#poisoning

Seconds ticked by as minutes felt like cruel hours. Nobody was around. 

Just you, and the dead body. 

You counted the amount of wounds. Six holes pierced in the limp body. One on each leg, two on both sides of his chest, one on his torso, and one to his head. That’s all you could notice. How the man’s insides oozed out like a running yolk, and onto the ground.How the gravel was painted in a crimson red. You must’ve been hallucinating because you swore the pointer finger of the burly and dry hand twitched every while.You felt your vision blackening, flickering in panic and shock. 

You could hear Caleb’s muffled voice from the other line of the phone calling your name, over and over. You mumbled something, arms that once propped you up buckling and failing you as you collapsed onto the floor going in and out from sleep. 

Caleb was there in four minutes and thirteen seconds from God knows where. The soles of his shoes clicked briskly as he walked over to the grotesque scene. A man whose limbs were contorted, and his pupils rolled back. Then his eyes darted towards where you huddled yourself, shaking and crying yourself to the brink of faint. 

He glided over, kneeling down as he slid a hand on the back of your head, gently lifting it. “Hey, it’s me. Caleb.” Your eyes teared up again as you buried your face into his chest without even looking at him, you couldn’t. 

Caleb had to come and clean up your mess, yet again..

 “Caleb..” you sobbed, quietly and pathetic. And he could feel his heart break as he saw you in such a fragile state. To him, this scene was just a normal day at work, with delinquents and traitors lurking about every corner of the fleet. 

All he had to do was notice them slip up once, before blowing their brains out. But seeing his baby sister like this? So tender hearted and too soft for this world. He cradled your head and patted it. The scene was ambiguous enough. 

“Let’s go home and clean up,yeah?” He murmured in your ear, like he was coddling a child. You hated when he was like that. Like you were beneath him. But for now, you were too drained to do anything, your body going limp as he effortlessly picked you up. “What about the..” you weakly trailed off. “I’ll clean it up, don’t worry, Gege will fix everything.” 

The drive home was tiring. It didn’t matter that home was only twenty minutes away. You slumped on the passenger seat as Caleb’s hand squished your plush thigh, despite the not dried blood you rubbed on your pants. 

You barely remembered getting out of the car, and the trip to your shared bathroom, carrying the medical box with barely two fingers and blood dripping and staining the floor from your hair and your own wounds. He sat you down on the marble floor and undid your clothing with precision.

 His hat was thrown on the ground and the bath started running. “You said he had a knife. Did he hurt you?” You sniffled, nodding slowly before pointing at your bare arm and waist. 

He undid your bra, where a nasty wound that was a few centimeters before being serious. (Damn it. That wasn’t part of the plan.) “Did he touch you anywhere?” He asked lightly, tugging the stubborn tape with his teeth to rip it off. 

Your lip quivered as you tried finding words, but they were stuck. “Take your time.” 

“My.. my chest and arm.” You blurt out. You could see something in Caleb’s eyes darken and his jaw tick before keeping his poker face on, seeming more caring and loving for his Mei Mei. “Can you tell me what happened?” 

Caleb asks, same tone but he checks his watch, pressing a few buttons..? 

You soaked in the bath, feeling small and naked before Colonel Caleb. But he was your best friend, your brother, was he your lover?.

 “He… I was walking.. an’ he came out of nowhere.. he tried touching me.. I started running.. he chased me an’ I tried finding help, but no one was around.. he found me.. he had a knife, tried touching me.. I punched him. .we. fought.. he almost stabbed me, I.. I panicked and the next thing he’s on the floor.. and he’s bleeding.. and he doesn’t have a pulse.. and I fall onto the floor.” 

Your voice raises higher and higher into a squeak before finally weeping again. “What did you do?” He urged again, gentle.

 “Shot him… with my hunter gun..” 

“How many times?” 

Why was he asking these questions? He was right there at the crime scene…. He should’ve known.. 

“six times…Gege, I didn’t mean to kill him..” Caleb cradles your face that was damp from tears streaming down. “I know darling, I know. You were scared.” 

“If anyone finds out.. I’ll be in jail..” you whimper. Caleb knew that. And he was using that. “Which is why nobody will.” He firmly stated. You sniffle. “How do you know?” He leans in to press a long searing kiss to your lips, his chest squishing your chest and hands rubbing your hips soothingly. 

“They won’t. I’ll make sure of it.” He mumbled through the kiss. When he pulled back, he grabbed your bloody clothes and placed them in the sink, filling it with ice cold water. 

“Don’t use hot water to get rid of stains, it’ll stain forever.” He murmurs, mainly to himself. As the tap ran, he picked you up into the bathtub, giving you a sponge, bodywash and your shampoo. 

“Rub your soap all around your body, try not to touch your wounds, I’ll wash your hair for you, got it?” You nod, pitifully lathering soap all over. Rubbing hard on the places you swore there was blood the most. The bathroom smelt of bleach, from Caleb probably.

 “When you’re taking off blood.” He said, like he was teaching a normal lab experiment. “Blot, don’t rub off. And let it soak in either a sink of cold water, or Hydrogen peroxide.” 

Not that you’d need to know ever again he thought to himself . 

Despite scrubbing for a long time, you still felt filthy. Caleb kneeled down beside the bath, now without his coat decorated in badges and blazer underneath, leaving him in a white dress shirt. “Your shirt wi-“ “I have plenty more, and you seem squeaky clean to me.” He flashed a grin, and you gave a wobbly smile.

 As  Caleb lathered the soap in your hair. It was silent, the occasional sound of water sloshing, and Caleb’s slight humming.

 How?

 How was he so casual about this? His baby sister just killed someone, and he just was chill? Something wasn’t right, but you were too tired to overthink. “This world is dangerous.” He broke the silence. 

You let him continue and he strides over to you kneeling down and tracing your jaw over the bathtub as you awkwardly pooled in the warm water that felt freezing now.. 

“There will be so many people who want a pretty girl like you.” He was too close. “Your body, your smile, everything about you. And they will do anything.. unmeasurable lengths to have you.”

 “Caleb.. what’re you doing..” you quiver and he scoffs, his hand going from your jaw, to your shoulder. “Don’t you see? You’re only safe with me.” You want to shrug off his hand, but when you tried, it came off more rougher than you wanted. 

You gasped slightly, and noticed your so-called best friend’s eyes flicker a hint of hurt before going back to his warm gaze, chuckling. 

“Silly pips. Are you truly that scared of me?” In truth, you were. The only piece of comfort you had was him, and he made sure it was only him. 

Nobody else to turn to, you would always have to turn to him in the end. “This world is dangerous. Especially for you. A pretty little dove. I’ve protected you for so long. And I will forever.”

 The sentence was supposed to be comforting, but yet a pool of frightening turmoil sank low in your guts. “I love you. I’m the only person who will ever love you, can’t you see?” He leans in dangerously close. “Nobody knows you like I do. Nobody has seen all sides of you.” 

You’ve never wanted your old Caleb back this badly.

. The old Caleb who’d had a beaming smile and a bandage on his cheek as he spent all his money on candy for you. 

The old Caleb who reminded you of firewood and melting popsicles in the middle of summer break.

 The old Caleb who had chubby red cheeks, messed up hair and buck teeth.

 That wasn’t there. Instead was a man, possibly one of the most dangerous man in Skyhaven, the Colonel in the morbid fleet. 

“I’ve always loved you. Since we were kids. Tell me, are you vulnerable and caged like this for anyone else?” And with a low whisper he added “and would you want to?” 

You didn’t respond, a squeak dying in your throat. He grinned, not in a boyish charm anymore. “I didn’t think so.” And he ended it there for now, gently lifting you up onto your feet on the hello kitty bath mat you were adamant on buying for him as a “house warming gift”.

He finally pulled back, walking out again from the bathroom to bring an oversized shirt for you. You lifted your arms so he could put it on you, and didn’t you look like a dream, in his eyes. 

His shirt, nipples peeking out, legs bared with nothing but bandages, messed up hair and glossy eyes with your lashes wet from tears. He propped you up, onto his side the bed (the only side he slept on on cold lonely nights.) and sat you down, draping a blanket on top of you. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate.

 I know exactly how many marshmallows you put in, and I know, I need to stir it three and a half times.” He joked. 

You grimace. How was he so fine with all of this? Though it was true he had an awfully dark sense of humour, constantly joking about “losing his marbles.” And “huh, wonder if they’re pretending to be happy.” At festival workers. 

But this was wretched. Twisted. 

He came back, a warm mug, a box of cookies and an eerie smile that you once upon a time never realized how sinister it could be with a different perspective. He sat beside you, scooting towards you. Half of you wanted to scooch away. As he placed it onto a hard cover book being misused as a tray, he wrapped his other arm around you.

 “Caleb, how are you so calm with this?” You whispered. He smacked his lips, like he was reminiscing on the reason. “Hm, as the colonel, there’s traitors, delinquents, criminals all around us. But..I remember being numb at one point.” He looked down, refusing to let you see his expression. “He was someone I thought I could maybe trust. One of the only people I half-believed in. It was only later when I realized he was trying to smuggle a bomb into the fleet’s headquarters. It was.. heartbreaking to say the least. But when he was pleading for mercy beneath me, fuck, that was harder.”

 He stared at you, tears forming in his eyes as he gave a wobbly smile. “I didn’t have anyone to rely on. I was alone, scared and only in my early twenties. And I never want you to feel like that, feel what I had to endure.” 

You almost melted for him. Your shoulders loosened as you leaned into him conspicuously a little more. “After the first kill, it felt less hard. I’m used to seeing dead bodies, bodies that I knew the person and soul of. The only one I refuse to see dead is yours.”

 He cradled a warm hand on your face. “Pipsqueak, I’ve never understood why you’re so adamant on sacrificing your life as a hunter for ungrateful people.” And he kissed you on the cheek, trailing down to your jaw and collarbone. “You’re.. so.. much.. more.. then.. that..” 

You sighed at the comfort, yet unsure whether to push him off or embrace him. He stopped, looking back up at you like a puppy.

 “We could get married.”

 “What?” 

Did you hear that right?

 “Yeah, think of it, I’ll build you a new house, with everything you could want. What do you need? You can tell me. I can agree to anything. We can return to Linkon if that’s what you want. If you want to return to the past, we'll rebuild our old house and move in together.” He leaned closer, and your heart beat spiked at the second.  

“ if one house isn't enough, I'll build you a whole fucking maze. I'll decorate it with everything you could ever want. It will be the most beautiful, stunning garden you’ve ever seen.” 

This was too much, tears pricked again at your eyes. 

You couldn’t cry now.. not now not now not now not now not now not now not now not now not now not now not now not now not now. 

But Caleb knew the right words to disarm you.

 As your body shook, he held you, cradling you in his chest. “No one will be able to find you ever again. I’ll protect you forever.” You cried again. 

For the man you killed, for the loss of your Gege, for everything. And Caleb just rocked you side to side, kissing your head and smoothing out your hair. 

“Shh, my pretty baby, my pretty wife. Wouldn’t you look so good with my babies?” You sobbed harder. “If we had a girl, I’d want her to look exactly like you, yeah? She’d be the cutest button ever, runnin’ around like you.” Just stop talking, please stop talking. 

“I could teach her how to play sports, and we could buy baby clothes, give her a whole wardrobe.” He was mainly talking to himself now, smiling uncontrollably as he pictured his perfect family. 

Because these were the following steps to his plan. The first ones were getting you crying like this. Of course, you getting hurt, and then killing one of his ex-subordinates who pleaded for their life for him to not execute him, wasn’t part of the plan, but that only made things better.

 Such a tiny thing like you broke too easily. And you’d always turn to him. After all, he was your big brother, who desensitized you from social norms. Him teaching you how to kiss, fuck, give a proper blowjob, that was all under the illusion of “come on, best friends do this.” 

Your guy friends disappearing by the moment?

 “I’m not sure what you’re talkin’ about, but guys who have no commitment usually do shit like that, meimei.” 

And him holding you like this, comforting you while talking about the future?

 “No guy will ever know and love you like I do.” 

And, maybe, you were believing his twisted mind, falling into his traps. 

Maybe, the fear wasn’t fear as he said it wasn’t. 

Maybe it was love. 

What Caleb had brainwashed you about what love was. 

And if you ever relented, he now had a voice recording of you confessing to your crime, fully able to blackmail you. Well, he wouldn’t call it blackmailing, more so, keeping you safe. 

You were only safe with him. 

The world didn’t deserve someone like you who sobbed right beside him as he hugged you tightly, blubbering weak protests as he patted your head, and brushed your wet hair with his fingers. 

He’d dry your hair later. He didn’t care that his dress shirt had wet puddles all over, from the water, bleach, and your beautiful tears. 

You looked so ethereal when you cried, how he wished he could capture every single tear in a jar. Perhaps tease you on how much you were a crybaby. You cried yourself to sleep, shaking and whimpering beside the cruel yet comforting warmth his body heat was radiating. 

All you could dream about was red. 

Crimson red, and the sound of eerie static, with distorted memories of Caleb. 

But it wasn’t him. 

There was Caleb who was smiling at you in his DAA jacket he was proud of, and the next second, it would switch with his teeth covered in blood, jacket torn and knife in hand. You could hear the screams of the man you attacked before he fell back, dead. And Caleb’s voice, the same things he said about marriage, babies, the future, but distorted. 

Like many voices chorused in unison to make an uneasy harmony as each word they spoke was slurred. 

“I’llll…Allwaysss.. Prooo..tecttt…you..forrr..evvv..errrrr…” that line alone repeated over and over. It drove you insane, yet you still slept. 

Your eyes were still blurry from dried tears as you woke up, blinking slowly to get rid of the crust. Caleb wasn’t there. But you smelt the familiar and nostalgic scent of Caleb’s pancakes. Your stomach growled at the idea of his pancakes drizzled in syrup again. 

How long has it been since you had his cooking? Or food in general? 

You rubbed your stomach and trudged downstairs. Your hair was dry it seemed, and in a loose braid like Caleb always tied it in when he dried your hair. Your Caleb was still home.. the Caleb who you knew.. right? Was all that he said just part of your gruelling nightmare? 

You padded down to the cold kitchen tiles, and found Caleb's spare slippers you shoved on before approaching him. He was shirtless, and in red and black plaid pajama pants with an apron draped over him as he flipped over another flat batter with his spatula, slowly humming an old cartoon theme intro. 

The scene was supposed to look domestic, and soft. But the tension and what happened couldn’t be ignored. 

Caleb smiled at you, eerily similar to his disfigured smile in your dream, excluding the blood. “Finally up?” You nod, standing there, unsure what to do. “Go sit down, wash your hands. I’ll bring your food and coffee over.” 

You sit down on the counter stool, head down and buried in your folded your arms. Head reeling. The gun shots, Caleb’s words, the blood, his smile, the nightmare, the kiss, blood blood blood blood. “You’re over thinkin’ again pips.” Caleb’s voice floated back into your mind.

 You didn’t look up. “I’m over thinking? Caleb… I… I killed someone yesterday.” You buried your head in your hands, hair tangling in your fingers as you went through all the memories you could remember. 

You heard the click of porcelain hitting the marble counter beside you, a stack of pancakes drizzled in fruit and syrup with powdered sugar. It looked delicious. And nauseating. How did Caleb truly expect you to eat something as sweet as that? 

You felt like you were going to throw up as your stomach churned at the thought of food right now, despite being hungry not too long ago. “You needa eat somethin’.” He gently nudged your shoulder. 

You stared at the breakfast, the smell of sugar sickening you. “Caleb.. what did you mean by that yesterday?” 

Caleb, who was back to his kitchen workplace back turned and stirring your coffee hummed before answering. 

“What did I say yesterday?” You couldn’t see what he was doing with the mug.

 “The.. the marriage part. The future. Did you.. did you really mean that?” Caleb stopped, and looked at the wall, before turning with coffee in hand and heading towards you.

 “You think I didn’t?” He asked, low, and heart dropping. You tensed, slightly backing from his booming presence. 

“Well.. I didn’t think you were..”

 “serious?”

 “..y-yeah.”

 He scoffed, like this was a joke, before caging you in by planting his hands on the marble as you spun the stool to face him. “You think I wasn’t being serious? Think I said all that shit for nothing? I’ve been serious about you.. no.. crazy about you since we were kids. I’ve always loved you. Maybe a little more than you realize..” 

“Caleb.. but..”

 he leaned even more forward.

 “But what? I don’t think you get it sweetheart. I’ve coddled you for so long that you probably think the world’s all sunshine, with a few mishaps, huh? But the world’s just full of fuckin’ shit. Not for someone like you. Nobody deserves you like this.. nobody is going to protect you like I will. I’ll always protect you forever. I’m the only one who can.” 

And you don’t know why or how, but suddenly, your palm smacked his cheek, hard. You slapped him. His face is turned to the side, cheeks bright red and eyes blown wide before his tongue poked the side of his pinked cheek and huffed a laugh. 

“Shut up. I don’t need you! I don’t need someone who thinks murder is just another fucking Thursday night. I don’t need someone who’s fucked in the head like that Caleb.” 

He shook his head.

 “You don’t need me? Do you really think that?” And he gripped your jaw. Hard. “I raised you. Since I was a child. I had the right to be with you since we were kids. I didn’t have to take care of you. But I did. Because I love you.”

 And he smashed his lips into yours. 

You tried pulling away, but you couldn’t. His strong grip and nowhere else to go making you trapped. You tried biting his lip hard but he bit back, thinking you were doing so in a sexual matter. When he finally pulled back, saliva connecting the two of you, you jumped out of your seat. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” He smiled sinisterly. 

“Oh honey, wouldn’t you like to know.” You had to get out. Right now.

 You didn’t even bother with your things in the other room, grabbing your gun that you dropped lazily on the floor last night and making a run for the door. Caleb just strode over, like this was some game to him.

 “Where do you think you’re goin’? He grinned. 

“Away from you.” You shot back, watching him come dangerously close as you were finally at the door, unlocking it until.. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

 You stopped. “Well, you aren’t me.” 

“Guess I’m not.. shame, I’d be pretty. Buuutt, it also be a shame if someone saw you out there.” 

“What do you mean by that?” You ask, voice steady but still unsure. And Caleb pulled out his phone from his pant pocket, tapped a few buttons, and there was your voice. Your hysterical voice as he asked you questions in the bathroom last night. 

Your heart dropped.

 “Caleb.. you-“ 

“What did you do?” “Shot him… with my hunter gun..” “how many times?” “six times…Gege, I didn’t mean to kill him…” “I know darling, I know.” He was asking those questions as an interrogation.

 “Caleb.. Caleb how could you..” you choked out, tears streaming down yet again, the half unlocked door forgotten. 

“I’m not going to send it to anyone. The hunters association would already recognize your voice in a heartbeat.” 

You slid down, overwhelmed yet again, and Caleb crouched down to you. You tried weakly pushing him away, but he’s too strong. “You didn’t finish your coffee, you’ll feel better Mei Mei, I promise.” Your body was too limp to fight anymore. 

You didn’t even recognize this Caleb. You really did try fighting, but your muscles felt slowed and sluggish. After grabbing your mug, that cooled down a little more, he gently yet forcibly placed the mug in between your lips before you drank. 

Your hands were useless trying to push his veiny and bulky arms away as you helplessly guzzled it down. “Shh my love, this is for you. Let that murder be a sign that you’re only safe with me, yeah?” 

The lights of Las Vegas shimmered like scattered jewels against the dark Nevada sky, their glow reflected in the streams of champagne that had soaked the paddock. The grandstands were still buzzing as fans filed out, their chants and cheers echoing in Max’s ears even as he sat in the quiet solitude of his driver’s room.

He hadn’t changed out of his race suit yet—his gloves were tossed onto the couch, his helmet discarded on the floor beside his boots. His hands trembled slightly, a cocktail of adrenaline and raw fury coursing through his veins.

Max had been close—so close to securing his championship. With every lap tonight, he had felt it, tasted it, seen the finish line and the trophy. But it wasn’t the second-place finish that had soured his mood. No, it was what had happened after, live on international television, with millions of fans watching.

He’d sworn at an FIA official.

The memory burned like acid in his mind, replaying on a vicious loop. The moment had been fleeting—a frustrated curse muttered under his breath during the cooldown lap, caught on a hot mic. But in this sport, fleeting moments had consequences.

The fallout had been immediate. As Max sat there now, scrolling through his phone, the headlines were already popping up.

“Verstappen’s Outburst: Will the FIA Penalize the Championship Leader?”

“F1 Star Caught Swearing at Official – Points Deduction Incoming?”

“A Championship in Jeopardy?”

He tossed his phone onto the table, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. He could still feel the weight of the Las Vegas heat, the oppressive pressure of the race, and now the heavy burden of his own temper.

The door opened softly, and he didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He would recognize her presence anywhere.

“Max?” Y/N’s voice was warm, soft, like the first rays of sunlight after a storm.

He glanced up, his breath catching for just a moment.

She stood in the doorway, radiant as ever, her tailored black dress clinging to her figure with an elegance that made her look like she belonged in a royal court, not the chaos of the paddock. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, and her sharp eyes—the color of polished obsidian—seemed to cut straight through him, seeing everything he tried to hide.

Her beauty had always mystified him, but it wasn’t just that. There was something about her, something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name.

It was the way she carried herself, with an effortless grace and a quiet authority that even the most powerful people respected. She was warm and affectionate with him, but beneath that, there was an edge—a darkness he couldn’t place.

But he loved her. He loved her fiercely, deeply, with every part of himself. And in moments like these, when the world felt like it was caving in, she was the only one who could steady him.

She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. The soft click of the latch felt final, sealing them in their own little world.

“You were amazing out there,” she said, her lips curling into a small smile as she approached him.

Max shook his head, his frustration boiling over. “Amazing doesn’t matter if I lose everything because of a stupid mistake. Did you see the headlines? They’re already talking about a points deduction.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear beneath his anger.

Y/N knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his knee. Her touch was light, soothing, but her gaze was steady. “Max,” she said softly, “you need to breathe.”

“I can’t,” he snapped, though his voice lacked venom when he looked into her eyes. “I worked so hard for this, Y/N. They’re going to take it away from me over One. Stupid. Word.”

Her other hand came up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Her touch lingered, gentle but deliberate, and Max felt his pulse quicken. She had that effect on him—always had. There was something intoxicating about her, something that made him feel like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall but knowing she’d catch him.

“You’re not going to lose anything,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Do you know why?”

Max let out a bitter laugh. “Why?”

“Because you’re Max Verstappen,” she said simply, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t crumble. You don’t let anyone take what’s yours. And more importantly—” She leaned in, her lips brushing against his temple as she whispered, “—because I won’t let them.”

A shiver ran down his spine. There was something in her tone, something unshakable and resolute, that made his anger falter.

He pulled back slightly to look at her, his brow furrowed. “What does that mean, schatje?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was something almost predatory in the way she looked at him—a sharpness that made his chest tighten. “It means..you don’t need to worry about the FIA. I'm sure they’ll come around.”

Max stared at her, his mind racing. There it was again—that edge, that darkness he couldn’t define.

He didn’t know everything about her, and sometimes that scared him. But as he looked at her now, at the fierce determination in her gaze, he felt something else: safety.

No matter how mysterious or dangerous she might be, he knew she would never let anything happen to him.

“Y/N…” he began, but she silenced him with a kiss.

It was slow, tender, and yet there was an urgency beneath it, a fire that made him forget the chaos of the night. Her hands slid up to cup his face, and he leaned into her, his anger and fear melting away in her embrace.

When she pulled back, her lips were curved into that same enigmatic smile. “Trust me, my love,” she said. “Everything is going to be alright.”

He wanted to believe her. He did believe her. But as he watched her stand and move to the window, her silhouette framed by the neon lights outside, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew something he didn’t.

“What did you mean when you said you won’t let them?” he asked cautiously.

Y/N turned to face him, her expression soft again, though her eyes still held that unreadable gleam. “It means I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you,” she said simply.

Her words should have comforted him, but instead, they sent a strange thrill through him—a mixture of awe and unease. He had always admired her sharp mind and unwavering confidence, but now, for the first time, he wondered how far she would go for him.

He stood and crossed the room to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. She fit against him perfectly, her warmth anchoring him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured against her hair.

She tilted her head up to look at him, her smile softer now. “So are you,” she replied. “And you’re going to win this championship. No one can take that from you.”

He nodded, resting his forehead against hers. “As long as I have you, I’ll be okay,” he said quietly.

Y/N’s smile widened, but there was something almost mischievous in it. “Always,” she promised.

Max held her tighter, burying his face in her shoulder. He didn’t see the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, the way her lips curved into something darker for just a moment before she kissed his cheek.

Whatever storm was coming, she would handle it. For Max, she would do anything.

______________________

The hotel room was dark except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the sheer curtains, it was quiet. Max lay sprawled on the plush king-sized bed, his body turned toward the door.

Sleep had found him reluctantly, but even now, as the faint hum of the air conditioner filled the room, his dreams flickered with images of the track and the ever-present storm of pressure swirling around him.

The soft click of the door opening stirred him slightly. His brows furrowed, and his body shifted on the bed, muscles taut for a brief second before he relaxed again.

It was her. His Y/N.

Even through the haze of sleep, he knew it was Y/N. Her steps were light, deliberate, as though she were trying not to disturb him. After all, it was past midnight, everyone was supposed to be asleep.

Max cracked one eye open, catching a glimpse of her silhouette. She slipped into the room with the quiet grace he had always admired, her figure lit faintly by the moonlight. She closed the door softly behind her, the latch clicking into place.

He didn’t move or say anything, caught between sleep and wakefulness, but he tracked her as she made her way to the bathroom.

The soft sound of water running reached his ears, and Max’s lips twitched into a faint, sleepy smile. Y/N always had her routines. No matter how late it was, she would wash up, cleanse the day away before joining him in bed. Tonight, he noticed, she moved a little slower than usual, her pauses lingering as though tired and lost in thought.

The bathroom light clicked off, plunging the room back into darkness. He heard her padded steps as she made her way to the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight as she slid under the covers, her movements careful to avoid waking him.

But Max wasn’t fully asleep. His eyes fluttered open slightly, just enough to catch the outline of her face as she settled beside him.

The faintest scent teased his nose, and his mind stirred in curiosity. It wasn’t her usual perfume—the luxurious, rich fragrance she always wore. No, this was something softer, floral, almost sweet. It clung faintly to her, just enough to be noticeable.

He made a quiet noise in his throat, half-formed words lost to the haze of drowsiness. Y/N turned slightly, her head shifting on the pillow, her movements almost instinctive.

“Shh, baby, sorry I was late” she whispered, her voice a soft murmur in the dark. Her hand reached out, brushing lightly against his arm. “Go back to sleep.”

But Max, even half-asleep, couldn’t resist her presence. He shifted closer, his body seeking hers as if by instinct. His arm looped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His face buried itself in the crook of her neck, and the faint floral scent washed over him again.

“You smell different,” he mumbled, his words slurred with sleep.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, almost too quiet to hear. “Do I?” she replied, her tone light and teasing.

Max hummed, his lips brushing against the delicate skin of her neck. He didn’t have the energy to press further, the pull of sleep too strong. Instead, he kissed her there, his lips warm and lingering, a quiet gesture of affection that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

Her body relaxed against his, melting into his embrace. Max felt her fingers trace light, soothing patterns on the arm draped across her waist. He sighed contentedly, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was carrying slipping away.

“I love you,” he murmured, the words slipping out before sleep finally claimed him.

Y/N didn’t reply immediately, but he felt her fingers pause for the briefest moment. Then, she leaned her head back slightly, her lips brushing against his temple.

“I love you Max, I would do anything for you, anything, now go to sleep baby” she whispered, her voice like a lullaby.

The room fell silent again, save for the soft sounds of their breathing. Y/N’s eyes remained open for a while, staring at the ceiling, her mind far away even as her body stayed still.

Slowly her mouth turned into a smirk, and her eyes closed.

____________________________

The golden light of the Qatari sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the hotel room, casting faint patterns on the walls. Max stirred in the plush bed, the weight of sleep still heavy on his limbs.

His mind clung to the remnants of dreams, hazy and indistinct, as the soft hum of the city below began to creep into his consciousness.

A faint vibration buzzed from his bedside table, pulling him further from the depths of slumber. With a groggy exhale, Max reached for his phone, squinting at the screen. It was a message from his team’s media coordinator, brief and urgent:

"Turn on the news. Now."

Max frowned, the words igniting a flicker of unease in his chest. He tossed the covers aside and padded over to the television mounted on the wall. The room was still dim, the only light coming from the muted glow of the TV as he switched it on.

The screen came to life, and the familiar logos of international news outlets filled the frame. A grave-faced anchor was speaking, her voice carefully controlled yet tinged with the urgency of breaking news.

“—confirmed that a high-ranking FIA official was found dead in his home late after midnight. Preliminary reports suggest that the death may have been caused by poisoning, though authorities have yet to release an official statement. The substance identified appears to be a botanical toxin, indicating a possible case of premeditated murder…”

Max’s heart thudded in his chest, a cold wave of disbelief washing over him. Poison? Murder? It was surreal, the kind of news you’d expect in a crime drama, not in the high-stakes world of Formula 1.

The footage shifted to an image of the official’s residence, a sleek and modern house surrounded by police cars and investigators. The camera zoomed in on a bouquet of delicate white flowers being carried out in a plastic evidence bag. The reporter’s voice continued in the background, detailing the discovery of the toxin in the flowers.

Max ran a hand through his hair, trying to process what he was seeing. His thoughts churned, tangled and scattered. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at the screen in disbelief, before the soft creak of the bedroom door drew his attention.

Y/N emerged, wrapped in a hotel robe, her damp hair draped over one shoulder as she used a towel to gently dry the strands. The scent of her freshly washed skin reached him, a subtle blend of soap and something warm, clean, and uniquely hers.

Her eyes met his, and she smiled, a soft and familiar expression that always seemed to ground him.

She crossed the room with effortless grace, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. Her touch lingered for a moment longer than usual, as if sensing the weight of his thoughts.

“What’s got your face looking like that?” she asked, her voice still husky from sleep.

Max gestured toward the TV, his gaze fixed on her as she turned to look. The screen was now displaying a photo of the deceased official, alongside snippets of speculation from various commentators.

Y/N’s expression didn’t change at first. She tilted her head slightly, her brows drawing together in a faint show of interest. But Max noticed the tiniest flicker in her eyes—a glint of something he couldn’t quite place. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual composure.

“Well,” she said, her tone light but thoughtful, “that’s… unexpected.”

Max’s jaw tightened. “Unexpected doesn’t even begin to cover it. Poisoned flowers? It sounds insane.”

Y/N turned to face him fully, her towel draped over her shoulder now. She placed a hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin in a gesture meant to soothe.

“Maybe it’s best not to get caught up in it,” she suggested. “It doesn’t concern you, does it? You have a race to focus on.”

Her words were reasonable, logical even, but they didn’t sit right. Max searched her face, his gaze lingering on the curve of her lips, the serene confidence in her eyes.

“You’re not even a little curious?” he asked, his voice low.

“Of course I am,” she replied, stepping back toward the bedroom. “But there’s nothing I can do about it, and neither can you. Come on, Max. You should start getting ready.”

Max nodded slowly, though his eyes remained on her as she disappeared into the other room.

_______________________________

The sun beat down mercilessly over the circuit, its glare reflecting off the freshly polished cars and shimmering asphalt. Max stood near the paddock, his sharp eyes scanning the bustling crowd. The day was a blur of activity, with team personnel darting about, fans crowding the stands, and journalists swarming for their next soundbite. But amid the chaos, Max’s mind was elsewhere.

He had been pulled into a whirlwind of media duties almost the moment he arrived, barely getting a moment to himself, let alone to find Y/N.

The gnawing guilt was persistent—he hated not being able to see her before the day kicked into full gear.

It had become a ritual for him, a grounding moment amidst the madness of race weekends. Y/N had a way of centering him, her presence a soothing balm against the constant pressure of being the reigning world champion.

He sighed, adjusting the cap on his head as he prepared for yet another round of interviews. His answers came out on autopilot—stock phrases about tire strategy, team confidence, and the race ahead—but his gaze flickered restlessly over the sea of people, searching. And then, finally, he saw her.

Y/N was weaving through the paddock with an easy grace, her movements unhurried despite the frantic energy around her.

She wore a light summer dress that flowed around her like a whisper of wind, her hair catching the sunlight in a way that made her look almost ethereal. Max felt his chest tighten, his lips twitching into a smile before he even realized it.

There was something about seeing her like this—calm, at ease, untouched by the frenzy of his world—that made his heart ache in the best way. It was moments like these that reminded him why he loved her so deeply. She was his sanctuary, his constant in a life that often felt like it was spinning out of control.

She noticed him then, her eyes lighting up as their gazes met. She waved, her smile wide and genuine, and Max’s guilt faded, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest.

She was here, and that was all that mattered.

But before he could excuse himself to meet her, a journalist called his name, snapping him back to reality. Max nodded in acknowledgment, forcing himself to focus as the interview began.

He was midway through answering a question about tire degradation when the reporter paused, pressing a finger to the earpiece in his ear. The change in his expression was immediate—his brow furrowed, his posture straightening as if bracing for impact.

“Excuse me,” the journalist muttered, turning away abruptly.

Max blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. “What’s going on?” he asked, but the man didn’t respond, already hurrying toward a group of FIA officials clustered nearby.

A loud chime echoed through the circuit, followed by an announcement over the PA system:

“Attention all personnel. The race has been postponed... All drivers are to return to their respective team garages..immediately.”

Confusion rippled through the paddock like a wave, whispers and murmurs growing louder as everyone scrambled to figure out what was happening. Max glanced around, his pulse quickening. This was unprecedented. Races didn’t just get postponed without an urgent reason.

He pushed through the throng of people, his eyes scanning for Y/N again.

Relief flooded him when he spotted her standing near the Red Bull garage, her expression calm despite the chaos around her. She was waiting for him, her arms crossed loosely as if this were just another day at the track.

Max reached her in a few long strides, his hand immediately finding hers. Her fingers were cool against his, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they joined the rest of the Red Bull team heading into the garage.

“What’s going on?” Max asked her, his voice low.

“I’m not sure,” Y/N replied, her tone even. “I heard that some cops were here, but no one seems to know the details yet.”

Max nodded, though his unease only grew. The garage was bustling with activity as team members huddled around monitors, trying to piece together what little information they had. The drivers from other teams were filing into their respective areas, their faces marked by the same confusion that Max felt.

As they stood in the corner of the garage, Max turned to Y/N, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over her knuckles. “Where were you earlier? I didn’t see you before the interviews.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. “I was just catching up with someone I knew from before,” she said, her words casual.

Max raised an eyebrow, curious. “Will you see them again?”

For a moment, she didn’t respond, her gaze meeting his with an intensity that made his heart skip a beat. Then, a small, satisfied smile curved her lips, and she shook her head. “No,” she said simply. “I don’t think I will.”

Her answer lingered in the air, heavy with an unspoken finality that Max couldn’t quite decipher, and before he can ask her anything, he hears a commotion from the hospitality.

Max glanced at Y/N, his brows furrowing. “What’s that about now?” he asked, already walking towards the noise.

“I’m not sure,” Y/N replied, as she followed him out of the room.

The noise grew louder as they approached the main lounge, and Max felt the muscles in his shoulders tense.

People were rushing toward the large television mounted on the far wall, their voices overlapping in a chaotic hum. Engineers, PR officials, and even a few journalists stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their eyes glued to the screen.

Max nudged his way through the crowd, Y/N close behind him. His heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of the bold, all-caps headline plastered across the news ticker:

BREAKING: FIA PRESIDENT ARRESTED IN CONNECTION TO MURDER OF OFFICIAL.

The image on the screen was enough to stop him in his tracks. Mohammed Ben Sulayem, the FIA president himself, was being escorted out of a building in handcuffs, flanked by stern-faced officers.

His usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by wide-eyed panic as he struggled against the officers’ grip.

“What the hell is going on?” Max muttered, his voice barely audible over the din of the room.

The reporter on the screen continued, her tone grave:

“Sources within the investigation have confirmed that the death of a high-ranking FIA official last night was caused by poisoning. Specifically, a toxin derived from the flower known as Lily of the Valley. Evidence linking FIA President Mohammed Ben Sulayem to the crime was uncovered earlier this morning, leading to his immediate arrest. The FIA has announced that a new acting president will be appointed while a thorough investigation into internal corruption is conducted.”

Max stared at the screen, his chest tightening as the implications sank in. The FIA president—the figurehead of their entire sport—was being accused of murder. And not just murder, but something so calculated and premeditated that it involved the use of a rare, deadly toxin.

Beside him, Y/N remained unnervingly calm. She didn’t gasp or murmur like the others; instead, she stood silently, her gaze fixed on the screen.

For a fleeting moment, Max thought he saw the faintest flicker of something in her expression—amusement, maybe, or relief. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual unreadable calm.

Before Max could even begin to process the shocking revelation, the tide of the crowd surged toward the exit. A new commotion was building outside, drawing people out of the hospitality lounge in waves.

Someone muttered something about seeing it live—seeing him live—and the collective curiosity became too much to contain.

“Max, let’s go,” Y/N said quietly, her voice steady amid the chaos.

He didn’t think twice. Reaching for her hand, he let himself be pulled into the stream of bodies flowing toward the paddock. The crowd was a cacophony of voices—questions, speculations, and disbelief tumbling over each other in an endless loop. Max clung to Y/N’s hand, weaving through the throng until they found themselves near the front of the growing mass of spectators.

As they pushed closer to the source of the uproar, Max’s stomach twisted at the sight before him.

Mohammed Ben Sulayem was being escorted out of the FIA headquarters, flanked by two grim-faced officers. But this wasn’t the composed, authoritative man Max was used to seeing.

This man looked broken, almost unrecognizable.

His usually impeccable suit was now crumpled and stained with sweat, his hair disheveled, his face a mask of panic and fury.

He was shouting, his voice hoarse and raw with desperation. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! You’re making a mistake!”

Max tightened his grip on Y/N’s hand, his heart hammering in his chest. The scene was chaotic, surreal. Journalists shouted questions, their cameras clicking furiously as they tried to capture every moment. Paparazzi pushed against the security barriers, their lenses trained on the disgraced president.

Sulayem’s struggles only made him look more deranged. His eyes darted wildly, his movements jerky as he tried to pull away from the officers.

“You have to believe me!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “This is a setup! I didn’t kill anyone!”

The officers remained stone-faced, their grips firm as they led him toward a waiting car. The crowd around them buzzed with speculation, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony.

“He looks insane,” someone near Max muttered.

“Can you believe this? Poisoning? This is wild”

Max barely registered the words. His gaze was locked on Sulayem, his mind reeling. This was the man who had presided over the sport, who had wielded so much power and influence. And now he was reduced to this—a wild-eyed, shouting man in handcuffs.

Suddenly, Sulayem’s gaze snapped toward the crowd, his eyes scanning the faces as though searching for something—or someone.

And then he saw Max.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. Sulayem’s eyes locked onto Max’s, and his expression twisted into something primal—anger, desperation, and fear all rolled into one.

“You!” Sulayem shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “You don’t know! She’s crazy! She did this!”

Max’s breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure if Sulayem was even speaking to him specifically or just shouting into the void, but the intensity of the man’s gaze made it feel personal.

“She’s not who you think she is!” Sulayem screamed, his voice rising to a fever pitch. “She’s dangerous! She—”

The officers shoved him forward, cutting off his words as they guided him into the back seat of the car. The door slammed shut, muffling his continued shouting, and the vehicle began to pull away.

The crowd erupted into a frenzy, the sound of cameras clicking and voices shouting almost deafening. Max felt frozen in place, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed. Sulayem’s words echoed in his head, unsettling and inexplicable.

Beside him, Y/N’s hand tightened around his, grounding him. He turned to look at her, searching her face for… something. A reaction, an explanation, anything. But her expression remained calm, her gaze steady as she met his eyes.

“Let’s go,” she said softly, her tone gentle but firm.

Max nodded numbly, allowing her to guide him away from the chaos. But as they walked, Sulayem’s words continued to haunt him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

She’s not who you think she is.

____________________________

The hotel room felt like a cocoon of silence after the storm that had unfolded earlier in the day. It was as though the whole world had shifted, and everything outside these walls was just noise, a distant hum that barely reached their sanctuary.

The soft, distant chatter from the streets of Qatar, the echoes of excitement and chaos from the track, were now muted as Y/N stood by the window, staring out at the city lights.

She had always been good at keeping her emotions in check, ever since she was young. The weight of the world had never felt heavy on her, because she had learned long ago how to let things slide off her, like water on a slick surface.

But today was different.

She could feel the pressure weighing on Max, could see how the events of the day were eating at him, gnawing away at the edges of his focus, his usual confidence. He was quieter than usual, his mind occupied by something far more unsettling than the drama that had unfolded.

Even after Christian had called to tell Max that the swearing ban had been lifted, and that his championship points would be reinstated, it had done little to cheer him.

The smile that had stretched across Max’s face had been brief, barely a flicker before the weight of everything else crushed it again.

His eyes, once vibrant with determination, were now dull and distant, fixed on something he couldn’t touch—something he couldn’t solve in the way he would his car’s setup, or the strategy for the next race.

The news of the race being postponed for another two weeks hadn’t helped either. Max hated downtime.

He hated the uncertainty, the lack of control.

The race was all that had mattered for so long, and now, with it taken from him, all that was left was space to think. And that was the last thing Max Verstappen needed—more space to overthink.

Y/N could see it in the way his hands clenched at his sides when he wasn’t paying attention, or how his jaw tightened when a thought seemed to hit him too hard.

He was lost somewhere, and she wasn’t sure if he would find his way back.

She pushed herself off the window frame and walked over to where he sat on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him, but she knew he wasn’t really seeing it. He hadn’t been seeing anything for hours. His mind was somewhere else.

It was then, as if the universe aligned, that she knew. She could feel it in her bones—this was what he needed. She walked over to him without a word, the soft rhythm of her footsteps steady in the quiet room.

She knelt down beside him, letting her arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close, burying her face against his neck.

The warmth of his skin against hers soothed the ache in her chest, the unspoken pain that had settled there ever since she had seen the look on his face during the arrest.

Max’s body tensed for a moment, his muscles rigid beneath her touch, before he relaxed into the embrace. She smiled against him, feeling his breath shudder slightly as he kissed the side of her neck, his lips pressing gently to her skin. His scent—clean, fresh, with a hint of something unmistakably Max—wrapped around her, grounding her.

She moved back, gently placing her hands on his face, urging him to look at her. When his eyes met hers, they were full of something unreadable.

For a moment, his gaze lingered on her, searching her expression like he was trying to decipher something. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but she could see it—he was looking for a sign, something that would pull him out of the turmoil.

"Were you wearing a new perfume last night, when you came to bed? " His question is unsure, hesitant, as if he doesn't want to know the answer but he can't help himself.

"It's Lily of the Valley, one of my favourite flowers, I only use it for some occasions" she looks at him, waiting for him to react. Maybe this was it, he would push her away in disgust and alarm, and it all would've been for nothing.

The moment stretched, thick with unspoken words, and she waited. She wasn’t going to push him. He looked surprised, only for a brief moment and with another blink, the surprise was gone.

Then, as if a weight had finally lifted, his shoulders relaxed, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was fleeting, but it was there.

The tension in his body dissolved just enough for him to pull her closer, his arms wrapping around her in a protective, almost desperate embrace.

Max held her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. His hands tightened around her, her's going to rest on his chest, but this time it wasn’t out of tension.

It was something else—something raw, something that spoke of trust, of the shared understanding between them.

Max’s voice was low, rough, like he hadn’t spoken in too long, like he needed to say these words to her, but they had been stuck inside him for a while.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her forehead. His breath shuddered slightly as he said it, and she could feel the truth of it in every fiber of his being.

It wasn’t just a declaration—it was a plea, a surrender.

A quiet admission that, no matter what happened, no matter how hard things got, she was the one he held onto.

Y/N smiled softly, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, memorizing the feel of him, the warmth of his skin against hers. There was no hesitation in her touch. She knew, deep down, that she’d do anything for him. Anything to keep him close, to keep him safe, to keep him loving her the way he did.

“I love you so much, Max,” she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. “So, so much.”

Her heart was pounding now, a steady rhythm that matched his own.

She could feel it in the air between them, the undeniable truth of their love, the pull that had always been there, even in the darkest of moments.

It was raw, it was real, and it was everything they needed.

She didn’t need to say it again. The words were unnecessary. Everything was in the way she held him, the way their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle that had been made for each other.

In that moment, with the weight of everything else fading into the background, it was just them. Together.

Max’s hands tightened around her, pulling her closer, and Y/N closed her eyes, savoring the moment. The world could fall apart outside, and it wouldn’t matter. Because in that moment, Max was all that mattered. He always would be.

And as he kissed her temple, his breath warm against her skin, she knew—without a doubt—that she would do anything for him.

“Don’t blame me,” she thought, her own voice, soft but certain in her head. Love made me crazy. And if it doesn’t, you ain't doin' it right.

And she was doing it right. She always would.

Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

Usin' for the rest of my life, ohh-oh

________________________________________

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I'm dropping of the face of earth for some time, this is a small parting gift, I would like to make it clear I'm not planning any one's murder in my downtime. Thank you.

Jules♡

(Lupus finds you a SOUR TONIC.) (You then find your way to a stool to sit.)

(....Hoo.) (It's been a long morning, even if you haven't gotten that far yet.)

Do you need a nap?

(Yes.)

No, I just need a minute.

You got the Blood Curse, don't you?

H-How'd you know?

It's kind of obvious, Siffrent.

(..............Yeah, you guess it is.)

Here, drink up and get better.

(With their free hand, Lupus hands you the sour tonic.) (You take your time to down it-)

(Huh? It's oddly nutty? It's bitter in a different way than normal, too-)

Siffrent?!

(Yo u can't breathe) (Air comes in but it's not working)

(AIR AIR AIR IT BURNS YOU NEED AIR)

(H an d.)

(You feel   a tug   on  your  stomach)