Luli

requested by and written for my lovely @luliwtf <3

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You didn’t expect much from this flight. Long layovers, cramped seats, and the general humdrum of traveling were all you had braced yourself for. But there he was—two rows ahead, laughing softly at something the flight attendant said, his voice a warm murmur in the otherwise silent cabin. He wasn’t just handsome; he was magnetic, the kind of man who drew you in without even trying.

When turbulence rocked the plane, you clutched the armrest, trying to seem unbothered. But Sebastian noticed, turning slightly in his seat.

“Not a fan of turbulence?” he asked, his accent laced with a teasing tone.

“Not a fan of being thrown around like a rag doll, no,” you replied, trying to sound lighthearted despite your white-knuckled grip.

“Well, if it helps, statistically, flying is safer than driving,” he said, flashing a reassuring smile.

You gave a weak laugh. “Somehow, that doesn’t make this feel any less terrifying.”

“Here,” he said, leaning over and offering his hand. “Hold on to this. It’s statistically the most charming hand you’ll find on this flight.”

You hesitated, but his grin was disarming. You took his hand, warmth spreading through your palm. “Yn,” you introduced yourself.

“Sebastian,” he replied. “Pleasure to meet you.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sebastian Vettel had a knack for making the mundane extraordinary. What started as a casual conversation during that turbulent flight had quickly unraveled into something you hadn’t dared to hope for in years.

After the flight, he insisted on taking you out for dinner, claiming it was the least he could do after “saving your life” during the turbulence.

“I don’t usually let strangers buy me dinner,” you teased, slipping into a booth at a cozy Italian restaurant he’d picked. The place was warm, intimate, with soft lighting that reflected in his green eyes.

“Good thing I’m not a stranger anymore,” he shot back, his grin disarming as he handed you a menu.

Dinner with Sebastian was effortless, a whirlwind of laughter and stories. He asked questions that mattered—not just polite inquiries, but ones that made you feel seen. And when he talked about his life, his passions, his travels, he did it with a boyish enthusiasm that made you want to lean in closer.

“You make everything sound so simple,” you said at one point, your head tilted as you watched him animatedly recount a story about driving through the Alps.

He paused, his smile softening. “It’s not simple. But it helps when the company is good.”

You left that evening with a strange ache in your chest—not the painful kind, but the kind that comes from realizing you might actually want this, want him.

Over the next few weeks, Sebastian became a constant in your life, slipping in like he’d always been meant to be there. He’d show up at your office at the most inconvenient yet perfect times, holding flowers and wearing that signature mischievous grin.

One afternoon, you were buried in paperwork when your receptionist buzzed in. “There’s a man here to see you. Says it’s urgent.”

You frowned. “Who is it?”

Before she could answer, Sebastian strolled in, holding a bouquet of tulips as if he owned the place.

“Are you trying to get me fired?” you asked, your tone half exasperated, half amused as you stood to greet him.

“Not at all,” he replied, his eyes sparkling as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “I’m trying to make all your coworkers jealous.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Mission accomplished.”

His charm wasn’t just for show, though. He had a way of grounding you, pulling you out of the chaos of your daily life. One evening, he texted you to be ready by seven, refusing to tell you where you were going.

When he pulled up outside your office in a sleek car, your curiosity turned into laughter. “A private chauffeur now? Should I be worried?”

“Only if you hate good surprises,” he said, stepping out and opening the door for you.

The surprise turned out to be a small bookshop café tucked into a quiet corner of the city. The two of you browsed shelves filled with old, leather-bound books, trading recommendations and laughing over the absurd titles you found.

“This,” you said, holding up a worn romance novel with an overly dramatic cover, “is exactly what I need in my life.”

Sebastian glanced at it, his expression mock-serious. “I’ll read it if you will.”

The night ended with coffee and cake at a small table near the back, surrounded by stacks of books. He leaned back in his chair, watching you with an intensity that made your cheeks flush.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he said, his lips quirking into a soft smile. “You’re just... fascinating.”

His words left you breathless, a warmth spreading through your chest. He had a way of making you feel like the only person in the room, as though his entire world narrowed down to just you whenever you were together.

And so, when he showed up again, this time at the end of a particularly stressful day, holding takeout and wearing a casual hoodie that somehow made him even more attractive, you realized you were in trouble.

“You,” you said, pointing at him as he unlocked his apartment door, “are entirely too good at this.”

“At what?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Everything,” you muttered, shaking your head as you followed him inside.

He didn’t reply, just laughed softly, the sound filling the small apartment like it belonged there.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your phone had conveniently “broken,” leaving you with no choice but to give Sebastian your pager number.

“Fifty-nine?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he examined the slip of paper.

“It means ‘missing someone,’” you explained.

He smirked, tucking the paper into his wallet. “I’ll be sure to miss you often, then.”

Every time the pager buzzed, it felt like a secret message, a tether connecting the two of you in a world where you couldn’t always be together. One night, after a particularly busy day, you found a note slipped under your door: Missing someone. 59. It was signed with a doodle of a little bee—Sebastian’s cheeky way of reminding you he was always thinking about you.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The evening had been electric, one moment tumbling into the next, as you and Sebastian found yourselves caught in the kind of kiss that left the world spinning. His hands roamed your waist, pulling you closer, while his lips moved with the kind of precision that had your head swimming.

Then your phone buzzed on the bedside table. Once. Twice. Reluctantly, you pulled back, your breath uneven as you reached for it.

“You’re leaving me for your phone?” Sebastian teased, his voice low, lips brushing your jaw. “I’m offended.”

“It’s important,” you murmured, glancing at the screen. Your heart immediately softened when you saw the name flashing across it.

“Hold that thought,” you said, sitting up and answering.

“Mom?” your son’s voice rang through the speaker, small but insistent.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you replied, your tone instantly shifting to something warm and tender. “What’s wrong? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Sebastian, still lying back against the pillows, arched a curious eyebrow. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze never left you as he listened to your side of the conversation.

After a few reassurances and a gentle reminder to check on his sister, you ended the call, placing the phone back on the nightstand. You turned to find Sebastian sitting up now, his head tilted slightly, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“Sweetheart?” he echoed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Who’s calling you ‘Mom’ at this hour?”

You hesitated for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. This wasn’t exactly how you’d planned to tell him, but there wasn’t much point in dodging it now.

“My kids,” you admitted, your voice steady but soft.

Sebastian’s smirk faltered, replaced by an expression you couldn’t quite read. “You have kids?”

You nodded. “Two. A boy and a girl. They’re... they’re everything to me.”

His silence was deafening, and for a moment, your chest tightened with fear. But then, as if on cue, a small smile broke across his face.

“Well, that explains why you’re so good at keeping me in check,” he said, his tone light but sincere.

You blinked, caught off guard by his easy acceptance. “You’re not... mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” he asked, reaching for your hand and pulling you closer. “You’re amazing, Yn. If anything, it just makes me like you more. Single mom, managing life, and still finding time for me? That’s pretty impressive.”

Relief washed over you in a tidal wave, and you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “They’re a lot,” you admitted with a small laugh.

“Good,” Sebastian said, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “That means they take after you.”

Your laugh softened, and before you could think of a reply, he leaned in and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed or heated this time—it was slow, deliberate, and filled with a promise. A promise you couldn’t quite put the finger on.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was supposed to be a simple night—drinks, laughter, and then stumbling back to your apartment, tangled in the kind of euphoria that made the rest of the world disappear. Sebastian had always been good at creating those moments, the kind where everything felt light and easy, as if nothing else mattered.

But that illusion shattered the moment he wandered into your living room.

You were in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of wine, when his laughter faded into silence. The kind of silence that made your stomach twist in anticipation.

“Yn,” Sebastian called, his voice steady but unreadable.

The sound of your name made you pause, your heart hammering in your chest. You walked out slowly, following the direction of his gaze.

There, on the mantle, sat the photo. It wasn’t just any photo—it was the photo. You, Lewis, and the kids, all smiling under the summer sun, a snapshot of a life you’d worked so hard to keep hidden.

Your breath caught in your throat, and panic set in. “Seb, I—” you started, your voice trembling.

He turned to face you, his expression calm but weighted with something unspoken. “You’re married,” he said, the words not accusatory but filled with quiet disbelief. “To Lewis Hamilton.”

You nodded, tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yes,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But, Seb, I—” Your voice cracked, and you took a shaky breath. “I love you. I love you.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his blue-green eyes searching yours for something you couldn’t name. The tension in the room was suffocating, every second stretching into eternity.

Finally, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate. When he pulled you into his arms, it felt like the world had righted itself and shattered all at once.

“I love you too, Yn,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of his own conflicted emotions. His hand cupped the back of your head, holding you close. “But this... this is complicated.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you buried your face in his chest, his warmth grounding you even as guilt clawed at your insides. “I know,” you whispered, your voice muffled against him. “I’ll figure it out. I promise.”

He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his arms tightened around you, as if trying to shield you from the storm you both knew was coming.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nothing could have prepared you for the first time Sebastian "met" Lewis’s wife.

It was at a gala, the kind of event you dreaded but couldn’t avoid. Lewis had his arm around your waist, confidently leading you through the room as he exchanged warm greetings and firm handshakes with sponsors, colleagues, and fellow drivers. You played the role of the supportive wife perfectly, smiling at the right moments, nodding politely at the endless stream of industry talk.

But then Sebastian walked in.

He looked effortlessly charming in a tailored suit, his tie slightly loosened in that casual way that somehow made him stand out even more. The room seemed to pause as his eyes found yours, the briefest flicker of recognition passing between you. It was subtle, the kind of look no one would notice unless they knew what to look for, but it made your heart leap into your throat.

“Seb!” Lewis greeted him warmly, breaking the moment as he stepped forward to clasp Sebastian’s hand in a familiar handshake, pulling him into a brief, friendly hug. “Good to see you, mate. It’s been a while.”

Sebastian grinned, his posture easy but his gaze sharp. “It’s been too long,” he replied, his voice light but carrying that ever-present undertone of mischief. His eyes shifted to you, and for a split second, the mask faltered—a flicker of something deeper before the charm slid back into place. “And who’s this?”

Lewis beamed with pride, pulling you closer. “This is my wife, Yn.”

Sebastian’s expression didn’t waver, but the corners of his mouth quirked just slightly, betraying the game he was already playing. “Yn,” he repeated, as if savoring the name, letting it roll off his tongue like a secret only he was privy to. “So you’re the one who keeps Lewis in check. I’ve heard so much about you.”

You forced a polite smile, ignoring the way your pulse quickened under his gaze. “All good things, I hope?”

“Of course,” Sebastian replied smoothly, though the glint in his eye told a different story. “Lewis never stops talking about how lucky he is. And now I see why.”

Lewis laughed, oblivious to the undercurrent. “Well, I couldn’t do what I do without her. She’s the real champion here.”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound warm and genuine enough to pass. But as Lewis turned to introduce you to someone else, Sebastian leaned in ever so slightly, just enough for you to catch his whispered words.

“Lucky, indeed,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of the room. His gaze lingered for a fraction too long before he straightened, the perfect picture of friendliness as he clapped Lewis on the shoulder.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sebastian Vettel had a knack for making the mundane extraordinary. What started as a casual conversation during that turbulent flight had quickly unraveled into something you hadn’t dared to hope for in years.

After the flight, he insisted on taking you out for dinner, claiming it was the least he could do after “saving your life” during the turbulence.

“I don’t usually let strangers buy me dinner,” you teased, slipping into a booth at a cozy Italian restaurant he’d picked. The place was warm, intimate, with soft lighting that reflected in his green eyes.

“Good thing I’m not a stranger anymore,” he shot back, his grin disarming as he handed you a menu.

Dinners with Sebastian were effortless, a whirlwind of laughter and stories. He asked questions that mattered—not just polite inquiries, but ones that made you feel seen. And when he talked about his life, his passions, his travels, he did it with a boyish enthusiasm that made you want to lean in closer.

“You make everything sound so simple,” you said at one point, your head tilted as you watched him animatedly recount a story about driving through the Alps.

He paused, his smile softening. “It’s not simple. But it helps when the company is good.”

You left that evening with a strange ache in your chest—not the painful kind, but the kind that comes from realizing you might actually want this, want him.

Over the next few weeks, Sebastian became a constant in your life, slipping in like he’d always been meant to be there. He’d show up at your office at the most inconvenient yet perfect times, holding flowers and wearing that signature mischievous grin.

One afternoon, you were buried in paperwork when your receptionist buzzed in. “There’s a man here to see you. Says it’s urgent.”

You frowned. “Who is it?”

Before she could answer, Sebastian strolled in, holding a bouquet of tulips as if he owned the place.

“Are you trying to get me fired?” you asked, your tone half exasperated, half amused as you stood to greet him.

“Not at all,” he replied, his eyes sparkling as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “I’m trying to make all your coworkers jealous.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Mission accomplished.”

His charm wasn’t just for show, though. He had a way of grounding you, pulling you out of the chaos of your daily life. One evening, he texted you to be ready by four, refusing to tell you where you were going.

When he pulled up outside your office in a sleek car, your curiosity turned into laughter. “A private chauffeur now? Should I be worried?”

“Only if you hate good surprises,” he said, stepping out and opening the door for you.

The surprise turned out to be a small bookshop café tucked into a quiet corner of the city. The two of you browsed shelves filled with old, leather-bound books, trading recommendations and laughing over the absurd titles you found.

“This,” you said, holding up a worn romance novel with an overly dramatic cover, “is exactly what I need in my life.”

Sebastian glanced at it, his expression mock-serious. “I’ll read it if you will.”

The night ended with coffee and cake at a small table near the back, surrounded by stacks of books. He leaned back in his chair, watching you with an intensity that made your cheeks flush.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he said, his lips quirking into a soft smile. “You’re just... fascinating.”

His words left you breathless, a warmth spreading through your chest. He had a way of making you feel like the only person in the room, as though his entire world narrowed down to just you whenever you were together.

And so, when he showed up again, this time at the end of a particularly stressful day, holding takeout and wearing a casual hoodie that somehow made him even more attractive, you realized you were in trouble.

“You,” you said, pointing at him as you unlocked your apartment door, “are entirely too good at this.”

“At what?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Everything,” you muttered, shaking your head as he followed you inside.

He didn’t reply, just laughed softly, the sound filling your small apartment like it belonged there.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sebastian had always been playful, but when it came to Lewis, he seemed to turn it up a notch. His teasing wasn’t overt—he was far too clever for that—but it was just enough to keep Lewis on edge and you flustered.

At a gala, while the three of you were mingling, Sebastian raised a glass in your direction. “Yn, you’re glowing tonight,” he said with a grin that was just shy of too much. Then, glancing at Lewis, he added, “You’ve really outdone yourself, mate. You must be keeping all the good luck for yourself.”

Lewis chuckled, though his eyes narrowed slightly. “Guess I’ve got something worth holding onto.”

Sebastian smirked. “Well, don’t hold on too tight. You wouldn’t want to scare her off.”

Another time, during a press event, Sebastian sidled up to you while Lewis was deep in conversation with a journalist. He leaned in close, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You know, Yn, you should really share your secrets. How do you keep Lewis in line? I’ve been trying for years.”

You barely suppressed a laugh, shooting him a warning look. “You’re impossible.”

“I try,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

The most audacious moment came during a charity karting race. Sebastian, always competitive, managed to finish just ahead of Lewis. As the two of them stepped off the podium, Sebastian wrapped an arm around Lewis’s shoulder, grinning.

“Close one, huh?” he said, his voice laced with faux sympathy. “But don’t worry, Yn’s still impressed with you. Probably.”

Lewis rolled his eyes, laughing despite himself. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Can you blame me? You make it so easy.”

Then there were the quieter moments, like during a team dinner when Sebastian caught your eye across the table. He reached for the breadbasket, deliberately brushing his fingers against yours. The gesture was subtle, but the heat in your cheeks gave it away.

Lewis, oblivious, was mid-story about a race. Sebastian simply smirked, leaning back in his chair with a smugness that made you want to kick him under the table.

It was a game Sebastian seemed determined to win, but the way his eyes lingered on you, full of something deeper than teasing, made you wonder if he was playing at all.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of the sheets and the steady rhythm of Sebastian’s breathing. The two of you lay entangled, bare skin against bare skin, as moonlight streamed through the window, casting a silver glow over his features. His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his fingers drawing lazy patterns along your back.

He tilted his head down slightly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered for a moment, warm and soft, before he broke the silence. “You know,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “you can’t keep this up forever.”

The words hit you like a gentle wave, not harsh but undeniable. You let out a long sigh, burying your face against his chest, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering warmth of the night. “I know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to let you go.”

His hand stilled on your back, his thumb now tracing slow, deliberate circles. He shifted slightly, leaning back to look at you. His blue eyes, usually so mischievous, were softened with an intensity that made your chest ache. “Whatever you decide,” he said, his voice calm but laced with emotion, “I’ll be here. For as long as you’ll have me.”

The sincerity in his words brought tears to your eyes. You gazed up at him, your heart caught between gratitude and guilt, between love and the weight of your reality. With trembling fingers, you cupped his cheek, feeling the faint stubble under your palm. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before they opened again, searching yours.

Unable to speak, you pulled him into a kiss, your lips meeting his with a fervent urgency. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a confession, a plea, a promise. You poured everything into it—all the love you couldn’t say, all the fear you couldn’t shake, and all the longing you couldn’t contain. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, anchoring you to him as if he knew this kiss was your only way to communicate what words could never fully capture.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling in the quiet of the night. Sebastian’s fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gaze never leaving yours. “Whatever happens,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “this moment is ours.”

And in that fleeting moment, wrapped in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could hold on to him forever.

Oh how wrong you were.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The fallout was swift and merciless. A single photograph had done it—a grainy image of you and Lewis at a private dinner with your kids, laughing over dessert. It was supposed to be a quiet moment, away from the public eye, but someone had found it, sold it, and within hours, the world knew.

“Lewis Hamilton’s Secret Wife and Family” plastered across every headline. The media frenzy that followed was a hurricane, pulling you into its eye. Fans, reporters, and even people you hadn’t spoken to in years suddenly wanted answers. How long had you been married? Why the secrecy? And who were your kids?

You felt your life tighten into a suffocating box. Privacy was no longer a luxury. Every move you made was dissected, every outing with Lewis turned into tabloid fodder, and every interaction with your children was scrutinized.

And then there was Sebastian.

You hadn’t seen him since the news broke. There wasn’t time to sneak away, no way to meet in secret with cameras following your every step. You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. One day, you’d been tangled up in his arms, whispering sweet nothings in the safety of his bed, and the next, it was as if he never existed in your life at all.

The first race weekend you attended with lewis was a blur of camera flashes and prying eyes. Every step you took felt choreographed, every move analyzed. You stood with Lewis in the paddock, your hand resting lightly in his, and smiled politely at the media as they asked about your newly exposed marriage. Lewis handled it like the seasoned professional he was, his charm unwavering, his love for his family clear in every word he spoke.

But when the interviews ended, and the cameras turned away, your gaze drifted across the paddock. You spotted him immediately. Sebastian. He stood with his team, laughing at something one of the engineers said, but his eyes found yours in an instant.

For a moment, it felt like the world paused. His gaze wasn’t accusatory or bitter; it was soft, filled with a quiet understanding that only deepened the ache in your chest. You wanted to run to him, to explain, to say goodbye properly—but you knew you couldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

You told yourself it was for the best. The kids needed you now more than ever, and Lewis, for all his faults, was trying harder to be present, knowing the exposure was harder on you than it was on him. But late at night, when the house was quiet, and you stared at the ceiling in your darkened bedroom, you thought of Sebastian. You missed his teasing grin, the way he made mundane moments magical, and the way he saw you—not as Lewis Hamilton’s wife, but as you.

The only thing that convinced you it wasn’t all a dream, some vivid fantasy your mind had conjured to fill the void of a distant husband, was the way Sebastian looked at you during race weekends.

It was subtle, the kind of thing only you would notice. His gaze would linger just a second too long when you passed in the paddock. If your paths crossed, he’d greet you with the same charm as always, but his eyes betrayed him. They held a mix of longing and sadness, a silent conversation you wished you could finish.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. The routine of your life fell into place, but there was always something missing, a hollow part of you that wouldn’t heal. Sebastian’s texts stopped coming, and your pager—once buzzing with secret messages and cheeky notes—lay silent in a drawer.

You often wondered if he thought about you, if he regretted the time you spent together or resented you for how it ended. But every race weekend, his eyes gave you the answer. He didn’t hate you. He didn’t regret it.

And yet, neither of you ever spoke again. It was as though the world had conspired to erase the two of you from each other’s lives, leaving nothing behind except memories.

And while you would never have the chance to say goodbye, those stolen glances were enough to remind you of everything you once shared—and everything you could never have again.

VII. DON'T LET ME GO . . . two months after the events at the British Grand Prix weekend and Max is still doing his best try to explain. he's texted, called, and even sent a message through your work team, the Mclaren team, and Lando, all to talk to you. but you don't want to talk to Amilian anymore, (1,319 words). content warning . . . (deceptions of extremely minor Dissociative identity disorder if squinting).

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Max's fingers hovered over his phone, glancing at the screen for the hundredth time as he checked if your “online” status would blink back to life. 

For days, each check ended in disappointment. His chest grew heavier every time your name showed no signs of life, your usual messages and notifications, the two-hour calls now replaced by a glaring silence. He had chased you for weeks now, and though he knew it was a long shot, Max couldn’t bring himself to quit. you had made him feel . . . normal. And after all the years of being the centre of a world that didn't really see him, that meant more than anything.

He decided to try something different, opting to use his actual “Max Verstappen” account this time, ditching the depressed and abandoned Amillian aside. He could feel Amilian inside him crying, begging Max not to be forgotten or thrown aside in a ditch.

Max’s fingers felt almost heavy as he sent the friend request, not expecting much, but to his surprise, you accepted. 

Relief washed over him, tempered by the nervous realization of what he had to do next.

max verstappen. — can we talk max verstappen. — please

He sounded desperate, and he was. He wasn’t sure what to write exactly, he wanted to say a lot of things. “let me fix this”, “I’m sorry”, “let me make this make sense”, “i miss you”, “let me explain”, “im hurting”, “i need you”, his fingers would type if he wasn’t so anxious about it being wrong, overwhelming, and too much.

He threw his phone aside, too scared of your unlikely reply, running his hands over his face, convincing himself to breathe.

The message icon blinked, indicating your response. Max held his breath as he opened it, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

la. —  I'm in Nice for a week.

It was brief but enough for him. He didn’t waste a second, putting on a presentable pair of pants and a shirt, and picking up a car key that would allow him to go past the speed limit without overthinking it. 

When Max arrived in Nice, the tension building inside him crashed. Finding you felt like his only chance to explain, to bring clarity to the mess he had created, and to confront feelings he hadn’t even admitted to himself fully. You had been there with him in a way no one else had, and he couldn't let you go now—not when everything that felt real and safe was bound up in you. You. only you.

Max found you sitting by the coast, the Mediterranean stretching wide and shimmering under the afternoon sun. You looked peaceful, though your slouched posture held a tension he recognized, your gaze far—off and searching. You didn’t see him at first, so he took the chance to drink in the sight of you. The girl who had changed everything without even trying.

“Yn.” His voice came out softer than he intended, carrying the weight of his apology and desperation.

You turned, visibly startled, and for a moment, your guarded expression flickered to something else. “Max, you—I—” you began, but the words caught in your throat, your gaze shifting away.

Max took a shaky breath, his words coming out in a rush. “I know I messed up, and I know it’s stupid and selfish of me to even think you’d want to talk after . . . everything.”

"Max," you breathed, as if it were something delicate, breakable. And he, Max, was very breakable, “. . . It’s not selfish,” You whisper, looking away. He sat beside you on the curb, facing the sea. Your eyes were trained on the waves, your expression unreadable. 

He felt the weight of your silence pressing down on him, forcing him to be honest. “You made me feel normal, Yn. Not like some trophy to be chased or some untouchable figure in motorsports,” he murmured, his voice cracking slightly. “Just . . . Max.

The raw vulnerability in his voice hit you hard, your heart twisting painfully at the sight of tears gathering in his eyes. It was strange seeing him like this—a man who had always seemed untouchable, guarded. And yet, here he was, baring his soul, admitting that he had needed something you never even knew you were giving.

Tears pricked your own eyes, a complex mixture of sympathy and sorrow welling up inside her. “You needed that, didn’t you?” you whispered, your hand instinctively reaching out to brush against his. “To feel like someone saw you—just you.”

Max’s fingers tightened around hers, the relief on his face palpable. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely audible. “More than I ever thought I did.”

Her heart thundered as he continued, his words stumbling over each other. “You were there with me, everywhere, somehow; even when you weren’t there in person, it was as if I could just . . hold your hand. Like you . . .” he hesitated over his words, trying to find the correct collection, “Like I could just be myself around you,” he said, each word carrying a depth that reached into the quiet spaces of your soul. He paused, breathing heavily, and his blue eyes met yours, an intense vulnerability reflecting in them.

“And that’s not something I ever want to lose, Yn,” he admitted, the words pouring out before he could stop them. “I don’t ever want to lose you.” He pressed on his words, desperately, his hand cupping your cheek.

“It might sound weird, but . . . I fell for you. Every time I got to be ‘Amilian’ around you, I realized why would I want anything else. And when I got Max with you, I—I—” He chuckled with tears in his eyes—”now, I can’t be without you—not ever. It hurts now— being Amilian hurts now, ever since the day you woke up in my apartment and being him hurt. The call when you were at the airport, I felt like I was bleeding from my heart.”

“I don’t need him. I just need you. Because you showed me I can be Max and I can be happy. You showed me that Max can be happy. And Max wants to be happy..” If you were deaf and couldn’t lip read, you’d think that his facial expression was of an addict, begging for help. And maybe he was an addict, taking your other hand and holding it to his heart.

You bit your lip, struggling to contain the overwhelming urge to cry. You closed your eyes, leaning your cheek into his palm. His words wrapped around your heart, each one was like alcohol to the fresh wounds you hadn’t realized were there. You closed your eyes, pressing your cheek into his palm, feeling the warmth and steadiness he offered, grounding you in the midst of your vociferous emotions.

The silence between you felt heavy, yet filled with an unspoken understanding. You reached out, pulling him into a tight embrace, your arms circling around his back as if they had always belonged there. you felt his arms wrap around your waist, his warmth enveloping you completely, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

“You’ll always be my ‘one million,’ though,” you whispered, your voice soft and trembling with the weight of everything you felt for him. He buried his face in your hair, A faint chuckle escaped him, and you felt it reverberate through you, grounding you in his presence.

Max held you tightly, as though you might disappear if he let go. You rubbed his back when he squeezed, letting him breathe in the reality of your words which echoed in his mind, and he was relieved. So relieved to be your Max Emilian, to be your one million.

“I’m so proud of you,” You whisper to him as he sobs into you.

So relieved.

 Sight

Sebastian is convinced you're beautiful and he's lucky to have you.

Your smile and eyes are priceless compared to all the art works in the world combined. And therefor, it's only fitting for you to wear the most exquisite of brands and jewels.

he loves seeing you in things he buys. clothes, dresses, sunglasses heels

it makes him feel satisfied that he could make you shine despite you already being brighter than the sun and prettier than Saturn and the moon.

Sebastian loves to spoil you just as much as he loves admiring you

So when you wear a dress he buys you, he can't help ut forget the world around him and admire the Greek goddess he's been blessed with

"That's a pretty anklet." Sebastian hummed as he sat on the couch beside you, nuzzling his nose in the back of your neck as he gently brushed your hair into a ponytail because it was flying everywhere from the windy beach. You giggled feeling ticklish as his fingers traced down your legs to the jewellery he had bought you a few days ago.

"My boyfriend got me it. This bikini too." You giggle as you share a soft peck before standing up and down a little twirl. Sebastian couldn't supress his smile as he held you waist and puled you closer, kissing the belly button piercing.

Touch

 it gives sebastian peace of mind knowing that he's your safe spot

being the person who can keep you safe eases his mind.

he loves it when you hug him or hold his hand. that you come to him for solace.

he'll hold you close when you crawl into his chest and will cuddle you after a long day of work.

Sebastian loves to run hands through your hair and leave small soft kisses all over your head and hands, rubbing your back as he holds you close in his embrace

"Well hello." Sebastian smiled, lifting his arm to see you from where you were hugging him from behind. You wrapped your arm around his waist with a smile, getting on your tippy toes for a kiss the German didn't hesitate to give.

"Are you going to be stuck to me the while night, Meine Liebe?" [my love] He asks feeling you nuzzle your nose in his back. "Do you not want me to?" You ask and Sebastian shakes his head, gently holding one of your hands and stroking your fingers as you melted into his figure.

Smell

Your perfume always lingers on Sebastian since you cling to him so much, a comforting reminder of your presence and affection.

It's a subtle mix of sugar and blueberries, a scent that clings to his clothes and bedsheets, making him feel close to you even when you're not around or he's away.

Every time he catches catch a whiff of it, he's reminded of your comforting aura and hugs and the way you whisper sweet nothings in his ear as you play with his hair when it's your turn to big spoon.

This scent becomes a part of his everyday life, making mundane moments feel special. Especially if other drivers or co-workers smell feminine perfume on him and ask. he goes on a whole rant about you.

Sitting at your vanity, you smile as you spritz a bit of perfume on your wrist. He walks by, catching the scent, and grins like an exited puppy. "Can I have some?" he asks as if he's not going to tangle his body with yours in a few minutes. "Seb." You laugh as he couches down so you can put some on his neck. Instead, he got a kiss to his cheek, which made him feel all fluffy, leaning his head on your shoulder as if he was melting into you.

Hearing

Sebastian's curses in German are a familiar sound in your home. He loves cursing, so doing it in German has become the norm. it's gonna be sooner or later that you catch on and join in too.

Swearing is way of expressing frustration, but it often makes him laugh because he never expects it from you and that he actually loves that you're speaking german (even if it's bad words.

"Scheiße." [fuck] Seb found himself smiling, looking at you as you struggled with the pickle jar. "What was that, mein liebe?" he giggled, leaning his forearm on the kitchen island. "Was zum Teufel ist los mit dir? Why won't you just open?" [what the fuck is wrong with you] You huffed shoving the glass in Sebastian's chest chest. "Here since it's so funny, you take it."

Seb could'n't hold his laughs in as he unscrewed the lid of the jar easily. Loud curse words ensued as you watched him do what you've been struggling with "Fuck you." you smacked his chest, taking the pickle jar and plucking one of the pickled cucumbers before screwing the lid back on.

"No no noo." Seb whined , hugging you from behind with a pout. "Go back to the German. Please?" The blond stuck out his bottom lip in plead with his blue puppy eyes. "Nein." [no] you huffed angrily munching on your veggie.

Taste

Every kiss Sebastian shares with you is a sensory haven, but nothing beats the taste of champagne on your lips after a celebration

When you get a taste of the podium champagne bottle, Sebastian makes sure to pull you closer to taste the alcohol once more, only it's from your tongue this time

The flavour mingles with his senses, creating a delicious blend of saliva and expensive bubbles that's intoxicating

He can always tell when you've had a glass, the taste lingering long after the kiss ends sends his heart in whirlwind and tongue yearning for more

These moments remind you of victories celebrated and moments cherished together

After a long-awaited victory, Sebastian pulled you into a kiss, the taste of champagne lingering on his lips. "You taste like celebration," He whispered, smiling against your ips. "That's because every moment with you is worth celebrating," You hum, kissing him again, the taste of champagne and love blending perfectly.