BE YOUR WINGMAN

More dad max pls! Binged all of the parts in mini me and I need moooore 😫😫 how about little fabi and his friends having a sleepover and his friends see max and they’re all 🤩🤩

I love dad max and little fabi I swear to god

Mini Me Masterlist

Fabi had his friends over for school. He'd been over to all of his friends house, but they hadn't yet been to his.

As soon as he'd expressed to his mother that he wanted to have friends over, she moved all of Max's trophies into his office. It was where he kept his sim rig ever since Fabian was born.

Y/N set up the living room with blankets and cushions and movies and snacks. She had the house perfect by the time Fabian and his friends made it home from school.

Max wasn't in at that minute. He was at his trainers gym, readying himself for the coming season.

Ever since Fabian was born, Max had gotten better with his time. He still streamed, but not as often, instead spending time with his family.

Y/N opened for door for Fabian and his friends. "Hallo mijn zoon," Y/N said as she pulled Fabian close.

His friends giggled as he groaned and pulled away. "Mum, c'mon," he groaned and Y/N let go of him.

She took the kids, six of them in total, through to the living room. Immediately they dropped their bags and got comfortable as Y/N set about texting their mothers, letting them know that they got there safe.

As they watched the movie, Y/N set about making dinner. She made sandwiches for the kids, leaving them on the coffee table.

As she made dinner, her husband returned home. As soon as Y/N heard the door go she strode up to him, wrapping her arms around his sweaty frame and kissing his cheek. "Fabi brought some friends round," she said with a grin.

Max looked towards the living room. He could just about see six heads focused on the television, with the cats sleeping on the sofa behind them.

"I'm going to go say hi," Max whispered and kissed his wife.

While she went back to preparing dinner, Max walked into the living room. He grabbed a hold of Jimmy, cradling him in his arms as he stood beside the television. "Hi Fabi, hi kids," he said to them.

But the kids just stared, wide eyes.

Max Verstappen. The Max Verstappen was sitting in front of them. He was either their father's favourite sports person or least favourite.

And, kids being kids, they weren't afraid to express this. "My daddy thinks you're the worst," said one of them.

Max let out a surprised laugh. He hadn't been expecting this.

But then another kid piped up. "My daddy says you're the best racing car driver ever! I want to be a racing driver like you!"

"Nuh uh!" Shouted Fabi. "I'm gonna be a race car driver like him!"

"No me!" The kid shouted.

"He's my daddy and one day I'll be driving for Red Bull!"

It went on and on, all while Max stood there, watching and laughing. His Fabi was stubborn, that was for sure. Like father lies Goddamn Son.

SERVE | MV1

an: im finally posting all my flipping requests - im sorry ive taken so long but expect me to be more active in the next month ish. i was working on this novel and ive finally finished my first draft so ill be able to write more on here ehehe

wc: 2.2k

The air inside Rod Laver Arena buzzed with anticipation. The crowd roared as she raised her arms in victory, another match won with the kind of effortless dominance that had long cemented her as the best in the world. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured, but she barely heard any of it. Her eyes scanned the stands, searching—until she found him.

Max stood near the players’ box, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his posture casual but his eyes locked onto hers. He always watched her like that. Like she was the only thing in the world.

She barely remembered handing her racquet to the ball kid or shaking hands with her opponent. One minute she was on the baseline, and the next, she was pushing through the crowd, past the security barriers, straight to him.

"Didn’t think you’d make it," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise.

Max smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Miss one of your matches? Not a chance.”

Up close, she saw the exhaustion in the lines around his mouth, the tension in his jaw. The media had been relentless again, and she knew how much he hated it—not for himself, but for the way it always seemed to drag her into the mess, too.

"Yeah?" She arched a brow, fingers sliding into the collar of his jacket, tugging him a fraction closer. "Even with half the press calling you a liability?"

His breath hitched for a second. Only she could do that to him. "Thought you liked liabilities."

"I do," she said, lips curling into the smirk that drove interviewers mad. "You’re my favourite one."

Max let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just enough for her to notice. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Didn’t know I was in a ranking system.”

She hummed, fingertips brushing against the fine fabric of his jacket. “You’re the only one in it.”

The crowd was still buzzing around them, the cameras snapping relentlessly, but none of it mattered. Not when she was looking at him like that—sharp eyes softening, the mask she wore for the world slipping just enough for him to see the girl he’d loved since they were fifteen.

She gave his jacket one last tug before stepping back. “Come with me.”

Max followed without hesitation, slipping through the tunnels of the stadium with practiced ease. He’d done this a hundred times before, dodging reporters and staff, but this time, the weight of the last few weeks clung to him like a second skin.

She led him into the players’ lounge, where the air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut fruit. The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to face him.

“What’s going on?” she asked, arms crossing over her chest. She wasn’t just talking about the press. She never had to spell it out for him—she always just knew.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Same old shit.”

She frowned. “Your dad again?”

His silence was answer enough.

She muttered something under her breath, a sharp curse that made him smirk despite himself. “How bad?”

Max leaned against the nearest table, arms bracing on the surface. “Bad enough that I had to turn off my phone for a few days.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s got the press eating out of his hand. Telling them I’ll never be good enough, that I’m holding you back, that you—”

“Stop,” she said firmly, stepping between his legs. Her hands rested on his chest, grounding him. “You know none of that is true.”

He swallowed, the heat of her touch chasing away the cold grip of doubt. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

She studied him for a moment, then—without warning—took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his jaw, right at the spot she knew made his breath hitch.

“Good,” she said against his skin. “Because I’m not wasting my time defending you to a bunch of idiots when I could be kissing you instead.”

Max let out a breathless laugh, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her in. “Now that,” he murmured, “is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

She grinned, fingers threading through his hair. “Then shut up and let me keep talking.”

And for the first time in weeks, Max let himself forget everything else—because when he was with her, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

He barely had time to smirk before she pulled him down, her lips pressing against his with the kind of urgency that made his head spin.

It was always like this with them—sharp words and sharper minds for the cameras, but when they were alone, none of that mattered. She kissed him like she needed it, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded, and he clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

His hands slid to her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her tennis kit as he pulled her closer. She sighed against his mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and he felt it—the tension in his chest finally breaking, giving way to something softer, something that only existed between them.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and Max groaned low in his throat. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured against her lips.

She smirked. “That’s the plan.”

She kissed him again, slower this time, like she wanted to take her time undoing him completely—

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Hey! Media in five minutes,” a voice called through the wood.

Max exhaled heavily, forehead dropping against hers as she let out a quiet groan. “I hate media,” she muttered.

“I hate media more,” he said, brushing his nose against hers.

She pulled back slightly, giving him a look. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to sit in a room for half an hour pretending to care what they think.”

He smirked, thumb tracing slow circles against her hip. “True. But you could just skip it. Tell them you got caught up with something important.”

She arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

Max grinned. “Me.”

She huffed a laugh, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before stepping back. “Tempting,” she said, smoothing her hair down. “But if I start skipping media obligations for you, they’ll start calling you a bad influence again.”

“They already do.”

She shot him a knowing look as she grabbed a water bottle from the nearby table. “Yeah, but if I do it, it’ll be true.”

Max shook his head, watching her with something caught between admiration and amusement. Even after all these years, she still had him completely wrapped around her finger.

As she reached for the door handle, she turned back to him, her expression softening just slightly. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

Max leaned back against the table, arms crossing over his chest. “Where else would I be?”

She held his gaze for a second longer before nodding. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, the noise of the world came rushing back in.

The press room was packed, cameras flashing as she took her seat at the table. The moderator gave the usual spiel about keeping questions respectful—not that anyone ever listened.

She took a sip from her water bottle, already anticipating the first round of questions. It was the same every time—something about her form, something about her rivals, and, inevitably, something about Max.

"Rough start to the match today," one reporter said, leaning forward. "Do you think the outside distractions are finally catching up with you?"

She raised a brow. "What distractions?"

The reporter cleared his throat. "Well, there’s been a lot of talk about Max and the negative press surrounding him. Some would argue that having a partner in the spotlight—especially one facing so much criticism—might be… well, holding you back."

The room went quiet. She felt her jaw tighten, fingers curling around the bottle in her hands.

Slowly, she tilted her head. "And how many titles do you have?"

The reporter blinked, caught off guard. "Uh—what?"

She leaned forward slightly, voice smooth as silk. "How many Grand Slam titles do you have?"

The man stammered. "I—I don’t play tennis."

"Right," she said, nodding. "And how many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

She smiled. "That’s what I thought."

A few people in the room stifled laughs, and even the moderator looked like he was holding back a smirk.

"Next question," she said easily, taking another sip of water.

And just like that, the subject was closed.

Max was still in the players’ lounge, leaning back on the worn leather sofa, one arm slung over the back as he scrolled through his phone. The live stream of her press conference was playing on the screen, but he already knew where this was going the second some smug reporter brought him up.

The question was barely out of the guy’s mouth before Max’s jaw clenched.

He knew the narrative well—he was the distraction, the liability, the one holding her back. It didn’t matter that she was literally the best in the world, that she had more Grand Slams to her name than most players could dream of. Somehow, the press always found a way to twist things back to him.

But then she hit the guy with that line.

"And how many titles do you have?"

Max sat up a little straighter, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The poor bastard stammered.

"How many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

Max barked out a laugh, running a hand over his mouth. The entire room went silent, and then the barely contained amusement from some of the other journalists? Yeah, that was the cherry on top.

The guy had nothing. She knew it. The entire press room knew it.

And Max? He definitely knew it.

His phone started blowing up instantly—his teammate, a few other drivers, even his PR manager, all sending messages ranging from laughing emojis to "I owe her a drink for that one."

Max just shook his head, watching as she casually took a sip of her water, completely unbothered.

"That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath, grinning.

Because if the world wanted to come for him? Fine. He could take it. He always had.

But her? She was untouchable.

And she’d just reminded everyone exactly why.

The door swung open with a little too much force, slamming against the wall as she strode into the room. Max barely had a second to react before she was yanking her kit bag from the chair and stuffing things into it with sharp, irritated movements.

He smirked to himself, pushing off the couch. Oh, she was fuming.

"That good, huh?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She shot him a glare before aggressively zipping up her bag. "They’re so annoying, Max. Every bloody time. Do I look like I need a press room full of middle-aged men questioning my priorities?"

Max bit back a laugh. He’d seen her mad before—at bad calls, at opponents, at losing a set she should’ve won—but this? This was entertaining.

He crossed the room in two strides, slipping behind her just as she reached for her jacket. His arms looped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, right in front of the floor-length mirror.

"Baby, baby," he murmured, pressing his chin to her shoulder, "calm down."

She huffed, but her hands instinctively came to rest over his on her stomach. "Calm down?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Do you know how much I want to throw a racquet at that guy’s face?"

Max grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her face. "I’d pay to see that."

She exhaled sharply, the tension in her body loosening just slightly. Max knew her too well—knew exactly how to disarm her with just a touch, a whisper, a perfectly timed kiss.

She caught his gaze in the mirror, and that sharp frustration softened into something playful. A wicked little idea flickered across her face.

"Give me your phone," she said suddenly.

Max raised a brow. "Why?"

She turned in his arms, holding out her hand expectantly. "Just give it."

He sighed dramatically but dug it out of his pocket, placing it in her palm. She unlocked it easily—of course she knew his passcode—and tapped into Instagram.

Max watched as she flipped the camera to the mirror, angling it so both of them were in frame. His arms were still around her, his face pressed into the side of hers, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

She snapped the picture, typed something quickly, then handed the phone back.

Max glanced at the screen. His feed refreshed. And there it was—his screen now showing her latest post:

"7 titles, 4 WDC & 2 WCC."

His brows lifted before a slow, proud smirk spread across his face.

"You little menace," he murmured, kissing the side of her head again.

She grinned. "Let’s see them try to talk shit now."

Max chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before tightening his arms around her. "This is why I love you," he muttered.

She sighed, leaning into him. "Yeah, yeah. Now take me to dinner before I have to cuss someone out again."

Max just laughed, grabbing her bag and slinging an arm around her as they headed out—because that? That was the easiest request he’d had all day.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

captain price // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

holding you

stood up, laid down

puppy love

the traces he left behind

birdsongs, or advice and symphonies for your children

let me lean on you

sunroom

the grocery store

willow tree march

glitter and gold

needle

landscape without honey

the only thing you want to do is...

our remains

songs that sound like sea-foam

see no evil

the five times

fire it up

calluses on his gentle hands

earth and wind

alchemist's burden

bake a wish

breaking and entering

my mistake

mind the drop

unholy

my daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

Need Saving

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay.

Song: Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino

Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. THIS WILL BE A SERIES AND THANK YOU FOR THE 500 FOLLOWERS! Please like, reblog and share this! <3 ALSO IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

Word count: 10.8k

You are making history as the first woman to compete in Formula 1 with the Red Bull team, stepping in for Sergio Perez.

This groundbreaking achievement not only highlights your talent but also paves the way for future generations of female racers in a sport traditionally dominated by men.

Your personality shines through with a warm and friendly demeanor that makes you incredibly approachable. Colleagues and fans alike find you likable, creating an inviting atmosphere wherever you go.

This charm not only endears you to those around you but also helps foster a supportive environment within the competitive world of racing

Some have affectionately dubbed you the "Mini Honey Badger," a nod to the legendary Daniel Ricciardo. This playful comparison reflects your fierce determination and tenacity on the track, qualities that resonate with fans and fellow racers.

Your unique blend of charisma and competitive spirit is sure to leave a lasting impression in the world of Formula 1.

Luckily, you found yourself paired with one of the most talented drivers in the sport, Max Verstappen.

From the very beginning, you and Max clicked effortlessly, perhaps due to your shared sense of humor or the lighthearted way you both approached life outside of racing.

Max, known for his fierce competitiveness on the track, also had a playful side that drew you in. Whether it was sharing funny anecdotes from your childhood or engaging in friendly banter about each other's driving styles, the connection felt natural and invigorating.

You both understood the pressures of the sport, yet you managed to find joy in the little moments, whether it was a shared laugh over a silly meme or a light-hearted debate about the best racing video games.

This bond not only made your time together enjoyable but also fostered a sense of trust and teamwork that would prove invaluable as the season progressed.

During your initial week in Formula 1, the team was treated to a mix of corny jokes and uproarious laughter, creating an atmosphere that was both fun and relaxed.

It was clear that the camaraderie between you two was something special, and it didn’t take long for everyone to notice. The garage, usually filled with the tension of competition, transformed into a space of joy and lightheartedness.

You and Max would often engage in playful challenges, like who could come up with the worst dad joke or who could impersonate the team’s engineers the best.

These moments not only broke the ice but also helped to build a strong team spirit.

The mechanics and engineers, who often worked long hours under pressure, found themselves smiling more often, and the overall morale of the team improved.

It was as if your infectious energy had a ripple effect, reminding everyone that while racing was serious business, it was also about passion, fun, and the love of the sport.

Christian Horner, the team principal, seemed to recognize this chemistry right away.

He confidently remarked to the media about the dynamic of having a girl and a boy on the same team, suggesting that he had a good feeling about the partnership.

His words resonated with the fans and the media alike, sparking conversations about the evolving landscape of motorsport and the importance of diversity within the sport. It was evident that the two of you were destined to make waves together on and off the track.

Christian’s faith in your partnership only fueled your determination to succeed.

You both knew that the expectations were high, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, you embraced the challenge.

"Joseph, can you give me an update on the gap behind?" you inquired, your voice steady as it crackled through the radio to your race engineer.

The sound of your own heartbeat echoed in your ears, a reminder of the high stakes at play.

"You're looking at a 5-second lead over Norris, Y/N," Joseph Duke responded, his tone calm and focused.

As you navigated the track, the adrenaline surged through your veins, heightening your senses.

The smell of burning rubber and the roar of engines filled the air, but your focus remained solely on the asphalt ahead.

Max was currently leading the race, and you were right on his tail, just a heartbeat away from making a decisive move.

With the world championship points on the line, every second counted, and the team’s strategy was crucial.

"Copy that, Joseph. I’m feeling good about this pace. Should I push to overtake Max?" you asked, weighing your options.

The tension in the air was palpable, and you could almost hear the roar of the crowd in your mind, their cheers and gasps fueling your determination.

You could picture the fans waving flags, the excitement building as the race unfolded.

"Remember, he’s leading the championship, so those points are vital for him," Joseph reminded you, his voice steady and measured.

You took a deep breath, considering the risks and rewards of your next move. The thought of overtaking Max was tantalizing, but the consequences of a miscalculation loomed large.

"Understood. But if I don’t make a move soon, he might pull away," you replied, your mind racing through the possibilities.

You could see the track ahead, the curves and straightaways that could either make or break your race.

"Just keep your head in the game, Y/N. Focus on your lines and stay patient. The opportunity will come," Joseph advised, his experience guiding you through the chaos.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, reminding yourself that patience was key.

As you approached the next turn, you felt the car respond to your every command, the tires gripping the asphalt with precision.

You could see Max’s car just ahead, a flash of blue and white, and the urge to push harder surged within you.

"Alright, I’ll hold back for now, but I’m ready when the moment strikes," you said, determination lacing your words.

The opportunity to seize the grand prix had slipped through your fingers, leaving you with a bittersweet taste of second place as Max celebrated his victory.

It wasn’t that you felt anger towards him; after all, the stakes were high, and the competition was fierce.

You had performed admirably, even outshining Checo this season, and Red Bull was finally back to their P1-P2 glory.

As you stepped out of your car, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you spotted Max waiting for you, his helmet off and a look of concern etched on his face.

He rushed over, his expression serious as he enveloped you in a quick hug. “You don’t hate me, do you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected question. Removing your helmet, you met his gaze with a warm smile. “Of course not! But don’t think I’ll go easy on you next week,” you replied playfully, your competitive spirit igniting once more.

Max’s face lit up with a genuine smile, the tension dissipating. “Mate, I won’t go down that easy!” he shot back, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of rivalry.

As you made your way to celebrate with the team, you noticed the difference in how they treated you compared to Max. While he was hoisted into the air, receiving enthusiastic cheers and bone-crushing hugs, you felt a more cautious approach directed your way.

It was a subtle reminder of the gender dynamics at play in the sport. You brushed it off, focusing instead on the camaraderie and the shared passion that brought you all together.

The post-race atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout of joy.

You joined in the celebrations, clapping your hands and cheering for your teammates, but a part of you remained introspective.

You replayed the race in your mind, analyzing every corner, every overtaking maneuver, and every missed opportunity.

The thrill of competition was intoxicating, but so was the desire to prove yourself, not just to the team but to the world.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself lingering at the periphery of the lively celebration, your gaze fixed on Max as he reveled in the spotlight of his victory.

He was the star of the night, the one everyone clamored to congratulate, while you stood in the shadows, merely the second driver.

Christian approached, giving your shoulder a friendly pat, a gesture of appreciation for your support. Yet, it felt insufficient.

You masked your feelings with a bright smile as you watched Max raise his glass, laughter spilling from his lips as the clock inched toward midnight.

“Goodnight, Max,” you called out, aware that your boyfriend, Jake would be less than pleased if you lingered too long.

“Goodnight, best friend! Did I mention you look lovely tonight?” Max replied, his words slightly slurred as he pulled you into a warm embrace.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “No, you didn’t! Thank you, Max. You look great too!” you managed to say, your heart fluttering at the compliment.

As the night wore on, you exchanged goodbyes with the others, the atmosphere buzzing with joy and celebration.

You decided it was time to head home, opting for a taxi since you had indulged in a few drinks earlier.

Once inside the cab, you leaned back against the seat, reflecting on the evening. The laughter, the cheers, and the way Max had shone like a beacon of success.

It was hard not to feel a twinge of envy, but you pushed it aside, reminding yourself of the bond you shared.

The driver navigated through the city streets, and you pulled out your phone, scrolling through the photos from the night.

There was Max, grinning ear to ear, surrounded by friends, and there you were, a supportive figure in the background.

Just as the car turned, your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you glanced down to see a message from Jake.

“Where are you?” he texted, the words appearing on your screen like a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting for you at home.

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection as you typed back, “Just left the party! On my way home now. Can’t wait to see you!”

The taxi weaved through the city streets, and you could almost picture him waiting for you, perhaps pacing a little, his brow furrowed in that adorable way he did when he was worried.

You could hear his voice in your head, teasing you about how you always took too long to say goodbye, but you knew he loved it just as much as you did.

As the taxi pulled up to your building, you felt a flutter of excitement. You paid the driver and hurried inside, your heart racing with anticipation.

As you stepped into the apartment, a heavy scent of alcohol hit you like a wave, and your heart sank.

The cheerful anticipation you had felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a knot of anxiety in your stomach. You knew Jake had been struggling lately, and the telltale signs of his mood were all around you.

Empty bottles cluttered the coffee table, their labels peeling and faded, remnants of nights spent drowning sorrows that seemed to multiply with each passing day.

Taking a deep breath, you cautiously made your way further inside, hoping to find a glimmer of the warmth you once cherished, a flicker of the love that had once filled this space.

“Hey, babe, I’m home!” you called out, trying to inject some cheer into the atmosphere, but your voice felt small and fragile against the oppressive silence that enveloped the room.

The silence that followed was deafening, and you could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

Just then, he emerged from the shadows of the living room, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as if he were peering through a fog that had settled deep within him.

“Oh, look who decided to show up,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, each word laced with bitterness. “Did you have fun pretending to be normal out there?”

You felt a chill run down your spine as he continued, hurling insults that cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

It was as if he was trying to push you away, to create a chasm between you that felt insurmountable.

And yet, amidst the hurt, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man you loved, the one who was lost beneath layers of pain and anger.

“Why do you always have to do this?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, the vulnerability in your tone betraying the strength you wished to project. “I just want to help you.”

He scoffed, dismissing your concern with a wave of his hand, the gesture almost theatrical in its disdain. “Help? You mean control. You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything? You’re just like everyone else, trying to tell me what to do.”

The words stung, and you felt the weight of his accusations pressing down on you, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

“I’m not trying to control you,” you replied softly, “I just want to be there for you. Can’t we talk about this?”

But as you looked into his eyes, you realized that the man you once knew was slipping further away, lost in a haze of his own making.

His gaze, once so full of life and passion, now seemed clouded, distant. It was as if he was peering through a murky window, unable or unwilling to see the vibrant world outside.

You could see the shadows of his struggles etched on his face, the lines of worry and anger deepening with each passing day. It pained you to witness this transformation, to see the light in him dimmed by his own fears and insecurities.

“Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help?” you pressed, your heart racing as desperation crept into your voice. “I’m not your enemy. I want to understand what you’re going through.”

You took a tentative step closer, hoping to bridge the gap that felt insurmountable.

But he recoiled slightly, as if your words were a physical blow, and the distance between you felt more pronounced than ever.

“Understand?” he scoffed, his tone laced with bitterness. “You think you can just waltz in and understand? You have no idea what it’s like to feel trapped, to have every choice taken from you. You don’t know the weight of this burden.”

His voice cracked, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath the bravado.

As soon as you opened your mouth to speak, Jake brushed by you, grabbing his coat and shoes in one swift motion.

"I'm heading out for a walk. Don't even think about following me," he snapped, his words laced with the sting of alcohol.

You simply nodded, feeling a mix of concern and frustration, but you stayed rooted in place until you heard the door slam shut behind him.

With the sound echoing in the silence, you finally exhaled, the tension in your chest easing just a bit. You glanced around the room, the remnants of the night scattered everywhere—empty bottles and crumpled napkins littered the floor.

"Guess it's cleanup time," you muttered to yourself, bending down to gather the bottles. As you worked, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

Just then, your phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from your best friend, Sarah.

"Hey! How's everything? You okay?"

You sighed, typing back quickly. "Not great. He just stormed out after a fight. I’m cleaning up the mess now."

A moment later, your phone chimed again. "Want me to come over? I can help."

You hesitated, glancing at the door. "No, it’s fine. I just need to sort things out."

"Are you sure? You shouldn’t be alone right now."

You paused, considering her words. "I’ll be okay. I just need to think."

As you continued to tidy up, you replayed the argument in your mind. It had started over something trivial, but the alcohol had turned it into a full-blown fight.

You could hear his voice in your head, the way he had raised his tone, the way he had dismissed your feelings.

"Why does he always do this?" you whispered to yourself, frustration bubbling up again.

You were well aware that he wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

After tidying up the house, you decided to treat yourself to a long, relaxing bath.

The warm water enveloped you, washing away the day’s worries. Once you felt refreshed, you slipped into your favorite pajamas and crawled into bed, the soft sheets providing a comforting embrace.

He hadn’t always been this way—filled with anger and lost in the depths of alcoholism.

You both had shared a beautiful love story, starting as high school sweethearts. You could still remember the way he used to look at you, his eyes sparkling with affection, mirroring the love you felt for him.

As you lay there, memories flooded your mind. You recalled the laughter, the late-night talks, and the dreams you had built together. But now, those dreams felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by the weight of his struggles.

Maybe it was the pressure of work that was taking a toll on him. You thought back to the last time you had a heart-to-heart.

“Do you remember when we used to talk about our future?” you had asked him one evening, the two of you sitting on the porch, the sun setting in a blaze of colors.

He had sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I remember. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Things can get better, you know. We can work through this together,” you had urged, your heart aching for the man you once knew.

He had looked away, his expression clouded. “I don’t know if I can. Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to swim anymore.”

You had reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, always.”

But as the days turned into weeks, the distance between you grew. The man you loved was slipping away, replaced by someone you barely recognized.

Now, lying in bed, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find his way back to you. Would he remember the love you once shared? Would he fight against the demons that haunted him?

With a heavy heart, you closed your eyes, hoping that tomorrow would bring a glimmer of hope, a sign that the man you loved was still inside, waiting to break free.

As you settled into bed, the glow of your phone screen illuminated the dark room, revealing a flurry of notifications that had accumulated while you were winding down.

Most of them were filled with excitement, congratulating you on your impressive second-place finish in the race. However, amidst the sea of cheerful messages, one stood out—a private note from Max.

While some comments stung with negativity, suggesting you didn’t belong in the world of Formula 1, Max’s message was a beacon of warmth.

“Thanks for coming to celebrate with me 👍,” it read, and a smile crept across your face, momentarily pushing away the weight of the harsh words.

You felt a mix of emotions swirling within you, and for a moment, tears threatened to spill over. But instead of succumbing to the sadness, you decided to respond to Max.

Your fingers danced over the screen as you typed, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, you deserved it! 😁” The moment you hit send, a sense of relief washed over you.

It was a reminder that amidst the criticism, there were still those who appreciated your presence and celebrated your achievements.

You could almost hear Max’s laughter echoing in your mind, a sound that always seemed to lift your spirits.

Just as you were about to put your phone down, a new message popped up from Max. “You really made the night special! I’m glad you were there. Let’s catch up soon?”

His words filled you with warmth, and you could picture him grinning with alcohol still in his system, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Absolutely! I’d love to,” you replied, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

After setting your phone aside for the night, you drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of the world outside fading into a distant memory.

When you awoke, you were enveloped in a warm embrace, the kind that felt like home. Instantly, you recognized the familiar presence of Jake, his body radiating warmth against yours.

The scent of alcohol lingered in the air, a reminder of his previous night out with friends, a detail that both amused and concerned you.

A smile crept across your face as you turned to see him, his features relaxed and serene, a stark contrast to the tension that had marked his demeanor the night before.

Curiosity sparked within you, igniting a flurry of questions as you pondered where he had spent his time, what stories he might have to share, and whether the night had been as wild as you imagined.

You felt a rush of affection for him, a desire to know every detail of his adventures, to understand the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Despite the warnings from your friends urging you to reconsider your relationship, your feelings for him remained steadfast, unwavering like a lighthouse in a storm.

They claimed he was a source of trouble, a tempest that could jeopardize your career and stir up scandals that would ripple through your life.

Yet, deep down, you understood him better than they did, seeing the layers of his character that they overlooked. You believed in his integrity, in the goodness that lay beneath the surface, and you knew he wouldn’t intentionally cause chaos in your life.

Their concerns echoed in your mind, but they felt distant, like the sound of waves crashing against a far-off shore.

You were determined to forge your own path, to trust your instincts, and to embrace the love that had blossomed between you, even if it meant standing alone against the tide of skepticism.

Although your relationship was already in the public eye, with whispers and speculation swirling around you like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind, he had yet to join you in the paddock due to his work commitments.

You felt a mix of anticipation and longing, a bittersweet ache in your chest as you navigated the bustling environment without him by your side.

As you glanced at your phone, the screen illuminated the early morning hour, signaling it was time for your daily jog.

You carefully extricated yourself from Jake's embrace, trying not to disturb his peaceful slumber.

Just as you were about to tiptoe out of the room, you caught a faint mumble escaping his lips, a mix of sleep and concern. “Where are you going?” he murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness.

You paused for a moment, torn between the urge to reassure him and the need to stick to your routine.

“I’m just going for a quick run, love. I’ll be back before you know it,” you replied softly, hoping to ease any lingering worries. His brow furrowed slightly, even in his sleep, as if he sensed your departure was more than just a morning ritual.

“You always run too early… what if someone sees you?” he muttered, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice, even in his dreams.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be fine, I promise. It’s just me and the open road. You know I love my morning jogs.”

You could feel the tension in the air, a familiar weight that often accompanied your outings. “Okay,” he finally said, though the uncertainty lingered in his tone.

You quickly changed into your jogging attire before stepping out of the house. With a sense of urgency, you slipped into your comfortable workout gear, ready to embrace the fresh air outside.

The fabric of your favorite moisture-wicking shirt clung to your skin, and the soft elastic of your running shorts felt familiar and reassuring.

You laced up your well-worn sneakers, the soles still resilient from countless miles, and took a moment to stretch your legs, feeling the anticipation build within you.

Once dressed, you felt the excitement of the run ahead, eager to hit the pavement and enjoy the rhythm of your feet against the ground.

The world outside beckoned, vibrant and alive, as you opened the door and stepped into the crisp morning air. The scent of dew-kissed grass and blooming flowers filled your lungs, invigorating your spirit.

You took a deep breath, letting the coolness wash over you, and with a quick glance at the sky, you noted the sun just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue across the horizon.

As you began to jog, the familiar cadence of your heartbeat matched the steady thump of your feet on the pavement. Each stride felt liberating, a release from the confines of the day-to-day.

You could feel the tension of the week melting away with every step, replaced by a sense of freedom and clarity.

The rhythmic sound of your breath mingled with the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, creating a symphony of nature that accompanied you on your journey.

As you were enjoying your morning jog through the park, the rhythmic sound of your feet hitting the pavement was suddenly interrupted by a group of enthusiastic voices.

A cluster of women and girls approached you, their faces lighting up with excitement. "Excuse me! Miss Y/N! Can we get your autograph?" one of them exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration.

You paused, a bit surprised but also flattered, and smiled at the eager crowd. "Of course! I’d be happy to," you replied, pulling out a small notepad from your pocket.

Amid the chatter, a young girl stepped forward, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I want to start go-karting because I want to be just like you!" she declared, her voice filled with determination.

You could see the passion in her eyes, and it warmed your heart. "That’s amazing! Go-karting is such a fun sport," you encouraged her. "What do you love most about it?"

The girl beamed, her confidence growing as she shared her dreams of racing and the thrill of speed. "I love the idea of being in control and going fast! It looks so cool!"

You nodded, feeling a sense of responsibility to inspire her. "You know, every champion starts somewhere. If you really want to do it, just keep practicing and never give up. Surround yourself with people who support you, and you’ll go far," you advised, hoping to instill a sense of belief in her.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously. "I will! Thank you so much!"

As the group dispersed, you felt a renewed sense of purpose, realizing that your journey could inspire others to chase their dreams, just as you had. . . .

As the days rolled on, the team decided to spice things up a bit before race week by organizing a fun game called "How Well Do You Know Each Other."

The idea was to not only entertain the fans but also to give everyone a glimpse into the camaraderie between you and Max.

You found yourself standing in front of the camera, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside you, while Max lounged comfortably on the sofa behind you, his headphones snugly in place, unable to listen in.

The staff kicked off the game with a playful tone, "Alright, let’s start with you! The first question about Max is… what is Max's favorite food?" You grinned, confident in your knowledge of your teammate.

"Oh, I know this one! Max is a huge fan of both Italian and Dutch cuisine, while I personally lean more towards Spanish dishes," you replied, your voice filled with enthusiasm.

The crew chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter, and you could see Max nodding in agreement, a smirk on his face even though he didn't know what you said.

After a few more questions, it was time for the roles to reverse. You took a seat on the sofa, and Max stood in front of the camera, a playful glint in his eyes.

The staff asked him the same question, and he leaned forward, a teasing smile forming. "Well, I know my teammate pretty well! She loves her Spanish food, but I think she secretly wishes she could cook like an Italian chef," he joked.

"You better be getting this right, I wanna beat Charles and Carlos' record," you said, feeling the competitive in you to beat Ferrari's record of 18 out of 20 right.

Max only turned around and gave an okay sign since you couldn't hear him, adding a little small wink for the tease but it was caught on camera.

In the end, both you and Max aced all the questions, and the excitement bubbled over as you jumped up and down, your energy infectious. Max stood nearby, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched your enthusiasm.

"See, everyone! Red Bull is clearly the superior team compared to Ferrari, so make sure to support us this week!" you exclaimed, wrapping up the video with a flourish.

As you turned to Max, you noticed he was still gazing at you, lost in thought. It took you by surprise.

"Max, do you want to add anything to what I just said?" you asked, a playful grin on your face as you nudged his shoulder gently.

Snapping back to reality, Max turned to the camera, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"Oh, umm, yeah… Red Bull domination, I guess?" he replied, his voice a mix of uncertainty and enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his response, and Max's smile widened, clearly pleased that he could make you laugh.

"Alright, everyone, that's a wrap! We'll catch you all soon. Fingers crossed for another P1-P2 finish, but maybe next time we can switch things up a bit," you said, waving enthusiastically at the camera.

As the camera clicked off, you turned to the crew with a warm smile, expressing your gratitude for their support. You shifted your focus to Max, who was standing nearby, a mix of anticipation and amusement on his face.

"Hey, Max," you began, a playful glint in your eye. "How does it feel to be the most compatible drivers on the grid?"

Max's eyes widened slightly at the phrase "most compatible," and you could see a hint of color rising to his cheeks. But as soon as he processed the word "driver," his expression shifted to one of mild disappointment.

"It feels nice, I guess," he replied, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "Just another thing to brag about to Lando, right?"

You chuckled, knowing how much Max loved to tease his fellow drivers. "Oh, absolutely! I can already picture it—Lando rolling his eyes while you go on about how you and I are the ultimate duo."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "He'll probably come up with some ridiculous comeback, like how he’s the best driver in the world or something."

"Well, he does have a knack for that," you said, leaning against the wall, enjoying the banter. "But let’s be honest, you two are like an old married couple. Always bickering but secretly caring for each other."

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. I can barely handle my own sleeping schedule!"

Max shrugged, a hint of humility creeping into his demeanor. "But honestly, having you around makes it easier. You bring a different energy to the team."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thanks, Max. That means a lot coming from you. I think we balance each other out pretty well."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, it’s like we have this unspoken understanding. You know when to push me and when to let me breathe. It’s refreshing."

"Exactly! And it’s not just about racing; it’s about the camaraderie we build off the track too. Those late-night strategy sessions and the random moments of laughter—they all add up."

Max chuckled, recalling a particularly ridiculous moment from a previous race weekend. "Remember that time we got lost trying to find the catering tent? We ended up in that random fan zone instead!"

You burst out laughing, the memory flooding back. "Oh my god, yes! And those fans were so excited to see us, they thought we were there for a meet-and-greet! We ended up taking selfies with them for an hour."

"Right? And then we finally found the catering tent, only to discover they were out of your favorite pasta!" Max added, shaking his head in disbelief.

"That was a tragedy," you said, feigning a dramatic sigh. "But it turned into one of the best days. I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything."

Max’s gaze softened as he looked at you, a genuine smile breaking through. "Me neither. It’s those little things that make all the hard work worth it."

You both stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the camaraderie between you palpable. The atmosphere around the paddock buzzed with activity, but in that moment, it felt like you were in your own little world.

"Alright, enough of the mushy stuff," Max said, breaking the moment with a playful nudge. "Let’s get back to business. We’ve got a race to prepare for, and I can’t let you steal all my glory."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Oh, please! You know I’m just here to make you look good. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of overshadowing the reigning champion."

What you two didn't know was that the cameras didn't stop but recorded your little moment, which went viral in the few minutes that it was posted. . . . .

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

You knew that the public would start shipping you and Max together sooner or later but you weren't bothered with it.

You had a boyfriend who you cared for deeply, someone who had been your rock through the ups and downs of your racing career. Yet, his reaction to the swirling rumors about you and Max took you by surprise.

You never imagined he would be so affected by the gossip that seemed to spread like wildfire through the paddock and beyond.

Here you were, caught in a web of emotions, torn between the thrill of a new chapter and the loyalty you felt towards your current relationship.

As you stepped through the door of your home, the familiar scent of your shared space enveloped you, but it did little to ease the tension that hung in the air.

You found Jake lounging on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his furrowed brow. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, and you could sense that something was off.

“Hey, babe,” you greeted him, trying to sound cheerful despite the weight on your shoulders. He barely looked up, his fingers scrolling furiously, as if searching for answers in the digital chaos.

“Did you hear about you and Max?” he finally snapped, his voice laced with irritation, cutting through the silence like a knife. “It’s all over social media. Are you really going to let this get to you?”

You felt your heart sink; you had hoped for a different reaction, one that would reassure you that your relationship was strong enough to withstand the storm of rumors.

“Come on, it’s just rumors,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though the tremor in it betrayed your inner turmoil. “You know I’m committed to only you.”

You watched as he shot you a skeptical glance, his jealousy bubbling to the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. “Yeah, but how can I trust you when you’re out there with him all the time? It’s not just a coincidence that everyone is talking about it.”

The words stung, and you took a deep breath. "Babe I love only you-"

"Please, don’t even think about it! You know I’m stuck here because if I walked away, your fans would make my life a living nightmare," Jake exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling from the harsh reality of your situation.

It was as if he had taken a knife and twisted it, exposing the raw vulnerability you had tried so hard to hide.

You could feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, but you fought to keep them at bay. "I didn’t ask for any of this," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you could sense the tension between you growing thicker by the second. It was a battle of emotions, and you were losing ground.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know it’s not fair, but you have to understand the pressure I’m under. It’s not just about us; it’s about my career, my fans. I can’t let them down."

His eyes softened for a moment, revealing a glimpse of the man you fell in love with.

"But I don’t want to lose you. Can’t we find a way to make this work?" You pleaded.

"I don't know," he muttered, not lifting his eyes from his phone before standing up and walking past you to get his coat and shoes. "i'm gonna take a walk,"

This has been a pattern for weeks now. You would come home, he would start an argument then make up an excuse to leave the house, leaving you to either pick up his mess or go to sleep without your partner. To only wake up with him cuddling you in the morning and apologise for his action last night.

You were getting sick of it but you still love him too much to break up with him. . . .

The days that followed were a blur of introspection and emotional turmoil. Each time you caught a glimpse of Jake’s name on your phone, a knot formed in your stomach.

You had always been the type to see the good in people, to believe that love could conquer all, but the reality of your situation was becoming harder to ignore.

The moments of tenderness were overshadowed by the growing unease that settled in your chest like a heavy stone.

You spent more time with Sarah, who seemed to sense your internal struggle. She filled your days with laughter and distraction, taking you out for coffee, long walks in the park, and movie marathons that kept your mind off the impending decision.

Yet, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, the thought of Jake lingered like a shadow, reminding you of the grip he had on your heart—and not in a way that felt safe or loving.

One evening, as you and Sarah sat on the balcony watching the sunset, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, she turned to you again.

"Y/N, I know it’s hard, but you have to prioritize your happiness. You can’t keep living in this limbo," she said, her voice steady and unwavering.

You looked out at the horizon, the beauty of the moment contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you.

"I know," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "But what if I’m wrong? What if he really can change?"

The fear of making the wrong choice loomed large, a specter that haunted your thoughts.

"Change is possible, but it has to come from him, not from you hoping for it," Sarah said gently. "You can’t be the one to fix him. You’re not responsible for his happiness or his growth. You deserve to be with someone who respects you and makes you feel safe."

Her words struck a chord deep within you. You thought back to the last time he had gripped your arm, the way his eyes had darkened, and how you had brushed it off as a moment of frustration.

But now, in the light of day, you could see it for what it was—a warning sign that you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

That night, as you lay in bed, the silence of your room felt deafening. You replayed every moment of your relationship, the good and the bad, and slowly, the scales began to tip.

The holiday seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, and soon you found yourself stepping into the paddock alongside Sarah and Jake.

As you walked, you could feel the tension in the air; Jake wore a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, gripping your hand a little too tightly.

“Hey, look at all the fans!” you exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood as you waved enthusiastically at the crowd, signing autographs for those who called out your name.

Sarah, taking a break from her hectic job, had decided to join you, her laughter ringing out like music amidst the bustling atmosphere.

“Isn’t this amazing?” you said, glancing at Sarah, who was snapping pictures with her phone. “I can’t believe how many people came out today!”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s like a mini-celebration! But where’s your boyfriend? He seems a bit off today.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the concern. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just tired. We haven’t really talked much since we got back.”

You stole a glance at him, who was still smiling, but it felt forced, like he was putting on a show for everyone around.

You made the decision to invite Jake into your driver’s room for a heart-to-heart conversation. As you settled into the familiar space, you turned to him with a gentle concern.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” you asked, your voice soft and inviting.

Jake looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and longing, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m alright, really. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately,” he replied, his tone sincere.

In that moment, you felt a rush of warmth; you had missed the comfort of his touch more than you realized.

“Jake, I need to let you know that I have to leave soon,” you murmured, trying to keep the conversation grounded. But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his gaze intense and filled with desire.

“Why don’t you just quit your job already? I can take care of you, I promise,” he suggested, his voice dripping with temptation.

The idea hung in the air between you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the pull of his offer.

It was tempting, but the passion you had for Formula 1 was a flame that burned too brightly to extinguish for anyone, even someone as captivating as Jake.

You took a deep breath, weighing your options. “Jake, you know how much this means to me. Formula 1 isn’t just a job; it’s my dream,” you replied, your heart heavy with the conflict.

He stepped back slightly, his expression shifting from desire to disappointment. “I get it, but can’t you see how much I care about you? I want us to be together, and I thought you felt the same way,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice.

You could see the struggle in his eyes, and it pained you to know that your passion for racing was creating a rift between you.

“I do care about you, but I can’t just walk away from everything I’ve worked for,” you insisted, hoping he would understand.

As you stand there, the tension weighs heavily in the air, palpable and thick, as Jake's frustration spills over, his voice tinged with a mix of hurt and desperation.

"But what about me?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for an answer that you know is difficult to provide. "Since you started this job, we haven’t done anything together. All you've been doing is hanging out with that Max boy. Don’t you see it?"

His words cut through the silence, piercing the surface of your mind and forcing you to confront the tangled web of your life that feels all too overwhelming at this moment.

As you gather your thoughts, aware that the job has transformed your priorities and the once-familiar relationship with Jake has shifted, you attempt to articulate your feelings, to bridge the widening chasm of misunderstanding.

"Jake—" you start, your voice tremulous, hoping to weave a delicate thread of connection that can pull you both back to a place of understanding, but he interjects, the intensity of his emotions propelling him forward before you can offer your perspective.

"I’ll show you—don't worry," he mutters, the frustration lacing his tone beginning to dissipate as he suddenly wraps his arms around you, pulling you close in a gesture that is both protective and possessive.

The warmth of his body against yours sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the bond you once cherished.

Feeling the urgency of the moment, his lips find yours, a kiss that ignites a flicker of hope amid the turmoil of doubt and fear swirling around you. . . .

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After the holiday break, you had started to act differently, almost as if a shadow had fallen over their usual camaraderie.

Whenever he approached to nudge her shoulder playfully, she would flinch, a look of surprise crossing her face as if she were bracing for something unpleasant.

It was a stark contrast to the easygoing banter they once shared, and he couldn't help but notice how she had become more withdrawn, often lost in her thoughts, her laughter replaced by a distant gaze.

He believed you were feeling down because the team was struggling to achieve the results they had hoped for.

Typically, his father would reach out to him after a disappointing race, sometimes even resorting to physical punishment if the outcome was particularly disheartening.

It was a routine he had come to accept, thinking it was a common experience shared by many.

However, everything changed when his therapist pointed out that not everyone endured such treatment, which sparked a rebellion within him against his father's harsh ways.

"Why do you always have to be so hard on me?" he had shouted one evening, frustration boiling over.

His father, taken aback, responded with a stern look, "Because I want you to be the best, Max. You need to learn that life isn’t always fair."

But Max felt differently; he wanted to be supported, not punished.

As he pondered your situation, he couldn't help but wonder if you had faced similar challenges.

"Do you have someone in your life who treats you badly?" he asked cautiously, trying to gauge your response.

Your eyes widened at the sudden question before you shook your head, a small smile breaking through the clouds of doubt.

"No, not like that. Everyone is really supportive of me these days."

Max felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that you had not been in that cycle of abuse he had been so familiar with.

In many of the recent races, both you and Max found yourselves finishing in the P2 to P4 range, or sometimes not making it to the podium at all, which left the team feeling quite disheartened.

The once-promising season had turned into a series of missed opportunities, and the weight of expectations began to take its toll on everyone involved.

The atmosphere in the garage was thick with tension, and the engineers were working overtime to analyze data and strategize for the next race, but the results were still falling short of what the team had hoped for.

This situation also prompted Max's father, Jos, to plan a visit during the race weekend. He intended to check in on his son and perhaps give him a much-needed reality check, quite literally.

As the race day approached, Jos observed his son engaging in cheerful conversation with you, rather than focusing on the engineers to gather crucial insights, a routine Max typically adhered to before a race.

This deviation from his usual pre-race preparation did not sit well with Jos.

He had always believed that the hours leading up to a race were critical for mental conditioning and strategy formulation. To see Max laughing and joking instead of poring over telemetry data or discussing race strategies with the engineers was concerning for him.

Jos's frustration grew as he watched the interaction unfold. He believed that your presence was a distraction, pulling Max away from the intense focus required for peak performance.

In his eyes, the bond you shared with his son was undermining Max's potential to excel on the track.

He felt that friendships weren't important and they should not come at the expense of Max's dedication to his craft.

Jos was determined to address this issue head-on, convinced that a serious conversation was necessary to realign Max's priorities. . . . .

In the midst of a lively discussion filled with laughter and camaraderie, Jos abruptly interjected, "Max, I need to talk to you right now."

His tone cut through the jovial atmosphere, drawing the attention of both you and his son. The laughter faded, replaced by a sudden stillness as everyone turned to witness the unfolding scene.

Max's expression shifted from joy to disappointment as he glanced at you, yet he managed to offer a reassuring smile before reluctantly following his father away from the group.

"Yes, Father?" Max responded in Dutch, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. The way he spoke suggested a mix of respect and wariness, as if he were bracing himself for a conversation he knew would be anything but easy.

Jos wasted no time in launching into his concerns, his words spilling out with a sense of urgency.

"You must distance yourself from that girl; she is a distraction that will hinder your performance in the race," he asserted, his tone firm and authoritative, as if he were delivering a decree rather than a request.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, a stark contrast to the lightheartedness that had just moments ago enveloped the gathering.

Max, however, was quick to defend you, his loyalty evident in the way he stood a little taller, his brow furrowing in determination. "No, she doesn't distract me, Father. She's my teammate," he stated, his voice steady and resolute.

The conviction in his tone reflected a bond that transcended mere friendship; it was a partnership built on shared goals and mutual respect.

Yet, as he spoke, the tension between father and son thickened, a palpable clash of wills that seemed to reverberate through the quiet space around them.

Jos, sensing the resistance in Max's voice, shifted his approach, employing subtle manipulation to sway his son’s perspective.

"Think about your future, Max. You have so much potential, and I only want what is best for you," he continued, his voice softening slightly, as if trying to appeal to Max's aspirations.

The words were carefully chosen, designed to instill doubt about your influence, to paint you as an obstacle rather than an ally.

Max hesitated, caught between his father's expectations and his own feelings.

The internal struggle was evident on his face, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he grappled with the conflicting loyalties that tugged at his heart.

"It is evident in your results over the weeks, you've been falling off the high scores recently, hardly been able to reach third place because of that girl!" Jos stressed out and Max became quiet, letting those words sink in.

"Max, think about it," Jos continued, his tone shifting to one of persuasion. "You need to focus on your game and not let distractions get in the way. She's not worth it."

Max felt a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He had always admired his father's wisdom, but now he sensed a subtle manipulation at play. Jos was trying to steer him away from his feelings, and deep down, Max knew it.

Yet, the idea of disappointing his father loomed larger than his own desires.

"Okay, Father," Max finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

He felt a pang of regret as he agreed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing a part of himself in the process. As he walked away, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

Was it worth sacrificing his happiness for the sake of competition?

As he walked away, the sound of his father's footsteps fading behind him, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

The internal struggle was just beginning, and Max knew he had to find a way to balance his passion for the game with the complexities of his heart.

He thought of you—the woman who had sparked something within him, a light that had ignited a warmth he hadn't been able to feel like Daniel left.

After he began to distance himself from you, he noticed a change in your demeanor.

You seemed more withdrawn, putting on a facade of happiness with a constant smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were hiding behind long-sleeved coats, even in the warm weather, creating a barrier between yourself and the world around you.

The vibrant laughter that once filled the air when you were together had been replaced by a silence that hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the occasional forced chuckle or polite nod.

Max could see the way your shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of unspoken words and unshared feelings was pressing down on you.

Your eyes, once bright with enthusiasm and mischief, now seemed clouded, reflecting a deep-seated sadness that you tried so hard to conceal.

He remembered the long pointless conversations, the dreams you both had shared, and the plans that now felt like distant memories. It pained him to witness your struggle, yet he felt powerless to bridge the growing chasm between you.

Despite the guilt that gnawed at him, Max couldn’t help but recognize a shift in his own performance on the racetrack.

He found himself consistently finishing on the podium, a stark contrast to your struggles as you remained trapped within the top ten.

Each trophy he lifted felt heavier than the last, a reminder of the friendship that had once fueled his passion for racing.

He could hear the cheers of the crowd, feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but all he could think about was how you used to be there, celebrating alongside him, your face alight with pride and joy.

While he celebrated his achievements, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was missing.

The camaraderie they once shared seemed to slip further away with each passing race, leaving him to wonder if the price of success was worth the cost of their connection.

He often found himself glancing over at the empty spot in the pit where you used to stand, your eyes sparkling with encouragement, your voice ringing out with advice that had always kept him grounded.

As the races continued, Max felt a growing urgency to reach out, to break through the walls you had built around yourself.

But his father kept him grounded and not letting that thought come to life anytime soon. . . .

As you maneuver through the winding turns of the racetrack, adrenaline surges through your veins, a heady blend of focus and exhilaration.

"Joseph, what's the gap to Max?" you inquire, your voice steady despite the chaos enveloping you as you glance at the rearview mirror, noticing Charles's fierce pursuit as he falls into your peripheral vision, momentarily eclipsed by your recent strategic overtaking maneuver.

"2.3 seconds in front of you, Y/N," Joseph replies, his tone equally crisp yet slightly strained, hinting at the intensity of the moment.

The hum of the engine, the vibrations of the car, and the distant roar of the crowd blend into a symphony of speed, and as you negotiate the track, your mind sharpens with determination.

You consider your next move with meticulous care, knowing that a split-second decision could alter the course of the race.

Holding tightly to the steering wheel, you then ask, “Do I have permission to take over?”

Pause hangs in the air like a fragile breath, and you can almost anticipate Joseph's reply, especially given the longstanding tradition wherein hesitance often blankets these life-altering decisions.

Sure enough, after a fleeting silence, you prepare for the inevitable response that would echo in your ears like an unwelcome refrain, one you were all too familiar with.

But just as you brace yourself for a “no,” the radio crackles to life again—this time with a tidal wave of unexpected urgency.

"Yes! Y/N? Can you hear me? The team has approved the overtake of Max! Go for it!" Joseph’s voice bursts through with a burst of energy, jolting you from your reverie.

Instinctively, your foot plunges onto the accelerator as you channel every ounce of skill, focus, and ambition into propelling yourself forward.

You swiftly navigate the corner, your car gliding through the air like a bird released from captivity, and in that moment of pure adrenaline, you find yourself eclipsing Max, reclaiming the lead with undeniable ferocity.

As you settle into your newfound position at first place, the tension morphs into an exhilarating electrification coursing through your body.

Max, having momentarily lost his grip on the lead, now battles to fend off Charles and Lando from making any hazardous moves that might threaten your dominion at the front.

In the heat of the moment, the radio blaring with strategic updates fades into the background as your vision narrows solely on the track ahead—you are a race car driver, a gladiator in this battle of speed, and nothing else matters.

The world dissolves into monochrome, your focus unwavering as you grip the wheel like it’s a lifeline.

Distant cheers from the crowd seep through your concentration, yet you silence those voices, drowning out distractions as you become acutely aware of the weight of the race, the dreams that hang delicately in the balance—everything is at stake.

You feel sweat trickling down your temple and a syrupy mix of anticipation and fear soaring through your chest, but as you approach the final laps, triumph struggles to emerge from the depths of your hardwork.

Amidst the exhilarating distractions, your attention sharpens when you catch a faint echo of Joseph’s voice cutting through the chatter. "Y/N! You did it! You won!"

The joyous eruption on the other end floods your senses with disbelief, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over you.

In that electrifying moment, as you maintain your grip on the wheel for the last few seconds, reality begins to wash over you like an exhilarating wave, and the tears you could feel brewing now threaten to spill, your triumph intertwining with your vulnerability.

With the checkered flag waving triumphantly in the air, you ease down on the accelerator, the sensation of victory swelling inside you as you let a muffled cry of delight escape your lips.

You slow your car and finally breathe, releasing all the pent-up energy, as the realization of your success resonates in every fiber of your being.

"You did it, Y/N! You won the grand prix!" Joseph's voice dances through the radio, resonating with an infectious glee.

A burst of laughter escapes your lips, and for the first time, the roar of the crowd—a melodic blend of cheers—warms your heart.

As you roll to a stop, the world around you crescendos into a celebration of your harrowing journey—each twist, each turn, each heartbeat racing in sync with the rhythm of victory.

The moment is surreal, and as you step out of the car, you are not just a racer anymore; you are a triumphant force that turned dreams into reality, and no title could encapsulate the pride swelling within you.

You parked the car in front of the first-place stand, your heart racing as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. Stepping out of the vehicle, you took a moment to absorb the victory that had just unfolded; it was surreal, almost like a scene plucked from your wildest dreams.

You stood on the hood of your car, exhilaration bubbling up inside you as you raised your fists in triumph, thrusting them into the air with a euphoric fist bump that echoed your unrestrained joy.

The cheers of the crowd swirled around you, a chorus of celebration, and for a heartbeat, the entire world felt like it paused in honour of your hard-fought achievement.

The weight of every early morning, every late night, every moment spent honing your driving in the shadows now seemed beautifully light, overshadowed by the sheer thrill of the moment.

As you jumped off the car with a renewed sense of vitality, you sprinted toward your team, their faces lit up with genuine happiness.

It marked a pivotal moment, one where they no longer treated you as fragile or merely a woman in a male-dominated sport; instead, they embraced you like a teammate, a winner.

You felt the warmth of their hugs wrapping around you, their joy infectious in a way that washed away any lingering doubts you had ever held about your place in this fierce and demanding environment.

“I can’t believe we did it!” you exclaimed, looking around at their beaming faces, heart swelling.

Some laughing tears glistening in their eyes, as they crowded around you, lifting you momentarily off your feet, celebrating not only your victory but the growth of a team bound together by perseverance and shared dreams.

Max eventually pulled up in front of the second-place station, his car’s engine rumbling to a soft stop just a few feet away from you. He stepped out, the sunlight catching the edges of his helmet as he removed it, revealing a look of pure delight plastered across his face.

It was a sight that brightened your heart; his genuine smile mirrored your own, a silent acknowledgment of the fierce competition that had just transpired on the track.

You could hardly control the emotions that swelled within you. With an impulsive rush, you charged toward him, unable to contain the joy of your victory.

In a flurry of excitement, you leaped into his arms, a spontaneous act born from the adrenaline still dancing through your body. He caught you effortlessly, his hands cradling your back protectively, and in that moment, the world shrank down to just the two of you.

“I won!" you declared, breathless, your voice a mixture of disbelief and sheer happiness, as if saying it out loud might make the victory feel more real.

A grin split Max's face wider, and you could see the pride sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, you won! Congratulations!" he echoed, his voice turning melodic with the thrill of your accomplishment.

His embrace tightened around you, and you melted into the moment, filled with a sense of camaraderie and respect that had blossomed between you two over the course of your racing journeys.

As he set you back on your feet, laughter bubbled up once again, infectious and wildly free.

"I hope I didn't catch you off guard with that leap," you admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your voice as you took a sip from your drink.

"Not at all! I’m just thrilled for you," Max replied, his cheeks flushed with excitement as he gave you a friendly pat on the back.

After the interview with the top three winners, you, Max, and Charles settled into the conference room, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement as the race replay flickered on the screen. The tension was palpable as the footage captured the thrilling moments of the competition.

"Wow! That was such a turn!" Charles exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow, clearly still feeling the adrenaline from the race.

He was referring to the intense maneuver where he nearly overtook Lando, a moment that had everyone on the edge of their seats.

As the race continued to unfold on the screen, you found yourself lost in thought, your mind racing with the events that had just transpired.

You focused on your breathing, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You had actually won.

Max, sitting beside you, noticed your silence and turned his attention toward you, his eyes filled with concern.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked softly, breaking the tension in the room. His voice was steady, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of the race replay.

You nodded slowly, appreciating Max's concern but still feeling the weight of the moment. "Yeah, just processing everything," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

After the conference wrapped up, the divers were given the freedom to either retreat to their driver’s rooms or celebrate with their teams and families.

However, the atmosphere was tinged with concern. The race winner was notably absent, and everyone had been eagerly anticipating a celebration for your first victory.

But after you dashed out of the conference room in a flurry, you seemed to vanish without a trace.

Everyone, especially Max, who had reached out to congratulate you repeatedly, was waiting, eager for you to join them in the festivities.

Max had noticed your absence almost immediately after the conference ended. The smile that had danced on his lips dimmed when you didn't join the team to celebrate; he frequently glanced toward the driver’s room, a sense of unease gnawing at his gut.

The more he thought about it, the more his concern deepened; it wasn't like you to shy away from such moments of triumph.

As teammates and family began to cheer and revel in the evening's wins, Max made the decision to search for you.

His quest took him to the paddock and then to your garage, but each passing minute only heightened his worries. "Where could you be, Y/N?" he murmured to himself, frustration lacing his voice as he traversed the familiar paths of the circuit, searching desperately for a glimpse of you.

His heart raced with anxiety; he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Finally, his gaze landed on the door of your driver's room, slightly ajar, like a whisper beckoning him to enter. Without a second thought, he approached and knocked gently, "Y/N, are you in there?"

Listening intently, he leaned closer to the door and was met with faint whimpers that sent a chill down his spine.

Panic surged through him.

This wasn’t just a moment of celebration for you; it felt like a cry for help, echoing through the cold corridor.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open wider, bracing himself for whatever he might find—though nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes when the door creaked open.

The scene unfolded before him like a nightmare; your so-called boyfriend stood menacingly above you, his hand raised as if poised to strike, while your frail form displayed clear signs of distress—your face bruised, tears streaming down your cheeks, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he took stock of the situation, the cruel contrast of celebration outside and the terrifying reality inside your room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Max's voice cut through the air, laced with fury as he stepped into the room, instinctively placing himself between you and the looming threat.

In that instant, your boyfriend's grip on your collar slackened, surprise washing over his features as he turned to face Max.

“Stay out of this, Max! This has nothing to do with you,” your boyfriend snarled, his bravado faltering under the sudden scrutiny.

But Max remained steadfast, stepping closer, his presence commanding as he glared at the man who had dared to raise a hand against you.

“You’re wrong. It has everything to do with me. Y/N is my friend, and I won’t let you hurt her,” he replied, his voice steady yet filled with palpable tension.

Your eyes met Max's, a flicker of hope igniting amidst despair, and despite everything, the warmth of that friendship washed over you.

Max's voice echoed through the room, a mix of frustration and urgency. "You need to leave now!" he shouted, his eyes locked onto your boyfriend, who stood there with clenched fists and a scowl that could cut glass.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to slice through. Your boyfriend hesitated, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, but something in Max's tone made him reconsider.

"Fine," he finally muttered, his voice low and filled with resentment. "I’ll go, but this isn’t over."

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving you and Max in a heavy silence.

“Max, please…” you managed to choke out, your voice hoarse as the fear and pain slowly ebbed. “I just…I just wanted to celebrate, but I didn’t know who I could trust. I thought…”

Your voice faltered as the tears resumed their steady flow. Max's gaze softened as he turned back to you, the protective barrier he had formed in front of you embodying more than just physical defense.

“You can trust me, Y/N,” he said firmly, his expression shifting to one of concern.

With Max's unwavering support behind you, the resolve within you began to build.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling, but a hint of strength colored your tone.

Does anyone write anything for Henry Winter?

X reader, preferably.

I’ve been looking but it seems like no one writes anything for him.

If there’s nothing, would anyone want me to write stuff for him? Because I will.

Trouble - ( Johnny 'Soap' Fic)

Hot, whatever size/colour/ethnicity you are, you are hot in Johnny's Eyes! Reader, Soap is smitten with you! Reader, Agent! Reader, Reboot! Johnny, Reboot! Soap, but he is Captain! Soap (Now!!), Captain! Johnny, Captain! Soap, Fuckboi! Soap, Manwhore! Soap, Judgemental! Johnny, Judgemental! Soap, Shameless! Soap, Cocky! Soap

Soap x Reader , Soap x Y/N ,

Edit: This is Part 1 | Click here for Part 2 | Part 3 ( In Progress)

Summary: Captain Johnny Soap MacTavish never believed in love at first sight—until he saw you at the pub. A vision of confidence, beauty, and allure, you had his attention from the moment you walked in. But Johnny, ever the impulsive Scotsman, couldn’t help jumping to the wrong conclusion. He misjudged you, mistaking your grace and poise for the airs of a spoiled rich princess or, worse, the temptations of a high-end escort.

Yet, even as he wrestled with his assumptions, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting you—craving you. His fascination with you became a stubborn obsession, and Johnny MacTavish was never one to back down from a challenge. No matter how many mistakes he made or how far you tried to run, he was determined to prove one thing: you were meant to be his, no matter what it took.

A/N:

FIRST—

This story is part of the Midnight Snack Mystery and Papa Bear Material universe. (If you’re Ghost or Price’s wife, feel free to identify as whichever one you are—this is your world too!)

The character in this story is still You (Y/N), but that is only if you identify as Soap’s “birdie,”!!

Soap’s already been promoted to Captain here, so feel free to enjoy that new title. Actually, everyone’s been promoted. Yep, Soap survived Makarov’s shot to the head—deal with it, that’s our canon now! (In this universe!! Lol!!)

Enjoy Soap’s audacity and the smutty goodness ahead!

Genre: Comedy / Smut

Warning : SMUT, MDNI! and Soap's audacity

----------

Soap leaned against the pool table, cue stick in hand, half-heartedly watching the game. The pub was lively as always, but his attention kept wandering. Roach lined up his shot, muttering something about taking his time, while Gaz leaned on the wall, spinning a cue in his hand like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Soap’s eyes drifted to the booth in the corner, where Price sat with Mrs. Price, sharing a crawfish boil with Ghost and Mrs. Riley. The sight would’ve been unthinkable a few years ago. Ghost—Ghost—was married now, cracking shells and laughing softly at something his missus said. And Price? The man who’d had nothing but the job his entire career was now semi-retired, director of SpecGru, and properly tied down.

Gaz was engaged, for goodness’s sake. And even bloody Roach, who swore he’d “die a free man,” had found a girl.

Soap huffed, lining up his shot but not really seeing it. “Look at ‘em,” he muttered, his accent thick with irritation. “Big, scary bastards all soft now ‘cause they’ve got a lass at home. Gaz, Ghost, Price—bloody hell, even Roach. What’s the world comin’ to?”

Gaz chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Maybe the problem isn’t them, mate. Maybe it’s you.”

Soap snorted. “Aye, right. Next thing I know, you’ll be tellin’ me tae go pick out curtains.”

Roach laughed, sinking his shot. “Don’t worry, Johnny. You’ll catch up. Eventually.”

Soap grumbled, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but grimace, thinking about the path that got him here. “Catch up,” he muttered. “More like they bloody dragged me up.”

When Price stepped back, and Ghost finally accepted promotions to Captain, then Major, and eventually Lieutenant Colonel—shocker of the century—the entire team dynamic shifted. Ghost, the man who’d spent his whole career avoiding a desk, settled down and took on a higher rank just before getting married. Meanwhile, Price transitioned from Captain to Director of SpecGru, semi-retired and making it look effortless.

And then there was Soap. They wouldn’t leave him alone, dragging the whole squad up to higher posts and hauling Johnny along with them, whether he liked it or not. Price and Ghost had pushed him—no, threatened him—into Sandhurst. His Lt. Col had personally shoved him into the officer training program, with Price backing it up and General MacMillan himself throwing in his weight.

The memory made him scowl. He could still hear Ghost’s dry tone, clear as day: “Get yer act together, Johnny. We’re not leavin’ you behind.”

Soap sighed. He didn’t mind being Captain, not really, but the way they’d strong-armed him into it still stung. Especially now, watching the lot of them with their missuses, their lives looking settled and... content.

They’d gone from being his squadmates to practically running the show—Price as Director, Ghost as a Lieutenant Colonel—and it was like they’d made it their mission to drag their Sergeant up the ranks with them. Now here he was: Captain MacTavish, earning more money than ever and still too stingy to spend it on anything but his motorbike, cheap pints, and the occasional takeaway.

Not that he couldn’t afford a girlfriend now—hell, he could’ve afforded one when he was a Sergeant—but back then, he’d been more about quick flings and less about commitment. Now? Now he didn’t even have that. Just the ghost of his own damn jealousy watching his mates turn into family men.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but damn it, he envied them. Even Ghost, who’d been the least likely candidate for settling down, had found someone who could see past the mask—literally and figuratively. Price, Roach, Gaz—they all had someone. And Soap? He was still here, drinking cheap beer and pretending it didn’t bother him.

Then the pub door opened, and all thoughts scattered.

She walked in like she owned the place. Her wavy hair caught the dim light, and the way she moved—confident, smooth—drew his eye immediately. The corset top she wore hugged her figure in ways that made his pulse hitch, the sweetheart neckline daring him to look too long. Flare jeans accentuated her curves, her slingback heels clicking softly on the floor.

Soap froze, his cue stick forgotten. She looked expensive. The gold earrings glinted as she turned her head, catching the light like they had something to say, and that bracelet—that bracelet—he’d seen it before on women who liked their champagne vintage and their shoes handmade. Even her hair, styled but not fussy, screamed class. She didn’t just walk into the room; she owned it, every measured step deliberate, every soft click of her heels loud enough to turn heads.

“Christ,” Soap muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Roach, quick to notice, smirked. “What’s the matter, Johnny? You look like you’ve seen a goddess”

Soap flicked him a sharp look. “Shut it.”

But Roach wasn’t one to let it go. “Lost yer nerve, have ye? Go on, Captain. Talk to her.”

Soap’s eyes drifted back to her. The corset top, the jeans, the way she held herself—confident, but not in a way that begged for attention. No, she was the kind who knew she didn’t have to. He tried to peg her. A spoiled rich girl slumming it? Or maybe... Christ, was she an escort? High-class, no doubt, but still... The bracelet gave him pause. Women with money wore those; women who liked to make sure you knew they had money.

Gaz straightened from his lean, his sharp eyes cutting toward the woman. Something flickered across his face—a flash of recognition that vanished almost as quickly as it came. He didn’t speak, but Soap noticed the subtle shift in his demeanour. Gaz wasn’t just watching her; he was clocking her, analysing.

“Forget it,” Gaz said at last, his tone even.

Soap frowned. “Forget what?”

Gaz rolled his shoulders, leaning on his cue stick. “She’s not your type, Johnny. Way outta your league.”

Soap’s brow furrowed. “What d’ye mean by that?”

Gaz shrugged, giving him a knowing smirk. “Look at her. Probably costs more than you’d ever spend on a date.”

Roach barked out a laugh, slapping the table. “He’s right, you know. You’re tight as a drum, Johnny. You’d ask her to split the bill on a pint!”

Soap turned, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Oh, aye? Tight, am I? And who’s the one always payin’ for your rounds, eh?”

Roach’s grin only widened. “Doesn’t mean you’re takin’ her home, mate.”

Gaz chuckled, still leaning on his cue stick. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, Captain.” His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, almost a warning.

Soap huffed, his gaze drawn back to the bar where she now stood, her fingers brushing the counter as she ordered a drink. Trouble, eh? Maybe they were right. She probably was trouble—the kind you couldn’t walk away from. But something about her made it hard to care.

His grip tightened on the cue stick. He tilted his head, gaze fixed on her like he was sizing up an opponent. “Aye, maybe I do like trouble,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth pulling into a grin.

With that, Soap set the cue stick down, adjusted his jacket, and strode toward the bar.

Kyle groaned under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as Soap walked away, clearly on a mission. “Ah, shite,” he muttered, his accent laced with frustration.

Roach, still grinning like a man who’d just lit a fuse, turned to him. “What? He’ll thank me for it later. Might loosen him up, y’know? Johnny’s been too wound up lately. Could do with a lass to set him straight.”

Kyle jabbed a finger in the direction of the bar, where the woman stood, her poised demeanor giving nothing away. He leaned in closer to Roach, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “She’s workin’, mate.”

Roach furrowed his brows, confused. “Workin’? Like, you mean…?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a sly grin creeping back onto his face. “Well, that’s perfect, then. Johnny gets his fun, spends a bit of that paycheck, and maybe he won’t be so bloody tight. Win-win, aye?”

Kyle slapped a hand to his forehead, exhaling like a man dealing with a hopeless case. “No, you idiot! Not that kind of workin’. She’s an informant. Undercover. Probably collectin’ intel, and if Johnny gets involved, he could blow her cover.”

Roach blinked, processing. “Wait. Hang on a sec.” He glanced back at the woman, squinting as he gave her a proper look. “She does look a bit familiar... Is she a regular here or somethin’?”

Kyle tilted his head toward her, his voice dropping even lower. “No, mate. We’ve worked with her info before. Think about it. The reports on that arms deal a few months back? That was hers. She’s good at what she does, but Johnny swaggerin’ over there like it’s a bloody Tinder date isn’t gonna help.”

Roach’s eyes widened, realization dawning. “Ohhh.” He glanced at Soap, who was now halfway to the bar, his confident stride making it clear he wasn’t about to change course. “Should we, uh… I dunno, drag him back here before he makes a right fool of himself?”

Kyle folded his arms, his expression a mix of resignation and exasperation. “At the right moment,” he said, his tone heavy with experience. His eyes tracked Soap’s progress as the Captain closed in on the woman. “Knowing Johnny, he’ll need to stick his foot in it first.”

----------

Soap reached the bar with his signature swagger, his broad grin in place as he sidled up next to her. “Evenin’, lass. What’s a woman like you doin’ in a place like this? Slummin’ it, are we?”

She glanced at him, then raised an eyebrow with a sly smile. “Slummin’ it? Bold of you to say that. Even bolder to approach me.”

Soap chuckled, clearly unbothered. “I’ve got plenty of boldness to spare, love.”

Soap leaned in, still wearing that cocky grin. “Johnny MacTavish, by the way. And you are...?”

She shot him a look, the smile still playing on her lips. “Name’s not your business,” she said, voice light but teasing. “But you may call me whatever you like.”

Soap couldn’t help but chuckle at her tone. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind, love.”

He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes with mock curiosity. “So, what’s a lass like you doin’ in a place like this? Surely this isn’t your usual haunt?”

She arched a brow, meeting his gaze with a challenge in her eyes. “Why can’t I be here? Have a pint like the rest of ‘em?”

Soap smirked, giving her the once-over. “You look a little too posh for this joint. I’m guessin’... rich spoiled brat, or a high-class escort?”

Her smile didn’t fade. Instead, she leaned in, her voice smooth and cutting. “Bold of you to say. Maybe I am, but if I am, either way... you can’t afford me.”

----------

Back at the pool table, Gaz and Roach were barely holding it together. They exchanged amused looks, stifling their laughter, as they whispered among themselves, not wanting Johnny to catch on.

Roach shot a smirk at Gaz. “Bloody hell, Johnny’s got no shame.”

Gaz snickered quietly. “Aye, but she’s givin’ him a run for his money, isn’t she?”

----------

Soap’s grin only grew wider, his voice low and teasing. “Well, if you’re that expensive, love, I reckon I could afford you for a night, but you’ll be getting more than just a view. How about I show you how wild a Highlander can get? I promise you, it’ll be... less polished, but a whole lot more memorable.”

She glanced up at him, and despite the heels, she was still dwarfed by his towering figure. His broad shoulders, the way his muscles moved under his shirt—it was all there, every inch of him commanding attention. And those blue eyes. Electric. Like they could strip her bare with just one look. He wasn’t just good-looking; he was the type of man you wouldn’t say no to if you were brave enough.

Her lips curled into a smile, and she leaned in just enough to make sure he caught her next words. “Bold of you to think I’d be interested in that... But go on, keep talking. I’m listening.”

Soap chuckled, loving the fire in her eyes. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more where that came from, love. Just say the word, and we’ll see if I can’t show you a wild side you’ve never even dreamed of.”

She arched a brow, her smile teasing, but the way her eyes held his made it clear she wasn’t backing down. “You really think you can handle someone like me?”

“Love,” he said with a smirk, his voice thick with the accent of his roots, “I’ve handled far worse. And I don’t back down from a challenge.”

She met his gaze, her own confidence matching his as she spoke again. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that... after you buy me a drink first.”

Soap leaned in, ordering her drink with a wink. “Whatever you like, love. It’s on me.”

The bartender returned shortly with two drinks, placing them on the bar with a polite nod. Soap slid one toward her with a confident grin, his eyes never leaving hers.

She took the glass, her fingers brushing against his. “Cheers,” she said smoothly, her voice almost a purr. Soap raised his glass in response, clinking it lightly with hers before taking a long sip.

----------

Meanwhile, not far from the bar, at the booth where Ghost and Price sat with their wives, the scene was unfolding just as expected.

Mrs. Riley, ever the character, popped a piece of fresh crawdad meat into her mouth, chewing with evident enjoyment as if she were snacking on popcorn. Mrs. Price took a slow, thoughtful sip from her pint, clearly entertained by the situation unfolding before them.

Price, leaning back slightly, gave Ghost a sideways glance. “What do you reckon, Simon? Is Johnny gonna manage to take this lass home, or is he gonna make a right fool of himself?”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange intently. “Aye, he’s got the charm for it, but we all know how Johnny is. He either gets what he wants, or he trips over his own feet trying.”

Price chuckled softly, eyeing Soap with a knowing look. “I’d say he’s got no chance of walking away from this without a few bruises to his ego. But, then again, she’s holding her own pretty well, eh?”

Mrs. Riley looked up from her seafood, her eyes twinkling as she smirked. “You both bettin’ on Johnny? I reckon she’ll either take him for a ride... or leave him in the dust.”

Ghost gave a small nod, glancing at Soap as he chatted up the lady. “Looks like the lady’s a tough one.” He turned to Price. “Should we step in? Drag Johnny back to the table before he makes a fool of himself—or worse, ruins her night?”

Mrs. Price, always one to watch the drama unfold, leaned in a little closer, eyes fixed on Soap and the woman at the bar. “Let ‘em be. It’s too entertaining watchin’ Johnny try and work his so-called 'charm.'”

Price chuckled quietly, raising his pint in a small toast. “Aye, you’re right. If she’s handling him this well, she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.”

----------

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “And if I am a spoiled rich princess, what would you say then?”

Johnny’s grin spread even wider. He leaned in a little, his voice low and mischievous. “Well, if that’s the case... I’d say I’m the wildest adventure you’ll ever have. The kind you’ll never forget.”

She giggled, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You might just be all talk, though.”

Johnny sighed dramatically, then chuckled, leaning back in his seat with a playful challenge in his tone. “Ah, well then, lass... you could always come with me and find out for yourself.”

She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his ear. “And what if you disappoint me?” she asked, voice dripping with playful skepticism. “What do I get? I’m not doing the walk of shame in the morning, am I?”

Johnny gave a theatrical sigh, his grin never fading. “Well, if I disappoint you, I’ll make it up to you with breakfast in bed. But either way—disappointed or not—I’ll pamper you in the morning, love. You’ll be spoiled.”

She smiled, the thought of a leisurely morning in bed tempting her. Truth be told, it had been a while since she'd gotten laid, and this handsome MacTavish stranger seemed like just the thing she needed. A little adventure, some fun, and maybe a good night to get her back into the swing of things.

Single? Definitely. Needed to mingle? Absolutely. And well, if she was going to enjoy herself tonight, why not with a bloke who could keep up with her banter? A laugh, a good time, and possibly more? She could certainly get on board with that.

“I like the sound of that,” she said, her smile growing as she slid her fingers around her drink. “Might just take you up on that offer...”

She raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on her lips. “What if you’re a serial killer, though? I mean, with that mohawk and your good looks, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Johnny chuckled, his usual confidence not faltering. “Serial killer, huh? Well, I promise you, love, I’m no murderer.”

But she didn’t let up. “I don’t know... that mohawk's a bit suspicious. Still, I gotta admit, it suits you. You’re still handsome despite it.”

Johnny blinked in surprise, then a sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Did she just—? No one had ever dared to compliment him like that before, especially after the whole “wild man” routine.

"Well... thanks," he muttered, a little flustered now.

She grinned wickedly. “You're welcome, handsome. But seriously, how can I be sure you're not one bad night away from chopping me up and turning me into stew?”

Johnny let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake off the awkwardness. “Alright, alright, what can I do to prove I’m not some serial killer, then? You wanna see my ID or something?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment, before smirking. “Yeah, actually, that sounds good. Hand it over.”

Johnny dug into his pocket, pulling out his driver’s license. He handed it to her, and in a quick motion, she snatched it from his hand, raised her phone, and snapped a photo.

Johnny’s brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

She smirked, showing him the screen. “Sending this to a trusted friend. You know, in case something happens to me tonight. They’ll know exactly who to look for.”

Johnny’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s... smart,” he said, nodding appreciatively.

She then snapped another photo, this time of him, and he raised an eyebrow. “What’s that for? Sending it too?”

She shook her head with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Nah, not sending this one. I’m keeping it for myself.”

Johnny blinked, his heart skipping a beat as he realized she was serious. “For yourself, eh?”

She winked at him, the playful spark in her gaze undeniable. “Oh, yeah. It’s not every day I get to keep a picture of a handsome guy like you.”

Now, Johnny was definitely blushing. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the warmth creeping into his cheeks betrayed him. “Well, I suppose that’s fair enough.”

She took a sip of her drink, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Seems like you’re finally caught off guard, MacTavish.”

He let out a chuckle, shrugging. “You’re not making it easy, love.”

After a brief pause, they both finished off their pints, the air between them charged with flirtation. She set her empty glass down first, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, looks like we’ve both had our fun for tonight.”

Johnny followed suit, his own glass hitting the counter with a soft clink. “Aye, reckon so. What do you say, we call it a night? I’ve had enough of this place... might be time for something... less crowded.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile. “Sounds like a plan, MacTavish. Lead the way.”

They both stood, an unspoken agreement between them. Johnny offered her a confident smile as they headed toward the door, ready to take the night wherever it would lead.

As Johnny and the woman stood up to leave, Gaz and Roach exchanged glances. They made half-hearted moves as if they were about to stand up and stop him—an awkward, wordless attempt to intervene. But as Johnny turned around and caught their gaze, his usual cocky grin faltered just a fraction.

His eyes narrowed, and he shot them a look that could melt stone. The boys, momentarily caught off guard by the intensity of his glare, quickly backed down. They sat back down in their booth, giving him a silent, almost apologetic shrug, their faces filled with that familiar "we tried" expression.

Price and Ghost shared a similar moment of hesitation, both standing up as if to offer some sort of assistance, but seeing the look on Johnny’s face made them rethink. They sat back down, shaking their heads with a knowing chuckle.

Without another word, Johnny placed his hand possessively around her small, curvy waist, guiding her out the door. She glanced up at him with a smirk, enjoying the rush of walking out with him, feeling his confidence radiate off him like an aura.

They stepped into the cool night air, the warmth of the pub already fading as they made their way down the street. Johnny’s hand never left her waist, his grip firm, and she couldn’t help but feel a thrill from how he held her close.

Gaz glanced at Roach, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. “I’m kinda worried for Johnny…”

Roach snorted, rolling his eyes. “Aye, worried he might actually get lucky tonight?”

Gaz shrugged. “More like worried he’ll be too embarrassed to show his face tomorrow.”

Roach chuckled, shaking his head. “Either way, it’s gonna be bloody entertaining.”

----------

SMUT here....

They decide to go to Johnny's flat instead, entering the front door laughing and kissing. The kissing turns passionate, clothes start flying off in every direction, and before she knows it, she's swung over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Johnny, put me down!" she laughs, playfully smacking his back as he carries her to his room.

"Not a chance, love," he grins, giving her a light smack on the bum. "You're mine now."

As they tumble onto the bed, she can't help but appreciate the view. Johnny MacTavish might be a cocky bastard, but he's got the body to back it up. And as for his... equipment... well, let's just say she's impressed.

"Bloody hell, Johnny," she murmurs, her eyes widening as she gets a glimpse of what's to come. "That's... that's not going to fit."

Johnny chuckles, a wicked glint in his eye. "Don't worry, love. I’ll try to be gentle.”

And true to his word, he doesn't rush things. He takes his time, worshipping every inch of her body. He's surprisingly patient, which she wouldn't have guessed from his usual demeanour. He starts by kissing her deeply, his hands exploring her curves with a gentle but firm touch.

He moves down to her neck, planting soft kisses that make her shiver. His hands find her large, soft breasts, squeezing and caressing them until she's gasping with pleasure. He takes his time, sucking and nipping at her nipples, making her arch her back in response.

"Johnny..." she moans, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Aye, love?" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

He continues his descent, his lips trailing down her stomach, his fingers expertly rubbing her clitoris. She gasps and writhes beneath him, the sensation almost too much to bear. He takes his time, building her up, his touch both fierce and gentle.

When he finally reaches her most sensitive spot, he doesn't hesitate. He dives in, his tongue licking and teasing her until she's on the brink of ecstasy. He sucks and nips, his fingers working in tandem with his mouth, driving her wild with pleasure.

"Johnny... you're... you're actually quite good at this," she admits, a laugh escaping her lips.

Johnny grins, looking up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I do aim to please, Birdie."

He intensifies his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving in rhythm. She can't take it anymore. Her body convulses, her hips bucking against his mouth as she cums hard, a wave of pleasure crashing over her. She tries to push him away, the sensation too intense, but he holds her firmly, riding out her orgasm with her.

Her body arches, her breath coming in heavy pants. She shakes and squeaks, the sounds escaping her lips a mix of pleasure and desperation. Johnny finds it hot and cute, his grip on her tightening as he continues to lick and suck, drawing out every last tremor of her climax.

"Johnny... oh gosh, Johnny..." she gasps, her body finally relaxing as the waves of pleasure subside.

Johnny looks up at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That's just the beginning, Bonnie," he says, his voice husky with desire.

The room fills with the sounds of their passion—laughter, moans, and the occasional playful smack. Johnny might be a "wild Highlander"(what he claimed), but he's also surprisingly tender, his touch both fierce and gentle.

"Johnny, please..." she whispers, her voice desperate.

He grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Alright, Bonnie. Let's give it another go."

He moves down her body again, his tongue and lips tracing a path of fire. He licks and sucks at her clitoris, his fingers teasing her entrance until she's soaking wet and begging for more.

She looks at him, her eyes filled with desire. "Johnny, let me please you too," she says, her voice husky. "I want to reward you."

Johnny's eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't hesitate. He flips them over, positioning himself so that they're in a sixty-nine, his mouth hovering over her pussy, her lips inches from his cock.

He dives back in, his tongue licking and sucking at her clitoris, his fingers working their magic. She takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his length, her hands gripping his shaft. They move in sync, each trying to outdo the other, their moans and gasps filling the room.

What shocks him is how she takes his full length, deep throating him despite the struggle. She's so into him, her enthusiasm driving him wild. He doesn't want to disappoint, so he gives as good as he gets, his tongue and fingers working feverishly to bring her to the brink again.

The competition is unspoken but intense. They're both determined to make the other cum first, their bodies writhing and bucking against each other. The room is filled with the sounds of their pleasure, their moans and gasps echoing off the walls.

Johnny can feel his own orgasm building, his body tensing as she sucks and tugs at him. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving in rhythm with her mouth.

She's close too, her body trembling, her moans growing more desperate. They're both on the edge, their bodies coiling tighter and tighter.

With a final, intense suck, she sends him over the edge. He cums hard, his body convulsing as she swallows every last drop. At the same time, he sends her crashing over the edge, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

They collapse together, breathless and satisfied, their bodies still entwined. Johnny looks up at her, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well, Bonnie," he says, his voice husky. "That was... incredible."

She smiles back at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her. "And I promise, Birdie, that was just the beginning."

----------

Seeing that she was already prepped and soaking wet, Soap kisses her passionately, pinning her down on the bed. He leans back, admiring his handiwork. She's sweaty, her skin glistening beautifully, her petite but voluptuous frame a sight to behold. Her beautiful face, framed by messy hair, makes her look even sexier. He couldn't help but want her more.

Slowly, he enters her, and she gasps, sighing at how large he is and how tight it feels. Soap holds her waist, his thumb reaching across her swollen clit, rubbing it gently as he moves deeper inside her.

"Oh gosh, Johnny..." she moans, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The sensation of him filling her is almost too much to bear, but she wants more. She wraps her legs around him, pulling him deeper.

Johnny groans, his eyes locked on hers as he begins to move. He starts slowly, giving her time to adjust, his thumb circling her clit in rhythm with his movements. Her moans grow louder, her body arching to meet his every thrust.

"You feel so good, Bonnie," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

She can feel the tension building again, her body coiling tighter with each thrust. Johnny's movements become more urgent, his hips driving into her with a fierce intensity. He leans down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue mirroring the movements of his body.

The room fills with the sounds of their passion—moans, gasps, and the occasional playful smack. Johnny's relentless, his body moving in perfect harmony with hers. She can feel every inch of him, every powerful thrust driving her closer to the edge.

"Johnny... I'm close..." she gasps, her voice breathless.

He increases his pace, his thrusts becoming more powerful. "Come for me, Birdie," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "Let me feel you."

With a final, deep thrust, she shatters, her body convulsing with pleasure. He follows soon after, his own release washing over him. They collapse together, breathless and satisfied, their bodies still entwined.

Johnny looks down at her, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That was... incredible," he says, his voice husky with desire.

She smiles back at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

He pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her. "And I promise, Bonnie, that was just the beginning."

----------

Johnny wasn't done yet. He guided her through a night of endless pleasure, each position driving her to new heights of ecstasy. She came hard, shaking and even squirting, which he found incredibly hot. By the end, they were both overstimulated, but it was worth every moment.

First, he positioned her on all fours, her head buried in the pillow. He mounted her from behind, his body pressing down on hers, just the way she liked it. He rubbed against her, his nose nuzzling her neck, inhaling her scent. He grabbed her chin, turning her face to kiss her deeply as he moved in and out of her. The sensation was intense, her moans muffled by the pillow.

Next, he lay behind her, his pelvis moving in a fast, pistoning motion. His hard length drove in and out of her, his fingers expertly rubbing her clitoris. She could only gasp and whine, her body trembling as his strong arms held her waist. Soon, her legs began to shake, her toes curling as she came hard, squirting. Johnny continued to rub her clit and piston into her, drawing out every last tremor of her orgasm.

They moved to the floor, the chair, against the wall—each position more intense than the last. She came hard every time, her body convulsing with pleasure. When it was finally time for him to cum, she begged for them to do it together. She asked him to cum inside her, assuring him she was on contraceptives. Johnny liked the idea, feeling her so deeply.

And so they did. They came together, gasping, shaking, and panting. Her body writhed beneath him, and he let out a primal growl, shuddering and releasing inside her. They collapsed onto the bed, breathless, her smiling weakly, and him smiling back at her, cupping her face.

"Bonnie," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're incredible."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with contentment. "You're not so bad yourself, Johnny."

They lay there, entwined, their bodies still tingling with the aftermath of their passionate night. Johnny pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her, feeling a connection he hadn't expected.

"That was... something else," she whispered, her voice soft.

Johnny chuckled, his chest rumbling against her. "Aye, it was. And Bonnie, there's more where that came from."

She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as she drifted off to sleep, safe and content in his arms. Johnny held her tightly, a sense of peace washing over him.

----------

Johnny woke up the next morning, his eyes fluttering open to catch his Birdie trying to slip out from under his large arms. He playfully tightened his grip, pulling her back to him with a low chuckle.

"Where do you think you're going, Bonnie?" he murmured, his voice still husky from sleep.

She giggled, turning to face him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nowhere, it seems."

They shared a passionate kiss, their bodies already responding to each other's touch. Johnny couldn't get enough of her. He rolled her onto her back, his hands exploring her curves as he moved inside her once again. Their lovemaking was slow and intense, each touch and kiss building the tension between them.

After another round in bed, Johnny scooped her up and carried her to the shower. The hot water cascaded over their bodies as he pressed her against the tiles, his hands roaming over her slick skin. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he entered her again. The steam filled the room, their moans echoing off the walls as they lost themselves in each other.

Johnny couldn't believe how much this girl was driving him crazy. She was sexy, beautiful, cute, petite, and voluptuous—everything he could want. They eventually stepped out of the shower, their bodies still tingling with pleasure. Johnny dried her off gently, his touch lingering on her skin.

They slowly got dressed, Johnny unable to keep his hands off her. He found himself forgetting that they weren't a couple, his actions more intimate than he'd ever been with a one-night stand. He carried her back to the bed, asking her to wait while he made breakfast.

Humming quietly to himself, Johnny headed to the kitchen. He cooked with a sense of contentment, the scent of bacon and eggs filling the air. When he returned upstairs with a tray of food, he found the bedroom empty, the window leading to the outdoor fire escape wide open.

He stood there for a moment, his brows furrowing in confusion. For a moment, he thought everything had been a hallucination. Had the head injury from Makarov's shot, years ago, affected him more than he thought? He had survived it and gone through therapy, and meds, but this felt too real to be a hallucination.

His eyes fell on the bracelet she had left behind, a tangible reminder that she had been there. Johnny picked up the bracelet, a mix of relief and determination washing over him. He felt a possessive urge, slightly offended that she had run away after such an incredible night. He swore he'd find his Birdie, but then he remembered—he had forgotten to ask her name or any information about her.

Well, he'd find a way. Johnny was never one to back down from a challenge, and this was no exception. He'd find her, no matter what it took.

A/N:

Oh no, Y/N, looks like Johnny’s offended you ran off after everything that went down. But don't worry—he’s not the type to let things slide. He swears to find you, and he’s not going to rest until he does. So, you might have left in a hurry, but Johnny's on your trail now, and he’s determined to get answers… and maybe a little more. 😏

What will happen when he catches up with you? Well, let’s just say, the chase is about to get real interesting. Stick around to see how Johnny handles getting his Birdie back.

Edit: On to the next chapter!! -------->

You and your friends were the epitome of a wild bunch. Tonight, you all had gone out drinking with the intentions on clubbing should you five not end up drunk as all get out. Five drinks and more shots than what should have been given to you and your table are loud and boisterous. Samantha, one of your closer friends, is egging you on in a dare, her bright eyes full of mischief.

"You won't do it." She says with a smirk. "You won't go over there and it at all."

The table gets quiet, and everyone is staring at you. You look at each one of your friends and then down your shot for courage for what you've been dared to do. You've never backed down from a dare during a game of jack ass. Turning slowly, your eyes went right to the table of men towards the back corner of the bar. "Here goes nothing."

Johnny was in the middle of telling an animated story to the guys when he was interrupted by a soft clearing of a throat. Simon had noticed her coming over from the other side of the bar and readjusted his mask over his mouth. Kyle tilted his head giving a sweet smile to the girl. It's Price, who greets her first.

"Good evenin' miss." Price says, his lip quirks up into a smile.

"Hello, you four are military right?" She asks, there's a hint of nerves in her voice but she sounds friendly.

"Aye lass we are." Johnny grins, "why? Ye interested?" He teases.

They all watch her with varying degrees of interest, but they are all thrown for a loop within the next five seconds.

"I just wanted to come over and say thank you for your service." And she grips the bottom of her shirt and flashes the four of them. There's a big smile on her face as she lifts up her shirt and bra in one go. It's not some little quick move, either. They all get a gander at her full breast, and the cute, heart-shaped nipple rings on each nipple.

Kyle is practically wheezing as he stares at the girl. Simon's eyes widen considerably in shock. Price's eyes are going from her chest to quickly looking around the crowded bar to see if anyone else is seeing their little gift for their service. And Johnny, like any dog, is drooling.

She lets out a cute giggle and lowers her shirt. "You four have a good night." And as she turns to leave, Johnny grabs her wrist and gently pulls her into his lap.

"W-wait a momen' lass," He is giving her such a charming smile, "ye cannae just show us something like that an' leave."

Kyle nods his head in agreement, "Yeah, you should definitely stick around and chat for a bit." He shares a look with his team. The four of them are most certainly taking this cutie home.

Lol idk what was going on here but I thought this would be a cute meet cute

I KNOW YOU

Neil Perry x gn! reader

Synopsis: In which you and Neil end up in a vintage photobooth.

An: Hello!! This is my first post on this account so I apologize if this sounds like shit😭 Also!! English is not my first language and I’ve never stepped foot into a Photo Booth so if I wrote something wrong then that’s on me🫡🫡

💌

When you two entered through the curtain and into the booth, You found it to be particularly small, barely big enough for the two of you to fit inside. It was kind of dark, the walls were maroon colored and the only thing there was in there was a built-in camera in the wall and a bench to sit down on so it was kind of empty (besides the scribbles and notes people had written down on the walls that the owners were too lazy to remove). You’ve both never seen or been in a Photo Booth before, not having a single clue on how it exactly worked, fearing that you’d accidentally break something.

“It’s quite cramped in here, isn’t it?” He teased softly, being fully aware of the amount of space you two had. You nodded, breathing out a faint ‘yeah’ under your breath. You tried to make yourself sit comfortably, but it was kind of hard when the side of your body was stuck glued beside his as your other half was against the wall.

Neil leaned down slightly.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked softly, his voice husky as he looked you up and down with a small smile. You once again nodded, not wanting to burden him. It was fine. Afterall, you couldn’t do anything about it. Neil turned his head back to the camera, looking clueless.

“Does it even work?” Neil asked as his brows furrowed.

“I hope so.” You responded, feeling hopeful. There was a button sticking out underneath the camera lens.

“I think this button starts the camera and countdown.” He said, unsure.

Neil reached slightly up to press it, unsure if it was the right thing to do. Thankfully, the lightbulb that hung above us, slowly lit up, triggering the timer countdown for the first picture. As the countdown went, You both realized that you had to act fast if you wanted the pictures to turn out good. You had no idea how many seconds you were given, could’ve been ten seconds or thirty if this machine was nice enough.

“What should we do?” You asked, a little panicky.

“Just smile!” He said quickly, leaning back a little against the wall. You took this opportunity to lean a little closer to the camera as you smiled nervously. You didn’t have that many high hopes for the first picture, just wanting the first picture to show you two smiling as a start. You posed awkwardly for a few seconds before the camera’s flash unexpectedly came on.

The bright flash blinded both of you, causing Neil and you to let out a small groan of discomfort as you both rubbed your eyes. Neil leaned back up beside you as he tried to blink away the spots in his vision, adjusting to the sudden change of light.

Now it was time to think of a new pose to do. Without thinking, you shifted yourself to lean your head towards him as you, again, smiled at the camera. You weren’t expecting for him to do the same though, but he did. Your heads linked together as you both smiled sweetly and the camera clicked once again.

You two pulled apart, feeling the warmthness of his cheek leave yours as you tried to figure out what pose you were going to do next. Neil seemed to have no problem with this whole thing, just freestyling everything. Maybe it was because you knew he would look good in any pose he chose to do.

You suggested to him that you two could make funny faces, just to humorize the photos. He didn’t say anything, let alone move as you got into your position, scrunching up your nose as you smiled mischievously. You awkwardly waited for the photo to be taken as you watched Neil from your peripheral vision. He turned his head towards you and just stayed there, watching you. His gaze seemed to burn a path through you.

You wanted to turn your head to face him but you’d have to wait until the picture would get taken.

When the flash finally covered the whole booth for just a split second before disappearing again, the light above you dimmed, signaling for you two to exit the booth, but you didn't, you stayed there as if you were expecting something more to happen. You turned your head immediately to see what was the problem. You were planning to ask him ‘why didn’t you pose?’ or ‘is there something on my face?’ but when you turned to him, you realized how close your faces were. And suddenly, your mind became blank. He stared down at you with a feeling of undeniable adoration in his brown eyes as he watched you almost hungrily. There was a tender, fond adoration flickering in his eyes, the way it often did in private moments like this. The warmth and affection in his expression made you feel vulnerable and cherized at the same time. His eyes seemed to take in every little detail, capturing it and piercing it into his mind, afraid to lose the memory of how you looked like, in case you two would in the future pull apart and never see each other again. His expression was soft and full of warmth, as if he found every little thing about you utterly mesmerizing.

“What?” You muttered quietly, already feeling yourself getting lost in his eyes. Oh how you could stare into them for hours on end.

“What?” Neil asked in return, his voice low and warm, tinged with a hint of amusement. In the midst of darkness, you could see a speck of light reflecting on his eyes from outside the curtain where the streetlight resided. You felt his breath from his open mouth hit your face as it made you realize how close your faces have gotten.

“May I kiss you?” He softly whispered against your lips, glancing down at them for a split second before returning his gaze up at you.

You opened your mouth, again and again to try and get something out but your voice had given up on you so you just nodded eagerly instead. He leaned down and closed his eyes, pressing his lips gently against yours. His hand travelled to your face, placing it on the back of your head to deepen the kiss. You reciprocated and held his cheek, your thumb grazing his sharp cheekbone. The kiss was short but sweet, only lasting a couple of seconds before he pulled away, exhaling ever so slightly as he looked breathlessly at you. You couldn’t help but let out a cheeky grin that spread over your red face, which caused Neil to laugh at you.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

You walked out of the booth as you watched Neil pick up the pictures that were printed out and examined them. He had a cheeky smile on his face as he looked down on them, making you curious.

“Let me see.” You said and he handed you the strip. Without saying anything, you took it from him and looked at it closely. There were four black & white photos of you two stacked on top of each other, doing various poses for each one. The first photo though, caught your eye. It looked fine at first, you saw yourself smiling and narrowed your eyes to Neil.

His mouth was pulled into a wide smile which showed off his gleaming teeth and dimples. He looked adorable. Though unbeknownst to you, you saw his hand positioned behind your head, creating a bunny ears gesture, making you look like a fool.

When you realized this, you playfully hit his arm as a form of payback. He pulled up his hand to caress the spot where you hit him at, pretending to look hurt as he couldn’t help holding in his laugh.

“I just couldn’t help myself, I had to!” He said between laughs.

You didn’t want to give in but eventually did, giggling along with him.

Besides, you knew you were going to keep these photos in your dorm as a memory, even if they didn’t turn out perfect, they were special.

(After all, no one but you and Neil would fully know what happened after the fourth photo was taken.)

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A Deal’s a Deal

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Gold!Reader Word Count: 11.7k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, swearing, smoking, oral (f and m!receiving), dom/sub themes, degradation, virgin!reader, gun kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, Tommy is mean and she wants him to be … A/N: So this was absolutely filthy and I will not apologize. I am American, but I used to British spelling for (as many of) the words that I caught because sometimes I like it better and it also just fit more for the fic. Also, when I say “gun kink”, I mean gun kink. This is filthy shit. Who knows? I may consider writing a second… Enjoy.

Keen eyes were the first thing Tommy noticed as Aberama Gold walked onto the yard, a sly smirk set in place among blond hair and a suit likely just as expensive as his own. The way his eyes surveyed the yard, examined every inch he could without touching any of it, even stopping by Charlie for a word, made Tommy aware it was for more than just surveillance.

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Jenson Button Smut ~ mile-high club

jenson and unnamed fem character get it on thousands of miles in the air- except they’re not alone on their trip…

smut x reader 18+ - oral, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, established relationship.

Jenson’s jaw tightened as his eyes darted frantically around the cabin of the darkened private jet. At first it was just him and her, the two of them having the whole cabin to themselves. Then it was another one, two, three, four people that joined on their flight to Mexico where they’d celebrate some time off together. Jenson didn’t have it in him to deny them the transport- but he was wishing he had now.

Her mouth was wrapped around his hardened cock, stiff and rigid in between her glossy lips that drooled down his member. The only thing hiding this was the seats in front of them and the blanket covering Jenson’s lap and therefore her bobbing head. He felt the swirl of her tongue around the head of his cock before she pushed down, all the way down, reaching as far as the base of his cock.

Jenson squirmed, sweating hand gripping the armrest tighter as the other snagged at the blanket she hid under. It was erotic to say the least. He felt her gag and choke around his cock, he looked down, seeing the slight movement and only imagining how fucking sexy she looked spluttering around his dick. Jenson could’ve easily pulled back the covers, but he didn’t want to risk exposing her in case the others woke up. They strategically picked the seats at the back of the plane, with nobody sat beside them to ogle on them. But still, plenty of people still slept or at least rested, nose deep into their books, blissfully unaware of what was occurring only meters away.

With another gag came more movement and she began bobbing her head much faster, only imagining how good he was looking from above her. Jenson couldn’t control his jaw falling slack, he momentarily let his eyes fall shut and head fall back, a hand resting gently where her head was to guide the movements further. She was sucking the living shit out of him, and only when Jenson heard a noise up front did he snap out of his daze. “Fuck.” He swallowed under his breath, shifting subtly so he could grind himself deeper inside her. She felt his hand press on the back of her head, stuffing her down and holding her there against the base of his cock as he attempted to thrust quietly into her mouth. The sounds of her small mouth being fucked were slightly concealed by the high pressure of the plane and the blanket, but loud enough so Jenson could enjoy them.

Growing confident, her hand slipped down over the edge where his joggers were pulled down to, attempting to sneak a finger between his legs, down, down, down to a forbidden area he and her had only explored in the confinements of their home.

Jenson made a slight noise of discontent, pulling her off as she sat up besides him, hair dishevelled and mascara ever so slightly running. Jenson ran a thumb under her lips, catching the fallen spit before looking down to his cock with a pant. Her lipgloss left a glossy sheen over his cock and smudged on his shaven pubic bone. Jenson thought it was the hottest thing ever, his thumb continuing to smear her lip makeup further.

“Please fuck me.” She hushed into his ear, placing the blanket back over Jenson’s lap to protect his modesty. She was fully dressed, Jenson didn’t like that, her lips kissed at his jaw tenderly. He stuffed one hand under the blanket, fisting ever so gently at his cock as he almost became speechless at how dirty the moment was.

He let out a shaky breath, stuffing his hands down her shorts for a second time in the journey, pushing a finger in her with ease as she sat open legged on the seat. Fuck. She looked so hot, Jenson couldn’t contain it, he had to pull his hand away from himself or he’d bust too soon. She watched, head lolling back and lips parted as he looked over her, mesmerised by the beauty of his girlfriend. With his other hand free, he turned her cheek to face him, eloping in the deepest kiss he could muster, tongues swirling as they made out relentlessly in the chairs. “Can you be quiet?” Jenson asked, pushing his finger deeper inside her again. She gasped. “Yes.”

“C’mon then.” He nodded, indicating her to climb on top. He knew it was risky, but the smirk on her face indicated she didn’t care. Without even glancing around, she looked nowhere put him and pulled her shorts fully off, sliding down onto his large member. Jenson felt his mind go foggy as he felt the stretch of her wet cunt. No matter how many times he stretched her out she was still just as tight as the time before. Both their jaws fell slack, Jenson had to tense his jaw to avoid letting out a groan. When it was the two of them he wasn’t a man to stay quiet, but right now the thought of anybody finding her like this was worrying. Jenson wanted her all to himself, he wanted to preserve her modesty, protect her, she was his little dirty secret like this.

She bounced away, hair swinging in the loose ponytail she’d tied it back in, her hands gripping into his shoulders. Her eyes were focused on his, red in the face with brows furrowed. She knew he looked like he wouldn’t last long. Hendon’s eyes darted frantically behind her, slipping a hand over her smaller back as he lifted her up in the seat slightly. She didn’t stop moving, she was grinding against him, milking every inch of his cock as she felt the press of him deep inside her. Settled that nobody was paying attention, Jenson’s attention was back on her, pulling her in for a deep kiss to which he moaned against her lips, fucking his hips up inside her.

“People are gonna hear…” she giggled into his ear, leaving a nibble on his lobe as he couldn’t stop the thrusts he pushed inside of her. Jenson didn’t reply, he couldn’t, he panted into the front of her neck, hand finding her mouth as he attempted to move faster. The chair squeaked with each movement and they had to give that up quicker than it started. Jenson was never a man for sloppy quickies, he preferred taking his time, but fuck- with her he was at it like a rabbit. His head turned to the bathroom and he tapped at her thigh. “In the bathroom. C’mon.” The minute the door closed Jenson had her bent over the toilet, fighting against the gasps and moans that she desperatly wanted to release. His hips were pushing into her ass, squeezing and grabbing with each time the flesh would bounce.

“Fuck me, Jenson.” She whined, a borderline cry from below him. “Oh god.” He groaned, head falling back as he felt a familiar warmth fill his stomach. No. No. Too soon, he’d barely been inside her, he couldn’t cum yet. Instead, he fell to his knees, panting heavily and manhandling her into the position he wanted before pushing his face up to her core. His cock was throbbing, on the verge of release, if he touched himself he’d explode, and just the thought of tasting her like this drove him crazy. His mouth shoved deeper into her, tongue licking her clean, her clit, her hole, he ate her like he’d been starved. Fuck she tastes so good, the small sounds she was eliciting indicated he was doing a good job, and just with a little more she’d be- “right there! Fuck, right there!” Her volume increased, chest heaving as he desperatly pushed a finger inside of her. He didn’t care about them being loud, he seemed to forget that the bathroom on this thing wasn't sound proof real quick.

“Jenson! Jenson!” She gasped at his name, he wanted to smirk, proud he’d pushed her to this as he flicked at her clit, finger causing the sound of her wetness to echo in the small room they were in. “Yeah? Who’s making you feel this good, baby?” His confidence grew as she choked out, legs quivering. “You are!” The girl cried out with a prolonged moan, the sound of Jenson’s fingers squelching becoming louder and louder, his pace quickening as her whimpers turned into outright moans, somewhat concealed with the bite of her thumb in her mouth.

“Please! Please!” She borderline screeched, feeling the core tighten so hard she was shaking all over, crying out each time she’d exhale. “C’mon then. Cum for me baby, fuck, fuck. That’s it.” Jenson praised, the vibrations of his voice against her clit sending her over the edge as her juicer began squirting out of her, her orgasm taking over so much she couldn’t even push him out of the way in time.

Watching her orgasm was quite literally the hottest thing Jenson had ever seen, he wiped the back of his mouth clean, licking his lips and gaining once last taste of her before his fingers were replaced with the push of his cock once again. Through her orgasm, Jenson fucked her, she was feeling so much pleasure her eyes rolled back from overstimulation. His pants became heavy and louder, frantic as he fucked into her, repeating how “so fucking good” she was with each slap of his hips against her legs. Her legs grew weak, Jenson was the only thing supporting her now and as he reached his orgasm, he came crashing down on top of her with a satisfied groan, pumping his cum deep inside her.

“You’re so fucking good.” She cooed with a sigh, eyes closing as her forehead was pressed to the wall, chest rising and falling heavily. Jenson cursed behind her, coming around from his hot pleasure, letting out another manly moan with a trail of kisses left along her spine. Their bodies were flushed and hot to the touch, Jenson could’ve stayed there all day. “Babe.” She laughed, feeling him hugging her closer to him as he rolled his hips gently, milking the last of their pleasure. “Mmmh?” Jenson could barely respond, feeling lightheaded.

“You think anybody heard us?” She whispered. “No.” Jenson dumbly spoke. Little did they know on the outside of the door mouths were hung open, mortified from the sounds coming within the aeroplane bathroom…

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