”

“We can talk about it if you need to,” he gently suggests.

“It’s okay,” you answer. “I just need time to process it all.”

Honestly, it’s been too much in such a short period of time. In nine weeks, you’ve been through a lot, and you definitely need time and space to digest it all. You’d also like to take your time with everything. You’re about to become a mother, and you’d like to focus a bit more on it.

“Soo,” you then say out loud. “Do you already have any name preference for the baby?”

For a brief moment, his eyes stare into yours to make sure you’re truly okay. He’s been quite concerned about you because of all the events. He hadn’t dealt with so many things in so long.

“I haven’t really thought about it, honestly,” he admits. “Although I’ve always desired to name my kid after my father if it’s a boy.”

You quickly disappear into the living room to pick up your phone before coming back. You open the notes app to write down the ideas you might both have.

“What’s your father’s name?” you ask.

“Taemoo,” he says, and you write it down.

“Oh, it’s a pretty name,” you offer him a smile. “For a boy, I already had the name Hwan in mind,” you tell him. “And for a girl, Arya.”

You add those two names to the list. Those were the names you had already chosen for your child before Jungkook came into the picture. It should have been one of those, but now, you can’t decide alone. This baby has a father.

“Queen Arya,” Jungkook mumbles. “Sounds definitely compelling.”

The brightest smile appears on his handsome face.

“I really like it,” he says.

“And you didn’t have any girl’s name in mind?” you ask with curiosity.

“Well, with Yuna, we had talked about it, and there’s a name that I like,” he confesses. “But I’d never given that name to our girl, I don’t want to be reminded of my ex.”

It’s logical; exes are always better left in the past even if this Yuna seems to want Jungkook back. Thankfully, you don’t have an ex doing the same.

“And Hwan,” he begins. “That’s the name of one of my nephews, and honestly, I wouldn’t want two people to have the same name in my family.”

As he mentions his nephew, you realize that you barely know anything about his family while he already knows so much about yours.

“Then, I guess we’ll erase that one from the list,” you say.

It breaks your heart as it’s a name you really love, but you’re not alone anymore. The baby’s name has to be chosen with Jungkook.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t worry,” you smile at him. “We have to decide together, and if you don’t want to, then I can’t force you to agree.”

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“And how many nephews do you have?”

Jungkook proceeds to talk about his close relatives. He has currently two nieces and a nephew, but a second nephew is on the way. The four of them are the children of his only sister, Dohee. She’s three years younger than him, and he definitely seems to love her with all his heart. He has also two brothers, Hyunjin and Mingi, two little monsters based on his description. Growing up, he was jealous of them because they never had to worry about this whole becoming a king thing.

His parents’ names are Taemoo and Jisoo, the two people he loves the most. It’s clear as day that he deeply loves his family, but his father’s death broke something in him, you can see it when he mentions his father. He had so much admiration for him, and he had to navigate this king role without him. He knew it from the start, but experiencing it firsthand is completely different.

“My mom would like to meet you,” he says.

Jungkook purposely avoids mentioning the terrible conversation he had with his family. He doesn’t want to worry you about that. What matters for now is the fact that his mother wants to meet you.

“She knows about me?” you surprisingly ask.

“Of course,” he says as it was the most obvious thing. “You’re carrying my child,” he pauses for a little moment. “She also knows that you’re a hybrid.”

Oh.

It surprises you that he already mentioned that to her, and you guess she didn’t react well when he told her. At least, she already knows it, but you’re not sure this first meeting will go well. She’ll for sure have preconceptions about you. She’ll probably hate you.

“I can meet her if that’s what you want,” you tell him.

“I’d very much like that.”

“Okay then,” you smile.

Family seems important to him, and you’d meet his mother if he wants to. She’s also your child’s grandmother, and you’d like your child to have a strong bond with the people Jungkook deeply loves.

“And I also would like you to meet Felix and Lexi,” you tell him.

His phone suddenly rings, his eyes looking down at the person calling him.

“Give me 2 minutes,” he grabs his phone and goes to the living room.

Even though he moves a bit further, you still can hear the conversation. Due to your very curious nature, your ears pay attention to him.

“Hoseok,” he says. “I can’t today, I’m already busy with something.”

The person on the other side, a man, responds. “What is more important than that?”

“Listen, I can’t right now, but I’ll take care of that tomorrow,” Jungkook promises.

“Please, help us as soon as you can,” the other man adds. “We can’t handle this by ourselves anymore.”

At the man’s words, you truly realize the extent of what it means to be a king. People rely on him, people need him when things get messy and complicated. And in the middle of that, he finds the time to help you and be present for you.

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook responds. “It’ll be settled tomorrow.”

The phone call ends, and seconds later, Jungkook comes back into the room, his presence appealing as always. Earlier, when you came back from the store, he removed his suit jacket, leaving him in just his black dress shirt. Now, with the soft lighting accentuating every line of his figure, your attention is utterly captivated.

The fabric clings to his broad shoulders and tapers down his torso, perfectly tailored to highlight the strength he carries so effortlessly. His rolled-up sleeves expose his forearms—strong, veined, and so distractingly masculine—and his tattoos. You try to focus on something else, but your eyes betray you, tracing the curve of his arms and the way his shirt stretches across his chest with every step.

As he moves toward you, the faintest smile appears on his lips, and it makes your heart race. There’s something about him, a mix of elegance and raw strength, that leaves you spellbound. He settles into the chair across from you, his movements unhurried, and leans slightly forward, his gaze meeting yours. You blink, trying to pull yourself together.

“It’s just a shirt, yn,” you scold yourself silently, but even you don’t believe that.

The heat crawling up your cheeks betrays your thoughts, and the way his presence fills the room doesn’t help. Jungkook quirks a brow, a playful glint in his eyes as if he’s caught you staring.

“Is something on your mind?” he asks, his deep voice cutting through your flustered thoughts.

You quickly look down at your lap, feeling your cheeks burn. “No... nothing,” you mumble.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, just watches you intently, the air between you charged with something unspoken. It’s maddening how effortlessly he affects you, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to look away for long.

“Actually,” you correct your answer. “If there’s something important you need to take care of, you can go,” you tell him.

Based on the conversation he just had, he might have more important matters to deal with. You don’t want to be the reason holding him up. However, his rapid answer leaves no room for doubt.

“Nothing matters more than your safety, yn,” he admits without blinking.

“But…” you start arguing but he doesn’t let you speak.

“There’s no ‘but’, whatever I have to deal with can wait tomorrow,” his tone is very firm and takes you off guard.

Before you can respond, Jungkook leans forward slightly, his gaze locking with yours. There’s an intensity in his eyes that leaves you momentarily breathless.

“Listen to me,” he says softly but with an unmistakable seriousness in his voice. “Your safety and well-being come first, always. Whatever is waiting for me out there will still be there tomorrow. You, on the other hand…” his voice trails off, and for a moment, he seems to struggle to find the right words. He exhales deeply, his tone softening. “You’ve been through so much already. The last thing I want is for you to feel like you’re not my priority. Because you are, yn. More than anything else.”

His confession leaves you speechless. The vulnerability in his voice is unexpected, and it warms your heart. Jungkook leans back in his chair, giving you the slightest smile as if he’s trying to ease the tension he just created.

“So no more arguments, okay?” he adds, his tone lighter now. “I’m staying right here, whether you like it or not.”

“Okay,” you admit in defeat.

Nobody has ever treated you like this. Nobody has ever made you feel like you’re the most important person in the world. Yet, this man who appeared out of the blue in your life nine weeks ago has made you feel like the most precious pearl. He’s been by your side, never letting you face this chaos alone. For the first time in a long time, he’s actually the first man you’ll allow yourself to fall for.

His smile grows bigger at your answer before you move to the living room. You choose to watch Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as you’re both fans of the Spider-Man universe. During the movie, you end up falling asleep as you’re quite exhausted from everything. Growing a human—or a werewolf—isn’t really easy. It consumes your entire energy.

“Yn,” you hear Jungkook’s voice in your dreams. “Yn,” he repeats. “It’s time to eat.”

Suddenly, you feel fingers delicately brushing against your cheeks. You shake your head, trying to push away the fingers on your face.

“Mmm,” you groan while you try to hide your face on the couch.

“Yn, you have to eat,” Jungkook talks in your mind again.

“Leave my head, Jungkook,” you mumble. “And let me sleep.”

“If you don’t wake up now, I’ll keep talking in your head,” he threatens.

“Noo,” you groan once more and hide your ears with your hands. “Leave me.”

Jungkook chuckles as he watches you cover your ears. Doing that won’t make him go away, he’s still able to have a mind-to-mind conversation with you.

“C’mon, yn,” he says. “The dinner will get cold.”

“You cooked?” you instantly ask while opening just one eye.

“Yep,” he answers, this time the words don’t echo in your head.

“What did you do?” you now open your eyes.

“Bibimbap,” he proudly says.

“You should have started by saying that,” you sit on the couch, more hungry than ever.

Jungkook rolls his eyes in front of you with the biggest smile on his face.

“Did you just roll your eyes?” you ask with obvious surprise.

“Maybe,” he teases you.

“Mister,” you pause for a split second. “You’re extremely lucky to be the father of my child. Otherwise, I would have already kicked you in the ass for that attitude,” you tease him back.

Jungkook is trying to remain serious, but he simply can’t. So his strong arms lift you up to place you on his shoulder. Your head almost reaches his plump, squishy, and hot ass, and in your teasing attitude, you decide to smack his ass repeatedly.

“Let me go, Jungkook,” you joyfully scream.

“Didn’t know you were into asses,” he chuckles. “Lucky for you, I have the best ass in the world.”

Instantly, you stop hitting his butt cheeks, heat radiating in your cheeks. Jungkook seems to be in such a teasing mode today, and honestly, you won’t complain. You’re enjoying this very much, you don’t want this to stop.

But he puts you down a few seconds later, your bodies extremely close now, and his face barely a breath away from yours. This teasing mood shifts completely into an intense one. For a moment, your eyes devour his lips as you desire nothing more than to kiss him like you’re starving. Then, you glance up at him, his eyes locking with yours.

His huge hands brush against your arms, and the feeling is comforting. Everything about this man and his presence is comforting. Having him with you here and now feels wonderful. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.

This time around, you don’t hesitate twice and press your lips on his. At first, the kiss is soft. His lips are warm and firm against yours, and your heart feels like it might burst from your chest. You can feel his hands tighten slightly on your arms as if he’s trying to anchor himself to this moment, to you.

Then, something shifts. The kiss deepens, growing more fervent as if both of you have been holding back for far too long. His hands slide up to cradle your face, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks as he pulls you closer, leaving no space between you.

The world around you disappears. There’s only the feeling of him, the heat of his touch, and the way his lips seem to convey everything he’s been holding back: desire, affection, and an unspoken promise of something deeper.

When the kiss finally breaks, both of you are breathless, your foreheads pressed together. You don’t open your eyes right away, savoring the moment. His hands remain on your face, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw as if memorizing you.

“We should eat before it gets cold,” he whispers before pressing a peck on your lips.

You nod before sitting on a chair. A smile grows on your face as you notice the two plates carefully prepared by Jungkook. It warms your heart that he prepared dinner while you were peacefully sleeping.

“Thanks for the dinner,” you say as you start eating.

Jungkook simply offers you a smile before you both eat in silence. It seems like you’re starving because you eat so rapidly, but damn, this is so good! This man has many talents.

“Can you stay tonight?” you ask once you finish eating.

His big doe eyes move from his plate to you, he looks absolutely adorable. This vision melts your heart.

“Yes,” a sincere smile grows on his face.

“Great,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips.

You stand up to gather the plates and bring them to the sink. Jungkook, ever the gentleman, stands to help you, but you wave him off.

“I’ve got it,” you tell him. “You cooked, so let me clean.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t argue. However, you notice him keeping a watchful eye on you as you move around the kitchen. It’s a little unsettling but also comforting, knowing he’s so attentive. When you’re done, you turn to him, a mix of nervousness and determination fluttering in your chest.

“Mm, do you want to… go to the bedroom? I mean, to sleep?” you ask, your voice soft, almost shy.

Jungkook arches a brow, his lips twitching into a subtle smirk. “Are you asking me to share your bed?”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks heat up. “Don’t make it weird, Jungkook.”

“I can sleep on the couch, yn,” he then says.

You take a step closer to him. “I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

His teasing expression softens instantly, replaced by something far gentler. He closes the distance between you, his towering frame making you feel small in comparison.

“You’re never alone,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “I’m here, I’ll literally be on the couch.”

“But if something happens, you’ll be too far,” you pout.

For a moment, he hesitates, his gaze flickering toward the hallway leading to your bedroom. You can see the internal debate playing out in his head, making your chest tighten. However, he can’t resist those pleading eyes.

“You can stay on top of the covers if that makes you feel better,” you suggest.

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he answers in defeat.

“Thanks,” you press a soft kiss on his cheek, but he’s smarter than you and turns his head so your lips meet his. “Desperate for a kiss?” you then mumble.

“Maybe,” he answers with a smirk on his face.

“All you have to do is ask,” your eyes look deep into his.

“Can I kiss you, yn?” he immediately asks, and you nod.

In no time, his lips are on yours, passionately kissing you. His lips are honestly addictive; you’d be able to kiss him nonstop, and the funny thing is that he hasn’t kissed you many times. But he kisses like a god.

“You’re happy now?” you ask when you break the kiss.

“Not really,” he teasingly says while shaking his head.

Jungkook presses a peck on your lips before pressing a thousand others more, causing you to giggle.

“Better now?” you ask once he stops.

“Mmm,” he pretends to be thinking. “No,” he shakes his head before pressing a couple of other kisses on your lips.

The man in front of you loves to hear you giggle and doesn’t want it to stop. It is his new favorite sound in the whole world. Secretly, he hopes he’ll never be deprived of it.

Then, slowly, the kisses move to your cheeks, forehead, jaw, the corner of your lips, and finally they start to descend to your neck. You can feel his round nose pressed against your neck as his lips kiss your skin. By pure reflex, you tilt your head to give him more room, and your hands move to his hair to play with it. A very soft and barely audible moan escapes your lips.

This jovial and playful moment has turned into a very heated one.

“Wait,” you carefully push him with your hands on his chest.

His doe eyes look at yours with concern.

“This isn’t really the most appropriate place for this…” you whisper, the heat under your cheeks growing as his eyes are deep into yours.

“Why so?” his right eyebrow raises up.

“I mean, we’re in the hallway,” you tell him.

His eyes look around. “But there’s nobody except us, yn.”

“I know, but…” you seem to hesitate.

Jungkook finally understands that you’re not really comfortable taking this any further in the hallway.

“Okay, let’s go to the room,” he says with a smile before gently kissing your cheek.

The man grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours while guiding you to your bedroom. Once inside, he doesn’t waste a second and presses his hungry lips on yours. Slowly, he removes his fingers from your hand to remove your grey shirt. He throws it on the floor, and his eyes instantly look down at your stomach, looking for a sign of your pregnancy.

“The bump isn’t showing yet,” you say.

“Can’t wait to see it,” he mumbles, his eyes looking up at you now.

“Me too,” you admit with the brightest smile on earth.

The past few weeks have been hard and chaotic, but amidst all of that, the idea of your belly growing brings you some comfort. It will mean that your little wolfy is thriving, a reassurance that despite everything, life is forming inside you. This is what you’ve wanted since the beginning. You’ve desired to watch your body change since the second you began this journey.

Jungkook’s warm hand comes to rest gently on your stomach, his eyes locked deep onto yours. This moment is so intimate, so profound, and the rest of the world fades away. A soft breath escapes your lips as the realization settles in: no matter what happens the tiny heartbeat beneath his touch will forever link the two of you. You are bound not only by fate but by the life you created together.

“Now lay down on your back for me,” he whispers.

You simply nod before obeying him and lying on the bed. His eyes hungrily devour you as he hovers over you, his body settling in between your legs. His lips meet yours for a tender but fervent kiss. Then, slowly, the kisses move to your cheeks, jaw, the corner of your lips, and finally, they start to descend to your neck, his cute nose pressing against your skin.

Your fingers find their way to his hair, playing with it while he gives you pleasure. Jungkook’s lips keep going down, dangerously getting closer to your cleavage. Your breath is getting heavier, your heart beating faster, and your eyes fluttering shut. As he gets closer and closer, soft moans leave your lips, indicating to him that he’s doing everything just well.

Before he even reaches your breasts, he retreats to take a look at your pretty face. When you feel the cold air brushing against your skin, you open your eyes to watch him.

“Do we keep going?”

“Don’t stop,” you manage to say.

A smile appears on your face. Before you can even comprehend, his hands move down to your waist, and they are pushing your pants down your legs. Once they are at your ankle, his lips hungrily kiss you. You’re definitely desperate for this man. You want more. And it seems that it’s a shared feeling.

Your baby’s father presses his hips against yours, his growing bulge now against your wet core. That sensation alone makes you moan. Teasingly, he slowly rolls his hips against yours, but he doesn’t stop kissing you as a desperate man. You hold his black classic shirt firmly as you moan against his lips. Without any doubt, your panties are getting soaked. Jungkook is fucking you when you’re still fully clothed.

His lips finally set free from yours so he can rest his forehead against yours. His lusty eyes stare deep into yours which causes you to moan. Your walls clench around emptiness, but you’re slowly getting desperate to feel something inside you.

However, slowly, you realize the extent of the situation. You’re about to have sex. You close your eyes once more. His hips never stop rolling against yours, torturing you just the way you need. The grip on his shirt tightens, and moans keep falling from your mouth.

“Jungkook,” you blissfully whisper.

His eyes roam your face contorting with pleasure, a vision he never thought he needed. The man crashes his lips once more against yours; he definitely got addicted to your lips and never wants to let go of you.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips, his bulge growing inside his pants.

You both know that if you take this any further, there’s no way back. The second you’ll make love, it’ll seal forever your ever-growing bond. And is it what you want? Do you even feel ready? This is something you can’t quite answer yet, but it scares you. Jungkook wouldn’t simply be your baby’s father or your king—let’s be honest as a hybrid, he’s still your king. He’d become your lover.

“Jungkook,” you whisper again against his lips before you open your eyes.

“Mmm,” he says while he puts some distance between your faces to have a better look at you.

“Maybe we should think a bit better about this,” you tell him. “Aren’t we going too fast?”

Jungkook tilts his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“Going too fast? Hmm…” he murmurs, his lips barely an inch from yours. “Let’s see. You’re having my baby, I’ve seen you at your worst and best, and I’ve already committed to protecting you with my life. But sure, let’s take it slow.”

The teasing spark in his eyes makes your stomach flutter, and you playfully hit his chest.

“Jungkook!”

This man is unbelievable, but he isn’t quite wrong. So much has already happened since you’ve met him, and he’s been there all along. He could have given up on you the second he found out about your true nature, but yet, it seems not to bother him at all.

Jungkook laughs before pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“I’m just saying at this point, I think the universe is pushing us together,” he places a strand of hair behind your ear. “But if this is too fast for you, we can slow down.”

The man now lays down next to you, his eyes looking up at the ceiling before they look at you again.

“Thanks,” you smile at him.

“I’ll do anything for you, yn,” he smiles at you. “Would you mind showing me where the bathroom is? Something down there needs some relief.”

Your eyes look down at his crotch that definitely looks compressed in his pants. So you stand up rapidly to guide him to the bathroom. It pains you a bit for him that he didn’t get his release, but hopefully, his hands will do great work.

“Sorry about that,” you tell him once you’re in the bathroom.

“Don’t worry, yn,” he says before kissing your cheek.

You leave him alone, your cheeks burning at the mere thought of what he’s doing in the bathroom. Obviously, you desire nothing more than suck him off, but you can’t. Things are going way too fast between you, and it’s better to simply slow down for the time being.

The doorbell sounds in your apartment, pushing you out of your sleep. As far as you know, you weren’t expecting any guests today. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked Jungkook to sleep at your place.

You stand up, put some clothes on, and look at the man peacefully sleeping in your bed. He looks like an angel, a beautiful angel. Then, your eyes move to the clock you have in your room. It’s almost 10 am. You leave the room as fast as possible to see who the hell is disturbing your sleep.

To your surprise, it is Felix and Lexi. Your heart starts hammering like crazy in your chest as you realize they’re going to meet Jungkook. There’s no way Jungkook is leaving this apartment without meeting them, and it honestly makes you a bit nervous.

“Hi,” you say when you open the door to them.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Felix pushes you into his arms for a hug.

Felix’s arms will forever be the most comfortable place on earth. These arms have consoled you so many times, and they’ve brought peace when times were harder. You take a step back before pressing a kiss on his cheek.

“Hello, yn,” Lexi kisses your cheek.

“What are you doing here?” you ask with obvious confusion.

You weren’t expecting them to come today. It’s a pleasant surprise, but you wish they had warned you earlier.

“We came to see how you’re doing,” Lexi answers. “And we’ve brought breakfast.”

She shakes in front of your face the little bag that carries the breakfast. They instantly notice something’s wrong, and they frown.

“Are you okay?” Lexi asks

“Yn,” you hear a voice behind you, causing you to look over your shoulder.

Suddenly, Jungkook appears, and your entire world seems to pause for a second. Your mouth parts slightly as your brain struggles to process the sight in front of you. Standing in nothing but his underwear, his messy hair falling over his forehead in the most effortlessly and attractive way. He looks like a fucking dream.

As he walks in the hallway, his hand on his hair to adjust it, you can’t help but be hypnotized by how the toned muscles on his body move. Everything from his sharp-cut abs to the powerful lines of his chest, and to his tattoos is mesmerizing. The intricate ink covering his arm only makes him look more dangerously irresistible, like some kind of dark temptation you should absolutely not be staring at this intently. Yet, you can’t help it.

A wave of heat rushes through your face, and you internally scold yourself. ‘For the love of everything, stop drooling’. Especially with Felix and Lexi standing right next to you.

You quickly tear your gaze away, but it’s already too late. Lexi is smirking and Felix seems to be absolutely astonished. Jungkook stops when he sees them with evident surprise, but instead of feeling awkward, he offers his brightest smile to the three of you.

“Hello,” he says when he stands in front of you. “My name is Jungkook,” he reaches out his hand to Felix.

You glance between the two of them, and something instantly feels off. Felix’s gaze lingers on Jungkook. There’s something in his expression, something unreadable yet undeniably curious. Your stomach tightens as you take in the way Felix studies Jungkook. Does he know him?

“Nice to meet you, Jungkook,” Felix shakes his hand. “I’m Felix, yn’s father.”

A smile grows on Jungkook’s face, and he then looks at Lexi. He reaches out his hand to her, and without any hesitation, she shakes it. The smirk on her face doesn’t fade away at all.

“And I’m Lexi, her sister.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Jungkook smiles at them.

It is almost unreal to see the three of them together; you didn’t expect them to meet so early on. And you hadn’t in mind for them to meet a barely dressed Jungkook.

“Jungkook is the father of my child,” you inform Lexi and Felix.

Lexi looks at you with a gaze that says it all. The smirk on her face is almost annoying because you perfectly know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking that you slept with him and that he’s hot as fuck.

But then, as you look at Felix, you can see that he doesn’t seem happy to learn that Jungkook is the father. Is he aware of something about him that you don’t? Felix’s reaction is very confusing.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll get dressed,” he tells you before disappearing again.

“Dad,” you look at Felix. “Do you know him?”

You can’t go any longer without raising the question. There’s definitely something off and you need to know why. You want to know how on earth Felix knows him.

“Not him,” he answers. “But his father.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you notice Lexi has the exact same reaction.

“How?” you ask.

Felix takes a very deep breath; you can tell that it’s a painful memory.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he simply answers. “But you can’t be with him, yn,” he warns you. “You can’t have this child with him.”

You take a step back, surprised by his words. Your eyes scan his face, trying to understand why he’s saying that. There’s something very deep. Is he aware of Jungkook’s werewolf nature?

“Dad,” Lexi says. “What are saying?”

“You heard me well,” his tone is firm, and it sends shivers down your spine. Felix has only been like that when you both were making mistakes at a younger age.

“I’m not going to abort,” you answer. “It’s out of the question, and nobody can tell me what to do. This child has been desired for a long time. Things didn’t happen the way I intended, but I’ve decided to keep the baby.”

“Yn,” he whispers.

Suddenly, Jungkook reappears all dressed. He looks majestic with his full black suit which is a contrast to how he was minutes ago.

“Mister Kang,” Jungkook looks at Felix. “I guess you knew who truly my father was. I guess you knew he was the werewolf king.”

Lexi’s eyes widen at his words, but she’s the only one reacting like that. Felix doesn’t even blink. He’s fully aware of the werewolf world. It leaves you wondering if he knew that your mother was also a werewolf.

“Indeed,” he nods. “I’ve known very well your father, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”

This is getting weirder and weirder. How could Felix know personally Jungkook’s father and never say anything to you?

“Thanks,” Jungkook nods.

“Werewolves?” Lexi says with confusion. “And you both knew?” she’s pointing to you and Felix. “How I’m just learning this now?”

Felix looks at his daughter, his gaze softening instantly. Then, pain shows up in his eyes, and it breaks your heart.

“I wanted to protect you both from all of it,” he admits. “I needed to protect you.”

Now, you have many many questions because this is the most unexpected event of the day. Never would you have thought this man would be aware of this world, but it would maybe make some sense because he was super close to your parents. He knew it; you don’t even doubt it.

“Why?” Lexi asks.

“Maybe, I could explain while we have breakfast,” he proposes.

All of you nod and you head to the kitchen. While you prepare coffee, Felix and Lexi put all the things they bought on top of the table, and Jungkook grabs the plates.

“I’m very curious to know how he met my father,” Jungkook speaks to you through your thoughts.

“Me too,” you answer. “This is so weird.”

“My father never mentioned a human friend.”

When all is ready, you take a seat at the table. You, Lexi, and Jungkook look at Felix, waiting for him to finally explain everything.

“Well,” Felix takes a deep breath. “My wife, Olivia passed away when Lexi was only three years old. It’s been the biggest tragedy of my life, and the worst day of my life,” he begins. “One night, we decided to go on a date, just the two of us, and my parents were taking care of our daughter. It was supposed to be a great night; we had a reservation at a very fancy restaurant. But once we left the restaurant, on our way back home, Olivia was savagely attacked by what seemed like a wolf.”

You don’t really remember Olivia, you were very young when she passed away, but you’ve grown up with pictures of her everywhere at your house. She was a very pretty woman, Lexi definitely looks a lot like her.

“Together with some other people, we tried to push away the wolf, and we succeeded. Unfortunately, he had injured her in her left thigh. There was nothing that we could do. In a matter of seconds, she bled to death. When the ambulance arrived, she was already gone.”

So Lexi’s mother was murdered by a wolf, a bit like your parents. The stories are different, but the murderer’s nature is still the same.

“At the hospital, a man, your father, came to me,” he looks at Jungkook. “He told me everything about the werewolves. It was a werewolf that killed my wife, and it was his first full moon, his first transformation. Your father offered to pay for the entirety of the funeral and to give us financial support,” he looks now at his daughter. “He’s the one that paid for your studies; he insisted on doing that. He has also protected us since then,” now he looks at you. “He has protected you too and also paid for your studies.”

So in the end, Jungkook’s father helped the Shadows to find your parents, but he also protected you afterward from this world. It seems so unrealistic, but he probably didn’t know you were a hybrid. Although you strongly doubt it.

“It was a very difficult time, but he stood by our side and helped us. I had so much respect for him, and we would meet sometimes.”

Jungkook frowns. “Did he know about yn?”

“Know what?” Felix seems confused by Jungkook’s question.

Fuck, he doesn’t know about you. Felix clearly doesn’t know you’re a hybrid and that your mother was a werewolf.

“Shit,” Jungkook whispers.

“My mom was a werewolf,” you answer.

“Oh my god,” Lexi says. “I never imagined one second Mrs. y/l/n to be a wolf.”

“So you’re one too?” he says with evident shock.

You nod, saddened that he has to learn this way that you carry werewolf blood. Things would have for sure been different if he knew. Most probably, you wouldn’t have grown up ignoring this side of you.

But one thing seems to be sure: Jungkook’s father knew about you. How could the king not ever realize that in so many years? Maybe he didn’t know, but you strongly doubt that.

“I’m not fully a werewolf,” you confess. “I’m half human.”

Jungkook then remembers a line he read in his father's journal; one that he got to read after his passing. It was comforting to read those words when the grief was too painful to deal with. The line said: ‘I broke the rules, and I’d be doomed if somebody ever found out. But how could I do otherwise? An innocent life would be taken, and I couldn’t live with myself if I’d respect the rules.’

Jungkook never understood what he meant as he was deeply convinced his father always followed and applied the rules. However, today, this sentence seems to make perfect sense. Taemoo knew about your true nature but decided to spare you. He decided to let you live, knowing the consequences. His father protected you all these years. And now, it’s his turn to protect you.

“Which makes me a forbidden species,” you add.

Now that Felix and Lexi are aware of this, it will make things easier. It’s been so so hard to hide this from them because you’ve been used to sharing everything with them. And this motherhood journey is supposed to be theirs as well, but you had to hide a big part of it because humans can’t be told about the werewolf world.

“So,” Lexi says. “You’re the king now, I guess?” she asks the father of your child and he nods. “It then makes yn’s child the heir?”

“That’s right,” Jungkook says.

Felix closes his eyes. This clearly doesn’t make him happy, and it most probably comforts the idea that you shouldn’t have this baby. His grandchild will carry the same blood as the person who killed his wife. His daughter actually carries that blood. It’s hard to accept that.

“Sorry,” he says before leaving.

A tear runs down your face, and Jungkook squeezes your hand when he notices it. This is devastating, and you can only understand your father’s reaction. In his shoes, you would feel the same.

After a couple of hours, you decide to show up at Felix’s house to have a one-to-one conversation with him. There’s a lot to discuss with him about who you and your parents are. It’s not going to be easy, but you really need to talk with him.

Once you’re inside the house, you follow the sound of his heartbeat. You easily find him in the living room watching tv with a beer in his hand. Seeing him like this, it’s as if nothing ever happened.

“Hi,” you take a seat next to him on the couch.

His face turns to look at you with a little smile appearing on his face. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Hearing the nickname warms your heart. It would have broken your heart if he had called you by your name.

“How are you feeling?” you ask with concern.

“Better,” he answers. “Sorry, I left like that.”

“It’s okay,” you offer him a smile.

Felix puts down the beer bottle on the coffee table before grabbing your hands. His eyes are filled with softness, and it’s comforting.

“Did you spend the last twenty years hiding yourself?” he questions.

You shake your head. “No, I only found this a couple of weeks after I got inseminated.”

“Great,” he answers. “I would have felt terrible if you had kept that a secret from me all these years.”

Even if it’s scary to reveal something this big to someone so dear to your heart, you’re sure that a younger version of yourself would have struggled to hide this from him. He was your anchor. Navigating this by yourself would have terrified you.

“I’m not sure I would have managed,” you admit with a smile growing on your face.

“I think so too,” he says. “And how have you been feeling?”

You proceed to explain how these past few weeks have been nothing but an emotional roller coaster. You explain how it felt to learn that your parents hid something this big from you. How you hated them for a while. How you felt after finding out why they were killed. How you felt while going through your first transformation. You tell him everything.

Felix listens to you and raises questions from time to time. It’s obvious that he’s sad your parents didn’t tell him anything. They were his best friends, and knowing that all these years they hid this broke his heart. But he also understands why they didn’t. If he hadn’t seen with his own eyes a werewolf, he would have never believed them.

“I guess now you’re dating your child’s father,” he remarks, his tone light but laced with curiosity. The memory of seeing Jungkook half-naked clearly lingers in his mind.

“No,” your cheeks are invaded by a strong heat wave. “We’re just friends. He’s been guiding me through all of this, that’s all.”

Felix tilts his head. “Friends?” he scoffs. “You two don’t look like two friends. There’s definitely something going on between you. I can sense it.”

Your gaze drops down at your hands, suddenly finding your fingers fascinating. There’s no way you can lie to him, you perfectly know it. Felix can see right through you; he always could.

“There is something,” you hesitate before adding. “But it scares me.”

“Why sweetie?” there is obvious concern in his voice.

For a minute, you close your eyes, inhaling deeply as you try to untangle the knot of emotions in your chest. How do you even put this into words? When you finally look at him again, your voice is quieter.

“I’ve never felt like this before. Being around him is different. He makes me feel safe,” you swallow hard, barely above a whisper as you finish. “Like I can finally breathe.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing, yn,” Felix watches you closely, his expression softening.

You bite your lip, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. “It’s not, but it also is.”

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate. You sigh, trying to find the right words.

“Everything is happening so fast. My entire world has changed overnight. And Jungkook… he’s overwhelming in ways I can’t explain,” your voice drops to a whisper. “He makes me feel safe, but at the same time, I feel like I’m losing myself to something I don’t fully understand.”

Felix tilts his head slightly, observing you as if he’s piecing together a puzzle.

“And that scares you?”

You nod, exhaling shakily.

“More than I’d like to admit. It’s like…” you try to find your words. “Being around him is both calming and chaotic. I crave his presence, but I’m also scared of what it means. If I let myself fall completely, what happens when he realizes I’m not enough? What if all of this is just a product of our circumstances? What if it’s not real?”

Felix leans forward, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. His hand grabs yours in an attempt to reassure you.

“Yn, love isn’t something you measure with logic,” he starts saying. “It’s not a list of pros and cons, and it surely isn’t something you can control,” he squeezes your hand gently. “Whatever this is between you and Jungkook, it’s real. I saw it the second you looked at him.”

“But I don’t know if I can handle it,” your chest tightens. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“Maybe that’s the beauty of it,” Felix gives you a knowing smile. “Maybe you’re not supposed to figure it all out alone. Maybe Jungkook isn’t just someone who came into your life—maybe he’s part of your journey to finding yourself.”

His words settle deep within you, stirring something you’ve tried so hard to suppress. You’ve been so focused on resisting, on fearing the unknown, that you never considered the possibility that Jungkook isn’t here to take something from you but to show you a part of yourself you never knew existed.

“I don’t know,” you shake your head.

“Don’t overthink, yn,” he gives you a little smile. “Just follow your heart.”

Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to stop fighting what you feel for Jungkook.

As you’re standing in front of the impressive gates of Jungkook’s mansion, your heart beats immensely fast. You’re about to meet his mother. A mother that apparently has expressed her desire to meet you. The mother of her grandchild—or should you say—the hybrid. It’s making you nervous because 1) she’s Jungkook’s mother, 2) she’s the queen dowager, and 3) she knows you’re a hybrid.

To your surprise, he didn’t hide from her what you truly are. You’re not sure if he should have done that, but she’s also going to be part of your family. Your baby is also forever going to link you to her. She deserves to know who you are. In the end, you believe it’s best she learns it from her son.

The gates finally open, and you drive to the mansion. Jinwoo, Jungkook’s valet is waiting for you, and as last time, he shows you where to park your car.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles at you while opening the door.

You’re still not used to someone opening your door, but you guess you’ll have to adjust to it.

“Thanks, Jinwoo,” you offer him a bright smile. “Is Mrs. Jeon already here?”

“Yes, she is,” he nods. “She’s discussing with Mister Jeon in the living room. They are waiting for you.”

Now, your heart pounds even faster as the realization hits you: They are waiting for you. When can you die? Probably now. This is making you way too nervous, but you don’t have much of a choice. She’s the grandma of your child. The only living one. Well, that’s not totally right. Even though Felix isn’t your biological father, he’ll also be your child’s grandparent.

“Follow me,” Jinwoo informs you.

You both walk in the direction of the first floor's living room. This mansion is still extremely impressive, and you still wonder how Jungkook can live by himself here. As you get closer to the living room, his presence grows stronger. It feels like you’ll never get used to this feeling, but you like it because it’s quite reassuring.

Jinwoo stops in front of a massive door—and you do the same. The man knocks at the door and only opens it once he hears Jungkook’s approval.

“Miss y/l/n is here, Mrs. and Mr. Jeon,” he informs them.

With a beating heart and shaky legs, you step inside the surprisingly small room. Although still spacious compared to your living room, it feels almost intimate within the vastness of the mansion. The soft glow of warm lighting bathes the space, casting gentle shadows that dance along the walls.

Plush furniture is arranged thoughtfully, creating an inviting atmosphere that feels more personal than the grand halls you’ve passed through. The scent of aged wood and faint traces of something musky—perhaps cologne or the lingering essence of past visitors—lingers in the air.

It’s cozy in a way that surprises you, the kind of room that feels lived-in despite the house’s regal stature. You take a slow breath, allowing yourself to settle into the unfamiliar yet oddly comforting space. You definitely like the vibe of this room.

Jungkook and his mother are standing in the middle of the room, their eyes glued on you. The young man offers you a sincere and bright smile. His mother, on the other hand, is kind of analyzing you, but you’re not sure. She’s just looking at you with an unreadable face, the same one her son always has. Mrs. Jeon is a strikingly beautiful woman, exuding an undeniable aura of power and confidence.

“Do I need to bow?” the words don’t leave your lips, they are only addressed to Jungkook.

“Yes,” he answers through thoughts. “She’ll appreciate it.”

Standing before her, you lower your head in a respectful bow, the weight of the moment settling heavily on your shoulders. The woman before you exudes an effortless grace. A grace only someone with high stature would carry. Dressed in an elegant yet understated outfit, everything about her radiates authority.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jeon,” you tell her after you bowed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, miss y/l/n,” she offers you a little smile.

Your eyes quickly look at the man standing next to her, he looks beyond hot. He’s wearing a casual outfit which you honestly prefer on him. The suits look really good on him, but baggy pants and a large shirt look way better.

“Do you want to drink or eat something?” Jungkook asks.

“I’d like a glass of water if you don’t mind,” you answer.

The werewolf king nods before heading toward the door, instructing Jinwoo to bring water and some biscuits. You swallow hard as the three of you sit down on the couch. Jungkook takes a seat next to you, offering silent reassurance with his presence, while his mother sits across from you, her posture impossibly straight, radiating authority.

The air is thick with an unnameable tension, and you can’t quite tell whether it’s just the nerves of meeting someone as powerful as Mrs. Jeon.

“How are you feeling?” she politely asks.

For a moment you hesitate, wondering if she’s asking how you feel in general or referring to the pregnancy.

“I’m feeling good,” you cautiously say, trying to keep your tone neutral. “But the morning sickness has been hitting hard.”

To your surprise, a smile grows on her face.

“I understand,” her eyes now move to her firstborn. “I still remember how hard it was when I was pregnant with Jungkook.”

Her voice is so soft, melodic even, and it’s a bit of a contrast compared to the aura she exudes. For a moment, you take a proper look at Jungkook’s mother. Her son has inherited so much from her: the deep, thoughtful doe eyes, the perfectly sculpted round nose, and even the way they hold themselves with quiet confidence. You wouldn’t say he’s a copy of his mother, but he takes a lot after her. And he certainly is as good-looking as her.

“I think up until the sixth month, I wouldn’t go a day without throwing up,” she adds with a small chuckle as if the memory is distant but still vivid.

“Oh wow,” your fingers unconsciously rest on your stomach. “I hope that in my case, it will be over by then.”

Her gaze moves down to where your fingers are resting. She’s looking at your stomach—the undeniable proof of your connection to her son. The moment is brief, but it carries weight. She’s acknowledging the child, but perhaps also the unspoken implications of what it means for her family.

“Every pregnancy is different,” she finally says.

The air slightly changes, still filled with uncertainty, but not entirely unwelcoming. Maybe she’s just as uncertain about you as you are about her, but one thing is clear for you—she’s making an effort.

“And in your case, very unpredictable,” she adds.

There’s absolutely no doubt that she’s referring to your hybrid nature. It doesn’t surprise you; you knew she’d bring that up. The other way around would have surprised you.

“I know,” you answer, your eyes looking down at your hands. “And to be honest, I just have as many questions as you do, but I want to believe that, like any other mother, I’ll find my way.”

“I’m sure you will,” she gently says. “And you’re not alone.”

Your eyes now look up at her with obvious surprise. She notices your expression, a little smile subtly appearing on her face.

“I’m sure this is not easy for you,” she begins. “Discovering being a hybrid while being pregnant must be scary. But it’s also scary for us because you’re the very first hybrid. Nobody knows how to react. I personally don’t,” she admits. “You aren’t supposed to exist, neither the life growing inside you.”

Your heart resumes to beat rapidly in your chest.

“But if you’re still here, I guess it’s because the universe protected you, and fate chose you to be the mother of my grandchild.”

Her eyes very quickly gaze at her son; it’s very subtle but you notice it. You notice something briefly appearing in her gaze. Like some sort of heavy secret between her and her son. Something that you definitely want to know now.

“Jungkook made it very clear that he’ll protect you,” she continues. “And as a member of our family now, we will protect you.”

Tears start forming in your eyes while your heart swells with an emotion you can’t quite explain. Hearing her say that you’re a part of her family is honestly something you didn’t expect to hear today. Especially from her.

“I will for sure need some time to adjust to this new reality, but Jungkook deeply cares about you. As a mother and a wife, I can only understand what he feels.”

Jungkook’s hand meets your thigh to squeeze it gently. This gesture is a very comforting and reassuring one. Instinctively, you place your hand on top of his. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the Jeon’s matriarch. To her, there’s absolutely no doubt that you’re her son’s soulmate. It’s just so obvious.

She then asks you many questions about your past, how you found out about your hybrid nature, how you’ve been dealing with the news, and how it has been for you to discover suddenly this entire werewolf universe. Even though it’s clear that she’s not entirely comfortable with you, she’s making an effort. One that you deeply appreciate.

You’ve also got to know more about her. She’s a very honorable woman, and you can only admire her for her strength. She’s been a queen and she lost her husband two years ago. The mention of her husband seems to still be painful to her, but she liked to speak about him, to remember the man he was.

Although you were extremely nervous to meet her, the mood slowly softened, and the nervousness slowly faded away. It definitely was a pleasure to meet her. To meet the grandmother of your child. To meet Jungkook’s mother. But it was beyond anything else a pleasure to see Jungkook interact with his mother.

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