I Want Star Wars Mutuals 😭😭😭

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER PT5 | MV1

an: AND WE'RE BACK!! WHO MISSED OUR FAVOURITE LITTLE FAMILY! can't wait to hear what you guys think of this part, i've loved being with them this week, this is a shorter chapter but i've got ideas for what might happen next! lmk if y'all wanna see anything in particular

wc: 3.2k

Theo was four when his parents welcomed his sister, and Max very nearly missed it, if not for Danny.

It had been a normal day at the garage, Max elbow-deep in an engine rebuild, grease staining his hands and his focus entirely on the task at hand. His phone, forgotten on the workbench, buzzed furiously with calls and messages. It wasn’t until Danny came barreling into the shop, panting like he’d just run a marathon, that Max looked up.

“Max! Man, what the hell are you doing?” Danny wheezed, clutching his knees.

Max straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. “Uh, working? What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re dying.”

Danny shot him a glare, pointing accusingly at the phone vibrating incessantly on the workbench. “Your wife is trying to call you! She’s in labour, man! She’s having the baby!”

Max froze, the rag slipping from his fingers. “What?”

“She’s at the hospital! Her aunt’s with her, but you need to move! Now!”

Max’s heart lurched into overdrive. Without a word, he sprinted to the workbench, grabbed his phone, and bolted out the door. “Danny, lock up!” he shouted over his shoulder as he jumped onto his bike.

Danny shook his head, muttering, “You owe me for this one, man.”

Max arrived at the hospital in record time, still in his grease-stained shirt and boots. His wife was mid-contraction when he burst into the room, panting, his face a mixture of guilt and relief.

“You’re here,” she said through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing slightly before softening at his frazzled appearance.

“I’m here,” he confirmed, rushing to her side and taking her hand. “I’m sorry, angel. My phone was on silent—”

“Save it,” she hissed, squeezing his hand so tightly he thought his bones might break. “You’re here now. Just don’t let go.”

Max didn’t. Not for a second. Hours later, they welcomed a healthy baby girl into the world. Max cried as he held her for the first time, the tiny bundle swaddled in pink resting against his chest. He looked at his wife, her hair damp and her face radiant despite her exhaustion.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

Their daughter, Mary-Ann, came home a few days later to a little house with a white picket fence that they had purchased not long before her birth. It was a modest place, but it was theirs, filled with laughter, love, and the chaos that only a toddler and a newborn could bring.

Theo was adjusting to his new role as a big brother with enthusiasm and curiosity. He followed his parents around, always asking to hold the baby or show her his toys. “She likes dinosaurs, right?” he would ask, clutching his favourite plastic stegosaurus.

“She loves dinosaurs,” Max assured him, grinning as he ruffled Theo’s hair.

Max had seamlessly embraced fatherhood, splitting his time between the garage and his family. He spent his evenings teaching Theo how to kick a football in the back garden and his nights rocking Mary-Ann to sleep.

The house, with its picket fence and flowerbeds lovingly tended by his wife, was the picture of the life Max had never imagined for himself. Yet, here he was, living it and loving every moment.

The day of Mary-Ann’s baptism dawned clear and bright, the kind of perfect day that made everything feel just a little more magical. Their little family was dressed in their Sunday best, Theo proudly wearing a bowtie that his mother had wrestled him into after much negotiation, and Mary-Ann bundled in a delicate white christening gown.

They arrived at the church to find her aunt, Danny, and a few close friends waiting for them, just as they had for Theo’s baptism years ago. Her aunt immediately swooped in to coo over Mary-Ann, her face soft with affection.

“She’s the spitting image of you at this age,” her aunt said warmly, brushing a soft curl away from Mary-Ann’s forehead.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t inherit my teenage rebellion,” she joked, glancing at Max, who chuckled.

The service itself was intimate and beautiful. As the pastor spoke, Theo sat on Max’s lap, squirming occasionally but staying quiet enough to earn whispered praise from both his parents. When it came time for the baptism, Max and his wife stood together at the front of the church, Theo holding onto his mother’s hand while Max held Mary-Ann close.

The pastor asked Theo if he wanted to say anything, and the boy puffed out his chest importantly, his tiny voice ringing out through the quiet chapel. “We’re all gonna be... um... part of Chris-tain-ity now!”

There was a soft chuckle from the congregation, but Theo frowned, frustrated by his own mispronunciation. His brows knitted together, and before anyone could stop him, he muttered under his breath, “Damn it.”

Max’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at his son. “Where did you hear that, Theo?”

Without hesitation, Theo turned and pointed to Danny, who froze mid-grin. “Uncle Daddy says it all the time.”

The entire room dissolved into laughter, but Max’s expression darkened. “His name is Uncle Danny. Not Daddy,” he corrected firmly. He handed Mary-Ann to his wife with exaggerated care and then fixed Danny with a dangerous look. “Uncle Danny also has five seconds to run.”

Danny’s eyes widened as he stammered, “Now, hold on a second—”

“Five.”

Danny bolted toward the back of the church, nearly tripping over a pew. Max didn’t miss a beat, stepping around the altar and charging after him. Theo laughed hysterically as he watched his father chase Danny out the door, and his mother shook her head, trying to stifle her own giggles.

When Max returned a few minutes later, slightly winded but victorious, Danny trailing behind him with a sheepish grin, the ceremony continued. The pastor, who had been struggling to keep a straight face, resumed his blessing, and little Mary-Ann was baptised without further incident.

As they left the church, Theo clung to Max’s hand, his face lit with excitement. “Daddy, can I chase Uncle Danny next time?”

Max ruffled his hair, smirking. “Not until you’re faster than me, kid.”

The two of them loved the life they had built together and sometimes when Max woke up he had to pinch himself. Just under half a decade ago he was eating dry hotdogs and drinking stale beers in a rundown trailer. Now he was helping his wife. His wife. In the kitchen with his two kids. Not one, two. Max was a father and everyday he woke up he couldn’t really believe. it.

The smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafted through the house as she stood at the counter, carefully icing a tray of perfectly golden cupcakes. Mary-Ann was nestled in her baby chair nearby, happily chewing on a soft toy, and the kitchen felt like the warm, beating heart of their home.

Out in the garage, Max had Theo standing on a small step stool by the workbench, his tiny hands gripping a wrench that was far too big for him. Max crouched beside him, guiding his hands as they worked on an old oil pan together. Theo giggled every time Max made a joke, his high-pitched laughter filling the air.

She wiped her hands on her apron, grabbed a glass of iced tea, and wandered outside to watch her boys. Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed her arms and smiled. “Teaching him how to change oil already? He’s four, Max.”

Max turned, his grease-streaked face lighting up when he saw her. “Hey, never too early to learn the basics, right, buddy?”

Theo nodded enthusiastically, smearing a streak of oil across his cheek as he waved the wrench triumphantly. “Mama, I’m helping!”

“I can see that,” she laughed, walking over and kissing the top of his messy hair.

As her gaze wandered around the garage, it landed on their old motorbike, tucked into the corner, its polished chrome gleaming even in the dim light. Her smile turned into a smirk, and she gestured toward it with her glass. “You know, you’re going to have to sell that death trap.”

Max froze mid-laugh, a look of horror crossing his face. “What? No way. We’ve got so many memories with that bike.”

“We have two kids now, Max.”

He frowned, standing up and crossing his arms. “But what if Theo wants it when he grows up?”

She raised an eyebrow, placing a hand on her hip. “He’s not stepping a foot on that thing.”

Max threw his hands up in exaggerated protest. “Oh, so when it’s us, it’s fine, but when it’s Theo, it’s a problem?”

She grinned, completely unbothered. “Yup.”

Before he could argue further, Danny strolled into the garage, a familiar plastic container in hand. “Alright, where’s the good stuff? I heard there’s baking going on in that kitchen, and you know the deal—Danny gets dibs.”

She laughed, pointing toward the house. “I’ll bring you some in a second. Just made a fresh batch.”

As Danny leaned against the workbench, Max glanced at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, Danny, you wanna buy that death trap over there?”

Danny raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bike. “How much are we talking?”

Max grinned. “Fifty bucks.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

Max smirked, holding out a hand. “You buy it, but I still get to use it whenever I want.”

Danny laughed, shaking his head but reaching out to shake Max’s hand anyway. “You got yourself a deal, man.”

Max turned to her with a triumphant grin, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. “See? It’s sold. Problem solved.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head but smiling as she headed back into the house. “You two are impossible.”

As she disappeared into the kitchen, Max knelt back down beside Theo, who looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Daddy, what’s a death trap?”

Max chuckled, ruffling his hair. “It’s something fun that your mom doesn’t like.”

From the kitchen, she called out, “I heard that!”

While she packed up some of her baked goods for Danny she too thought of how lucky she was. How all her prayers had been listened to. How she finally made it out of that house. How she was going to witness all her own kid’s life milestones with joy and love, not hatred and jealousy. 

The morning of Theo’s first day of school, the sunlight streamed through the windows as the family bustled to get ready. Theo stood proudly in his brand-new school uniform, his backpack almost as big as he was. Mary-Ann, her curls tied up in tiny pigtails, was toddling around in her nursery outfit, clutching her stuffed bunny like it was her lifeline.

Their mother, however, was a whirlwind of emotions. She double-checked Theo’s lunchbox for the third time and nearly forgot to zip Mary-Ann’s coat, all while blinking back tears.

“I can’t believe they’re both going,” she murmured, her voice trembling as she fixed Theo’s collar for the tenth time.

Max, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee, tried to hide his grin. “Sweetheart, they’re not moving out. It’s just school and nursery.”

She shot him a glare. “Don’t start with me today, Max.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Come here, buddy,” he said, crouching down to Theo’s level. “You ready for your big day?”

Theo nodded, his little chest puffed out. “I’m gonna make so many friends!”

Max ruffled his hair. “That’s my boy. And you,” he added, turning to Mary-Ann and lifting her into his arms. “You take care of those nursery teachers, alright? Show ‘em who’s boss.”

Mary-Ann giggled, planting a slobbery kiss on his cheek.

After a bittersweet drop-off that left her sniffling the entire car ride home, they returned to their now eerily quiet house. For the first time in years, it was just the two of them.

She walked into the living room, glanced at the toys still scattered around, and sighed heavily, sinking into the couch. “It’s too quiet.”

Max sat beside her, pulling her into his side. “I told you this morning was gonna hit you hard.”

She swatted his chest lightly. “It’s just… I’ve never been in the house without one of them here. It’s so empty.” She buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled. “What if they need me? What if Mary-Ann gets scared? Or Theo forgets his lunch?”

Max chuckled softly, rubbing her back. “Sweetheart, Theo’s got this. The kid’s practically running for class president. And Mary-Ann? She’s gonna have the nursery wrapped around her finger before lunch.”

She peeked at him from behind her hands, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You think so?”

“I know so.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple.

For a moment, she leaned into him, letting the comfort of his presence soothe her. But the silence of the house pressed in again, making her sigh.

Max pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know, we’ve got the house all to ourselves now.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Max…”

He grinned, running his fingers lightly up her arm. “I’m just saying. We’ve got a whole empty house and a few hours of peace.”

Despite herself, she laughed, smacking his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m practical,” he countered, leaning closer. “We might never get this chance again, angel. Think about it.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes, but her cheeks flushed. “I can’t believe you’re suggesting this right now.”

“I’m just trying to make the most of the quiet,” he teased, his hand slipping around her waist. “And besides, you’re way too stressed. Let me help you relax.”

She laughed despite herself, the weight of the morning momentarily forgotten as he kissed her neck, his stubble tickling her skin.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his lips, her heart finally feeling a little lighter.

And if she counted the exact weeks, that day was how she ended up pregnant with her third and final child.

Nine months later, their family grew again with the arrival of a boy they named Daniel. It was a tribute to Danny, their ever-reliable friend who had, over the years, become less like a buddy and more like an honorary member of the family.

Daniel came into the world with a loud cry and a shock of dark hair, immediately staking his place in the chaos of their household. Mary-Ann, now three and brimming with sass, had proudly declared herself the "boss" of her new baby brother. She often toddled around after him, dragging her favourite stuffed bunny in one hand and fussing over Daniel like a miniature mother.

Theo, at five, took his role as the eldest sibling very seriously. He loved showing off to Mary-Ann and anyone who’d listen about how he could hold his baby brother “without dropping him” (a feat Max closely supervised with a hovering hand). Theo also began peppering Max with endless questions about how cars worked, proudly announcing that he’d take over the garage one day.

The house was louder now, bursting with life and love in every corner. Daniel’s cries, Theo’s endless chatter, and Mary-Ann’s theatrical storytelling meant there was never a dull moment.

Max had learned to juggle bottles, bedtime stories, and car repairs, often collapsing into bed with her at the end of the day, marvelling at the whirlwind their life had become.

On quieter days—though “quiet” was a stretch—she’d watch Max play with the kids in their backyard. Mary-Ann would climb all over him, Theo would ask a million questions about the engine of a toy car, and baby Daniel would sit in his lap, chewing on whatever he could grab.

Sunday mornings had become a cherished tradition for her. Dressing Theo in his little button-up shirts, coaxing Mary-Ann into tights and her favourite frilly dress, and cradling baby Daniel in his soft onesie all felt like sacred rituals. She loved sharing her faith with her children, teaching them the hymns, and watching their faces light up during Sunday school.

But as much as she loved church, there was always a weight to bear. Her parents still attended the same church, their presence lingering like a spectre of the past. While most of the congregation had embraced her family with warmth, her parents had not. They’d sit on the far side of the pews, casting disapproving glares, and every so often, there were whispers—cutting, cruel words spread by those who believed her parents' version of events.

Still, she focused on her children. Theo beamed when he memorised Bible verses, Mary-Ann proudly showed off her colouring pages, and baby Daniel giggled at the choir. Sharing this part of her life with them felt like reclaiming something pure.

That afternoon, the church hosted a children’s Bible study, and she stayed to help with crafts and snacks while Max wrangled the baby. Daniel was perfectly content napping on his dad’s chest while Max sat in the corner, earning approving glances from the other parents for his patience and attentiveness.

As they packed up to leave, her father appeared, stepping out of the shadows like a storm cloud. His eyes were cold, his expression a mask of disdain. He walked past her, close enough that she could feel the venom in his whispered word:

"Whore."

The word cut through her like a knife. She froze, her heart pounding, the air sucked out of the room. Before she could even react, Max’s voice broke the moment.

"Angel, hold Daniel."

She turned to him, startled, as he handed her the baby with a calmness that belied the fire in his eyes. Then, without hesitation, Max spun on his heel and marched toward her father.

The sound of Max’s fist connecting with her father’s jaw was thunderous in the quiet room. Her father staggered back, clutching his face, as gasps rippled through the remaining churchgoers.

Max stood tall, his voice steady but cold. “Don’t you ever call my wife that again. You lost any right to speak to her the day you hurt her and abused your power. She’s a better person than you’ll ever be.”

Her father glared up at Max, but he didn’t dare rise. The weight of his disgrace was palpable as the onlookers murmured, their judgement no longer directed at her but at the man who had insulted his own daughter in a house of worship.

She stood rooted to the spot, Daniel cradled in her arms, her cheeks flushed. She could feel every eye in the room on her, but the only one that mattered was Max’s. He turned back to her, his expression softening, and strode toward her.

Max placed a gentle hand on her back, his touch grounding her. “Let’s go, angel,” he said quietly, his voice carrying none of the anger from moments before.

She nodded, unable to form words, and followed him out, their children close by. As they left the church, she glanced down at Theo and Mary-Ann, both wide-eyed but clutching each other’s hands tightly.

When they got to the car, she took a deep, shaky breath. “Max—”

He cut her off with a kiss to her temple. “Don’t. You don’t owe him anything. Not even your anger.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she leaned into him, Daniel squirming lightly in her arms. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Max tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. “You and these kids are my family. No one, not even him, gets to treat you like that.”

taglist: @sinofwriting @le-le-lea @vanicogh @iamred-iamyellow @rayaskoalaland @spookyanamurdock @iimplicitt @hellowgoodbye @maximuminfluencerstarlight @lottalove4evelyn @piceous21 @ladscarlett @leclerc13 @linnygirl09 @labelledejourr @cmleitora @fortunapre @felicityforyou @isagrace22 @bookishnerd1132 @formulaal @mastermindbaby @daddyslittlevillain @inmynotes63 @litllefox @hollstopia

Mrsvettelsgarden

Seb's wife has a garden, and doesn't quite understand instagram

mrsvettelsgarden

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username1 hands up if you didn't know this was sebs wife

username2 i'm so in love with their garden

username3 remember when she invited all of the drivers over and cooked for them?

username4 omg yes, she rly is the best wag

username5 mrs vettel pls teach us to garden

mrsvettelsgarden

liked by aussiegrit, and 56,798 others

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username6 omg guys seb built her a greenhouse

username7 mrs vettel what're you growing?

username8 get yourself a man who loves you enough to build you a green house

username9 it's so cute omg

mrsvettelsgarden

liked by jensonbutton, and 63,694 others

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username10 omg they look so good

username11 does anybody know why mrs vettel never writes a caption

username12 lmao she doesn't know how to write a caption

username13 seb pls teach your wife to write captions we want to know about her garden

username14 who is ur favourite wag and why is it mrs vettel?

mrsvettelsgarden

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username15 the garden looks so good girlie

username16 i want her to sell produce at a farmers market so i can buy it

username17 omg and if seb gets bees they can sell honey

mrsvettelsgarden caption: brought seb to the garden and he took some lovely pictures

username18 omg her attempts at a caption is so cute

username19 mrs vettel let me teach you instagram

I love reading so much 😭😭 uni made me forget how much I love stories

𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝 | oscar piastri × fem!reader

summary | you meet oscar by chance, and one race turns into something much more

warnings | fluff, mild swearing, romantic tension, kissing

word count | 1.1 k

You were never someone obsessed with racing drivers. You didn’t collect posters, you didn’t know the names of every circuit, and you never imagined yourself dreaming about gasoline and adrenaline. But it only took one race to change everything. For him to change everything. Oscar Piastri.

At first, it was casual. You were at a friend’s house watching the Monaco Grand Prix just to be polite. And there he was—calm, young, with a kind of presence that doesn’t scream for attention but is impossible to ignore.

You started following him. At first under the excuse of “trying to understand the sport.” Then it was interviews, then TikToks. Then came the secret Twitter account for updates, and finally your first live race. Silverstone.

The air smelled of burnt rubber and excitement. Your hands were trembling. You had won a McLaren giveaway for an exclusive meet & greet. You didn’t know what to say to him, how to act, whether to smile or freeze completely.

And then you saw him.

He saw you.

Oscar was talking to someone from the press when your eyes met. It wasn’t the look of a star at a fan. It was fleeting, curious... as if he too was wondering if he’d seen you before.

“First time in the paddock?” he asked when it was finally your turn. His Australian accent was even more charming in person.

You nodded. You swallowed hard. You weren’t sure whether to shake his hand or just stand there awkwardly. You somehow did both.

“I’m Oscar,” he said, like you didn’t already know exactly who he was.

“I know,” you replied, and instantly regretted how obvious it sounded.

He smiled. That kind of smile that shows up when someone wins a silent battle. And you noticed how his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than it should have.

“Are you enjoying the race?” he asked.

“Very much. Though… I still don’t fully understand the strategies. Sometimes I just hope you don’t crash.”

He laughed. A genuine, soft laugh.

“Well, that’s what I’m hoping for too.”

Before he said goodbye, he took your cap. And with a marker, he wrote on the brim:

"For the girl who made me laugh before the race. O.P."

He handed it back with a wink.

You went home with your heart racing faster than any car on the track.

You didn’t expect more. It was a moment. A fleeting second among thousands. But a month later, you got a notification:

@oscarpiastri followed you.

And then a message.

Oscar P.: “Would you like to come to Monza as a McLaren guest? I’ve got a spare pass…”

You nearly dropped your phone. You hesitated. Was it real? Was it a mistake?

But you went. Of course you went.

Monza, Italy.

The speed of the cars didn’t compare to the speed of your heart as you stepped into the McLaren hospitality. And there he was, dressed in team gear, relaxed, as if he’d been waiting for you.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said, adjusting his earpiece.

“I thought it was a joke,” you admitted, shrugging.

He smiled. This time, slower. More… interested?

“What do you think now?”

“Now I’m worried I might be enjoying this more than I should.”

There was a silence that hung between you, but it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Like he felt something too, something neither of you could quite name.

The race was a whirlwind. You watched him drive, watched him gain positions, watched him so far away and yet somehow so close.

And at the end, when he returned to the hospitality still sweaty from the race and buzzing with adrenaline, the first thing he did was look for you.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“A lot. Although…” you hesitated. “I think what I liked the most was seeing you happy.”

Oscar blinked. Then looked down, almost like he was trying to hide something.

“Want to go for a walk tonight?” he asked. “No F1. Just you and me. Italian pizza and a city that doesn’t sleep.”

You felt like the ground was disappearing under your feet.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I’d love to.”

That night.

Monza under the lights was magical, but walking beside him made it feel even more surreal. You talked about everything and nothing. About what he liked to cook when he wasn’t racing. About your favorite books. About how strange it is to have thousands of people watching you, but still feel alone.

“Sometimes I feel like no one really knows me,” he confessed, sitting beside you on a bench. “Everyone sees me as the driver. The quiet guy. But they don’t know who I am when the helmet comes off.”

You looked at him. Not like a fan. Not like someone who idolized him from a screen. You looked at him like someone who had felt that too—the weight of pretending to be okay.

“I want to know you,” you said, almost without thinking.

Oscar looked at you. This time, with no walls. No filters.

He leaned in.

And when his lips brushed yours, there were no fireworks. There was peace. There was that feeling of everything falling into place.

“I don’t care if this is weird,” he murmured. “But with you, for the first time in a long time… I don’t feel alone.”

He kissed you again. Slow. Gentle. And you knew no podium would ever compare to that moment.

Days later…

The relationship became the perfect blend of secret and sincerity. You didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t need to. There were glances exchanged at circuits. Messages at midnight. Calls between training sessions. And even though you weren’t a driver, every time you were with him, it felt like you were racing toward something worth it.

One night, before another big race, he wrapped his arms around you from behind as you stared at the lights of the paddock.

“What are we?” you asked softly.

Oscar rested his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re my escape. My calm. And if you want… we can be something more.”

“Something like what?”

“Like what no one finds on a racetrack. What you don’t win with speed, but with time.”

You turned around, looked at him. And for the first time, without fear, you said:

“Then let’s take that time. But promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“That when you finish a race… the first thing you’ll do is look for me in the crowd.”

Oscar smiled. He kissed your forehead.

“Always.”

Tender Love & Care | Sebastian Vettel/reader

Set during and after the 2009 Australian gp but he has his longer, curly hair bc fuck his buzz cut (/j ily sebby but your curls are to die for)

Warnings: 18+, hair pulling, dry humping, kinda sub!seb?, unprotected sex

Word count: 1k

———————————————————————

Having still not fully processed what had happened, you watched the screen in horror as Seb continues, left tyre hanging on, balancing on top of his car.

Angry and exasperated sighs erupt around you in the Red Bull garage. A lap later, Sebastian’s car eventually comes to a stop, and you let out a sigh of relief, glad he’d be returning soon.

“I’m an idiot, I’m sorry, I’m very sorry.”

You hear the crackled voice through the team’s radio and your heart breaks.

He finally pulls into the garage, and is immediately overwhelmed by angry comments. You rush to hug him tightly, feeling him shake slightly in your arms. He mumbled something incoherent into your chest as your hand gently circled his back.

After remaining like that for a few minutes, you decided to let the team know you were taking him home, and to contact him tomorrow to debrief, leading him to your rental car.

As you walked away you heard talks of an investigation and penalties, and knew you had to take extra good care of your poor German.

———

The drive to your hotel was silent, interrupted only by the occasional sniffle from Seb. One hand on the wheel, you reached out with your other to pet his thigh, knowing the physical touch would comfort him.

Finally reaching your room, you immediately went to run a bath for him, while he sat slumped over the edge of the bed. Your heart broke seeing him hug his small frame, letting out shaky breaths.

Gently stripping him, you guide him slowly to the warm bath, grabbing the shampoo to tenderly massage it through his blond curls. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and the tension started to dissipate out of his body.

Taking a sponge from the side, you washed him, kneading the knots out of his shoulders and wiping the tear stains away.

Seb looked at you through watery blue eyes and spoke for the first time since you’d held him, asking you to join him.

Stripping off your clothes, you felt his gaze on your body, his bitten, swollen lips parted slightly. You felt your face burn at the attention.

Signalling for him to move, you climbed in behind him, placing his head on your shoulder and your arms on his stomach, hands entwined with his.

He tried to speak again, but you shushed him, peppering kisses along his neck and shoulders, making him shiver.

“It’s okay baby, you don’t need to talk, let me take care of you.”

You both lay there until the water turned cold. Throwing a robe on, you dried your hair, watching Seb in the mirror, towelling his curls.

You turn around, taking the towel from him and ruffling his messy hair. “You’re so cute, Sebby”, you giggle as he pouted at you.

Leading him to the bedroom, you placed him gently at the foot of the bed then perched on the edge. He laid his head on your lap, staring up at you with sad, doe eyes.

“It’s all my fault.” He said, nuzzling his head in your hand, as you gripped his hair once more, pulling gently.

He moaned, kissing along your thighs, and you pulled harder. He bucked his hips and looked at you with widening pupils.

“Are you going to be good for me, baby?” You asked, running your hands down his chest, fingers grazing his happy trail.

“Yes, please.” He whined, taking your hands and dragging them lower, brushing them against his hardening cock.

“Now, Sebby, you have to earn it.” you tutted, pulling him to straddle your lap. “Are you going to show me how much you need it?”

He kissed you desperately, licking into your mouth, gripping your waist. You broke the kiss to finally breathe, gazing into his hooded eyes.

Seb started grinding against your thigh, seeking his release. You could tell he was close already, his precum wetting his stomach, so you grabbed his hips, stilling him. He mewled, eyes glassy with tears of desperation.

“Please,” he whimpered, moving a hand to your pussy “let me touch you.”

He gathered your wetness on his fingers, sliding them up to lazily circle your clit, smiling cheekily at your soft gasps.

Moving his head down, he starts lapping the wetness that had dripped down your thighs, all the way up to your aching hole.

“Sebby- need you inside me!” You moan, watching his eyes light up.

You move further up the bed and lay your head on the pillow, the blond following with lust-filled eyes.

He kisses you again, and you taste yourself on him. He kneads your breasts before holding your hips and lining himself up. Your body twitches slightly as his dick nudges your sensitive clit before the head disappears inside you.

Moving down to your nipples he alternates between sucking and flicking, as he slowly bottoms out.

He stays there while you adjust, kissing hickeys down your neck and breasts, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hide them.

Finally, he pulls out steadily, not wanting to hurt you, until only his tip was inside you.

“You’re so perfect for me, liebling, so beautiful.” He said, gazing down at you lovingly. Your blush deepened at the praise, and you pulled him in for another kiss.

Pulling his hair caused his hips to jut into you suddenly, making you break the kiss to gasp. Seb smirked in satisfaction at your reaction, as he started thrusting deep into you at a steady pace.

Evidently he was more excited than you first thought, as not long after, his thrusts started to become more irregular. You could feel your orgasm building too, as Seb moved his hand back to your clit, matching his pace.

“Come for me, schatzi.” He whispered, his accent thicker.

You came, walls tightening around him, making him groan into your neck. He followed not long after, filling you full of his warm cum.

He pulled out slowly, resting his head on your chest while you rubbed his back and played with his curls.

“Sebby, dear, are you okay?”

He nodded lazily, not wanting to move. “I love you.” He mumbled into your neck. “I’m sorry.” He added quietly, still ashamed from the DNF.

“Baby, you don’t need to be sorry, it was an accident. I love you, sweetheart.” You replied, kissing his curls and holding him closer, feeling him slowly drift off.

this is so me

guys I am in a yapping kinda mood 😩

PLEASE send in asks or like message me or something I want to YAP

I have literally no friends (true) interested in f1 so like someone please 🙏

que alguien escriba un fic en el que lando esta celoso y lo va a encarar al club y se termina chapando a franco

📍​méxico, october 2024

White Noise | MV1

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: [Soulmate AU] In a world where soulmate marks promise connection, one person’s endless wait collides with another’s relentless pursuit of a life beyond destiny.

Warning(s): Mild Language, angst, hurt/comfort for like a small bit, fluff, for like tiny moment. Basically, they finally talk. Alternating povs.

Part 4 ~Series Masterlist~

"I've been the archer, I've been the prey, Screaming, who could ever leave me, darling?....But who could stay?"

Y/N's heart was racing, pounding in her chest like a drum, each beat reverberating through her entire body.

The moment she had stepped into the room, she felt it—the unmistakable pull, the presence of him. Her soul’s reaction was instantaneous, a thrumming sensation deep within her, filling the hollow space that had plagued her for as long as she could remember.

The pulse, the ringing in her ears, it was all him.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not now. Not like this.

She had always thought, somehow, that she would be prepared for this moment, where she would have to finally confront him, but standing in the midst of a crowded party, the weight of everything crashing down on her, she wasn’t ready.

The memories of Bahrain flooded her mind—the first time she had felt it, the moment her heart had surged with desperation. But it had been too much.

She had run then, and now, she was running again.

Her feet carried her forward without her consent, an instinct she couldn’t stop. She had made it to the hallway, the coolness of the air helping to clear her head, but she knew, deep down, that he was following.

She could hear his footsteps, his voice rising above the noise of the party.

"Wait!"

His shout cut through her thoughts, piercing the air with urgency. His voice—his tone—was enough to make her stumble, her heart skipping, the sound of it thrumming in her chest, drowning everything else out.

"Stop, please."

The pleading, desperate tone sent a sharp tremor through her. She couldn’t explain why, but it was like an invisible thread pulling at her, urging her to turn around.

Her body seemed to act on its own, and before she could think, she was facing him, standing there in the hallway, his figure illuminated by the soft lights behind him.

Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze met his. His eyes were wide, searching—no, desperate, as he took a step closer, his presence magnetic, impossible to ignore.

He was right there. So close. Yet, the distance between them felt like an entire universe.

"Please, just let me talk to you. Once. Please."

The sincerity in his voice was enough to steal the air from her lungs.

She had tried so hard to block out the pull, the ache deep inside of her, but hearing that one word—please—it undid everything.

It made her pause, made her stand still. It was as though the universe had stopped just for this moment, just for him to speak those words, those two simple syllables that somehow held the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

For a moment, she couldn’t find her voice. The bond, the overwhelming pull of their connection, was like a storm inside her.

She could feel her pulse in every part of her body, an unbearable rhythm that matched the frantic thrum of her thoughts.

Why is this happening now?

The question spun in her mind, but she didn’t have the answers. She didn’t want to have the answers. Not yet. Not when she had worked so hard to push this all away.

But as his eyes searched hers, she realized there was no denying it anymore. She couldn’t pretend anymore.

He was here, in front of her, and that was something she had to face.

This isn’t a game, her mind whispered to her. This is real.

She swallowed, trying to steady her breath, but her heart wouldn’t let her. The sound of it, so loud, so clear in her ears, only seemed to grow louder the longer she stood there, staring at him.

He took a cautious step forward, as though unsure whether to approach or wait for her permission.

Y/N could see the hesitation in his posture, the way his muscles were tense, ready to react to whatever she might do next.

She nodded almost imperceptibly, a gesture that was barely there but enough to give him the signal.

Slowly, she turned and began walking down the hallway, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors.

She heard his footsteps behind her, closer now, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in her chest.

She wasn’t sure if it was because of the bond or the weight of the moment, but it felt as though the air around her was thickening, pressing down on her, making it harder to breathe.

The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, but Y/N didn’t stop walking until she reached a door at the far end, a small storage room that had been used to store event supplies. It was tucked away from the bustling party, isolated, quiet—perfect for what needed to happen next.

Without looking back, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, boxes and supplies stacked haphazardly against the walls. The space smelled faintly of cardboard and dust, but Y/N didn’t care. She needed this isolation. She needed to clear her head, even if just for a moment.

The door clicked shut behind her, and she finally turned to face him.

Max stood just inside the doorway, his hand on the handle as if he was still unsure whether to cross the threshold completely. His expression was a mix of determination and uncertainty, and she could feel the weight of his gaze on her, like it was pulling at her from all directions.

He stepped forward then, his presence filling the small space between them.

Her eyes flickered to him, then quickly down to the floor. She couldn’t meet his gaze for too long, not yet. Not when she was still so terrified of what this meant.

Max didn’t speak right away. He just stood there, close but still holding back, waiting for her to say something, to give him some sort of sign that she was ready to talk.

But all she could do was breathe—deep, steadying breaths, trying to calm herself down. The pulse in her chest was almost deafening. She knew that she had to speak, there was no turning back now.

But still, she hesitated.

Max shifted on his feet, the tension in his posture thick, as if he was about to break, but he held himself together—barely. His fingers were twitching at his sides, and he felt the hum deep in his chest, a gnawing ache that wouldn’t subside.

He cleared his throat, the sound breaking the heavy silence like a crack in a wall. "Max," he said, his voice rough, but it wasn’t the authoritative tone he used in the paddock, or the smooth calm of someone used to dealing with media.

This was Max—vulnerable, unsure. The kind of Max who didn’t often show himself.

"Max Verstappen," he added, as though his name should mean something, though he already knew it wouldn’t. Not with the way she ran from him.

Y/N didn’t react, not right away. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, her arms crossed over her chest, a protective shield she had built up over the years and didn’t dare lower. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she did.

Max couldn’t help himself; he took a step closer, the pull drawing him forward as though the space between them was shrinking. But she didn’t move, her gaze still locked downward, her posture as stiff as steel.

"I don’t bite," he added with a half-smile, though it was strained, the humor barely there. He tried to make light of it, but it wasn’t working. The tension was too thick, the pulse between them too strong, too loud in his ears.

She remained silent, the words staying on the tip of her tongue. Why was he still here? Why couldn’t he leave her be?

He pressed on, the silence growing unbearable. His frustration was creeping in, and he didn’t bother hiding it. "You’re not gonna run again, are you? I don’t know what the hell happened back there, but this..." He gestured between them, his hands opening slightly, his frustration flaring.

"This can’t be a mistake. I felt it, and I know you did too." His words came out blunt, as direct as he could manage, with no filters, no hesitation.

Y/N’s lips pressed together, and she took in a slow breath, but the words didn’t come. She wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to say anything.

She could feel the pulsing, the hum, the ache in her bones, her chest, her heart. It was all him. But how could she acknowledge it?

"Why did you run?" Max’s voice cracked just slightly as he asked, the vulnerability that he rarely showed slipping through.

He didn’t wait for an answer, though. He knew. He felt it.

"You think I’m just some guy in a hotel room, shaking hands with sponsors, a guy who just races for a living, and that’s all I am? You think that’s all I can be?" His voice softened, but the frustration was still there, curling around his words like smoke. "I don’t even know your name, but I can’t... I can’t just let you run away again."

Y/N’s breath hitched at his words. There was a bite in his voice now, a quiet hurt that she couldn’t ignore. It stung, sharp and unexpected.

Max took another step, his eyes locking on hers, desperate for something—anything—that would help him understand this.

But all he found was cold, detached silence. It was like hitting a wall, and yet, somehow, that wall was cracking, just a little, with each second that passed. He could feel it in his chest, in the air between them.

"Are you just going to stay silent?" he asked, frustration giving way to a tinge of sadness.

"Is that how you’re going to play this? Because I can’t stand it. I want us to talk, to figure this out, I've waited so long. I—" He stopped, realizing how much he was saying, how exposed he had become. He had never been this open with anyone. Not like this.

Y/N’s gaze flicked up then, just briefly, her eyes meeting his. The connection between them flickered, a brief, sharp spark that ignited everything inside him. She was silent, but in her eyes, he saw something.

Fear. Anger. And beneath that, a thread of longing—a recognition.

“I’m not going to run,” she finally said, her voice firm, but with a quiver beneath the surface. Her words were clipped, like they were hard to get out, like they didn’t fit the situation.

She had never been good at this. At feeling things, at letting herself feel things that weren’t controlled. But here she was. Here.

Max’s expression softened, but only just. He could see through her, even if she tried to hide it. He could see the cracks in her facade, the way she was breaking just a little with every word, every silence.

“Then what are you going to do?” he asked, almost desperate now. He stepped closer again, close enough that the hum between them seemed to pulse with an intensity that made his heart race.

He could feel the gravity between them, the pull, the ache. And it was growing. She was so close—so close but still, so far.

She met his gaze fully now, the stone wall that she’d built around herself finally starting to crumble, piece by piece. The look in her eyes was something Max had never seen before—not in the paddock, not in the chaos of the races, not in the heat of victory. This was something else.

______________________________

Max’s eyes were still on her, searching for something, maybe an answer that would make sense of all the chaos inside her, but there was no easy way to explain this. No way to simplify what had become a tangled mess of emotions and realities.

She couldn't make this easy for him. She knew that, deep down. But it didn’t make the truth any less painful.

"I know you, Max," she started, her voice quiet but steady, though every word felt like it was scraping against her throat. "I know what you’ve worked for. The way people look at you, the expectations, the pressure."

Her chest tightened with the weight of her thoughts, and she couldn’t look away from him, even though she wanted to. “You’ve been built for this life. Racing, winning, being the best. You’ve been molded for the world you live in, Max. And you’ve made it, you’ve fucking made it. I see that. I admire it. I admire you."

She closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing the lump that had lodged in her throat, feeling the bitter taste of regret already creeping in. "But you don’t understand. I can’t be a part of it. Not with you."

Max flinched slightly, and she could see the hurt flash across his face. She wasn’t trying to hurt him, but it was inevitable. There was no way around it. Her words cut deeper than she intended.

"I know the Max Verstappen the world sees.” She swallowed, her throat tight. “But I don’t know you. Not the man standing in front of me. Not the man who is supposed to be my soulmate.”

Max inhaled sharply, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for her. But he didn’t. Not yet.

“I waited for you too, you know?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cracked under the weight of the words. “For years, I waited. At first, it was hope. Every birthday, every trip, every new place—I looked for you. I searched for something, anything, that could mean you were close. And then… hope turned into anger. Because you weren’t there. And I was supposed to be okay with that?” She shook her head. “I was supposed to live my life knowing the person meant for me was out there but nowhere near me?”

Max’s jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching.

“And then the anger faded too. And all that was left was... indifference.” She met his gaze then, unwavering.

“Because I had to move on. I had to build something for myself. I had to be enough for myself. For me”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “And I did it. I built a life, Max. A life that didn’t need a soulmate to feel complete. A life that I carved out with my own two hands, while people pitied me for never finding you. While they whispered that I would never be whole.” Her voice hardened.

“But I proved them wrong. I am whole. I have my business. My work. A life that makes sense, a life that I control.”

Her hands trembled again, and this time she didn’t bother hiding them. She looked at him, at the storm in his eyes, at the way his lips pressed into a thin line, at the way he was fighting—really fighting—not to interrupt her.

“And now, suddenly, you’re here.” Her voice was raw now, like it had been scraped against glass. “Just when I finally have a grasp on everything, you appear and you expect me to throw all of it away? Just because the fucking universe says we’re meant to be?”

Max flinched, just barely.

“How do you know we’ll make it, Max?” She demanded. “You race. I work. You live in the spotlight, I built my life in the shadows. You chase adrenaline, I crave steadiness. Our lives are nothing alike.” She exhaled, her breath shaky. “And then there’s the fans. The media. The circus that follows you wherever you go. How am I supposed to handle that? How do we fit, Max? How can we?”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

She licked her lips, voice quieter now. “I’ve spent my whole life proving that I don’t need another person to be whole. That I don’t need someone to complete me. And now you’re asking me to risk all of that… for the idea of you?”

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. “How am I supposed to do that?”

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy and unrelenting. She could see it in his face—the hurt, the frustration, the determination.

____________________________

Max let the silence stretch, let her words settle deep in his bones. He felt each one like a weight pressing against his ribs—sharp, heavy, relentless. But he didn’t move, didn’t waver.

Because she was here. Because she hadn’t run.

And because she was wrong.

His voice, when it came, was quiet but steady. “You say you don’t know me. And you don’t.” His gaze was unwavering. “But I don’t know you either.”

Her breath caught.

“And yet,” Max continued, taking a slow step closer, “I do.”

She tensed, but she didn’t retreat.

“I know how you walked into that room, completely composed, completely in control—until you saw me. I know the exact second you felt it, the moment the ground tilted under your feet, the way your eyes widened, just a fraction, before you turned and.. left.” His tone was measured, deliberate. “I know you’re standing here right now because you want to be, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Her fingers twitched by her sides, barely perceptible.

Max took a step forward, slow, measured, like approaching something fragile. “You talk about waiting for me, about searching for me, about how hope turned into anger, then nothing at all.” His voice hardened. “Do you think I don’t understand that? Do you think I didn’t feel the same fucking thing?”

She inhaled sharply.

“I grew up knowing I had someone out there. Someone I was supposed to find. And I hated it.” His jaw tensed. “Because how the hell was I supposed to look for someone when my entire life was planned before I could even fucking walk?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “I didn’t have time to search, Y/N. I didn’t have the luxury. I had racing. I had pressure. I had expectations so heavy they nearly crushed me before I was old enough to understand them. I was too busy proving I deserved to be where I was.” His voice turned rough, honest. “And I did it alone.”

“You say I wasn’t there for any of it.” His voice lowered.

“Neither were you.”

She flinched and Max felt his heart break a little.

His tone softened. “You don’t know if we’re meant to be together, and you know what? Maybe we’re not.” He shrugged.

“Maybe we’ll fucking hate each other. Maybe you’ll get sick of me in a month, and I’ll drive you insane. But we don’t know that.” He exhaled. “What we do know is that this is real. It's in our bones, inked on our fucking skin, in the way our hearts have been beating for years, this bond—this is real.”

Silence.

Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, wanted to deny it, but no words came out.

Max studied her, eyes searching. “You think this is going to destroy the life you built.” A beat of silence. “Maybe it will.”

Her head snapped up, eyes flashing, but he wasn’t done.

“Or maybe it’ll make it better.” His voice was quiet, but sure. “Maybe you’ll finally let yourself have something that isn’t just work, something that isn’t just proving yourself over and over again to people who don’t matter."

He held her gaze, unwavering. "The truth is, no one knows how this will work. There’s no plan for this. No blueprint. But that doesn’t mean we walk away.”

Her eyes burned into his, searching, dissecting.

Max took a final step closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. “That doesn't mean we have to give up our chance—our realest fucking chance to be happy, I'm not asking you to throw your life away for me” He shook his head. “I want you to let me be part of it.”

Something cracked in her gaze.

________________________

The tear catches her by surprise.

She feels it before she registers it, the slow slide of warmth trailing down her cheek, an undeniable crack in the armor she had spent years perfecting.

And then—Max is there.

His hand moves before he thinks, his thumb brushing against her skin, wiping it away. The touch is featherlight, a whisper of warmth against her cheek—

And the bond pulses.

Loud. Violent. Consuming.

A shockwave of something unseen, something ancient, something theirs rips through them, and the force of it takes them both down.

Y/N stumbles, her knees buckling, but she never hits the floor.

Max is there—solid, unyielding, his reflexes faster than thought.

His arms catch her, cradle her, steady her as they both collapse onto the cold, dusty floor of the storage room.

And then—silence.

It isn’t tense. It isn’t heavy. It just is.

Her head rests against his chest, the rapid beat of his heart a perfect mirror to her own. His arms are around her, firm but careful, holding her close in a way that feels like he’s meant to.

And the bond—the bond hums.

Not a pulse, not a roar, just a steady, gentle hum. A soundless lullaby. A sigh of relief.

Y/N exhales, her breath ghosting over his suit, and for the first time in her life, she feels content. She doesn’t think. She doesn’t fight it.

She just is.

Her body curls instinctively into his, her forehead pressing against his chest, her fingers gripping lightly at his jacket as she burrows closer. It’s unconscious, inevitable. A pull she can’t deny.

Max feels it too.

His hold tightens, his grip shifting just slightly as he tucks her in closer. His heartbeat steadies, aligning with hers. His breath slows. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move—just holds her, lets her be held.

And in that moment, on the cold, dirty floor of some forgotten storage room, Max Verstappen knows exactly what paradise feels like.

Then—

The illusion shatters.

Y/N’s eyes snap open. The warmth turns to ice in an instant, her body going rigid against his.

Max feels the shift the moment it happens. The way she stiffens, the way her breath hitches like she’s just remembered something terrible.

And then—she pulls away.

Like she can’t get away fast enough.

Max feels it like a physical blow.

She scrambles to her feet, her movements sharp, almost frantic, as she wrangles her hands together, fingers twisting against each other—a nervous tic, he realizes. An anxiety response.

He gets up slower, brushing dust from his sleeves, forcing his breath to stay even, forcing himself to stay.

Silence stretches between them.

This time, it isn’t peaceful.

This time, it’s awkward. Tense. Something lingering between them, something neither of them can name, something neither of them can face.

Y/N is the first to break it.

Her voice is quiet, but firm. “Time, Max.”

A pause.

“I need time.”

And then she turns, and walks away.

Max is left standing there.

The hum in his chest—so loud, so certain just moments ago—fades into something hollow, something aching.

She’s gone.

The warmth of her body, the perfect way she fit against him, the peace he had never known—ripped away as if it had never been real.

He lets out a breath, slow and shaky, like he’s trying to steady himself on the edge of something devastating.

He had her.

For a second, for a fleeting, impossible moment, Max Verstappen had everything.

And now—

Now, he has nothing.

________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this part, please leave a like a comment and a reblog!

Well, well, well, what do you think is going to happen next? This took out alot from me. I'm the type of woman who feels that I don't need a man to complete me. And yet, I yearn for love so much, that it hurts. So maybe I'm pouring a bit of myself into this. I can only hope that you all like it.

Jules♡

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✦ Kim Young Jo y Keonhee

Extencion: 2.2k 

Tags: enemies to lovers, students, sexual tension, no-smut, spit kink

Kim Young Jo fue popular desde que tenía memoria, su belleza era motivo de comentarios halagadores que levantaran su ego. Su pelo castaño claro, la sonrisa engreída y su increíble talento para ser bueno en todo, eran las razones principales por las que en su propia escuela tuviera un club de fans. Kim Young Jo es una persona amada.

—Me gusta otra persona—su novia de hace más de cuatro meses estaba terminando con él, por alguien más.

—¿Eh? ¿Estás segura?—la voz de Kim Young Jo tembló—¿Estás segura de que no estás terminando conmigo por otra cosa? ¿Por qué soy engreído? ¿Quizás no soportas que sea más lindo que tú?

—Kim Young Jo… Realmente eres lo peor—río Jinhwa, su ahora expareja—Pero no, estoy segura. Hay alguien que tiene mi atención.

Este era un tipo de crisis que Kim Young Jo no conocía. No le importaba su relación con Jinhwa, aceptó tener una relación porque no era celosa y casi no tenía tiempo para ambos, ya que se la pasaba estudiando. Sin embargo, esta ruptura y la razón detrás, lo dejaba ansioso. ¿Habría alguien más hermoso que él? Imposible.

—¿Puedo saber por quién me estás dejando?

—Lee Keon Hee, del equipo de vóley.

En cuanto Jinhwa se fue, ese nombre le quedó resonando en la cabeza, pero su ego en las nubes le dijo que solo era una chica equivocada. Que no había nadie mejor que él. Así que por ahora solo se preocuparía de cómo lidiar con las personas que lo invitaran a salir ahora que estaba soltero, solo espera que las bocas tardaran de hablar sobre ello.

Camino por los pasillos de vuelta a sus clases, donde se encontró con su fiel amigo, Seoho. Le contó sobre lo sucedido con Jinhwa, mencionando vagamente al chico.

—Sí, Lee Keon Hee se está haciendo popular—agregó Seoho dándole una mirada rápida a su amigo—Ya tiene un club de fans con más de dos mil seguidores.

El castaño casi se atraganta con el agua que estaba tomando, club de fans… ya tenía un club de fans. Él tardó casi tres años en que se formara un buen grupo de fans y, sin embargo, llegaba este chico de la nada y ya andaba armando revuelto por todas partes. Que molesto. Respiro profundo, se dispuso a no prestarle atención, que lo que nacía rápido también moría rápido.

O eso pensó, los días pasaron, y no solo los alumnos hablaban de Lee Keon Hee, los profesores, quienes siempre fueron su máquina de adulaciones, solo le decían palabras dulces para compararlos entre sí. Pronto también se hizo público la separación de la pareja, y en las páginas de confesiones de la escuela hablaban de que Jinhwa lo había engañado con Lee Keon Hee. Las páginas de fans de ambos chicos se pusieron a la defensiva, defendiendo y atacando al otro. Dentro y fuera de la escuela, la tensión creció entre dos chicos que ni siquiera se conocían.

Kim Young Jo siempre fue popular, acostumbrado, se encontraba. Sin embargo, cuando ya no pudo caminar por los pasillos de la escuela sin que diez personas le preguntaran sobre Lee Keon Hee, empezó a hartarse.

Terminaría con la estrella naciente, Lee Keon Hee.

✦

Esto era terrible, terrible. Kim Young Jo se encontraba escondido en las gradas del gimnasio, el equipo de vóley estaba practicando y las pelotas volando por todas partes ya lo estaban mareando, poco acostumbrado a los deportes. Sabía que no era el único espiándolo, un grupo de chicas lindas susurraban entre sí mirando al joven.

Lee Keon Hee era guapo, no tan guapo como él, pero tenía su propia belleza. El rubio lo resaltaba, su sonrisa era agradable y sin duda tenía una buena estructura corporal. Le ardía la sangre, tenía tantos celos que el calor lo inundaba, deseaba ocultar a ese chico.

La clase terminó con ruidos jadeantes, las chicas se fueron avergonzadas y Kim Young Jo decidió que iba a enfrentar a ese descarado. Salió de su escondite apretando los labios, y ni siquiera se dio cuenta de que estaba cegado por la furia hasta que casi cae rodando por los escalones, tuvo la suerte de poder disimularlo cuando el equipo de vóley se dio la vuelta ante el ruido seco.

—¿Oh? ¿Ese no es Kim Young Jo?

—¿Eh? ¡Sí, es Kim Young Jo-sunbaenim!

Los ojos que no habían mirado hacia atrás, al escuchar su nombre, el cuerpo del bastardo se dio la vuelta con desespero. Kim Young Jo no lo entendía, no entendía la mirada curiosa de ese chico, le molestaba.

—¡Y-a, Lee Keon Hee, bastardo!—el castaño se levantó tambaleándose y enfrentando a la estrella naciente que le robaba su popularidad. Kim Young Jo se acercó a zancadas encarando al chico, que solo era unos centímetros más grande que él—¿Quien te crees que eres?

Lee Keon Hee miró a sus compañeros, y con una sonrisa les dijo que sigan, que él los alcanzaría en un momento. Los chicos se fueron entre murmullos, y cuando los ojos de Lee Keon Hee volvieron a posarse en él, tembló. No podía dejarse apretar de esa manera.

—¿Quién crees que eres para robarte a mi novia?—verbalizo el castaño tocando con su dedo índice el pecho del contrario.

Maldita sea, se nota que va al gimnasio.

Lee Keon Hee ladeo la cabeza con una sonrisa engreída, muy diferente a las sonrisas que dio cuando estaban las chicas y sus compañeros de equipo. Así que estaba sacando su verdadera actitud.

—No pensé que hyung fuera tan tonto—Kim Young Jo se sorprendió cuando el rubio le toco la barbilla acercando sus caras, algo irritante en su abdomen hizo que quisiera arrancarle el pelo rubio cenizo; lo insultaba, se atrevía a tocarle su hermosa cara y encima siendo menor que él, ni siquiera espero a que hiciera un movimiento más, simplemente escupió en el rostro del jugador para luego sonreír. Lee Keon Hee se alejó con repugnancia—Ni que le gustara escupir a la gente.

—Eso es especial para ti, maldito, estúpido—Kim Young Jo peinando sus flecos salidos de lugar se acercó al menor que se limpiaba con la manga de su ropa—Aléjate de Jinhwa, no me importa cuanto la quieras.

El castaño sonrió en triunfo y se dio la vuelta con sus últimas palabras dichas. Estaba satisfecho, no pensó que Lee Keon Hee lo alteraría tanto, pero por suerte pudo tomar su venganza. Una mano agarró su abdomen por detrás que lo terminó de tirar, pero no pegó contra el piso como pensó, fue mucho peor, golpeó contra un cuerpo duro que lo mantenía inmovilizado.

—¿Por qué estás tan seguro de a quien quiero es Jinhwa, hyung?—Kim Young Jo ni siquiera pudo quejarse porque el menor susurro esas palabras que acariciaron su oreja y mandaron descargas eléctricas por toda su columna—En realidad no me interesa en absoluto Jinhwa, hyung. La rechace esta mañana, puedes quedarte tranquilo.

Kim Young Jo estaba rojo, de la rabia suponía. Golpeó con su codo la costilla del menor que se quejó de dolor. No pudo decir una palabra, lo habían desafiado y avergonzado. Justo cuando estaba por salir del gimnasio escucha.

—¡La próxima vez escúpeme en mi cama, hyung!

—¡Cállate maldito idiota!—lo último que pudo oír antes de salir corriendo fue la risa sonora del rubio cenizo.

✦

Kim Young Jo se arrepintió de sus acciones, no sabía que tipo de bestia era Lee Keon Hee, pero sin duda la había liberado. Lo seguía a todas partes, la mirada del menor estaba sobre él, siempre. En la cafetería, cuando se encontraban en los pasillos y cuando se escondía en las gradas del gimnasio, no sabía por qué seguía yendo, pero sus tardes se sentían aburridas si no veía al rubio. Había algo que lo mantenía interesado en pelearse con el menor. Lee Keon Hee lo acorralaba y él lo insultaba, una rutina que ninguno de los dos se cansaba de tener. Pronto la rutina fue aún más lejos, y el establecimiento educativo no les daba suficiente tiempo para molestarse, así que en un día de lluvia, Kim Young Jo empapado, es invitado a la casa del menor.

—¿Qué? ¿Hyung tiene miedo de que le haga algo?—y Kim Young Jo no se dejó vencer, aunque sí tenía miedo. La actitud del menor era inesperada, él no-saber que iba a decir, cuál iba a ser su siguiente movimiento… lo mantenía alerta. Siempre se encontraba nervioso si Lee Keon Hee estaba cerca.

La casa del menor se encontraba a unas pocas cuadras del edificio estudiantil, apenas llegaron, se dio cuenta de que estaban solos, no había ruido ni luces prendidas, Lee Keon Hee aunque era joven ya vivía solo; no lo admitió en voz alta pero para Kim Young Jo eso era impresionante. Le dijo que esperara un segundo mientras lo tapaba con una toalla, sin preocuparse por su propio bienestar.

Cuando volvió le trajo unos pantalones grises, una remera negra de manga cortas y boxers del mismo color, olían a vainilla. El castaño se desvistió ahí, de todas formas, Lee Keon Hee seguramente estaba acostumbrado a ver a hombres cambiarse por el equipo de vóley. Pero cuando terminó y se dio la vuelta agradeciendo por el conjunto, el menor estaba rojo, fue la primera vez que lo vio sonrojarse. Kim Young Jo no pudo evitar burlarse de él.

—¿Te has puesto rojo por ver a tu hyung cambiarse?—rio sonoramente mientras se tiraba en el sofá como si fuera su propia casa; sin embargo, se calló cuando notó el silencio y la cabeza baja del rubio—¿Qué pasa?

—Si Hyung lo sabe, no necesita fingir sentirse cómodo—la voz del menor fue apagada, no lo desafiaba. Lee Keon Hee no lo estaba desafiando, y él no sabía contestar porque no tenía idea de que hablaban, le dolía el corazón, sintió un desespero en el pecho, no levantaba la mirada. Quería que lo mirara.

—Lee Keon Hee, no sé de qué hablas.

—¿Hyung, está seguro que no sabe?—el menor levantó la mirada, con los labios rectos y unos ojos oscuros—¿O esto es parte de su venganza por robarme a su novia?

Nunca volvieron a mencionar a Jinhwa desde ese día en el gimnasio, y tampoco él había pensado en eso. En realidad se había olvidado del problema con ella, en el último mes simplemente estuvo con Keon Hee. En cambio, el otro aún parecía perseguido, él fue el que rechazó a Jinhwa y aun así seguía pensando en ella, de repente estaba molesto.

Si, en la escuela los rumores seguían, pero supuso que ninguno de los dos le estaba prestando atención.

—No me interesa Jinhwa, si tanto te gusta, estoy seguro de que ella te dará una segunda oportunidad—contesto sin más Young Jo prendiendo su celular, fingió que sus palabras no le importaban pero se le hundía el corazón. Más le dolió cuando Keon Hee se fue del salón a pasos retumbantes, dejándolo solo.

Sentía un nudo en su garganta, una picazón en sus ojos y la boca seca. Estaba tan confundido, debería estar feliz, si Keon Hee empezaba a salir con ella ya no lo molestaría, ya no lo miraría en la cafetería y no lo acorralaría después de las prácticas de vóley. Sin darse cuenta entró a la página de confesiones, las lágrimas empezaron a caer y el nudo se desató.

Su sollozo era ruidoso, Keon Hee tenía razón, era un Hyung tonto. El más tonto de todos. Tapo su cara con las manos, sentía que se ahogaba, que no podía respirar, que no podía soltarlo. Le gustaba Keon Hee, mucho. Él, por más de estar molesto, lo cuidaba, y él nunca se lo devolvía. Nunca se daba cuenta. Se paró de su lugar y entre los pasillos buscó la habitación en la que se encontraba el menor, sin embargo, hizo tanto ruido que Keon Hee asomó su cabeza por la puerta.

—¿Hyung?—vio su cara lagrimeando, y se acercó con preocupación agarrando su cara entre sus manos—¿Qué pasa?

—No salgas con Jinhwa—pidió entrecortadamente el castaño, los ojos de Keon Hee se oscurecieron, pero aun así asintió.

—No lo haré, Hyung, no te preocupes—Young Jo pudo respirar, y agotado se apoyó en el hombro del menor.

—Bien… Solo sal conmigo, ¿si?

Fueron segundos silenciosos de Young Jo sollozando, hasta que el menor lo agarró de los hombros.

—¡Espera!—exclamó el menor—¿Quieres salir conmigo?

Young Jo se limpió las lágrimas.

—Claro, eres la segunda cara más linda que conozco—sonrió—Si me hubiera enterado antes que eras gay, lo hubiera dicho antes.

Keon Hee estaba en blanco.

—Hyung, el día en el gimnasio—titubeo—Te dije que estaba interesado en ti.

Young Jo frunció el ceño, hasta que recordó.

—¿Por qué estás tan seguro de a quien quiero es Jinhwa, hyung?

oh.

—Pensé que… estabas bromeando—rio nerviosamente Young Jo.

—Hyung, no bromeo—Keon Hee posó una mano en la cintura del mayor—¿Estás bromeando?

—¡Y-a! ¿Por quién me tomas?—cruzó los brazos—No lloro por cualquiera.

—¿Es así? Entonces me alegro—el menor con su otra mano terminó por rodear la cintura del castaño, apretando con su dedo pulgar los costados que hicieron a Young Jo gimotear entre los labios del rubio que lo atacaron inesperadamente. Era el primer hombre al que besaba, y no podía imaginar que hubiera otro, porque la calidez que Keon Hee le estaba dando no podría encontrarlo en otro lugar. Le mordió los labios, lo humedeció y Young Jo sentía que se moría de calor cuando se separaron.

—Keon Hee, realmente eres una bestia. 

y/n: but look at him! He is soo cutee, should we adopt him? *rise the kitten*

anakin: we still have R2D2, we can't have another pet

r2d2: *angry robotic noises*