mia.

Max Verstappen

And If I Stay? ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ What began as a casual fling turns complicated when feelings get involved.

Shots of rakija ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Meeting your family for the first time, Max finds himself surrounded by the lively chaos of your Balkan home.

Home is you ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Max isn’t the same at home as he is on track. He’s softer, clingier, and endlessly distracting. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ms. and Mrs. Verstappen ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ A " good girl" hits her breaking point, walks away from everything, and finds herself in Vegas and in Max Verstappen’s bed, with a wedding ring on her finger.

Home for Christmas ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Years after ghosting everyone, you come home for Christmas only for your car to die in a snowstorm. The only contact left in your phone? Max Verstappen.

First Move ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Having never been in a real relationship before Max, you had no idea how to be a girlfriend or what the "right" moves even were.

Shared Custody ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Fresh move-in and your indoor cat is already sneaking to the balcony next door for her bengal boyfriend.

Rivals ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ After a crash where you and your teammate-rival Max take each other out, you hide how badly shaken and dizzy you really are, but he comes to take care of you.

Y/N's boyfriend ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Max flies across the world to surprise you at your Grand Slam final, only to get way too competitive in the stands and completely forgetting he’s not the one competing.

Perfection ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ She ruined herself chasing perfection. With nothing left to lose, she makes one last reckless decision and wakes up carrying a consequence she can’t outrun: she’s pregnant with Max Verstappen’s child.

One Room, Two Enemies ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ You and your enemy-teammate Max Verstappen accidentally eat aphrodisiac chocolate at a boring gala, then get "forced" to share a hotel room.

Oscar Piastri

Taken Down by Destiny ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ At her best friend’s wedding, you're determined to avoid romance, avoid the bouquet, and avoid any emotional nonsense. Unfortunately for you, the bouquet find you anyway and so does Max Verstappen after a very unfortunate run-in with a bathroom door.

Enemies with benefits | MV3 ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ After a leaked video involving rivals Y/N and Max Verstappen, both are forced into damage control by their PR teams, a fake relationship that neither of them can handle.

Unfinished Business ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ I. II. III. IV. V. Alpine’s hope, McLaren’s champion. She was there, he was gone. Years later, old tensions resurface, and some stories are far from over.

Edge of Rivalry ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Two sports. Two egos. One long game of who breaks first and neither of them plays to lose.

Little Things That Matter ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ After a bad grade leaves her feeling down, her boyfriend shows up, determined to cheer her up.

Shot Your Shot SMAU ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Oscar likes tennis and maybe Y/N too. He never made a move, just watched, liked, and stayed quiet until Lando made his.

Golden Boy ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ The grid crowned Oscar Piastri the most innocent, most vanilla driver in F1. If only they knew what he’d just finished doing to you.

Familiar Strangers ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ You and Oscar once knew everything about each other : every secret, fear, and dream of a shared future. But dreams pulled you apart, and ten years of silence turned you into complete strangers meeting again back home.

Secrets ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Being the daughter of Nico Rosberg means you have to keep your relationship with Oscar Piastri extremely private. So you’ve been super careful, until one night in the paddock you let your guard down just once and get caught by Lewis Hamilton.

Lando Norris

Loud & Anonymous ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ in which your neighbor is a "wannabe DJ" who keeps the bass pounding all night, making it impossible for you to study.

Champions ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ When they were two kids with big dreams, they made a promise: to silently support each other, no words, no contact, just showing up in the stands, until both of them made it. And they did.

Uninvited ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Never anyone's first choice, not in childhood, not now. Another uninvite from your "friend group" leaves you crying at 3 a.m.

Zero ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ You have to explain to your boyfriend that LN1 will turn into jokes, because it reads as ln(1), which equals zero.

Charles Leclerc

Bush Man ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ I. II. It was supposed to be an ordinary night.Just a walk home after the club, the familiar silence of Monaco in the early hours.But then you found him. In your bush. And nothing about that night or the morning was normal.

Checkmate ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ as the gap in the championship narrows, Charles knows he has only one option left: to seduce her.

Lewis Hamilton

Miss Independent ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ You’re the kind of woman who doesn’t need anyone: independent, self-sufficient, and unshakable. Three and a half years with Lewis Hamilton haven’t changed that until one lazy, rainy day.

Big Fish ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ She's told there's no saying no tonight, not to the richest client she's ever had. Mid-action, she freezes, bursts into tears, and completely falls apart in the client's lap. Tomorrow: fired. Or so she thinks.

Lucky Charm ₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ You were known as a lucky charm, somehow, whoever you supported always seemed to win. The rumor brought more sponsorships, more invitations, and eventually a race weekend with Scuderia Ferrari… where you ended up cheering for Lewis Hamilton

Your friends insisted on going to Ushuaïa for Martin Garrix, and so far it was the best decision of the entire trip. The music sat heavy in your chest, the lights washed everything and for a little while you forgot everything else.

Until one of your friends grabbed your arm.

“Wait… isn’t that Lando?”

You spun around so fast your neck almost cracked. And there he was : hugging Martin Garrix right next to the DJ , looking every bit the man who had sworn to you and half the team that he was going to sleep through the entire summer break and stay far away from Ibiza.

“Oh, perfect,” you muttered under your breath. “This fucking liar.”

At least he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt that said "eat pussy it’s vegan" this time. And he wasn’t sprinting from paparazzi after another night with Alix Earle. Small mercies. If he stayed glued to the stage and just danced, maybe the night could still be salvaged.

But the bitterness sat heavy in your chest. You had already lost the promotion, the one that depended on him keeping his word until the end of the season. He had looked you in the eyes and promised. You had believed him.

Back then, after that ridiculous conversation in the meeting room, the two of you had made a private deal. He had sworn he would stay out of trouble. In return, you had given him something you never should have. You had let him eat you out. You had even thought that if he actually kept his promise and you got the promotion, you might have gone further by the end of the year. If you felt generous enough.

“Fork found in kitchen,” your other friend said, tugging your arm and pulling you out of your stare. “I mean… it was obvious he was lying.”

You only wanted to keep an eye on him from a distance. Just in case. But the second your gaze left him, it was like he felt it. His eyes swept the crowd, locked onto you, and he started moving closer, slowly at first, then with more certainty.

You tried to disappear behind your friends. They had no idea what you were doing and only stared at you in confusion as you attempted to make yourself smaller.

Lando cut through the crowd with purpose. Your friends shifted at exactly the wrong moment, and suddenly there was nothing left between you and him.

“Y/N,” he said, voice bright with genuine surprise and delight, and then he was pulling you into a tight hug before you could react.

You stood frozen in his arms, awkward and stiff, while he held on like he had no intention of letting go. His face pressed into your hair. One hand came up to gently tuck a strand behind your ear.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he murmured against you.

Drunk Lando, you noted distantly, was clingy. You finally managed to push back enough to look at him.

“Don’t act like that,” you said firmly. “I’m still upset with you. We’re not friends.”

His expression flickered, almost offended. Around you, your friends had already melted away, clearly under the impression they were giving you privacy. There was nothing private about this. You were just his PR person. Nothing more.

“But I don’t want you to be upset with me,” he said, defensive even over the pounding music. “You can’t be upset with me when we’re in Ibiza.”

“Oh, yes I can,” you shot back. “Mr. ‘I’m not going to Ibiza’… and yet here we are.”

The crowd surged, pressing the two of you closer together until there was barely space to breathe.

"Okay, I didn’t lie,” Lando tried again, leaning in so you could hear him. “I didn’t want to come to Ibiza this summer.”

“Did someone put a gun to your head and force you?”

“No.” His voice dropped. Then, quieter: “But I have a better question. What are you doing here?”

“Having fun. What else would I be doing?”

Before either of you could say more, the crowd shoved you both further toward the edge of the floor. Someone shouted something about people catching up in the middle of the dance floor, and suddenly you found yourselves in a slightly quieter corner.

Lando turned to face you fully, that familiar half-smirk tugging at his mouth.

“So you came here to have fun. I came here to have fun. Then let’s have fun together.”

“Are you serious right now? I can’t have fun with the same person I spend half my job scolding for partying too much."

He stepped closer, eyes steady on yours.

“Okay. Let’s take it like this. You’re not my PR person here. And I’m not the F1 driver here. We’re just two people who want to have fun together.”

“Lando, we can’t do that,” you cut him off. You wanted this conversation over as fast as possible. “You don’t understand. We’re not friends. We just work together, and that’s it. What happened in your driver’s room was a total mistake, and you need to forget it. Okay?”

Lando said nothing. He just nodded once, still smiling that soft, slightly drunken smile.

For the rest of the night he did the quietest, most effective thing he could: he got his entire friend group to slowly migrate toward yours. Your “traitor” friends, of course, started making friends with his. They didn’t understand why you kept trying to stay as far away from him as possible. You had never told anyone about the deal , not even your closest friends. That had been strictly between the two of you.

Every time Lando took a step forward, you took one back. He never said a word about it. He didn’t have to. The insistence was in the way he kept appearing near you, in the way his eyes always found yours across the crowd. It ruined your whole night or maybe you ruined it yourself, because you were too focused on keeping him at a distance to actually have fun.

Eventually one of your friends grabbed your hand and started pulling you toward the exit.

“Where are we going?” you asked, confused.

“Lando and his friends invited us to a yacht party,” she said, already excited.

“I can’t go. You know what, I’ll just call an Uber. You guys go without me.”

“What? No. Lando probably invited us because of you.”

“That’s not true. Seriously, go with the girls. I have a flight tomorrow anyway.”

She stopped and looked at you properly. “You’ve been acting so weird since he showed up. You were having so much fun before he appeared, and then you just stayed in a mood the whole night.”

You exhaled, knowing she wasn’t going to let this go.

“It’s nothing, okay? Let’s just go.”

You had no real choice. She would either drag the Lando lore out of you or drag you onto that yacht. You chose the yacht.

As expected, the yacht was loud, expensive, and full of people who had no concept of volume control. You spent the entire time trying to stay as far from Lando as possible while still keeping one eye on him, just in case he decided to do something stupid.

Which, of course, he did. He appeared on the upper deck wearing a white t-shirt with bold black letters across the chest: "I ♡ MILFs."

Where the hell did he even get these t-shirts?

You had two options: deal with it now, before it ended up all over the internet, or clean up the mess tomorrow. Even though you didn’t particularly want to get close to him, the PR person inside you wouldn’t let it go. And you had the sinking feeling that this was exactly the trap he wanted you to fall into. He knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.

You walked straight toward him with long, purposeful steps.

“You have to take that t-shirt off,” you said, face completely serious.

Lando’s smile was immediate and enormous.

"Only if you take it off for me."

“What are you, 15 ? Did you get that line from Disney Channel? Lando, I’m serious.”

He didn’t look fully convinced, but something in his expression softened as he watched you. He liked seeing you care enough to march across the deck just because of a stupid t-shirt. You could keep pretending you only came over because of PR, but he knew better.

There was always something sharper and more personal under the professional mask you wore around him. And right now, with the sea wind in your hair and that familiar irritated look on your face, it was hard not to notice how much he still wanted your attention.

His fingers brushed the bottom of the shirt.

“So here’s the deal, Y/N,” he said, voice low. “I’ll take it off. Right now. But you’re staying right here. No running back to your friends. No more pretending we don’t know each other.”

“Trust me, I know better than making another deal with you. I know you, Lando. You’ll promise things over and over again, and you won’t keep your word.”

His fingers still rested at the hem of the shirt. He waited, close enough that you could smell the faint mix of his cologne and the sea air on him.

"You want the t-shirt gone or not?”

“Fine. Go change. I’ll stay here.”

Lando looked far too satisfied with the answer. He disappeared for a few minutes and came back in a plain black t-shirt, two shot glasses in hand.

"Okay then," he said, offering you one. "Let's have fun."

“I’m not having fun with you,” you muttered, taking the glass anyway.

“I kept my part of this promise,” he pointed out. “So you have to keep yours.”

“Oh, and what about the other promise you didn’t keep?”

“I know,” he said quietly. “About the promotion. About everything. I fucked that up for you. And I’m sorry.”

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard more than any of his usual charm ever did.

“Cheers,” he added after a moment, softer, and clinked his glass against yours.

You drank. Little by little, you started to relax. Lando was a natural party animal, and the vibe was hard to resist. The tension in your shoulders loosened.

You laughed at something stupid one of his friends said. At some point your hand ended up on the back of his neck without you fully realizing it, fingers loosely curled there while he spun you on the deck. The music was loud, the sea air warm, and for a stretch of time you almost forgot why you were supposed to be angry.

You didn’t even know who started the kiss.

One moment you were dancing, the next you were on a low outdoor sofa, mouths moving against each other like you were trying to steal the air from each other’s lungs. Your logical brain had stopped working somewhere between the second shot. All you wanted was to kiss the soul out of Lando Norris on a yacht in Ibiza, and the fact that it was a terrible idea barely registered.

Until a cap flew through the air and smacked Lando in the side of the head.

“Get a room!” Max Fewtrell , his friend , yelled laughing.

He wasn't wrong. You were still in public. The thought cut through the haze just enough to make you pull back, breathing hard.

By that point both of you were exhausted. Lando found a quiet cabin on the yacht, one his friend always left open for him, and the moment he dropped onto the bed you followed, landing half on top of him. Your drunk mind didn’t overthink it. His arms came around you immediately, holding you against his chest.

You fell asleep fast, face pressed against his collarbone. Lando pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and carefully pulled the covers over both of you without waking you.

It had been a hell of a vacation. Everything possible and impossible had somehow happened in one night.

The next morning the shock hit harder than any hangover. You woke up to a warm, heavy arm locked around your waist, Lando spooned behind you, still deeply asleep. For a second your brain refused to process it. You thought you might actually be going crazy.

Your phone was buzzing nonstop on the floor. You stretched carefully, trying to reach it without waking him, but Lando only tightened his hold, even in sleep, like he refused to let go. After a bit more effort you managed to grab the phone.

The most recent notifications stared back at you.

From a coworker: Please don’t tell me you’re with Norris in Ibiza.

And from your boss: Call me. Now.

Fuck.

​Before Charles could even open his mouth, Lando scoffed, "Does he even know how to play golf? He’s going to hit the grass more than the ball."

​"He knows! ...I think," Carlos snapped, before staring intensely at his ex-teammate. "So, Charles. Golf?"

​"No, I can't either," Charles replied naturally. "I have to stay with my daughter tomorrow.".

​Charles froze. His brain caught up with his mouth about two seconds too late. Did I really just say that out loud?!

​"WHAT?!" Max choked on his water"You have a DAUGHTER?!"

​"Wait, wait, wait," Lando cut in, suddenly leaning across the table "How old is she? How many months?"

​Charles blinked, debating if jumping out the restaurant window was a viable exit strategy. But he’d already dug the hole, might as well jump in.

​"She's five years old," Charles confessed, rubbing his temples. "And I don't know, Lando! Who counts in months after two years?!"

​"FIVE YEARS?!" ​It was a full-on unison scream.

​"Hold on a second!" George interrupted, throwing his hands in the air, instantly stepping into his role as the grid's official FBI agent. "You don't even have a girlfriend! Who are you making children with?"

​Charles buried his face in his hands. If the secret's out, I might as well throw the whole bomb.

​"I’m actually married," Charles muttered into his palms. "For six years."

​"Six years?! And we weren't invited to the wedding?! I thought we were friends, Charles!" George said, sounding offended.

​"How tf is this possible?!" Lando yelled, completely exasperated.

​Meanwhile, Carlos had officially reached his limit. He didn't care about the marriage or the secret kid. He had a crisis of his own.

​"OKAY, GREAT, CHARLES IS SECRETLY A FAMILY MAN!" Carlos yelled, "BUT WHO THE HELL AM I PLAYING GOLF WITH TOMORROW? Alex?"

​Alex, who was quietly trying to blend into the wallpaper, blinked. "I can't."

​Carlos’s jaw dropped in absolute betrayal. "WHY? Do you have a secret family too? Is everyone secretly married with three kids?"

​"Uhh... no," Alex said slowly, raising his hands in defense. "I just... have a flight tomorrow, Carlos."

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The second Charles stepped into the apartment, he was already rehearsing how to break the news. He had kept the secret perfectly for six years and had crumbled under zero pressure.

But the moment he closed the door, he heard it, the familiar sound of a Disney movie playing in the living room. Before he could even call out, tiny footsteps came running.

“Papa! Papa!” your daughter screamed, launching herself at him.

Charles’ face instantly softened. He dropped his bag and caught her, spinning her around as she giggled.

“Mon petit cœur! Did you miss me?” he asked, pressing kisses all over her cheeks.

“So much!” she said dramatically, wrapping her little arms around his neck. “We watched Encanto again. Mom said I could stay up until you came home.”

You appeared in the doorway, smiling at the scene. Charles looked at you over your daughter’s head, eyes full of guilt and love at the same time.

After the bedtime routine, your daughter was finally asleep. Charles joined you in the bedroom, both of you getting ready for bed.

“So…” he started, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I fucked up.”

You raised an eyebrow “How bad?”

“We had the drivers’ dinner tonight and I accidentally told Carlos I couldn’t play golf tomorrow because I have to stay with my daughter. Then I had to confess everything.” He said it in one breath.

“Well… I can’t believe you managed to keep it a secret for this long,” you said, shaking your head. “Six years, Charles. That’s actually impressive.”

He looked up at you, surprised. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad.” You sat beside him and took his hand. “I think it was always going to come out one day. We didn’t know when… but I guess now is the time.”

Charles let out a big sigh of relief and pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“We should announce it publicly, right? Maybe a soft launch or something?” he asked.

But Max was always there, sensing your insecurities before you even voiced them. He’d pull you close, kiss your forehead, and whisper that you were the woman of his dreams. He made sure you felt loved, seen, and enough. Still, the doubts lingered.

That’s why you started going to the paddock less and less. The stares, the whispers, the cameras, it became too much.

You were scared of what people would say about you in person. So every race weekend you lied to Max, telling him you were busy with work. You were busy, but not every single weekend. Max never pushed. He respected your own life and your own space. But deep down, he knew.

He had seen the comments too. He knew how easily they hurt you. That’s why he always made sure to remind you how much he loved you, not just in private, but publicly. He loved talking about you to others, loved showing you off. He was so proud of you.

Even when you missed weekends with him, staying home instead, rotting in bed and wishing you were there, you still made up excuses. Max would just nod, even though he knew you were lying, then pull you into his chest, kiss your forehead, and hold you until the weight on your heart felt a little lighter.

Today was one of those days you regretted staying home the most. Max had just won the first race of the season. You watched it on the TV, heart swelling with pride and aching with absence.

Then came the moment that stopped your breath: the dedication written on the bottle of champagne in his hands.

“To the most important person in my life, my wife.”

You stared at the screen, tears blurring your vision. You didn’t know whether to cry, scream, laugh, or all three at once. Part of you worried it would only make the online comments worse. But the bigger part knew without a doubt that Max loved you. And he wasn’t afraid to show it.

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You were still in bed, wrapped in one of his hoodies, when Max walked into the bedroom. He looked tired, jet-lagged, hair messy from the flight, but his eyes softened the second they landed on you.

“Hey, schatje,” he murmured, dropping his bag and crawling onto the bed beside you. He pulled you into his arms immediately, burying his face in your neck.

You hugged him tight, breathing him in. “Congratulations, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His thumb gently wiped away a tear you didn’t realise had fallen.

“I missed you there,” he said quietly. “I always miss you.”

You looked away, guilt and insecurity twisting in your stomach. “I was busy...”

“Don’t,” Max interrupted softly, but firmly. He cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I know why you didn’t come. I’ve known for a while.”

Your lip trembled. “Max…”

“Those comments?” He shook his head, voice low and steady. “They don’t know you. They don’t know us. They see a picture and think they can judge. But they have no idea what a sweet, kind, caring woman you are. How you make me laugh even after the worst races. How you’re my safe place after all the chaos.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes closing for a moment.

“You think I could do better? There is no better. You are it for me. You’re the woman I want to come home to every single time. The only one I want to dedicate my wins to. The only one I want to build a life with.”

His voice dropped even softer, almost a whisper. “I hate that they make you feel like this. I hate that you hide at home because of them. But I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not letting you believe their lies. You are enough. More than enough. You’re everything.”

You let out a shaky breath, tears spilling over. Max kissed them away, one by one.

“I love you,” he said against your mouth. “And I’ll keep saying it, showing it, shouting it from the podium until you believe it. Okay?”

You nodded, clinging to him, the weight in your chest finally cracking.

“Okay.”

Max smiled, pulling you fully into his lap, arms wrapped securely around you. Jet lag and exhaustion be damned, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

@ yourbestfriend the first pic is actually insane 🔥 ♥︎ by author

@ user she ate and left no crumbs as always

@ user oscar liking this within 2 minutes… sir we see you

@ user not lando and oscar both in the likes I’m screaming

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private message between you and lando

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private message between lando and oscar

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Liked by @ user, @ user, @ yourbestfriend and 40,238 others

@ gossipf1 🚨 Oscar Piastri and Y/N spotted together. The quiet McLaren driver and the party girl were seen getting very close at a club this weekend…Looks like opposites really do attract 👀

view all comments ->

@ user oscar piastri in a club making out??? 2026 is healing

@ user SHE HAS HER ARMS AROUND HIS NECK I’M SCREAMING

@ user OUR BOY MADE ITTTTT!!

@ yourbestfriend 😈😈😈

@ user she’s such a bad influence

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private message between oscar and lando

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private message between you and your best friend

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@ yourusername added to their close friends story

@ landonorris my matchmaking skills are insane

@ yourbestfriend finally someone with taste

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private message between you and oscar

You didn’t plan to make it regular. But the tension on both sides was too much. Max had the weight of championships and expectations, you had a company to run and an image to protect. So you made a deal: no feelings, just sex when one of you needed to blow off steam.

It worked for months. But lately Max had been getting frustrated.

Tonight after the sponsor event you went back to his room, as soon as the door closed you were all over him, kissing him hard, pushing him toward the bed, trying to keep things on your terms.

Max let you. He kissed you back, let you take his shirt off, let you climb on top and grind against him while you were still half-dressed. For a while he just went with it, hands on your ass, groaning into your mouth.

But after a few minutes you could feel him getting tense. You were still trying to control the rhythm, still keeping your head a little too clear, still not fully letting yourself go. Max suddenly grabbed your hips and stopped you.

He flipped you onto your back and looked down at you, breathing hard.

“Okay, enough,” he said, voice a bit frustrated. “You’ve been doing this for months. You come here, we fuck, but you never actually let go. You’re still controlling everything.”

You froze a little. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he cut in, but not mean. Just honest. “I let you do your thing tonight, I didn’t say anything at first. But I can feel it. You’re holding back. Why?”

You looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. The truth was you didn’t want to look vulnerable. Not with him. Not with anyone. Letting go felt too risky.

“I just… I don’t do that,” you said quietly. “I don’t like feeling exposed. I’ve always had to handle shit myself. I don’t need anyone seeing me weak.”

Max stayed quiet for a second, then sighed.

“I’m not trying to make you look weak,” he said, softer now. “I just want you to actually enjoy this. To relax. To stop carrying the whole world on your shoulders when you’re with me. To let me take care of you.”

He leaned down and kissed you slowly, more gently than before. His hand slid between your legs, fingers rubbing your clit in slow circles.

“Let me in a little,” he whispered against your lips. “You don’t have to do everything alone tonight.”

You wanted to argue, but the way he was touching you made it hard to think. He pushed two fingers inside you, fucking you with them while his thumb kept rubbing your clit. You moaned, hips moving against his hand even though your mind was still fighting.

He took his time, kissing your neck, your breasts, working you up until you were soaking and desperate. Then he finally pulled his fingers out, spread your legs wider and pushed his cock inside you in one slow, deep thrust.

“Fuck…” you breathed.

Max started moving, deep and steady, holding eye contact.

“You feel so good,” he murmured. “But I know you can feel more than this. Stop thinking. Stop protecting yourself from me.”

He picked up the pace, fucking you harder, one hand holding your thigh open. You tried to stay quiet, tried to keep some distance, but it was getting impossible. The pleasure was too much.

“I can’t…” you whispered, voice shaky. “I don’t want to look..."

“You’re not looking weak,” he said, leaning down to kiss you. “You’re just letting yourself feel. That’s not the same thing.”

His words and the way he was fucking you finally broke something. Your body relaxed, moans getting louder, hands gripping his back. When you came it hit you hard : shaking, crying out his name, completely lost for a moment.

Max groaned and came right after, burying his face in your neck.Afterwards he pulled you into his arms and held you close, stroking your hair.

“See?” he said softly. “It’s okay to let go a little. I’ve got you here. You don’t have to be strong every second.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stayed there against his chest, breathing him in, feeling strangely safe even though it scared you.