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pucksandpower · 9 months ago

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Unremembered

Max Verstappen x Reader

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

Warnings: serious injury and memory loss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you here for Y/N Y/L/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Some cases what?” Max presses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max? It’s me. Open up, mate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Max, right?” You say hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the rest is history?” You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this related to your recent performance dip?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Max Verstappen doesn’t lose races that matter.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds nice,” you say softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen. “I did not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” Max says softly.

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

“Everything okay in here?” She asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max?”

He turns back. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you whisper. “Please hurry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll be ready,” Frank assures him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I come in?”

There’s a pause, then: “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath catches. “What did you remember?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make a soft sound of agreement, nuzzling closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emma adds her own tweet to the mix.

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

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

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

2K notes · View notes

nineevees · 4 months ago

Note

relationship chart for personal reference :D

if the kids were on pasio, who would they meet and be friends with?

I assume... like not amongst themselves...?

Erin befriends... probably a lot of girls on accident. Lillie finds him easy to speak with and they both enjoy fairy types. Acerola is intrigued by him, especially when he reveals that he has a Mimikyu. (His possible friendship with Ohi'a also aids in this.) His more meek nature also brings in Wally to approach him. They seem to find themselves able to bond over being more quiet lads who tend to keep to themselves but enjoy battling. Irida hangs around him quite often, too. Sometimes she fussed over him, seemingly knowing him somehow. He does not get it. His friendship Lenie also brings him into meeting Sophacles. They both chat about their knowledge in engineering, even if Erin's own only skews towards trains.

Nero... finds himself pretty isolated aside from the group he already knows. At first. He knows Nanu is keeping an eye on him, but that's one of his dad's friends. Marnie is interested in him despite his clear attempts to distance himself from dark types. He admittedly likes Piers's music and is embarrassed to have caught the attention of his little sister. Sidney also takes an interest in him, seeing the child of another dark-type Elite Four's kid. He can that Nero has a lot of potential and wants to see it grow himself. Though, his determination in using fighting types also brings in a few trainers of that variety. Bruno takes a keen interest in him (alongside hearing Marshal praise his discipline) and offers to train him. Oddly, Riley also takes an interest in Nero. His aura is fascinating to observe. He ends up catching the attention of more skilled trainers, basically. However, Marnie does end up becoming a friend of his somehow.

Morrigan... Naturally, has a facade up. Yet, she still catches the attention of many trainers. Karen is intrigued by Grimsley's daughter, almost not believing it to be true. She takes Morrigan under her wing and teaches her a few things about caring for pokemon. Lucy also finds herself drawn in by this girl, seeing a terrifying foe developing. And, somehow (likely from Nanu), Anabel ends up keeping an eye on her. The woman finds herself concerned with the path this young girl is on, yet fascinated by her powress at such a young age. This innate talent catches Nemona's eye and she demands battles with her all the time, almost dragging her into her friend group. The Paldean cast intrigues her a bit. Somehow, Morrigan mostly only attracts adult women worried for her and a trainer near her age wanting a new rival.

Ohi'a... Alas, ends up alone. Much like his father. Well, that is untrue. Looker has him under his watch and inviting him for investigate various things due to seeing his father in the boy. Arven somehow ends up friends with him. The Paldean boy just finds himself at ease with the Alolan boy. They both seem to respect boundaries and enjoy caring for their respective pokemon like family. His situation also reminds Ohi'a's of Acerola's own, so he knows how to be mindful. Silver also finds himself at ease with him, which makes for a funny situation since Giovanni takes an interest in him as Nanu's son. He is invited to join Team Rocket for too many times. A declination is given every time. Ohi'a just wanders alone until people start following after him. (Hilariously, Giovanni gets glared down by Guzma for trying to take one of his members. Ohi'a does not recall joining Team Skull.)

Lenie... Dear, Lenie barely gets out much on Pasio due to her father's worries, but she does befriend Sophocles. The boy's care for her father makes her happy more people see him for the man he is. They work on projects together pretty often. Clemont also finds himself chatting with her due to her technical powress. She is a beneficial aid, and he is happy to call her a friend. Colress even dares approach her to discuss a possible project together, but Cyrus manifests and chases him off. However, she also finds herself befriended by Jasmine, who speaks with her about steel types. Their gentle natures mesh well.

Clover... Little Clover is far too inquisitive about everything. Like her father, she lacks a filter and does thing that might scare away people if they are unprepared. However, she is simply so cute and sweet that most people look past it. Hapu ends up as the first to befriend the girl, seeing her like someone who needs some guidance. She ends up having to tell some people off quite often. Lana also finds herself drawn into her, seeing her like she does her little sisters. Both also are endeared by Clover's strong love of nature. Her cute nature also brings in Lusamine, unfortunately. She almost wishes to adopt the little girl. However, Clover seems uninterested in playing along due to how her mind flows. Lillie ends up befriending her, too, through Hapu.

Inka struggles. She is abrasive and awkward. Her love of battling is clear and visible, but her personality can be volatile. Still, Nemona absolutely loves her as a rival and sticks to her like glue. They both are highly capable trainers. This only makes sense, no? She catches Guzma's eye, too. Her love of Joltiks and angsty-ness lands her an invite to Team Skull. Thankfully, Emmet declines for her. She does hang around them, alas. She catches Geeta's eye through Nemona, who seeks to help set the girl on a better path (and moving to Paldea). The Champion is confident in her improvement. Penny and her also befriend one another to bitch about their fathers (a powerful bond).

Emma finds friends easily. Despite her resting bitch face, she is social and polite. Nessa is draw in by her beauty and style, wishing to both have her a rival in battle and modelling. Diantha also approaches her, seeing quite a bit of potential in the girl. She ponders taking her as an apprentice. Lisia also ends up as friend, seeing the terrifying talent she holds in being a contest star. Naturally, Dawn and May do, too. Lots of girls and women surround her due to her fashion and nature almost like a big sister.

Prisma... Is quite similar to Lenie. Except, while she does befriend Clemont, her talkative nature scares off Sophocles. And, well, she does catch the attention of Lysandre due to her rising talent in science and him still owning a business. She is far too happy to be praised. Though, Sonia also takes notice of the girl and pulls her out from that. Prisma ends up idolsing the Galarian professor instead. Fashionable and intelligent... Her goals lie before her. They end up becoming besties. Oleana takes in the girl, too, seeing a lot of potential for Macro Cosmos. Thankfully, she ends up warding off her due to the bad press of being a criminal's daughter. Oleana does remain in contact, though. Meeting Elesa also is a dream for her. The Gym Leader Model looking past the Colress connection and offering to take her under her wing in fashion.

Laureano... He just wants a nice vacation with his dad. Instead, he get surrounded by weirdos. For some unknown reason, Cheren seems to wish to use him as a teacher's aid (which he agrees to). Norman wants to almost train him as a protégé since his son has long surpassed him. And Kabu seems to like him as much as his father. He is surrounded. Most agree to play baseball with him at least. A lot of trainers his age also seem to become his friend. Brendan likes that he is just easy to talk to, Nate likes that he lets him ramble without judgement, and Rei confesses to him his fears of this blond man doing evil things. He is truly surrounded.

Araceli... Her flighty nature sees her wandering around the island vacantly. She ends up watching the sky with Winona at some point, both talking about the wonder of bird pokemon. Falkner finds himself fascinated with another flying-type trainers, and one that seems destined to be as powerful as her father. They both discuss strategies, but Falkner finds himself bewildered by her lack thereof. Nate also enjoys her company as much as her brother's own. They discuss many things more lightheartedly. Oh, and Lisia befriends her, too. The potential of a contest star reigns in this one as well, even if she seems a bit out of it.

Astrea... ending up in this strange place is so fascinating. She wants to meet everyone and anyone. Cynthia is somehow a first friend for her. The Champion already has some feelings towards Volo, but his daughter seems innocent enough. They chat about history and archaeology for so long. Cynthia is endeared by her passion even at such a young age and truly wishes to take her under her wing. Dawn ends up as another she befriends. The Sinnohan trainer mostly ends up acting as a big sister to the displaced girl. (Akari, of course, also being there. Astrea confuses them often.) Through Dawn, she befriends Barry, who entertains her with his goofy actions. Jacq also ends up befriending her, seeing her much like one of his students. He teaches a lot about modern pokemon knowledge, which amazes her. She ends up befriending lots and lots of people. This concerns Volo.

(No Regan and Cordie... too sheltered.)

Amongst themselves, however:

Erin is friends with Lenie, Nero, Ohi'a, and Astrea.

Emma is friends with Lenie, Prisma, Cordelia and Clover.

Inka is tentative allies with Nero.

Nero is friends with Erin, Ohi'a, Prisma, Regan and Inka.

Morrigan is friends with Emma, Prisma, Ohi'a, Laureano, and Lenie.

Clover is friends with everyone and bestest friends with Cordelia. (No one is allowed to be mean to her.)

Laureano is friends with Morrigan.

Araceli is probably friends with Clover.

Astrea is friends with Erin.

Lenie is friends with Morrigan, Clover, Emma, and Erin.

Regan is friends with Nero and Clover.

Cordelia is friends with Clover, Lenie, and Emma.

Prisma is friends with Emma, Nero, and Morrigan.

Ohi'a is friends with Erin, Nero, and Morrigan.

#not sure if prisma ends up with regan or nero so i just. don’t have anything for those three lol.#speaking of i didn’t know that regan and nero were friends… that’s cute <3 little prince and little knight #erin is like a baby pokémon of sorts to the girls of pasio. soft. cute. small (he towers above most of them).#him and wally would ohko everyone in the immediate vicinity with how wholesome they are #nero is a dark-type user magnet much to his chagrin. how does this keep happening.#him and riley is an interesting dynamic…#MORRIGAN WITH LUCY !!!!!! something about dark-haired luck-themed trainers <333 #it’s also interesting how morrigan has a facade up… i wonder if she’s actually more relaxed or expressive when she’s with her family…#giovanni and guzma fighting over ohi'a 😭😭 custody battle but neither of the ppl fighting over him are even his dad #ohi'a bringing arven and silver over and nanu sighs. guess he’s responsible for even more kids now.#lenie and sophocles !! they can tinker with machines with rotom together <3 #also her and jasmine is so cute to imagine… waaahhh #if clover was the protag of a pkmn game it would be like.#‘i’m going to defeat u with the power of friendship!! and the legendary dragons of unova. reshiram blue flare and zekrom bolt strike.’#it’s also adorable how nemona still wants to be inka’s friend even if she comes off awkward or volatile <3 #maybe penny should invite peonia to her and inka’s group sessions where they complain abt their doting dads lol #emma being popular <333 so much so that even diantha takes notice. i love emma she’s amazing <3 #i wonder if she’d be name buddies with xy emma or if she’d find her strange #PRISMA BARELY DODGING A BULLET WITH LYSANDRE LMAO #her idolizing sonia is so real <3 that’s a really cute dynamic. her and oleana sounds really fun too <3 #not rei telling laureano abt volo and not a trusted adult 😭😭 laureano stands like 🧍 while rei talks abt the temple of sinnoh #kabu also being a fan of laureano like he is with larry is super cute <3 #araceli having no strategy for battling… she really just goes where the wind will take her #her being friends w lisia too !! :0 i think it’d be funny if araceli was as wowed as the audience whenever her pkmn performed #like ‘wowww… look at oricorio go… it looks so pretty :)’ and yet she still somehow wins every contest. gotta love her.#absolutely adore astrea making new friends in the modern world <3 she’s so curious. jacq’s no. 1 student #imagine your s/o and daughter being surrounded by friends meanwhile ur using ppl bc u think they’ll use u otherwise. another L for volo /j #thank u for finding my yapping in the tags interesting <3 :D hehe #pokémon #fankid tag

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aakhri-author · 26 days ago

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college bf iwaizumi hajime (gn!reader)

always puts you first — you get the first bite of his food, first sip of his drink, first pick of his clothes, you name it and it's yours

not a very verbal fellow — your i love you, hajime is often met with a kiss on your forehead or gentle hum or a couple of squuezes of your hand in his. i don't think he's the type of guy to say it often, but will show you

flowers, often!! started off when he showed up to your first date with a whole bouquet of flowers (which you'd accepted with a huge grin, after the initial awe had worn off, and promptly put into a vase shaped out of an old plastic bottle (you both were students on a budget) and gently told him that he need not spend so much on you). this evolved into plucking wildlflowers while walking to the apartment you shared with your best friend, whom he would also sometimes pick flowers for. eventually, he ends up starting a little garden when he moves back to japan, in the house you share, and you get fresh flowers that his hands toiled for. he sometimes tucks a flower behind your ear or in your tied up hair, finishing with a kiss on your temple, and you hear his love loud and clear

getting along great with makki and mattsun, and being worsties with oikawa — he would constantly fight for hajime's attention, and you would fight him right back, until hajime forces both of you to spend time together in his absence and you realise maybe oikawa tooru is kind of fun

massages as and when you ask for them — in the initial days, you had felt guilty at first, seeing him show up to your college apartment after a long day of classes, anything to spend time with you. but he'd seen you rubbing your stiff neck and volunteered to massage it loose, and the rest was history — any time he sees you walking wretchedly into his apartment, he's there, warming up his hands to warm up your muscles

absolutely m e l t s when you run your hands through his hair — if he's had a long day, he sits you down on the couch and plops himself between your legs, and guides your hand to his hair. barely muffles the groans of relief when you rake your nails through his scalp, folding into you as much as he can. he loves hearing you talk about your day while you idly massage his head and he swears that if a heaven exists, it's right here

compulsory movie nights — while I don't think he's a film buff, he lives for the days when he gets to cuddle up to you under a blanket. you guys alternate picking the movies, and more often than not, the movie night ends halfway through the actual film, with him snoring (I do think he's a big snorer) away, head tucked into the crook of your neck

HE LOVES BEING LITTLE SPOON. I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL. a man who's had to step up and take charge his whole life, he finds comfort and safety when he gets to lay his head on your chest, arms looped around your waist. the best pillow in the world, he claims, and who are you to disagree?

does your laundry for you, while you sit beside him, clad in one of his shirts (the softest, most worn out one — the one that smells like him)

tries his best to wait for you after class!! a gentleman through and through, you'll find him standing outside your classroom, coffees in his hand. in the initial phase of your relationship, he used to walk you to your next class, see you through the door, before BOLTING to make his class on time. you reprimand him when you find out (i won't get lost on the way, haji, it's not worth compromising your education), and he disagrees (you're worth it) but relinquishes. still shows up to campus on his days off just so he can hang out with you in the few minutes between classes.

#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu fic

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slasherslittlesimp · 1 month ago

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Cursed (Avengers X Reader)

Part One

PART TWO

Natasha's hands skillfully fly across the keyboard at one of the computers as she types in code after code, likely bypassing any security and downloading the files to her drive. Her eyes flicker around the screen, taking in whatever information she sees. Cap remains by the door, keeping watch for anyone who might try to sneak up on all of you.

"I believe I've found her file but it's quite large Cap." She doesn't take her gaze from the screen as she reads through the first page. "We'll have to wait until we get back to the compound to read through it more thoroughly but I can at least figure out the basics now."

"The basics are all we really need right now." He responds, glancing at you before returning most of his attention to the doorway.

Your nerves grow slightly knowing that they'll be reading through everything that you've been through at some point. Your life up to this point hasn't been the prettiest and it's not exactly something you want anyone else knowing. You know you don't have much of a choice though.

"Let's see..." Natasha squints slightly as she reads over the small writing on the screen. "Says here that her name is (Y/N) (L/N) and that she's roughly twenty-five years old." She pauses, clicking a few times as she likely searches for the more important information. "Ah, here we go. Her ability is called 'Cursed Speech'. Apparently whatever she says pretty much happens. That explains the muzzle."

The man seems intrigued with this as he finally moves away from the door to come read over her shoulder. They both remain silent, not giving you any clue as to what they're reading. Your eyes flicker between them and the door, nervous that someone can come through now that they're not keeping watch.

Thankfully, once the files are completely downloaded they both step away, Natasha grabbing the drive before turning towards you. "Let's go." She jerks her head in a motion to signal that you need to follow them once again.

The three of you exit the server room- Cap leading followed by you and then Natasha taking up the rear. You're pretty certain the formation is both to keep you from bolting and to also keep you protected should anyone show up. You're not complaining either way since you're not being left behind this way.

They lead you down many different hallways without ever once second guessing if they're going the right way. The man must have one hell of a memory if he's able to remember his exact route that he had taken. It's even more impressive knowing that everything's backwards since he's going the opposite way. If it was you, you would've already gotten lost. If the two abandoned you, you'd never find your way to an exit or even back to your room.

Cap goes around one last corner before finally reaching a large metal door at the end of a corridor. It must be the door they entered through since the locking mechanism appears broken allowing him to swing the door open effortlessly. Your eyes squeeze shut at the sudden brightness before slowly opening into a squint. You've forgotten how bright and intense the sun can be after spending so long in barely lit rooms. While the light is a bit much, the warmth from it spreads pleasantly over what little skin you have showing.

You don't get much of a chance to bask in it as Natasha grabs your upper arm, tugging you along until you're boarding a jet that has a few others on it. You have no idea who any of them are but they all seem wary and confused at your presence. You probably look insane with how you're dressed but there's not much you can do about it.

Natasha pushes you down into a seat before clasping a buckle over your lap and moving towards the cockpit. You watch her go before turning to take a better look at the other people around you. The first one to draw your attention is a rather nervous looking gentleman with dark hair that has speckles of gray in it and glasses. His hands rub together as he likely tries to push his nerves away but you can tell from the way he keeps glancing at you that your presence isn't helping.

The next person you examine is a man with sandy colored hair who seems to be looking over his quiver of arrows. Every now and then his gaze will move from what he's doing to you yet his face remains neutral, not letting you know how he feels or what he's thinking at all. Next to him is a young female with long dark hair and a pretty red jacket. Her gaze hasn't left you a single time since you've gotten in the jet though it looks more like she's looking through you rather than at you.

Cap is the next person you look towards, finding him standing tall with his muscular arms crossed over his chest as he has a hushed conversation with the last person in the group- a man sporting red and gold armor. Caps brows are furrowed as he talks, showing that he's thinking quite hard about something. The man in armor seems a bit more nonchalant as he nods along to whatever is being said while at the same time scrolling through a tablet. Their voices are too quiet for you to hear what they're saying so you turn your attention away.

The man with the arrows sends one last glance your way before putting his things away and moving towards the cockpit. Shortly after he disappears from sight the jet whirs to life as it lifts from the ground. Your stomach flips as you close your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that you're no longer on solid ground. The idea of traveling extremely fast while hovering thousands of miles away from the ground is unnerving, especially when the last time you experienced it was long ago. Nobody else seems to be bothered by it except maybe the guy with glasses but he just seems anxious in general.

"Why's the chick dressed like Hannibal Lecter?" Someone finally speaks up, breaking the tense silence. You keep your eyes closed as you listen but you're able to tell who asked based off of the direction the voice came from. Only two people were standing off to your right and you already know what the one sounds like which narrows it down to the man in armor.

"That's what I'd like to know." Cap sighs as he glances over to you. "Nat and I managed to get her files so we can go over them all together once we return to the compound."

"Let's just hope she's not a cannibal." Armor man mumbles which earns him a slight scolding from Cap. The rest of the ride is silent after that which you're somewhat thankful for. You hate listening to people talk about you. You'd much rather sit in complete silence regardless of how tense or awkward it is.

After an unknown amount of time, the jet finally lands at what you're assuming is the compound. You're led off of the flying death trap as soon as the back of it is open by Cap who has a firm grip on your shoulder. Despite your curiosity, you keep your gaze locked to the ground, not wanting to show interest in your new prison. The entire walk is quiet as Cap takes you into a building and down many hallways before finally stopping at a room.

Entering, you're met with a single metal table and chair sitting right in the middle of the room. The two way mirror on the wall confirms that it's an interrogation room. Cap releases his grip from your shoulder as he orders you to sit down. Doing as you're told, you watch him exit without another word. He's probably going to check your files before bothering with questioning you. It's the smart thing to do, after all.

Taglist: @desiree-lee @seventeen-x

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yungistiny · 3 months ago

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camgirl ═ chapter seven

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter seven: the L word

╚═════════

summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating, possessive mingi/reader, public sex

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 2.9k

chapter six

chapter eight

masterlist

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“That’s like your fourth one.”

San watched Mingi, slowly and clumsily roll another blunt. Gladiolus , the big black cat, was curled up in Mingi’s lap, his girlfriend’s cat being left in his care while y/n was gone out of the country, visiting her real mother in the US for the last two weeks.

And San’s best friend was moping.

Mingi had been fine those first few days, kept himself occupied, stayed high. By the fifth day, he was getting agitated. It’s been over a month since he met y/n and he had grown a little clingy, a little possessive. He needed her. He missed her.

They tried phone sex but it just wasn’t the same. It was nothing like the real thing. Y/N fingers just weren’t long enough, not thick enough like Mingi’s own.

Mingi’s hand just wasn’t warm enough, not wet enough, like being buried inside his girlfriend’s tight cunt. He even rewatched their old streams and it wasn’t enough, no matter how hot it was for Mingi to watch himself fuck her.

“She’s supposed to be back in a couple of days, stop being dramatic.” San teased him, going to finish getting ready, dragging Mingi with him who was protesting. “Come with me and Wooyoung to this Halloween party, you need a distraction.”

Mingi was too stoned to care, allowing San to push him into his room, digging through his closet and pulling out an all black outfit, the baggy jeans were dark washed, rips all over them, a black tank top and and a long sleeved black fishnet top. “Put this on, I have to finish getting ready.”

San paused in the hallway, noticing Gladiolus preening while Byeol rubbed her head against him. “I think our cats are dating.”

Mingi peaked his head out his bedroom door, snorting. “You glad you got Byeol fixed now?” He teased, San had been terrified the time he let his precious cat get surgery, he had kept Mingi up all night panicking when the vet had insisted they keep Byeol overnight.

“Oh!” San seemed to remember something, bolting into his room and returning with a black choker, a metal ring hooked on it. He held it up to Mingi. “This was made for that look. And put some eyeliner on, I know you still have some.”

“Why do you have this?” Mingi eyed the choker, slipping a finger through the metal loop on it. It wasn’t exactly his best friend’s style. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” San told him before disappearing back into his room to finish getting ready.

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The “party” was a massive rave in a club in Itaewon. Flashes of colorful strobe lights danced across the club, bodies in various costumes were crowded together and the music based, so low, so deep, Mingi could feel it like a pulse.

“Wooyoung texted, he’s almost here.” San shoved his phone back into his pocket of the Slytherin costume he had on. Wooyoung was running late, said he had to pick something up.

Mingi groaned when a girl in a blue costume, he really didn’t care what she was supposed to be, tried to dance on him. “I need a drink.” He pushed his way through the crowd towards the neon green lit bar, San right behind him, his apologies towards others going unheard against the loud music.

Mingi was already on his fourth shot of soju, San only having one, when Wooyoung finally showed up. He was dressed like Harry Potter, Gryffindor outfit, glasses and all. “Oh, look at you…” he slipped a finger through the metal loop dangling on the choker, tugging it.

Wooyoung had this teasing, knowing smirk. If only Mingi knew what that choker was used for. He took in his best friend’s boyfriend. The thick black eyeliner, the black painted nails, everything about his look at the moment was gonna send y/n spiraling.

Mingi swatted at Wooyoung’s wondering hand, grabbing another shot of soju as Wooyoung whispered something to San, his lips grazing his ear.

“Have fun.” San patted Mingi on the back, following Wooyoung into the crowd of costumed people. Of course they’d leave him to his own while they go do whatever the hell it is those two do. Mingi rolled his eyes, a buzz finally hitting him, it took a lot to get him drunk. He was a big guy.

“I know you…”

Mingi side eyed the guy that leaned against the bar beside him. “Jeno, no you don’t.” The guy’s friend shoved him as Jeno protested, clearly drunk. “Yes I do! Jaemin, I know him….”

Mingi stared right at him, him and his friend, Jaemin, were dressed like two Squid Games guards, mask pushed atop their heads, eyebrow raised, waiting to hear how this Jeno guy knew him. “SPIKE! MINGI!” Jeno clapped his hands together as if a lightbulb went off in his head.

Oh! Jeno was a viewer of their stream. It seemed Jaemin had no idea what the hell his friend was talking about. “Sorry, he’s wasted.” He pulled Jeno away, Jeno drunkenly protesting the entire time.

Mingi tossed his head back, downing another shot. He had no idea where the hell San and Wooyoung were and he wasn’t exactly getting the distraction he needed.

He just needed y/n.

“Mingi?”

Seriously! How many people were gonna recognize him? He rolled his eyes, ready to tell the person to fuck off….

“Shit.” He was moving from the bar, creating a distance. “Oh, so you’re just going to avoid me? That’s childish, Song Mingi!” Nari was following him.

“Just leave me alone, Nari.” Mingi turned around, towering over her and glaring his eyes at her, the dark charcoal black eyeliner accentuating them, making him much more intimidating.

“What is your deal? Just because my mom has it in her head that I’m gonna fucking marry you or something, it’s not going to happen.” He was harsh, his voice was laced with disdain. Mingi turned around again, ready to just leave.

“I wonder what your parents would say if they knew what you and her do?”

Mingi froze, jaw clenched as he turned back around. Nari had a snide look, shaking her head at him in mock disappointment. “What would your mother say if she knew her son was practically sleeping with a pornstar?”

It took a lot to make Mingi really mad. To push him. It seemed Nari knew just exactly how to do it. “What are you gonna tell them?” He hid the shock he had that Nari knew about the stream behind a mask of unconcern. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of being nervous at his parents finding out the truth.

“That I fuck my girlfriend on livestream? Or,” Mingi smirked darkly at her, his next words leaving him before he could think, before he could truly process what he had just admitted. “that I’m in love with someone that isn’t you?”

Love. That fucking L word! It had been fighting with him for weeks, since he met y/n. Nari gaped at him, scoffing. “As if you even know how to be in love!” She mocked him, clearly hurt at his rejection and words. “You’re only with her because she’s easy and I’m sure it puts cash in your pocket.”

Mingi wished he had more girl friends, he’d let them punch that smug look right off of Nari’s face. “Tell them.” What was the worst that could happen? His dad would scold him but not really give a shit. His mom would probably give him the cold shoulder for a while and certainly never approve of y/n.

He didn’t care. Mingi didn’t need anyone’s approval of who he decided to love. He left Nari standing there in the middle of the crowd, his tall frame leaning against the wall towards the back of the club, eyes closed as he tried to take a minute to calm his nerves.

A hand was touching him, his eyes snapping open, his own hand darting out to wrap around the wrist of the stranger’s wondering one. “Well,” the familiar teasing voice of y/n was like a hit of the best drug. Mingi’s nerves vanished, demeanor instantly relaxing. “that was rude.”

Mingi could only assume she was what Wooyoung had to get before getting there. The grip on y/n wrist loosened but he didn’t let go as he pulled her to him, spinning her around to cage her against the wall. “Are you really here or am I drunk?”

Y/N giggled at him, the hand that wasn’t in the grasp of his own, reaching up to grip two of her fingers in the metal loop on his choker. “I missed you…” she tugged him down with the choker, their lips brushing. She had, really, really missed him.

Mingi wasted no more time kissing her, melting into her, fingers interlocking together as y/n pulled at the choker with her other hand. Mingi’s arm reached for her waist in the very short dark red dress she had on, his touch scorching through the fabric.

“Nice costume.” Mingi grinned, tugging at one of the black cat ears atop her head. Y/N tugged at his choker again much like he had once done to her. “You gonna make me purr?”

Y/N had come home early because….. maybe she was having some….. attachment issues, her mother’s words not hers. Her mother had teased her about Mingi, wanting to know everything about her daughter’s new boyfriend. Telling her mother about him only made y/n miss him more.

“The ears stay on.” Mingi smirked, a crooked smirk that fell into that crooked smile of his. “So does the choker.” Y/N tugged it again.

Fuck.

Mingi missed her.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

“Shut the door!” Y/N mumbled against Mingi’s lips as he carried her into his room. They didn’t need either of the cats trailing inside with them. Mingi closed it with his shoulder, lips trailing down to y/n neck.

“That phone sex shit has nothing on actually feeling you….” Mingi practically growled against the cleavage of her breast, tongue darting out to lick his way back up to her throat, giving him one of those beautiful moans he loved hearing from her.

“No teasing…” y/n was impatient tonight, she needed him. Two weeks was way too long going without him. Mingi smiled against her neck, kissing it before placing a kiss back on her lips.

Y/N looped a finger into his choker, holding him close, her other hand grabbing at his short hair, tugging his head back so she could look down at him from her spot still in his arms, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, prominent bulge hard and pressing against her ass.

“You look so fucking hot.” And he did. Y/N couldn’t wait to see his eyeliner smudge from sweat and exertion. Couldn’t wait to see what beautiful fucking mess he’ll look like when he’s done with her.

Mingi loved the praise, a moan leaving him. He sat her down on his bed, both of them making quick work of their clothes, Mingi pulling one of the fake fluffy black cat ears still atop y/n head.

Y/N reached a hand out, wrapping it around Mingi’s length, his dick twitching in her grasp. “No teasing…” he repeated her words from before, crawling atop her, y/n back hitting his mattress with a little gasp, hand still stroking him.

Mingi felt like a fucking virgin again, her touch against him so sensitive, a whimper left him. Her hand definitely felt better than his own. He kissed her to muffle his moans, thrusting into her touch. “Fuck…. I need to taste you…”

“I thought we said no teasing?” Y/N nipped at his adams apple. “I lied.” Mingi flipped them, y/n squealing losing her hold on him. She made a moment of contact with his dick before Mingi was grabbing her, moving her up his body until he was holding her right above him, his gaze locked on her soaked cunt.

“You better hold on.”

“Fuck..” y/n leaned forward, hands gripping at Mingi’s headboard as his tongue plunged inside her, his nose angled just right, rubbing her clit with every movement. His grip on her was tight, probably bruising, but she didn’t care.

Mingi moaned at the taste of her, licking his lips as he pulled back just enough so he could speak, voice deeper and much raspier. “Don’t just sit there, I haven’t fucked you dumb yet, baby, ride my race.” He was almost begging her to.

Y/N could barely hold herself up without suffocating him due to how touch deprived and sensitive she was after not having him for what felt like forever to her. How was she gonna ride him?

Mingi pulled her down completely flushed against his face, sucking her clit. She was moving now, moans that sounded much more like cries as she began to grind against him, Mingi growling into her causing a whimper to catch in y/n throat as she came.

Mingi gripped her waist, working her against his tongue as she shook from the crash of her orgasm, making a mess all over his face. “Mingi…. enough…” she was spasming from the little aftershocks his mouth would give her while still trying to catch her breath after coming.

Mingi eased her off him, letting y/n collapse to her knees on the bed. Y/N almost wished they were streaming, that way she could rewatch this moment. He looked like the most beautiful mess she’d ever seen, his eyeliner smudged, face completely covered in her juices and still looked like he could stay drowning in her.

Y/N had come to a conclusion while visiting her mother. A realization hitting her so hard she was afraid to admit it out loud. She was finding it difficult however, keeping her emotions in check. Biting her tongue to keep from saying anything.

Mingi reached for her, pulling the little fake cat ears off her head, easy to not pull her hair with them. Everything about him was suddenly gentle even when at the moment, the choker, the messy eyeliner, made him look anything but.

Mingi could blame it on the alcohol or all the weed he smoked for letting his emotions take control of him. It wasn’t the truth though, he just….. loves her. He’s never been in love before so all these new feelings were new to him and kind of scared the shit out of him.

“I really fucking missed you…” He had her pinned beneath him, both his hands interlaced with her own, arms stretched, held above y/n head. He had to let one of her hands go to be able to reach down and guide himself into her.

They were both moaning in unison as Mingi pushed his entire length into her, the stretch almost as tight as the first time he had her after not being together for the last two weeks. It felt like the most comforting fucking hug Mingi had ever had, like he belonged there, was meant to be here with her.

He’d have to genuinely thank Wooyoung eventually for sending him to her.

Y/N reached up with her free hand, gripping the choker still around Mingi’s neck as he started moving, thrusting deep, slow, taking his time as if he were trying to feel every inch of her as he could.

Mingi was squeezing her hand gently, his other moving to fit his arm under her head so he could wrap himself around her as much as he could, y/n legs holding him snugly wrapped around his waist. He had never made love before but he’s sure it felt something like this.

He brought her up with him, kneeling on his knees on the bed, dick still buried inside her as y/n wrapped her arms around him, both hands gripping at his hair, straddling him.

Mingi’s arms wrapped around her, moving her to ride against him, lips catching the loud whimpering moan leaving her as he kissed her, mumbling against her lips. “You were fucking made for me.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to press her forehead against his own, sweat dampening their skin, her eyes were closed as she felt her orgasm approaching as Mingi’s dick repeatedly hit her wonderful spot deep in her cunt that she was sure her boyfriend made a mission to find every time.

Mingi was watching her through half lidded eyes, wanting to see all of it, all of her. “Look at me.” His voice was soft yet commanding at the same time. Y/N lifted her head back, her legs tightening around him, thighs starting to tremble as she opened her eyes.

“Cum for me.”

And she did, a sobbing mess, shaking against her orgasm so intense, washing over her like a hurricane. Mingi splayed her back down onto the bed as her walls convulsed and clenched around him, his thrusts faster now, harder, as he chased his own approaching high.

“Mingi….” Y/N had just finished gaining her breath back from her second orgasm but she could feel another one already edging, ready to erupt as Mingi buried his face into the crook of her neck, his own breath panting against her damp skin as he pounded, thrusts sloppy as he came, filling y/n cunt full as she too was hit by another orgasm.

His own orgasm coursing through him, heart beating so fast he had no idea how he was still breathing, the words escaping him so fast, so lost in the moment, in her, that Mingi couldn’t stop himself.

“I love you.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411 @dawn-iscozy @winxmia @milkfromacow @pearltinyy @wooyoungsbrat @seonghwasslytherin @vsereniasstuff @chicksmoothie @maddycline

#mingi #song mingi #mingi x y/n #mingi x reader #mingi smut #ateez #ateez fic #ateez fanfic

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sincerelywhistler · 5 months ago

Text

⊹ ₊ ❤︎ VIX ❤︎₊ ⊹

My husband, Fox, received Desire Demon as his Redacted demon quiz type result. So, naturally, we cooked up a DemonSona for him. And by we, I mean he called all the shots and I had the utmost pleasure of drawing this flirt. (We also made Vix and my DemonSona, Wolf-Rayet, smooch. Because we’re gay.)

Vulpecula… Vix… like a vixen… l-like a Fox yeah you get it.

Vix’s Pinterest Board

More about Vix (from Fox himself):

HELLO TUMBLR ITS FOX AND ITS MY TURN ON THE WES ACCOUNT, STRAP IN

• Vix first began writing as a way to better understand human desires on a deeper, personal level through passing on letters with anonymous pen pals

• Through sending these letters back and forth, he found his passion for writing as a whole. He excels in writing romance and poetry.

• After sending his pen pals rough copies of his creative works, they encouraged Vix to publish his books. He decided to publish his books under his full name, Vulpecula

• The general public has been lead to believe that the name Vulpecula is a pseudonym, and that it is a pseudonym that was passed down from anonymous writer to anonymous writer as generations passed. Empowered folk likely know that an immortal race— like a demon or vampire— is the person behind the pen

• He was a voracious reader from the start. Vix’s place on Elegy houses an impressive collection of books of all ages and genres

• Vix primarily feeds on humans’ general attraction towards him rather than from sexual relationships. Think of his dietary situation like something rent-a-boyfriend haha. Need a plus one to a wedding or work party? Don’t want to waste a Friday night by staying home? Want a shopping buddy? Call him up, he likes both the company and the attention.

• Bringing people out of their shells to try new things or go on dates is his favorite thing to do, which is why he wants to study Wolf-Rayet’s reclusive self under a microscope so badly in a gay way

• HOW THEY MET IS SO CUTE BUT I DONT THINK I CAN SUMMARIZE IT ALL LIKE WES WOULD BE ABLE TO SO LOOK AT THE THUMBNAIL OF THEM MEETING INSTEAD

barcode: the pleasure is mine

• …I LIED IM DOING IT ANYWAY. Wolf-Rayet finally got out of the house to visit the quaint mom and pop book shop to pick up some new books to read to his patients. By happenstance, Vix was there, setting up for a book signing when he spotted WR looking lost and awkward in the romance section. He caught Vix’s eye in more ways than one, so of course he had to go fluster the shit out of WR. WR explodes and fucking dies because a McDonald’s sprite would kill that Victorian man, but also because Vix wants to see him again, so he handed WR a copy of one of his spicer books he’s published, and on the back he wrote “we could make such a beautiful library together”. It’s then that Wolf-Rayet learns that he is actually the author of that book signing before bolting out the doors in embarrassment 😭

• He and Wolf-Rayet speak Latin together!! Vix learned it because he’s a sucker for dead languages and WR picked it up because he’s old as fuck medical terminology is heavy with Latin roots

• Vix calls WR “his hound” like from Fox and the Hound

That’s all I will share for now GOODBYE TUMBLR

-FOX

#I let the creature (my spouse) breach containment so he can tell you all about his Barbie doll #Creature feature #Whistler’s OCs #Well… Fox’s OCs #You can tell I didn’t write this post bc of the capslock screaming #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted fanart #redacted fandom #redacted art #redacted oc #redacted demons #redacted demonsona #redacted original character #redacted thumbnails #original character #oc #sincerelywhistler

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sunny44 · 20 days ago

Text

The devil you love (part 3)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x exfem! Reader

Warnings: This story contains mature and dark themes that may be triggering or uncomfortable for some readers.

Summary: A story about obsession, deception, and the kind of love that makes you cross every line.

Previous chapter

I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the prison.

The receptionist didn’t look up. She was typing fast, furious. A guard by the hallway looked at me, then looked away — but not before I saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

My stomach twisted.

I forced my lips into a smile, tried to steady my voice. “Hi, I’m here to see Charles Leclerc.”

Dead silence.

The typing stopped.

The receptionist finally looked up at me, and her eyes were ice-cold. “You are?”

I nodded. “Every Friday. I’m on the list.”

She didn’t move. Just stared. “Wait here.”

My heart rate doubled. I felt it in my neck, my fingertips. I wanted to run. Just bolt through the door, pretend I was never there.

But I couldn’t.

Because he had told me to come.

“They’ll be watching you,” Charles said, voice low over the burner phone two nights ago. “Act like everything’s normal. You showing up will buy us time.”

Us.

He still said us like I wasn’t drowning alone.

Two guards walked out from the hallway, and one of them gestured toward me.

“Y/n L/n?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll come with us.”

I swallowed hard. “Is something wrong? Is he okay?”

“We just have a few questions.”

My smile didn’t crack. Not yet. “Okay. Of course.”

They led me to a small gray room. No windows. One chair. A table. A camera blinking red in the corner. The interrogation cliché. Except this time, it was real.

And I was the one on trial.

A third officer entered, older. Worn face. Tired eyes. “Miss L/n,” he said, sitting across from me. “I’m Officer Rayner.”

“Hi,” I said, still smiling.

Still acting.

“I’ll get straight to the point. Charles Leclerc escaped prison last night. We believe he had outside help.”

My skin went cold.

I blinked. “He what?”

“He escaped.”

I laughed. A short, sharp, terrified sound. “That’s— I don’t understand. I saw him on Monday when I came here to talk about his case. He seemed—he was fine. He didn’t say anything about—escaping.”

“No?”

“No! I mean, I know he’s innocent, but—wait, how could he even—”

“We were hoping you could tell us.”

I froze.

He leaned forward. “You’ve visited him thirty-six times. Spent a total of sixty-four hours with him. You were the only consistent person in his life these last four months. If anyone knew what he was planning… it was you.”

“Are you accusing me?”

“I’m asking if you knew.”

“No,” I said. Too fast.

“Miss L/n—”

“I didn’t help him. I didn’t even know. I—God, I wouldn’t even know how to help someone escape from a maximum security prison. I was trying to help him to get out of here, you can talk with his lawyer who might hate me now for the amount of times I called him to know how things were going.”

He watched me closely.

Silent.

Then: “He mentioned you in a letter.”

That stopped my breath.

“What?”

“He wrote a letter before he escaped. Short. Only three words: ‘Don’t blame her.’”

I stared at him, unsure if this was real or some kind of trap. “He—he said that?”

“Yes.”

I exhaled. Let the weight of the lie fall heavy on my shoulders. “Because I didn’t know. And maybe, deep down, he knew this would come back on me, and he didn’t want me to suffer.”

Officer Rayner didn’t blink. “You love him?”

“What?” My voice cracked. “I—I did. Once. Before all of this. I tried to help him prove he was innocent. That’s why I visited so often.”

“You believed he was framed.”

“I still do.”

He nodded slowly, then stood. “That’ll be all for now.”

“For now?”

“Don’t leave town, Miss L/n.”

He left the room.

I didn’t move for a long time. Not until my hands stopped shaking.

⸻

Thirty Minutes Later – Her Car

The second I got in the driver’s seat, my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number [12:43 PM]:

You were perfect.

Unknown Number [12:43 PM]:

Meet me tonight. Same motel. Room 6.

I stared at the screen, hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel.

Perfect.

That’s what I was to him.

Not a person. Not someone he loved. Just a tool. A cover story.

A pawn he could move whenever the walls closed in.

My reflection stared back at me in the rearview mirror — pale skin, red-rimmed eyes, mascara smudged under pressure.

I didn’t even recognize myself anymore.

But still, I started the car.

Because this wasn’t just about Charles anymore.

This was about the truth.

And whether I’d keep lying for him…

Or use the lie to destroy him.

Taglist: @onewithnomightypowers @flowersonstreets

Next chapter

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the-kr8tor · 3 months ago

Note

Hi hi hi!!!

Listen!

What about vampire!fem!reader x Hobie brown?

So basically R is a vampire and is like super cold and elegant and gives black swan vibes and Hobie is her love struck partner!!

It’s kinda a black cat and a golden retriever dynamic!

But ofc reader is not all so cold so when they are bonding she has a soft spot for him

So!

Now for the plot

Reader was minding her own business when all of the sudden Hobie comes to her after a fight (and ofc he’s beat up and has lots of scratches and stuff). Reader has to patch him up and scolds him that he needs to be more careful. But after that they like cuddle and it’s just super fluffy and stuff 🫶🫶

Thank you in advance! Please take care of yourself!!

Vampire! R!! 😍😍😍 This turned more like loser! hobie instead of golden retriever! Hobie lol I hope you like it!! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), vampire! Reader, vampire AU, CW blood and injury, CW violence mention, loser! Hobie, lovestruck! Hobie, fluff!

Navigation

The black velvet of your dress shimmers under the yellow light from the crystal chandeliers as you move. Its colour shifts from black to royal purple, a deep hue that compliments the shadow lovingly brushed along your eyelids by your mortal partner. As you remember Hobie, who just this morning cuddled right beside you in your satin lined coffin, you pause in front of a mirror. And as always, after three centuries of eternal life, your reflection is nowhere to be seen.

You've gotten used to the floating jewelries that adorn your body, and the dress seemingly molded around nothing. It took some getting used to, a *lot of getting used to throughout the years of being reborn again. But the hole in your chest was never filled, always longing to see yourself again, to see the sun again, feel its warmth kiss your undead skin. With the help from Hobie, you found that warmth again, and you see yourself again in those amber eyes of his. He's your everything, you love him more than the house you have, and more than your cold reputation in the vampiric society you built brick by brick. You'd give up everything for him. So when you see his bleeding reflection in the mirror, you bolt towards him at the speed of light.

“Hello, l–love.”

“Oh, my darling.” Your hands cradle his bruised face, the cut on his lip making you wince. The frozen façade fades and melts as he crumples down atop you. “What happened to you? Who hurt you?” You ask, voice rumbling dangerously.

His face nudges your clavicle, fists weakly balled around your dress. “Goblin.” Is all he says, and yet it has your cold blood boiling at the thought of that green fiend having his hands around his throat.

“May I carry you?” You ask softly, voice lowered to a mere whisper, a voice you never used towards your fellow vampires.

Hobie looks up at you, bloodied capillaries meeting with your red irises. “You look fitter than when I left this mornin’” His heart beats faster in your ears, eyes fully blown out as he continues to gaze upon you.

“Always the charmer.” Chuckling, he cracks a smile despite the ache. “I'll carry you now, yes?”

“Yes.” He copies your tone, still smiling as you gently lift him up effortlessly. “Perks of datin’ an ancient bein’” He groans out, hand flying towards his side to hold his injury.

“You calling me old, Hobart?” You ask with a playful lilt.

“Just my type.” He says as he gazes longingly at you.

Rolling your eyes with a gentle smile, you bring him towards the plush couch, carefully placing him down. “I'm barely four hundred years old.” Your dress sticks to his bloodied suit, absorbing the crimson ichor into the fabric. But you don't care one bit.

“You don't look a day over a hundred.” He grins at you whilst you gingerly untie his shoelaces.

After years of being alive and hearing all the sweet words anyone has uttered to you, they don't compare to him. Hobie never fails to make your heart flutter.

Looking upon his beaten body, you’ve considered the green goblin to be dead once your love has recovered. And you'll make sure that the goblin will never hurt him or anyone ever again.

“Tell me where it hurts, my love.” You ask him with your hand wrapped around his ankle.

“No fussin’ needed, jus’ need some ibuprofen and ‘m fine.” He wheezes out, hands shaking as he tries to take off his vest.

You zoom towards him, helping him tug it off while being careful not to aggravate his injuries. “I can hear your blood rushing through you, and you're far from being alright.”

“But–”

Kneeling before him, you grasp at his cheek, careful with your sharp nails. “Let me take care of you as you have taken care of me.” Your index brushes along the two pinpricks scars on the side of his neck, making goosebumps appear on his skin.

The light illuminates your wine red eyes, a softer tone that reminds him of a sunset after it rained.

Hobie's shoulders sag as he places his head atop your shoulder, inhaling in your familiar perfume. “Can you, please?”

You wrap your arms around him, palm holding on to the back of his neck protectively. “You don't have to ask.”

—

Hobie has fully accepted being cared for as you carry him in your arms towards a spare bedroom with an actual bed for him. He smells of antiseptic after you've thoroughly cleaned and dressed his wounds. It took a while to get it all done because of the extent of his injuries, but with a few reassuring words and kisses, he's going to have a steady recovery. Thank goodness for his enhanced abilities or the medical skills you gathered during the 40s wouldn't be enough to save him.

“This isn't our room.” Hobie narrows his eyes around the blue clad room. The walls are painted in ocean blue, and the four poster bed is covered in a plush baby blue blanket.

“It's not, I figured you need to rest in a proper bed for you to recover.”

He looks up at you with pleading eyes and you almost falter. Almost.

“I'll be beside you, don't worry.”

“What about your coffin?” He asks, palm rubbing along the velvet fabric of your dress as you walk closer towards the bed.

“I can handle not sleeping for a few days.” You say as you place him down on the soft mattress. His hands still grasp at your sleeves, not letting you go anywhere else. Giggling, you sit beside his hip, looking upon him with fondness. “I told you, I'm not going anywhere.”

His lips turn into a frown, eyes looking at the distinct dark mark on your dress. “I ruined your dress.”

You beam at him, fangs shining in the moonlight peeking through the curtains. “The dress is replaceable, you are not, darling.”

Hobie tugs you down with a smile, guiding you to lay on top of him. You don't bow to no one, but if it's him, there's an exception. As you lay your form over his own, you rest your head on his chest, hand reaching to his side to gently cradle the angry wound, whilst you lace your legs around his own. He embraces you back, arms tightly around your back, and knuckles tracing along your spine.

Humming gently, Hobie kisses your temple, you can feel his grin through the kiss. “You gonna tell me to be careful next time?”

Lifting your head to look at him, you fix his brow with your thumb, affection rolling off of the simple movement. “Do you want me to chastise you?”

“I can already feel it comin’, love.”

With a gentle and soft palm, you take his cheek, thumb rubbing along the stubble of his jaw. His heartbeat quickens as you meet with his eyes, and his breath is stuck in his throat.

“Be careful next time, Hobie.” You say in the softest tone you could conjure.

“You're not fair.” He sighs, skin aflame as he plops his head down on the pillow dramatically.

Laughing, you lay your head on top of his heart, listening to the beat of his heart as you hum an ancient tune.

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saffusthings · 8 months ago

Text

Baby I Can Feel Your Halo

oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader

summary: the one where the world gets to become familiar with a new name: Y/N L/N. word count: 8.4k warnings: awkwardness, my attempt and poetic writing, poor understanding of how film and media works, Lando as a bit of a side character, poorly edited writing a/n: i can't tell whether this is half decent or nonsensical. inspired by That Viral Interview. i have a soft spot for this part of the story, so i hope you guys are able to like it too.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

She’s going to kill him.

Clicking her phone on to check the time for the umpteenth time as if it will make this stupid elevator go any faster, she lets out a huff. The tapping of her shoe acts as a placebo, perhaps. Or maybe this elevator is actually getting slower-

When the metal gates finally part, she bolts. As gracefully as one can, she awkwardly half-run, half power walks past the hall of doors until she reaches Room 307.

She doesn’t even pretend to knock. Glancing at her phone one more time - 27 calls - she slips a plastic card from the lanyard around her neck. When it beeps, flashing green, the door opens with a click, allowing her to storm in.

To her credit, she at least waits for the door to close before she yells.

“Oscar Jack Piastri!”

Oscar wakes to a fire. Or at least that’s what he has to assume is happening, considering someone is screaming his name at full volume. Eyelids barely open, he immediately sits up in bed. “M’awake! Jesus, give me a second,” he mumbles, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Tossing him his pants that had been hanging in his closet, she goes around, picking up any stray items. “Put some pants on,” she grumbles. “C’mon get up, we’re already-”

“-running late,” he says defeatedly, eyes landing on the bedside alarm clock.

When he finally steps out of the bathroom, his brows are scrunched in confusion. She’s typing something on her phone, and definitely not trying not to look at him.

It’s been over a week since their almost-kiss in her office. She’s no rookie, she’s been more than professional since, knowing she can’t risk this. But a small part of her can’t help but think of how close his lips had been to her anytime she’s standing close enough to smell his familiar cologne.

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of Oscar’s voice, her thumb still hovering over her phone from her long forgotten text.

Trying to get the swoop of his hair to land in some sane looking way, he gestures to the pine green sweater spread out for him on the bed, the one she insisted he wear. “You sure about this?”

He watches her as she knits her eyebrows together as she gives him the once over. “Yes. You look good in green,” she explains, still entirely absorbed in sending an e-mail to their media liaison.

It’s only once he’s finally dressed that she gets up and gives him a look over. Her lips purse before she motions for him to stand closer. “C’mere.”

She aligns the seams that are supposed to trace along his shoulder, before using her hands to smooth out any wrinkles in the soft fabric. She stands back for a moment, before coming closer again, and pulling his sleeves up just a bit in a way that exposes some of his forearm. Assessing it one more, and seeming content with how it looks, before doing the same to his other sleeve.

Entirely unaware of the chaos his cardiovascular system seems to be undergoing, she gives him one last look over, and wipes a bit of excess moisturizer that had been left on his nose.

“There we go,” she says with a small smile.

Grabbing her things, she stands at the door before looking back for him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, patting his pockets and searching the hastily made bed. “Just…”

“Good to go,” he announces, swiping his phone off the bedside table, and tucking into his pocket before following her into the hall. “Where are we headed?”

“They’ve set up in one of the conference rooms near the swimming pool” she says from over her shoulder as they make their way down. “It’s some Australian channel looking to do a segment on their hometown hero, so it should be a safe set. Of course, if they veer off course, let me know and I’ll take care of it. ”

“Will you be there? Or are you headed back to the office?” Oscar asks. His tone makes it difficult to differentiate whether he's nervous, wary, or doesn’t want her to be there, but he hopes she understands anyway.

“Yep,” she replies, smiling. Oscar wonders why his chest feels warm.

“That’s my job, remember?”

When he gets to hair and make-up, he can’t help but feel more than a little lost. Not because of the makeup, certainly - god knows Hattie has tested more than enough ‘smokey eyes’ on him - but rather because when he sits in the chair, the woman immediately asks what kind of look he wants to go for.

Huh?

He looks over to Y/N with desperate eyes.

Help me, please.

She’s quick to walk over and greet Lindsay, his stylist for today, with a warm smile. Once she’s sure that the stylist is okay with taking recommendations, the rest of it comes easily.

“We’ll wanna do some powder to counter the glare from the studio lights,’ she suggests, glancing at the woman for approval. Tilting Oscar’s face, the two women survey him analytically.

“It’s up to you if you want to add a little warmth, but no blush or color corrector or anything like that. And then his hair looks good like this, so we don’t need to do anything there. How does that sound?”

The elder woman nods in agreement before pointing at different parts of Oscar’s face and mumbling somethings to Y/N who nods along thoughtfully.

Finally, he’s left at the mercy of his stylist, as Y/N walks away.

Once the mic checks are complete and the people behind the large lights give the go ahead, one of the employees counts off the seconds before the cameras start recording.

Oscar spends those seconds looking over to wherever she is. She’s stood by one of the people carrying a large white panel, watching on to make sure everything runs smoothly. They’ve done this dance probably dozens of times, but the buzzing lessens once he assures himself that she’s still in the vicinity.

He watches her nod, giving him a reassuring smile, and then, Oscar is ready.

“And cameras are rolling 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.”

“We’re here now with Oscar Piastri,” the host says with a warm smile, “now in his second year of representing Australia in the highest level of motorsport - Formula One. Thank you so much for joining us, Oscar.”

“Of course, thank you for having me,” Oscar smiles, that polite cat smile that’s become associated with his name. “Just Oscar, is usually fine though,” he jokes, never one to feel too comfortable with high praise. The host laughs good naturedly, “Oh, the boy’s got jokes now, does he?“ Oscar seems to glow in the spotlight. Something about him, even in front of the cameras, seems to radiate comfort, familiarity. Even on TV, even with his rising stardom, his laidback posture and the crinkle around his eyes when he smiles suggests that he could be the boy next door, that he could be your boy next door. The cameras are not the only thing focused on him. “So Oscar, not sure if you remember, but you did a sit-down with us last year as well.” “Of course. I don’t forget that easily, Mick,” the driver replies easily. “I’m not that old.” “No, no, in fact, you’re quite young aren’t you? Only 23 and already in your second year of Formula 1.” “Yeah, feels a bit strange when you say it like that,” Oscar chuckles, “but yeah. It’s been a bit of a wild ride.” Mickie smiles. “One year closer to retirement, I imagine?”

“God no,” Oscar scoffs, shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable. He looks more relaxed this way, more open. “I’m not leaving without a championship, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while. Sorry to disappoint.” Laughing good naturedly, the older man shakes his head. “Far from it. You’re a hometown hero. You’ve got everyone here rooting for you,” he tells him, gesturing to the crew around them.” Smiling gratefully, Oscar nods. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty lucky with all the support. That always makes a difference.” “I’m sure it does. Who would you say are your biggest supporters?” “My parents, for sure. I’m sure there’s a clip of my mom talking about my… let's call them oddities, as a child,” Oscar laughs, referring to his habit of make-believing as a car around the house, or how he wanted car magazines read to him instead of bedtime stories. “If they hadn’t put up with me through that, there’s no way I’d be here now.” It’s clear as day that beneath the thin film of humor, there’s a chasm of sincerity. He really does love his family - always making time to call them during long trips away or even just because. Working on media with Oscar is (usually) pleasant for that same reason - you don’t have to give him PR-written responses or pre-plan his anecdotes to make the audience fall in love with him. He tells the truth, and they can’t help but fall in love all on their own. “I’ve also got other supporters too. Silent supporters, I guess you could call them, since you all don’t see their faces as much. But my sisters, my team, Y/N, the fans - they are the reasons I get to live my dream everyday.” Mickie nods in acknowledgement. “Of course. Though I see we’re name dropping now,” he teases. Oscar looks up at him, mild panic hidden behind his eyes. He’s only just about to adjust his cap - a predetermined signal to Y/N that he needs her to intervene somehow - when Mickie interrupts his train of thought. “You mentioned Y/N as one of your supporters. Could you tell us a bit more about that?” When Oscar looks at the man with the salt and pepper hair, he doesn’t see the usual malice or hunger that many reporters would have if they had been in the same position. Mickie has been good to him and his team in the past - not coming off as a dog with a bone, but instead as an easy conversationalist who happens to be genuinely curious about Oscar and his life. The young driver recovers easily from his momentary scare. “Oh, yeah. Y/N’s definitely one of my greatest supports. I’d tell you all that she works for me, but I think she might poison my coffee if I did that.” The two share a laugh, easing Oscar’s nerves a little. He subtly adjusts his watch instead.

It’s alright, I got it.

From behind the cameras, Y/N takes a small breath of relief. Though she’s pleased the conversation didn’t take a turn for the rumor mill, she’ll still be a little on edge anytime her driver is in the media’s playpen.

“Alright then. Without risking your coffee, what can you tell us then? That’s not a name we’ve heard too often around the paddock.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s a shame too - she’s supposed to be my assistant, but with how much she’s involved in everything, we might have to come up with a better title for her,” Oscar smiles easily. Mickie gives him a smile, straightening his notecards into a neat stack. “Is that so? Must be high praise, coming from a big-shot like yourself.” The air is pleasant, the conversation flowing naturally. Even as an observer, the scene could almost be mistaken for a casual chat in a living room somewhere. Oscar shakes his head. “Not enough, actually. When I say I wouldn’t be here without her, I mean it literally. If she hadn’t come to my rescue this morning, I’d probably still be in bed!” Mick leans over, laughing. “Glad to see how much you value our time here together, Oscar!” “Even if I did, I value my sleep more,” Oscar deadpans, a sly smile on his face. “I don’t envy her job, not in the slightest.” “Fair enough, fair enough.” The conversation makes its own way from there - Oscar’s goals for this year, what people can expect from the team this season, how the new car has been.

“So what I’m hearing is that we have a promising season ahead?”

“I mean, every season looks promising at the start really, but yeah, I have a good feeling about this one. Cautiously optimistic, we’ll call it.” “Well I’m sure I’m not the only one when I say that I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us this season, Oscar.” ��Wow, no pressure there. Thanks, though.”

The two share a laugh. It’s getting closer to the end of the segment, but with some time remaining. Mickie decides to take the conversation in a different direction. “Now that we’re done with all the shop talk.” he starts. “I was wondering if you could tell us what Formula 1 has been like for you personally. Last time around, during your rookie season, you mentioned that the intensity of the training and the magnitude of the races were some of the things that took some getting used to. Would you say the same is true now, or have you gotten used to it?” Oscar nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, your rookie season is always an adjustment. It took me some time to get used to that stuff, and I’d say I’m better at it now,” he answers honestly. “But that doesn't mean there aren’t still things I’m learning to get used to.” “What kind of things?” “As you can probably tell, the time zones are one thing,” he laughs, animatedly gesturing to where his eye bags would be. For a second, there’s silence as he’s given a moment to think, before he finally speaks again. “I’d say the people, too.”

“The drivers, the teams, or the fans?” Mick asks curiously. “The fans are pretty great,” he tells him. “But I think I meant like the drivers and their teams?” Oscar tries to explain. “Like, you have to understand that there’s so many people in this complex machine that is Formula 1. And every single person that’s there, is because they’ve got this insane drive to win - that includes the drivers, of course, but the engineers, and the strategists, and the trainers too.”

“Tell me a bit more about that.”

“I mean, like, even in Formula 2, with Prema, there was a certain level of friendship and camaraderie that gets overshadowed in Formula 1, because of just how competitive everything is,” he explains, gesturing with his hands. “It’s crazy how the drivers flip a switch for lights out or the chequered flag, because that’s what comes with competing at the highest level.”

The host nods, making an effort to understand.

“Would you say it strains relationships then? This sort of… dual personality that you and the other drivers have to have?”

“Honestly. To some degree, I imagine it has to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly with one another.”

“You’d mentioned earlier this year, in an interview with your company Quadlock, actually, where they asked you if you had any mates on the grid, and you replied with…” Oscar chuckles shyly, recalling the moment. “No friends, only enemies,” he quotes himself. “Exactly,” the older man chuckles. “Would you say the same is true for you now?” “The honest answer would be yes and no.” The man sitting across from Oscar raises an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “When you live in that bubble with people that are, at their core, just as competitive as you are..” he trails off, contemplating how to phrase it. “Let’s just say it has an interesting way of showing you who your friends and your enemies are.”

“And has it?” Mick asks genuinely. “Shown you your friends, I mean?” Oscar takes a breath before replying. “I mean, of course. There’s Lando, y’know - as my teammate, he’s always my greatest competitor but also the only one who can kind of understand where I’m coming from. Logan, also - you know we grew up through the lower Formulas together. He and I have been teammates in the past too, so it’s nice to have an old friend on the grid. Y/N too, y’know - we’re pretty close in age, and she’s really been there for the highs and the lows.”

“We’ve seen you interact with Logan and with Lando, but what would you say your friendship with Y/N is like?”

“I mean, we work together, so a lot of it comes from that,” he shrugs, not wanting to slip up and say the wrong thing. He signed up for the spotlight, but putting his assistant, his friend there without discussing it with her would be unfair.

“We work in tandem, you see - she takes care of everything outside the car, while I take care of everything in it.”

The interviewer hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a dynamic that requires a lot of trust, I’d say.”

“Maybe, but she hasn’t let me down even once in two years.” For a moment, for a fraction of a second it feels like Oscar’s eyes glance in the direction of where she’s standing with the tech crew, but it must be a trick of her imagination. They’re standing in the shadows, and it’d be a stretch for her to think that he could even see her in the first place. “Not even once.”

“Would you say your friendship complicates this dynamic, or simplifies it?”

“Helps, definitely. Easier to get out of media duties that way,” Oscar jokes. Mickie laughs easily at that, before focusing on the subject once again.

“Really? You two don’t face any challenges with that? I’d imagine with the other drivers that that boundary is a bit more clear, what with them being your competitors and all.” Oscar lips press together, his tongue subtly running over his lower lip to soothe the pressure. “I think maybe if it were someone else, then it would be. But not with her.“

Looking over to the armchair, he can see that the other man looks surprised.

“You seem quite confident in saying that.”

“I am,” he says bluntly. Why wouldn’t he be?

“And what inspires that confidence?”

“Just who she is, really, “ Oscar answers with a shrug. On the other side of the room, Y/N waits for a signal that never comes.

What the hell is he doing?

This was most definitely not one of the agreed topics for tonight’s show.

“How do you mean?” Mickie can’t help but inquire.

“I mean the obvious thing to say here would be to say that we’re close in age,” Oscar starts, gesturing. “But it really is more than that. I’m lucky to work with an immensely talented team, especially with all the fresh talent McLaren’s brought on board this year.”

“Of course.”

“But as for her in particular…” The blonde seems to think for a minute. “I think, that in order for someone to understand how we work, they’d have to understand how she works,” he muses.

“And how’s that?”

“She’s like the light you need in order to see. With her perspective, her input, the fundamental way in which she operates - things make sense. She makes things make sense, really - whether that’s logistically, or with the car, and especially with me.”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even know what he’s thinking. The tricky thing about this cozy lounge setup that he’s seated in is that, from her, it looks nothing like the studios and press conferences and media pens that they’re used to. Here, there are no clambering reporters, no flashing cameras, no microphones shoved in his face.

It’s easier to forget that the world is watching.

“It’s a bit unfortunate that the fans watching this don’t get to see her as we do,” he says with a serious expression. “Because it’s hard to describe her personality, or even just her role if you haven’t existed in her orbit. There’s this… this spark that ignites with everything she interacts with.”

Oscar finds himself thinking of everything that happened on the road so far, every step that led them here. All he knows for certain is that his confidence is not unfounded. Sure, things were… less than ideal at the moment, but they’d go back to normal. He knew they would, he was sure of it.

Not so much because Oscar had a plan, but rather because he didn’t know what to do if they didn’t. They’d figure it out - that was their thing, after all.

He’s disturbed from his thoughts by the voice of another.

“A spark?” the older man prompts with a smile.

It’s almost frustrating when the words don’t come fast enough to keep up with his mind.

“When you’re expected to function at the highest levels, there’s a lot of moving parts underneath the shiny cover that no one really tells you about. Y/N has this intuitive sense and this unlearnable skill to take apart the most challenging complexities and put them back together into something wonderful.”

The studio falls silent.

“She sounds lucky,” Mick offers sincerely.

Oscar laughs dryly. “The way I see it, I’m the lucky one. McLaren certainly is.”

Mickie’s expression is open, leaving the silence available for him to fill.

Oscar, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how they ended up here. Talking about Y/N wasn’t a preplanned part of the segment, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s surprisingly nice to talk about something besides how hot it is in the car or the rabbit food athletes have to eat or his opinions on the championship standings.

And it probably doesn’t hurt that talking about her is really quite easy.

“It’s an incredible gift to meet someone who complements each of your strengths and your weaknesses completely. And if that person happens to be someone who can somehow challenge you and support you simultaneously, then there’s nothing more that I need.”

The boom mic edges closer to the stage setup, careful not to enter the cameras’ parameters of visibility. There’s a shift in tone that’s apparent, something curious and authentic that seems to wash across the studio and everyone in it.

“Will we be seeing this dynamic duo in action anytime soon then?” the interviewer asks, charismatically guiding the conversation towards its conclusion.

“I sure hope so. Maybe you guys can finally convince her to do some of those McLaren challenges with us,” Oscar smiles widely, that dorky, lopsided smile of his. “Trust me, I tried, but somehow she won’t let me drive her around for a Hot Lap. Wonder why that is,” he shrugs, before both men share a laugh.

A hand in the dark silently signals for them to wrap up, indicating that the segment must come to an end.

“Well then, Oscar I see we’re being told to wrap,” he smiles, glancing over in the direction of the crew. Both men begin to go to stand up, extending their arms for a friendly handshake.

“Thank you so much for joining us once again. As always, it was a pleasure, and I know I speak for everyone here at Down Under Daily when I say that we can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.”

Oscar nods, smiling, giving the man a firm handshake. “Thank you.”

Once the segment wraps up and the overhead lights come back on, the studio buzzes with the hum of activity. Uniformed crew members unpack and disassemble various machines and setups, beginning to clear out the studio. Oscar glances around, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Y/N, who stands a few feet away, chatting with one of the technicians. Her laughter cuts through the noise, bright and genuine, making something warm unfurl in his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, a casual attempt to draw her attention. When she turns, their eyes lock, and for a moment, the world around them blurs. There’s something in her expression that sends a jolt through him, a flicker of recognition and a hint of something deeper.

“Hey,” she replies, her smile easy but layered, like they’re sharing some inside joke that only they understand. He shifts slightly, suddenly a bit squirmish under her undivided attention.

Not that he gets squirmish, of course. Oscar is the picture of cool and collected.

As her eyes scan him, she notes the slight flush of his skin, the way the muscles of his face are tense ever so slightly. It’s honestly a bit refreshing to see someone who isn’t always unfazed by it all, she thinks. She does her best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“That went well,” she comments, her voice carrying a lightness that contrasts with the tension simmering beneath the surface. It’s the kind of praise that makes him feel seen, but also a bit exposed.

“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he responds, his tone sincere. Oscar isn’t one of those fools who thinks the whole orchestra runs around him. Even if it did, his mother didn’t raise him to be any bit unappreciative to everyone who works behind the scenes for his successes. He knows she’s more than just an assistant; she’s the one who keeps everything in motion, the anchor in the chaos.

Her gaze lingers on him, and for a moment, the air between them thickens. He’s acutely aware of the distance that’s very much there, yet it feels charged, like static before a storm. “I just do what I can,” she says softly, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear—an action so simple, yet watching it feels intimate.

Oscar looks away.

The moment stretches, and he senses a shift, a palpable tension that neither of them is ready to address. Memories of their almost-kiss hang between them, unacknowledged yet ever-present. He wonders if she feels it too, this strange blend of familiarity and hesitation.

The silence is uncomfortable in a familiar way, like the awkward pause that occurs when you can’t decide who should speak first. Oscar even opens his mouth to try to say something - though he’s not sure what - Y/N beats him to it.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, her tone casual, but he detects a deeper curiosity behind her question.

“I guess just… figuring things out,” he replies, glancing down for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. There’s moments in the midst of the whirlwind of fame and fortune where it all truly feels surreal. Young Oscar always aspired to go fast, to push himself to the limit, to win, but this?

The spotlight, the admiration , the respect, the expectations? It was almost overwhelming, a heavy medal hanging around his neck that he’s still not used to wearing. Especially with the number of people that work day and night to give him a fighting chance at making his childhood dreams into reality, there’s no greater expectation than the one Oscar places on himself.

“Trying to get it right still, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding, her eyes searching his. There’s an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race, as if she’s peering into the part of him he keeps to himself. Briefly, he wonders if she can read his thoughts sometimes.

Like on one of those teleprompters they use for broadcasts and award shows.

He wants to say more, to delve into this strange thing swirling between them, but the words feel stuck, caught in a web. The awkwardness between them might as well be a loose screw in his car - keeping him at the edge of his seat as he navigates the clunkiness that replaces the flow he’s used to. “I keep waiting to get used to it, but it never seems to happen,” he says finally, hoping to keep the conversation light.

“True,” she agrees, her smile faint but genuine. “But you manage.”

“Most of the time,” he admits, letting out a soft laugh that feels half-hearted, both playful and tinged with something meaningful. Oscar may have grown into this suave, clever, mature personality that he’s recognized for, but there are times when he still feels like the lanky teen with the acne and the too-short hair that climbed into a Formula car that very first time.

As the crew clears the set, Y/N steps back, her focus shifting to the flurry of activity around them. Oscar feels the space between them widen, the moment suddenly dissipating like a whisk of smoke. He wants to reach out, to anchor her back to him, but the tide of reality keeps them away.

“Ready to head out?” she asks, her voice interrupting the stream 0f his personal thoughts.

“Yeah,” he replies, an uncharacteristic hesitation slipping into his tone. He can feel the warmth radiating off her, and the longing rises within him, a familiar ache that refuses to fade. He elects to ignore it, in favor of using long strides to catch up with her quick ones to follow her out into the hall.

Oscar steals a glance at Y/N, her profile illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and he wonders what it would be like to bridge that gap. He recalls what it had been like the last time he'd been in such proximity to her - felt the warmth of body, the coolness of her breath, the ghost of her lips. For now, though, he settles into the silence, allowing the moment to hang between them.

Y/N leans against the small counter in her hotel room, the yellow light from the lamp seeming to warm the place. She stares at her phone, buzzing with a handful of messages, but her mind is tangled in thoughts of today’s interview. Hearing him casually mention her, smiling as he spoke, had left her feeling a mix of pride and confusion.

As she pours herself a cup of hot tea, she replays the almost-kiss in her mind - the way his breath had caught for just a moment. It felt like a line had been crossed, but they hadn’t addressed it. It hung in the air between them like an uninvited guest, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin the good thing they had.

Her phone buzzes again, the sixth time in the last half hour. This time, however, the contact name reads: Oscar. “How’s your evening?”

“Trying to figure out the chaos that is my notes,” she replies, glancing down at loose pages, and spiral books that are splattered across the coffee table.

“You always have chaos in your notes. It’s part of your charm.” His teases, knowing full well that no matter how chaotic her notes were, they were somehow still always loads better than his hurried scrawl.

The tone of the conversation feels light, teasing, friendly - but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t feel like something more—an unspoken understanding that neither of them wants to acknowledge.

“Charm, huh? I prefer to think of it as organized chaos.” She takes a sip of the warm herbal tea, now having cooled down to the temperature of her liking. It’s grounding these little rituals - which reminds her that she still needs to change out of her work clothes, maybe shower and do some skincare…

“Sure, if that makes you feel better,” he replies easily. Even just reading the words, she can practically hear the laughter in his voice.

A moment later, he decides to add, “I was just about to put something on the TV. You in?”

In a hotel room just a ways down the hall, Oscar’s heart rate increases. What the hell are you doing? He chides himself. He feels stupid - things were already weird, and now he probably just made them even weirder.

Relax, he has to tell himself. This isn’t new - in fact, this is normal. Like before - friends, just relaxing together after a long day of work. Airplane games of monopoly, friday happy hours, movie nights - all of this was perfectly normal. Right?

Thumbs still hovering over her keyboard, she hesitates. The idea of sitting together, sharing popcorn and laughter, sounded nice, but there was the lingering possibility that things would be strange instead.

Instead she types out, “Maybe. What are you watching?”

She could use a night off, after all.

“Something mindless, one of those cable shows they have on this thing. You know, to balance all the brainpower we exert during the week.”

She had to admit, he did make it sound inviting.

“Mindless does sound good. I’ll join you.”Oscar props himself up a bit better, leaning back on his elbow. The smile on his face is lit up by the blue light of his phone screen as he reads her reply. Forcing himself out of the unexpectedly comfortable position he’d evolved into, he gets up, phone in hand, before starting to work to make his hotel room look a tad more presentable.

He was not having a repeat of this morning.

He types out a reply. “Great. I’ll set it up.”

There is a brief pause, and he wonders if he should clear the air, just in case. He really does just want to have a relaxing evening with her - it had been a long time since they last had the chance. Conjuring up some courage, he types out another message to her. “So, about the interview…”

Reading that, Y/N’s heart races. She didn’t want to overanalyze his words, but it was impossible not to. She decides to go for the safe answer. “You did well. Really.” So maybe he was just overthinking it. The praise lifts some of the weight off his chest.

“Thanks. Felt good to share some insights. And the part about you… well, it was true.”

Had he really meant all of it?

There’s a fluttering sensation in her stomach. “Just doing my job.”

“No, really. It means a lot to me. You’ve been here through so much of it.”

The sincerity of his words has her forgetting this tension for a moment, allowing it to slip into the back of her mind. They had a rhythm, a friendship built on shared experiences, but now it felt precarious.

“I just want you to succeed, Oscar,” she tells him, words honest. “That’s all.”

“And you’re doing your part brilliantly. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. He’s said those same words a thousand times before, but for some reason, this one makes her heart skip. She shifts her weight, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

“So, movie?” she suggested, wanting to steer the conversation away before she can get too caught up in her own messy thoughts..

“Right. I’ll get it ready.”

Rustling the duvet to make it appear slightly less misshapen. One of his hands seeks the remote to see what’s on at this time, and tries to pick the most tolerable option. Happy with his choice, he stalk over to the other side of his room, the show in the background acting as welcome background noise.

He then pulls out two packets of microwaveable popcorn from the welcome basket that had greeted him when he checked into the room, popping each of them into the microwave so the snack would be warm by the time she arrived.

Y/N stands outside the door to Oscar’s hotel room, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Sure, she could use her emergency key card, but she decides that knocking feels less criminal. She knocks, and immediately the door creaks back to reveal his familiar face. His hair is mussed up, loose locks flopping to one side or the other. Her eyes are fogging with sleep, but the smile he wears is warm and sweet.

“Hey! Look who made it,” Oscar teases, stepping aside to let her in.

“Thought I’d save you from another night of mediocre cable,” she replied, a playful smile on her lips.

She hopes it comes less nervous than she feels.

“Trust me, you’re in for a treat. It’s ‘Chef’s Disaster’ tonight. Guaranteed chaos,” he says, leading her to the couch.

When she glances at the television that’s playing, she finds scenes of various chefs - forgetting ingredients, leaving the stove on too high, accidentally dropping their dishes.

“Ah, the best kind of TV,” she laughs, settling in beside him. The pair of them end up on opposite sides of a generously-sized, two-seater couch. Her mind begins to whir, trying to figure out if she’s sitting too far, if it’s too late to scoot a bit closer, would that make things weirder? But when she looks over to Oscar, his relaxed figure sprawled across his side of the couch, the knot in her chest loosens a little. She allows herself to get more comfortable, curling up on her seat. Finally breathing a little bit easier, she allows herself to lean back against the cushioning.

The show flickers on, and they immediately fall into a comfortable rhythm. Y/N reaches for the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared, gathering a handful of pieces to then to slip into her mouth.

They watch as the chefs try to organize their chaos into something presentable, laughing as they watch one of the younger contestants put an unseasoned chicken into the oven.

What happened to salt? Pepper? Common sense?

In the darkness of the room, their faces are lit up only by the glow of the changing scenes flickering across the TV screen. With a subtly yawn, Oscar stretches his arms, before one coincidently drapes itself across the back of the couch, right behind Y/N’s shoulders. He can feel how her hair tickles the skin of his forearm, but it only makes him smile. He’d missed this - time together, the two of them. Life had a funny way of making people feel so close and so far all at once.

When she can’t help but giggle at someone who’d forgotten to put the lid on their blending before powering it on, Oscar can’t help but look at her.

Even at this awkward distance, even with her too far to touch - he feels lucky. He’d be happy to stay like this - to only hear her laugh instead of causing it, to watch her smile from the sidelines - just to get to be in her orbit at all.

He wonders if the world might stop spinning on its axis if that wasn’t the case.

His certainly would.

“Okay, chef,” Oscar said, nudging her. “What’s your go-to dish?”

Turning to glance at him, she can’t help but smile. Oscar’s smile is contagious like that, she supposes.

She hums, thinking over his question for a moment.

“Honestly? I make a pretty decent chicken alfredo. You’d be impressed,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Pasta, huh? Fancy,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her. His heart does a strange fluttery thing when she laughs. “The only thing I can make reliably is scrambled eggs,” he admits, chuckling.

“Hey, scrambled eggs are a classic! Hell, all the eggs I make end up scrambled. But you should branch out,” Y/N says with mock seriousness, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you cooking lessons sometime.”

“Deal,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. Raising his hands defensively, he adds, “But no promises on the outcome.”

As they watch the chefs struggle with absurd challenges, the initial awkwardness begins to fade. They exchange jokes about the contestants, their laughter echoing off the walls. They laugh until their stomachs hurt, adding in their own commentary until there are tears in their eyes and their cheeks hurt from laughing. “I actually hate you,” she wheezes, throwing her couch cushion at him. “My nonexistent abs hurt, you asshole. Can’t you be a little more considerate?”

He catches her projectile weapon with an exaggerated ‘oof’, defending himself. “I was just providing valuable insights, really.”

The silence that settles thereafter as they try to catch their breaths is comfortable in the way that graceful snowfall is - familiar and calming, peaceful.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked?” he asks, turning to her.

Y/N has to hold back a giggle, recalling a memory. She can’t remember how long its been since she was able to let loose like this. “I once tried to make soufflé. I think by the time I was done with it, it fell under the legal definition of what the pros call, ‘hazardous materials.’”

Oscar bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s a tragedy! You should’ve brought it here as a surprise.”

“I’m sure. Next time, I’ll bring my ‘signature’ dish,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

Tilting her head back, she lets her eyes slip closed for a second just basking in whatever this is. It’s difficult to think of the right word for it, but quite frankly, she doesn’t care. She just wants to bottle it up and keep it with her forever. Just as they start to find that comfortable groove, a sharp knock interrupts them. Immediately, they both lift their head to turn to look in the direction of the offending sound.

“You expecting someone?” Y/N asks, her heart sinking slightly. She tries to push the feeling away. “Who is it?”

“Probably someone who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘do not disturb,’” Oscar grumbles, shaking his head as he gets up to walk over to the door.

He stands up and walks toward the door, leaving Y/N to focus on the flickering screen. But her mind drifted back to the lingering tension between them, their easy banter feeling suddenly fragile.

She nervously fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Making sure she looks professional enough - and not like they were sitting a mere centimeter apart - she turns toward the door. Finally, he slides the pin aside, unlocking the door as he pulls it back.

“Who is it?” she asks him quietly.

There’s a pause for a moment, before Lando’s familiar voice calls through. “It’s me,” he replies, and Oscar seems visibly annoyed. Lando peers over Oscar’s shoulder, noting Y/N perched on one of the couches in the room.

Good, both of them were here. That’d make this a bit easier.

“You need to see this,” Lando tells them, careful to keep his tone even. Oscar nods, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow Lando in.

“Yeah, of course. Come on in,” she replies at the same time, making sure she looks presentable. Hopefully whatever Lando has to say will save her from whatever awkwardness was probably about to ensue.

Lando pushes into the room and instantly notices that the vibe is… something. It’s *very* obvious that he’s interrupted something, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Interesting. He files the information away for later.

Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a news article pulled up on the screen.

“What is it?” Oscar asks, his gaze flickering between Lando and the screen.

Lando points to the small picture in the article, and Oscar’s jaw clenches, the muscle on the side of his face visibly pulled tight. Lando observes his teammate’s reaction, before he looks over to meet Y/N’s eyes.

“You might want to read this,” he says gently, his voice low. “You’re mentioned in it.”

That doesn’t sound right.

“I- What?”

Lando briefly wonders what the likelihood is that the ground will physically swallow him whole. Or that he might turn invisible. Or anything that means he doesn’t have to explain this.

“I don’t-“ He cuts off, struggling to put his words together, sighing. “I don’t know how they got their information, but some of these details…”

Seeing Lando - normally smiley Lando - looking so painfully neutral despite the anxiety that flashes in his eyes, feels deeply unsettling. Like dark clouds at a wedding or an empty chair at a birthday party, seeing Lando like this feels ominous, wrong.

He hands her the phone, watching her as she takes it and begins to scan the text. Words and letters blend into a blur, her eyes reading through the article - speculation after speculation on her current health status and how she got hurt. It reads less like news and more like pure gossip tabloid rumors.

There’s an odd sinking in her chest, some muscle winding itself tighter and tighter.

She can’t stop reading it, standing eerily still. Hidden amongst this clear violation of the privacy she’s held sacred for so long are some very specific facts that only Oscar and a select few other people should be able to know and recognize.

“This is-“ she starts quietly, her breath hitching in her chest.

It’s quiet. “This is bad.”

Her eyes continue to scan the article, and her mouth goes dry. Even when she knows it’s all mostly bullshit, there’s still a part of her that feels a little violated, like there’s suddenly not enough oxygen in the room. This is her life - her past and her trauma put on display. The most traumatic years of her life suddenly available for the whole world to read about.

She reads it yet another time, uselessly hoping for something to change, for the words to transform or dissipate like the final wisps of a nightmare.

“One has to ask—can you really call it a "dream job" when it lands you in the ER? Y/N L/N is clearly in need of a reality check. Whispers from insiders paint the picture of a young woman entangled in a life of chaos, fueled by impulsive decisions and reckless relationships. Is she simply a victim of her surroundings, or is there a more troubling narrative at play? Recently, Y/N was hospitalized with troubling injuries: extensive bruising and a suspected concussion, allegedly the result of a wild night that spiraled out of control. Sources suggest her aggressive tendencies may have exacerbated the situation, raising alarms about her behavior and its implications for McLaren. As Y/N navigates her tumultuous life, her influence over rising star Oscar Piastri comes into question. McLaren must now confront the uncomfortable truth: her erratic behavior could endanger Piastri’s career and the team’s reputation. The last thing they need is a scandal, especially when they’re striving for excellence on and off the track. The team's efforts to sweep this under the rug hint at deeper issues within their camp. Insiders are growing increasingly concerned that Y/N’s instability could tarnish McLaren’s hard-earned image, especially as rumors circulate. As Y/N begins her recovery, the pressure mounts on McLaren to manage the fallout. Fans and sponsors alike are watching closely, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Ultimately, the future for Y/N is uncertain. Will she take this opportunity to change her trajectory, or will she continue to spiral, jeopardizing not only her own future but also the stability of McLaren? The racing world waits with bated breath, knowing that every decision could have lasting consequences.”

Lando’s expression is sympathetic as he watches her pale. Something guilty settles in his gut - he knows he didn’t cause this, but he doesn’t know how to protect her from it either. Lando has always held loyalty so close to his chest - growing up famous at such a young age forces you to learn that lesson quickly.

It's easy, then, to understand why Lando is the way he is. He's known for his friendly personality - his charismatic charm and his easy laugh - but there are a select few which Lando considers his closest friends. Those are people he answers even in the middle of the night, the ones he’d fly across the world to be there for.

But Y/N is standing in front of him like the very ground has been pulled from beneath her feet and he can’t do a fucking thing.

“Um, it’s- it’s okay,” she stammers, voice shaky. She tucks her hair behind her ears again, but they were never loose in the first place. A fragile mask of calm slips over her face, a familiar trick she’s performed thousands of times before

“I can take care of this. I- I’ll take care of this.”

Her heart feels like it’s stuttering in her chest but she knows better than to show it. Taking a short breath, she whirls around to make a beeline for her office. She’ll need to make a few calls, send emails to various liaisons and communication personnel, maybe reach out to HR and PR too-

“Hey, hey, stop.” Oscar reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around his bicep, spinning her around gently to face him. His eyes are worried as he searches hers for something true. He’s seen her upset before, but now her face is pale in a way he’s never seen before.

“Oh, right,” she chuckles awkwardly, suddenly remembering. “Lando, your phone.”

She holds the phone with the article displayed on it for Lando to grab, but she eyes the device like it’s very presence is toxic. She chuckles, but the sound is high pitched and forced. “Sorry, almost forgot!”

Lando slowly takes his phone from her, his eyes flickering between his friends for a moment.

“No worries, s’fine,” he says carefully, his eyes not leaving her face. “Are you actually okay?” That’s a stupid question, you idiot.

“Me?” she asks, as if caught off guard. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine,” she answers, waving him off.

Oscars expression is stern, unconvinced - and he doesn’t bother to hide it.

“You seem a little, uh, upset,” he says delicately, his gaze flitting to her shaking hands. He immediately looks away, not wanting to draw any attention to it. He doesn’t want her to feel exposed.

“No it’s-” horrible, she wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, “It’s okay. I’m just trying to figure out what I need to do, that’s all.”

He hesitates, his brows furrowing at her attempts to downplay what’s happening.

“And your first thought is to go work?” he points out, a small hint of accusation in his tone.

It’s like she doesn’t even hear him.

“I’m going to fix this,” she tells him, giving both of them her most convincing smile, even as the corners of her mouth threaten to twitch downward.

Breathe.

And with that, she sees herself out of the room, already planning each action she needs to set into motion. She’s going to fix this.

a/n: thank you for reading this far! feedback means a lot to me. your likes, comments, reblogs, asks - that's the only way i can tell if you like the story so pls pls pls! all the feedback!!!

#formula 1 fic #saffu's works #formula 1 #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x assistant!reader #tw: abuse #tw: injuries

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morgana-larkin · 3 months ago

Text

Alright, here's the next chapter of Just Tired! It's mostly in Melissa's POV. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37

Just Tired - Part 29

Warnings: Manipulative relationship (Sorta mentioned), Angry Mel

Words: 3.5k

“Can’t you drive any faster?” Melissa asks Gerald as Melissa would be too distracted to drive herself so she woke up Barb and Gerald.

“Not without breaking any laws.” Gerald tells her.

“Melissa, I know Y/n means a lot to you but you need to calm down just a bit.” Barb tells her.

“How can I stay calm when she was just in a car accident?” Melissa says, visibly terrified. She then starts playing with the fidget bracelet you gave her and she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, trying to relax.

5 minutes later Gerald pulls up to the front and Melissa bolts out, Barb follows after her as Gerald goes to park somewhere. She walks up to the front desk person.

“Hi, where would I find Y/n Y/l/n?” She asks them as she taps the counter nervously. The front desk person typed a few things before looking up and gave the information to Melissa. Melissa quickly went in the direction the woman told her with Barb right behind her. Melissa finally got to your room and was about to go in when she was stopped.

“Excuse me, but unless you’re family then you’re not allowed in.” A doctor told her.

“I’m Melissa, her emergency contact.” Melissa told him.

“Melissa?” She hears as a woman walks toward her. “I’m Doctor Emily Brown, we talked on the phone.” Emily tells Melissa.

“Can I see her?” Melissa asks.

“Of course, I’m afraid your friend here will have to wait out here.” She says as she looks at Barb.

“That’s alright, I understand, I’ll just sit in the waiting room.” Barb tells her.

Melissa is led inside your room and sees a bunch of wires strapped to you and something in your mouth to help you breathe and a tear falls down Melissa’s cheek. Melissa walks up to you and tucks some hair behind your ear before holding your hand.

“She would hate to have hair on her face.” Melissa says with a dry chuckle and Emily nods.

“The police officers says that the man who hit her, his brakes stopped working. It was a terrible accident, but luckily both of them are alive. The man saw her coming and honked his horn and she was able to turn enough so he didn’t hit her dead on.” Emily explains. More tears stream down Melissa’s face as she looks at the scratches on you.

“Is she going to be ok?” Melissa finally asks.

“We don’t know for certain but she isn’t in a coma, but she isn’t waking up. The first 48 hours after an accident like this are critical.” Emily explains to her and Melissa nods. “Are you two close?” She then asks and Melissa nods.

“We love each other.” Is all Melissa says and places a gentle kiss on your hand.

“I will make sure that you're the first we call if anything changes and you’re welcome to come and visit her at any time you want.” Emily says.

“Thank you.” Melissa tells her and Emily nods before she leaves the room. “Y/n, I’m so sorry this happened to you. But I need you to heal and get better for me.” Melissa tells your sleeping body. “I don’t want to live my life without you in it, hon.”

10 minutes later Melissa emerges from your room and goes to sit next to Barb.

“How is she?” Barb asks her.

“She’s healing.” Melissa says with sadness.

“She’s alive.” Barb tells her.

“For now, but they’re not sure if she’ll make it or not.” Melissa tells her.

“I have faith she’ll make it.” Barb tells her gently. “Let’s go home and get some rest. Call Ava tomorrow morning and tell her what happened.” Barb says and gently gets her to stand up and walk out of the hospital.

At Barb’s house Melissa is sitting on her bed, looking at a picture of you and her that she had framed last week. It was the picture of your first date with her and you both have your tongues out. That night Melissa fell asleep with the picture frame held close to her chest.

Barb woke her up as her alarm was going off and Melissa wasn’t turning it off. Melissa opens her eyes to see Barb above her with her phone.

“You weren’t turning it off, you should probably call Ava and tell her that you and Y/n won’t be there today.” Barb says as she gives her her phone.

“What? I’m going today.” Melissa says.

“You won’t be able to concentrate today. The best thing for you is to stay here or go visit Y/n at the hospital. You can go to work tomorrow but let all this sink in first.” Barb says. “Gerald is home staying home today, maybe he can take you to the hospital to visit Y/n.” Barb adds gently but Melissa gets up angrily and goes to get an outfit.

“Go to the hospital to what? Stare at her sleeping body and hope she doesn’t die?” Melissa shouts. “No fucking way I’m doing that! I’m going to work and then I’ll visit Y/n after.” She says as she makes her way to the bathroom and slams the door shut.

“Oh this is going to be a long day.” Barb says to herself.

Melissa ended up calling Ava after she got dressed to let her know what happened to you. On the way to work, Barb kept glancing at Melissa on the drive. Melissa kept noticing her glances but chose to ignore all of them. Melissa and Barb enter the breakroom and sees Jacob and Janine talking and she takes a deep breath before she walks up to them.

“Hey, wanted to let you kids know that Y/n was in a car accident last night. She’s alive but not awake. They’re only accepting me and family to visit her right now but I can keep you both informed of her progress.” Melissa tells them and sees both their mouths are open in shock.

“What? What happened to her?” Janine asks and Melissa has a short fume today.

“What do you fucking think? Are you dense? Another car hit her!” Melissa yells and Barb grabs her shoulders and brings her to the couch to watch the news and calm down.

“Calm down Melissa, they didn’t do anything.” Barb tells her gently.

“Yes, they have, they’re annoying.” Melissa says sternly before she crosses her arms and leans back on the couch.

“Just don’t lash out on your students.” Barb says and Melissa whips her head at her.

“You think I’d lash out at my students?” Melissa asks loudly and stands up. “I would never do that!” Melissa snaps before storming out of there.

“Lord give me strength.” Barb says while looking up.

Melissa does end up not lashing out at any of her students, she saves it all for Janine, Jacob and Barb. She even yelled at Ava when she came into the breakroom at lunch for coffee, Melissa said she “deserved it for being stupid”.

Barb drives Melissa to the hospital after school and Melissa walks in your room and sees you’re just the same as yesterday. The nurses told her that nothing happened all night and day to which she was relieved to hear. Melissa sets her purse on the table at the end of your bed before she sits in the chair and lets out a big breath.

“Hey Y/n, since you weren’t there at school today I’ll tell you everything that happened.” Melissa tells you and goes into an explanation of what she did today, how your students are, and how she yelled at everyone. “And at lunch I yelled at Ava for taking all the sugar, but it seems like she has more sugar than caffeine in that cup, so I yelled at her and told Barb she’s stupid so she deserves it. You might have laughed if you were there. But when you wake up and return to work then you’ll be able to see all my antics again, maybe cause a few with me, or even tell me when I’ve crossed a line. But to do any of those then you need to get better.” Melissa says as she grabs your right hand. “Your left hand is in a cast as the other driver hit you on the left side, and your left leg is also in a cast. When you wake up then I’ll take care of you until you can take care of yourself, if you wake up. No, when you wake up. You’ll wake up as there’s so much you need to do, a whole life ahead of you. There’s still so many girls you haven’t kissed, so many things we have to do together, many students to teach, many things we can do to annoy Barb. This weekend I was thinking of bringing you to the museum of art, you’ll love it. You need to wake up so we can go there and look at all the artwork that they have. And in 3 weeks I move back into my house and I need your help with the decorating, making it my own. And when I move back in I’m gonna invite you over and make whatever you want and actually sit at the dinner table to eat. I honestly don’t know how you sit on the couch and eat and yet don’t cover it in plastic, maybe I can do it with my own couch, cover it in plastic.” Melissa says and looks at you. “I’m gonna come to visit you everyday, don’t worry.” She tells you before she presses a kiss on your hand.

Melissa gets home and goes straight to cooking something to take her mind off things. She ends up making 2 different meals for the week and 3 different desserts to eat. She cooks until it’s time for bed as she tries keeping herself distracted. Barb ends up coming in to keep her company as she cooks.

“My meatballs and chicken parm are something that Y/n really loves. I’m making it for her for when she wakes up.” Melissa tells Barb.

“Has anyone told her roommate what’s going on?” Barb suddenly asks and Melissa freezes. Melissa immediately calls Hallie to tell her what’s going on before she goes back to cooking.

At night, Melissa looks at the picture you took yesterday at school at lunch of you both in your costumes. The hospital gave her your things and your phone was one of them, and you trusted her enough to tell her your phone passcode. You took the picture after you playfully put the handcuffs on her for “being too sexy in her costume”. Melissa wipes the tear that falls down her cheek before she lays down and decides to look at some other pictures you’ve taken. To Melissa’s surprise, half of them are of her, ones she didn’t even know you took of her. She’s just doing normal things, like cooking, talking with Barb, reading something on her phone with her glasses on, her ordering her hoagie on Sunday.

“You’re such a little sneakster.” Melissa says with a smile before she puts your phone down and goes to sleep.

True to her word, Melissa visits you everyday and tells you about her day and things she thought of that she wants to do with you. She ended up giving Janine and Jacob a few servings of the meals she made before it goes bad. She gave Jacob, Janine and Hallie updates when there was any, like your arm and leg are healing. On Saturday she ended up buying a flower vase and a bouquet of your favourite flowers. She brought it to your room and put the vase on the table beside your bed after putting water in it. She put the flowers in all neatly and put the fidget bracelet that you now wear on the table as well, for when you wake up.

After the first week, she starts bringing a book to read to you, usually the book that she read to her students that day, and she uses the same funny voices that she uses with her students as well. When the flowers die, she buys you more of the same to replace the dead ones. When she leaves, instead of a kiss on the hand goodbye, she now gives you a kiss on the cheek.

On Sunday of the second week, she finishes reading Peter Rabbit, as you have to know the story before doing the project in a few months. She packs the book in her purse and grabs your hand.

“I have to go now but I’ll be back tomorrow after school to read you something else, I promise.” She tells you and she goes to give you a kiss on the cheek but changes her mind and gives you a kiss on the lips instead. “Good night, Y/n.” She tells you and she goes to place your hand back down but then she feels a small movement. She freezes and looks at you and waits a few seconds but nothing happens. She thinks it’s just her imagination and goes to let go of your hand but then you tap her hand gently with your finger and she looks at your hand and sees you do the movement again. “Y/n?” She asks and you groan before you slowly open your eyes. “Y/n!” Melissa exclaims happily as she sees you awake.

“Me-melissa?” You say, throat dry.

“Ya, I’m right here, hon. Here have some water.” She tells you as she brings a small cup of water to your mouth and you take a few sips.

“Thank you.” You say after you’ve had enough. “Where am I? What happened?” You ask her.

“You’re in the hospital, you were in a car accident on the way home from the bar.” Melissa explains to you. “I should go get the doctor so she can look you over.” Melissa tells her and she goes to get Doctor Brown. “She’s awake.” Melissa tells her and Emily follows her in there with a nurse.

They check you over and ask you a few questions to make sure you don’t have any memory issues and tell you about your injuries.

“Melissa said that she’d be willing to look over you after you get out, are you comfortable with that?” Emily asks you and you nod.

“Of course, she’s my best friend.” You tell the doctor and Melissa smiles at you referring her as your best friend.

“Alright, well we’ll keep you here for a few days just to make sure and if there’s no complications then you should be good to go home by Friday or Saturday.” Emily tells you and you nod.

“Thank you.” You tell them. “Can I actually get something to eat? I’m starving.” You ask her and she nods.

“I’ll see that you have some food delivered to you straight away.” She tells you. “Was there anything else you need or any questions?” She asks and you shake your head. Her and the nurse then leave and you're left alone with Melissa who was holding your hand the entire time.

“What are you smiling at?” You ask her and she sits down in the chair while still holding your hand.

“I didn’t know I was your best friend.” Melissa says and you chuckle.

“Well what else would you be?” You ask her and she shrugs.

“I’m also happy to see you awake and hearing your voice again.” She tells you.

“Is it true that I’ve been asleep for 2 weeks?” You ask her and she nods.

“It’s November 13 today.” She tells you and you widen your eyes. “But you’re awake now which is all that matters.” She adds and you nod your head while still processing it. “Also it was interesting that you woke up after I gave you a kiss on the lips. If I knew you were sleeping beauty then I would have given you one 2 weeks ago.” She jokes and you laugh.

“Did you really?” You ask her and she nods.

“I’ve been giving you kisses on your hand or your cheek, but today I was going to leave and decided to kiss your lips.” She admits and you hum. You then look over and see your phone, fidget bracelet and your favourite flowers beside you on the table.

“How many times have you visited me?” You ask her.

“I came here everyday after school and was here for the whole afternoon on the weekends.” She admits and then there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” You say. A man enters the door and is carrying a tray with food on it.

“Hi, did you request food?” He asks you and you nod.

“Yes, I’m starving.” You tell him with a smile. Melissa makes room on the table beside you and the man puts the tray there. “Thank you.” You tell him happily and he smiles at you before he leaves. “Looks like some soup.” You say as you look.

“Well that’s probably the best as you haven’t eaten in 2 weeks. Easy on your stomach.” She says and you nod. Melissa holds the bowl for you as you’re left arm is broken and you take a bite.

“It’s not bad, you’d make it better though.” You say as you take another bite and she laughs.

“Probably.” She tells you with a smile.

“Do you have to go?” You ask her before you take another bite and she shakes her head.

“I was gonna go have dinner but I can get something on the first floor. I don’t want to leave now that you’re awake.” She says and you smile. Melissa does end up getting a burger and fries on the first floor and eats it in your room. You steal a fry and she does a gasp but lets you steal a few of them.

“Are you just gonna steal all of my fries?” She asks after you steal your fifth one.

“Maybe. I was asleep for 2 weeks, I need food.” You tell her and she rolls her eyes.

“I hope you don’t end up using that as an excuse every time you steal food from me.” She tells you and you smile as you steal another fry. “I should have gotten some for you.” She says and you giggle.

“They taste much better when I steal them from you though.” You say and she sticks her tongue out at you and you laugh. You end up stealing half her fries and she just lets you as it makes you happy and the fact that you’re eating is a good thing.

“If you go home on Saturday then I’d be back in my house and you can stay there if you want.” She offers and you nod. “I read the agreement last week that we both had to sign, I get the house and all its furniture. The only thing he can take is his clothes and toiletries.” She tells you and you smile.

“So you were here everyday?” You ask her and she nods. “And you brought flowers?” You ask.

“Yep, your favourite ones.” She says. “For when you wake up.” She adds.

“You’re very sweet, and I can’t believe you visited everyday.” You tell her.

“Well why wouldn’t I?” She asks and you shrug.

“Well you do have a life and I’m sure you’ve gotten asked out on dates.” You tell her.

“I did, I just declined all of them. Besides, since you’ve been in my life, we pretty much see each other everyday, and not just because our classrooms are across the hall from each other.” She says and you hum.

“Good point.” You tell her and she takes a sip from the can of coke she got with the meal. “Can I have a sip?” You ask her and she passes it to you.

“I mean you stole half my fries so why not my drink.” She jokes and you smile as you take a sip.

“And my body thanks you for the fries and coke.” You say and she chuckles.

“You’re such a goof, I missed you.” She tells you and you grab her hand.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You tell her and she leans forward and kisses you. She pulls back after a second with wide eyes.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have I just-” She starts to apologise but you grab her shirt and pull her back in to kiss her again. “I missed you so much.” She says before she kisses you again.

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