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throttleheart · 2 months ago

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⸻ ⸻ ⸻

System Error

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, superiors being a pain in the ass

TW: panic attacks

Word Count: ~6.6k

Summary: A system error can change everything.

⸻

The paddock was winding down after a long, grueling race weekend. Mechanics were packing up, engineers hunched over tablets double-checking logs. You and Max had grabbed a quick lunch together — tucked into the corner of the hospitality suite, quiet and lowkey. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Just two exhausted people needing food and a moment of normalcy.

But that didn’t stop the whispers. The glances. The knowing smirks from a few teammates as you walked back into the garage together.

You tried to ignore it.

Back at your workstation, you focused in on the post-race diagnostics. Max had pushed the car hard today — telemetry showed it in the stress reports. You tapped through the data quickly, then made a tiny adjustment in the feedback delay loop on the throttle mapping software. The change was minimal, a smoothing patch that would make the car respond cleaner under fatigue next time.

Except… the system hiccupped when it compiled.

A 0.4-second glitch.

You barely saw it flash.

Then Max rolled out in the car again for a systems test lap, his visor down, the RB cranked up for one last high-speed run.

And you held your breath.

He came back into the garage ten minutes later, a scowl already on his face.

“Something’s wrong with the throttle mapping,” he muttered, tugging his gloves off. “Turn 6, the input lagged. Could’ve thrown the rear if I hadn’t caught it.”

You felt a cold sweat bloom on your back.

Before you could even speak, your superior stormed toward you — red-faced, report printouts flapping in his hand.

“Y/N,” he growled. “This was your code?”

You opened your mouth. “I— Yes, I patched the response curve, but I double-checked—”

“Double-checked?” he sneered, voice rising so everyone could hear. “Is that what you call this? A delay that could’ve sent our driver into the barrier?”

The whole garage fell silent. People turned. Mechanics slowed their movements.

Max glanced between you both, jaw tense but silent.

You took a shaky breath. “It was less than half a second—”

“In racing,” the superior barked, stepping closer, “half a second can mean death. Do you understand that?”

Your hands trembled.

He didn’t stop. “No wonder the car’s lagging. You’ve been too busy having lunch dates with our lead driver to do your damn job.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your chest tightened. People were staring. Whispers were picking up again — faster now.

You tried to respond, but it was like your voice got caught in your throat.

“Pack up your station,” he said coldly. “We’ll talk to HR in the morning. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re done.”

The world stopped spinning.

You felt like the air was being sucked out of the garage.

Max turned then, eyebrows furrowing. “What did you just say?”

But you weren’t listening anymore. Your vision was tunneling. Everything was loud— the voices, the clanging metal, the roaring blood in your ears.

You’re done.

You backed away from the workstation, heart pounding, lungs unable to catch up.

You made it out behind the garage, behind the rows of equipment crates, and dropped down to the ground. Your knees hit pavement hard, but you didn’t feel it. Your chest heaved as you tried to pull air in, but it wasn’t working.

Your mind was spiraling:

I almost got him hurt.

I messed up.

They’re right. I’m a distraction.

They’re going to fire me.

Your hands shook violently, fingers digging into your arms as you curled forward, heart slamming inside your ribs.

Then—

“Y/N!”

Max.

You heard him before you saw him — voice sharp, close, panicked.

He dropped beside you. “Hey—hey. Look at me. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t speak.

“Shit,” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re having a panic attack.”

He moved fast — sitting behind you, pulling you gently between his knees, arms wrapping around you from behind as you fought for breath.

“Just breathe with me,” he murmured into your ear. “In. Out. That’s it. You’re okay.”

His hands held your trembling ones, guiding your breath until the storm inside your chest began to slow.

It took minutes. Long, unbearable ones. But eventually, your pulse stopped hammering so hard, and you could breathe again without gasping.

“I didn’t mean to mess up,” you croaked, voice raw. “I was careful, Max, I swear—”

“I know,” he said instantly. “I saw the data. That patch didn’t put me in danger. It was a soft glitch, nothing more.”

“But he said—”

“He was wrong.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy. “He’s going to fire me.”

Max’s eyes darkened. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

And then he stood. You reached for him instinctively, but he squeezed your hand.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Then he turned on his heel and marched back into the garage.

This time, the garage didn’t just go silent — it held its breath.

“Oi!” Max shouted, zeroing in on your superior, his voice sharp and furious. “You said she put my life in danger. That’s a bold claim. So tell me — did you actually check the patch before you threatened her job?”

The superior blinked, caught off guard. “I—It’s a breach in safety protocol—”

“No,” Max growled. “It was a 0.4-second telemetry feedback loop skip. A glitch that you would’ve seen if you weren’t too busy playing detective about my fucking lunch schedule.”

“Verstappen, this isn’t your place—”

“It is when you humiliate someone in front of the whole team and make it about some rumor instead of the facts.”

Dead silence.

Max stepped closer, voice deadly calm now. “You don’t get to threaten her because you’re uncomfortable with her doing her job and being respected by the drivers. That patch? Didn’t put me in danger. But you just made this garage a hell of a lot more dangerous by making her the scapegoat.”

Then, a pause. A chilling one.

“I’ll be speaking to Christian about this.”

The superior paled.

Max turned and walked back out of the garage without another word.

When he found you again, he crouched beside you and offered his hand.

You took it, still shaky.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said gently, helping you to your feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak up sooner.”

You nodded, eyes stinging. “Thank you.”

“You’re not getting fired. Not today. Not ever — not on my fucking watch.”

And this time, you didn’t care who saw when he pulled you into his arms.

⸻

The sun had dipped behind the paddock skyline, casting long shadows across the now-quiet lot. Most of the team had cleared out. The garage was locked up. The whispers were probably still alive somewhere, still circling like buzzards — but for now, the world felt still.

Max’s motorhome was dimly lit when he opened the door and motioned you inside. He hadn’t let go of your hand since you stepped out of the car. It was warm, quiet. The kind of quiet that settles after a storm but still hums with what was left unsaid.

You dropped your bag by the door and sank onto the sofa, your body too heavy. Your limbs ached from the adrenaline crash, and your chest still felt bruised from the panic earlier.

Max sat beside you, leaning forward, forearms on his knees. He glanced at you, then away, then back again.

“You haven’t said much,” he murmured. “Still stuck in your head?”

You nodded slowly. “It just keeps replaying.”

Max shifted closer, one arm resting along the back of the sofa behind you. “What part?”

“The moment he said I was done,” you said quietly. “Like I was disposable. Like one mistake made everything I’ve ever done worthless.”

He looked over sharply, his voice low but firm. “It wasn’t a mistake worth punishment. I’ve had bigger scares from software updates. What you did was smart. Efficient. Just unlucky timing.”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. Not to him. Not to the people watching. They already think I’m here because of you.”

That one came out bitter.

Max was silent for a long beat.

Then, “Are you?”

You turned your head, startled.

“I mean,” he said, trying to smile but failing, “you’ve got a ridiculous resume. You worked your ass off to get here. But I just… want to make sure that if people keep talking, you know it’s not true. You’re not here because of me.”

“I know that,” you whispered. “But sometimes it feels like no one else does.”

Max’s expression softened.

“Today proved that no one’s immune,” you continued, voice cracking. “It doesn’t matter how many hours I log or how many times I’m the last one out of the garage. One lunch with you and suddenly I’m reckless. Distracted. A liability.”

Max moved then. Not fast — gently. He shifted so he was facing you fully, his legs crossed in front of him, one of your hands caught lightly between his.

“You’re not a liability,” he said, each word sharp and certain. “You’re the reason I trust that car when I go flat-out into turn one. You’re the voice in the back of my head telling me I’ve got a machine under me I can count on. That doesn’t go away because you ate a sandwich with me.”

A soft, broken laugh escaped you.

He squeezed your hand.

“I lost it in the garage,” he admitted. “When I saw what he did to you. When I saw you leave like that. I thought—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “I thought I’d pushed you into something you didn’t want. I thought maybe I ruined something for you.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — and saw it. The regret. The protectiveness. The bare honesty in his expression.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you said gently. “You saved me.”

His breath caught, just slightly.

Silence stretched between you — but it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy with something else. Something slow and warm and terrifying in a way that wasn’t panic. This was different.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper. “I didn’t even realize how scared I was until I couldn’t breathe.”

Max nodded. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve been there.”

“Yeah?”

He looked down at your joined hands. “After Monaco, 2018. Lost control, smashed into the wall. Everyone called me reckless. Stupid. Said I’d peaked already. I had this moment in the hotel bathroom that night where I couldn’t even look at myself. Couldn’t breathe. Thought I’d never shake it off.”

You reached out slowly, your fingers brushing his knuckles.

“And yet here you are,” you said.

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Here I am. With you.”

Your cheeks flushed. That warm feeling rushed higher in your chest.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whispered. “But I know I’d fight to keep it. Whatever we’re building. Even if the whole damn team thinks I’m only here because of it.”

Max leaned in slowly, his forehead touching yours.

“They can think what they want,” he murmured. “I’ll fight with you.”

You closed your eyes.

For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again.

⸻

The room stayed quiet, just the sound of the AC humming faintly and the low creak of the couch when you shifted slightly. Your forehead was still resting against Max’s, and you didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

“You’re exhausted,” he said softly, his voice more warmth than sound. “I can see it in your eyes.”

You gave him a tired smile. “That obvious, huh?”

Max pulled back just enough to look at you, then tilted his head toward the hallway. “You don’t have to drive back tonight. Just stay here. You can take the bed—I’ll crash on the couch.”

You blinked, startled. “Max, I can’t—”

“It’s not a big deal,” he cut in gently. “You need a quiet place. You need rest. And I… I’d rather you not be alone tonight.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to stay—it was that your pride, your fear, your racing thoughts were still tangled too tightly inside your chest.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whispered.

“You’re not.”

He said it immediately, like he’d been waiting for that exact moment to shut down the thought. Like he knew it was coming.

“You’re not a burden, Y/N. You’re not a mistake. You’re not some weak link in the chain.”

His voice dipped even lower.

“You’re just human. And you had a hell of a day.”

Your throat tightened again, but this time, it wasn’t panic. It was something else. Something gentler.

He stood slowly and offered you his hand again, palm up, open. “Come on. Just get some sleep. I’ll make sure no one bugs you.”

You let him lead you down the narrow hallway, your hand still in his.

His bedroom was simple—clean, quiet, dimly lit. He turned the light on low and grabbed a fresh shirt from his drawer, tossing it onto the bed for you without looking directly at you when he said, “If you want something comfier.”

You nodded silently, clutching the shirt after he left to give you privacy. You changed quickly, folding your clothes in a neat little pile at the foot of the bed, then sat down gingerly like the mattress might break under the weight of everything you were still carrying.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door.

Max peeked his head in. “You good?”

You nodded, but it was tentative. Your hands were fidgeting in your lap again, like the nerves had crept back in the moment you were alone.

He lingered in the doorway, eyes scanning your face. Then, softly: “Do you want me to stay?”

You blinked. “Here?”

“I meant—just until you fall asleep. I can sit in the chair, or stay on the floor. I won’t crowd you.” He shrugged a little, awkwardly. “Sometimes it helps, not being alone.”

There it was again. That gentleness. That quiet way he offered things without demanding anything in return.

You nodded.

He came in and sat on the edge of the bed, a careful distance away. Not too close, not too far. You laid down slowly, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders, and let yourself settle.

“Can I ask you something?” you whispered after a while.

“Of course.”

“Why did you come looking for me after the garage?”

Max looked over at you, his expression unreadable at first. Then he said, very simply, “Because you were the one thing that mattered more than what anyone else was saying.”

You swallowed hard, eyes misting again.

He leaned back against the headboard, one hand resting lightly on the blanket near your side.

“You’re safe now,” he said quietly. “You’re here. With me.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut.

The last thing you remembered before drifting off was the warmth of his presence beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the low, soft murmur of his voice when he whispered, just barely audible:

“You’re not alone.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

⸻

You woke slowly.

The soft warmth of unfamiliar sheets, the faint smell of detergent that wasn’t yours, and quiet—blessed, undisturbed quiet—wrapped around you like a second blanket. For a moment, you forgot. Then it all rushed back.

The panic. The yelling. The threats.

You shifted under the covers, turning your face into the pillow with a small groan. Your body still felt heavy, but your chest didn’t hurt this time. That was new. That was… better.

And then you heard it.

A bang. A curse.

Another bang.

You sat up, confused and a little alarmed, hair tousled, shirt riding up one shoulder.

“Max?”

No answer—just more clattering.

You pulled the door open and padded barefoot down the hallway, the oversized shirt falling past your thighs. The moment you turned the corner into the small kitchenette, you stopped in your tracks.

Max Verstappen, four-time world champion, was standing in front of a stovetop looking like he was actively losing a battle with a frying pan.

His hair was a mess, his tshirt was on backwards, and he was holding a spatula like it had personally insulted him.

You blinked.

“What are you doing?”

He turned sharply, looking sheepish. “Making you breakfast.”

You glanced at the pan. “Is that… supposed to be eggs?”

“It was,” he said defensively, scraping something blackened off the edge. “I think the stove runs hot.”

You gave a soft laugh, the sound cracking the morning tension in your chest like sunlight through blinds.

“Max…”

“I was gonna bring it to you in bed,” he added quickly. “Like a peace offering.”

“For what?”

He looked at you seriously. “For yesterday. For everything.”

You stepped closer. “You don’t need to apologize.”

He looked back down at the eggs—if you could still call them that.

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I wanted to do something nice. Just… something normal. For once.”

You leaned against the counter beside him and plucked the spatula from his hand. “Okay. Step aside, champ.”

Max smirked but obeyed, watching you with a hint of wonder in his eyes as you grabbed a clean pan and cracked a few eggs like it was second nature.

“You’ve done this before,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Cooked a non-lethal breakfast? Yeah. Once or twice.”

“Impressive.”

“You should try it sometime.”

He gave you a look. “I did. You laughed at me.”

“That’s because you burned eggs.”

He shook his head, but his smile stayed, soft and easy. The kind of smile that didn’t feel forced. The kind that tugged at your chest.

A few minutes later, the two of you sat on the little bench by the window, plates in your laps, legs nudging together lazily.

For a few peaceful moments, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. Like you weren’t one meeting away from HR and an official review. Like no one was whispering about the engineer and the driver who maybe got too close.

Max broke the silence first, his voice softer now.

“You’re not going to lose your job.”

You looked over, uncertain. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he said. “I made sure of it.”

Your brows furrowed. “What did you do?”

“I spoke to Christian. Sent in my full debrief, made it clear there was no issue with your system, and that you handled it well under pressure.”

You stared at him. “You defended me?”

“Of course I did.”

“But Max, they might think—”

“Let them,” he said firmly. “Let them talk. Let them wonder. I’m not going to let their crap undo everything you’ve worked for.”

You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes again—not panic this time, just emotion. The weight of being seen. Believed.

He reached over and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve got your back, Y/N.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I know.”

And you did.

Really, truly did.

⸻

The halls of Red Bull Racing’s HQ felt colder than usual.

You’d walked them a thousand times—joking with the guys from aero, trading coffees with the engine analysts, taking calls while speed-walking between wings—but today, every footstep felt like it echoed too loud. Every stare felt like it lingered too long.

And though Max had tried to reassure you that things were handled… you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach.

You reached the door marked Human Resources – Internal Operations and hesitated, knuckles hovering.

The memory of yesterday’s shouting still rang in your ears.

“You’re done here!”

“This stunt could’ve gotten him killed!”

“Maybe you’re too busy with Verstappen to do your job anymore!”

You swallowed hard and knocked.

“Come in,” came the clipped voice of Adrian, the HR officer.

You stepped in, back straight. Eyes forward. Trying not to tremble.

Adrian sat across from you with a screen open, data pulled up beside a few printed reports. And just to his right—your superior from the garage. Still smug. Still silent.

“Sit, please,” Adrian said.

You obeyed.

What followed was twenty minutes of cold, clinical questions. “Walk me through the system reset.” “Why did the warning not flag in the telemetry?” “Was Mr. Verstappen present at your workstation?”

You answered every question. Calm. Precise. You’d run the diagnostics again yourself last night before bed, just to be sure.

And still—

“While there’s no clear evidence of deliberate misconduct,” Adrian said, “concerns remain about… judgment. Focus.”

You stiffened. “I’ve never let my personal life interfere with my work.”

“Yet your team lead says this isn’t the first time you’ve been distracted.”

“That’s not true—”

The door opened.

Everyone turned.

Max stepped in.

Not knocking. Not hesitating.

He was in full race gear, holding his helmet under one arm, dark brows drawn low. Like he’d just come from the simulator and heard everything.

“Apologies for interrupting,” he said, voice firm. “But if this conversation is about yesterday’s system flag, I should be here.”

Adrian blinked. “Mr. Verstappen, this is a personnel review—”

“And I’m the personnel they’re saying she put in danger,” Max cut in. “So yeah. I’m staying.”

He crossed the room and stood behind your chair, his presence a wall of quiet support.

You felt your throat tighten.

Max continued, jaw tight. “There was no danger. The system glitched, she flagged it manually, and I was updated over radio before I hit lap two. I never lost control. I never felt unsafe.”

“Regardless, the optics—” your superior began.

“Screw the optics,” Max snapped. “You think she was distracted? That she doesn’t care about this team? About the car I put my life in every time I sit down in it? That’s a pathetic excuse for blaming your own lack of leadership.”

Your superior bristled. “She made a mistake—”

“You made a mistake,” Max cut in, eyes blazing now. “You let whispers get in your head. You threatened one of the best engineers on this team because you were scared of what people might think.”

The room went silent.

Max took a step forward, voice dropping low and tight. “You don’t get to fire her because we had lunch. You don’t get to throw her under the bus because she’s good at her job and people like her. And you definitely don’t get to treat her like she’s some liability when she’s the reason my car crossed the line every weekend without falling apart.”

You sat frozen. Breath stuck in your throat. Emotion burning behind your eyes.

Adrian cleared his throat awkwardly. “I believe we can… pause this discussion for now.”

Your superior stood and stormed out, jaw clenched.

Max didn’t look at him. Not once.

When the door finally clicked shut, you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Adrian gathered his things. “We’ll conclude our review this week. But off the record—” He looked at you, then at Max. “I’d prepare a public narrative. If this becomes media chatter, you’ll want a united front.”

You nodded numbly. “Understood.”

When the door closed again and you were finally alone, the tension broke.

You stood, your knees shaking, and turned to Max.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “Didn’t trust them to listen to you the way they should.”

“I… you didn’t have to fight for me like that.”

Max stepped closer. “Yes, I did.”

Your lip trembled. “I thought I’d lost everything.”

“You haven’t lost me.”

His words landed between you like a lightning strike.

Your breath caught.

Max’s hand reached for yours—slowly, like he was afraid you’d pull away. But you didn’t. You let him hold it.

You let him ground you.

He squeezed your fingers gently. “You’re safe now.”

And for the first time, you believed it fully.

⸻

You didn’t go back to the garage after the HR meeting.

After Adrian dismissed you, the air around HQ felt too dense, too sharp. You needed time — time to breathe, time to think, time to let the adrenaline drain from your chest without someone else demanding a straight face and steady hands.

So you went home. Showered. Changed into something soft. And waited.

You didn’t even have to text him. Max showed up at your door an hour after sunset, hoodie on, hair damp like he’d just been through a cooldown lap that wouldn’t end.

He didn’t say anything when you let him in. Just gave you a look — quiet, asking — and you nodded.

So he stayed.

Now you sat on the floor of your living room, both of you leaning against the couch like old war buddies after the battle. The lights were dim, casting soft shadows, and there was a mug of tea in each of your hands.

You weren’t even sure who made them.

Max broke the silence first.

“They’re not going to fire you.” His voice was low, certain.

You glanced sideways. “That’s not your job, Max.”

“It is when you’re being punished for being close to me.”

You looked down at your mug, thumb tracing the rim. “I’m not being punished for being close to you. I’m being punished for letting people see it.”

He didn’t respond to that. Just breathed out slowly, leaning his head back against the couch.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy — it was something else. Something more raw. Fragile.

“I hated seeing you like that,” Max said after a long moment. “Sitting in that office. Taking all of it. Like it wasn’t breaking you.”

You blinked. “It was breaking me.”

“I know.” His jaw flexed. “I wanted to tear the whole building apart.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “You kind of did.”

He gave a quiet huff — almost a laugh. Then:

“I didn’t plan any of this, you know.”

You tilted your head. “Plan what?”

“You.” His voice dropped. “Me, feeling like this. Like if I don’t see you after a race, something’s missing. Like if someone tries to take you away from this team, they’re taking my team away too.”

Your breath hitched.

He turned to look at you fully now, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I’ve spent my whole life needing to win,” he said. “But lately, that doesn’t feel like enough anymore. Not if you’re not there.”

You blinked back something sharp behind your lashes. “Max—”

“I know it’s complicated. I know it’s not fair, what they’re doing. What they’re saying.”

“They think we’re a distraction.”

“They’re wrong.” He leaned in a little closer, like he needed you to believe it. “You make me better. Sharper. Calmer. You ground me when I lose control. That’s not a weakness. That’s the only reason I haven’t lost my mind this season.”

You felt tears sting again — but this time, they didn’t come from fear. They came from relief.

Real. Tangible. Crashing relief.

You reached out and placed your hand on his chest, right over where his heart was hammering.

His eyes dropped to your hand. Then back to your face.

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “If this goes public… if they twist it… I could lose everything I’ve worked for.”

He nodded. “Then we take it slow. We stay quiet. We figure it out on our terms.”

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his hoodie. “But you want it?”

His answer was immediate.

“I want you.”

And when he leaned in — slower than ever before, eyes watching yours like he was asking permission — you didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

You just met him there.

The kiss was soft. Barely-there. A breath.

But it changed everything.

When you pulled back, your forehead pressed against his, he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

You whispered back, “I’ve got you too.”

⸻

It started with a ping.

You were in the garage early the next morning — headset on, checking tire temp data on the tablet before the briefing — when your phone buzzed.

One new message.

From a number you didn’t know.

“Didn’t take you for the type to climb the ladder like that.”

Attached: a photo. Grainy. Distant. But clear enough.

You froze.

It was you and Max. From last night. Sitting on your living room floor, mugs in hand, your head resting against his shoulder. A quiet, private moment through a window that had been half-covered by the curtain.

No kiss. No scandalous pose. Just… intimacy.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because it was real.

The second ping came thirty seconds later.

Then a third.

And by the time you opened Instagram, it was everywhere.

“Red Bull Engineer and Verstappen? Fans think something’s brewing behind the scenes.”

“Late-night rendezvous: insider sources say she’s been seen leaving his hotel multiple times this month.”

“Favoritism or just fast love? Max Verstappen’s inner circle raises eyebrows.”

You gripped the tablet tighter, knuckles white.

The whispers started almost instantly.

Two mechanics near the back of the garage leaned into each other, glancing your way.

Someone from comms darted past, phone to their ear, muttering fast and low: “Yes, we’ve seen it. Yes, we’re drafting a response—”

Your team lead approached but didn’t say anything. Just gave you a look. Cold. Cautious.

Like he was waiting to see if you’d melt down or explode.

Your headset crackled. Max’s voice came through. “Y/N, you seeing this?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He tried again, quieter this time. “They’re handling it. My PR is locking it down.”

You stepped away from the pit wall, out of range of the others.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you whispered into the mic.

“I know.”

“They weren’t supposed to see us. Not like that.”

“I know.”

There was a long pause. Then Max said, softly, “Come upstairs.”

You looked up at the second-floor glass overlooking the garage. He was already there, behind the tinted window. Waiting.

You climbed the steps two at a time.

When you reached the top, the door opened before you even knocked. Max pulled you in and shut it behind you like he was locking out the whole world.

You turned to him, eyes already burning.

“I can’t—Max, I can’t do this if it’s going to cost me everything.”

“It won’t.”

“It already is. You saw their faces. They’re all thinking I slept my way into strategy decisions. That I compromised data to keep you safe—”

“You didn’t.”

“They don’t care.” Your voice cracked. “They just want a headline. A villain. A scapegoat.”

Max stepped closer. “Then let me be it.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Let them blame me. Let them think I pushed you into it. That I used my status or—whatever. Let them hate me if they need to.”

“Why would you do that?”

He looked at you like it was the easiest answer in the world.

“Because I can take it.”

Then, softer: “And I won’t let them break you.”

You reached for the edge of the table to steady yourself.

He moved slowly, brushing his fingers against your wrist.

“I’ll call a press conference,” he said. “We get ahead of it. We say it’s personal, private, that it doesn’t affect performance, and that if anyone has an issue—they take it up with me.”

You shook your head. “They’ll crucify you.”

Max’s smile was faint. “They already try to. Let me protect you now.”

You stared at him for a long, long moment.

And nodded.

Because maybe it was already too late. Maybe the damage was done.

But if you were going down…

You weren’t going down alone.

⸻

The press room was already full when you slipped into the back.

You stayed close to the wall, cap pulled low, hoodie zipped up over your team polo—trying to disappear. Max’s manager had told you not to come. Said it would only feed the rumors.

But you couldn’t stay away.

Not when Max was about to step in front of every camera with your name on his lips.

The room hummed with tension. Journalists whispered to each other, some already typing furiously. The Red Bull PR lead stood off to the side, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Then the door opened.

And Max walked in.

He wasn’t in race gear this time. Just jeans and a navy team jacket. Clean-cut. Calm. But there was something in the set of his shoulders—tight. Ready.

He sat. Adjusted the mic.

“Let’s begin,” the PR lead said. “We’ll take questions in a moment, but first, Max has a statement.”

Every camera clicked on.

Every eye locked in.

Max didn’t flinch.

“There’s been a lot of noise in the last twenty-four hours,” he began, voice steady. “Photos, speculation, and a lot of assumptions.”

He paused.

“I’m going to make this very simple. Yes—I’m seeing someone. Yes, she works on my team. And no, that doesn’t compromise her work or mine.”

The room exploded. Flashes went off. Hands shot up.

Max held one palm out. “Let me finish.”

You gripped the back wall so hard your fingers hurt.

“She’s one of the best engineers I’ve worked with. She’s brilliant, disciplined, and earned her place here long before I ever asked her to dinner.”

Another pause.

“If anyone wants to suggest her position, or mine, is the result of favoritism—you’re insulting every hour we’ve both put into this sport. I won’t stand for that. Not for her.”

He looked straight at the cameras now. No flinching.

“This is private. It’s not gossip. It’s not strategy. And it’s not going to stop us from doing our jobs.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

The PR lead nodded, signaling the first question. It was a reporter from Motorsport Weekly.

“Max—don’t you think it sets a precedent? Dating within your own engineering division?”

Max didn’t blink. “I think it sets a precedent that we’re human.”

Another question came—something about “transparency,” about “possible bias in trackside decisions.”

Max shut it down in one line.

“If you’re suggesting she’d risk my safety or her own reputation for a relationship, then you’ve clearly never watched her work.”

The questions kept coming.

But Max didn’t falter.

He took the heat. The scrutiny. The storm.

And all you could do was watch, heart in your throat, realizing something that scared you more than any rumor ever could:

He wasn’t just protecting you.

He was choosing you.

Publicly. Unflinchingly.

And somewhere between his first sentence and his final nod to the room, something inside you cracked open.

Because you knew, no matter what came next—

You weren’t in this alone.

⸻

The hallway behind the press room was all stark lighting and hushed footsteps.

You stood tucked against the wall, barely breathing, heart rattling in your ribs as the door finally clicked open.

Max stepped out.

His eyes scanned the corridor once—and landed on you instantly.

He didn’t say a word at first.

Just walked straight to you.

Your breath caught the second he reached you, stopping less than a foot away. Close enough to see the flush still high on his cheeks. Close enough to feel the weight of everything he’d just risked… for you.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Your voice barely worked. “You… really did that.”

“Of course I did.”

“They’re going to talk about it for weeks.”

“I know.”

“They’re going to talk about me.”

Max nodded. “Let them.”

You swallowed, eyes burning. “You didn’t have to say all that. Not for me.”

“I didn’t say it for you,” he said, voice lower now. “I said it because it’s true.”

He reached for your hand again—like he had in that HR office, steady and sure. Like it was second nature now. And maybe it was.

You let him take it.

“You shouldn’t have to hide,” he said. “Not for their comfort.”

Your breath shook. “Neither should you.”

He cracked a smile—tired, soft. “I think I made peace with that the moment I walked in there.”

You both stood in silence for a beat.

Just the two of you, in the echo of everything that had just changed.

And then—finally—you said it.

“I’m scared, Max.”

He didn’t flinch. “So am I.”

You met his eyes. “This… it’s not just a fling.”

“No,” he said, stepping in even closer. “It’s not.”

You looked up at him then—really looked. At the way he watched you like the rest of the world didn’t matter. At the warmth behind his frustration, the steadiness behind all the fire. You’d been trying not to name it. Trying to pretend this was still something you could take off like a uniform after hours.

But it wasn’t.

This thing between you?

It was already stitched into your skin.

You whispered, “I’m in this. I don’t know where it goes, but… I’m in it.”

Max exhaled like he’d been holding that hope hostage in his chest.

“Then I’m in it too,” he said. “All the way.”

He leaned in—slow, careful, just a breath away from kissing you.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

His forehead pressed to yours instead.

And you stood there, breathing in sync, hands clasped like lifelines, hearts still racing from everything outside that door.

But in here?

It was quiet.

Safe.

Yours.

⸻

By the time you made it back to the hospitality area, the buzz had already spread.

You’d barely stepped past the doorway when someone whistled low behind you.

“Damn, Verstappen,” came Lando’s voice, half impressed, half amused. “Didn’t think you had the balls to say it on mic.”

Max didn’t flinch. “Someone had to.”

Lando’s gaze flicked to you—calculating for a second, then softening. “You alright?”

You nodded, though your voice was caught in your throat. “Getting there.”

He offered a crooked smile. “Well, don’t let the vultures get in your head. Most of them are just mad they didn’t call it first.”

Before you could even respond, Charles appeared with two coffees and a knowing look.

“I thought you might need this,” he said, handing one to Max. Then to you, “And you might want to check your socials. Public opinion is…” He paused. “Very divided.”

You groaned softly. “Great.”

“But mostly in your favor,” Charles added quickly. “Some people are idiots. But the rest? They think you’re brave.”

You didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear that until you did.

Oscar walked past then—tossing you a thumbs up as he did, like this was just another race day problem you’d solved with grace.

It shouldn’t have meant that much.

But it did.

Because the silence you’d expected never came. The cold shoulders, the whispers—they didn’t hit like you feared. Instead, there was something else in the air.

A quiet respect.

A new kind of attention.

One that didn’t just see you as her, the one from Red Bull. But her, the one he looked at like that on camera. The one who held her ground. The one who stayed.

Someone nudged your elbow gently.

You turned to see Lewis, calm and collected as ever.

“If it helps,” he said in low tones, “some of us knew a long time ago.”

You blinked. “Knew what?”

He gave a subtle smile. “That he was serious about you.”

Max was just returning from across the lounge when Lewis added, “He doesn’t risk the car. He only risks what matters more.”

Then he walked away, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You looked at Max.

Max looked at you.

And for the first time all day, you smiled.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

338 notes · View notes

hwaslayer · 6 months ago

Text

the space between us three (jyh) | two.

⇢series masterlist | series playlist

⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.

⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader

⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

⇢word count: 4.3k

⇢chapter content/warnings: cussing, the cliché coffee incident pls forgive me lol, parents pushing expectations, honestly not much but an intro to y/n and her family - bit of a filler chap!

"Can you visit mom and dad this weekend with me?" You nibble on the rest of your ramen while you wait for your brother to respond. You're currently sitting on a table outside near the trees, taking your lunch under the shade.

"Can't. I have plans with the boys."

"Wonwoo." You sigh.

"What? I promise, I'll head up there the weekend after. You can come with if you want. Sorry. I just planned this ahead of time and can't go back on my word now."

"Fine." You sip your water and toss your trash onto your tray before standing and throwing it into the appropriate bins.

"What, has mom and dad been on you again about us not visiting?"

"Kinda, yeah? You know how they always make passive aggressive comments because we don't come to see them often." You grab another cup of coffee, taking your time mixing it with half and half and some sugar. "It's always 'you two are always too busy for your parents!' or a 'it doesn't even take long to visit your parents!'" Your younger brother sighs as you quietly hand over some cash to the mobile coffee shop attendant.

"I know, but they also don't understand we've got our own things going on, too."

"I guess, yeah." You lick your lips and take a small sip, being careful enough to not burn your tongue from the scorching temp. "We really should do better, though."

It's not that your parents were bad. In fact, your parents were amazing. They had brought up both you and your younger brother comfortably and happily, sending you both to the best schools and supporting you until you two were able to fully walk on your own two feet, soar high with your own two wings.

It truly was just life.

You had gotten busy; always working at the hospital, growing from the bottom up, barely taking any of your vacation or sick days. If you did, it was because you had to or else you'd reach your max, or because you truly were rotting away in your death bed from a bad flu or food poisoning.

Otherwise, you were always at work. You were always with your girls. You were always going to lagree or bootcamp style studio classes. You were always doing something to occupy your time— mainly work. And the same thing goes for your brother, younger than you by 2 years.

He's just a boy.

But, he's your brother and you're incredibly close to him. He was always listening, was always good growing up. Would always protect you, especially from dumb boys and fake friends. He got good grades and went to college overseas before moving back home and settling down. Since then, he's always learned how to be on his feet— barely ever staying stationary. He, too, was always out with his boys. Working as a full-time software engineer, working out. Traveling when he gets the chance. Dating every now and then. But, you do love that he's living life and spending time with good people. He seems to have a good balance between his work and personal lives, which makes you happy.

It's just unfortunate that you two can't seem to manage slipping in more time with your parents. You both had agreed to do better about it, especially with your parents getting older.

"Are you still gonna see them this weekend, or are you gonna wait for me?"

"Yeah, I'll pop in for a second. I already told them I'd swing by."

"Hm." He hums. "Tell them we'll stop by for longer next weekend."

"Yeah, after I get the earful first."

"They won't." He clears his throat. "So, how's work been? Ate lunch well?"

"Yeah, I did. Work's been kinda crazy. They're opening this new department at the main hospital and it's expanding into the pediatrics side, too. We've been gearing up for it."

"Oh, really?" You nod as if your brother can see you.

"Yeah. They've been working with adult patients for their two studies, but they're going to start their pediatrics study soon. Pending on the IRB approval. But, once that's all good, they're hoping to secure their first patient, and we need to have everything ready to go."

"That's pretty cool."

"It is, but kinda hectic. Too many moving parts and people involved. It's a lot to keep up with."

"I'm sure you'll handle it well. You always do." You let out a small sigh before checking your watch and slowly walking back towards the peds hospital.

"Hope so. Work's been okay for you?" He chuckles.

"Same old! Nothing much has changed. Not like that, anyway."

"I see. So, what happened to that one girl you were seeing recently?"

"Uh, we're just better off as friends."

"Better keep that to yourself before mom starts setting you up on blind dates."

"Same goes for you. She'd probably go for you first. Been tryna marry you off." You roll your eyes.

"It's not my priority and she doesn't get that."

"She wants a grand baby and lowkey, I kinda want a nephew or niece to spoil, too."

"You're no help." He snorts. "Anyway, I gotta head back to my office and get some work done, I got a big meeting for that new department later today."

"Alright. Well, text me when you get home and try to take it easy."

"I will, you too, punk." Wonwoo chuckles. "Love you."

"Love you too!" And with that, the call ends. Your eyes are glued to your phone as you continue to walk back towards the hospital. The weather isn't too bad today, a slight breeze hitting your skin to balance out the warmth from the sun. You continue to switch between keeping your eyes in front, back down to your phone as you scroll through social media to catch up to things you've missed over the past few hours. When you finally get into view of the familiar building and the side lobby entrance, you slip in and head straight to the elevator without paying much attention— especially when it dings and slides the doors open for the individual behind to step out. You feel a soft thud; your body slightly coming into contact with theirs, causing some of your coffee to spill out of the opening on the lid.

"Oh— oh shit, I'm so sorry!" You look at the tall figure, wide-eyed as you survey his outfit to make sure your coffee didn't spill everywhere on his jacket.

"You're good." He says, eyes coming down to his jacket. There's a few drops of coffee dripping down near the zipper, but nothing that can't be fixed.

"I'm soooo sorry." You repeat as you dab a napkin at his jacket.

"No, seriously. It's fine. You're good." He laughs, brushing you off in a friendly manner. "Nothing laundry can't fix."

"Still another piece to add to your load." You look up at him and slightly pout. "Sorry."

"Maybe just be careful next time?" He gives you a small smile before he brushes past and out of the elevators. You realize he's got his large hand still propped up to prevent the elevator doors from closing on you, and you can't help but feel extra embarrassed. You do a tiny nod before he lets out a small chuckle and walks away, allowing you to be in your peace as you slip into the elevator and watch the doors close in front of you.

It just had to be him.

you: i almost spilled my coffee on a really cute guy ☹️

wonwoo: he'll def never come near you again. way to go sis 💗

you: you're a piece of shit

wonwoo: 🥰

You click your teeth and sigh as you step out of the elevator and onto your floor. You had been working as project manager supporting the pediatrics unit for about a year and a half now, starting at the hospital a few years ago as an admin associate and slowly working your way up.

"What? What's wrong, hun?" Your coworker and also one of your childhood bestfriends, Noeul, chimes in. She works as an HR manager, but her team sits nearby— giving you two the numerous opportunities to chit-chat and catch up in between meetings and tasks.

"I almost spilled my coffee on some really cute guy." She purses her lips together before giving you a toothless smile.

"I mean, you didn't, right?"

"No. Maybe a few drops. Now he'll have another piece of laundry to add to his load. All because of me."

"That's a good way to be memorable." You sigh. "I'm sure he wished he got your number."

"Wow, you're the complete opposite of my brother and I love that." She laughs.

"Of course, I'll always support you."

"How'd your meeting go?" She shakes her head.

"I don't know. So many sensitive issues. I think they only keep escalating and getting worse."

"Are you still dealing with that one manager and her staff member that weren't getting along?"

"Yup. That's exactly the thing that's getting worse."

"Sheesh. I hope they find middle ground soon, or at least find new avenues so they don't have to work with each other."

"Hope so too!" She looks at you. "When's your big meeting with the hospital people?"

"Hm." You hum and check your watch. "In the next hour." You settle at your desk and she follows along, sitting on the edge of the corner. "My inbox blew up over lunch so I gotta take care of a few things before I head over." You sip on your coffee.

"My busy bee." You give her a look. "Goodluck! Let me know how the meeting goes. I've gotta file a few reports and hop into a few other meetings myself. I'll see you later for a quick break?" You give her a small smile.

"Goodluck to you, too." She blows you a little kiss before she's prancing away to her desk, greeting people on the way over. You busy yourself before you need to start packing up and heading over to the main hospital, drowning in a few urgent emails that came in over your lunch break. Time sure flies when your brain is scattered everywhere, your to-do list seemingly never-ending and tossing you in a million different places at once.

You gather your things about 10 minutes before the meeting, which, doesn't give you much wiggle room in case you get lost. You don't go to the main hospital often, and you're not even sure if you have access to the room or how all of this would work. You are familiar with a few people also attending the meeting, but they're equally just as busy and are probably coming from other commitments.

You let out a small breath as you power walk over to the main hospital, happy you're at least getting your steps in for the day. You trickle into the huge lobby along with others, turning towards the left where the elevators are located. You press the button, waiting alongside a visitor as the elevator makes its way down from the 6th floor. You step in and patiently wait off to the side, checking your work calendar on your phone to make sure the meeting was indeed today.

Why does it feel like you're the only one heading over?

Were you the only one late at this point?

You step out of the elevator once you make it up to the 7th floor, pausing in your steps because— where the fuck do you go now? It was such a maze in this hospital, you didn't know whether to go left or right; the numbers on the doors skipping from one number to another. You turn to you right just because you go with your gut, hearing a trail of soft voices as you finally see a group of people heading towards a huge conference room further down [and definitely closer to your left had you just turned that way]. You pick up your pace, nodding and sending soft smiles to the familiar faces that catch you through the window of the room as they settle into their seats. Rushing over, someone is stationed at the door— probably waiting for you to make it inside.

"Thank you— oh, hi." You look up at the same, tall figure you damn near spilled your entire cup of coffee on.

"Hi." He gives you a toothless smile as he holds the door open for you. "Well, at least you aren't ramming into me with your cup of coffee this time." He jokes and you can't help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Yeah, mm'sorry about that still." You wince and slightly pout.

"I'm just joking. No worries. It happens." He smiles down at you, waiting for you to walk into the conference room. You give him another subtle, short bow before slipping into a chair on the opposite side of the table. You watch as he greets people coming into the room, a bit confused as to why he's still standing by the door until he finally sees the face he's been looking for.

He's got some kind of wit, some charm. Can't deny it's pretty attractive.

And to your surprise, he plops down in the seat next to you, followed by one of his team members [the said face he'd been looking for] you assume.

"Hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all." He gives you another toothless smile before eyeing your badge.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." He puts out a hand for you to shake. "Yunho."

"Nice to meet you as well, Yunho." You shyly respond. "At least I don't have to call you the guy I almost spilled all my coffee on anymore."

"Yeah, no." He laughs. "This is Taehyun, my team lead. Taehyun, Y/N." You and Taehyun give each other small, curt bows just as the higher ups step in and settle at the front of the room.

"Hey everyone! Thanks for meeting. I know everyone is super busy so it's much appreciated." Yoori says as she flips her laptop open and pulls up the agenda slide on the powerpoint presentation. The meeting kicks off with small introductions around the table since a lot of people hadn't worked together like this, especially you and a select others mainly supporting pediatrics. When Yunho introduces himself, you find yourself enjoying the way he speaks. He's got a deep tone, but nothing off-putting. He speaks lightly and positively, chuckling in between statements.

Yeah, he's def got a witty charm to him.

When it's your turn to speak, you can feel Yunho's eyes from the side. He's paying attention and listening closely even if these are quick introductions to the team. He notices the way you shyly smile at those around you, still managing to speak clearly and concisely despite your nervousness that's physically manifesting in the way that your hands tug on the material of your jeans, fiddling with your fingers underneath the table in between the conversation.

Cute.

Then, after the light, airy introduction portion, the presentation gets a lot more technical, and you find that you're actually more involved in this than you expected. You're being asked to oversee the development of the clinical trial room in the pediatric wing, along with scheduling biweekly meetings to discuss updates. Making sure all required attendees are at the meetings and driving things forward. Coordinating across calendars, providing updates every step of the way.

And things seem to be picking up, moving real fast. Things were stalled and slow just a few months ago; now, it's all gas, no brakes.

When it comes to dealing with the ordering structure and IT developments, Yunho takes the lead and discusses the current updates and how they're still figuring out a few tweaks. Yoori is diligently taking notes on her own laptop, along with everyone else who is clarifying through questions of their own.

"Y/N, can you please work with Yunho and his team and the clinical informatics team to make sure the patient ordering enhancements will be taken care of and pushed through? Along with securing the data storage and network? I'll send you the list of required attendees that need to be at each meeting to help push these efforts forward. Let's prioritize this and try to get that done within the next week." You nod, glancing over to Yunho afterwards. He's got his chin resting on the palm of his hand and his eyes dart down to you. His brows perk up before he gives you a tiny, toothless smile. You feel your hands get sweaty from the look alone, so you divert your attention back to your laptop— typing up the rest of your notes on the side. Yunho can't help but glance over at your incredibly organized notes and the way your emails are categorized; all the folders within folders.

Never-ending folders.

Definitely Type A.

He does like that, though. Can't help but feel a little endeared by it.

As the hour long meeting progresses, you feel yourself getting slightly overwhelmed by your growing task list. You can't help but feel an itch to get to your desk to scribble in your planner and get your thoughts organized.

And as soon as the meeting ends, you cut out with quick goodbyes before rushing over to your office. Yunho was hoping to catch you afterwards to talk a little more, but he watches as you leave, the opportunity now a long gone thought.

"Where'd you go?" Sian, your other good friend, asks. She's in the finance department, and typically comes over to check in with you and Noeul, especially when she has to drop off some mail for the peds hospital. "You and Noeul were both gone."

"I had that meeting, remember?"

"Oh shit, yeah. How'd it go?"

"I don't know." You plop onto your desk and let out a huff, pulling your planner from your bag before pulling up your notes in the cloud on your desktop computer. "So many things to do and everything feels so urgent." You've already got a few people to meet, along with pushing the operational aspect of this huge project. You've got your hands tied.

"Wow, they're moving fast with this."

"Yeah, very." You shake your head as you write out your thoughts, suddenly pausing to look back up at her as she fiddles with the figurines on your desk. "Hey, do you know the IT managers well?"

"Most of them, yeah."

"Do you know Yunho?"

"Jeong Yunho?" You shrug since you didn't really catch his badge on him. "He's the only Yunho I know of. How could you not know him?"

"Girl, I'm mostly on the peds side, I rarely come to that end." You giggle.

"He's handsome as hell. Tall. Super nice and helpful. Him and his team are so good about coming to the rescue ASAP." Sian nudges you and wiggles her eyebrow. "He's a single dad. I believe his daughter is 10? 11? Probably 11."

"Mm, dad of a pre-teen girl."

"Hey. He's making it." Sian shrugs. "Heard he's a really good father despite losing his wife years ago. I'm sure it must have been incredibly hard." You nod.

"Yeah, I can only imagine."

"He's good friends with Park Seonghwa from marketing. I think they're besties or something." You nod.

"I only know Seonghwa from the one interview I did with him when we did the remodeling project at the peds oncology unit. After that, barely have spoken a word to him."

"He's a little hottie, too. But, I heard he's got a thing going on with Yoori."

"Yoori? Like.. Director Yoori?" Sian nods.

"They're so weird about it, though. Definitely not known publicly, but people have seen them out together a select few times. Or, seeing Seonghwa go to her house."

"Nosey." You laugh.

"Well, it's definitely a small world around here."

"Hm." You hum. "So interesting, especially after I just saw her. I would have never suspected."

"What about Yunho, though?"

"First, I almost spilled my coffee on him this morning." Sian nods.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I'm not that clumsy."

"Mmkay." Sian laughs. "How much coffee?"

"A few drops." You make a face. "And then he ended up being in the meeting and sitting right next to me."

"See, big hospital but small world." You chuckle.

"Feels like college."

"Yeah."

"Speaking of Yunho." You furrow your brows when you see a little notification pop up in your Slack app.

yunho: hey!

you: hi there! you found me!

yunho: 😀 sorry, i tried to catch you after the meeting but you rushed out.

you: oops, yeah. i just had a few things to catch up on.

yunho: all good! do you wanna schedule some time to meet before scheduling the wider meeting with everyone else? i can walk you through everything so we're on the same page.

you: sure, yeah! that'd be helpful. i'm pretty free next week. i just prefer not to schedule anything over lunch if it can be helped. 😅

yunho: i'm the same, don't trip. lol. i'll send you an invite for early next week. what time do you get in usually?

you: mm, around 7:30-8am.

yunho: hm, wanna do 10am on monday then?

you: good with me. ☺️ thank you, yunho!

yunho: sure thing!

"Aw, he even went out of his way to message you." Sian watches you exchange messages from behind.

"Girl, please? We need to talk about getting the patient ordering system together and fixing all the infrastructure for the peds unit."

"Sounds like you'll be working with him closely? I'm actually kinda surprised his team is on this. Not saying they aren't great, but they're a bit smaller and support other departments." Sian ponders for a bit. "The other IT teams are pretty swamped though, now that I think about it. They probably have the best bandwidth right now."

"Who knows. But, yeah. I guess so. His team lead was also there."

"Maybe you'll get close to Yunho."

"Maybe I won't and just get my job done while minding my own business."

"Y/N. You're single and he's single, don't be so quick to cut him off just because he has a kid. You should put yourself out there again." She teases and you roll your eyes.

"Get out." She snorts. You hate that she's a little right about it; it had been awhile since you were in a serious relationship. You might've messed around with an old college classmate a few times, but it was so casual it ended up fizzling out all by itself and that was that. It's not like you had any bad relationships, either. They just weren't a fit, but you didn't hold any bad blood towards each other. Your mom was tired of it, though. She was hoping you'd finally stay in a serious, committed relationship— one where you'd end up walking down the aisle, settling down in a nice family home, one or two little ones running around [or more, she wouldn't be mad about it]. Maybe that's why you also dread visiting home, because she never fails to remind you that she's waiting, and that time doesn't wait for anyone. She gives Wonwoo a piece of it, too.

Just not as much as you.

It's always this game of comparison, trying to one-up her friends in some fashion. It's frustrating to deal with. She didn't understand that you were good with where you were at. And even if you did long for a partner and affection in that sense, it's not like you could wish for it to happen and change your life overnight. These things take time. These things need to develop naturally, wholeheartedly, genuinely;

It wasn't your time yet, you guess.

"Anyway, are we still having our little girls night at your place tomorrow?"

"Mhm. Just gotta visit my parents first then I'm all yours."

"Ah." She nods. "Is your brother coming along?"

"Nope. Next weekend, though."

"Goodluck, sweets. Tell us all about it when we come over." Sian looks at her watch. "I was gonna try to wait for Noeul, but I guess she got caught up in some things. I should head back." You nod. "See you tomorrow, my love."

"See you." She smiles before giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze and turning on her heel to take her walk back over to the main hospital.

As the afternoon rushes by, you're able to dock off a few more things on your list before feeling satisfied enough to call it a day. You decide you're a little too tired and worn out to be driving elsewhere for food, so you'll pop into the main hospital cafeteria.

wonwoo: did you spill your coffee on anyone else today?

you: no 🫥

wonwoo: [sends money]

wonwoo: go get a massage or something dude, relax

you: are you serious?!

wonwoo: yeah. 🙄 got a lil bonus from work, so if i'm eatin, you eatin too i guess.....

you: best brother award 😭

wonwoo: u don't mean it

you: i do!!! ily!!! 💕 i'll never call you bighead again!

wonwoo: yeah u def don't mean it

You giggle to yourself, feeling comforted by your brother even at a distance. The thing about your relationship with Wonwoo is that you two were always sharing in each other's ups and downs— good days, bad days. There was never any competition or need to feel like one had to do better than the other, thankfully; and this was a prime example of how close you and your brother were. You truly can't wait to hang out with him next week. You adore him to bits.

As you head back to the main hospital to grab food for dinner before leaving for the day [you definitely prefer the food there], you catch Yunho speaking to one of the nurses on her way out. She's blushing, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear while she laughs. Yunho looks nervous, but he's keeping himself pretty composed by the way he's smiling and laughing along with her. You brush past them quickly, and you aren't sure if Yunho noticed you or not— not like it matters, anyway.

He was definitely asking her out. And by the looks of it, she said yes. She had been wanting to say yes for awhile.

Welp, there goes the really cute guy you spilled coffee on.

It wasn't your time yet, you guess.

⇢taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @nopension @curse-of-art @thechaotictheoryy @likexaxdaydream @dalsuwaha @enha-stars @yasuraokaa @professormingisglasses @yunyunrin @pommelex @astral-trashcan @laura1399 @domfikeluva @tournesol155 @hwaskookies @yusalterego @hwa-stars @hyukssunflower @chngbnwf

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political-us · 2 months ago

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The Dow is on track for its worst April since 1932—the bleakest year of the Great Depression. Nearly a century later, markets are once again facing economic turbulence on a historic scale.

Trump's approval rating drops to 42%, the lowest it's been since he became president, according to a Reuters/Ipsos poll.

A cutting-edge microscope at Harvard Medical School could pave the way for major breakthroughs in cancer detection and aging research—but its progress is now at risk. The scientist who created the software to analyze its images, 30-year-old Russian-born Kseniia Petrova, has been held in immigration detention for two months. Arrested in February at a Boston airport, Petrova is now detained in Louisiana, facing possible deportation to Russia, where she says she fears imprisonment for protesting the war in Ukraine. Her case highlights the tension between immigration policy and the U.S.'s reliance on global scientific talent.

The Department of Homeland Security denied Mahmoud Khalil permission to be present for the birth of his first child, which took place Monday at a hospital in New York. Instead, Khalil had to experience the moment over the phone from Jena, Louisiana—more than 1,000 miles away from his wife, Dr. Noor Abdalla, who delivered their baby boy. The case has sparked criticism over DHS's handling of family and humanitarian considerations.

The White House is considering policies to encourage more Americans to marry and have children, including a potential $5,000 “baby bonus,” according to The New York Times. The proposals align with a broader conservative push to address falling birth rates and promote traditional family values. Other ideas on the table include reserving 30% of Fulbright scholarships for applicants who are married or have children, and funding educational programs that teach women about fertility and ovulation.

A group of Venezuelan migrants facing removal under a broad wartime authority challenged the Trump administration’s deportation process at the Supreme Court, arguing the notices they received don’t meet legal standards. The ACLU, representing the migrants, said the English-only notices—often given less than 24 hours before deportation—violate a recent Supreme Court ruling requiring enough time for individuals to seek habeas review.

The Education Department announced it will start collecting student loan payments from over 5 million borrowers who are in default. This means it will begin taking money from federal wages, Social Security checks, and tax refunds. This move comes as pandemic-era protections for student loan borrowers continue to wind down.

Tensions are rising within the Arizona Democratic Party as the state party chair is at odds with the governor and U.S. senators. In response, officials are considering shifting 2026 campaign funds to local county Democrats.

The U.S. Department of Commerce has announced substantial tariffs on solar panel imports from four Southeast Asian countries—Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand, and Malaysia—following a year-long investigation into alleged trade violations by Chinese-owned manufacturers operating in these nations. The tariffs, which vary by country and company, are as follows:

Cambodia: Facing the steepest duties, with tariffs reaching up to 3,521%, due to non-cooperation with the investigation.

Vietnam: Companies may face duties up to 395.9%.

Thailand: Tariffs could be as high as 375.2%.

Malaysia: Duties are set at 34.4%.

Senator Adam Schiff is urging the National Archives to investigate the Trump administration's use of Signal and similar messaging apps. He emphasized the need for NARA to reach out to every federal agency involved to make sure all relevant records are preserved. This comes amid growing concerns over transparency and potential violations of federal recordkeeping laws.

#aaron parnas #current events #news #america #politics #political #us politics #donald trump #american politics #president trump #elon musk #jd vance #law #trump administration #trump #trump admin

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northgazaupdates · 1 year ago

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14 April 2024

Concerning reports coming out of north Gaza this morning

Resistance News Network claims on Telegram that the occupation supposedly allowed some women and children under the age of 14 to return to their homes in north Gaza via Rashid Street.

However, journalist Hossam Shabat says that the IOF has denounced this as completely false, advising people not to approach the area or try to return to the north, as it is still an active war zone. RNN provides photographic and video evidence, while Hossam directly cites the words of the occupation.

Journalist Anas Al-Sharif reports this on his Telegram channel as well, citing the same evidence.

Meanwhile journalist Saed Al-Zaneen reports on Telegram that some people are trying to return to their homes in the north of their own initiative. Some occupation squads *may* be allowing this in certain areas, but it is not sanctioned by IOF leadership and could change at any time. He warns that the troops may suddenly attack the people trying to return, and that the occupation is not to be trusted.

We will continue monitoring the situation, but advise our followers not to spread word of any return of displaced people to the north right now, at least until circumstances are much more clear

UPDATE AT TIME OF PUBLISHING: Hossam Shabat reports occupation vehicles are now advancing on Al-Rashid Street in Gaza City. Saed Al-Zaneen reports this as well. He now also reports one martyr and one wounded person have arrived at Al-Awda Hospital in north Gaza after they tried to return to the north via Al-Rashid Street. He reports they are being attacked from helicopters and provides documentation. Resistance News Network reports this as well. Journalist Momin Abu Owda also documents this Journalist Ismail Al-Ghoul is at Al-Nabulsi Roundabout on Al-Rashid Street and reports no sign of people being able to return.

The situation is obviously in flux. I need to go to bed, but I will review the situation when I wake up. Please follow the cited sources and use a translation software as needed.

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ouroborosmoons · 8 months ago

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This is who we saw burning alive yesterday

RRN:

19-year-old Shaaban Ahmad Al-Dalou, a software engineer student who had the Qur’an memorized, is the youth who was seen burning alive in the massacre of burning the displaced persons' tents in Al-Aqsa Martyrs' Hospital in Deir al-Balah in the center of the Gaza Strip last night, the seventh time those exact tents were bombed.

His mother Alaa Al-Dalou was martyred with him. Shaaban had previously survived an IOF attack on a mosque across from the hospital where 20 martyrs had ascended last week.

Glory to the martyrs.

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vaishnavi1112 · 6 months ago

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#Cellma #riomed #healthcare #wellness #health #ehr software #epr software #emr software #HIS #HIMS #Hospital software #patient records #patient care #patient portal

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niqhtlord01 · 1 year ago

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Humans are weird: Prank Gone Wrong

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Filnar Go F%$@ Yourself!” was possibly the most disruptive software virus the universe had ever seen.

The program was designed to download itself to a computer, copy the functions of existing software before deleting said software and imitating it, then running its original programming all the while avoiding the various attempts to locate and remove it by security software.

What was strange about such a highly advanced virus was that it did not steal government secrets, nor siphon funds from banking institutions, it ignore critical infrastructure processes, and even bypassed trade markets that if altered could cause chaos on an unprecedented scale. The only thing the software seemed focused on was in locating any information regarding the “Hen’va” species, and deleting it.

First signs of the virus outbreak were recorded on the planet Yul’o IV, but once the virus began to migrate at an increasing rate and latched on to several subroutines for traveling merchant ships things rapidly spiraled out of control. Within a week the virus had infected every core world and consumed all information regarding the Hen’va. It still thankfully had not resulted in any deaths, but the sudden loss of information was beginning to cause other problems.

Hen’va citizens suddenly found that they were not listed as galactic citizens and were detained by security forces on numerous worlds. Trade routes became disrupted as Hen’va systems were now listed as uninhabited and barren leading to merchants seeking to trade elsewhere. Birth records and hospital information for millions of patients were wiped clean as they now pertained to individuals who did not exist.

Numerous software updates and purges were commenced in attempting to remove the virus. Even the galactic council’s cyber security bureau was mobilized for the effort, but if even a single strand of the virus’s code survived it was enough to rebuild itself and become even craftier with hiding itself while carrying out its programming. This was made worse by the high level of integration the various cyber systems of the galaxy had made it so the chance of systems being re-infected was always high.

After ten years every digital record of the Hen’va was erased from the wider universe. All attempts to upload copies were likewise deleted almost immediately leaving only physical records to remain untouched.

To combat this, the Hen’va for all official purposes adopted a new name; then “Ven’dari”. In the Hen’va tongue in means “The Forgotten”, which is rather ironic as the Hen’va have had to abandon everything about their previous culture to continue their existence. The virus had become a defacto component of every computer system in the galaxy and continued to erase all information related to the Hen’va. Even the translator units refused identify the Hen’va tongue and so the Ven’dari needed to create a brand new language.

It wasn’t until another fifty years had passed before the original creator of the virus stepped forward and admitted to their crime. A one “Penelope Wick”.

At the time of the programs creation Ms. Wick was a student studying on Yul’o IV to be a software designer. While attending the institution Ms. Wick stated that a fellow student, a Hen’va named “Filnar”, would hound her daily. He would denounce her presence within the school and repeatedly declared that “what are the scrapings of humans compared to the glory of the Hen’va?”

The virus was her creation as a way of getting back at the student for his constant spite. Ms. Wick was well aware of the dangers it could pose if released into the wild and so had emplaced the limitation that the virus would only infect computers on site with the campus. The schools network was setup that students could only work on their projects within the confines of the institution to ensure they did not cheat and have others make them instead. What she had not counted on was this rule only applied to students and not teachers. So when a teacher brought home several student projects to review and then sharing those infected files with their personal computer, the virus then gained free access to the wider planets networks.

When the Ven’dari learned of this there were several hundred calls for Ms. Wick to be held accountable for her actions, and nearly twice as many made to take her head by less patient individuals who had seen their entire culture erased. Much to their dismay Ms. Wick died shortly after her confession from a long term disease that had ravaged her body for several years.

Much to her delight, she had achieved her goals of removing the source of her mockery.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #story #scifi #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #funny #prank #prank gone wrong #virus

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mothtowers · 2 years ago

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the true essence of The Driving Crooner and part of why its so iconic is that it perfectly encapsulates how people on the internet live. being The Driving Crooner is just a stand-in for any online hobby that isnt directly profitable.

I am reminded of how PurpleEyesWTF (of "im at the soup store" fame) once mentioned his day job was updating hospital software and i always wondered what it must be like working with someone like that.

Just imagine youre just a regular person going about their life, you know a little about anime, but you dont know what the hell an abridged series is. And one day a quiet and reserved but otherwise normal-seeming co-worker invited you to their house. Eventually you ask about the ramshackle recording studio they have set up in their apartment, and they excitedly show you a video of what appears to be an anime but they seem to have recorded their own audio and replaced it with a bunch of weird dialogue you guess is funny to a certain group of people. It all seems really high effort and you kinda have to ask why they would do all this. they show you their youtube channel where theyre pulling like 8k views per video and have done like 20 episodes for at least 3 different anime series, all the while lamenting how they dont make any money. intermittently they start venting about their difficulties navigating youtube copyright law and seem strongly opinionated about it. soon they start talking to you about all the petty drama in the abridging community and namedropping all sorts of people they consider their enemies. None of this means anything to you and you feel like youve entered some strange extremely specific world and are a little unsettled by how deep this iceberg could go.

Thats The Driving Crooner, thats what its about

#insects news service

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flamingpudding · 2 years ago

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Inherited Driving

A/N: Credits also to @escelia 💖 Thanks for helping flash out this idea even more!!

Bruce Wayne was going crazy about Gotham's newest rogue. He stared at the open case file, the reports were laid out all over the table. On the Batcomputer various images were displayed. Images from bent light posts, street sights that were found three blocks from their original position, buildings that were missing chunks of their walls, and even buildings that had distinct car-shaped holes.

Next to that various reports were open about hit-and-run cases. None appeared to be connected. All the victims appeared to be chosen at random, good or bad didn't matter. No connections. Mugger, Politicians, other rogues, or even his children when on patrol. And then there were also reports of apparently people going insane claiming they had seen a silver car come right at them but never hit them.

He looked at the reports of his children.

Jason complains about a drug deal busted by a car bursting in and nearly ruined it for him by knocking out the main targets before crashing through the opposite wall.

Tim claimed that the corrupted CEO he had been investigating both as Red Robin as well as Tim Drake-Wayne got run over on the open streets and was now hospitalized.

But the most absurd reports came from Dick and Duke.

Dick one night reported that a silver car barely missed him while out on patrol. Nothing strange so far. If his son hadn't reported that he was jumping over roofs when it happened.

And Duke? He just reported that he felt like he had a near-death experience and saw his life flashing before his eyes. The cause? A glowing car came straight at him.

Bruce gripped his hair in frustration. This new rogue didn't make sense. They went for bad guys but also good guys? What was their pattern? The connection? Their goal? Was he lucky that none of his other children had so far encountered them on patrol?

They appeared at night as well as during the day.

Who was going to be the next target? Would it be one of his kids or possibly another corrupted politician or maybe even a mugger again next?

Tim had specifically created software to keep track of this rogue in the news or any online posts. Barbara was not able to get any video feeds or photos of this rogue for some reason. All images or videos found for the areas of his appearance were either entirely static or corrupted to the point of unrecognizability. He didn't even have the damned silver car's license plate!

Then there was the car driver's description from witnesses, which also varied from person to person. One stated him to be black-haired and blue-eyed looking like a tired College Student, another stated the man had white hair and green glowing eyes and lastly a more crazy person stated it was like an Eldritch being possessing the car.

The software peeped and Bruce turned to click on it, a news article appeared and the man groaned at what he read.

Breaking news: Scarecrow in custody after getting hit by car through Starbucks!

Witnesses say that during what was shaping up to be a fear gas attack, the driver hit the man before swerving through the front window of a Starbucks.After confirming everyone was okay, the baristas on shift gave the driver an iced coffee and a croissant while waiting for the police to arrive on scene. One employee even insisted this reckless driver saved their lives. [...]

Bruce closed the news, not reading any further and ready to slam his head onto the table. Who was this rogue?

Danny blinked at the newspaper in his hand, sipping his coffee and wondering who that driver was. He would have to be more careful now on the streets with a driver like that, that's fine. Jazz wouldn't probably call him soon again to nag about these crazy drivers Gotham appeared to have. She had been naggingly worried ever since he started going to college here. He just had to assure her that he would be even more careful to not get involved. Though his parents had already reinforced his car as a stay-safe-son measure. So he would just have to get in the car, drive from point A to point B and not hit anyone or anything like his parents.

He glanced at his kitchen clock and spat out his morning coffee.

"Shit! I am going to be late for my classes!"

In a rush he grabed his keys and ran to his car. He needed to hurry if he wanted to be there in time without upsetting his professor. Good that he learned about some pretty neat short cuts from his classmates.

#danny fenton #bruce wayne #dp x dc #fic prompt #prompt idea #Jazz wasn't the only one to inherit something from their parents #Danny is oblivious to it #Probably desensitised because of his parents #Bruce is pulling out his hair #The new rogue does not make any sense #Where is the connection between the targets #Danny just wants to get from A to B #dpxdc #crossover #How did Danny get his driving license in the first place?!#jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #duke thomas

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mariacallous · 8 months ago

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On Saturday, an Associated Press investigation revealed that OpenAI's Whisper transcription tool creates fabricated text in medical and business settings despite warnings against such use. The AP interviewed more than 12 software engineers, developers, and researchers who found the model regularly invents text that speakers never said, a phenomenon often called a “confabulation” or “hallucination” in the AI field.

Upon its release in 2022, OpenAI claimed that Whisper approached “human level robustness” in audio transcription accuracy. However, a University of Michigan researcher told the AP that Whisper created false text in 80 percent of public meeting transcripts examined. Another developer, unnamed in the AP report, claimed to have found invented content in almost all of his 26,000 test transcriptions.

The fabrications pose particular risks in health care settings. Despite OpenAI’s warnings against using Whisper for “high-risk domains,” over 30,000 medical workers now use Whisper-based tools to transcribe patient visits, according to the AP report. The Mankato Clinic in Minnesota and Children’s Hospital Los Angeles are among 40 health systems using a Whisper-powered AI copilot service from medical tech company Nabla that is fine-tuned on medical terminology.

Nabla acknowledges that Whisper can confabulate, but it also reportedly erases original audio recordings “for data safety reasons.” This could cause additional issues, since doctors cannot verify accuracy against the source material. And deaf patients may be highly impacted by mistaken transcripts since they would have no way to know if medical transcript audio is accurate or not.

The potential problems with Whisper extend beyond health care. Researchers from Cornell University and the University of Virginia studied thousands of audio samples and found Whisper adding nonexistent violent content and racial commentary to neutral speech. They found that 1 percent of samples included “entire hallucinated phrases or sentences which did not exist in any form in the underlying audio” and that 38 percent of those included “explicit harms such as perpetuating violence, making up inaccurate associations, or implying false authority.”

In one case from the study cited by AP, when a speaker described “two other girls and one lady,” Whisper added fictional text specifying that they “were Black.” In another, the audio said, “He, the boy, was going to, I’m not sure exactly, take the umbrella.” Whisper transcribed it to, “He took a big piece of a cross, a teeny, small piece … I’m sure he didn’t have a terror knife so he killed a number of people.”

An OpenAI spokesperson told the AP that the company appreciates the researchers’ findings and that it actively studies how to reduce fabrications and incorporates feedback in updates to the model.

Why Whisper Confabulates

The key to Whisper’s unsuitability in high-risk domains comes from its propensity to sometimes confabulate, or plausibly make up, inaccurate outputs. The AP report says, "Researchers aren’t certain why Whisper and similar tools hallucinate," but that isn't true. We know exactly why Transformer-based AI models like Whisper behave this way.

Whisper is based on technology that is designed to predict the next most likely token (chunk of data) that should appear after a sequence of tokens provided by a user. In the case of ChatGPT, the input tokens come in the form of a text prompt. In the case of Whisper, the input is tokenized audio data.

The transcription output from Whisper is a prediction of what is most likely, not what is most accurate. Accuracy in Transformer-based outputs is typically proportional to the presence of relevant accurate data in the training dataset, but it is never guaranteed. If there is ever a case where there isn't enough contextual information in its neural network for Whisper to make an accurate prediction about how to transcribe a particular segment of audio, the model will fall back on what it “knows” about the relationships between sounds and words it has learned from its training data.

According to OpenAI in 2022, Whisper learned those statistical relationships from “680,000 hours of multilingual and multitask supervised data collected from the web.” But we now know a little more about the source. Given Whisper's well-known tendency to produce certain outputs like "thank you for watching," "like and subscribe," or "drop a comment in the section below" when provided silent or garbled inputs, it's likely that OpenAI trained Whisper on thousands of hours of captioned audio scraped from YouTube videos. (The researchers needed audio paired with existing captions to train the model.)

There's also a phenomenon called “overfitting” in AI models where information (in this case, text found in audio transcriptions) encountered more frequently in the training data is more likely to be reproduced in an output. In cases where Whisper encounters poor-quality audio in medical notes, the AI model will produce what its neural network predicts is the most likely output, even if it is incorrect. And the most likely output for any given YouTube video, since so many people say it, is “thanks for watching.”

In other cases, Whisper seems to draw on the context of the conversation to fill in what should come next, which can lead to problems because its training data could include racist commentary or inaccurate medical information. For example, if many examples of training data featured speakers saying the phrase “crimes by Black criminals,” when Whisper encounters a “crimes by [garbled audio] criminals” audio sample, it will be more likely to fill in the transcription with “Black."

In the original Whisper model card, OpenAI researchers wrote about this very phenomenon: "Because the models are trained in a weakly supervised manner using large-scale noisy data, the predictions may include texts that are not actually spoken in the audio input (i.e. hallucination). We hypothesize that this happens because, given their general knowledge of language, the models combine trying to predict the next word in audio with trying to transcribe the audio itself."

So in that sense, Whisper "knows" something about the content of what is being said and keeps track of the context of the conversation, which can lead to issues like the one where Whisper identified two women as being Black even though that information was not contained in the original audio. Theoretically, this erroneous scenario could be reduced by using a second AI model trained to pick out areas of confusing audio where the Whisper model is likely to confabulate and flag the transcript in that location, so a human could manually check those instances for accuracy later.

Clearly, OpenAI's advice not to use Whisper in high-risk domains, such as critical medical records, was a good one. But health care companies are constantly driven by a need to decrease costs by using seemingly "good enough" AI tools—as we've seen with Epic Systems using GPT-4 for medical records and UnitedHealth using a flawed AI model for insurance decisions. It's entirely possible that people are already suffering negative outcomes due to AI mistakes, and fixing them will likely involve some sort of regulation and certification of AI tools used in the medical field.

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kirstoons · 8 months ago

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SDV Sebastian x Female Farmer (Yandere)

Author: Me (kirstoons)

Editor and Queef: @gayrahim

TRIGGER WARNING: NSFW, 18+ content, MDNI

Chapter 2

Summary: After you depart from his house, Sebastian starts setting his plan in motion. This chapter also gives you a sneak peak into his perverted mind.

After you leave Sebastian’s house

Once you’re out the door, Sebastian immediately starts making plans. This is far too perfect of an opportunity to pass up. Just like in Solarian Chronicles, he is in control of the board and just needs to make the path clear for you. To do so means to make alternative paths… inaccessible.

Robin gives Sebastian a small look of surprise saying, “I’m surprised you’re being so hospitable.” Sebastian paints an expression of boredom as he replies, “yeah, well she is basically part of our group now. I should be friendly, at least to keep the peace.”

Robin gives a knowing nod, a little disappointed in her son’s answer. She kind of hoped that he was putting himself out there more but his response reflects only preservation of the status quo.

“So you’re gonna be away working this week?”, he tries to get the answers he needs but also not tip his mom off about any of his intentions.

“Yeah, I gotta finish these blueprints tonight and have her approve them. If that goes well, I’ll prob head there tomorrow morning to start construction. I’ll be working pretty late so it’ll likely just be you, Maru and Demetri for dinner these next few nights. Try not to antagonize either of them, please?” She gives Sebastian a pleading look knowing it’s a hard task.

“Ughh”, Sebastian groans as he turns his back to her to walk to the basement, but he already has a wicked grin by the time he reaches the door. He plops down in his computer chair and takes a deep breath as he readies himself for the next part of his plan.

Later that evening, a small ding sounds from his computer sending him in an excited frenzy to get to the notification.

Email from: [email protected]

To: y/[email protected]

Hi y/n,

Here is an attached copy of the blueprints I designed. Let me know if you have any questions or edits. I was planning to head over to your farm tomorrow morning, after I get these plans approved. Also, the day that you can’t stay in the house should fall on Thursday, Fall 11. I’ll be sure to keep you up to date with any changes.

Looking forward to seeing you,

Robin

Sebastian downloads the blueprints onto his desktop and begins studying them thoroughly, typing notes on his other monitor as he peruses them. He then opens up the file in his editing software and starts to make a few adjustments. Some are small, like a larger closet, an access door from the house to the crawl space, large bay windows out front, and LOTS more electrical outlets and other cable hookups. Most of these would go unnoticed under that cute, oblivious nose of yours. He made sure to to use the most technical terms and odd specifications for all the electrical work, knowing that they’d confuse his mom, resulting in her asking for his help with installation.

Now for the more sizable changes. A small wood shelter to the side of the house that can be passed off as extra wood storage or whatever farm shit you wanted to put in there. He made sure it was the perfect location to obscure his motorcycle headlights for his “late night visits” and far enough from the house for the sound of the engine to not disturb your precious sleep. This change would be obvious to you but he knew he could pass it off as kindness from his mother who just appreciates her business. The last big change was that crawl space. Sebastian couldn’t help but think to himself what a lucky girl you are to be receiving a fully finished crawl space (an expense he’d have to foot but knew it was well worth it for his precious girl).

While finishing up his special tweaks, he received another email notification.

Hey Robin!

These look sooooo great! I’m so excited to get started! I only have one edit to ask and it’s super small. Could you install a security camera to my front porch? I bought the camera already, so it just needs an install. Other than that, the blueprints are officially approved :D

Thanks again!

Y/n

Even in email format you were adorable. Sebastian could feel his dick twitch as he read the email in your voice. And your compliance certainly helped. You definitely made his plans go a lot smoother and he couldn’t help but to utter “good girl” under his breath. He had already prepared for your response and had your email go straight to him instead of Robin. He then composed an email from your account to read nearly the same but asking for the additional edits he made. As he prepared a response to your email posing as his mother, there was a knock at his door.

Sebastian quickly and skillfully minimized the applications and opened a decoy webpage that had articles on Solarian Chronicle.

“What” he shouted in his typical annoyed tone.

Robin gently opened the door and stood in the doorway. “I know you hate when I bug you, but I just got an email from y/n about some edits on the blueprints. Everything is pretty standard but she asked for some internet wire stuff - or something like that - and, while most of the installations are easy, hers are pretty specific. I’m just a little out of my depth on this one so I was hoping that maybe you’d be willing to take a look and give me a hand?”

To his expectation, Sebastian threw his head back letting out an annoyed groan. “Fine, I guess,” he said in usual flat tone, even though he was thrilled to see his plans fall into place. Robin gave a warm thanks to Sebastian, trying not to gush over how happy she was to have him help her and retreated back up the basement stairs (making sure she closed the door behind her).

Sebastian, still playing middleman between yours and Robin’s emails, finished up the last of the emails, letting you know that your requests would be accommodated and giving a small heads up to the mini shelter in order to prevent you questioning Robin in person. He tilted back on his chair with pride at his tactical approach and flawless execution.

His thoughts turned from self praise to imagining the final outcome of all this hard work. You. You belonging to him. It made him hard just thinking about you being all his. His long piano fingers work their way down to the large bulge in his jeans. He gently cups it from below and gently rubs his thumb over his denim covered shaft. He lets out a satisfied moan as he melts away into his fantasy of you begging on your hands and knees for his cock.

Unable to pull himself from his imagination he hastily undoes his jeans, slipping them to his ankles, and reaches back to the drawer behind him to grab his needed supplies. He moves a piece of fabric to the desk and fishes out a pink bottle of lotion labeled with the scent “ sweet pea and cherry blossom”; the same lotion and scent you use. He squirts a generous amount into hand and swatches a small amount of the creamy, soft pink liquid under his nose. He takes a deep inhale of the scent and focuses back into his fantasy of you being so needy for his dick.

He starts stroking the length of his shaft as he imagines you on all fours, ass in the air, moaning and begging for him to satisfy you. He imagines your pussy’s lips dripping wet and trembling in anticipation and desire for him to stick it in you but he loves seeing you in this state and wants to tease you further into submission. All four fingers are wrapped tightly around his cock, now, and he begins making longer, faster strokes along his shaft.

He thinks of him teasing your soaked cunt with his index finger, circling your precious, little hole as you beg for him to be inside you. You’d even buck your hips trying to maneuver his finger inside you but it doesn’t work. He’d call you a naughty girl for trying a trick like that before he’s given you permission. He firmly slaps your ass as punishment and to reposition you. You let out a horny shriek as you can still feel the warm sting on your ass cheek.

Sebastian pumps faster on his cock, engaging his thumb to rub the underside of head, forcing him to throw his head back and release a deep moan. He sinks further into his fantasy. He imagines feather lightly teasing your clit, causing more of your juices to spill out. Your struggle breathes a clear sign of your stimulation. He runs his head around the edge of your hole as he continues playing with his favorite button. All the anticipation and teasing becomes too much for you and your plush, pink walls contract in orgasm, shooting your slick juices out and onto his tip where he was still making playful circles.

Sebastian was furiously fapping at that point, edging himself closer and closer to release. He knew exactly what would push him over the edge. He would gently scold you for cumming before he even got his dick inside you. He calls you a needy, impatient princess who can’t stand not having things go her way. He also reminds you that he didn’t give you his permission to finish. Even though you would still be coming down from the high of your orgasim, his scolding would leave you disappointed in yourself and on the verge of tears for not properly obeying Sebastian. Right as you attempt to form an apology, Sebastian rams his cock deep into your still gushing pussy. You let out a sharp yelp but Sebastian prevents if from escaping when he presses his mouth into yours.He then starts with a few slow pumps trying to give your tight pussy time to adjust to his long, thick member. But, similar to you, he can sometimes be a bit impatient and begins thrusting faster, harder… deeper. He can hear the sounds of your juices squelching with each thrust and the smell of your cum mixed with the scented lotion wafts up to his nostrils. He feels absolutely euphoric. His cock throbs inside your warm, sticky insides, indicating how close he is to releasing his load. It’s also clear to him that you are equally as close, due to the rhythmic tightening of you fleshy walls. He whispers to you, “be a good girl and take it all, okay? Only good girls get to cum.” You bite your lip trying your best to obey his commands but the pleasure is beginning to swell again and you’re unsure of how much longer you can hold on. Thankfully, Sebastian nears his climax, giving deep grunts with each thrust. “That’s my girl… such a good… obedient g-girl.” He pushes out the words in deep, airy breaths. “My perfect g-good gir…. fffff-f-fffuck”, he roars as his thrusts deep into your sloppy pussy, gushing his hot, thick cum into your velvety soft lips. As soon as you feel his sweet cream inside you, you immediately erupt into your own orgasm that clenches his dick, push out every drop of his cum into your overflowing hole.

Before he shoots his load all over his desk he grabs the cloth from earlier, using it to cover the end of his dick as he releases his actual load in real life. It pours out of him, soaking into the cloth and dripping down the sides of his shaft and hand. He lays there for a bit as his cock empties and he imagines what your face would look like when you orgasm. He wipes up the rest of the mess with the small cloth, now fully soaked in seamen and holds it in his hands, unfurled. Your pink and white panties, with a little lacey trim are drenched in his sperm. His dying boner twitches at the sight of them.

He gently places the cum-soaked panties in a ziploc bag and rummages to the back of his closet to pull out a large trunk with a lock. Fishing the key from his secret hiding place behind the outlet, he tenderly unlocks the chest and places his newest treasure delicately inside, next to the other pieces of his collection. He picks up one photo in particular to examine. The picture is of you looking over your shoulder toward the camera while reaching back to unhook your bra. It’s clear that the photo was taken unbeknownst to you and just outside your bedroom window at night.

Sebastian gives the photo a gentle, tender kiss as he places it back on the stack of what seems to be hundreds of others like it. He pushes the chest back into his closet and rehides the key.

After another masturbation session in the shower with his imaginary version of you (one where you needily ride his cock as he plays an online game sesh with Sam and Abigail), he cleans off and stations himself back at his desk.

“Time for the next phase,” he says softly to himself with a sly grin. He then pulls up the window on his computer that displays all the text messages on your phone. He sips from the cold mug of coffee that you had drank from this morning and begins typing away.

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