love cave

2002

Tears are slipping down her face and she keeps rubbing at her eyes, small whines leaving her, but they won’t stop and her mom isn’t rubbing her back, trying to get her to calm down, her dad isn’t holding her and she cries harder. She wants her mom and dad, she wants them. But they aren’t here. She’s alone and in this room that’s cold and blank and she wants them.

She hiccups, eyes hurting and her hands can’t keep rubbing, tired of doing it. Sniffling, she turns on the small bed, burying her face in the pillow, even though her mom always tells her not to do it before turning her over. The tears fall faster now. She wants her mom. She wants her dad.

And now all she can think about is them sitting in the front of the car, completely still, not responding no matter how much she shouted or kicked at the back of her dads seat. How she was pulled out of the car through the window by a firefighter and how another one was talking about how her parents were dead.

They couldn’t be dead though, because her grandparents were dead, in heaven, her dad had told her. And they had been talking to each other just a minute ago. They were going to get dinner and candy because she had been a good girl. That thought had made her curl up in the firefighter's arms, lip trembling, because she had been shouting and kicking the seat, she had been naughty.

And then when she got to the hospital, a nice nurse had given her candy despite her being bad and held her hand as another one cleaned her up. She even let her pick out a stuffed animal to have. It was okay, even though she kept asking where her parents were until another lady had come in. She had crouched down in front of and told her that her parents were dead.

She shakes her head at the memory of the lady's face and her words. She didn’t want to believe that her mom and dad were dead. But they weren’t here, they should be here. They wouldn’t ever leave her by herself, alone, and in this room.

Lifting her head slightly, she sucks in a large breath of air, the pillow soaked in her tears and warm. As she takes another breath, she doesn’t hear the sound of the door opening and shutting.

She wants to bury her face in the pillow again, but her nose hurts from it and it’s gross and wet. Turning over, sits up, her small legs going up to her chest as she presses her back against the wall. It’s then that she notices the man in the room with her.

She stiffens at the sight, eyes going wide, and the blank expression that had been on his face softens.

“Hello.” “Hi.” She greets, voice quiet as she wraps her arms around her legs. “You were crying. Is everything okay?” Her bottom lip trembles and she shakes her head. “My mom and dad,” Her voice breaks. “The lady told me they're dead.” “I’m sorry. Are you waiting for your grandparents or an aunt?” She shakes her head. He frowns and then he moves, sitting on the bed with her, though he is at the foot.

“What’s your name?” Her voice is a little louder as she says it. ‘My name is Jos.” “Hi Jos.” He smiles. “How old are you?” “Four.” “I have a son that turned five recently.” Her arms loosen around her legs. “What’s his name?” “Max. He’s at home right now, I think, trying to convince my wife to get a puppy.” Her eyes widen and her arms drop, legs falling away from her chest. “Do you have a puppy? I’ve always wanted one.” “No.” He laughs and she frowns. “But I want dogs, so does my wife and Max. We just have been waiting.” “For what?’ She asks, head cocked to the side. Jos laughs again. “Special occasion, I suppose.”

She frowns as one of the things the lady said to her as they were in the car on the way over pops into her head. “Jos. Do you think whoever I stay with will have dogs?” “I don’t know.” Her frown grows. “Do you think they’d let me get a dog?” He shakes his head, “I don’t think so.” “Oh.” Her voice is quiet. “But, I’m sure I could talk to Anna about you coming home with me. That would be a special occasion. You and Max could both get your own dog.” “Really?” He nods. “Really.” She scrambles towards him, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, Jos!” “Of course. Now let's get you to your new home.”

—

“Do you know who's coming today?” Max nods, small brows furrowed together, looking so much like his father, she wants to take a picture. “My wife.” She’s proud of the way his nose doesn’t wrinkle, no disgust clinging to his words. Max thinking girls were gross wouldn’t do. “Papa never said, but is it the one I choose?” Sophie smiles, remembering how Jos had shown him a bunch of girls and the way Max had seen the one and just kept looking, had easily chosen her. “Yes. Papa was able to get the one you chose.” He smiles and she runs a hand through his hair. “Will they be here soon?” She spares a look at the clock. “Yes. Papa had to drive a bit away, but he should be here soon. Why don’t you come and help me set up her room.”

It was pretty much already set up, but Max could rearrange some of the toys and books, place them how he’d like. She expects him to nod, eager, but he looks confused.

“But mama, if she’s my wife, why isn’t sleeping in my room?” She coughs to hide a laugh. “You two are much too young for that, Max. And you don’t know each other yet. Maybe in a few years you two can share a room.” In ten years, maybe, she privately thinks. “But what if I want to share a room now?” Her eyes narrow. “Max.” His eyes drop to the floor and she sighs. “You two could have sleepovers in your room, not every night, but some nights if you’d like.” He nods, but still doesn’t look at her. “Can I go help set up her room?” “Of course.”

She watches fondly as Max clumsily copies things he’s seen her do when making his bed, adjusting the blankets, fluffing the pillows before he moves onto the small amount of toys she bought, not wanting to buy too many without knowing what the girl did and didn’t like.

He frowns at them before he’s darting out of the room, she thinks of calling after him, but she can hear him moving down the hallway and then into what she thinks is his room. Only a minute passes before he’s back, a stuffed animal in his grasp. Walking towards the bed, he carefully places the toy so it’s resting against the pillows and she nearly gasps seeing what it is.

“Max, that’s Leo.” “I know.” “Sweetheart, you don’t have to give her Leo. Leo’s yours.” He shakes his head. “We’ll share. I want her to have it right now.” Her heart melts at the answer. “Are you sure?” She double-checks. “I’m sure.” “Alright.”

2008

Crawling out of bed, she shivers as the cold air of her room hits her skin. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tiptoes away from her bed and to her door. One of her arms leaves her to slowly twist the knob, making sure it slowly opens. As soon as it’s open enough for her body to slip through, she does. Her feet taking an all too familiar path.

Opening the next door, she does the same as she did with hers, slipping through the tiniest gap possible before shutting it behind her. The words of the maid ring in her head now that she stands in the room. How wrong this is, how inappropriate it is, how wanton she is. She doesn’t know what wanton means, but the way she said it had made her flush, bottom lip trembling as she made herself smaller.

The reminder makes her hunch, teeth finding her lip and she wants to go back to her room, she doesn’t want to be wanton. But her room is cold and the nightmare she had is lurking in the back of her mind. And sure this room is cold too, but Max is here. And she knows if she slips under the covers with him that it will be warm and he’ll even at least wrap an arm around her if not his whole body.

A shiver hits her and she darts over to the bed, slipping under the covers.

“Flower?” Max mumbles. “It’s me.” She says, feeling warm on the inside at the nickname he gave her six years ago when she met him. He makes a small noise and then his whole body is curling around hers and she can’t help but sink into it, sink into him.

She tries to fall asleep, but the word wanton just rings in her mind.

“Max.” She whispers. “Hmm.” She twists in his arms, making them face to face. “What does wanton mean?” “What?” His voice is full of sleep and his eyes are starting to open. “What does wanton mean?” His nose wrinkles, “I don't know. Why?” “Mrs. Loeh told me I was wanton.” “I,” he’s squinting as he looks at her. “I don’t know. I’ll ask my mom at breakfast, okay?” She nods before pressing closer to him. “Okay. Thank you, Max.” “Of course, Flower.”

2012

She stares in shock at the blood on the toilet paper. “Sophie!” She calls, voice nearly a shriek. She knew what this was, Sophie had told her about her body changing, getting a period, but this. This couldn’t be normal. There was so much. It was nearly bleeding through the toilet paper before she let it go.

She hears two different voices say her name, one far louder and closer than the other and she starts to see the door knob turn. “Max, no!” The doorknob stops. “What’s wrong?” “I need Sophie.” “Flower, what’s going on?” The knob started to turn again. “Please, no!” She begs and tears are starting to form in her eyes. “I’ll tell you later, I just need Sophie.” She watches as the door knob stays paused and then hears a sigh from Max before the doorknob is released.

“Max, go to the living room.” She breathes a sigh of relief at Sophie’s voice. “But mama.” “Go.” She can hear him stomping away and can imagine the frown on his face as he curses in his mind.

A small knock sounds on the door. “Can I come in, darling?” “Please.” Sophie easily slips inside the bathroom, shutting the door behind her quickly. “Oh, darling. What happened?” She looks down at where her legs are pressed together. “I,” she hiccups. “I started my period.” “Oh darling.” And Sophie is right beside her, giving her an affection tap of the fingertip to her temple. “It’s alright. I know, it’s a bit scary, huh?” She nods. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much blood.” “Well, it’s probably that heavy because this is your first cycle. Mine was like that as well, but it lightened up after a few months, and birth control helps as well with that.” Blood rushes to her cheeks at the mention of birth control. “I’m a late bloomer, aren’t I?” “A bit.” Sophie allows. “I told you about this two years ago for a reason. I didn’t think you’d be nearly fifteen.” “Am I okay?” “Of course. Everyone is a bit different. If you want though, we can talk about it with the doctor. Make sure that everything is okay.” “Please?” She asks and Sophie smiles. “I’ll schedule it right after this. Now, let me show you again everything you're gonna need.”

She watches and listens intently as Sophie shows her everything. It’s overwhelming and she wants to cry, just lay in bed, bury her head in Max’s pillow and cry. She’s thankful when Sophie slips out of the bathroom as she still sits on the toilet. Is ever more thankful when as she begins to stand, pulling up her underwear and shorts and it’s like she can feel it wanting to drip out.

The pad in her underwear is weird, but nothing compared to the new weird sensation of feeling like she’s leaking. It makes her want to sit back on the toilet and never leave. What if she didn’t change her pad in time and bled through? The thought leaves her mortified and as she leaves the bathroom after washing her hands thoroughly, she darts into her bedroom, forgetting her promise to Max.

Laying on her bed, she makes a face, trying to find a comfortable position, everything feeling weird. Maybe she’d buy a pad or a mattress protector, maybe both with how weird this felt. It would help any mess that might happen as well if she leaked.

Rolling onto her side, she smiles at Moos. The ten-year-old dog looks back at her, head resting on her front paws. “Where’s Freckles?” “The backyard.” She turns, Max stands at the entrance of her room, a look she doesn’t think she’s ever seen on his face before. “It’s later.”

Blood rushes to her face at the words, at the reminder that she promised she’d tell him what’s going on, and she has to tell him. She tells Max everything, always has. And he does the same to her. It’s why she found out when she was six that Max and her were going to get married, that he picked her. That and he was confused about her wanting to play house and how he had to play the husband because they were already husband and wife in his six-year-old mind.

She nearly smiles at the reminder that Max picked her. He’s told her a few times over the years about it. The memory is still so strong in his mind, despite it now being a decade ago. The way he had looked at a bunch of girls in an array of photos, but she immediately caught his eye, was drawn to her and the flower behind her ear.

He snaps his fingers and she can feel Moos stand up before she gets off the bed, no longer leaping in her old age. Max moves into the room, leaving the door open as Moos slips out before shutting it behind the dog.

“What happened?” He asks, approaching the bed and she cranes her neck to fully see his face. Her face feels like it’s burning. It feels embarrassing telling Max this, about this, even though they’ve talked about far weirder and gross things. Maybe, and her eyes drop staring at the hollow of his throat as she thinks, it’s because this means they can finally have sex.

The thought alone makes her swallow, breaths turning a little shallow as she imagines it. Max and her have done a lot of fooling around since his birthday last year. He knows how to speed her heart up with just a brush of his fingers. She knows how much he loves the feeling of her boobs pressed against his chest, bare or covered. Their breaths intertwined with soft pants as they move together, at least one piece of clothing still separating them.

She’s broken away from the thoughts by a hand under her chin, drawing her face up. “Flower.” “I,” she pauses, eyes darting around before settling on his face when she feels his thumb and forefinger gently apply a little pressure to her chin. “I started my period.” His brows are furrowed for a moment then his face smoothes out, mouth dropping into a ‘O’ shape, the fingers and hand under her chin disappearing.

“Are you hurting? Cramps?” “No.” She shakes her head. “It just,” and her voice is quieter than before. “It feels gross, like leaking.” His head cocks to the right. “Even with the pad thing? Is it not working?” “It is. I think it’s just how it can feel.” “I’m sorry. Can I do anything?” She glances at the empty space in the bed next to her. “Lay with me?” He smiles, a laugh shaking his body. “Of course, flower.”

2014

“I have an F1 seat.” “You have an F1 seat.” The shock is so clear on his face it makes her giggle and he immediately smiles, but that shock still lingers behind it.

“Max Verstappen,” She begins, watching as his eyebrows draw together, fingers twitching before his hands settle on her hips. “Youngest F1 driver ever, youngest to score points, youngest on the podium, youngest to win a grand prix.” She doesn’t know if the last three will be true, but she hopes they will be, thinks they will be. “You think so? I mean, it’s just a seat in Toro Russo.” “It’s not just a seat at Toro Russo.” She laughs, feeling flushed as his hands sneak beneath her top. “It’s an F1 seat, an F1 seat that you will do amazing in. I mean, Max. There’s never been an F1 driver younger than eighteen before.” She smoothes the slight furrow between his brows with her thumb before kissing that spot. “You are going to do amazing and achieve so much.” She pecks his lips. “I’m proud of you.” His cheeks are pink at her words, her flutters a little at him blushing because of her, like she hasn’t seen it thousands of times before.

Brushing her fingers over the apples of his cheeks, she frowns. “Maxy.” “Hmm?” Her fingertips trail down to his jaw. “Let me get you a skin care routine? Please.” She adds, sticking her lip out a little. “Flower.” He sighs, his left hand moving to span across the small of her back, pressing her closer. “Please? You know I don’t care about the acne, but you’ll be the youngest on the grid, still in the thick of it. This will help. It won’t be anything complicated, either.” He sighs, a small smile on his face. “Okay. But promise me nothing complicated. You won’t be there to remind me how to do it.” “Nothing complicated.” She promises, beaming. “I’ll even write up a little instruction thing for you and you can call me every time you're doing it, so we can do it together if you like.” “Yeah? Even when I’m like eight hours behind or ahead and you're sleeping.” “Even then.”

“Oh.” She presses up on her toes in excitement and Max’s smile widens seeing it. “I got us new sheets.” “New ones?” She nods. “Can I see them?” Voice going a little low and he’s thankful that his voice doesn’t crack. She never laughed when it did, but it was still embarrassing. Her teeth find purchase in her bottom lip for a second, before she nods. “You can see my new underwear too.” A giggle leaves her at the way he groans, hands pressing her body closer and against his bulge.

2016

Max stares at the ceiling as his dad talks to someone on the phone. This is what they wanted. They wanted him here in the Red Bull seat. Getting here this early was amazing, proving how good he was in an F1 car. And escaping the nightmare that was Carlos and his father was also a plus, even if both of them had taken to glaring at Max every time they saw him.

Max was pretty sure they were betting on him crashing out this race, costing Red Bull money, and then he’d get booted back down and Carlos would get called up. He shook his head at the thought. That wouldn’t happen. He was good, he’d prove he should be in this seat, should be here this early. Because he did. Max was talented no matter what the other drivers said, or the journalists or the legends who told him he had no business in their sport. His jaw clenches, holding back a scoff. Their sport.

It makes him more grateful to his dad and mom. They had told him, prepared him for not being liked. He was aggressive on track, abrasive off to people he didn’t know well. They knew it would make things harder and they had made sure he knew that too. He’s grateful for his wife as well and he wishes she was here now with him for his first F1 race in the big leagues.

He had wanted her there for his first race at Toro Russo, but that hadn’t been an option. But now? Now that he got promoted up, maybe, he looks at his dad considering asking him before shaking his head. His dad would never go for it. Not because she’d be too much of a distraction but because they didn’t need to deal with more media attention, Max was more than sure of that. He nearly shudders thinking of when he had arrived at the track yesterday and today.

“Max.” He sits up, spine straight. “Is everything okay?” His dad smiles and Max’s shoulders loosen. “Yes. I have to go and meet a friend quickly. You will stay by Christian or Helmut if you leave the garage, understood?” “Yes sir.” “Good.” He nods. “Look over the data. We don’t need you crashing out in free practice of all things.”

He dives into the data as soon as his dad leaves. A thread of curiosity is in the back of Max’s mind as he looks it over. Talking to all the mechanics and engineers, getting a feel for them, just like he knows they are getting a feel for him.

When Helmut calls him over he wonders if by friend his dad really meant a friend of Helmut's. His dad didn’t have many friends after all.

“How are you feeling?” “Good.” Max nods. “I haven’t gotten into the car yet though.” The older man nods, frowning like he nearly always is on race weekends. “You’ll do fine.” “I will do my best.” Helmut nods and Max takes the silent dismissal.

Standing towards the back of the garage, he looks at the track data displayed on one of the bigger screens. Seeing it displayed so large and clearly makes him breathe a little easier as he looks at it all. He doesn’t get to look at it long, however. The sound of his dad asking where he is breaking him away from the data and he steps out from where he had been tucked away.

His mouth opens, ready to greet his dad, but it clicks shut at the sight of her.

She smiles at him, but it’s just a bit wrong, too tight at the corners. It makes his chest ache, makes him want to snap and tell people to stop looking at her, makes him want to whisk her away so he can see his smile. “Hi Max.” The quiet sound of her voice makes him move, striding towards her. “Flower.” He breathes just a step away from her before he brings her into his arms and she melts into him as he hides her face away from everyone else. “What are you doing here?” He asks, lips pressing to the side of her head. “Jos got me a flight here. I couldn’t miss this race.” His eyes flicker to his dad who's standing behind her, looking at them, easily ignoring all the eyes of the Red Bull garage on them and the whispers that are starting. “Thank you.” He murmurs and his dad nods.

He pulls away just enough to look at her, his hands now framing her waist, hers resting on his chest. He feels breathless looking at her. Dressed in some pants, a shirt that he remembers his mom buying her last year for her birthday, the shoes that match his, she’s gorgeous and he can’t help but quickly kiss her. Their lips connect for just a second, but it’s long enough for her hand to land on his cheek, for him to feel the warm metal of her wedding ring and band.

“I missed you. Missed you so much.” He tells her as soon as they are in his driver's room, alone. She smiles at him, hands cupping his face, and he can’t help but lean into the touch, into her. Happy to see her smile, his smile. “I missed you too. How are you feeling?” “Nervous.” He admits. “But I’m ready. I can do this. I’m ready for this.” Her smile seems to grow. “You’ve got this.” “Will you watch from the garage for me?” “Will Jos be watching from there?” He nods. “Always does.” “Then yeah, I’ll watch from there.”

—

Daniel looks at the slip of a girl standing next to Jos, intrigued. She was young, as young as Max if not a bit younger, but more importantly she was hot. Nudging his new teammate, he tilts his head in her direction. “You never said you had a sister.” The eighteen-year-old just looks at him and Daniel hates the way it’s somewhat unsettling. He was twenty-six, there shouldn’t be any reason for it to unsettle him. But as Daniel looks back over, he supposes most eighteen-year-olds don’t have dickhead near abusive dads that are Jos Verstappen. “I don’t have a sister.” “Really? Hot cousin then?” “Not my cousin either.” And before Daniel can say anything else Max is walking away from him over to his trainer. “Alright then.” Daniel mutters to himself, eyes lingering on the girl before he goes to his own trainer.

—

“Daniel thinks you're hot.” Blood rushes to her cheeks and the shirt in her hands falls onto the floor. “What?” “Daniel, before we got into the car for FP1, he was asking me about you.” His face is burning with anger. “Thought you were my sister or my hot cousin.” Max scoffs. “Oh.” Her voice sounds lost and her arms wrap around herself. The anger softens on his face at the reaction and he wraps his arms around her from behind, exhaling when her arms loosen, hands resting on his arms, fingers stroking his skin. “You're mine.” He breathes, dipping his head to press his lips against her neck, barely resisting the urge to leave a mark. Her breathing comes out shaky and in her next breath, his pinky finger starts to dip below the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, Max.”

—

Max is shell shocked. He’s celebrating, screaming, throwing himself into the arms of his team, but behind his helmet, he’s shocked. He had hoped for points, dreamed of a podium, but a win? A win? That had never been in his wildest dreams for this weekend.

He’s guided over to the weighing station and then the first spot, a member of the team talking to him. His hands don’t shake as he removes his helmet and gloves. They don’t shake as he removes his balaclava either. Not when he clasps a few drivers' hands. They shake as soon as he sees his flower.

She’s standing next to his dad, crying, nearly sobbing. He can tell from the pattern of her chest moving up and down. And he knows that he should be going over to get interviewed, but he ignores the team member trying to guide him, darting over to her. The people surrounding her, all wearing Red Bull shirts, cheer, patting him wherever they can reach, but he’s only focused on her. His hands enveloping her face as he kisses her.

She gasps into the kiss, her hands settling on his biceps before moving down to his wrists, fingers wrapping around them as she returns the kiss.

“You won, Max.” She’s breathless when they break apart. “You won.” He grins at her, enjoying the shine to her eyes, the width of her smile. “I won.” It’s breathless as well, and a laugh follows it. “I won.” “You won.” She laughs, quickly pressing another kiss to her lips before pushing him away. “Now go.” He nods, but leans in for one more kiss before leaving her to go to the post race interviews.

The questions are a blur to him and so are his answers. Except for the final one.

“Is there anyone you want to thank?” “The team of course. I mean really without them this wouldn’t have been possible, we hoped for a podium, for points, a seemed out of reach with how the Mercedes have been performing though. My dad and mom as well. And my girl.” As he continues he fails to see the reactions from people with those two words, my girl.

The person interviewing him’s eyes are wide, almost having stumbled back. Nearly everyone from Red Bull has their jaw on the floor. Daniel though already feeling pissed from Max winning and not him has more anger coursing through him. Because seriously? He had been eyeing her up since Friday and she was with Max apparently? Max of all people? He scowls as his eyes land on her, she is far too pretty to be with Max.

Sebastian at the weighing station let out a disbelieving laugh, adrenaline was a hell of a thing and he hoped for Verstappen’s sake that the girl he kissed didn’t take his words to heart of him calling her his girl. He’d cool down later and most likely get embarrassed by the slip. Perhaps even angry, he was the type, after all.

A few of the other drivers share looks, shaking their heads and murmuring to each other that it wasn’t going to end well. It was a hell of a thing to say after getting a win, your first win, but PR was going to be all over him after and they all winced at the thought of what statement he’d have to make and put out in the next few hours or days.

His former teammate scoffs, “bullshit.” he spits. It should have been him in that Red Bull seat if anyone was going to replace Kyvat. He and his father had banked on Max doing something stupid, crashing the car, finishing out of the points, so he could get the seat like he should, but Max just couldn’t do that. Had to have a one-off fluke of a race. And now he was claiming he had a girlfriend. Probably some sort of PR stunt to make him look better, more stable, like an adult and not a kid squeezing his way into where he shouldn’t be.

Kimi lets out a small chuckle, one that Sebastian hears but doesn’t question him on. Of course, the kid would let it slip that he had a girlfriend. He had been hoping that Max would have made it until the end of the season or even next season, but it was fine. Kimi would just have to make sure to not make another bet with Minttu, it was getting a little embarrassing how much he kept losing to her. At least Kimi considers, he didn’t let it slip that they were married.

“Well, she’s pretty, I’ll give him that.” Jenson comments, looking at the girl Max had kissed, the one that must be his girl. Fernando chuckles. “She is jail bait.” “And taken.” He eyes her. “I’m a bit surprised he hasn’t mentioned her at all. I didn’t even know he was seeing someone. Did you?” The Spanish driver shrugs. “We talk about racing not personal. And yes.” He adds. “I am shocked. Mainly because of that.” He nods his head in the direction of Jos, still stern faced, though Fernando had caught a smile on his face earlier. Jenson lets out a sharp whistle. “Yeah, that is the surprising part. Wonder what Max had to do to get his dad to agree to that.” He shudders, “I don’t want to know.” “Yeah, best not to think about it.”

Max lets the podium celebrations wash over him, laughing when Kimi claps him on the shoulder as they leave, murmuring his congrats. Walking back towards the cool down room, out of sight from fans and cameras, Max takes a deep breath, heart still racing inside his chest. This was unbelievable.

He follows the FIA official as they direct them through another room, this one filled with some team personnel and such and his grin widens, feet picking up their pace as he scoops her into a hug, ignoring her squeal of protest.

“Max! You’re dripping in champagne.” He holds her tight to him, face buried in her neck. “Good. Means you can shower with me.” She doesn’t say anything to that, but he knows that he’s flustered her with his whispered words. It makes him chuckle and he puts her on her feet, keeping her close, though. “I love you.” He murmurs. “I love you too.”

He makes them keep standing there, his face still in her neck, at least a dozen eyes on them, but he needs this. Needs to hold her, needs to breathe her in, needs to feel her against him, needs her to calm him down. He wants to stay there forever, but before anyone can interrupt them, he pulls away. Pressing a kiss to her forehead before he lets her go.

“Go wait in my driver's room, while I finish up.” She nods, flashing him a small smile, before walking over to his trainer, who nods at him before guiding her out of the building and he knows to the Red Bull garage.

—

“Max, during your post race interview, you thanked quite a few people including and to quote you, my girl. Was that the girl you kissed today?” Max is happy he’s already flushed from winning that they can’t see the way more blood rushes to his cheeks at the question. Red Bull had told him to expect at least one question that was personal during the conference because of the kiss, but he hadn’t been thinking it’d be so early. “I think we have to remember,” Max’s eyebrows furrow at Sebastian speaking and he glances at the older driver. “That adrenaline is a hell of a thing. And we can’t hold something the kid says in the rush of a moment or does really against him.” Sebastian finishes before giving Max a wink, making his brows furrow more.

Was Sebastian trying to say that he didn’t mean to thank her, didn’t mean to kiss her? He can hear a few reporters mumbling, the scratch of pens against paper.

“To answer your question,” Max starts. “Yes, the girl I kissed was the one I thanked, that I called my girl. We’ve been together a while, she’s seen my whole career in karting now single-seater. She deserved thanks.” Kimi lets out a small chuckle, leaning forward a bit to look around Max and see the puzzled expression on Sebastian's face. Served the German right for thinking that Max misspoke and acted while high on his win.

—

“No girlfriend?” Daniel asks Max as they head into debrief. “What?” “No girlfriend?” Daniel repeats himself. “I haven’t seen her yet. She not here?” Max sends him an odd look, “If you mean Y/N, no. She isn’t.” He scoffs. “Of course, I mean, Y/N. Unless you’ve got more than one girlfriend. And if that’s the case, I call dibs on Y/N.” The younger stops in his tracks, grabbing a fistful of Daniel’s shirt and yanking, making him stop as well.

“What?” Daniel laughs. “She’s hot, pretty, whatever you want to call it.” His laughter dies when he catches sight of Max’s face.

It was the face that everyone loved to talk about. The first thing that had been brought up when it was announced that Max had gotten an F1 seat. It wasn’t his age, though that was a close second. It was the look he’d get if something didn’t go his way on track, if someone smashed into him, made a risky move. It was the face that had to have been born from all the near fucking abusive shit that Jos was rumored to have done to Max.

It was narrowed eyes, glare sitting heavy and Daniel could feel sweat gathering on the back of his neck at the sight of it. Nostrils flared, lips in a thin line, but somehow Daniel just knew that as soon as Max spoke his mouth would look like it was gathered into a snarl.

Seeing it and seeing it directed at him, reminds Daniel how all of them had joked in 2014 about how Max was going to be so scary, just scare them shitless. It had been jokes because despite the rumors they had heard, the stories they had been told, none of them really believed it. It wasn’t because Max couldn’t have been some hotshot on the track with an aggressive style, refusing to back down and winning because of it. No, it was the fact that people thought anyone of them would be scared of it, would be wary of him, that made them all laugh. And then they’d seen him in an F1 car and suddenly all those rumors and stories came rushing back to them, because fuck they have might merit in them when it came to Formula 1 after all.

Daniel has the urge to reach for his phone and call Jules’ godson, Charles, and ask how the fuck he managed to race against Max for so long and never get terrified of him, on or off track. But before his fingers can even twitch to reach for it, Max is speaking and god, he does look like he’s snarling.

“Daniel, if you mention how my wife,” The Australian driver's eyes widen and the word fuck starts bouncing around his head. “Looks hot one more time, I will crash into you, and I will take the fine, the penalty points, the promotion down, or the loss of my seat.” “Okay.” Daniel clears his throat, the word coming out high-pitched. “Got it. I’ll stop talking.” Max releases his shirt, fingers flexing, jaw shifting before the murderous look he had disappeared. “Good. Now let’s go, we are probably late for debrief.” Daniel nods, silently following his teammate while the words what the fuck echo in his mind.

—

“So, Max is married.” Daniel says, as he sits with a bunch of drivers, downing a shot. “Yeah, Y/N, not his fucking girlfriend.” “Daniel,” Jenson looks at the younger, eyebrow raised. “What exactly did you do?” He winces, throwing another shot back and fuck he should’ve grabbed more than two. “Called her hot in front of him, again.” The last word comes out as a whisper, but the whole table hears it and they all shake their heads. “Dude.” “I know! But like the first time I didn’t know, alright? It was Spain, before free practice, I thought she was like his little sister or cousin. This time, I shouldn’t have done it, there happy?” Kimi shakes his head. “I think the kerbs are going to your brain.” Daniel scowls at the Finnish driver, but Sebastian thankfully steps in before he can tell him where to stick it.

“What happened this time? When you called her hot? Which to be fair she is.” At Seb’s agreement, Daniel can’t help but shoot a look around, despite knowing that Max was in his hotel room and probably talking to his wife. The thought makes Daniel frown. “He, uh, he told me he’d crash into me and happily lose his seat if it came to it for crashing into me.” The other four drivers look at him, Sebastian and Fernando looking with disbelief, while Kimi looks unsurprised, same with Jenson. “Are you sure you just called her hot?” Fernando checks. He nods. “And pretty. I think it was pretty, hot, whatever you want to call it.” “I don’t even want to know the context.” Kimi murmurs. Daniel opens his mouth ready to say but gets a tap to the back of the head, making his mouth shut. “Let’s not do that tonight, alright.” It’s near instinct to fight the words, because why not tonight, but he slumps in his seat, nodding at Jenson’s words. He didn’t have the energy for it anyway.

2017

“Max, put up a hell of a fight.” Max’s eyebrows raise, “I didn’t know you knew my name.” He murmurs, the microphone still catching it, however. Lewis lets out a laugh. “It’s your second win, right? Lots of pretty girls here to celebrate with tonight.” The slight smile on his face from Daniel trying to poke at his ribs vanishes at Lewis’ words and he can hear Daniel’s sharp intake of breath, the journalists coming to life a bit. “Well, I don’t think my wife would appreciate that.” It’s deadpan, or at least he tries to make it deadpan, he didn’t actually want to make his PR officer’s life hell, but he knew there was a bit too much steel in it. “Your what?” Daniel leans forward, peering around Max. “Dude, where were you last year? It was all anyone was talking about at COTA.” “You got married at COTA?” “I got married in February 2016.” “Aren’t you like twenty?” Daniel peers even more around Max. “Once again, where have you been for the last year, two years?”

That’s when you went to the Sheriff; but he wasn’t much help. He made it clear that he thought you were overreacting, even going so far as to suggest that you should take the attention as a compliment. Deputy Joy had been more willing to listen, offering to sit outside the store and catch him in the act.

He never showed on the days she was there.

Things got worse when he asked you out and you politely declined, citing a boyfriend that didn’t really exist. His 'gifts' continued, but the tone shifted dramatically. Dead flowers and sketches torn or with your eyes scratched out. You tried to go back to the police station half a dozen times but always lost your nerve. Instead you kept quiet, embarrassed and scared, half hoping he’d lose interest or move onto the next town for work.

You didn’t tell anyone else until Cecilia Abbott caught you crying in your car early in front of the store one morning. She was a regular, coming in weekly for supplies or just to chat with the owner, Mr. Anderson, always with a kind word for you and the other employees. You didn’t want to tell her about the man. Then she knocked on your window, looking so concerned, and you couldn’t help it. You didn’t tell her everything though, feeling like somehow this whole situation was your fault. It was too embarrassing to share all the things he’d done so downplayed it.

Even though she couldn’t do much, Cecilia made you feel heard and offered you her number. “We take care of our own,” she reminded you. “Next time he shows I’ll send my husband down, he’ll straighten the man out.”

At the time, you accepted the slip of paper but declined her offer, worried any action would only make it worse. Now, you wished you had let her help. It’s only 30 minutes until you’re supposed to close up the store and he’s your only customer. It was already dark outside, the few lights that lined the main street flickering to life. You track him as he moves through the store, your foot tapping anxiously against the barstool. You're craning your neck to follow him when the air conditioner kicks in. The jarring, unexpected sound makes you jump and the stool scrapes against the floor loudly. He looks up, the brim of his hat lifting just enough for you to see a flash of his light green eyes and pale face before you look away. You can feel his gaze on you and the memory of his warm breath on your neck when he once stood too close to you resurfaces.

You press a shaking hand over your mouth. Fear and self-doubt war inside, making your early dinner sit like a stone in your stomach. Before you can think too hard about it, you pick up the old phone by the register and pull out the crumpled paper from your pocket. Cecilia answers on the third ring, her soft, familiar voice a comfort as she greets you.

“I hate to bother you so late,” you whisper, twisting the cord of the phone around your finger. “But…” you begin, only to trail off, feeling stupid for calling her. “Nevermind, it’s nothing,” you continue quietly.

“He’s back honey, isn’t he?” She questions, the concern in her voice clear.

“Yes and I’m closing tonight.” You pause and lean to the right, looking past the register to check he’s still in the shop. He's lingering at the front display again, far enough away you can’t exactly tell what he’s doing. “I’m probably blowing this out of proportion–”

She cuts you off with an empathetic sound. “No. You’re not. I’ll send Royal or one of the boys up. Old Mr. Anderson shouldn’t be having a woman closing up all on her own anyhow.”

The relief you feel is immediate but underneath is the ever-present worry that you’re making a bigger deal out of this than you need to. It’s a 20 minute drive into town for whoever she sends to help. What if they thought you were wasting their time, like the sheriff did?

“Cecilia, I…I,” you stammer.

She makes a soft sound and you close your eyes. “It's not a problem, honey. You sit tight.”

After you hang up, the minutes seem to crawl by. You split your time watching the clock and trying to keep track where the man is in the store. It’s hard to concentrate. Every little creak of the old wooden floor and any flash of movement sends an anxious spike of adrenaline through your heart. At 9:55 you stand and lock the register, bending down to retrieve your purse from under it. When you straighten up, the man is standing on the other side of the counter. You flinch and trip back and his hand shoots out to grasp your wrist.

“Woah there, baby girl." He practically purrs the words, sending a shiver of disgust down your spine. “You’re jumpy tonight.”

An automatic apology is tumbling from your lips before you can call it back. He smirks, leaning forward and you tug your hand away, holding it tightly to your body. He stares at you without speaking for a long moment until the bell over the door jingles. He turns immediately, an unhappy tick in his jaw, but you breathe out in relief.

It’s Rhett Abott, Cecelia’s youngest son. You don’t know him well, never moving past exchanging pleasantries whenever he came into the store or you saw him around town though you nursed a crush on him from afar throughout high school. Tonight he looks like he came straight from work, wearing dirty jeans and a blue button-up shirt over a white henley, sleeves rolled up to expose his tan forearms. He tips his hat when he sees you, cutting his gaze to the man in front of you.

“Think I forgot something,” the man says suddenly, his eyes darting angrily away from you to stare at Rhett. "Why don’t you help your new customer while I go find it."

He takes off down the middle aisle, keeping watch on Rhett’s progress towards you. You know the man is waiting for you to be alone again. The realization kicks up your anxiety even more and you have to clasp your hands together to keep from shaking.

“Hey,” Rhett greets, setting his hat on the counter and leaning forward on his elbows. His hair has grown longer since you last saw him, curling under his tan jaw but his blue eyes are just as intense and beautiful as you remember. “Ma said you got an admirer,” he tells you, a single brow raised. He glances over his shoulder briefly and then returns his attention to you. “I’ll walk you to your car after you lock up.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, slipping the strap of your purse over your shoulder.

Rhett straightens up and you look past him, meeting the pair of pale green eyes that watch you through the shelves. A cold rush of fear washes over your body and you make a little sound, something between a wheeze and whimper. You’re frozen in place, heart beating wildly. Rhett says your name but you can’t make yourself respond until he lays a hand on your arm. You flinch at his soft touch, your scared gaze jumping back to him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Rhett asks. “Did he do something to you?”

A tear slips down your face, betraying what you want to so desperately hide. You shake your head, staring into his kind eyes and concerned face. You’re afraid that once you start, you won’t be able to stop. Rhett’s face darkens and he rises to his full height. Your arm shoots out, twisting the loose fabric of his open shirt to hold him in place.

“Don’t. Please.”

“Alright, it’s okay,” he soothes, stepping back up to the counter. His hand settles over yours and he squeezes, thumb brushing across the back of your hand. “I’m just gonna ask him to leave, alright? Nothing else.”

“Okay,” you agree, scared for more than just yourself this time. You have no idea what the man might do when confronted or if he would hurt Rhett for trying to help you.

You hold your breath when Rhett walks away, straining to hear whatever quiet conversation he has with the man. You expect him to argue or maybe cause a scene but their conversation is brief. He looks back at you, jaw clenched, and then stalks off towards the front of the store. Rhett follows him to the door, locking it behind him and flipping the sign from open to closed. Despite the clear dismissal to leave, the man remains outside watching.

Rhett makes his way to you, but doesn’t stop at the counter, rounding it to get close enough to lay a hand on your shoulder. His touch is nothing like the man’s; it’s light, meant to soothe and comfort. You stare up at him, watching him frown when he sees the man is still there. In response, Rhett gently pushes you towards the back storeroom until you’re both hidden from the view of the front windows.

Until you’re hidden from him.

“What’s going on?” Rhett asks, careful to keep his tone soft.

Your throat constricts and when you open your mouth, a little sob comes out, your shoulders shaking. Everything you’ve been holding back these past few weeks comes out in an uncontrollable rush. Your breaths come in short little gasps for air, your chest heaving. Rhett looks so alarmed that it only makes you cry harder. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, looking everywhere but at you. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he shifts forward and his strong arms encircle your body.

He holds you against him tightly, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head while other rests along your lower back. You’re not sure if he’s speaking actual words or just making some kind of low sound meant to soothe you. Either way, it works. As the low warble of his voice slowly penetrates your panicked mind, you suck in a deep lungful of air.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Breathe for me. I got ya. You’re safe.”

You realize for the first time that you actually are safe, protected in his arms. You sag against him and Rhett grunts, absorbing your weight. For several long moments you stay like that, face buried in his chest and his chin resting atop your head. He speaks to you like a spooked animal, but you can't even find in yourself to feel embarrassed. It feels good to be held and reassured when you’ve been scared for so long.

Only after you fall quiet in his arms does Rhett pull back and look at you, searching your face. He doesn’t have to ask the question again, you know what he wants to know.

“I’m sorry,” you start, wiping at your face. There’s a wet patch on Rhett’s shirt from your tears.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he assures you. “Just tell me what’s going on. Did he touch you? Hurt you?” He demands.

“I think he might want to,” you admit quietly. You’re not sure how to tell him just how awful these last few weeks have been. How scared you are. “I went to the Sheriff when it all started…” You trail off and Rhett scoffs, his opinion on the older man clear.

“It started when he began leaving me gifts. They weren’t so bad at first… Then he asked me out. I lied and said I had a boyfriend. I thought he might take that better than me just saying no, but he got scary after that.”

“Scary how?” Rhett presses, forehead wrinkling.

You close your eyes, ashamed.

“You can tell me,” Rhett encourages, a knuckle under your chin tipping your face back. Your skin tingles where he touches you.

“It might be easier to show you…” you tell him, reaching into your purse to pull out your phone.

You unlock it and bring up your camera roll before handing it to him. A muscle in his jaw jumps as he scrolls through the photos of all the gifts the man left you. You’d taken care to document everything on the advice of Deputy Joy, not that the Sheriff cared to look at the evidence.

“Does he know where you live?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I don’t think so. I’ve only found the gifts here.”

“But you’re not sure?” He presses.

“No,” you admit.

“Right, I’m driving you home,” Rhett says, handing your phone back. “I’ll bring you back to get your car tomorrow.”

You want to tell him no, worried about how much of his time you’ve already wasted. He was only here at Cecelia’s insistence, and he probably had a pretty girl waiting for him at The Handsome Gambler.

“You don’t have to,” you tell him.

“I want to,” he assures you,

There’s something in the way he looks at you that bleeds away any argument. “Okay,” you agree.

On the way to his truck, Rhett keeps his hand on your upper back, his body close to yours. His sharp blue eyes survey the empty street as he urges you along. Even though there is no sign of the man you know that doesn’t mean anything. There are pockets of darkness between the buildings and he could be in any one of them.

Watching. Waiting.

When you shiver, Rhett shifts his palm higher on your back, hand curling so his blunt fingernails catch on the patch of skin at the base of your neck. It's such a simple gesture but it does so much to calm you.

“It’s alright, I’m here” he assures, opening the car door and waiting until you’re buckled in before shutting it firmly.

You give him your address and he puts the truck in gear, pulling out onto the empty street. Both of you watch the rear view mirror for any sign of lights or a vehicle. There’s none but you don’t relax. Rhett doesn’t talk, fiddling with the stereo until an old bluesy country song crackles over the radio. A little of your anxiety subsides and you relax into the old leather seats. Every few minutes you can feel his eyes on you, but you stare straight ahead, unused to the weight of someone else's worry.

He slows the truck down when he turns onto your street, searching in the darkness for your house number.

“That’s me.” You point to a two-story house at the end of the street. “I’m on the second floor.”

It’s an older home, dated and frankly falling apart in places. The lady who owned both units, a woman in her 70s named Mabel, gave you a good deal on the rent. It was worth it to have your own space though now, as you stared up at the dark windows with a sense of foreboding spreading through your chest, you wished you didn’t live alone.

Rhett seems to sense your hesitation and reaches out to touch your shoulder. “Want me to come up for a bit? Check it out?"

“It’s silly, I’m sure everything is fine,” you tell him.

“It ain't,” Rhett says earnestly. “You have every right to be scared.”

It’s a relief to have someone take you seriously, but the disquiet in Rhett’s eyes chases away any comfort that knowledge brings because it’s clear he thinks you're in real danger.

“If you don’t mind, maybe you can come up…”

“Give me your keys,” he says, holding out his hand. “Lock the doors after I get out, okay?”

He doesn’t move until he’s sure you’ve heard him. You nod, doing as he asks after he takes off. It’s a long five minutes, waiting in the truck for him to return. You pick at your nails and chew on your upper lip, old anxious habits that give you a little bit of relief, though it’s not until you see him jogging back down that you feel like you can finally breathe.

“It’s all clear, come on,” he says, holding onto your elbow to steady you as you exit the car.

He follows close behind as you walk up the stairs, shutting the front door firmly behind him once you’re both inside. You drop your purse on the couch, eyes wandering around your apartment. It appears the same as you left it this morning but you can’t help looking at everything with fresh, suspicious eyes.

Rhett says your name softly and you turn to face him. He’s watching you, waiting.

“Thank you for everything,” you tell him sincerely, wanting him to understand how much you appreciate his kindness. “For driving me home and for, um, caring.”

You don’t even realize you’re wringing your hands until he steps forward and settles a large hand over yours to stop the nervous tick. The warmth from his touch takes the tension from your shoulders. You stare up at him, just breathing and soaking up his touch. He takes a step closer, saying your name quietly but before he can continue, his phone rings. You jerk back on instinct at the shrill sound, his hand falling away from yours. Rhett purses his lips and looks down at the screen.

“It’s my mother,” he says. “Probably wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“Please tell her thanks.”

Rhett nods. "Hey Ma,” he greets, turning away from you.

You move towards the kitchen, feeling like you should offer him a cup of coffee or at least a beer for the trouble you’ve put him through. You also want to give him some privacy, though the walls are thin and you catch pieces of his conversation anyway.

“Not exactly," you hear Rhett say. "It's worse than she let on.” There's a beat and then he speaks again. “I’m a little worried he might. Thinking I should spend the night outside in my car just in case.” Another pause. “Yeah, I know. Not exactly my first night sleeping in the truck, Ma.”

It’s already cold outside and you know the temperature will continue to drop the later it gets. The thought of Rhett spending the night in his truck for you brings on a fresh wave of self doubt and guilt. You feel like you’re back in the sheriff’s station again, making a big deal out of nothing.

“I got my rifle in the truck. It’s fine,” he continues.

The mention of the gun surprises you, kicking up your heartbeat again. You creep back to the doorway to watch him. His back is to you, one hand parting your lace curtains to look out your window.

“Yeah, I thought so too. I'll see if I can get her to go back to the sheriff with me in the morning."

Anxiety crawls under your skin at the thought of having to face Sheriff Burtt again. He made you feel so small and silly last time, but maybe it would be different with Rhett at your side.

“Okay, love you too, Ma,” he says, hanging up. He seems surprised to see you standing in the doorway though he doesn’t act upset. Instead he looks a little concerned. “You alright?” He asks.

“You don’t have to sit out in the truck for me. It’s… it’s probably okay,” you tell him, even though you don’t exactly believe the words yourself. You want to give him out.

“I’d feel better if I did,” says, closing the distance between the two of you. He slips his hat off and holds it to his chest, making sure he has your attention before continuing. “I want you to come with me to the sheriff’s tomorrow morning. I’m gonna make him listen, okay? We’ll get this handled.”

“I’ll go if you agree to sleep on the couch,” you offer. At least in your apartment he’d be warm and close by.

The corner of his mouth lifts up briefly as he watches you. “You drive a hard bargain, but I can agree to that.”

“I’ll get the spare linens and a pillow for you,” you tell him with a smile.

When you return to the living room he’s back at the window, watching the street outside. His hat sits on your coffee table. You make up the couch as best you can though there’s nothing you can do about the fact he’s too tall to fit comfortably. The realization adds to the guilty feelings you already carry.

“Much better than the truck,” Rhett assures you. “Thanks.”

You nod and leave him to get yourself ready for bed. It’s nearly 11pm and you’re exhausted. As you wash your face and go through your nightly routine, you’re overly aware of how easily every sound travels through the wall. You exchange your work clothes for your well-worn pajamas. Even though that helps you feel better, there’s still that low buzz of apprehension. You close your eyes and see the man’s scary green eyes again.

Your throat tightens in response and you move towards the door before you realize what you’re doing. Quietly, you creep down the hall to the living room, mindful of the rickety floorboards that could give you away. All the lights are off but you can make out Rhett’s sitting on the couch, hands resting on his thighs. He’s removed his blue shirt and wears only his white henley. The barest hint of golden stumble is visible along the sharp lines of his jaw. He sighs and leans back, tucking a hand under his head. The frantic beat of your heart slows and you stand there for several moments watching him.

Eventually, you withdraw and return to your room, sliding under the cool covers. You hardly know Rhett but there’s something about him that makes you believe everything will be okay. With him there sleep comes easy, you know nothing bad will happen to you.

✥

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C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

jack likes his cum anywhere just as long as you’re taking it. although if he had to choose, nothing beats cumming inside of you. he’ll tell you that all day long. a close second is nutting in your mouth. but what drives him crazy is when you lick his cum off of his stomach after giving him head.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

well since jack lives with his homeboys, there’s not a lot of privacy. jack will never say this but he loves the fact that his friends might be able to hear what he’s doing to you in the next room. he gets off on the idea of ruining you for anyone else.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

jack has never had a problem getting girls so he is pretty experienced however when it comes to you he is always learning something new every day about your body so soon he will know your body like the back of his hand. he wants to be able to push the limits of your body you didn’t even know you could reach.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

it goes without saying but missionary. as jack would say it’s just so versatile. a little choking, a little eye contact, some rough kisses, the option to the put your legs over his shoulders so he can got even deeper. the possibilities are endless. another runner up is the cuddling on the side him harshly squeezing your thigh while holding it up. he just like the body contact.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

jack isn’t a serious guy but when he’s balls deep in his girl for the most part his goofiness goes away but jack always finds a way to make you laugh even when he’s not trying. he’ll just flirt with you or say some freaky shit in your ear that makes you laugh and roll your eyes.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

definitely not bald but jack does at least trim. more of a tamed bush fs.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

jack loves the intimacy of sex. he is very present no matter the situation when it comes to you. when he’s not absolutely destroying you he can be very passionate and tender. he loves to be in position where he is physically close to you and where he can see your face. he loves to grab and rub all over your body when y’all are sharing a moment. it doesn’t even have to be sex, he adores you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

even though you think it’s hot you still want to be the only thing making him cum and he’s the same when it comes to you but if he’s on the road for tour or some where away from you. he has to find some type of relief even if it will never compare to your pussy… you don’t want want your man to have blue balls do youu? (or maybe you do and that’s totally fine)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

he loves chocking you. whether he’s fucking you into the mattress or lightly gripping your neck when he’s kissing you in public. you both love that shit. jack also loves the idea of putting his baby in you. he loves to fill you up multiple time then use his dick to push his cum back inside when he sees it slowly dripping out of your heat. and he loves your ass most of all spanking your ass. so he’ll give you 20 or more licks and then throughout the day you will suddenly feel a stinging sensation on your ass that goes straight to your core.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

anywhere; the studio, the kitchen counter, the shower, the car, the bedroom, the closet at a party, the bathroom at a restaurant, and anywhere else that you or him can think of. (like i said he likes the idea of people knowing that he’s ruining you)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

this is probably cliche but he actually does love everything about you. just seeing you is enough. but of course it helps if your wearing something a little revealing especially in public or around his friends. he’ll give you a hard time when you’re about to leave but you know he loves the way that everyone gawks at your beauty in public. he knows he’s with the baddest, so that alone makes him want to get you home. he loves being the one that you want to be with at the end of the day.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything that makes you genuinely uncomfortable. and i actually could not see jack doing knife play or fire play but if you do i love that for ya <3 ( different strokes for different folks )

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

jack definitely is a giver by nature but loves receiving too. jack can literally be buried between your legs for hours and let me tell you he is relentless. he is one of those people who genuinely enjoys the tastes and sensation of giving you head. so even when your tapped out trying to not fall apart he is still pushing you for a few more rounds. with that being said he will never turn down one of your blowjobs. he loves to see your lips wrapped around him in the most convenient situations.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

for the most part jack is rough but he loves to switch speeds. for example he will be beating your shit in 💀 and then all of a sudden slow down and take a painfully slow pace making sure to roll his hip into you making sure you feel every inch of him brushing against your g spot. slow and passionate sex usually comes into play after a prolonged amount of time of not seeing you or if you’re having a bad day or if there’s an anniversary or even just to switch it up to give you a break.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

as stated before jack is always ready to take you no matter the location. the both of you love a good quickie and will rarely turn down the opportunity.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

trying new things with jack is always apart of the itinerary, one week you’re sitting on his face and the next week he’s edging you with just his fingers.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

jack has surprisingly good stamina. white boy can go for a good three or more rounds. within a couple of hours of course but in between him cumming he will occupy you with his other forms of pleasure. don’t even get me started on his endurance, he can last your multiple rounds without cumming just further prolonging your pleasure.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

jack loves to use vibrators on you. especially the remote controlled ones that you can wear in public, he loves to see you try not to fall apart in front of his friends or people you guys are just meeting.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

jack’s the biggest tease, he will edge you for hours, secretly touch you in public, whisper the filthiest shit in your ear when you are doing something important. he wants to see you come unglued and lose your train of thought to the idea of him being inside of you. he wants to be in your head 24/7 like you are in his.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

you love the fact that jack is not shy or ashamed to be vocal with you. he loves to talk dirty in bed and he is most definitely a groaner. you will never get tired of his degrading praise that he gives you for “being a good slut” for him or how he tells you that “you’re the prettiest when your writhing on his dick.” you know that’s not true but in the moment it just pushes closer to your climax.

W = Wild card

overstimulation or edging? jack is down for both but if he had to choose one it would be overstimulation. he wants to break you down and have you gushing on his dick. he wants you to know that he is the only one that can fuck you like this and he proves it more and more every time he makes you cum. he will give you what you want and more until your begging for him to stop bc the pleasure is just so good it hurts, but even when you think you’re totally spent he knows that you can go a few more rounds. with that being said you two have a safe word that you know to use if something ever gets too intense but also with that being said he knows you won’t use it. you love being his fuck toy that he can use whenever and however he wants.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

jack gives off such big dick energy. so you know its pretty big. he’s above average, about 6.5 inches, it’s not too crazy and as it should. actually you prefer it that way. you don’t like guys that have uncomfortably huge dicks. so his is perfect for you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

all the time. that’s all there is to be said.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he usually lets you fall asleep first and then he will follow soon after you.