Me During The Finale:

Me: I’m not going to get attached to ANYONE cause it’s GoT.

Also me: *gets overly attached to Luke*

Me during the finale:

Me: I’m Not Going To Get Attached To ANYONE Cause It’s GoT.

Packing

Summary: can I ask for an imagine where you break up with slash because it just doesn’t work out anymore? And it’s just really sad but the best for the both of them?

Requested: yes by anon

Warnings: mentions of cheating

As much as Y/N wished to make things right with Saul, she knew that there was no going back. The two of them had just grown apart when the band got famous. When they were just playing the clubs, Y/N thought she would be okay with the girls throwing themselves at him.

She was there to keep them away. Then he went on tour, and Y/N didn’t know if he was staying faithful or not. She knew that she had accused him of cheating several times in the last few months. Each time without any proof.

Then there was him ignoring her and forgetting to call home, and when he was home, he avoided her like the plague. And when they talked, they were yelling at each other, accusing both of cheating and not trusting each other.

Y/N now stood in the house, packing everything that was hers. She loved this house. She had picked it out with Saul back when they were beginning to talk about marriage and thinking about having kids. That was out the window, but she was moving in with a friend until she could get back on her own feet.

She went back to back folding up the last of her clothes. This was the last of it in Saul’s house, and she was hoping to get out of here before he came back. She really didn’t want to see him.

She thought about the last fight they had.

***

“Where the hell have you been?” Saul yelled.

“I went out with friends,” Y/N replied. “It’s not like the times you go on tour and fuck around with a bunch of groupies.”

Saul threw his hands up. “Jesus, Y/N! Not this again. I’m not cheating on you,” he said.

Saul glared at her, and she glared right back. She knew that she shouldn’t be accusing him of cheating with no proof, but she suspected that he was for several months. Then Saul had started accusing her of the same, and really she wasn’t. At least not sober.

Her friends had taken her out for a girls’ night, and she had gotten a little too drunk and ended up kissing a stranger. It didn’t go too far past that, and she felt terrible. The only thing that had stopped her from going too far was a friend had walked in on her and took her home.

“I don’t know how many times that I have to tell you that I haven’t cheated on you and that I never would,” he argued.

That stopped her in her tracks because she could hear the hurt in his voice. “It’s because I can’t trust myself,” she said weakly.

Saul had been pacing around the living room when she finished her sentence. “What do you mean?” he asked frozen in his spot.

***

Why had Y/N opened her mouth? She had told him what happened and how she felt. In all honesty, she had convinced him that they would try to work things out. They had done absolutely everything they could and try to make things better, but nothing they did worked.

So here she was carrying the last of her bags out to her car just as Saul was pulling up. Y/N sighed and tried to not cry again especially in front of him.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly.

“Hey,” she replied just as nervously.

“So, uh, you got all of your stuff?” Slash asked.

“Yeah, I did,” she answered.

“Well, good,” he said. He wasn’t be rude. He just didn’t seem to know what else to say, and she didn’t either.

“I’ll see you around, I guess,” she said, shutting the trunk of her car.

“You know I don’t hold a grudge against you,” Slash called out before she got to the driver’s side of the car.

“And I’m just so sorry for what I did,” she said.

68 notes View Post

dazecrea

5 months ago

Grill the Kid

Synopsis: Y/n is the favorite for Grill the Grid. A few of the 2023 episodes are a reminder why.

young female driver reader x 2023 F1 Grid

A/N: a couple things; team doesn’t really matter here, I’m just using the drivers shown in the videos. i’m also using a challenge from previous years to make it more interesting

Grill the Grid Episode 1: Driver Heights

You walk in to see a tall easel. “Oh, what’s this for?” You ask Rosanna, the host of the games.

“We’ve got a heigh chart and magnets with all the driver’s names on them. And you’ve got to place them in height order in two minutes”

You nod. “I can do that”

“You ready? 3, 2, 1, go”

“Okay, how am I gonna do this?” You say, asking no one in specific.

“Let’s just do this in order I see them- actually, wait” You search for two names specifically, then slap one at the very top, the other at the bottom.

“We’re gonna put Yuki right below my name, he’s not as tall as me, but he’s close”

“Then...um...who’s the next tallest? Estie or Alex?” You look to Rosanna as if she can tell you.

“We’ll do Estie, Alex, then, Stroll, I guess? Lance is pretty tall, he can go right there” You flip through the magnets in your hands, eyebrows furrowed.

“Should we do shortest to tallest then? That might be easier”

“Lando is, of course, a midget and belongs all the way down there” You crouch, placing your friend’s name at the bottom with a grin.

“Who else is short? Fernando and Checo, they’re pretty short. I think Fernando is shorter than Checo, though”

“Umm, Lewis isn’t that tall, oh! Neither is Valtteri, sorry Valtteri. KMag, he’s also not super tall”

“I think from then on, everyone else is kinda similar in height- actually no, Pierre thinks that he’s tall, he’s not”

“Max- is Max tall? He might be, he’s just not tall in my mind. We’ll put him in the middle. Charles, we’ll put him right next to Max” A cheeky smile suddenly comes on to your face.

“Zhou is kinda tall, maybe, but we’ll put him below Charles and Max”

“Oscar? See, again he’s not tall in my mind, but he might actually be tall, so I don’t know. I’ll put him above Zhou but below Charles and Max, that might work”

“Carlos, uh, he can be tall, we’ll put him above right below Charles and Max”

“Oh, Hulk! He’s tall, Nico’s tall, we’ll put him below Alex and in front of Lance”

“Last person is Logan, he’s tall, I think, not that tall though, maybe below Lance” You place the last name on the chart.

“Okay, I’m done, I did great, but you can tell me what you think is wrong, anyways” you say jokingly, smiling at Rosanna.

“So, Y/n, I’m sorry to tell you but you are not the tallest on the grid” Rosanna says in front of you, fake sympathy on her face.

“What do you mean? Of course I am, I tower above everyone, clearly” You gesture to yourself.

“Okay then, well, Yuki is not the second tallest” The woman says as you shake your head.

“Rosie, I don’t know what you see, but Yuki is almost as tall as me” You look up to see her sighing.

“Are you really not going to change it?”

“There’s nothing to change” You smile, shrugging. “Alright then. Esteban is the-“ She pauses, then plays along with your game. “The third tallest” You smile successfully.

“Then in your books, I guess, Alex is the fourth tallest, and George- what did George do to you that made you put him on the bottom?”

“He’s George, that’s enough sometimes” You see Rosanna face palm, then ask again, “You’re not going to change his?”

“Nope” You shake your head. “Okay- moving on, you got Nico and Lance right. Max is actually taller than Logan, then goes Charles- are you not going to change them either?” She exclaims, exhasperated already.

“No” you say simply. She sighs. “So Charles, you got Oscar and Carlos wrong, Oscar is taller than Carlos”

“Really? He’s taller than Carlos? Okay, I’ll move them”

“Pierre goes right below Carlos, then Kevin-” You cut her off. “Actually? Wow, I was wrong”

“Yes, somehow” Rosanna rolls her eyes playfully.“Then comes Zhou, he’s shorter than KMag, then Lewis, he’s taller than Sergio. Checo is taller than Valtteri, then Fernando, and then Lando”

She finishes, refraining from voicing her opinion about yours and Yuki’s heights. “So I got them all right!” You exclaim, grinning. “Sure Y/n, you got them all right”

Grill the Grid Episode 2: Geography

“Alright, here we go” You walk into the studio, greeting Rosanna and everyone else behind the cameras as you go. “What’re we doing today?” You ask, standing on the mark on the floor.

Rosanna smirks, and you know this isn’t going to go well. “Geography”

Your face falls.

“In fifteen seconds”

Your jaw drops.

“Oh my god, I hate this game”

She hands you the clipboard. “You ready?”

“No” You deadpan.

“Okay, 3, 2, 1, go” She ignores you and starts the timer.

And then you’re dotting the paper frantically, your eyes trying to keep up with your hands. “Ten seconds”

“Shut up” you say dryly, but you’re grinning.

“Where’s Monaco?” You mutter.

“Five seconds”

“No”

“Time’s up” she tells you, the alarm going off in front of you.

“Wait” Your eyes quickly scanning the paper. “Okay, I’m done” You look up.

“The timer’s been off for like, ten seconds” Rosanna laughs.

“Oh well”

“Okay, Y/n, show me what you’ve done” You grin, turning the clipboard around to reveal a messily dotted paper.

“Oh my”

“Good, right?”

“It’s certainly something”

“Yeah, something amazing”

“Sure, Y/n. Tell me what it’s supposed to be”

“Okay so, we have Miami, Texas, Las Vegas” You point to the US on the map.

“You’ve got that bit right”

“Then Mexico, and Montreal is somewhere up here” You gesture to Canada. “Not where Mexico City or Montreal are, but I’ll give you the point”

“Australia, Brazil, and the UK”

“Yeah, then what’s the mess on the rest of Europe?” You grin. “There’s Russia, Singapore is like, down here”

“Russia’s right, Singapore isn’t”

You give her a look. “What? You got them wrong!”

“How am I supposed to win if you tell me I get them wrong?”

“Maybe you won’t win then. C’mon-”

You cut her off. “Are you doubting my skills? Fine, I’ll show you. Japan is here-”

“No it’s not”

“This is Italy”

“That one’s right”

“Belgium is here”

“Nope”

“This is the Netherlands”

“Switzerland, actually”

“That’s Bahrain” Rosanna shakes her head. “It’s not”

“Saudia Arabia is here”

“That’s right”

“See, I told you I know my stuff” You tap your head with the marker and grin.

“You’ve got like six wrong”

“That’s Baku”

“Not even close”

“And then there’s Monaco” “You did get that one” You smile proudly.

“Spain”

“Yeah”

“Austria?”

“You were on a streak! Not Austria”

“Hungary”

“You are back to being wrong”

“Qatar”

“Yes, that’s Qatar”

“And Abu Dhabi” You finish.

“And no. Congrats Y/n, you got 14/23 right”

“Yeah, I always get it right”

“I- okay Y/n”

Grill the Grid Episode 3: Youngest to Oldest

“Hi” You sing-song as you walk into the studio and on the mark on the floor.

“Today Y/n, you’re going to put the drivers on the grid in their age order, from the youngest at the top and oldest at the bottom. You have two minutes” Rosanna says, giving you 20 magnets with each driver’s name on them.

“Are you ready?” She asks as you flip through each name.

“Yeah, why not”

“3, 2, 1, go”

“Alright this is gonna be easy. Let’s find oldest and youngest first, so me, I go at the very top, and then... Fernando right here, goes all the way to the bottom” You turn to grin at the camera.

“I believe Oscar is the next youngest, and then Logan? He’s besties with Oscar and that means they’re the same age so yeah, Logan”

You flip through a few more, and suddenly pause.“Um, how old is Zhou? He’s gotta be like, 21? 22? We’ll put him above Logan”

“Then Lando, oh and Yuki, he turned 22 or 23 a few months ago?” You know you’re not getting any answers, you never do, but you ask anyway.

“Or maybe they’re the same age! Yeah, let’s go with that, Lando and Yuki same age”

“Then... Okay, this isn’t easy, who’s next? How old is Charles? I’m gonna say 25 because he’s definitely not 26 and I don’t think anyone is younger than him. So, Charles, I think Pierre because again, they’re besties and that means they’re the same age- or no, Pierre is like, a little older”

“And Max, he’s young, he’s 25 so- oh no”

“Is Pierre older than Max?”

“How old is- Pierre is 26 right? So it goes Chares, Max, then Pierre”

“No because how old is Alex? He’s gotta be like 25 right? He can’t be- how old is George?”

“Oh my god, because see, in my mind, George is like 27 but I know-”

You pause.

“I don't think that’s true so- but how old is Alex?”

“Oh jeez” You cover your face with your hands.

“Alright, let’s do me, Oscar, Logan, Zhou, Lando and Yuki, Alex, Charles, George, Max, Pierre, and then Esteban to top it all off. That makes sense”

“That brings us to like 26-wait! How old is Lance?” You groan and throw your hands up.

“He’s either 24, 25, or 26. We’ll put him in front of Pierre and behind Estie” You look at your work and nod.

“And Carlos! He’s like 27, maybe, so after Esteban, probably”

“Yeah, okay, I think after that no one else is in their twenties, so thirties”

“KMag is 31 I think, Checo is- Checo's on the younger side, 33 or like, 35, I don’t know”

“Bottas is somewhere in between, low thirties I’m gonna say, so after Checo”

“Then Hulk, I think he’s 35 actually, so we’ll put him in front of Valtteri”

“And then Lewis right under Fernando. Wow, that was easy, I’m so good at this game” You place the last magnet and turn to grin at Rosanna.

“So, you got the first three right, but Yuki is the fourth youngest, then Lando, and then Zhou”

“I was close”

“Then Lance, George, and Charles”

You make a face. “Not so good then”

“Next goes Max, Esteban, and Alex”

“And you got the last seven correct, so you did okay”

“I think I should get extra points for trying though”

“No, Y/n”

(I only did 3 episodes because these were the only ones that I could really make a story out of, so… the end)

1K notes View Post

dazecrea

1 year ago

37K notes View Post

dazecrea

5 months ago

Forced | Max Verstappen Ver

WC: 22.2K

Max x reader

Summery: Jos made a deal years ago that he can't get out of, and Max is the one to see it through.

Warning ⚠️: abuse(mental, physical), a little naive reader, slight ptsd, eating disorder implied, depression and suicidal thoughts, mention of parent death, family abandment, cursing, Jos being an ahole, injuries

AN: Dark one. Read the warnings.

SAT THERE EDITING SINCE THE RACE JUST SO I COULD GET IT OUT TODAY!!

Masterlist

Max Verstappen

Charles Ver., Carlos Ver.

How he ended up here was a mystery to Max, but here he was, sitting in a private room at some overpriced restaurant, his father on one side and a stranger across from him. Across from him sat the man he only knew as Mr Wilkins, his sharp eyes practically dissecting Max with every glance.

Max prided himself on being observant. He noticed the little things, the subtle shifts in behaviour, the unspoken tells. And tonight, Jos Verstappen was a man he barely recognised. His father, usually so confident and composed, was jittery, avoiding Max’s gaze, his hands restless against the polished table. Jos had been skittish for days, dodging every question Max had thrown at him. And now, this.

“Have you told him?” Wilkins’s voice cut through the tension, cool and unwavering. His question was directed at Jos, but it hit Max like a stone.

Max glanced at his father, his stomach twisting, this is what his dad has been dodging all week. “Told me what?”

Jos’s gaze fell to the table. He didn’t answer.

“I see you haven’t.” Wilkins said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Looks like I’ll have to do it myself.”

Jos shifted uncomfortably, his hand reaching for his glass of water but stopping halfway. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?” He asked, his voice low and almost pleading.

Max froze. Pleading? Jos Verstappen didn’t beg. Not for anyone. Wilkins, however, remained unmoved, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

“You knew the price all those years ago.” His tone was ice-cold, unyielding.

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” Max’s patience snapped, his voice cut through the room, loud enough to draw attention if there had been anyone else around. Wilkins chuckled, clearly amused by Max’s agitation.

“Relax, Mr Verstappen.” He said smoothly, as if the situation was nothing more than a business transaction. “You’re about to receive some… life-changing news.”

Max didn’t relax. He braced himself, his instincts screaming that whatever was coming next would flip his world upside down.

“I’m sorry.” Jos’s voice was barely a whisper, and when Max turned to him, his father’s face was pale, his eyes fixed on the table.

“Well, congratulations are in order.” Wilkins announced, his smirk widening. “You’re a groom.”

Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the room. Max blinked; certain he’d misheard.

“A groom?” He laughed, but it was hollow, a sharp bark of disbelief. He pointed at himself. “Me? You must be joking.”

“Oh, I assure you, I’m quite serious.” Wilkins’s expression didn’t waver. Max’s laughter died instantly. His body stiffened, his hands curling into fists on the table.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not even seeing anyone!” He turned sharply to his father, his voice rising. “What is he saying? What’s going on? And what did you do?”

Jos flinched, his hand shaking as he reached for his son. “L-look, Max, I-I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did.” Wilkins leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as if settling in for a long story. “Let me make this simple, since it’s clear your father hasn’t explained. Many years ago, Jos and I made a deal. I did him a favour, quite a significant one, might I add, and now it’s time for him to repay it.” Wilkins slid a crisp document across the table. Max barely glanced at it. His glare was fixed on the man who’s trying to upend his life. “My business is failing.” Wilkins continued smoothly. “And I need investors. Your father, with his connections and not to mention his three-time world champion son, can help me secure them. And what better way to cement that relationship than a marriage?”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Max’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady.

“Everything.” Wilkins said, his eyes gleaming. “Because you, Max, are the key to this entire arrangement. And let’s be honest, you’d do anything to protect your father, wouldn’t you?”

The insinuation hit like a slap. Max’s gaze darted to his father, whose face crumbled under the weight of guilt.

“I don’t get it,” Max muttered. “What could you possibly have over him?”

Wilkins’s smirk turned razor-sharp. “Oh, I have plenty. How about the fact that Jos embezzled money to secure his career in Formula 1? Or that he cheated his way into a few deals? One word from me, and the media would have a field day. And prison? Well, Jos knows what that’s like already, doesn’t he?”

Max’s stomach churned. He pushed back his chair, the screech of metal against wood cutting through the tension. Grabbing his phone, he stood, his movements sharp and final.

“I’m not doing this.” He said, his voice firm, resolute.

“Max, wait!” Jos half-rose from his chair, grabbing his son’s arm. “Please, just… think about it. Please.”

Max wrenched his arm free, his glare slicing through his father’s desperation. “Think about what? Selling myself off like some business transaction? No.”

“It’ll be good for your image,” Jos added hastily, his tone desperate. “And Wilkins’s daughter—she’s beautiful. Maybe just… meet her. Talk to her.”

Max’s head snapped towards Wilkins, his eyes narrowing. “Your daughter? You’re offering her up like some bargaining chip?” He scoffed, the disgust in his tone cutting deep.

Wilkins shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Believe me, she’ll be happy. And I know she’ll make you happy.”

Max’s gaze flicked between the two men. His father looked like he was on the verge of breaking, while Wilkins appeared positively delighted with himself. The chaos fuelled him; it was written all over his face.

Max exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ll think about it.” he said finally, his tone clipped. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room, ignoring the sound of his father pleading with Wilkins behind him.

Max went back to his house, the penthouse he shared with his cats. His mind was swirling with emotions and ideas. There must be another way, there had to be. How could they expect him to marry someone he’d never met before? They were acting as if it was as easy as picking up groceries.

His phone pinged with a notification.

It was from his dad. Clicking on their chat, Max barely glanced at the attached picture of you before reading the text below it:

He gave us one week before you have to get married.

Max cursed under his breath and threw his phone, watching as it clattered against the floor, startling his cats.

The week crawled by painfully. It took Jos a few days to show up at Max’s door, trying to convince him. Jos pleaded, guilt-tripping Max at every opportunity. He even showed Max your Instagram profile, scrolling through pictures and pointing out that you weren’t a forever commitment—that marriage didn’t mean he had to be faithful. Jos insisted that Max could continue living his life as usual.

In the end, it wasn’t the arguments or assurances that drove Max to the courthouse; it was the love he had for his father.

Max sat stiffly in front of the officiant’s office, dressed in a blazer, a white shirt, and jeans. He refused to dress up more than that for what felt like a mockery of a commitment. Jos sat beside him, restless, while Max’s thoughts churned. The clock ticked away, but you and your father were nowhere to be seen.

Max glared at the door. Power play, he thought bitterly. Being late was a way to assert control, to make them wait, to show who was in charge.

When Wilkins finally arrived, his booming voice preceded him, pulling Max out of his thoughts.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Max stood without sparing a glance at the group, opened the door to the officiant’s office, and walked in.

You entered moments later, your smile soft but strained when your eyes met Jos’s. Wilkins’s hand gripped your arm tightly as he led you inside, his fingers digging into your skin. You kept your head high and your posture straight, despite the discomfort. When he lets go, you instinctively rubbed your arm but quickly stopped, aware of everyone’s eyes.

Max didn’t look up. He sat rigidly in his seat, staring at the officiant, his jaw set.

“I won’t take long.” The officiant began, sliding a paper in front of Max. He’s clearly paid by your dad. Max grabbed the pen and signed without hesitation, not sparing you a glance. When the paper was passed to you, your hands trembled slightly as you picked up the pen. You signed where indicated, your expression composed, but there was a flicker of hesitation before each stroke.

“Good, nice and easy. Now exchange the rings.” The officiant said.

Max hadn’t brought rings. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. Jos, however, handed him a pair of simple bands, evidently having planned for this.

Max took a steadying breath and turned to you. His gaze faltered for a moment. He hadn’t expected this. You were... breathtaking.

For a moment, he hated that it mattered.

The smile you wore didn’t waver, though it was faint and polite, not reaching your eyes. Max took your hand. Your fingers felt fragile in his grip, trembling slightly, yet he didn’t notice the faint pressure marks on your skin from Wilkins’s grip earlier. He just slid the ring on, his movements mechanical.

You took his hand with quiet care, slipping the ring onto his finger with the same delicate precision, avoiding his gaze. When it was done, Max pulled his hand back quickly, rising from his seat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Wilkins’s voice was sharp. Max froze mid-step, his shoulders tense. “You forgot your wife.” Max turned slowly, glaring at Wilkins. His father’s chuckle grated against his nerves. “You didn’t think just signing papers was enough, did you? You’ll take my daughter with you.”

Wilkins placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, making you flinch slightly before quickly composing yourself. Your smile shrank further, barely there.

Max’s eyes flicked to you. Your white dress clung to your frame, the heels on your feet absurdly high. You looked... smaller somehow, standing next to your father.

“Come on, then.” Max said brusquely, turning and heading for the door.

Wilkins leaned down, whispering something in your ear. You nodded quickly, not daring to respond aloud. You hurried after Max, your footsteps soft but purposeful.

Outside, Max’s car—a sleek Aston Martin DBS—waited. You moved to the passenger side without a word, glancing briefly at Max as you settled into the seat. Your hands rested in your lap, clutching your handbag tightly.

The drive to his penthouse was suffocatingly silent. Max glanced at you occasionally. You sat stiffly, your head slightly bowed, offering no conversation. By the time you arrived, Max began to wonder if you ever spoke at all.

Inside the penthouse, Max’s cats greeted him with meowing and weaving around his legs. He crouched to pet them, finding brief solace in their presence.

When he stood, you were still by the door, shoes off, holding them neatly in one hand. Your other hand gripped the strap of your handbag, knuckles pale.

“I’ll show you the guest bedroom,” Max said.

“Thank you.” Your voice was soft, measured, almost hesitant.

Max frowned. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the sound of your voice caught him off guard. It was far more subdued than he’d imagined.

You followed him quietly, your movements careful, as though unsure of your place in this space. You take a 360 degree look before your eyes fall back on Max.

“There’s a bathroom attached. If you need anything, let me know,” Max said as he stood at the doorway.

“Thank you.” Your response was the same, polite but distant.

Max closed the door behind him and leaned against it briefly, exhaling. You were too calm, too composed. It unsettled him. You weren’t angry or demanding. You weren’t protesting or pushing back.

That left only one possibility. You wanted this.

And Max despised you for it.

You sat on the bed in the guest room, unsure of what to do with yourself. The room was luxurious, similar to your bedroom back home, a little homier though. Looking around, your eyes landed on the large windows.

Walking over, you pulled back the sheer curtains and opened the window slightly. A salty breeze wafted in, carrying the faint hum of the city below. There were no buildings obstructing the view, just the harbour and the vast expanse of sea. The sight was breathtaking, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest.

Your fingers twitched, an old habit resurfacing—a need to occupy yourself. But there was nothing to do. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your nerves. You were in a stranger’s home, married to a man you didn’t know.

Last week, your life had been structured to the minute. You’d had your schedule, your tasks, your carefully planned routine dictated by your father. Now, there was nothing. No orders. No tasks. You bit at your nail beds, the nervous habit making a quiet comeback as you sat back down on the bed.

The hours dragged by. At some point, you lay down on top of the covers, staring out the window. The sky shifted from blue to orange as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. Hunger gnawed at you occasionally, but you didn’t dare leave the room.

Max had gone about his day as if nothing had changed. He’d spent time on the simulator, played a few rounds online with friends, and entertained his cats. For a moment, it was easy to forget you existed.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on the sofa, scratching Sassy behind her ears, that he noticed the wedding band on his finger. The sight brought him back to reality. His eyes narrowed as he realised, he hadn’t heard a sound from the guest room all day.

“Ridiculous.” he muttered, standing abruptly. He hesitated for a moment outside your door before knocking lightly.

When there was no immediate response, Max opened the door to find you sitting up on the bed, your dress slightly wrinkled and your legs tucked beneath you. You blinked at him, startled.

“I was—” Max cleared his throat, his eyes flicking over you briefly before settling on your face. “I’m ordering food. What do you want?”

“Anything.” You replied softly, your voice timid and polite.

Max’s jaw tightened. Of course, he thought bitterly. The perfect act.

He scoffed and left, the door closing behind him with more force than necessary.

When the food arrived half an hour later, Max knocked on your door again.

“Food’s ready.” He said flatly, turning and walking back to the dining area.

You emerged hesitantly, following the faint sound of Max unpacking containers. He placed a box in front of your spot at the table before sitting down with his own.

You opened the box to find a chicken pasta dish with a side of garlic bread. The sight made you pause, your brows furrowing slightly.

“What?” Max asked, catching the look on your face. “You don’t like pasta?”

Quickly, you schooled your expression into a neutral smile. “No, I like it. Thank you.”

Max narrowed his eyes, noting the sudden shift in your demeanour, but said nothing.

The meal passed in near silence, punctuated only by the occasional clink of cutlery. Max finished his food quickly, while you ate slowly, taking small, measured bites, just like you were taught. When he set his fork down, you did the same, despite having barely finished a third of your meal.

Gathering your food containers, you stood and asked quietly, “Which way is the kitchen?”

Max pointed in the direction, watching as you disappeared briefly. You returned a moment later to collect his empty containers.

Max was perplexed by your actions; you haven’t been there for 12 hours and you’re already confusing him.

From the dining room, Max could hear the sound of water running, followed by the opening and closing of cabinets. When you returned, he sighed and stood.

“I’ll show you around.” He said curtly.

You followed silently as he walked through the penthouse, pointing out the various rooms. The tour ended at the door to your guest room. Taking that as your cue, you nodded politely and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you.

The next morning, you woke early, unsure of what to do. You slipped your strapless bra back on, skipping your underwear, and pulled your dress from the day before over your head. It was wrinkled but all you had.

When you ventured out, you found Max in the living room, scrolling through his phone. At the sound of your soft throat-clearing, he looked up.

His eyes swept over you briefly, taking in the rumpled dress and your heels. “Getting married again today?” he asked, his tone dry.

“Sorry. I... I don’t have any of my clothes with me.” You flinched slightly but forced a small smile.

Max stared at you for a moment, realisation dawning. He hadn’t considered that you’d arrived with only your handbag.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Without another word, he disappeared into his bedroom, returning a moment later with a plain shirt and a pair of shorts. “These don’t fit me. You can wear them.” He said, holding them out to you.

“Thank you.” You said softly, taking the clothes and retreating to your room. When you emerged a few minutes later, you were wearing his oversized shirt and shorts, which hung loosely on you.

For some reason, Max found himself staring. You looked better in his clothes, he thought absently, before shaking the thought away.

“Can I go out for a bit?” You asked hesitantly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah.” Max replied, already turning back to his phone.

While you were out, Max got a call from one of his friends, inviting him to meet up for the day. He took off his wedding ring and left the apartment. He forgot about the rough week he’d been having and went out to eat and relax with his group of friends. It wasn’t until around 8 p.m. that he headed home.

As he reached his floor, the automatic lights flickered on, revealing your figure slumped against the front door. You were sleeping with shopping bags scattered around you, still in his clothes, his shorts slid up showing your legs, just like the dress did, and your heels discarded by your side.

Max scoffed, walking past you and unlocking his door without a word. He glanced back at you, deliberating for a moment. Should he leave you there? Or wake you up?

Before he could decide, Jimmy sidestepped him and jumped onto you, his head diving straight into one of the bags. That was enough to stir you awake. You jolted up, confused and disoriented, clearly not remembering when you’d fallen asleep.

"Jimmy! Come here," Max called, clicking his tongue. The cat ignored him, making Max sigh in annoyance. He looked down at you—those wide, innocent eyes staring up at him—and felt an unfamiliar mix of irritation and concern.

"Get inside," he said firmly.

You scrambled to your feet, still groggy, grabbing your bags and shoes, but not before Max noticed something red flash from the corner of his eye. He didn’t focus on it, though.

“My dad said your things would arrive in the next couple of days.” Max added casually, as if it was just another piece of information. You paused, turning to him.

"Uh, okay." You muttered in response, quickly retreating to your room.

Max narrowed his eyes but didn’t press you further. He was trying to be polite, trying to make things work. Here he was asking his dad about your things, all he got was that meek “okay.”

He closed the door behind you, then went to feed his cat.

He didn’t hear or see you for the rest of the day.

Two days later, two suitcases arrived. You rolled them to your room and opened them with a mix of dread and resignation. Inside were clothes you hadn’t bought and wouldn’t have chosen for yourself. But they were all designer brands, the kind of things you could sell if you needed the money.

You didn’t want to think about it, but you knew you had no choice. You had to get by somehow.

The week went by with Max either going out, working or gaming. You spent all day in your room, but you had seen Max’s nutritionist’s list he had left in the kitchen one day. Seeing the food he’s supposed to eat, all of it you could make. You memorized his food schedule and started preparing his meals, waking up earlier than him, just to make sure everything was ready. By lunchtime, the smell of food would fill the apartment, but Max never caught sight of you. He never heard you.

The first couple of days in his house missed with your sleeping schedule, so you’re awake way before he does, you memorised when he usually wakes up. So, he’d find food ready for him.

Days stretched on endlessly. You passed the time by reading the few books in your room, but there was no TV, no distractions. You stayed in your room, alone, only leaving to prepare Max’s meals or feed the cats. They started to visit you more often, meowing at your door, and you’d let them in. It made the days a little less lonely, even if the fear never really went away.

Despite everything, it was still better than your life in Switzerland. Better than the life your father had forced upon you.

One day, the doorbell rang. Max was engrossed in his simulator, the headset muffling the sound entirely. After the fourth ring, you hesitantly left your room to see who it could be. Half-asleep, you padded into the living room, noticing Max still focused on his sim in the corner.

Opening the door, you froze as your heart plummeted. Standing there was your father.

"Did someone come?" Max called out from the living room, removing his headset. You shrank back, taking a few steps away from your father. Max rounded the corner, his sharp eyes darting between your pale face and the men at the door. “What are you two doing here?” He demanded, his tone already hard.

“We came to talk about what comes next.” Your father replied, his voice steady but full of implication. Max stepped closer, his presence solid and unmoving beside you. Unconsciously, you edged backward, positioning yourself slightly behind him as if to shield yourself. Max noticed your movement but didn’t say anything—not yet.

“Next? What next? We’re married.” Max shot back, crossing his arms. His posture was sharp, shoulders broad, making him look even more imposing.

“Yes, but how will I get investors if no one sees you two together?” Your father raised a brow, his gaze flitting to you. You froze under his scrutiny, feeling as though the floor might give way beneath you. His eyes moved past you into the house. “Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Your father stepped forward, but Max immediately blocked his path, his stance rigid and unyielding.

“That’s not happening.” Max said through gritted teeth. “And neither is whatever scheme you’re planning. Now piss off will you.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into a sharper tone. “Listen here, boy—”

Max cut him off, stepping closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “No, you listen. I married your daughter. That’s the deal. How you get your investors is your problem, not ours. You don’t come here. You don’t ask us for anything.”

Your father’s eyes darted toward you again, making you whimper softly. The sound was barely audible, but Max caught it instantly. He shifted, positioning himself fully in front of you, effectively blocking you from view.

“Your daughter is mine. She’s my wife now. You gave her to me—your choice, your consequences,” Max growled. His words were deliberate, cutting.

Your father’s expression darkened as he leaned closer. “I can still expose your father.” He threatened.

Max’s gaze flickered to Jos for a moment before refocusing. He felt the faint tug on his shirt where your fingers clutched the fabric, trembling. Whatever hesitation he had vanished entirely.

“Then do it.” Max bit out, his voice cold and venomous. “Expose him. And when it all falls apart, you’ll suffer just as much as him.”

Without giving your father, a chance to respond, Max slammed the door in their faces.

The moment the latch clicked, your hand released his shirt, and you took a shaky step back. Max was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm himself.

“I’ll have to talk to security about keeping them out.” He muttered, his voice low.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, barely audible.

Max turned to you, his eyes softening despite himself. You were on the verge of tears, and it was written all over your face.

“It’s not your fault,” Max said, his tone gentler than you’d ever heard it before.

Before the tears could spill, you turned and hurried to your room. His cats trailed after you, their tails swishing curiously. Max stood there for a moment, staring after you, wondering when his pets had gotten so attached to you.

In your room, you curled up on the bed, pulling the covers tightly around you as emotions overwhelmed you. Seeing your father again stirred everything you had tried to suppress. This was the longest you’d ever been away from him. Even when he was on business trips, his presence loomed over you through cameras and speakers. If you stepped out of line, even slightly, his voice would thunder through the house, ensuring you never forgot he was watching.

No one had ever stepped up for you. The staff in your father’s home were emotionless, stoic—just following orders. No one had ever comforted you, protected you, or even looked at you with kindness.

But today, Max had stood up for you. Max, who barely tolerated your existence, had blocked your father and shielded you. Max who has no idea what kind of relationship you have with your father. Maybe it was out of anger or frustration with the situation, but it didn’t matter. For the first time, someone had been in your corner.

The realization hit you like a wave, and the tears came. You sobbed quietly, your body shaking under the covers. The loneliness is killing you, why are you even living, what do you do in your day, no one will miss you if you’re gone. You tried not to think such dark thoughts but times like this you couldn’t help it.

The cats jumped onto the bed, circling you. Sassy licked your face, her rough tongue brushing away some of the tears. You patted her head softly, whispering a thank-you under your breath. Maybe they’d miss you if you were gone.

The next morning, Max was by the door, bags packed for two weeks of racing. The apartment was eerily silent—something he usually didn’t mind. But after hearing you cry last night, the quiet felt heavy.

He’d paced in his room for hours, debating whether to check on you. Max might not like you, but he wasn’t heartless. He hated hearing anyone cry, especially women. When he finally decided to go to your door, the sobs had slowed, and he didn’t want to risk waking you.

Now, standing by the door, he hesitated again. Eventually, he knocked softly.

“I’m leaving now. I’ll be gone for two weeks.” He said, his voice awkward but trying.

There was silence for a moment before your muffled voice came through. “Okay. Thank you.” It cracked on the last syllable, heavy with sadness. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Max replied, lingering for a second before leaving. He didn’t know what else to say, but he couldn’t ignore the tightness in his chest.

Max had thought about you more than he’d like to admit. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, no matter how much he tried to push them away. He didn’t like you, he knew next to nothing about you. Yet, somehow, he felt much less dislike toward you now. The truth gnawed at him: he barely knew you. Still, he’d left you in his home with his cats and had lived with you for over a week before heading to the race.

For once, Max couldn’t wait to get home. He was the first out of the paddock, the first on the plane, and the first off it when they landed. By the time he walked into the house, it was nighttime. The air inside was cool and still, the lights turned off, and the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound.

Jimmy and Sassy came trotting out from somewhere, nuzzling into him in greeting. Max bent down to stroke them absently, his mind already drifting. He headed to the kitchen for a drink, opening the fridge. Frowning, he pulled out a bottle of water. Everything inside was exactly as he’d left it—nothing had changed. No empty shelves, no dishes used. The realization unsettled him.

Max closed the fridge and moved to the pantry, only to find the same: untouched, just as it had been before.

A strange thought crept in, and his chest tightened as he turned on his heel, heading to your room. Your door was slightly ajar, and alarm bells went off in his mind. You always kept it closed.

“Y/N?” He called softly, knocking lightly before pushing it open.

The room was eerily tidy. The bed was made with military precision, the same way his mother liked to do it. Nothing was out of place, nothing personal added. It was as if no one had lived in it at all. Max’s heartbeat quickened as panic set in. Where were you?

He searched the house—your bathroom, the laundry room, even his own bedroom. You weren’t there. Finally, he ended up in the living room, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.

Jimmy meowed loudly, trotting toward the terrace door, which was slightly ajar. Max frowned and followed him, pushing the door open wider.

The sight stopped him in his tracks.

You were lying on the floor of the terrace, flat on your back, eyes closed. Sassy was curled up next to you, and Jimmy padded over to join her. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Max thought the worst.

“Y/N?” His voice wavered as he rushed over, dropping to his knees beside you. “Y/N?” He repeated, louder this time, hands hovering over you as though afraid to touch. “Are you okay?”

He shook you gently, then harder when you didn’t respond. “Y/N!”

Your eyes snapped open with a sharp gasp, and you bolted upright—right into Max’s forehead.

“Fuck!” He groaned, clutching his head as you did the same.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” You exclaimed, reaching for him instinctively. “I didn’t mean to—are you okay?”

Max glared at you, rubbing the sore spot. “I should be asking you that. Why the hell were you sleeping out here?”

You looked away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I wanted to see the stars.”

“In your pyjamas? On the floor? It’s freezing, Y/N!” His exasperation was palpable, but there was a hint of something else beneath it—concern.

You bit your lip, nodding, wishing you could disappear. “I’m sorry.”

Max sighed heavily, standing and extending a hand to help you up. “Come inside before you get sick.”

In the kitchen, under the bright lights, Max finally got a good look at you. You looked exhausted—darker circles under your eyes than before, your frame thinner, your movements sluggish. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was deeply wrong.

“Here.” You placed an ice pack wrapped in a towel against his forehead, your fingers brushing his skin lightly. Max caught the faint scent of lavender and something softer, uniquely you.

“I’m fine,” He muttered, gently taking the ice pack from you. “But you should have one too.”

You hesitated before nodding, fetching another ice pack for yourself. As you pressed it to your own forehead with a quiet hiss, Max leaned against the counter, studying you.

“Why didn’t you eat any of the food in the fridge?” He asked suddenly.

Your eyes widened in panic. “I didn’t touch anything, I swear—” Your hands falling to your side brining the pack with you.

“Don’t put it down.” Your hands flew back up. “I know you didn’t,” Max interrupted, his tone softer now. “That’s the problem. What have you been eating?”

“I buy my own food.” You mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. Everything you do and say just confuses him more.

Max frowned. “And you don’t put it in the fridge?”

“I did.” You said quickly. “I just… ran out.”

His brow furrowed further. “You don’t eat anything from my food?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want to intrude.”

Max stared at you, his chest tightening. “So, let me get this straight: you cooked meals for me, but you didn’t make anything for yourself because you didn’t want to use my food? Seriously, Y/N, what have you been eating?”

“Yeah.” You said it like it was obvious, you then hesitated. “I managed… Do you not want me to cook for you anymore?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Max sighed. “I’m saying you can cook yourself food while cooking for me.”

“But…” You trail off feeling embarrassed of what you have to say.

“What? Tell me.” Max said and you meet his eyes for a second before you look at the floor.

“Your food is expensive; I don’t have a lot of money.” You mumble and chew at your lip. Max stands there in silence, he knew your dad is going bankrupt but not enough to not have money.

“Your cards are empty?” Max asked, his tone a bit cold. It wasn’t directed or because of you, but the more he finds out about your dad the more agitated he gets.

“I uh, I don’t have a card.” You admit and put the ice pack on the counter, you try to escape the kitchen and this conversation.

“Wait.” You stop in your tracks and turn to face Max, knowing there’s no escaping this now. “What else are you hiding from me? How have you been paying for your food, and you went shopping on your first day?”

His eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced by your words, and your mind flashed back to that first week in Monaco, just after you arrived.

You had left the apartment, the weight of Max’s indifferent nod still heavy on your shoulders. Monaco was unfamiliar, but you’d lived in many countries—surely you could figure it out.

Walking into the first jewellery shop you found, you approached the counter with a timid smile. The attendant greeted you warmly.

Italic is French

“Bonjour, madame, how can I help you?”

You hesitated before asking, “Do you buy jewellery?”

The woman’s friendly smile faltered. “I’m sorry, madame. We don’t.”

“That’s alright, thank you.” You murmured, retreating quickly.

The next three shops were the same story, the polite rejections wearing away at your resolve. By the fourth, a kind attendant told you there weren’t any jewellery shops in the area that would buy second-hand pieces, but she gave you directions to one on the other side of the city.

Following her directions, you trudged through unfamiliar streets, the cobblestones cruel to your feet in towering heels. The mismatched outfit you got from Max, drawing unwanted attention and making the walk even more uncomfortable.

Finally, you reached the shop and stepped inside, relief washing over you.

“Bonjour, madame. How can I assist you?” The girl behind the counter asked with a professional smile.

“Do you buy jewellery?”

“Yes, we do. What are you looking to sell?”

You exhaled deeply, reaching up to remove the Tiffany Victoria stud earrings from your ears. “These.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she took them. “T-These?”

“Yes. Can you pay in cash?” This just got weirder for the girl, you bit your bottom lip, your smile is now gone. “Look, my-uh, my dad cut me off, I just need money to get by.”

The girl’s expression shifted from confusion to concern as she glanced at you. “Um… I’ll see what I can do. Please, sit down.”

You sank into a chair, your nerves fraying. you sat chewing on your nail bed, feeling nervous. When the girl returned, she wasn’t alone. A man accompanied her, likely the manager or owner.

“Ilaria tells me you want to sell these earrings.” He began, holding them up to inspect.

“Yes, please.”

His brow furrowed.

“Madame, these are worth over 27,000 Euros. Unfortunately, we don’t carry that much cash on hand.” You deflated, the man now knew what Ilaria was talking about, he feels bad for you, he glanced at your wedding ring and wonders what kind of husband you have that left you selling your belongings for money. “However, I can offer you 5,000 Euros immediately and pay the rest in instalments, or when the earrings sell. Does that work for you?”

You nodded, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you.”

The man typed up a quick agreement on his laptop, printing it out for you both to sign. With the cash in hand, you left the shop feeling lighter, though the weight of what you’d done lingered.

The thrift store you passed on the way had looked promising, but once inside, you realised even second-hand items in Monaco carried hefty price tags. Thinking over the money you have and what’s the priority.You focused on the essentials: four shirts, one pair of jeans, one pair of trousers, and two pyjamas. The total price had your eyes go wide. Shoes would have to wait—your heels would suffice for now.

On your walk back it was already afternoon, you didn’t have anything to eat yet. But that was alright because you were heading to a grocery store next.

The prices there were equally shocking, but you told yourself it didn’t matter—you didn’t eat much anyway. You picked up a few basics for the week and some fresh produce before heading to a shop for a few sets of underwear. Glancing at the money you have left when you paid had your heart clenching. Ordering online must be cheaper, if only you had a card.

By the time you returned to the apartment, your arms heavy with bags and your wallet considerably lighter, you knocked on the door, only to be met with silence. A second knock, then the doorbell, brought no response.

Your stomach dropped as you realised Max wasn’t home. Exhausted and hungry, you sank to the floor outside the door, rummaging through your grocery bag for a cucumber, eating it as you waited for your ‘husband’ to come back.

You waited until Max went to bed before you ventured into the kitchen to put away the food you’d bought. The rest, you stashed in your room. You didn’t want to inconvenience Max.

You were already using his bathroom products, which you assumed belonged to his mother or sister, but you tried to keep to yourself as much as possible.

The memory faded as Max’s voice brought you back to the present.

“How exactly did you manage?” He pressed, his eyes narrowing further.

Your shoulders sagged, and the words slipped out before you could stop them. “I sold my earrings.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “Your earrings?”

“They were worth twenty-seven thousand Euros.” You explained, your voice barely audible. “But they’re paying me in instalments, so it’s like I have a job. I didn’t realize how expensive Monaco is.”

He stared at you, unblinking, as the pieces began falling into place.

Max’s jaw clenched. “What about the clothes? I thought your dad sent your things.”

Your face fell, and you looked away. “I can’t wear what he sent me.”

“What do you mean?” Max asked, his voice gentler now. “Can you show me?”

You hesitated, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t letting this go. Wordlessly, you led him to your room and opened the walk-in closet, both your ice packs forgotten in the kitchen. Pulling out the suitcases your father had sent, your hand was on the zipper for a while.

“You don’t have to show me.” Max said feeling that all this is bigger than he initially thought.

“It’s fine, it’s not my things anyway.” You said and unzipped the first one and stepped back.

Max crouched down, pulling out the first item: it’s a very small and tight crop top, the shorts will all show your butt, the jeans had rips on the butt cheeks or were skintight, and it’s coming from him. shirts were sheer, necklines low, and skirts that barely covered anything. His frown deepened as he opened the second suitcase—heels in every colour, some taller than seemed practical. The final suitcase made his stomach turn. It was filled with lingerie, nothing else.

He closed it with a sharp snap and turned to look at you. You were standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, avoiding his gaze.

“I’ll take you shopping this week.” Max said firmly. “Or you can order whatever you want online. No arguments.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, really. I the got basics and when I need more, I can sell the other jewellery I have—”

“No, next time you want clothes I’m getting them for you” Max interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate. “You’re not selling anything else. The food in the fridge is for both of us.” You wanted to retort, but he just continued. “Both of us may have not wanted this, but I’m not having you starve or spend money you don’t have. You’re my responsibility now.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, and your heart skipped a beat. Max Verstappen is the nicest man you have ever met. He looked so scary the first time you saw him and you dreaded living with him, but here he is, being the kindest soul, you have ever met. He won’t gain anything in return but he’s still nice, he’s kind. For the first time in a long while, you felt safe—truly safe. Tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them back, nodding quietly.

“Okay?” Max asked, his gaze softening.

“Okay,” you whispered.

That night, the suitcases were left by the door for donation. Max watched as you retreated to your room, and he made a promise to himself to be more attentive, to keep an eye out for you.

That night, Max decided it was time to reach out to you. Hearing your quiet sobs and observing your timid behaviour had forced him to confront an uncomfortable truth: you weren’t the only one forced into this marriage. For you, it must be infinitely harder. He had his friends, his job, and the comfort of his own home. You had none of that.

The next morning, Max woke early, ordering food for the both of you before you could wake and make breakfast yourself. He wanted to catch you off guard and show a gesture of goodwill.

When you finally emerged from your room, the smell of freshly baked goods wafted through the apartment.

“Good morning. Max greeted, passing you as he carried plates to the dining table. “Come on, grab whatever you want, and let’s eat together.”

You paused, wide-eyed and uncertain, watching him retreat to the dining room. Your stomach growled loudly, betraying your hesitance. Without overthinking it, you reached for a croissant and followed him.

“Thank you.” You murmured, sitting across from him as you noticed the glass of orange juice already poured for you.

Max glanced up. “I’d like us to talk a little after breakfast.” He said, his tone calm.

You froze mid-bite, your stomach tightening as fear flickered across your face. “Talk?”

“Don’t worry.” He reassured, noting your reaction. “I just want to get to know you better.”

Relieved, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. But as you ate, your mind spun. What would he ask? You hadn’t spoken much about yourself to anyone before. The way you’d been raised didn’t leave much room for idle conversation or personal interests. You have been taught what to do for when you got married, but Max is unlike anything they’ve told you a husband will be like.

After finishing breakfast, the two of you moved to the living room. You sat stiffly, your back straight and your hands folded neatly in your lap. Max, sitting on the other end of the sofa, observed you with a faint smile.

“Relax.” He said lightly, leaning forward. “This isn’t an interrogation. I just thought we could set some boundaries or rules and figure out how to make this work for both of us.”

You nodded, unsure of what to expect. “Rules?” Rules you understood. You could follow rules.

“First.” Max began. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

You frowned slightly. “I like to cook.”

“That’s fine, then.” Max said quickly. “But it’s not something you have to do. Same with taking care of Jimmy and Sassy.”

Your frown deepened. “But then… what would I do?”

Max hesitated, realising how rigid your perspective was. “You can do whatever you want. What did you do before… you came here?”

“Well…” You paused, uncertain. “Dad had a schedule for me.”

“Schedule?” Max raised a brow. “Like, what kind of schedule?”

“I woke up at six, exercised for an hour, showered, then had classes until three. After lunch, I went to ballet for two hours, then a piano class for an hour and a half. Then I helped with dinner and went to bed.”

“Every day?” Max asked, his tone incredulous.

You nodded, smiling as though this was entirely normal. “The times changed sometimes, but… yes, since I was 12.”

“Fucking hell.” Max muttered, his jaw tightening. Memories of his own gruelling training sessions under his father’s watch flashed through his mind. The times he had to train for hours on end, walk home alone. But Max loved racing, he thrived in it. And unlike him, you didn’t seem to have any passion or choice in what you did.

Pushing his anger aside, Max decided to steer the conversation away from your father for now. “Why didn’t you buy more food while I was gone?”

“I don’t have a key.” You said simply, scratching nervously at your nail bed—a habit Max noticed for the first time.

“That’s on me.” He admitted. “I’ll get a key made for you.”

He paused, his gaze softening. “How much food do you usually eat?”

You shrugged, not giving it much thought. “Enough.”

“Are you full when you finish eating?”

Your voice was quiet. “Not always.”

Max’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening again. “Right. That’s it. I’m ordering more food.”

Despite your protests, Max ignored you, placing a large order with the determination to figure out what you liked. When the food arrived, you stared in disbelief at the sheer amount spread across the table.

“That’s too much.” You whispered, overwhelmed.

“Just eat,” Max said firmly.

At first, you hesitated, but the hunger gnawing at your stomach made you give in. Bite after bite, Max urged you to try different dishes. “This is amazing—taste it!” he’d insist, or “You’ll love this one.”

You tried to keep up, but the more you ate, the heavier the food sat in your stomach. Not eating a lot had shrunk your stomach, you get full fast, but it seemed like something Max is not accustomed to. When Max handed you another dessert to try, your body couldn’t take it anymore. Springing up, you rushed to the nearest bathroom and barely made it in time before throwing up.

Max was right behind you, holding your hair back as you emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet. You finally sat back, trembling and exhausted, you flushed the toilet and washed your face and mouth. He handed you a towel to wipe your face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded weakly.

“Was the food bad?”

You shook your head. “Too full.”

Max stared at you, dumbfounded. “Why didn’t you stop eating?”

“You told me to keep eating.” You said, looking at him through your lashes.

Max groaned, running a hand through his hair as the pieces fell into place. You asked him if you could go out the first day, you stayed in your room unless he asked you to come out or to make him food, you stop walking when he told you to, you’ve showed him your bags when he asked. You’ve been doing exactly what he’s been asking you to do without as much as a remark or hesitation. You haven’t left the house to get food because he didn’t tell you, you can leave. This is fucked. “You don’t need my permission to stop eating, or to do anything for that matter!”

“But my teacher said I should always ask you, I’m sorry that I sometimes do things without asking, but-“

“Stop.” His sharp tone made you fall silent immediately, he groans, he’s done it again. He sighed, softening his voice. “Rule number one: you don’t need to ask me for permission to live your life. You can do whatever you want. I’m your husband, not your… owner.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Max leaned forward, his eyes locking with yours. “You’re free, Y/N. You’re not under your father’s control anymore. You can pursue whatever makes you happy, go wherever you want. You’re free.”

Your lips trembled slightly as his words sank in. “A-Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Max said firmly, but his voice softened when he saw the fragile hope in your eyes. For a fleeting moment, it was as though a veil had been lifted. The small, hesitant smile on your face wasn’t much, but to him, it felt like a victory.

“I… I’ve never really thought about being free.” You admitted, your fingers twisting together in your lap. “There’s always been rules, schedules, expectations. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Max’s heart ached at your words. He had grown up under his father’s strict guidance, but at least he had racing—a dream to hold onto. But you? You hadn’t even been allowed the space to dream.

“Then start small,” Max said gently. “You don’t have to figure it all out today. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Your smile wavered as a question formed on your lips. “Why are you being so kind to me now?”

The question caught Max off guard, but he didn’t look away. “Because I’ve been an idiot.” he admitted. “I was so focused on how unfair this whole situation was for me that I didn’t stop to think about how much worse it must be for you. You’re here, in a place that’s completely unfamiliar, with someone you barely know.”

You blinked, your lashes fluttering as tears threatened to spill.

“And the more I think about it.” Max continued, his voice tinged with anger—not at you, but at the circumstances. “The more I realise how much you’ve been… controlled. By your father, by this arrangement. I can’t change the past, but I can make sure you don’t feel like that anymore. Not while you’re here with me.”

Your breath hitched, and a tear slipped down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, embarrassed by your reaction. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Max said softly. “Just… promise me you’ll try. Try to let yourself live a little, yeah?”

“I can try.” You whispered.

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his expression that you hadn’t seen before. “Good. That’s all I’m asking for.”

For the rest of the evening, Max stayed close but didn’t push you further. He handed you the remote to the television and suggested you pick something to watch while he cleaned up the kitchen. At first, you stared at the remote like it was a foreign object, unsure if you were really allowed to make the choice.

When Max returned, he saw you had settled on a light-hearted comedy, though you looked almost guilty about it. He sat beside you on the sofa, keeping a respectful distance.

“Good choice.” He said, nodding at the screen. “I like this one.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah. It’s funny.” He glanced at you. “Do you not like it?”

“No, I do. I just… I’m not used to picking.”

Max’s chest tightened. He didn’t know whether to feel anger at the people who had conditioned you this way or frustration at himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Well, from now on, you can pick whatever you like.” He said with a small shrug, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

You nodded, a tiny but genuine smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

As the film played, Max stole a few glances at you. You didn’t laugh out loud at the jokes, but he could see the faintest quirk of your lips, the way your shoulders relaxed just slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was progress.

When the credits rolled, you turned to him, your expression a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “Thank you, Max. For… everything today.”

He waved it off, leaning back against the cushions. “Don’t mention it. This is just the start, yeah?”

You nodded again, the hope in your eyes a little brighter this time. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

The next day, you heard Max calling for Jimmy. His voice carried through the house with growing urgency. Curiosity tugged at you, so you stepped out of your room to see what was going on.

“Have you seen Jimmy?” Max asked as soon as he spotted you in the hallway.

You shook your head. “No, I haven’t.”

“Strange, he never wanders off too far. Let’s check around the house.” Max suggested.

You nodded, and the two of you began searching every nook and cranny. As you walked past one of the guest rooms, you stopped and tugged at the handle of the door. It didn’t budge.

“I can’t open this door.” you called out to Max, who quickly came over.

He gave the handle a firm tug but had no more luck than you. “It’s locked from the inside.” He muttered, pressing his ear to the door. That’s when you both heard it—a muffled, distressed meow.

“I think Jimmy locked himself in.” You said, your voice tinged with concern. “What are we going to do?”

Max frowned, considering his options. “Let’s look it up on YouTube.” He said, pulling out his phone.

The two of you stood shoulder to shoulder, watching a video tutorial on unlocking a door without a key. The longer the video played, the more your frown deepened.

“This looks complicated.” You said, glancing up at Max, who seemed equally dubious.

“Yeah, it does.” He admitted before disappearing down the hallway. Moments later, he returned—with a hammer.

“You’re going to break the door down?” You asked, your eyes wide in disbelief.

“What other option do we have?” Max countered, already sizing up the door as though it were a rival on the track.

Before you could argue, he raised the hammer and brought it down with a loud bang. You flinched at the sound, your astonishment quickly turning to amusement. Holding Max’s phone in your hands, an idea struck you.

As Max continued to hack away at the door—his small hammer looking almost comically inadequate against the solid wood—you began recording. The absurdity of the scene combined with Max’s intense focus had you giggling quietly.

Max paused mid-swing, glancing over his shoulder when he heard your laughter. He smiled to himself. The sound was soft and delicate, like something fragile coming back to life. He decided then and there he wanted to hear it more often.

Finally, after several minutes of determined hammering, Max managed to break a hole large enough to reach through and unlock the door. As soon as the door creaked open, Jimmy bolted out of the room like his tail was on fire, his fur puffed up and his eyes wild with panic.

“That was… something.” Max said, running a hand through his hair as he headed to the kitchen. He set the hammer down on the counter and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, taking a long sip.

You followed him into the kitchen, your focus still on the phone. The video you’d taken was playing, and a smile tugged at your lips as you watched Max’s determined hammer-wielding.

Max turned to you, noticing your amusement. “I want to give you, my number.” He said suddenly, his tone casual despite the faint flush creeping up his ears.

“Hmm?” You hummed, looking up from the phone.

“My number.” Max repeated, shifting slightly, the tips of his ears went red. “In case something happens, besides you’re married now. You should have each other’s numbers at least.”

“Oh.” You said, handing his phone back to him. “I don’t have a phone.”

Max froze, staring at you like you’d just announced you didn’t believe in electricity.

“You don’t have a phone?” He asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

You shook your head. “No. My dad said it was a waste of time and that it was better for me to focus on my training. He said it was for my protection… from guys online.” You shrugged, your tone casual as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Max set his water bottle down with a heavy thud, his jaw tightening. “I hate that man more every day.” He muttered under his breath.

You blinked at his reaction, confused by the intensity in his voice. “It’s not that big of a deal.” You said, brushing it off.

“It is.” Max said firmly. “You’re getting a phone tomorrow.”

You opened your mouth to protest but stopped yourself. The truth was, you’d always secretly wanted a phone. It had seemed like a symbol of freedom—something you never had. And now, Max was offering to get you one without you even asking.

“Okay.” You said softly, a small grin spreading across your face.

Max noticed and couldn’t help but smile in return. He picked up his water bottle and took another sip, his chest filling with quiet satisfaction.

Just then, Jimmy sauntered into the kitchen as if nothing had happened, his tail held high and his expression one of utter nonchalance.

“Look at that troublemaker.” Max said with a chuckle, watching as Jimmy headed straight for his water bowl. “Acting like he didn’t just give us a heart attack.”

You laughed again, and Max found himself smiling even wider. Yes, he decided. He would make sure you laughed more often—no matter what it took.

The next morning, you make breakfast for both you and Max. It’s a quiet meal, shared in comfortable silence, before you both retreat to your rooms to finish getting ready. Dressed in one of the shirts and jeans you bought, you hold your heels in your hands as you head to the door. Slipping them on, you wince slightly as the straps press against the tender skin at the back of your feet. Max steps out shortly after, and together you leave the penthouse.

The car ride is tranquil, with you staring out the window for a while before glancing around.

“I like this car.” You say softly, running your fingers over the leather seat. Max smiles, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. He’s driving the same Aston Martin today, saving the Valkyrie for another time. It gets him too much attention.

“Can you drive?” Max asks after a moment, glancing at you.

Your cheeks flush. “No.”

He hums thoughtfully. “We’ll have to change that.” There’s a note of determination in his voice. He’s a Formula 1 world champion; his wife will know how to drive. “You do want to learn, right?”

“Yes. Maybe not in a supercar, but yes.” You admit with a small smile. Another form of freedom you’d been denied. Another gift Max wanted to give you.

“We’ll start with a sedan.” He says, already planning out the details in his mind.

At the Apple Store, Max leads you inside, where you both gravitate toward a display of phones.

“What colour do you want?” He asks, standing close beside you. After a moment of contemplation, you tell him your favourite. Max nods, relaying the choice to a sales assistant, and adds a laptop, iPad, mouse, earbuds, earphones, and a phone case to the list.

“That’s too much.” You whisper, leaning toward him.

Max takes your hand gently, and you freeze, startled by the unexpected intimacy. His gaze is steady, his voice low so only you can hear. “It’s not too much. I want to give you everything you weren’t allowed to have.” His thumb brushes over your wedding ring, and his lips curve into a soft smile. “This is just the beginning.”

Reluctantly, you let him take the lead, wandering around the store as Max finalises the purchases. But after a while, your feet begin to ache, and you take a seat in one of the chairs near the display laptops. The relief is immediate, but you can feel the cut on your heel reopening.

From across the store, Max notices you frown as you touch your foot. His sharp eyes take in the subtle signs of discomfort, and when he sees you sigh, he excuses himself from the cashier. He walks over, carrying the bags, just as you look up and smile at him—a real smile, one that lights up your face.

It stops him in his tracks. For the first time, Max feels the warmth of your happiness directed at him, and he’s momentarily stunned. But as you stand, he notices the slight wince and follows your gaze. His eyes fall to your feet, he can’t see anything. He makes you walk in front of him and then he sees it, the backs of your feet are red and bleeding.

“Y/n.” He says his voice a mix of concern and frustration. You glance at him, confused, until you notice where he’s looking.

“Max.” you murmur softly, instinctively stepping to the side.

“Take them off.” He says through gritted teeth, crouching beside you.

Your cheeks burn as you look around the store, worried about the eyes on you both. “Max—”

“You’re in pain. Take them off.” He insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. When you hesitate, Max gently sets the bags down and reaches for your foot.

“Max!” You protest, placing your hands on his shoulders to stop him. He looks up at you, his eyes blazing with determination, and your resolve crumbles. Slowly, you step out of one heel, using his shoulder for balance, and then the other. The relief is instant.

Max clenches his jaw as he examines the heels. They look pristine on the outside, but the insides are stained with blood—both fresh and old. His chest tightens.

Standing, he towers over you, the anger in his eyes sharp enough to make you step back. “Do you even like wearing heels?” He asks, his voice tense. You shake your head, unsure how to answer.

“Not really.” You admit quietly.

“Damn it, y/n!” Max’s voice rises slightly, and you flinch, your heart was beating hard in your chest. He freezes, his frustration giving way to dread as he sees you retreat. You’re scared. Not of the world champion standing before you, but of what he represented—a shadow of your past. Gone the smile you had when you saw him, you’re frowning, trying to be in control of your feeling and reactions.

“Y/n—” You turn abruptly, walking away on bare feet, your steps hurried. “Wait!” Max calls after you, and you freeze in place. “Fuck.”

Max hates himself so much right now. Tears threatening to spill from your eyes as he approaches you. He’s taken so many steps towards making you comfortable and here he’s undone most of them. Max leaves the bags and heels and walks up to you, he takes your hand in his and pulls you out of the store. He quickly finds a hidden spot way from praying eyes and ears. When he finally faces you, he sees the tears in your eyes and wobbling lips. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” Tears leave your eyes, and Max feels himself tearing up, he messed up, he messed up really bad.

“I didn’t mean to be angry at you, I’m sorry.” He says, his voice breaking. “I’m just angry about how you were treated, I want you to be happy, I want to make your life easier. I’m angry at how no one cared enough to stop it. But I rushed you, and that’s on me.” Max stops for a second, you’re not looking at him. “That’s a lot of I’s, I was selfish, I thought about how I wanted you to feel and now how you wanted to take things, I rushed you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I remind you of him.” His voice cracks.

A sob escapes your lips, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning into him. Max wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you as you cry. For the first time, you’re not crying alone, you weren’t hugging and comforting yourself. He doesn’t try to shush you or pull away. He just holds you.

Max may have caused you to cry, but he didn’t leave you to cry, he came after you and apologised. You know that as much as everything he’s doing is new to you, it’s also new to him. Every day you’re realising that you’re not normal, that what you went through isn’t normal.

“When you’re ready.” Max murmurs into your hair. “I’d like to know everything. Everything your dad did to you.” You shake your head, and though it pains him, Max doesn’t push. “When you’re ready.” he repeats.

You don’t know how long you stay there, shielded by his embrace, Max just holds you, hiding your face from the world, giving you the comfort you need. When you finally pull away, Max wipes the tears from your cheeks.

“Let’s go home.” He says softly, crouching to untie his shoes and place them in front of you.

“Max, you don’t have to—” You begin your voice is ever soft, clearly you’re exhausted..

“Humour me.” He insists with a small smile. You nod, sliding your feet into the oversized shoes as Max ties the laces snugly.

At the car, you slip in and Max turns on the car before he jogs back to the store to grab the bags but returns empty-handed when it comes to your heels. He tosses them in a nearby bin, not wanting their memory to linger.

The drive back is quiet. Both of you are lost in thought, but the silence is no longer uncomfortable. It’s reflective.

The car ride back is heavy with unspoken thoughts. You’re lost in the moment you flinched and stepped away from Max. He hadn’t even raised his voice by much, his hands remained by his sides, yet you flinched. Scared.

You didn’t want to feel scared. You knew, deep down, that there was no reason to be scared. Max cares. He’s shown you more kindness and humility than anyone else in your life, even during the days when he ignored your existence.

For Max, the silence in the car speaks volumes. He’s seen his share of abuse—read about it, watched it unfold in the media—but now, sitting beside you, he’s realising the extent of your mistreatment. It wasn’t just mental or emotional. It was physical, too.

The quiet lingers as you both walk into the penthouse. Max turns to you, his expression soft.

“You can get changed, and we’ll set up your devices,” he says.

You nod and retreat to your room, shedding the thrift store clothes for your pyjamas. The soft fabric feels like a balm after the day’s events.

When you return to the living room, Max has unpacked everything from the bags. He looks up at you, his expression warm.

“I wanted you to open the boxes.” He says, his voice almost shy. He knows the joy of opening something new, especially something you’ve wanted for so long. He wonders if you’ve ever had that experience. Sitting beside him on the sofa, you tuck your legs under you. “Where do you want to start?”

“The phone?” You suggest.

Max grins, handing you the box. You unwrap it, excitement bubbling in your chest. He guides you through setting it up, letting you explore while he works on the laptop. He’s already created an email for you, logging into everything you might need.

His number is the only contact in your phone, and you ask him to transfer the video of him breaking the door. He obliges with a faint chuckle.

“Max?” You ask hesitantly, looking up from the screen.

He hums in response, glancing over.

“Is there an app for Formula 1?”

His brow arches. “Yes. Why?”

“So, I can know when you’re racing.” You admit shyly, holding out your phone. Max’s smile softens as he opens the App Store. “Now I can also look up anything I didn’t understand from watching last time.”

“You watched the race?” This is news to max; he had no idea you watched the last two races. It’s something you’ve done on his smart TV but didn’t want him to know at first thinking he’d be angry.

“I didn’t.” Max admits. “Did you enjoy it?”

Your smile grows, and it feels like the first time Max has seen you truly at ease. “It was fun. I didn’t understand everything, but you came first both times.”

The pride in your voice makes his chest swell. “Well, now you can text me if you don’t understand something. After the race, I’ll explain everything.”

As the day unfolds, you grow more comfortable beside him on the sofa. Max helps you connect everything to your phone, downloading apps like Netflix and upgrading his Spotify to a duo plan. At some point, he broaches another idea.

“Can I order you some shoes?”

You glance up from your phone, hesitant. “Just one or two.” You say.

Max nods with a smile, but later, as he sits with his laptop, he realises he has no idea where to start. He’s never shopped for women’s shoes before. After a moment, he glances at you.

“Do you mind if I invite some friends tomorrow?”

You blink, surprised. “It’s your house. You can do whatever you want.”

“And you live here too.” Max counters gently. He sends a quick text before adding. “Let’s watch a film.”

You pick a random movie, and as night falls, the weight of the day catches up with you. The popcorn bowl between you grow forgotten as your eyes drift shut. At one point your eyes snap shut and don’t open again your head eventually tilts to the side, landing on Max’s shoulder.

Startled, Max glances down. For a moment, he freezes, unsure what to do. Your soft breathing fans his neck. Max tried not to move much but get you in a comfortable position, you groaned when he moved and buried your face into his shoulder. Max’s arm was in the air, he didn’t know what to do. When you moved closer, he placed his arm around your shoulder. That settled you down and he relaxes.

By the time the credits roll, Max thought it’s best to get you to bed. Carefully, he moves, trying not to wake you. He slides from under you, laying you down on the sofa before scooping you into his arms.

In your room, Max pulls back the covers and places you on the bed, tucking you in as you mumble incoherently. Jimmy jumps up onto the bed, curling up beside you. Max lingers for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

For the first time, you look peaceful. Truly relaxed.

Max opened the lamp by the bed, casting a soft glow in the room, Jimmy jumped on the bed and curled into himself to fall asleep. Max took you in, he’s never seen you so relaxed before, so at peace. He wonders if it’s the only time you truly relax. Instinctively he pushes a few strands form your face. You sigh. With a soft smile Max turns off the lamp and leaves your room.

That night, Sassy sleeps in his bed, as if the cats have decided to split their time between you both, keeping you company in their own way.

The next day, around noon, Max’s friends arrived. You weren’t sure what to expect, but stepping out of your room, you froze when you saw the familiar face of the Ferrari driver who had been racing against Max last week.

“Hi, I’m Charles.” He introduced himself warmly, leaning in for the traditional Monaco greeting. You exchanged a quick press of the cheeks before your gaze shifted to the woman standing beside him. She was stunning, elegant, and radiated a warmth that put you slightly at ease.

“I’m Alexandra, but you can call me Alex.” She said, extending her hand. You repeated the greeting and introduced yourself.

“I’m y/n.”

Both of them noticed the rings adorning your left hand but didn’t comment. You’d noticed that Max wasn’t wearing his, though you hadn’t commented on.

The four of you moved into the living room, and you instinctively sat beside Max. His presence anchored you, offering a sense of security in the unfamiliar social situation. For a while, the conversation flowed lightly until Max and Charles excused themselves, heading to the balcony. You hesitated, but Alex smiled, clearly sensing your nervousness.

“How long have you been in Monaco?” She said kindly.

You thought for a moment. “About a month.”

“That’s still pretty new! I’m guessing you don’t have many friends here yet?”

You shook your head.

“Well…” Alex said with a mischievous grin, “I’ve been looking for a new shopping partner. Maybe you’d like to join me sometime?”

Your cheeks warmed. “I’m not very good at shopping.” You admitted, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve.

“That’s okay! We can figure it out together.” She reassured you before pulling out her phone. “Here, let me get your number.”

She tapped it into her contacts, and you found yourself relaxing slightly. Alex didn’t press you with questions about yourself, instead sharing light anecdotes about her life. At one point, she showed you a picture on her phone—a beautiful painting that immediately drew your attention.

“That’s gorgeous.” You said, leaning closer. “It looks so calm and peaceful.”

“It’s by Claude Monet, part of his Water Lilies series,” Alex explained, watching your expression soften. “Do you like art?”

You hesitated, a small smile forming. “I do. I always wanted to study it.”

Alex’s eyes lit up. “Really? I went to art school! I’d love to talk more about it with you.”

Excitedly, you leaned in as Alex recounted her studies and experiences. You felt a spark of joy in the conversation, a rare moment of connection that felt genuine. When Max and Charles returned, you and Alex were laughing at one of her stories.

“What’s so funny?” Charles asked, sitting beside Alex and kissing her cheek.

“Oh, I was just telling y/n about my old art professor.” Alex replied. She turned to Max, her smile widening. “Did you know she loves art?”

Max’s gaze shifted to you, his expression softening. “You do?”

You nodded shyly.

“She wanted to study it.” Alex added, and you saw the flicker of recognition in Max’s eyes as he took that in.

“Do you guys want to go out to eat?” Charles asked, your eyes snapped to Max’s you don’t have any shoes. But before you could panic, Alex chimed in.

“Why don’t we order in instead? It’s cozier that way.”

You shot her a grateful look, and she winked.

Lunch was lively, Charles regaling you all with stories from his and Max’s childhood. You found yourself laughing more than you had in years, and Max couldn’t take his eyes off you. The sound of your laughter, the way your face lit up—it was like watching a new side of you emerge, you leaned towards him when you laughed.

Charles isn’t stupid he knew Max cared for you, even if he didn’t know exactly what’s going on. He’s known Max since they were kids, there’s something between the two of you.

“You should come to a race sometime.” Alex said casually.

You glanced at Max, who raised an eyebrow as if to say it was entirely your decision.

“Maybe.” You said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If you’ll be there.”

Alex clapped her hands in delight. “Of course, I will! It’ll be so much fun.”

After Charles and Alex left, you helped Max clean up, the two of you working quietly in sync.

“How was it?” He asked, his tone careful.

“They were nice,” you said with a soft smile. “I had fun.” Max relaxed slightly, but then your smile faltered. “I’ve never had friends who weren’t chosen by my dad.”

You didn’t elaborate, but the weight of your words hung in the air. Max didn’t press, giving you space to share only what you were ready to.

Once the kitchen was tidy, you leaned against the counter, watching Max move about. He glanced at you curiously.

“What?”

“Thank you.” You said quietly.

“For what?”

“For everything.” You said, your voice trembling slightly. “For telling Charles and Alex what I needed without saying anything personal.” You tell him and glance at the floor before you look up again, your eyes meeting his. “Thank you for being the kindest person I ever met.”

Max froze. “I wasn’t kind at first.” he murmured, guilt flickering in his eyes.

You shook your head. “Even then, you cared more than anyone else ever did.” Your voice broke. “I know you didn’t want this, I know that my dad forced you into it. And you didn’t have to be nice to me, but I’ve been alone for so many years.” A tear slipped down your cheek. Max was in front of you in an instant, his hands gently cupping your face. He wiped the tear away, his eyes locked on yours. “My sister…” you whispered, Max frowns he had no idea you have a sister. “She turned eighteen and left. I was nine. She never called, never sent anything. And my mum died giving birth to me, and after that... it was just my dad.” Your voice cracked as more tears fell. “No one ever asked what I wanted or cared if I was okay. As long as I did well in school, no one cared.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with an unspoken rage. But he buried it, focusing instead on you. Still holding your face, and your eyes not wavering away from each other, Max leans over and places his lips softly on your forehead.

“I promise you’ll never feel like that again.” He whispered against your skin. “I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into his chest, letting him hold you. For the first time, you felt like you could let go of the weight you’d been carrying for so long.

When you finally pulled back, Max smiled softly, and you returned it, the moment settling between you like a quiet promise.

It was a quiet Sunday morning with no race this week. You and Max had just finished breakfast—something simple, part of the diet routine his trainer had him on. You were following his plan, eating smaller portions, and Max had noticed you snacking more these days, which made him happy. After everything that had happened, he wasn't pushing you to eat more than you wanted.

Max sat back with his tea, scrolling through his phone when it rang. The number was familiar—it was his mum.

Bold is Dutch

"Hey, Mum."

"Hey, honey, I just got off the phone with your dad." Sophie’s voice sounded tense, and Max tensed instinctively, already sensing where this conversation was going.

"Yeah?" Max asked, trying to sound casual.

"He told me something weird… he said… he said you got married." There was a long pause, and Sophie didn't give him time to run around it. "Max, is this true?"

Max cursed under his breath, closing his eyes. The silence dragged on.

"Look, Mum, it’s hard to explain." Max began, but Sophie wasn’t having it.

"Hard to explain? Max, did you get married? Yes, or no?" Her voice was sharp now, demanding an answer. Max rubbed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

"Yes." He admitted.

"And you didn’t think to tell us? Who did you even marry? What the hell have you gotten yourself into? Is she pregnant or something?" Sophie’s voice cracked with worry. Max could hear the disbelief in her words. His mother wasn’t the type to overreact, but this was too much.

"Mum, calm down." Max sat up straighter, his voice calming. "Look, Dad signed a contract years ago, and if it ever gets out, he could be sent to prison. The man who signed it made me marry his daughter to keep everything quiet."

"What the fuck is wrong with your father?" Sophie wasn’t expecting Max to have an answer to that. "You can’t get out of it?"

"No, I couldn’t." Max’s voice was steady but firm.

"Is she living with you?" Sophie asked, her worry turning into concern for Max’s well-being.

"Yes." Max's voice softened slightly.

"Mum, be careful. I don’t know her, but she could be the one who asked her dad to do this. You can never be too sure with people like that."

Max paused, a flicker of protectiveness for you rising in him. "Mum, she’s not like that."

There was silence on the other end of the line as Sophie processed his words. Max felt the weight of her judgment shift. He had to convince her of this, for you.

"She’s nice. Quiet. Really beautiful. And she’s nothing like her dad. If anything, I’m just happy she’s away from him."

Sophie was silent, the tension hanging thick. She wasn’t used to hearing her son speak so openly about someone like this. "

"You like her." She said, the words not quite a question but more of a realization.

Max let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "I do." And for the first time he’s said it out loud.

“I want to meet her.” Sophie said, her voice firm but not unkind. She’ll cast all judgment to the side until she met you.

“I’ll talk to her.” Max promised, knowing it was important for you to decide if and when you felt comfortable with meeting his family.

After the call ended, Max sat there for a moment, gathering his thoughts before heading back to you.

“y/n.” Max called as he entered the room. You looked up from the iPad, where you’d been experimenting with ProCreate.

"In two weeks, it’s the Dutch Grand Prix. Do you want to come with me?"

You raised an eyebrow, a little hesitant. "Will Alex be there?"

Max smiled, the corner of his lips twitching.

"I don’t know, but my mum and sister will be, and my mum wants to meet you." You bit your bottom lip, a nervous habit you’d picked up, and started scratching at your nail bed. "You don’t have to come if it’s too much."

"No, it’s okay… do they know?" You asked, hesitant but curious.

Max nodded. "Yeah. I don’t know about Victoria, but Mum wants to meet you first before anything." He gave a small, reassuring smile. “I know it’s a lot. You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready."

You nodded slowly, but the nerves were already starting to bubble in your stomach, your mind started overthinking every possible scenario that could happen. "I don’t know… what if they don’t like me?"

Max’s voice softened, a hint of concern crossing his face. "Don’t do that." He said gently, cupping your face. "Don’t get lost in your thoughts."

You sighed, your shoulders sinking a little. "I just…"

"Show me what you’ve done." Max said, cutting through your train of thought. He gently nudged you aside and sat next to you on the couch.

You hesitated before showing him your drawing on the iPad. Max leaned in, studying the strokes and lines you’d created. He didn’t know much about art, but the smile on his face said everything. To him, it looked good.

He turned to you, eyes soft. "It’s great. You’re really talented."

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his compliment.

He’s been talking with Alex for help, he’s getting you a good starter kit, different mediums and everything until you find what you like. Max has another an empty bedroom, where his sim was supposed to go, before he sat it up in the living room, he can convert it to your studio. He was making sure you had everything you needed to thrive.

"Will you come to the next race with me?" Max asked softly. "Just so you can see everything before you meet my mum and sister. It’ll be nice to have you there."

You agreed to go with him to the next two weeks, first stop was Hungary and then it was the Netherlands.

Alex would be there as well, and that eased your nerves a little, knowing you’d have someone else you were comfortable with.

Max also made sure you had some new clothes, a few more pairs of shoes—something that made him happy. You’d ordered them online, and he was genuinely excited to see you enjoy these little things.

While packing, Max’s eyes fell on the wedding band he’d taken off and placed on his bedside table. It had been there ever since, untouched. Without thinking much about it, he slipped it into his luggage.

The atmosphere of the paddock was nothing like you’d expected—it was electric, buzzing with activity. Alex made sure to meet up with you once the drivers had to go in for media duties. She showed you around, introducing you to the other WAGs, who were all genuine and easy to talk to.

Lilly showed you TikTok, and you downloaded the app instantly, amused by how much you were missing out. The girls didn’t pry into your relationship with Max. They accepted you for who you were—just a friend of Max, now Alex’s as well.

The weekend was enjoyable, thanks to them. You watched the race from the Red Bull garage, chatting with Max between sessions. Some photos were snapped, but no one really knew who you were. Your anonymity remained intact, despite the rumours circulating about you and Max.

Max kept an eye on the gossip online. He didn’t care about the usual scrutiny, but his family was off-limits. No one had asked for his life to be under a microscope. And now, you were part of his family. You shared his name.

That thought made something in Max shift. He felt a deep sense of possessiveness, pride even, that you had his last name. The primal part of him loved that you were his, and that realization struck him late that night. He wasn’t just liking you anymore—he was falling for you. Fast.

But Max wasn’t used to slow. He liked things fast, hard, and with determination. He knew what he wanted, and now that he had you, he would do whatever it took to keep you.

Usually, Max flies with his friends from race to race on his private jet, but since he’s bringing you this time, it’s just the two of you.

“How was the race weekend?” Max asked, eager to hear your thoughts.

“It was a lot.” You admitted, and his heart sank a little. He wanted you to enjoy it and wondered if he should’ve asked if you wanted to go in the first place. “But I enjoyed it. It was different from seeing it on TV. Also, the girls were all very nice. I’ve never been to something like this before. I wanted to see you win, though.”

“Maybe next time.” Max chuckled softly before adding, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

You and Max arrived in the Netherlands on Monday. The first two days, you’ll stay at his mum’s house, and then he’ll move to a hotel closer to the track. Your nail beds were raw from all the scratching you were doing, a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to shake.

In the car, Max took your hand in his, gently running his fingers over the red and irritated areas. You glanced at him, expecting a question or a comment, but he remained focused on your hand, his touch warm and soothing. Your heart raced, a blush creeping up your cheeks as his attention left you feeling giddy. No guy had ever held your hand before.

Your mind wandered. Every small thing Max did made you question whether it was all platonic or if he had feelings for you. You couldn’t deny that you had feelings for him. Every time he was near, your heart skipped a beat, and you felt weightless.

When you arrived at his mum’s house, his mum and sister were already at the door, waiting. As you both walked up, pulling your luggage behind you, Max greeted Sophie with a warm hug. Victoria waited her turn before stepping in for her own hug.

After they let Max go, Sophie turned to you with a kind smile. “Hi, I’m Sophie,” she said.

You smiled timidly and offered your hand. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

She shook your hand warmly before Victoria followed suit.

“Let’s go inside,” Sophie said, leading the way.

Max lingered for a moment, his eyes meeting yours as if silently asking if you were okay. You gave him a small smile, and the two of you followed them inside.

Once inside, you placed your bags next to Max’s and joined them in the living room. Max gestured for you to sit next to him on the couch, while Sophie and Victoria settled across from you. It felt like an interview, the kind where every word mattered.

Sophie broke the silence first. “Tell us a little about yourself, y/n. Max hasn’t said much.”

Your fingers unconsciously returned to scratching. “I-uh, what do you want to know?”

Sophie gave you a reassuring smile. “Where did you grow up?”

“Oh, we moved a lot. I was last in Switzerland, but before that, we lived in the UK, Spain, and Germany for a while.”

“It must’ve been hard moving countries and losing your friends.” Victoria said sympathetically.

You shrugged. “It’s alright. I learnt many languages.” You dismiss their concerns, you’ve never had much of friends in the first place, so moving wasn’t hard on you in that aspect.

“Oh? How many do you know?” Sophie asked, intrigued.

“German, Spanish, French, a bit of Italian, and some Dutch.”

“You know Dutch?” Max asked, clearly surprised.

You smiled genuinely for the first time since sitting down. “Yeah, not fluently, but enough. It’s a little similar to German and French.”

“That’s impressive.” Sophie said.

“Thank you.” You replied, brushing off the compliment.

“Did you watch Formula 1 before meeting Max?” Sophie asked.

“No. I had no idea about it until… Max.” You hesitated, unsure how much to share.

“What are your socials? I want to follow you.” Victoria said, pulling out her phone.

“I don’t have any.” Your fingers returned to scratching. They both looked at Max, who nodded in confirmation. You added quietly. “Didn’t have a phone until Max got me one.”

“Really?” Victoria’s shock was evident.

“Your mother was okay with this?” Sophie asked, her voice softer now. She would never leave her daughter without a phone in case something happened to her, and she needed help. Even if just an old phone or limit access to internet, but not having a phone is bazaar. Your nail digs into your skin.

Max glanced at you, his concern growing as he noticed your nails digging into your skin. Without a word, he took your hand in his again.

“I think maybe we should rest first.” Max says wanting to get you out of this situation.

“It’s alright.” You squeeze his hand, Max is closer to you now, your hand in his on his thigh. You give him the smallest of smiles, before turning to his family. “My mum died giving birth to me.”

“And your siblings?” Sophie asked hesitantly.

“Ran away when she turned 18.” You said matter-of-factly. “I know you’re just looking out for Max, but I would never hurt him. I only want the best for him.”

Sophie softened. “Thank you.” She said with a small smile.

Later that night, you were in one of the spare rooms, dressed in your pyjamas, staring out of the window when Max knocked on the door.

“Come in.” You called.

Max stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright.” You replied simply.

“They weren’t too much, were they?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“No, they love you.”

“They do.” Max paused, guilt creeping in. Even with his rough childhood, he’d had his mum and sister. You’d had no one.

“Don’t do that,” you said, raising a hand to smooth the furrow between his brows.

“Do what?” He took your hand from his face into his. He studies your hand, making sure there’s no more cuts on them.

“Feel guilty. Hate that you had a better life than me.” You said softly. “We’ve both had rough childhoods, but we’re here now.”

“We’re here now.” Max repeated, his voice heavy with emotion. For a moment, silence filled the room until you broke it.

“You know I’ve suffered all types of abuse from my dad.” Max’s grip on your hand tightened, his jaw clenching. “When I wouldn’t do what he wanted or got less than perfect on tests, he’d pull me by my hair. He loved seeing me stumble, dragging me around like I was nothing. Sometimes he hit me, but never hard enough to leave permanent marks. When my sister escaped, he made sure I couldn’t. He couldn’t break her, so he broke me.”

“He didn’t break you.” Max said firmly. You looked at him, your eyes hollow. “He didn’t. You’re here. You’re strong. You’re not following his rules anymore. You have a phone, you wear what you want, and you’re living your life. If he broke you, you wouldn’t have any of that.”

“All of that is because of you.” You countered. “You made me do all that.”

“No, you let me help you, you let me do all those things for you.” Max wanted you to understand how strong you are, how brave you are. “Someone else would’ve still ben in that shell, they’d still be afraid. Are you scared?”

“Not when I’m with you.” You admitted.

“And I’m not going anywhere.” Max whispers and you lean over and hug him. Something that you have come to love. You may have not experienced a lot of hugs in your life, but Max’s hugs are your favourite. There can never be a hug like his, a hug that makes you warm, feel protected, safe a hug that feels like home. Max waits until you pull away, his fingertips come up to your face and push the stray hairs out of your face. Your eyes locked in an intense gaze. After what feels like forever Max lets out a breath, he leans over and presses his lips to your forehead, before he bids you good night.

That night you dream of him; you dream of what it would be like being in a real relationship with Max. And you wake up wishing it was the truth; you wake up wishing that you were really with him.

Max wanted nothing but to find your dad and beat him up, who treats their daughters like this. How can he be human? He should be locked up. It took everything in him not to track him down, when you told him, and just end him. Just so he wouldn’t breathe the same air you breath, so he wouldn’t walk the same earth you’re walking. Max had to remind himself that you’re with him now, that your father won’t get to you. He gave you to Max and now you belong to him. And so, he planned.

The next few days felt surreal, almost as if you had stepped into a different life. Whether at her home or in the paddock, you spent most of your time with Sophie and Victoria, getting to know them in a more natural way. Victoria introduced you to her children and her partner, who seemed to warm up to you quickly. Their acceptance gave you a quiet sense of relief—you were finally starting to feel like part of something good.

On Media Day, you managed to catch up with Alex and the girls, who urged you to sign up for Instagram, even if you didn’t plan on posting anything. Their light-hearted teasing helped you relax, even if you weren’t ready to make that leap just yet.

Every night, Max ensured that you all ate together as a family. He was quietly thrilled by how easily you fit in, your laughter blending seamlessly with theirs. To him, it was a sign of hope, something he hadn’t realised he was holding on to so tightly.

But you were completely oblivious to the plan Max had set in motion after your heart-to-heart. Behind the scenes, he was orchestrating an end to your father’s influence. He wanted it done discreetly, leaving no room for you to suspect or feel burdened by it.

The energy in the paddock was electric as Quali Day unfolded, Max securing pole position in a thrilling comeback. You had been watching from the garage with Sophie, who nudged you playfully when you cheered so loudly it drew stares.

“You look happier than he does!” Sophie teased, a warm smile on her face.

“Well, he earned it!” You replied, grinning.

Sophie took your hand, leading you to where Max would be arriving. The timing was perfect—he walked in just as you reached the area.

“Max!” You called, your excitement spilling over as you ran up to him. Without thinking, you threw your arms around him. It wasn’t like the casual hugs you had gotten used to giving—it was unreserved, spontaneous. For a moment, Max froze in surprise, but then his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

“Congratulations.” You murmured against him, your voice warm with pride.

“It’s not a win yet.” Max replied, his voice muffled as he buried his face in your hair.

“You were still amazing.” You insisted, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I was starting to think I brought you bad luck.”

“You can never bring me bad luck.” He whispered, his tone serious. His arms around you a beat after you let go as his team called for him. “I have to go, but I’ll see you after.”

“Okay.” You whispered, stepping back reluctantly.

Sophie smiled knowingly, taking your hand as the two of you headed back to the garage. Neither of you realised that your tender moment had been caught on a live video, now circulating online. But none of you saw it that day, so busy with your lives to log online.

Max’s teams saw the video, they had previously asked Max about your relation to him, but he politely said it’s none of their business. Wanting the reigning world champion to focus on the win, they didn’t tell him about the video.

Max clinched victory in a hard-fought race, and the celebrations were wild. You stood with Sophie and Victoria in Parc Ferme. Max held your hand for a brief moment. He hasn’t talked to you yet about the media and how to deal with them, so he’d like to keep it all as private as he could. But he also wanted you to know how he apricated your presence.

The team went hard in celebrating, there was the photo taking after the media duties, champaign splashing, cheering and jumping around. You watched it all from the side with Sophie. The woman was starting to have a soft spot for you, the more time she spent with you. You left with the women to change at the hotel, for a dinner with the family, apparently even Jos was coming. You had all changed and went to the restaurant at the hotel, and Max joined you all soon after. His mum and sister purposely left the seat next to you empty, Max likes sitting next to you something that they’ve noticed.

As you scanned the menu, Max leaned closer, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair.

“Do you know what you’ll order?” He asked.

“I’m torn between these two.” You replied, pointing at the options. Max leaned in further to look; his face so close that you caught a whiff of his cologne.

“We’ll get both and share.” He decided.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded firmly, his easy confidence making you smile.

Across the table, Victoria nudged Sophie, tilting her head toward the two of you. “Look at them.” She whispered. Sophie smiled back, clearly entertained by the unspoken affection radiating between you and Max.

Sharing the food was a good option, you liked both dishes, Max ate more than you did which is expected. Before you get dessert, you excused yourself to the bathroom after the main course, you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

The moment you rounded the corner, a hand grabbed your arm roughly. Before you could react, another hand twisted into your hair, yanking you back with enough force to make you stumble and you instantly knew who it was. A squeak left your mouth as you were dragged.

“I think you and y/n should date.” Sophie said to her son, the moment you were out of earshot.

“What? We’re married.”

“Yes, but not of your choice.” She says. “You both like each other, already married, why not try to date and see where it takes you, it’s backwards but why not?”

“I don’t know if she likes me.” Max said, feeling insecure all of the sudden.

“Believe me she likes you.” Victoria says and stands up. “I need the bathroom too.”

Leaving her mum and brother to talk, she sped walked to the bathroom, regretting the last glass of wine she drank. Victoria hears a squeak; she turns and just catches a glimpse of you being pulled away. Her eyes go wide, and she rushes back to the restaurant.

“Fucking bitch, shut up!” Your father spat, his voice venomous. Panic flooded you as he dragged you toward the emergency stairwell. Jos was already there, hovering uneasily but saying nothing.

Your back hit the cold concrete wall, and the impact knocked the wind out of you. Tears blurred your vision as your father loomed over you, his face twisted with rage.

“What did I tell you before you left?” He hissed. “I said to play dumb and keep your mouth shut! So, what the hell did you say to that asshole?”

“I—I, I don’t k-know.” You stutter vision blurry.

“The fuck you don’t! What did you say that made him talk to the investors, they’re all pulling out!” He’s screaming now, you flinch wishing the wall to just swallow you. you thought you’d be stronger the next time you see your dad, but here you are a whimpering mess. “Talk! What did you say?”

“I—I don’t know!” You cry, your voice trembling.

“Bullshit!” he roared, his hand striking your cheek with enough force to snap your head to the side. You whimpered, your legs buckling beneath you. The wall behind you the only reason you didn’t fall.

But before he could strike again, the door burst open. Max charged in like a storm, tackling your father to the ground with a roar of fury.

“Oh my god.” You hear Sophie gasp and rushes to your side, she pulls you from the stairwell.

“You fucking asshole!” Max shouted, landing punch after punch. “Who the hell hits women? I told you to stay away from her!”

Jos sees the rage Max is in and jumps into action, fearing his son will be locked up, he tries to pull Max of your father. Jos is far from being in his prime and Max isn’t young anymore. Max glares at his father.

“Max, stop!” Jos finally intervened, trying to pull his son off. But Max shoved him away, his anger boiling over.

“Piss off, this is your fault! You brought him here!” Max spat at his father; his voice thick with betrayal. He allowed him to come close to you, saw him hit you and did nothing.

Meanwhile, Sophie had her arms wrapping protectively around you. Victoria rushed to get security, her heels clicking frantically against the tiled floor.

You hear the shouting from outside, even through your pain you want to go to Max. You try to get back inside, but Sophie stops you.

“Wait, Victoria is getting security.”

“But Max-“

“Will be fine, he wouldn’t want you in there.” Just as she says that she sees the security running in your direction she points to the door, and they rush in. There’s more shouting and screaming from inside.

“Oh my god! Are you alright?” Victoria asks stopping in front of you. Tears haven’t stop, your scalp was hurting, and your cheek was pulsing. It’ll bruise, leaving a mark. “That’s a stupid question.”

“What are you doing? He started it!” You hear your dad scream, the door opens, and he’s pulled outside, his vision falls on you. “I was just talking with my daughter, and he butts in.”

“That’s my wife! And you laid hands on her.” Max says coming out of the door and takes quick steps to stand in front of you, his mum and sister. “You should call the police.”

The security nods and they take your dad away, as one of them call for the police. Jos walks out last, and the glares turn to him.

“I don’t care anymore, I’m getting him to jail, he can do whatever he wants.” Max tells his dad, Jos looks defeated, with what happened your dad will go to the media. There’s no fighting this, Max may have gotten married but, in the end, he’ll still be exposed.

Max then turns to you, he takes you in, your hair is a mess your mascara was running, and tears haven’t stopped leaving your eyes. Also, your cheek is red and buffy. It takes a lot for Max not to run after your dad and beat him some more.

“Schatje,” Max says softly, stepping closer until there’s almost no space between you. His hand cups your uninjured cheek, tilting your face so he can examine it. There’s pain in his eyes as he studies you. “I should’ve hit him more.”

You whimper, more tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Not now, Max.” Sophie reprimands gently.

“Sorry.” He mutters, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His focus shifts entirely to you. “I’m sorry, y/n. You’re okay. You’re safe now. I promise this is the end of it.” His voice is low but filled with conviction. “I’ll make sure he never comes near you again. This was a mistake, a blip. As long as I’m alive, no one will lay a hand on you again. Do you hear me? No one. I swear it.”

For the first time, you believe those words with your whole heart. Max would do anything to protect you. Overcome with emotion, you throw your arms around him, seeking comfort in his presence despite the pain it causes.

“Max, I... I—” The words stick in your throat as your sobs overtake you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Max soothes, his voice a calming balm. His arms tighten around you, and his hand strokes your back gently.

When Max glances up, his eyes meet Sophie’s. The pain in his expression makes her heart ache. Any doubts she had are gone. Sophie makes a silent promise to herself: she will make sure you feel the love your family never gave you.

“Max, the hotel staff said we can wait for the police in your room.” Victoria interjects softly, breaking the moment.

Max nods in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to you. Gently, he pulls away enough to see your face.

“Come on, schatje. We’ll have more privacy in my room.” His voice is almost a whisper. You nod, letting go of him and letting him guide you. His arm wraps protectively around your shoulders, holding you close to his side. Sophie and Victoria lead the way.

The elevator ride is silent, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. Even once you’re in the room, no one speaks. You sit on the sofa, still wrapped in Max’s embrace. Sophie hands you a water bottle, and you whisper a soft thank you.

The knock on the door is almost startling. Victoria opens it to reveal two police officers. They introduce themselves as they step inside, taking seats across from you and Max. One officer pulls out a notepad, ready to begin.

“The hotel staff are providing us with the CCTV footage.” The kinder-looking officer says. “But we need your statement to build the case. Can you start by telling us what happened, Miss Wilkins?”

“It’s Verstappen,” Max corrects firmly. The officer looks momentarily confused. “We’re married. It’s Y/N Verstappen.”

The officers exchange a quick glance before the kinder one nods. “Mrs. Verstappen, can you tell us what happened?”

The words make your heart flutter momentarily, but the weight of the situation quickly crushes any joy. Taking a shaky breath, you grip Max’s hand tightly as he laces his fingers with yours, grounding you.

“I was on my way to the bathroom when someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back. Before I could react, a hand was in my hair. I knew it was my dad.” You explain, your voice trembling. You pause to wipe at your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “He dragged me into the stairwell. He kept asking me about something Max did... something about investors.”

You glance at Max, confusion in your eyes. Max’s jaw tightens as guilt flashes across his face. He now understands why your father attacked you—it’s his fault.

“When I told him I didn’t know, he hit me.” You continue, your voice cracking. “He was about to do it again when Max arrived and stopped him.”

The officer nods, his expression sympathetic. “Has this happened before? The abuse?”

“Yes,” you admit quietly. “Since I was young.”

The pity in their eyes makes your stomach turn.

“When was the last time, before today?” The second officer asks.

You don’t need to think about it. The memory is vivid.

“A week or so after we got married.” You say.

You went and opened the door, taking a step back when you saw who it was. Your heart dropped.

“Well, look who it is? The new bride. Come give a hug to your father.” Your dad opened his arms for a hug, Jos was standing behind him. Awkwardly. This feels like an ambush. You felt so naïve thinking that you wouldn’t have to deal with your father anymore. That you’re free from him. Your father hated that you didn’t instantly follow his rules, so he took a step closer. You then moved closer as well and opened your arms for a hug, he pulled you closer roughly, on hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair at the roots, the other on your arm. It would leave a bruise if he held you slightly harder. You held in the whimper that threatened to escape. “Why did it take so long for you to open the door?” He didn’t wait or expect an answer. “Just because you’re married, doesn’t mean you can forget what I taught you.” Moving your head back, you instinctively held into his arm for balance. “And what are you wearing? Hmm? I thought I sent you clothes. I’ve spent so much to make you the perfect wife, and this is how you are.”

“What?” Max’s voice is laced with disbelief. You glance at him, biting your bottom lip.

“He didn’t hit me.” You clarify. “He just pulled my hair.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” Max whispers, running a hand down his face in frustration. “You should’ve told me.”

“You stopped him. You told him not to speak to me again.” You say softly, placing your hand on his thigh in an attempt to comfort him. Max looks down at your hand, his heart breaking further. Here you are, bruised and hurting, yet still trying to console him.

“Did Jos witness everything?” The officer asks, pulling your attention back.

“Yes. Today and last time.” You reply. Max’s anger bubbles to the surface.

“We want restraining orders against both of them. And we’ll sue.” His voice is sharp, final.

The officer nods. “That’s the next step. With the footage, this will be a straightforward case.”

“Okay, just a step by step, but with the cameras here, it will be an easy case.” The officer said looking grim. “Mr. Verstappen you attacked Mr. Wilkins, right?”

“Yes, he was hitting my wife.” Max admitted not fearing anything that could come his way.

“It was self-defence.” Sophie added, the officers spared her a glance.

The officers continue asking questions and taking statements from Sophie and Victoria before leaving. Once they’re gone, Sophie and Victoria ensure you have everything you need before saying their goodbyes, leaving you and Max alone.

The silence feels heavy again. Max moves quickly, grabbing the ice bucket that had been delivered earlier. He wraps some ice in a towel and approaches you with careful intent.

“Let me do it.” You say softly, reaching for the towel, but Max doesn’t let go. His frown deepens as he presses the cold compress gently to your cheek, his gaze focused solely on the bruised skin. He still won’t meet your eyes. “Max.” You call his name quietly, but he doesn’t look up. You try again. “Max, please.” Finally, his eyes flicker to yours, and what you see in them breaks your heart. Pain. Guilt. Anguish. “What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice trembling slightly.

“How can you ask me that?” He says, his voice cracking. “Your dad has hurt you twice since we got married, and I didn’t even know. I failed to protect you. Both times. And today... today was my fault. I tried to punish him for what he did to you, but all I did was give him a reason to come after you again. I wasn’t there for you before we got married, and I couldn’t protect you now. I—” His voice falters, and you see tears welling in his eyes. Max is strong, he doesn’t care about a lot of things to cry, but you? He cares about you, knowing and seeing what happened to you is tearing him apart.

“Max.” You say, your hand moving to cover his where it rests on your cheek. You sit up straighter, shifting until you’re kneeling on the sofa to face him. Your hands cup his face, forcing him to look at you.

“I’d still be with him—or worse—if it weren’t for you. You saved me, Max. I’d go through it all again if it meant I’d end up here, with you.”

Your words are soft but resolute. You brush away a stray tear that escapes down his cheek, and Max leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours.

“I love you.” You whisper, the words slipping out effortlessly. They feel right. True.

There it was as simple as that; the words just left you easily and smoothly.

Max freezes, his breath catching in his throat. He pulls back slightly, and your hands fall away from his face. The smile you wore drops, replaced by panic as your mind races. Did you misread everything? Was Max only being kind because he felt obligated?

“I—uh—I’m sorry if I overstepped.” You stammer, standing abruptly. Your nails dig into your palms as you try to steady your breathing. “This isn’t what you wanted. It’s not what you chose. Of course, you don’t feel the same. I’m sorry—”

“Wait.” Max grabs your hand before you can reach the door, turning you to face him again. His hands rest firmly on your shoulders, grounding you. “Just... wait.” You stop, your heart hammering in your chest. His touch is gentle as he cups your jaw, his thumbs brushing your skin. “I wasn’t expecting it.” He admits softly. “I was surprised, confused, afraid... I still am. I don’t want you to think you love me just because I got you away from your dad. I don’t want that to cloud your feelings. If you love me, I need it to be for me. For who I am.”

His words make your chest ache, but then his next words make your heart soar.

“Because I love you.” He says. “So much.”

Tears well in your eyes again as your voice trembles. “You do?”

Max nods, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “I’ve thought about this a lot. About us. About how I never wanted this marriage to be just an arrangement. I love you, Y/N.”

You let out a teary laugh, and Max’s lips curve into a smile at the sound.

“I love you for you.” you assure him. “I promise. This may not have been what we planned, but I’m glad it happened. I’m glad I have you.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, and then his lips meet yours. The kiss is soft and tender, a promise in itself. You kiss him back, savouring the moment. When you finally pull away, you rest your head against his shoulder, letting out a long sigh.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask quietly. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course.” His answer comes without hesitation.

Max gives you one of his shirts, and you retreat to the bathroom to change. When you return, he’s gone, but moments later, he reappears, holding your makeup remover from your room next door. His gaze softens as he takes in the sight of you standing by the bed, wearing his shirt.

You’re too exhausted to notice the way his breath hitches, the way he has to look away for a moment to compose himself.

That night, you both fall asleep quickly. Max spoons you from behind, mindful of your injuries, his presence a shield against the nightmares that might come. In his arms, you feel safe, loved.

When Max wakes before you the next morning, he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder before slipping out of bed. The warmth of his arms around you fades as he quietly gets out of bed, careful not to disturb you. He pauses at the edge of the mattress, his gaze lingering on your peaceful face. The bruise on your cheek looks slightly less angry now, but it’s still a stark reminder of everything you endured. Max clenches his fists as guilt and anger surge again, but he forces himself to take a deep breath. You need him to be strong, not consumed by his own emotions.

Max dresses quickly and heads into the small living area of the hotel suite, pulling out his phone. The police had assured him they’d be in touch for follow-ups, but Max wasn’t going to wait passively. He searches for a lawyer, determined to take swift action. Restraining orders would be just the start.

By the time he finishes his call, Sophie is knocking softly at the door. He lets her in, and she immediately places a comforting hand on his arm.

“How’s she doing?” Sophie asks, her voice gentle.

“She’s sleeping,” Max replies, his tone heavy. “I just... I don’t know what else I could’ve done to stop this.”

Sophie shakes her head. “Max, none of this is your fault. You’ve done more for her than anyone else ever has. She knows that. She feels it.”

Max nods but doesn’t respond. His mother’s words offer little solace when he feels like he’s failed you in so many ways. Sophie doesn’t push him further, sensing his need for space, and instead busies herself in the kitchenette, preparing tea for when you wake up.

You stir a little later, the ache in your body making it hard to move. But the warmth lingering on your skin from Max’s embrace makes you smile faintly, even through the pain. Slowly, you sit up. The events of the previous day flood back, and a lump forms in your throat.

Pulling on the robe draped over a nearby chair, you shuffle into the living area, rubbing your eyes. Max is pacing near the window, phone in hand, while Sophie sits at the small dining table, sipping tea. When she sees you, she smiles softly and stands.

“Good morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” She asks, her concern evident.

“I’m okay.” You reply quietly, though the rasp in your voice betrays your exhaustion. Sophie doesn’t miss it and quickly ushers you to the table.

“Sit. I made tea. It’ll help.” She places a cup in front of you before brushing her hand gently over your hair. “Max will be here in a minute.”

Max, who has noticed you now, ends his call abruptly and strides over. His eyes scan your face, and though he tries to hide it, you catch the flicker of pain in his expression.

“You should’ve stayed in bed.” He says, his tone soft but firm.

“I’ve rested enough.” you reply, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, Max.”

He kneels beside you, his hand covering yours on the table. “You don’t have to be fine; you know. Not yet.”

His words sink in, and you let out a shaky breath.

“I know.” you whisper. “But I can’t let him take everything from me.”

Max nods, understanding. “We’re going to make sure he doesn’t. The lawyer is already working on the restraining order. I’ve also asked them to look into filing charges. I’m not letting this go by easily.”

The fire in his voice sends a wave of comfort through you. He wasn’t just saying these things for your sake. He meant every word.

Sophie steps back, giving the two of you space, and Max pulls his chair closer to yours.

“Today.” He says gently, “We’re going to take it one step at a time. First, we’ll see what the police need. Then, we’ll figure out what’s next. And after that... we’ll go home. Together.”

The word home makes your chest tighten. For so long, that word had no meaning. But now, with Max, it feels like you’re finally finding what it truly means.

Later in the day, after a follow-up with the police and some much-needed rest, you and Max prepare to leave the hotel.

Max’s phone buzzing insistently had been a constant backdrop for the past half-hour, and finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Max, just answer your phone.” You said, pressing an ice pack to your cheek and watching him pace. “It keeps ringing.”

With a sigh, Max glanced at the screen before reluctantly accepting the call.

“Hello?... Yes… what? How did they know?... No, just the police officers and—” He paused, his expression darkening as he ran a hand through his hair. “No, I think I said it in the hallway as well… fuck… okay, yeah… no… I said no, and I mean it. It’s no one’s business… No, because nothing in my contract says I have to… Mate, look, it happened. I’m not happy about it, but it happened. End of story… I’m going back to Monaco.”

He hung up, exhaling sharply as he tossed his phone onto the table. His jaw was tight, and it was clear the conversation had rattled him.

“What was that about?” You asked, wincing as you spoke. Your cheek throbbed, and smiling was definitely off the table until the swelling subsided.

Max hesitated, glancing at you before answering. “Someone from the hotel leaked that we’re married.”

Your eyes widened, and you turned toward the mirror to check your face again, trying to process his words. “What? How—how did they even know?”

“Don’t worry.” Max reassured you quickly, stepping closer. “We don’t have to say anything. I’ve always kept my private life private, and the police won’t release any details.”

“What about the officiant?” you asked, suddenly worried about the people who had been involved in your ceremony.

“If he says anything, he can kiss his license goodbye,” Max replied firmly. “And if your father tries to use this, his reputation—what’s left of it—will be done.”

You nodded, feeling a bit reassured by Max’s determination. But he wasn’t finished.

“Now, I need you to listen to me and think carefully before you decide.” His tone was serious, his blue eyes locked onto yours. “There are two options: One, we can go out and face the crowd together. Or two, I can go out first, and you can follow later when things calm down.”

Your stomach churned at the thought of stepping out there alone. “Do they have my face?”

Max’s silence was answer enough. Your heart sank, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t want to be on my own.”

Max’s shoulders relaxed, and he stepped closer to you.

“Alright, we’ll leave together,” he said gently, taking your hands in his. “But you need to know they’ll be taking pictures of you now. A lot. Once this is public, there’s no going back.”

You swallowed hard but nodded. “It’s okay. I don’t have social media anyway.”

Max’s lips twitched into a small smile. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, careful not to hurt your swollen cheek.

Sophie insists on staying until the very last moment, ensuring you have everything you need before saying goodbye. Her hug is warm and lingering, and she whispers in your ear, “You’re part of this family now. Don’t ever forget that.”

Victoria joins in with her own hug, giving Max a teasing look. “Take care of her, Max. You’re not off the hook just because she married you.”

Max rolls his eyes but smiles. “I know, I know.”

Max checked out of the hotel while you stood close to him, your fingers brushing against his arm for comfort, taking his left hand, you felt the smooth texture, looking down you see his wedding ring. Max smiles and presses your sunglasses up your nose. A Red Bull cap sat snugly on your head, and sunglasses shielded your swollen eyes. Even before stepping outside, the roar of the crowd was deafening, fans chanting and calling Max’s name.

“Stay close to me.” Max murmured, his arm slipping protectively around your shoulders.

The moment the doors opened, the world exploded with flashing cameras and shouting voices. Your head dipped instinctively; the weight of the crowd’s energy overwhelming. Max’s arm tightened around you as the bodyguards formed a path to the car, their presence the only barrier between you and the chaos.

The path was narrow, people pressing in on all sides, and you felt your heart race as the space seemed to close in. Flashes of light blinded you even through your sunglasses, and questions were hurled at Max, some directed at you. But he didn’t stop. His focus was solely on getting you to the car.

At last, you reached the vehicle, and a breath of relief escaped you as you slid into the seat. Max lingered outside for a moment, signing a few autographs for fans before quickly ducking into the car beside you.

His face was drawn, his usual calm replaced by a tension you rarely saw in him. You placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently.

“That was something.” You said, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Tell me about it.” Max muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. He glanced at you when he felt your touch and gave you a small, weary smile. Lifting your hand to his lips, he kissed the back of it before threading his fingers through yours.

The car hummed quietly as it carried you both toward the airport, leaving the chaos of the crowd behind. Max’s hand remained in yours the entire ride, a silent reassurance that, no matter how overwhelming things became, you wouldn’t have to face them alone.

Thankfully, everything went smoothly with the lawsuit against your father. While the statute of limitations on the abuse you experienced as a child had already passed, Jos provided compelling testimony as a witness, and the case concluded without much trouble. There were some whispers in the media, but Max spared no expense to ensure the story stayed out of the spotlight, keeping your life as private as possible.

Since that fateful day at the hotel, your life had changed dramatically. Your belongings had been moved into Max's room, and now you slept together every night. Max rarely went anywhere without you if he could help it, and the connection between you only deepened with time.

You’d also applied to art school and were now waiting for the new semester to begin. Alex, ever your cheerleader, was ecstatic about the news, eagerly discussing your potential and the projects you could take on. Meanwhile, Charles had taken to bragging that he’d known about your marriage before anyone else on the grid, which only fuelled the Lestappen theories online, especially with your friendship with Alex adding to the chatter.

The windows in your shared Monaco apartment were wide open, letting in a soft sea breeze as you sat in front of a canvas, your playlist softly filling the room. The view was breathtaking, but you were lost in your work, a blend of vibrant colours slowly taking shape on the canvas. You didn’t hear Max enter, fresh from the gym. He’d tried to get you to join him countless times, but you always resisted, finding your balance in Pilates a few times a week.

Max paused when he saw you, your brush gliding across the canvas as you mouthed the lyrics to the song playing in your ears. The sight made his heart swell—this was his proudest achievement, seeing you at peace, content, and thriving. Quietly, he walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist, startling you enough that you let out a squeak, dropping your brush.

“Max! The floor!” You whined, glaring down at the smear of paint on the floorboards.

“It doesn’t matter.” He muttered, his lips brushing your neck before his gaze turned to the canvas. “Again?”

“Not my fault you’re my muse.” You replied cheekily, turning your head to press a quick kiss to his cheek. The painting was of his eye this time—just a close-up as part of a larger composition.

“Would you like me to paint another man’s eyes?” You teased, raising a brow as you wiped your brush on a cloth.

Max smirked, pulling you closer. “No. Just mine, Mrs. Verstappen.”

“That’s what I thought, Mr. Verstappen.” You shot back with a grin.

As you turned to grab another brush, Max pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to you. “I got you something.”

You blinked in surprise as he opened his hand, revealing a pair of earrings—your Tiffany earrings, the ones you’d had to sell to survive. Your breath caught as you reached out to touch them, the memories of that difficult time flashing through your mind.

“Max… how did you…”

“I tracked them down.” He said softly, his blue eyes full of warmth. “I know how much they meant to you, and now they can mean something happy again.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, your heart swelling with emotion. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He interrupted, his tone firm yet gentle. “You deserve to have everything you lost, and more.”

You smiled through your tears and threw your arms around his neck, holding him close. “Thank you.” You whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Max kissed the top of your head, his hands stroking your back.

“Anything for you.” He murmured. “Always.”

Main Taglist: @gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn . @eywas-heir . @glow-ish . @lilypat . @directioner5life . @a-beaverhausen .

Forced Taglist:

@itgirlofthecenturysposts

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dazecrea

5 months ago

FORMULA 1

key: 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 - ❀║𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚞 - ✿║𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 - ☆║𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚕𝚎 - ❁

KINKTOBER ‘24

f1 grid

𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝚜𝚎𝚝, 𝚜𝚞𝚣𝚞𝚔𝚊 𝚊𝚖 𝚒 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎? ❀ 𝟸 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜

"𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞" ❁

"𝚒'𝚖 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝" ✿

"𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚍?" ✿

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚐𝚌 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝟷 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚍 ✿

"𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎?" ❁

"𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚌?" ❁

𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚢 ❁

𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢, 𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢 ❁

"𝚋𝚊𝚎 𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐" ✿

"𝚒 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍" ✿

"𝚒 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍" 𝚙𝚝 𝟸 ✿

"𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍?!" ❁

𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 ❁

𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ❁

"𝚖𝚖𝚖 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝' 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗' 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎" ❁

"𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚖!"

"𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚖𝚙 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚊𝚜?!" ❁ NEW

𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 ❁ NEW

"𝚒𝚏 𝚒 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊....𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎?" - coming soon!

"𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚊𝚝" - coming soon!

lewis hamilton

"𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚜" ✿

𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚔 + 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 ❀

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚜 ✿

𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 ✿ ❀

"𝙿𝟷 𝙱𝙰𝙱𝚈" ☆ ❀

𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚎 - coming soon!

charles leclerc

𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚘 ❀

𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 ✿

𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 ❀

"𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎?!" ✿

𝚖𝚒𝚊𝚖𝚒! - coming soon!

carlos sainz

"𝚠𝚑𝚘'𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑" ✿

"𝚖𝚒 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚗̃𝚊" ❀

𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚎 ✿

𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 ❀

max verstappen

𝚟𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚜 ❀ NEW

oscar piastri

𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚘 ❀

𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ☆ ❀

lando norris

𝟷𝚟𝟷

1K notes View Post

dazecrea

3 months ago

folded ✸ jww

warnings. cursing? thats pretty much it | masterlist

📞 love GRAMs: @seokmn @wonkierideul @kissbyoon @paradiseoflosers @savemyheart101

151 notes View Post

dazecrea

4 months ago

Bully - Part 2 of 3

warnings: controlling parents, very brief smut

taglist: @bbyhargrove @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @shamidreamer @180-fuck-me @rosey96 @hargrovesswifee @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

A routine has fallen in to place, Billy’s at your locker every morning with that arrogant smirk on his face and his hand out to ‘steal’ the Hostess snack from you. Little does he know, you started buying two instead of one and more days than not, you buy Snoballs for Billy because you’ve learned they are his favorite of the Hostess variety. You never buy a Ding Dong again, still feeling incredibly embarrassed at the dirty joke he’d made but you switch it up sometimes so he doesn’t suspect you’re buying it solely for the purpose of him. As it turns out, you like the attention you’re getting from him, even if it isn’t very nice attention.

Almost every night the past few weeks, your hand sneaks into your pajama pants as images of Billy flood your mind. You don’t know how to touch yourself, no idea where to even begin but you firmly press your palm against your vagina over your underwear as you think about Billy’s face and his voice. His voice excites you most. You do that until you fall asleep and the stickiness on your thighs has been annoying but not as bed as having to hide your underwear in the morning, afraid of your mother finding it and flipping out about you being a slut or something. You don’t know if liking Billy in this way makes you a slut but you still feel ashamed every time.

“What’s up, loser?” Billy’s voice coats your ears as you begin dialing in your code. The words are meant to be cruel and Billy curses himself for how flirty his tone comes out, glancing around to see if anyone heard.

“Good morning,” you tell him, unzipping your backpack and grabbing the packet of Snoballs and sliding them into his palm.

“You’re like obsessed with these,” he comments, raising an eyebrow. He gives your face another once over and then asks, “What’s that all over your face?”

“It’s called makeup,” you reply, cheeks reddening. You’d put it on in the gas station bathroom and you’d have to wash it off there on your way home.

“You trying to impress some guy?” Billy asks and his tone sounds almost jealous, possessive. It makes your heart beat faster as you think, yeah, you.

“Who is he?” Billy asks pointedly when you don’t respond, looking around like the imaginary suitor could be nearby.

You shrug, taking pleasure in his apparent jealousy though you don’t understand it.

“Probably some other geek,” he snivels, pushing himself up from your locker and retreating down the hall. The interaction leaves you wanting more, craving for him to look at you like that again. It’s odd, though. You can’t fathom why he’s taken an interest in your social life other than to antagonize you for the lack of it.

As you’re walking to class, you see him grope Tina’s ass but his eyes are trained on you and the high pitched giggle she gives hurts your heart. You didn’t even realize they might be a thing. However, she is typically right behind him and making rude comments about your appearance when she can. You force yourself to ignore the jealousy coursing through your blood and get yourself to class.

Billy’s outside, smoking alone against the gym wall. He looks up as he hears a vicious laughter and sees you walking with your books pressed tightly to your chest. The laugher is coming from a tall brunette boy behind you, Billy thinks he’s a underclassmen, maybe a sophomore or junior. He takes a drag from his cigarette as he watches on curiously. He wonders if maybe this is the boy you’re wearing makeup for. The kid gets really close to your face, Billy tries to make out what he’s saying but it’s hard to tell from here. He feels jealous, wonders what makes this guy so special. Then the guy shoves your shoulders, causing you to drop all your books to the ground. Billy tenses, it’s like looking in a mirror but instead of the excitement he usually gets from seeing the anguish on your face, he’s incredibly angry. He’s pushing himself up off the wall just as the kids shoving you a second time, however this time, you fall to your knees and hands. Billy barrels over to the bully and you, he grabs onto your elbow and lifts you to your feet before grabbing a hold of the kids collar and shoves him against the wall.

“You like putting your hands on girls?” Billy growls and the kid whimpers and squirms beneath him. “You think you can just push her around?” he seethes, dropping the kids collar.

He winds up his fist, ready to knock the kids lights out when he hears your sniffling. Instead, he shoves the kid and tells him, “I fucking see you even look at her and you’re dead. You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the kid says frantically, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll leave her alone.”

“Now get the fuck out of my sight,” Billy let’s go of his collar. The kid scatters away quickly but Billy doesn’t give him a second glance. He’s stalking over to you and grabbing a hold of your elbow and guides you to the parking lot, ignoring your confused protests. He opens the door to his Camaro and instructs you to sit.

He walks around and pops his trunk open, your eyes following him curiously. Your hearts racing, trying hard not to look at the scrapes on your knee. When you see blood, you panic and you’re already trying to hold back sobs. Billy standing up for you was strange, when you saw him walking over, you’d fully expected him to join in and then when you saw the absolute rage in his eyes. He walks back around and squats down in front of you, lifting a tiny red first aid kit and resting it between your legs. You suddenly feel self conscious, worried that from his angle he can see your underwear so you grab the hem of your skirt and try to cover yourself. Billy pops open the case and grabs out a small stack of antiseptic wipes. He rips open one with his teeth and locks his eyes on yours. Your breath catches in your throat, seeing Billy on his knees between your legs brings chills up the back of your thighs and you choke out a small sob, quickly bringing the back of your hand to wipe away the tears.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, softly.

Billy begins cleaning up the wounds on your knees, the alcohol on the pads stings the sensitive skin and you hiss.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “It could get infected if you don’t clean it.”

“No,” you hiccup, “why are you being nice?”

Billy sighs, reaching back into the case and pulling out the tube of Neosporin. He squeezes the ointment on his finger and gently coats the scratches with it. “What do you mean?”

With a sniffle, you continue, “Why do you care? Why did you yell at him?”

“Is that the guy you put all the makeup on for?” Billy looks back up at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He doesn’t get why you’re not thanking him for standing up for you, so he figures that must be why. “That guys a loser, you shouldn’t like him.”

“Huh? What? No, I don’t like him,” you mumble, watching as Billy puts bandages over the cuts. “I just mean, you’re always so mean to me, why are you being nice now?”

Billy closes the box up and looks back up at you, “I’m not mean to you.”

“Yeah, you are,” you argue, “You’re very mean to me. Now you’re acting like you care about me. I don’t understand.”

Billy stands up, looking down at you now. He leans his arm against the side of the Camaro as he peers into your eyes. From his view, the sun catches on your face beautifully even through the shine of your tears, Billy thinks you look gorgeous. He sighs and then mumbles under his breath, “I like you.”

“What?” you ask, unable to hear what he said.

“Nothing,” he groans, pulling you to your feet with a grip on your elbow. “You better get back to class, loser.”

“See?” you shriek, pointing at him. “Mean. You’re being mean, again.”

“It’s not mean,” he seethes as he crosses his arms.

You scoff, feeling your blood boil, “If it’s not mean, what is it? You think it makes me feel good when you call me names or trip me in the halls?”

Billy grins suddenly and it only makes you angrier, you don’t understand him at all. He’s the most confusing person in the whole world. Maybe that’s part of it for him, this is just all a part of his bullying.

“I’m not being mean,” Billy bites his lip and traps you against his car, placing a hand on either side of your shoulders, “I’m flirting with you, loser.”

“Flirt- what?” you look up at him incredulously.

You’ve never experienced someone flirting with you before. You’ve never in your life had a single boy show any interest in you but you didn’t think what Billy was doing was flirting. It kind of makes sense to you, though. Since the teasing had started, you began feeling certain things you’d never felt before, you found yourself looking forward to seeing Billy at school but every girl at this school thought he was cute and you thought so too, so you figured you just liked any attention from such a cute boy. Flirting wasn’t being mean though, was it? That’s not what you’d seen in movies or the romance novels your mom kept hidden in the laundry room. You’d tried to read them a handful of times but always got too embarrassed.

“Flirting,” Billy chuckles, “do you know what that is?”

“Yes!” you fumes, cheeks ablaze. “If you’re flirting with me then that means…”

Billy’s hand drops to your waist, curling around the flesh and squeezing, “Means what?”

You swallow the lump in your throat but it does nothing to help the words climb through. Billy seems to like the reaction he’s getting from you, his fingertips traveling up under your top and ghosting the sensitive skin. You panic, jumping from the touch and pushing his hand away.

“Do you like me?” Billy asks, dropping his hand to his side.

“I don’t know,” you whisper as you look down, embarrassed by the way his touch has made your legs feel shaky.

“You know,” he sings, hooking his knuckle under your chin and urges you to look back up at him. “How does it make you feel when I touch you?”

“Uh…” you swallow hard, eyes darting across the freckles decorating his nose and cheeks. He’s so pretty, his intense gaze has you hypnotized. You don’t even try any further to answer him.

Billy chuckles and steps away from you, “I’m just messing around with you.”

You grab your backpack and scurry off before he can say anything else. You hear his car start up as you’re rushing back to the school, not daring to look back at him.

“What happened to you?!” your mother exclaims when you walk through the door.

“Oh, I tripped,” you lie as you try to walk past her. She grabs a hold of your wrist and pulls you back.

“Is that makeup?” she inquires, her tone more sad than angry.

You bring your hand up to your cheek, realizing that you’d forgotten to wash it off on the way home and you’re certain that there’s trails of mascara staining your face. In the daze that Billy had left you in, you’d walked home like a zombie, thoughts clouded with his words, eyes and fingers.

“Momma,” you mumble, “I’m sorry. Some girls at school wanted to put it on me. I was trying to make friends.”

She peels your backpack off and dumps the contents onto the floor, seeing for herself that you were lying as the tube of mascara, lipstick and the tiny compact of blush fall out. Along with the Hostess snack you’d neglected.

“What has gotten into you?” she scolds, “Is it a boy?”

Visions of blonde curls, icy blue eyes and pink lips force their way into your head as you shake it. “No,” you mutter, “I’m just trying to fit in.”

“Acting like a whore is no way to fit in,” she bites back.

You sniffle, tears making their return and you find yourself wanting to run back out the door to find Billy.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, getting on your knees to collect your school items and shove them back into your backpack. You pick up the makeup and hand them to your mothers expecting hands. Without looking up, you know she’s stomping to the kitchen to throw them away.

“Go to your room,” she orders and you obey without a protest, shutting the door behind you and finding solace in your bed.

Curling under the covers and closing your eyes, wrapping your arms around yourself. You picture it’s Billy’s arms around you and you find yourself finally answering his question.

“Yes,” you whisper to the empty room. “It feels good when you touch me.”

You wonder what would have happened if you’d just answered him, would he have kissed you? His words before you left ring through your ears, I’m just messing around with you.

Your mom has started to pick out your clothes before school. The only dresses and skirts you’re allowed to wear are the ones that go past your knees. Billy’s noticed, thinks the way he approached you scared you and that maybe you were ashamed of the way he looked at you. So he does a complete 180, he stops antagonizing you but not only that, he stops talking to you all together. Which in turn has your self confidence plummeting. You assume it’s because you’re no longer wearing what you wanted to wear.

You’re eager to get his attention back. The first plan is to sneak one of your shorter skirts in your backpack and change into it when you get to school. You had to get crafty since your mom had taken to doing backpack checks before you left each morning. You folded it up as small as you could and volunteered to take the trash out, while you were outside you hid it in the neighbors bushes.

However, when you’re at school and you’ve changed into it, Billy’s eyes still don’t follow you like they used to. Even when you’re walking past him and Tommy in the hallway, you drop your pencil and bend over to pick it up but when you turn around, Billy’s not watching, he’s chewing his pinky nail and looks totally engrossed in whatever dumb thing Tommy is blathering about.

Determined, you start hiding skirts and low cut shirts in your locker, along with some makeup you’d purchased at the drugstore. You purposefully start walking by his car during lunch, where he’s lounging with his friends and you hope that his friends say something to you just so he’ll have a reason to look at you. It doesn’t work. Tina and Carol make comments but Billy’s eyes never fall on you. You’re getting more desperate by the day.

You’re beginning to gather the attention of other boys but it’s nothing compared to the way Billy used to look at you. They’re nervous in their approach, fiddling with their fingers and unable to hold eye contact. Billy’s all about eye contact, like he can see something in there. God, you’d give anything to meet those blues again. Still, you attempt to flirt back with the new suitors, trying to at least learn how but none of them flirt like Billy did. None of them make your heart beat so fast you’re afraid it’s gonna jump right out of your sternum. They don’t make your thighs feel warm and tingly. You don’t think of their faces and voices in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep.

Phase two is in order, you decide. Buying a Snoball every morning and placing it delicately on Billy’s desk behind you in English class before he even walks in. Again, he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t even look up at you but you hear him open the package and eat the sweets. You wish you weren’t so shy, wish you could turn around and demand his attention but him not rejecting the snack is a win, you think.

One day, it starts up again. In English class, you feel a little tug on your hair. First, you ignore it, certain it was an accident. Then, Billy twists a bigger chunk between his fingers and yanks your head back. You yelp, hands moving to cover your mouth the second the sound flies from it. You turn, Billy’s released his grip on your hair and is pretending to be really interested in something on the ceiling.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” the teacher scolds, “Is there a problem?”

You quickly shake your head, “No. Everything is fine.”

Rubbing the back of your head, you know your face is bright red from embarrassment but mostly from excitement. You weren’t sure why, but you were aroused at the feeling of Billy pulling your hair. You figure it must be from begging for his attention for weeks and finally getting something. It felt so good, you push your hair past your shoulders and onto his desk, urging him to do it again but he doesn’t. However, he knocks the book off your desk when the bell rings, turning to lock eyes with you as you bend down to pick it up, that arrogant smirk plastered across his face. You feel warm all over.

Billy was freaking out internally, the way your outfits got less and less revealing, he was worried he’d creeped you out so he panics and ignores you for weeks. He wasn’t good with rejection and that’s what this felt like. To be honest, he’d never truly been rejected romantically.

He notices the short skirt the first day you wear it, but he tells himself there’s no way it’s to catch his attention. Especially when he notices more and more boys talking to you. He figures that you didn’t wear it for him, but for some other boy. When you drop your pencil as you’re walking by, suddenly the rant Tommy’s spewing about his and Carol’s latest fight is the most interesting thing he’s heard. He gnaws on his fingernail and forces his eyes to stay glued to his friends face. He swears he hears you huff as you stomp away, but tells himself it’s wishful thinking. Your outfits get more and more revealing by the day and it drives Billy crazy but he’s a strong man, he refuses to let it get to him.

Then there’s a pack of Snoballs on his desk every day for a week and he’s convinced you’re trying your absolute hardest to tell him you like him without actually saying the words. And Billy likes playing games, so he still doesn’t say or do anything. He wants you to get so frustrated that you scream at him.

Little by little, he begins fucking with you. It starts with grabbing the handful of your hair and pulling your head back. It’s much more aggressive than he’d been in the past but you silently beg for him to do it again, pushing your hair over your shoulders and covering his desk with the strands. He pretends he doesn’t notice, folding his hands behind his head and actually listens to the teachers lecture, daring you to turn around and look at him. When you don’t, he decides he’s gotta do something else, a way to let you know he’s back. He pushes your book off your desk, smirking down at you as his eyes fall to the exposed cleavage as you bend over. The smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know.

The next day, he’s waiting at your locker and you weren’t anticipating it so you’re wearing the outfit your mother picked out. It’s a long skirt that goes to your ankles and a floral button up. You blush, seeing him standing there. You avert your eyes, focusing in on the dial and entering the code.

“Morning,” Billy says, “Hiding something?”

You roll your eyes, grabbing the skirt and shirt you’d hid in your locker and shove it into your backpack. “Be right back,” you mumble, rushing away to the bathroom.

When you exit, he’s still waiting by your locker but he lets his eyes drink in your new outfit. He particularly likes the knee high socks and it’s then that Billy realizes you must have strict parents and for whatever reason, that makes this all the more exciting. The fact that you’re breaking rules just to impress him makes his mouth water.

“You hide a closet in your locker?” he asks when you drop your backpack on the floor.

Blushing, you don’t give him the obvious answer but instead open your locker back up and shove the clothes you arrived in behind your textbooks. You pull out the Hostess snack and hand it to him, seeing the laugh rising in his chest before you hear it.

“Ding Dong, huh? You hinting at something?” he pockets the snack and grins at you.

“Maybe I am,” you admit, willing your cheeks to stay pale. You close your locker and lean against it, looking up at him. Billy bites his lower lip and in the moment, he doesn’t care if it looks like he’s chatting up the nerdiest girl in school. Doesn’t care if anyone notices or says anything.

“Can I pick you up around 8?” Billy asks and you almost shiver, stunned that your plan worked but incredibly nervous at the same time.

You jot down your address on a piece of paper, wondering if you’re exactly ready to lose your virginity on such short notice. However, you’re not sure you can go anymore time without Billy’s attention and you’re willing to get it by any means necessary. You wonder if maybe he’s not after that, but your mother says every man is and Billy is exactly like the boys she’d warned you about. Somehow, that excites you and you want to find out if she was right after all.

“I’ll see you at 8, loser,” Billy tugs on your pigtail before pushing himself off the locker and walking down the hall.

The name is becoming endearing, even if it’s not a nice thing to say to someone it still makes your heart swell. Your fingertips move up to wrap around your pigtail and you tug on it like he had, smiling as you watch him saunter away. Now the hard part, how were you going to sneak out of your house at 8 pm? Your parents were still awake then but they stayed in their room to watch TV, your mom would check on you around 9:30 but she never came into your room, just peeked in. You could easily make it look like you were in your bed.

Giddy with excitement all day, you bounce to and from class. Billy beats you to English class and he winks as you walk in, causing your heart to flutter while you make it to your seat. When you sit, he grabs a hold of your pigtail and pulls it.

“Don’t think I’ve seen such a big smile on your face before,” he comments when you turn to him. He rests his chin on his palm as he looks at you under his heavy eyelashes.

You blush, “You have to park like a block away from my house. Eight is kind of past my curfew.”

“Are you gonna get in trouble?” Billy asks, sounds like he’s actually concerned.

You shake your head, “Only if I get caught.”

Billy nods against his hand, his left hand lifts to grab the necklace you’re wearing and you look down as he gently caresses it.

The teacher closes the door and begins her instruction, you turn with her and focus your eyes up front. Billy won’t stop touching you. He fumbles with the collar of your shirt, traces his fingers against the back of your neck and arms. You have to squeeze your thighs together, gripping your pencil even tighter but you don’t want him to stop. These touches are even better, they’re soft and make you melt.

You’re surprised he’s doing this where eyes can catch it. Occasionally when you glance back, the look on his face makes your stomach tighten, he looks entranced. You don’t know it but he’s fantasizing about taking your clothes off and running his fingers along every inch of your body. When he suddenly stops, you turn to see him shuffling in his seat and he exhales softly, averting his eyes towards the clock in the classroom. You’re oblivious to the fact he’s trying really hard not to pop a boner in class.

Billy lingers after the bell rings and he waves to you, “Later, loser.”

“See you tonight.”

1K notes View Post

dazecrea

5 months ago

other side of the moon - chapter one | formula one imagine

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

chapter one: an offer you can refuse

years of solitude has led y/n y/ln down a dark path following her career-ending injury in 2022 but one rookie seems dead set on bringing her back into the fray

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

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“have you seen this?”

it’s too early in the day to be subjected to twitter in y/n’s opinion, but her manager - the one she’s always insisted in not needing - insists upon it. sara’s hand shakes as she hands over her phone, the video already playing loudly.

the video is a poorly clipped together compilation of kimi antonelli, for no better word, gushing about her. it’s earnest and even cute, but not cute enough. the formula one paddock was a vulture pit, one y/n had only escaped three years earlier with her life - barely.

“it’s cool. that’s all it is though,” y/n moves towards the door, picking up her coat and refusing to turn back towards sara, “i’ve told you since jenson insisted i hire you, there’s no way in hell i will ever go back to that paddock. and that’s the end of it, please. i’ll do any stupid vitamin ad or female empowerment talk if it makes you happy, but i can’t go back there.”

y/n grabbed her keys and left the apartment, leaving sara in her wake. sara reached into her pocket and pulled out a tattered letter with ‘y/n’ scrawled on the front in awful handwriting. she left it on the kitchen island and left, understanding this was likely to be her last time in this apartment - there's stupid and there's what she was doing right now, there was no way she would still be employed in the morning.

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girlsonthegrid

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 103,478 others

tagged: yourusername

girlsonthegrid: today we look back at the biggest what if for women in formula one - y/n y/ln. the 26-year-old drove for mclaren from 2020 to 2022 before she sustained a career-ending injury at silverstone. y/ln was the first ever female f1 race winner with her emphatic victory at monza in 2021 and the first ever female formula 2 champion with her win in 2019. her career lasted just 30 races and she hasn't been seen in the paddock or around any drivers since the crash. there have been reports that she has been approached about a mentor role but considering how fast her management rejected and shut down sky sports about a commentary role, this is also unlikely. what would you like to see from her if she ever comes out of hiding?

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user1: i mourn for her everyday

user2: the way she paved the way for so many but can't stand to be in the paddock to see what she did for the sport

user3: i really don't blame her

user4: doriane is the mercedes reserve and abbi is alpine's! her work is there even if she isn't and i know i'll always be grateful for that

user5: she's so overrated, if she didn't crash she still would've been out of formula 1 by now

user6: me when i'm the most wrong ever

user7: i can't believe there are still men to this day that think she wasn't great? literal world champions like max, lewis, fernando, seb and jenson have all said that she could've won a championship

user8: i mean no shade to lando but i think y/n would've made it 100x harder for max this season in that mclaren

user9: the way jenson tried to say that in the nicest way possible in las vegas lol

user10: and max agreed with him LOL

user11: the way it wasn't even proper lando shade or oscar shade like twitter painted it to be but like max just praising his bestie

user12: he does not play about her as he should

user13: i mean he's the only one we know y/n still actually talks to

user14: i can't wait for the tell-all biography that exposes half the grid because like how much have you must have fucked up for her to never speak to you again

user15: when twitter likes were public she was caught liking a bunch of tweets bout mick when he got his first points so like she doesn't even have hard feelings to the guy who put her in the barrier sooo

user16: it was proven it was break failure???? mick did nothing wrong that's why she still likes things praising him

user17: that crash really robbed us of the best ever f1 relationship with y/n and lando

user18: you know that's part of the reason that she doesn't speak to lando right?

user19: because she wished it was him not her?

user20: NO! because she hated that whole 'ship'

user21: and lando leaned into it way too much

user22: it made me a bit uncomfortable and i'm not even y/n

user23: AND she said on the beyond the grid podcast that she thought those rumours were really reductive and relegated her to just a love interest of her teammate rather than a race winner

user24: kimi antonelli please bring her back to us

user25: praying she'll listen to the literal child

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italics)

did u give them my fucking address

my lawyer says to always deny everything?

i also actually have no idea what you are talking about…

i just got home and there’s a fucking letter from KIMI ANTONELLI on my kitchen counter

it’s creepy and a mad invasion of privacy

i did NOT give them your address?

i gave them sara’s contact details so they wouldn’t be able to directly get to you and i honestly thought she would be too scared to ask you

she showed me all the clips of him praising me.

it didn’t work.

it’s been three years y/n…

and it still hasn’t been long enough.

all i’m saying is read the letter, as creepy as it might be, he is just an 18 year old entering the lion’s den you could at least reply to him even if you don’t take up the offer

although i read they were going to pay you £10 million a year??? was that real?

unfortunately it is very real.

i didn’t think i was still worth that much

you are worth that and more, just give him a chance. we’ve both met him, he’s a sweet kid.

for now.

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it was cold in her apartment, y/n hadn’t shut the window from when she opened them that morning. in fact she hadn’t moved from the kitchen since she set eyes on the letter. it was bold she’d give him that.

the letter was crumpled as if it had gone through hell to get to her (it probably had) and the handwriting was a serious reminder of just how young kimi is. y/n had wondered if her maternal instincts would ever kick in like all the older women in her life insisted it would. sure she had felt intense feelings of love for her childhood cats and had cared her formula one cars (regina and heather, they were named after mean girls, because that is who they had to be on track) like they were children. but that true maternal feeling had never come to her, until now.

all y/n could think about was kimi. how young he was, how much he was set to lose. not everyone was her, the worst thing wasn’t going to happen to everyone - it just always seemed to happen to her.

her loud phone alarm jolted her out of her daydream, reminding her to take her painkillers. as she poured herself a glass of water, y/n slammed down the glass and ripped open the letter.

dear miss y/n y/ln my name is andrea kimi antonelli and i am going to be driving for mercedes amg f1 team in 2025. we met very briefly after i won all three races at mugello and lifted the italian f4 championship trophy. i know you were there on mclaren PR but for me it changed my life. you have always been my biggest inspiration alongside michael schumacher (i am italian, you must understand). it was always my dream to race alongside you and maybe even be teammates, i’d even betray toto and leave mercedes to make that happen (please don’t tell him i told you that). i know that can never happen now, but it could happen in another way? i know like me you grew up seeing niki lauda supporting and mentoring the mercedes drivers and i was wondering if you would be my mentor - who cares about george anyway. i know you’ve never come back to the paddock and are unlikely to do so for little old me. but if you could just think about it that would be great, if you don’t ask, you’ll never get! i hope this letter wasn’t horribly offensive, i mean it when i say you’re my favourite!!! love, kimi (p.s. i was at monza 2021, so you could even consider me a good luck charm) (p.p.s you won monza 2021 completely on merit but i was there) (p.p.p.s please don’t think i’m an idiot) (p.p.p.p.s i also loved interlagos 2020 that’s a super underrated drive)

with tears in her eyes, y/n placed the letter back on the counter, grabbed the glass of water and made her way to her bedroom. painkillers taken with a wince, she still hadn’t gotten used to the size of the pills even three years into taking them, y/n shuffled under the duvet.

the offer was there and it seemed sincere. her accountant would tell her that the money was worth the mental turmoil, even if she just did it for one season and returned to her little cave in west london.

there was no doubt she felt something for kimi - a kinship, a frienship or a maternal yearning - but was it worth ripping off all the bandages and opening herself back up to all the scrutiny again?

she would sleep on it.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 10,567,388 others

yourusername: much to think about these days. like how the fuck this app works now?

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user1: first post in three years and it’s THIS?

user2: i am not complaining

user3: i am savouring every little piece in case she goes missing for another three years

mclarenf1: the queen has returned

user4: no thanks to you

user5: how about we keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth

user6: socials admin i know it is not you specifically but i really don’t know how you can post up here like you’re completely absolved of your involvement in this. your car had break failure that broke her fucking back - it is a miracle she is even still walking! and you still don’t accept any responsibility for it

user7: i love y/n but like how is it mclaren’s fault? break failure happens all the time?

user8: well it’s in one part the fact that they were using her as a test dummy because it was a new faulty part that mclaren was experimenting with that was on her car and NOT lando’s and the fact that to this day when they feel like it they’ll heap guilt onto mick schumacher

user9: without being disrespectful there were two formula one careers that were ended that day because mclaren have kept to the narrative that it was mick that put her into the barriers eventhough siedel admitted when he left mclaren that it was a faulty break part that caused it.

user10: clock it

user11: yes clock it but maybe on a different post because it’s y/n’s return to the internet and all yall can talk about is the most traumatic event in her life?

kimiantonelli: i also love clairo

user12: what is bro doing?

user13: be quiet he’s our best hope of y/n coming back to the paddock let him cook

user14: name three songs local

kimiantonelli: bags (live), alewife and blouse

user15: this motherfucker might just do it

maxverstappen1: i miss brando :/

yourusername: you know my address

yourusername: use it since you like to give it out so much

maxverstappen1: I DID NOT GIVE THEM YOUR ADDRESS

user16: y/lnstappen friendship is BACK

user17: it was never gone?

user18: but now we get to see it :P

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when she woke the next morning, y/n knew she had to read the letter again before jumping into anything. in her sleep she was plagued with memories of the past, but not the usual ones that haunted her in the dark. there were no flames, no hospitals, no career-ending injuries. no, this time she was transported back to 2020 and her first few races of her formula one career.

march 2020.

the paddock was much bigger in formula one than it had been in formula two with hundreds more people running around, barging through crowds, hitting y/n on the way through and not even stopping to apologise. she had thought briefly that she would be making more noise as the first female racer to take part in a race since forever - y/n even thought that she’d made a bit of a splash during preseason testing, nestled between her teammate lando and alex in the red bull in fifth.

but she was invisible. even with the garish orange path to follow to the mclaren garage, y/n struggled to get through the crowds of people brandishing their paddock passes. her trainer had gone ahead to set up her driver room which left y/n to push through and arrive to briefing ten minutes late.

“i’m so sorry, i got lost and by the time i was going in the right direction the paddock had filled up?”

y/n stammered, not quite able to make eye contact with zak brown. the american wasn’t tall in comparison to the general public but he towered over y/n and the disapproving stare didn’t do much to help.

“just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

zak snipped, waving his hand in y/n’s direction, telling her to take a seat. y/n rushed to the nearest empty seat and looked for her teammate in the room. lando was sat just three seats to her right on a small table. y/n tried to make eye contact with lando but he avoided her gaze like it was burning him, so much for the ‘big brother’ act he had put on at the car launch.

the engineers stood in front of the screen and started their long-winded presentation about the prospects for the season ahead. y/n pulled her note book out and frantically started taking notes, she didn’t know if that was normal for formula one drivers, but knowing as much as possible couldn’t hurt.

y/n copied down the warnings about possible tyre wear in turn three when she heard some soft sniggers, like someone was trying to stifle their laughter. this drew y/n out of her focus on the presentation, looking around the meeting room to locate the perpetrator.

lando caught her eye immediately. he had a light blush across his face and his mouth was covered by his hand. he looked guilty, guiltier than the rest of the room who were listening intently to the engineers. y/n raised her eyebrow in question.

“i’m sorry are we distracting you two?”

zak interrupted the presentation, turning to look at y/n and lando.

“no, sorry sir,” y/n replied turning her chair back to face the screen. “lando?” zak pressed.

“i’m sorry zak but y/n was distracting me with her note-taking,” lando forced out between his boyish giggles. “i’ve never taken notes, i didn’t realise you would be sucking up to the engineers this early on?”

“i’ve always taken notes? is it a problem? i’m sorry if i was distracting you lando.”

“yeah we’ll see how much those notes help you on track, rookie.”

lando spat over the table. it was uncharacteristically mean for the lando she had seen in the mclaren social content and the lando she spoke with at the car launch. y/n felt tears prickle in her eyes but she swallowed them down, she couldn’t cry yet - or at least not in view of all the most important people on the team.

“right. we’ll get back to business then.”

the rest of the meeting went by in a blur for y/n, but despite the outburst from lando, she continued to take her notes, she would be damned if some comments from lando would fuck up her entire race weekend routine. y/n took her time when zak dismissed them from the meeting, not wanting to look unprofessional.

moving towards the door, y/n’s shoulder hit someone else’s. she looked up to make eye contact with lando yet again.

“you better not make a habit of making contact with me, rookie,” lando said, a slight smirk but a harsh look in his eyes.

“are you like okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” lando replied pushing past through the door.

“i don’t know, you’re just a little frosty this morning? did i do something?”

“why would i be thinking about you, seriously? this is my team, know your place and we’ll get on just fine”.

with that lando was gone and y/n was left puzzled. i guess PR really does work wonders, y/n thought before making her own way to her drivers room.

her trainer, luca, wasn’t there when she managed to locate the room but all of her gear was already neatly put away like they had discussed. y/n cracked open an electrolyte drink and opened her notebook to study the meeting points.

there was a loud knock at the door and before y/n could even utter a “come in”, the mystery visitor barged into the room. daniel ricciardo announced his arrival with a packet of tim tams thrown at y/n and a quick “howdy” before he started rifling through her stuff and studying her helmet.

“ah, another cool dude who has a cuddly guy on their helmet,” daniel said, picking up her helmet, pointing at the cartoon version of her childhood cat.

“oh that’s schumi, when we travelled for karting we always brought him up until he died of old age, but i still want him with me whenever i race.” y/n said, nervous that the heartfelt explanation would be deemed uncool by one of the coolest racers she had ever seen.

“oh that’s surprisingly cute, i bet schumi was a big hit in the paddock back in the day.”

“he sure was, he’s how i charmed max into not hating me after i took him out once,” y/n chuckled thinking back to the race where max stormed up to her with angry tears in his eyes until y/n practically threw schumi at him. in just five seconds, max had calmed down and schumi was happily purring in the young dutchman’s lap.

“that sounds like max. but speaking of the other young whippersnappers in the paddock, how is our lando treating you? i bet zak and that can’t keep up with you two…” daniel asked, slumping to the floor, taking one of her drinks from the mini fridge.

“oh. i am getting used to him, we’ll put it that way?”

“he’s not being rude is he?”

“no! well. he insists on calling me rookie and keeps making comments about me crashing into him and made fun of me taking notes in briefing but i’m sure that such the british banter.”

“you’re british?”

“well. um. yeah, you got me there.”

daniel grabbed her hands, forcing y/n to look him in the eyes rather than her very interesting shoes.

“i know lando is like some media darling, but so are you. don’t let him push you around, he may have been in this team a while but you’re just as good as him if not better. you’re here to prove yourself, not to play second fiddle, okay?”

it was the first time someone had actually tried to talk to her properly since getting to the paddock. again, tears climbed to her eyes, but this time she let one creep out. daniel wiped it away.

“we made the mistake of isolating max when he was young and new, we won’t make the same mistake - we can’t have two of you running rampant around here,” y/n let out a wet laugh which daniel returned, “just come to renault if you need anything from me. max will be there for you, you know, and seb, kimi, fernando and all the old men will listen to you. don’t rot in your drivers room or hotel suite and think you’re not wanted here.”

y/n nodded, feeling some butterflies in her stomach. she was actually here - a formula one driver. a seven-time race winner wants her here, world champions want her here. a private-school fuckboy wasn’t going to ruin her first ever race weeekend.

“thank you daniel.”

“i have to dash, but i’m serious, we’re here for you. and i would be honoured to kick that little shit’s ass for you, okay?”

the australian left in just as loud fashion as he came, but in the remaining silence, y/n finally felt some peace. this was her chance, and she wasn’t going to mess it up.

present.

y/n couldn’t let that happen to kimi. the young italian was just so unbelievably earnest in his letter that y/n couldn’t bear the thought of his kindness being taken advantage of. george russell had never been outwardly callous but with his attack on max late last season and his complete radio silence with y/n since her crash made her suspicious.

as she prepared to ask max for kimi’s number, sara (who did actually still have a job) sent her a link.

sara: zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

sara: do you want us to put out a statement or ignore as usual?

y/n clicked on the link, even though she knew it would just annoy her to the point that her phone might become closely acquainted with the thames.

as the formula one world gears up for the 2025 season, zak brown has already stated his confidence for mclaren this season. the papaya team will be coming into the 2025 season as reigning constructors champions and lando norris and oscar piastri will be aiming to add the world drivers championship to that as well.

when zak brown sat down with us earlier this week, the mclaren ceo did not beat around the bush, stating that mclaren have the strongest pairing on the grid. with red bull promoting liam lawson in a test and, mercedes putting unproven kimi antonelli next to george russell and ferrari gambling with charles leclerc and lewis hamilton, brown might just be right.

in their journey to constructors champions, brown recognised that as a team they had straightened out all of their ‘growing pains’. this is exemplified in oscar piastri completing all laps in the 2024 season.

like they usually do, y/n y/ln’s particularly rabid twitter fans will probably detect some ‘shade’ towards the former driver. brown did touch on the prior mclaren drivers during his reign as ceo, saying that the team had some childish recklessness, but now they have a team that all know their place.

y/n y/ln hasn’t spoken about anything formula one related since her retirement, even forgoing the opportunity to congratulate the team that took the chance on her for winning the championship - something brown did not mince his words on off camera. brown lamented about y/ln’s silence, labelling her a brat and ungrateful for not still thanking him for allowing a woman to compete in formula one.

will mclaren make it back-to-back constructors championships? and will they sweep both championships this season?

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

she needed that loud-mouthed american’s head on a silver platter. the letter had almost sucked her back into the world of formula one, only for the man who discarded her like a broken toy when his car had malfunctioned and smashed her and her career into a concrete wall to call her an ungrateful brat.

fuck him. fuck mclaren. and fuck that dumbass reporter for giving him the time of day.

y/n didn’t throw her phone from her balcony but pulled up her texts with max.

texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italic)

have you read this absolute hogwash

zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

i 100% get why you wanted to put him in a wall last season

you watched last season?

shut up not the time

did you text me just to call your old tyrannical boss a fraud?

i was going to ask for kimi’s number but now i’m back at square one

noooooooo

i want to be there for him, the way no one was for us.

but this is the bs they write about me when i haven’t been seen or heard from in three years, imagine the shite they come up with when i’m the paddock every weekend

WHEN?

no no no

i’ll give you kimi’s number

contact: kimi antonelli (mercedes)

you decide what you want to do

as much as i would kill to have you around the paddock again… even in the vicinity of george

i want you to do what you are comfortable with

thanks max

i’m not giving you a yes but i’m definitely thinking about it

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: omg that's part one??????? i had this idea and have been planning and adding to it for a couple days. no spoilers but there will be multiple love interests, backstabbing and all that lovely stuff - i just love the drama !!! (yes i will finish guilty as sin at some point as well). i hope you enjoy the prose as well - first time writing that way on here lol ?! let me know if you liked it, who you'd like to see her with and what you'd like to see happen!

2K notes View Post

dazecrea

3 months ago

Fated to Love You || Choi Seungcheol

Pairing: Idol Scoups X Solo Idol Y/n Genre: Romance/Angst/Second chance romance/Drama Plot: After a highly publicized breakup with Seungcheol, Y/n finds herself caught between the past and the present as she navigates love, heartbreak, and the pressures of fame. With the world watching her every move, unexpected encounters, media scandals, and unresolved emotions complicate her journey. As tensions rise and feelings resurface, she is faced with a choice—one that could change everything. Authors note: Hey everyone! I know it’s been a while since I last posted, but I’m finally back with a new story! I’ve put a lot of effort into this one, and I really hope you all give it a chance. Writing this wasn’t easy, but your support always keeps me going. Thank you so much for your patience and for sticking with me—I truly appreciate it! Please keep commenting; your words inspire me more than you know. Hope you enjoy the story! Love you guys 💕✨

Comment which is your favourite part of the story

And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other group

The bustling chaos of the airport filled Y/n’s senses. She pulled her cap lower over her face and adjusted her sunglasses, hoping to slip past unnoticed. It was her first public appearance since announcing the cancellation of her engagement, and she knew the media frenzy that awaited her.

But the fans were relentless. As she walked toward the departure gate, a small crowd gathered around her, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of questions.

“Y/n! Is it true you and Seungcheol broke up because of Sewon?”

“Do you regret ending the engagement?”

“What happened between you and Seungcheol?”

Y/n stopped in her tracks, her heart pounding. She forced a calm expression, though her hands trembled as she gripped the strap of her bag.

“I’m sorry, but I won’t be answering any personal questions today,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

The cameras continued to flash, and the murmurs grew louder, but Y/n kept walking. Her chest tightened with every step, each question cutting deeper than she cared to admit. By the time she reached her gate, she felt like she could barely breathe.

Finding a quiet corner, she slumped into a seat and closed her eyes, willing the tears to stay hidden. The echoes of the fans’ words lingered in her mind, reopening wounds she thought she had begun to heal. But as painful as it was, Y/n reminded herself why she had made the decision to walk away. It was for her own peace, her own worth things she refused to compromise any longer.

Seungcheol stared at his phone, his thumb hovering over Y/n’s contact. He had hesitated so many times before, unsure if she would even want to hear from him. But tonight, the emptiness in his apartment felt unbearable, and he couldn’t shake the need to hear her voice.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the call button. The line rang, each tone dragging out the silence he dreaded. Finally, the call went to voicemail.

“Hey, Y/n,” he began, his voice low and uncertain. “It’s me. I… I just wanted to check on you. I know I don’t have the right to ask, but I hope you’re doing okay. I miss you."

He paused, the words catching in his throat.

“I… I’m sorry for everything. I hope someday we can talk. Take care, Y/n.”

Ending the call, Seungcheol let out a shaky breath and set the phone down. The emptiness lingered, but for the first time, he felt a flicker of hope—however small—that things might one day be different.

A day later, Seungcheol sat in front of his phone camera, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. He had debated for hours about making this video, but the backlash Y/n was facing left him no choice.

Pressing record, he took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Hi, this is Seungcheol. I know a lot has been said and speculated about my relationship with Y/n and the engagement we ended. I want to start by saying that Y/n has always been someone I deeply respect and care for. The decision we made to part ways was mutual, and it was a deeply personal matter.”

He paused, his eyes glancing down briefly before returning to the camera. “But what I cannot stand by and watch is the way she’s being harassed and blamed. Y/n does not deserve the hate or the accusations being thrown at her. She made the decision that was best for her, and I respect that wholeheartedly.”

Seungcheol leaned forward slightly, his tone growing firmer. “I also want to address the rumors about Sewon. She is a friend, nothing more. Any assumptions beyond that are untrue and have caused unnecessary pain to everyone involved.”

He exhaled slowly, as if releasing the weight of his words. “I’m asking, sincerely, for everyone to stop harassing Y/n. She deserves peace and privacy, just as any of us do. Please be kind. Thank you.”

With that, he ended the recording and uploaded the video, hoping it would help ease the storm Y/n was facing. As he sat back, he realized that while he couldn’t undo the past, he could at least try to make things right in the present.

Two days later, Seungcheol found himself dialing Y/n’s number once again. To his surprise, this time, she answered.

“Hello?” Y/n’s voice was calm but distant, guarded.

“Y/n,” Seungcheol said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Thank you for answering. I just… I needed to talk to you.”

She remained silent, and he took it as his cue to continue. “I know I hurt you. I know I let you down in ways I can’t even begin to make up for. But I want you to know how sorry I am. Truly. You didn’t deserve any of this—the doubts, the pain, the public scrutiny. None of it.”

“Seungcheol,” she interrupted, her tone sharp yet composed. “I didn’t answer this call to hear your apology. I’ve heard it before. What I needed from you was action, not words. And you failed me when it mattered most.”

He swallowed hard, the weight of her words cutting through him. “I know. I just… I hoped there might be a way to fix this. To fix us.”

“There’s no fixing this,” Y/n said firmly. “Not anymore. I gave everything to this relationship, and I lost myself in the process. I won’t do that again.”

Her words were final, and Seungcheol felt his chest tighten. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I just want you to be happy, Y/n. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I hope you find happiness too,” she replied

Three years ago

Under the bright lights of Y/n’s solo concert, Seungcheol and the members of Seventeen stood backstage, waiting for the show to begin. The crowd’s energy was electric, and their excitement mirrored the audience’s.

When Y/n finally took the stage, she owned it. Her presence was magnetic, her voice captivating as she performed with a passion that seemed to radiate beyond the stage. Seungcheol found himself mesmerized, his admiration growing with every song.

“She’s incredible,” Jeonghan whispered, nudging him. “No wonder everyone’s in love with her.”

Seungkwan nodded enthusiastically. “She’s not just talented; she’s got this aura. It’s impossible not to admire her.”

As Y/n finished her set and thanked the audience, her smile was radiant, lighting up the entire arena. Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel a spark of something deeper—a connection he couldn’t quite explain.

When they were finally introduced backstage, Y/n was gracious and warm despite the exhaustion evident in her eyes. She greeted each member with genuine kindness, and when her gaze met Seungcheol’s, he felt his heart skip a beat.

“You were amazing out there,” he said, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest.

“Thank you,” she replied, her smile soft and sincere. “I’ve heard so much about you and your group. It’s an honor to finally meet you all.”

That night, Seungcheol found himself lingering after the others had left, gathering the courage to speak again. “Y/n,” he began, his voice quieter this time, “I was wondering… if you’d like to grab coffee sometime. Just us.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, surprise flickering across her face. Then, she smiled—a real, genuine smile that made his heart race. “I’d like that,” she said simply.

And so, it began. Coffee turned into late-night conversations, shared laughter, and a deep bond that grew stronger with each passing day. For Seungcheol, falling in love with Y/n was as natural as breathing, and in her presence, he felt like he had found a kindred spirit. The world seemed brighter, and the burdens of their demanding careers felt lighter when they were together.

Though their love story had its share of challenges, those early days were a reminder of the connection that had once brought them so much joy. And even now, as Seungcheol reflected on everything they had lost, he couldn’t help but cherish the moments that had made him fall in love with her in the first place.

As their coffee meetings turned into a weekly ritual, Seungcheol found himself looking forward to those moments more than anything else. Y/n had a way of making him laugh, even on his worst days. She listened intently, offering advice when he needed it and silence when words weren’t enough.

One evening, after a particularly long day of rehearsals, Seungcheol showed up at their favorite cafe, his exhaustion evident. Y/n noticed immediately and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward him.

“You look like you’ve been through a war,” she teased gently.

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Something like that. But seeing you makes it all worth it.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she hid it behind her own cup. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Choi Seungcheol.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied with a playful smirk. “It got me here with you, didn’t it?”

Their banter flowed effortlessly, the connection between them growing deeper with every interaction. Over time, Seungcheol began to realize that Y/n wasn’t just someone he admired—she was someone he wanted by his side, through every high and low.

One night, as they walked along a quiet street after another coffee date, Seungcheol stopped abruptly. Y/n turned to him, puzzled.

“What is it?” she asked.

He hesitated, his heart pounding. Then, he took a deep breath. “Y/n, I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a short time, but… I like you. A lot. And I was wondering if you’d give us a chance—like, a real chance.”

Y/n stared at him, her expression unreadable. For a moment, he feared he had ruined everything. But then she smiled, her eyes softening.

“I’d like that,” she said simply.

Relief and joy washed over Seungcheol, and without thinking, he reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she squeezed his hand gently, and they continued walking, their steps perfectly in sync.

It was the beginning of a love story that would change both of their lives forever.

Three years into their relationship, Seungcheol knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He wanted Y/n to know how deeply she meant to him and how much he wanted to build a future together. With the help of the Seventeen members, he meticulously planned the proposal.

The venue was a private rooftop garden, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and surrounded by blooming flowers. It was the same place they had shared their first late-night conversation about their dreams and fears. Seungcheol wanted the moment to feel intimate, just as their relationship had always been—a sanctuary from the chaotic world around them.

Y/n arrived at the venue under the pretense of a casual date. As she stepped onto the rooftop, her breath hitched at the sight before her. A path lined with candles led to Seungcheol, who stood waiting under an arch draped in soft, white fabric and flowers.

He smiled nervously as she approached, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “You’re here,” he said, his voice tinged with both excitement and nerves.

“What is all this?” she asked, her eyes glimmering with curiosity and emotion.

Taking a deep breath, Seungcheol dropped to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box from his pocket. Y/n gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. “From the moment I met you, you turned my world upside down in the best way possible. You’ve been my rock, my partner, and my greatest love. Every day with you feels like a gift, and I can’t imagine my life without you by my side.”

He opened the box, revealing a delicate ring that sparkled under the soft glow of the lights. “Will you marry me?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

Tears streamed down Y/n’s face as she nodded, unable to find the words. “Yes,” she finally managed to say, her voice breaking. “A thousand times yes.”

Seungcheol stood, slipping the ring onto her finger before pulling her into a tight embrace. The sound of soft applause broke out as the Seventeen members emerged from their hiding spots, cheering and congratulating the newly engaged couple.

The night was filled with laughter, love, and promises for the future. For Seungcheol and Y/n, it was a moment they would treasure forever—a testament to the love that had grown between them, steady and unwavering, through every challenge and triumph.

But as the weeks passed, cracks began to appear in their seemingly perfect engagement. It started when Seungcheol grew closer to Sewon, a fellow idol he had known for years. Initially, Y/n didn’t mind; she trusted Seungcheol and knew how important friendships were in their industry. But gradually, his priorities seemed to shift.

Missed calls, delayed responses, and canceled plans became more frequent. Whenever Y/n tried to address the issue, Seungcheol brushed it off, claiming he was busy with group schedules and projects. However, Y/n couldn’t ignore the pattern: most of his excuses coincided with him spending time with Sewon.

One evening, after yet another postponed dinner, Y/n decided to confront him. She waited for him in their shared apartment, her heart heavy with unease. When he finally walked through the door, his tired expression did little to soften her resolve.

“Seungcheol, we need to talk,” she said firmly.

He sighed, dropping his bag onto the couch. “Can it wait? I’m exhausted.”

“No, it can’t,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly. “You’ve been distant lately, and I feel like I’m not even a priority anymore. What’s going on?”

He rubbed his temples, frustration flickering across his face. “Y/n, I told you, it’s just work. You know how demanding our schedules are.”

“Is it work?” she pressed, her eyes searching his. “Or is it Sewon?”

At her words, Seungcheol’s expression hardened. “Why are you bringing her into this? She’s just a friend.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m competing with her for your attention?” Y/n’s voice cracked, the pain she had been suppressing spilling out. “You cancel our plans to meet her, you talk about her all the time, and you don’t even see how it’s affecting us.”

“You’re overthinking this,” he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. “Sewon has nothing to do with us. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Y/n took a step back, stunned by his dismissiveness. “Nothing?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you even hear yourself, Seungcheol? I’ve tried to be patient, to understand, but I can’t keep pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to choose us,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “But it feels like you’ve already made your choice.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavily between them. Seungcheol opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself. Instead, he turned and walked toward the bedroom, leaving Y/n standing alone in the living room, her heart breaking.

The days that followed were filled with strained conversations and unspoken tension. Y/n tried to hold on, hoping that Seungcheol would realize what was at stake, but his continued indifference only deepened the rift between them. Meanwhile, the rumors about him and Sewon began to spread, fueled by fan speculation and media reports.

Y/n found herself caught in a storm of doubt and heartbreak, unsure of how to salvage a relationship that seemed to be slipping through her fingers. And as much as she loved Seungcheol, she couldn’t ignore the growing feeling that she was fighting for something he no longer valued.

One rainy afternoon, Y/n received a message from Seungcheol, asking to meet at a small café they used to frequent during the early days of their relationship. Despite her reservations, she agreed, hoping for clarity amidst the chaos.

As she entered the café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of soft jazz music greeted her. Seungcheol was already there, sitting at a corner table, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug. His eyes lit up when he saw her, but there was a hesitance in his gaze.

“Thanks for coming,” he said as she sat down across from him.

Y/n nodded, folding her hands on the table. “What did you want to talk about?”

Seungcheol sighed, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his mug. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us… about everything.”

“And?” Y/n prompted, her heart pounding in anticipation.

“I don’t think I’m ready for marriage,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m too young. There’s so much going on in my career, and I feel like I’m being pulled in so many directions.”

Y/n stared at him, her chest tightening. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? Before proposing?”

“I thought I could handle it,” he said, his eyes filled with regret. “I thought my love for you would be enough to overcome everything else. But now, I’m not so sure.”

Her lips trembled as she spoke. “Do you even want to be with me, Seungcheol? Or am I just another thing you’re unsure about?”

“Of course I want to be with you,” he said quickly, reaching across the table for her hand. She pulled away, shaking her head.

“You can’t have it both ways,” she said, her voice breaking. “You can’t ask me to commit my life to you while you’re unsure about yours.”

Her voice was sharper now, the edge of frustration cutting through. “Is it about Sewon?”

Seungcheol’s silence spoke louder than words. Sewon’s name had become a sore point between them in recent months. A close friend and fellow idol, her bond with Seungcheol had always been evident. While Y/n had trusted him implicitly, the whispers of fans and the media began to seep into her mind, planting seeds of doubt.

“She’s just a friend,” he said, but his tone lacked conviction. “You know that.”

“Do I?” Y/n’s voice cracked, betraying the pain she had tried so hard to mask. “Do you realize how it feels to constantly see her by your side, laughing with you, leaning on you? And the worst part? You’ve never once tried to reassure me."

Seungcheol reached across the table, his hand hovering over hers. “I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe me.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one fighting for this relationship?” She pulled her hand away, tears threatening to spill. “We’re supposed to be partners, Seungcheol. But lately, it feels like I’m competing for your attention.”

“Maybe… maybe we need some time apart,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n felt her heart shatter. The engagement ring on her finger suddenly felt like a burden, its brilliance mocking her pain. She slipped it off and placed it on the table between them.

“If that’s what you want,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “Then I won’t stop you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Y/n felt her heart shatter. The engagement ring on her finger suddenly felt like a burden, its brilliance mocking her pain. She slipped it off and placed it on the table between them.

Y/n stood, her chair scraping against the floor. “You already have.” Without another word, she walked out of the café, leaving Seungcheol sitting alone, the weight of his choices pressing down on him like never before.

*Flashback ends*

In the weeks that followed, Y/n channeled her heartbreak into her music. Late nights in the studio became her solace as she poured her emotions into lyrics and melodies. Each song she wrote was raw and vulnerable, capturing the pain, confusion, and longing she felt.

When her album was released, it became an instant hit, resonating with fans and critics alike. Tracks like "Falling Out of Love" and "Shadows of Us" topped the charts, their haunting lyrics striking a chord with listeners. In interviews, Y/n remained composed, describing the album as a reflection of her personal journey but never delving into specific details about her relationship with Seungcheol.

One particular song, "Unspoken Goodbye," drew widespread attention. Its lyrics painted a vivid picture of unreciprocated efforts and the ache of realizing love wasn’t enough to hold two people together.

“I reached for you in the dark, but you were already gone. Promises turned to whispers, and now I sing alone.”

Fans speculated endlessly, piecing together clues from the lyrics and her recent public appearances. Some sympathized with her, while others continued to draw comparisons between her and Sewon, fueling debates online.

Through it all, Y/n remained focused on her craft, using her art to heal. Though her heart was still mending, her music gave her

Months after the release, Y/n was invited for an exclusive interview with a renowned media outlet. The interviewer, known for their probing questions, eventually brought up the topic that many were curious about.

“How do you feel about Seungcheol now?” they asked, leaning forward slightly. “After everything that’s happened, do you still think about him?”

Y/n paused, her hands resting gently on her lap as she considered her words. She met the interviewer’s gaze, her expression calm but tinged with melancholy. “A piece of my heart will always love him,” she admitted, her voice steady but soft. “I could never hate him. He was a significant part of my life, and what we shared was real and meaningful.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “It hurts me to see him getting hurt. Despite everything, I don’t wish pain or hardship upon him. I think that’s what love truly is—wanting the best for someone, even if they’re no longer in your life.”

Her candid response resonated with fans and viewers alike, painting a picture of grace and emotional maturity. It reminded everyone that even in heartbreak, love could leave behind a legacy of compassion and understanding.

Seungcheol watched the interview late at night, alone in his apartment. Her words echoed in his mind, filling him with a mix of regret and longing. The song, the interview, everything she had shared publicly—it all made him realize just how deeply he had hurt her and how much he missed having her in his life.

On an impulse, he picked up his phone and dialed her number. It rang twice before she answered, her voice cautious. “Hello?”

“Y/n, it’s me,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I—I saw the interview. And the song. I just… I needed to tell you how sorry I am. For everything.”

She was silent for a moment before responding. “Seungcheol, we’ve already been through this. I’ve moved on, and you should too.”

“I know I messed up,” he said desperately. “But seeing you, hearing your words—it reminded me of everything we had. I miss you, Y/n. I miss us.”

Her voice remained calm but firm. “You miss what we had, Seungcheol, but that doesn’t change what you did. You made choices that hurt me deeply, and I can’t just forget that.”

“I’ll do anything to make it right,” he pleaded. “Please, just give me another chance.”

She sighed softly, her tone filled with a mixture of sadness and finality. “Sometimes, love isn’t enough. I’ll always wish the best for you, but I can’t go back to the way things were. Take care of yourself, Seungcheol.”

Before he could say anything else, she ended the call, leaving him staring at his phone, the weight of her words sinking in. For the first time, he truly understood that some things, no matter how much he wished otherwise, couldn’t be undone.

Months passed, and Y/n eventually entered a new relationship. Her new boyfriend was kind, understanding, and patient—everything she thought she needed to heal. On the surface, they seemed happy together, and the public saw it as her fresh start.

But deep down, Y/n couldn’t shake the emptiness she felt. The laughter didn’t feel as genuine, the conversations didn’t spark the same warmth, and despite her efforts to move on, her heart still ached for the love she had lost.

She found herself reminiscing about Seungcheol more often than she cared to admit—his bright smile, the way he always made her feel safe, the late-night talks where they dreamed about their future together. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, a part of her still belonged to him.

And no matter how much she wanted to forget, she couldn’t.

One evening, Y/n took the stage at a major rock festival, her energy electrifying the crowd. She had always loved experimenting with different genres, and this performance was one of her most powerful yet—raw, intense, and full of emotion. She poured her heart into every note, her voice carrying the weight of everything she had been through.

Backstage, her old friend Seungkwan watched from the wings, deeply moved by her performance. He had always been close to Y/n and seeing her like this—fierce yet fragile—made him realize how much she was still hurting.

Unable to ignore it any longer, he reached out to Seungcheol. “Hyung, you need to come see her. You need to hear her.”

Despite his initial hesitation, Seungcheol agreed. The two arrived at the concert venue unnoticed, blending into the sea of fans as Y/n performed.

Seungcheol’s heart clenched as he watched her under the bright lights, singing her heart out. He could feel her pain in every lyric, see the lingering sadness in her eyes. It was a painful reminder of everything they had lost.

And in that moment, he realized—he had never stopped loving her.

The moment Y/n stepped off the stage, her adrenaline was still pumping. The roar of the crowd echoed in her ears, but even their deafening cheers couldn’t drown out the heaviness in her heart. She barely had time to catch her breath before a familiar voice cut through the haze.

“Y/n.”

She froze.

That voice. That tone.

She turned slowly, her eyes widening as she met Seungcheol’s gaze. He stood just a few feet away, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those same eyes she once drowned in—were filled with something raw. Something she wasn’t ready to face.

Before she could say a word, her boyfriend Minseong appeared by her side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hey, is everything okay?” he asked, glancing between Y/n and Seungcheol.

The tension was suffocating. The members of Seventeen and her own group lingered nearby, uneasy, unsure if they should step in.

Seungcheol let out a bitter chuckle, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So this is him?” His voice was sharp, edged with something close to resentment. “The guy you moved on with?”

Y/n’s jaw clenched. “Cheol—”

“Did he ever make your heart race the way I did?” Seungcheol asked, his voice rising. “Or did you just force yourself to move on because you were scared?”

The room fell silent.

Y/n took a shaky breath, her eyes burning. “You don’t get to do this,” she snapped. “You don’t get to walk back into my life after all this time and question my choices. You were the one who let me go.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, his frustration bubbling over. “Let you go? Y/n, you walked away!” His voice cracked slightly, and for a moment, the anger wavered, revealing the hurt beneath. “You left me. And now you’re here, acting like none of it meant anything?”

“It meant everything,” she shot back, her voice trembling. “And that’s exactly why I had to leave.”

Her boyfriend shifted awkwardly beside her. “Maybe we should talk about this later—”

“No.” Y/n shook her head, eyes locked onto Seungcheol. “You don’t get to stand here and act like you’re the only one who suffered. Do you think it was easy for me? Do you think I didn’t spend nights wondering if I made the right choice?”

Seungcheol’s breath hitched.

Y/n’s hands balled into fists. “I waited, Cheol. I waited for you to fight for me, to give me a reason to stay. But you didn’t. You let me leave. So don’t you dare show up now, acting like you still have a say in my life.”

Seungcheol stared at her, chest rising and falling with the weight of everything he wanted to say. The members of Seventeen shifted uneasily, exchanging glances.

Seungkwan finally stepped in, his voice gentle but firm. “Hyung, maybe this isn’t the right time—”

But Seungcheol ignored him. His eyes stayed on Y/n, desperate, pleading. “Tell me one thing,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you really happy?”

Y/n faltered.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

And in that silence, Seungcheol got his answer.

The morning after the heated confrontation backstage, the internet was in chaos. News outlets, gossip sites, and social media platforms were flooded with headlines, each twisting the story in its own way.

"Y/n and Seungcheol's Backstage Clash: Former Lovers Turn to Heated Argument at Music Festival!"

"Caught on Camera: Y/n and Seungcheol's Explosive Fight – Tensions Boil Over in Front of Seventeen and Industry Insiders!"

"Seungcheol Confronts Y/n Over Their Past – Did She Ever Move On?"

Fan-recorded videos from the concert venue circulated online, showing snippets of their intense exchange. Though no official statement had been released, lip readers and “insiders” claimed to have deciphered the argument. The drama escalated as netizens took sides.

🗣️ "Y/n deserves to move on. Seungcheol had his chance, why is he acting up now?"

🗣️ "You can literally see the pain in Seungcheol's face... he's still in love with her."

🗣️ "Not Seungcheol pulling a ‘are you really happy?’ moment like it’s a K-drama 😭😭"

🗣️ "Her new boyfriend just standing there while Y/n and Seungcheol basically confess their unresolved feelings 💀"

Within hours, major entertainment news outlets picked up the story. Some reporters speculated on whether the ex-couple had lingering feelings, while others accused Seungcheol of being possessive. Articles broke down the timeline of their past relationship, analyzing every interaction they’d had in public since their breakup.

A particularly viral article from Dispatch read:

"Inside Y/n and Seungcheol’s Emotional Backstage Confrontation: A Love That Never Faded?"

"Sources close to the artists claim that the fight was years in the making. ‘They never fully moved on from each other,’ an anonymous staff member revealed. ‘Everyone knew there was unfinished business between them.’"

Another gossip site went even further:

"Did Y/n Settle for a ‘Safe’ Relationship? Fans Speculate That Her New Boyfriend is Just a Rebound!"

Y/n’s company quickly released a short statement:

"Y/n had a private conversation with a colleague. We ask for your understanding and request that unfounded speculations be avoided."

But Seungcheol’s company remained silent, fueling more rumors. Some fans believed it was because he had nothing to deny.

Meanwhile, Seventeen’s members were being bombarded with questions during schedules. Seungkwan, who had been there that night, looked visibly uncomfortable when asked about it during a live stream.

“Ah… it’s not my place to say anything,” he murmured, avoiding eye contact with the camera. “I just hope people don’t believe everything they read online.”

Three days after the backstage altercation between Y/n and Seungcheol shook the internet, the idol finally addressed the controversy.

At midnight, Seungcheol went live on Weverse, looking visibly tired. Dressed in a simple hoodie and cap, he sighed before speaking, his voice softer than usual.

“First of all, I want to sincerely apologize to the fans,” he began, his fingers laced together as he bowed slightly. “I never wanted to cause a scandal or bring unnecessary attention to anyone, especially Y/n. That night… things got emotional, and I let my feelings get the best of me.”

He paused, exhaling shakily. “I know many of you have seen the videos and read the articles. There’s no excuse for what happened. It was a private conversation that, unfortunately, became very public. And for that, I take full responsibility.”

His eyes flickered with emotion as he hesitated before continuing. “I also won’t lie to you. The truth is… I never stopped caring about Y/n.”

The comment section exploded instantly.

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his hands slightly shaking. “I don’t expect anything to change. She has her own life now, and I respect that. But I also don’t want to pretend anymore.”

💬 “DID HE JUST CONFESS???”

💬 “Wait wait wait HOLD ON.”

💬 “HE STILL LOVES HER??? SEUNGCHEOL WTF”

💬 “Someone check on Y/n’s boyfriend bc there’s no way he’s okay rn 💀”

“I loved her. I still do. And that’s something I can’t hide, no matter how much time passes.”

A heavy silence filled the air. The weight of his confession was undeniable.

“I don’t regret what we had, and I will always be grateful for the memories. But I also know that some things… can’t be undone,” he murmured. “No matter what happens, I just want her to be happy.”

He looked straight into the camera. “To the fans who were disappointed in me, I’m sorry. To Y/n, if you ever see this… I’m sorry for putting you through this again.”

With one final bow, he ended the live.

But the internet was just getting started.

Within minutes, hashtags like #SeungcheolApologizes, #CheolStillLovesY/n, and #Y/nResponseWhen? trended worldwide. Fans were divided—some heartbroken over his pain, others hopeful that this was the beginning of something new.

A few days after Seungcheol’s confession sent the internet into a frenzy, Seungkwan found himself standing outside Y/n’s apartment, nervously shifting on his feet. He had sent her a text earlier, asking if he could talk, and to his surprise, she had agreed.

When the door finally opened, Y/n stood there, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face. She looked tired—exhausted, really. And Seungkwan hated knowing that he had contributed to it.

She stepped aside, allowing him in without a word. He hesitated for a second before walking inside, the air between them thick with unspoken tension.

Taking a deep breath, Seungkwan turned to face her. “Y/n, I… I’m so sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She raised an eyebrow. “For what exactly?”

His stomach twisted. He knew she wasn’t making it easy for him—and honestly, he deserved it.

“For dragging Seungcheol to your concert,” he admitted, guilt evident in his voice. “I thought I was helping. I thought if he saw you, if he heard you sing, he’d finally get some closure. I never meant for things to spiral like this.”

Y/n let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “Closure?” She scoffed. “Seungkwan, I was finally starting to move on, and now look at this mess. Do you know how many headlines I’ve had to ignore? How many people have been asking me about my relationship, about Seungcheol, about us?”

Seungkwan lowered his head, shame washing over him. “I know. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am for putting you through this again. I never wanted to make things harder for you.”

She studied him for a moment before sighing. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” she said, voice softer now. “But you should have stayed out of it, Seungkwan. It wasn’t your place to interfere.”

Seungkwan swallowed hard. “I get that now. And if I could take it all back, I would.” His voice cracked slightly. “I just—seeing you like that on stage, I knew you were still hurting. And I saw how much hyung was struggling too. I thought… maybe, deep down, you both just needed a push.”

Y/n’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, Seungkwan saw the raw emotion in her eyes. “You don’t think I know that?” she whispered. “You don’t think I’ve spent every single day wondering if I made the right choice?”

His breath hitched.

“I still love him, Seungkwan,” she admitted, the words hanging heavy in the air. “But that doesn’t mean we can go back to how things were.”

Seungkwan felt his chest tighten. He had hoped—prayed—that maybe, just maybe, things would fall back into place. But Y/n’s expression told him everything he needed to know.

“I get it,” he murmured. “And I swear, I won’t interfere anymore.” He looked at her with sincerity. “I just want you to be happy, Y/n. Whether that’s with Seungcheol or not.”

For the first time that night, Y/n’s expression softened.

“I know,” she said. “And I appreciate that.”

The tension between them eased, just slightly. And as Seungkwan left that night, he hoped—more than anything—that one day, Y/n and Seungcheol would find the happiness they both deserved.

The buzz surrounding Y/n and Seungcheol hadn’t died down, and after weeks of speculation, Y/n finally agreed to an exclusive interview. It wasn’t to explain herself, nor was it to address the scandal directly—she simply wanted to remind the world who she was beyond the drama.

Sitting across from the interviewer in a beautifully lit studio, Y/n looked poised and elegant, her aura calm despite the chaos that had surrounded her lately.

Halfway through the interview, the inevitable question came.

“Y/n, with everything that has happened recently, I think what everyone wants to know is… are you happy?”

The studio fell into silence, and for a moment, Y/n only blinked, as if carefully choosing her words. The interviewer watched her expectantly, and fans watching from behind their screens held their breath.

Then, Y/n smiled—not forced, not hesitant, but genuine.

“I am happy,” she answered simply, nodding. “I have people around me who love and support me. I’m doing what I love. I’m growing, learning, and becoming a better version of myself every day.”

She paused, her fingers gently running along the armrest of her chair. “I think happiness isn’t just about one person, or one moment. It’s about finding peace within yourself, no matter what’s happening around you.”

Her words sent waves across social media. Some fans cheered her on, proud of her strength, while others couldn’t help but read between the lines.

No matter how people interpreted it, one thing was clear—Y/n wasn’t letting the past define her anymore.

💬 “She didn’t say she moved on. She said she’s happy… but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love him anymore.”

💬 “If she’s happy, then that’s all that matters. She deserves it.”

💬 “So this is really the end for her and Seungcheol?”

💬 “What if she’s saying this to convince herself? She looked kind of sad for a second.”

And whether Seungcheol was part of her future or not… that was a story only time would tell.

Just when the internet was beginning to settle down after Y/n’s interview, a single post sent fans into a frenzy once again.

Late at night, Y/n’s boyfriend uploaded a picture to his Instagram story—an intimate yet casual shot of him and Y/n. She was leaning against him, laughing softly, while he had his arm draped over her shoulders.

But what truly set the internet ablaze was the caption.

"Thanks for letting her go."

Within minutes, screenshots flooded Twitter, Instagram, and online forums. Fans and netizens had mixed reactions—some supporting the new relationship, others furious over what they saw as an unnecessary dig at Seungcheol.

It didn’t take long before Seungcheol’s name began trending again, fans anxiously waiting to see if he would respond.

💬 “OHHHHH HE’S PETTY FOR THAT 😭”

💬 “No way he actually posted this 💀💀💀”

💬 “Seungcheol, don’t look at your phone bro.”

💬 “He really said ‘I won.’ But did he, though?”

💬 “This feels kinda insecure… if you’re happy, why throw shade?”

💬 “Y/n deserves to be happy, but this caption was not it.”

However, Seungcheol remained completely silent. No statements. No cryptic posts. No subtle likes or unlikes.

Following the viral Instagram story from Y/n’s new boyfriend, media outlets wasted no time in picking up the drama. Within hours, headlines flooded every major entertainment site, further fueling the ongoing controversy.

📢 K-Buzz News: "Y/n’s New Boyfriend Takes a Dig at Seungcheol—‘Thanks for Letting Her Go’ Sparks Debate!"

📢 AllK-Entertainment: "Is It a Low Blow? Y/n’s Boyfriend Posts Shady Caption Amidst Seungcheol’s Confession!"

📢 Dispatch Exclusive: "Aimed at Seungcheol? Y/n’s Boyfriend Under Fire for His Controversial Instagram Post!"

The articles analyzed every angle of the situation—some supporting Y/n’s boyfriend, claiming he had every right to express his love publicly, while others criticized him for being unnecessarily petty.

One report even included insights from an anonymous industry insider:

"It’s no secret that Seungcheol and Y/n had a deep history. For a new boyfriend to make such a statement so publicly… it seems more like a declaration of victory than genuine love. Fans are divided, and understandably so."

Online discussions became more heated, with netizens and fans picking sides.

After days of silence, Seungcheol finally broke his silence—and he did it in the most Seungcheol way possible.

💬 “I mean… he’s not wrong, Seungcheol DID let her go.”

💬 “There was no need for this. If he was confident in their relationship, he wouldn’t have posted that.”

💬 “Is Y/n okay with this? She’s been trying to move on peacefully.”

💬 “This is getting so messy. I just want all of them to be happy.”

During SEVENTEEN’s sold-out concert, emotions were already running high, but no one expected the leader to address the controversy head-on.

Right before launching into a rap solo, Seungcheol took a deep breath, smirked slightly, and let the mic drop to his side for a second. The crowd fell silent, sensing something was about to go down.

Then, he looked out at the audience and said, “Someone decided to run their mouth… but I can’t just let that go, right?”

The stadium erupted in screams.

Without missing a beat, the beat dropped, and Seungcheol spit bars sharper than knives, delivering what fans immediately recognized as a freestyle diss aimed directly at Y/n’s boyfriend.

“You think you won, but why you still talkin’?

Got my leftovers, but you’re still stalkin’.

Holdin’ her hand, but you checkin’ my page—

You insecure, man, just stay in your lane.

The crowd went wild, some covering their mouths in shock while others jumped, hyped at the unexpected callout. Seungcheol didn’t stop there. He ended the rap with one last line that sent chills through the venue:

Talkin’ like you won but you don’t know the game,

She’s not a trophy, she don’t need a new name.

You flex online but we know it’s pretend,

If you gotta talk about me, are you really her man?”

“Real love don’t need a caption, it just stays.”

🔥 FANS. LOST. THEIR. MINDS. 🔥

💬 “DID CHEOL JUST DISS HIM LIVE???”

💬 “HE REALLY SAID I CANT LET THAT GO LMAOOO”

💬 “That was directed straight at him and everyone knows it 💀”

💬 “The way Seungcheol handled this was straight SAVAGE but CLASSY.”

As expected, clips of the performance exploded online within minutes. Hashtags like #SeungcheolDissTrack #StayInYourLaneand #ICantLetThatGo trended worldwide.

💬 “DID HE JUST CALL HIM INSECURE???”

💬 “Seungcheol said ‘you got her but you’re STILL mad’ LMAOOO”

💬 “This man had enough and snapped 💀💀”

💬 “Y/n’s boyfriend better not check Twitter today.”

💬 “The fact that he did this in a FULL concert with THOUSANDS of people watching… legendary.”

Even fellow SEVENTEEN members couldn’t hide their reactions—Mingyu was seen howling with laughter, Hoshi dramatically clutched his chest, and Jeonghan smirked knowingly.

Meanwhile, Y/n’s boyfriend remained silent on social media. No response. No clapback.

Because at that moment, Seungcheol had already won the battle without even trying.

The K-pop world is ablaze once again as Seungcheol's recent concert performance has sparked a fresh wave of controversy.

Leading outlets like Dispatch, AllKPop, and K-Buzz wasted no time covering the unexpected diss.

📢 Dispatch Headline: "Seungcheol's Savage Rap Sparks Speculation – Is Y/n's Boyfriend the Target?"

📢 K-Buzz: "‘Stay in Your Lane’ – Seungcheol Sends a Clear Message During SEVENTEEN’s Concert!"

📢 AllKPop: "Seungcheol Breaks Silence in the Most K-Pop Way Possible – Fans Call It the Ultimate Clapback!"

The viral moment had fans dissecting every line of the rap, with many convinced that the lyrics were aimed directly at Y/n’s boyfriend following his controversial Instagram post.

The reaction online was immediate:

One industry insider told Dispatch:

"Seungcheol is known for writing deeply personal lyrics, but this performance felt different. It was raw and deliberate—he knew exactly what he was doing."

Neither Seungcheol nor his agency released an official statement, but fans noticed that SEVENTEEN’s official social media accounts carefully avoided posting clips from that performance—further fueling the speculation.

💬 "He didn’t even name-drop, but we all know who he’s talking about."

💬 "Seungcheol said ‘stay in your lane’ and mic dropped. ICONIC."

💬 "If I were Y/n’s boyfriend, I would deactivate every social media app right now."

💬 "Seungcheol is fighting demons with a whole concert tour."

Meanwhile, Y/n’s boyfriend remained silent on the matter, with some fans calling his Instagram caption “the worst mistake of his life.”

As the drama unfolds, all eyes are now on Y/n, waiting to see if she will respond—or if she’ll continue to rise above the storm swirling around her.

After the chaos from Seungcheol’s viral rap performance, Y/n couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Furious over the public spectacle he made, she reached out to him directly—and it wasn’t a pleasant conversation.

The tension was thick the moment he answered.

“What the hell was that, Seungcheol?” Y/n snapped, skipping past pleasantries. “Did you really have to turn this into a public mess?”

Seungcheol sighed, already anticipating this reaction. “I didn’t mention anyone’s name.”

“Don’t play dumb!” Her voice was sharp with frustration. “You knew exactly what you were doing! You turned this into a damn spectacle, and now everyone is talking about it.”

Seungcheol, still heated from everything that had happened, scoffed. “Oh, but your boyfriend’s post wasn’t a spectacle? He went out of his way to take a shot at me, and I was just supposed to stay quiet?”

Y/n exhaled sharply, her patience wearing thin. “You don’t have to stoop to his level! Do you even realize what you’ve done? Fans are eating this up, and now it looks like some childish feud. And me? I’m stuck in the middle of it.”

Seungcheol was silent for a moment before he muttered, “He started it.”

Y/n let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, grow up, Seungcheol. This isn’t about winning or losing. This is my life you keep dragging into the spotlight.”

Her voice softened slightly, but the hurt was still there. “I just wanted to move on. Why couldn’t you let me?”

Seungcheol clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of her words. “Is that really what you wanted?” His voice was quieter now, raw with emotion.

Y/n hesitated for just a second. But she forced herself to stay firm. “Yes. And if you actually cared about me, you would have respected that.”

The call ended before Seungcheol could respond.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had truly lost her.

After their heated call, Seungcheol couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at him. He knew he had hurt Y/n, and no words could undo the mess he had made.

So, instead of words, he chose actions.

Every single day, he sent her favorite flowers, carefully arranged and delivered without a note. He didn’t expect a response—he just wanted her to know that despite everything, he still cared.

At first, Y/n thought it was from a fan or maybe her company, but as the days passed, the steady arrival of fresh bouquets started to make her wonder.

Then, one evening, she finally acknowledged them—posting a picture of the flowers on her Instagram story.

🌸 "One of my fav things." 🌸

Fans immediately flooded the comments with love, but one particular comment caught her attention.

💬 "Minseong is so sweet for doing this!"

Y/n didn’t respond, assuming her boyfriend, Minseong, was the sender. But before she could even process it, a verified comment appeared below.

💬 Seungcheol: "They’re from me."

The internet exploded.

💥 Fans Lost Their Minds 💥

Y/n stared at the comment, her heart dropping into her stomach. She had unknowingly posted a gift from Seungcheol, and now the entire world knew.

💬 "OH MY GOD. SEUNGCHEOL, WHAT?!"

💬 "The audacity… but also… the romance??"

💬 "Minseong is getting secondhand embarrassment right now LMAO."

💬 "This man does NOT give up."

💬 "Y/n, girl, we need a response ASAP."

The moment Minseong saw the comment from Seungcheol, he was furious. His name was trending alongside Seungcheol’s, and fans were speculating about their relationship.

That night, he stormed into Y/n’s apartment, his jaw clenched, his voice laced with anger.

“Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me?” he snapped, tossing his phone onto the table. “The whole internet thinks I’m some fool who’s been competing with your ex this entire time!”

Y/n, still overwhelmed by everything, took a deep breath. “Minseong, I didn’t know the flowers were from him. I thought—”

“You thought what?!” he cut her off, his voice rising. “That I’d waste my time doing some grand romantic gesture when I know you’re still stuck on him?”

Her eyes widened at his tone. “That’s not fair.”

Minseong let out a bitter laugh. “Fair? You’re the one making me look like an idiot while secretly holding onto the past.” He stepped closer, his presence suddenly suffocating. “You liked it, didn’t you? Knowing he’s still chasing after you?”

Y/n took a step back, her chest tightening. “I didn’t ask for this. I was moving on—with you.”

Minseong scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “No, Y/n. You weren’t. You were just pretending to.”

His words struck deep, but before she could respond, his hand slammed down onto the table, making her flinch. He didn’t hit her, but his anger was dangerously close to boiling over.

That was it. The final straw.

Y/n’s voice was firm, unwavering. “We’re done.”

Minseong froze. “What?”

She exhaled, steadying herself. “This isn’t love, Minseong. You don’t trust me. You don’t respect me. And I refuse to stay in something that makes me feel like this.”

His expression hardened, but he didn’t fight her decision. He knew he had lost. Without another word, he grabbed his things and left, slamming the door behind him.

The moment he was gone, Y/n finally let herself breathe.

It was over. For good.

Following the sudden news of Y/n and Minseong’s breakup, fans speculated about the reasons behind their split—especially after the viral Seungcheol flower incident.

To address the growing rumors, Y/n’s company released an official statement:

📢 [OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM Y/N’S AGENCY] 📢

*"Hello, this is [Agency Name].

We would like to address recent reports regarding Y/n’s personal life.

After much discussion, Y/n and Minseong have decided to part ways. They will continue to support each other as colleagues and friends. We ask that fans respect their privacy during this time and refrain from spreading speculation that could harm either party.

Regarding the recent online discussions, Y/n has no involvement in any public disputes, and we kindly ask for understanding as she focuses on her career and well-being.

Thank you for your continued support."*

— [Agency Name]

Fan Reactions

Late at night, Y/n’s phone buzzed with a message from a number she hadn’t seen pop up in a long time.

💬 "‘No involvement’?? Her ex-boyfriend literally humiliated her, and they’re acting like nothing happened??"

💬 "I just know Minseong is punching the air right now."

💬 "Seungcheol’s somewhere smirking."

💬 "Hope Y/n is okay. She deserves better."

💬 "They didn’t even deny the flowers were from Seungcheol. Interesting… 👀"

Seungcheol.

Seungcheol: Hey… How are you feeling? Seungcheol: I heard about everything. I just… I wanted to check on you.

Y/n stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She knew she should ignore him. After everything that had happened, after all the chaos, it would be easier to just move on.

But a part of her—the part that still remembered how safe he once made her feel—couldn’t.

Y/n: I’m fine.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Seconds later, her phone started ringing. Seungcheol was calling.

She hesitated before answering. “What do you want, Seungcheol?”

His voice was gentle, laced with something softer than usual. “I wanted to hear your voice, baby.”

Y/n’s breath hitched. “Don’t call me that.”

He chuckled, but there was an undeniable sadness behind it. “I can’t help it. You’ll always be my baby.”

She closed her eyes, gripping the edge of her blanket. “You don’t get to say that anymore.”

Seungcheol sighed. “I know I messed up. I know I’ve made things worse instead of better. But I meant what I said… I’m not giving up on you.”

Y/n swallowed, her heart racing. “You can’t just decide that.”

“But I can decide to keep trying,” he countered, voice firm. “I let you go once. I’m not making that mistake again.”

Silence stretched between them. Y/n hated how her heart betrayed her in that moment, how it ached at the sound of his voice, how it longed to believe him.

“I don’t know if I can do this again, Seungcheol,” she whispered.

He exhaled, his voice softer this time. “Then let me show you that you can.”

The world was buzzing with excitement—both Seventeen and Y/n had been nominated for the Billboard Music Awards. Social media exploded with congratulations, and fans couldn’t stop talking about how fate kept bringing them back into the same spaces.

That night, Y/n was in her hotel room when her phone lit up. Seungcheol was calling.

She stared at the screen, debating whether to pick up. But a part of her already knew—she would always answer when it was him.

With a sigh, she swiped the call open. “What do you want now, Seungcheol?”

His deep chuckle came through the line. “Can’t I just call to congratulate my baby?”

She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“I’ll stop when you stop running away from me,” he said smoothly.

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. “I’m not running.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Then tell me why every time I reach out, you push me away. Every time I try to come closer, you take another step back.”

She clenched her jaw, looking away as if he could see her through the phone. “Because it’s easier that way, Seungcheol. You and I… we always end up hurting each other.”

His voice softened. “Not always.”

“Enough times.”

A pause. Then, “And yet… here we are. Still picking up each other’s calls.”

Y/n closed her eyes. He wasn’t wrong. No matter how hard she tried to stay away, something kept pulling them back together.

“Just tell me one thing, baby.” His voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. “Is there still a part of you that wants me?”

Silence.

Y/n knew her answer. But she also knew that saying it out loud would mean stepping back into a storm she wasn’t sure she could handle.

So instead, she whispered, “Goodnight, Seungcheol.”

And then she hung up—leaving him with the silence that said everything he needed to know.

The stadium roared with cheers as Seventeen was announced as the winner. The members hugged, overwhelmed with emotions as they took the stage to accept their first-ever Billboard Music Award.

Backstage, the energy was electric. Staff members, fellow artists, and friends were congratulating them left and right. Amid the chaos, Y/n found them.

Dressed in a sleek black outfit, she approached with a small smile. “Congratulations, Guys.”

The members turned to her, pleasantly surprised. Seungkwan was the first to pull her into a hug, followed by Joshua and Hoshi. They had always been close to her, and despite everything that had happened, there was no awkwardness—only warmth.

Then, her eyes met Seungcheol’s.

He stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “You are here.”

Y/n smirked. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The members exchanged knowing looks before slowly dispersing, giving them space.

Now alone in a quieter corner of the backstage area, Seungcheol studied her carefully.

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly.

She shrugged. “You worked hard for it. You deserved to win.”

Seungcheol took a step closer. “And do I deserve another chance?”

Y/n inhaled sharply. “Seungcheol—”

“Listen to me, baby,” he cut in gently. “I know I’ve messed up before. I know I let you go when I shouldn’t have. But I swear to you, I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Her heart pounded, but she kept her face neutral. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I also know you still feel something for me. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he was right, and they both knew it.

Seungcheol sighed and reached for her hand, his touch hesitant but warm. “One date. That’s all I’m asking. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me, like old times.”

Y/n bit her lip, her walls threatening to crumble.

One date.

That was all.

What was the worst that could happen?

“…Fine,” she whispered.

Seungcheol’s face broke into a boyish grin, his dimples showing. “Really?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just one date.”

He chuckled, squeezing her hand. “One date is all I need.”

Breaking News: Seungcheol & Y/n Spotted on a Date!

The entertainment industry was buzzing with new headlines the morning after Seungcheol and Y/n’s long-awaited reunion.

Photos had surfaced of the two enjoying a quiet evening at a luxurious yet cozy restaurant. Fans noted how they laughed easily, leaned close to talk, and looked at each other like no time had passed.

🔹 "Seventeen’s Seungcheol & Y/n Reignite Romance? Spotted on an Intimate Date!"

🔹 "Old Flames Reunite: Seungcheol and Y/n Seen Boarding the Same Flight Together!"

🔹 "Eagle-Eyed Fans Notice Y/n Wearing Her Old Engagement Ring—Is Love Back in the Air?"

“Look at the way Seungcheol is staring at her… He’s so in love.” – A fan commented on Twitter.

“It’s crazy how they just fit together. Like they were never apart.”

If the dinner date wasn’t enough, a bigger surprise came the next morning when both Seungcheol and Y/n were spotted at the airport—boarding the same flight.

Fans went into a frenzy.

A Few Months Later…

“Where are they going together??”

“This feels like a drama plot… a romantic getaway???”

It started with a simple Instagram post.

Y/n wasn’t one to flaunt her personal life, but tonight, something felt different. She uploaded a picture of her hand resting against a bouquet of white roses—and on her ring finger, a brand-new engagement ring sparkled under the dim light.

💍 CAPTION: “Some things are worth finding your way back to.”

The internet exploded.

🔥 BREAKING NEWS: Y/n Is Engaged!

"Months after rekindling her romance with Seungcheol, fans noticed Y/n sporting a dazzling engagement ring. While no official statement has been released, the caption and the ring say it all!"

As the world celebrated, somewhere in the quiet of their own little world, Seungcheol pulled Y/n into his arms and whispered against her forehead:

📝 Fans React:

💬 “THEY’RE REALLY ENDGAME OMG 😭😭”

💬 “Seungcheol, you romantic fool, YOU DID IT!!”

💬 “The way this love story has come full circle… I’M SOBBING.”

“Told you I’d never stop trying, baby."

Seungcheol Confirms Marriage to Y/n—Fans Go Wild!

Seventeen’s leader, Choi Seungcheol, has just dropped the biggest bombshell during an album promotion event—he and Y/n are officially married!

"We Got Married Recently" – Seungcheol’s Unexpected Announcement

During an interview for Seventeen’s latest album, the members were discussing the inspiration behind their new songs. When asked about the meaning behind a particularly heartfelt track, Seungcheol smiled knowingly.

“This one’s special. It’s about someone I love. Actually… I guess it’s the perfect time to say it—Y/n and I recently got married.”

The room went silent for a second before exploding into chaos.

The members clapped and cheered. The interviewers were speechless, fumbling for words before finally stuttering, “Wait—married?! Like, officially?”

Seungcheol grinned. “Yeah. Officially.”

As if that wasn’t enough, minutes after the interview aired, Seungcheol posted a never-before-seen picture of Y/n on his Instagram.

The photo was simple yet stunning—Y/n sitting in their living room, wearing one of Seungcheol’s oversized hoodies, holding a cup of tea with a soft smile.

The caption?

“Wifey. ❤️”

The Internet Breaks: Fans & Celebrities React

Within minutes, social media exploded.

Even celebrities joined in.

🔹 "WHAT DO YOU MEAN WIFEY????? SEUNGCHEOL PLEASE EXPLAIN.”

🔹 “Not only are they back together, THEY’RE ACTUALLY MARRIED. MY HEART CAN’T TAKE THIS.”

🔹 "This man just dropped a marriage announcement like it was a casual Tuesday.”

Jeonghan commented: “Wow, we lost him for real. Congrats, bro.”

Seungkwan: “I DESERVE CREDIT FOR THIS!!!”

Hoshi: “Does this mean I can still be part of your love story? 😭”

Following Seungcheol’s viral "Wifey ❤️" post, fans eagerly waited for Y/n’s response—and she did not disappoint.

She uploaded a candid photo of Seungcheol in their home, wearing a cozy sweater, running a hand through his hair as he smiled at something off-camera.

The caption?

“Hubby ❤️”

As expected, the internet went absolutely wild.

Mingyu: “Wow, you two are really doing this, huh?”

🔹 “WIFEY AND HUBBY POSTS ON THE SAME DAY???? THEY ARE SO IN LOVE I’M CRYING.”

🔹 “Y/n is now officially the luckiest person alive. Like. LOOK AT HIM.”

🔹 “THEY REALLY GOT MARRIED AND NOW THEY’RE CASUALLY POSTING ABOUT IT LIKE THIS ISN’T THE BIGGEST NEWS EVER.”

Jeonghan: “I give it 3 months before Seungcheol starts posting ‘My wife is the most beautiful person in the world’ every single day.”

Woozi: “Congrats, now please stop writing sad songs about her.”

Felix (Stray Kids): “This is actually the cutest thing I’ve seen in my life.”

After days of trending worldwide, Seungcheol and Y/n finally sat down for their first official interview as husband and wife. Fans had been eagerly waiting to hear their love story straight from them, and the couple did not hold back!

1️⃣ Why Did Y/n Give Seungcheol a Second Chance?

💬 Y/n: “A lot of people asked me this, and honestly, I asked myself the same thing at first. But… Seungcheol never stopped trying. Even when I was stubborn, even when I told him to move on, he just kept proving to me—through his actions, not just words—that his love for me never changed.”

💬 Seungcheol: [laughs shyly] “It was never even a question for me. I just knew she was the one, and I was willing to wait however long it took.”

2️⃣ How Did Seungcheol Propose?

💬 Seungcheol: “I was nervous. Like, really nervous. I had planned everything perfectly, but when the moment came, my hands were shaking.”

💬 Y/n: [laughs] “I noticed! He dropped the ring box at one point.”

💬 Seungcheol: “I wanted it to be special, but at the same time, I didn’t want some big public thing. So, I took her to the place where we had our very first date. Just the two of us. I told her everything I felt—why I loved her, why I’d never stop choosing her. And then I got down on one knee and asked.”

💬 Y/n: “And I said yes. Obviously.”

3️⃣ How Did the Seventeen Members Help?

💬 Seungcheol: [groans] “Oh my God. They were worse than me.”

💬 Y/n: “It was adorable, actually.”

💬 Seungcheol: “So, before I proposed, the guys decided they had to be involved. I thought they’d just help with the setup or something, but no… they insisted on singing ‘Marry Me’ by Jason Derulo while I was proposing.”

💬 Y/n: “I walked into the venue and suddenly all of Seventeen was standing there, singing with way too much passion.”

💬 Seungcheol: “Jeonghan was even pretending to wipe tears like he was my mother.”

💬 Y/n: [laughing] “It was so chaotic but also the sweetest thing ever.”

4️⃣ Why Did You Keep the Marriage a Secret for So Long?

💬 Y/n: “We really wanted to enjoy this moment for ourselves first. In this industry, so much of our lives is public, and we just wanted a little while where it was just us.”

5️⃣ How Did Seungcheol Win Y/n Over Again?

💬 Y/n: [teasingly] “He was persistent. Annoyingly so.”

💬 Seungcheol: “I sent her flowers every day, wrote her letters, checked in on her, reminded her of all the little things I remembered about her. I just wanted her to know that no matter how much time passed, my love for her never changed.”

💬 Y/n: “At first, I was so set on keeping my distance, but then one day… I realized I didn’t want to run anymore.”

💬 Seungcheol: “So, you admit I won?”

💬 Y/n: [laughs] “You never had to ‘win.’ You were already the one.”

6️⃣ Final Thoughts?

💬 Seungcheol: “I know our story has been crazy—lots of ups and downs. But I think that’s what makes it special. We grew, we changed, and we still found our way back to each other. And now… I get to call her my wife.”

💬 Y/n: “And I get to call him my husband.”

💬 Seungcheol: [grinning at her] “Best title I’ve ever had.”

As expected, social media exploded with love and admiration for the couple.

🔹 “This is literally a K-drama but real life.”

🔹 “Seventeen SINGING while he proposed? I need a documentary on this whole love story.”

🔹 “They were always meant to be. I’m so happy for them.”

With their love stronger than ever, Seungcheol and Y/n’s journey continues—but this time, as husband and wife.

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