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CHRISTIAN HORNER GETTING FIRED PARTY AT MY HOUSE 🤭

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CHRISTIAN HORNER? FIRED? i’ve prayed for days like this

also objectively funny if they do all of this and max still leaves (i think he will)

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“Why aren’t you going to see the new F1 movie? You love F1!”

I don’t know, maybe the unnecessary romance plot between Brad Pitt’s character and the female race engineer.

Maybe because Simone Ashley was cut entirely from the movie.

Maybe Brad Pitt is an asshole and I don’t like him.

Maybe I don’t want to look at Brad Pitt for nearly two hours.

Maybe the “who said anything about safe?” line.

also why the fuck is it only called ‘F1 the movie’? Bring back creativity

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yeah

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I KNEW IT WAS GONNA HAPPEN BUT WHY DID IT HAVE TO HAPPEN

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but daddy i love him, part one - mv1

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

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

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

Melbourne, 2015

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

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

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

"They're still open?"

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

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

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

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

He hesitates. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Fair point. Here for the Grand Prix?"

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

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

"Cryptic."

You laugh. "Says the equally cryptic stranger."

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

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

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

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Scared?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's call it intuition."

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

"Different good or different bad?"

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

"Your father?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes widen. "Wolff? As in…"

"See you in the paddock, Max Verstappen."

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

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

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

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

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

Singapore, 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," you prompt softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barcelona, 2016

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

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

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

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

"Papa?"

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

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

Toto's eyebrows rise slightly. "Out?"

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

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

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

"Ricciardo?" His tone sharpens slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not fair."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Germany, 2016

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monaco, May 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Scared, Verstappen?"

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

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

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

A door opens down the hall.

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

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

"Everything okay?"

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

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

"Night, Papa!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Not helping!"

"Then probably murder you-"

"Still not helping!"

"And Lewis would hide the body-"

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

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

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

"He won't."

"But if he does-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was just-"

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

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

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

"It's not a game-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monza, 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Little Wolff?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, fresh tears threatening to fall.

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

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

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

Monaco, Summer 2018

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

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

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

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

"You're literally younger than me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I did not!"

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

You shove him playfully. "I hate you."

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

"You're not even in F1 yet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks surprised but pleased. "Absolutely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the hell are you doing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're being ridiculous."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"YN, wait-" Max calls after you.

"Go to hell, Verstappen."

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

"I hate him," you whisper.

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

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

"Would you care to explain these?"

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

"Papa, I-"

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

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

"It wasn't-"

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not fair."

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

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

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

"I'm twenty one!"

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

The threat lands. You sink lower in your chair.

"No, sir."

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

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

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

"Nothing is going on," you mutter.

"Then it should be easy to maintain distance."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not you too."

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

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

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

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

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

You pause at the door. "For what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good. Maybe he should."

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

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

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

"YN? What were you thinking?"

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

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

"Of course. Take care of her."

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

"I know," you whisper.

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

"It's not about Max."

"Isn't it?"

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

"Will you help me convince Papa?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Out of where?"

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

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

"You have?"

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

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

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

"You're not mad?"

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

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

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

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

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

Austria, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barcelona, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Max…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It wouldn't be like before-"

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

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

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

"YN, please-"

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

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

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

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

Monaco, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Max…"

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

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

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

"That was a mistake."

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

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

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

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

"Max, please-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If anyone finds out…" you start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We managed before."

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

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

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

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

"And you still want this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But tonight is just for the two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mm?"

"The cake…"

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

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

"Thank you," he says softly.

"For what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monaco, 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey Lan-"

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

Your heart stops. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Be careful," you whisper against his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keeping this a secret is becoming harder and harder.

Silverstone, 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Christian?" you suggest.

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

You both realize it at the same time.

"No," Max says.

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

"YN, he's the last person-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's a pause. "We?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max steps forward. "Lewis, I-"

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

"Since last year."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Promise."

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

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

"Lewis-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what is that?"

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

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

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

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

Silverstone, 2021. Race day

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

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

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

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

"Please. What you did last night-"

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

"You know why we couldn't-"

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

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

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

"It's not a little romance-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lap one. Copse Corner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"YN? You shouldn't-"

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

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

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

"Max?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Time?"

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

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

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

"You're sure?"

"Are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Promise me something else?"

"Anything."

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

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

"Max..."

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

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

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

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

"Max?"

"Hmm?"

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

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

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

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

Abu Dhabi, 2021

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

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

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

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

"Talk to me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max knows without asking. "Lewis?"

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

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

"Always."

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

"Lewis?" your voice is hesitant.

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

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

"Then why are you here?"

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

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

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

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

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

"So instead you just lied? Snuck around?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

"And I still think you're crazy."

"Probably."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You noticed?"

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

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

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

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

"Hey!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lew," your voice breaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was with Lewis."

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

"Max, don't."

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

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

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

"Are you seriously doing this right now?"

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

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

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

"They're my family!"

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

"That's not-"

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stops. "What are you saying?"

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

"Max…"

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

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

"I love you," you whisper.

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

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

[luvrrish]

MR. AND MRS. PERFECTLY FINE (PART II) LUKE HUGHES

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎pairing luke hughes x reader

SUMMARY the cracks in your marriage run deep, but even broken things can be mended, if both people are willing to try. after months of pretending, luke finally confronts the damage he’s caused, and the truth about how you found out threatens to break him. but sometimes the road to healing starts with facing the past. word count 1.1k

warnings heavy angst, hurt, emotional cheating, marriage problems, attempted reconciliation

note again, not apart of my 1k celebration, but so many of u requested a happy ending to the first part soo here 😋 this isn’t totally a happy ending, but i couldn’t let luke get away with cheating so easily ofc

LH43 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST PREVIOUS

WEEKS PASSED, AND the routine continued.

Perfect family photos. Perfect public appearances. Perfect smiles.

You were so good at pretending you almost believed it yourself.

Almost.

It was late on a Friday night, the house quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge. You were curled up on the couch with a blanket, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Luke had put Liam to bed an hour ago, but he hadn’t come downstairs since.

You wondered if he was hiding from you. If the tension was starting to get to him, too.

You didn’t have to wonder long. His footsteps were soft against the hardwood floor, but you heard them anyway. He appeared at the edge of the room, hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched.

You didn’t look up. “Liam asleep?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “Out like a light.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, continuing to scroll, pretending you didn’t notice how he hesitated before moving to sit on the opposite end of the couch. The distance was familiar, comfortable. Safer.

A beat of silence passed. Then another.

“I miss you.”

The words were so soft you almost thought you imagined them. But when you looked up, Luke’s eyes were on you, raw and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen in months.

You blinked, startled. “Luke—”

“I miss you,” he repeated, his voice cracking. “I miss us.”

The air left your lungs, and you looked away, your fingers tightening around your phone. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Luke leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together like he was trying to hold himself together. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I can’t stand this… this distance between us.”

You laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Distance? You created this, Luke.”

His shoulders sagged, and he looked down, his hair falling into his eyes. “I know. I know, and I hate myself for it.”

The crack in his voice did something to you, and you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay firm. “Why her?”

Luke’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “What?”

You let out a shuddering breath. “Out of everyone in the world, why did it have to be her?”

His face crumpled, and he looked away. “I never meant for it to be her. I never meant for it to be anyone.”

“But it was.” Your voice was quiet, and your chest tightened. “It was her. And you turned to her instead of me.”

Luke’s jaw clenched, his fingers digging into his knees. “I was… I was drowning.”

You felt your eyes burn, the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill over. “So was I.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and you could see the guilt wash over his face, his shoulders curling inward.

“How did you find out?” he asked, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

You looked down at your hands, your wedding band glinting in the low light. “You were at an away game. I was putting Liam to bed, and your iPad started buzzing on the kitchen counter. I thought it was your mom. She usually calls before his bedtime to say goodnight.”

Luke’s face went pale, his lips parting. He didn’t breathe, didn’t move.

You looked up, your eyes locking onto his. “It was her.”

The colour drained from his face, his mouth falling open. “No…”

You nodded slowly, your heart twisting as you remembered. “It was a long message. I didn’t read it at first. But then more came through. She was… worried about you. She asked if you were okay because you seemed off when you called her the night before.”

Luke’s eyes squeezed shut, his hands shaking. “Oh my God.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I didn’t even know you were upset. I didn’t know you were struggling. But she did.” Your voice broke. “Because you called her. Not me.”

Luke’s shoulders began to shake, his head hanging low as he tried to breathe through the pain. “I’m so sorry.”

You wiped at your eyes, forcing yourself to stay composed. “I thought I was enough. I thought I was the person you turned to when things got hard. But you found comfort somewhere else. With someone else.”

He shook his head, his hands coming up to cover his face. “I never meant… I never wanted to…”

“Then why did you?”

His hands fell away, his red-rimmed eyes meeting yours. “I don’t know.” His voice was rough, broken. “I wish I knew. I wish I could explain it. I was just… lost. I felt like I was failing, like I couldn’t be what you and Liam needed me to be. And she… she listened. She didn’t expect anything from me. She just… listened.”

The truth was like a punch to the gut, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hold the pieces together. “I would have listened, Luke.”

His face crumpled, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I know. I know, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

Silence fell, thick and heavy. You could hear his ragged breathing, see the way his hands trembled in his lap.

It was the most honest he’d been with you in months. And it hurt like hell.

But there was something else, too. A flicker of hope.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Luke wiped at his eyes, looking at you with a raw desperation that made your heart ache. “Just… don’t give up on us. Please.”

You looked down at your wedding band, the weight of it grounding you. “I don’t want to give up. But it’s not that simple.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he promised, his voice fierce and broken. “I’ll go to therapy, I’ll give you space, I’ll do anything. Just… please don’t walk away.”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered something inside you, and you looked up, meeting his gaze. “I don’t know how to trust you again.”

Luke’s face fell, but he nodded, his expression solemn. “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life earning it back.”

You watched him, his sincerity etched into every line of his face, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek. “Okay.”

Luke’s eyes widened, hope sparking. “Okay?”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “Okay. We’ll try.”

It wouldn’t be easy. The wounds were deep, the trust shattered. But maybe, they could be rebuilt.

And maybe one day, you could find your way back to each other.

Together.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ LH43 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST ✷ PREVIOUS

[luvrrish]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆ cat and mouse — 𝐋𝐍𝟒 𖤓

( 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗑 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ）

（ 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ）𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇

note ✫ i loveee writing drivers sister x driver 🥹

🝮

yn

liked by pierregasly and 1,164,455 others

yn 🐝🐝🐝🐝

alex_albon I have a feeling you like flowers but idk I’m not too sure

lando oh my goodness who got you all of these beautiful expensive flowers? 😱

⤷ yn one of my brothers friends he’s a real creep

⤷ lando i’ll protect you princess don’t be afraid

⤷ yn my knight in shining armor

oscarpiastri “We’re not dating guys I just buy her flowers whenever I see her which is almost everyday of the year because I follow her around like a lost puppy”

⤷ arthur_leclerc “Yeah he gets me seafood all the time even though he hates it but it’s just because he’s a good friend”

⤷ carlossainz55 “I know we’re not dating and I could see other people but why would I when I have her?”

⤷ georgerussell63 “Seriously guys we’re not dating I just call her baby and other names of endearment on a regular basis because we’re really good friends”

⤷ charles_leclerc “I’m not kidding Charlie we’re not messing around with each other he just takes me out to eat almost every morning, day, and night and sits with me during my nail and hair appointments but that’s what all friends do”

⤷ lorenzotl “Of course we don’t eat out every single day sometimes we cook together but not in a romantic way”

⤷ mclaren “She’s not my girlfriend but can I still get the day off for valentines so I can fill her house up with flowers and take her to dinner on the beach?”

⤷ lando wooowwwww you’re all fake and i’m running away with y/n

⤷ yn lets go to the maldives

⤷ lando wherever you want babylove pack your suitcase i’m booking the tickets rn

⤷ charles_leclerc Wait take me please

⤷ lando um no your confession was almost as bad as mclarens admin

⤷ charles_leclerc pleasuhhh remember when i didn’t drown you when defiled my sweet little baby sister last summer?

⤷ lando you mean when i kissed her on the forehead?

⤷ charles_leclerc whatever i didn’t drown you did i?

⤷ lando no you pushed me off the boat and made me bruise my ribs

⤷ charles_leclerc yeah then y/n pushed me off the boat too and made me bruise my ribs as well so….i’ll be waiting with my bags packed 😊

⤷ lando you’ll be waiting for a while

🝮

yn

liked by gigihadid and 2,371,056 others

yn he wasn’t kidding

charles_leclerc I can’t believe you guys didn’t take me

⤷ yn as if you can’t pay for a trip here yourself

⤷ charles_leclerc Yes but why would I want to do that when I could go for free?

lando only the best for you mon ami 😘

⤷ arthur_leclerc Fuck slow burn, me and my homies hate slow burn 😒

carlossainz55 “I hate seafood and I’ll hate it till the day I die” “I love seafood” “No way me too”

⤷ charles_leclerc I can confirm this is how this conversation went. 100% accuracy

⤷ yn my charlos heart 💔

⤷ charles_leclerc please stop that’s a sensitive topic for us right now

⤷ carlossainz55 You guys don’t understand the pain we’ve been going through

⤷ yn kiss and make up

f1 our favorite “friendship”

⤷ yn what you out here being messy for 🤨🤨

alexandrasaintmleux Ugh a girls trip with cha & jade is needed 😫😫

⤷ yn long overdue i’ll have lando plan something for us 🤗

⤷ georgerussell63 Lando? Plan something good? Really?

⤷ arthur_leclerc He doesn’t mess around when it comes to planning something for her

⤷ charles_leclerc Yeah I watched him plan her birthday he lowkey turned into a nerd

maxverstappen1 I want a boyfriend like lando

⤷ yn you have charles

⤷ maxverstappen1 Stop telling everyone we’re secretly dating I thought you would’ve grown out of that by now

⤷ yn grow out of telling the truth??

alex_albon Dear Lando Norris, I comment this under y/n’s post because I know you read every single comment to see if anyone is being mean to her. I, along with many of the other boyfriends and husbands on the grid kindly request that you stop doing the most for y/n, who you are not dating, because you are making us look very bad.

Love, Alexander Albon

⤷ lando Dear Alexander Albon, I reply to your comment under this post because yes you’re right, I do look at every single comment under her posts. I think you should all stop making excuses for yourselves and get your girlfriends & wives some flowers, you all can afford them. It doesn’t matter if they’re from the side of the road or from the best florist in the country, it’s the thought that counts. Ladies, if he wanted to he would. Xoxo, Lando Norris

⤷ yn clocked it

🝮

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1 and 729,538 others

lando fun in the sun

charles_leclerc my sister isn’t blonde you slut.

alex_albon oh that’s not…

oscarpiastri Do my eyes deceive me or are you cheating on y/n right now? 🤨🤨

francisca.cgomes i’m bout to tweak in this bitch bruh, i’m bout to tweak in this bitch bruh 😄

danielricciardo Oh!!! That’s….

lilymhe It’s always the ugly ones bruh

arthur_leclerc Fuck Lando Norris, me and my homies hate Lando Norris 😒

charles_leclerc Don’t come to dinner on Friday.

landolovesyn now why would he do this

sharls_lerklerk you really couldn’t just man up and ask her out could you?

georgerussell63 Hey so this is actually insane

landossluttywaist it’s like you want to make enemies with the all the drivers bruh

alexandrasaintmleux Hm

lando NO GUYS IT’S MAXS GIRLFRIEND PLEASE BELIEVE ME I WOULD NEVER BETRAY MY BABY LOVE PLEASE GUYS

⤷ maxfewtrell I can confirm

⤷ lando guys please i know this looks so bad but i swear i was just trying to be aesthetic

⤷ yn i too can confirm i was the one that told him to post that i did not think that through 😭😭

⤷ yn please stop dming lando saying you’re gonna find him and no will ever find his body he’s currently hyperventilating and on the verge of tears

⤷ charles_leclerc Thanks for clearing that up lando it would’ve been nice before I fucking released a bunch of snakes in your apartment

⤷ lando i just posted this 10 minutes ago???

⤷ charles_leclerc Don’t question me

⤷ charles_leclerc maman said come to dinner on friday 🤗

lilymhe I was joking obviously you’re very handsome lando…i guess 😒

maxverstappen1 Whatever you do, don’t eat any of the food in your apartment…

⤷ lando WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY FOOD

⤷ maxverstappen1 You don’t want to know

oscarpiastri I knew my eyes weren’t deceiving me 😎😎

arthur_leclerc Love Lando Norris, me and homies love Lando Norris ❤️

🝮

yn

liked by oliviarodrigo and 1,940,036 others

yn please leave some kind words in the comments for lando he is very distraught that the world thought he would do something like that

georgerussell63 Correction: Lando is very distraught that the world thought we would do something like that to you

charles_leclerc I never doubted Lando for second I knew he would never hurt you

⤷ yn then why did you release snakes in his apartment?? he was literally ready to abandon it

⤷ charles_leclerc I’m gonna be honest rn, I was still mad that he all the dubai chocolate you made

⤷ lando SHE LITERALLY MADE YOU MORE

⤷ charles_leclerc THEN YOU CAME OVER AND ATE ALL OF IT FATASS

⤷ lando UGH YOU DONT DESERVE HER DUBAI CHOCOLATE CUNT

⤷ yn you guys are fatties i literally made more last night and charles came over and stole it

⤷ charles_leclerc Who’s side are you on?

⤷ yn lando’s

⤷ charles_leclerc Wow. My own sister.

carlossainz55 I cannot lie, he can make some yummy pasta once in a blue moon

leclerc_pascale Poor Lando I know he would never do something like that to my baby ❤️

⤷ lando mama leclerc always been a real one 🤞🏽

mclaren Wait a minute, why is he in your bed??

⤷ scuderiaferrari And why is he shirtless??

⤷ yn WHAT YOU OUT HERE BEING MESSY FOR??

francolapinto a tear just ran down my leg

⤷ yn 😰????

⤷ yn hey me too tho

⤷ charles_leclerc Lando Norris you little slut you corrupted my little baby sister

⤷ lando hey bruh she was the one running her foot up and down my leg at dinner

⤷ carlossainz55 WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH

⤷ oscarpiastri WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH

⤷ georgerussell63 WOAH WOAH WOAH

⤷ charles_leclerc You pervert how dare you lay your slimy sick hands on my little baby sister

⤷ yn i’m 22 going on 23?

⤷ charles_leclerc Yeah and he’s 25 going on 26 that’s 3 years too old. He was talking when you couldn’t even hold your own head up.

⤷ yn you’re 4 years older than alex?

⤷ charles_leclerc WHOS SIDE ARE YOU ON I’M TRYING TO PROTECT YOU

⤷ yn protect me from lando? i literally hit him with a golf cart in mexico and he apologized to me for ruining my fun

⤷ charles_leclerc Yeah and he did apologize to you when you almost fell off your bike in singapore after he fell of his cause you ran into him

🝮

yn

liked by charles_leclerc and 2,795,443 others

yn 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

danielricciardo little lando norris grew a pair

oscarpiastri Lando after asking the second biggest question of his life

⤷ alex_albon what the first?

⤷ oscarpiastri “Will you marry me?”

⤷ charles_leclerc Don’t even joke like that.

scuderiaferrari Wait our little baby isn’t so little anymore 🥹

leclerc_pascale My little loves 🥰🥰

lando MINE ALL MINE ALL MINE

lando I’M NEVER LETTING YOU GO

alexandrasaintmleux Soo cute 🥹❤️❤️

♥︎ by author

lilymhe I know them bee’s LOVE your apartment

⤷ yn we’ve created a bond

estiebestie only took a few years

⤷ lando you try getting charles leclercs approval to date his little baby sister then get back to me

mclaren It’s been a long time coming 🧡

francolapinto why can’t we all just kiss?

⤷ yn the closet is made of glass

⤷ francolapinto what are you trying to say??

⤷ yn you’re gay 💅🏽🏳️‍🌈

⤷ lando allyyyy 🏳️‍🌈

pierregasly Use protection kids

⤷ charles_leclerc I will kill you

maxverstappen1 Sometimes I seriously wonder how Lando hasn’t gotten blue balls yet

⤷ lando i be getting lucky with her on holidays

⤷ charles_leclerc OH MY GOSH YOU SICKO I CANT BELIEVE I INVITED YOU TO MEXICO WITH US FOR NEW YEARS

⤷ arthur_leclerc yeah i woke up in the middle of night one day and lowkey traumatized myself

⤷ charles_leclerc WHY WOULDNT YOU TELL ME

⤷ arthur_leclerc i just said i was traumatized charles why would i want to talk about it

⤷ yn chile always soo

🝮

lando

liked by oscarpiastri and 3,301,462 others

lando i’ve peaked

charles_leclerc Bastard

⤷ leclerc_pascale Charles be nice

⤷ charles_leclerc I was joking you’re not a bastard Lando

danielricciardo Crazy son of a bitch did it

oscarpiastri Never thought you’d actually get this far to be totally honest

alex_albon he has finally felt the warm embrace of a woman

♥︎ by author

francolapinto so do we kiss now?? like what happens next?

⤷ yn june is coming up ❤️ you have our support buddy

charles_leclerc I hope you two breakup

⤷ lando you joke but i know you know how well i treat her and i know you’d be sad if we ever did

⤷ charles_leclerc shut up i can’t handle the truth

⤷ francisca.cgomes how can you be so supportive but yet so unsupportive at the same time??

⤷ charles_leclerc It’s a talent 😎

arthur_leclerc Ignoring the fact that you’re basically motorboating my little sister, welcome to family bro 🥹🥹💗💞💖💘💕💓💓

⤷ charles_leclerc don’t welcome him to the family they’re not getting married jeez

⤷ yn you say that like he hasn’t been apart of the family since 2020

⤷ lorenzotl And you honestly think they’re not gonna get married in a few years?

⤷ arthur_leclerc He’s literally been planning this since 2021

⤷ charles_leclerc Ignoring those comments for my mental health

lewishamilton the game of cat and mouse is officially over folks, thanks for joining us on this journey. next up, marriage

⤷ charles_leclerc seriously?

[luvrrish]

We Can’t Be Friends (I’ll Wait For Your Love) | Luke Hughes

summary: luke hughes said he wanted to be your friend. so what does it feel like feel like you’re falling in love. (umich! luke x umich! reader)

[word count] 9.5k

warnings: MATURE! friends to lovers | angst | no happy ending :( | drinking | parties | kissing | fade to black smut | groping | mature themes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: a lil somethin inspired by this request! i’ve had this fic written (although written terribly) for probably 4 years. it was originally a different player, and I always wanted to re-vamp it. so when I got this request, it made me think of it. and who better than my fav hughes boy 💋

🎵 we can’t be friends (i’ll wait for your love) by ariana grande

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

march 21st: present day

sometimes you think meeting luke hughes was inevitable. you're not sure what exactly it was that had you drawn to one another—perhaps it was finding yourselves in a similar friend group, or maybe it was as simple as both of you waking up every morning at 9:37 a.m. exactly. you're both punctual people, driven and motivated when it comes to what you want—at least, you thought he was.

but as you stand in front of luke hughes today, tears in your eyes and your heart on the floor, you're not so sure.

october: your freshman year, luke's sophomore

the music is pumping through the speakers sitting stagnant in the makeshift frat house living room, echoing through the walls and vibrating your blood. you timidly sneak through the growing crowd of drunk university students, sending a small smile and apology anytime you bump into a body when they inevitably send you a dirty look.

your dorm roommate, olive had went to the bathroom almost thirty minutes ago, and you're starting to get a little worried. after all, you're both freshman in a place you've never been before. she could be lost, or hurt. she could've even gone home. you don't know, but you're sure as hell going to find out. you continue making your way through the room, in the direction of the stairs leading to where she assumed a bathroom would be.

it seems like forever until you're exiting the heart of the crowd, practically stumbling as you get into a more relaxed, less crowded space—right between the start of the kitchen and hall that leads to the stairway. you can finally feel breeze on your sweaty neck, and that's a reward in itself. you huff, looking around the space with determined eyes.

there's olive, pressed against the wall by some guy with thick thighs and pretty hair. her hands squeeze the guys shoulders, and before you can think logically, you're making your way over there. is this guy trapping her there? is she trying to push him off?

"olive!" you call her name, and as soon as you say it, you've realized your mistake. they'd been kissing, rather passionately according to the bulge forming in mystery man's pants.

your roommate eyes you wildly, "y/n?"

you freeze, and then to make evening worse you let a giggle slip out. you cover your mouth, an attempt to mask the growing smirk. you've always been a chronic stresser, which a lot of the time can be annoying, and well, stressful. but on the rare occasion your overthinking leads to funny moments—like interrupting your roommates dry humping session for example.

olive kind of looks at you like she can't decide if she wants to murder you, or laugh along. the guy who was just sucking her face decides he wants to laugh, letting a few deep rumbles echo between the three of you. "sorry, I can let you guys talk if like...something's wrong?"

your laughter has faded into just the occasional giggle, and you hold your hands out as if you're asking him to stop. "no, sorry, you're good. i'm just going to excuse myself...have a drink."

olive nods once, "you do that."

you giggle again, and then send the mystery man a small nod. "nice to meet you strange boy, i'm sure i'll see you again."

you don't spare them another look before turning away, darting into the frat kitchen. considering it's a party, the kitchen is pretty deserted. there's a couple whispering with one another against the fridge, and three frat looking guys hovering around the island, making those stupid beer car swords from their empties.

you ignore them all, darting towards the makeshift drink bar that's really just 10 bottles of hard liquor lined up by the sink and various cans of pop and sparkling water—warm ones at that—scattered along the counter. you pick up a can of diet coke, and the can is sticky. you cringe as you pour it into your solo cup, and then you add a healthy shot of rum.

someone approaches the counter next to you, there movements a little slow but determined. it's a guy, you think. he smells like laundry and a little bit like vodka and sweat—but not stinky sweat, but like deodorant musk. his hand darts into your space to grab the rum, his long fingers wrapping around the neck before bringing it towards his cup.

that's when you look at him. it's one of the frat looking guys that had been building a beer tower when you first walked in, expect now his beer tower has been abandoned on the sticky island while he pours himself a mixed drink. he's tall, but not scarily so, with curly hair that he definitely doesn't know how to take care off—you can tell that based on how it looks unbrushed and frizzy. he's wearing a loose hawaiian shirt, because the theme of the night was hawaiian, paired with board shorts that don't match.

you're staring at him—analyzing him—when his hazel eyes find yours. "hey." he says, voice raspy from yelling over the music all night.

"hi." you nod, taking a slow sip of your drink. you've definitely added too much rum, but the buzz is too nice to do anything about it. "you done with beer for the night?"

at first, his brows pull in confusion, but then he watches your eyes dart to the sword made of beer cans and it all makes sense—you'd seen him. he shrugs nonchalantly, the corner of his mouth slinking up in a half smile as he adds way too much rum to a brand new solo cup. "yeah," he hums, eyes flickering back to you. "thought i'd opt for something a little more...tasteful."

you could swear his eyes flicker down to your lips as he says it, but you're unsure. so you hum lightly, taking another sip of your drink.

he continues. "enjoying yourself?"

"can't say i'm not." you say after a moment, quirking a brow in his direction when his smirk grows. he adds sprite to his cup, which you're sure won't mix well with rum, but you don't say anything about that.

he takes a sip and immediately coughs, grimacing at the flavours battling in his mouth. "shits rank." he winces again, doing a full body shutter that makes you laugh. he looks back to you, a small smile blooming on his face. "don't laugh."

you hold your hands up in mock surrender. "everyone knows sprite doesn't go with rum—or I guess, most people know."

he breathes a laugh. "what are you? a bartender or an alcoholic?"

you grin. "maybe both."

"luke, come play pong." a voice interrupts whatever response he could've come up with. when you look towards the entrance of the kitchen, you're met with the sight of not only olive, but the guy she'd been locking lips with minutes ago.

clearly the mystery guy knows the guy in front of you—luke. when olive sees you, she lights up, "y/n!" one of her small fingers pointing at you almost accusatorially. "and you. come play."

you blink, but a laugh bubbles out your chest anyways. "what?" you say at the same time luke says, "why?" which ends with the two of your eyeing each other—almost like how have our friends just happened to be making out and now we've met and they're asking us to play a drinking game kinda look—before looking back at olive and the man who is still unnamed to you.

"the guys wanna play pong in partners and we need another duo." luke's friend answers, brown eyes pleading as he looks between the both of you.

olive chimes in, her tiny hands wrapped around his bulging bicep. it's then that you notice the shirt underneath his open blue hawaiian one, is a michigan wolverines one. "yeah and it seems like you two have been acquainted."

your mouth opens like you're going to protest, but luke's smooth voice cuts you off. "we're just...talking."

his friend snickers. "okay, well talk while you're throwing balls in some beer."

you pull a face at the wording of his scentence, which makes him laugh. you're pretty sure you hear olive call him ethan through her half scold, half laugh.

somebody calls through the house, telling ethan to hurry up or the balls will get cold. that has your face pulling further, fingers flexing around the solo cup in your hand. ethan tells whoever it is to suck it and be patient.

luke sighs, although the sound is more amused than anything else. he pushes off the counter he'd previously started leaning against, chugging the remainder of his nasty drink before he nods towards ethan and olive. "okay, let's go."

olive cheers, and ethan makes a noise of triumph, the two of them spinning around and making their way back into the crowd of the house—disappearing through bodies and voices getting drowned out by the drake song playing over the speakers.

you don't move though, and luke notices. he eyes you, one brow shooting upwards in question. you send him a hesitant look, a shy smile blooming on your stained lips.

"you coming?"

you laugh. "oh, i'm not good at beer pong. I played once in high school, and the ball hit my opponent more than the cups. you guys should just find someone else, i'm good just...spectating." you trail off, swallowing the sudden rush of nerves climbing up your throat. you curse yourself for rambling, especially when it's to someone you just met, but you can't help it when you feel nervous.

luke's eyes drop down your body, slowly trailing over your limbs and your silly hawaiian get up. he's assessing you, and it's making you a bit hot. eventually his hazel eyes dart back to yours, a dismissive frown on his lips. "nah...I trust you."

he's looking at you kinda warmly...and it makes you feel even weirder than when he was borderline checking you out. you've never done well with male attention, mostly because affection makes you squeamish��you've always been that way. so you clear your throat, laughing awkwardly and like you always do to clear the subject. "fine! but if we loose you have to remember this very moment."

luke laughs, the two of you walking out into the chaos of the party. the scent of liquor and coconut body spray immediately fills your nostrils. he lets his hand hover the small of your back as the crowd envelopes you. luke leans down so that he can talk in a normal tone, "okay, no problem. but we won't loose, y/n."

you grin. "big talk, luke."

the first round of beer pong is a bust, and you don't even come close to getting a point for your and luke. his friends, who luke introduced at lightning speed—their names have completely slipped your mind now—snicker and laugh each time you fail, which makes you feel embarrassed. but luke doesn't care, and he never once makes you feel stupid about being bad at a meaningless game of beer pong.

he sure as hell makes you feel flustered though—whispering encouragement against the shell of your ear while you try not to squirm. but that's neither here or there.

it's not until the third game that you get a point, and when the ball skims the rim of the cup before falling into the beer with a quiet plop, luke cheers, grabbing you in his arms and spinning you around. "holy shit." he says, grin on his face. "what a shot! we have a chance of winning now."

you don't have a chance, but the only thing you can do is smile back at him. and when you and luke inevitably don't win, and you're quick to tell him, "I told you so."

luke blinks, that half lazy smirk he'd had on his face back in the kitchen once again back. the room is still loud, and unbelievably hot. you can barley focus on anything besides luke's friends, which you have since learned are his teammates, goofing around in a new game of beer pong.

you look up at him tenderly, a hint of nervousness in your gaze. luke tongues his cheek, and then let's out an amused chuckle. "hey...put your number in my phone?"

you squint. "i'm not looking for a boyfriend."

luke laughs again, this time more breathily and it makes your breath catch in your chest. "me either."

your face falls, but the smile threatens to break you out of your faux annoyance.

"okay fine, i'll put mine in yours." luke doesn't break eye contact when he suddenly reaches out, plucking your phone out of your back pocket. he turns it on, and his brows pull when he notices you don't have a password. he thumbs your screen, adding himself as a contact and texting himself so that he has your number.

you snatch it back, which makes him smile even wider. he knows you're not actually upset with him, because you waited until he was finished adding his number before stopping him—and that's a win in his books. "that's a violation of privacy."

"if you want privacy you should put a password on that thing." he retorts.

"or maybe you shouldn't take my phone." you look down at your screen to see he's added himself as 'beer pong king' in your contacts.

luke's grin doesn't waver, and he lets a tense moment of silence pass between you before speaking again. "I want to be your friend, y/n." his eyes glimmer with something you can't decipher, "if that's okay with you."

november: freshman year

a month passes since the luau party at the frat house—which luke has since corrected you, because it's not a frat house, it's his house that he shares with a group of guys from his team. in other words, the sophomore house. to which your response was, tomato tamoto.

luke texted you two days after he hijacked your phone and got your number. there was a part of you that thought you'd never hear from him after that—he was drunk, like you, and he's just been bold in that moment and then woke up hungover and full of regret. but apparently not. it was a simple message, asking if you wanted to come over and watch a movie.

it has taken you by surprise, and you could only blink at your phone screen for 5 minutes while you attempted to collect your thoughts. but eventually you said yes, and before you knew it, luke was picking you up.

in the month you've been hanging out with luke you've learned a few things. one of them being that he's a flirt. you don't even know if he's aware how flirtatious and touchy he is, especially with you—but if he does know, he doesn't care. luke also loves to push your buttons, which is just an extension of his flirting.

you swear luke gets off on watching you get annoyed or flustered with the things he says and things he does. and you know that because everytime he starts, he's got that half lipped smirk on his face—watching and waiting for your reaction like it's a game. every unimpressed pout and unhidden grin from you is met with luke's contagious breathy laughter and crinkling eyes.

but sometimes you think you like it more than luke does.

you've also learned that luke is a chronic procrastinator when it comes to his personal life. things like doing his laundry, cleaning his room, or even simply ordering a tux for events was always done at the last possible minute. so it didn't come as a surprise when luke showed up to your dorm room, the day before the wolverines welcome banquet, asking if you'd be his plus one.

you send him a deadpanned look, crossing your arms over the oversized, worn out lady gaga concert tee you thrifted almost 5 years ago. there's threads pulled at the collar and a hole right next to your belly button, and luke can see your soft skin through it. he grins, eyes darting back up to your clean face and clear rimmed glasses.

"tomorrow night?" you ask him, hand coming up to scratch your head, which proves to be a bit difficult with the huge tangled bun on top of your head, but you manage.

"yeah." he shrugs nonchalantly, walking past you and straight into your messy dorm room. olive is out thankfully, but her side of the room isn't the problem—yours is. your laptop is left running, playing an episode of 90 day fiancé, and there's a collection of your water bottles on a rolly cart you dubbed as a beside table.

there's clothes and textbooks strewn all over the floor, and a pair of worn underwear just right out in the open. your eyes widen, rushing past luke and balling them up in your hand before he can see them.

luke plops right down on your mattress, unfazed by everything, and brings your laptop to rest on his stomach. he looks at you, "it'll be fun."

you make a noise that sounds like a scoff, standing in the middle of your room like you're frozen. "do I need to wear a dress? is this like a serious banquet thing?"

luke's brow furrow, bottom lip jutting out into a pout. "I guess so? it's like fancy and stuff, i'm wearing a suit." his words having your sighing, mentally going through your closet—looking for something appropriate for an event like this. oh god, you can't even remember if you have heels here.

as if luke can see your brain working over time, he sits up, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the bed. your thighs hit the mattress, and it has you blinking in surprise. luke's fingers squeeze the bone of your wrist firmly, "don't over think it, y/n. you don't have to if you're busy, but I would really like it if you came."

your heart thumps dramatically, and you almost want to roll your eyes about it. but you don't. "okay," you breathe, "I can come."

luke grins and it has you joining in. you're sure you'll find something to wear, and worse case olive has some stuff she'd surely lend you. plus, tomorrow is hair wash day, so that works out in your favour.

he pulls you onto your bed, "okay now let's watch this shit." you roll your eyes as luke adjusts the laptop back onto his stomach, your show still playing loudly through the overused speakers.

turns out, you had no appropriate attire for a university banquet in your wardrobe. everything was either too short, or too low cut. olive kept insisting luke wouldn't mind, to which you kept having to remind her that it's not about luke and you don't care what he thinks.

that makes olive snort.

you're sweating by the time olive hands you a high neck red dress that she dug out from the back of her closet. she thrust’s you into the small bathroom you share, which is still boiling hot from your hairdryer, and urges you to try it on.

you slip it on, and it's fits you nicely. it will have to do. as you're sliding small, thick hoops into your ears, the sound of luke knocking on the door echos through the dorm. you hear olive let him in, and then luke immediately asking where you are. to which olive responds, 'in the bathroom you clingy freak.'

when you emerge from the small, yellow painted walls of the restroom, luke is lounging on your bed in a suit, fiddling with his tie absentmindedly. when the door squeaks open though, his eyes dart up, meeting yours.

luke swallows, pupils dilating as he looks you over.

olive cheers, gesturing for you to spin around with a twirl of her index finger. "wow that looks better on you than it ever did me. you can keep it."

"yeah," luke hums, getting off the bed just as you come to a stop. "keep it."

you look away when you feel a blush crawl up your neck, busying yourself and grabbing the strappy heels you'd found in your shoe bin 1 hour ago. luke steps in front of you, and before you can blink he's grabbing the shoes from you. "let me."

you send him a deadpanned look. "I can put my shoes on, luke."

he ignores you and drops down to his one knee. "shut up and let me put your heels on your feet." your stomach swoops and you huff loudly. luke taps your ankle, signalling for you to lift your foot. you do, and when you begin to teeter from being off balance your rest your hand on luke's broad shoulder to steady yourself.

he slips your heel on, fingers tickling your skin as he crosses the straps aorund your calfs. each movement is delicate and gentle, like he's trying to give you goosebumps on purpose. and it works.

when luke switches to your next foot, olive snorts again, which is her version of laughing, looking between you both amused. "you guys are ridiculous."

he huffs a laugh, finishing up with the heel. as he gets back up, luke trails two fingers up the back side of your leg, dipping with your knee pit and moving halfway up the backside of your thigh. olive doesn’t notice, thank god, because you don't even know what you'd say if she did. you're frozen, and flustered, blinking up at luke as he stands to his full height.

"ready?" he asks you casually—like he didn't just touch you so softly.

you nod and olive shouts, "have fun you two!"

december: freshman year

beer pong king

11:51 p.m.

i'm coming over

beer pong king

12:03 a.m.

are you awake?

beer pong king

12:07 a.m.

i'm in your building

your phone vibrates against your twin mattress. it doesn't really wake you, and you sigh dreamily, tucking your head further into the pillow.

it vibrates again, and this time your eyes begin fluttering open. you blink through the darkness, your dorm room only illuminated by the light under your microwave. you're alone, cleo already gone home for winter break. her clinical finished before yours, which is stupid, so you leave tomorrow instead of yesterday like your roommate.

there's a knock on your door, and that's when you finally register your phone that has been buzzing next to you. it's luke—texting and what you can only assume, knocking at your door at 12:10 in the morning.

you all but stumble out of your warm bed and trudge across the small room until you're at the door. with sleep still clouding your vision and your too thin pyjamas on, you open the threshold between your room and luke.

he blinks, quickly eyeing your appearance before he grins. "hey sleepy head."

your response is a hum, one that tells luke you're not quite fully awake yet. he knows that this semester has been tough on you. your program is demanding and has long hours, and you've been getting used to the schedule, but that doesn't mean you're happy or content with it.

he wraps his arm around you, pulling your goosebump covered body into his chest. you go easily, and once luke's warmth envelops you, you're sighing. he laughs once, "missed you today."

missed you too, is what you want to say, but instead, "i've been tired, i'm sorry."

luke has pushed you both back into your room and let’s the door swing closed behind him. he adjusts his hold on you, wrapping his arm over your shoulder as he guides you back to your bed. "I know, you don't need to apologize."

he helps you shuffle back between your blankets—way too many if you ask him—before he slips in beside you. the routine comes naturally to both of you, as you've been doing to for three months straight. 

instinctively you curl into luke's side, seeking his warmth. he smells like soap and hockey, which reminds you that tonight he had a game. his appearance at your dorm makes even more sense now, because he always wants to sleep at yours after home games. luke claims it's because he's tired and your dorm is closer than his house, but you think he's just a big baby who thinks your bed is more comfortable.

"how was your game?" you ask quietly, nuzzling into his shoulder. "did you guys win?"

luke's chest rises in a deep breath before he exhales loudly. his fingers run through your hair, twirling your soft strands absentmindedly. "nah, we got our asses fucking handed to us. the guys were sloppy, and we weren't producing. refs were calling stupid penalties and..." he trails off, sighing away some of the building frustration. "i'm sorry, you're tired."

you shake your head against his chest. "yeah...but keep talking. your voice is soothing me."

his brow quirks up. "are you being serious?"

you moan sleepily, the hushed conversation already beginning to lull you back to sleep. "mhmm."

"okay," he whispers, and because he can't resist the chance to push your buttons, he mumbles, "what do you want me to talk about?"

"luke."

he laughs breathily, pressing his nose against your hairline, lips softly brushing over your forehead. if you were more awake you'd be flustered, but you're already falling back to sleep, your lips puffing out and the softest snores passing through you.

before luke met you, after a tough loss he'd usually be out with his friends, drinking and blowing off steam in some random girls bed. but since you wandered into his life, the thought has luke feeling nothing short of repulsed.

he'd rather lay with you in your dark dorm room, fall asleep to the sound of your snores than even think about going out. and that thought has him feeling a little funny, so luke closes his eyes and rest his head against yours—letting sleep overtake him.

january, freshman year

"god it's so fucking cold my balls are going to fall off." you curse, teeth chattering as you shuffle along the snow dusted pathway. michigan winter has turned out to be relentless, and you were hoping while you were back home for christmas the weather would subside—but no.

beside you, luke laughs and his breathes comes out in a puff of white fog. he sends you a ludicrous look, "you don't have balls."

"okay fine," you huff, "my vagina is going to shrivel up."

luke pulls a face. "graphic."

you shrug casually under your oversized winter coat. "well that's the image you have to live with when I die from this frigid weather." you slow in your already turtle comparable steps. "while i'm on my death bed and you're crying because you made me go on a stupid walk in the middle of winter."

you've been home from break for one day, and that's all the time you were given before luke was begging you to spend time with him. you agreed obviously—but you weren't expecting 'hanging out' to entail walking across campus in the frigid temperatures for what luke says is fun.

he rolls his eyes fondly at your dramatics, and pulls you into his side like it's second nature. living in michigan means luke is used to the cold—where while you're from a warmer state, meaning this feels like the north pole. you're certainly dressed like it. luke said earlier you looked like a baby penguin. "you're so dramatic. you'll be fine, c'mere."

you tuck underneath his arm easily, and you're already starting to feel warmer. your toes are still frozen though, and as you begin walking again you groan. luke continues, squeezing your bicep. "is it such a crime that I wanted to spend time with my best girl?"

"you should call her then! she can take my place!" you say with faux enthusiasm, flicking the side of luke's torso. you doubt he can feel it though.

luke laughs. "you already know you're my best girl, you smart ass."

you gasp lewdly. "who are you calling smart ass?"

"enough you weirdo," luke says with nothing short of amusement. "i'm sorry" he mumbles into your winter hat—your pom-pom tickling his cheek.

you hum like you don't believe the sincerity of his apology. regardless, you wrap your arms around his middle. "you can make it up to me by getting me a hot chocolate."

"okay." luke agrees easily.

you add on, "and a lemon loaf."

he nods, looking down at you through snowflake covered eyelashes. "can I get a bite at least?"

a beat passes. "i'll consider it."

"wow, you're so generous."

"shut up."

february, freshman year

it's still pitch black outside when your eyes flutter open. you groan at the funny feeling swirling in your belly—the same feeling that woke you out of sleep.

luke's breathing steady beside you, his laptop now closed on his nightstand from where it was previously between your bodies, playing re-runs of 9-1-1, when you feel asleep. you'd been feeling a little off all day—a headache accompanied by exhaustion and a nauseous feeling lingering in your stomach.

you had brushed it off and chalked it up to not enough sleep. after all, the new semester was kicking your ass. when luke offered l to chill at his place for the night, you figured it was exactly what you needed—sheets that smell like him and the proper working heating system would be the cure.

but something is now really wrong. you groan, checking the clock on your phone to see it’s almost 3 in the morning. hoping to ignore the sickly feeling, you lay back down and close your eyes, praying that sleep will take you once again.

but then your stomach gurgles, and the lurches and you know you're about to be sick. you jump out of bed, barley making it into the en suite bathroom attached to luke's room before you're hurling, throwing up the entire days continents into the toilet bowl.

it feels like you're throwing up forever, when in reality it's only two minutes—your body switching between dry heaving, groaning and actually puking. you take a deep breath, desperately trying to ignore the sour taste in your mouth or else you'll start being sick again.

tears cloud your vision as you pull away from the toilet, too exhausted to flush it, and lean back against the cold, cracked tiles of the bathroom wall. they feel nice against your warm skin, which is coated in a layer of sweat.

luke pops his head into the bathroom, brows pulled in concern as he catches sight of your pale, sickly face. "hey, you alright?"

you take a deep, shaky breath and shake your head. "I think i've got a stomach bug," you gag, and luke's eyes widen, looking between you and the toilet frantically. it's a false alarm, and you sit back against the wall. "I think i'm going to hang out here." a dry, cracking laugh leaves you.

but luke doesn't find it funny. his bare feet pad into the bathroom, flushing the toilet and filling up one of the little paper mouthwash cups with tap water before you can even blink. he crouches in front of you and hands you the water. "you're shaking."

are you? you didn't notice.

luke plops down next to you and gathers your tangled hair off your warm neck. you sigh gently as the cool air touches you skin, eyes fluttering shut. your stomach isn't feeling any better, and the water you just drank, although a minimal amount, isn't helping.

wordlessly you hover back over the toilet bowl as bile climbs up your aching throat, and luke follows wordlessly. he keeps your hair up and out of your face as your throw up again, his other hand smoothing up and down your t-shirt covered back—his t-shirt that you borrowed, now caked in cold sweat.

once you're done, luke flushes for you once again and then helps guide you back to the wall.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, a low groan rumbling your chest. "you don't have to stay," you whisper in the dim bathroom, eyes glassy as they meet his. "it's late, and you have an early practice."

luke shrugs casually against you. wait, when did he pull you into his lap? his hand continues running up and down your spine, soothing you while your head rests against his neck—your forehead sticking to him uncomfortably. "i'll be alright. as long as you're okay."

30 minutes lass and you haven't thrown up again. luke helps you back onto your feet—slowly—and then brings you back to his bed. at this point your too exhausted to speak, never mind walk, so you let him move you around like a ragdoll.

your stomach is still upset, but it's nowhere near as painful as when you first got up. you cuddle under the warm blankets, still shaking as luke pulls you against his chest. you fall back to sleep in what feels like seconds with your head on luke's peck and him pressing what you're pretty sure are pecks against your damp hairline.

the cycle repeats again at 4:30 and then again closer to 7. and both times luke is there, holding you while you cry and keeping your hair back while your heave.

luke's alarm blares at 7:45. surprisingly it doesn't wake you up, which luke is thankful for because you look absolutely wrecked. he quickly gets ready for practice—brushing his teeth, getting dressed and mucking a protein shake before he attempts to wake you.

softly, he brushes his fingers over your cheek, and your eyes flutter open. "hey," luke whispers, sitting down next to you. "i'm gunna go to practice. you gunna be okay? or do you want me to call olive?"

you shake your head no. "but if you want your bed rid of a sick girl, I can get olive to come get me."

this time luke shakes his head no, running his index finger across your eyebrow soothingly. "i'll be back in a few hours." he promises, forcing a small smile. the sight of your ghostly pale complexion and rosy nose has him feeling worried and quite frankly, sick himself.

your eyes flutter closed again as luke smooths a hand over your messy hair. you hum quietly and curl back into the duvet, letting some much needed sleep take you once again.

thankfully it seems that the actual stomach sickness part of your stomach bug has passed, and you don't wake up again until luke is coming back from practice—hair damp from the showers.

he's got a grocery bag in his hand containing a few bottles of ginger ale and one of those electrolyte drinks you hate but luke loves and insists you need. he sets them on the nightstand and greets you gently. "how you feeling?"

you shrug, "better than earlier."

luke passes you the electrolyte one and makes you take three big gulps. you grimace the whole time, but he knows you need to have some. a feeling of guilt rushes through you—you're sure the last thing luke wants to do is play doctor for a girl he's only known since october. for a friend.

you tuck your legs to your chest and rest your chin on your knees. "I'm sorry luke," you say, voice hoarse, "you don't have to take care of me. I can call olive to come get me now...give you your bed back."

his head cocks to the side and exhales roughly through his nose like you're crazy for even suggesting something so insane. "don't be sorry, y/n. you can't help it if you've got the stomach bug." luke thrusts the drink back in your direction and you take another sip.

you shrug shyly, "I know, but still it's not ideal. I know it's not what you signed up for when you asked me to hang out."

luke lets out a huff of laughter, wrapping his fingers around your ankle bone and squeezing. "in sickness and in health."

his words makes you smile. your lips are dry and cracked, and it hurts—but that doesn't stop you from grinning. "that only applies to married people, luke."

"tomato tamoto." he shushes you playfully, squeezing your ankle bone one more firm time before he lets go. in the next few minutes luke helps you get situated with new clothes to change into, and then sets up his laptop where he puts on your favourite movie.

when you're back in bed, wearing clean clothes and sipping nasty electrolytes—reluctantly so luke doesn't chop your head off—tucked into luke's side as the sound of 27 dresses playing through the room, you look up at him softly, a tiny smile playing on your mouth. "thank you."

"of course." luke says with just as much tenderness as you. then he blinks, turning back to his computer. "now shut up, i'm trying to check out katherine heigl's boobs."

you click your tongue, pushing on luke's cheek to push him away from you. luke laughs, grabbing your wrist before you can retract it and playfully nipping the skin of your palm.

march 11th: freshman year

luke grits his teeth, and he's pretty sure they're about to crack under the pressure. his eyes are pointed and angry, watching from across the crowded living room of his teammates place.

you laugh loudly, and the sound makes his stomach swirl. he's pretty sure that laugh specifically was fake—luke's heard your actual laugh enough to know it's more of a cackle, rather than the light breathy one you just made.

his eyes almost roll out of his sockets as he watches you kindly reach out, placing a gentle hand on jacob truscotts shoulder. yes, jacob truscott—luke's damn teammate. luke knows you're just being friendly, and you’re only trying to get to know his friends, but luke knows that jacob is enjoying it a little bit too much just by the way his eyes keep darting to your tits.

with the run to the playoffs approaching, some of the guys on the team decided to throw a celebratory party. his captains off-campus home was filled with athletes and friends alike—accompanied by the occasional stranger, and of course puck bunnies. a typical hockey party of u of mich.

you haven't even been here an hour, and already your attention has been taken away from luke. first it was kayleigh, rutger's girlfriend, who insisted that you had to dance with her. and then you just keep mingling, floating around the room like you belonged there.

and luke loves it—watching you get along with his friends and teammates did a funny thing to his heart. but his joy faded when you landed next to jacob, who's been chatting with you for almost 25 minutes. that's 20 minutes longer than anyone else besides kayleigh tonight.

sure, luke thinks. you're single and attractive, and so is truscott. jacob is charismatic and a little nerdy, just like luke, so of course you'd been drawn to him. and of course you're allowed to do what you want, and so is his teammate—but how dare jacob flirt with you.

you're luke's.

jacob looks through the crowd, and his smirk grows once he catches the daggers luke is sending his way. he turns his attention back to you, and you raise a brow curiously. "you know," he starts, "hughes is totally trying to kill me with his eyes right now. I think he's a little jealous i'm with his girl."

your breath catches in shock, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you try and find your wording. all that does is make jacob's knowing grin widen. eventually you shake your head, a soft laugh leaving you. "oh...no, i'm—i'm not his girl."

jacob laughs once, "you sure?"

you blink, completely at a loss for words. your skin feel hot, like you could either pass out or ignite in flames. luke's just your friend, you know this. that's what he told you, months ago, when he got your number.

"I want to be your friend, y/n. if that's okay with you."

but do friends take each other to banquets and trail their fingers up your leg to make you shiver? do friends come to your room after every home game, win or loose, to simply just fall asleep with you? do friends buy you hot chocolate and lemon loafs, or hold you hair back when your sick? do friends kiss your head while they think you're sleeping?

you don't know what to say to jacob. all you can manage is to shake your head slowly. reminding not only jacob, but also yourself that no, you're not his girl. no matter what tricks your brain wants to play on you right now, and no matter how hard your heart is thumping at the idea of being luke hughes' girl...you're not.

"I want to be your friend, y/n. if that's okay with you."

jacob doesn't look convinced. "no?"

you shake your head again. more firmly.

he hums like he's just discovered a new way to create energy. jacob's eyes meet yours, holding your gaze intently as he slowly reaches towards you. "so I can flirt with you," he pauses, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "and touch you?"

you stay silent.

jacob pulls away. "that's what I thought."

you don't dare try and find luke in the crowd—you're too scared to see what you'd find. you clear your throat, gaze dropping to the floor momentarily. you start gently, "he told me he wants to be my friend."

"he may say that," jacob hums, "but that's not what he means...and judging by the look on your face—and the one on his—there's a part of you deep down that already knows that."

finally, you allow yourself to find luke. he pushes off the wall as your eyes met, abandoning his beer can on a nearby table before making his way towards you.

jacob snickers, shaking his head in amusement. "i'll see you around, y/n." and then he leaves, disappearing back into the crowd just before luke gets to you.

"what did he want?" luke's tone is bitter, not even hugging you a chance to greet him properly before bombarding you.

your brows raise. "why does it matter?"

he shrugs, not quite meeting your eyes as he thinks of something to say. "guess it doesn't." luke wants to kill jacob truscott.

you look confused, and a little scared, and that makes luke feel guilty. he swallows his pride, grabbing your wrist and slowly bringing you towards his chest. "I missed you over there." he mutters, just for the two of you to hear. you don't stop him as luke wraps his arms around your hips, tucking you against his torso like you belong there. the worst part is, it feels like you do.

you don't smile, so luke kisses your cheek. softly at first, but then more firmly. just as quickly luke is sucking the apple of your cheek into his mouth, and you squirm, a bubble of laughter leaving your lips. "hey! don't give me a hickey."

he pulls away with a satisfied grin and then leans back in to lick the spot he'd just been suckling on. you laugh again, pushing against his chest as you make a poor attempt at trying to escape his arms.

in then in the most tender, quiet tone he can manage, luke says, "I missed my girl."

your stomach drops to your toes and it makes your limbs feel heavy. your eyes flicker up to his, the smallest grin daring to form on your face.

1 week later: playoffs

it's not often that you're able to go to wolverine hockey games. your clinical labs ran late 3 out of 5 days a week, and the odd occasion when you have the night free, you're too tired to even change into pyjamas—never mind go to a hockey game.

but when the playoffs came around, you made an exception. the guys where up 3-1 in their first series, and if they won the next game they buy themselves a ticket to the next round. the atmosphere was electric in the arena, and if that wasn't enough of a reason to attend, luke also wanted you there—hell, he begs for it.

and things with luke are...good. they're different, rather. you've been toeing the line of friendship for months now, and after his little jealously spurt last week, it seems that you and luke have your toes across that line and right in the pool. nothing has really changed if you're being logical, but there's just something unspoken between you that has you believing otherwise.

so here you are, watching the clock tick down on the jumbotron with kayleigh—both of you too nervous to look at the actual ice. the wolverines are up 2-0, and in 10 seconds, they will have won. the crowd around you is loud, cheering and jumping in excitement as the time runs out. at 5 seconds left kayleigh hugs you, laughing through her smile as she says, 'our boys did it!'

and when the clock finally hits zero, the familiar horn blaring through the arena, you finally let yourself cheer. the next 15 minutes are a blur of emotion and clearing crowds. when kayleigh asks if you're going to hang back and wait for luke, you shake your head. "no," you sigh, a blush on your cheeks, "i'll let him celebrate with the guys."

she sends you an odd look but shakes it off, letting you make your way back to luke's place. you have to uber, but you don't mind. if anything it gives you time to collect your rapid heat rate and the nerves festering low in your belly. you had caught a glimpse of luke's face on the ice—the pure joy that overtook his features—as he celebrated with the team. that is enough in itself to have you grinning to yourself like a maniac in the backseat of the uber.

you open the front door of the sophomore house, always unlocked because they're crazy, and kick your shoes off. you pull your phone out, intending to text luke and let him know you're back at his, and you'll see him when he gets back from celebrating.

but right before hitting send, the front door opens behind you, making you whip around to see the familiar hazel eyes of luke. he's slightly breathless, still in his suit with his curls matted down to the top of his head like he hasn't showered yet.

"luke? what are you doing?"

"I'm celebrating." he says quickly, taking a step towards you. "I love my teammates but there's no one else I want to see more than you right now."

you blink, in some sort of shock. "did you follow me here?"

"I think I was a few minutes behind," luke nods, a grin on his face. "but I broke a few speeding laws to get here as quick as I did." softly, luke raises his hand and places it along your jawline, stroking the hallow part of your cheekbone with his thumb soothingly.

he's looking down at you like you're a prize—like you're all he needs to breathe. it makes your heart rate increase once again, and subconsciously your advert your gaze. they land on his tie and your fingers begin pulling at it, loosening it from around his neck. you're just trying to look busy, but the way luke's breath hitches at the action has you faltering.

"i'm sorry." you whisper.

"don't apologize," he shakes his head, other hand coming up to rest on the other side of your face. "i'd let you get me completely naked if you wanted to."

this time is your breath getting caught. "luke."

he nods like he knows what you're asking for, even though you don't even know what you're asking for. luke's thumbs continue to caresses your soft skin, "I haven't showered yet."

you hum casually, even though your blood is pumping so fast you can hear it in your ears. luke can tell you're in your own head, thoughts swirling in your eyes like your own personal washing machine.

"y/n," luke says your name softly, pulling your attention back to him. you glance back up at him through the fluttering of your lashes.

he leans down—slowly but surely—giving you enough time to stop him. but you don't stop him and you don't want to either. luke kisses you, lips slotting with yours like the perfect puzzle piece.

you sigh pleasantly into his mouth, hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket and keeping him close. luke's kiss is somehow both soft and firm. lips silky and smooth like butter, but hot and toe curling all at once.

luke picks you up quickly, like you weigh nothing, wrapping your thighs around his hips comfortably before carrying you down the hall to his bedroom. he doesn't stop the kiss until he's sitting you on the countertop in the en suite. before he turns on the shower, he presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth and you giggle.

almost instantly the steam slinks through the room, wrapping around your limbs and fogging up the mirrors—both above the sink and the one on the cabinet above the toilet.

luke smiles before connecting your lips again. his fingers slide over you hips before slipping under the hem of your top, tickling the bare skin of your stomach with his gentle strokes. you squirm, which makes him laugh and completely lift your shift off, revealing your lacy bra. it doesn't go as smoothly as he hopes, and it gets tangled in your hair, loose locks falling over your face.

you and luke laugh gently while he gets your sweater out of the mess of hair. once he's dropped it to the floor, he pushes the hair away from your face to reveal your flushed skin once more. you both smile at one another before hurriedly continuing the kiss as the bathroom grows hot and dewy from the running shower.

"i'm so glad you were at my game tonight, y/n." luke says against your mouth as your nimble fingers push off luke's suit jacket before working on tugging the buttons lining his dress shirt.

you kiss his lips quickly, and he tries to deepen it by sliding his tongue against your lips. "i'm glad you wanted me there." you tell him around the mess of lips and gliding tongues.

luke's hands skim back up your thighs, covered by the sheer material of your tights. your heart is thumping wildly as luke's fingers hook the edge of your tights and skirt, yanking them both down in one firm tug. "I want you anywhere...no matter what," luke admits, kissing you again.

you finish undressing one another before luke helps you slip back off the counter—not without grabbing a handful of your ass first—guiding you both into the water stream flowing from the shower head. the hot water combined with luke's hands running over your body has you moaning, arching into him as your lips continue to move together.

luke's hand skims down your back, gliding easily with the water cascading down your skin, and grabbing another handful of your ass.

you pull away, your heavy breaths mixing between your slippery bodies. "did you actually need to shower? I can wash your hair for you."

luke grins fondly. "i'll worry about that later. right now I can't focus on anything other than you and this fucking body. god you’re pretty." he curses again, dropping his mouth down to the junction of your neck and placing an open mouth kiss against your pulse point.

you giggle again—like a school girl—body molding against luke's like it's never known anything different. you can feel luke's lips turn up in a grin against your neck, tickling you—which only makes you laugh louder, the sound echoing in the foggy bathroom.

you're pretty sure people are arriving back home, their voices echoing through the house—loud and excited. but as luke's long fingers slip down your front, easily gliding between your folds, everything else fades away.

march 21st: present day

you and luke had sex.

you.

luke.

sex. in his shower. with his roommates downstairs. stifling your moans in the palm of luke's hand.

afterwards, once you'd both dried off and gotten into bed, you fell asleep—drunk on lust, the sounds of youtube playing through luke's laptop. the next morning, you both ate breakfast, grinning at one another across the kitchen as you shoved cereals into your mouths.

ethan stumbles in, and sleepily says, "yall really need to learn some volume control." and that made you blush and luke choke on his rice krispies.

last night really put your feelings for luke into perspective. you've never wanted to just be his friend, despite what you told him back in october when he got your number. luke was just new to you, and he was cute and kind and flirtatious and that scared you.

you didn't want to get hurt, so you pretended that just being his friend was okay. but after last night, you're sure your feelings are reciprocated. luke likes you.

well, it's should've put everything into perspective. but after you leave the sophomore house that afternoon, you don't hear from luke.

not that day. or the day after. or for the entire week after hooking up in the shower. you texted him once, checking in, but you never heard back. luke hughes has gone radio silent.

it's not until a week and one day after do you see him again. granted, you gave luke no choice considering you'd shown up to the hockey rink with kayleigh—and this time, you waited for the boys after the game. waited for him.

the sight of luke walking out of the double doors that lead to the change room send your heart falling to your stomach. his face is straight, despite the win, and his hair is wet and freshly cleaned.

freshly cleaned because he didn't rush home to get back to you.

before you has the chance to leave, you step in front of him, hand enclosing around luke's bicep to pull him to a stop. his hazel eyes widen at the sight of you, staring up at him with a sad glint.

"I texted you." you say quietly.

luke swallows, his face pale. "i've been busy."

"you've been busy?" you repeat ludicrously, tone dripping with disbelief and venom. luke looks away, eyes trained on the worn tiles below his dress shoes. his avoidance of eye contact only irritates you further, "busy doing what exactly? avoiding me for god knows what reason. busy doing that?"

luke swallows, running hand through his soaked, curly locks. his eyes move around the bustling arena, making sure there wasn't any unwanted attention on either of you. "i've been keeping my distance. I just...I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

you blink, taking a step back. "and what's that?"

"that i'm...I don't know..into you. i'm not looking for anything right now. not with you, not with anybody."

tears prickle your waterline, threatening to spill over. you swallow roughly, so much so that it hurts. "are you serious? don't do this." you whisper timidly.

"you knew my intentions going into this, don't act like this," he mimics your hushed tone, eyes once again cast downwards.

"did I?" you huff in disbelief,  "because it sure as hell seemed like more than you're saying it was." he stays silent, and that gives you the room to continue—tears trailing down your cheeks as anger bubbles up your chest. "so the banquets, and staying at each others places, and the small kisses and fucking take care of me while I throw up—holding me in your lap while I shake—that means nothing to you? is that what you're saying?"

nothing.

"god luke, answer me."

finally, luke meets your eyes. a beat passes, and then slowly he shakes his head. "I told you I wanted to be your friend. the other night...in the shower...I was just caught up in the moment and, I made a mistake."

you scoff, "you're a fucking asshole." you don't wait another second before turning away, sneaking through the lingering crowd of people with tears dripping off your face. you don't let yourself sob, not yet. friends and wolverine athletes eye you curiously, their faces contorting into expressions of pity as you rush past.

everything is in slow motion and you feel like you can't breath. you're so embarrassed—so heartbroken—and as you finally get outside and into the spring air is when you finally allow yourself to sob.

and all luke could do is watch you leave, even if he meant nothing that he said.

—

a/n: okay so don’t love this. I just feel like it’s kind of choppy and messy, but I like the idea of the story so I wanted to get it out! hopefully you like it and enjoy it!

[luvrrish]

The sexiest thing a man can do is be absolutely devoted to their wife

[luvrrish]

[6.1k] most of the league welcome a bye week as all-stars hits the season calendar. with both brothers picked and the rest of the boys on the team flying out somewhere warm for the break, luke has a decision to make. and that decision ends up being a staycation in new jersey with you—not that anyone else in his life really understand why. (smut)

series masterlist

.

“Whoever is in charge of this schedule sounds like a sadist.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah!” You repeated with a small huff, staring down at your phone screen where—he presumed—you were looking at the Devils’ game schedule. “Surely there’s a better way than playing, like, three back to backs in such a short time span.” 

“It’s hockey,” Luke shrugged, like that somehow explained everything. “It’s just how it is. How it’s always been, to be honest.” 

“This makes no sense,” you grumbled, your eyes narrowed in distaste. “You literally played four games last week! Four! In the space of six days!” 

Luke snorted. “Yeah, Cherry, I’m fully aware. I was at the games. Playing.” 

You shot him a look before letting your brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it.” 

“The schedule?” Luke asked. 

“No, the hockey player sex god stereotype,” you retorted. “How the hell do they find the time to even have sex? How the hell do they have the energy to even have sex?”

Luke tried—and mostly failed—to bite back his grin. “That’s your big question about hockey players?” 

“Yes,” you deadpanned. “I know you are professionals and all but surely this is a bit ridiculous.”

“Hockey is hockey,” Luke answered, shrugging once again. “It’s just always how it’s been.” 

“So, hockey players are sex gods and sadists,” you muttered to yourself, your focus back on your phone screen. “Good to know.” 

Luke only laughed in response. 

“I don’t get why they don’t just move some of the games to the first week in February,” you pointed out. “You have nothing on then.” 

“Because that’s when All-Stars is,” Luke answered. “They send a bunch of guys from different teams to compete in these challenges and stuff.” 

“Like the Hunger Games?” 

“I—” Luke’s nose scrunched up. “Yeah, but less death and violence. People usually stay nice for it.” 

“Have you been reaped?” You questioned, grinning a little. 

Luke rolled his eyes. “No, I have not. They choose the best.” 

You frowned. “You are the best. You’re the best hockey player I know.” 

Luke shot you a look. “I’m the only hockey player you know.” 

“Semantics,” you waved him off. “My point still stands.” 

“No, I get something better,” he stated. “I get a week off.”

You grinned. “Big plans?” 

Luke shrugged. “Honestly, I was just looking forward to a week without Jack banging on my door for morning skate.”

“So you’re going to spend the week hibernating,” you teased, lightly nudging his thigh with your foot. But before you could pull your foot back, Luke had grabbed your ankle and easily maneuvered your feet onto his lap. “God, I’ll need to find someone else to cook for me for a week then.” 

And the thing is that Luke knew you were just teasing. For all his claims of being a great cook (which he was, just in the few meals he actually knew how to cook), he had grown into a comfortable habit with you. He enjoyed spending time at your place. He enjoyed unwinding after bad games or grueling practices. He just enjoyed being around you, both before and after his recent realisation of his feelings. 

But now he was staring at you from across the couch, watching the way you were lounging in one of his old Michigan sweatshirts and just felt that overwhelming urge to say something stupid. 

Instead, he settled on, “you should come over.” 

You paused, raising your brows. “Come over where?” 

“To my place,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Jack will be gone and I’ll have the place to myself. We can just—” He paused, his brain going blank at the sight of your amused expression. “Chill.” 

“Chill?” You repeated, grinning.

“Chill,” he nodded, squeezing your ankle. “Just…I feel like…I’m always imposing in your space, you know? You can impose in my space too.” 

“You are a weird guy, Hughes,” you commented, though Luke liked to think you sounded fond when you spoke. 

“Is that a no?” He asked before he could help himself.

You beamed in response. “It’s not a no.” 

He felt something quite like hope spark in his chest. “So, it’s a yes?” 

“Depends,” your eyes glinted. “Are you still Team Stefan? Because if the answer is yes, I will have to decline.” 

Luke groaned. “I said that after we watched, like, three episodes! Stop holding that over my head!” 

…

“This sucks!” 

“Yes, it sucks so much being acknowledged for your skills,” Dawson deadpanned, watching the way Jack wandered around the locker room after practice, whining and complaining about everyone else making their Bye Week plans.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jack huffed, narrowing his eyes at the boy before shifting his attention to Nico, eyes wide and hopeful. “Take me with you? I want to go somewhere warm. I want to go somewhere where the chances of freezing my balls off are lower than zero.” 

“Dude,” Nate scrunched his nose, laughing. “We play ice hockey for a living, you can handle a bit of cold.” 

“Suck it up, superstar,” Curtis called out with a huge grin. “Gotta pay up for having the Hughes name on the back of your jersey.” 

“Moose lucked out,” Jack sighed. “I have Quinn and the bajillion Canucks players that are also going. I swear he rigged the thing.”

“Bajillion?” Nico repeated with a disgustingly fond expression.

“Bajillion,” Jack nodded. “There’s too many of them. No one needs that many Canucks in one place. It’s an infestation.”

“I’m surprised you even know what that word means,” Nate snorted. 

Jack glared. 

“You not going up to Toronto to support your brothers?” Dawson asked, turning his head to look over at Luke. However, the boy barely reacted. He repeated the question again, and one more time before finally throwing a ball of rolled up tape at the side of Luke’s head.

Luke tore his eyes away from his phone, snapping his head up to find half the locker room already staring at him. “What? What did I miss?” 

“Jack complaining about All Stars,” Curtis answered.

“Oh,” Luke blinked. “So nothing new then?” 

“You're not going to Toronto?” Nico asked this time, before Curtis could say whatever witty response he had ready to go.

“Uh, no,” Luke shook his head. 

“Scared you’ll steal their thunder?” Nate joked, patting Luke’s shoulder as he walked past to get to his stall. 

Jack snorted. “He thinks he’s too cool for Toronto. Probably following John to wherever the hell he is going.” 

John’s ears perked, turning whilst he was still removing some of his gear. “What? Luke said he didn’t want to come with us.” 

Jack paused, frowning a little before turning to Luke. “You’re not going away for the week?” 

Luke could feel his cheeks burning up. “No?” 

Jack’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“At least he also won’t be somewhere warm,” Nico stepped in, a hand on Jack’s shoulder providing more than enough distraction from Jack asking questions as he turned to look at Nico with the embarrassingly obvious heart eyes he has always had for the captain.

It gave Luke the short reprieve he wanted, avoiding the other curious looks he was getting as he glanced down at his phone screen for a moment, grinning at the messages before he locked it and put it back in his bag so he could finish getting changed.

cherry🍒: i hope you know that i am using this opportunity to steal as many of your hoodies as i can before the week is over 

cherry🍒: consider this your one and only warning

…

It was surprisingly easy to prevent Jack from asking any more questions. 

A little too easy, if Luke was being honest. 

But Luke was also not an idiot so he didn’t question Jack’s silence after he mentioned a friend would be staying with Luke for the week. Jack had just stared blankly for a few moments before laughing, shaking his head and walking out the room, muttering something about needing to stop by Nico’s after he finished packing. Luke took it as the blessing it was and didn’t bring it up again.

Truthfully, it didn’t hit Luke how insane it felt to have you with him the whole week until he was running around the apartment, cleaning up whatever he could before his phone began ringing from the other room.

“Dude, you have shit timing.” 

Ethan laughed on the other side of the phone. “You’ve been ignoring me! I feel abandoned. What happened to the Luke who said he missed me?” 

“I never said that,” Luke retorted.

“Rude,” Ethan huffed. “Why do you sound so out of breath? Were you training or something?” 

“Nah, just tidying the place up,” Luke replied absentmindedly, staring at the hoodie he picked up on the floor with a frown. If he was being honest, he didn’t know if it was his or Jack’s, and usually he didn’t care. But the image of you wearing it thinking it belonged to him when in reality it was Jack’s passed his mind and he quickly shoved it into the washing basket. That would be a problem he dealt with later.

“Ugh, don’t even,” Ethan whined on the other side of the phone. “I’m so jealous, dude. I would kill to be on a beach somewhere right now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke muttered as he continued to pick up a few empty bottles of gatorade on the coffee table before pausing. “Wait, what? What the fuck are you on about? Who’s going to the beach?” 

Ethan sounded just as confused on the other side. “You?” 

“No, I’m not?” Luke replied, frowning. “I just told you, I’m at my place.” 

“Yeah, because you are tidying up before you fly out somewhere. For Bye Week.”

“Who told you that?”

“I thought it was obvious? Why the fuck would you not be flying out somewhere?” 

And honestly, Luke didn’t have much of a comeback for that one. Because to everyone else, it did seem weird. He knew that. He gathered as much from the rest of the boys’ reactions in the locker room the other day. He gathered it from Jack’s reaction and Quinn’s message (‘wtf rusty’) when he broke the news in the brothers group chat. 

He knew. 

But somehow trying to justify it to one of his best friends over the phone made him realise how fucking dodgy it sounded when none of them really knew about you.

“So, let me get this straight.” 

Luke let out a deep sigh.

“You declined on going up to Toronto with your brothers because you didn’t want to impose, or whatever dumb shit you said, and let them enjoy All-Stars.” 

“Yes.” 

“And then you had the offer to go to Cabo and the Bahamas with teammates, which you also declined.” 

“Mhm.” 

“And then you decided to stay in New Jersey instead of even visiting us up in Michigan with your week off?” 

“Yup.”

“Dude,” Ethan squawked, offended and confused and downright discombobulated. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a concussion? Is this like a mid-season breakdown? Do I need to call for help?” 

Luke rolled his eyes. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“I think I am being perfectly reasonable here.” 

Luke disagreed—majorly—but he valued his life so he stayed silent.

“You’re gonna get so bored staying in Jersey all week,” Ethan pointed out. “What are you even gonna do?” 

Luke opened his mouth to reply just as the buzzer sounded through the apartment. If anyone asked, he would deny the way his face instantly broke out into a smile. 

“Sleep my ass off. It’s hard being in the NHL,” Luke said in the snobbiest voice he could, letting Ethan cackle on the other side and try to get another word in before he spoke up again. “Look, I gotta run, I’ll call you later. Promise.” 

“He plays in the big leagues and thinks he’s so much better than us.” 

“I am better than you,” Luke grinned. “I remember winning beer pong.” 

“That doesn’t fucking count! Mark was the one who—” 

“Bye, Ethan!” 

Luke couldn’t hang up and rush to open the door fast enough. 

…

Deep down, he knew it was stupid for him to feel nervous about you staying over at his place for the week. 

He had stayed over at yours more times than he could count on one hand. You had become an integral part of his life in New Jersey. You were one of his closest friends. He knew you. He knew you knew him. There should have been nothing that made the week weird. 

But he couldn’t help but feel like it meant more. This was him inviting you to stay over for a few days, to stay at his place whilst his brother was out of town, to spend the week with him when he should be resting and drinking some overpriced cocktail on a beach somewhere warm. 

You were his friend but spending his whole stay-cation with him in his apartment like the two of you were playing house was something far from platonic. 

It was a bit of a mindfuck, but not as much as realising just how fucking easy it all was.

It was different from the various nights he spent at your apartment. It was different seeing you in his space, fitting into his life so easily. It was different seeing you relaxed and laid back, looking like you belonged. 

It was different from the night at his birthday party, where you were one of many faces. It was just you and him, standing in his kitchen or sitting on his couch or lying in his bed. It felt so different but so fucking good. 

Only a few days had passed and yet Luke forgot a time where you weren’t here, where you weren’t by his side throughout the whole day. 

It was dangerous but the warning signs were easy to ignore when his attention was fully focused on you.

“Are you calling me lanky?” 

“It was a compliment!” You insisted, but there was a smile on your face—not that he could see, considering your face was currently pressed against his chest as the two of you laid on the couch to watch the fastest skater skill event. “You would do well in this challenge. It would take you, like, five less strides than the rest of them.”

Luke snorted. “Geez, thanks.” 

“You’ll see,” you murmured, nuzzling your head further into his chest. “You’ll do it one day and win and know that I’m right.”

“And then you’ll tell me ‘I told you so’?” Luke guessed, his eyes now on you rather than the tv screen. 

“Obviously,” you replied, lifting your head so your chin was resting on the spot your cheek was squished against moments ago. “I’m always right, Hughes. The sooner you accept that fact, the easier your life will be.” 

Luke raised his brows in amusement. “So when you very confidently said that you loved that movie where Andrew Garfield played Batman—” 

“Shut up,” you groaned, lightly pinching his side but he quickly caught your hand. “We were watching Twilight! I was thinking about Robert Pattinson! I got confused!” 

“Uh huh,” Luke beamed. “Just always so right—”

“You’re being a dick,” you huffed, even if you were smiling. “Here I was trying to give you a compliment—”

“By calling me lanky.”

“—and this is the thanks I get,” you shook your head. 

Luke’s expression softened, his hand reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear as he smiled down at you. “Thank you, Cherry. I appreciate the confidence.” 

“Confidence is sexy,” you retorted, your palms warm and comforting against his sides. “Soon you won’t need me to remind you.” 

“But I like when you say it,” Luke retorted.

“Professional athletes and their praise kinks,” you sighed, grinning a little when he reached down to pinch your side this time. 

“I’m the only professional athlete you know,” Luke pointed out, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach at the mere idea that maybe he wasn’t. That maybe you knew more, that maybe you had experience with more, that maybe they were far more experienced than him and—

“And you have a praise kink,” you said, interrupting his spiralling thoughts. “Therefore, my theory has not been disproved. I’m right.”

Luke’s cheeks burned hot. “I do not have a praise kink.”

You snorted, grinning as you lifted a hand to playfully squeeze his cheeks. “Aw, baby, you do and it’s hot. Don’t get all shy about it.”

“Whatever,” Luke murmured, turning his focus back to the tv instead of the growing smirk on your face. 

But the thought lingered in his mind even as the two of you continued to cuddle on the couch, watching whatever movie you had chosen after the All-Stars events ended. It picked at his brain, chipping away at the self-restraint he had to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night until the two of you were getting ready for bed. 

He was lingering by the doorway, watching you get your side of the bed (because apparently that was also something that came easily to the two of you) ready before you climbed into bed. And before he could stop himself, he was already blurting out the words that were on the tip of his tongue for most of the night.

“Do you really think the praise kink thing is hot?” 

His cheeks were already blushy and pink and hot when you turned your head to look at him.

“How long have you been wanting to ask that?” You asked, something lighthearted and teasing in your voice that was oddly reassuring. You didn’t think he was a freak for asking. Not that he ever assumed you would judge him, you both were far from that point. 

“Does it change your answer?” He asked, not sounding half as confident as he wanted to. 

Your smile softened a little as you walked around the bed and towards him. You tilted your head back once you were in front of him, watching him with a look he couldn’t quite work out. 

Luke swallowed a little.

“It doesn’t change my answer,” you answered honestly. 

Luke could feel something in his chest tighten. “And what’s your answer?” 

“I think it’s hot,” you told him, saying it so casually as though the two of you were discussing the weather. “I think everyone has a praise kink to some extent but…”

Luke could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “But?” 

“But it’s different with you,” you said, your fingers lightly skimming against his stomach before curling around the hem of his shirt. “You’re so…responsive. It’s hot.” 

His body twitched, like his skin was too tight for his body. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling a little before using the grasp on his shirt to tug him closer and close the distance between you both. Not that there was much.

Luke was almost embarrassed by the noise he made the second your lips were on his, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you used the leverage against him. He ducked his head down, trying to chase your lips as you continued to tease him and tempt him. He barely realised his feet were moving until the back of your knees hit the bed and you pulled back to look at him. 

“So pretty,” you murmured, close enough to hear the way his breath hitched before you moved down onto the bed, with your grasp on his shirt enough to drag him down with you. 

It was far from sexy, if Luke was being honest. An awkward maneuver of too many limbs and shuffling up the bed that should have ruined the moment, but it didn’t. Because it was you and you were laughing and smiling and snorting when Luke almost decked it on top of you after he got his foot stuck. You made it feel so normal. Like it was all just a part of the charm. 

Maybe it was. Maybe feeling safe enough to be human and imperfect was a part of the charm. 

Because despite the uncoordinated and clumsy scrambling onto the bed, you were still looking at him like you wanted to see how pink his cheeks could turn.

Luke barely put up a fight when you pulled him back down, happily following your movements as he settled between your legs and let you wind your arms around his neck so his nose was brushing against yours before you leaned in to kiss him again. 

Unlike a lot of the other makeout sessions the two of you had, there was no rush. There was no lingering adrenaline from a game he wanted to work off or some bad plays he wanted to forget. There were no teasing messages or risky phone calls that were building up to this moment. There was absolutely nothing but just the two of you lying in his bed, making out because you wanted to. 

Because you wanted to kiss him and he wanted to kiss you. Because you enjoyed the weight of him on top of you and he enjoyed the way your fingers entangled themselves in his curls. Because for reasons that were beyond his understanding, you wanted this as much as he did.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his tongue lightly skimming over the area of his bottom lip you nipped with your teeth.

You smiled up at him. “See? So responsive. It’s cute.” 

He swallowed. “Cute?”

“Cute, hot, sexy, whatever word you want to use, pretty boy,” you murmured, one hand sliding down to cup his face as your thumb skimmed over the apple of his cheek. “All I know is that I like the noises you make.” 

Luke responded by leaning back down, kissing you because he could, because he wanted to, because he liked the way your laugh vibrated against his lips before you kissed back.

But whatever control Luke thought he had on himself when he was with you quickly dwindled as you pulled him closer, letting his body fall on top of you and let your thighs squeeze his sides until he was rocking his hips against yours, until he was practically panting between kisses.

“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing one, two, three pecks against his lips before your lips traced along his cheek and down his jaw. “That’s it, baby. I can feel how much you like this. S’cute how worked up you get just making out.”

“You’re hot,” he gasped out, like it was self-explanatory. Like it justified why he could feel his dick twitching in his sweatpants, probably already making a mess that he would pretend didn’t embarrass him as much as it did.

Your smile was softer, your hand on his face feeling more intimate as you guided his eyes to meet yours. “I think,” you started, your thumb lightly tracing down his cheek and skimming his bottom lip. “You’re hot too. And that you can come like this. Make a mess f’me.” 

And fuck, he could.

It wouldn’t be the first time he did, helplessly grinding against you whilst you kissed him and praised him and made his head fucking spin before he was coming harder than he really should be able to from a simple act. He could lean down, press his lips against yours and slide his tongue against yours and feel the way you cling onto him as he comes. He could do it. 

But there was a buzzing voice in the back of his head, getting louder and louder until—

“I bought condoms.” 

He could see the initial surprise on your face as you processed the words he just blurted out, the eyes locked on his kiss-swollen lips shifting to look up and watch the way he squirmed under the realisation of his words. He watched the way you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes narrowing slightly like you were observing him, keeping on edge until he spoke.

“You bought condoms,” you repeated, trying and failing to keep the smile off your face. “Big plans for this week?” 

“I—” Luke’s face burned. “That wasn’t… didn’t mean…I was just—” 

“Luke,” you said in a softer voice, your smile faltering a little into something more sincere. “M’only teasing.” 

“Okay,” he whispered, a knot twisting in his stomach with every passing second. He swore he was moments away from just exploding out of pure embarrassment or something just as humiliating. 

“Breathe for me,” you murmured, smiling a little when he let out a shaky breath. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Just because you bought them, doesn’t mean we have to do anything with them just yet.”

Luke swallowed, his whole body thrumming as he replied. “I…I want to.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, his brows furrowing slightly. “Only if you want to, too. Because consent is sexy, you know.”

You laughed a little, both hands now cupping his face so your eyes could meet his. “I do, if you want this. If you’re ready.” 

“It is,” he whispered, nodding again. “I trust you, Cherry. I want this. With you.” 

“Okay,” you whispered before kissing him again, slow and sure and content. 

It made him feel a little less like his skin was shrinking all over his body.

And you kept kissing him until his body didn’t feel so tense, until he didn’t feel like a wooden plank on top of you, until he was relaxed and making those little noises between kisses that let you know he wasn’t as nervous as before. 

You kept kissing him as you lightly nudged him back, letting him lean back on his knees until he was straddling your body, giving him enough movement to lean over and scramble through his nightstand until he found the unopened box of condoms.

He tried to tear the plastic covering over the box off, tried to peel it away but his hands were shaking more than he liked and his heart was pounding in his chest and—

“Hey, relax,” you murmured softly, sitting up and taking the box from his hands with little fight from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. “Nerves, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you promised. “You know we can stop at any time, just say the word.” 

He swallowed harshly. “No, I do—”

“I know,” you smiled. “But I also want you to know that.” 

“Only if you do too,” Luke responded, looking completely serious as he said it. “If you want to stop at any moment too, you have to say something too. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this with me because it’s my…first time or whatever.”

“I promise,” you smiled before nudging him back, until he was settled with his back against the headboard and you were on his lap. “Don’t worry about the condoms right now, okay? Just focus on me.” 

And Luke did.

Because, in complete honesty, it was very easy to ignore the box of condoms and the bubbling nerves and the growing realisation of what was about to happen. The voice in the back of his head saying ‘oh fuck, this is it’ was barely a whisper when his focus was on you. 

It was easy to get lost in the familiarity of you. He was used to this. He was used to you sitting on his lap, straddling his thighs and kissing him senseless. He was used to you dragging your shirt over your head and throwing it to the side. He was used to you tugging his sweatpants down and letting your own follow and guiding his hand between your legs whilst you whispered filthy things against his lips. 

He was used to the way you always targeted the spot just behind his ear, blowing cool air until he physically shivered. He was used to the way your eyes fluttered shut when his thumb lightly skimmed across your nipple. He was used to choking out a breathless moan whenever your thumb slid along the slit on the head of his cock. He was used to the way you tugged on his hair when you were close, letting the dull pain throb wonderfully at the base of his skull whilst you pressed your face against his shoulder. 

You were right, all those weeks ago back at the start of the season, when you said he needed to build up to this moment. You were right about the different experiences and experiments the two of you had tried and tested over the last few months. You were right when you said it was just like practicing hockey. 

It felt a bit fucking poetic and pathetic to compare his sex life to hockey right now, but he got it. 

The same nerves that bubbled up before his first NHL game were no different. Because even though he had played hockey his whole life, it still felt nerve-wracking to play in the NHL. And even though he had spent the last few months doing so much with you, it was still kind of daunting to know it was all leading up to this.

But just like his first NHL game, it just felt right. 

You felt right. 

This whole moment felt right. 

Luke knew he was not like his friends or teammates. He had spent years growing up with locker room talk, hearing about random hookups in the backseat of a car or halfhearted blowjobs in a bar bathroom. He heard about one night stands and casual flings and situationships that tended to go sour. He had heard it all and it was unsettling to imagine that was the future waiting for him. 

But it wasn’t. 

And it felt a bit comforting to know that he never had to look back on this experience and regret the person he was with or where he was or whatever stupid risk it could cause his career. All he had to think about was him and you and the way you were looking just as affected and turned on as he was right now.

“You still sure?” You whispered, soft and comforting and so fucking caring, it made his throat feel a little tight. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling a little as he leaned in to kiss you again to emphasise his point. “I trust you. I want this with you.” 

You smiled, still looking so fucking genuine before you leaned over to grab the box of condoms, removing the plastic peel with an ease he was only slightly jealous of. He watched you grab a small foil packet, glancing at him every few seconds like you were waiting for him to jump back on his decision.

“I trust you,” he repeated, confident and sure. 

His hands laid on your legs as you tore open the foil packet. His hands squeezed the fat of your thighs as you rolled the condom on him, stroking him a few times until he was bucking into your touch. His hands were on your waist, supportive and guiding as you slowly sunk down onto his cock. 

“Shit,” Luke breathed out, his breath shaky and gasping. “Shit.”

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, one hand on his shoulder and the other gripping the back of his neck. “I—fuck—I’ve got you.”

The squeeze of your walls around his cock made him want to close his eyes. It made him want to lean back against the headboard, keep his eyes closed and fucking bask in the feeling of you being so warm and tight and intense around him. But the desire to watch the way his cock disappeared into you was stronger, to watch the way your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted as you settled fully on his lap. 

It was fucking memesiring watching the way you slowly lifted your hips and sunk down again. It made him feel like his head was spinning as he watched you continued to move, to sink up and down on his cock, to fuck yourself on his cock and moan his name and look into his eyes and—

“Can I—” He cut himself off, a pathetic and whiny noise leaving his lips when you squeezed around him. “Can I please—”

“Whatever you want,” you murmured, breathless and panting as you leaned in to kiss him like you needed it.

He let himself enjoy the kiss, to enjoy the feeling of being inside you and the weight of you on his lap and your lips on his before he moved. Before he reminded his brain that he can move, that he didn’t have to feel so boneless and helpless, as he shifted until the two of you had rolled over and you were beneath him and—

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, loud and shameless as he hooked an arm under your knee, lifting your leg out of the way enough for him to thrust back in as your head feel back against the pillow. “Shit, yes, like that.” 

For a second, it was hard to remember he was even in his own body as he watched you. It was fucking mesmerising as he watched you moan and whine beneath him, as he felt your nails digging into his skin and scratching down his back as you demanded him for more, as you muttered his name between pleas and begs and whimpers. 

Luke kind of wished this moment would last forever. 

Unfortunately for him, he was utterly weak when it came to you. Because you were pretty and sweet and you felt fucking unreal around him, and you were looking at him like he fucking meant something and—

It was so much. Too much. Just fucking enough. 

“I can’t—” He gasped out, his whole body feeling like it was buzzing alive as the knot in his stomach twisted tighter and his thrusts became sloppier. “I’m not gonna last long—”

“Come for me,” you breathed out, your hands cupping his cheeks as you wound your legs around his waist. “C’mon, Luke, wanna feel you come in me.” 

And well, he stood no fucking chance lasting after you said that to him.

He could have sworn his ears were ringing when he came. It was intense and overwhelming and disorienting and, fuck, it felt so good. He could feel his muscles tensing, his body rigid and shaking as his orgasm washed over him. He could feel the wave of pleasure rushing through him, leaving every fucking nerve in his body buzzing as he let himself enjoy the way you were squeezing him around him.

He felt like he was on cloud nine when you ran your hands through his curls, your lips against his ear whispering god knows what. But your voice was low and humming and comforting and he could feel his eyes slipping close to enjoy the sound of it. 

He could feel you running your hands over his body, feel the way every inch of skin was pressed against you, feel the way your legs were tightening around him like you didn’t want him to move just yet either. 

After the rush of adrenaline and pleasure, his body felt syrupy. His movements felt slow and unhurried, his thoughts felt like they were floating away. His brain felt fuzzy and pleased and content to just lay on the bed with you, bask in the feeling a little longer before the grossness and desire to clean up took over. 

Luke was more than happy to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, to close his eyes and let out a happy sigh and let himself relax after the really intense last few minutes the two of you had just experienced.

And if Luke was more awake, he would have noticed the way you tensed up the second he spoke. The way your eyes widened, the way your body instantly locked up, the way you went a little pale. 

If Luke was more awake, he would have been able to think twice before he spoke. 

But Luke wasn’t awake. He fell asleep after muttering the one thought that had been on his mind since New Years. 

He closed his eyes and slept like a fucking baby and woke up to an empty bed and an empty apartment and not a single sign of proof of the night before except the marks on his skin and the used condom lying on his bedroom floor. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” he had slurred into the crook of your neck, his voice barely louder than a rumble as the sleepiness really hit. 

If Luke was more awake, he would have stopped himself from completely fucking everything up. 

.

[luvrrish]

good morning! it’s luke and cherry day!👹

[luvrrish]

reblog this for good luck

[luvrrish]

Does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes?...

The 1st photo is of the "2019 FIA Prize Giving Ceremony"