#but equally as determined and fierce and ready to go

[harrysfolklore]

but daddy i love him, part one - mv1

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

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

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

Melbourne, 2015

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

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

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

"They're still open?"

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

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

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

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

He hesitates. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Fair point. Here for the Grand Prix?"

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

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

"Cryptic."

You laugh. "Says the equally cryptic stranger."

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

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

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

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Scared?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's call it intuition."

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

"Different good or different bad?"

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

"Your father?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes widen. "Wolff? As in…"

"See you in the paddock, Max Verstappen."

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

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

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

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

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

Singapore, 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," you prompt softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barcelona, 2016

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

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

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

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

"Papa?"

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

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

Toto's eyebrows rise slightly. "Out?"

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

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

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

"Ricciardo?" His tone sharpens slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not fair."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Germany, 2016

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monaco, May 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Scared, Verstappen?"

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

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

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

A door opens down the hall.

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

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

"Everything okay?"

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

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

"Night, Papa!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Not helping!"

"Then probably murder you-"

"Still not helping!"

"And Lewis would hide the body-"

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

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

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

"He won't."

"But if he does-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was just-"

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

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

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

"It's not a game-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monza, 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Little Wolff?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, fresh tears threatening to fall.

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

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

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

Monaco, Summer 2018

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

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

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

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

"You're literally younger than me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I did not!"

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

You shove him playfully. "I hate you."

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

"You're not even in F1 yet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks surprised but pleased. "Absolutely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the hell are you doing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're being ridiculous."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"YN, wait-" Max calls after you.

"Go to hell, Verstappen."

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

"I hate him," you whisper.

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

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

"Would you care to explain these?"

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

"Papa, I-"

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

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

"It wasn't-"

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not fair."

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

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

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

"I'm twenty one!"

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

The threat lands. You sink lower in your chair.

"No, sir."

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

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

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

"Nothing is going on," you mutter.

"Then it should be easy to maintain distance."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not you too."

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

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

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

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

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

You pause at the door. "For what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good. Maybe he should."

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

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

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

"YN? What were you thinking?"

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

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

"Of course. Take care of her."

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

"I know," you whisper.

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

"It's not about Max."

"Isn't it?"

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

"Will you help me convince Papa?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Out of where?"

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

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

"You have?"

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

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

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

"You're not mad?"

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

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

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

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

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

Austria, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barcelona, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Max…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It wouldn't be like before-"

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

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

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

"YN, please-"

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

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

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

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

Monaco, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Max…"

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

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

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

"That was a mistake."

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

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

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

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

"Max, please-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If anyone finds out…" you start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We managed before."

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

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

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

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

"And you still want this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But tonight is just for the two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mm?"

"The cake…"

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

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

"Thank you," he says softly.

"For what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monaco, 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey Lan-"

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

Your heart stops. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Be careful," you whisper against his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keeping this a secret is becoming harder and harder.

Silverstone, 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Christian?" you suggest.

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

You both realize it at the same time.

"No," Max says.

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

"YN, he's the last person-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's a pause. "We?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max steps forward. "Lewis, I-"

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

"Since last year."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Promise."

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

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

"Lewis-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what is that?"

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

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

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

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

Silverstone, 2021. Race day

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

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

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

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

"Please. What you did last night-"

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

"You know why we couldn't-"

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

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

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

"It's not a little romance-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lap one. Copse Corner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"YN? You shouldn't-"

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

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

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

"Max?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Time?"

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

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

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

"You're sure?"

"Are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Promise me something else?"

"Anything."

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

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

"Max..."

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

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

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

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

"Max?"

"Hmm?"

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

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

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

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

Abu Dhabi, 2021

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

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

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

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

"Talk to me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max knows without asking. "Lewis?"

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

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

"Always."

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

"Lewis?" your voice is hesitant.

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

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

"Then why are you here?"

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

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

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

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

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

"So instead you just lied? Snuck around?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

"And I still think you're crazy."

"Probably."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You noticed?"

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

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

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

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

"Hey!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lew," your voice breaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was with Lewis."

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

"Max, don't."

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

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

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

"Are you seriously doing this right now?"

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

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

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

"They're my family!"

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

"That's not-"

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stops. "What are you saying?"

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

"Max…"

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

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

"I love you," you whisper.

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

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

[grandline-fics]

Cupid’s arrow with law please!!! Have a great day luv u fr

DESCRIPTION: Cupid's Arrow- Could it be love at first sight?

WARNINGS: a little bit of angst (maybe?)

CHARACTERS: Law

WORDS: 1,311

A/N: Thank you anon for this prompt that was also requested by @evieebear. I hope you both enjoy what I came up with this one and that it's to your liking. Sets place during the Sabaody Arc

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

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Sabaody was the final hurdle before entering the New World of the Grandline, the definitive proof that the crew you were on was strong enough to brave the waters. Proof all pirates that made it here were to be taken seriously. That they were worth their bounties given, if not worthy of more. Law couldn’t help but walk with his head a little higher. He’d overheard from some of the local chatter that he wasn’t the only member of the Worst Generation to be here. In fact all of the eleven Supernova’s and their crews had docked on the Archipelago so he had to ensure he set himself apart from the rest, to be the picture of everything the said about the Surgeon of Death. While he wasn’t intentionally seeking any of the others out, he had to be ready for anything and everything, especially a confrontation with them or the Marines. 

With time to kill on the relatively calm island he decided to first check the shops before heading to the auction house. He couldn’t deny that when he’d heard there was one here, he was interested and had made it a point to investigate it at some stage while he was here. But it wasn’t going anywhere just yet. Taking relaxed strides he inspected the shop fronts before finally having his attention grabbed by a bookshop. Stepping inside he began to curiously appraise the shelves, not particularly in search for anything in particular but given the size of the shop and variety of books he was sure he wasn’t going to leave empty handed.

Then buried in the wrong section was a medical tome he had been searching for. It was rare and not letting the chance go to waste he reached for it only for another hand to grab it too. Law’s grip tightened possessively, ready to do whatever was necessary to ensure he got this book. He hoped just by making it known he was a pirate would be enough to intimidate this person and get what he wanted. Looking down with a fierce glare he froze to see you looking up at him with equal determination for the book. For a moment Law felt shaken, his goal momentarily forgotten. 

He’d seen your picture at a glance in your bounty poster but hadn’t paid it much attention, more interested in the trouble your Strawhat Captain was getting himself and the rest of you into. In person though? It was so different. Law was never one to be thrown by superficial things like looks-not including cute things- but he couldn’t stop staring at your face, pulled in by the sharp gleam in your eyes and purse of your lips as you were readying yourself for the same fight he had been before setting eyes on your face. Quickly he was snapped out of his daze when you pulled the book out of the shelf and he regained his grip on it. “I grabbed it first.”

“No you didn’t.” You argued, refusing to back down. “I need this book, for my crewmate.”

“If they're a skilled enough Doctor then they won’t need it.” Law stated, trying to come up with some sort of argument in the hopes to convince you to let it go but instead you smirked at him.

“Is this your way of saying you’re a bad doctor?” Law was taken aback and felt heat prickle up the back of his neck at both your comment and at how your playful smile made his heart skip slightly. “Do you need the book for more training?”

“I don’t need training.”

“So you’re a skilled doctor?” You smiled, eyes glinting. 

“One of the best.” Law affirmed but felt nervous at that when you stepped closer, you hold staying firm on the book.

“So you don’t need the book?” You posed the question sweetly and Law cursed himself for getting backed into a corner from the stupid argument he made. He had to get this stupid infatuation that blindsided him from nowhere under control. All this time he considered your Captain the biggest troublemaker but now he wasn’t so sure the more he stared at you, and he wanted to keep staring at you.

He was about to speak when from behind him a couple kids ran by excited to get to the section beyond you both were all the books and comics suited for their ages sat. The brief second was enough distraction for Law as he moved to avoid getting knocked into by the kids and you managed to slip the book out of his hold. With a hum of satisfaction you immediately wasted no time in moving towards the register to pay. Only to get stopped a few steps away by Law’s hand on your arm. You glanced at the tattooed hand, silently impressed by the strength in his grip. You looked up at his serious expression and smiled before giving a sigh. As fun as it was you had to meet up with the others soon. Law stared down at you, conflicted; annoyingly so. Why did he not want to fight you about the book he’d been searching years for? His fingers twitched against your arm, telling himself to be rational and ignore how his heart was beating at a pace faster than usual. Quickly he dropped his hand. “I…I hope your doctor appreciates how valuable that book is.”

“What’s the catch?” You asked with a curious smile. “Planning to steal it after I buy it?”

“What? No. I just…I saw it here didn’t I? I’m confident I’ll come across it again.” Law explained tightly. 

“Aww, you’re a romantic at heart. Believing in fate, even if it is about a book, it’s unexpected but cute.” Cute? Law’s face froze once more as he tried to deny the accusation. Why did you make his so flustered and tongue-tied? He didn’t even know you. Thankfully you didn’t press further and turned away to buy the book, allowing him to make his exit and go to the auction house, assured you most likely wouldn’t go there.

How wrong he was. That exchange in the bookshop seemed like a pocket of calm compared to the hell that broke loose just a couple hours later. Law had stayed out of the fight you and your crew had gotten themselves into with Kuma and Kizaru and while he knew it would be best to get as far away as possible he couldn't look away. When you were hit hard and thrown backwards across the battlefield he tensed. Then one by one the Strawhats were disposed of by Kuma’s strange ability, literally vanishing. Law had his gaze on you, watching you too weak to force the power into your legs to try and escape as Luffy screamed at those remaining. When Kuma’s hand was about to make contact with your body, Law acted. Using his own ability he used his room to swap you over. He grabbed you as you slipped in and out of consciousness and hurried as fast as he could, knowing the Warlord would be aware someone intervened.

When Law had you safely in the medical room of the Polar Tang he couldn’t help but look at your face as you slept. Why had he saved you? His body just reacted before his mind could stop him. But that pang of fear he felt when he saw you-someone he only knew for a matter of seconds- get hurt and be at risk of disappearing was real. The relief he felt when you were safe in his arms was real too. It was deep and from a place that something as small of a crush couldn’t explain. Was it foolish to consider that maybe it was fate? Perhaps but that didn’t make it any less real.

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[its-avalon-08]

HI! i know you are on brk, so do write this whenever you want, take all the rest you need carlos x norris!sister

age gap of about 3 years

angry lando, secret dating, angst then fluff

im backkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!! im so thankful for all of the adorable messages, thank sm for the support, without you i would not be able to do this! p.s get ready for post spams because your girl had too much ready!!!!

give me a chance (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x norris!sister!reader

✦ genre - angst, fluffy ending

The tension in the motorhome kitchen was thicker than the stale coffee Carlos was reheating. You, Lando's younger sister by three years, fiddled with your phone, stealing nervous glances at Carlos. He nursed his mug, a self-conscious hand brushing over the small, purple mark blossoming on his neck. It mirrored the one blooming on yours – a secret souvenir from a stolen kiss in Monaco the previous weekend.

"We should be more careful," you whispered, pushing the stray tendril of hair that kept escaping your ponytail back behind your ear.

"Yeah," Carlos agreed, his voice low. "But seeing you in that dress..." He trailed off, a blush creeping up his neck.

A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. The memory of you slipping into the tiny hotel balcony, the twinkling lights of Monte Carlo sprawling beneath you, still sent shivers down your spine. Just as Carlos leaned in for another kiss, the door swung open and Lando burst in, interrupting your stolen moment.

"There you two are! Let's go, debrief's about to start."

Relief washed over you, momentarily eclipsing the disappointment. Keeping your relationship with Carlos a secret had been stressful, but Lando finding out was your worst nightmare. He was fiercely protective of you, the age gap somehow making him feel more like a brother than a sibling. He'd never approve of you dating a teammate, especially someone older.

The following days were a tightrope walk. Stolen glances across the paddock, whispered jokes in between briefs, unsupervised moments – it was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

Then came this morning. Lando had been glued to his phone all breakfast, oblivious to the way your hand instinctively brushed against Carlos's under the table. But just as your fingers intertwined, Lando looked up, his gaze landing right on your neck. His eyes widened, then flickered to Carlos, who was sporting a matching mark.

The silence stretched, thick with dawning realization.

"What the…" Lando finally sputtered, his voice a strangled whisper.

Then, a volcano erupted.

"Y/N! Carlos!" Lando slammed his phone on the table, the clatter echoing off the metal walls. "What is this?!"

"Lando, it's not what—" you began, but he cut you off.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" His voice was laced with a fury you'd never heard before. "You two? Since when?"

Carlos opened his mouth to speak, but Lando wasn't done.

"I can't believe this! You, Carlos? You're supposed to be like family!"

"Lando, please," you pleaded, standing up. "We can explain."

"There's nothing to explain!" He threw his hands up in the air. "This is a disaster! You know I wouldn't have approved!"

"That's exactly why we didn't tell you," Carlos said, his voice surprisingly steady. "We were afraid of this reaction."

"Afraid? You should be ashamed!" Lando glared at both of you. "This is unprofessional. This makes things awkward. This messes with everything!"

And with that, he stormed out of the motorhome, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the entire vehicle.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You looked at Carlos, his expression mirroring your own – a mix of guilt, fear, and a stubborn determination to fight for what you had. You knew this wouldn't be easy, but one thing was clear – the secret was out. And the real race for your relationship had just begun.

The slam of the door echoed through the motorhome like a thunderclap, leaving behind a silence that vibrated with tension. You stared at the empty doorway, tears stinging your eyes. They spilled over unchecked, tracing a warm path down your cheeks.

Carlos reached out a hand, hovering hesitantly in the air before settling on your shoulder. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice laced with concern.

You turned to face him, tears blurring your vision. "What have we done?" you choked out, the question a ragged whisper.

Carlos flinched. "We… we just tried to be happy," he defended, his voice strained.

"But look at what it's done," you sobbed, gesturing towards the doorway. "Lando's furious. This is exactly what we were afraid of."

"We can talk to him," Carlos insisted, his jaw set. "Explain things better."

"Explain what, Carlos?" you snapped, a spark of anger igniting through your despair. "That we broke his trust? That we jeopardized everything for a few stolen moments?"

The anger in your voice seemed to take Carlos aback. He recoiled slightly, the hurt flickering in his eyes a fresh wound.

"That's not fair, Y/N," he said, his voice low. "We both knew the risks. We both wanted this."

"Maybe I shouldn't have," you mumbled, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air. Carlos's eyes widened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Maybe this whole thing was a mistake," you said, your voice cracking. "Maybe we should have just—"

You couldn't finish the sentence. The regret in your voice, the implication that you wished you'd never let things go this far, ripped through Carlos like a punch to the gut. He felt a lump form in his throat, his own tears threatening to spill.

"Y/N," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't say that."

But you were already shaking your head, tears streaming down your face. "I can't do this anymore, Carlos," you said, your voice breaking. "This is tearing everything apart."

Without another word, Carlos turned and walked away. His broad shoulders slumped, his steps heavy with unspoken hurt. He didn't look back at you, and as the door to his room slammed shut with a dull thud, you sank to the floor, the weight of your words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You had just broken his heart, and in that moment, you weren't sure if you had broken yours too.

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Regret, a bitter taste on your tongue, pushed you to find Lando. You found him on the balcony, overlooking the bustling racetrack, a world away from the storm brewing inside you. The sight of him, usually your confidant, now felt daunting.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him hesitantly. "Lando," you choked out, hating how shaky your voice sounded.

He turned, surprise flickering across his face before it settled into a guarded expression. "Y/N," he said simply, offering no invitation to sit.

You stood awkwardly, fiddling with your fingers. "Lando, I…" The words stuck in your throat. "I messed up. Big time."

The anger you'd seen in him earlier had morphed into a wary curiosity. He crossed his arms, waiting for you to continue.

Taking another deep breath, you launched into a monologue, your voice trembling. "It started with his eyes, Lando, the way they crinkle when he smiles. And his smile, oh God, his smile makes my heart skip a beat. And then there are his hugs… warm and safe, like a place I can always go home to. And his kisses," you whispered, the memory sending shivers down your spine, "like fireworks, Lando, exploding with a kind of magic I've never felt before."

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "I love him, Lando. I never knew I could love someone like I love Carlos."

As you spoke, a figure appeared in the doorway, frozen in place. It was Carlos, his face a mask of pain, each word a fresh blow to his heart. But he couldn't tear himself away. He needed to hear it all.

You continued, your voice thick with emotion. "I panicked, Lando. I thought this would ruin everything, for you, for the team. But all I see is broken trust and a pain I caused the man I…" Your voice broke, a sob escaping your lips.

Lando watched you silently, his initial anger replaced by a flicker of understanding. He took a slow step towards you, his expression unreadable.

Then, to your surprise, he pulled you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his shoulder, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "It's okay. You love him, I get it."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Just… promise you'll take care of each other. And promise me you won't keep things from me again."

A choked laugh escaped your lips. "I promise, Lando. I promise everything."

Suddenly, you felt a warm presence behind you. A tear slipped down your cheek as you turned to see Carlos standing there, his eyes red-rimmed, a tear tracing a similar path down his own face.

He didn't say a word. He simply walked towards you and pulled you into his arms, his embrace a silent promise. You buried your face in his chest, tears streaming down as the weight of the last few hours lifted.

Lando stepped back, a small smile playing on his lips. He watched for a moment, his heart heavy but strangely at peace. "Alright, lovebirds," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's not turn this balcony into a waterfall."

You both pulled away slightly, but Carlos kept his arm wrapped around you, his touch a warm anchor. You looked up at him, his eyes glistening.

"Thank you, Lando," Carlos said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Just don't break her heart," Lando warned, a hint of his usual playful banter returning. "She's the only sister I've got."

Carlos nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on you. "I won't," he vowed, his voice a husky whisper.

And you, nestled in Carlos's embrace, knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you wouldn't face them alone. You had love, forgiveness, and a newfound understanding – a foundation strong enough to weather any storm.

[kleopatra45]

Sun in the Signs of D9 Chart

Aries

Born with Sun in Aries Placement in Navamsa Chart, you have a motion of your own and an inherent yearning for commitment free relationships. You will hardly be drawn to someone passive; you have a fiercely independent nature and so looks for an equally confident and determined partner who is ready to take charge. Chances are that this spouse will be active, blunt and daring and will encourage you to take risks in your life. They will urge you to embrace your inner self, will help you strive to ascend to greater heights and will never shrink from your side during thrill seeking and courageous activities. With them, life becomes a journey that is worth the effort and is interesting.

Taurus

For those with Taurus Sun in the D9 chart, you appreciate steadiness and fidelity while taking relationships seriously. There is a high chance you will find a partner who is easy-going, patient, and dependable, one who enjoys life and the little things it offers. This person may be industrious and focused on creating a secure and warm life. You both will share an interest in creating a calm household, relishing the mundanities reputation brings. The partner expresses affection through trust and harmony thus fostering a sense of peace that fortifies the ties.

Gemini

With the sun positioned in Gemini in the D9 chart you love anything and everything that stimulates your physical or intellectual prowess and need variations in relationships. The perfect spouse is stilts witty, well spoken, inherently inquisitive, and it is of course especially fond of conversations and bright ideas. This person may be young at heart, ready to bend down flexible, ever longing to learn or experience other things, thereby averting boredom in the relationship. In no time,; there will be constant laughter, travel and shared hobbies. The partner would care about the mental aspect, besides, the spouse will be whimsical and clever, which will enliven the added peace in the marriage.

Cancer

With the Sun being positioned in Cancer in the Navamsa chart, a person craves emotional closeness and bonding in relationships. He or she looks for a spouse who is kind, caring, and protective, one who loves family, home and instills a sense of security. This person may be nurturing, and sensitive, and be able to connect with how you are feeling. They’ll most likely be a caregiver who encourages you and makes you comfortable within the confines of the relationship. As a couple, you’ll build a relationship that is based on trust, warmth and hopes for the future. This person will love you deeply and make you feel a very Zen feeling at a soul level.

Leo

With the Sun in Leo in the D9 chart, you are a warm, faithful and spirited individual who needs a partner with the same level of activity. More often than not, you will have an affable, self-assured, big-hearted and emotional spouse who enjoys sharing his or her feelings and rejoicing in the pleasures of life. This individual will infuse the relationship with excitement, passion and artistic expression, as well as ensure you are treated like a king or a queen. You will be that power one couple relishing the affectionate, playful and admiring moments with each other. Your husband or wife will make profound romantic gestures which will be showering you with love.

Virgo

When a person has their Sun in Virgo in the Navamsa chart, they may look for a partner who is very meticulous, responsible, and willing to put in effort in making the relationship work. Such spouse would have a down to earth and nurturing personality who is keen on self-improvement and ensuring that you are supported. They will appreciate the little gestures of love and care as well as their consistent presence creating a source of solace. You will also work on establishing a bond that is beneficial to all which contrary to common belief, will not grow cold as each day will serve as an opportunity to strengthen your bond. Your partner will be considerate and thoughtful and will not hesitate to ensure that the relationship evolves positively.

Libra

With the Sun located in Libra in the D9 chart, you desire a relationship free from tension and fights. Most likely, you will find a spouse who is very charismatic, tactful, and who loves to build bridges. That person could be an aesthete who will help turn the union into a haven of love, respect, and beauty. In their midst, a graceful life will be achieved where common tastes, refinement, and deep comprehension will be present. A spouse will provide comfort and order, allowing both partners to achieve equilibrium and joyful interactions in the relationship.

Scorpio

In the D9 chart, sun sign in Scorpio indicates a deep need for emotional commitment in relationships. A person with such an ailment will most often be found in a passionate and sometimes enigmatic individual who strives to know her deeply. This may be a person of great inner strength and determination, who may be steadying yet also quite changeable in the role. You will create an intense relationship that seems almost spiritual, based on trust and faithfulness. You are married to a person who believes it’s okay to be weak because they would always be there to offer strength and support throughout the challenges of life.

Sagittarius

D9 Chart Sagittarius Sun indicates strong tendency towards freedom loving, adventurous and progressive relationships. Your prospective partner will probably be a liberal, visionary, and philosophical person who appreciates autonomy and travel. Such a partner will help you in overcoming any inhibitions and make you live fully, encouraging your zeal for exploration and adventure. This companionship will be enlivening, as both of you will share a common passion for activities, excursions, and education. Your spouse will instill a sense of liberation and elevation in you, prompting you to expand your horizons regarding life and relationships.

Capricorn

The D9 chart has the Sun placed in Capricorn, which means that you are protective, pragmatic and responsible in relationship matters. It is highly likely that the partner you will settle for will be an ambitious, hardworking and organized individual – one who cherishes future goals and ambitions. He or she may be practical and’s always working to ensure that there are no worries in the following days to come. Therefore, the two of you will work together to leave something tangible, while your spouse will provide order in the relationship. This will be a person you can count on, a person who will provide you with the much needed stability in every single one of your endeavors

Aquarius

You will desire a relationship that honors freedom and recognises each partner as an individual. When it comes to your partner, this in all likelihood will be a person with an unconventional, creative, and progressive way of thinking who appreciates original ideas and open-mindedness. They’ll be so different from you in a good way, that it will be a great challenge for you to think about doing things in a different way. You both would be able to enjoy a relationship which allows for both the partners to have their individual spaces without infringing on the others. Your spouse understand and encourage your need for independence and helps you feel loved and cherished in a relationship where you can be yourself.

Pisces

Sun in D9 Chart as Pisces makes an individual gravitate towards relationships that are incredibly emotional and spiritual, almost alien. Your spouse will probably be warm-hearted, sympathetic, and caring—someone whose heart speaks to you. That person can be sweet-natured and compassionate, always caring for you and eager to uplift your visions. It is a relationship in which both of you will form a sacred union with and interwoven concepts and feelings of closeness and emotional connection. A spouse is someone who will give you comfort and restore balance into your life, allowing you to seek a more meaningful relationship that is decidedly uplifting and restorative.

[imloyaltoscoups]

i'm ready | yoon jeonghan

After seven long years, you finally find yourself in a place of true peace and contentment. The journey to this point hasn't been easy - the scars of heartbreak and betrayal ran deep, and it took time to heal and rebuild yourself.

But you did it. You persevered through the nightmares, finding strength in your own resilience and determination. With each passing day, you focused on your own growth and development, pouring your energy into your studies and your personal pursuits.

Completing your PhD was a milestone, a testament to your dedication and perseverance. It wasn't just an academic achievement: it was a symbol of your triumph over adversity, a tangible reminder of how far you've come since the pain of your past.

Along the way, you learned valuable lessons about self-love and self-care. You realized the importance of prioritizing your own needs and desires, of carving out space for yourself in a world that often demands so much of us.

The first years were undoubtedly the hardest. You struggled to find your footing, grappling with the weight of your emotions and the uncertainty of starting over. You were cautious with those who approached, wary of opening yourself up to the possibility of hurt once again.

But with time, you learned to trust yourself again. You rediscovered your worth and your strength, and you refused to let the pain of your past define you. You learned to allocate love and care for yourself, recognizing that you are deserving of the same kindness and compassion that you so freely gave to others.

You pause mid-packing, taken aback by your friend's unexpected enthusiasm. They shake the ticket with excitement, their smile infectious despite your initial reluctance.

"Y/N!!! We're going to Koreaaaa!" they exclaim, their voice filled with enthusiasm.

You hesitate, the memories of your past trip to Korea still lingering in the corners of your mind. The thought of returning to the place where so much heartache had occurred fills you with a sense of apprehension.

But before you can voice your concerns, your friend speaks up again, their tone resolute. "You're okay now, right? So it's okay to visit that country again. And besides, who knows when we'll have the chance to see our friends first ever exhibit. If you're worried of bumping with that piece of shit. Don't worry—I'll give him a piece of my mind. Maybe even a punch and a chokeslam for good measure!... I should have been with you when you went there" she pouted.

Their words catch you off guard, but you can't help but laugh at their fierce loyalty. Despite your reservations, their unwavering support gives you a glimmer of courage.

"Alright," you say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "This is for our girl."

With a newfound sense of determination, you resume packing, knowing that this trip will be different from the last. Armed with the support of your friend and the strength you've gained from overcoming your past, you're ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And who knows? Maybe this time, Korea will hold new memories of joy and adventure, rather than pain and heartache.

As you arrive at the exhibit of your best friend, you're filled with a sense of pride and excitement. You rush forward and envelop her in a big hug, a smile spreading across your face.

"Congratulations queen, you did it!" you exclaim, squeezing her tightly. "I'm so proud of you for pursuing your dream of being an artist. Look at the crowd!"

She returns the hug with equal enthusiasm, her eyes shining with happiness. "Thank you so much! I couldn't have done it without you guys. You two kept on pushing me to do this and here we are."

She then shows you around the exhibit, pointing out each piece with pride, you can't help but marvel at her talent and creativity. Each painting tells a story, a reflection of her passion and dedication to her craft.

As you admire her work, she offers you two a glass of champagne, a gesture of celebration for this momentous occasion.

"Cheers to you and your incredible talent," you say, raising your glass in a toast. "May your art continue to inspire and captivate audiences around the world."

She clinks her glass against yours, a wide smile lighting up her face. "Thank you, and cheers to our friendship. I'm so grateful to have you two by my side."

Together, you three sip your champagne and continue to explore the exhibit, basking in the joy of this special moment shared between friends. And as you revel in the beauty of her art and the warmth of her friendship, you know that this is a memory you'll cherish for years to come.

Time pass by and your best friend excuses herself to greet other visitors, you nod understandingly, letting her immerse herself in the moment. Beside you, your other friend suddenly excuses herself to rushed off to the bathroom, leaving you alone amidst the bustling gallery.

As you scroll through the gallery, admiring the artwork, a familiar voice calls out your name. You turn around and are surprised to see Jeonghan standing there, holding a glass of champagne. To your own surprise, you feel no shock or hurt at his presence. Instead, you feel a sense of calm and resolution.

"Hi," he says, his voice tentative as he approaches you. "How are you?"

You offer him a small smile. "I'm doing better than ever," you reply confidently. "I got my PhD and now I'm planning on doing my residency."

Jeonghan's eyes light up with genuine pride. "That's amazing," he says, offering his congratulations. "I always knew you would achieve great things."

You exchange conversation for a while, catching up on each other's lives. Eventually, Jeonghan takes a deep breath and admits once again that he is truly sorry for the pain he caused in the past.

You nod, feeling a sense of closure wash over you. "I've forgiven you," you say simply.

His eyes widen with hope, and for a moment, you see the flicker of longing in his gaze. But before he can say anything else, a commotion interrupts the moment.

A little kid comes running towards you, calling you "mama." You glance down and see your baby boy, and you can't help but smile as you scoop him up into your arms.

"Where's Papa?" you ask, and just then, a voice responds—a man carrying your one-year-old daughter.

Jeonghan stands frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief as he takes in the sight of your family. You introduce your husband to him, and as you do, your baby boy innocently asks who the man you're talking to is.

"He's one of the singers mommy used to love," you reply gently, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

Jeonghan introduces himself to your family, his emotions held back as he struggles to maintain his composure. But as the moment stretches on, you can see the glass in his hand trembling, a silent testament to the storm of emotions raging within him.

"Mama, can we look for Tatie?" your baby boy asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

You smile down at him and give a nod. "Of course, sweetheart. Let's go find her," you reply, your heart swelling with love for your children.

Turning to Jeonghan, you offer a polite smile. "It was nice meeting you again," you say sincerely.

Your baby boy tugs at your hand, eager to leave. "Goodbye, Uncle!" he chirps before running off with your husband and daughter.

Jeonghan watches them go, his face a mixture of shock and sadness. You offer him a sympathetic smile before turning away to search for your best friend.

As you walk with your husband by your side, his arm wrapped around you protectively, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. You lean into him, grateful for his unwavering support and patience.

"Thank you for being so patient love," you murmur, pressing a quick peck to his cheek.

He smiles down at you, his eyes filled with warmth. "You're very brave, you know that," he says simply, his voice filled with admiration.

You feel a surge of gratitude for the life you've built together, for the love and happiness that surrounds you. And as you continue to search for your best friends, you realize that maybe visiting Korea isn't so bad after all, especially when you have your family by your side.

In that moment, you realize that the greatest revenge you can provide to Jeonghan is finding your own happiness without him. And as you find your own people who cherish and support you, you know that you've already won.

part 1, part 2

....... ≿━━━━━༺MASTERLIST༻━━━━━≾ .......

[heylorrain]

Read it on AO3 - or just expand and enjoy :)

w.c: 1,686

“There are other ways to prove your point to this babbling, bumbling, band of baboons, Gaunt, you know that right?” Sebastian murmured, his voice barely audible as he watched his friend confidently stride up to the dueling platform. 

“No, there aren’t” Ominis retorted, his words sharp and unyielding.

Professor Hecat sighed before raising her voice to the gathered students, asking who would duel Ominis. But no one batted an eye. The students were a sea of restless glances, their eyes darting everywhere but towards the teacher. They found solace in the dancing leaves of the trees, the drifting clouds in the sky, even the rusted greenhouses nearby.

Ominis stood alone, a solitary figure on the platform, a fresh piece of meat awaiting selection in the butchery. He held his wand with a firm grip, golden locks catching the light as the breeze whispered through them. Despite appearances, he was a formidable duelist, a fact well-known to Sebastian, who had ensured his best friend knew exactly how to predict and defend himself from attacks, especially when it came to dueling. 

After a tense pause, a hand shot up decisively among the rigid crowd of students. “I’ll go against him.”

Ominis recognized that voice immediately, a familiar melody in the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a thrill coursed through his veins as his blood turned cold with excitement. A smile crept onto his face; his girl was not going to let him stand alone.

Professor Hecat smiled warmly but quickly interjected, “Miss Morgana, wands only, no magic rings, otherwise you’ll have an unfair advantage over—”

“Let her, professor. She’ll need that advantage,” Ominis interrupted with a smirk that danced across his lips, while Lorra raised her eyebrow in a playful challenge.

Professor Hecat nodded in agreement, acknowledging the playful tension. A chorus of “ooouh” erupted from the gathered students, adding an electrifying buzz to the atmosphere. 

“Good thing I brought extra Wiggenweld potions” Garreth whispered to Poppy as they maneuvered through the crowd to secure a prime spot in the front row next to Sebastian. 

Lorra leapt gracefully onto the dueling stand, her rings materializing with a loud snap of her fingers. Her pointy wand rested securely in the strap on her thigh. She adopted a classic western battling stance, leaning slightly forward, knees bent, with her hand poised above her thigh, ready to draw; unlike Ominis, who stood with his wand in front of his face and a firm stand. 

“I want a fair and square duel. Know your limits, Slytherins. I don’t want to expel either of you from my class for the rest of the course” The teacher warned, casting a shimmering protective barrier between the duelists and the students. 

Ominis fixed his gaze in Lorra’s direction, his eyes like twin pools of ice-blue determination. The air between them crackled with tension, as he yearned to prove his point. Yet Lorra was equally resolved; she had no intention of making it easy for him. 

He wanted a duel? A duel he’ll get.

“Begin!” Professor Hecat finally shouted with excitement. 

"Now Lorra, please, duel me like y-"

“ Everte Statum ” Lorra yelled the instant she had the green light.

Unfortunately, Ominis was caught off guard. He was sent hurtling backwards through the air like a rag doll, landing hard on his back with a resounding thud, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs in a painful whoosh. 

"Ominis!" Sebastian shouted instinctively as the girl advanced toward the blonde, her wand poised and ready to unleash Depulso upon him. 

But Ominis’s reflexes were quicker than a flash. " Decendo !" his wand emitted a dazzling blue light that shot towards the girl. The force of the spell pushed her downwards with a sudden, fierce force. She barely managed to brace herself, thrusting her elbows against her chest to prevent a face-first collision with the platform beneath her.

“TURNS! TAKE TURNS!” Professor Hecat called out at them “Haven't you payed attention to any-“

“ Bombarda! ” 

“ Protego, Stupify! ” 

Lorra barely dodged the last spell, her heart racing with the thrill of the duel. “-Stupify-!?” She echoed with a grin. “Fine, let’s get dirty then. Glacius ”

The air around Ominis crackled as the ice spell hit, feeling a sudden chill that struck his feet, rooting him to the ground in a frigid grip. The cold crept upward, encasing him in a crystalline cocoon from his feet to just above his knees. “Incendio!” 

Lorrain was preparing to launch another spell when the roaring flames surged toward her. 

Poppy gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as she feared the worst for her friend, who vanished in the blaze. She and Garreth were on the verge of protesting when Sebastian intervened, halting them with a firm hand. “Professor Hecat will know when to call it out. You two stay put and enjoy this.”

Emerging through the flames, Lorrain stood unscathed and amused, the fire had turned a bright purple upon encountering her enchanted rings. With a confident smile, she retrieved her wand and gracefully twirled her hands in a rolling motion. “ Tornus .” 

A fiery tornado spun rapidly between the two students, quickly moving towards Ominis. Fortunately, he had already escaped his icy trap and was prepared to cast Aguamenti . A powerful jet of water struck the tornado, weakening its force but not completely extinguishing it. Thick smoke began to billow in all directions, obscuring Lorra’s vision. 

“ Ventus Tria! ” The incantation blew the smoke to the girl's opposite side, and once her sight cleared, she found Ominis’ wand just inches from her nose. " Levioso " He casted, causing Lorra to rise several feet off the ground. She grunted in protest. Ominis was well aware of her dislike for that spell, and she knew he was aware of it.

“Call it quits?” Professor Hecat said, trying to keep the tension alive. 

“He wishes” Lorra shouted, forming a triangle with her hands, " Fini— "

" Descendo " Ominis casted before she could complete her spell gestures, causing her to hit the platform. Hard . "Shit. Did I go too far?" Ominis paused for a moment, questioning himself. “Lorra I’m so sorr—”

The other students gasped at his aggressive move against his opponent, who immediately rolled to her side and quickly got on her knees, touching the platform with both hands and stomping forcefully, " Deprimo ."

The platform shattered, bringing Ominis down with it. The blonde lost his balance and fell flat on his face. “There, now we’re even” She purred and stood up, aiming her hands at Ominis, she clenched her fists, while he firmly gripped his wand and swiftly moved it in front of him.

“Waddiwasi! - Protego!”

They both yelled their incantations. 

In that instant, all the small pieces of shattered wood flew straight towards Ominis, but his shield was already up, protecting him just in time. 

A first-year student, driven by curiosity, approached Sebastian and asked, "Why doesn't she just let him win? I mean, poor guy, he's... you know..." Sebastian turned to the young Ravenclaw with a sidelong glance. "He is just... what?" Sallow asked sharply. "Go on, finish your sentence."

"B-blind?" The kid stammered nervously, realizing his mistake.

Sebastian laughed at the innocent logic. He had thought similarly when he first met Ominis. "Sight is crucial for dueling, but it's not everything. Lorrain is a fierce duelist but gets impatient quickly; she prefers to end duels rapidly." He pointed to the girl, who was visibly growing frustrated. "Honestly, I've never lasted this long against her in a duel. And then there's my brother, right there," He gestured to Ominis, who continued casting spells and taking hits. "He's very patient and strategic with his spell repertoire. Both styles are effective, you know. "

Right after casting Obscuro , a dark blue bandana shot from Ominis’ wand, wrapping tightly around Lorra’s face. She staggered back, pulling it off, but by the time she did, Ominis had vanished, concealed by the Disillusionment charm. For all Lorra knew, he could be anywhere.

Frustrated, she instinctively cast a nonverbal Revelio . The familiar "ding" hung in the air, revealing her opponent’s location: right behind her. Swiftly, she raised her right hand to her chin and yelled “ Accio Vest! ”. Ominis was suddenly pulled in front of her, becoming visible at last.

“You’re disqualified,darling” He declared with a satisfied grin. “My plan worked”

Realizing her mistake, Lorra’s smile faded. She rolled her eyes and used a subtle upward flick of her fingers to perform a nonverbal Levioso on the young Gaunt, lifting him just a few inches off the ground. "Ex-pe-lliar-mus, Oms ," she teased softly, as she slowly took Ominis' wand from his hand. "Technically, I won."

Ominis grinned, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "No, you didn’t, Meva "

"Mr. Gaunt is the winner," announced Professor Hecat as she approached the duelists. A voice among the confused students rose, voicing what everyone was thinking, "What? But he lost! Lorrain took his wand, didn’t she?"

“Non verbal spells aren’t allowed in School Duels, Poppy” Lorrain said with a grimace. 

"Understanding your opponent's weaknesses is your greatest advantage, not the number of spells you can memorize," Professor Hecat instructed her class. "What have we learned —yet again— Miss Morgana?" she continued, arms crossed as the class applauded enthusiastically. 

"That patience is the most powerful weapon, Miss Hecat," the girl replied, drawing out her words. 

"Good, now get Mr. Gaunt down from there, and everyone, stop clapping. She wasn't following the school rules, so there's no reason to celebrate." 

Sebastian quickly joined his friends. They had only got a few minor scratches, nothing a quick Episkey couldn't heal. He glimpsed and smiled at them proudly. 

"Now that was a duel! I proved everyone wrong," Ominis remarked cheerfully, his voice carrying a note of self pride as Lorrain returned his wand. His smile was radiant and genuine, transforming his entire face and features, lighting them up like sunrise “ And Lorra, thank you, for… you know… not holding back".

Lorra blinked a few times, snapping out of her personal trance after seeing him smile like that. She let out a quiet chuckle "Why would I?".

✨

👉I wanted to explain how Lorra battles with her rings, and what a better way to do it than with a duel! 👉 She needs to "draw" the pattern of the incantation in order for it to be casted from her rings. 👉 All the spells used are either from the movies, games or books. The only one I invented was "Tornus". Hope it made sense :D !

[ahqkas]

A funny little request of gf!reader who had a lot of brothers so she always had gotten into play fights with them. Soon into the future mattheo challenged her to an arm wrestle only to be completely stumped at her beating him.

STRONGER THAN ALL MY MEN ; mattheo riddle

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

GROWING UP IN A HOUSE FULL OF BROTHERS, YOU HAD ALWAYS BEEN BROUGHT INTO A WORLD OF PLAYFUL ROUGHHOUSING AND FRIENDLY COMPETITIONS. You were no stranger to the feel of a playful punch, the exhilaration of a well-executed tackle, or the strategic maneuvering needed to win an important wrestling match. It was in this home that you had gotten your strength and resilience, learning to hold your own and even come out on top more often than not. Your brothers had instilled in you a sense of fierce competitiveness, one that you carried into every aspect of your life.

So when Mattheo, with his cocky grin and challenging eyes, proposed an arm-wrestling match, you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement. You had grown to love Mattheo's confidence and his restless spirit, but this was an arena where you felt particularly confident. You accepted his challenge with a smirk, a glint of determination in your eyes.

The two of you found a sturdy table in the common room, drawing the curious gazes of a few fellow students. Mattheo rolled up his sleeves, exposing his muscular forearms, and settled into his chair, his expression one of easy confidence. You took your seat opposite him, rolling up your own sleeves and revealing arms that, while not as bulky, were lean and defined from years of spirited competition with your brothers.

"Ready to be beaten by a girl?" you teased, arching an eyebrow as you clasped his hand.

"We'll see about that," Mattheo shot back, his grin widening. His eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was also a flicker of genuine curiosity. He was used to being strong, to winning physical fights with ease. The thought of you beating him was both surprising and strangely thrilling.

Lorenzo, who had been observing the scene from a distance, decided to take on the role of referee. With a dramatic flourish, he placed his hands on top of yours and Mattheo's clasped hands, looking between the two of you with a twinkle in his eye. "On my count," he announced. "Three, two, one . . . go!"

The initial push was intense. Mattheo's strength was evident, his muscles tensing as he applied pressure. But you met his force with equal determination, your grip steady and your arm unwavering. The crowd around you leaned in, eyes wide with anticipation.

As the seconds ticked by, it became clear that this was not going to be an easy win for Mattheo. His brow furrowed in concentration, a bead of sweat forming at his temple. You could feel his surprise through the subtle shifts in his grip, the way his eyes flicked to yours, searching for some sign of strain. But you held his gaze steadily, your arm a pillar of strength.

Gradually, you began to gain the upper hand. It was a slow, inexorable push, your arm moving inch by inch as you leveraged the years of playful battles with your brothers. The crowd around you erupted in cheers and gasps as you edged closer to victory. Mattheo's expression shifted from confident to incredulous, then to something close to admiration.

With one final, decisive push, you slammed his hand down onto the table. The room exploded in applause and laughter, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. Mattheo stared at his defeated hand for a moment, then looked up at you with a mixture of shock and respect.

"You . . . you actually beat me," he said, a grin breaking across his face.

"I told you," you replied, your own grin widening. "Growing up with a bunch of brothers has its advantages."

Mattheo shook his head, still smiling. "You're incredible, you know that?"

You shrugged playfully, though you couldn't hide the pride in your eyes. "Just don't forget it next time you decide to challenge me."

He reached across the table and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I won't. And I have to admit, I kind of like this side of you."

As the crowd began to disperse, leaving the two of you alone at the table, you felt a warmth spread through you. It wasn't just the victory that made you feel good; it was the way Mattheo looked at you, with genuine admiration and love.

[ceilidho]

Soap is Puppy coded - desperate for attention, always ready to please, intelligent but never directly seen because of their snippy and playful ways, territorial with food but will share if he loves you enough, will hump you any chance he gets

Price is Bear coded - foodie at heart, is fierce and protective to you, has the brain cell among the group, will go out and get food for you if needed, his body gives cuddle bear but mind in breeding season

Gaz is Magpie coded - mates for life (once he has you you can never leave now), territorial if need be, extremely caring and attentive to your needs, sees something shiny or uniquely you he buys it immediately

Ghost is Octopus coded (hear me out) - determined, extremely intelligent even if they don’t vocally showcase it, will protect you (and possible offspring) until death, equally as caring even though he has a hard time expressing, the strong limbs

this but imo Ghost is cat coded......hangs out in the same room with out just out of reach to show affection. if you touch him though, he leaves.

[yxlnst]

Elysium's Embrace: A Journey of Love and Adventure

idol!Jeonghan x reader!y/n

🎀 Summary 🎀 : Jeonghan and you wake up in a video game, face challenges together, and grow closer, ultimately returning to reality united.

🧸 Word Count 🧸 : 1,285

Fluff!!

🧸 - - - - - - - - - - - - - 🎀 - - - - - - - - - - - 🧸

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the city as you and Jeonghan sat in your living room, controllers in hand. You had both been obsessed with the new virtual reality game, "Elysium," an open-world adventure where players could explore vast lands, fight mythical creatures, and complete various quests.

"Alright, let's tackle this last mission before calling it a night," Jeonghan said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We need to find the Crystal of Eternity to level up our characters."

You nodded, equally excited. "Let's do this!"

Hours passed as you navigated through dense forests, fought off dangerous beasts, and solved intricate puzzles. Finally, you reached the ancient temple where the Crystal of Eternity was said to be hidden.

"Here it is," Jeonghan whispered, his character reaching out to grab the glowing crystal.

As soon as he touched it, a blinding light enveloped both of your characters. You felt a strange sensation, like you were being pulled into the screen. The world around you spun, and everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself lying on a grassy field, the scent of wildflowers filling the air. You sat up, disoriented, and looked around. The landscape was eerily familiar.

"Is this... Elysium?" you whispered to yourself.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Jeonghan's voice came from behind you.

You turned to see him standing there, looking just as confused as you felt. "Jeonghan, what happened? Where are we?"

He looked around, his eyes wide with realization. "I think... I think we're inside the game."

You both stared at each other in disbelief. How was this possible? One moment you were playing a video game in your living room, and the next you were actually inside it.

"We need to find out what's going on," Jeonghan said, his voice determined. "Let's explore the area and see if we can find any clues."

You nodded, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement. Together, you started walking through the lush landscape, taking in the vibrant colors and surreal beauty of Elysium. It was like stepping into a dream.

As you walked, you noticed that your surroundings were incredibly detailed, far more than any video game you had ever played. The trees rustled in the wind, birds chirped overhead, and you could even feel the soft grass beneath your feet.

"We need to be careful," Jeonghan said, glancing around warily. "This world may look beautiful, but it's filled with dangers."

You both knew the game well, having spent countless hours playing it. You understood that while Elysium was a place of wonder, it was also home to fierce monsters and treacherous terrain.

As you ventured deeper into the forest, you heard a rustling noise behind you. You turned to see a group of goblins emerging from the underbrush, their eyes gleaming with malice.

"Get ready!" Jeonghan shouted, drawing his sword.

You reached for your weapon, realizing with a start that you had the same equipment and abilities as your character in the game. You unsheathed your sword and stood back-to-back with Jeonghan, ready to face the goblins.

The battle was intense, but you and Jeonghan fought with skill and precision, just as you had in the game. The goblins were tough, but you managed to defeat them, your adrenaline pumping as you stood victorious.

"That was close," you said, panting. "But we did it."

Jeonghan nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "We need to find a safe place to rest and figure out our next move."

You continued your journey, eventually coming across a small village nestled in a valley. The villagers looked at you with curiosity as you approached, their expressions wary but not unfriendly.

"Excuse me," Jeonghan said to an elderly man sitting by a well. "Can you tell us where we are?"

The man looked at you both with a hint of suspicion. "You are in the village of Eldoria. Who are you, and where do you come from?"

You exchanged a glance with Jeonghan, unsure of how much to reveal. "We're travelers," you said cautiously. "We're trying to find our way back home."

The man's expression softened. "Well, travelers, you are welcome here. But beware, these lands are dangerous, and not all who come here find their way back."

You thanked the man and decided to stay in the village for the night. The villagers were kind, offering you food and shelter. As you sat by the fire in a cozy cottage, you and Jeonghan discussed your situation.

"We need to find the Crystal of Eternity," Jeonghan said. "It's the only way to get back to our world."

You nodded in agreement. "But we need to be careful. We don't know what other dangers await us."

The next morning, you set out with renewed determination. You knew that the journey ahead would be difficult, but you were ready to face whatever challenges came your way.

As you traveled through the vast lands of Elysium, you encountered various characters and creatures, each with their own stories and quests. Some helped you, while others tried to hinder your progress. But through it all, you and Jeonghan grew closer, your bond strengthening with each passing day.

One evening, as you sat by a campfire under the stars, Jeonghan turned to you, his eyes filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter.

"Y/n, I know this isn't how we planned to spend our time together, but... I'm glad we're in this together. I don't know what I would do without you."

You smiled, feeling a rush of emotions. "I feel the same way, Jeonghan. This journey has shown me how strong we are together. I wouldn't want to face this with anyone else."

As the days turned into weeks, you and Jeonghan continued your quest to find the Crystal of Eternity. You faced countless challenges and dangers, but your determination never wavered.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reached the ancient temple where the crystal was said to be hidden. It was a grand structure, its walls adorned with intricate carvings and glowing runes.

"We're here," Jeonghan said, his voice filled with awe.

You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. "Let's find that crystal and get back home."

You entered the temple, navigating through its labyrinthine halls and solving complex puzzles. The air was thick with tension, and you could feel the weight of your journey bearing down on you.

At last, you reached the inner sanctum, where the Crystal of Eternity lay on a pedestal, glowing with an ethereal light. You approached it cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Are you ready?" Jeonghan asked, his hand reaching out to yours.

You took his hand, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. "I'm ready."

Together, you reached out and touched the crystal. A blinding light enveloped you once more, and you felt a strange sensation, like you were being pulled back to reality.

When you opened your eyes, you were back in your living room, the familiar sounds and smells of home surrounding you. You looked at Jeonghan, who was still holding your hand, a look of wonder on his face.

"We're back," he said, his voice filled with relief and joy.

You smiled, tears of happiness streaming down your face. "We did it, Jeonghan. We made it back."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his warmth and presence reassuring you that everything was real. "I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you for being my strength and my hope."

As you held each other, you realized that your adventure in Elysium had changed you both. You had faced unimaginable dangers and challenges, but you had emerged stronger and more united than ever.

From that day forward, you and Jeonghan cherished every moment together, knowing that no matter what obstacles came your way, you would always have each other. Your love had been tested in the most extraordinary way, and it had triumphed, shining brighter than ever.

And as you looked into Jeonghan's eyes, you knew that your journey together was only just beginning.

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Legendary Black Cat

Selena de la Rosa, known across Marley as the Legendary Black Cat, is the world's deadliest assassin—a master of agility, precision, and deception. When Marley turns against her, she is shipped to Paradis as a living weapon, chained and drugged, with her survival all but assured to be short-lived. But Selena is no ordinary prisoner.

Bound by no one, loyal to none, Selena plots her next move, determined to seize her freedom by any means necessary. Yet, her plans are complicated by the Scouts who captured her, particularly Captain Levi Ackerman—the so-called Humanity's Strongest Soldier. Selena is intrigued by his strength and reputation, but her pride refuses to acknowledge him as her equal.

Caught between Levi’s unrelenting gaze, Selena plays a dangerous game of manipulation. She’s biding her time, but when the moment comes, will her calculated escape bring her freedom—or will her path collide violently with Levi’s unwavering resolve?

The Black Cat has always landed on her feet, but for the first time, she might meet her match. (Levi x OC)

Chapter Forty

The war room at Scout Regiment headquarters was a fortress of resolve, its stone walls lined with maps and strategic charts, the air thick with the weight of impending conflict.

A single lantern cast a warm, flickering glow across the long table, where the core of the Scout Regiment gathered: Commander Erwin, Hange, Levi, Selena, and the rest of the Special Operations Squad.

The hour was late, the sky beyond the narrow windows a deep indigo, but the room buzzed with a tense energy, the culmination of weeks of planning now laid bare. In two weeks, Paradis would launch its first counterattack on Marley—not a full-scale invasion, for their numbers were too few, but a surgical strike led by the greatest assassin in the world: the Legendary Black Cat.

Selena stood at the head of the table, her caramel skin catching the lantern’s light, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination. She’d infiltrated and toppled governments for Marley in her youth, her skills honed in blood and shadow, and now she was ready to turn that expertise against them. Commander Erwin’s plan was audacious, relying on her unparalleled prowess, but she wouldn’t go alone. The Special Operations Squad would be the eight soldiers tasked with dismantling Marley’s military heart.

Erwin’s voice cut through the room, steady and commanding. “Marley’s army is vast, their titan shifters formidable, but we have something they don’t: precision. Selena’s knowledge of Liberio, her infiltration skills, and this squad’s training make you the perfect weapon. We’re not invading—we’re cutting off the head of the snake.” He gestured to a map of Liberio, red pins marking the Marleyan military base. “Your target is the top brass, including General Calvi. Take them out, and Marley’s command structure crumbles.”

The squad, seated around the table, exchanged uneasy glances, their faces a mix of determination and nerves. Jean leaned forward, his voice skeptical but respectful. “Commander, no offense, but… eight of us? Against Marley’s entire military? Even with Selena, that’s a tall order.” His hands fidgeted, betraying his anxiety.

Connie nodded, his usual grin absent. “Yeah, I mean, Selena’s the Black Cat, but we’re just… us. How do we pull this off without getting slaughtered?” Sasha, beside him, chewed her lip, her eyes wide. “I’m all for sticking it to Marley, but if we mess up, we’re toast.”

Armin’s voice was soft but analytical, his blue eyes fixed on the map. “It’s not about numbers—it’s about strategy. Selena knows Liberio’s layout, the base’s security. If we’re fast and quiet, we can hit them before they know what’s happening.” He glanced at Selena, his trust in her evident.

Mikasa’s expression was stoic, her dark eyes steady. “We’ve trained for this. Selena’s been pushing us hard. We can do it.” Her words carried weight, her near-mastery of the 100 Cuts of Pain a testament to her skill. Eren, his jaw tight, nodded. “We’re not just soldiers anymore. Selena’s made us assassins. We’ll get it done.”

Selena’s heart swelled, her pride in her “amateurs” a quiet fire. She’d spent weeks molding them, not just into soldiers but into a unit capable of her deadly craft. Mikasa’s near mastery of Selena’s techniques in training were a marvel, her natural talent for assassination rivaling Selena’s own at her age. Armin’s strategic mind was their compass, Sasha’s sharpshooting unmatched, and the others—Eren’s ferocity, Jean’s adaptability, Connie’s agility—were more than qualified. And Levi, their Captain, was their unyielding backbone, his strength and resolve a constant in their chaos.

Levi’s voice was low, his gray eyes sharp despite the faint ache in his healing wound. “You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he said, his tone cutting through their doubts. “You’re my squad. You’ve faced titans, survived ambushes, and trained under Selena. If anyone can pull this off, it’s you.” His gaze flicked to Selena, a silent acknowledgment of their shared leadership. “But it’s her show. Listen to her, and don’t screw it up.”

Selena stepped forward, her voice clear and commanding. “Here’s the plan. We travel to Marley on one of the modified airships—stealthy, camouflaged, silent. We jump out over Liberio at midnight, using ODM gear to land at a rendezvous point I’ve already mapped. I know this city like the back of my hand—every alley, every guard post. We infiltrate the military base as a unit, moving fast and quiet. Our target is the underground bunker where the top brass meet weekly. I know their schedule, their guard rotations, their weaknesses. They’ve been running the same playbook for decades, and I doubt they’ve changed much.”

She pointed to the map, her finger tracing the bunker’s location. “We get in, take out Calvi and the others—ten high-ranking officers, max. There’ll be guards, maybe twenty, but I know their patterns. We strike during the meeting, when they’re all in one place. The whole op should take less than five minutes. Stealth is everything. If we alert the base, the titan shifters or the rest of the military, we’re dead. We get in, we kill, we get out. No mistakes.”

The squad absorbed her words, their nerves palpable but their resolve hardening. Sasha raised a hand, her voice tentative. “Five minutes? That’s… fast. What if something goes wrong? Like, what if a guard spots us?”

Selena’s eyes softened, but her voice was firm. “That’s why we train, Sasha. We anticipate every variable. If a guard spots us, we neutralize them silently—blades, not guns. I’ll take point, Levi’s got our rear. You follow my lead, and we adapt. You’re ready for this.” She glanced at Armin. “Your strategies will keep us sharp, Armin. Sasha, your sniper skills will cover us if we need a distraction. Mikasa, Eren, Jean, Connie—you’re our muscle. We trust each other, and we survive.”

Hange, scribbling notes, chimed in, her glasses glinting. “I’m tailoring stealth uniforms for you—black, lightweight, designed to blend into the night. The airship’s almost ready, too. It’s a beauty—quiet engines, dark hull, practically invisible at night. You’ll drop in like ghosts.” Her grin was infectious, easing the tension.

Erwin nodded, his blue eyes intense. “This is a high-risk mission, but it’s our best shot. Selena’s expertise, Levi’s leadership, and this squad’s training make it possible. We cripple Marley’s command, and their war machine stalls. We’re counting on you.”

Selena took a deep breath, her gaze sweeping the room, her voice turning emotional, a rare vulnerability breaking through her assassin’s facade. “I need to say something,” she began, her hands tightening at her sides. “This mission… it’s dangerous. More dangerous than anything we’ve faced. I’ve trained you, pushed you, because I believe in you—my precious amateurs, my family. But I don’t want to see any of you die. If it comes down to it, if things go south, value your lives over the mission. Levi and I are your leaders—we’ll handle any contingencies. I want you kids to come back alive. Promise me that.”

The squad’s eyes widened, their throats tightening at her words. Eren’s voice was fierce, his fists clenched. “Selena, we’re not letting you sacrifice yourself for us. We’re in this together. I promise we’ll be careful, but don’t you dare take all the risk.” Mikasa nodded, her voice soft but resolute. “You’re our family, too. We protect each other.”

Armin’s eyes shimmered, his voice steady. “We’ll follow your lead, Selena, and we’ll come back. All of us.” Jean, his skepticism softened, added, “Yeah, no way we’re letting you and the Captain hog all the glory. We’ve got this.” Connie grinned, his energy returning. “We’re your amateurs, Selena. We’re not dying on you.” Sasha, her eyes glistening, nodded. “We’ll be careful, promise. But you better come back, too, okay?”

Levi’s gaze softened, a rare warmth in his eyes as he watched the squad rally around Selena. “Tch,” he muttered, his voice low. “Bunch of brats making promises. Just don’t screw up, and we’ll all make it.” His hand brushed Selena’s, a silent reassurance, his trust in her and the squad absolute.

Selena’s lips curved into a shaky smile, her heart swelling. “You kids,” she said, her voice thick. “I’m so damn proud of you.” She turned to Erwin and Hange, her resolve returning. “We’re ready, Commander. Let’s end this war.”

Erwin stood, his presence commanding. “Get some rest tonight,” he said, his voice steady. “Training intensifies tomorrow. In two weeks, you strike. Dismissed.” The squad rose, their footsteps heavy but purposeful as they filed out, their chatter subdued but determined as they headed to the barracks. The weight of the mission settled over them, but their bond held firm.

Selena and Levi lingered, their hands brushing as they left the war room, the night air cool against their skin. The corridors were quiet, the headquarters settling into a rare stillness. Selena barely slept in her own bed anymore, her nights spent in Levi’s quarters, his arms a sanctuary after the horrors of his mind control. The thought of losing him again, of Calvi’s serum or Marley’s wrath, drove her to hold him closer, her anchor in the storm.

They reached his quarters, the familiar space a haven of order—crisp linens, polished shelves, the faint scent of tea lingering in the air. Selena closed the door, her shoulders sagging as the day’s weight hit her. She began removing her Scout uniform, her fingers deft as she unbuttoned her jacket, the fabric sliding to the floor. Levi mirrored her, his movements slower, his bandages hidden beneath his shirt as he stripped it off, leaving him in black pants, his lean, scarred torso catching the dim lantern light.

Selena was halfway through removing her shirt, standing in her black underwear, when Levi moved behind her, his presence a sudden warmth. His lips brushed her neck, a soft, deliberate kiss that sent a shiver down her spine. His hands settled on her hips, his touch firm but gentle, his kisses trailing along her shoulder. The action was uncharacteristic, a bold shift from his usual restraint, and Selena’s breath caught, her body tensing with surprise.

She turned, her arms sliding around his neck, her lips finding his in a slow, searing kiss. When she pulled back, her poison-green eyes searched his, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Well, damn, Capitán,” she murmured, her voice husky. “Where’s all this touchy-feely affection coming from? You’re usually Mr. Stoic.”

Levi’s gray eyes held hers, a rare intensity burning in their depths, his hands tightening on her hips. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice low, rough with emotion. “This mission… it’s dangerous. We’ve both had close calls—too close. The serum, Kwasi shooting you, me nearly killing you.” He paused, his jaw clenching, the memories raw. “We’ve done… stuff. Foreplay, teasing, but we’ve never gone all the way. I know you’ve been holding back, not pushing me because I’m… inexperienced.” His voice softened, a vulnerability he rarely showed. “But I want you, Selena. All of you. Tonight.”

Selena’s heart skipped, her eyes widening at his words. She’d always been careful with Levi, respecting his boundaries, knowing his past—his life in the Underground, his losses—had left him guarded, unversed in intimacy. They’d explored each other’s bodies, shared heated moments, but she’d never pressed for more, content to let him set the pace. Now, his desire, raw and unguarded, ignited a fire in her chest.

“Levi…” she whispered, her fingers tracing his jaw, her touch tender. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to—”

“I’m sure,” he interrupted, his voice firm, his hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. “I want this. I want you. I love you, Selena, and I’m not waiting for Marley to take another shot at us.” His lips brushed hers, a teasing promise, his breath warm against her skin. “Unless you’re scared the Black Cat can’t handle me.”

Selena laughed, the sound low and sultry, her arms tightening around his neck. “Oh, Capitán, you’re playing with fire,” she purred, her lips grazing his ear. “I can handle you and then some.” She kissed him again, deeper, her tongue teasing his, her body pressing against his, the heat between them electric. His hands roamed her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine, igniting sparks wherever they touched.

She pulled back, her eyes glinting with mischief as she stepped away, her hands trailing down his chest, feeling the taut muscle and scars beneath her fingers. “Lie down,” she said, her voice a soft command, her assassin’s confidence blending seamlessly with her desire. She gestured to the bed, its crisp linens a stark contrast to the heat of the moment, her smile daring him to follow her lead.

Levi had a spark of amusement in his gray eyes, but he complied, his movements deliberate as he settled onto the bed, his back against the headboard, his black pants low on his hips. His gaze never left her, a quiet intensity that made her pulse race, his trust in her absolute. Selena approached, her hips swaying with deliberate grace, cat’s poise in every step. She knelt on the bed, straddling his thighs, her hands resting on his shoulders, her curls brushing his chest as she leaned in, her lips hovering over his.

“You’re beautiful, Levi,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, her hands sliding down his arms, tracing the lines of his biceps, the scars that told his story. “Every part of you—mine.” Her lips brushed his jaw, a featherlight kiss, then trailed to his throat, her breath warm against his skin.

Levi’s breath hitched, his hands settling on her thighs, his fingers digging into her skin, a silent acknowledgment of her words. “And you’re mine,” he said, his voice rough, his eyes burning with desire. His hands slid up her hips, his touch bold but reverent, exploring the curves of her body with a hunger he’d kept leashed until now.

Selena’s smile turned wicked, her fingers trailing down his chest, lingering on the bandages that hid his healing wound, her touch careful but teasing. She moved lower, her hands finding the waistband of his pants, her eyes locking with his as she slowly peeled them down, inch by inch, revealing the black underwear beneath. Levi’s breath caught, his body tensing as she freed his legs, tossing the pants aside, leaving him in just his underwear. The bulge was unmistakable, his arousal evident, and Selena’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her gaze flicking to his face, catching the faint flush creeping across his cheeks.

“Look at you, Capitán,” she teased, her voice a low purr, her fingers brushing over the fabric, tracing the outline of his erection. “Already so hard for me.” Her touch was light, deliberate, her fingers dancing over the cotton, feeling him twitch beneath her hand. Levi’s jaw clenched, a soft moan escaping his lips, the sound raw and unguarded, a stark contrast to his usual stoicism.

“Selena…” he muttered, his voice strained, his hands gripping her thighs tighter, his blush deepening as he tried to stay silent. But Selena wasn’t having it—she wanted to hear him, to unravel the man who held his emotions so tightly. She increased the pressure, her palm rubbing slow circles over his cock, the friction drawing another whimper from him, his head tilting back against the headboard, his breathing uneven.

“Don’t hold back, Levi,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear, her breath hot against his skin. “I want to hear you. Every sound, every moan—let me have it.” Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband, teasing the sensitive skin at his hips, her touch maddeningly light, prolonging his anticipation.

Levi’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking with hers, a mix of frustration and desire in his expression. “Tch… you’re a damn tease,” he growled, but the tremor in his voice betrayed his arousal, his hips shifting slightly, seeking more of her touch. Selena chuckled, the sound low and sultry, her hand pressing harder, feeling the heat of him through the fabric, a small wet spot forming where his precum soaked through.

“Oh, look at that,” she said, her voice dripping with mischief, her finger tracing the damp patch, making him hiss. “Someone’s eager.” She leaned down, her lips brushing his chest, kissing the scars that crisscrossed his skin, her hand still working him over his underwear, drawing soft, desperate sounds from his throat. Levi’s hands slid to her waist, his fingers digging into her skin, his control fraying with each deliberate stroke.

Selena’s eyes glinted with intent, her hand finally slipping beneath the waistband, her fingers brushing the base of his cock before she tugged the underwear down, freeing him completely. Levi hissed, the cool air hitting his heated skin, his erection standing proud, flushed and leaking at the tip. Selena’s breath caught, her gaze admiring as she took him in, her hand wrapping around his length, her touch firm but gentle, stroking slowly from base to tip.

“Fuck, Selena…” Levi groaned, his voice raw, his head falling back, his hands clenching the sheets. Selena kissed the tip of his cock, her lips soft, teasing, before her tongue darted out, licking the bead of precum, swirling around the sensitive head with deliberate care. Levi’s breathing grew erratic, his hips twitching, a low moan escaping as she worked him, her hand moving to fondle his balls, her fingers massaging with just the right pressure, drawing a shudder from him.

“You taste so good, Capitán,” she murmured, her voice a sultry hum, her lips brushing his tip as she spoke, the vibration sending a jolt through him. She took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling, her lips sealing around him as she bobbed her head, taking him deeper with each slow, deliberate motion. Levi’s hands tangled in her curls, his fingers gripping but not pulling, his moans louder now, unrestrained, the sound music to her ears.

Selena’s eyes flicked up, meeting his, the sight of her lips wrapped around his cock nearly undoing him. Levi’s gaze was intense, his face flushed, his chest heaving as he watched her, the intimacy of the moment overwhelming. “Selena… fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he gasped, his voice a mix of awe and desperation, his hips bucking slightly, chasing the heat of her mouth.

She moaned around him, the vibrations sending chills up his spine, her hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach, her pace steady but teasing. She felt him tense, his cock twitching, a sign he was close, and she pulled back, her lips releasing him with a soft pop, a wicked chuckle escaping her. Levi’s eyes snapped open, his expression a mix of frustration and arousal, his breath ragged. “Damn it, Selena,” he growled, his voice thick, his hands gripping her shoulders. “You’re fucking evil.”

Selena grinned, her hand still stroking him slowly, keeping him on the edge. “Oh, come on, Capitán,” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement. “I’m just savoring you. Don’t want this to end too soon, do we?” She kissed his thigh, her lips lingering, her fingers brushing his balls, drawing another whimper from him. “Besides, I love those sounds you’re making. Keep going.”

Levi’s blush deepened, his usual control shattered, but his eyes burned with desire, his hands pulling her closer. “You’re gonna pay for this, stray cat,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, but the spark in his gaze was playful, his arousal undeniable. 

Selena’s lips tingled from their foreplay, her tongue savoring the taste of him, her hands warm from the feel of his skin. She’d teased him to the edge, drawing soft moans and whimpers from the usually stoic Captain, his blush and frustrated growls fueling her desire. Now, as she straddled his thighs, her knees bracketing his hips, she felt the slick heat of her arousal, her core already dripping, leaving a faint sheen on his abs as she hovered above him. The sight of him—flushed, hard, his hands gripping the sheets—sent a thrill through her, her heart pounding with the knowledge that this moment was theirs, a defiance of the war and death that loomed outside.

She leaned forward, her curls brushing his chest, her hands resting on his shoulders as she held his gaze, her voice a sultry whisper. “You ready for this, Capitán?” she asked, her lips curving into a teasing smile, her eyes searching his for any hint of hesitation. Her pussy grazed his abs, the contact sending a shiver through her, her arousal evident in the way her breath hitched, her body aching to close the distance.

Levi’s eyes burned with desire, his hands sliding to her thighs, his fingers digging into her skin, his voice rough but certain. “More than ready,” he said, his gaze flicking to the slickness on his abs, a smirk tugging at his lips despite his flush. “Fuck, Selena, you’re dripping for me. Get on with it.” His tone was half-command, half-plea, his usual control fraying under the weight of his need, the sight of her naked and wanting unraveling him.

Selena’s laugh was low, her eyes never leaving his as she shifted, positioning herself above his cock, the tip brushing her entrance, teasing them both. She held his gaze, her hands bracing on his chest, her nails grazing his scars as she slowly sank down, taking him inch by inch. Levi’s moan was immediate, a raw, unguarded sound that filled the room, his head tilting back, his eyes fluttering closed as her warmth enveloped him. The sensation was new, overwhelming, a tight, wet heat that made his breath catch, his hands tightening on her thighs. “Shit…” he gasped, his voice trembling, the pleasure unlike anything he’d imagined.

Selena paused, her own breath hitching as she adjusted to his size, his manhood stretching her in a way that sent sparks of pleasure through her core. She bit her lip, her eyes locked on his face, watching the way his features contorted with bliss, his blush deepening. “You okay, Levi?” she asked, her voice soft but teasing, her hands sliding up his chest, her fingers brushing his nipples, drawing another shudder from him.

Levi’s eyes snapped open, his gaze hazy but intense, his nod jerky. “Yeah… fuck, yeah,” he managed, his voice rough, his hands flexing on her thighs. “Just… don’t stop.” His words were a plea, his vulnerability laid bare, and Selena’s heart swelled, her love for him a fierce undercurrent to her desire.

She began to move, her hips rocking slowly, a teasing rhythm that had her sliding up and down his cock, each motion deliberate, savoring the way he filled her, the stretch and friction igniting her nerves. “God, Levi,” she moaned, her head tilting back, her curls bouncing as she rode him, her pussy clenching around him, the pleasure building with each slow thrust. “You feel so fucking good.” Her voice was a sultry hum, her moans unrestrained, the sight of her—head thrown back, breasts bouncing, skin glowing—enough to push Levi to the edge.

Levi’s hands moved instinctively, sliding from her thighs to her ass, his fingers squeezing the soft flesh, his moans mingling with hers as he felt her move, the sensation of her pussy gripping him driving him wild. “Selena…” he groaned, his voice raw, his hips bucking slightly, chasing the pleasure. The position—her on top, controlling the pace, her body a vision of power and grace—was the most vulnerable he’d ever felt, his heart and body surrendered to her. In this moment, Selena could ask him to storm Marley alone, and he’d do it, her tight core a spell he was helpless against.

“You like this, Capitán?” Selena teased, her voice a low purr, one hand sliding from his chest to wrap around his neck, her fingers pressing lightly, a possessive gesture that made his cock twitch inside her. She bounced on his dick, her rhythm steady but slow, drawing out his pleasure, her moans growing louder as she felt him stretch her, the friction perfect. “Tell me how it feels.”

Levi’s blush deepened, his hands squeezing her ass harder, his moans desperate. “Fucking incredible,” he gasped, his voice breaking, his eyes locked on her, the sight of her riding him nearly unraveling him. “You’re… fuck, Selena, you’re everything.” His words were a confession, his love and desire intertwined, his hands guiding her hips, urging her to move faster.

Selena’s smile turned wicked, her hand tightening slightly on his neck, her hips slowing to a torturous pace, each movement deliberate, teasing. She felt him tense, his cock throbbing inside her, a sign he was close, and she chuckled, her voice dripping with mischief. “Not so fast, Levi,” she said, her eyes glinting. “You want more? Beg for it.” Her pussy clenched around him, a deliberate tease, her slow, shallow thrusts driving him to the edge without letting him tip over.

Levi’s eyes widened, a mix of disbelief and arousal in his gaze, his hands gripping her ass so tightly she’d have marks tomorrow. “Beg?” he growled, his voice thick, his usual stoicism shattered. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, stray cat.”

But as she bounced slowly, her pussy gripping him, her hand on his neck a commanding pressure, his protests melted into moans, his resolve crumbling under her power. “Please, Selena,” he gasped, his voice desperate, his hips bucking to meet her. “Fuck, please, don’t stop.”

Selena’s laugh was sultry, her pleasure heightened by the sight of him unraveling, his begging a thrill that sent heat pooling in her core. She loved this—having Levi, the unyielding Captain, at her mercy, his moans and pleas a testament to their bond. “That’s it, Capitán,” she purred, her hand loosening on his neck, her hips picking up a slightly faster rhythm, bouncing on his cock with a grace that made him groan. “You sound so good when you beg.” Her pussy was dripping, her arousal coating his cock, the slick sounds of their bodies filling the room, a symphony of their desire.

Levi’s hands gripped her ass, his fingers digging in as he bounced her on his dick, his moans louder now, unrestrained, his control surrendered to the woman he loved. “Selena… fuck, you’re killing me,” he gasped, his eyes locked on her, the sight of her—curls bouncing, breasts swaying, her face flushed with pleasure—driving him wild. Her power over him was intoxicating, her body a perfect fit, each movement pushing him closer to the edge, his body trembling with need.

Selena’s laugh was a low, taunting purr, her hips slowing to a torturous pace, her pussy clenching around him just enough to keep him on the brink. “You’re so cute when you beg, Capitán,” she teased, her voice dripping with mischief, her hand tightening briefly on his neck before loosening, her fingers trailing down his chest. She lifted her hips, sliding off his cock completely, the sudden absence of her warmth drawing a frustrated growl from Levi, his hands gripping her thighs, his cock twitching in the cool air. A bead of her arousal glistened on his abs, evidence of her own need, but she hovered above him, her smile wicked as she watched him squirm.

“Selena, fuck,” Levi hissed, his voice raw, his blush deepening as he glared up at her, his control fraying. “Stop fucking teasing me.” His hands slid to her hips, urging her back down, but she chuckled, shifting just out of reach, her fingers brushing his cock lightly, drawing another shudder from him. The wet spot on his abs grew, her pussy dripping as she teased, her own arousal heightened by his desperation, the power she held over him a thrill that made her pulse race.

“Oh, come on, Levi,” she purred, her voice a sultry taunt, leaning down to kiss his jaw, her lips grazing his ear. “I’m just having fun. Don’t you like it when I make you wait?” She slid down again, taking just the tip of his dick inside her, rocking shallowly, her core teasing him with fleeting heat before she pulled off again, her laugh soft but cruel. “Beg some more, Capitán. I love hearing it.”

Levi’s patience, already threadbare, snapped. Something primal roared to life within him, a beast unleashed by her games, his desire and frustration colliding in a surge of raw need. His hand shot up, gripping her neck—not harshly, but firmly enough to catch her off guard, his fingers pressing against her pulse. Selena’s eyes widened, a gasp escaping her lips, her teasing smile faltering as she registered the shift in his gaze, his gray eyes dark with a hunger she hadn’t seen before.

“Enough,” Levi growled, his voice low and dangerous, his hand tightening briefly before he moved, swift and decisive. In a blur of motion, he flipped her over, her body yielding to his strength as he maneuvered her onto her hands and knees, her face pressed into the mattress, her ass raised high. Selena’s breath hitched, her curls spilling across the sheets, her pussy throbbing with anticipation as she felt him position himself behind her, his hands rough but controlled, his dominance a shock that sent heat pooling in her core.

“Levi—” she started, her voice a mix of surprise and arousal, but his hand tangled in her curls, pulling just hard enough to arch her back, silencing her with a sharp tug. His other hand gripped her waist, steadying her as he lined himself up, his cock brushing her entrance, slick with their combined arousal. “You wanted to play games,” he said, his voice a filthy, unhinged growl, a side of him she’d never heard, raw and commanding. “Now you’re gonna take it.”

Without warning, he thrust into her, hard and deep, his cock filling her completely, the force of it driving a loud moan from her lips. Selena’s hands clutched the sheets, her body rocking forward with the strength of his thrusts, her ass clapping against his pelvis with a loud, rhythmic smack, the sound mingling with the creamy, wet noise of their fluids mixing. Levi’s pace was relentless, each thrust rough and precise, his hand on her waist keeping her steady, preventing her from collapsing under the intensity. His other hand pulled her hair, keeping her arched, her moans muffled against the mattress as he fucked her with a ferocity that left her breathless.

“Selena,” Levi growled, his voice dripping with filthy intent, his hips snapping against her, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room. “You feel so good, so tight, taking me like you were made for me.” His words were unhinged, a stark contrast to his usual restraint, each syllable laced with a primal need that made Selena clench around him, her arousal spiking at this new, beastly side of her Capitán. “You like this, don’t you? Finally making me snap.”

Selena moaned, her voice raw, her body trembling with pleasure, the roughness of his thrusts hitting every sensitive spot inside her. “Yes, Levi, fuck, yes,” she gasped, her words punctuated by the clap of her ass against him, her pussy dripping, coating his cock with each thrust. “God, you’re so fucking good—harder, Capitán, don’t stop.” She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, her encouragement fueling his fire, her love for this unleashed side of him a thrill that made her head spin. She’d always known there was a beast beneath his stoic exterior, and now, feeling it in every brutal thrust, she was lost to it.

Levi’s hand on her waist slid to her hip, his fingers digging into her skin, his grip bruising as he pounded into her, his dirty talk relentless. “You’re mine, Selena,” he growled, his voice a low, filthy rasp, his hand tugging her hair harder, making her moan louder. “Every inch of you. You teased me, made me beg—now you’re gonna scream for me.” His thrusts grew even rougher, the bed creaking under the force, the creamy sound of their arousal a lewd symphony that echoed in the room.

Selena’s moans turned to cries, her body alight with pleasure, the roughness pushing her toward the edge. “Levi, fuck, I’m yours,” she gasped, her voice breaking, her pussy clenching around him, the sensation of his cock stretching her overwhelming. “Keep talking, Capitán, god—fuck me harder.” Her encouragement was desperate, her body rocking with each thrust, her ass bouncing against him, the sound loud and primal, her curls swaying with the motion.

Levi’s control was gone, his virgin status a distant memory as he gave himself to the moment, his desire for Selena a force that consumed him. “You want it harder?” he snarled, his hand leaving her hair to grip her other hip, both hands now steadying her as he fucked her with abandon, his thrusts so powerful she’d have flown off the bed without his hold.

Selena’s pleasure built to a crescendo, her pussy throbbing, her moans turning to screams as she felt the coil in her core tighten. “Levi, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she cried, her voice raw, her body trembling, her hands clutching the sheets as she pushed back against him, desperate for release.

Levi felt it too, his cock twitching inside her, the tight heat of her pussy pushing him to the brink. “Cum for me, Selena,” he growled, his voice unhinged, his thrusts relentless. “

“Let me feel you.” His words were her undoing, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave, her pussy clenching around him, her scream muffled against the mattress as her body shook, her juices coating his cock, the creamy sound louder now, a lewd echo of her release.

Levi’s own climax hit at the same moment, the sight of her unraveling, the feel of her pussy gripping him, too much to bear. With a guttural groan, he pulled out just in time, his hand stroking his cock as he came, hot spurts of cum painting Selena’s back, marking her caramel skin in a primal claim. His breath was ragged, his body trembling as he collapsed forward, his hands bracing on either side of her, his forehead resting against her shoulder, their breaths mingling in the afterglow.

Selena panted, her body still buzzing, her ass still raised, her curls plastered to her sweat-slicked skin. “Fuck, Levi…” she gasped, her voice hoarse, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Where the hell did that come from? You’re a virgin, Capitán, and you just fucked me like a beast.” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes, when she turned her head to look at him, were filled with love, her pride in him a quiet glow.

Levi’s smirk was faint, his breath still uneven, his hands sliding to her hips, gentler now, his touch reverent. “Tch,” he muttered, his voice rough but warm. “Blame you, stray cat. Teasing me like that—you woke something up.” He kissed her shoulder, his lips soft against her skin, a contrast to the roughness of moments before. “You okay?” His tone was softer, a flicker of concern in his gray eyes, his love for her a steady anchor.

Selena laughed, easing onto her side, her body still trembling, her back sticky with his release. “More than okay,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, her hand reaching for his, lacing their fingers. “You were incredible, Levi. I love you.” She pulled him down, kissing him deeply, her lips lingering, their bodies pressed together, the intimacy of the moment a shield against the world.

Levi returned the kiss, his hand tangling in her curls, his voice a low murmur. “I love you too, Selena,” he said, his lips brushing hers, his touch gentle now, the beast sated but the fire still burning. They lay there, the lantern’s light fading, the night wrapping around them, their love a fierce, unyielding force. In this moment, they were whole, their bodies and souls entwined, ready to face whatever came next.

…

Fifteen minutes later, Selena lay on her back, her skin flushed and glistening, her curls splayed across the pillow like a dark halo. Her eyes were half-lidded, a contented smile playing on her lips as she cradled Levi against her, his head resting on the soft curve of her breasts, his dark hair mussed and damp with sweat. Her arms wrapped around him, one hand gently running through his hair, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against his scalp, her touch a tender contrast to the primal intensity of moments before.

Levi’s lean, scarred body was relaxed in a way it rarely was, his usual tension melted away, his breaths slow and deep as he nestled into her warmth. His arms draped loosely around her waist, one hand resting on the curve of her hip, his fingers occasionally brushing her skin in a lazy, unconscious caress. The afterglow enveloped them, their bodies pressed close under the thin sheet. The mission to Marley, the weight of war, and the specter of General Calvi faded into the background, leaving only this moment—two lovers bound by trust, love, and the raw connection they’d just forged.

Selena’s voice broke the quiet, a soft, teasing murmur. “Well, Capitán,” she said, her fingers pausing in his hair to tug gently, her smile audible. “You survived your first time. Gotta say, I’m impressed. You fucked me like you’ve been doing this for years.” Her laugh was low, warm, her body shifting slightly, making her breasts jiggle against his cheek.

Levi’s lips twitched, a faint smirk forming as he tilted his head to meet her gaze, his gray eyes heavy-lidded but glinting with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. “Tch,” he muttered, his voice rough but soft, the edges smoothed by the tranquility washing over him. “Blame you, stray cat. I get it now.” He paused, his smirk widening, a rare playfulness in his tone. “Can’t believe I’ve been missing this my whole damn life. We should’ve done this sooner.”

Selena’s laugh was louder this time, her head tilting back, her curls bouncing against the pillow. “Oh, listen to you,” she teased, her hand resuming its gentle path through his hair, her nails grazing his scalp in a way that made him hum contentedly. “One round with me, and you’re a changed man. Careful, Levi, I might get used to this side of you.” Her voice softened, her eyes warm as she looked down at him, her love for him a quiet glow in her expression. “You feeling okay, though? That was… intense.”

Levi’s hand tightened briefly on her hip, his thumb brushing her skin, a silent reassurance. “Better than okay,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, his head nuzzling closer to her breasts, the softness and warmth lulling him into a state of rare peace. “Never felt this… relaxed. You’re putting me to sleep, Selena.” His tone was half-joking, but there was truth in it—her warmth, her touch, the lingering high of their climax had him drifting, his body heavy and tranquil, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifted.

Selena chuckled, her fingers carding through his hair, her other hand tracing lazy circles on his shoulder. “The sex was so good it’s knocking out the great Captain Levi and his insomnia,” she said, her voice dripping with mock pride, her grin wicked. “I should put that on my resume. ‘Tamed Humanity’s Strongest with one ride.’” She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering, her teasing tempered by tenderness. “You’re cute like this, you know. All cuddly and soft.”

Levi’s scowl was half-hearted, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers worked their magic, his head sinking deeper into her chest. “Tch, don’t get used to it,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite, his body betraying him as he melted into her embrace. “If any of those brats saw me like this, my reputation’s fucked.” He paused, his smirk returning, a flicker of defiance in his tone. “But… I don’t give a shit. Not with you.”

Selena’s heart swelled, her arms tightening around him, her hand stilling in his hair to cup the back of his neck, her thumb brushing his skin. “Good,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes shimmering in the dim light. “Because I love you like this, Levi. All vulnerable and mine. What we just shared… it’s special. I feel closer to you than ever.” Her words were raw, unguarded, a reflection of the bond they’d deepened, their bodies and souls laid bare in the heat of their lovemaking.

Levi’s eyes opened, his gaze meeting hers, a quiet intensity in his expression despite the drowsiness tugging at him. “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft but firm, his hand sliding up her side, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist. “Closer than I thought possible. You’re… everything, Selena.” His lips brushed her collarbone, a gentle kiss that spoke volumes, his love for her a steady flame that burned through his usual walls.

Selena smiled, her fingers resuming their soothing path through his hair, her body shifting to pull him closer, their legs tangling under the sheet. “You’re my everything, too, Capitán,” she murmured, her voice a warm hum, her breasts a soft pillow for his head. “I’ve taken down governments, fought titans, but this—being here with you, like this—it’s the best damn thing I’ve ever done.” Her laugh was soft, her eyes half-closed, the tranquility of the moment wrapping around them like a blanket.

Levi hummed, his hand resting on her hip, his thumb brushing lazy circles, his body sinking deeper into hers. “Better than your 100 Cuts of Pain?” he teased, his voice muffled against her skin, a rare lightness in his tone that made her heart skip.

Selena’s grin was wicked, her hand tugging his hair gently, making him tilt his head to meet her gaze. “Oh, Capitán, you’ve got no idea,” she said, her voice playful but sincere. “That technique’s got nothing on you. I might need a day to recover.” Her laugh was infectious, her body shaking slightly, making her breasts jiggle against his cheek, drawing a soft groan from him.

“Tch, don’t tempt me,” Levi muttered, his smirk faint, his eyes fluttering closed again, the pull of sleep stronger now, her warmth and touch a lullaby. “Might have to go again just to shut you up.” His words were a half-hearted threat, his body too relaxed to follow through, his head nuzzling deeper into her chest, her heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath him.

Selena’s laugh was softer now, her hand smoothing his hair, her other arm wrapping around his shoulders, holding him close. “Promises, promises,” she teased, her voice a gentle whisper, her eyes tracing his features—the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint scars, the softness in his expression that was hers alone to see. “Rest, Levi. We’ve got training tomorrow, and I need my Capitán in top form. Can’t have you falling asleep on the field.”

Levi’s chuckle was low, barely audible, his breath warm against her skin. “Bossy stray cat,” he muttered, his voice fading, his body heavy against hers, the tranquility of the moment pulling him toward sleep. “I love you…” The words were a quiet confession, slipping out as he drifted, his arms tightening around her, a final act of closeness before sleep claimed him.

Selena’s heart swelled, her eyes glistening, her hand stilling in his hair to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing his skin. “I love you too, Levi,” she whispered, her voice thick, her lips pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. She held him, her body a warm anchor, her breasts a soft pillow for his head, her love for him a fierce, unyielding force.

The mission to Marley loomed, its dangers a shadow on the horizon, but here, in the quiet of their cuddling, their pillow talk a gentle echo of their passion, they were enough. The lantern burned low, the night wrapping around them, their bond a shield against the storm, their love a promise to face it together.

~

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[isacksteban]

Before — 1 (out of 3? maybe)

Sick. That's how Bez felt. Whether it was from the ridiculous amount of alcohol he'd had since he crashed out - since Marc Marquez made him crash - or because of the anger bubbling under the surface he wasn't sure.

All he knew was that as soon as that microphone was in his hand all he wanted to do was bitch and moan about his shitty race.

The room was crowded, full of people celebrating as he shouted slurred words into the microphone by his lips.

"We're here..." He started, done talking to Digi's daughter. Now was his chance "I just wanted to say one thing today. Marquez made me crash." He stated plainly, pointing his finger at the camera in front of his face

"He wanted to say it" The man behind him slightly laughed as he spoke, it wasn't a joke. This was all Marc Marquez's fault.

"I wanted to say it." He echoed before moving on, unaware of just how much this comment was going to shape his night.

The broadcast eventually came to an end after ten minutes of Bez's rambling. He wasn't sure when he came to this conclusion but he decided he was going to confront Marquez.

He was stumbling, not because that dickhead hurt him, he's too strong to be hurt by such a pathetic rider. Maybe he was just a little too drunk to do anything straight.

He pounded on the door of the Spaniards motorhome, ready to tear into him as soon as his door swung open. What he wasn't ready for was for the shorter man to be in nothing but a white towel hanging loosely around his waist.

Bez's anger flared even more at the sight of Marc looking so unbothered, so relaxed, as if nothing had happened. The Spaniard raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Bezzecchi, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Marc's tone was mocking, his eyes glinting with amusement as his lips curled up into a Cheshire cat smile.

"You think this is funny?" Bez slurred, his fists clenching at his sides. "Vai a farti fottere. You made me crash!"

Marc leaned against the doorframe, his smirk widening. "Is that what you came here to tell me? You know, blaming others won't make you a better rider, Marco."

Bez took a step forward, his vision blurring slightly. "Shut up! You did it on purpose. You wanted me out of the race! Your race ended a few laps later as karma for you being a reckless dickhead."

Marc shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe you should focus more on your own skills rather than finding excuses."

The words cut deep, and Bez's anger turned into a fierce determination. He pushed Marc back into the motorhome, causing the Spaniard to stumble slightly. Marc's smirk faltered as he realized Bez wasn't just drunk — he was furious.

"You think you can just ruin my race with nk consequences?" Bez shouted, his voice loud, echoing off the walls of the small structure. "Mi stai sul cazzo."

Marc straightened up, his expression hardening. "You're drunk, Bez. Go sleep it off before you do something you'll regret."

But Bez was beyond reason. He swung a punch at Marc and missed, embarrassingly enough. The two men stood there, the tension between them palpable, neither of them felt like they could breathe in the small space.

"Do something I'll regret?" Bez barked. "The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner."

He lunged forward again, but this time Marc didn't move. Instead, he grabbed Bez's arms and held him in place, their faces inches apart, Marc controlling him as if he was some mutt the Spaniard had trained. Bez's breath was hot and heavy, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with anger and something else neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Marc whispered, his voice low, warning the pup.

"Maybe I don't," Bez replied, his voice equally low, a stark change from the volume he had just seconds before. "But I know what I want."

Without thinking, he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to Marc's in a rough, angry kiss. Marc resisted for a second, but then he was kissing Bez back just as fiercely, their mutual hatred and frustration pouring into the kiss.

It was a battle for dominance, their hands gripping each other's arms tightly, neither willing to give an inch. It was messy, all teeth and tongues and pent-up aggression. It could hardly be called a kiss, not in any romantic sense. It was at once filthy and violating, no teasing or buildup. Not altogether unpleasant, Marc noted once he recovered from the shock of the turn this interaction had taken, but still unwelcome. And so, in response, he took the first opportunity he had to bite down hard on Bez's bottom lip, blood bursting across his tongue just before the Italian jerked away.

He didn’t appear angry, though, not even as he spat excess blood and saliva on the floor. He laughed instead, his eye darker than Marc had ever seen it and glittering with the manic hunger he got before a race. He brought his hand up to Marc's throat then to his jaw, swiping his thumb across his lips and smearing the blood Marc had drawn across them. “Just when I thought I’d found a better use for that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Marc slapped his hand away. “I’m glad we can agree at least one of us is pretty,” he grumbled, incapable of letting this end without getting one last jab in. He flicked out his tongue and still could taste copper at the corner of his mouth, and it was impossible to miss the way Bez followed the movement. “Although,” Marc continued in spite of his better judgment, watching as a trail of blood trickled from Bez's mouth down his chin, one valiant drop even climbing further down, outlining the column of his throat before disappearing into the collar of his shirt, “I think I’m starting to see the appeal.”

Later, Marc could rationalize this whole incident down to him being overworked and sorely needing a break, one that Bez had so conveniently stopped him fron having. But in truth, there was no rational explanation for why he proceeded to tangle his fingers in Bez's hair, or why Bez even allowed him to, before forcefully reeling him back in. Purely hindbrain base instinct, he mused, swiping his tongue across the impressions of his teeth cut into Bez’s lip, unadulterated desire, and the thrill of chasing something dangerous. A heady and addictive feeling he’d become more and more accustomed to as of late.

It was less making out than it was a battle on a smaller, intimate scale. All clashing tongues and teeth as each of them fought to set the pace to their preferences, resulting in something messy and frantic and not enough - not nearly enough - to satisfy.

Bez’s hand fumbled across Marc's chest, seeking out the towel still around his waist, and trying to focus on anything else besides the taste of metal and Marquez's spit in his mouth proved to be too much of a hassle, he brought his knee up to graze against Marc's groin, urging him to hasten things along. Almost immediately, he caught on and forced his leg back down, fingers digging deep into the meat of his thigh, just on the edge of being painful. “Impatient, aren’t we?” he laughed, pulling back to Bez's dismay. “Never thought I’d have to remind you to use your words. You were so eager to run your mouth and now you're ashamed?”

“Just get on with it!” Bez snapped, more on edge than he’d ever admit to.

Marc strolled casually to the side, putting on a show of untucking the towel from itsself and holding a corner away from his body, still covered. “Get on with what?” he asked nonchalantly.

“I’m sure you can use context clues.” Bez gestured between the two of them. At Marc's lack of reaction, he sighed, “Or maybe not. Maybe media literacy really is dead, you poor, pathetic idiot.”

Without warning, Marc was grabbed once again, Bez manhandling the Spaniard on top of him as he sat on the sofa placed in the corner of the room until he had them right where he wanted: Marc, astride his lap with his knees bracketing Bez's hips, making use of the slim space available between the armrests. Marc wanted to gloat - his needling had been successful after all - but he was all too aware of the precarious position he was now in, no longer being towered over but instead spread open as the towel atop of his olive skin risked slipping down. And the only thing keeping him steady was Bez's firm grip on his ass.

“The only thing pathetic around here is your pride getting in the way of asking for what you want. Is this,” Marc forced himself closer, grinding his hips against Bez's, “better?”

“Cazzo,” was all Bez could think to say as he lurched backwards with the motion and shut his eyes tight. “Fuck, fine, sì. Just don’t stop.”

Marc only laughed and rolled their hips against each other again. Bez bore down, chasing the friction he needed. Marc's mouth found his skin again, this time latching onto the bolt of his jaw before moving lower, biting and sucking along his throat and leaving harsh bruises that he would have no way of hiding over the next few days. He was sure he’d care about that later, but there were more pressing matters. Pressing insistently against the front of his jeans, in fact.

“If Valentino could see you now, his pet panting like a feral dog,” Marc remarked, bringing one hand around to pull at the collar of Bez's shirt to give him more access to unmarked skin.

“You want to know something - quit that, you’re going to stretch it out - something funny?” Marc made a curious noise as he nipped hard at Bez's collarbone. Bez inhaled sharply but took that as his cue to continue. “I don’t actually care all that much about his attention.”

Marc stilled, and Bez just barely refrained from whining. He pulled back, lips spit slick and quirked in an odd grin, as he let his hand wander, falling torturously slow down the length of Bez's torso. “Is that so?”

Bez moved his hands to grip on Marc's shoulders, refusing to squirm even as the Spaniards hand trailed past his abdomen, fingers teasing along the waistband of his jeans. He leaned in so his nose brushed against Marc's ear. “But I really enjoy how it gets under your skin.”

He felt the button of his jeans pop and Marc's knuckles graze the straining front of his boxers as he dragged the zipper down. “Looks like we’re even in that respect.”

“Not if you don’t…fucking…do something,” Bez panted into his neck as Marc cupped him through the fabric.

“Are you going to ask me, or should I use context clues again?” Marc teased, increasing the pressure slightly for the briefest of moments, just enough to leave Bez aching for more.

“Just touch me, Che cazzo!”

“Vague. And rude. But I’ll take it.” Wasting no more time, Marc freed his already leaking cock and grasped him firmly in his hand. The first few strokes were too rough and dry in his calloused hands by any measure, but the instant relief at just having anything sent waves of pleasure prickling up his spine. A low moan rattled free from somewhere deep in Bez's chest, and he bit down into the meat of Marc's shoulder to muffle it.

“None of that,” Marc said, bringing his other hand up to yank Bez back by his hair. “You’ve been very vocal; you don’t get to stop now.” Marc focused his attention on the tip, pressing his thumb into the slit and gathering the precum that had already started collecting to ease the glide back down.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” Bez spluttered as Marc settled into a steady rhythm.

Marc laughed and flicked his wrist just so, sending Bez crying out. “La poesía.”

Bez thrusted shallowly into his fist, trying and failing to match the pace with what little leverage he had in this position. Marc released his grip on his hair and went back to rocking his hips until finally their uneven back and forth fell into sync.

“Asshole- you- ah..- merda- Motherfuck- God!” Speaking, at least coherently, became increasingly difficult as Marc worked him over almost mechanically, as if every weak point of his was somehow preprogrammed into his movements, and Bez hated it as much as he never wanted it to end.

“Go on,” Marc urged him. “Let’s see if we can make them hear you through that door. You wanted attention, right?” Another twist of his hand, and something strangled and pitiful clawed its way out of Bez's throat. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy now? I’d love for them to hear you scream.”

“Someone’s - hah - a little overconfident in their abilities, don’t you think?” Bez managed in between gasps.

“Oh, I’m sure I could figure it out,” Marc said, voice low and liquid smooth in a way that settled deep in the pooling warmth that had begun gathering in Bez's core. He suppressed a shiver. “With a little time, I bet I could have you on your knees and begging.” At that, Bez snatched Marc's wrist, stopping him mid-pump even as his dick throbbed in response. “Didn’t like that idea, huh?”

“On my knees, I can do,” Bez huffed, gathering himself. “But I have no intention of begging.”

“No one does,” Marc shot back cheekily. “But I’ll bite. What do you have in mind to keep yourself quiet?” Marc loosened his hold, allowing Bez to slip out from under hum, his legs tingling from bloodflow rushing back into them as Marc turned to sit facing the Italian. Ignoring the minor pain, he continued sinking further down, situating himself between Marc's thighs as he knelt on the floor. “I like where this is going,” He chuckled, moving things along by taking out his own cock - with far less teasing and ceremony he had subjected him to before, Bez noted with embarrassment - already hard and leaking.

Pausing only to meet Marc's eyes - watching hungrily from above, cast in shadow by the glow of the dim lights haloing his damp hair - before taking him in his mouth, drawing a groan from Marc's. He moved slowly at first, with short bobs of his head as he progressively took in inch after inch, using his hand to cover what he hadn’t yet with his mouth, adjusting to the weight on his tongue and swallowing down the salty, bitter taste of precome. Marc's hand found its way into his hair, mockingly tender. “You know,” he said, “from this angle, you’re actually not too bad.”

In place of the cutting response Bez would have given in any other circumstance, he dove his head down the furthest he’d done yet, then flattened his tongue against the underside of Marc's erection, bringing it to a point as he dragged it up to the head. “Mierda!” Marc cried out, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. The fingers threaded through Bez's curls tightened sharply as he continued teasing at the tip, and that was the only warning he got before his head was forced forward again, then pulled back.

Apart from a muffled noise of surprise, Bez didn’t fight against it, focusing instead on relaxing his throat so he wouldn’t give Marc the satisfaction of gagging and paving the way for more snide, derogatory remarks he was in no position to argue. Besides, he still had his hand, and much like Marc had before, he moved and twisted it just so at the base of his cock, picking up a momentum that could eventually tear Marc to pieces. Judging from his flushed face, his panting breaths, and his condescension growing more and more disjointed, Bez felt he was somewhere on the right track.

“Yes, like that. Fucking- Dios! It’s like you were made for this. If I had known this was all it took to shut you up…” Marc trailed off, laughing. His eye distractedly followed the drool running down Bez's chin before snapping back up to meet his gaze with a wicked grin. “Why don’t you go on and touch yourself, Marco? I think I’d like to see you fall apart wrapped around my cock.”

Tempting as that was, his arousal flushed and heavy between his legs, Bez instead reached back to tug at Marc's hand on his head. He sighed, disappointed, but released him anyway. Still, Bez took his time retreating, tracing a vein with his tongue and swirling it around the head before sliding off with a wet pop that had Marc gripping the armrests of the sofa dangerously. “If that’s what you’re after,” Bez told him, wiping at his chin with his sleeve, “you’re going to have to work a little harder for it.”

Marc leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, so that their faces were nearly level, hot breaths mingling in the scarce air between them. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

“Actually, I don’t believe I did. But glad to know you’ve finally figured out how to read between the lines.”

Marc's hand shot out to twist in Bez's shirt as he stood, dragging him to his feet along with him. “You are fucking terrible at saying anything actually important.”

“To you, maybe. We just happen to have different priorities.” Bez could only watch confhsed as Marc swiped his free arm across a desk in the corner of the room, sending everything in the workspace - the mouse, keyboard, documents and checklists, various caffeinated beverages - clattering to the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

In response, Marc practically threw him against the desk. “Priorities,” he scoffed.

“Let me guess, you sit at the top of that list while us younger riders hover somewhere in the low hundreds.”

Marc rolled his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Marco.”

With sheer brute strength, Bez spun Marc around and forced him face down on the desk, braced by his elbows. He leaned over, covering Marc with his own body and bringing his mouth just behind Marc's ear. He could feel every armored edge of the Italians jeans rough against his bare skin, and more than that, Bez's erection jutting against the line of his ass through them.

“Impressive,” Marc praised sarcastically. “I’d say you have me pegged, but you forgot one thing.”

“Ugh,” Bez groaned at the tasteless choice in wording, “and what’s that?”

“Right now, I’d say one of my highest priorities is finding out exactly what kind of idiotic nonsense runs out of your mouth when you’re strung out and fucked senseless,” Marc replied, nipping briefly at the shell of Bez's ear before pulling away. “Any objections?” Without waiting for a reply, he yanked Bez's jeans down to his knees, exposing him fully to the open air.

“Do you think I’d even be in this position if I had any?”

Marc sighed. “Is a simple, one word answer too much to ask from you?”

“Maybe.”

Marc didn’t get a chance to retort before Bez finger pressed against his entrance, sinking in to the first knuckle. Marc bit his lip against a reedy noise in the back of his throat that came dangerously close to a whine as he acclimated to the intrusion before Bez pulled out again, catching on the rim, then pushed back in further. By the time Marc had adjusted his breathing to the rhythm of Bez'a finger pumping in and out, he introduced another. He couldn’t repress a shout at the initial sting of two fingers working him over, but the pain faded over time into a toe-curling stretch.

“Taking you- ngh- your time, I see,” Marc goaded, even as he rocked back to meet the thrust of Bez's hand. “Do you not wanna make me scream, Marco?”

“Don’t worry, that’s definitely still on the table.” To prove his point, Bez angled his fingers just so on the next push, nailing Marc's prostate and causing every nerve in his body to light up like fireworks. He didn’t scream, thank you very much, but it was a near thing, the sound scraping his throat raw and fighting to break past his gritted teeth. “But you’ll have to forgive me for assuming that you wished to retain your ability to walk tomorrow.”

“How considerate of you- oh.” A third finger joined the others, creating a delicious kind of burn as they dragged against his walls over and over until at last Bez was satisfied.

“That should do it,” he appraised, drawing his hand back. Marc swallowed a whimper at the sudden emptiness he was left with and took the opportunity to remove his glasses and sweep his now sweat-drenched chair out of his eyes in the brief calm before the storm.

For once, Bez didn’t leave him in anticipation, and a moment later Marc felt the blunt head of his cock lining up at his entrance before pushing in with a blissed out groan, filling Marc up inch by heavy inch with each movement of his hips, until there was scarcely enough room in him for the air in his lungs. The pleasure resided intimately by the pain, each providing kindling for the other until his own body became an echo chamber of conflicting desires: to lean into the sensation or to escape it, to tense against the feeling or relax around it. His head spun so much that he didn’t realize at first when Bez bottomed out, only noticing after a while that he had gone still apart from the labored rise and fall of his chest.

Tears pricked at the corners of Marc's eyes at the sheer fullness of it, the inescapable heat pressing against him. He felt spread too thin, a rubber band pulled to its limit before snapping, and still, after several seconds passed in this high-strung state, Bez did not offer him release. “Fucking…move already!” he choked out.

“Just enjoying the view,” Bez remarked, as coolly as if he were watching a sunset rather than buried to the hilt inside another person, if a little breathless. He did move, then, with extreme prejudice, gripping Marc's hips with bruising force as he pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back in, punching a rattling moan from Marc's chest.

He repeated this several more times, shifting slightly every few thrusts, some going deeper than others but no less forcefully, until Marc's arms shook and threatened to give out from the strain of holding himself up against the onslaught. Finally, Bez entered at an angle that grazed Marc's prostate again, sending him keening uncontrollably. Another adjustment, and he proceeded to hit that bundle of nerves near every time.

There weren’t words to describe the sensation. Marc was a walking encyclopedia, always having something smart-assy to say, yet all he could come up with were endless refrains of “more,” “harder,” “faster,” along with several obscenities that would embarrass a sailor. Distantly, he was aware of Bez behind him, growling something along the lines of, “Yes, fuck, so tight. Keep talking, tell me how much you need this.”

“Marco…” he began, but he wasn’t sure how to continue, even if his pride would let him. He was so close, teetering just at the edge but not pushed over just yet, and his scattered mind was useless in helping him figure out how to get there. He met Bez's thrusts, the lewd slap of skin against skin echoing in the room as he chased futilely after one final spark.

Then Bez moved one hand to reach around Marc's front and fist over his dick again, timing his movements there perfectly to that of his hips, and that was all it took. For several blissful seconds, Marc was suspended in ecstasy before his orgasm slammed into him with the force of an explosion, molten heat flooding out from his core to white out every other sensation, every other thought as he spilled over Bez's fingers and onto the floor.

Bez kept up the pace through Marc's release and beyond it, chasing furiously after his own. That feeling of not enough that had prevailed earlier suddenly switched to too much, wrung out and overstimulated as he was. Marc rested his head against the cool surface of the desk, burying broken moans against his fist, riding out the shuddering aftershocks dancing up his spine and letting the sparks skittering across his tired nerves wash over him.

With a grunt and a final stutter of his hips, Nez finished deep inside, bending over to cover Marc again as he moved them together to work him to the last drop. They stayed like that for a stretched out moment, breathing in the heady air thick with sweat and sex and satisfaction, before Marc pulled out, hiking his jeans and boxers back up immediately after. Grimacing, Marc forced himself to stand in spite of his shaky legs. By the time he turned back around, though, Bez had already tucked himself back in and started walking to the door.

He looked over his shoulder, voice still husky and breath short. “You might want to clean that up.”

“Asshole,” Marc hissed when he was gone, adjusting himself back to something semi-presentable. Pushing himself off the desk to force his body into motion, he made it one step, then two, then collapsed bonelessly onto his sofa, wincing as he landed. That was only going to become more unpleasant later, especially with the mess slowly creeping down his leg and drying there. He would clean everything up in a minute - just a minute - after settling in the afterglow and allowing himself to recover before his girlfriend made her way back. Before he had to sleep in the same bed as her knowing just how stretched out he was by his coworker just now. Before he pretended this never happened.

(next part)

[aleksanderscult]

A follow up to my other question; if we had a sun summoner (basically an entirely different person than Alina) that really was the strong-willed person who wanted to stand by his side and take part in his fight for the Grisha, what do you think he would have wanted that to look like? (And i mean beyond the fold-plot part of the show because we know the plot of s&b and how she messed everything up.) Do you think he would’ve ever allowed the sun summoner to act as a soldier as he had? I think I have a hard time imagining an Aleksander that would allow the sun summoner to go out and be in any possible danger without him present which sounds incredibly limiting to what they’d actually be able to do. I can’t imagine them being allowed to make very many political moves if he got his ruler/queen without his say so and approval, (especially not alina because every political move or even thought she had was actively stupid or the opposite of helpful) so I struggled to understand what he would’ve wanted and expected from them post-expanding the fold. Would a sun summoner with military experience or political experience like himself be able to ever convince him to let them go on military missions by themselves without him? I’m basically trying to understand what we could’ve had he would’ve been like. What would he actually be like if he had gotten the strong-willed, empathetic, political savvy with a functioning brain kind of sun summoner and what Aleksander wanted…and deserved. So much of the character we saw with Aleksander was who he had to be when dealing with someone like Alina, who just couldn’t think for herself, didn’t want to, had no political understanding on the most basic of levels, and didn’t have a spine for practically anything. This isn’t an anti-alina ask, i’m just wondering what type of Aleksander we could’ve gotten with the type of person i described above and what he would’ve wanted from them and allowed them to do. I’m really curious as to what he could’ve been like and truthfully what he had in mind because I struggle to picture what he actually wanted or what he would’ve done had he gotten the type of summoner he deserved

Okay, let's pretend that he got the Sun Summoner that he truly wanted and dreamed of (as you said).

First of all, he would take his time to figure her out. Her views and opinion about him and the Grisha persecution (just like he did with Alina in S&B). Let's say that she passed the test here. Let's say that he found her logical, strong, determined and fierce.

The next stop would be for Aleksander to trust her. He doesn't trust someone easily and he would have to make sure that this girl is worthy of his own thoughts and plans. That would take some time and it would depend on how trustworthy and honest that Sun Summoner would be. Let's say that in time she passed this test too.

The next problem we have is that Aleksander is a controlling person. He wants to have the upper hand on things like ruling, taking military decisions etc. In the beginning, I imagine her taking her with him wherever he would go. Both because he would want to keep her close and out of his desire to teach her things. Like "Look how I'm handling things. Look what needs to be done. Observe and learn". Because I kinda doubt he would ever find a Sun Summoner all ready and knowledgeable about matters of the state like he is.

That's why trust is important for him. Because he would have to make sure that she can be counted on for important things and she wouldn't turn against him or usurp him.

I don't believe that in the beginning he would let her take full control of the kingdom or even an equal stand with him, but! If he saw her ready to fight and take part in wars he would take her with him in the battlefield and, in time after seeing her getting stronger and stronger, he would let her go by herself. Like "We've got a situation on the northern borders. Take one hundred men with you, finish them off and come back." And that's because it would be impossible for him to be everywhere at once. He couldn't be both in the battlefield with the Sun Summoner AND stay on the throne and deal with other, ruling matters. Sooner or later they would have to split and he would be forced to let her go and let her do something by herself. It's inevitable and Aleksander would know that. Sometimes they would need to share the responsibilities. Sometimes Aleksander would have to go to Fjerda to deal with some drüskelle while his Sun Summoner would have to stay in Os Alta because an important meeting with some Kerch ambassadors must take place and other things like that.

Now, about the ruling matter. Yes, he would make her his Queen but for how much liberty and freedom he would allow her to have in making decisions by herself is a debatable matter in this fandom.

Here's my own opinion of it:

In the beginning, if she would try to make a decision by herself, he wouldn't like it. Because he's not used to have others take major decisions (having the King rule him in S&B doesn't count here because in that occasion Aleksander had no other option but to obey him). So, in the first years, it would be kinda difficult for him to get used to it. He would probably not let her decisions be put into action. Like "don't overreach yourself, okay. I'm in charge here".

But! (and this is important)

I don't find Aleksander to be that kind of person who gets crazy feral if his Queen disagrees with a decision of his. If his Sun Summoner spoke reasonably about her disagreement, if she was calm and logical with her own reasons of why she finds his verdict wrong, he would listen to her.

Alina in R&R had said to him that "We would be equals until I disagreed with you. Then you would do to me what you did to Genya."

I disagree. I don't see him that way. Just like I said, if her own argument is spoken in a calm, reasonable manner and in a respectable, honest way, he would actually listen to her. He wouldn't be "OH MY GOD YOU ARGUE AGAINST ME!! DUNGEONS NOW!!"

It's all about the way she'll say it and what is the reason of their argument.

With Alina it was different because she spoke out against him for a matter of high importance: his fight against the Grisha persecution and, of course, Alina's character didn't know shit about politics, wars and what needed to be done.

So, in conclusion, in matters of warfare he would allow her to go by herself if he deemed her powerful and capable to go by herself without getting killed or captured easily and having the right knowledge in fights and strategy.

And in matter of ruling, it would be strange for him if she started and taking decisions by herself from the first week and he probably wouldn't like it. But as the years would go by, I think that not only he would allow her to have a saying but also he would ask for her advice (YES YOU HEARD ME RIGHT).

(oh and about your question if he would allow her to become a soldier: yes. Mainly because all Grisha become soldiers and the Darkling is a man that believes in having fighting skills. Let's not forget how he was teaching Grisha to learn hand-in-hand combat apart from developing their Grisha powers. Plus, I don't imagine him wanting someone that sits on the couch everyday. As much as he would fear for her life sometimes, he would want her to be a fighter)

[brodygold]

The Playoffs: Finals

The stadium was electric, buzzing with the energy of thousands of fans. The Golden Army had defied all odds to make it to the finals of the playoffs, and now they were about to face their old rivals, the Titans, once again. Tensions were high as both teams prepared for the most critical match of the season. The air was thick with anticipation, the golden jerseys of the Army gleaming under the bright stadium lights, while the Titans loomed in their dark, imposing uniforms.

Brody stood on the field, wiping sweat from his brow as he adjusted his golden armband. He was ready. Across from him, Captain Richard, a pillar of strength and confidence, gave him a nod of encouragement. Scott, the British recruiter and striker, was already shouting instructions, his voice cutting through the crowd noise.

“Stick to the game plan, lads. We’ve got this,” Scott called, his tone sharp but reassuring.

On the left flank, Hades was pacing, his golden boots sinking slightly into the grass. The left winger had been a revelation all season, his speed and sharp instincts making him a nightmare for opposing defenders. With his long strides and fierce determination, he was the weapon the Golden Army needed to break through the Titans’ defense.

From the opening whistle, it was clear this would be no ordinary match. The Titans came out strong, their defense nearly impenetrable. But the Golden Army was equally relentless. Every time the Titans surged forward, Jackson, the co-captain, and the defensive line held them back with iron discipline. Walter, standing on the sideline with his haughty, noble demeanor, observed each move like a general on a battlefield, his eyes never leaving the players.

As the game progressed, both teams had chances, but neither could break the deadlock. Hades weaved in and out of the Titans’ defense, trying to create openings, but their back line was formidable. Roman, playing in the midfield, distributed the ball with precision, linking up with Brody and the other forwards. Caleb and Henry, newcomers who had quickly become integral to the squad, fought tooth and nail to keep possession, while Bruce provided the much-needed muscle in the defense, thwarting the Titans' every attempt to score.

The whistle blew, signaling the end of regular time, and the scoreboard still read 0-0. The crowd held its breath—overtime.

As the players huddled, Captain Richard took a deep breath. “This is it, lads. We’ve held them off, now it’s time to finish this. We play for each other, just like we always do. Hades, you’re going to be key here. They’re starting to tire. You find those gaps and exploit them.”

Hades nodded, his expression focused. Overtime was where heroes were made, and he was ready to step into that role.

The whistle blew, and the game resumed. Almost immediately, it was clear that both teams were pushing themselves to the limit. Every pass, every run, every tackle was sharper, more urgent. The Titans were pressing hard, but the Golden Army wasn’t giving an inch. Scott won a crucial ball in midfield and sent a perfectly placed pass to Brody, who charged down the right wing before sending a cross toward the center.

The ball sailed through the air, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow down. Hades sprinted into the box, timing his run perfectly. The Titans’ defenders scrambled, but Hades was too fast. With a powerful leap, he met the ball with his head, directing it straight toward the top corner of the net.

Time seemed to freeze as the ball soared past the Titans' goalkeeper. The crowd erupted in a deafening roar as the ball hit the back of the net

1-0 for the Golden Army.

The Titans, stunned but not defeated, immediately launched a counterattack. But Bruce, Henry, and the rest of the defense stood strong, throwing their bodies in the way of every shot. Caleb sprinted back to help in defense, while Roman held the midfield together, absorbing the pressure.

In the dying minutes of overtime, the Titans won a corner. The tension was palpable as the ball was whipped into the box. Players from both teams leapt into the air, desperate to get a touch. The ball bounced around in a chaotic scramble before landing at the feet of a Titans striker. He took a shot, but out of nowhere, Brody slid in with a last-ditch tackle, deflecting the ball out for another corner.

The Golden Army regrouped, their hearts pounding in their chests. The Titans took the corner again, but this time, Richard rose above everyone else, clearing the ball with a powerful header.

The final whistle blew.

The Golden Army had done it. They had defeated the Titans in overtime to win the championship. The players collapsed onto the field, exhausted but elated. Hades, the hero of the night, was hoisted onto his teammates’ shoulders as the crowd chanted his name.

Brody, Richard, Scott, and the rest of the Golden Army celebrated under the glow of the stadium lights, holding their newly won trophy up, knowing they had left everything on the field. This victory was theirs, and they had earned it.

[theespressooqueen]

Winged pests

As they reached the fork in the cave, two paths stretched out in front of them, each emitting a faint trace of magical energy. A pulsing hum echoed softly through the stone, and they could feel the weight of hidden power waiting within one of the alcoves.

Drake tightened his grip on his sword and glanced at Mira, who looked resolute. “Garrick and I will check the left one. You and Imogen stay here,” he said, trying to keep his tone authoritative but calm.

The girls exchanged a glance and scoffed. “As if,” Mira replied, crossing her arms. “How about we check the left one, and you two handle the right?” she suggested.

Drake frowned, reluctant to let her out of his sight. “No, it’s best if we stay together,” he insisted, hoping to avoid separating.

Imogen raised a brow, folding her arms as well. “It would take twice as long if we don’t split up,” she pointed out, her tone practical.

With a sigh, Drake finally relented. “Fine. Let’s go to each alcove and meet back here in 30 minutes. If either path is a dead-end, we’ll regroup quickly.” Garrick nodded in agreement.

“Alright,” Mira said, giving him a reassuring smile.

Before they parted, Drake held onto Mira’s arm, his gaze locking onto hers. “Promise me—30 minutes, and we’ll meet back here,” he said, his voice a mixture of concern and determination.

“I promise,” she replied with a small smile. Imogen smirked knowingly. “Don’t worry, Captain, you’ll see her in 30 minutes,” she teased.

Drake rolled his eyes but finally let go, watching as Mira and Imogen headed down the left alcove. He and Garrick turned toward the right, a tense silence falling over him as they started their path. His thoughts kept straying to Mira, and he couldn’t help but count down the minutes until they would be back together.

“Let’s make sure we’re back here right on time,” Garrick muttered, sensing Drake’s unease as they made their way down their own passage. The cave grew colder and darker, and they took care marking each turn, staying alert for any signs of magic or traps.

But as the minutes ticked by, a faint echo suddenly reached them. Two piercing screams, unmistakably Mira’s and Imogen’s, cut through the silence. Drake’s blood ran cold.

Without hesitation, he broke into a run, his heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. “Mira!” he shouted, his voice bouncing off the cavern walls as he sprinted back toward the meeting point, hoping desperately that she and Imogen were safe.

They reached the alcove where Mira and Imogen had gone, and a cold dread washed over him as he saw signs of a struggle—a few deep gashes on the walls, a mage-light spell still flickering, and the faint smell of dark magic lingering in the air.

“Hang on, Mira,” he muttered, gripping his weapon tightly as he plunged deeper into the darkness, ready to face anything if it meant keeping her safe.

As Mira and Imogen reached Drake and Garrick, their wide eyes and pale faces told a story of fear and surprise. Without hesitation, Drake scooped Mira up, holding her protectively as he bolted back toward their rendezvous point. When they finally arrived, he set her down gently, his hands lingering for a moment as he scanned her face.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low and steady, studying her expression.

Mira took a breath, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment as she tried to explain. “It was… a dead end. There was a summoning Venin rune, and we destroyed it, but then…” She hesitated, shooting a look at Imogen, whose face was equally flustered.

Drake raised an eyebrow. “What are you scared of? You can tell me.”

Mira looked down, her voice barely a whisper. “There were roaches… the flying ones. They flew at us, and… one landed on me.”

For a moment, Drake’s lips twitched with amusement. He could hardly believe it—fearless, fierce Captain Sorrengail, who had just taken down a colonel with a book, was shaken by a swarm of flying insects. “You’re scared of roaches?” he asked, fighting to keep a straight face.

“I’m not scared,” Mira insisted, her tone indignant, though the way she hugged herself betrayed her discomfort. “I just don’t like them.”

Garrick, dumbfounded, couldn’t help but laugh. “So, let me get this straight. You faced down Colonel Aetos earlier without breaking a sweat, but you’re shaken by a few roaches?” He grinned, clearly entertained. “Captain Sorrengail, you’re adorable.”

Imogen, trying to stifle a laugh, shrugged. “You should have seen her jump When one landed right on her shoulder.”

“You ran and screamed too.” Garrick teased Imogen and they started bickering.

Before Mira could retort, Drake tugged her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. He couldn’t resist the warm smile spreading across his face as he held her close, feeling her slight tension melt against him. She was so fierce, so capable—and yet, moments like these made her irresistibly enchanting.

“My brave, roach-fearing captain,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

-- --

As they made their way back, Mira kept glancing over her shoulder, her skin still crawling with the phantom sensation of roaches. Every few steps, Drake would feel her grip on his shirt tighten, as if checking that he was still there to shield her from another ambush of the winged pests.

Drake chuckled under his breath, his arm wrapping more securely around her shoulders as he pulled her close. He found her lovely like this—vulnerable yet refusing to admit it.

Mira pushed back slightly, scowling up at him. “Again they were the flying kind, Cordella. They just came out of nowhere, okay?” she huffed, clearly indignant as she tried to reclaim her dignity.

He smirked, still holding her close. "You’re so tough, yet you have a soft spot for bugs," he teased, but his tone was gentle, more affectionate than mocking.

"You’re not going to tease me about the roaches," Mira murmured, more as a command than a question, though he could sense the faintest hint of a plea in her tone.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice soft but amused. Then, leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for a moment. “But for the record, I think it’s adorable.”

Mira huffed, a faint blush dusting her cheeks, though she didn’t pull away from him. In fact, her hand tightened on his shirt a little more, her guard slipping just slightly as they walked.

They continued in comfortable silence, her head resting lightly against his shoulder, until the entrance of the cave came into view. With a reluctant sigh, Mira straightened and gently tugged herself from his hold, though she looked up at him with a soft expression that told him she wasn’t quite ready to let go entirely.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, a rare gentleness in her voice.

Drake smirked, giving her a small, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder. “From now on, I’ll be your personal roach defense. Just call for me next time, and I’ll come running.”

[mysteroads]

Chapter 5: Finding 'The One'

Summary: A short discussion on fantastic racism, followed by a dress montage! Will Delia find the perfect dress?

Excerpt:

“Still. The idea that you're only welcome in places if you're… bound. That has some very unwelcome connotations.” Delia fidgeted with her bracelets, then met his eyes, something determined and almost fierce in her expression. “I'm not sure I want a dress from someone who treated you like that, BJ.”

That look and those words soothed away that twisting sensation in his chest, and let him smile for real. “Thanks Delia, but don't worry about that. We've come this far. I'm not leaving without you getting what you came for. We can worry about supernatural equality later.” With a snap, he dismissed the silencing spell just in time for Macy to reappear with two garment bags.

“Ready to get started?” she asked Delia. Delia gave Beetlejuice a questioning look, and he flapped a hand at her. 

“Go on. Strut your stuff! We're supposed to be having fun, so let's see some runway action, Dee!”

The others all cheered in agreement, even Lydia, and so Delia followed Macy into the dressing room.

Turned out, Macy was pretty damn good at her job. The first dress was a ballroom dress that would've made Cinderella weep with envy. The dress sparkled, Delia sparkled, the freaking air around her sparkled. Delia made approving sounds and spun in place, obviously enjoying the skirt action, but Macy's seasoned eye could tell it wasn’t the one.  

Dress Two looked like it had been plucked straight from ancient Greece or Rome, all sweeping lines and gold hem embroidery. Lil especially was very vocal in her approval for this dress. 

“It's gorgeous, but not quite me, if you know what I mean?” Delia said, embarrassed. 

“Not to worry, there's plenty where these came from,” Macy said cheerfully.

The snack tray emptied quickly as the dresses piled up. It was actually pretty fun to sip wine (except for Lydia) and watch Delia's one woman fashion show.

[steelbluehome]

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On 'The Falcon and the Winter Soldier's Curiously Iffy Relationship With Therapy

By Gregory Lawrence

Mar 28, 2021

I’ve been going to therapy for many years, and if you’re reading this, I suggest you do, too. It’s an exceptional tool in the ongoing journey of one’s mental health, a place where you can speak and be listened to without agenda. The therapists I’ve spoken with in my life have one common trait: Unflappability. They are professionals at navigating the complicated emotional lives of their clients while not becoming destructively emotional themselves. They don’t pursue anything but giving you a runway to find your truth.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is a welcomely grounded Marvel Cinematic Universe series, one less interested in the “big three” of supernatural baddies (“androids, aliens, and wizards,” as Anthony Mackie’s Falcon phrases it) and more interested in the traumas and struggles of getting chewed up and spit out by the systems of regular-ass life. Yes, Mackie’s Sam and Sebastian Stan’s Bucky are fierce warriors who have used state-of-the-art tech and super-soldier serums respectively to battle all kinds of strange folks. But two episodes in, the series’ fights are human-to-human, full of shades and nuance, and often hamstrung by the cruel machinations of a society so determined to make life hard for people (especially returning veterans).

That’s why I was happy to see Amy Aquino show up as Dr. Christina Raynor, Bucky’s court-ordered therapist, in the very first episode. As made evident by Bucky’s nightmare of the merciless acts of violence he took while under Hydra mind control (rendered with shocking horror-tinged brutality by series director Kari Skogland), he needs therapy badly. In their initial sequence together, we see Bucky behave the way we often see troubled protagonists behave in therapy scenes: He plays the silent treatment at best and is openly antagonistic at worst. He baldly lies to his mental health professional about his own mental health. I understand that our (anti)hero can’t suddenly be enlightened and peaceful and ready to move on from his inner conflict; I want to see him go through this journey over the season of television. But I still couldn’t help but want to scream through the TV at him, “Just tell her the truth! You’re only hurting yourself!”

Depiction doesn’t equal endorsement, especially when it comes to a complicated character like Bucky who has objectively committed murders, but there’s something that continues to be complicated about seeing the center of our journey, the person we’re to align ourselves with being so resistant toward mental health wellness, perhaps to provoke a response of “Aw, I understand, I’d behave the same way. Therapy is weird!”

Then again, Dr. Christina Raynor might not be the best therapist for Bucky, or any client. Dramatic license must be taken in any depiction of real life. Unlike the often aimless moments of regular-ass life, dramatic scenes must involve conflict, intention, agency, and a visible drive toward a visible goal. Thus Dr. Raynor, like many film and television therapists before her, takes an aggressive approach toward “meeting the goal of making Bucky well,” poking and prodding at him, trying her best to “get him there.” She simply drips with derision and disdain at every level of her interaction with poor Bucky, even snarkily acting out his past tendencies to commit brainwashed murders. On the one hand, she needs to behave like this for the function of the scene; to watch a character be a blank slate of non-provocation without any goal of her own would likely make a boring scene. The way the scene plays is a strong visualization of Bucky’s resistance and Dr. Raynor’s (and the audience’s) desire for him to know peace. But as she kept poking and prodding and needling and frowning, even while insisting that Bucky needs to trust her, I thought to myself, “Of course he’s not speaking up. Who’d want to spill their innermost secrets to this force who obviously has an aggressive agenda?” The scene attempts to justify some of this behavior by reminding us that Dr. Raynor is a soldier who’s seen combat herself. But the moment a therapist tells you “That’s utter bullshit” is the moment you find a new therapist, dramatic license or not.

Episode 2 pumps up some of the oddness of this therapy dynamic by injecting it with one of the key secrets to the MCU’s sauce: Tension-cutting banter. After Bucky is arrested for not showing up to one of his court-mandated sessions (another complicated moment of positioning the viewer as finding therapy to be an impediment to the characters’, and show’s, action), Dr. Raynor forces both Bucky and Sam to sit down in front of her and figure out what’s tearing them apart. Surprisingly, and quite touchingly, Stan and Mackie play this scene earnestly, the pain they feel toward each other and themselves seeping from the corners of their eyes into their full figures, even as they do bantery things like move their chairs close together without knocking their knees together.

But Dr. Raynor is over here roasting and toasting them like a damn Friars Club gala. She glibly but stridently positions the exercises she wants them to do as normally being done by romantic couples, not giving them any chance to breathe at the slightest moment of resistance, cutting her patients off at the knees under the auspices of helping them stand. She is sarcastic throughout, saying things like “No volunteers? How surprising,” and “Sweet Jesus” with the tenor of a middle school gym teacher ragging on the math nerd who’s getting whomped in dodgeball. And yes, there’s an attempt at fun and bravado in these back-and-forths, the way we see all kinds of other fun back-and-forths in other “serious” MCU moments, the way we see Sam and Bucky constantly treat each other like bickering children. But not every single moment of the MCU needs to possess this kind of tone, especially not when we’re trying to watch a mental health professional deal with such clearly damaged clients.

All of this, this brevity and impatience and snarkiness, is perhaps more understandable and better played in this episode, given the emotional states of our title characters and the fact that it’s framed by an increasingly sleazy, dehumanizing new Captain America (Wyatt Russell, simply throwing away the line, “He’s too valuable of an asset to have tied up, so just do whatever you gotta do with him, then send him off to me”). But it’s still odd and brittle in a way I find unnecessary, even unhelpful. The sequence ends with a genuine moment of clarity and understanding — a breakthrough, even — between Sam and Bucky, even though it ends with Sam leaving the room. Dr. Raynor’s response, simply, is a sarcastic, “Thank you. That was really great.”

“No bullshit tough love,” to use a word Dr. Raynor is fond of, is a sensible stylistic choice for any character in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, but I worry it comes at the cost of actual human connection, change, or empathy in these very sensitive moments. And I worry it all comes at a cost of further demonizing seeking therapy as a viable option for anyone watching. I love the way The Falcon and the Winter Soldier pushes forward in its darker-than-usual plottings, but I really love the way it stands still in its darker-than-usual emotional explorations. I don’t want Dr. Raynor, nor performer Amy Aquino, to suddenly become clipped or dampened or in any way made less of a human being. I just hope Dr. Raynor’s own in-universe therapist tells her to get out of the way of her own bullshit and let the characters explore themselves in future episodes.