Doctor Lady | Max Verstappen

1,1,3 😛😛😛 i feel like i gotta

Max’s Shift in Career

summary: you ask the million dollar question to have a baby

pairing: f! reader x Max Verstappen

prompt: asking for a baby x Max Verstappen x fic

warning: mentions of pregnancy, if that is not a topic you’re interested in, please skip

a/n: part of 600 followers celebration!!! thank you anon for this!!! you’re doing a service for asking for this hehe

600 followers celebration

You were visiting Max’s sister, Victoria and her family, during summer vacation. Spending a few weeks away on the beach with family was your perfect idea of a break. Mornings were slow and the days were long, but in the right way. While you and Victoria enjoyed sunbathing, Max and Joris spent time playing with the kids in the water. While it warms your heart seeing Max interact with his niece and nephews, you’d be remiss to not say there was a part of you that yearned for more.

Over the course of the couple years you and Max have been dating, the talk of children and the future definitely was a topic of conversation more than once. Given Max’s career and the constant travel, there was a mutual understanding that having kids was something to be put on the back burner for the time being. And, you understood why. But, the want has always been something that’s flashed through your mind more than once– especially when you see him around his sister’s kids.

“What’s on your mind?” Victoria says, pulling you out of your deep thoughts.

“Well, what isn’t at this point?” You reply with a small chuckle. Victoria smiles at you knowingly. Ever since you started dating Max you had become instant best friends with Victoria. She’s become the sister you never had.

“How did you and Joris know it was the right time?” You ask after a moment of silence. Victoria tilts her head inquisitively. She follows your line of sight which is on Max who is holding one of his nephews splashing around in the water. She nods in quiet understanding, knowing what you’re implying.

“Well,” she begins, turning to face you more, “there really isn’t a “right” time, honestly. There’s always going to be something coming up in life but you just go with the flow, I guess.”

You turn to look at her, your brow furrowed in thought.

“To be frank, even after our third, there was still that apprehension but once the baby’s here, everything falls into place.” Victoria continues, now shifting her gaze to her husband and kids.

As the words sink in, your yearning for a family grows. Having a family of your own has been a dream of yours forever and the more time you spend with Max, the more the desire grows. And it’s not out of your own selfishness per se, rather it’s out of the love you have for Max. You know he’d be a great father, especially with the amount of love he has for you, you can only imagine that would double, even triple towards a baby.

“Talk to him, you might be on the same page even more than you thought.” Victoria urges you. If there’s one person who knows Max more than you, it’s his own sister. And, she would never steer either of you wrong.

Later that night, after dinner and after everyone has turned in for the night, the conversation you had with Victoria earlier is still swimming in your mind.

Max notices your pensive expression as you stand at the bathroom sink washing your face. He walks up behind you and lays a kiss to the crown of your head as his arms come to wrap around your waist. For a moment, the two of you stand there in a domestic bliss. It’s now or never, you think.

“Can we have a baby?” You blurt out as you finish patting your face dry with a towel. Your eyes meet Max’s in the mirror as he raises his eyebrows in surprise by your straightforwardness. His mouth opens, almost as if to say something but you turn around to face him, your back now up against the sink counter.

“I know we’ve talked about it before and that with racing and everything it wouldn’t be the easiest to do so but I feel ready and I love you and I want this with you no matter how crazy or hectic it may be but I also understand if you’re not ready-” You ramble before Max butts in.

“Is that why you’ve been quiet lately?” He asks, you can only manage to nod in response.

You both stand there in silence for a few moments, allowing the words to sink in giving Max time to respond. After a beat, Max draws in a sharp breath.

“Of course I’m ready, I always have been. The only thing I’ve been hesitant on is leaving you at home while I’m halfway across the world.” He finally says, studying your face.

“Max,” you say, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek, “I would be okay. I have your sister, your mom and my friends that will be there while you're gone. I don’t want to wait for a “perfect” time, because that’s taboo. I want you and I want a family with you.”

After a moment, Max cracks a smile.

“Well, I guess we better start cracking then.”

“Really?” You say full of surprise.

“Of course, honey. You’re the most important person to me and, I know we’ve always beat around the bush with this but it’s only because I didn’t want you to feel alone in it. So as long as you're comfortable and ready, I’m ready too.” Max says pulling you into an embrace.

“But if anything happens while I’m away, call me and I will stop the car mid race to be next to you.” He says faking seriousness.

“Oh no, you’re finishing your races. Our baby will not have a quitter as a father.” You respond teasingly.

Although you say perfect timing was taboo, the universe was on your side for this because you went into labor shortly after the race in Monaco the next season. And Max, finished the race and was by your side through it all.

F1 Masterlist | Indycar Masterlist

taglist: @bernelflo @ifyouaintfirstyourelastt @f1updates4you @r0nnsblog @meglovesmclaren

WELCOME BACKKK I MISSED YOUR FICS!!!

can i please request a angsty mafia max fic where they are arranged in marriage and get married and he’s distant not cold or rude but he’s just busy and due to a attack he has to leave the reader (his wife) alone with his family esp Jos and the man makes it his personal mission to destroy her and he constantly belittles the reader and makes her feel bad and causes her to have anxiety attacks and max walks in on one of those instances and losses his mind and then gets all protective and angsty confessions idk I hope you write this

A Good Husband

Keep her safe. Keep her safe.

Warnings: Blood, death, murder, mafia au

Standing in the doorway of her bedroom, Max stared at her.

He hadn't been a good husband in the two weeks they had been married. Cold and distant, the man the rest of the world thought he was. Not the man he knew himself to be.

He stared at her. His wife, his ring on her finger.

If he had been given more time, if he had been allowed to fall in love with her, would things have been different? Would she have been sitting in her own room in his house, book in hand as she ignored him? Or would she have been in his lap, reading through her book as Max gripped her hips?

They were supposed to have a serious talk, but Max couldn't bring himself to step inside of her room. Her room. He wasn't going to invade her space if she didn't want him to.

Fuck, what did she think of him? Did she think him a monster? It wouldn't have surprised him if she did. All of the stories told about him, the years of blood on his hands.

A sigh left his lips as he turned around and walked out of the room. She didn't want to see him, he knew it. Their serious talk could wait.

Max returned to his office. Blood stained the furniture, something he didn't care about until now. Now, he hated it. Now, he wanted the bloodied chair gone. Nobody was allowed on that chair, nobody but the cats. Anybody entering his office had to sit in the uncomfortable chairs in front of his desk, or they had to kneel at his feet.

Work was hard when he was thinking about her. It was his fault, her being here. She was the one he had picked out, not quite realising the consequences.

Gunshots.

But that was nothing, there were always gunshots in his house. His men shooting each other was nothing new. As long as nobody got hurt, Max didn't care.

But then they grew louder, closer to his office. That wasn't right.

Grabbing his own gun from his desk drawer, Max left his office. Voice, unfamiliar, hushed whispers, filled the hall. Max followed his instincts, walked down the hall to her bedroom.

Keep her safe. Keep her safe.

Footsteps on the stairs, but Max was quicker. He managed to get into her bedroom before running into anybody. Snapping her book shut, she stared at him. "What?" She almost barked, her face set in a glare.

If Max was gonna be distant, she was going to be cold.

"We need to go," he said quickly, his voice hushed.

Her stony expression became a frown as Max pulled her up.

Footsteps outside of the room. Too late to run.

"Get under the bed," he hissed.

"Max-"

"Just do it!"

She crawled under the bed, panic ringing in her ears. From under the bed, she could see as the door swung open. Gunshots rang out in quick succession, bodies hit the floor. With every lifeless face that fell in front of her, she released a scream.

Four men, piled on top of each other. They all seemed to be staring at her, hands stretched out towards her.

She crawled out from under the bed, another scream leaving her lips as Max grabbed her. "It's okay," he whispered, discarding his gun. "I've got you. You're okay."

His hands smoothed over her hair as he shushed her, did everything he could to sooth her. "I'm gonna get you somewhere safe," Max whispered as she began crying, body shaking as she sobbed.

Somewhere safe. The Verstappen stronghold was the safest place around. High walls, plenty of men and security systems to protect them. With no other choice, that was where Max took his wife.

It was just a shame his father was there.

The Verstappen stronghold. As soon as Max arrived, Jos put him to work. It was just like when he was a boy, working so hard for the approval of the man he could never please.

It was like he had forgotten all of his independence the moment he entered his fathers house. Bowing his head, doing whatever was asked of him. Abandoning his wife to do whatever his father asked of him.

He didn't know that his father was interacting with his wife, didn't know the horrible things being said to her. Why would he know? He hadn't been a good husband, she had no reason to tell him.

The distance was nothing new for them, even if Max hated it.

No, he had to do something about it.

When he walked into the tiny room that had be given to her, he didn't expect her to be crying. She had been so tough up until that point, so damn resilient through everything. But, now, she was crying.

"Hey," he said gently as he strode over to her. Carefully, he unfound her arms from around her legs and pushed his fingers through her hair, trying to get her to lift her head. "What's the matter?"

She tried to speak, but no words left her lips. Max did the only thing he could think of and pulled her to lay against her chest. He didn't know how cruel his father had been, hadn't quite fathomed that to be a possibility.

"I know its been hard," he whispered, fingers moving down her back. "I don't want our marriage to be like this, this terrible. I want to to a good husband to you."

Another sob shook her body as she turned towards him. Her arms found their was around his neck.

"I chose you," he whispered, his lips finding the top of her head. "I'm going to show you why."

Her hands fisted his white shirt. "Don't let him come near me," she said through her sobs. "Get me away from him, Max, please!"

"Who?" He asked, every movement still soothing.

"Your father."

Max didn't need to hear anything else. If his wife wanted to get away from Jos, Max would get her away.

You all know I love my mafia aus (literally wrote a mafia au novel) - anyway, requests are opeeeen

parents of three l MV1 imagine

a/n: sooo max is officially a dad 😭😭 so I picked up the draft of my dad!Max series with the twins which you can find here! I hope you like it and let me m ow if you have some ideas!

summary: baby verstappen nº3 is here, and the twins are now happy with the idea.

It had been a quiet morning, at least by the new Verstappen household standards.

The Monaco penthouse, usually alive with the squabbling of six-year-old twins and the occasional feline disaster, was unusually peaceful. The cause of this rare tranquility? The arrival of Baby Lia had everyone mesmerized, literally and metaforically having everyone wrapped around her little finger.

Youcradled the newborn in your arms, gently rocking her in the nursery Max had insisted on painting himself. Pale pink walls, soft grey furniture, and a mobile of tiny stars that the twins helped assemble.

“You’re not even crying today,” you murmured, brushing a soft kiss on Lia’s forehead. “It’s like you know I needed a break, what a smart baby, yes you are.”

Footsteps padded down the hallway, fast and energetic. Then came the crash of something toppling over. The twins ready to disrupt the quiet.

“Mila!” Luca’s voice rang out, shrill and dramatic. “You almost dropped her bunny!”

“It’s not my fault Jimmy knocked it down!” Mila huffed back.

You sighed, smiling despite the quiet moment gone. The calm had lasted exactly twelve minutes.

You stepped into the hallway with Lia, just in time to see Jimmy dart out from under the baby’s toy box with a fluff of pink clutched between his teeth.

“Mama!” Mila wailed, dramatic tears already forming. “Jimmy stole Lia’s bunny!”

“Yes, because you dropped it, Mila!” Luca reprimanded his twin.

Before you could intervene, Max’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Jimmy! No stealing from the baby!”

Max appeared, wearing sweatpants, a Red Bull hoodie, and holding two sippy cups. He looked equally amused and tired. parenthood in a nutshell.

“Crisis averted?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“I think Jimmy wants attention,” you replied, bouncing Lia gently. “He’s jealous, he probably thought it was only going to be the twins forever.”

Max chuckled, scooping up the cat and plopping him into Luca’s arms. “That’s what happens when you’ve ruled the house for years. Then babies come and steal your spotlight. Tough life.”

“And what about Sassy?” You asked Max.

Max glanced toward the back of the couch where Sassy lounged with the disinterest of a feline queen, which of course she was. “She’s plotting our demise, probably.”

You snorted, the vibrations of your body earning a smile from Lia.

The twins came running, now united in their mission: cooing at their baby sister.

“Can I hold her again?” Mila asked, reaching for Lia’s tiny hand.

“No, me first!” Luca insisted, already positioning the couch pillows for support just like Max had shown them.

You sighed again, this time with a full heart. You remembered the day you told the twins about the pregnancy, Luca had declared he didn’t want “a baby stealing his toys,” and Mila had spent the afternoon sulking because “babies are boring.” And both of them had tried really hard to stop the baby’s arrival.

Now? They were obsessed.

It was later that weekend in Miami when Max found himself being cornered in the paddock for an interview with Sky Sports Netherlands.

“So Max,” the interview began in Dutch, “congratulations again on the new addition to the family! How are things going at home with three kids now?”

Max grinned, hands in his pockets. “Chaotic. Loud. Exhausting… Perfect.”

The interviewer laughed. “And the twins? How are Mila and Luca adjusting? I remember they weren’t too pumped when we crossed paths a few months ago.”

Max didn’t hesitate. “Honestly? I thought they’d hate it. When we told them (Y/N) was pregnant, Luca wanted to move out.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Mila made us sign a paper saying we’d still play Barbie games with her even after the baby came. They were so in denial that we got a call from their teacher.”

The small group of journalists laughed.

“But now?” Max continued. “They’re obsessed. They follow Lia around like bodyguards. Luca brings her toys she can’t even use, Mila sings to her. They fight about who gets to hold her. I think I’ve held her less than both of them.”

“And the cats?” The interviewer teased. “I hear Jimmy and Sassy have opinions.

“Oh, Jimmy’s a menace. He tries to sleep in the crib,” Max said, his tone fond. “Sassy’s smarter, she gives Lia a five-foot radius. She watches from a distance like she’s evaluating her for royal court or something which is very entertaining.”

There was more laughter.

“Sounds like a full house.”

Max nodded. “It is. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

-

Back home, the house was quieter than usual.

With Max in Miami, you were managing the trio on your own. Your mother had offered to stay, but you politely declined, liking the rhythm and evolving routine; early mornings with Lia after the twins left to school, midday chaos with the twins, and long, quiet evenings watching Max on the TV while feeding the baby.

You curled onto the couch, baby Lia nestled in a wrap on your chest, Mila curled up beside you, and Luca was completely knocked out from building a Lego fortress with a secret baby princess chamber, which he assured was for both Lia and Mila.

Max’s interview played in the background. “Luca wanted to move out,” Max said on the screen, laughing.

You giggled, watching Luca’s face twitch in sleep as if he’d heard his name.

The moment made your heart ache with pride and love.

Two days later, Max came home.

The door opened quietly, he’d learned not to make noise just in case Lia was sleeping, but before he could take a step in, Mila barreled into him.

“Papa!” she squealed.

Max laughed, lifting her with one arm and dropping his bag with the other. Luca followed, hugging Max’s waist.

You appeared at the end of the hall, holding Lia with one hand and balancing a bottle in the other. “Hello babe, the house didn’t burn down.”

He met you halfway, kissing you deeply, letting his hand rest over Lia’s tiny head. “Missed you,” he whispered on your lips.

“She missed you too. She kept staring at the TV every time you talked.”

“She’s a Verstappen, she knows good racing.” Max bragged, a habit he picked since the twins were born was now at its peak after the birth of Lia. “Plus, she was conceived the night I won the fourth so she knows what’s good.” Max whispered the last part so the twins wouldn’t hear.

Later that night, the five of you, cats included, were on the bed.

Mila had brought her blanket, Luca had brought snacks which were promptly confiscated by Max. Jimmy snuggled into Max’s feet while Sassy stared at the baby with mild disapproval.

Lia gurgled softly between you, wearing a pale pink Red Bull onesie Max had been gifted by the team.

“I can’t believe we made her,” you whispered, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I know,” he whispered back, brushing his thumb along Lia’s little hand. “She’s perfect.”

“I was so scared,” you admitted. “I thought adding another baby would ruin the balance and let’s be honest, we never really thought about having another baby, we were just desperate to celebrate your championship.” You giggled, remembering the night.

Max turned to you, cupping your cheek. “You were right to be scared. But we didn’t ruin anything. We just… added more love.”

Luca yawned. “Papa, can Lia come to the next race?”

Max smiled. “Not yet, buddy. But soon.”

Mila curled next to her mother. “She needs earmuffs with her name printed, like the ones we use when we go see daddy race.”

“She’ll have them,” Max promised. “We’ll get her baby-sized ones.”

You smiled, the warmth in your chest spreading like sunlight.

“I know we have enough but… I think we need a new cat.” Max proposed.

You snorted. “Excuse me?”

Max shrugged. “It’s only fair! The twins have Jimmy and Sassy, Lia deserves her own.” Your husband worked his beautiful blue eyes on you.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” You said, knowing this fight was already lost.

“Mila was also talking about a puppy after meeting Leo.”

“Max!”

What started out as a headcanon, ended up becoming, well, this.. Cha Young is overcome with a strong sense of déjà vu as she strolls around the upscale men’s clothing store, waiting as her boyfriend gets fitted for his new Booralro suit.

Honestly now, the man is quite rich, not to mention has a good number of gold bars to his name, and yet he wants her to buy him his new suit. All because of a stupid bet they made during one of their makgeolli nights. Okay, so she may have somewhat grudgingly admitted that even the simplest, most basic pasta made by him, Spaghetti Aglio e Olio in this case, tasted better than the one Chef Toto served at Arno. She had tried to reason her way out — it was probably the wine he paired the pasta with that enhanced the taste. Alas, the soft moan that escaped her, as flavours of garlic, parsley and olive oil exploded in her mouth in the first bite itself, was enough to have Vincenzo smirk in victory like the insufferable git he can be when he wins. And that had been that.

They should have stuck to their old finger flick bets, she muses as she walks past a glass display of cuff links and tie pins. Except finger flicks weren’t just finger flicks anymore. Sometimes, they were soft kisses on the forehead, and sometimes, a little something more. It wasn’t something either of them minded; in fact, these bets often became playful excuses. But one day, in a silly fit of competitiveness, Cha Young had declared they up the stakes. And that’s how she finds herself in this fancy store once again, the same one where she’d bought him his suit and pen after their first court victory together, waiting as Vincenzo tries on yet another suit. In hindsight, she should’ve suggested the loser buy bungeoppang instead. Oh well..

“It’s for the party next week,” he’d insisted, at which Cha Young had merely scoffed. The man would do anything for a new Booralro suit. But it was a party she was looking forward to, a fancy one at the Italian Embassy to which her partner had snagged invites. And she had treated herself to a new dress using the same excuse, so it was a bit hypocritical of her, wasn’t it?

She walks over to the corner that houses a display of silk ties, all meticulously organised by colour, prints and size, where a light blue paisley tie catches her eye, and she asks one of the store attendants to take it out of the display for her. She can’t remember if she’s ever seen him wear a paisley tie before, but the tie is beautiful. It’s soft and the print delicate, but it’s the colour that catches her fancy. It’s a light greyish blue, a colour she knows would go well with either of the three suits he’s shortlisted. But more importantly, and she won’t admit this to him, well not yet at least, the colour is almost the same shade of the dress she bought. She’d always found the idea of couples matching their outfits amusing, however, in that moment she’s willing to concede that there’s something sweet about it after all.

“Byeonhosa-nim, ” Vincenzo calls out to her as he steps out of the fitting room, closely followed by the store attendant who had been assisting him with the fitting. Cha Young tries not to roll her eyes at the employee who trails after her boyfriend with a starstruck look akin to the one adoring fans have upon meeting their favourite idol. “How’s this one,” he asks as he adjusts the cuffs of his suit.

She walks over to him, first running her hands over his shoulders and then smoothing the lapels of his jacket. Stepping back, she gives him a once over, and ignoring the fluttering in her heart, replies as nonchalantly as she can, “I think it should do the trick.” When the store attendant enthusiastically gushes about how good the suit looks on Vincenzo, Cha Young graces him with a glare that is enough to remind him that he needs to go and look after the other non-existent visitors in the store.

Finally without an audience, she holds up the tie with a slight flourish and asks, “what do you think?”

For a moment, she’s worried that perhaps the tie doesn’t match up to his high standards. The man does have impeccable taste, and is quite fussy about his clothing. Her little moment of doubt vanishes when Vincenzo smiles. “Yeppeuda.” It’s pretty.

“Here, let me,” she says as she closes the gap between them and reaches out to do up the top buttons of his shirt (a pity, really, because she loves it when he leaves his collar unbuttoned), smirking at the way Vincenzo gulps when her fingers are at the collar of his shirt. Besotted man that he is, he lowers his head in submission so that she can place the tie around his neck.

“Have you ever done this before?”

“A couple of times..”

When he raises his eyebrows, Cha Young realises what he might have misunderstood it as.

“For Abeoji,” she sheepishly clarifies. What she doesn’t tell him is that she would always loop the tie around her neck first, tie it, loosen it and then hand it over to her father. She had never tied a tie for someone on their person this way.

She adjusts the length of the tie (she thinks she’s got the length right), crosses the wider end over the thinner one, then passes it from the back the other side and then.. Damn it, what do you do next? Cross it over from the other side? Loop it all over again? She tries to remember the next step, forehead scrunched up in concentration, trying to jog her memory. It doesn’t help that Vincenzo’s cologne serves as a distraction. Feeling his gaze on her, she looks up.

“What are you looking at?”

You. “Your tie tying. I’m trying to figure out what knot you’re going to go for. Say, Byeonhosa-nim, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yah! I’m just.. trying to recollect. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

“Ahh.”

“…”

“Pass the wide end through the gap between the tie and the collar, and take it to the right side. That’ll be your left.”

“Mhmm. Like this?” “Yes. Now wrap the wide end across the thinner end, and then pull the wide end through the gap between the tie and collar like before. But don’t pull it too tightly. See that loop on top of the knot? You’ll need to—“

Before he can finish, she’s already sliding the wide end of the tie through the said loop, and pulling it tight.

“Yes, yes, I know. Now hold still, let me just adjust this.”

As she goes about making the final adjustments to the tie, pulling it tighter and fixing it into place, an old memory flashes in Cha Young’s mind — one of her mother tying a tie for her father in a similar manner, and Hong Yu Chan looking down at his wife with an adoring smile, very much like how Vincenzo is looking at her in this moment. She never understood why her mother did that, or why her father let her when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, or why the late lawyer pretty much gave up wearing a tie (unless it was absolutely necessary) after the death of his wife.. but now she gets it.

“There, all done.”

She turns around, so that both her and Vincenzo are facing a full-length gilded mirror, and he can review her handiwork.

“That’s not a bad Half-Windsor, you know.. especially for your first try”

“A what now?”

“The knot. It’s called a Half-Windsor. It’s the one I usually go for. Either that, or a Four-in-hand..”

“Ooh. Are you giving me a crash course in tie knots now?”

“Well, it never hurts to know about different knots, you know. They can come very handy,” he adds suggestively, to which he promptly gets smacked in the shoulder with a “Yah!”

“I do think the length’s a bit off though. It needs to be longer. You’re going to need some practice, Byeonhosa-nim. I guess you’ll just have to do this for me a few more times again,” he tells her, smiling at her reflection in the mirror.

As they stand there in front of the mirror, their reflected gazes locked on each other, both of them all smiles, Cha Young thinks there’s something so intimate about moments like these, and it leaves her feeling warm.

Still looking at her in the mirror, Vincenzo leans down a little, an arm going around her waist, and whispers in her ear, “Interesting choice of colour, by the way,” and ohhh he knows. He knows why she picked this particular tie. Their reflections show his smile getting wider as her eyes widen in surprise.

A second later, Cha Young turns in her place, and gently tugging on his tie, pulls Vincenzo down to her and places a soft kiss where his neck meets his jaw. Satisfied with his flustered expression, she innocently smiles at him.

“I think you look very handsome, Jagiya. Now, I’m going to go pay for this. But you’re buying me lunch, so hurry..” And as she skips towards the billing counter, she leaves a besotted fool in her wake, who stares at her in a manner that can only be described as the human equivalent of the heart eyes emoji. What a pair of lovestruck idiots these two make..

One Flesh - Angst with Kento Nanami 🤍

The evening had started off tense, but Sara had promised herself she wouldn’t let it get to her.

Nanami’s family wasn’t bad, per se—most of them were welcoming, even kind. But his mother… she had made it clear from the moment they met that she didn’t think Sara was “the right kind of woman” for her son.

Sara had braced herself for the usual passive-aggressive comments, but tonight, it was worse.

"You must be very confident," his mother had said at one point, eyes flicking over Sara’s dress. "Wearing something so… fitted."

Sara had just smiled politely, refusing to let it show that the words had stung.

Later, as they sat down to eat, she overheard his mother whisper to one of Nanami’s relatives: "She certainly doesn’t look like the kind of woman Kento would go for. He’s always been so… disciplined."

Another chuckle, another whisper: "Maybe he just settled."

Sara clenched her fists under the table, her heart sinking. Settled?

She wanted to leave. But she knew Nanami would ask why, and she didn’t want to cause a scene. So she just kept smiling, kept pretending.

Until he walked up to her.

Nanami had been caught in conversation with some of his cousins, but the moment he approached Sara again, he knew.

She looked fine on the surface, but her smile was just a little too tight, her hands wringing in her lap. She wasn’t okay.

"Sara," he murmured lowly, so only she could hear. "What happened?"

Sara swallowed, shaking her head. "Nothing, love. I'm fine."

But she wasn't a good liar—not with him.

And then, as if fate had set itself against his mother, he heard it.

"If she lost a little weight, she'd look so much better in that dress," his mother murmured to a woman beside her. "It’s a shame. Kento could have anyone, and yet…"

That was it.

The room went ice cold.

Nanami’s entire expression darkened. His jaw clenched, his fists curled at his sides, and when he turned to face his mother, his voice was eerily calm—but lethal.

"We’re leaving."

Sara blinked. "Nanami—"

He was already grabbing her coat, helping her into it with careful, almost reverent hands before taking her hand in his.

His mother’s eyes widened. "Kento, you don’t have to—"

"I will never come back here if you continue to disrespect my wife."

The room fell silent.

His mother’s mouth opened and closed, the realization hitting her all at once. She had gone too far.

"I didn’t mean—"

Nanami ignored her completely, already leading Sara outside.

The drive home was silent at first.

Sara was staring out the window, quiet. Too quiet.

And then, he saw them.

Silent tears. Rolling down her soft, beautiful cheeks.

His heart broke.

"Sara," he whispered, guilt lacing his tone. He reached over at the red light, cupping her cheek gently. "I'm so sorry. I should have never brought you there."

She sniffled, shaking her head. "It's okay, Kento. Really, it's fine."

But it wasn't. It wasn't fine.

His lips pressed together in a thin line before he leaned in, pressing soft, lingering kisses to each damp trail on her face.

One on her cheek.

Another near her temple.

Then another, just beside her lips.

Sara let out a soft, surprised chuckle at the tender assault, her hands weakly gripping his wrist. "Nanami, stop, you're driving—"

"I don’t care." His forehead rested against hers, his warm breath ghosting over her skin. "You are the most important thing in my life, Sara." His voice dropped even lower, more intense. "I love you. You are all I need. All I want."

Sara closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his words wash over her.

Then, finally, finally, she whispered, "I love you too."

And just like that, the weight of the night melted away.

--------------------

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Nanami sat on the couch, watching as Sara moved around their home with that too-careful air—like she was trying not to be noticed.

It had been hours since they returned from his mother's gathering, and though he had kissed away her tears in the car, he knew.

She was still upset.

"Sara," he called, voice even but firm.

She turned slightly, a forced smile gracing her lips. "Hmm?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Come here."

Sara hesitated. "I'm fine, Kento. Really."

Lies.

His patience thinned.

"Come here, sweetheart." His voice was softer this time, but it was not a request.

He reached for her, meaning to pull her onto his lap—to hold her close, reassure her like he always did—but she stepped back.

Refusing him.

Nanami’s jaw tensed. He did not like that.

He set his glass on the table with deliberate calmness, his golden eyes never leaving her. "Sara."

She exhaled shakily, arms crossing over her chest. "Do you regret it?"

His brow furrowed. "Regret what?"

She swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the floor. "Marrying me."

His breath stilled.

Before he could even form a response, she continued—her voice quieter now, weaker.

"If… if you want to break up with me, it’s okay, Nanami. I’ll leave."

His fingers twitched.

"Sara—"

"I don’t want to embarrass you anymore. Or hold you back." She let out a breathless laugh, but it was hollow. "Maybe your mother is right. You deserve someone better. It’s fine. We can just go our separate ways."

Separate ways.

The words sent an ugly, unfamiliar panic curling in his chest.

But what broke him was her final whisper.

"You’re too good for me… I—I'm sure you’ll find someone as good as you. And I… I can find someone on my level too."

Nanami stood so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

Sara gasped as his strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his chest, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.

His voice was sharp, filled with something dangerously close to desperation.

"Do not say that again."

She swallowed. "Nanami—"

He pulled back, his hands framing her face, forcing her to look at him. His expression was furious. But underneath it, there was something raw in his gaze.

"There is no one else. No ‘better’ person for me." His fingers tightened slightly. "You are it, Sara. You are all I want. And I will never—never let you go."

Sara’s lip trembled. "But your mother—"

"Is not in this marriage." His forehead pressed to hers, his breath fanning over her skin. "I chose you. I will always choose you. And I will spend every damn day proving it to you if I have to."

Her eyes burned with fresh tears.

His lips brushed over hers, soft but urgent.

"Stay with me, Sara."

She let out a broken little laugh. "Do I have a choice?." She said while hiding her face in his neck

His grip on her waist tightened. "You don't. You are stuck with me."

And when he kissed her again, it was with all the love, all the devotion, all the certainty in the world.

Note: This song reminds me of him 🤍

Don't ever hesitate. Reblog this. TUMBLR RULE. When you see it, REBLOG IT.

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Eunoia // Ch. 19

eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness

Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader

Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognision, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness ins’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut

Word Count: 7.5k+

Warnings: past abuse, past sexual abuse, cursing

Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 chapter 18

The taglist is now closed

One thing you hadn’t considered before going undercover for the police was the sneaking around to reach your hotel room. A tiger hybrid that hadn’t been there for the rest of your stay was returning with you and John’s jacket was the only garment that was covering anything. You had to take the back door to avoid being seen by any too curious eyes and bribe someone from the hotel staff to let you use the staff’s elevator. As an excuse, you told him you were afraid someone was following you, paparazzi or some stalker. John and Taehyung stayed hidden until the staff member left after asking you at least three times if you wanted him to accompany you to your room.

You were lucky the corridors of the top floor were empty and the three of you made it to your room undetected. The reason you were staying at that specific hotel was that it was advertised as valuing their guests’ privacy and you had been trying to avoid the press. Now, you were thankful for that choice because there were no cameras in the hallways. If videos of you returning to the hotel with a mostly naked hybrid got out, your career would be over.

The door to your hotel room closed behind you and your shoulders sagged. The silk dress stifled you, pushing your chest more and more until there was nothing left but the impression of all the air you couldn’t take.

You collapsed on the couch and undid the straps on your high heels. When your feet were bare you felt lighter. The first piece of your costume was off.

“I have to go change,” John said. “I feel like the suit is going to eat me up.”

You rolled your neck, hearing tiny cracks. “Believe me, I get it.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, I need to change into something more comfortable,” John said, opening the door. “You should do the same. It’ll be a long night.”

Yujin was supposed to call you to update you after the raid. You would have to go back to the police station and officially recount all the events that took place at the auction and point out the ones who organized it. They would need your testimony to strengthen the case and guarantee Hyungjoon wouldn’t escape a prison sentence.

It was two hours past midnight and your flight was leaving Seoul at eight in the morning.

You cleared your head of police protocol and eleven-hour-long flights. Taehyung had stopped by the coffee table in front of the couch, John’s jacket draped over his shoulders. His expression was carefully blank, a statue sculpted to be still and perfect for the viewer’s enjoyment. Some statues displayed more life than he did.

“It’s late,” you said. “You should go to the bedroom and get some rest. Would you like that?”

He nodded and headed to your room without question. He deserved to sleep in a comfortable bed. He deserved everything the world had to offer after being through that monstrous night. And you didn’t know anything else about how it had been before or how many years he had been treated like a slave. Trained.

You took off the gold necklace and your earrings. You couldn’t look at your dress without getting the urge to rip it to pieces, listen to the green silk being torn apart. It was a reminder of a night you already wanted to forget, of a role you never wanted to play again. It was scary. Because you saw people you knew in the faces of those enjoying the show of hybrids being auctioned off. You saw your parents parading around wearing the most famous of designers in large ballrooms. You saw a version of yourself that didn’t exist but could have. And could haves were dangerous.

John returned. He had gotten rid of the suit and he was sporting gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt tight around his biceps.

“Are you going to stay in that?” he asked, looking pointedly at your dress.

“God, no,” you said. “I can’t wait to throw it in the trash.”

John sat down in an armchair facing you. “Are you going to throw a dress worth twenty thousand dollars in the trash?”

“I want to,” you said stubbornly. You weren’t going to throw it in the trash, as tempting as it was. You would donate it somewhere and they could sell it. You would be satisfied if you never saw it again. “You don’t have to be here, you know. You can go to your room and sleep. I will wake you up when Yujin calls.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Taehyung isn’t going to hurt me. Did you see how thin he is?” you asked. “Besides, I don’t think he would try.”

“He wouldn’t,” John said. Both of you were aware that he was probably too scared to do anything but obey you. “But it isn’t Taehyung that I’m worried about. Speaking of Taehyung, where is he?”

You laid back against the arm of the couch and rubbed the sore muscles of your feet. “I sent him to sleep in my room, he must be exhausted. And terrified. I don’t know what else to do.”

“You should sleep too. It will be a few hours until Yujin calls. Breaking up the auction and arresting everyone will take some time. Then they have to take everyone to the station and do whatever work they have to do there before she can call you.”

Yujin had promised to call you as soon as she could. She had been confident about wrapping up everything long before your flight. But John was right, you could fall asleep for a few hours.

“I’m not sure I can sleep,” you said honestly.

The orange bottle was hidden inside a pocket in your suitcase, you packed it for every trip out of habit. During demanding schedules, you had no choice but to swallow one of the pills and fall into a heavy dreamless sleep. You couldn’t afford to be sleepwalking at interviews and red carpets.

“You can try,” John said. “I will be right here.”

He made himself comfortable on the chair, crossing his arms and stretching his legs.

“I could fall asleep like this.”

You chuckled quietly. “Go ahead. Your back will be killing you tomorrow.”

His face scrunched up in distaste. “For the sake of my back, I’m not going to. I’ll be waiting for Yujin’s call. You should go change into your pajamas. The couch looks much more comfortable than my armchair.”

The couch was very comfortable and a few hours of sleeping on it wouldn’t be too bad. It had plenty of space to roll around and you could grab one of the pillows from the bedroom. As far as nightly accommodations went, it could be worse.

“I can try,” you said. “But I have another call to make before that.”

John offered you a bemused smile. “I’m surprised you waited so long. I thought you would have called them the moment we came back.”

You fiddled with your dress. “I was going to. But there was Taehyung… I can’t bear to look at him like that. He’s so… lifeless. Like a robot programmed to execute orders. Is that what they turned them into? Shells of themselves?”

“Their goal was a perfect servant. A well-mannered pet. This is exactly what they were aiming for.”

Hate was a strong word, to be used sparingly. When you were younger you used to throw the word around without meaning or rhyme. You hated your parents and you hated your aunt and you hated your friend who pushed you into the sand once. It was all quickly forgotten. Because it was never hate. Growing older you realized that throwing the word around diminished its meaning. You reserved it for the ones who would make your skin crawl and your blood boil.

And after years you found those people. Jimin and Yoongi’s past owner, the organizers of the hybrid fighting ring. Hyungjoon was the only one with both a face and a name. You hated them all.

“How can people be so cruel to them?” you asked bitterly. “They are breaking their souls. And for what? There were children in there. Do they have no conscience? Can they not see that hybrids are the same as us? All of them, every single one of them is sick.”

“They are,” John agreed. He glanced at the door leading to the bedroom. “You will need to wake him up when Yujin calls. They will probably take him in for questioning before returning him to a hybrid center.”

Being in a hybrid center wouldn’t help Taehyung. You couldn’t imagine him getting better there. He needed love and someone to care for him. He should have the freedom he had been denied all these years and anything else he would ever want. But who would adopt a broken hybrid? Because that’s what they would label him as at the adoption center. Not fit to play the happy and cute part. The people who would want to adopt him would have all the wrong reasons.

They couldn’t return him to the adoption center like this. But you could see that there weren’t any other options. Where else would he go?

“It doesn’t feel right,” you said. “He won’t ever be adopted. Not by someone who doesn’t want a slave. He will either spend all his life between adoption centers and shelters or with someone who won’t treat him any better than those people at the auction.”

“But that’s where our job ends. We did everything we could. There is nothing more we can do, we can’t micro-manage who each hybrid will be adopted by. You already saved him. Taehyung isn’t your responsibility.”

“Isn’t he?”

The plan had been clear since the beginning. You were supposed to get a hybrid, the second or third that would be auctioned off and make it believable that you genuinely wanted them. And then when the police had arrested everyone you would give them back to the police and they would attempt to hack the auctions servers and get all the money back, including yours. How could you have predicted that you would grow strangely attached to the hybrid?

John leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs and clasping his hands together. “You can’t always play savior. Taehyung needs a lot of help and you’re right, as it is he won’t get it at an adoption center. But you are entitled to making a few demands of the police like asking them to offer counseling to the hybrids. You helped enough already.”

Resigned, you wrapped your arms around your legs, laying your cheek on your knees. “You’re right. I just can’t help but feel like I should be doing more for him.”

“What more do you want to do?” John asked in a way that showed he was willing to listen to you. To discuss the matter with you instead of dismissing it. You remained silent. “Are you thinking of adopting him?”

You opened your mouth to reply but closed it again. Were you? There was something tugging at the back of your mind but you hadn’t looked deeper into it. You were avoiding looking deeper into it.

“I shouldn’t be.”

“The police will ask to take him back,” John stated.

Taehyung was part of the case, you couldn’t grab him and leave before it closed. And you couldn’t make the decision by yourself. There were six hybrids back home waiting for you. Things were finally looking up. Yoongi was getting used to the other hybrids, he stopped hiding away and he was talking more. The pack was getting used to having two more hybrids in the house. You couldn’t throw another one at them.

“You should call them,” John interrupted your thoughts. He looked at your discarded purse on the coffee table. “They must be worried sick.”

You reached for your bag and pulled out your phone. John was right, it was about time you called them. You should have called the moment you arrived at the hotel. You blamed the adrenaline of the night and the anxiety that hadn’t yet dissipated. You went to your favorite contacts -the list of your contacts was too long to scroll through- and pressed on Namjoon’s icon.

It was a photo you had taken of him in Virginia. Namjoon was sitting on the grass out in the garden reading a book bound in red leather. He had discovered it in a thrift store on one of your trips to the city, his eyes lighting up at the little treasure. It was an old classic and it once belonged to someone who loved it dearly, evident by the little notes in the margins on every page. Namjoon adored it, keeping it in his room and carefully wrapping it in cloth before packing it for your trip back to Los Angeles.

The phone rang exactly once before he picked up.

“Hey.”

You were greeted by shouts of your name and questions about your well-being. All the hybrids must be gathered around Namjoon’s phone. You realized they had been waiting for you to call and you felt more guilty for not calling them sooner.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you reassured them. “John and I are back at the hotel.”

You heard mutters and sighs of relief.

“Thank god,” Namjoon said. “Don’t ever do something like that again. I nearly lost my mind.”

You giggled quietly. “Never. I’m not putting myself through that again.”

You went on to tell them everything from when you arrived at the hotel to the car ride back. It was the exact same story you had told Yujin but now you didn’t focus on the details but the feelings. On the anxiety about revealing yourself and your disgust at the event as a whole. You summarized your experience as best as you could. It was for the best if they didn’t have to live it even if it was through a retelling. You would have refrained from telling them anything if they hadn’t pleaded.

After some hesitation, you mentioned Taehyung. You hadn’t shared with them the police’s plan, it had been too late to call them by then.

“Where is he now?” Jimin asked in a small voice.

“In the bedroom. Sleeping.” You glanced at the door. You couldn’t hear any sounds coming from inside. “I’m not sure he speaks English. He can mostly understand what I’m saying but… He doesn’t speak, keeps his eyes on the floor. I haven’t heard him utter a single word.”

“Maybe he only knows specific words,” Hoseok offered. “They must have taught him what he needed to know to understand commands.”

Whatever training they had put him through served one purpose; to make him a slave that would do anything for his owners. They had predicted that a lot of the potential buyers would be foreigners since the auction itself had been in English.

Yoongi surprised you by speaking up. “What will happen to him now?”

“I’ll take him to the police station with me, they need to ask him questions about the auction. But I don’t know if he will be of any help to them.”

“After that?” Yoongi asked.

“An adoption center or a shelter,” you said. The wrong feeling hadn’t left you, abandoning Taehyung at an adoption center made you feel unreasonably guilty. “They will take care of him.”

Yoongi made a scornful sound. “Right.”

You rose from the couch, your bare feet touching the cool tiles and your dress sweeping the floor. You shivered. In one hand, you gathered your dress to avoid stepping on it and falling on your face—its length was designed to be worn with high heels. John lifted his head from his phone.

“I don’t want him to be thrown at an adoption center either. Where else are they supposed to take him? I will make sure he will have access to therapy and anything else he needs. I’ll talk to Yujin, she can do something.”

Yoongi didn’t reply. You looked through the glass wall at the city’s millions of multicolored lights, the tall buildings, and the few cars speeding through the streets. Above, the sky was pitch black, the moon invisible and not a star in sight. You missed the clear night sky in Virginia, away from the pollution and the artificial lights. The moon and the stars were bright enough to lead your way.

“Will you come home today?” Jungkook asked timidly.

Your heart swelled at the bunny’s hesitancy. “I will. I’m not missing my flight. Yujin promised I will have more than enough time after giving my statement to go to the airport. We’ll be flying back on the private jet the company rented, they will wait for me if I’m late by a few minutes.”

“You better be here today,” Seokjin said shakily. “You’ve been gone long enough.”

New York, London, Paris, Berlin, Tokyo, Seoul. Private jets and red carpets and camera flashes. It was two weeks you were gone now and as much as you used to adore traveling you couldn’t wait to go home.

“I will be there, I promise.”

Your finger traced the largest building in your view as you said goodbye. The call ended and you placed your hand on the glass dividing you from the outside. An invisible barrier like the lines you couldn’t see anymore. You turned around and laid your back against the glass.

“You should go to sleep,” John said. “I will wake you up when Yujin calls.”

“Okay,” you said, too tired to argue.

You stayed there for a minute before pushing yourself forward and heading to your room. You would take your pajamas from your suitcase and go to the bathroom to put them on. You had to be quiet to not wake up Taehyung and alarm him. You hadn’t even thought to offer him some pajamas before sending him to sleep. Before you went to the police station you would have to give him some clothes to wear. The silks could be evidence so you would have to put them in your bag and hand them over.

You eased the door open and slipped inside through the crack. Your monster of a suitcase was laying on the floor next to the closet. You hadn’t opened the closet once, there was no reason when you were staying for only two days. You looked to the side to make sure Taehyung hadn’t roused and you almost screamed when your eyes fell on him.

Taehyung was kneeling on the bed, head lowered and hands behind his back. The light of the lamps on the nightstand cast shadows on his bare golden skin, his collarbones, and his ribs. You slapped your hand over your eyes so hard it stung and turned your back to him. The image burned itself behind your eyelids, pulsing in an incandescent glow.

For the umpteenth time that night, your stomach churned aggressively in disgust. This was what they had trained him for. You had known but it was much more horrifying seeing it up close. If you hadn’t been there that balding man would have been in your place. Hands touching his golden skin, trailing lower and lower- You clenched your hands into fists at the revolting images your mind conjured up.

You stayed frozen with your back to him, asking yourself what you should do. It was all proving to be too hard and you were lacking severely. You should say something, anything, but Taehyung might not understand you. He hadn’t understood when you asked him to rest, there was no guarantee that he would understand now.

In every hotel, there were spare sheets and blankets in the closet. You pulled out a white blanket that was more fitted for winter than summer and keeping your eyes down, you threw it over Taehyung. Bundling him up in it, you sat down on the bed keeping some distance between you.

His lips parted in surprise, the first sign of anything other than passiveness on his face.

“Sleep now,” you said, connecting your palms and laying your cheek on your hands, using body language to show him what you meant. He didn’t move, his grip tight on the blanket. “Look at me.” He raised his head, his yellow eyes staring at you under his long lashes. “Lay down and sleep. I won’t touch you.”

You held up your hands, palms open. He glanced at the bed confused, looking almost cute. You patted the bed to encourage him. Cautiously, looking between you and the pillows he lowered his body to the bed.

“Close your eyes now. Sleep,” you said.

He did but he remained tense. Like he was waiting for you to do something. You were progressively getting angrier and angrier. At Hyunjoon and the bastards working at the auction, the ones attending, the ones wgo knew about it and did nothing. The world.

You got up from the bed and although Taehyung kept his eyes closed his eyebrows jumped in surprise. You went to your suitcase and opened it, your pajamas were folded on top of the mess that was the rest of your clothes. They were a peach-colored silk set with branches of orange blossoms all over them, a sleeveless top and pants by an Italian brand.

After you changed and came back into the room, Taehyung was in the same position you had left him in. What you had told him could have been interpreted as an order he was obeying. Or he was still waiting for something that wouldn’t come.

Leaving, you made sure to close the door behind you.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

The ringing of your phone pulled you out of your slumber. In your blurry vision, you saw John picking it up from the coffee table. Yawning, you rubbed your eyes. You hadn’t gotten a restful sleep. The dream you couldn’t remember had filled you with anxiety and your body was so heavy you couldn’t move.

You pushed through the invisible mist, blinking quickly.

John ended the call before you could ask to take it. “It was Yujin.”

“What did she say?” you croaked, your voice scratchy.

A satisfied smile appeared on his face. “They caught them and they believe they found all the hybrids.”

Your shoulders slumped in relief, your whole body lighter than it had been in days. “That might be the best thing I’ve heard in my life.”

“Right after ‘the Oscar goes to…’?”

“Right after ‘the hybrid fighting ring has been dismantled’,” you corrected him.

“Fair,” John said.

In the past few months, your life had turned upside down. Once you had considered the Oscar ceremonies the most important nights of your life. That had changed without you taking notice. They were nothing more than a red carpet, expensive dresses, and little statues.

John slid his phone in his back pocket and reached for his shoes. “Yujin is waiting for us at the police station. She said they will ask you to identify the organizer.”

You rolled your neck, it was stiff from sleeping on the couch without a proper pillow. “That’s easy. I can’t wait for that bastard to be locked up behind bars. And to think that I believed he was nice two days ago. If I had any less composure I would have punched him in the face while he talked about how well-trained their hybrids are.”

“Be glad you didn’t,” John said. “You wouldn’t get to see him behind bars.”

“You’re right. That’s much more satisfying.”

“And way less dangerous,” John added pointedly. "Go wake Taehyung up. The earlier we go the earlier we can leave. We have a flight to catch in four hours and although it’s a private jet they won’t wait long for us.”

Your back cracked as you got to your feet and by John’s wide-eyed stare the loud sounds were mildly concerning. You told yourself that after this was over you would keep your head down and stick to less dangerous activities. You would take fighting with the producers and filming the same scenes over and over again any time over risking your life.

You knocked on the door leading to your room, determined to do this right. There was no response. You knocked again, waited, and pushed the door open.

Taehyung was sitting on the bed wrapped up in the blanket you had thrown over him. His eyeliner was smudged and the golden chains had fallen down his chest and tangled around his waist and arms. Sleep muddled his eyes.

“Did you sleep well?” you asked him, going to your suitcase to pick out an outfit that would be fit for both the police station and the airport.

Taehyung nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you sleep for long but we have to go to the police station.” You didn’t know how much he could understand—most likely not a lot—but chattering away was your way of making the atmosphere lighter. “I have to find some clothes for you as well. Let’s see if I have anything that fits you.”

You rummaged through your suitcase for anything he could wear. Your clothes were already messed up, messing them up more wasn’t an issue. But it did make your task rather more troublesome.

“There!” You pulled out a white hoodie you had packed for the airport in London. It was one of the most comfortable articles of clothing you owned and it would be just about the right size for Taehyung. “Now for pants…”

That was going to be much harder. You could ask John but his pants would be way too large on him.

“These will do,” you said holding a pair of black sweatpants. If they didn’t fit, you would try something else. You got up —there were a couple of cracks from your legs— and laid the clothes out on the bed. You gestured to the clothes and then to him. “Put these on.”

You went back to your suitcase to find some clothes for yourself. Taehyung inched towards the clothes and let the blanket fall from his shoulders. He got up from the bed and pulled off the first chain.

You cleared your throat. “You can go to the bathroom.”

Taehyung tilted his head.

You turned your back to him and continued your search. The silks fell to the floor with a whisper. You picked up a pair of black jeans and the first shirt you came across.

Leaving the hotel undetected was easier than slipping inside because of the late hour—so late it was bordering on early. John had the keys to one of the SUVs the production company had rented for the schedules. You would be back before anyone noticed it was missing.

The lights were all on in the police station. A man with tired eyes led you to the second floor. Music was playing through the speakers, the kind that played in elevators. Officers wearing dark bags under their eyes were moving around the rooms, carrying folders and flipping through papers. Phones were ringing and doors buzzing. The bright lights were making you dizzy.

Yujin was talking to two officers when you walked inside a large office that smelled like sweat and old coffee. It was loud in the room, keyboards clinking and people talking into earpieces and walkie-talkies and to each other.

“There you are,” Yujin said with a smile. She told the officers something in Korean and they left with nods in your direction. “Everything went according to plan. I believe Mr. Mallory already told you our operation was completely successful.”

“He did. Some of the best news I’ve woken up to.” Yujin’s gaze fell somewhere behind you. John was standing almost protectively in front of Taehyung, the hybrid’s hair hiding his face. “That’s Taehyung.”

Yujin spoke to him in Korean but got no reaction. Taehyung remained perfectly still other than his tiger ear twitching.

“He hasn’t spoken yet,” you said. “I thought it was because he didn’t understand English but… He can understand orders.” You cringed at the word. “They were speaking English at the auction.”

“There were a lot of foreigners. Mostly foreigners,” Yujin said. “Everyone was taken to the station but have no worries, none of them will see you here. I just need you to give a statement and identify the organizer. He won’t be able to see you, we will be standing behind a two-way mirror.”

You were aware of the process. You had been through it once before with Hoseok, standing next to him while he pointed at the people that forced them to fight like animals.

“Okay, let’s get it over with.” A yawn escaped you, it was sudden and you couldn’t stop it. “Excuse me, I’m running on two hours of sleep.”

Yujin offered you a sympathetic look, one that said she had been in the same position many times. “I completely understand. We are grateful for everything you have done for the case. I know I have asked a lot of you.” Her expression changed, turning serious with a hint of what could have been guilt. “There’s something you must know.”

You braced yourself. Whatever started with that phrase wasn’t about to be good.

“We believe there are a couple of people involved in the auction who escaped.”

“Escaped? How?” you asked, cold sweat gathering at your forehead.

An officer appeared and spoke to Yujin in quick Korean. Meanwhile, you shoved your hands in your pockets.

During one of the interrogations, someone had cracked and told them that two people working at the auction had been on another floor while the police had ambushed them. They had their descriptions and would give them to airports and train stations and they would be found soon. But that didn’t change the fact that there were two people out there who could learn of your work with the police and inform others in their network.

John placed a hand on your shoulder, the solid weight anchoring something inside you.

Taehyung was taken away by a man in his mid-forties. He didn’t go with him until you gave him your permission or more accurately told him to follow him and do what he asked. You hated that part, ordering him to do something knowing he will do it without question. But you did what you had to do.

You gave your statement and pointed at Hyungjoon in a lineup of men, most of which you could recognize from the auction. Subconsciously you had memorized much more than just the way in and the way out. The police offered to give you back the money you had spent at the auction when they found a way to take over the auction’s accounts. You declined, asking them to give the money to organizations protecting hybrid rights.

After everything was said and done, Yujin asked to speak to you alone in her office. Puzzled, you told John to stay in the waiting room and you would be back shortly. In his face, you saw the split second he thought of protesting, of asking to come with you. He didn’t, only telling you he would be there if you needed anything.

“Take a seat,” Yujin said gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk.

You did, keeping your back straight. The posture of an A-list celebrity. “May I ask what you wanted to talk about?”

“Of course.” She took off her jacket and hung it over the back of her leather chair. “I don’t want to take up more of your time. But there is an important matter I wanted to discuss with you.” You nodded for her to go ahead. “It’s about Taehyung.”

Your body went stiff. You hadn’t stopped thinking about him since he had been taken away.

“Taehyung? Is there something wrong?”

“No, not exactly,” she said. “It’s about you as much as it is about Taehyung. That’s why I called you here. Two people escaped from the auction, who know you were there and they will expect to see you with Taehyung. You are one of the only four guests who left the auction before we got inside, they could be keeping an eye on you.”

A spike of ice pierced your stomach, it had been built piece by piece since you first heard they hadn’t caught everyone. Gathering until frost was spreading all around your body.

“We aren’t sure, it’s nothing but a speculation,” Yujin rushed to add but it didn’t make it any better. “The most possible scenario is that they are rushing to leave the country not caring about what happens to any of you. But we have to take into account every possibility. And the fact remains that they will expect to see you with the hybrid you paid millions of dollars to get. Not only them but also the ones who attended the auction and will be released later. We should have considered it before but we grabbed a lead and ran with it. We didn’t have enough time for proper planning.”

Someone was shouting outside. You rubbed your bare arms. The temperature was low in the offices.

“What am I supposed to do then?” you asked.

Yujin sighed. “I won’t force you to do anything. It’s your decision but- It would be better if Taehyung stayed with you for a while. A few months at most. Then you can take him to an adoption center and if anyone asks you can say you got bored of him, that he wasn’t what you had wanted.”

“That will be beyond traumatizing for him,” you said sharply. “Giving him a home only to take it away from him. You saw how he is. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t look anyone in the eye unless he is told to. He-” You almost told her of how you had walked into your room to find him kneeling on the bed naked, ready to do whatever was asked of him. You didn’t. Even thinking of it made you nauseous. “I can’t do that to him.”

You couldn’t welcome someone into your home, into your life, and kick them out after a few months. You had seen the show many times. You wouldn’t turn someone away, you could only let them go.

“He needs love and care. He has been through hell and back. I won’t do anything that will cause him harm.”

Yujin pinned you with a stare. “He isn’t going to receive any of that at an adoption center and that’s where he’s going if you don’t take him with you. I understand if you don’t want to. You already have six hybrids to take care of as well as a very hectic career. Regardless, I have to inform you of any dangers that you may face and any way to prevent them that we can come up with.”

You sank into the chair. “Are there no other ways?”

She shook her head. “Not any we have found.”

“I’m leaving for Los Angeles in a few hours. I can’t take him with me, all his papers are forged.”

“They had thought of that before auctioning them off. They have managed to trick the system. You will be free to travel with him anywhere you want. He is already registered under your name. Hyungjoon had lawyers and people in hybrid centers working with him, we have a few of their names. They have ensured that none of the buyers would face any problems that could be traced back to them.”

You scoffed. “For such a well-organized business, they went down quickly.”

“All thanks to you,” Yujin reminded you.

You checked the time on your phone. You had to make a decision and make it fast. You weren’t prepared to adopt another hybrid. Shouldn’t adopt another hybrid. But Taehyung was haunting your every thought. You felt responsible for him, you couldn’t deny it.

You sent a quick message to Namjoon hoping he had his phone close. The text bubble appeared, he was writing back. The first bubble appeared. And another.

“I have to book another flight.”

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

Amelia was a god-sent gift. You called her and the first thing you told her was; “Amelia, I don’t care how many strings you pull or how much it costs. I want a private jet to take me to Los Angeles this morning.” In twenty minutes, she had a private jet ready for you and every person in the crew signing an NDA.

John had frowned.

“Are you going to smuggle him out of the country?”

“I’m not smuggling him out of the country!”

You had explained to him what Yujin had told you, that the papers they had given you at the auction were enough to travel to Los Angeles without anyone asking questions. There, you would have to go to Amelia to tweak a few parts and make some changes. For now, they were good enough. He didn’t try to change your mind, you could tell that he had been thinking over the situation and how it would affect you long before Amelia had called you to her office.

Yujin had left after calling someone to bring the tiger hybrid to you. The case wasn’t closed yet and there was a myriad of things left to do. An officer accompanied Taehyung into the waiting area outside her office. There was a slight tremor in Taehyung’s hands.

Before the man could leave, you asked, “Do you speak English?”

He shifted from foot to foot, unprepared. “A little.”

“Could you translate a few things for me? I don’t think he understands English very well.”

The officer seemed nervous but he nodded. The hardest part about a foreign language was speaking it, understanding it came easier.

You turned to Taehyung, bending so you could look at his face. He looked as beautiful as he had when you had first seen him but the night had taken a toll on him. His makeup was melting, leaving his skin oily and shiny, and his hair was disheveled despite the products they must have used to style it before the auction.

You hoped they had explained everything to him, that you weren’t like the people who had held him captive.

“I’ll be leaving for Los Angeles soon. That’s where I live, where my house is.” You spoke slowly and waited for the officer to translate before you continued. “I would like it very much if you would come with me. But it’s your choice. If you don’t want to, you can go to a hybrid center. They will take care of you there.”

The man translated. Silence spread and you were almost sure Taehyung wouldn’t answer. He did. His low voice sent a shiver down your back.

“He said you are his owner and he will come with you,” the man said in a thick accent.

“If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t have to. I won't be mad. It's his decision.”

The officer stared at you for a few seconds before repeating your words in Korean. “He said he’ll come with you.”

“Oh. Okay. Uhmm, thanks for translating.”

The officer bowed his head and left.

Taehyung was officially in your care. As official as it could be taking into account the forged documents. But you had the okay from the police and that had to count for something.

You went back to the hotel to pick up your suitcases and check out. You sent a message to the showrunner of Paper Hearts to let her know that something had come up and you wouldn’t be flying back with them. On the way to the airport, you stopped at a bakery and bought some breakfast for the flight. It had become a tradition to get takeout before a flight despite the fact that they offered food on the plane.

You asked Taehyung what he wanted but all he said was; “What you want, mistress”.

“You can call me by my name,” you said, uncomfortable with the title. “I would prefer that.”

He looked at you like it was a test. You were too tired and the language barrier was too hard to navigate so you let it go.

You were terrified you had made a mistake. Taehyung was in a vulnerable position and you had taken advantage of that to cover yourself. He was following you because he believed he should be serving you. However, it wouldn’t be much better for him at an adoption center where he would be gawked at by people looking to get hybrids or locked away in his room because they couldn’t sell him.

The private jet was a little larger than what you were used to, definitely larger than what you needed. You guessed it was the only jet Amelia could rent and get ready for a flight last minute. A long black leather couch stretched on one side with a table in front of it looking ahead at a plasma TV. A vase full of white roses was decorating the table. There were also two leather armchairs on either side of the couch that could spin around. Six more seats were ahead, two on one side and four on the other leaving an empty aisle between them. They were facing each other with two tables between them

This trip would cost you a pretty penny. Normally, you wouldn’t entertain the idea of spending that much money on a flight but given the special circumstances, you weren’t regretting it.

The flight attendant welcomed you, informing you that the jet would be taking off soon. You collapsed on the seat by the window in the group of four, John taking the seat facing yours. You crossed your arms on the table and buried your face in them.

“Finally,” you said. “This trip was endless.”

“Tell me about it,” John agreed.

Promotional tours could range from a couple of weeks to a couple of months so you were on the short end. It still felt endless. Being away from home was getting harder and harder.

You surfaced from your self-made pillow and you noticed that Taehyung wasn’t sitting.

“Take a seat,” you told him realizing he was waiting for you to tell him what to do. You would have to work on that. “You can sit down.”

Wordlessly, Taehyung took the seat next to yours.

“Do you want to sleep?” you asked. Taehyung looked up at you. You guessed the faint expression on his face was confusion. “Wait, I should call Hobi. Maybe he doesn’t know what sleep means.”

You pulled your phone out of your bag but paused.

“What?” John asked. “What are you overthinking about?”

You grimaced. “I’m not…” You couldn’t bring yourself to lie, not after a whole night of lying. Not to John. “I should have called them at the police station. I texted Namjoon but… He must have told them by now. What if they are angry?”

“I don’t think they will be,” John said honestly. “It’s for your safety. They won’t hold this against you, they want you to be safe. And it isn’t like it’s the first time you’re showing up with spontaneously acquired hybrids.”

“It’s the first time for Hoseok and Yoongi.”

“May I remind you that Hoseok and Yoongi used to be those acquired hybrids?”

The day Jimin had run after Yoongi felt like ages away but also like it was last week. A lot had happened since then, many things had changed. Some things you hadn’t noticed at first. Yoongi and Hoseok were a part of your family now, it didn’t matter if the panther hybrid wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

It wasn’t so long ago you had run out in the middle of the night before the crack of dawn and Yoongi had disappeared leaving no traces behind. Two months. How little that seemed. How long it could be. Lives could change in two months.

“They are still adjusting. And Yoongi,” you trailed off. “I don’t think I can handle his anger now. Things have been going so well and this could ruin that.”

Through the speakers the captain announced that you would be soon taking off, asking you to fasten your seatbelts. You helped Taehyung with his, you guessed it was his first time wearing one.

“Yoongi may surprise you,” John said when the captain stopped speaking.

“There are many kinds of surprises.”

“You have to learn how to think positively instead of always expecting the worst.”

The jet ran smoothly down the runway, taking off without a hitch. If you hadn’t been looking out of the window, you wouldn’t have noticed that you had left the ground.

“Ten hours to Los Angeles,” John said.

“Ten hours to home.”

Please comment and reblog it motivates me to keep writing

Bitter Taste - LN

@gvcnnnnnnnbvszxv prompt request #24- "I knew you'd break my heart."

Summary: Lando thinks breaking up is what's best when the hate gets too much, but y/n didn't want to let go that easily. But now it's like they never happened.

Warning: Sad ending

Word count: 1.1k

*2021*

Y/n tries to stop her lip from quivering as she blinks a little really trying to force herself to listen to Lando speak, but his voice is muffled by the pounding in her head.

She feels sick and she knows that he really believes this is the best solution.

"You're not even willing to fight for this." Y/n whispers biting her lip making Lando stop his rambling that had started as he tried to explain himself and why he felt this was best.

"I can't let other people hurt you anymore baby."

"You think breaking up with me is going to make them stop? You're lying to yourself just as much as you're lying to me with that sort of bullshit." Y/n mutters then sucking in a breath as she finally finds her bearings and stands up. "I'll pack up my stuff and leave. Just give me a couple hours."

"You don't have to take everything now, we can-"

"If you think I want to come back here or have other people come here or have any reminder of you that isn't already going to be pushed in my face by the same people you're blaming for this. Then you never knew me, but honestly you've already proven that." Y/n scoffs shaking her head.

Y/n gets to work packing up everything and somehow keeping her head held high, but she knows the tears are coming.

"Let me help." Lando mumbles seeing her struggle with the suitcase but she moves it out his reach swiftly.

"You've helped enough." Y/n snaps feeling her hurt and sadness breaking into a moment of anger.

"I'm sorry."

"You'd never have done this for that reason if you really felt anything for me. So whatever you're choosing of us, I really hope it's worth it because I know you weren't."

She's speaking from a dark and nasty place, a place that didn't exist before today and she wants him to know that he did this to himself.

-

*Present Day*

Lando knew what he lost as soon as y/n left and he's moved on. Or at least that's what he tells himself with his new girlfriend, Violet. She's a model, fits the F1 WAG label very well and they're happy.

From what he knows y/n has moved on too, she found a partner who gave her the life she always deserved. Though they could've broken up since he hasn't seen her post about him for a long time. But if they have, she hasn't deleted any evidence of his existence from her socials like she did with Lando. Even if she didn't block him and force him to unfollow her, she did unfollow him and seems to have filtered his name from her comments on her posts.

He was wiped before she even got on her flight out of Nice, although she's still there on his page.

Only one post remains that suggests he was ever part of her life and it's a picture of her on her flight home after their break up captioned "I knew you'd break my heart". That actually earned waves of hate to Lando since his fans suddenly switched up their attitudes and let Lando have a piece of their mind over the fact he broke things off with y/n.

They still make edits of the two and posts about their relationship saying they wish y/n would come back to Lando and Lando would take his head out his arse.

He can't deny he has regrets about how things ended, he has regrets about losing someone who brought joy to his every day the way she did.

That's how he ends up seeing her on live on her instagram getting ready for a date night. The chat knows he's there, they've made sure to point it out in the comments where his name isn't filtered for the live.

"Ok, guys. That's not really something I want to think about." Y/n sighs with a twinge of hurt crossing her expression.

Eventually she exposes that she is not spending Valentine's day with any man but actually she's having a Galentine's day with all her girls who are also spending the day alone.

Then the live ends and Lando feels his mood deflate immediately. It's frustrating that he's in a new relationship but just one interaction with y/n and the smallest indirect acknowledgement of his existence lifted him.

He does take Violet out for their own Valentine's day dinner but his mind is anywhere but on the woman across from him as she talks about whatever it is she's filling the voice with.

Y/n haunts him in his dreams that night, as she had in the months following their break up.

He was never sure if she blocked his number or got a new number but he wakes up at an ungodly hour, not able to keep seeing her every time he closes his and he texts the number he still has for her. Her username still saved as "lover girl", he winces tapping her contact and seeing their old conversations pop up.

They were so in love, just remembering how they ended leaves a bitter taste in Lando's mouth.

He should stop himself, but he sends the message asking if she'd be up to talk.

It has a delivered label.

"Idiot." Lando mutters feeling like a fool for even trying especially at such a time of day, but then the delivered changes to read.

The three little dots appear and he feels his heart rate pick up before they disappear and are replaced with a message that he really should've expected.

I think you've text the wrong number.

Should've seen that one coming.

He tries to send another message and sighs seeing the rest of his messages go undelivered. She hadn't blocked him but him bringing attention to that has meant that she corrected that error quickly.

It'd been too long to go back.

She always deserved for him to fight harder, she'd never let the hate get to her the way he pretended she did. It was him who couldn't handle it and he masked his pain as her to make things end between them.

He has no one to blame but himself and he was a coward when y/n was in his life. Now he has to watch her thrive while he drowns in his regret and guilt that haunts in the form of her ghost.

prison for life - mv1

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where if anybody hurts you, Max is going to prison for life.

Pairing: max verstappen x pregnant!reader 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, mentions of throwing up, cursing, kinda angsty in some places, jos verstappen

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i’ve been in such a max mood recently that is actually shocking to me, but i just needed some fluffy anything after working on smutty pieces for weeks. i got this idea in my dream and honestly i think it turned out better than i could’ve imagined!! feedback is always appreciated, and my requests are currently open if you want to check that out, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

If you would have to choose a word to describe Max, it would be ‘overprotective’, because that’s what he is. It’s not a bad thing, per say. He isn’t overbearing or controlling at all, but he is simply overprotective. And if you thought he was overprotective when the two of you were dating or when you first got married, you have to admit that you were not, at all, prepared for his protectiveness when you told him that you were pregnant. Apart from his initial meltdown over becoming a dad, or rather becoming like his own father, Max has been pretty chill about the whole thing – with the exception being your safety, of course. The underlying problem isn’t the fact that you’re some sort of daredevil because you’re not, the problem is the fact that Max believes that everything is out to get you. 

The olives you wanted to eat for breakfast? Choking hazard.  

The candles you bought for the living room (to be purely decorative, but still)? Fire hazard.  

The pool lounger Victoria thought would be a cute addition to the pool? Drowning hazard.  

The seatbelt in his car that is surprisingly tight? Could be all three, according to Max, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.  

So, yeah, maybe he wasn’t that scared of becoming a dad, but he was surely scared of you being in danger. That’s why you agreed to stay back for the most races this year – you knew he didn’t need to worry about you or your baby’s safety on top of the stress he had to deal with during the usual racing weekend. That was until you realised how much you would miss your boyfriend after almost a month of not seeing him due to a triple header. And so, you did the thing any person with a common sense would do – flying out to see him without telling him beforehand, because what’s the fun in that?  

The sheer look of shock on his face might be the funniest thing you’ve ever seen when you meet him in his driver’s room, but of course Max doesn’t share the same sentiment as you. Because all he chooses to focus is the fact that you were on a plane – a 0.23% risk out of very 7.7 million flights each year, but still. He spends at least half an hour, just checking you over and assuring himself that you and the baby are fine; at some point he decides that you need to go to the nearest hospital to get an ultrasound just to make sure the baby is okay, but you tell him to fuck off and calm his tits down in the kindest way possible. And that’s how the two of you end up on the small couch in his driver’s room, with his arms around you as you lay between his legs, his hands splayed on the swell of your stomach as he caresses the skin through the fabric of your dress. His voice is low as he tells you about his day, mostly media duties since it is only Thursday, and how he thinks putting a cat tree in the nursery is a bad idea (that was your idea initially, but you can see how having two rumbunctious cats hang out in the nursery could cause problems). 

“I also thought about something else,” he mumbles, suddenly busying himself with the flower pattern of your dress instead of looking at you.  

You raise your brows slightly, motioning him to continue, but let out a huff when he doesn’t do so right away. “Come on,” you whine softly, “tell me what it is Maxie.”  

“I don’t want him to get into karting.” His words are soft, mumbled, and most definitely final. You know how Max can be when he puts his mind into it, and this particular topic has been a discussion in your household ever since the two of you found out that you were having a boy. “I don’t want him to go through what I went through.” 

Letting out a soft exhale, you motion Max to six next to you on the couch. “He won’t,” you assure him, voice soft as you give pleading looks at him, “you’re not your father, Max.” He gives you a look that basically begs for you to not dwell on the topic, but you continue despite the look he gives you, “And what if he wants to get into karting? Are you going to tell him no?” 

Max tries his best to ignore the knowing look you give him, knowing very well that he won’t be able to ever say ‘no’ to his son, who already has him wrapped around his finger. “I might do that, you never know.” He grumbles, hiding his face in your hair – though the soft giggles coming from you manages to put a soft smile on his face. “You’re supposed to agree with me, you know, we have to be a united front.”   

“We’ll discuss it when the baby comes, until then, I’ll be the voice of reason.” You emphasise, poking him at his bicep to convey your point. “You feel better now?” 

“Kinda,” he murmurs, leaving small kisses onto the exposed skin of your shoulder as he keeps on murmuring against your skin, “I would feel better if I knew you stayed in bed all day, relaxing.” 

With that, you choke a loud laugh, and motion him to stand up as you try to do it yourself – though, of course, he has to help with the baby bump being in the way of you doing any sort of physical activity. “You’re funny, let’s go get me ice cream.”  

The only response you get back is a confused look from your husband, his head tilted to the side as he eyes you warily. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Um, excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow, “Your son,” pointing to your stomach, you emphasise your words, “is craving ice cream right now.”  

Max’s eyes soften instantly, and a smile creeps across his face. He nods, taking your hand gently as he helps you up. “Well, if my son wants ice cream, then ice cream he shall have.” 

You giggle as you both make your way out of the driver’s room, Max's hand never leaving yours. The paddock is bustling with activity, but for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of you, cocooned in your little world. As you approach the nearest concession stand, Max’s protective instincts kick in once again. “Is this ice cream stand safe? How long have they been here? Do they have the proper health certifications?” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Max, it’s ice cream, not a five-course meal. I’m sure it’s fine.” He sighs but nods, deciding to trust your judgment. After all, you did manage to fly all the way here without incident and somehow alerting him. You both get a generous serving of your favourite flavours, and as you sit down to enjoy your treat, you feel a sense of normalcy and contentment wash over you. 

Max watches you with a tender expression, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and worry. “I know I can be overprotective,” he says softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face, “but it’s only because I love you so much.” 

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I know, Max. And I love you too. But sometimes, you need to trust that everything will be okay. We’ll figure things out together, just like we always do.” 

He nods, his gaze shifting to your belly. “You’re right. I guess I need to talk to my mom.”  

“Why?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in curiosity.  

“Well, she promised me she’d look after you but you’re here, so I think we need to have a talk about not keeping secrets from each other.” He mumbles, dragging a hand down his face. 

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Oh, Maxie, who do you think helped me with my bags at the airport? Your mom is unsurprisingly a strong woman.” 

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I should’ve known better than to think you’d stay put for a whole month.” He sighs, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Alright, but next time, at least let me know you’re planning something. My heart can only take so much.” 

Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice-cream into at least staying put withing the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice cream into at least staying put within the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. He periodically checks in, making sure you're comfortable and well-fed. Each time he sneaks a glance your way, you catch him with a knowing smile and a roll of your eyes, and he returns it with a wink. He knows that there is absolutely no reason for him to be checking on you as much as he does, because you’ll be fine in the cool hospitality suite with enough water to keep you hydrated for years, but he can’t help but worry about anything and everything going wrong. And his worries prove to be true when he sees the one person who he definitely doesn’t want around you.  

“What are you doing here?” He asks the approaching figure, “I thought you were not going to be coming to this race but the next one.”  

“Given the drop in your performance in the last few races I thought I should be here for... support.” His dad supplies, eyes finding you behind his son’s back on one of the couches in the hospitality, “And I can see the reason for why you’ve been distracted lately, what is she doing here?”  

Max scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest protectively, “She’s my wife, she is more than welcome to be here.” 

“She’s also a distraction, Max,” his father points out, “you’re going to lose your focus if you keep–” 

Since Max is faster than his father where it matters the most, he cuts him off before he can say anything further. “Leave, I don’t want you here.” 

Max’s father looks taken aback, his eyes widening momentarily before they narrow into a scowl. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. 

“You heard me,” Max replies firmly, his stance unwavering. “I don’t want you here if you’re going to criticize my wife and stress me out, or worse, stress her out.” 

“You’re being irrational,” his father argues, taking a step closer. “I’m just trying to help you stay focused.” Seeing that his son is not going to back down anytime soon, he points a threatening finger towards him. “I’ll be back on race day, but you better be ready to put in a winning performance,” his father finishes, his voice laced with finality. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving a tense silence in his wake. 

Max sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair as he watches his father disappear into the crowd. Looking back at you over his shoulder, talking to some interns from the social media team, he can’t help but feel the dread of you having to face his father – which gives him another reason to somehow stop the two of you from running into each other during the weekend.  

On Friday, Max’s luck decides to do him a favour as you tell him that you’re not feeling well enough to go to the track with him for the qualifying, and though it is true that he wants you to be with him, he also realises that this will give him one less thing to worry about. He knows how stressful it can be for you to navigate the bustling paddock and deal with the crowds, especially with the added pressure of possibly encountering his father. 

“You rest up, okay?” he says, his voice full of concern. “I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything, just call me.” 

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “I will, Max. Good luck today. We'll be cheering you on from here.” 

Max leans down to kiss your forehead gently as he mumbles into your skin, “I love you.”  

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice soft and comforting, “be careful out there, okay?” 

Max has one goal throughout qualifying, and to his team principal’s dismay, it is not being on pole. His one and only goal is to get the session done with as quickly as possible and get back to you as soon as he can. After the session ends, he barely waits for the car to come to a stop before jumping out and heading straight for the hospitality suite. His team notices his urgency but knows better than to question it once he tells them he’ll pay whatever fine the FIA will give him for missing his interviews. 

Bursting through the door, Max finds you resting comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The sight of you immediately calms his racing heart. “Hey,” he says softly, walking over to sit beside you. “How are you feeling?” 

You smile up at him, still in his team gear and the hat he almost never takes off, the warmth in your eyes easing his worries. “Better, now that you're here. How did it go?” 

“Starting on pole,” he replies, mostly in a mumble, taking your hand in his. “But all I could think about was getting back to both of you.” 

You squeeze his hand, your expression tender. “I'm proud of you, Max. You did great.” 

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thanks. Let's just relax for the rest of the day, hm? I want to hold you to make sure you’re not getting out of this bed until tomorrow.” 

“You know, I would be happier about this proposal if it was until different circumstances,” you sigh, earning a laugh from him as he pulls you towards his chest, being careful not to spill your tea, of course. Why? Because it is a safety hazard, of course. 

As you settle back into the bed together, Max feels a sense of relief wash over him. The stress of the day melts away in your presence, and he realizes how much he needs these quiet moments with you to forget all about the outside world and focus his energy on what actually matters instead. 

The next day, feeling much better, you prepare to join Max at the track for the race. He’s still concerned but reassured by your determination to support him. As you arrive at the paddock together, Max is more attentive than ever, keeping an eye out for his father in hopes of trying to prevent the two of you running into each other. Navigating through the bustling paddock, Max keeps a protective arm around your waist, and a hand on your bump whenever the two of you stand somewhere talking to someone, guiding you through the throngs of people. His eyes constantly scan the crowd, his jaw set in a determined line. The other drivers and team members greet you warmly, and you return their smiles, feeling the anticipation that surrounds you. 

“Max, relax a bit,” you whisper, squeezing his hand as you notice the tension in his posture. 

He glances down at you, his expression softening slightly. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “but we’re here to enjoy the race and support you. Try to focus on that.” 

He nods, taking a deep breath as both of you make your way to the Red Bull hospitality area. The team welcomes you with open arms, and you settle into a comfortable spot where you can watch the preparations for the race. He asks one of the interns to keep an eye on you, which he thought he was being sly whilst doing it, but you of course catch him in the corner of your eye. That’s when you realise the man walking towards him, your eyes meeting in nothing short of disdain for each other.  

You stiffen slightly, your hand tightening around Max’s hand as he turns just in time to see his father approaching, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he lets go of your hand and decides to wrap his arm around you protectively instead. 

“Max,” Jos says, his tone neutral but carrying an underlying condescension. “We need to talk before your race begins, walk with me.” 

Max's grip tightens around you for a moment before he reluctantly loosens his hold. “What is it, Dad?” he asks, his voice steady but tinged with irritation. 

Jos's eyes flicker to you before focusing back on Max. “I wanted to discuss strategy, but I can see this isn't a good time.” 

Max's jaw clenches, his protective instincts on high alert. “If it's important, we can talk here. I’m not leaving her side.”  

Jos sighs, clearly frustrated. “Fine, if that's how you want it.” 

Max’s arm remains firmly around you as his father steps closer. “Make it quick,” Max insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. If other people were to see your eyes moving from one Verstappen to the other, they’d probably think you are watching a tennis match, though the situation in front of you is certainly more tense than that. 

Jos glances at you once more before addressing Max. “I just wanted to remind you to stay focused. Pole position is a great start, but you need to keep your head in the race.” 

Max's eyes narrow, and he lets out a scoff, “I know how to do my job, no need for reminder. Anything else?” 

Jos shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. “Just don’t let distractions cost you the win.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Max hisses, taking a step towards his father as he gently pushes you behind himself. You have to put a hand against his chest to slow him down, though that doesn’t prove to be a sufficient prevention method. “I already told you; she is my wife, and he is not going anywhere so you better get that into that damaged brain of yours.” 

“Max,” you try to plead with him, “please, not before your race.”  

He gives you a look over his shoulder for a short moment before turning back towards his father. His jaw is set as he looks at the man in front of him. “I’ll only tell you this one more time. When she’s here with me, you don’t show up. If you do show up, you don’t come near her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t even look at her.” Another step taken towards his father has you tightening your hold on him, but he still manages to convey his message. “Try something like this again, and you won’t be in my life anymore let alone my son’s.” 

Jos's lips press into a thin line, his eyes darting to you briefly before settling back on Max. “Fine,” he repeats, his tone colder. “Just remember what’s at stake every time you get behind the wheel.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.”

It’s not the first time Max has stood up to his father, not by any means. But you can tell that this time affects him in a different way. The weight of the words exchanged and the implications for their future relationship linger in the air. You can feel the tension radiating from Max as he watches his father walk away, and it takes a moment for him to relax his posture and turn back to you. “Please tell me something that will calm me down so I don’t somehow do something that would put me to jail.”

“Okay,” you singsong, quickly positioning yourself in front of him so that you can fix him with a strict look on your face. “You are not doing something that will put you into prison, period.”

“I’m going to need a very good reason because all I want to do right now is follow him to his car and punch him.” Unfortunately for you, the way his jaw is set is a telling sign that, no, Max would actually do something like this given the circumstances.

“There is no sim racing in prison.” You try to provide, giving him a weak smile.  

Max's lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile at your words, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “No sim racing in prison, huh? Do you honestly think that would keep me from doing something stupid?” 

“I panicked!” You exclaim, hitting him on his chest lightly as he laughs at you silently. “How are you supposed to help me raise our son,” you point to your stomach to emphasise your point, “if you’re in prison, huh?”

Max's smile grows wider, the tension in his posture finally starting to melt away. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. “I need to be here for both of you. But it’s so damn hard to ignore him.” 

You reach up and cup his face in your hands, your eyes soft and filled with understanding. “I know, but you’re stronger than him. And you have more important things to focus on. Like winning this race and getting me more ice cream on our way back to the hotel.” 

He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly as he lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re right. I can’t let him get to me. Not today.” 

“Exactly,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, “I usually am.” 

Max laughs, the sound lightening the mood even more. “Yes, you usually are,” he agrees, pulling you closer for a brief kiss. “Thank you for always knowing how to calm me down.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “Now, go out there and show everyone what you can do. We’ll celebrate with ice cream afterward.” 

“Deal,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with affection and determination. With one last squeeze, he lets you go and turns towards his team, his focus now fully on the race ahead. “But I feel like I need to let you know that I would definitely go to prison for life for you.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t you have a race to win, Verstappen?” 

He grins, giving you one last kiss before heading off to prepare for the race, giving you a grin over his shoulder as he starts to move away, “So, I’ll get the rest of that kiss after the race, then?” 

“Yeah, Max,” you let out a breathy laugh, your eyes not leaving his for a moment, “after the race!” 

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: Everyone believes Max died in an accident, but meanwhile he's fighting to get back to you.

Blinding lights. Tires screeching. Then bam—proof that Newton’s laws of motion cannot be changed. His face hits the dashboard, and the pain is temporarily subdued by a sudden thought that maybe if he was the one driving, his much better instincts would have helped avoiding the crash. 

The world soon fades away, leaving darkness and silence behind, the kind of void that’s strangely comforting. It’s like a warm blanket that keeps him safe, shielding him from the harshness of reality. 

The crash. He’s been in an accident. 

He can’t help but think about the practical things. That was his rented car. He wasn’t the one driving. Who was it? Oh, yes, that gamer guy he met at the party. He let him try the car after a lost bet. They were heading back to the club where he left his wallet with all of his documents. 

The car is his. Well, it was rented by him. They have to know it’s him even without the ID, right? It can’t be that bad, someone must have recognized him. 

And if they did, do you already know? Are you there with him? Maybe holding his hand and begging him to return to you? 

Despite the rapidly rising number of questions, he still feels calm—happy, even. This world is nice, and forgiving. A part of him wishes the outside world could be just like this. 

Well, it is like that, but only when it’s just the two of you. 

Max knows how to party. And drink. But that’s okay, he can handle it. He’s the typical fun drunk person, you usually enjoy being around him when he gets wasted. Sure, you obviously prefer your boyfriend sober, but even he deserves a night off every now and then, right?

This is why you aren’t worried when he stops responding to your messages. For you, it’s early in the morning in your shared Monaco apartment; for him, it’s the middle of the night in Miami. Maybe he bumped into another driver in the club and they started chatting. Maybe he’s already back in the hotel, sleeping like a baby. 

Everything’s going well until the first ping of your phone three hours after the last message. Because then that one ping is followed by dozens of others, then—before you could see what’s going on—the first phone call arrives from Daniel, who sounds extremely worried.

“Please, tell me you didn’t see the photos,” he opens the conversation. 

A crease forms between your brows as you come to a halt in the office and look at the person beside the printer as if he knew what your friend was talking about. He looks confused, then he scurries like some little animal after encountering a predator. 

Shaking your head, you return your attention to the call. “What photos?” you wonder. 

There’s a surprised gasp on the other end of the line. “Wait, you don’t know?” 

“Don’t know what?” 

“It’s all over the news. The Aston Max rented was found in pieces after a crash, and they could only save the passenger’s life according to anonymous sources. Nothing’s official yet, though, so take this report with grain of salt, okay?” he says. 

Only the passenger survived? “Max wouldn’t let anyone else drive his car, even if it’s just rented. And even after a party, if he was drunk, he would have just left it there and got into a taxi instead,” you spill the words quietly, trying to make sense of what you just heard. 

Daniel knows what’s going through your mind, because he’s quick to stop you from overthinking. “Okay, calm down. We don’t know if that source is correct, we don’t know who the passenger is. No one knows, you hear me? If it was Max, someone would have called you, after all, you’re his ICE contact, right?”

Blowing out the air you didn’t even know you’ve been holding, you lean against the wall behind you and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I need to go there. I—I need to know what’s going on,” you state hesitantly. 

There’s a part of you that doesn’t really know what to do now. You’re terrified of the possibility of losing him, but you can’t just stay here and wait for someone to finally tell you something. And why didn’t they call you? Why didn’t they check his phone to see who’s the contact for such cases? Why—

“Hey, I already booked you a jet to Miami. I’ll send you the details, so go, pack a suitcase, then head to the airport now,” Daniel tells you. “I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“Okay, thank you.”

Before you could end the call, you hear him say a quiet hey. “Under no circumstances check the photos that are circulating, okay? Promise me that.”

You promise not to do that. They must be terrible if he doesn’t want you to see them, so you come to the conclusion that you don’t need this in your life. If you don’t see the photos, if you don’t read the news, there can be at least some hope that he’s alive. 

After God knows how much time, he feels like the lightness is slowly shifting into crushing pressure, and excruciating pain, and panic, and he feels like his world is inevitably collapsing as he returns to reality. The sound of machines fill his ears, the blinding lights burn through his closed eyelids, and he can hear the murmurs of people around him.

He can’t hear your voice though. 

When he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see anything, but that’s because there’s gauze or something wrapped around his head. So, without thinking much about it, he tries to raise his hand to push it out of the way, but he’s stopped before he could actually move that thing. 

“Easy, Mr. Lillard, please, don’t touch it. Try to calm down,” a woman says. 

Lillard? Who’s Lillard? Don’t they recognize him? Didn’t the cops identify the car? 

He wants to speak, he wants to tell the woman that there’s a misunderstanding, that he’s not Lillard, he’s Max Verstappen. He left his wallet in the club, but his phone was there with him, if they have that, they can contact you, and if they can contact you, you can tell them who he is. 

But no sound leaves his throat. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t speak. He can’t see, he can’t speak. It feels like he was locked into a prison, away from the rest of the world.

He misses the void. He truly does. 

You get the notification after you turn on your phone. A missed call from an unknown American number. With trembling fingers, you hit the call button, then wait for whoever is on the other side to speak up. 

The conversation is short and to the point. 

Are you Max Verstappen’s fiancée? Yes. I am sorry to say this, but he was involved in a car accident, and the paramedics couldn’t save his life. Are you sure? Yes. And we need you to officially identify the body, so I will send you where to come. 

That was all you got from the cop who called. 

You break down right there at the airport, collapsing on the tarmac with tears falling from your eyes. All you manage to do is sending Daniel a text with the news, asking him when he will get here because you simply cannot do this alone.

You don’t want to see his body. If you do, it will be permanent, it will mean you lost him forever. It will mean you’re now going to focus on the logistics of taking his body home, focus on organizing a funeral that’s worthy of his legacy, focus on surviving. 

An hour later you’re standing in the door of the morgue, talking to the detective on your side. The driver of the other car was running a red light, and his system was full of drugs and alcohol. According to his ex, he was suicidal, she wouldn’t be surprised if this was his ticket out of this world. 

“Are you ready?”

Can anyone ever be ready for something like this?

But you nod nonetheless, trying to steel yourself until your friend arrives to help you through the worst of it. Until now, you ignored the messages and calls, but eventually, you’ll have to talk to people. Family and friends. The members of the Red Bull family. Other drivers. God, it’s gonna be a really dreadful task.

The table isn’t that far from the door, but the moment your eyes fall on the figure on it, covered with a white sheet, time seems to stop moving. This can’t be real, this can’t be real, this can’t be real, you keep repeating. 

When the coroner removes the sheet from his face, though, you feel like screaming. From shock? From pain? From relief? From happiness? 

Because the man on the table is definitely not Max. They look strangely alike, that you admit, but he’s definitely not your fiancé. Then who is he? And why was he driving Max’s car?

Max has fallen in and out of sleep in the past hour or so, although that’s just a guess, he has absolutely no idea what time it is. Time passes differently when he’s locked into his own body, when he simply can’t get himself to talk. 

He keeps trying whenever he’s awake and there’s someone in the room with him. If he can say as much as his name, they can hopefully realize that he’s not the man they think he is. Then they could contact you. Then he would be reunited with you. 

“Max!” 

Yes. That’s it. That’s exactly what he wants to say. If he could only say it out this loud…

“Where’s Max?” he hears it again, the voice he knows and loves so much sounding almost hysterical in his mind. “Max!”

“Miss, this is Richard Lillard, if you’re looking for—”

“Your Richard Lillard is in the morgue, the man in there is my fiancé, and I’m going to see him right now,” you tell the nurse angrily, and he can imagine you push past her before he hears your loud, confident steps getting closer. 

But is it really you? Isn’t it just his injured brain playing tricks on him? 

Did he have brain damage, though? Who knows, maybe that’s the reason why he can’t speak. 

When he feels a soft hand wrap around his own, he immediately knows it’s you. You’re here with him, so he squeezes your hand in an attempt to tell you that it’s okay, that he’s alive. He can hear you cry, repeating something under your breath that he can’t quite understand, but it’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay now. 

He would have come back from the grave just to come home to you. 

Even death wouldn’t be enough to keep you apart.