🥊

though luckily for you, you’ve never had dynamight on your client roster. (prayers for whoever his publicist is, if he’s even got one at this point.) but since it’s not your job to tell him what he should and shouldn't do, mostly shouldn't, he often becomes a buddy for you in boring events. easy, flirtatious conversation and he loves cussing out a hero who couldn’t do anything right which was rich coming from his wild public image.

events, galas, parties, product releases and conferences. he always found you throughout the years, against whatever wall you decided to blend into this time. you were technically still working as heroes drunk their pains away at the open bar, observing your clients while he would start at the front of the room, slouched in his seat, stage lights beaming on him and answering questions. he always looked uninterested at the table with the puffy black microphone dangling from his hands and his brows low, casting a shadow over his eyes. his tone would lack any bit of excitement though his words always carried wit and smarts. you weren’t really thinking of him romantically, you did have a boyfriend after all, but he did possess traits you loved. strong, brave, cocky and rude. and well, you couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes. very easy on the eyes. with wheat blonde hair that always looked styled but you’ve seen him rake his hands through it so you’ve concluded he just looks like that. the scar on his left cheek adds to his sex appeal if that’s even possible and his scarlet pupils say everything without his lips moving. it doesn’t help your wild imagination that he leaves every conversation with you asking the same question.

the first time you meet bakugou was at the buffet of a conference, paper plate in hand choosing which party finger food should plop in your plate. it was another conference that was so dead, you’re sure if you gave villains in jail the option to escape if they sit through an old guy drone on about how sexual relationships between pro heroes isn’t recommended, they’d prefer to add another few years onto their sentence.

“if i didn’t know you, i’d think you have a personal vendetta over those prawns.” the voice makes you jump in your spot slightly, though you recognise it instantly. it’s deep and familiar, especially from hearing it multiple times on the stage. now that it’s so close, it’s much more intimate and raspier without the projection.

the number three pro hero stands beside you in an expensive pinstripe black suit with light blonde stubble decorating his jaw. you’re around large men often, working with heroes all day but this was the first one you felt intimidated by. it was his beauty. how boyish with his pearly sharp canines and beauty spot on his neck. his eyes were a pretty ruby red with intrigue floating behind them and the gold chain on his neck sat on his collarbones cleanly, noticeable around the crisp white collar of his shirt. he doesn’t carry a plate of his own, he just stands cross-armed beside you, black suit jacket hugging his biceps deliciously.

you laugh, flustered. does he mean that he’s seen you around? “you don’t know me though?”

his eyebrows rise in curiosity, a little quirk of his lip. “so tell me. what’re you thinkin’?”

heat spreads at your chest first, drawing right up to your neck and his attention alone makes you feel special. something about the question, how broad it can be, feels personal and you can’t grasp if he’s flirting with you or if this was a normal conversation for the man? you didn’t think thee dynamight was the type to conduct casual conversation with strangers, though you know better than anybody that news articles and tabloids don’t cover everything about somebody.

“they both look good. i was thinking which one i should get more of,” you say with a small smile before picking up the tong and pinching another. you turn to him, offering him the plate, “wanna try one?”

bakugou looks suspiciously between you and the breaded prawn. you’re not sure if you should be offended by the look but you’re enjoying his attention. probably a little too much, “i hope you don’t think i’ve poisoned it. you’ve been here the whole time.”

he scoffs, cheeks rising in amusement. he takes the prawn between his fingers and pops it in his mouth. your eyes drop to his plush lips like it was inevitable, then his moving jaw and his thick neck as he swallows. can watching people eat be sensual? you’re now sure it can be.

“verdict?” you ask, breathless.

“it’s alright, i know something that would taste better,” he murmurs, low and the deep timber sends vibrations down your body. there’s no way he’s not flirting with you now. his pupils are locked onto yours and his tongue swipes a strip across his lip.

you clench the stupid paper plate in your hand without realising, “w-what?”

then he turns to the rest of the food, nudging his head towards it, “the pork ribs are always so goddamn good.”

you let out the breath you were holding, your whole body deflating like a balloon. that was good. though a little disappointing. you also shouldn’t be feeling disappointed about a man not flirting with you when you’ve got a boyfriend.

“you single?”

you freeze as his voice cuts into your ranting chain of thoughts. the disappointment that blew away momentarily, fans back into existence. 

“no, i’ve got a boyfriend.”

bakugou katsuki is a regular occurrence from that day on. he tries to keep his space from you during galas, meetings, visits and conferences, but he can't stay away. 

his gaze always lands on your head amongst the crowd of bubbling personalities. your job meant you had to be a wallflower in these situations, making sure your clients were acting right. thinking of tips to give them in their next interview, telling them they need to stop using the press pencil as a toothpick. but occasionally you allow yourself to have a little chat with the blonde that appears beside you every time you think about him like a trick and always leaves you wanting more. bakugou never pushes the conversation further and you always want him to.

what’s worse is that you knew he wanted to because every conversation ended with the same question.

when your client, a pro hero friend of his slips up in an interview accidentally revealing their secret idol girlfriend, it’s always dynamight, laying his head back on his seat before you to meet your grimace with an upside down smirk. then he’d wander over to you, hands in his suit pockets, posture lazy but he could never be.

“he’s a fuckin’ idiot but cut him some slack with the moanin’,” he smirks, sliding beside you with his scarred arm brushing your bare one.

“i don’t think my moaning does anything for him now. think he’s numb to it,” you sigh and he huffs a laugh. you’re more comfortable with him, coming up to nine months of knowing each other.

“if you were my publicist, i’d be good to you,” he says, looking straight ahead at the heroes saying their thanks into the microphones, “your moaning would definitely do somethin’ to me.”

you flick your eyes up to him with a warning glare, hoping everything can be said with the creases between your eyebrows, “dynamight.”

everyone says bakugou hardly smiles and you haven’t heard such a false statement. the man grins at you with a shrug, gold canine winking at you, “yn.”

you never tell him to stop with the flirting. you also never give him the answer he wants.

“you single yet?”

“nope. still got a boyfriend.”

he sighs, rubbing his jaw in thought. his eyes waft over your outfit, a simple black dress to match the theme for the night and to blend into the shadows. he speaks again, guttural, almost pained, “you look beautiful. best lookin’ here.”

then he wanders off to a group of pro heroes he also calls his friends.

another time was the after party of a new hero perfume release (hero perfumes were all the rage nowadays) and it was your first time seeing bakugou tipsy, on the verge of drunk. at this point you were almost sure you saw a different side of bakugou that he doesn’t show anybody. you never got the angry frowns, the unsympathetic grunt or the sarcastic replies. he was always loud laughs, funny comments and sweet compliments, a whole lot of compliments.

you caught his eyes from across the room and it must have been a record the way his bored pout became a dopey smile quicker than you could blink. the crowd made way for him to move because it’s dynamight, and he stops at your feet with rosy cheeks.

“hey baby.” deep. his voice was like soft velvet across your skin, a rasp at the end of the pet name paired with a shiny glint in his eyes. also, he probably shouldn’t be calling you baby.

“hi dynamight. you look like you’re enjoying yourself,” you reply, nursing your second drink in your hand. you were nowhere near as drunk as him but you guess a more intimate room with just heroes and friends means he can let go.

“i am. much better now you’re here,” he flirts, brushing his fingers through his hair and looking you up and down. he’s got a plain black t-shirt on and dark wash jeans, unlike the suits and shirts surrounding you. he’s bigger than this event which means the rules are always lax for him. if you had more alcohol, you’d definitely be asking to bite his bicep.

“‘like your outfit. ‘s sexy. tights and skirt. makes your legs—,”

“dynamight.” his stare makes you burn, undoubtedly lustful, like he’s undressing you with his eyes. if he asked, maybe you’d let him. he’s always asking the wrong questions.

“you single yet?”

you huff a laugh at his consistency, you’ve got to give it to him. “boyfriend’s still in the picture.”

your hand flies to your mouth with a laugh when bakugou flings his head back in a childish groan. you’re surprised he doesn’t stomp his foot also. it’s so unlike the dynamight you read about on the hero news that you so badly want to snap a picture. “can’t you ever just lie to me? make a poor man happy?”

“you’re definitely not poor.”

“i’m poor without your love and affection.”

his bottom lip is puffy and pink, unintentionally pouting at you but you think it’s from all the glasses of drink he’s been pressing to it. he’s so handsome, you’re almost certain he’s wearing day three facial hair, a light moustache forming on his upper lip, hair dusted against his cheeks. you wonder what you’d have to say for him to let it grow out.

you roll your eyes and down your drink. this needs to end before you let him do what he wants. “goodbye dynamight, have a nice evening. don’t drink too much!”

the last time bakugou asks you this question, he’s had a shit day at work. it’s been physically and emotionally draining. back to back government meetings with nonstop bad news.  he was down a sidekick on patrol so it took longer to take down a villain than necessary which meant he missed seeing his mother before her flight to france. he hasn’t seen her in a few months now.

the pro hero just wants to go home, look at his ceiling for an hour before falling asleep with help from a melatonin gummy. nothing crazy or intense. he just wants to fucking sleep this day away, tugging his hood over his head and rubbing his face with his palm. he storms through the hallway of deku’s agency having taken the stairs for a few flights and now opted to just take the lift instead. he almost trips up on his feet once he ears the melodic voice he loves. but he’d hate for you to be sounding like that to him.

“i wasn’t on anything! i told you i wasn’t!”

“then why was my email flooded with photos of you snorting white powder in your car and then walking into a school to speak to children?”

“photoshop? it wasn’t me!”

bakugou doesn’t care if he’s being nosy. eavesdropping on a conversation that’s literally nothing to do with him. his excuse is that he likes you and he wants to say hi to you since he now knows you’re here too. he can just wait, ask if you wanted him to drop you home since your stupid fucking boyfriend wasn’t going to.

bakugou peeps through the slit of the open door to the small meeting room, all his stealth training coming in handy. you’ve got your head in your hands in defeat with tired eyes, utterly exhausted with the man before you. you’re pointing to your laptop screen on the table while starstarter, this new rookie sits cockily before you. bakugou recognises this ignorant, arrogant hero. his obnoxious blue and yellow costume and bakugou means costume because it’s this latex generic one piece that looks like it was on sale in the party section. bakugou’s not going to be the one to say it outloud but this kid is a fanboy, an upcoming wannabe dynamight lacking all the parts the world loves about real dynamight.

like care and finesse when it matters. to staff, to those that are there to help and make being a hero easier. instead starstarter’s legs are spread obnoxiously, one knee bouncing in irritation as he rolls his eyes at you. bakugou wants to stick his fingers in the kids eye sockets, so he can’t even look at you. doesn’t he understand you’re just doing your job and he isn’t playing his part? 

you twirl the laptop to the orange haired rookie, glowing screen in his face, probably showing the photo of him doing exactly what you said.

“that’s not you, is it?” you ask incredulously, “you just had to stay out of the media for a month! you’ve had three articles already!”

bakugou’s hand flies to the door handle as soon as starstarter whips out of his seat in anger, the plastic chair falling back on the ground. you jump in your seat at the abruptness, eyes weary and… scared.

“i didn’t even want a publicist! fucking deku thought i needed one but i’m fine without you! as long as i’m saving people who gives a fuck about what my rankings are!”

“can you shut the fuck up and pick up the chair?” 

you spin around on your seat to find dynamight and just seeing him, calm and controlled, one eyebrow raised in expectation, soothes you. you didn’t even realise how worked up you got from starstarter’s outburst, your heart rattling against your rib cage, breath stuck in your throat. you release your grip on your skirt, smoothing out the creases you just made. he’s only in a hoodie and a pair of jeans, probably just had a meeting after a night patrol.

“d-dynamight? do you need me?” starstarter asks, standing up straighter, plastering a goofy smile on his face like he’s the chosen one. everything in one ear and out the fucking other.

“fuckin’ listen to me kid. i said shut the fuck up and pick up the chair,” bakugou spits like he’s stupid, stuffing his hands in his pockets. then he looks over at you, fidgeting around trying to look like you weren’t terrified just a second ago. “you okay, yn?”

you’re not. not really, but embarrassment seeps through you at the conversation between you and starstarter being loud enough that he heard it. that he heard someone speak to you like that. but you just nod, giving him a small smile. “we’re just packing up here.”

starstarter picks up the chair, not bothering to tuck it under the table and completely forgets your existence. instead, he walks over to bakugou like they’re long lost friends despite the almost ten year age gap between them. 

“so dynamight, i’ve been thinking about how my quirk matches with yours—,”

the dynamight you see on tv, in conferences and interviews is alive. top lip curled in disgust, eyebrows sharp in a frown and voice so harsh that even your eyes widen.

“is your head stuck up your asshole?”

starstarter steps back, confusion etched into his face, “n-no? w-what did i do?” then the rookie points his thumb over at you, who is starting to pack your laptop back into your bag, trying to remove yourself from the situation, “oh you know how scandals go! you get loads of them. publicist just on my ass at the moment.”

it’s as if time slows down for a few silent seconds. you notice the golden sparks from bakugou’s right hand first then in a split second that same hand is around starstarter’s neck against the wall.

it’s impressive how bakugou keeps his face deadpan while starstarter splutters and dribbles, baffled by the turn of events. his legs kick out from how bakugou’s holding him up and starstarter is so confused, he completely forgets to use his quirk. not that it matters against dynamight.

you gasp, grabbing your bag and rushing over to the two men.

“dynamight! put him down!”

bakugou looks down at you, your plush lips and your pretty dangly earrings. you’re clutching your bag to your chest, hand tapping his left bicep like he’s a button to let go of starstarter. fuck that.

bakugou eyes starstarter, the faux bravo he had before completely gone. his dull finger nails are scratching at bakugou’s hand around his throat but it’s only a gnawing annoyance for the older, stronger hero. 

“first, don’t fuckin’ talk to me. i’ve never liked you. secondly, apologise to yn, you bastard.”

you mumble a small, “oh,” in realisation. your hand that was once tapping him to let go, now just resting on his bicep.

bakugou likes you holding him.

starstarter, however, has his eyes bulging out of his head, “what? what the fuck for?”

bakugou squeezes his fingers around his throat and starstarter gasps for breath.

“for fuckin’ shoutin’ at her? treatin’ her like shit? or are you too up your own ass to notice your pisspoor attitude?” he scoffs, lifting and slamming him against the wall for good measure. that knocks the wind out of the younger, causing him to wince in pain.

“oh, oh, i’m sorry yn. didn’t mean t-to do that. i promise,” starstarter cries and only then does he remember he can use his quirk to try and escape, his hazel irises beginning to glow a bright white gold.

“use your quirk on me and i’ll kill you,” is all bakugou has to say for starstarter to relax and turn it off immediately.

“f-fine! i said i was sorry! i won’t shout at her or anyone!” he’s flailing around like a newborn baby, every breath stuttered and gasped.

bakugou looks over at you beside him, now pressed to his side. “is that good enough for you, yn?”

you should say yes to stop this madness, to stop this one sided fight to protect your honour. but starstarter has always acted like such an irritating child. your most difficult client who never realises how self destructive his behaviour is and how hard he makes your life.

“promise you’ll fix up. no more scandals next month. it will make both our lives easier.”

“yes!” starstarter blubbers, imagining bakugou blasting his head to smithereens, “yes! no scandals. fuck, n-none.”

with that, bakugou releases his grip and starstarter falls to the floor in a heap. his hand clutches around his neck, taking in massive gulps of air like a fish that plopped back into water.

you and bakugou ignore his mutters and mumbles as he slides out of the room like a sorry slug. you’re sure you’re going to hear rumours about dynamight tomorrow, how he tried to kill starstarter. though it’s nothing bakugou’s pr team can’t handle.

bakugou faces you, eyes scanning every inch of your face, then your body as if he’s checking for bruises. “you sure you’re okay? i’ll break his arm next time he tries shit like that.”

you shake your head. every time you breathe you can taste the caramel of his quirk. “no it’s okay! he was particularly annoying today. you know how the new gen get.”

you’re trying to deflect from how scared you were before, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. every word comes out breathless, unable to make eye contact with the hero. 

“no i don’t. i don’t want anyone speakin’ to you like that again. if any hero, no anyone, does you gotta tell me,” and bakugou holds his palm out to you.

you frown, “what?”

“gimme your phone.”

this conversation is so unlike the usual flirty back and forths you both have that you have no clue how to navigate his serious tone. 

“oh. oh! i don’t need you as a bodyguard, this is a rare occurrence,” but you still pull out your device, unlocking it to slide into his palm.

“i don’t give a fuck. next time, you tell me and i’ll sort it.”

“is this an excuse for you to get my number?”

you say it so innocently, playing with your hands behind your back as you look at him jabbing his number into your phone and then his face. 

he’s completely flushed red, matching his pupils. nothing like the man that was just holding up another against the wall. 

“you think i did all that to get your fuckin’ number?”

you wave your hands in the air in disagreement, “no! not everything but this part. the getting my number part.”

bakugou looks to your phone, how he added his name as Bakugou Dynamight and his number half complete. 

“n-no, i meant what i said, dumbass. ‘sides you’ve got a boyfriend anyway.” he spits, not in offence to you but in offence to the fact itself. he cannot be bothered to be rejected again, he doesn’t even have it in himself to ask you if he’s still in the picture because this boyfriend doesn’t seem to be leaving. from before he met you, for this last years, to now.

“we broke up last month.”

“you’re lyin’ to me.”

bakugou blurts, your phone slipping out his hands though he catches it just in time. you giggle at the fumble but you have no time to adjust as bakugou steps closer towards you, right in your space.

“tell me you’re lyin’.”

though when you look into bakugou’s pupils, the ruby has been eaten by the black of his pupil, staring at you like he’s begging for you to say the opposite. his lips are parted, waiting to reply to your next comment, every possible answer on the tip of his tongue.

“i’m not. we… we weren’t working out and i think he was cheating on me? well not physically but definitely emotionally with someone at his work and i thought i couldn’t even be mad because… you know,” you offer in a ramble because there’s still something slightly tender about the topic.

bakugou follows every word, watches your pulse race under the skin of your neck. he frowns for a moment, looking away from you and then back on your form. arm holding your forearm, then brushing your hair away from your face.

“w-why couldn’t you be mad?” is where he starts, despite how he sounds, he wants to punch this fucking loser ex-boyfriend of yours in the face. who would mess up their chances with you? he didn’t know how good he had it. he sighs internally at the fact he seems to want to kill anyone who bothers you.

your white teeth sink into your bottom lip, refusing to make eye contact. “because of you. we always flirt. i always enjoy when we do and for a while i pushed it aside that it’s just a work thing but then it got to a point that i realised i would rather find out what it would be like to be alone with you even when i was alone with my ex.”

you deeply inhale, “it’s okay if it wasn’t anything serious for you! it’s not anything serious to me yet, it was just a sign that i—,”

bakugou grabs your hand, just so that you focus on him again instead of these loopy rambles you’ve got going on. you’ve never been like this, he’s never even seen you nervous before today.

“y’gonna let me take you out? since you’re single now?”

bakugou can barely believe the words he’s saying, the corner of his lips stretching up with every syllable. you feel as if you’re floating, the rush of a crush fully formed rumbling inside of you. 

you laugh though you’re nodding slowly, fingertips brushing your bottom lip, “you still need to finish adding your number into my phone.”

“oh, oh fuck yeah,” he mumbles and he can feel his heartbeat shake at his temples. he’s finally getting a chance with you. bakugou enters the last few digits of his phone number and when you reach to take back your phone, he shakes his head, editing the contact name.

“text me so i get your number and i’ll set somethin’ up for us,” and his grin becomes a chuckle, loud and full of bass. he holds his jaw in pure surprise, handing back your phone, “i can’t believe this.”

you shrug lightly, “i can.”

“thought i was gonna be benched for another year until i’d have to get involved. threaten him or some shit,” and you can tell there’s a tinge of seriousness behind his words but you ignore it because the sentiment is sweet. 

“you would have waited another year?” you balk.

“i still would have liked you in a year so yeah,” bakugou tries to be nonchalant, shrugging and adjusting the chunky watch on his wrist.

the watch, the time. you gasp, looking around the room that you’ve packed everything, “oh shit, i have a meeting in literally two minutes on the top floor. i’ll have to text you later, okay?”

bakugou stands up straight as you dart around him, “y-yeah okay.”

you’re just about to run out the door but you spin around, reaching on your tip toes, sliding your palm on to his jaw and pressing a soft kiss into his cheek.

“thank you for earlier by the way. i fucking hate him.”

warmth radiates through bakugou, from his toes to the top of his head. he’s not gonna get used to your touch anytime soon.

“n-no probries. fuck, i mean no worries and no problem.”

your giggle can make caterpillars become butterflies on command, skirt blowing past as you wave the pro hero goodbye. 

“bye dynamight!”

as soon as you hop on the train home, the first thing you do is whip out your phone to text the hero. you remember him backspacing his name and you’re expecting something silly but you’re surprised to find it as just Katsuki.

You: we’re on a first name basis then?

his reply is instantaneous. a bubble with ellipses and then a pop of his reply.

Katsuki: We’ve been on a first name basis. You just took ages to give in.

likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for the another part. thanks xox

Of course, of course - it wasn't a real date. Still, Dia was right: the whole PR drama you'd signed up did sound like some cheesy romance plot. And you had a character who was apparently filling their role by being a caring gentlemen who did things like book you flights to exotic cities in Europe.

"I need a coffee." You muttered to yourself and got out of bed. You trudged to the kitchen and set about setting the Moka pot on the stove. However, your plans to have a coffee break from the reality of your phone were shortlived as it started to ring. From an unknown number.

You really should've saved Carlos' number. Answering it, you were hesitant. "Uh, hello?"

You weren't met his Spanish voice. Instead, you were met with a bubbly Australian woman's voice. "Hello? Is this Y/N Tessio?"

"Yes?"

"Oh hi! This is Oscar's mother, Nicole. I was hoping to see you after the race and chat with you but Oscar said you weren't around."

"Um, yeah." You willed the Moka pot to quicken its brew because today already had too much going on for you to process. Why was Oscar's mother calling you? And how was everyone getting your details? "I wasn't feeling too well."

"Oh no! Poor thing. Are you okay?" The concern in her voice, you had to admit, sounded genuine.

"Yeah, just an overnight bug thing, I think."

"Sounds like Oscar should've passed you some of those Egyptian pills you gave him!" She laughed. "I know they'll be handy with all the travel food you guys will be doing."

"Yeah, exactly." You said. You didn't know Nicole. Sure, you had met her before and she seemed perfectly nice. She was the epitome of the upper-class mother who did pilates while their kids were at private school. You'd given Oscar flack for his white-bread upbringing but talking to his mother just made you feel like you were back in school yourself, appeasing people you served more than related to.

"Listen, I was hoping to speak to you face to face but since you're not feeling too well, can I just speak to you now."

You felt yourself immediately get anxious at her words. Had something happened? Preparing for the worst, you steadied yourself. "Um, sure. Is everything okay?"

"You see, Oscar's been in racing his whole life and has gone through F3 and F2 but I know obviously making it to Formula 1 there's a lot more at stake. I don't want to be too much of a mother hen worried about him partying and whatnot, and I know Oscar's never been too concerned with all that, but I'm a parent and I get worried about him around all the glitz and glamour and whatnot. And so what I'm trying to say is - "

- please stay away from my son because you'll drag him into all the drama that comes with Formula 1 and I don't want him associating with that.

You sighed, preparing yourself for it. It was fair since Oscar had already been ostracised for apparently breaking Charles' rule - that brought you a fresh wave of fury as you remembered what Carlos said last night - but it still stung.

It also didn't help that Oscar already had his own drama with Alpine and now adding Christian Horner's lawyers into the mix wouldn't be helping him anymore.

So you were taken aback when Nicole instead actually said -

" - I'm really glad Oscar has you to help him. I know there's some drama with your contract and I'm really hoping we all can find a solution to this because I would really love to have you in Oscar's corner as long as possible! Even Mark Webber spoke highly about you and seeing how well you and Oscar get along makes Chris and I so happy and, quite frankly, relieved."

You were stunned. That - that was the last thing you expected. You stared at he Moka pot that had finished brewing but made no move to take it off the stove.

"Hello? Are you there?"

"I - uh." Your throat was hoarse and you cleared it, surprised at yourself with how emotional that made you. You took another second to school yourself before turning on your hospitality voice and energy. "Apologies, that just caught me off guard. Thank you for that, Nicole."

Dia walked in and frowned at your use of the hospitality voice. You knew she would continue to perch herself there for the rest of your conversation. Rolling your eyes, you poured your coffee and shifted the phone in your hands.

"I know I'm maybe acting like aq bit of an overbearing mother right now, and Oscar will probably kill me for calling you and saying all of this, but I just wanted you to know that if there's anything Chris and I can do to help with your contract or show support with you in Oscar's racing career, please do let us know!"

You wanted to cry. "I will, Nicole. Again, uh, that means a lot. Thank you."

"Nonsense! You're helping out a mother by being there for her son. And you have my number now so please feel free to reach out with any updates." Nicole added, "Especially since Oscar's a bit of a reclusive boy when it comes to updating home so I'm hoping I can trust to help you keep him in line!"

"Sure! I grew up with three brothers so I know what you mean."

"Yeah, so you know!" Nicole laughed. "Well I have three girls besides Oscar so now it's nice that he almost has an older sort of sibling!"

You felt your throat close up again and stared at the brow caffeine liquid in your cup.

"Anyway, I have to go to a pilates class." This made you smile, Oscar had grown up in Brighton. "But if you're still in Melbourne tonight, we're going to restaurant in the city for dinner."

"Thank you but I'm actually flying out tonight to visit a friend before Azerbaijan." This elicited a loud snort from Dia sat at the kitchen table in front of you. "I still need to call Oscar and sort out his plan for Azerbaijan."

"Yes I'm not sure what he's doing or if he's even booked his flight." She sighed. "But I'll leave that between you two. In the meantime, it was lovely meeting you and please reach out anytime you're back in Melbourne!"

"Will do, you take care also." You both finally hung up and you finally looked at Dia who took a loud sip of her own mug. She lifted her knitting needles from where they lay left on the kitchen table and resumed stitching - whatever it was she was now making. "Don't say anything." You told her as you came to sit next to her with your own cup of coffee.

"I don't need to." She shrugged, thredding the needles through. "If I said to you last night, 'tomorrow's a new day!' you would've thrown your fancy sneaker shoes at me. But you woke up to a beautiful, beautiful man flying you to Madrid for a date - " you rolled your eyes at his " - and a good boy finally showing you the familial appreciation you deserve."

This caught you. Admittedly, you were very touched by Nicole's words and trust in you. The fact that she was very much on your side and offering legal support because she liked you that much and trusted you'd be there for Osc made you feel all sorts of warm.

Dia's words were fair and despite how pissed off you were at Max, you never blamed him for his family's treatment of you. Even before that night in the garage with Jos, all of Max's family had treated you no different than how they treat hospitality staff. Even Kelly had her moments where you swore she wished to extract you from his life.

But you weren't going to start comparing Oscar to Max in any way other than their race times. Nor were you going to entertain Dia's romantic fantasies. Beautiful, beautiful man - no.

"Carlos is flying me to Madrid to begin a PR campaign to help both us reach a goal." You stated, firm. Dia merely raised an eyebrow. Her needle faltered for a moment before she resumed, apparently unfazed

"A goal?" She prompted.

"The relationship gives grounds for family for me to train him so he can show Ferrari he's a good driver and I can show Red Bull that I'm what gave them a good driver." You answered and took another, nervous sip of your coffee.

She stared at you for a moment before resuming to look back at her needlework. "Sure." It was clear she unconvinced.

"You don't sound so convinced."

"I stand by what I said last night." Dia said. "And that is that I agree with my brother that if there was ever a driver I wanted you get with, it would be Carlos Sainz."

"Fuck's sake." You stood up and walked off. "I'm not listening to this."

"The eyes never lie, chico." She called out after you. "Also, can I send you some stuff from Egypt to give to your uncle!?"

You had travelled first class a mere handful of times. You never got used to it.

The sheer luxury of it was always something that had you feeling uncomfortable. Maybe it was because you had occupied the other role: dressed in that pressed white shirt with the towel over your forearm and the polite smile on your face as the person in front of you treated as something slightly lesser than their equal.

Even the other passengers gave you odd looks are you boarded and despite the very, very, very kind gesture on Carlos' part, you felt anxious and judged. You were just glad the First Class meant you could hide in your own little cabin where you donned your headphones and just tried to busy yourself and ignore any looks by watching a TV show you'd downloaded on your laptop.

That entertained you for a few hours but since you had calculated that you would need to stay awake for the entire 13 hours of the first leg of flights (to then sleep through the second leg and avoid the jet-lag crash) your interest soon waned after a season and half.

So, you decided to start your new job.

Since Carlos' had been racing as long as Max had, you knew a bit about his skills and driving style. You knew he never trained neck in the off-season (which was insane) loved playing golf and football (and probably could've honestly made it in either sport if F1 hadn't worked out) cycled like he was training for the Tour de France (which stressed you out) and had a penchant for food (which impressed you).

Thankfully, your access to the Formula 1 Group's database (in addition to not needing to pay for Wi-Fi on the flight) meant you could access more information on the drivers and teams. And so you spent the next few hours going through Carlos' dietary patterns, his training plans - or what was made available of them - and, importantly, his old race reports.

You had already created a folder on your desktop entitled CS55 in which you downloaded all the information and soon your laptop screen had many a window open. Despite the fact that you had so many tabs open that they were just mere logos, you had fallen into a bit of a flow state that you cycled through the information with ease as you made all your notes.

"Can I get you anything?"

You looked up to the flight attendant. It was now nighttime and everyone was lying flat asleep in their own individual seats. Or beds. Whatever they were.

"Can I please have another coffee, please." Your double please made it very clear you didn't belong in the First Class section of an international flight. She smiled and nodded. When she came back, you made an effort to read her name tag. "Thank you Liya."

"No worries, let me know if there's anything else I can do." Liya had offered you Champagne upon your arrival. You felt slightly rude asking for a latte instead.

"Will do, thanks." You grinned back and went to sipping the latte. It was admittedly a little burnt but you suspected that was more to due to how the beans were stored than anything else. Especially with the air-pressure in a plane, coffee would be a tricky thing.

And so, you sipped on coffee throughout the flight to Dubai, collecting as much information as you could on Carlos Sainz, number 55. You had already started drafting the skeleton of what could be a training and diet plan that incorporated his already strenuous list of physical hobbies (this man also skied?) and the climate of each destination with the F1 calendar. There were still lots of gaps since there was a lot you didn't know or, equally, weren't sure what he would prefer.

There was also the question of his mental training and whilst you knew he was not as angry as Max or as anxious as Lando, you knew it would be a major factor.

Whilst you jotted down questions and noted areas to go over with him, you also started forming another list. That was, you hadn't stopped pondering all the many questions relating to the other part of this.

What is our story? When did we start dating? Who are we going to tell the truth to? Dia knows, will he want to tell his dad? Is he prepared for what this could mean if Charles had a ban on you? Is he prepared for what this could mean if Horner still tries it with lawyers? Is he really still wanting to do this?

Thankfully, however, by the time you came to your flight from Dubai to Madrid, you were too tired think of anything else and promptly crashed as soon as your head hit the pillow of your seat/bed.

When you next woke, it was a flight attendant asking you what you would like to drink with your breakfast as the sun rose over Madrid. She came back with a coffee and you drank that before even considering getting out of your little bed and freshening up.

Admittedly, freshening up on a First Class plane was a lot easier and you did your routine, fixed your hair and got changed into something a bit more presentable for arriving in a beautiful city like Madrid.

Turning your phone off DnD, you also found a splattering of messages. Unsurprisingly, word had spread and you had multiple notifications from the team

YOU'RE IN MADRID?!??!?!?! thx for telling me you're coming 😔

hola! i heard you're here - you better be coming to the game tomorrow 💪💪

signoraaaa is here woo wooooo!

hey heard the news, happy to see you soon 😎 let me know if you need a lift when you land

You ignored all the passive aggressive banter - you were still waking up and too tired to deal with Vini's energy right now. The last message from Jude was something you appreciated since you hadn't thought about that and had just assumed you'd take an Uber or Cabify to the hotel Carlos had booked for you.

Finally out of the plane and having collected your bags, you rang the English defender. Jude answered on the third ring. "Ah, she has arrived."

"Ah, finally bro."

"Nice. Where are you now?"

"I'm just heading out right now and - "

You almost walked past it. You would've had the grey colour not madee you a double take. And it wasn't because he had been standing right there. No, the inner gearhead immediately clocked the colourway and was appreciating the matte grey design. The 812 was one of your more favourite Ferraris and the Competizione in front of you was pretty breath-taking.

So when you did a double-take, it was appreciating the car. However, it did help you realise the owner stood next to it.

Carlos.

"Ciao!" He grinned. "I'm glad to see you arrived safely." He immediately reached for your bag and you were, safe to say, too stunned to speak.

"... Hello? You still there? Are you heading out of the plane or the airport?" Jude's voice echoed in the phone that you had forgotten about. "I can get there in like 20 and - "

"Oh, no it's fine, bro." You drew your attention back to the call as you watched Carlos load all your luggage in her Ferrari. "A friend, uh, surprised me. Sorry."

"Friend? None of the boys were telling me they were picking you up."

"Not a friend from the team."

"What? Who else do you know in Spain that's not one of the guys?" Jude accused as you watched Carlos open the car door for you. He was waiting patiently and suddenly you wished to do nothing but end the call immediately so you can focus on the fact that Carlos was right here, right now. You pulled a pretty card.

"Yamine Lamal."

At that, Jude hung up.

"There. Sorry about that. Hello!" You could finally properly greet him. You weren't sure what to do but luckily Carlos wasn't as awkward as you and reached for a hug. He smelt like expensive aftershave, but in a pleasant way. Carlos then opened the car door again and gestured for you. You got into the Ferrari and watched him go around the other side of the car to come into the passenger seat.

It wasn't lost on you that you were in Carlos' Sainz Competizione in Madrid. If you weren't so nervous, you might geek out about the car. You had heard the buzz at the start of the year when it had come out that he had gotten a custom Ferrari. He'd even briefly discussed it with you one weekend when you had been serving some guys coffee. He'd made an off-hand, "I'll need to show it to you when it finally arrives." which you had dismissed as an offhand pleasantry.

Now, here you were, inside it. With your luggage in the boot of it. And him now coming in the front seat to drive you in it.

"How was the flight?"

"Very good. Thanks for booking it. And I honestly need to ask if I can at least compensate you for - " He held up a finger to cut you off. Then he held up another finger.

"That's twice you've upset me already."

"What?"

"I'm upset."

"Why?" What had happened? Sure, Carlos was a gentleman but he had paid for a whole international set of First Class flights and you just had to ask. But as to the apparent second reason why he was upset, you weren't sure.

Oh God, had Charles reached out to him? Or maybe Daniel? But what could Daniel say? Maybe Max said or Ferrari even were -

"You're in Madrid and as someone from Madrid I need to tell you that you can't say that name."

"What name?"

"The name that made that very smart person on the phone hang up. You can't say that name. It's like Voldemort."

You blinked and realised he was talking about the Barcelona player that made Jude hang up. Suddenly all your worry melted away and you found yourself bursting out laughing.

"My apologies, Sainz."

"That's fine." He said, nodding solemnly. "I can give you this now." He said and gestured to the take-away coffee cup sat in his very fancy cupholders that probably cost more than your entire wage. "I thought you might want a coffee to start your day." He lifted it up and handed it to you. "Are you hungry? Did you eat on the plane?"

"I - " You had, but for some reason, his question made me you want to say no. You stared at the Spanish man sat in front of you, a cap worn backwards and the light in his eyes. Carlos looked young and it was this youthful excitement that had you saying, "I can eat."

"Good! I know a nice place that has pistachio croissants." He turned the car and it roared to life. He grinned at you and you found your mouth turning up to mirror his smile. "Vamos!"

Carlos drove you both to a small bakery that was a ways away. It was clear that this was his home city as he navigated the streets with ease, even in such a car as this. You sipped your coffee as he pointed out parts of Madrid to you and you took in the beautiful sights of a city you never really fully appreciated.

"And that is another ice-cream place we have to go to. They have a limoncello flavour that is very nice." He said, pointing with his fingers at a very cute and rustic gelato shop that was seemingly bursting with customers despite the small size and seating.

You noted the way he kept saying we in terms of visiting those places and you had to ask, "Are you planning that we visit all these places before Azerbaijan?"

"No. When you move to Madrid." He grinned at you.

You laughed again. "My uncle has been trying to get me to move to Madrid for about four years now."

"Again, I really, really agree with your uncle." Carlos said. "I might even tell him you said that teenagers name."

"He'd probably be more mad at the Liverpool jersey."

"Good to know I have something in case I need to blackmail you." Carlos joked. "Here we are." His car made a loud sound upon arrival and whilst the bakery wasn't as busy as other places he'd pointed out, you could only guess Carlos Sainz was a bit of a local hero. Him showing up with his custom Ferrari was bound to make some people pull out their phones to post about this on social media.

"You okay?" He asked, seeing you not move to take off your seat belt.

"I, uh. I'm just wondering what the... implications are if we're photographed together?"

A look of understanding came upon him. He looked at the people who were moving their heads to get a glimpse of the driver of the fancy Ferrari that had pulled up to the bakery. "We are supposed to be dating, no? This could be part of how we started?"

"What? Right now?" You had wanted to discuss with him a game plan about what the whole strategy would be about 'launching' this relationship and how the two of you would be publicly dating. When he asked you to the game tomorrow, what exactly did that look like? You weren't sure how Carlos was imagining any of this to go and wanted to get that clear before anything happened.

"Are you not comfortable with that? I can go in and get us breakfast and come back here if you'd like?" He looked back at the bakery and shrugged. "I think people seeing us together helps show that we're dating, no?"

"But what about all the specifics? What are you going to say when Charles comes up to you and asks why you broke his rule?" Your voice went bitter at the end as you brought up that fact again.

Carlos was quiet for a second, thinking. He then looked at the bakery and then back at you. "There's a small table at the back. We can sit there quietly and discuss all of this if you'd like?"

You considered this. People would see the two of you together, sure, and you were likely going to get photographed and have it posted online.

But what did that matter? Carlos was right - it was probably a good thing to be seen together so people would start to find out the two of you were dating. Why delay it any further? Dia knew and she was likely going to tell your uncle already.

"Yeah, let's do that. I think getting the story set would make me feel better." You admitted. "And then we can get to the actual stuff."

Carlos nodded and you finally unbuckled your seat belt to get out. You didn't notice his frown at the word actual.

"So how did we start?"

"We found out we were both going to the Sevilla game and started hanging out. We went on a proper date the day after and started dating from there." Carlos answered, taking a sip of his espresso. He said it so casually, so easily. It both somehow eased your stresses, seeing him to cavalier about it all, but also increased your anxiety also. How was he so calm about all this?

"Is that okay?" He asked, seeing your silence. "Does that work for you?"

"No, I - I think that's a good answer." You said, nodding and cupping your hands around the coffee in front of you. You didn't bother explaining why you were quiet. What would you say - he why are you so nonchalant about all of this?

So you just moved onto the next question. "How do you feel about me working in hospitality for other teams?"

This made his eyebrows shoot up and Carlos moved in his seat, uncrossing his legs and moving to directly face you. He brought an elbow to the table and rested his chin on it. "I didn't realise you would still be working."

"I want to." Your defensiveness was clear. You were about ready to call this quits if Carlos made any remarks similar to that of Charles and Max's. Even fake-dating was a stretch to be around someone who had any inclination that hospitality was something lesser.

Even if Jos had accepted Domenicali's offer to let you stay in Formula 1 if it meant you wore an apron instead of headphones. The demotion was clear, sure, but you thought it reflected more on the person than anything.

Which is why you wanted to ask this question - not so much about the feasibility of working with other teams (you knew it wouldn't work) but to see what Carlos thought about your hospitality and service work.

"I don't doubt the Paddock will have a crisis the day you stop working." Carlos said with a knowing smile, "Will you be allowed to is what I am thinking."

Relief. You felt relief seeing how, again, unfazed he was by your job. "I thought about that. I'm going to call Domenicali and ask." Carlos went to take the final sip of his piccolo when he paused at your answer and gave you a look. "What?"

"Stefano Domenicali." He stated.

"Yeah?"

"You can just call Stefano Domenicali just like that?" He waved a hand.

You pursed your lips. It wasn't that you didn't trust Carlos - you would probably take him over most drivers and your current situation was testament to that - but how would you explain that? How could you? NDAs aside, how do you explain the weird relationship you had with Stefano? The fact that you had one at all was something of itself.

"It's like you said," you grinned, "the Paddock will have a crisis the day I stop working."

Carlos snorted. "100%. But Y/N I will be honest. I don't want you to work in Hospitality because I don't want to share you with other teams." He said, "If you want to be with Ferrari where I can still come and see you then I don't really care."

"That's fair." You agreed. "Look I'm aware that it's a very big stretch and Stefano will probably even say no to me working just for Ferrari now that I'm going to be tied specifically to one driver but - "

"Will you?" He interrupted

"Will I what?"

"Will I be your number one driver?" He repeated. "Or will Oscar? Because I don't think I can do this if I'm not your number one focus." Judging by his tone, you could tell this was important to him. Carlos wasn't smiling anymore and despite saying he was selfish about you before, you could tell how clear he was on this. Despite saying he could help you still train Oscar, he still wanted it clear that he would win.

Once again, you were struck by how honest Carlos Sainz was. The lack of PR bullshit with him was something refreshing.

"I get you. But Oscar isn't looking to be number one." You answered simply. "He isn't looking for anything. Training him is more of teaching the new rookie the ins and outs." Then you thought of the fucking Charles had laid out. "Which I would've done with Logan had he not arrived from F2 and given me the cold shoulder."

"Would you work in F2 or F3 if Domenicali says it's okay?" He asked.

"Maybe." You shrugged. You hadn't forgotten how much work it took - how much time it required to train a driver. Adding 8hr barista shifts would just be unnecessary. "But given how Red Bull is looking, I won't bother so I can focus on you."

That brought a smile to his face. "Because I am your number one." He repeated, a statement that sounded slightly like a question. You felt the need to repeat it to him.

"Because you're my number one."

If possible, his smile grew exponentially. "Good."

"I felt like that an essential for you."

"It was." So honest. You reached for some more of the croissant plated between the two of you when he added, "Just like it was for you to see if I cared about you working in hospitality."

You blinked. You felt immediately called out and when you looked up at him, he winked. "Don't worry I'm not offended. Judging by what Verstappen and Leclerc said, I understand."

You bit into the croissant to avoid having to say something. Then you tactfully changed the subject. "Well, since that's been established, do you have any other essentials?"

"Essentials?"

"Things you would prefer for us, or me, to do or not do as your fake-WAG and/or trainer." You specified. You had spent the better part of a flight thinking about all of this.

Unsurprisingly, Carlos shrugged and took his own bit of pastry. "Travel with me to and from races. Stand by my side of the garage. Burn the Liverpool jersey." You smiled at this. "You're smiling but I'm not joking."

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your coffee. Conversation aside, Carlos had been right when it came to the food and coffee - everything had been amazing. Had you not been anxious about the topic you were talking about, you would really be loving this. You still were.

"I know you have your ties to other drivers and that we're in this," he pointed between the two of you, "fake-relationship for our own reasons but my one essential is your loyalty."

Your smile fell slightly at the seriousness of that and you nodded. "I appreciate that. And I understand. I know trust is something you have to prove but just know that's all that I intend."

"Oh, and we have to go to one restaurant per race weekend. I have a list of places and Lando had the worst palate." He added. "We can factor it in the training plan."

You honestly weren't surprised by that. "Noted."

"Do you have any essentials?" Carlos quoted with a grin.

You had prepared for this. However, it didn't make it easier. You didn't look at him when you listed them. "I'm not going to kiss you. Or sleep with you. Hugs and stuff is fine but I'm not going to be physical with you... aside from the gym." You had rehearsed that joke and Carlos pitifully gave a small laugh at that.

"I think that's all... acceptable." Carlos said. "No physical intimacy."

"Next is..." You took a deep breath and wondered how this one would go down. "I'm not wearing ferrari gear." Carlos frowned and you were quick to add, "I will happily wear any of your own personal driver merch and your colours... but not the Ferrari kit."

"Okay." Carlos said, dragging out the 'o.' "Can I ask why?"

You had hoped he wouldn't but didn't blame him for doing so. "I... I always thought I would wear it when Charles would make it. That had been our dream for so long. And after everything, it would just kind of suck. I don't know. I don't think I would be comfortable doing it."

As Carlos was quiet considering this, you also added, "And WAGS rarely wear it. And I'm your girlfriend, not trainer." You had hoped that last bit would make sense to him. Especially since the last thing you wanted to show him was that Charles had any kind of hold on you, not when he'd been so clear about having your loyalty.

"If I win a race, would you wear it?" He asked, "The 55 Ferrari kit?"

"When you win a race," you repeated, making him smile, "I'll dress up as a Chili if you want me to." He nodded but you saw that it wasn't enough for him. "Yes, Carlos. You win, I'll wear your shirt."

"And hat."

"And hat." You accepted with a sigh. "I'll happily wear your helmet anytime, though."

This triggered something in Carlos because he looked up at you and his eyes grew slightly, his mouth curling up in a smile of disbelief. You weren't sure what you were stirring up but something had been stirred up.

Clearing your throat, you went onto the next item on your mental check-list, "Third essential: if you want to actually date someone or have a side link or something just tell me just so I know."

Carlos snorted. "I can tell you right now - I won't. If I want to train to show Ferrari what they're missing, I'm not going to have time starting a relationship." He said. "While already committed to a fake one with you."

You weren't sure what that last part meant but you would leave that for later. "Yeah but things just change." You pressed on.

"Y/N I - "

" - Just tell me if it happens." You stressed. "Please."

He frowned, clearly unhappy with this but gave up. "Fine, okay. Anything else?"

"Uh, no those are the essentials but this last one is more a question I wanted to discuss with you."

"Shoot, as they say."

You played with the spoon they gave you beside your now empty latte. "I wanted to know how far you're expecting the publicity of our relationship to go? Like, will there be social media posting? Are you going to name me?"

He looked down at nothing, clearly in thought. "Do you want me to?

"Oh no!" You realised how it may sound, that you wanted it. "I'm not expecting a hard launch post right now."

"I wasn't going to post you." Carlos said. This took you aback and you were confused why that upset you a little. "I'll acknowledge that I'm now in a relationship but I'm not going to make a big show about it. The rest of the drivers will do that without me needing to."

"Yes, speaking of which," You jumped on that, satisfied with his answer (acknowledging without making a show was kind of what you wanted anyway) "what are you going to say when a driver asks you about us?"

"I'm going to say that we found out we were both going to the Sevilla game and started hanging out. We went on a proper date the day after and started dating from there."

"Even to Lando?"

"Lando will probably just tease me more than anything and be upset that he didn't get to wing-man me in getting you." Carlos said and you felt your cheeks warm up at you. "He will expect us to join him at a club at some point to see him DJ though."

That made you smile. But you couldn't smile fully when the other name sat a weight in your chest - it had since Carlos left Dia's house.

"To Charles?"

"The same." Carlos then gave you a knowing look. "I know Leclerc will get mad but that doesn't bother me. He doesn't have a hold on you, not when you're my girlfriend." He wiggled his eyebrows and then pointed a finger at you. "Are you ready if Charles talks to you about it? Out of everyone, Verstappen, he knows you best. What happens in Monaco when we see his family - your family?"

You were floored. For many things. Firstly that Carlos was so unbothered with Charles' reaction to him. You knew they were genuine friends so to see how Carlos' prioritised racing above all displayed a lot about his mental attitudes - it was something you had seen with Max. Being Number 1 was not a personal issue, it couldn't be. If it was, you would never be Number 1. Example A: Daniel.

The next thing was the fact that Carlos already knew you well and how Charles was not someone you could exactly be indifferent to. Aside from the relationship between the two of you, he was different to Max because you did spend time with Pascale and Lorenzo. Arthur would still say hi - if Charles wasn't around, but you knew it was more because he was scared of his brother's tantrums than actually listening to him. Arthur had always been like that.

The third thing, and arguably the thing that floored you the most, was that Carlos had used 'we.' What happens in Monaco when 'we' see his family - your family?

"I've thought about that." You said. And you had. Agonised over it, actually. Imagined it. Played the scenario in your head over and over. What would you say if, and probably when, Charles storms up to you to ask why the fuck you were dating Carlos?

He made me pancakes.

taglist:

@eugene-emt-roe @spookystitchery @vicurious28 @taytaylala12 @c-losur3

@hiireadstuff @samantha-chicago @fionaschicken @casperlikej @bookstore-of-dreams

@itsjustkhaos @sam-is-lost @laneyspaulding19 @formula1mount @bokutos-babyowl

@stampiej @alilcloudy @bingussthirdtoe @lilymurphy03 @inlovewmarlenemckinnon

@charllleclerc @richardniixon @sp1rl @nikfigueiredo @lozzamez3

@butterfliesflyaroundmymind @vellicora @ellen3101 @michelleyw81 @samantha-chicago

This weekend, you were sitting on the rooftop of some ridiculously expensive Hospitality suite. Your feet were dangling over the edge, black and white Cortez for the day. You had chosen them as a way to make yourself feel slightly better at being shifted from Haas to Ferrari.

Guenther had just sworn in exasperation and then said this was probably Fred's doing to get on the mini pizzas. You wondered if --

No. You stopped the train of thought. You were here to be still.

You spooned up another serving of your overnight oats into your mouth. You had made it with chia and this new type of protein powder. You grimaced at the taste - it evidently was not good. It tasted like... well, like protein powder. You were unsure if the added 15g of protein was really worth the taste.

It was the very reason that you were having breakfast that you could sit on the rooftop ledge of a Formula 1 Hospitality suite, sneakers dangling over the edge. You watched the slow trickle in of mechanics from various teams. You also spotted a few F3 and F2 drivers coming in with their trainers. You smiled down at the next generation of drivers. They were so young.

The sun was just rising over the lake, just behind the city scape of Melbourne's CBD skyline. You smiled at the colour of the clouds and how they were mirrored on the still water. You took a deep breath - and then ate some more of the protein mess.

By the time you were done, some Ferrari workers had arrived. You closed the glass tupperware container - there was about a quarter left of but you had eaten all the berries and without the fruit to sweeten it, you couldn't do it - and made moves to the motorhome.

Last night had bought home pistachio ice-cream and it had given you the idea to make cannoli as a nice Race Day treat. It also meant you would be busy making the shells and the filling would be self-serve. As in, you could hide in the kitchen while everyone served themselves.

It wasn't like you hadn't worked in Ferrari in the past five years. However, it was the first time you'd been here since Oscar Piastri had entered the picture. And since Oscar Piastri had entered the picture, Daniel had drunkenly screamed at you, the Team Principals had all met to discuss your contract and Charles had looked at you. Somehow, the latter was the most daunting.

Either way, you weren't taking chances.

You greeted some Ferrari staff and took some coffee orders. While the machine turned on, you tied a bandana around your head and apron around your waist.

Then you got to work.

"Y/N can you make the coffees for the debrief?"

"Yeah sure no worries." You had just done the finishing touches for the dough and were just sitting on the table, scrolling through your phone killing time anyway. You walked over to the machine and turned on the grinder?

"Grazie! Oh, and can you then take them to the meeting room?"

The intern delivering the news immediately dipped after that, unaware of the bomb they'd just dropped in your lap. You blinked after them and wanted to call out but they were already gone in the business of the Race Day craziness. Your eyes were bulging in shock - since when were you walking into important meetings such as race debriefs? If it weren't for the fact that you recognised this intern from last year - and to be related to Fred - and you would've thought it a careless instruction that would have them immediately fired and banned for life.

You went about making all the respective coffees. You prepped Carlos' piccolo, a strong latte for Charles, the engineers coffees. And a double espresso for Fred. Just in case.

Even though he was nothing like Mattia, you had PTSD from TPs in red. You liked Fred but the whole environment still had you on edge.

You set the coffees on a tray and looked around in case you could pass them to someone else to deliver, maybe a lowly intern or an engineer about to walk in?

None.

You sighed and gave yourself a moment. You dusted your hands on your apron - and then promptly took it off once you realised the massive egg/flour mishap stain at the front. But then you looked down at your legs bare in a pair of Adidas shorts and wondered if the apron covering was better.

You took a steading breath, feeling the nerves rise up. Suddenly you felt the sensation of the bandana wrapped around your head too tight and took that off. When you felt slightly, even if incrementally, slightly better, you grabbed the tray and made way to the third door beside the two Ferrari driver rooms.

You knocked twice and entered when you heard the call. You walked in and saw the small group of people, mainly comprised of Charles and Carlos, their respective engineers of Xavi and Adami. You also vaguely noticed Morena, the PR manager and were mildly confused at that oddity.

"Oh, let me get that for you!" The closest person to you stood up to help you. It was Carlos and you thanked him. You ducked your head and were immediately half way out the door when Morena was already calling out.

"Perfect timing! I need a woman's opinion on this!"

"Uh - what?"

"A woman's opinion!" Morena repeated but clarified nothing. "We have some model options coming in today to pair up with our boys and they seem to not care much for this."

You stared at her. You blinked twice. It took you a few seconds to understand what she was saying. Suddenly pictures, looking like head shots, were slid across the table.

You stared down at the incredibly gorgeous girls and the reality of the situation you were in. Suddenly, taking off the apron seemed like a good call.

They were each more beautiful than the other. Faces perfectly symmetrical, hair styled by the gods and a waist that no type of cut would ever get you.

"Is this really appropriate?" Charles voice drew you back from the models photos. You didn't look at him but at Morena who was frowning at him.

"Considering they will be here in an hour and no one has given me an answer, then yes. Y/N is known for her discretion, no?" Morena looked at Fred who looked like he would literally be anywhere else but here.

"Bah, if it means we can get a decision sooner." Fred shrugged. "I'd like to get to racing."

"And I won't choose for you!" Morena asked. "And Xavi has not helped."

"Xavi is my race engineer. Not my match-maker." Charles said, tensely. "And neither is some hospitality worker."

Oh.

Oh no.

You felt your ears go warm. You felt the need to swallow whatever was bubbling up in your throat. Your eyes were on some random models face but she was nothing but parts of a face to you. Charles had just referred to you as 'some hospitality worker' and you wanted to die.

How - how did you guys get to this? Never in a million years would you have imagined that the first time you would be both be in a race day debrief for Ferrari would it go like this.

Still, you would steel yourself. You would not be shaken like this.

"Charles is right." You said, hating how hoarse your voice sounded. You cleared it and then spoke again. "Even if it's for PR, more thought that this should go into it. As much as modelling agencies are discreet, this particular one has had controversy selling secrets when some footballers consulted them." You thought of Jude's ex-girlfriend's manager from this agency and how they'd sold 'secrets' about him for some extra quick cash. "I would suggest finding… more local participants to make life easier and for the genuine aspect of it.” You winced at how that sounded. But it was true. “I would also suggest doing this after the race as both F2 and F3 have finished their feature races reporting increased tyre degradation from yesterday."

"How do you know?" Adami asked, frowning at you.

"About the modelling agency or the tyre degradation?" You shrugged and grabbed the tray. "Who knows? I am just a hospitality worker."

You gave Charles a look. His eyes were down, looking at his lap. You know he was clenching his fists.

You went back to the kitchen but you were too hyped up. You found yourself pacing back and forth, unable to process it. He called you a what? Charles. Charles Leclerc. The same boy you shared a crib with had referred to you as just some fucking hospitality worker?!

It wasn't like you were ashamed of the type of work you did. You know that, considering the elitism of F1, there was definitely a lack of being in touch with the reality of people who work the 'menial work' and wait on and serve those with the million dollar watches and matching boat. You had first-hand experience of going to having the lanyard to serving the people with the lanyard.

But you hadn’t expected Charles to be like that. You had expected him to be better than that.

Suffice to say, you had lost respect for Charles Leclerc. The fact that it came from him made the anger, hurt and shame all the more inflamed and you knew there was no way you could pretend to give a shit about cannoli anymore.

You stalked out the Ferrari motorhome, unable to think straight but needing to just get out.

However, it just so happened that the universe really wanted to screw you over because as luck would have it - you just had to bump into a familiar face in Red Bull gear.

The car was good. Really good. He came out on top in all three Free Practice sessions. Max Verstappen had pole position and he was beyond confident he would convert that into a win today.

And yet, he felt like he might actually throw up.

Staring down at his phone, Max let the Instagram reel keep replaying automatically as he watched you and that fucking McLaren rookie in your old Supra.

Initially, it hadn't come up on his feed. Max saw no need to follow any of the other teams and he had zero desire to befriend the new kid. Sure, Oscar Piastri’s resume was already quite impressive but Max was already wary of him since he was the reason Daniel, one of his best friends, had been forced out of F1.

And now it seemed like Piastri felt like he could take more than Daniel’s seat.

"Yo, Maxie!" Max looked up to where the man in question was walking out. Daniel had just finished doing some PR bullshit Horner had him doing as the third driver. Whilst Max could appreciate it being nice to have Daniel again around in Red Bull - and elevate some of the PR demands - Max didn’t appreciate all the rumours and unnecessary drama brought up between Daniel and Checo.

Because Max would win either way. Whoever was in the other seat didn’t phase him all that much. It couldn’t.

"Hi Daniel." Max said, looking back down at his phone once more and then pocketing it.

"What you watching?" Daniel asked casually.

"Oh nothing." Max dismissed. "Something Kelly sent me." Technically, that was true. Kelly had been the one to message him the reel.

"Ah, the missus. How is she?"

"Good, good." Max nodded, looking down for a moment. Then he looked back at his friend. "What happened between you and Y/N?"

"What?" Daniel blinked, his smile faltering at the question. "Er - where is this coming from?"

"No where. Kelly asked me and I realised I never knew the full story. She - she was gone before I could ask her." Max said, referring to your evident distance from him due to what had happened with Jos.

It was something Max had always felt conflicted about. Could he be happy that you had defended him even though it meant someone close to him got hurt? It was his father so why did it feel wrong to stand by Jos? Was it because it meant it was against you?

Either way, none of that really mattered right now. All that Max knew was that Daniel didn't break up with you because of what happened with Jos.

So what? Max knew things weren't always rosy with you and Daniel but he'd just assumed it was F1 pressures or the usual woes of relationships. Then you both broke up and knew that there was something else.

"We just, uh, I don't know. Didn't work. Fit." Daniel shrugged and looked away. It was the same line he'd always used. Max was about to give it up when Daniel finally added something new to the story. "Fucking Charles always got in the way."

Max considered this and thought about Charles and you for a moment.

He remembered always seeing you at the circuits growing up, fussing over Leclerc. He'd met you the same time he'd met Charles for the very fact that Where ever Charles was, you wouldn't be too far off. Initially, Max was confused about your relationship. You were too young to be dating but had vastly different features to be related. However, over time, he'd just come to accept that you and Charles were, well, you and Charles.

Admittedly starting in Formula 1 before Charles meant Max had been nervous when they were finally racing against each other and where your loyalties would lie. However, for the short period where that was the case (before everything crumbled, that is) it seemed to, oddly enough, actually work.

Max looked at his friend who had lost his easygoing smile. "I never felt that with her." He said, running through his memories of their time at Toro Rosso. "We thought it would cause problems with her being my trainer. But it never was."

"Yeah, well, you weren't dating her." Daniel said with a shake of her head. There was a finality to his tone that, frankly, Max didn't give a shit about. This was the most amount he'd ever gotten out of Daniel about what happened between the two of you.

For a second, Max wondered if Daniel was over this breakup as much as he said he was. "...Do you think Charles was in love with her?"

Daniel threw his head back in a laugh. Not his usual one. No, this was more sarcastic, sardonic even. "Oh, definitely. Always throwing it in my face." Now it was Daniel's time to be inquisitive. "Do you know what happened between them? Like I heard all the rumours - "

"No. I don't." Max reached across to pull a can of Red Bull to him and crack it open. Daniel didn't say anything even though they both knew that was a lie.

Because Max did know. It was why Max and Charles stopped speaking. It was why they came to blows that one night in Imola.

Daniel knew Max was lying about what happened with Charles. Just like Max knew Daniel was lying about what happened with you.

"Anyway Maxie, I have to -- oof!"

Both men turned around to see the very girl in question fall back. You were clearly running from the Ferrari motorhome - it was right next door - and judging by your face, you were very much not okay.

"Woah, you okay?" Daniel reaches his hands out to steady you and Max notes the way you immediately recoil from his touch. Your eyes darted quickly to meet his and Max felt himself want to reach out also and make sure you were okay. Daniel's observation was correct: you very clearly weren't okay.

"Yeah, excuse me." You made a move to step around but Daniel immediately ran his mouth.

"You don't look good, Tez." He looked behind you at the red building. "Trouble in paradise?"

"I'm honestly not in the mood for your shit."

"What shit? I'm just pointing out the facts." Daniel said. Max glared at his friend. Daniel could be a dick when he wanted to be. "Just be careful. McLaren's next door and it could look like you're violating your contract."

"Daniel." Max couldn't help but warn his friend. It was clear you were not okay and this was not the time.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" You spat back. "Have you been waiting outside the Ferrari motorhome to make these digs? What? Liking some fucking tweets wasn't enough for you?"

"Y/N." Max now warned you.

"Max, with all due respect, I'm this close to losing it. And you have lost the right to care about me."

"Yeah, don't want to add another Verstappen to your list."

That was too far, even for Max. He stepped in front of you before you could react and gave Daniel a very clear shove. "Don't you fucking dare." It was at this point the Australian realised he had probably gone too far. He shoved Max's hand off and turned around with a "yeah whatever" before stalking off.

Max turned around and saw something he'd only witnessed once before in the ten years or so that he'd known you.

You, on the verge of tears.

"Fuck, Tez." Max immediately wrapped a hand around your shoulder and guided you to the shared loading zone space of the Red Bull and Ferrari motorhomes. "Are you okay? He lowered down to meet your eyes. You were staring at nothing behind him, guiding your attention there as your tears pooled and fell down your face.

"Do - do you want a hug?" He asked, feeling awkward since it wasn't exactly like he was your closest friend right now and had the right to offer you any comfort. Max also had never seen you like this.

Vulnerable. You were always the rock in a time of chaos. You had always kept him level-headed and reminded him to curb his anger and how to properly channel it. You were the calm in any storm. You were always stronger that way. Nothing ever seemed to get you down.

So to see you like this... it was almost like seeing a parent cry. You had always been the one to comfort him. Never the other way around.

He was about to put his arms around you when that seemed to awaken something in you.

"Get the fuck off me." You immediately shoved him back.

"Woah, I'm just trying to help you."

"And why would I need your help? Especially since you never offered it when I really fucking needed it."

Max faltered. You had a point. He should've said something when you defended him - when you protected him. Not throw you under the bus and lie because his dad told him to do so. Because everyone knew you were protecting Max from his abusive father but the official records were that you attacked Jos since Max's testimony went that way. His mother had cried, Jos had given him the silent treatment and even Helmut told him to think of his career.

So Max gave the final line needed that would see you always see you a premeditated court agreed amount of space away from his family. And him by extension.

It wasn't lost on him that the last time Max had been this close to you had been when you were mopping up vomit in Abu Dhabi 2021.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

"A few too fucking years late, Max." You wiped at your tears. You never liked to be seen as weak. He liked to think he got that from you.

"Then let me just help you out this one time." He wasn't sure why he started this - maybe it was the guilt of not doing something in the past and wanting to rectify it, but he added. "Horner's onto you. He's got lawyers on your case."

You stopped crying for a moment, thrown at this. "What?"

"That Piastri kid. I know you're close to him." Max couldn't help the annoying feeling when he said that aloud, "But Horner is worried since he has a good record with F3 and F2 but McLaren have a shit car so I'm not too worried but - "

"Oh my God." You breathed and turned around, looking at the wall. "Oh my God." You repeated.

"What?"

"Oh my God I'm actually going to move to Madrid and start with football because I am so fucking done with you drivers."

Max stared, unsure what was going on with you right now. What had he said? Why were you so angry?

"Is that seriously what you're worried about right now?"

Max blanked. How had he gone from trying to help you out by letting you know what Horner was doing to somehow pissing you off even more. "No, I - I'm just saying that I don't care if you're training Piastri but the point is that Horner - "

"And say, Max, why should it matter if you care or not?" You snapped at him, all the tears suddenly gone. You were fuming. "What? I need your permission as my old driver to train someone new?"

"No, it doesn't matter because I'm better than him."

"Yeah but I haven't trained him yet."

"Well go ahead and train him then! We'll see who wins with your rookie in that McLaren tractor."

"You know what, Max? Bet. By the end of this year, both you and Horner will regret fucking me over for Jos."

"Good luck doing that when you're also making him coffee."

At that exact moment, the sound of a door flinging open broke the tension and out came a man dressed in red. Neither you or Max were sure where Carlos Sainz had come from but there he was. He bounded down the steps and came between you and Max before you had anytime to say or do anything.

Max, immediately filled with regret, started apologising. "I didn't mean that - "

"Shut the fuck up Verstappen." Carlos' harsh curse cut out of nowhere. He didn't look at the driver once and Max watched as you let Carlos tug you back and up the steps back into the rear exit of the Ferrari motorhome.

Max turned to the side of the building and, despite knowing he has a race in a few hours, threw his fist right into it.

Usually on your rest days, you opted for active rest. Walks. Yoga - or just stretching in general. Swimming if possible was also a go.

Today was a rest day. You had planned to go for a walk around Albert Park when the track closed up for the day. That had been the plan. Make it through the day, enjoy the race, go for a walk and then start making plans for Azerbaijan. You had discussed getting there early to have a few days to settle and get into a routine with working out and training.

That had been the plan. And if life had gone according to your plan, you would currently be smiling at the sun that was setting over the skyline reflected on the lake and think to yourself about how much you loved Formula 1.

However, right now you were in bed, no form of exercise attempted as you watched the Liverpool game. The race had finished a few hours ago and you had watched Max win on Dia's old TV. It just added fresh salt to the wound and he lifted the trophy and celebrated as if you were nothing in building him to be the driver who was standing on that podium.

As such, you were under two blankets and hadn't left the space on the living room couch since you'd arrived earlier today. You had also apparently given up on your cut as you accepted Dia's Nutella sandwiches and glasses of red wine.

When she asked what had happened you just said, "2018 hit me in the face again."

She didn't say anything more about that. She said a gentle, "I'm here if you want." But then just sat by you on the couch and knitted. She commented on Oscar's driving style. She also kept making jokes about Stroll. That lifted your mood slightly.

The race, admittedly, had been an interesting one. Dia didn't say anything when Charles went off but her loud snort made you smile. Him getting beached the first lap felt karmic to you and for the first time ever, you would allow yourself to feel vindication seeing Charles go out of a race.

However, it wasn't the Ferrari with the black T cam that had your attention this race. Carlos was starting 5th and anytime he was on screen, you found your attention drawn to his car. Especially since the first half of the lap he was fighting with Pierre and when he finally overtook him on lap 25, you found yourself wanting to cheer for him.

Oscar drove pretty well and finished 8th. It wasn't too bad but with the amount of cars that went out, it was a lucky result. Especially since most of the time, both the McLarens were fighting with Haas.

Especially after the second red flag and he got into 3rd place after he was forced into Alonso who spun out. Unfortunately he didn't keep it and finished 12th. It was evidently not a good result and you almost wished you could reach out to him.

In another life.

You were done with drivers and Formula 1 for the day - for the week. You hadn't been serious before with Max but now, in the space or your living room watching the Liverpool game Carlos had spoken about before, you couldn't help but think that football would be better than F1.

The doorbell rang and you looked at your aunt.

"Did you order Uber Eats?"

"In my house? Don't insult me." Dia tutted and lifted your feet off her lap to get up and answer it. You kept watching the game and watched as Mo Salah went in for the assist but missed. Your thoughts continued to mull over it as the offhanded angry comment became more and more concrete as the night wore on.

For one, taking your uncle's offer meant you'd get to train athletes again. You wouldn't get to travel as much, sure, but that also meant you'd get more consistency and having a routine wouldn't be so much of a headache with all the jet-lag. You were friends with most of the boys on the squad and they all usually came from diverse backgrounds - meaning less of the elitist snobbery of the rich upper class that ruled F1.

And since Christian Horner was apparently calling his lawyers - his very, very good lawyers - it would probably be for the best. Maybe she could coach Oscar online or something. He'd understand. He was a good kid and she'd miss him, sure but was it really worth it if --

"Oh dearest, sweet niece of mine! You have a guest!" Dia's voice rang from the hallway and you frowned, sitting up. You weren't sure who might come to visit you. The only feasible option was Oscar and so you stood up, not caring about your dishevelled, ratty pyjamas. Maybe it was a good time to tell him he was going to Madrid.

"Hey bro, sorry for not messaging you. Shit hit the fan and I think I'm gonna move to Madrid - "

"My hometown? That's nice. I can show you around."

Oscar Piastri was not standing in your door frame.

It was Carlos Sainz.

"Carlos? What - what are you doing here?" You pulled at the large jumper you wore above the Spider-Man boxer briefs that completed your nightwear look.

Unfortunately this just made him look down at said boxer briefs. Carlos' lips twitched but he said nothing and just smiled warmly at you. "You weren't at the circuit." Was all he said, as if that explained anything. Then he held up a brown paper bag. "I brought you ice-cream."

Not sure what to do, you just welcomed him in. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Come in." You noticed Dia quickly dip down the hallway to give you space. Not before she made a show of wiggling her eyebrows at you. You gave her an unimpressed look and waved at her.

And so you sat at Dia's cluttered kitchen table with Carlos Sainz who brought you ice-cream from a gelato shop near the hotel he was staying at.

"I wasn't sure what flavour you liked so I got a few." He opened the styrofoam tub and you saw three different colours. "Pistachio, hazelnut and tiramisu. It was their weekly flavour."

"All sounds good." You brought some spoons and cups to the table. Carlos brought a cup to him and began serving himself. You went to the other cup but Carlos tutted your hand away. He then finished scooping some of each flavour before passing the cup to you.

It was a small gesture but after the day you had, it meant a lot. You smiled and muttered a quiet thank you. You waited until he had served himself before you tried the pistachio.

"Hmm, that's good." You commented. Pistachio was one of your favourite flavours and this was pretty good.

"I agree." Carlos nodded. "Do you have a favourite flavour?"

"Usually go for pistachio."

"Ah, good for me!" Carlos smiled and held out his spoon with pistachio ice-cream. It took you a second but you clinked your spoon against his. "Cheers! You know, if you move to Madrid I can show you all the good ice-cream shops."

"Thank you. It's not confirmed, just a thought I'm having on a bad day." It was then that you realised that you probably weren't the only one who might be having a bad day.

Technically, with eight cars out, Carlos' 12th place meant he had finished last today.

And had been told he needed to get into a PR relationship.

"I'm sorry." You said. He looked at you, spoon in mouth and frowned. "I - uh, about today. The race."

His face became a bit more solemn and he sighed. "Thank you. It wasn't exactly my best result but I know Charles - " He stopped and you thought it was because he named your former best friend. But then he shrugged and scoped some more ice-cream into his mouth. "I bet Charles so I'm fine."

Your mouth fell open.

"You're not a reporter, I don't need to lie." Carlos elaborated and it took you a second to process the honesty.

"I... yeah. Fair enough."

"Oscar did well."

"Not well enough."

"I heard what you said to Max."

You bristled at his comment. Admittedly you hadn't had a lot of interaction with Carlos but you were unused to him calling things so straightforward. So, you deflected. "Was this after you were let out of choosing a PR relationship?"

"Yes. And thanks for that by the way. By bringing up the locals bit, Morena decided we can pick our own girls." He rolled his eyes. Then he looked at you and grinned. "Let me know if you decide to move to Madrid."

"Ha. Funny." You then decided to use his same tactic. "Carlos, I'm sorry I'm gonna be blunt."

"That's fine. I prefer that."

"I noticed." You said. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Do you want to go to the Real Madrid game next week?"

What? "What?"

"The game?" Carlos repeated, seeming very indifferent to the immediate change in conversation that was throwing you for a loop. He had brought you ice-cream and come to your personal home to ask you about a football game? "I can get us private flight tickets to Bernabéu. My dad has a box."

You stared at him. He continued to eat ice-cream. Innocently.

"Again, Carlos, I'm gonna ask... what?"

He put down the ice-cream and turned to you fully. It made you sit up a little and he stared at you. "I'm stuck at Ferrari. I thought it would be the next step up but I feel more stuck there than when I was with McLaren. My first season I went without a win and I knew Charles was going to be their priority but I didn't realise how bad it was going to be. I'm not going to stand out to them unless I really work for it."

"Okay." You said, trying to understand where he was going with this.

"And I don't want to be stuck in some PR relationship with someone I have nothing in common with. I heard you with Max. You want to get back at Red Bull and it looks like he's going to be the one to beat this year."

You were starting to see an angle here... but it was an angle that seemed far too ludicrous to accept.

"Carlos..." You were hesitant to ask, "what exactly are you saying?"

"Let me date you. Be my chosen PR girl. Come with me to Madrid and watch the game."

"And train you?" You added. "That's kind of what we're getting at here."

"Yes." He nodded. "And train me to beat Red Bull."

"And prove to Ferrari you're better than Charles." You reminded him. "It sounds like you get all the benefits. I mean, I'm training you and helping you out of a PR relationship."

"Yes but you forget Lando is my best friend. He can help us get you to still work alongside Oscar."

"Max told me Horner's got lawyers on my case."

"Yes but doesn't it say family? Romantic grounds? You'll be my girlfriend. And Horner can't say anything if my friend and his teammate happen to use the gym the same time as I'm there with my girlfriend."

You had to stand up. You couldn't sit there and think about this. You ran a hand through your hair as you thought over what Carlos was asking you, what he was offering.

Seeing you consider this, Carlos continued to speak, to sweeten the pot. "You can finally work in F1 without making the coffee."

Considering the day, this pissed you off. You stopped your pacing and glare at him. "I enjoy making coffee."

"I know you do." Carlos didn't skip a beat, "but you'll finally be able to do what you're really passionate about and prove everyone wrong."

"By making you win." You reminded him of that key part.

"Exactly." He grinned. "It's a win-win. If Oscar is going to break Charles' rule, then I might also." Carlos said it with a shrug but that caught you more than anything.

"What rule?" Carlos looked at you for and grimaced. "Out with it Sainz."

"Leclerc kind of put out a general ban on you. No one's really allowed to come near you."

For the second time tonight, you were floored. Except this time, you had to sit down. You put your head in your hands, elbows on the table as you processed this. This.

Charles had banned other drivers from engaging with you. That's why Alex stopped cracking jokes with you, it's why George stopped giving you the updates about Carmen, why Lando stopped saying hello and why Pierre all but pretended you didn't exist. Logan Sargeant had gone from always chatting with you in F2 to avoiding you like the plague when he arrived in F1. You found it off he refused your Congratulations! cake you'd sent to Williams.

For the first time in your life, you found yourself rooting for Charles to lose.

Because you had decided that you would do anything to make the man beside you win.

"We're versing Sevilla." You spoke.

Carlos' smile grew. He understood what you meant. "I know."

"You'll organise the tickets."

"Of course." He licked his spoon clear. Your ice-cream had since melted at all the revelations of the night. "I'll send someone to pick you up for the flight."

"My uncle will want to meet you." You added, thinking now about the reality of all the logistics.

"My dad also." Carlos added. "He might be there."

"That's fine." You had met Carlos Sainz Sr before when you worked in Torro Rosso. "Just please don't tell my uncle I have a Liverpool jersey."

"As my girlfriend, I do think we're going to have to do something about that. I may take the Don's side on that one."

Girlfriend. That was a word you hadn't had in a while. How long had it been since you were someone's girlfriend?

To think you had woken up thinking about the shitty protein powder in your breakfast to now going to sleep as Carlos Sainz' girlfriend.

"You look like your head is spinning." Said driver commented.

"That's because it is." You said. Needing something to do, you picked up the ice-cream contained and went to put the lid back on and put in the freezer. Carlos had brought the cups and spoons to the sink and you immediately reached for them.

"I can get that."

He tutted at you again and turned on the tap. "This is how a man treats his woman." You had to snort at the line.

"What corny romance novel did you get that from?"

"My father, actually." He said which made you tilt your head. You knew Carlos Sainz' dad played a big role in his career, a former rally driver himself, but you were starting to understand the level he played in Carlos' life.

By the door as he was putting his shoes on, you asked him. "Are you going to tell your dad, by the way, that you and I are PR." Suddenly, however, another thought arrived to you - one that took precedence above all. "Wait, if you and I are going to be in a relationship does this mean I have to attend all those Ferrari events are your WAG?"

"Yes, but fake boyfriend or not, I'm not going to allow today to happen to you."

"What?"

"Ricciardo, Verstappen, Leclerc." He listed. "No one will disrespect you like that again. I promise you. I won't let them."

You stared at him, stunned. "I... um. Thanks, Carlos."

He smiled at you. "Anytime, cariña." He reached up his hand and tucked a hair behind your ear. You blinked. Wasn't this the behaviour he was supposed to do when cameras were around. You said this and his smile grew. "Just getting my practice in. Sleep well."

You closed the door behind him and rested your head against it. Before you could process anything, you heard laughter behind you.

Dia stood there, an amused look on her face with her arms crossed. "Fake relationship with the hot Spanish driver? Yeah that doesn't sound a like a rom-com plot. I give it 6 months."

< prev ch [7] | next ch [9] >

taglist:

@eugene-emt-roe @spookystitchery @vicurious28 @taytaylala12 @c-losur3

@hiireadstuff @samantha-chicago @fionaschicken @casperlikej @bookstore-of-dreams

@itsjustkhaos @sam-is-lost @laneyspaulding19 @formula1mount @bokutos-babyowl

@stampiej @alilcloudy @bingussthirdtoe @sisinever @lilymurphy03

You hadn't worried about it at first, because he was usually back after lunch, even though you didn't want him back so late on such a day. But then lunch came and went, and the sun began to set.

To make matters worse, you began to bleed. You thought you were just menstruating, but then it got bad enough that Yoaros, Mitker's fourth wife, took notice as she and Abby comforted you in your room. They sent you off to the healer and played with Aelina in the meantime.

Aelina giggled and reached out to you the moment you got back to your room, both of which held a worried expression.

Abby, who was holding Aelina, sets her down, allowing her to walk up to you.

"What did the healer say?" Yaoros asks you through a line between her brows.

The women flock over to you along with your daughter.

You grunt as you pick her up, half-expecting to feel a piercing pain in your abdomen. You don't. You are numb, just as you told the healer.

"Is it just your cycle?" Yaoeos asks.

"I-" you chuckle dryly as your eyes water, "I'm miscarrying."

"What?!" they say in unison.

"Pardon," you sniffle as you embrace Aelina, who squeals in excitement as your lips wobble, "miscarried... I passed a mass a while ago... a b- ba-"

The two embrace you.

Aelina giggles and looks around, "HUG!"

You chuckle sadly at your daughter's innocence.

You vaguely hear one of them curse Daemon.

Abby asks, "are you going to tell him?"

You feel sick, "o-o-" you shake your head, "of course I'm going to tell him."

She squeezes your arm, "maybe you shouldn't."

"W-what?" you stare at her, "wh-why wouldn't I? He's my husband."

"She meant," Yoaros waves a hand, "maybe not now."

Your face falls and yet you find yourself laughing, "clearly not now," you sniffle, "he's not here."

"Who's not here?"

Aelina shrieks excitedly, clawing back for whomever was behind you.

You weren't surprised when Daemon swoops your daughter away and kisses her like everything was all well and good.

Daemon had been bouncing his babe in his arms, but stopped because of it.

You had no fight in you and you didn't want to dampen your Aelina's nameday by fighting her father in front of her. It was incredibly satisfying when the ladies chew him out for you with glares and snappy remarks.

Abby and Yaoros place a hand on your shoulder as they pass you, muttering soft words of encouragement before leaving.

He watches them leave then turns back to you. He's about to insult them, but then he sees your blotchy, red-eyed face. His expression falls.

"Kepa, cake!" Aelina says, rubbing her round belly.

"ELMON!"

Daemon's attention is torn off you, "you ate cake?"

She leans into him.

"Ao gōntan, ñuha jorrāelagon? Skoros sȳz?" You did, my love? What kind?

"Oh, lemon cake?" Daemon nods.

"Elmon and awburry!"

"Lemon and strawberry," he hums, "that sounds delicious. Did you leave some for daddy?"

Aelina is distracted by his collar. Daemon asks her again, finally gaining her attention. She nods and points. Her looks out to the desk, finding a plate with a metal cover.

"Did you save that for daddy?" he asks walking towards the desk.

"Muña!" Mother!

Daemon turns to you then to the cake. He removes the metal cover and swipes a dollop of cream, "konir sagon olvie sȳz hen zirȳla." That's very kind of her. He hums as he licks his finger, "mmm, sweet like mummy."

You nearly gag at that. You rub your belly as you watch the man sit her daughter down on the bed. You want to lunge at him and kick him away, but then he pulls out a necklace from his pocket and puts it on Aelina. "Happy nameday, my darling," he kisses her cheek.

Daemon turns to you as Aelina tries to look at the jewelry around her neck.

Just then, three servant girls come in, one holding a tray of tea, and two holding a large pail of hot water for your tub. They tell you they were instructed by Mistress Abby to prepare you a bath and some chamomile. You thank them and follow them in the bath.

They help you out of your clothes and you cringe at the sight of the blood running down your thigh. You wipe it off with your dress and get into the tub. The servants are about to help you bathe, but you dismiss them and just sit there in the warm water in silence. They leave with a curtsy.

You pour yourself some tea then take a sio, sighing at the heat that spreads across your body.

"Are you in pain?"

You do not look back. You stare at your tea cup.

You hear him come to the side of your tub, "mind if I have some?"

You turn to the tray, "there's only one cup."

Daemon takes your wrist.

Finally, you look up at him. He looks worried. It stokes anger in your belly.

He takes the cup from you but does not drink from it. He sets it back on the tray and kneels beside the tub. He takes your hand and washes it absentmindedly.

Your jaw hardens as you watch him do this with a care you should crave but can only presently detest.

"What's wrong?"

Your jaw drops.

His violet eyes dart up to you when you rip your hand away.

"What's wrong?"

He stiffens. His brows raise as he shakes his head, "I am not a mind reader."

You laugh. You laugh and turn to him, hands clutching the rim of the tub for dear life, "why don't we figure it out together."

He clenches his jaw and mutters your name.

You cut him off, "it is your daughter's first nameday and you arrive after sunset?!"

Daemon comes to a stand, "I'm was busy helping those orphans you love so much."

You roll your eyes and laugh.

His face twists at the sound, "ask them yourself if you cannot believe me."

"No, I believe you..." you turn to the water, watching it ripple as your tears hit the surface.

He does not reply. He does not know what to, as he, in truth, was expecting more resistance.

You look back at him, "...but do not pretend that you go to the city to help anyone but yourself."

"I have helped more people here than I have ever been able to in King's Landing!" He raises his voice and points to nowhere, "I tell you all that I do wh-"

"All that you do?" you whine, throat burning as you continue, "do you honestly tell me all that you do when you go out?"

Daemon clenches his hands into fists, "yes."

You slap your hands on your face and begin to sob.

He sighs and slumps forward, slowly kneeling back down again, "my lov-"

"At least my father never pretended, —"

He freezes.

"— he treated me as I am," you turn to him, eyes red and wronged, "a sick little girl, a weak piece on his board."

He pinches the bride of his nose, "you are not a pawn to me."

"I did not say I was," you rebut with a shrug, "you do not treat me as such," you raise your brows, "you treat me as if I'm fucking stupid."

His eyes widen.

"And I can assure you, prince, I am not."

His hand tremors in offence as he grips the tub. He huffs, "it's those women-" he seethes, "-those fucking whores that made you turn on me-"

You push yourself up from the tub, coming to a stand, "everyone turns on you because of you, Daemon!"

He stands as well, ready to escalate your argument, but you beat him to it.

"I do not need anyone to tell me how I feel," you point to your chest as your vision blurs with tears, "I talked to Jelane."

His blood goes still.

"She lied at first, but then I paid her," you hiss. "She didn't take the coin, but told me anyway. She told me she lied because she pitied me."

Daemon tenses further when you lurch forward. He notices then that there was blood dripping from your inner thigh.

"She told me where your room was. I went to it," you mutter.

He reaches out to you, "that's enou-"

"She looks like Rhaenyra."

He flinches when you swat his hand off.

"I found myself praying that you would find someone that looked like me," you whine, no longer able to stand straight, "at least then I could tell myself you loved me."

"I do," he whispers.

You whine as you sink back into the tub. The water turns into a murky shade of red.

He sighs and leans forward, "let me help."

"You cannot," you scoff.

"Please," he shakes his head, "what can I do-"

"Bring the babe back to life then."

He tenses, eyes wide as the moon.

You cup water in your palm but let it gush through your fingers as you lift your hand, "this would have been your second child..." you look at your reflection in the water, "... if only."

Daemon's skin pricks with gooseflesh.

You reach for your teacup and take a sip, "get out of my face."

"How long have you known?"

You scoff.

He clenches his teeth in expectation.

"Does it matt-"

"Of course it fucking matters," he snaps.

You idly turn to him.

His eyes darken, "how long have you known you were with child?"

You recognize the anger in his eyes, the hurt, the betrayal. Your father's voice rings in your ear: "You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die."

But you were dying anyway.

Daemon barks out your name.

"I didn't," you weakly mutter.

He does not hear, "what?"

You shake your head, "not until I started bleeding an hour ago."

His expression falters. His anger is instantly gone, curdled into guilt that makes his fingers feel like they're being pricked.

You don't pull away from him when he tries to touch you. You merely sip your tea, tasting your tears and snot as you did.

"I-"

"Don't speak," you mutter, "get out of my face."

Your words wound him deeper than any weapon ever could. He clenches his teeth and retreats, slowly coming to a stand and walking off in silence.

When Daemon is back in your chambers, he finds Aelina playing with her blocks. He lies on the floor next to her, belly down, helping her stack a tower. A tear rolls down his nose as his girl gleefully cries out as she destroys her father's work.

It's strange to think one night can dictate the next three years of your life.

"Muñaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

You look up from the patio, placing a weight on the parchment you were writing on. You watch as Aelina runs full speed towards you with his father quick on her heels. She trips midway, grunting as her hands come in front of her.

"Aelina!" he barks, "nyke ivestretan ao daor naejot dakogon mijegon ōregon aōha grēza!" I told you not to run without holding your skirt.

She brushes her hair off her face, in turn getting dust on her pale face, then stands before Daemon could stand her up. He huffs as the girl bolts yet again, this time, assuring to pull up her skirt, as not to trip on it.

She grins as she jumps into your arms, "mummy!"

You kiss her, face contorting at the taste of her sweat. You wipe the sheen off her forehead as she pulls out something from her pockets.

"Syt muña!" she procures a flower missing a few petals. For mother.

You smile and kiss her again, "thank you, lovie."

"Se Helaena!" she pulls something else from her pocket. And Helaena.

You make a sound as you find a beetle with a half-crushed body.

"Jikagon Helaena?" Send Helaena?

Daemon is finally by your side. He stares at the broken beetle, "I told her the birds will eat it before they get to King's Landing."

You watch him sit across from you, brushing Aelina's hair back.

"Helaena's nameday gift!" says the small princess.

"Helaena ēza naenie grēges isse Vesteros," Daemon mutters as he leans back on the chair. Helaena has many bugs in Westeros.

Aelina ignores her father, turning to you, "muña. Ziry hae ziry!" Mother. She likes it!

You turn to the bug and brush it aside, "kesi ūndegon." You sit her down on your lap and pull out a blank sheet of paper for her, "Gaomagon jaelā naejot ēnka mirros syt zirȳla?" We will see. Do you want to color something for her?"

You and Daemon laugh in adoration. "Sȳrje," you hand her the colored wax stubs, "rūnis Ēdrurzys iksis kasta." Very well. Remember Dreamfyre is blue.

"ĒDWUWZYS!"

Daemon leans on the table, "ȳdra daor jaelā naejot ēnka Caraxes?" Don't you want to color Caraxes?

Aelina squeals and giggles, shaking her head, "daorrrrrrrrrrr!"

"Skoro syt daor?" the corner of his lip quirks up, "ȳdra daor ao jorrāelagon Caraxes?" Why not? Don't you love Caraxes.

You smile as the girl nods, her violet eyes locked on her drawing.

"Pār skoro syt?" Daemon asks, tilting his head. Then why?

"Se zaldrīzes hen-" she sucks in a breath, "-hen Helaena iksis Ēdrurzys." The dragon of Helaena is Dreamfyre.

"Se Caraxes?" And Caraxes?

"Kepa!" Aelina says, dropping one stub for another.

Daemon beams, kissing her daughter's temple, "my smart girl."

Aelina's hair whips against her face as the wind blows. You brush the silver strands away, realizing then that Daemon had braided her hair as they were on dragonback. You steal a glance at him, finding that he was already looking at you. You look back at Aelina, rubbing her back, "did you enjoy flying on Caraxes?"

The girl looks at you, intrigued by the mention of the dragon. But does not respond.

"Did you enjoy flying on Caraxes?" you ask again.

Daemon tilts his head and leans on the table, "muña eptan lo ao rattan sōvegon va Caraxes." Mother asked if you liked flying on Caraxes.

She hums and nods simultaneously.

"Why do you like flying on Caraxes?"

Aelina does not respond again.

Daemon is about to speak but you raise a hand at him. "Won't you answer mummy, Aelina."

Aelina groans as she draws a sun, "ȳdra daor gīmigon." Don't know.

You tilt your head, "you don't know why you like flying on Caraxes?"

Aelina merely colors some more.

"Aelina."

"Daor Vesterozia," she whines. No Westerosi.

You raise a brow, "no. You need to learn how to speak Westerosi Common Tongue."

Aelina does not respond.

"It's not enough to know a few words."

Daemon turns to you.

You feel it and turn to him, half-expecting him to argue.

He doesn't, "listen to your mother."

Aelina drops her colors and raises the paper, "gaomagon!"

You look at her drawing, "what is goamagon in Westerosi?"

Aelina ignores you and slides off your lap to show Daemon the drawing instead.

"Aelina," you call out.

Daemon takes her and her drawing. He points to you, "mother is asking a question."

Aelina turns to you, face the striking image of her father's, albeit tiny and girlish and pouting.

"What is goamagon, my love?"

She sighs and looks to her papa for help. Daemon whispers the answer in her ear. She turns back to you, "done."

You smile and nod, "well done, my love."

"Skoro Vesterozia?" Aelina mumbles. Why Westerosi?

"Don't you want to see your cousins?" you ask, "Aegon, Aemond, Helaena-"

"KESSA!" Aelina perks, raising both her hands. YES!

You wave a hand, "well then you have to practice."

Aelina's eyes widen in understanding, "lo nyke gīmigon, īlon sōvegon naejot zirȳ?" If I know, we fly to them?

You do not reply. You merely look at Daemon.

Daemon turns to her daughter, brushing her braid gently, "yes."

Aelina cheers with a flourish.

Later that night, after Daemon tucks Aelina in bed, he kisses her good night and walks out her room. He passes your chambers. You have not shared a bed since Aelina turned one. She's turning four soon.

He cracks the door open. You stop combing your hair when you hear the creak, "Daemon?"

Daemon debates on entering.

You decide for him when you walk over. He stiffens as you open the door a little bigger.

His heart thumps as he looks at your dark hair and smells the perfume from your skin.

"Did you mean it?"

His eyes meet yours.

"You'd take her if she learns common tongue?"

Daemon shifts on his spot. He shrugs and leans on the door frame, "Helaena will soon turn of age and she'll be married to her idiot brother."

You purse your lips at his words.

He straightens up.

"Don't call him that," you mutter as you walk off.

He sighs as he reaches for your wrist.

You stop in your tracks.

"Forgive me, I-"

You slowly look over your shoulder.

"I do not mean it."

You snort, "don't you?"

He takes a wary step closer.

Your breath hitches as his hand comes to the small of your back.

"I'm jealous of the fucking boy," he admits as he gently kicks the door closed, "you know this."

Your eyes water as you tilt your head back, "Aegon is a man now," you slowly push him off, "or so I think. He does not write to me."

"I have not withheld a letter from you for years," Daemon whimpers as you part from him.

You chuckle as you climb to bed, "a prize, prince?"

"Forgiveness?" he motions vaguely, slowly walking towards you.

The word stings. You grip your chest and lean on the cushion.

He watches you squeeze the blanket and he shakes his head, raising a hand, "I believed that if you got no letters from King's Landing, you'd not long to go back to your family."

You turn to him, breath catching in your throat, "Daemon-"

"I believed I could be enough for you," he confesses as his eyes water, "but then you found love elsewhere in Lys. In orphans, in commonfolk-"

"And that is why you took whores to bed?!" your nostrils flare.

"I-" he snaps, looking around frantically, "I- I- I have needs."

"AND I DO NOT?" you hiss, sitting down on your bed for your sake.

"I-" his brows furrow, "I can sate them-"

"But I cannot?" you heave, looking away from him, so not to distress yourself anymore.

"That isn't-" he drops to his knees and crawls to you.

You shove him away.

Daemon whines out your name and grabs your legs.

You try to shove him off again, but soon you're too out of breath to do anything. You take deep breaths and push his arm off, "release me."

"Take me back."

"Daemon, I-"

"We should have another child."

You skin goes cold.

He looks up at you, wiping his face on your skirt, "Aelina is the best thing that has ever happened to us—"

"Enough."

"— we were so happy when she-"

"And why aren't we happy anymore?!"

Daemon clenches his jaw.

"My body is a graveyard," your hot tears burn down your cheeks, "I dream about Alyrie and Alaeric all the time."

His lips tremble, "w-what?"

"They call to me," your breathing picks up, "they b-beg me to go to them."

He rises to sit down beside you. He clutches your cheek and wipes your tears away. His throat tightens as he speaks, "I didn't know. Y-you never told me-"

"You're never here, Daemon!" you weep, unable to stop yourself from embracing him.

He stills as your quivering form envelopes his. As his undeserving arms hold you, as his filthy hands rub your back, as his lying lips kiss your head, he feels whole again, "forgive me, my lov-"

"I cannot live without you," you shudder in desperation.

He shakes his head, "nor I c-"

"But you are killing me."

His mouth goes dry.

"If you're going to do something that'll break my heart, promise me-"

"I won't," he blurts.

"Daemon, promis-"

He tries to look at you, "I can cha-"

"Promise me I'll never know."

The wind is knocked out of his lungs. He pulls away, a deep line forming between his brows.

"I know that love is supposed to hurt..." you mumble, pressing your face against his neck.

The feel of your tears and your breath mangle his heart.

"... but I cannot bear it," you slowly crawl on his lap, "I will not survive."

Daemon tightens his hold on you as wrap your legs around him. He whimpers when you kiss your cheek and trail more down his neck. His breath hitches when you begin to unbutton his top. He calls out your name.

You brush his hair back, scratching your nails into his scalp as you did as you maneuver on his hips.

He cannot help his moan at the friction you were causing. "Gods," he sighs, grip iron on your hips, "my love, I-"

You begin to undo his breeches.

"Fuck," he grabs your hands, mouth watering, head spinning, "w-what-" he shakes his head, "what are you doi..."

You kiss his lips, effectively silencing him, "let's have another baby."

"What?"

You whimper when he captures your cheeks and tilts your head back so you have no choice but to look at him. But you do, you close your eyes, "let's have a baby."

Daemon calls your name.

You sigh and kiss his wrist.

"Look at me," he mutters.

You grunt when he shakes you slightly.

You slowly peel your lids open, finding his face torn into an amalgamation of a hundred emotions. You grip his wrist and grind on his lap.

He groans, hands flying to your waist to hold you still, "don't do that."

Your throat tightens as you fight off his resistance with an incessant rolling hips, "do- don't you want me?"

Your name sounds like a plea when he says it this time.

"Daemon," you respond, "please."

"I- I-" his eyes begin to water, "I don't know i-"

"You would make a strange girl heavy your child but not your own wife?"

"But you just said-"

"And I'm saying now that I want to have your baby," you pull on his collar, "in fact," you trace his scarred skin, "I beg you-"

"Darling, I-"

"I need to feel you, Daemon," you mutter as you lick his collar, "I miss you so much."

There is something wretched in the hotness that grows within him. He rubs the curve of your bum, beginning to lean into you, "my love, I can only resist for so long."

You bite his skin.

It makes him wince.

"Stop resisting."

So he does.

And it's like the world was well again, like it was never broken to begin with.

Daemon is back, your Daemon is back, the one that falls on his knees the moment you deny him of your touch, the one that cares greatly to preserve your happiness.

Now, it is not so strange to think one night can dictate the next four moons of your life.

You nudge Daemon as Aelina emerges from the dressing room, aided by her handmaid who fixes the skirt of her newly tailored dress. He straightens up and smiles at your daughter, cooing at her.

Aelina beams, jollily failing her arms around, "pretty?"

You and Daemon smile, the latter responds, "gevie, ñuha jorrāelagon."

"Daddy!" she makes a face and waves a hand.

"Pardon me," he raises his hands and translates, "it's beautiful, my love."

"I really..." she looks down at her dress and turns to you, "mummy, what's hae?"

"Like, my love," you reply.

"I really like..." she shows her sleeves and stares at you both for a moment.

Your brow quirks, "the sleeves?"

Aelina shakes her head.

"Lace?" Daemon asks.

She shakes her head again, pointing harder at the sleeve, "mele."

"Red," you and Daemon say in unison.

Aelina smiles and nods, "red."

"Red suits you, my love," Daemon stands from where he sat beside you and walks up to the girl, "it is the color of our house."

Her father brushes her silver hair. The girl stares at him, not knowing what he just said.

Daemon chuckles, "issa se ēnka hen Targārien Lentor." It is the color of House Targaryen.

You both notice how she slumps off. Before Daemon can react to the girl, her handmaid ushers her back and another comes to Daemon, handing him a letter.

Aelina nods and frowns.

Daemon furrows his brows at her sudden wilting.

"Jaelan naejot arlinnon." I want to change.

You slowly come to a stand and peek at your daughter from behind the partition, "my darling?"

Aelina looks up at you, her eyes beady and her lips in a pout.

"What's wrong?" you raise your brows at her, "do you not like your nameday gift?"

Aelina shakes her head.

"Rūs, lo ao ȳdra daor hae aōha grēza, ao ȳdra daor emagon naejot ivestragon gaomā." Baby, if you don't like your dress, you don't have to say you do.

She shakes her head again and whines, "haeee." Likeee.

"Pār sko-" Then why-

"Westerosi..."

You watch as she changes back into her clothes, trying to make sense of her words. Once she was changed, she walks back to you and embraces your legs. You coo and rub her back, "aw, my love."

"Daddy will not bwing me to King's Landing," she begins to sob.

You sigh, "Aelina-"

You don't continue because Daemon calls for you.

Aelina buries her face into your skirt.

"It's..." he raises the letter, "bad."

Your lips part and your brows furrow with worry.

Daemon's eyes dart down to his weeping daughter, "Aelina."

She sniffles but does not look up.

"Aelina, ñuha prūmia-" my heart.

She groans, "no High Valyrian, daddy!"

Daemon sighs and picks her up.

She groans and shakes her head but immediately nuzzles into his neck as she's pulled into his arms.

He sighs and kisses her temple, "do you want to go for a swim?"

The thought makes you freeze. Whatever's in the letter must be terrible if Daemon is offering such a thing.

Aelina nods as she embraces him.

Your daughter comes alive the minute her toes sink into the water of the stream. The three of you plunged in without a care in the world, wetting your clothes and your smiling faces with playful splashes.

"MUÑA!"

Aelina quickly forgot whatever troubled her, especially when Caraxes smelled your presence and decided to join, or more accurately, watch from afar. The blood wyrm did not abandon his fierce nature for the tiny princess, but it was apparent the creature bore an unusually high tolerance for her, especially when it came to her gifts.

Both Daemon and you turn to her, finding Aelina holding up a frog.

You giggle as she runs up to the rock you and your husband were sat were sat upon to show you the slimy creature.

She gasps when the frog tries to jump out of her grip but she maintains her firm hold.

Daemon raises a brow at her as Aelina grins ear to ear, "and what do you call this in common tongue?"

"FART!"

All three of you burst into a fit of giggles.

"Yes," Daemon brushes her chin, "you're right."

You elbow him, "no, my love. It's called a frog."

"Farg?" she struggles.

"Frog."

"Frag."

"Frog, baby."

"Frrrr- og."

Daemon laughs in endearment.

You nod, "very good."

"I feed Caraxes!" she announces proudly, running off to sacrifice the tiny creature to the large beast.

Daemon chuckles, "I don't think he'll like that, my love."

Aelina cheerfully ignores him and presents the frog to Caraxes across the pond.

You turn to Daemon, who had an attentive eye on his daughter and mount.

"Ipwadagow!" commands Aelina.

Daemon repeats loudly for his dragon to hear, "ipradagon, valītsos!" Eat, boy!

Caraxes, who is now faced with the spawn of his master, lifts his head and makes a sound. With all the gentleness he could muster, he pushes her away, which causes the girl to topple to her bum.

You reach for Daemon, gritting your teeth, though you knew that Caraxes would not hurt your babe. If he wanted to, she'd be long dead by now.

"Aelina?" calls her father.

Aelina, still holding the frog, comes to a stand, "IPWADAGOW!"

Aelina tries to feed the beast but she is too tiny to reach his open mouth. You are shocked when she chucks the frog upward and when Caraxes snaps his jaws shut, promptly swallowing the whole thing alive. The girl grins and embraces the dragon, muttering something you cannot hear from where you were sitting.

Caraxes huffs smoke through his nostrils and reluctantly opens his maw.

You relax when Daemon begins to laugh.

Your gaze ripped from her when Daemon takes your hand, "she's perfect."

You turn to your joined hands and squeeze his in both of yours, "she's Aelina."

You lock gazes. You can see the fondness practically seeping from his skin. He wipes the dark, wet strands of hair stuck on your temple before placing a kiss there.

You sigh and lean into him as he pulls you into a side embrace. You wrap an arm behind him and rest your head on his damp chest.

"Would you like to know about the letter now?"

You purse your lips, watching as Aelina runs off to look for more frogs. You nod.

Daemon sighs and rubs your arms, "something's happened in the family... someone's passed."

You immediately tense.

He feels it, "it's no one immediate. Not your twin, or your sister. Not my brother," he shakes his head and raises his brows, "not even your father."

You pull away from him, worry still etched on your face.

Daemon sighs, lowering his gaze momentarily, "it's Laena."

You gasp, hand flying to your lips.

He pulls you back into him, rubbing the sides of your waist.

Daemon's nostrils flare, "what about kepa?"

You lean your hands on his lap, unable to relax after the revelation. You watch as your daughter squeals, showing yet another sorry frog in her grasp. "MUÑA!!!!!!"

Aelina ignores him, splashing happily across the water, all the way back to Caraxes who literally curls away from her once she is near.

The dragon's master chuckles airily, "serves her right. How dare she disrespect me so."

"CARAXEeEeEeeEEEeEEs!" Aelina whines and giggles, running around the dragon innocently to feed him another frog.

Caraxes rolls the other way and his persistent feeder merely circles around again.

This continues on for quite some time.

"How did she die?" you ask, straightening up to turn to your husband.

Daemon's smile flattens at your question. He turns to you, staring for a moment. He takes a sharp breath and huffs, "dragon fire."

"What?"

He shakes his head, "she... could not give birth, so she chose to burn."

A bitter taste spreads in your mouth. You think of Laenor. This must be incredibly devastating for him. Your heart aches from him and yet, "I..." you rub your chest, "when will she be seen off?"

"A week hence."

You feel sick, "I-" you shake your head, "I do not think we can go."

He does not respond.

"I want to," you look at him with beady eyes, "to show Laenor the comfort he's shown me..." you shake your head, "but I..."

Daemon clutches your cheek, "we do not have to go."

"But Laenor-"

"Will understand," he rebuts, "they all will."

You fall into his arms and weep into his chest.

"Fuck them if they don't," Daemon mutters against the crown of your head.

You both remain like this for a while. As the moments pass, you hear Aelina squeal happily and announce she'll be looking for another frog. Caraxes moans through the sound of someone running through water. Their sounds help you calm down. Soon, you take a breath and pull away.

Daemon's attention flitters between you and his daughter.

You absentmindedly rub your belly.

He quickly takes notice, "it will not happen to you, my love."

You shake your head, "no," you look back at Caraxes, recalling all the times you tried to get the beast to harm you, "no, it will not."

Aelina giggles when yet another of her frog-offerings is consumed by the woeful dragon.

"That's enough," Daemon raises a hand, beckoning her over, "come here, girl."

"But, daddy—"

"I said come here," he motions with his fingers.

Aelina huffs, as does Caraxes, but it is apparent one is more pleased than the other.

When your daughter is upon you, your mood shifts drastically. She notices your crestfallen expression and immediately clutches your cheeks, "mummy?"

You chuckle and pull her into your lap, wrapping your arms around her, "Aelina?"

"Limagon?" Cry?

You sniffle and nod, "mummy is sad."

Daemon's face contorts at your honest words.

"Because Caraxes eat frog?"

You are both taken by surprise and laugh. You kiss her through a chuckle, "no... mummy's friend died."

Aelina looks at you, a line forming between her faint brows.

"Her name is Laena. She's a princess like you," you explain, "but now, she's in heaven and we won't get to see her in life."

The girl does not respond.

You explain the same thing to her in High Valyrian and finally get a reaction.

"Why?" she mutters.

You offer her a smile, "everything has an end. It can make things sad..." you shrug, "but it can also make things beautiful."

Daemon clenches his teeth, "mummy and I wanted to tell you something," he eagerly changes the subject, "a gift for your nameday."

Aelina turns to him, immediately intrigued.

"You know how you said you wanted to have a babe?"

She immediately nods.

"Well, mummy going to have a babe."

Aelina gasps, turning back to you.

Your eyes crinkle as she looks at you in wonder.

"Emi rūs?!" We have babe?!

You chuckle and nod, "kessa." Yes.

Aelina squeals and hugs you.

Daemon smiles and joins the embrace.

"Rūs sir?" she mumbles, looking between the both of you as she pulls away. Babe now?

Daemon laughs and brushes her hair back, "daor. Se rūs iksis iēdrosa isse zirȳla iemny." No. The babe is still in her belly.

Aelina gasps, looking at your belly. She places her hands on it.

You place a hand atop of hers, "our babe still has to grow strong."

"And?" she looks up at you in expectation.

"And then," you tilt your head, "I'll give birth..." you gulp and smile, "and you'll be a sister."

Aelina's eyes widen, "SISTER?"

Before you can reply, she's embracing you and squealing for joy.

Daemon's heart grows two sizes at the sight of you both. He's about to tell her something about being a good sister, but then he notices her shiver from the wind. "Right," he comes to a stand, "let's get you girls dried and dressed, shall we?"

Aelina happily jumps off your lap and pulls you up with her.