Hello Could You Please Write A Charles Leclerc X Princess Of Monaco!wife Reader Fc(hannah Dodd ) And

omg so this last race 😭😭 lots to discuss. i will be posting a lando fic soon (i’m not mad at him anymore yayy) and also i’ll try to post the other fics i had planned to (a max one and a charles x alex) but right now i’m more focused on the spotify wrapped special so i’ll try to go through those requests between today and tomorrow and then we roll 😁

Spotify special- Pepe marti with #27

p.s. I love all your work!!! 💓💓💓

why’d i have to break what i love so much? | pepe marti

song; afterglow - taylor swift

a/n: thank you so much!! 🤍

part of the spotify wrapped special

Sometimes you wondered if there was a way to cure self-sabotage. And if there was, what would you have to give to heal yourself?

You didn’t understand why this always happened. Why, whenever you were in a relationship and things were going well, you felt the need to ruin it. You knew you deserved to be happy, so why couldn’t you allow it? Why did you always have to mess it up? You always did something, always blew things out of proportion, always started arguments, to the point where other people just couldn’t keep forgiving you. And so, you stayed alone.

Pepe had never given you any reason to doubt him; he was so good to you, so loyal and honest. Sometimes you felt like he was too good for you. Or was that just your insecurity taking over? No, he was too good for you. Or was he exactly the right person for you? God, why did you always have to doubt everything? He was literally the best boyfriend anyone could ask for, and here you were, arguing with him because you thought he was flirting with a girl at a race.

“She was just a fan; she only wanted a picture,” the Spaniard defended himself for the third time.

“I don’t believe you,” you said, even though halfway through the argument, you realized you might be coming across as crazy. But you had to stick to your point; you couldn’t back down so easily.

Pepe didn’t see it the same way.

“Alright, think whatever you want, y/n,” he sighed, tired. “I’ve already told you what happened. When you calm down and want to talk, I’ll be in my room.”

He walked out of your room and into his, and you instantly regretted letting him go. You regretted starting the fight—regretted everything. Why did you have to punish him for your own insecurities? Why couldn’t you just be happy?

One cup of coffee and two episodes of Gossip Girl later, you knew you had to apologize. You hadn’t been fair to him; you almost never were. You didn’t know where he found the willpower to forgive you and stay with you when he could’ve left long ago. But you were grateful he stayed. You loved him.

When you knocked on his door, he answered in his pajamas and invited you in. The moment he closed the door behind you, you couldn’t hold back your words.

“I’m really sorry about what happened,” you began. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I… I never mean to hurt you or make you feel bad. It’s all me, really—it’s all in my head, and I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this to you. I don’t want to lose this with you.” Your nerves made you stutter, and seeing his furrowed brow made you even more nervous. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Pepe didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he stepped closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into one of the hugs you loved so much.

“I know,” he said, kissing your head. “I know you’re sorry, and of course, I forgive you.” You let out a sigh of relief at his words. “I’ll always be yours, y/n. We’ll be okay, even if you go a little crazy sometimes.” You playfully hit his chest at that comment, and he laughed. “I know what’s going on with you, and I know it’s not your fault, but you’re everything I want. Even if you break my heart sometimes, I’m not going anywhere.”

He cupped your cheeks and sealed his words with a kiss full of reassurance.

Screw self-sabotaging—this was the real thing.

I am Motaz Mohamed ❤ a palestinian youngman from Gaza🍉🇵🇸, seeking to find safety and peace ☝️for my family if twenty members. We have been ❤🇵🇸🍉passing through all forms of torture and pain for almost ten months because of the war on Gaza.

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Please don't leave us alone in such dire times. Your kind contribution either through donating whatever you can or sharing my posts will be highly appreciated and valued.❤🇵🇸🍉

!!!

i loveee Richard Rios!! I was so happy to see something of him it was great!

thank you thank you so much! 💗 i’m happy to write for him, he is unfairly underrated 😩

MASTERLIST

MASTERLISTS

formula 1 masterlist

motorsports masterlist

football masterlist

SPECIALS

spotify wrapped special

eternal sunshine series

mess it up | jude bellingham

pairing: british!tennis player!reader x jude bellingham

summary: jude already messed up his relationship with you once, he’s not gonna do it again if he can get a second chance

fc: emma raducanu

request: here

a/n: i love tennis so much so this request was very exciting! also a bit general so i got carried away (the timeline is a bit weird and some of the tournaments and courts aren’t gonna match so let’s just ignore that)

—

liked by judebellingham, lissiemackintosh and others

wta say hello to your miami open winner 🇺🇸 congratulations to the incredible yourusername! your talent is unmatched 🎾

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yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

liked by judebellingham, lilymhe and others

yourusername the post-winning feeling 🤍

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username amazing win y/n!

username what a woman

username best player on tour confirmed

username ohhh she’s gonna be number 1 soon you just wait

lilymhe SO PROUD OF YOU 💘

yourusername love youuu 💗

username jude liking this 😭

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liked by vinijr, trentarnold66 and others

judebellingham madrid always

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username casually dropping the most breathtaking pics on a wednesday afternoon

username the plaza de españa appreciation 🥺

username patiently waiting for him to make a move on y/n since she’s in madrid as well

username PLS leave my girl alone she’s playing a masters 1000 she doesn’t need the distraction

username but is not a distraction! is jude!

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username ABSOLUTELY NOT

liked by judebellingham, iga.swiatek and others

yourusername so lovely madrid 🇪🇸 my first win here and i couldn’t be anymore grateful ❤️

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username y/n congratulations that was amazing🙏🏽

username girlie is in a roll with these opens

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username her outfits this tournament where *chef kiss* 🤌🏽

username such an icon

[judebellingham’s instagram stories] [yourusername’s instagram stories]

[caption 1: ❤️🇪🇸] [caption 2: 🤍🌬️]

liked by judebellingham, yourusername and others

wta it’s match day! (for y/n and for england 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿)

tagged yourusername

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username which could mean nothing

username rooting for you y/n 🥳

username oh i want her to win wimbledon so bad 😩

username jude liking this!

username after they were allegedly (obviously) together in madrid … thinking thoughts

username it’s a great day for the girlies (y/n playing and rumors of her getting back together with jude)

yourusername’s instagram stories

[caption 1: training🎾] [caption 2: let’s go england! 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿]

judebellingham’s instagram stories

[caption 1: this team💙] [caption 2: 🎾]

liked by judebellingham, lilymhe and others

yourusername proof that there’s a rainbow after the storm 🌈 us open you took the broken pieces of my heart and put them together one by one ❤️ MY FIRST GRAND SLAM🥹

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username SO DESERVED 🥺

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judebellingham so proud ❤️

yourusername ❤️‍🩹

baby fever - op81

synopsis: you’ve got baby fever. Oscar… well, doesn’t.

wc: 0.5k

warnings: mentions of infertility (r is not actually infertile), not proof read

A few days ago, while scrolling through social media, you came across a video of a little baby. Her giggles warmed your heart, and sent you down a long rabbit hole and into a spiral of lasting baby fever.

You sauntered into the kitchen where Oscar was cooking breakfast. Your hands wrapped around his torso, your head rested on his shoulder.

He smiled, a sight that brightened your day and definitely did not help with your daydreams about him as a father. “Good morning.” He greeted. The sleep hadn’t yet worn off, leaving his voice a little rough.

“Morning.” You sighed, snuggling your head into the curve of his neck.

“What’s up, baby?” He asked, a hand snaking it’s way down your arm before lacing his fingers with yours.

Humming, swaying, you were in your own world. In your mind, you imagined a mini version of the both of you sitting in a high chair not far from where you stood. “We should have a baby.”

It was a harsh bomb to drop so early in the morning. In your haze, you hadn’t realized that.

“What? No.” He laughed.

You frowned and pulled away from him.

He began to panic. “No, wait-“

“No. No it’s okay. Stupid idea anyway.” You mumbled, slow steps creating distance between the two of you. You retreated to the bedroom. He would’ve followed you if it weren’t for the food on the stove.

As soon as he finished up and plated the food, he rushed to the bedroom. He found you on the bed, under the sheets, curled in a ball.

He sat beside you, a comforting hand on your back. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” He apologized. You said nothing. “I’d love nothing more than to make a mini us and see it run around the house, but right now… it’s not a good time.” He shook his head, though you couldn’t see it.

“But he’d be so cute.” You blubbered.

Oscar paused. “Are you crying?” He hesitated to reach out.

You flipped around to face him. “Yes!” You sniffed. “Because- because- imagine it. He’d look just like you and I can dress him like you and take him to races—or her! And you’d look so cute holding a mini us.”

Hands found their way around your body and he pulled you into him. “I know, you’d be such a cute mom. Maybe later but I just don’t want to miss everything. We’re still young.” He ran a hand through your hair while you continued to cry, not liking his answer.

“You’ll be racing until you’re forty!” You sobbed. “And what if I’m not able to have kids by then! I could be fresh out of eggs!” You clutched onto his shirt.

“I don’t want to wait until we’re forty, either. Maybe just a couple more years.”

You sniffled. “I think I’m pmsing.” It would explain the emotional response, and the intense baby fever.

Oscar didn’t say anything, he only chuckled.

this is me Aya.. ‏🇵🇸

suddenly you wake up with nothing left.That's exactly what happened with us .we moved from having everything to having nothing.In a blink of an eye ,we lost everything, our house ,dreams,

memories belongings and our works. We are starting from zero and need your help to climb the leader step by step from scratch.

All the positive words cannot express how generous you are, especially in sharing my posts to inform other donors about the people of Gaza who are still suffering from the terrible conditions caused by the unjust war on Gaza!

Please continue to support us by donating directly or by sharing the link to let others know. Don't hesitate to help people in difficult and miserable times until the dark days are over. 🙏🏻🍉

https://gofund.me/c4c2cf82

please donate if you can!

this is just 🤌🏽🤌🏽🤌🏽

after midnight ⋆ lestappen

pairing: lestappen x driver!reader

summary: charles doesn't want to accept that he has feelings for both of max and you

word count: 1.8K

warnings: making out, grope? (idk how to saying in english, but in spanish would be meter mano o manosear)

a/n: part 2 coming soon!!

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

Max and Y/N had once again achieved a 1-2, it was the third consecutive race they had achieved this result.

Everyone was cheering their names, and then there was Charles. He had managed to finish third because George DNF'd on the last lap and he took his place in the race.

Charles had always felt a mixture of envy and admiration for the Red Bull duo.

Envy for their driving style and tactics to win all the races and admiration for their personalities. Max stood out simply for being himself, calculating and fierce both on and off the track, his blue eyes sent shivers down Charles' spine. Even more so when he saw him without the fireproofs.

Y/N was slighty warmer than him, but still he feared her, with a somewhat rebellious driving style, Y/N had won the championship last year and was fighting for her second. She was much more open than Max and she was the one who humanized the team, separating her person from her race number very well. Most of the time she was Y/N L/N, when she got into the car she was simply the 1. It was impossible not to fall in love with her, from the moment she joined the competition she had become the girl of the paddock, the representative of all women in motorsport, and she wore it with pride. She has collaborated to form the F1 Academy, has financed dozens of girls to make a place for themselves in the sport and now she was forming her own F1 Academy team with Rare Beauty as a collaborator. She was an ambitious, determined, and also beautiful woman, Charles had found it impossible to resist her.

The most surprising thing was how well Max and Y/N got along off the track, they lived relatively close in Monaco and there had been several times when they had been seen having dinner together. Most of the people said they only had common friends, a few said there was something more than friendship.

The chemistry was undeniable, Y/N brought out the best side of Max in interviews and Max knew how to stop Y/N when she talked too much.

Charles knew the podium was going to be uncomfortable, Max and Y/N celebrating their victories and pouring champagne on each other, and Charles just being there, knowing that neither of them cared at all about his P3.

Surprisingly, Y/N approached him and patted him on the shoulder as she congratulated him, but immediately Max once again drew all of Y/N's attention by soaking her with champagne. Charles drank from his bottle as he watched Max half-kneeling and Y/N pouring champagne from her bottle into his mouth.

That scene caused Charles a strange sensation. Seeing Max like that, slightly kneeling with his hair and suit dampened by a mixture of alcohol and sweat. Y/N with the glow of victory in her eyes and her suit adapting to the curves of her body.

There was something so sexual about that scene that it overwhelmed Charles. His attraction to Y/N he had assimilated, with just a couple of words he knew she would be the woman of his dreams. The problem was that when he was with Max that feeling doubled. The idea of ​​not being a spectator anymore and being with both of them made his heart race.

After finishing all the interviews, Y/N approached Charles. "Hey, we're going to get a drink, wanna come?"

Charles blinked. "Me?"

He pointed to himself, surprised by the invitation and interaction. In all those years he had hardly ever spoken to Y/N, except for business matters, which made her even more ethereal.

Y/N laughed in a natural way and brushed her hair away from her face. "Sure. Max and I usually have a drink with whoever comes third, and today it was you." By the way she said it, it seemed like it was already a routine. "So? Do you feel like it?"

"Uh, yes, yes. I'd love to," he nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

"Great!" she said with a smile. Charles was impressed by her constant naturalness. "We'll get dressed up and then see you at the club."

Y/N gave him a squeeze on the shoulder and left the paddock with Max, who had been present throughout the conversation from a prudent distance.

At the after-party - for lack of a better term - there were many people from Red Bull, too many, and Charles felt like an intruder. He locked eyes with Y/N, who gestured to him as soon as she saw him. She was at a table almost in the center of the place with Max, some friends, and Lando Norris. That guy was always everywhere.

"Charles! Come here, come on. What do you want to drink?" exclaimed Y/N.

Charles approached, somewhat impressed by all of this. Y/N made room for him next to her and instead of fist-bumping, she gave him two kisses. Max, on the other hand, stretched his arm over Y/N to greet him and then left his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer to his chest. Y/N didn't mind.

"P3, huh? That was very good," commented Max.

Y/N groaned immediately. "We always talk about races, let's talk about something interesting."

"Isn't Formula interesting?" Max spoke, tilting his head.

"Not with you," said Y/N.

They all laughed and Max made a face.

Y/N once again focused all her attention on Charles, he noticed how Y/N's heel was circling around his calf.

"What about your love life, Charlie?" she asked, without hesitation.

The nickname caught Charles off guard, and even more so the question. If she was asking, it was because she cared.

Max clicked his tongue, telling him he didn't have to answer.

How was Charles going to explain that every time he had felt some sexual desire it had been because of her and her teammate? "Boring," he ended up saying, with a slight frown.

"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed, almost disappointed. "How can it be boring? You're too handsome for your love life to be boring."

Charles lowered his gaze with a silly smile, noticing that Max hadn't stopped looking at him, as if he too were expectant of the answer.

"Don't listen to her, Charles. She rambles when she's drunk," commented Max, rolling his eyes a bit.

"And you get a thousand times more boring when you drink," Y/N gave Max a pat on the thigh, too close to the crotch for some to think.

Y/N drank from Max's gin and tonic and relaxed against his chest because no one was starting a conversation. She quickly got bored and looked at Max with a pout. "Will you dance with me?"

"No," he replied immediately.

"You asshole," Y/N wasted no time. "Charles?"

Charles looked up from his drink. "Huh?"

"Let's dance," she didn't even ask, she got up and pulled Charles' arm while flipping Max off before heading to the dance floor.

Charles knew she had only pulled him to dance to mess with Max, but that moment was like living a fever dream. The music hardly had any lyrics, it was pure beats on instruments. Y/N pressed her body against his in time with the music, so much so that sometimes it seemed like she was rubbing against him.

"You have beautiful eyes, Charlie," Y/N said, getting close to his ear so much that he could almost hear her saliva. She put an arm over his shoulder and kept dancing.

"Thank you," he replied, not knowing what else to say.

Their faces were getting closer and closer, while both could feel Max's gaze on them. When their noses brushed, it was Y/N who stopped, looking at him for a few seconds. She removed her arm from Charles's shoulder and bit her lip, as if she were nervous.

"Hold on, I have to talk to Max," she declared, before leaving the dance floor, leaving Charles stranded and confused.

He returned to the table, not knowing what had happened, but Max and YN were no longer sitting there. Lando pointed in the direction they had gone. He found them leaning against the door of what seemed to be a private room in the club; for a moment, he thought they were arguing because of the tone of their voices, but as he listened to the conversation, he began to feel chills.

"You like him too," Y/N insisted. "Deny it. Deny that it doesn't turn you on when you see him in the fireproofs."

"Damn, yes. But it doesn't matter, I've already told you he won't want to," Max grumbled, with a distressed expression.

"You don't know that," Y/N clenched her jaw.

"He's very uptight, and insecure."

Those two words echoed in Charles's head. Insecure… he knew he was, but he hadn't realized until now that other people might notice it.

"Max, I really want him," Y/N complained. "Just imagining him watching us fuck already turns me on, imagine with us in bed." She pressed herself against Max's chest, with a grimace.

Charles felt an instant satisfaction knowing that they also fantasized about him, at least he wasn't the only weird one. He thought about the possibilities of joining the conversation, or just letting them know he was there.

"Are you Charles Leclerc? Can we take a photo?"

Before Charles could react, Y/N and Max peeked their faces around the door, her with a little smile and him slightly nervous. It was an awkward moment while the fan took the photo, but when he left, both Max and Y/N were looking at him with crossed arms and feline eyes.

"How long have you been there?" Max questioned, raising his eyebrows. He thought his friendship with Charles was going to become quite awkward after that.

Charles didn't waste time. "I… I want to,"

Max and Y/N looked at each other, with a devilish smile.

"Really?" confirmed Max.

"Yes,"

Max didn't need anything else to pull him into the room and close the door behind them. Surprisingly, Charles and he were the first to kiss while Y/N watched them. Then Y/N attacked Charles's lips at the same time as Max left marks on his girlfriend's neck. Being in the middle of the two was too much for her; having so many hands on her made her messy. Eager for more, she pulled Charles's hand towards her inner thigh. He stopped at that exact moment.

A feeling of guilt, almost shame, overwhelmed him. The other two noticed it and stopped as well. "Is something wrong?" Y/N placed her hand on Charles's thigh, but that only made him stand up as soon as he felt the contact.

"I can't…" Charles didn't finish the sentence. "I better go."

Call Me When You Breakup

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max is in the wrong relationship, and you both know it. But knowing isn’t choosing, and you’re done waiting.

1.8k words / Inspo / Masterlist

You don't want to be here.

Not in this overpriced, dimly lit restaurant. Not sitting across from your best friend who, for all intents and purposes, should be yours but isn't. Not watching him share a plate of something too delicate, too refined, with someone who doesn’t know him the way you do.

You shouldn't be here, but you are. Because Max asked, and you’ve never been able to say no to him.

His girlfriend, the word itself sticks in your throat like it doesn’t belong there, sits beside him her hand curled possessively around his arm like it’s an accessory.

She's beautiful in that effortless way that makes it impossible to hate her, but easy to envy and you do, not because she's done anything wrong, but because she has him and you don’t. She’s the kind of girl who wears white to brunch and never spills anything. Who smiles with her teeth but never with her eyes. She laughs at all the right moments, smiles like she’s being watched, and you suppose she probably always is.

She tells people he’s different with her, like it’s some accomplishment, like she’s smoothed out all the parts of him that used to be real. And maybe that’s what she wants, a version of Max that’s easier to manage. More polished. Less... passionate.

And maybe he needs that. Maybe it’s easier to be loved when no one sees the cracks.

But you do.

And you love him anyway.

"You're quiet tonight."

Max's voice breaks through the fog of your thoughts, dragging you back into the present. His blue eyes flick to yours, brow furrowed. You know that look. Concern. Like he always gets when you're not yourself. Like he doesn't realise he’s the reason why.

"I'm fine," you lie, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Just tired."

His girlfriend, her name, why does her name escape you? Leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, whispering something you can’t hear. Max laughs, low and affectionate, and it splinters something inside you.

You force your attention back to your plate, pushing the delicate food around with your fork, though you have no appetite for it. Each bite seems tasteless, it’s not the kind of meal you’re used to. You’d much rather be somewhere familiar, somewhere real, where the food is greasy and the air is thick with laughter, the kind of places where Max talks with his hands and lets himself forget who he has to be.

But tonight, he’s wearing someone else’s life. And you’re just the spectator.

Max's laughter, though, it’s still real. It’s just harder to swallow now, harder to accept, because it’s not for you. Not tonight.

Then he leans in closer than necessary, voice dropping again, warm and soothing, bringing you back to the present. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Your heart stutters for a beat. The question, the tone it’s always the same. Always concerned. Always directed at you. But never for you. You’ve learned to ignore the quiet ache that blossoms each time, because it’s pointless.

"I'm fine," you repeat, this time with more conviction. The smile feels less forced but still unnatural. "I promise."

His eyes linger on you like it’s a habit he can’t break, and you can tell he’s not buying it. His gaze flicks briefly to his girlfriend, who is now chatting animatedly with the waiter about some wine pairing, before he leans in, close enough that only you can hear.

"Are you sure? You know you can talk to me right?"

That damn sweetness in his voice. That quiet tenderness he saves just for you, like a secret between the two of you, a secret you’re not sure you can keep much longer. His girlfriend is only a few inches away, but the distance between you and Max has never felt more cavernous.

You swallow, unable to look at him, because if you do, you might say something you can’t take back. Something that would shatter the delicate balance you’ve managed to maintain.

You want to tell him that you're not fine. That you haven’t been for a long time. But you can’t. You just can't.

Instead, you nod, your throat tightening, unable to force the words past your lips. He doesn’t need to know. Not now. Not when it could ruin everything.

Later that night when you’re alone in your apartment, you do what you swore you wouldn’t.

You scroll through old photos, ones where it was just you and Max, before… before everything became complicated. Late-night drives through Monaco, your legs propped up on his dashboard. His arm around you after a race, champagne still clinging to his skin. The way he looked at you, like you were his whole world.

And maybe you were.

Maybe, for a time, he was yours too.

You miss him. Not the version of him you get now, careful and distant, but the Max who used to call you at 3 a.m. just to talk. The Max who used to sit on your bathroom counter while you took off your makeup, who would trace patterns into your wrist absentmindedly as you talked about the future.

That version of Max doesn’t exist anymore.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just buried under the weight of a relationship that isn’t meant for him.

She’s the safe choice. The quiet, easy path. She’ll never demand the real version of him, but she’s there and for now that’s enough for him.

Your fingers hover over his name in your phone, heart hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t call.

But you want to.

Call me when you break up.

The words sit on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down.

Instead, you type a message you’ll never send.

We’re so meant for each other, when will you wake up?

You read the words, and the weight of them sinks deep in your chest. But you delete them immediately. They’re too raw. Too desperate. Too honest.

With a shaky breath, you shut off your phone, the screen fading to black.

The thing about being in love with Max Verstappen is that you never really stop waiting.

You wait for him to see you. Wait for him to realise what you've always known. Wait for the moment when he’ll turn to you and say, it was always you.

But waiting is exhausting.

And you're tired of feeling like an afterthought.

So you do what any rational, heartbroken person would. You try to forget.

You let strangers buy you drinks, let them whisper sweet nothings into your ear, let them kiss you in the dark corners of bars where no one knows your name. You chase distractions, hoping that one of them will make you feel something, anything, other than the ache of missing him.

But they never do.

Because none of them are Max.

And maybe that’s why when your phone rings one night, his name flashing across the screen, you still answer without hesitation. Because this isn’t the first time. It’s become a pattern. A quiet, painful ritual. A fight with her. A call to you.

"Hey."

He sounds off. Tired. Worn down in a way you’ve never heard before.

"Can I come over?"

Your pulse spikes. "Max—"

"I just… I don’t want to be alone right now."

The unspoken words hang between you.

I don’t want to be with her right now.

You exhale shakily. "Yeah. Of course."

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings, cutting through the silence that had settled over your apartment like a heavy fog. You stand frozen for a moment, uncertainty crawling up your spine, before you force your legs to move.

He looks wrecked. Like he hasn't slept in days. He doesn't say anything at first, just steps inside, closing the distance between you in a way that makes your breath catch.

"Did something happen?" you ask softly.

Max shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "I just needed to see you."

The space between you closes with a speed that makes your pulse skip. It’s like he’s always known the exact way to find you, to make everything else fade away, to pull you back in like you’re a magnet and he’s the force that won’t let you escape.

His eyes search yours, and it’s in that moment you realise he knows.

He knows he's with the wrong person.

He knows that no matter how much he tries to pretend, it’s always been you.

But knowing something and choosing it are two entirely different things.

And you’re tired. Tired of waiting for him to make the right choice. Tired of standing here, always second. Always the backup when things aren’t perfect in his world.

So you step back, putting space between you that feels like a chasm.

"You can’t do this," you whisper. "You can't just run to me when things go wrong with her. It’s not fair."

His jaw tightens at your words, the muscle in his cheek twitching, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks down, taking a long breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of something unspoken. You can see the frustration, the guilt in the way his shoulders tense, but it doesn’t change anything.

"I—"

"You love me Max." Your throat tightens, interrupting him before he can pull you in, and you hate the way your voice cracks on the last word, but you don’t care. "I know you do."

Silence.

Painful, suffocating silence.

But then—

"I do." His voice is raw, like the words are being torn from him. "I do love you."

Your breath stutters. "Then why are you still with her?"

Max opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips. His eyes dart away from yours, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say but can’t. He clenches his fists at his sides, and the tension in his body is palpable. "I... I don’t know," he mutters, voice thick. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to do."

"You’re supposed to choose Max!" Your voice cracks, the frustration bubbling over.

He opens his mouth again, but the words won't come. You watch him struggle, like he’s stuck in a loop of his own making. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to hurt you," he says, regret creeping in.

"But you have," you say, your voice steady but filled with everything you’ve been holding in. "You have hurt me Max. And you don’t get to keep doing that and expect me to just be here when you feel like it."

Max takes a step toward you, but you shake your head, stepping back. "No," you whisper, shaking your head. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to have me when it’s convenient for you. You either choose me, or you don’t."

Max opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Because there’s no excuse. No reason good enough.

Just fear.

Of change. Of consequences. Of finally choosing what’s real over what’s easy.

And you? You’re done waiting for him to be brave.

So you smile, even though it hurts. Even though your heart is shattering.

"Call me when you break up."

Then you shut the door.