House Of Hope

Hard Eyes: Part 3

Prompt: Batmom that was former suicide squad? 

Words: 938

Part 1 , Part 2 

    “I’m sorry, but this is just crazy.”

    You grin at your second oldest son, “And why is me going for a spa weekend crazy?”

    Jason scowls, “Not that! You leaving Penelope with Dick! She likes me more.”

    From down the hall you hear Dick yell back, “She does not!”

    You do your best to hide your chuckle but you don’t quite succeed. Straightening you sling your duffle bag over your shoulder and say, “Dick is in charge because I can trust him to keep the fighting to a minimum. When I come back from this weekend I would like all of my children to be alive and intact without any internal bleeding. And Jason, as much as I love you sweetheart, you like to stir the pot.”

    Jason crosses his arms against his chest and asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    You grin. “That I know it was you who broke Tim’s computer and not Damian. And that you tricked Tim into thinking it was Damian so that a fistfight would break out in the middle of the New Year’s Gala, so that you could sneak off without anyone noticing. I’m here to tell you that I did notice.”

    Jason just shrugs, “Alright so I don’t like Tim and the demon spawn all the time, but I love my sister, and if Dick has her he’s going to invite Barbara over and they’re going to place make believe house, and I’ll die from fluff overload.”

You kiss your son’s cheek, “Then I suggest not stirring the pot next time.”  

Without another word you leave the room, a pouting Jason on your heels. You make your way downstairs and let out a sharp whistle. The boys come into the foyer a minute later.

Setting your bag on the floor you lay out the rules. “All right I will be gone a week. This spa I’m going to doesn’t allow electronics, so it is next to impossible to reach me. I’ve left a number to be used in emergencies only. As in the world is ending, not someone stole your poptart.  Your dad and Alfred are also out of range. They’re with the League, trying some new physical therapy they’re hoping will help.

“I’ve left Dr. Lee’s number on the fridge, along with Commissioner Gordon’s, who has agreed to make surprise visits to make sure you’re all doing what needs to be done. AND NOT STIRRING THE POT.”  Your eyes flicker to Damian and Jason for a minute before you continue, “Also Dick, sweetheart, as much as I love you you’re not in charge.”

You watch your oldest son’s eyes go wide as you reach over and take Penelope from him, as Jason let’s out a sharp laugh. “What, why?”

You smile, “Hun, the minute Barbara comes in you go all love struck, and if you’re focusing on her and Penelope and in Jason’s words ‘Play house’ I fear that the manor would burn down and I do not want to explain that to Alfred.” You ignore Jason’s “Hah!” and keep going, “So I called in the big guns.”

You watch the girl slip out of the shadows without a word. You watch as Damian begins to scowl, not because he’s unhappy but because he hadn’t sensed her. Smiling at your oldest daughter, you give Cass a quick hug before handing Penelope over. The girl takes the infant with a smile. You can’t help but grin at the sight of your two girls.

Picking up your bag you simply say, “Cass has permission to use force if needed. I highly suggest following the rules. Bye kids.” And with a wave you leave.

You slink into the car, and begin your drive. Instead of driving towards a spa you make your way into the city. You head through it straight into the slums. You pull the car up to a less than stellar bar. You park it, grab your bag, and then lock it.

The beep draws more than a little attention. It’s a nice car, a payday kind of car, and had you been anyone else, it probably would have been gone even quicker than Jason could get the tires off the Batmobile.  

But you are you, and that’s why when a rather large goon steps in your path, you don’t even hesitate to drop him to the ground. Ruthlessness is prized here. Coldness treasured. Slipping inside the bar you let your new life fade away and slip into your past. It’s comfortable, if not a bit dusty, and as you drop your bag on the ground and it lands with a thud eyes turn towards you, and you meet all of them head on.

Floyd is sitting in the corner of the bar, guns on the table, a smirk on his face. It takes less than a minute for him to stand up and make his way over to you. His arm wraps around your shoulder and says, “Our Baby Girl is back.”

You smile as a cheer goes through the bar, and for the first time in forever your eyes land on your best friends. Harley and Ivy are there, smiling, and slightly behind them, sticking out like a sore thumb is your brother Captain Rick Flagg.

He’s dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, and looking more uncomfortable than a cat in a dog fight. Your eyes meet his, and he tips his head just a smidge, he’s here for you. They’re all here for you. They might be a bunch of villains but they stick by there own, and make no mistake you are one of them. 

Thicker Than Blood

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc’s Ex!Reader

Summary: you didn’t think things could get worse after your long-time (ex) boyfriend chose his team over you … until you see those two pink lines, but little do you know that his rival will soon prove that a found family can be thicker than blood

Warnings: includes depictions of labor complications and Jos Verstappen

Based on this request

“Charles, this isn’t funny.”

You’re half-smiling, half-laughing, like you’re expecting him to crack any second and say something ridiculous, something that would make you roll your eyes and shake your head at his poor attempt at a joke.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his eyes fixed on you with a seriousness that makes your stomach twist.

“Charles,” you repeat, the laugh in your voice now entirely gone. “What are you talking about?”

He runs a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s trying to find the right words, but they’re all jumbled up in his head. You know this Charles. This is the Charles who struggles when things aren’t easy, when he has to explain something he doesn’t want to. But this … this is different.

“We need to break up.” The words come out so softly, so carefully, like he’s afraid of them. But they hit you hard, a punch in the gut that leaves you breathless.

You blink, trying to process what he’s just said, but it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit. You and Charles are solid. You’ve been through everything together — the highs, the lows, the uncertain days before he was anything more than just another young driver trying to make it in the big leagues. And now, after all this time, after everything, he’s telling you this?

You shake your head. “No. No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” he says, his voice firmer now, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“Charles, no,” you say, your voice rising, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”

He sighs, a long, weary sound, and looks away from you, his gaze falling to the floor as if he can’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not what I want,” he says quietly.

“Then why?” You demand, stepping closer to him, trying to catch his eye, to pull him back to you. “Why are you saying this? We’re fine, Charles. We’re good. What’s going on?”

He finally looks at you, and the pain in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat. “It’s not about us,” he says, his voice almost breaking. “It’s … it’s the team. Ferrari.”

“What?” You say, blinking in confusion. “What does Ferrari have to do with us?”

“They … they think it’s better if I’m single,” he says, each word forced out like it’s costing him something. “For my image. For the brand.”

You stare at him, your mouth open, but no words come out. You’re frozen, your mind struggling to catch up to the words he’s just said, to the reality he’s trying to force on you. “You’re breaking up with me … because of Ferrari?”

He nods slowly, miserably, like he hates himself for it. “It’s complicated,” he says, trying to make it sound like it’s not the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard.

“No, it’s not,” you shoot back, the anger finally starting to break through the shock. “This isn’t complicated, Charles. This is insane. You can’t seriously be telling me that you’re ending things because some PR team thinks it’ll be better for your career.”

“They’re not just some PR team,” he says, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “They know what they’re doing. They’ve seen the numbers and the trends. They know what’s best for the brand … for me.”

“And what about us?” You ask, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “What about everything we’ve been through? Everything we’ve built together? You’re just going to throw that away because someone told you to?”

He winces, like your words are physically hurting him, but he doesn’t back down. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re choosing your career over me.”

His silence is deafening. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s struggling with what he’s saying, but he’s not fighting it. He’s not fighting for you, and that realization hits you harder than anything else.

“Why now?” You ask, your voice softer now, the fight starting to drain out of you. “Why are you doing this now?”

“It’s just … it’s the timing,” he says, fumbling for an explanation that makes sense. “The season’s starting, there’s so much pressure. They think it’ll be easier if I’m not-”

“If you’re not what? Tied down?” You snap, the words laced with bitterness. “Is that what they told you? That you’ll be better off without me weighing you down?”

“That’s not how they put it,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.

You feel tears pricking at your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. You won’t cry. Not now. Not here. “Charles, we’ve been together for years,” you say, your voice trembling. “We’ve been through everything together. And now you’re telling me that none of that matters? That all of that gets erased because it doesn’t fit with Ferrari’s brand?”

“I don’t want to do this,” he says, his voice breaking, his eyes pleading with you to understand.

“Then don’t,” you plead back, stepping closer to him, reaching out to take his hand, but he pulls away, and the rejection stings.

“I have to,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

You shake your head, trying to make sense of the senseless. “How can you say that? How can you just … give up on us like this?”

“I’m not giving up,” he insists, but it sounds hollow, even to him. “It’s just … it’s not forever. It’s just for now, just to get through the season. Then we can figure things out, we can-”

“You can’t be serious,” you interrupt, the tears finally spilling over despite your best efforts. “You think I’m just going to wait around for you to decide when it’s convenient for you to be with me again? You think that’s how this works?”

He doesn’t respond, just looks at you with that same pained expression, and it’s enough to break your heart all over again.

“Charles, please,” you whisper, one last attempt to reach him, to get him to see reason, to see you. “Don’t do this. We can figure something out. We always do.”

But he’s already shaking his head, and you know, deep down, that he’s already made up his mind. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you can hear the finality in his voice, the way he’s closing the door on this, on you.

You stare at him, the boy you’ve known for so long, the man you’ve loved for years, and it feels like he’s slipping away from you, like he’s already gone. “You really think this is what’s best for you?” You ask, your voice hollow, defeated.

“It’s not about what’s best for me,” he says, and you almost laugh at the irony of it.

“Then what is it about, Charles?” you ask, but you’re not sure you even want to know the answer.

“It’s about … what’s best for everyone,” he says, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.

You take a step back, the distance between you growing, and it feels like a chasm opening up, one you can’t cross. “I never thought you’d be someone who’d let other people decide what’s best for you,” you say quietly.

He flinches at that, and for a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him, that he’ll take it back, that he’ll realize how ridiculous this all is. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, looking at you with those sad eyes, and you know it’s over.

“Goodbye, Charles,” you say, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

“Goodbye,” he whispers back, but it’s lost in the sound of your footsteps as you turn and walk away, leaving him — and everything you’ve built together — behind.

***

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden light over the room, but it does nothing to warm the cold knot in your stomach. You’ve been feeling off for days now — nauseous, tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that sleep doesn’t seem to touch.

And the vomiting. It started a few days ago, just once or twice, but now it’s every morning, like clockwork.

You sit up slowly, careful not to move too fast, but it’s too late. The wave of nausea hits, and you barely make it to the bathroom before you’re hunched over the toilet, retching until there’s nothing left. You stay there for a moment, gripping the edge of the sink, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what’s happening to you.

It’s just stress, you tell yourself. The breakup, the uncertainty of everything, it’s all finally catching up to you. But even as you think it, you know it’s not true. This is different. This is something else.

You rinse your mouth, the taste of bile lingering, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look pale, drawn, like you haven’t slept in days. Your eyes are dull, shadows lurking beneath them, and there’s a tightness around your mouth that wasn’t there before. You almost don’t recognize the person staring back at you.

As you leave the bathroom, your mind races through the possibilities, trying to find some logical explanation. Maybe it’s a bug, something you ate. Maybe it’s …

You stop in your tracks, the thought slamming into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. No. It can’t be. It’s impossible. But as you think back, counting the days in your head, you realize it’s not impossible. In fact, it’s very possible.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, your heart pounding in your chest. It’s been weeks since … since Charles broke up with you. Since you last … Oh God.

The realization leaves you cold, your skin prickling with fear. There’s only one way to know for sure, but the very thought of it makes your throat tighten, your heart race even faster.

You can’t. You can’t be.

But there’s a part of you — a small, terrified part — that knows you need to find out. You can’t just ignore this, hope it goes away. You need to know. Now.

The walk to the pharmacy is a blur. You barely register the people around you, the sun beating down on your back as you make your way through the streets. It feels like everyone is looking at you, like they know what you’re about to do, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Inside, the air is cool, the fluorescent lights harsh as you make your way to the back, where the pregnancy tests are lined up in neat rows. You stand there for what feels like forever, your eyes scanning the shelves, your hand hovering over the different options, but you can’t bring yourself to reach out and grab one.

“Can I help you with something?”

The voice startles you, and you turn to see a woman in a white pharmacy coat standing beside you, her expression polite but curious.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m fine. Just … looking.”

She nods, but doesn’t move away, and you feel a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You need to do this, and you need to do it now.

Taking a deep breath, you grab the first box you see, then another, then a third, just to be sure. You avoid the woman’s gaze as you make your way to the register, your heart hammering in your chest as you hand over the boxes, praying she doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t. She just rings you up, sliding the tests into a small paper bag before handing it to you with a neutral smile. “Good luck,” she says, and you can’t tell if she means it or if it’s just something she says to everyone.

“Thanks,” you mumble, grabbing the bag and hurrying out of the store, the door chiming as you leave.

Back in your apartment, the silence is deafening. The tests sit on the counter, staring up at you, and you can’t bring yourself to move, to do what needs to be done. But you know you have to. You can’t put this off any longer.

Finally, you reach for the bag, pulling out one of the boxes, your hands trembling as you tear it open. The instructions are simple enough — pee on the stick, wait three minutes, then check the result. But as you hold the test in your hand, you realize those three minutes are going to be the longest of your life.

You follow the instructions, then set the test on the counter, stepping back like it’s something dangerous, something that could hurt you if you get too close. You glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm.

But calm is impossible. Your mind is racing, a thousand thoughts and fears tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. What if it’s positive? What if it’s not? What will you do? How will you handle this? You’re alone now — Charles is gone, and he’s not coming back. You’re on your own.

The minutes crawl by, and finally, you can’t wait any longer. You step forward, your heart in your throat, and pick up the test, your eyes locking onto the small window where the result will appear.

Two lines.

Positive.

You stare at it, uncomprehending, your mind struggling to process what you’re seeing. You pick up the second test, the third, repeating the process with shaking hands, hoping against hope that the first was a mistake, a fluke. But the results are the same. Two lines. Positive.

You’re pregnant.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, and you sink to the floor, the tests clattering out of your hands as you press your palms to your stomach, feeling the beginnings of a life growing inside you. A baby. Charles’ baby.

Tears blur your vision, and you don’t know if they’re from fear, from shock, or from something else entirely. You never thought you’d be here — sitting on your bathroom floor, alone, pregnant, and terrified of what comes next.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to have Charles by your side, holding your hand, telling you everything would be okay.

But he’s not here. And now, you have to figure out what to do next. You have to figure out how to take care of yourself, how to take care of this baby.

You drag yourself to your feet, your legs weak, and stumble into the living room, collapsing onto the couch as the weight of it all presses down on you. How did this happen? How did you end up here, in this mess, with no one to turn to?

Your mind drifts back to the day Charles convinced you to quit your job. He’d said it was for the best, that you didn’t need to work, that he’d take care of you. He wanted you with him at the races, wanted you by his side, supporting him, and you’d agreed, because of course you did. You loved him. You trusted him.

And now … now you have nothing. No job, no income, no safety net. Just a positive pregnancy test and a future that feels terrifyingly uncertain.

You wipe at your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You can’t afford to fall apart. Not now. You have to be strong, for yourself, for the baby. You need to figure out what to do next.

You reach for your phone, your fingers trembling as you pull up a job search website. There has to be something — anything — that can get you back on your feet. But as you scroll through the listings, your heart sinks. You’re overqualified for some, underqualified for others. You haven’t worked in years, and the gaps in your resume feel like gaping wounds that no employer would overlook.

Finally, something catches your eye—an ad for a cleaning agency. It’s not glamorous, it’s not what you imagined for yourself, but it’s work. It’s a start. And right now, that’s all you need.

You tap the number on the screen, your heart racing as you bring the phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, three times, and you start to think no one will pick up. But then, a voice crackles through the line.

“Hello, CleanSweep Agency. How can I help you?”

You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you reply. “Hi, I … I’m calling about the job listing. The cleaning position.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and you hold your breath, waiting.

“Yes, of course. Are you available for an interview tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” you repeat, your mind racing. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

“Great. We’ll see you at 10 AM. Our office is on Rue de la Paix. Just bring your resume and any references you might have.”

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as the call ends.

You stare at the phone in your hand, the reality of what you’ve just done settling over you. You’ve taken the first step. It’s not much, but it’s something. It’s a start.

But as you sit there, the weight of everything presses down on you again. You’re pregnant. You’re alone. And the path ahead feels impossibly daunting.

You place your phone on the coffee table, staring at it like it might offer you some kind of solution, some way out of this mess. But it’s just a phone, and the reality of your situation doesn’t change.

The room is too quiet, the kind of quiet that seeps into your bones and amplifies every fear, every doubt. You wish you could call someone, talk to someone, but who? Your friends? They’d be supportive, sure, but they wouldn’t really understand. Your parents? The thought of telling them is too overwhelming to even consider right now.

Charles? The name echoes in your mind, but you shake your head. He’s the last person you should be calling. He made his choice, and you need to respect that. Besides, what would you even say? That you’re pregnant? That his decision to break up with you for the sake of his image has left you in a situation neither of you ever expected?

No. You can’t go there. Not now.

You push yourself off the couch, pacing the small living room, trying to clear your mind. You have a job interview tomorrow. It’s not much, but it’s something. You can’t afford to think beyond that right now. You need to focus on getting through the next day, the next hour.

The baby. The thought is like a knife in your chest, sharp and painful. You press a hand to your stomach, trying to imagine what comes next, how you’ll navigate this new, terrifying reality. But the truth is, you have no idea. You’re scared, more scared than you’ve ever been, and the future feels like a black hole, pulling you in with no clear way out.

But you have to keep going. For yourself. For the baby.

You head to the bedroom, opening the closet to find something suitable for the interview. Your clothes feel foreign, relics from a past life that doesn’t quite fit anymore. You settle on something simple, professional, trying to ignore the gnawing fear that none of this will be enough.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the clothes laid out beside you, and take a deep breath. Tomorrow is a new day. A new start. You don’t know what’s coming, but you do know one thing: you’re not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

And as the night settles in around you, you cling to that thought like a lifeline, hoping it will be enough to carry you through whatever comes next.

***

Max pushes open the door to his Monaco apartment, dropping his keys on the console table with a tired sigh. The morning training session has left his muscles aching, and all he can think about is a long, hot shower and maybe a quick nap before the next round of meetings and commitments.

As he steps inside, he’s greeted by the familiar scent of cleaning supplies — a smell that’s become synonymous with Tuesdays, the day his cleaner comes to tidy up.

He doesn’t usually pay much attention to her, exchanging only a few polite words if their paths cross. She’s efficient, quiet, never in the way. But today, something feels different the moment he steps into the living room. The sound of soft scrubbing reaches his ears, and he glances toward the source — his gaze falling on a figure kneeling by the coffee table, wiping down the glass surface.

It takes him a second to register what he’s seeing, but when he does, he freezes, his breath catching in his throat. It’s not just any cleaner — it’s you. And you’re pregnant. Very pregnant.

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, the shock rolling over him in waves. For a moment, he wonders if he’s seeing things, if the exhaustion has finally caught up with him and he’s imagining things. But no — there’s no mistaking it. It’s you, and you’re here, in his apartment, on your hands and knees, cleaning.

You look up at the sound of his voice, your eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, neither of you says anything, both too stunned to speak. Then, slowly, you rise to your feet, one hand resting protectively on your rounded belly as you try to compose yourself.

“Max,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, like you can’t quite believe he’s standing there.

“What … what the hell are you doing here?” He asks, his voice rough with confusion and something else — something darker, angrier, that he can’t quite put into words yet.

You blink, looking down at the rag in your hand as if seeing it for the first time. “I … I work here,” you say quietly, your tone laced with embarrassment.

“Work here?” Max repeats, his mind racing to catch up. “What do you mean, work here? You’re … you’re pregnant! Why the hell are you cleaning my apartment?”

You flinch at his words, and he immediately regrets the sharpness in his tone, but the sight of you — pregnant, exhausted, and clearly struggling — ignites a fury in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. “What the fuck is Charles doing, making you work like this?”

At the mention of Charles, something in you seems to break. Your face crumples, and before Max can process what’s happening, you’re crying — really crying, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Max says quickly, closing the distance between you and reaching out to steady you. “I didn’t mean to — look, just sit down, okay? You shouldn’t be on your feet like this.”

You let him guide you to the couch, your tears falling freely now, and Max feels a pang of guilt deep in his chest. He’s never been good with tears, but seeing you like this, so vulnerable and hurt, stirs something protective in him.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs, your hands covering your face as if trying to hide your pain. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Max sits beside you, his mind spinning as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. This is all wrong. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be working some labor-intensive job, not in your condition. And where the hell is Charles in all of this? How could he let you get to this point?

“What’s going on?” Max asks gently, reaching for a box of tissues and handing it to you. “Why are you working here? What happened with Charles?”

You take a tissue, dabbing at your eyes, but the tears keep coming, and Max’s concern deepens. He’s never seen you like this before — so defeated, so broken.

“It’s … it’s over,” you manage to say, your voice trembling. “Charles and I… we broke up. Seven months ago.”

Max’s heart drops at your words, and a sick feeling churns in his stomach. He’d heard rumors, of course — whispers in the paddock, speculation in the media — but he’d never imagined it was true. He’d seen how much Charles loved you, how much you meant to him. But now, seeing you like this, the reality of it hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” He asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “He said … he said it was for the best. That the team thought he’d be more marketable if he was single. That it would be better for his image.”

Max feels a surge of anger flare up inside him, hot and fierce. “He broke up with you because of PR? Are you kidding me?”

You nod, and Max can see the pain in your eyes, the betrayal that still lingers there. “I didn’t know what to do. I … I didn’t have a job. I quit when we started traveling together, and now … now I’m on my own. I have to take care of myself, and …” You glance down at your belly, your voice breaking again. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, trying to process everything you’ve just told him. Charles left you — pregnant and alone — all because of some bullshit advice from his team? The thought makes his blood boil. He’s known Charles for years, seen him under pressure, seen him at his best and his worst, but this … this is something else entirely.

“Does he even know?” Max asks, his voice low, trying to keep his temper in check. “Does he know you’re pregnant?”

You shake your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I haven’t told him. I couldn’t … I couldn’t face him. And I don’t want to force him into something he doesn’t want. He made his choice.”

Max sits back, stunned. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. You’ve been going through this all on your own, with no support, no help. And now you’re cleaning apartments just to make ends meet? It’s too much. He can’t let this go on.

“Listen,” Max says, his voice firm, though he softens it when he sees the way you’re looking at him, like you’re about to fall apart. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? You shouldn’t have to.”

You look at him, eyes wide, searching his face as if trying to figure out if he means it. “Max, I don’t want to be a burden-”

“You’re not,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not a burden. You’re my friend. And you’re … you’re carrying a child. That’s not something you should be dealing with on your own.”

“But what about Charles?” You ask, your voice small, uncertain.

“Fuck Charles,” Max snaps, then immediately regrets it when he sees the look on your face. “I mean … look, I know this is complicated. But right now, you need to take care of yourself and the baby. That’s the priority. And if Charles isn’t going to step up, then I will. Whatever you need, I’m here, okay?”

You’re silent for a moment, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes — the fear, the doubt, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. He wishes he could do more, that he could take away the pain, the uncertainty, but all he can do is be there for you, in whatever way you’ll let him.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I … I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Max says gently. “Just … promise me you won’t try to do this on your own anymore. You’re not alone, okay? Not as long as I’m around.”

You nod, but Max can see the hesitation still lingering in your eyes. He knows this isn’t going to be easy for you — to accept help, to let someone else in — but he’s determined to be there for you, to make sure you don’t have to face this alone.

“Come on,” he says, standing up and holding out a hand to you. “Let’s get you something to eat. You need to take care of yourself, and that means no more scrubbing floors, okay?”

You take his hand, allowing him to help you to your feet, and for the first time since he walked through the door, Max sees a faint glimmer of hope in your eyes. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

As he leads you to the kitchen, Max’s mind races with everything he needs to do, everything he needs to figure out. But one thing is clear — he’s not going to let you go through this alone.

***

Max sets a plate in front of you — a simple sandwich, some fruit on the side. He’s not exactly a chef, but it’s something, and he watches as you take a bite, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. You look exhausted, and Max wonders how long you’ve been running on empty like this.

He pulls out the chair across from you and sits down, his eyes never leaving your face. “So,” he begins, trying to keep his tone light, “tell me everything. What’s been going on since … since Charles, you know …”

You pause, swallowing the bite of sandwich, and Max can see the flicker of pain in your eyes at the mention of Charles. It’s like you’re bracing yourself to tell the story, and Max hates that it’s something you even have to relive.

“It’s been … hard,” you admit, setting the sandwich down. “After we broke up, I didn’t know what to do. I had some savings, but it wasn’t enough to keep living in Monaco. So I had to move.”

“Move?” Max echoes, his brows furrowing. He hadn’t heard anything about this, hadn’t realized things had gotten so bad for you. “Where did you go?”

You hesitate, as if ashamed to tell him, but then you sigh, the words spilling out in a rush. “I found a small place in France. It’s about an hour away. A tiny village. I couldn’t afford to stay here, not without a steady income.”

Max feels a pang of guilt, like he should have known, should have done something sooner. “You’re commuting to Monaco every day for work? That’s crazy.”

You shrug, a faint, humorless smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not ideal, but it’s what I had to do. I tried looking for jobs closer to home, but nothing paid enough. And I didn’t have many options, not with the baby coming.”

Max leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The thought of you struggling like this, traveling back and forth every day, working a physically demanding job while pregnant — it’s almost too much to bear.

He wishes he could just write you a check, cover all your expenses, but he knows you too well. You’d never accept it, not without a fight. You’re proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent — qualities Max admires but wishes you’d set aside just this once.

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Max says softly, his voice filled with concern. “I know you’re strong, but you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not now.”

You meet his gaze, your eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. “I know, but … I need to be able to take care of myself, Max. I need to know I can do this, for me and the baby.”

Max nods, understanding even though it frustrates him. You’ve always been this way — determined to stand on your own two feet, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to stand by and watch you struggle. There has to be a way to help you without making you feel like a charity case.

Then, an idea starts to form in his mind, something he remembers from the past, from the days when you were always by Charles’ side, supporting him in ways most people never even saw. “You know,” Max starts, leaning forward, “I remember how you used to help Charles with his social media. His accounts were always engaging, relatable … fans loved it. That was you, wasn’t it?”

A small smile flickers across your face, the first genuine one he’s seen since he got home. “Yeah, that was me. Charles never really cared about social media, so I took it over. It was fun, in a way, creating content that connected with people.”

Max’s heart lifts at your smile, at the spark of something familiar in your eyes. This could work. This could be exactly what you need.

“Well, I’ve got an idea,” Max says, trying to sound casual even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “Right now, Red Bull’s PR team handles all of my social media. I’ve never really been into it, you know? But honestly, they’re pretty … corporate. The posts are fine, but they don’t really have that personal touch. Not like what you did for Charles.”

You’re watching him now, curiosity piqued, and Max takes that as a good sign.

“What if,” Max continues, “you took over my social media? I mean, I’ve seen what you can do. The fans love that kind of content. You could work from home, set your own hours … it wouldn’t be physically demanding, and I’d pay you well. I mean, really well.”

Your eyes widen at his offer, and for a moment, you just stare at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s serious. “I don’t know … I’ve never done that professionally. It was just something I did to help Charles.”

“And you did it better than most professionals,” Max insists. “Look, I’m not asking you to do anything crazy. Just … think about it. You’d be helping me out too, you know? I could really use someone who gets what the fans want, who can make my social media feel more … real.”

You bite your lip, clearly torn. “I don’t know, Max. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I get that,” Max says quickly, not wanting to push too hard but also not wanting to let this go. “Just … think about it, okay? You’d be great at it. And it would mean you don’t have to keep doing jobs that are hard on your body. You could focus on the baby, on yourself. It’s just an idea, but I think it could work.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the plate in front of you as you consider his offer. Max waits, his heart pounding in his chest, hoping he hasn’t overstepped, hoping you’ll see this for what it is — a chance, an opportunity to take some of the weight off your shoulders.

Finally, you look up, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes. “I appreciate it, Max. Really, I do. It’s just … it’s a big change, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.”

“I get that,” Max says, his voice gentle. “But you don’t have to decide right now. Take some time, think it over. I just want you to know that the offer’s there. No pressure, no strings attached. Just … a way to make things a little easier for you.”

You nod slowly, your fingers toying with the edge of the napkin on the table. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice soft but sincere. “I really will.”

Max feels a rush of relief at your words, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “That’s all I ask. And, in the meantime, you can stay here tonight. No more commuting back and forth, okay?”

You start to protest, but Max cuts you off before you can even get the words out. “No arguments. You’re staying here. I’ve got plenty of room, and you shouldn’t be traveling so much. Just … stay, and we’ll figure things out together.”

You open your mouth to argue, but something in Max’s expression must convince you otherwise, because you close it again and nod. “Okay,” you agree, though you still look a little uncertain.

Max stands up, picking up the empty plates from the table. “Good. Now, you get some rest, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

As he carries the plates to the sink, he feels a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Anger at Charles for putting you in this situation, frustration that you’re too proud to accept help, and something else — something deeper, a fierce determination to make sure you and the baby are taken care of, no matter what.

He doesn’t know what the future holds, doesn’t know how things will play out between you and Charles, but one thing is certain: he’s not going to let you go through this alone. You’ve been there for him in the past, supporting Charles, cheering Max on from the sidelines, and now it’s his turn to be there for you.

As he turns off the kitchen light and heads to his room, he makes a silent vow to himself. Whatever it takes, he’s going to make sure you’re okay. He’s going to be the friend you need, the support you deserve, and he’s not going to let you down. Not now, not ever.

***

Max enters his apartment, the familiar sounds of his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floor. He’s looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe some time with his cats before bed. But when he steps into the living room, he stops in his tracks.

There you are, stretched out on his couch, resting. Jimmy and Sassy have claimed spots on either side of you. Jimmy’s large frame is draped over your legs, purring softly, while Sassy is curled up protectively near your stomach, her eyes half-closed but alert. The sight is so domestic, so peaceful, that it makes something tighten in Max’s chest. It’s a scene he’s never imagined but now, seeing it, it feels … right.

He’s struck by how well you fit here, in his home, in his life. The way you’ve naturally fallen into this space, as if you’ve always belonged. There’s something about the way you’re lying there, with Jimmy and Sassy close by, that tugs at his heart. He wonders if they sense the life growing inside you, if they somehow understand the significance of the new presence in the apartment.

Max approaches quietly, not wanting to disturb the serene moment. He can see now that you’ve fallen asleep, your breathing slow and steady, a slight smile playing on your lips. You look peaceful, more so than you have since you arrived. It’s a relief to see you like this, to know you’re finally resting.

He stands there for a moment, just watching. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, time seems to stretch as he takes in the scene. There’s something intimate about it, something that makes him feel protective, like he’s responsible for making sure you and the baby are safe, comfortable. He’s not sure when that shift happened, when he started to care so deeply, but it’s undeniable now.

Carefully, Max leans down and gently scoops you into his arms, trying not to wake you. You stir slightly, mumbling something in your sleep, but then settle back down, your head resting against his chest. Max holds his breath, half-expecting you to wake up and question what he’s doing, but you remain blissfully unaware, lost in whatever dream you’re having.

He’s careful as he carries you down the hallway to the guest room, taking slow, measured steps so he doesn’t jostle you too much. It’s strange, carrying you like this. Not that you’re heavy — far from it — but the weight of responsibility he feels is almost overwhelming. You’re so vulnerable right now, so trusting, and it makes Max even more determined to make sure you’re okay.

When he reaches the guest room, Max pushes the door open with his foot, grateful that it’s already ajar. He steps inside, the soft light from the hallway spilling into the room. The bed is already made, and Max lowers you onto it gently, careful not to disturb your sleep.

He takes a moment to tuck the blanket around you, making sure you’re comfortable. You murmur something again, shifting slightly, and Max freezes, worried he might have woken you. But you just settle deeper into the bed, sighing contentedly, still fast asleep.

Max lingers for a moment, his hand hovering near your face. He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but he finds himself leaning down, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, one filled with a mix of affection, protectiveness, and something else he can’t quite put into words. He pulls back quickly, almost embarrassed by the tenderness of it, but you don’t wake.

He steps back, watching you for a moment longer. You look so peaceful, and Max feels a strange sense of contentment, like he’s done something right for once. The day’s exhaustion is starting to catch up with him, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave the room just yet.

There’s something about the way you’re sleeping, surrounded by warmth and comfort, that makes him feel … happy. It’s a feeling he’s not used to, but one he finds himself embracing more and more as time goes on.

Finally, Max turns and quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He heads back to the living room, where Jimmy and Sassy are still curled up on the couch, seemingly unbothered by the absence of their human pillow. Max sinks into the armchair across from them, running a hand through his hair as he tries to process everything that’s happened today.

He thinks back to the offer he made you earlier, wondering if you’ll actually take him up on it. Part of him worries that you’ll say no, that you’ll insist on doing everything yourself, but he hopes that maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize that accepting help doesn’t make you weak.

Max has never been good with words, but he meant everything he said. He wants to help you, to make things easier for you, and not just because he feels responsible. There’s something deeper at play here, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s there all the same.

He’s never been in a situation like this before, never had someone depend on him in this way, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating. Max isn’t sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s on the right path, like he’s doing something that actually matters.

As he sits there, the sounds of the city outside muted by the thick walls of the apartment, Max lets himself imagine what it would be like if this became a regular thing — if you stayed, if you became a part of his life, more than just a guest in his home. The thought sends a wave of warmth through him, a sense of belonging that he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

But he pushes the thought aside, not wanting to get ahead of himself. One step at a time. First, he needs to make sure you’re okay, make sure you’re taken care of. Everything else can come later.

Max finally gets up from the armchair, heading to his own bedroom. The day’s events have left him drained, both physically and emotionally, and he knows he needs rest if he’s going to be any good to you tomorrow.

As he climbs into bed, pulling the covers over himself, Max’s thoughts drift back to you, sleeping soundly in the guest room just down the hall. He hopes you’re dreaming of something peaceful, something that takes your mind off all the worries you’ve been carrying.

And as he closes his eyes, the last image that flits through his mind is of you, smiling softly in your sleep, with Jimmy and Sassy curled up protectively around you. It’s a good image, one that brings a small, contented smile to his own lips as he finally drifts off to sleep.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

***

The smell of coffee fills the kitchen, mingling with the soft morning light that streams through the windows. Max is already at the table, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up as you enter, offering a small, warm smile. He’s still not quite used to this — having someone else here in his space, sharing these quiet moments — but it feels right in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Morning,” he says, his voice a little rough from sleep. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better,” you admit, reaching for the kettle to make your own cup of tea. “Thanks for … everything yesterday.”

Max waves it off, trying to seem nonchalant, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — concern, maybe, or something deeper. “You needed it,” he says simply. “And it’s not over yet. We still need to talk about that job offer.”

You nod, pouring hot water over the tea bag and watching as the steam rises. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you start, your voice hesitant. “And … I think I want to accept it.”

Max feels a surge of relief, though he tries not to show it. “You sure? No pressure, if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, I’m sure.” You take a seat across from him, your hands wrapped around the warm mug. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. I need something … something to focus on that doesn’t involve cleaning floors or worrying about everything all the time. Plus, it’s something I know I can do. And I’ll be able to take care of myself, of the baby, without pushing myself too hard.”

Max nods, his relief turning into something warmer, almost like pride. “Good,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad you’re taking it. I think you’ll be great at it.”

There’s a pause, the two of you just sipping your drinks in comfortable silence. But Max can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this, that there’s something else you need but aren’t asking for.

“So,” he begins carefully, “where are you planning on staying? I mean, if you’re going to be working for me … you’re going to need somewhere closer than … wherever you’ve been staying.”

You look up, caught off guard. “I … I hadn’t thought about that yet. I was planning on going back to France and just-”

“Stay here,” Max interrupts, surprising even himself with how quickly the words come out. “I mean, it makes sense, right? You wouldn’t have to travel so far every day. Plus, it’s safer for you and the baby. You’ll have everything you need, and I’ll be around to help if you need anything.”

You hesitate, clearly torn. “I don’t want to be a burden, Max. You’ve already done so much-”

“You’re not a burden,” Max says firmly. “You’re my friend, and you need help. It’s that simple.”

There’s a long pause as you consider his words, weighing your options. Finally, you sigh, nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay. But only until I figure things out.”

Max grins, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Deal.”

There’s a moment of shared relief before Max’s mind drifts to a more practical matter. “Right, so … there’s one more thing,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really have much in the fridge besides, like, trainer-approved meals and protein shakes. We’re gonna need to do some shopping.”

You laugh softly, the first genuine laugh he’s heard from you in what feels like forever. “Okay, I guess we should take care of that then.”

Max stands, grabbing his keys from the counter. “Let’s go before it gets too busy.”

***

The grocery store is bustling with the mid-morning crowd, but there’s something oddly comforting about the normalcy of it all. Max pushes the cart as you walk beside him, selecting fruits and vegetables, adding them to the growing pile.

Max watches you closely, noting the way your shoulders relax a little as you focus on the mundane task of picking out produce. He’s glad to see you like this — calm, in control. You seem to know exactly what you need, even as you pause occasionally to consider an item before adding it to the cart.

“Max,” you ask after a moment, turning to him with a slight frown, “do you even like any of this stuff, or am I just buying what I want?”

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll eat whatever, really. Just make sure there’s enough for you and the baby.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “You know more about this stuff than I do, anyway.”

You give him a small smile, but it’s clear that the reality of your situation is still weighing heavily on you. Max wants to say something reassuring, but before he can find the right words, someone else does it for him.

“Y/N?”

The voice comes from behind you, and you both turn to see Pascale Leclerc standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with shock. She looks between you and Max, her gaze lingering on your rounded belly before returning to your face. “I …I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. “Pascale,” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi.”

Pascale takes a step closer, her expression shifting from surprise to concern. “You’re … pregnant?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What happened? Charles said you broke up with him-”

You shake your head, your throat tightening. “No, Pascale. I didn’t break up with him. He … he broke up with me. Said it was because of the PR team at Ferrari. They thought he’d be more marketable if he was single.”

Pascale’s eyes widen in horror. “What? He told me … he told me it was mutual, that you both agreed it was for the best.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you shake your head again. “No, it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t my choice.”

Max, who’s been standing silently beside you, finally speaks up, his voice filled with anger on your behalf. “Charles lied to you, Pascale. He left her, and he doesn’t even know she’s pregnant.”

Pascale’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh, mon Dieu,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Please, Pascale,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “please don’t tell Charles about the baby. I … I don’t want him to know.”

Pascale looks at you, torn, but eventually nods. “Okay. I won’t tell him,” she promises, her voice gentle but firm. “But …Y/N, I want to be a part of my grandchild’s life. I want to be there for you, for both of you.”

The sincerity in her voice breaks down the last of your defenses, and you find yourself nodding, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Okay,” you manage to say, your voice choked with emotion. “I … I’d like that.”

Pascale steps forward, wrapping you in a gentle hug. “You’re not alone, ma chérie,” she whispers, her voice soothing. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

You cling to her for a moment, taking comfort in her words, before finally pulling back. “Thank you,” you say, wiping at your eyes. “Thank you so much.”

Max, who’s been watching the interaction with a mixture of relief and concern, gently places a hand on your back. “We should finish up,” he says softly, giving Pascale a nod. “Take care, Pascale.”

Pascale smiles through her own tears, giving Max a grateful look. “You too, Max. And Y/N … call me if you need anything. Anytime.”

You nod, giving her a small, shaky smile before turning back to the cart. As you and Max continue shopping, the weight of the encounter settles over you, leaving you emotionally drained. Max notices, his usual silence becoming a source of comfort as he quietly takes over, finishing up the shopping and paying for everything without another word.

***

The drive back to Max’s apartment is quiet, the earlier lightness of the morning replaced by a heavy, lingering tension. You stare out the window, lost in thought, replaying the encounter with Pascale over and over in your mind.

By the time you reach the apartment, you’re exhausted — physically and emotionally. Max parks the car and helps you carry the groceries inside, his movements careful and deliberate as if he’s trying to shield you from any further stress.

Once everything is put away, Max leads you to the living room, where you sink onto the couch, your body sagging with relief. He sits beside you, watching as you struggle to hold back tears, and finally, the dam breaks.

You bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably, all the fear and uncertainty and pain you’ve been holding in finally spilling out. Max wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his hand gently rubbing your back as he whispers soothing words into your ear.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice steady and calm. “Let it out. I’m here.”

You cry until there are no tears left, until you’re too exhausted to do anything but lean against Max, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your sobs. Max doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding you as if his presence alone can shield you from everything that’s gone wrong.

When you finally pull back, your eyes are red and puffy, your face wet with tears. “Sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize,” Max interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re going through a lot, and you don’t have to hold it all in.”

You nod, still feeling raw and exposed, but there’s something comforting in the way Max is looking at you — like he’s not judging you, like he genuinely cares.

“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Max offers you a small smile, his hand still resting on your back. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he says. “I’m here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and Max watches as you slowly regain some of your composure.

“Do you want to rest?” He asks after a moment, his voice filled with concern. “You’ve had a long day.”

You shake your head, wiping the last of the tears from your face. “No, I’m okay. I think I just need to … distract myself.”

Max nods, understanding. “Okay,” he says, standing up and offering you his hand. “How about we make dinner? Something simple, but better than those pre-prepared meals.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Yeah,” you say, your voice steadier now. “That sounds good.”

***

Cooking with Max is surprisingly easy. He’s not much of a chef, but he’s attentive and eager to help, following your lead as you guide him through the steps of preparing a simple pasta dish. The kitchen fills with the comforting aroma of garlic and herbs, and for a while, you lose yourself in the routine of chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, the earlier tension easing with every moment.

Max watches you closely, noticing the way your movements become more relaxed as you focus on the task at hand. He’s relieved to see you like this — more at ease, more like yourself.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Max comments as he carefully stirs the pasta in the pot, a hint of admiration in his voice.

You shrug, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I used to cook a lot,” you say, your tone a little wistful. “Before everything got … complicated.”

Max doesn’t push for more, sensing that you’re not ready to delve into the past just yet. Instead, he focuses on the present, on the simple pleasure of cooking together, the warmth of the kitchen, the shared sense of purpose.

By the time dinner is ready, the earlier tension has all but disappeared, replaced by a quiet, comforting camaraderie. You and Max sit at the table, eating in companionable silence, the simple meal a balm for your frayed nerves.

After dinner, you help Max clean up, the two of you working together in easy harmony. There’s something oddly soothing about the domesticity of it all — like a glimpse of a life you hadn’t dared to hope for, a life where things could be simple, where you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

When everything is finally cleaned up, Max suggests watching a movie, and you agree, grateful for the chance to keep your mind occupied. You settle onto the couch with him, his cats Jimmy and Sassy immediately curling up beside you, their soft purring a comforting background noise.

Max flips through the options on his streaming service, eventually landing on an action movie. “This okay?” He asks, glancing at you.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Something mindless sounds perfect right now.”

The movie starts, and for the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in the fast-paced action, the explosions and car chases providing a welcome distraction from the turmoil of your own life. Max is a solid, comforting presence beside you, and for a while, you let yourself believe that everything might actually be okay.

When the movie ends, you realize how exhausted you are, the emotional rollercoaster of the day finally catching up with you. Max notices too, and he turns to you with a concerned look.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, his voice gentle. “It’s been a long day.”

You nod, not having the energy to argue. “Yeah. I think I will.”

Max helps you to your feet, and you can feel his eyes on you as you make your way to the guest room. Before you can close the door behind you, he stops you with a soft, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pause, looking back at him. “Goodnight, Max. And … thank you. For everything.”

Max smiles, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “Just get some rest.”

You nod, giving him a small smile before closing the door behind you.

Once inside the guest room, you sink onto the bed, finally letting out a long breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The room is quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside.

You lie down, pulling the blankets over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to relax, to let go of the constant worry and fear, if only for a little while.

As you drift off to sleep, the events of the day swirl in your mind — Pascale’s unexpected appearance, Max’s unwavering support, the strange comfort of being here, in this place that’s starting to feel like home.

And somewhere, deep in your heart, a tiny seed of hope begins to take root.

***

The apartment smells of freshly baked cake and anticipation. Max is in the kitchen, moving about with a nervous energy, double-checking everything — again. The cake is already on the counter, perfectly frosted, with a single pink and blue question mark piped on top. The knife lies beside it, waiting for the moment that feels almost too monumental to be happening in the cozy confines of his living room.

You’re sitting on the couch, absentmindedly stroking Jimmy and Sassy, who have taken up their usual positions on either side of you. Your hand rests protectively over your rounded belly, feeling the slight flutters of movement from the baby. Despite the warmth of the room, your fingers are cold, a mix of nerves and excitement pulsing through you.

“Everything’s ready,” Max says, breaking the silence. He’s trying to sound casual, but you can hear the edge in his voice.

You offer him a small smile, trying to steady yourself. “Thanks, Max. For everything.”

He just nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning back to the cake. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite read — something beyond just friendship and support. But before you can dwell on it, there’s a knock at the door.

Max visibly relaxes, glad for the distraction. “I’ll get it,” he says, moving to the door and pulling it open.

Pascale is the first to step inside, her smile warm as she takes in the sight of you. “Ma chérie,” she greets, leaning down to kiss both of your cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply, feeling a genuine warmth at seeing her. Pascale has been a rock for you since she found out about the pregnancy, offering support and reassurance in a way that makes you feel less alone.

Lorenzo and Arthur follow her in, both of them grinning widely as they approach you. “Hey,” Lorenzo says, giving you a quick hug. “Excited?”

“Nervous,” you admit, glancing over at the cake. “But excited too.”

Arthur chuckles, nudging his brother. “She’s having a girl, I can feel it. I’m gonna win the bet.”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You always say that, but I’ve got a good feeling this time. I’m thinking boy.”

Max laughs, shaking his head as he closes the door behind them. “You two and your bets,” he says. “Let’s just focus on what’s important, yeah?”

Pascale gives him a knowing look, but doesn’t say anything, instead turning to you with a soft smile. “You look lovely, dear,” she says, reaching out to gently touch your arm. “And glowing.”

You feel a flush of warmth at her words, though part of you still feels a bit of that anxiety knotting in your stomach. This is Charles’ family, after all, and the weight of what’s unsaid lingers in the air between you.

Max clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the cake. “Shall we?” He asks, looking at you with an encouraging smile.

You take a deep breath and nod, standing up and moving over to the counter. Max stands close beside you, his presence steady and reassuring. The others gather around, their faces expectant, and you feel the weight of the moment settle over you.

“Here we go,” you say softly, picking up the knife. Your hands tremble slightly, and Max’s hand comes to rest on yours, steadying it. You glance up at him, and he gives you a small nod.

You press the knife into the cake, cutting through the soft layers until you reach the center. The room holds its breath as you pull the slice away, revealing the color inside.

It’s pink.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Pascale lets out a delighted gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. “A girl!” She exclaims, her eyes shining with joy. “You’re having a little girl!”

Lorenzo and Arthur start laughing, both of them shaking their heads in mock disbelief. “I told you,” Arthur says, clapping his brother on the back. “Looks like you owe me fifty euros.”

But you barely register their words. Your eyes are fixed on the cake, on the pink filling that seems to glow with its own light. You’re having a daughter. The realization hits you like a wave, overwhelming and beautiful, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

Max sees the tears and reacts instinctively. He turns toward you, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “It’s okay. It’s good news, right?”

You nod, laughing through the tears. “Yeah,” you say, your voice trembling. “It’s just …a lot.”

And then, before either of you can think, Max leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, hesitant, as if he’s not sure if he should be doing this. But then you kiss him back, and something shifts, deepening the moment. It feels like the world falls away, like it’s just the two of you, and everything else fades into the background.

When Max pulls back, his eyes wide with the realization of what he’s just done, he starts to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “Don’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm. “I liked it.”

Max searches your eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or regret, but all he sees is the truth in your words. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I liked it too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

The moment between you is tender and full of unspoken feelings, but it’s broken by the sound of Pascale clearing her throat. You both turn to see her watching you, a knowing smile on her face.

“Ah,” she says, her tone gentle but teasing. “I see.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but Pascale just smiles wider, moving closer to you. “Ma chérie,” she says, taking your hands in hers. “I want you and my granddaughter to be happy. That’s all I care about.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you squeeze her hands in return. “Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice thick with emotion.

Pascale nods, glancing over at Max. “And I can see that Max will stop at nothing to make sure that happens.”

Max looks a little embarrassed, but he meets Pascale’s gaze with a quiet determination. “I promise,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lorenzo and Arthur exchange glances, both of them grinning like idiots. “Well, this just got interesting,” Lorenzo quips, earning a light smack on the arm from Pascale.

“Behave,” she admonishes, though there’s a twinkle in her eye. “This is a celebration.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension that had been building in your chest finally breaking. It’s a strange, wonderful feeling, being surrounded by people who genuinely care, who want what’s best for you and your baby. And as you look around the room — at Max, at Pascale, at Lorenzo and Arthur — you realize that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of laughter and conversation. Pascale insists on taking a thousand pictures of you with the cake, with Max, with everyone, and by the time she’s done, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Lorenzo and Arthur argue good-naturedly over baby names, each of them convinced they have the best suggestion, while Max listens with a bemused smile.

Eventually, the party winds down, and Lorenzo and Arthur say their goodbyes, promising to visit again soon. Pascale lingers a little longer, giving you one last hug before she leaves.

“Remember,” she says as she pulls back, her eyes warm and full of affection. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

You nod, feeling a swell of gratitude. “I know. Thank you.”

Pascale smiles and gives Max a quick hug as well before finally making her exit, leaving the two of you alone in the apartment.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Max turns to you, his expression softening. “How are you feeling?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day settle over you. “Tired,” you admit, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. “But … happy.”

Max smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says simply.

You look at him, at the man who has done so much for you in such a short amount of time, and you feel something shift inside you — something that scares you a little, but that also feels like hope.

“Max,” you begin, your voice uncertain. “About earlier-”

He cuts you off with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I just want you to be comfortable, to do what feels right for you.”

You nod, appreciating his understanding. “I just … I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, your voice small. “But I know I don’t want to push you away.”

Max’s eyes soften, and he takes a step closer to you. “You won’t,” he says, his voice gentle but certain. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”

You take comfort in his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You’ve been so used to handling everything on your own, and the thought of having someone beside you, someone who genuinely cares, feels like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his gaze. The air between you is charged, filled with the weight of unspoken possibilities.

Max reaches out, hesitating for a brief moment before gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, and you lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through you. It’s as if time slows down, the world outside of Max’s apartment fading away until there’s only the two of you, standing close enough to share the same breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Max murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are safe, happy, and loved.”

You search his eyes, finding only honesty there, a depth of emotion that takes you by surprise. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of connection, this certainty that you’re not alone.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Max shakes his head slightly, as if to say there’s no need to thank him, but you know better. You know how much he’s done, how much he’s given, and you feel a rush of gratitude so powerful it almost overwhelms you.

Without thinking, you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. Max holds you just as tightly, his chin resting on top of your head, and for a moment, everything feels right. The world outside, the uncertainty of the future — it all fades away, leaving just the comfort of his arms around you.

After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. There’s something in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

This time, there’s no hesitation. Max kisses you back with a gentle intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, his hands cradling your face as if you’re something precious, something he’s afraid to break.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Max’s eyes are dark with emotion, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

“Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough with need. “Stay with me. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Okay,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I will.”

Max’s expression softens into a smile, one that lights up his entire face. He leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead, a promise in the simple gesture.

“Good,” he says, his voice full of quiet joy. “That’s good.”

You smile back at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. With Max by your side, it feels like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay. As you both stand there, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you like a cocoon, you realize that this — right here, right now — is the start of something new, something beautiful.

***

It’s early morning, the kind where the light hasn’t yet broken through the curtains, and the apartment is still wrapped in the quiet hush of dawn. You’re half-awake, swimming in that space between sleep and consciousness when you hear it — Max’s voice, low and soothing.

You keep your eyes closed, letting the sound wash over you, not wanting to break the spell. His words are soft, like he’s speaking to the most delicate thing in the world, and you realize he’s talking to your belly.

“Morning, little one,” Max whispers, his voice full of warmth. You feel the slight movement of his hand on your stomach, gentle and comforting. “Did you sleep well? I hope you’re taking it easy on your mama.”

You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips, but you stay still, wanting to hear more. There’s something so tender, so intimate about this moment, and you don’t want to interrupt it.

Max continues, his tone playful now. “You know, I’ve been thinking … you’re going to need a name for me, right? Something special. How about Maxie? Does that sound good to you?” He pauses, as if waiting for an answer. “Or maybe, one day, you’ll call me Papa. I’d really like that.”

Your heart swells, and you feel a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the blanket you’re curled under. Max’s words are like a promise, one that wraps around both you and the baby, binding you together in a way that feels unshakable.

He continues to talk, his voice filled with love and a hint of wonder, as if he still can’t quite believe this is real. “I can’t wait to meet you, you know. To see your little face, your tiny hands … I’m going to be right here, every step of the way. I promise. You and your mama … you’re my world now.”

You feel the gentle pressure of his lips as he presses a kiss to your stomach, and it sends a shiver through you, a mix of emotion that you can’t quite put into words. It’s the kind of feeling that settles deep in your chest, making you want to cry and smile at the same time.

Max shifts slightly, and you feel him lay his head next to your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll be here to teach you all the important things, like how to kick a football or how to drive really fast — though, your mama might not like that last one,” he chuckles softly, and you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

“And I’ll be here for the hard stuff too,” Max continues, his tone growing serious. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, and that you always know how loved you are. Because you’re already so loved, little one. So much.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. You can feel the depth of his commitment, the way he’s already made space in his heart for this child, and it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

Max falls quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on your belly. You can feel his thumb tracing small circles over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. “I know I’m not your real dad,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “But I’m going to love you like you’re mine. And I’m going to love your mama with everything I have, because she deserves that. She deserves everything.”

Your heart clenches at his words, a rush of emotion so strong it nearly takes your breath away. You’ve never felt so cared for, so deeply cherished, and it’s all because of him — this man who has stepped into your life and turned it upside down in the most unexpected, wonderful way.

Max leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I promise, I’ll always be here for you. For both of you. And I hope, one day, you’ll call me Papa. But even if you don’t, I’ll still be the luckiest man in the world, just to be here with you.”

You can’t keep your eyes closed any longer. They flutter open, and you glance down at him, your heart full to bursting. Max looks up, catching your gaze, and there’s a moment of quiet understanding between you — a recognition of the enormity of what he’s just said.

“Did I wake you?” He asks softly, his hand still resting on your belly.

You shake your head, your voice thick with emotion. “No … I was awake.”

Max studies your face, and you can see the concern in his eyes, the way he’s always so attuned to your feelings. “You okay?”

You nod, reaching out to brush a hand through his messy hair. “I’m more than okay.”

His lips curl into a soft smile, one that makes your chest ache with how much you care for him. Max shifts, pressing another kiss to your belly before moving to lay beside you, gathering you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting it soothe you back into that half-asleep state.

“You’re going to be an amazing dad,” you murmur, your words slurred with sleep.

Max’s arms tighten around you, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “Only because I have you.”

His words wrap around you like a blanket, warm and secure. As you drift back into sleep, the last thing you hear is Max’s voice, soft and full of promise, whispering to your belly again. “I’ll always be here,” he says. “For both of you. Always.”

And with that, you let the sound of his voice carry you back into sleep, your heart filled with a deep, unshakable sense of peace.

***

The contractions start in the early hours of the morning, sharp and unyielding, ripping you out of a restless sleep. At first, you think it’s just another false alarm — your body playing tricks on you like it has for the past week. But this time, something feels different, more urgent. Max is beside you in an instant, his instincts kicking in the moment you clutch at the sheets, your breath hitching in pain.

“Are you okay?” His voice is full of concern, his hand already on your back, trying to soothe you through the discomfort.

You shake your head, biting your lip as another wave crashes over you. “It’s time,” you manage to gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his. “Max, it’s time.”

Max’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate. He’s up, grabbing the hospital bag that’s been packed for weeks now, guiding you carefully out of bed. The ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and tension, Max’s knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel, driving with a focus that betrays his worry.

When you arrive, everything moves too quickly and too slowly all at once. Nurses and doctors swarm around you, getting you into a gown, checking your vitals, assessing the baby’s position. Max stays by your side through it all, his hand never leaving yours, his voice a steady presence in your ear as he tries to keep you calm.

Hours pass, the pain intensifying until it feels like your body is being split in two. But you’re not scared — not until the doctor’s expression changes, his calm professionalism slipping as he exchanges a glance with the nurse. It’s a look that sends a spike of fear through your heart, and suddenly, the room feels too small, the walls closing in.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice shaking, trying to keep the panic at bay. Max’s hand tightens around yours, his eyes fixed on the doctor, demanding answers without saying a word.

The doctor clears his throat, his tone gentle but serious. “The baby is in distress. Her heart rate is dropping, and we’re concerned about a potential placental abruption.”

“What does that mean?” Max’s voice is hoarse, his face pale.

“It means,” the doctor says carefully, “we may have to make some difficult decisions. We’ll do everything we can, but in situations like this, there’s a chance we may have to prioritize-”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice rising in panic. The room starts to spin, your vision blurring as the reality of what he’s saying crashes over you. “No, no, no … you can’t do that. Save the baby. If it comes down to it, you have to save the baby.”

Max’s grip on your hand tightens to the point of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the anguish in his eyes. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, his voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that.”

The doctor nods, his expression somber. “We’re not there yet. We still have time to try and turn things around, but we need to act fast.”

You nod numbly, tears streaming down your face as the pain intensifies, the fear now mingling with the physical agony. Max leans in close, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he struggles to hold it together.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, though his voice shakes with the weight of his own fear. “You hear me? Both of you. You’re both coming out of this. I need you to believe that.”

Your heart aches at the desperation in his voice, and you want to believe him, want to cling to the hope he’s trying so hard to give you. But the terror is overwhelming, and all you can do is nod, too afraid to speak, afraid that if you do, it will make everything too real.

Max pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression fierce despite the tears shining in his own. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice stronger now, a command wrapped in a plea. “You’re strong, okay? The strongest person I know. And she’s strong too. You’re both going to make it through this. You have to. I can’t-” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you.”

His words break something inside you, and you sob, clutching at him like he’s your lifeline, because right now, he is. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty — it’s all too much, and you bury your face in his chest, trying to draw strength from him.

The doctors and nurses are moving around you, the room filled with a flurry of activity, but all you can focus on is Max. He’s your anchor, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as the world spins out of control. His hand never leaves yours, even as the contractions grow stronger, more intense, your screams echoing off the walls.

“I’m here,” Max keeps repeating, his voice a constant in the chaos. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

But then, the situation worsens. You hear the doctor call for an emergency C-section, and your heart plummets. The pain is unbearable, and you can’t breathe, can’t think. They’re wheeling you away, Max’s hand slipping from yours as they take you to the operating room. The last thing you see is his face, pale and stricken, his eyes wide with fear.

“I love you,” he calls out, his voice cracking with the weight of everything he can’t control. “I love you so much. Please — please be okay.”

The operating room is cold, the lights too bright, and all you can think about is the life inside you, the baby you’ve grown to love before she’s even taken her first breath. You can’t lose her. You can’t. But the fear is suffocating, and as they prepare you for surgery, you feel a wave of despair crash over you.

Max’s words echo in your mind, a desperate mantra that you cling to with everything you have. Both of you are making it out of this. You have to.

The anesthesia takes hold, and you feel yourself slipping away, the world fading around you. But before the darkness consumes you, you send up a silent prayer, a plea to whatever force might be listening.

Please. Please let us both make it out of this.

And then, there’s nothing but darkness.

***

Max paces the waiting room, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through his chest. Every second that ticks by is torture, every minute without news a knife twisting in his gut. He’s never been this scared in his life, not even in the most dangerous moments on the track.

His hands are shaking, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He keeps replaying the last look you gave him, the fear in your eyes, the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. The thought of losing you, of losing the baby — it’s unbearable.

He can’t breathe, can’t think straight. All he can do is wait, and it’s driving him insane. He feels so helpless, like there’s nothing he can do to fix this, to protect you, and it’s killing him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the doctor emerges from the operating room. Max rushes to him, his heart in his throat, fear choking him.

“Doctor, please — tell me, are they okay?” Max’s voice is raw, barely above a whisper, his eyes pleading.

The doctor looks tired, his face drawn, but there’s a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “The surgery was successful. It was touch and go for a while, but both your partner and the baby are stable.”

Max’s knees nearly buckle with relief, a sob escaping his throat as he covers his face with his hands. “Thank God … thank you,” he chokes out, his whole body trembling with the release of tension.

“You can see them soon,” the doctor adds gently, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s going to need a lot of rest, and we’ll be monitoring them both closely, but they’re out of danger for now.”

Max nods, unable to speak, his emotions too overwhelming to put into words. He’s ushered into a recovery room, where you’re lying on the bed, pale and exhausted, but alive. The sight of you sends a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.

“Hey,” you whisper weakly, your voice barely audible, but the sound of it is the most beautiful thing Max has ever heard.

“Hey,” he breathes, moving to your side and taking your hand in his. His other hand brushes the hair from your face, his touch reverent, as if he’s afraid you might break. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to … I just … I had to make sure she was okay.”

Max shakes his head, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his tears mingling with yours. “Don’t apologize. You did it. You both made it. You’re both okay.”

You squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I heard you, Max … I heard you telling me to hold on.”

Max pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “I meant every word. I’ll always be here, for both of you. I promise.”

A nurse enters. “Would you like to meet your daughter?” She asks.

The nurse wheels in the bassinet, and you can’t take your eyes off the tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. Max looks at you, his heart in his throat, as the nurse gently lifts your daughter and places her in your arms. She’s so small, her eyes closed, her tiny fists curled up against her chest. The world narrows to this moment, the overwhelming surge of love crashing over you both as you stare down at her.

Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders as he looks at his daughter, his breath catching in his throat. “She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “So beautiful.”

You smile through your tears, nodding as you trace a gentle finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “She is. I … I’ve been thinking about what to name her.”

Max looks at you, his heart pounding, waiting for you to speak.

“I want to name her Emilia,” you say softly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “After you. I want her to have a part of you with her always. You’ve done so much for us, Max. You’re a part of her, a part of us. It feels right.”

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he can’t speak. His middle name is something he’s never thought much about, but hearing you say it now, giving it to your daughter — it takes on a whole new meaning.

“Emilia,” he repeats softly, as if testing it out. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body as he wraps you both in his embrace. Emilia stirs in your arms, making a soft noise as she opens her eyes for the first time, looking up at you and Max with wide, curious eyes. It feels like time stands still, the three of you cocooned in this perfect moment.

“She’s going to be so loved,” Max whispers, his voice full of awe and determination. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, knowing he means it with every fiber of his being. Max has already proven that he’ll do anything to protect you and Emilia. It’s in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you both as if you’re the most precious things in the world.

As you sit there together, your new family, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you won’t be facing them alone. Max is here, by your side, and with him, you have all the strength you need.

“Welcome to the world, Emilia,” you whisper, kissing her tiny forehead. “We love you so much.”

Max kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he closes his eyes, letting himself feel the full weight of the love he has for you both. This is what he’s been waiting for, what he didn’t even realize he needed until now.

“I’ll always be here,” he murmurs, his voice a promise. “For both of you.”

And as you hold your daughter close, you know that those words are true. Max will always be here, and together, you’ll face whatever comes next as a family.

***

Max carefully pulls the car up to the curb outside his Monaco apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly. He’s driven this route countless times, but today feels different — monumental. He glances over at you in the passenger seat, Emilia cradled in your arms, bundled up in a soft pink blanket. She’s asleep, her tiny mouth forming an ‘O’ as she breathes peacefully.

Max’s heart feels like it might burst from his chest as he watches you both. The love he feels is overwhelming, so much that it almost scares him. He’s not sure how to carry it all, but he knows he wants to try — no, he needs to.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice soft, not wanting to disturb Emilia.

You nod, smiling down at your daughter before looking up at him. “Ready.”

Max steps out of the car and hurries around to your side, opening the door for you and helping you out, his hand warm and steady on your arm. You both move carefully, as if the world might shatter if you’re too rough. Emilia stirs slightly as you adjust her in your arms, but she stays asleep, oblivious to the world outside.

The front door of the apartment clicks open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of home wrapping around you. Max closes the door behind you, and suddenly, the apartment feels different — more complete, more alive. He watches as you walk into the living room, a sense of awe filling him as he realizes that this is your home now, Emilia’s home.

Jimmy and Sassy are lounging on the couch when you enter. They lift their heads lazily, eyes narrowing with curiosity as they spot the new addition to the household. Max watches them closely, his heart racing slightly. He knows how territorial they can be, and the last thing he wants is for them to feel threatened by Emilia.

You lower yourself carefully onto the couch, cradling Emilia in your arms, and Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders. “Guys,” you whisper to the cats, your voice gentle, soothing. “Come say hi.”

Jimmy is the first to move, hopping down from the couch and approaching slowly, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of the tiny human in your arms. He sniffs the air cautiously, his ears twitching, and then, to Max’s surprise, he rubs his head gently against Emilia’s leg, purring softly. Sassy follows suit, jumping up onto the armrest to get a better look, her green eyes curious and bright.

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a smile spreading across his face. “Looks like they approve,” he says, his voice full of warmth.

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I guess so. They’re so gentle with her.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees, his eyes never leaving Emilia’s face. “They know she’s important.”

For a while, the three of you just sit there, basking in the quiet joy of the moment. Emilia shifts in your arms, her tiny fingers flexing as she begins to wake up. Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a small, contented sigh. Jimmy and Sassy watch intently, as if fascinated by this little creature that’s suddenly become the center of their world.

Max reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against Emilia’s cheek. She turns her head slightly, her eyes trying to focus on him, and Max feels a lump form in his throat. “Hi, meisje,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Welcome home.”

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. But then, as if the weight of the world suddenly returns, Max feels a pang of dread deep in his chest. He tries to push it away, but it lingers, gnawing at him.

You notice the change in him immediately, lifting your head to look at him, concern in your eyes. “Max? What’s wrong?”

He hesitates, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he knows he has to tell you. “I just … I’ve been thinking about the races,” he admits quietly. “I’m going to have to leave soon, and … I hate the thought of being away from you and Emilia. Especially now.”

Your expression softens, and you reach out to take his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Max, it’s okay. I know how much racing means to you. We’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head, his eyes searching yours. “I know you will. It’s just … I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to miss her first smile, her first laugh, her first steps …”

“You won’t,” you assure him, squeezing his hand. “We’ll make it work. And when she’s old enough, we’ll come with you to as many races as we can.”

Max’s heart swells at the thought, but then another worry creeps in. He hesitates, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “But… what about Charles? I don’t want you to feel like you have to be in the same paddock as him. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words, and then you shake your head, a determined look in your eyes. “Max, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I want to be there with you. Emilia and I will cheer you on, and Charles … well, he’s in the past. You’re our future. I want to support you, and I want Emilia to see how amazing her papa is.”

The relief that washes over Max is palpable. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that until now. “Are you sure?” He asks, his voice almost trembling. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I’m sure,” you say firmly. “Besides, I want Emilia to grow up surrounded by people who love her. And that includes you, Max. You’re her papa.”

Max’s breath catches at the word, his chest tightening with a mix of love and fear. He’s been called many things in his life — champion, prodigy, competitor — but ‘papa’ is new. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Papa,” he echoes softly, the word feeling both foreign and right on his tongue. “I like the sound of that.”

You smile, your eyes shining with warmth. “Me too.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur of small, beautiful moments. You and Max take turns holding Emilia, watching as she discovers the world around her with wide, curious eyes. Max can’t stop marveling at how tiny she is, how perfect. Every little coo, every small movement feels like a miracle to him.

When evening falls, you feed Emilia while Max busies himself in the kitchen, preparing something simple for dinner. He’s not much of a cook, but he’s determined to take care of you both in any way he can. As you sit at the table together, Emilia cradled in your arms, Max watches you with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before.

But as the night grows darker, that lingering dread creeps back in. Max knows he has to leave for the next race soon, and the thought of being away from you and Emilia feels unbearable. After dinner, he finds himself pacing the living room, his thoughts swirling.

You notice his restlessness and approach him, Emilia sleeping soundly in your arms. “Max,” you say gently, drawing his attention. “Talk to me.”

He stops, running a hand through his hair as he looks at you, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “I just … I don’t know how I’m going to leave you both. I hate it.”

You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I know it’s hard. But we’ll be okay. And you can call us anytime, video chat, whatever you need. We’ll make it work.”

Max nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I just don’t want to miss anything,” he repeats, his voice strained. “I want to be here for everything.”

“And you will be,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll figure it out together. We’re a team now, remember?”

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “We are.”

You lean up to kiss him softly on the lips, a kiss that’s full of reassurance and love. When you pull back, Max looks at you with a mixture of awe and affection.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“For being here. For being you,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love for the man in front of you. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Max pulls you into a gentle embrace, careful not to disturb Emilia as he holds you both close. In that moment, he knows that no matter how many races he has to go to, no matter how far he has to travel, this is where his heart will always be — with you and Emilia.

And as you both stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Max makes a silent promise to himself: to always be there for you, no matter what. Because this — this little family you’ve created together — is the most important thing in the world.

***

The doorbell rings just as Max is finishing up with Emilia’s bottle. He glances at the clock — 10:30 a.m. Whoever it is, they’re too early for lunch, too late for breakfast, and entirely unexpected.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly while packing away the groceries Max picked up this morning. Max smiles to himself as he looks down at Emilia, her tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb. It feels like everything in his life is finally in place.

But that sense of contentment shatters the moment he opens the door.

Jos stands there, his presence immediately filling the entryway with tension. The older man’s eyes flick to you in the kitchen, then back to Max, his mouth curling into a sneer.

“Max,” Jos says, stepping forward before Max can say a word. His voice is cold, sharp. The man doesn’t even bother with a greeting.

“Dad,” Max replies, swallowing hard as he shuts the door behind him. Jos is already walking into the apartment, his eyes scanning the place like he’s looking for something to criticize.

You turn around, startled by the sound of footsteps you weren’t expecting. The soft smile on your face fades when you see Jos. Max can see the recognition in your eyes, followed by a flash of concern. You know about Jos, the kind of man he is. Max’s jaw tightens.

“What are you doing here?” Max tries to keep his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it, a warning.

Jos ignores him. His gaze is fixed on you now, his expression unreadable but undeniably harsh. “So this is her, huh?” He waves a hand in your direction. “The one Charles tossed aside.”

You freeze, hands trembling as you instinctively clutch the counter behind you. Max’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t,” Max warns, stepping between you and his father. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Jos scoffs. “Relax, Max. I’m just stating the obvious. She’s nothing more than your rival’s sloppy seconds. And you … you’re playing house with another man’s child.”

The air leaves the room. Max’s vision narrows, and all he can see is Jos — the man who made his childhood a battleground. The man who pushed him so hard he could barely breathe under the weight of his expectations. Now he’s here, trying to break apart the life Max has built for himself.

“That’s enough,” Max snaps, his voice rising in a way that’s unfamiliar, even to him. Emilia starts fussing in his arms, sensing the tension, and it only makes him angrier. “You don’t get to walk in here and insult my family.”

Jos raises an eyebrow. “Family? Don’t kid yourself, Max. This isn’t your family. This is Charles Leclerc’s leftovers. You’re raising another man’s child, and you think that makes you a father?”

Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he doesn’t flinch. He’s not that scared little boy anymore, the one who craved his father’s approval more than anything in the world. He’s a man now — a father — and he won’t let Jos tear him down again.

“You don’t know anything about this,” Max says, his voice shaking with fury. “I love her. I love Emilia. She’s my daughter, and I’m her father, no matter what you think. And if you can’t respect that, then you don’t belong here.”

Jos’s eyes flash with something dark, something that Max recognizes all too well. But before he can say anything, you step forward, your voice trembling but determined. “Please, just go.”

Jos glances at you, then back at Max. For a moment, it looks like he might push further, but then he shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’ve gone soft, Max. You’re making a mistake, and one day you’ll see it.”

Max tightens his grip on Emilia, who’s starting to cry now, her small voice cutting through the tension. He turns his back on Jos, cradling his daughter close to his chest, and says, “Get out.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, with a huff of disdain, Jos turns on his heel and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoes through the apartment like a gunshot.

You rush to Max’s side, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I-”

“Don’t,” Max says, his voice cracking. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as he struggles to keep his composure. “Just … don’t.”

He doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the anger, the hurt, it’s all too much. You say nothing, just move closer, wrapping your arms around him and Emilia, holding them both as tightly as you can. Max can feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep, bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Max replies, shaking his head. “It’s … it’s just him. He’ll never change.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “He’s wrong, Max. You are her father. You’re already everything she needs.”

Max looks down at Emilia, who’s slowly calming down in his arms. Her tiny hand grips his finger, and the simple, innocent gesture makes something in him break. He swallows hard, blinking back tears.

“I don’t care what he says,” Max whispers, more to himself than to you. “I’m not him. I’m never going to be him.”

You reach up, gently brushing a tear away from his cheek. “You’re not. You’re a good man and you’re already a great father.”

Max can’t find the words to respond, so he just leans down and kisses you, a slow, desperate kiss that says everything he can’t put into words. You kiss him back, your hands gently cradling his face, grounding him in the moment.

When you finally pull away, you smile at him, and it’s like the sun breaking through a stormy sky. “We’re going to be okay,” you say softly. “All three of us.”

Max nods, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We are.”

You both stand there in the quiet of the apartment, holding onto each other and to Emilia, who has finally fallen back asleep. The storm has passed, but Max knows there will be more to come. But as long as he has you and Emilia by his side, he knows he can face anything.

And for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s finally home.

***

The room is silent except for the soft hum of the baby monitor, its rhythmic buzz a constant backdrop to the night. The apartment is dark, save for a thin sliver of moonlight seeping in through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room.

You stir, groggily reaching for the warmth of Max beside you, but find only cold sheets. Instantly, you’re more awake, your heart quickening as you sit up and squint into the darkness. It’s late, or maybe it’s early — time has blurred into an endless loop of feeding, changing, and trying to snatch sleep in between.

Max isn’t in bed, but you can see his silhouette across the room, standing over Emilia’s crib. His back is to you, his posture tense yet somehow fragile, as if he’s holding something inside that’s threatening to spill over. You watch him for a moment, the quiet of the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, before you gently call out his name.

“Max?”

He doesn’t turn immediately, and for a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you. But then he shifts slightly, his shoulders dropping as if he’s finally exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head, though he’s not looking at you. “No. I just noticed you weren’t in bed.”

He glances back at you then, just briefly, his eyes shadowed and unreadable in the dim light. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, turning his gaze back to Emilia. “I kept thinking about … everything.”

There’s a heaviness in his tone that makes you push back the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You stand up, crossing the room to where he’s standing. When you reach him, you place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension thrumming through his muscles.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” You ask softly, trying to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he’s quiet, staring down at Emilia with a look that’s a mix of awe and fear. Then he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I keep saying she’s mine. I’ve said it so many times, but … I don’t think it really hit me until just now. I’m her dad.”

He finally looks at you, his blue eyes shining with something raw and unguarded. “I’m her dad, and that means … everything. It means I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her, to make sure she’s safe and happy. I’m the one who’s supposed to teach her, to love her, to be there for every moment of her life.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and you feel your heart break for him, for the weight he’s been carrying. You squeeze his arm gently, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be what my dad wanted me to be,” Max continues, his eyes dropping back down to Emilia. “I pushed myself so hard because I thought that’s what I had to do, that I had to prove something to him, to everyone. But this … being her dad, it’s different. It’s not about proving anything. It’s just about being there for her, for you.”

You can hear the fear in his voice, the uncertainty, but also the determination. Max has always been a fighter, always pushing himself to the limit, but this is different. This is about love, about responsibility, about a future that’s no longer just his.

“I promise,” he says, his voice stronger now, more certain. “I promise I’ll always do the best for her, and for you. I’ll make mistakes, I know I will, but I’ll always try to do what’s right. I’ll always be here.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You step closer, sliding your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounds you in the moment.

“You’re already doing it,” you whisper against his chest. “You’re already an amazing dad, Max. She’s so lucky to have you, and so am I.”

Max wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You feel the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s a simple, quiet moment, but it’s everything.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I didn’t think … I never imagined this. Having a family. But now that I do, I can’t imagine life without it. Without you. Without her.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes are soft, full of love and something else — something deeper, more profound. It’s the look of a man who’s found something he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“I love you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can even think about them. But they’re true, and you realize with a start that you’ve been feeling them for a while now.

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to memorize your face, your words, everything about this moment. Then he smiles — a real, genuine smile that lights up his entire face.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, but it feels like the most important. It’s a promise, a commitment, a beginning.

When you finally pull away, Max rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything. For trusting me, for being here, for giving me this family.”

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, a lingering brush of lips that sends warmth spiraling through you. Then he turns his attention back to Emilia, who’s still sound asleep in her crib, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

“She’s so perfect,” Max murmurs, his voice full of wonder. “I still can’t believe she’s ours.”

“She is,” you agree, leaning against him as you both watch your daughter sleep. “She’s everything.”

Max nods, his eyes never leaving Emilia. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she has the best life possible. I don’t care what it takes. She’s my little girl.”

There’s a fierceness in his voice now, a protective instinct that you know will only grow stronger with time. It’s the kind of love that can’t be measured, the kind that changes everything.

“And you,” Max adds, looking down at you with a softness that makes your heart swell. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re happy too. That you never have to worry about anything.”

“I know you will,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. “But you don’t have to do it all on your own, Max. We’re in this together, okay? We’re a team.”

He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. We are.”

You stand there in the quiet of the night, wrapped up in each other and in the future you’re building together. It’s a future that’s still uncertain, full of challenges and unknowns, but it’s yours. It’s yours, and it’s beautiful.

After a while, Max guides you back to bed, and you both climb under the covers, your bodies fitting together perfectly. He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you settle against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin against yours, and it lulls you into a peaceful sleep.

As you drift off, you hear Max’s voice one last time, a soft whisper in the darkness. “I’m never letting go of this. Of you. Of her. I promise.”

And with that, you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling more loved and more secure than you ever have before.

***

Max is darting around the private jet, a man on a mission. He’s checking every corner, every surface, making sure it’s all baby-proofed, while you sit on the plush leather seat, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. Emilia, cradled in your arms, is blissfully unaware of her father’s nerves as she gurgles happily, her tiny hands waving in the air.

“Max, it’s fine,” you call out, but he’s too busy testing the security of a cabinet door to hear you.

“What if the turbulence knocks something over?” He mutters, more to himself than to you, as he gives the cabinet another pull to ensure it’s locked tight. He moves on to the safety straps on the seats, tugging at them to make sure they’re secure.

You can’t help but smile at how seriously he’s taking this. Max Verstappen reduced to a bundle of nerves over the safety of a half-year-old baby on a private jet. It’s endearing, seeing him so out of his element, so completely focused on making sure everything is perfect for Emilia.

“Max, she’s going to be fine,” you say gently, but with a hint of laughter in your voice.

Max finally turns to you, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “I know, I just-” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t want to take any chances. What if something happens? What if-”

“Max,” you cut him off, “everything’s going to be okay. You’ve checked everything three times already.”

He lets out a breath, his shoulders finally relaxing a little. “Yeah, you’re right. I just ... I want her to be safe.”

“She will be. And besides,” you add with a teasing smile, “you’ve already won the overprotective dad award.”

That gets a small smile out of him, and he walks over to where you’re sitting, leaning down to press a kiss to Emilia’s forehead. “You’re right,” he says again, though this time it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

You reach up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “You’re an amazing dad, Max.”

He covers your hand with his, his blue eyes softening as he looks at you. “I just ... I never thought I’d be this worried, you know? Driving at 300 kilometers an hour doesn’t scare me, but this ...”

“Because this is different,” you finish for him, understanding completely. “She’s your whole world now.”

“You both are,” he corrects, and you can see the emotion in his eyes, the depth of his feelings for both you and Emilia.

The flight attendant comes by to offer refreshments, and Max asks for a bottle of water before turning his attention back to you and Emilia. He takes a seat beside you, carefully cradling the baby as you hand her over. The moment Emilia is in his arms, the tension in his shoulders eases, and he looks down at her with the kind of adoration that makes your heart swell.

“Look at her,” he murmurs, as if he still can’t believe this little person is real, is his.

“She’s beautiful,” you agree softly.

Max leans back in his seat, holding Emilia close. She’s starting to doze off, her tiny mouth making little sucking motions even in her sleep. “I can’t wait for her to see her first race,” he says quietly, his voice full of anticipation and pride.

You smile, watching the way he looks at Emilia, as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, she is.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I hope so. Maybe she’ll be my little lucky charm.”

“She already is,” you say, closing your eyes for a moment, just soaking in the warmth of the moment.

The plane starts to taxi down the runway, and Max holds Emilia a little tighter, his other hand reaching out to take yours. The takeoff is smooth, but Max’s grip on your hand doesn’t loosen until you’re well into the air.

“She didn’t even stir,” you note, nodding towards Emilia, who’s still peacefully asleep in Max’s arms.

“She’s tougher than we give her credit for,” Max replies, smiling down at his daughter.

As the flight progresses, Max eventually relaxes enough to stop checking every detail of the cabin. He spends most of the time just watching Emilia sleep, occasionally glancing out the window at the clouds passing by. You can see the wheels turning in his head, and you know he’s already imagining what it will be like to have her at the track, to share that part of his life with her.

After a while, you start to feel the effects of the early morning and the flight. The gentle hum of the plane and the steady warmth of Max beside you lull you into a state of drowsiness. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, your hand still holding his.

Max looks down at you, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. This is his family, his girls, and he would do anything to keep you both safe, to make sure you’re happy. He kisses the top of your head, the gesture so natural, so filled with love, that it almost surprises him how right it feels.

As the plane flies steadily towards its destination, you drift off to sleep, the last thing you hear being Max whispering softly to Emilia, telling her about the first time he’ll take her to the paddock, how he’ll introduce her to everyone, how he’ll teach her everything he knows. His voice is filled with so much love and promise that it makes your heart ache in the best way possible.

And then, you’re asleep, resting peacefully against Max’s shoulder, while Emilia snoozes in his arms. Max stays like that for the rest of the flight, holding both of you close, his heart full and content.

***

The paddock buzzes with the usual pre-race excitement, but today, there's an extra layer of curiosity. People are craning their necks, whispering to each other, their eyes widening as Max Verstappen strolls through, an unusual sight to behold. Emilia is strapped to his chest in a baby carrier, her tiny hands grabbing at the fabric of Max’s shirt, while you walk beside him, pushing a stroller that’s more a mobile storage unit for all the baby essentials.

It’s your first time back at a race since everything changed, and the significance of the moment isn’t lost on you. Every step feels heavy with the weight of anticipation, not just for the race itself, but for the reactions you both know are coming. Max, usually so composed in these environments, seems a little tense. His hand rests protectively over Emilia, his thumb gently stroking her back as he navigates through the crowd.

As you walk together, you catch the eyes of team members, fans, and media alike, all of them stunned by the sight of Max — stoic, single-minded Max — suddenly a father. The whispers grow louder, cameras discreetly capturing the moment, and you feel the eyes of the entire paddock on you. But Max, despite the tension in his shoulders, keeps his focus on you and Emilia, blocking out the stares as best he can.

You try to smile, to project confidence, but you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable. It’s not just that this is your first time back in the paddock — it’s that this is the first time the world is seeing you, Max, and Emilia together. You brace yourself for the reactions, knowing they’ll come.

Max senses your unease and squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance that he’s with you every step of the way. “Ignore them,” he says quietly, his voice firm. “This is about us, not them.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as you push the stroller forward. Emilia, blissfully unaware of the attention, coos happily against Max’s chest, her tiny head resting against him. It’s that sound, that innocence, that gives you the strength to keep going.

As you walk further into the paddock, the sea of familiar faces starts to part for you, some people smiling warmly, others too shocked to do much more than gape. Max acknowledges a few of the team members with a nod, his usual stern expression softened by the presence of his daughter.

Then, as you turn a corner near the Red Bull garage, you see him. Charles, dressed in his Ferrari red, stands talking to a few engineers. His back is to you, and for a moment, you think you might pass by unnoticed. But then, as if sensing your presence, Charles turns.

The world seems to slow as his eyes lock onto Emilia. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief in a matter of seconds. His gaze flickers between you, Max, and the baby, and you can see the moment it all clicks for him. The green eyes, so like his own, staring back at him from the face of the baby strapped to Max’s chest.

“Max,” Charles says, his voice low, tight. His face flushes with a mix of emotions — shock, anger, betrayal. “What the hell is this?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “Let’s not do this here.”

But Charles doesn’t seem to hear him. He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on Emilia, and you instinctively move closer to Max, as if you can shield your daughter from whatever’s about to happen.

“You had a baby?” Charles spits out, his voice rising with each word. “My baby?” He points at you, disbelief and fury written all over his face. “You stole my girlfriend and now you’re raising my child?”

The words hit like a slap, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You knew this confrontation was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of it, for the venom in Charles’ voice.

Max steps forward, placing himself between you and Charles. “Watch what you’re saying,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “Emilia is not your daughter. You gave up that right when you left her mother.”

Charles scoffs, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Max. “You think you can just replace me? That she’ll ever be yours?”

“She already is,” Max replies, his voice steady, unyielding. “She’s mine because I’m here for her, every day. Because I love her. And because you walked away.”

Charles looks like he’s about to explode. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, you think he might actually take a swing at Max. But instead, he turns his anger on you.

“And you,” he snaps, his voice dripping with contempt. “How could you do this? How could you let him take my place?”

The accusation stings, but before you can respond, Emilia starts to cry, the tension and raised voices too much for her to handle. The sound cuts through the air like a knife, and suddenly, all eyes are on the three of you, the scene unfolding like a car crash that no one can look away from.

Charles looks stricken at the sound of Emilia’s cries, but his anger doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it seems to fuel him further. “You think you can just replace me? That she won’t know who her real father is?”

Max’s composure finally breaks. He steps forward, his face inches from Charles, his voice deadly calm. “You lost the right to call yourself her father when you walked away from her mother without a second thought. Don’t you dare try to claim her now.”

“Max, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you reach out to him. But before you can pull him back, Charles lashes out.

“You think this is over? You think I’ll just let you play happy family with my daughter?”

“Stop it, Charles,” you plead, but your words fall on deaf ears.

Charles opens his mouth to respond, but Emilia’s cries grow louder, her tiny fists clenching in distress. Max’s expression hardens as he looks at Charles, then at his daughter, who’s clearly terrified by the escalating confrontation.

“That’s enough,” Max says, his voice firm. “You’re scaring her.”

But Charles doesn’t back down. He takes another step forward, his voice rising. “She’s mine, Max. And I’ll make sure she knows it.”

Emilia’s wails reach a fever pitch, and Max’s patience snaps. He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he turns to you. “Take her,” he says softly, carefully unstrapping Emilia from the carrier and handing her to you. You can feel his hands shaking slightly as he passes her over, his control fraying at the edges.

You cradle Emilia close, trying to soothe her as you watch the standoff between Max and Charles with mounting dread.

Max squares his shoulders, turning back to Charles with a look that could freeze over hell. “If you ever come near her again,” he says, his voice cold as ice, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Charles’s eyes flash with anger, but he’s out of words, out of retorts. He glares at Max, then at you, before turning on his heel and storming away, his footsteps echoing down the paddock.

For a moment, everything is silent except for Emilia’s soft cries. The crowd that had gathered disperses, but not without a few lingering looks of shock and curiosity. You can feel the weight of their stares, the buzz of gossip that’s sure to follow, but all that matters is calming Emilia and holding it together for her.

Max stands there, his chest heaving, the adrenaline from the confrontation still coursing through his veins. He watches as Charles disappears from sight, then turns back to you, his expression softening as he sees the tears in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

You shake your head, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you focus on Emilia, her cries quieting as she nuzzles against your chest, seeking comfort.

Max steps closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm, grounding both of you. “Are you okay?” He asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m okay,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky. “It’s just ... it’s a lot.”

“I know,” Max says, his voice filled with regret. “I wish I could make it all go away.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the tension start to ease as Max’s presence grounds you. “We’ll get through this,” you say softly, more for yourself than anyone else.

Max wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, his other hand resting on Emilia’s back. “We will,” he promises, his voice steady and sure. “We’re a family, and nothing’s going to change that.”

As you stand there, the chaos of the paddock fading into the background, you realize that no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, you’re not alone in this. You have Max, and together, you’ll face whatever comes your way.

***

Max paces the length of his driver’s room, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low but urgent. Outside, the hum of the paddock continues, but inside, the tension is palpable. He runs a hand through his hair, the stress of the day catching up with him. His mind is a storm of thoughts, all centered on you and Emilia.

You stand at the doorway, hesitating as you hear his voice, too focused on the conversation to notice your presence. You can’t make out every word, but the ones you do catch make your heart pound in your chest.

“No, I don’t care what it takes,” Max says, his voice firm. “I want to make sure he has no rights. None. He can’t just walk back into her life and take her away.”

Your breath hitches, and you step closer, just out of his line of sight. Max pauses, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the call, his jaw clenched tight. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in, the gravity of what he’s discussing weighing heavily on your heart.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “I’ve thought about that. Adoption. I want it to be official, as soon as possible. I want to be her dad in every way that matters.”

You feel like the air’s been knocked out of you. Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to contain the emotion that surges through you. You’ve always known that Max loves Emilia as his own, but hearing him talk about adoption, about making it official, is overwhelming. It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear.

Max’s back is to you, his shoulders tense, his free hand on his hip. “No, I don’t care about the PR fallout. She’s my daughter, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”

You can’t stay quiet any longer. “Max …”

He turns so quickly that he nearly drops his phone. His blue eyes widen in surprise, then soften when he sees you. He quickly wraps up the call, telling his lawyer he’ll be in touch soon, and hangs up, his attention solely on you now.

“How much did you hear?” He asks, a touch of worry in his voice as he approaches you.

“Enough,” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. “You’re serious about this? About adopting her?”

Max stops in front of you, his hands gently taking yours. “Of course, I am,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “She’s mine, in every way that matters. I don’t want there to be any question about that. I want to make it official.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you blink rapidly, trying to keep them from falling. “Max … I don’t even know what to say. You’re amazing, you know that?”

He smiles, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that tugs at your heart. “I just want to do what’s right for you and Emilia. You both mean everything to me.”

Your heart swells with so much love that it feels like it might burst. “I love you,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Max’s eyes light up, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You bury your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you as you let the tears fall, tears of happiness, relief, and love. Max’s hand runs soothingly up and down your back, his touch reassuring, solid, and everything you need.

“I didn’t know if you’d want that,” you admit after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt. “The adoption, I mean. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.”

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t about pressure,” he says earnestly. “This is about what I want. I want to be her dad, officially. I want us to be a family.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you can’t hold back the smile that breaks across your face. “We already are, Max. But … making it official … it would mean the world to me.”

He kisses you then, softly, sweetly, as if sealing the promise with his lips. When he pulls away, there’s a determination in his eyes that makes your heart race.

“We’ll get this sorted,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Charles won’t be able to touch her. I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, trusting him completely, knowing that whatever happens, Max will be there, by your side, protecting you and Emilia. He’s already proven that in so many ways.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning into his embrace. “For everything.”

Max presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if he never wants to let go. “I’ll always be here for you,” he promises, his voice a gentle vow. “For both of you.”

You stay like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world outside the room forgotten. It’s just you, Max, and the love that’s grown between you, a love that’s only getting stronger with each passing day.

Eventually, Max steps back, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again. “Come on,” he says softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Let’s go check on Emilia.”

You smile back, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah,” you agree, squeezing his hand. “Let’s.”

***

The FIA Prize Giving Ceremony is a glittering affair, with the most celebrated drivers in the world gathered under one roof, all eager to see who will take home the evening’s highest honors. The room is abuzz with energy, cameras flashing, and the air thick with anticipation. It’s a night of recognition, where the best of the best are acknowledged for their achievements on the track. But for you and Max, tonight is about something much more personal.

You sit beside Max at one of the front tables, your hands clasped together under the tablecloth. Max looks sharp in his tailored suit, but his usual air of calm confidence is tinged with a nervous excitement that he can’t quite hide. His eyes are fixed on the stage, where the host is just beginning to announce the next category: Rookie of the Year.

“... and the Rookie of the Year award goes to ... Emilia Verstappen!”

The applause is instantaneous, loud and enthusiastic, as the cameras pan across the audience. You squeeze Max’s hand, and he turns to you, his eyes shining with pride. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to — you can see everything he’s feeling written all over his face.

You both watch as Emilia makes her way to the stage, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the bright lights catching the sparkles in her gown. She moves with the grace and confidence of someone who’s been in the spotlight her entire life, but there’s still that youthful energy in her step, the excitement of someone just beginning to make her mark on the world.

When Emilia reaches the podium, she takes the award in her hands, the applause still roaring around her. She takes a moment to look out at the audience, her eyes searching until they find yours and Max’s. She smiles — a smile that’s a little bit of yours, a little bit of her biological father’s, and completely her own. The room gradually quiets down, and when she speaks, her voice is clear and steady, carrying through the hall.

“Wow, this is ... incredible. Thank you so much to the FIA, to my team, and to everyone who’s supported me this year. It’s been a wild ride, and I’m so grateful for every moment.”

She pauses, glancing down at the award in her hands, turning it over thoughtfully. “But there are two people I need to thank more than anyone else, because without them, I wouldn’t be standing here tonight.”

You feel Max’s grip on your hand tighten just slightly, as if bracing himself for what’s coming. He’s always been proud of Emilia, but tonight, the emotion is running deeper than ever.

“My parents,” Emilia continues, her voice growing softer, more heartfelt. “Mama, Papa ... I owe everything to you.”

The crowd is silent now, all eyes on the young woman at the podium, the daughter of one of the greatest drivers in Formula 1 history, but tonight, it’s clear that this is Emilia’s moment.

“Mama,” Emilia says, her gaze finding you again, “you’ve been my rock, my biggest supporter, and the person who’s always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. You taught me what it means to be strong, to never give up, and to follow my heart. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You’ve watched Emilia grow from a baby into the remarkable young woman she is today, and hearing her speak these words is almost too much to bear. You squeeze Max’s hand again, finding comfort in his presence beside you.

“And Papa ...” Emilia’s voice catches slightly, and she takes a moment to steady herself. “I know I might not look like you, but no one can deny that I drive like you. You’ve taught me everything I know about racing, but more importantly, you’ve shown me what it means to be passionate, dedicated, and fearless. I’ve always wanted to make you proud, and I hope I’ve done that.”

Max can’t hold back the tears any longer. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep his emotions in check, but it’s no use. His eyes are wet, his chest tight with pride and love for his daughter. He nods, his lips pressed together in a tight line, as if trying to keep himself from breaking down completely.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. In this moment, it’s just the three of you — everything else fades away.

Emilia takes a deep breath, her gaze sweeping across the audience one last time. “I’m so lucky to have parents like you. Thank you for everything. This award is as much yours as it is mine.”

The applause that follows is deafening, the crowd rising to their feet in a standing ovation. Emilia smiles, a little shy now that the speech is over, and nods her thanks before stepping back from the podium.

As the applause continues, Max turns to you, his eyes still glistening. “She’s incredible, isn’t she?”

You nod, too emotional to speak, your heart full to bursting with love for both of them. Max leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, a silent acknowledgment of everything you’ve been through together to reach this moment.

The ceremony continues, but you’re not really paying attention anymore. You’re too lost in your thoughts, in the warmth of Max’s arm around you, in the overwhelming pride you feel for your daughter.

When Emilia returns to the table, the award in her hands, Max immediately pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so proud.”

Emilia hugs him back just as tightly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thanks, Papa,” she whispers, her voice full of love. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They hold each other for a long moment, and you can’t help but smile through your own tears. This is your family — your beautiful, wonderful, extraordinary family.

As the evening draws to a close and the final awards are handed out, you find yourself reflecting on the journey that brought you all here. It wasn’t always easy, and there were times when you weren’t sure how things would turn out. But standing here now, with Max and Emilia by your side, you know that every challenge, every hardship, was worth it.

As you all make your way out of the ceremony and into the cool night air, Emilia holds her award close, her eyes still shining with happiness. Max keeps his arm around you, his other hand resting on Emilia’s shoulder, as if he can’t bear to let either of you out of his reach.

When you reach the car, Max opens the door for you and Emilia, and you both slide inside. As Max takes his seat behind the wheel, he glances over at you, his expression soft and full of love.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, smiling at him, your heart full. “Yeah,” you reply, reaching over to take his hand. “Let’s go home.”

As Max drives through the quiet streets, Emilia leans her head against your shoulder, her award still clutched in her hands. You glance at her, at the peaceful expression on her face, and feel a surge of contentment wash over you.

This is what it’s all about, you realize. This is the life you’ve built together, the family you’ve created. And as you sit there, surrounded by the people you love most in the world, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together — just as you always have.

escaped:

chapter one:

see you again

you were incredibly pissed about what happened at the USJ, and how eraserhead was horribly injured. you spend a whole week off of your usual patrols because you couldn’t focus. sitting here, on the usual roof you’d met eraserhead, you wait, seeing if any crime would happen, and get your mind of him.

“hey, long time, no see,” you hear from behind you, and you straighten up, “surprised you’re even here. tsukauchi said he didn’t see you for a week.”

you visibly shake, “how could i? you were hurt and i couldn’t do anything to stop it!” you take a breath before you start breathing again, “you’re the only person so far who hasn’t hurt me nor betrayed my trust since meeting you over a year ago, and seeing you hurt like that, made me realize that i can’t lose you too. i’m sorry eraserhead.”

before he could speak, you jumped from the roof, and ran, hoping to find a place to calm down before you have a panic attack, only to find a villain trying to hurt a civilian.

“well, damn, just my luck, isn’t it?” you speak, the microphone in your mask making your voice sound deeper, “do you really wanna hurt her?”

the villain laughs, “man! i can’t believe it’s really you, glitch! i’ve been wanting to fight you for a long time.”

with the villain’s attention on you, you see the woman trying to get away, so you keep the villain’s attention on you.

“here’s your chance then, come at me with all you got!” you yell, and the villain immediately charges at you. without knowing the villains quirk, you decide to try and stay as far away as you can, at least until you know it and how it works.

“you know, you’re hard to find, been out here for weeks hoping to catch your attention,” he speaks before throwing the knife he had in his hand at you, “and i finally got it!”

dodging so the knife doesn’t hit you, you chuckle, “sorry, why did you want my attention? wouldn’t it be more rewarding to have endeavor’s or all might’s?” you speak, trying to get him in engage in conversation more, “why is my direct attention so important to you?”

he laughs, “ah, but why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, jumping trying to get in close to throw a punch, “you fight quirkless, but yet, you are undefeated, so if i’m able to defeat you, imagine the credibility i’ll have defeating you!”

you chuckle, a dark glint in your eyes, “i’d like to see you try.”

after a few moments of dodging his punches, he finally lands one on your arm, causing it to break in half.

“oh you fucking bitch,” you swear in english, before going back to japanese, “so your quirk is super strength, or something related to it.”

the villain grins sickeningly, “oh, you’re right. my quirk lets me fight with the same power as endeavor but nowhere near his size, not many expect it.”

“at least i’ll know to expect it,” you hear eraserhead’s voice from behind the villain and the villain turns around, and you feel a sense a dread wash over you.

“eraserhead too? oh, this is a party,” he says, “good thing, this is a mutation quirk, you can’t erase it.”

realizing what was happening, you run, jumping on the walls, the way you were trained to, jumping in front of eraserhead just as the villain delivers a devastating blow to your chest, and you feel the air leave your lungs and your vision blurring.

“even better! i got glitch! now time to make them pay,” the villain says, and you can hear the sirens.

“you really think i’d follow her without backup? you got another thing coming,” you hear eraserhead say, and you try to lift your head up but it takes too much energy and your chest is in too much pain. you don’t remember much after that.

——

waking up smelling antiseptic confuses you for a minute and then you jump into panic. your eyes shoot open and you sit up quickly, and see 4 other people in the room. you feel your chest heave in panic as you realize you don’t have your mask on. the old lady seems to notice this immediately and walks over to you.

“it’s okay dearie, you’re safe and your injures are healed,” she speaks to you, softly, an attempt to calm you down, and it does, a little.

“taking a hit for eraser, huh, glitch?” a man, who you recognize as present mic, says. you freeze when he says that, the panic setting back in as you realize a bunch of pro heroes know who you are.

“it’s okay. yes, we do know your identity, or at least what your face looks like, but we have no intention on arresting you,” the bear, dog, hybrid says, “i’m nezu, the principal!”

“wait, you said i wasn’t going to be arrested?” you ask, panic still in your chest.

“you will not be arrested as you did not break any laws. vigilantism is only illegal when you use your quirk, and as far as aizawa has said, you don’t use it,” nezu spoke, watching your face carefully.

“who the fuck is aizawa?” you speak after a moment of silence, and present mic immediately starts laughing, eraserhead looks annoyed, the doctor looks confused and the principal looks the same except his smile is slightly bigger, showing he’s amused.

“me, i’m aizawa,” eraserhead, no, aizawa speaks.

“oh,” you speak, voice quiet, “sorry, usually i’m better at figuring things like this out but i’m slightly panicky.”

“why dearie? is there a reason or do you have anxiety?” the doctor asks, “and i’m recovery girl, considering you didn’t know eraserhead was aizawa, it’s easier to tell you.”

you nod, “i have anxiety and ptsd. i don’t go to hospitals or doctors often. only when i’m on the verge of dying, which hasn’t been in years.”

“why would you be on the verge of dying?” nezu asks, his voice softer, as if he knows to tread lightly.

“uh, no offense, but you guys haven’t gotten to the level of trust where you get to unlock my tragic backstory,” you say, shrugging, “just know, it wasn’t pretty.”

nezu nods, and looking away from him, you see present mic looking sad and aizawa looks unbothered, until you look at him in the eyes, and see he’s bothered by something.

“do you have anywhere to stay dearie?” recovery girl asks, and you shake your head.

“no, for the most part i stay at homeless shelters when it’s cold and the rest of the year i stay wherever i can.”

silence falls over the room, and you can cut the tension with a knife.

“how old are you, little listener?” present mic asks, and you raise your head to look him in the eyes.

“i just turned 16,” you speak, shrugging.

you hear a gasp from recovery girl, and you turn to look at her, “what?”

“where are your parents?” nezu asks, his voice slightly colder now, as if he’s angry.

you shrug, “don’t know. don’t care. i left america when i was 10, caught a plane here, haven’t been back since.”

you hear aizawa sigh lowly, and you look at him, tilting you head, in a questioning manner.

“did you even know your parents?” he asks, after a moment, and you shake your head.

“no, i don’t think so,” you finally reply, voice meek.

a silence falls once again, until nezu breaks it, “aizawa, yamada, would you let her sleep at your apartment tonight? i would like to speak with her more tomorrow,” he asks, and you immediately hold your hands up.

“no, no, nope. i’m not doing that. i don’t want to be a bother,” you speak, “is there anyway i can just stay here?”

present mic looks distraught, “it wouldn’t be a bother, right, shota?”

aizawa sighs, “i rather you stay where the two of us can watch you, than you escape.”

you gasp mockingly, “how dare you accuse me of trying to escape?”

he looks at you, and deadpans, “because you totally didn’t escape tonight during our talk.”

you shrug, “was gonna cry if i didn’t, so i yeeted out of there. also, don’t ask why i was gonna cry, don’t wanna talk about it.”

nezu nodded, “do stay with aizawa and yamada. we’ll talk about your arrangement tomorrow with the school.”

you nodded, and sat up to stand but as soon as you did, you got lightheaded and stay back down, “i forget i’m anemic.”

recovery girl sighs, “between you and midoryia, i have my work cut out for me this year.”

White Love

iceprince!hongjoong x fireprincess!reader

genre: fantasy, fluff, angst, hongjoong being an absolute flirt-

word count: ~24k

synopsis: there seems to be an eternal winter set in wonderland caused by the ice prince hongjoong, and you- the fire princess who has been laying low for a while- set out to end it. what you don't expect is to find him freezing to death trapped in a tower, and as you save him, you find out that the mages in wonderland are uprising to end the original bloodline- titled prince and princesses. creating a small team with your childhood friend seonghwa and a water mage yunho, you and hongjoong fight against the threat to your life while uncovering secrets and finding unexpected friends and love.

You've had enough of the cold.

You didn't hate winter- it used to be your favourite time of the year, especially the part where you'd brew yourself some coffee and burn your tongue while you sat out in the snow, gloved hands both warm from the cup of coffee in your hand but freezing because of the chilly air.

You loved snow, you loved the white blanket of cloud on earth, and you loved sitting in front of the fire- something you really couldn't do the rest of the year. You loved the cloudy skies and the cool palette of colours that came only in winter. You also loved cuddling to your friends or cats or dogs in winter, putting a hand in someone's pocket and warm both your hands, playing with someone and shoving ice down their back, earning satisfied screams as you giggled and ran away, making snowman and snow animals and having a snowball fight.

But this time, the winter wasn't ending- it had been well past the time for spring to arrive. The trees were still bare, lakes still frozen and it felt like the temperature was dropping every passing day. It should have been summer by now, but nobody dared complain.

It was because of him.

People were careful when they called his name or talked about him- they didn't want the wind to carry their complains to his ears in case he got angry- which couldn't end well. It was already cold enough.

Hongjoong, his name was. The Ice Prince.

Wonderland lived up to its name- a place full of wonders. Anyone with an affinity for magic who couldn't adjust to the lands of the humans settled in Wonderland. It was a free place for all humans whether they possessed magic or not, given they lived peacefully. Of course, the majority was of the Wonderers- the name given to those who possessed any sort of magic.

And you- well, you tried to pass away unnoticed. Your magic was, if not more, as dangerous as Hongjoong's- where his was the gift of ice, yours was the gift of fire.

Polar opposites, that's what you both were, in every aspect. He was a Prince. Every child grew up hearing stories about the Prince of Ice- and he'd built quite a reputation for himself. There were just so many rumours about him that you didn't know what to believe.

The Prince froze his enemies and then shattered their bodies.

The Prince burned him with his cold.

The Prince is just a young kid.

The Prince healed my freezing skin.

The Prince played in snow with my child.

You had no idea what to believe, and whenever you pictured him, you pictured a middle-aged man, even though most of the people had told you he was around your age. You just couldn't help but form this picture of a sulking old man sitting on his ice throne all dressed in white when you thought of him.

But you were no one to judge- you weren't quite in the place to complain when you were living two different lives. Most of the people knew you as a person with a little affinity for fire- enough to light stoves and burn the fire even in the winter, enough to burn metal if you tried long enough.

However, you were called the Fire Princess too- though no one had made the connection yet. It was just that you were too good at your disguise- and you weren't as dramatic as this Hongjoong person. You didn't involve yourself in any sort of politics or drama. The reason you were called the Fire Princess was because you had once saved Wonderland from flooding by a hurricane when you had steamed off all the water threatening to drown your homeland.

That was 5 years ago, and you had since kept a very low profile, getting well adjusted to your mundane life- an owner of a bookstore café. It was cozy and fit well with the vibe of winters, but-

The winter needed to stop.

You were wondering what the reason was- what had the Ice Prince all... disturbed? Was he okay? Was he doing this on purpose? Did he like to see the people suffer because of this endless winter?

Your friend Seonghwa- who basically lived in the café though he was a part-timer- was the only one alive who knew of your true identity. He was your childhood friend and the closest thing you had to a family. You looked at him as he sat in front of the fireplace- he really wasn't handling the cold well anymore. His fingers and toes would often swell due to the cold and you made him stay near you for the time-being. You could keep the café warm enough for him all day long, everyday as long as he needed.

You picked a candy and made your way next to Seonghwa, handing him the candy with a smile as you sat down. "Are your fingers better now?"

"They are, but as soon as I go out and stay too long, they start to freeze again," he sighed, shaking his head.

"I wonder what's got this Hongjoong's panties in a twist," you mumbled, and Seonghwa slapped your arm, but you only shrugged, "What? It's not like he's gonna hear me."

You had a point- but Seonghwa was too involved in the gossip that ran around, and he only shushed you, saying you never knew when the cold could get worse than it already was because he heard one of us complaining.

"Do you think I should get out of my hole and go talk to the Prince of Ice?" You asked after a moment, genuinely wondering if it was time that you confronted this man.

Seonghwa shook his head no rather strongly, making you laugh a bit, "You've kept a low-profile. If you go now and end this winter, it's gonna be too obvious that you're the one they've been searching for."

You supposed he was right- anyone would make the connection this time. One is an incidence, twice is a coincidence, and thrice would be a pattern- your cover would blow.

"But Seonghwa," you leaned forward, "I'm so tired of this cold, I'm beginning to hate it. I really think I should make things normal, see what's up and what's going on. Maybe I can't do anything about it, but at least I can try, for everyone's sake."

"You're gonna miss winter when it's gone," Seonghwa laughed, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling- one of the major reason that you loved winter was that you could burn from within without attracting attention. You could release fire here and there without making it strange. In summers... you really didn't handle the hot weather well, which was ironic.

"Maybe this time, I won't," you said your weak retort, ignoring his snickers and thinking. Should you, or should you not?

You did.

Early morning the very next day, you packed a bag with some simple belongings- some clothes, food, weapons, books for when you got bored and a map. Seonghwa came to see you off as you instructed him on how to take care of the bookstore while you were gone.

"I know," Seonghwa laughed, "Anyone who's curious gets to stay as long as they want and read books, in which case coffee is on the house."

You smiled, "Don't scare the poor souls away, will you?"

Seonghwa smirked- he knew you were talking about his shadow magic. He had a tendency to prank people when he got bored, and you had hence prohibited him from using magic inside the bookstore and the café. "I won't. Promise."

Pleased, you gave him a hug, telling him to look after himself and make sure he didn't stay out long, and he told you to be careful and come back if it got too dangerous. "I can turn him to ashes if he tries anything, you know," you told him, referring to Hongjoong.

"He can turn you to ice just as easily, so don't do anything stupid," Seonghwa pinched his nose bridge, already regretting ever agreeing and not stopping you- but he couldn't.

You left while the sun was rising, going north- you could feel the heat in the air and could feel where it was the coldest- north it was. You didn't need to wear much clothes to protect from the cold since you could warm yourself, but to prevent unwanted attention you had donned a long coat and boots- the latter being a necessity since the ice was getting thicker the further you travelled north.

It wasn't going to be a long journey- it would take two days at most, travelling on horses for the most part until you'd reach the mountains, which was when you'd had to resort to walking.

The mountains stretched some hundred miles, and you were worried just how you were going to find someone who you'd never seen- especially because you knew that when you'd get close, it'd confuse your senses and maybe you'd end up getting lost (not a big deal, you could find your way back somehow) or never finding him (big deal).

Or maybe he'd find you first- which was a big possibility. You'd have to mask your magic as soon as you were closer- but that would result in you feeling the actual cold. So you were weighing your options- risk getting detected by Hongjoong who you're going to find anyway, or risk freezing in the cold and maybe miss the chance to find him?

You shrugged- you'd go with the risk of getting detected. It could work as a shortcut.

The two days to the mountains were as uneventful as they could be. You had tagged along with two older women going in the same direction, exchanging food and gossip, from which you learnt more about what was going on in Wonderland.

You used to be the center of gossip, either as a subject or as a contributor. But ever since the incident 5 years ago, your life had changed. It wasn't the incident itself that changed your life but how people started treating you differently, which made you move and start fresh, Seonghwa soon following after you simply because he wanted a change too- and you were glad he had.

You learnt from the ladies that it was getting restless in the south- the water magicians were causing problems again just like 5 years ago, maybe to provoke the others or call out the fire princess for revenge for their brother. You listened with mundane curiosity, only nodding or reacting with a gasp sometimes, the ladies unknown to the fact that you were the fire princess they were talking about.

Once you reached the mountains and started travelling alone, you really started to feel the gravity of the situation. You really had no idea how the Ice Prince was going to be like. He could be ruthless. He really could kill you if you weren't fast enough. He could do anything to you.

For a while that you hiked, you mused about the other possibilities. Maybe he was just a kid, trying to get his powers in control- much like you had struggled in your early teens. Or maybe he was an old man who looked like cotton candy, all white hair and white beard- like the Santa Claus humans believe in.

Or he could be an angry old man too.

While you were snickering at the thought of the Ice Prince being a wrinkly old man, you reached the foothill of the mountain range, sighing when you looked up to the endless height all covered in a thick blanket of ice.

You sighed, clutching your necklace- a gift from your late mother which acted as a siphon, willing more heat into your body to keep yourself from freezing- it really was cold here. You noticed a group of men a few feet away, all bundled up, probably going their way up to hike too. Thinking it would be better to travel with a group rather than alone yet again, you decided to join them, stopping when a tall boy with dark hair and red streaks noticed you.

"You wanna go up the mountain?" He asked, scanning you once, and you could immediately feel his magic- something to do with water.

"Yep," you nodded, looking back at the group of men, "Are they all going?"

"We collect ice to sell, from the frozen lake. Blocks of ice," he told you, nudging you to follow him, "What's taking you up the mountains in such cold?"

"Just going to... visit a friend who lives in the north," you said casually, but he didn't miss your unintentional pause, and he didn't probe further either.

He introduced you to the old men, who laughed when you denied extra coats and mufflers from them, saying you had a 'little' affinity for fire magic and that would keep you warm.

"I hope it does, we don't want to bring your freezing corpse back," one of the men laughed.

"Uncle!" The boy- you had noticed the only young company they had- shook his head, "Don't mind him- he loves joking about death. It's how he rolls."

"I don't," you smiled, "So, what's your name?"

"Yunho," he smiled this time, and you thought he was incredibly cute for such a tall giant, "And you are?"

You told him your name, taking the stick he gave you as you started walking up, "What do you think about this never-ending winter?"

"To be honest, I'm kinda sick of it, even when business has been good lately," he smiled guiltily, eyes darting to the men as if afraid they'd hear him, "I miss summer."

"Me too," you sighed wistfully, "Even though winter was my favourite season, I'm beginning to hate it."

"I wish the Fire Princess could set his ass on fire," he snorted, making you laugh out loud, "He needs a taste of fire, this Ice Prince."

"Have you ever seen him? The Ice Prince, his name is Hongjoong, right?"

"So we've heard," Yunho said, offering you his hand as you stepped on a rock too high for you, "I haven't seen him, but he has-" he pointed to one of the men- the one with a rather aged face, he probably looked older than he actually was, "he's only seen him from afar, but he says you'd recognize him instantly."

"Because of his overwhelming magic?" You wondered.

"He lives up to his name," Yunho said, "Hair and skin as pale as snow. His eyes are... icy too."

"Oooo," you grinned, "Is he young?"

"What are you thinking?" Yunho wriggled his brows as he laughed and you shook your head, stifling your laugh, "He is probably in his 20s."

"Ah, I thought he was a... I don't know. Old man? Grumpy old ice man with a cold heart."

"That's what people usually tend to think," Yunho chuckled, "Much like the Fire Princess. People used to think she'd be a woman who'd be 'as hot as fire'. They were rather disappointed to find her only a scrawny teenager."

"And what's wrong with that? Everybody is a kid before they turn 'hot as hell'," you pouted, your voice giving away your disappointment and Yunho raised a brow.

"I suppose you have a point- I wonder where she is now. Have you ever had the chance to see or meet her?"

"Not really," you shrugged, "Have you?"

"Sadly, no," Yunho sighed wistfully, "I'd like to see her though."

"You wanna see if she is hot as hell?" You poked his arm, making him grin.

"No, I just... I have water magic, you know. Most of us have a grudge against her, you know the history," he told you, and you realized too late that you were treading on dangerous waters, literally.

"Do you think what she did was wrong?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"I don't, actually," he sighed deeply, "Our own people- the water mages were wrong. They have no right to control the flow of nature. I'm glad Wonderland was saved from the flood and destruction, but at the same time... I think it was unnecessary to make a spectacle of his death."

"Spectacle?" You gaped at him- what was he talking about?

"I heard she burned that water mage alive in front of hundreds of people," Yunho looked at you.

"Well, do you think she could have gotten away alive if she had?" You frowned, "Don't you think she would have been detained at the spot?"

"I don't know- I've heard a lot of versions of the event," Yunho admitted, "I don't know what to believe anymore."

You nodded- people had made various versions of the actual incident. And you were the last person who was going to tell them what really had happened.

After two hours of hiking, you all sat down in a circle to eat, and you lit them a fire, preventing it from burning off thanks to the strong wind at this height. They roasted chicken and vegetables on the fire, exchanging stories of their times in the mountain and you listened eagerly.

The men were a friendly bunch, you found out as you talked to them. They were pretty used to the snow since they worked in the mountains, and you learned that Yunho was one of the men's nephew, learning to adjust the temperature of his water magic- but none of them had water magic so Yunho was on his own.

"I could teach you," you offered, his eyes lighting up, "I have to control the temperature of my fire magic too- it should be the same thing."

"As much as I like the offer, is this really gonna come in handy to me?" Yunho wondered.

"Of course," you told him, "Think of the possibilities. You can extend your magic to ice and fire- you can freeze water and make vapours too- you can be the Ice Prince and Fire Princess, Yunho."

He giggled at that, making you join, "I like the sound of Fire Princess."

"I'm serious!" You laughed a bit, "Think about it- water so hot you could burn someone from the inside out- you know our bodies are one-third water."

"Why would I need to do that!" Yunho groaned, "I don't want to burn people alive!"

"You should always be prepared," your tone was grim, "You never know when someone is gonna come after you."

Yunho looked at you as you said that, a curious glint in his eyes. Just who were you? "Do you have people coming after you?"

"Fire magic is rare as it is, and in the winters it gets worse," you admitted, "Just like water magic- not rare but people take it for granted."

You travelled north along with the group until it was dark and they were tired, leading you to the cabin- you learned that there were such cabins for travellers and hikers situated every few miles, open to everyone. After a few fruits you decided to rest, tired from all the hiking you had done, your legs aching because you had never hiked such a long distance in one day.

The next morning, drinking some warm tea and eating fruits, Yunho told you that the rest of them were going to the lake only a few miles west from here.

"Are you still going north?" He asked, standing beside you as you peeked down from the height, wowing at the scene in front of you- it was winter wonderland, literally. The trees had icicles hanging from them, and everything in sight was just a beautiful shade of white.

"Yes, I don't know how long I have to go, but I have a map so I should be fine," you shrugged, and Yunho failed to stifle his smile, shaking his head as he put his hands in his pocket, and you narrowed your eyes at him, "What?"

"You do know there's nothing up north anymore, don't you?" He was grinning shamelessly now.

"Ah, is that so?" You shrugged, "I'll just explore a bit. I have to meet my friend a bit further up north."

"Hey, there's literally nothing up there. No cabins- no one is able to go further because of the blizzard. Are you sure you have a friend up there?"

You bit your lip, wishing Seonghwa was here- he would have saved your ass. You were not a good liar, opting to shut your mouth when you couldn't say the truth.

"You're going to the Ice Prince, aren't you?" Yunho was smiling.

"And why would I go to him? I haven't even seen the dude," you pouted.

"I have high suspicions of who you are, and don't try to deny it- you're a bad liar."

You pursed your lips, looking at him, "Whatever you're thinking, you're probably wrong."

"Maybe I am," he sighed, rather happy with how the situation turned out, "But you're not really denying anything either."

You looked at Yunho who was grinning in victory and you rolled your eyes, "Whatever. Yeah, I am going to see the Ice Prince and maybe I'll set his ass on fire too. Someone has to."

Yunho laughed, "Can I tag along? I'd love to see the sight."

You scanned him- he really was all positive vibes, chill and happy. You sensed no danger from him, and his presence was relaxing- something quite rare. "If you want to learn about your magic, you can tag along."

"Alright," he jumped happily, "I'm going to tell my uncle then- don't run away!"

You waved at him, sighing as you looked at the sun peeking from behind the clouds. Yunho really was different, considering he was a water mage too. He wasn't like the rest of them who were bitter towards all fire mages since the incident, and the fact that he didn't believe anything he heard about the incident said a lot about his personality.

Yunho came back with his bag and yours, taking out a muffler and wrapping it around his head and burying his nose inside too, "There's gonna be a strong blizzard up there. We'll freeze to death- unless you have a way to keep me warm. I'll probably be the only one dying- you won't let me freeze to death, will you?"

"I won't," you laughed at how his eyes searched your face, "Come on, I'll even teach you how to keep yourself warm with your own magic."

"Alright, I'll trust you on that- if you ditch me out in the cold, my uncle remembers your face- he told me to tell you that."

You saluted, grinning, "Alright, sir. Shall we?"

-----------------

"The storm's crazy," you shook your head, Yunho close by as you hiked up the snow- it was very thick and your boots were sinking in the snow much more than before, "What the hell is up with this Hongjoong?"

"I know right," Yunho shivered a bit- even when you had created a circle of warmth around the two of you, it still didn't stop the chill from entering your body. You weren't using all your magic though, keeping as much reserved as you could manage without getting sick in the cold, "Do you think he might be... I don't know- in some sort of trouble?"

"Let's hope not," you muttered. It was unlikely. He was probably being a little bitch and testing his powers here, unaware of the magnitude of it. Or maybe he was aware and doing this on purpose-

You paused- you didn't want the incidents from 5 years ago to repeat again.

"Is something wrong?" Yunho frowned, and you opened your mouth to speak but then shut up.

"Nothing," you managed to say, motioning him to carry on walking, "Just had a thought."

"Are you... worried about what's gonna happen when you do meet him?"

"Yeah," you nodded, "This could turn out really bad, actually. Now is the time to back out, Yunho."

"I tagged along to learn about my magic, so I think I'll stick," he said and you smiled at that.

Finding a little cave, the two of you went inside, eating the lunch box the uncles had packed you two, deciding to eat less to save the food for when you'll actually need it. You warmed water for both of you, sitting in front of a fire that burned without wood- suspended in the air.

"So, how much can you do with your magic currently?"

"I can handle the water part well," Yunho told you, crossing his legs, "Bending, controlling the flow- not the best with a large amount but I can handle it okay."

You nodded- it was good enough for a normal mage, "You're not from the original bloodline, are you?"

You were referring to the greater mages, as people called them. You and Hongjoong both were from the original bloodline, hence dubbed Prince and Princess of your elements. "Do you think I'd tell you if I was?"

You made an impressed face as Yunho grinned, shaking his head, "I'm not. I'm... normal."

"Way to phrase it," you muttered, "Okay, so considering you're 'normal', that's good enough. Can you manifest water right now and burn out this fire?"

Yunho nodded, raising his hand and concentrating for a few seconds, water forming in his hand drop by drop until it swirled around his hand and he sent it to the fire which burned out with a sizzle.

"Good," you said, and the fire burned again without you moving an inch, and Yunho gaped at you, "Can you manifest your magic without movement, with a thought?"

"I thought only the greater mages could do that," he raised a brow, but you shook your head.

"Anyone who's well trained can do that. It just requires a lot of focused concentration. You can learn that too. You'll need to use your imagination- picture creating a body of water in front of you. Your hand isn't the outlet actually- it just helps you with the focusing part."

"You're making it sound easier than it is," Yunho laughed nervously, "Should I try?"

"You can, but it's gonna take some time. Just try picturing it daily until you can feel it- it's gonna require a lot of glaring in the space- which is exactly what you're doing right now."

Yunho groaned- he had been glaring daggers at the fire. You shook your head as you smiled, "You don't need to be angry to manifest it either. It'll come naturally- don't forget to practice like 8 hours a day."

"8 hours!" Yunho wailed, and you glared at him.

"Do you want me to kick you down from where we came from?"

"No ma'am," he saluted, straightening, "So what about the temperature part?"

"That's harder than manifesting your magic with a thought, so I say you get to that first."

"Can you control your fire's magic?" He asked. You put your hand in front of Yunho, a flame drawing from your index finger, "Go ahead and touch it."

Yunho frowned at you, but you shook your head, "It's not gonna burn, I promise. Go ahead."

Skeptical, he put his fingers right above the flame as if feeling for heat, but you raised your finger and let the flame make contact with his skin, Yunho drawing his hand back reflexively, but then testing it himself, touching your flame, and then you lit your hand in cold fire.

"That's... amazing- it's only a little warm- how is it possible?"

"It can be hot too- hot enough to burn my own skin," you told him, "Your magic can hurt you too- never forget that."

Yunho stared at you- his suspicions about you were turning into belief and your show of magic abilities wasn't really helping your case. "You know what? I'm gonna assume you are the Fire Princess."

"But I'm not," you smiled.

"I'm gonna assume until I actually see the Fire Princess in front of me," he smiled, "Until then, you are her."

"Do I look like a Fire Princess though?" You wondered out loud, "People assume she has fiery red hair and eyes that glow like fire-"

"You're definitely looking like the scrawny kid they talk about," Yunho snickered, making you slap his arm.

"I'm not scrawny and definitely not a kid anymore!"

"You tell yourself that," he grinned, "But I'll say... your eyes. You do know they kind of glow whenever you use your magic more?"

You gaped at Yunho- "You're not serious."

Yunho gaped back at you, "Has no one told you that?"

You shook your head no, "I just don't really use my magic much, so I guess people didn't notice. The cold fire requires more strength so that's why you must have noticed."

"Well," Yunho shifted, "My case rests. No set of eyes glow even when you use all of your magic. I guess that rumour was true after all."

You raised a brow, "What rumour?"

"The water mages remember your eyes," Yunho said, "From when you steamed all the water."

"Oh," you nodded absently, looking at Yunho and realizing a second later that you had fallen in his trap when you saw him smirking, "But I'm not the Fire Princess."

"Whatever you say," he laughed, shaking his head and you laughed a bit too. You were going to keep denying it shamelessly.

As the two of you walked further up, you couldn't believe just how easily you had shown Yunho your magic and how relaxed you were with him. You wondered if it was because he reminded you of a younger you- back when you were still learning the strengths and weaknesses of your magic, so curious about how you could control it better. The two of you engaged in small talk as you walked, helping each other whenever a tough spot came, and you found the blizzard getting stronger than before, Yunho shivering now despite your circle of warmth.

"He must be close," you wondered, looking at Yunho and finding his teeth chattering- you couldn't increase the temperature of your warmth anymore- it would require too much magic, "You should have told me you were feeling cold, Yunho. Why didn't you?"

"Didn't want to bother you," he simply said, passing a weak smile.

"I would have been bothered more if I had to deal with your frozen corpse," you muttered, "Take off your gloves."

"Are you crazy?" Yunho frowned at you, hugging himself and you rolled your eyes.

"Take it off- just this one," you pointed to his hand beside you, and as he took off his glove, you took off your own, folding your fingers in his, raising your hands as you looked at your joined hands, "You're hands are... very big."

Yunho laughed out loud, "Yours are small," he squeezed your hands, muttering 'tiny', noticing that he had stopped shivering. "Is this easier than creating that circle around us?"

"This is nothing to me," you told him, "The circle required magic- this is just my subconscious, you could say."

Yunho nodded, thanking you for not letting him freeze, and you continued following the source of the blizzard which grew so strong that you had to melt any snow that made way to your face, asking Yunho if he could lend you some power.

"Don't drain me too much," he warned, "Otherwise you'll have to deal with my corpse."

"I know how much you hold, Yunho, don't worry," you told him and he nodded, lending you as much as you wanted, until you found another cave- it was getting dark so you decided to rest.

Once again, you built a fire on which Yunho cooked some raw chicken, you wowing because he had way too may food supplies in his bag- he was probably wearing all the clothes he owned at this point. As you two ate, Yunho asked you just what you planned to do once you were face to face with the Ice Prince.

"Ask him politely to put an end to this winter and keep it to the mountains," you sipped on your tea, "I haven't thought about what to do if he denies."

"You really came without a plan, didn't you?" Yunho shook his head, "How did that friend of yours even let you go?"

"He believed I'd set the Ice Prince on fire if he denied, so maybe I should do that?" You wondered, making him laugh.

"Okay, Princess," Yunho shook his head, and you once again denied you weren't the Fire Princess. "Come on, no one else other than the Fire Princess would dare confront the Ice Prince without a plan."

"Some people are just dumb and think they can rule the world, you know," you shrugged, "maybe I'm one of them."

"Maybe you're both," Yunho pointed, and you had to acknowledge that.

When you were done eating, you took out your sleeping bags, and you stood wondering what to do with your magic- you couldn't control the fire when you were asleep. Yunho looked at you from where he sat on his bag, yours next to him.

"Sorry to inconvenience you," you finally said, "But I can't hold the fire when I'm asleep. So... the only option you have is to stay in contact with my skin to keep you warm while we sleep."

Yunho shook his head at the way you worded that, smirking a little, "How do you suggest we do that?"

"Well," you took off your sweater, leaving you in a half-sleeved T-shirt, "just hold my hand or arm as we sleep- and if I turn... I don't know, man, do whatever it takes to stay alive at this point. I don't want to deal with your frozen corpse in the morning."

Yunho laughed at that, a little nervous, "Sorry for inconveniencing you, princess, but you brought this upon yourself when you offered to teach me magic," he said as you lay down beside him, sleeping bags side by side, burning the fire out, the moonlight slowly filling the cave and giving you a little vision as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, your hands joined as you lay side by side, "You're basically a walking furnace, aren't you?"

"I am, and don't you go calling me princess," you laughed a bit, "that sounds so weird."

"That's all I'm calling you from now," he grinned, and you told him to shut up and sleep, smiling as he squeezed your hand unconsciously.

----------------

You, of course, woke up with Yunho hugging you as the big spoon.

And oh, he was a big ass spoon. He was basically engulfing your figure, one arm draped over your waist and over your own arm, hand on your hand, and you lazily played with his hands as you took your time to wake yourself up fully.

You couldn't help but smile at your joined hands, feeling a little giddy inside- the events really had turned out so unpredictable. You hadn't expected to make a friend out of your journey, let alone feel like a stupid giddy teenager with hormones because a guy was sleeping with you like that.

You mentally slapped yourself- this wasn't your first time sleeping with a guy, technically. You and Seonghwa had a habit of lying down on bed and gossiping until you passed out- but Seonghwa really didn't count. You decided to blame your fluttering heart to the lack of love in your life- you had a habit of driving away anyone who tried getting closer. You really didn't want anyone to know you were the Fire Princess. It would have only caused complications. Plus, the town you now lived in was small, and all the guys around your age knew you liked being alone. You hadn't gotten much action the past few years, if you were being honest.

And here you were with the man who was calling you princess, having found out your deepest secret two days in staying with you. You thanked the force above that Yunho had no filter and was honest and rational, not doubting you even when he was a water mage. He was just... different. Nice.

Yunho unconsciously tugged at you, bringing you closer and you decided it was time to wake the hell up. You tried putting his arm up and sliding away, but it was heavy- you later realized he was awake.

"Good morning to you too," Yunho scoffed.

"You're so heavy, let me go!" You groaned, making him snicker as he finally put his arm up and you lit a fire, no longer in contact with Yunho, "someone slept really well."

"I did, actually," Yunho rubbed his eyes. His cheeks were flushed- morning face, you had seen it yesterday too. It was kinda cute.

"I'm hoping to find that little brat today," you referred to the Ice Prince, "so eat up to your fill. He better prepare a feast for us when we arrive."

Yunho laughed, "What's got you in a bad mood, princess?"

"Even I'm beginning to feel cold," you sighed, "And we're running out of food. If we don't find him today we'll have to go back."

"Alright," Yunho finally got up, "Let's do that."

Eating only an apple each for breakfast and running on coffee, you turned a notch down on your siphon, allowing you to access a bit more power as you and Yunho ascended the mountain, the blizzard now in full force and you had to hold Yunho's hand not only to keep him from freezing but also for his physical strength as he led you into the eye of the storm.

"There's no way he's doing this on purpose, unless he's an evil maniac," you shouted- you really couldn't hear each other well anymore due to the strong wind, "He must be in some sort of trouble."

"I think so too!" Yunho basically dragged you up, "Is this like when you lose control of your magic? Would you set the world on fire if you did?"

"Exactly like that," you confirmed, "I once nearly burned my own self and the whole house."

Yunho grimaced, and you kept moving forward- maps were useless. You both were utterly lost and maybe doomed too. You needed to get to the Ice Prince today and see what all this fuss was about.

It had been a few more minutes of walking to the apparent source when you sensed magic- and not of a single person, but-

There were at least 10 people with ice magic and other magic here.

You tugged at Yunho's hand and when he looked at you, you motioned him to stay quiet and went behind a big rock to take cover.

"There are at least 10 mages here," you began, "can you veil your magic so they won't sense you?"

"I've never needed to do that," Yunho looked sorry, but you shook your head and told him it was okay.

"We have to deal with them anyway- I'm sure you know basic offence and defence, right?"

Which was how you ended up using Yunho as a bait.

As a water mage, he could easily pass by as someone who came for the ice and isn't affected by the blizzard because most of the water mages can control ice to some extent too.

You were in front of a building- you didn't know what else to call it, it was all steel and rocks from the outside, and it was quite huge as well, like a mini-palace of sorts, probably built this way to keep the cold away. Three men were stationed at the entrance, two a few feet ahead and Yunho strolled in, saying hi all well-mannered, saying he was passing by for ice and talking about how the storm was so bad.

You didn't have much time- Yunho was barely keeping himself together, since he was no longer in contact with you and your magic that kept you warm. You couldn't risk his life. So as soon as the men relaxed from their tense position, playing along with pretending that they knew nothing about the storm, you came in range and sent some smoke their way, making them choke hard and pass out, Yunho running to you and holding your already extended hand hastily, teeth chattering.

"This was easier than I thought," Yunho commented.

"Only because they didn't feel me, and because you're an incredible actor," you grinned at him and he grinned back. "Now let's deal with the guards at the entrance- stick with me, okay? They won't sense me."

"Okay," Yunho said and you two walked right ahead, hoping the two men wouldn't notice the absent guards towards their left, and as soon as they noticed you, they came for you, but they were out when you choked them on the very air they breathed, and Yunho stood with his mouth hanging open, shaking his head at you.

“What?” You shrugged, unaware of the source of his surprise.

“There’s absolutely no way you’re not her,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you, “No fire mage could have as much control as you- suffocating the men without burning their lungs from the inside out? Who the hell trained you if you’re not her?”

“Let’s pretend you didn’t see that,” you pursed your lips in amusement, beckoning him forward, standing in front of the steel doors where you paused before you opened them, and turning towards him. “Now is the time to back out, Yunho. I don’t know how dangerous it can get from here, and I cannot guarantee your safety though I’ll try my absolute best, but… now is the time to reconsider this.”

Yunho huffed, jumping up and down enthusiastically, shivering once because he had let go of your hand, “I’m going in there with you, whether you like it or not, simply because you’re a tiny girl and I want to protect you.”

“This tiny girl could set your ass on fire,” you muttered, smiling as you opened the door, telling him to put up a defence because you were going full offence from here.

The lobby was huge, all ice and blue and white, a chandelier hanging in the middle. You had no time to admire the beauty of the interior- men after men came, hurtling their magic at you, sending sharp icicles that could slice your skin open but they melted before they came in your focus- you had a ring of fire around the two of you, and Yunho was glad for that. He wasn’t sure if his water magic was going to be any use in front of these very skilled ice mages.

“Who the hell are you?” One of the mages muttered, and you turned to him- a rather tall man with dark hair and even darker eyes, if that was possible.

“Who do you think?” You sent a shot of fire at him, but he put up an ice shield, making you stop, “Where is the Ice Prince? Take me to him.”

“As if,” he scoffed, “You’re not taking him anywhere- who sent you? Are you here to save him or kill him?”

Save him? Were you right about this?

You heard Yunho groan and you noticed he had just deflected a sharp icicle aimed for you, and you set the man on fire, leaving him gasping for air as he burned the fire out from within, which proved your theory that these men were not under-skilled.

You raised your hands- you really had no time for this chit-chat. In a matter of seconds, all the men in your vision were gasping for air and passing out, and you put the ring of fire out from around you.

“We need to lock them and tie them good,” you muttered, and Yunho immediately started dragging the men in a corner piling them in front of you- there were 6 of them.

This was not good.

As you bit your lips, thinking, Yunho looked at you, also waiting for an explanation. You finally sighed, “We don’t have much time- we should check to see where the Ice Prince is at before we think about what to do with this lot. They’ll stay out for a while. Let’s go.”

You and Yunho made your way around, checking room after room, until Yunho found a narrow passageway that led upstairs to a tower-like structure you had managed to see a glimpse of from the outside. You took the lead, Yunho right behind you, and you noticed it was getting colder and colder- frost covered the walls in decorative patterns. You squeezed Yunho’s hand- he would freeze without you.

There was a single door, and you could instantly feel the strong presence inside, as could Yunho as he looked at you. “It’s too dangerous,” you told him, taking off your necklace- the siphon and putting it around his neck, “This should keep you warm- go downstairs while I deal with this.”

“But it’s too dangerous for you alone-“

“No buts,” you shushed him, “Trust me, I got this. Now go. I don’t want to drag your corpse out now, do I?”

Yunho smiled, trusting you and before he started to go down, you stopped him, “Do not touch the necklace’s notch. You’ll find this building on fire if you do, so be careful.”

“Oh- is this a siphon?” Yunho asked and you nodded, and he raised his brow as if to say ‘you keep proving my point’, grinning as he ran downstairs.

You breathed, turning around and touching the doorknob, melting the locks and opening the door after a moment-

You did not expect to see the Ice Prince chained to the walls, head on his knees, making himself appear smaller than he was, his silver hair- almost white- falling messily, icicles hanging from his hair-

Gosh, he was freezing himself.

You walked to him cautiously- it looked like he was unconscious. Slightly poking him, you realized that either he was, or he was out for a moment, but the sudden irrational fear crawled inside you that there was a possibility that he was only a step away from death.

“…Hongjoong?” You tried calling him but he didn’t respond, and you gently pushed his figure to the back, revealing his face-

Gosh, he was… beautiful- even when frost was covering his eyelashes and his lips were blue and frosted. You touched his face- he was freezing from the inside out, and the gauntlets on his hands didn’t help, especially since they looked like they were made to block his magic, the iron covering his hands completely, his arms falling limply to his side.

Biting your lips, you pulled at the chains- you’d had to melt them without burning them, but it was too risky. You didn’t want to burn his hands, so you only melted the chain from near the wrists and his gauntlets, freeing him from the wall, and then you lay him down, putting a hand on his forehead and sending a little spark of fire inside him- enough to start the process of waking him up from his frozen state. You took out a kerchief, wiping his eyes as the frost on his eyelashes melted, then wiping his face as colour seeped through his skin, and you realized he wasn’t as pale as you thought he’d be.

The room was still ice-cold, making your breath materialise in the air, so you decided to start with putting the temperature of the room down, getting up and walking to the window as you started to melt the ice-

You didn’t even hear him wake up from his sleep and you only turned when it was too late-

He was upon you and pushed you, making you instinctively hold on to him as the window shattered and you two were then hurtling out to your death- your screams ringing in the air as he tried to choke you, realizing his hands were still blocked.

You only had time to scream, “I’m here to save you, you fucker!” before Hongjoong’s eyes changed, and he put his blocked hand out, making an icy slide to save you from breaking your head open on the rock (or save himself, probably, because he had plans to kill you) and then you two were rolling down on the soft snow, halting slowly and you coughed, spitting ice out from your mouth, finding Hongjoong on top of you, pinning your hands down.

“Who sent you?” He practically growled, his icy blue eyes burning you.

“I came to save you, you idiot,” you groaned, kicking him on the stomach and pushing him off, sending him moaning in pain loudly as he clutched at his stomach- he was probably weak right now, “I came to end this never-ending winter and see what got your icy ass in trouble, and you- you decide to push me out of that freaking tower?”

“Then why are my hands still inside this?” He put them in the air as if proving a point, and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m a fire mage, for fuck’s sake. I could burn the flesh off your hands if I tried breaking that. You’d like that, I’m sure.”

He stared at you for a moment, the icy wind circling around you two as you realized you were in the eye of the storm, and you raised your brows impatiently. He sighed, “How do I get this thing out?”

“I don’t know, man, try breaking it,” you groaned, getting up and squealing in pain as you saw the shards buried in your arms, “I’m gonna kill you later.”

He said nothing, and you shook your head because the only shard of broken glass he had gotten was on his cheek, sending blood trickling down, already frozen to his skin.

Yunho came outside, calling your name and Hongjoong instinctively sent a bolt of ice in his direction, which you melted before it could cut him, glaring daggers at him. “That’s my friend, you idiot. We mean no harm. Stop acting like a brat while we figure this out."

Hongjoong only sighed, bringing his knees to his chest again as Yunho rushed to you, examining your hurt state, glaring at Hongjoong. “I have healing magic- let me try healing your arms."

You nodded- most water mages had an affinity for healing. Yunho pulled the pointy shards out of your skin, healing them with a swipe of his finger over the open wound. By the time he was done you were seething in pain and anger, dimming it down a notch when you saw the guilty look in Hongjoong’s eyes.

“You gonna tell me why you were locked in that tower?” You asked, and Hongjoong sighed.

“Where are the ice mages?”

“Out cold, but not for too long,” you said.

“They planned to kill me, but I am too powerful, so they were trying to weaken me before getting rid of me.”

“You in your weakened state have put the entire land in eternal winter,” you muttered.

“I’m sure you like the cold,” Hongjoong raised his brow, “Fire Princess.”

Yunho met your eyes, and you pursed your lips- no point denying it now, really. “I may like the cold but it got too much for everyone, Hongjoong. And you…. You were freezing from the inside. You do know that you were only a step away from death, don’t you?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flashed, and you realized that he had no idea, “You really mean me no harm?”

“Unless you try to kill me or my friend here, no, I mean no harm.”

Hongjoong sighed, getting up, “We should lock the men first. Do not underestimate their skills. We can get to this…” he looked at his shackled hands, “later.”

With that, the three of you went inside, Yunho dragging them to the nearest room and you helping while Hongjoong watched, and when they all were in the same room, Hongjoong looked at the ceiling, drawing sharp icicles down and trapping them such that they couldn’t move without hurting themselves or killing themselves, and you whistled- he wasn’t joking around.

“Now,” Hongjoong said as the three of you went to the lobby, “How do you suggest I get rid of these?”

You thought for a minute, “Try freezing them and breaking them?”

“You could try melting them,” Yunho suggested.

“It’s too risky, I’d burn him,” you bit your lips, but Yunho was shaking his head.

“If you can suffocate the men without burning their lungs, you can surely try breaking this without melting him too.”

Hongjoong raised a brow at that, but you shook your head. It was too risky.

“What if,” Hongjoong began, “You melt from the outside and I freeze from the inside? It’s gonna break it, right?”

“Technically, it should, but don’t blame me if I burn you,” you put your hands in the air and Hongjoong only shrugged to give you an okay.

Taking his imprisoned hands, you looked at him, finding his eyes glowing as he focused on controlling the amount of magic he sent, and you realized your eyes must be glowing too- did they glow like fire? You shut your eyes, focusing on feeling your magic, stopping when you felt the ice of Hongjoong’s and working backwards from there, until the iron started crumbling in your hands.

Hongjoong flexed his hands, making an impressed face at you, “Thank you, I guess.”

“You guess?” You sighed, but smiled. He must have been through a lot for him to be like this- so distrustful of everyone.

“Make yourself at home,” Hongjoong offered.

“Don’t tell me this is your home,” you frowned.

“It has to be,” Yunho smiled, “I mean, look at that,” he pointed at the chandelier, and you noticed that it was made of ice- blue flame glowing in the middle that could only be the flame of ice rather than of fire.

“You live alone, and these- people, they came for you, why?” You looked at him, “Also if this is your home I’m expecting there is food here because I am famished.”

Hongjoong scoffed, leading you to the kitchen, groaning at the mess the men had made of his home, “Has no one come for you yet? I mean, you are the Fire Princess. You don’t pretend to be someone else, do you?”

You looked guiltily as Yunho who grinned, “And what if I do? Should I have built myself a fire palace and set the whole land on fire?”

Hongjoong winced, “I did not sent the blizzard on this land on purpose, Princess. You must know. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

Hongjoong put some fruits on the table and you and Yunho took the frozen fruits, you touching them lightly to make them normal before you started eating the strawberries and the grapes, “No one except the water mages come after me- you know because of what happened 5 years ago. But I’ve been living in peace for quite a while now.”

Hongjoong looked suspiciously at Yunho- after all, he was a water mage too. “You won’t be in peace for longer. There’s been a… movement going on, you could say. They’re planning to get rid of the original bloodlines. They’ve already killed my uncle, who was the only remaining member of the original family apart from me here in Wonderland. Do you have someone in your family?”

“Well, they all died 4 years ago- just how long has the movement been going on?” You frowned- your parents had died a rather suspicious death. You had tried finding out more but you had no idea and found no clue.

“Long enough,” Hongjoong said, as if to tell you that your family’s death might have to do something with that, “The other originals have all left this land for the fear of their life. It’s only you and me now, Princess.”

You rolled your eyes at how he called you princess- as if he was being sarcastic, nothing like the endearing way Yunho called you. “What do you suggest then, Prince? If they got you, they could get me too.”

“Well, lucky for you, there are only a few fire mages around here. Their plan was to fight ice with ice, fire with fire, you know the deal. But they’ll come after me- these were only a few men. The rest are coming soon, so we should get the hell away from here as soon as possible.”

“And go where? With you looking like… this,” you scanned him, and he raised his arms.

“Me looking like what?”

“Like the Ice Prince,” you looked at Yunho, “Tell me someone will look at him and not make the connection right away.”

“She’s right,” Yunho said, “You look like the Ice Prince. Your hair and eyes kind of give you away.”

“So?” Hongjoong pointed at you, “Her eyes turn amber and glow when she uses her magic!”

“But she could pass as a normal fire mage, you, on the other hand… it’s gonna be hard.”

Hongjoong groaned and you looked at Yunho in amusement, “I’m so glad I look normal enough.”

“Well,” Hongjoong put a cherry in his mouth, “Is there somewhere we can go and lay low for a while?”

You noticed how Hongjoong had casually joined your gang and was going to follow you wherever you go. You looked at Yunho, “Why am I so tempted to ditch him here?”

“Hey!” Hongjoong looked offended, “Fine, I can go my way. Don’t come crawling to me when they come after you!”

“Crawling?” You scoffed, “You don’t come crawling to me when they get you again! Oh wait- you won’t be able to. You’d just set the whole world on ice and hibernate.”

Yunho snorted, failing to hold his laugh as the two of you bickered back and forth, finally getting up and stopping you two from jabbing fingers at each other’s faces. “Okay, okay, stop. We go together from here- it’s better to stick together.”

“You’re not the Water Prince, are you?” Hongjoong eyed Yunho suspiciously.

“I’m not,” Yunho raised his hands, and Hongjoong eyed the necklace he was wearing, making Yunho look at you and take the necklace off.

“I almost forgot,” you breathed, putting the necklace around yourself, you had been warming the room subconsciously anyway, “Anyways, we should definitely leave this place. As much as I hate it, the only place I got is where I live right now, so… let’s go there and plan from there. And Hongjoong? Please try putting this blizzard out if you can help it. But take it down bit by bit- I don’t want anyone to be suspicious of you.”

Hongjoong nodded- he could do that.

Packing food for the journey and asking Hongjoong to cover himself like a normal man who gets cold, the three of you left the house, Hongjoong icing the door shut and sending a mini blizzard around the house for precautionary measures.

You and Yunho naturally took the lead, Hongjoong following close by as you discussed which route to take.

"Should we drop by the site?" Yunho asked, mentioning the cabins where the men who had accompanied you up would be, "We could get a hot meal definitely."

"Let's do that, I'm starting to abhor the idea of more fruits," you muttered.

"Won't it be too suspicious if I drop by?" Hongjoong almost mumbled as if he didn't really want you to hear that, but you did, and you pursed your lips.

"Just blend in, can you? If anyone asks, your name is... Jongho. Can you do that?"

"I don't know about the 'blending in' part," Hongjoong shrugged and you glared at him.

"That is the least you can do for all of us."

"Now don't you go giving me shit about my appearance. You should have been born with hair the colour of fire. You'd know how it'd feel to stick out like a sore thumb then."

You glared at him, "I'm not giving you shit about your appearance, Prince. All I'm asking of you is to act friendly when you meet anyone and try to keep a low profile. Not so hard, is it?"

"It is, Princess, because everyone seems to recognize me no matter how hard I try to stay low. I'm sure you of all people know how that feels."

"Now, now," Yunho stepped in between you two, patting your back to calm you down, "Those men won't say a word if I ask them to."

"They better not," Hongjoong only kept glaring at you and you made a face when you had enough, making him snort, "So very charming."

"I wonder what's keeping me from setting your smartass on fire," you sighed.

"I'd like to see you try, Princess. Let's see whose fire burns more," Hongjoong's eyes glowed, and Yunho waved his hands awkwardly between you two.

"I'm changing the topic. So where are we going?" Yunho asked you.

"I live south, near the sea," you smiled a bit when you thought of home, "I own a bookstore café. Try not to ruin the warm atmosphere of that place when I take you there, will you, Prince?"

He only snorted, ignoring you, and you continued, "I have a friend who practically lives there. I think you and him will get along well."

"Me and him?" Hongjoong frowned, "and why do you think so?"

"You'll see when we get there," you smirked, and Hongjoong straightened as if to say no force on this Earth could do so.

----------------

You could barely keep your laughter in when you saw Hongjoong obeying Seonghwa- it wasn't that Seonghwa was ordering him around, but when he'd give him a simple task like 'hand me that', or 'get me that from outside', Hongjoong would find himself doing the task without complaining.

You supposed the poor boy had been alone long enough and found something comforting about Seonghwa- everybody seemed to. There was just something about Seonghwa's nature that was so caring and motherly that everyone found themselves comforted by his presence.

You recalled when Hongjoong had challenged you when you'd said he'd get along well with Seonghwa. He'd been so persistent on not getting along with you, at least. Even Yunho and him would share a giggle over jokes every now and then, but you?

You wondered if Hongjoong hated you. Sometimes he'd listen to what you said, but sometimes he'd act like a... brat and spoil your mood. You wonder if he annoyed you on purpose.

He had definitely annoyed you all the way down from that damned mountains of the north. He had failed to keep a low profile in the cabin and Yunho had to ask the uncles to keep their secret because of the threat on your heads, which had led them to make the connection about you too. Though they were impressed and maybe a little intimidated by the presence of two of the originals, they had treated you two well, giving you warm meals and a place to sleep as a thanks for keeping them all warm during your trip up.

You had made it back without much happening, and when you entered your home with the two boys, Seonghwa's jaw had dropped.

"So which one of them is your boyfriend?" Was the first thing that Seonghwa had asked and the two had immediately burst into laughter and groans while you had scolded Seonghwa and told him all about what happened as he made you all coffee and gave you something to eat.

"So he's the Ice Prince," Seonghwa smiled, "Nice to meet you. You look younger than I thought."

"And how old did you think I'd be?" Hongjoong out one leg over the other.

"I don't know- I used to think my age- I guess you are. But she-" he pointed at you, "used to imagine a wrinkly old man, so my ideas mixed a bit..."

"Wow," Hongjoong shook his head at you, "I don't remember thinking of the Fire Princess as a wrinkly old hag."

"I don't remember thinking of the Fire Princess as a scrawny kid, but here we are," Yunho sighed and you yelled at the two, tempted to throw your dessert at them but Seonghwa calmed you down with a touch, and you only huffed.

Seonghwa had told stories about your pasts, especially embarrassing stories about how you'd set everything you touched on fire when you were recovering from the incident 5 years ago, having a laugh over it as he showed off his burns that he got from you proudly.

"These are friendship marks," Seonghwa showed them off as if it was a badge. You rolled your eyes as the others shook their head at you, disappointed.

"I should have friendship marks too," you muttered, feeling sorry for Seonghwa. He had refused to let go of the scars even though he could have gotten them healed, saying it was a reminder that you got through the hard times with him, and your own burns, which Seonghwa didn't mention because they were too personal, were a reminder of that. Seonghwa looked at you pointedly as if to remind you of your own burns, and Hongjoong didn't miss that look.

You had two rooms in your house at the back of the bookstore, so the guys decided to share the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts in your room, the smaller of the two with a queen sized bed and a table at one end, not much to the room.

The next day was busy for you- you had to go out in the town for supplies and to catch up on the gossip which would reveal if Hongjoong was right about this uprising- if you could call it that- and see if people were suspicious about your guests.

When you came back, Seonghwa had already prepared a meal for the four of you, and you instantly slumped in the chair, telling Seonghwa about how your day was, and Hongjoong watched you two interact with curiosity- the way you and Seonghwa rolled was too smooth and natural. Even Yunho fit right in and he sometimes felt like an outsider.

After eating, Seonghwa was instructing Hongjoong to pick up the dishes and telling him where to put what, which was why you were holding back your amusement. They really got along well, and you were glad, though you could feel Hongjoong still felt awkward.

You and Hongjoong were still arguing with each other every moment you had a chance, calling each other prince and princess like it was a curse word, and though Yunho and Seonghwa would try to calm you down, they decided to team up and enjoy watching you bicker back and forth instead as they sipped on their drinks.

"You set your own hair on fire!" Hongjoong laughed as he recalled a story Seonghwa had told him, "Is this why your hair is so dark but looks like rust in the sunlight?"

"Says the person who put on frost mascara," you raised a brow, "I should have plucked your unbelievably pretty lashes when I had the chance."

"At least you acknowledge they're pretty, Princess," Hongjoong smirked.

"Crazy how the only thing remotely pretty about you are your lashes, but your ugly personality is just so overpowering that I only noticed your lashes when you were almost dead. Now what does that say about you?"

Yunho hooted, Seonghwa giving him a clap saying 'that's my girl', and Hongjoong clenched his jaw.

"I don't know if you're trying to flirt with me or fight with me," Hongjoong muttered, and you pretended to throw up.

"Flirt with you? I'd rather set my own self on fire, Prince."

"Would you now?" Hongjoong leaned in a bit, "Interesting."

"What is your problem?" You leaned in as if trying to figure him out, "Do you want me to hate you? Because you're doing a damn good job."

"You're really the Princess of Fire, aren't you?" Hongjoong smirked, "It's just so easy to get you all hot and angry, it's tempting, really."

"And you really are the Prince of Ice, aren't you?" You leaned back, "Should I melt that frozen heart of yours?"

"You're really bad at this," Seonghwa ended up laughing painfully, making all of you laugh with him, "I really can't tell if you're fighting or flirting anymore."

"I can't either," Yunho wiped his eyes from laughing too hard, "She really sucks at this."

Hongjoong danced in his seat in victory, but Seonghwa shook his head at him, "Your retorts are too weak, Hongjoong. You both are unbelievable."

"Hey!" Hongjoong yelled at him, "At least I'm not the one subtly flirting!"

"I'm not flirting!" You glared at him, the fire in the fireplace catching intensity, "You know perfectly well what I meant!"

"Yeah, go ahead, melt my frozen heart, Princess," Hongjoong grinned, pausing when your eyes glowed, and Seonghwa realized what was happening, instantly rushing to you and putting his hand on your shoulder but shrieking in pain because you were burning.

You hadn't meant to lose control, but something about Hongjoong... and the way he worded that- it reminded you of a particular incident from 5 years ago when you had that fight with the Water Prince, and you were triggered- you were feeling so hot. You were burning from the inside.

"Yunho- can you bring cold water, quick!" Seonghwa's eyes were wide with worry, and Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa in confusion and worry, then looked at you with your eyes glowing and hair rising as smoke seeped out from your skin, making you get up and fall on your knees on the floor.

Seonghwa noticed the guilt behind Hongjoong's eyes, "It's not you, Hongjoong. She went through something in the past- sometimes she gets triggered and this happens."

"Is there something I can do? She's burning from the inside, isn't she?"

Yunho came inside with a bucket of cold water and Seonghwa placed it in front of you, using his shadow-phantom hands to place your hands inside the water but it instantly evaporated, and before one of them could get up and get more, Hongjoong leaned in front of you, motioning to Seonghwa that it was okay.

"Hey," Hongjoong said softly, calling your name- you could hear him call your name but it felt as light as a whisper because of the roaring in your ear and the pain in your chest- you couldn't breathe. Hongjoong tried taking your hand but you shook your face absently as you flinched away, trying to tell him to be careful, but he took your searing hot hands anyway, and you reveled in how cold they were.

"It's okay, you can't burn me," Hongjoong whispered, taking your other hand as well and sending the cold inside your skin bit by bit, until you started to shiver and then fell unconscious on his lap.

"Well," Seonghwa wowed, "This definitely saved me from dragging her out and burying her in the snow and worrying my ass off for hours until she got okay."

Yunho winced as he heard that, "That bad?"

Seonghwa nodded, taking your limp figure in his arms, "Let's get her upstairs."

Hongjoong and Yunho followed, opening the door to your room and he lay you on the bed, spreading your blanket over you, checking to see if your necklace was okay. The other two looked around your room, finding it strangely empty as if no one lived here, only a few of your belongings in sight.

"She doesn't like getting attached to a place," Seonghwa explained, "she won't admit it but she's gotten very attached to her café."

"I can see why," Yunho nodded, "she practically lives there. This is only for sleeping, isn't it?"

"Pretty much," he smiled, "Let's go to sleep- it's late. She'll be out cold for a while too."

Hongjoong couldn't really sleep that night- he kept recalling how your eyes changed and you went in that trance, and something about it reminded him of when he was first caught and had given up, hence setting this never ending winter in motion.

Feeling a bit stuffy, Hongjoong decided to go out and get some air, wearing snow boots if he changed his mind for a walk, almost screaming when he shut the door, took a turn and saw you sitting in the snow with your knees drawn to your chest and bare feet and legs buried in the snow.

"Gosh, you scared me," Hongjoong muttered and scared you, making you flush because you hadn't expected to get caught sitting here like this. He sat beside you, "Are you... okay?"

"I am... I don't know," you looked away from him, "I still feel like I am on fire."

Hongjoong touched your hand to check- you weren't completely normal, you were still hot as if you were running a fever. "Do you always come and sit in the snow like this?"

"Seonghwa buries me in the snow or puts me in the tub and piles ice on me," you muttered, finding yourself laughing a bit at that and Hongjoong joined, "Usually does the trick, as stupid as it sounds."

"How long have you been out here?"

"An hour or more," you admitted, and Hongjoong shook his head.

"Let me..." he looked at you for permission and you nodded. He took your hand, interlacing his fingers with you, staring at your joined hands. "Does the siphon not work properly?"

"It does, it's just... the fire magic is too much for me. I feel like I wasn't build to handle it."

"You're built for the fire magic," Hongjoong assured you, "You have to embrace it. I don't wear a siphon- they did no good at keeping my own magic in control."

"Well," you scoffed, "You almost froze yourself too."

"I was trapped, of course I did. I felt helpless. But you... I won't ask what happened unless you want to tell me, but whatever happened... don't hate your magic because of that."

You stared at him, his eyes almost dark blue as tendrils of his hair fell over them. "Have you ever hated yours?"

"More times than I'll admit," he sighed, "with people like us... our relationship with magic really is a love-hate one, isn't it?"

You smiled as you nodded, already feeling better as you felt your body getting cooler, "It is. I think this winter was the first time I felt my magic was a blessing."

Hongjoong nodded- Seonghwa had mentioned something about how you were secretly making the fire in all the fireplaces in the town warmer, "I guess something good did come out of all this. But can I ask you something?"

You looked at him and he hesitated a bit before asking, "You could have left me to die. There was no reason for you to save me."

You heard the question behind that statement good and clear. You squeezed his hand, "You reminded me of myself. Nobody should have to die like that, all alone engulfed by their own magic. I knew the risk- I knew you could be a madman who was having fun with this winter, but even if you were, I couldn't leave anyone like that."

Hongjoong nodded, but it still didn't make sense to him. Were you just being kind? What was your reason? You laughed as you saw his confused state, "I didn't need a reason to save you, Hongjoong, it's as simple as that."

Hongjoong smiled not at your answer but because it was perhaps the first time you had called him by his name and not a sarcastic spat of his nickname 'prince'. As if you had heard his thoughts, you surprised him by saying, "Don't let it get to you, Prince."

Hongjoong laughed out loud for the first time in a while, and you smiled at how endearing and lively his laugh was.

"You know you sound better when you're laughing and not being an ass," you commented.

"Don't get used to it, Princess," he raised a brow at you and you rolled your eyes.

You didn't take your hand away from each other even when the both of you knew that there was no need to keep holding them anymore.

-----------------

If you had thought that last night's interaction was going to shift your hot-and-cold relation with Hongjoong, you were very wrong because the two of you were back to nonsensical bickering as if last night hadn't happened at all.

"Why would you waste your energy on boiling water again and again when all you could do was touch it!" Hongjoong threw his hands in the air, "Tell me, Yunho, how does this make sense?"

Yunho looked at you as if to ask you for your explanation, and you began, "Not everyone flaunts their magic at every opportunity, you cold piece of shit who sends blizzards out just for the heck of it."

Yunho snorted, "But he didn't do that on purpose?"

"I'm not talking about this time, I've seen enough random blizzards to know which were natural and which weren't," you glared at Hongjoong as if to prove your point, who didn't say anything because you were right, and then you turned to Yunho, "And you! Whose side are you on!"

"No one's," Yunho laughed, clearly enjoying this, "Was just asking, calm down."

"You're telling her to calm down? That's like asking fire not to burn you," Hongjoong muttered.

"Shut up and come for lunch," Seonghwa called and the three of you immediately got up, joining Seonghwa at the table, and Yunho commented on how Seonghwa was basically the mother of this house.

"I am, and what about it?" Seonghwa grinned proudly, making even Hongjoong smile.

"He loves doing this," you dig into the bowl of rice, "you should see him clean this place, he cleans as if-"

"I'm gonna have to stop you there," Seonghwa warned you and you immediately shut up, "Anyways, Hongjoong, can you tell me more about the people who are rebelling against the original bloodline? Because I think I have something to tell you guys."

"What is it?" You asked, but Hongjoong began.

"There are a very few originals and most of them have left this land to blend in with the humans, which I believe is because they got wind of the uprising, if you can call it that," Hongjoong glanced at you, "She and I are currently the only ones remaining, and since she... killed the Prince of Water-"

"But she did not kill the Prince of Water," Seonghwa said as if he was stating the obvious, and both Hongjoong and Yunho looked at you, Yunho more in surprise and Hongjoong more in amusement.

"Is that what she told you?" Hongjoong raised a brow, and Seonghwa put his chopstick down a bit too furiously, glaring at Hongjoong.

"I am an eye-witness, and if you do not believe this, you can get out of this house right now."

"Seonghwa, there's no need-"

Seonghwa only raised his hand, looking at Yunho and Hongjoong as if daring them to challenge his statement, and Hongjoong stared between you and Seonghwa back and forth as you said, "I told you, Seonghwa, that there is no need to keep defending me. I may not have killed the Prince but he died because of me-"

"He did not," Seonghwa glared at you this time, shutting you up- you two had argued enough about this already, "So?"

"I believe you," Yunho said and you looked at him in surprise, "If you had really killed him and made a 'spectacle' out of it, you would have killed me or Hongjoong too. You're far too kind and nice to have done that."

You felt the sudden urge to hug Yunho but instead found yourself waiting for Hongjoong's answer, and his icy blue eyes scanned you, "I mean... if you say so. Just saying what I heard."

"Well, I hope you get your facts straight," Seonghwa smiled as if nothing had happened and urged Hongjoong to continue, which he did hesitantly, "So the Prince of Water is dead... right?" You nodded, "That leaves only the two of us, as far as I know. I don't know how they haven't found you yet, but they got to me first- they have been after me for quite a while now. I just thought it was petty revenge or something at first but I heard the gossips, I heard them talk, so I know that it's a thing now."

"But what are they going to get from getting rid of us?" You frowned, "I mean, it's not like we're ruling this land or taking over their properties or something. We're just... kids, trying to live a normal life."

"That's what you and I know, and that's what people who know us know," Hongjoong looked at Yunho and Seonghwa, "But if I have to blame someone, I have to blame the Prince of Water. He strengthened the belief that the original bloodline thinks of themselves as superior and wants to change the flow of nature and whatnot. You know all that he did, don't you?"

Yunho nodded, "Most of the water mages weren't on his side, but when he started threatening his own kind... there was nothing we could do. And only the people close to the Prince know of how things got bad to the extent that the Princess of Fire had to intervene and put a stop to this, but that only enraged them, mostly because they thought that as water mages, they should have been the one to stop him, and because they suspected her intentions, that she was going to follow in his footsteps."

"That makes sense..." you nodded as you tried to digest all the information.

"What I don't understand is," Yunho began, shifting so he was facing you, "Why you weren't denying the rumours. What really happened that day, princess?"

Hongjoong raised a brow at how he'd called you princess- Yunho hadn't called you that much since you'd arrive here- hadn't been too long so you didn't feel awkward about it, but even Seonghwa smiled at the contrast between Yunho's and Hongjoong's way of calling you princess.

You pursed your lips, looking at Seonghwa- would they believe you? Seonghwa nodded- you knew he was urging you to try, and whether they believed you or not would say a lot about them and where you all stood.

But that's what you were afraid of. Yunho was your friend, and you knew it would hurt if he didn't believe you. Even Hongjoong, who was a little shit if you could sum it up, was something like a friend now and you cared about what they thought of you.

"It was my father- he told me to put an end to all this. He was sick- he had a leg problem so he couldn't go out and solve this feud with the Prince of Water. Apparently our fathers went way back. Anyways, I didn't expect things to spiral out of control- it started with a normal conversation with the water mages, some of my friends including Seonghwa with me. But then... it was like he was possessed. He started fighting with his own friends and it got physical, and then he took off his siphon and lost control. His mother had air magic so she tried to change the direction of the incoming flood but it was no use- she asked me to step in."

You sighed as you recalled the events, a shiver running down your spine, "I made the hurricane evaporate before it could touch the land, but somehow... it burned the Prince too."

"What do you mean?" Yunho frowned.

"Make a water ball," you asked Yunho, and he raised his hand in the air, making a water ball swirl in the air, and you sent fire for it, making it evaporate.

"It didn't hurt you, right?" You asked, and Yunho nodded, "But somehow, it burned the Prince. I didn't even realize- I turned and he was burning as if I'd set him on fire."

"But that's... impossible," Hongjoong frowned, "There's no way that could have happened."

"I saw it," Seonghwa looked grim, "I know she was only focusing on the flood- I could feel her magic better than anyone else since I'm familiar with it. But the Water Prince... I have suspicions that she was framed. That this was all a grand scheme to frame the Fire Princess but I was always confused because why would they need to do that?"

"Until you heard about the uprising," Yunho finished.

Seonghwa nodded, "I heard gossips too- even though I didn't tell you," he looked at you, "but it seemed too far fetched of an idea. But what Hongjoong went through, trapped for months... while you were gone, a few men came in this town asking if there was a fire mage here. I asked them what made them think so, and they said the fire is warmer than normal fire."

"And only a fire mage could have felt that," you narrowed your eyes as you leaned forward and tried to connect everything, "do you think even fire mages are in league with the uprising?"

"Mages of all kinds," Hongjoong assured you, "In fact, the ice mages were going to fetch a fire mage to end me, which was why I attacked you when I gained consciousness."

"I still don't hear you apologizing about it, you ass."

"Why should I? It was defence."

"It's called defence when someone attacks you in the first place!" You looked at him with disbelief in your eyes as he grinned shamelessly, throwing a little spark of fire for him which he caught between his fingers and turned to a snowflake, sticking his tongue out at you.

"You kids," Seonghwa shook his head, "Maybe the men came to fetch you to be the fire mage that ends Hongjoong, since they wouldn't have known that you were also the other original they needed to end."

"Plausible," Yunho commented, "Which means they'll be back."

Silence fell as you all thought about it, "Should we be prepared?"

You looked at Yunho, "I don't know. Should we?"

"It would be wise to prepare- you don't want to go through what I went through," Hongjoong looked at you, "it's not like you can hibernate yourself. Or would you turn yourself toast?"

You turned to him haughtily, "Do not test me, Prince."

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa warned, shaking his head, and Hongjoong was about to protest but he realized why Seonghwa was shaking his head- something about him taunting your magic would trigger you again, which led him to think just what had you gone through again.

"Anyways," Yunho got up, feeling the thick tension in the air, "We have two originals here, so we're better and stronger than anyone who comes. We just have to be careful and watch our backs for now, don't we?"

Seonghwa nodded and you got up as well, "I need to go to the market. Does anyone wanna come?"

Both Yunho and Hongjoong raised their hands and you folded your arms as you looked at Hongjoong, "Give me one solid reason why I should let you accompany me."

"And why aren't you asking Yunho?" Hongjoong narrowed his eyes at you.

"Because he won't be a pain in my ass during the short trip, Prince," you told him and Yunho did a silly dance to further spice it up between you two.

"I'll be on my best behaviour," Hongjoong promised.

You should have known he meant it sarcastically.

"You eat mint-choco?" Hongjoong made the most disgusted face he could muster as you were picking out ice-cream flavours.

"You're literally eating a rainbow ice-cream, you kid," you snorted.

"At least I'm not eating toothpaste flavoured ice-cream."

Yunho almost choked on his own ice-cream as he heard that, "You both should have settled on cookies and cream. Can you two let each other live?"

You both smiled as if you were enjoying this, and Yunho rolled his eyes, muttering 'get a room'. You picked another rainbow ice-cream.

"Ha, are you finally trying it?"

"It's for Seonghwa," you told him, and he gaped at you.

"Seonghwa's not a kid for eating rainbow ice-cream but I am?"

"He gets to be a kid sometimes because he's not being one 24/7," you looked at him pointedly, and Yunho laughed out loud.

"You guys are getting better at this!" Yunho clapped, "Definitely better than 'should I melt your frozen heart'- ow!"

You made Yunho shut up as you pinched his arm, noticing Hongjoong's attention elsewhere, following his eyes to see he was staring at the kids playing in the snow outside.

"I'll wait outside while you get the rest done," Hongjoong told you both and you nodded, taking Yunho with you as you walked down the aisles and Yunho read the grocery list Seonghwa had made.

You were utterly surprised, to put it simply, to find Hongjoong playing with the little kids and having a snowball fight when you went outside after the two of you finished shopping.

"I did not expect him to get along with kids," Yunho muttered, sharing your disbelief of the situation.

"He's literally cheating in the snowball fight," you laughed as you noticed how he was only pretending to make snowballs when in reality he had them ready in a matter of seconds.

You watched him laugh out loud as he ran from the attacks, throwing snow at the kids and running around, saving a little girl who must be on his team, stopping when he noticed you and getting hit with a snowball in the process, making the kids yell in victory.

"Are you done?" Hongjoong asked.

You nodded, waving the bags in the air, "Should we all have a snowball fight?"

Hongjoong smirked, and you made 3 teams, the kids joining you- but really...

This was war.

You were melting any attack that came for you, as was Yunho. Hongjoong's snowballs were turning into ice-balls now, hard ice balls and you yelled at him.

"You'll hurt us!" You glared at him, making a snowball and wrapping it in cold flame, "Have a taste of this!"

"You can't win against me, Princess," Hongjoong only waved a hand to deflect it, "I'd be surprised if you win against Yunho-"

Which was when Yunho sent a snowball for Hongjoong's face and it hit home, making you howl in victory.

"You!" Hongjoong laughed, sending a giant snowball for Yunho, "Have a taste of this!"

Yunho laughed, falling on his butt on the soft snow as he let the snow ball fall on him, popping out of it like a snowman, making the kids watching laugh and run to him as they shaped the snow.

"Kids!" You clapped your hand, grabbing their attention, "This guy here can make really good snowmen!"

The kids immediately ran for Hongjoong who rolled his eyes, Yunho thanking you as he got out of the snow, shivering. The two of you sat on a bench recovering from the cold while Hongjoong really did make the best snowmen of every sizes and shapes, teaching the kids how to.

You watched Hongjoong with mundane curiosity- it was like a veil had shed from his personality, revealing a simple person who enjoyed playing with the kids in the snow and laughed without a worry in this world. It made you wonder just who Hongjoong was- not the ice prince but simply Hongjoong.

Though you had only met a while ago, there was something comforting about the way you all clicked and though you'd never say it out loud, there was also something comforting about the nonstop bickering between Hongjoong and you. It was a nice change in your home- the café, because Seonghwa and you were the type to mostly stay silent and busy yourself with your own work. Having new friends certainly lifted up the mood.

Even the customers in your café liked Yunho- you supposed he was the type to make place in everyone's heart. Yunho had been helping around more in the mornings, mostly serving. Hongjoong was always hiding somewhere in the bookstore, and sometimes you'd catch him have a little conversation about books with someone who came to stop by.

Hongjoong noticed you hadn't commented on his behaviour since you guys had left the store, and he wondered whether it was because you were surprised (he hoped in a good way) or because you simply weren't interested and had nothing to say.

But his lips curled in a smile when you later sat with him late at night drinking coffee in front of the fireplace while Yunho and Seonghwa went out for a walk, and finally commented on it.

"You look like you had fun earlier," you said, keeping your voice neutral.

"I had," Hongjoong smiled, gazing at the fire, "it's been long since I had that kind of fun."

"What?" You laughed a bit, "You're telling me that you have ice magic but you didn't go around playing with the snow and making someone slip in the snow?"

Hongjoong looked at you, amused, "What do you think my life was like before everything happened? Do you think I owned an ice-cream truck and went around town?"

"You're seriously telling me you never made someone slip in the snow when they annoyed you?" You looked at him in disbelief.

Hongjoong held your stare but then gave in, "Okay, maybe once, maybe twice. I stayed low mostly. It's not like you used to go around setting people on fire, did you?"

"Not much fun you can have playing with fire," you nodded grimly, "But ice, man! If I had your magic I'd have a little snowman accompany me everywhere I go."

"Which would speak for how lonely you are," Hongjoong retorted, "Speaking about that, is Seonghwa the only friend you have?"

"And what about it?" You frowned, "You like him, don't you?"

"I do, it's just... how did you get here?" Hongjoong looked around, "I mean... how come you, of all people, run a bookstore café with their childhood friend?"

"That sounds like a backhanded insult, but I'll ignore that," you said and Hongjoong smirked, "We used to live in the same town, until that incident happened. Things got too much for me, every water mage was after me, and then some. I had to leave town, my family came with me. It was only mom and dad anyway. We settled in a nearby town, but then they passed away in an accident. I went back to Seonghwa, since he was the only family I had. We decided to move here then."

Hongjoong nodded, "Can I ask what kind of an accident it was?"

"I'm actually not sure," you replied, "some sort of a ship accident when they were going to Mist Island-"

You paused. The incidents couldn't be related, could they?

"I know what you're thinking," Hongjoong's voice was low, "there's a chance that it's connected to the uprising. But we can't be sure. Don't let it get to you- it might have been just an accident-"

"But..." you looked at him, "They drowned. If there were water mages on board, they would have lived, wouldn't they? Maybe they couldn't save everyone and that's understandable, but... maybe I should find the survivors and interrogate them."

Hongjoong noticed your choice of words, "Hey, we can't be sure. Don't attract unnecessary attention, your life's already in danger as we speak-"

"If there's a chance that it wasn't an accident," you breathed, the fire in the fireplace turning red, "and they died because of me, I won't forgive the water mages- and I mean all of them."

"Hey," Hongjoong got up, noticing your glowing eyes, bending in front of you as he put a hand on yours, cooling you down, "it's gonna be okay. We'll find out, okay? And remember- you don't have to blame all the water mages if that was the case. Yunho is your friend, and he's one of the kindest people we know, isn't he? He is a water mage, and he is your friend. Be wise about this, will you?"

You took a deep breath, nodding, the fire dimming back to normal, "Sorry, I- I nearly lost control, I'm sorry-" you noticed his hand on yours, taking it and examining it to check if it was okay, "I could have burned you, Hongjoong."

"You couldn't," he only smiled, "you can't burn me, you should know."

"I can definitely set your ass on fire," you raised a brow.

"I'd rather you melt my frozen heart, Princess."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered unexplainably at that as you scanned Hongjoong's face, taking in his features, realizing you two were closer than ever with him bending down in front of you.

"I might burn and hurt you in the process," you managed to say, your voice barely coming out more than a whisper.

"Well, good for you," Hongjoong leaned in to whisper in your ear, "I like playing with fire."

You laughed a bit as he drew back and took his seat, smirking at you. "I'm not even sure if you were flirting or just being yourself."

"I can do both at the same time," he winked at you.

"Gosh, I should have left you in that tower," you finished your coffee, getting up, "You look prettier when you're hibernated and all frosty."

"At least you're admitting that I'm pretty, Princess," Hongjoong got up too, bringing his cup with him.

"Don't let it get to your head, Prince," you scoffed, mentally cursing yourself because Seonghwa was right- you sucked at this.

"You're prettier too," Hongjoong said, and you turned to look at him, finding him grinning devilishly, "When you're all angry and hot-"

You sent a bolt of fire his way and he snubbed it with merely a wave, making you send another for his butt which he dodged expertly.

"Come on, what did I say?!" Hongjoong cried out, laughing in disbelief when you started grinning.

"You like me angry and hot, I'm going to give you angry and hot."

You both kept sending fire and ice for each other, running around and laughing out loudly, cursing at each other and giggling like kids, not even noticing when Yunho and Seonghwa entered and stood in the doorway frozen while they watched you play like kids in your own little world.

"Should we maybe go for another round?" Yunho muttered, "I feel like I'm interrupting somewhere."

Seonghwa scoffed, "Fire and Ice? Who would've thought."

Yunho looked at Seonghwa and laughed, "You think they...?"

"I know that they are going to become a thing," Seonghwa nodded at him, smiling, "can't say I dislike the idea. Come on, let's give them five more minutes, then I'm ending this-"

You gasped as you realized the snowball Hongjoong had sent for you hit Seonghwa square in the face.

"I- I didn't mean to-" Hongjoong attempted to say but ended up laughing as he saw Seonghwa sigh in disappointment.

"Come out!" Seonghwa glared at Hongjoong, "Let's have a man-to-man snowball fight!"

Yunho stood grabbing Seonghwa's arm trying to hold him back but ending up in tears because he was laughing so hard as Seonghwa sent phantom hands and started dragging Hongjoong out, Hongjoong screaming in help, and you pinched the bridge of your nose, smiling.

"Let's not be kids about this," you told Seonghwa, who let go of Hongjoong.

"Rich coming from you," Seonghwa raised a brow at you and you blew a kiss at him, sticking your tongue out.

-----------------

You and Yunho were trying to practice your magic, you teaching him about the basic principles and how he should be able to control his magic better, and you discovered that Yunho was a quick learner, apart from being very patient and cooperative. It was probably why he learned and listened to you well, and he would do even better if-

If Hongjoong wasn't practically breathing down your necks as you taught him.

"Shouldn't he be learning from me?" Hongjoong questioned, "water and ice are related. Fire and water are enemies in all sense."

"It's actually better when you learn from your enemy- not that Yunho is mine," you said, "it's better when you know how to defend yourself against the magic that is the most threatening to you, don't you think so Yunho?"

"Definitely," Yunho nodded, grinning at Hongjoong, "you should learn a bit from her too."

"You're enjoying this way too much, aren't you?" Hongjoong scoffed, "ice and fire are equals, I'd say. No one lived to tell which one's better if they battled it out."

"Should we check and decide once and for all?" You offered, and Hongjoong raised his hands in the air in surrender, making you shake your head. You noticed Seonghwa coming out and propping himself in the chair next to Hongjoong with a knitting set in his hands.

"You should learn with me," Hongjoong told Seonghwa, "After all, what goes better than cold and dark?"

"Now don't you go corrupting my friend," you glared at him, ignoring when Hongjoong asked you just how he was 'corrupting' Seonghwa, turning back to focus on Yunho.

"Sorry for being distracted, Hongjoong doesn't let me breathe," you muttered, and Yunho told you it was okay, "so, where were we?"

"Water has memories," Yunho told you, "doesn't every magic have memories?"

"Water is always there, in one form or another," you told him, sitting down and touching the snow, "this snow was water at some point. But water bodies, like lakes and oceans, they have memories. So if it's been in contact with anything, you can access the memory."

"I've heard about it," Yunho nodded, running his hands over the snow- you stared shamelessly because at this point, you had a thing for his hands, "But isn't it like something specific to the Water Prince maybe?"

"No magic is specific only to the original bloodline," you corrected him, "We just have more strength of everything in our magic. If you train long and hard, you can open every chamber of your magic. You do know that even the originals can't access every chamber of their magic, don't you?"

"I heard you have to keep one or two closed so it doesn't consume you," Yunho looked at you and you nodded in confirmation.

"Since you're not an original, you don't have to worry about it consuming you- you can open every chamber because you'll only be accessing some of it- you can't delve in completely."

"That theory sucks, by the way," Hongjoong commented, "What if he ends up unintentionally focusing all his energy in one chamber? What if it consumes him?"

"It won't consume him if it's only one chamber- rather he'd become a master of it," you corrected.

"That's only your theory. No one has done it before."

"I know it works, Prince," you huffed, and Hongjoong was about to speak up but Seonghwa put a hand on his arm.

"Don't ask how, ever," he warned, "she went through literal hell herself to find this out."

Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak but shut up instantly- literal hell? For you, literal hell could only be your own magic-

Hongjoong's eyes went wide in realization as Seonghwa nodded- it must have had to do something with the incident 5 years ago, he realized. He watched you put your hand through the snow and turn it into water- such control, such power... you must really have gone through literal hell to know all of this. It made him wonder just how it had happened. Had you lost control of your magic?

It was the next day when he got his answer as you rushed through the bookstore, row after row, to find Seonghwa but finding Hongjoong instead, and he took in your state.

"Everything okay?"

"Where's Seonghwa?" You asked, trying to catch your breath.

"He went out for grocery- what's wrong?"

"I have no time to explain, he's in danger," your eyes glowed for a second before you came back, "Help me find him."

Hongjoong immediately got up, not questioning how you knew, calling Yunho over and Hongjoong used his tracking magic, the three of you running to the site.

You had almost reached the store when you spotted Seonghwa's magic- phantom hands in the air as a signal, and you tugged Yunho's arm-

"Water mages," you looked at him, "You shouldn't go if you don't want to be in their blacklist."

"Seonghwa's my friend too," Yunho simply said as he took your hand and ran to where Seonghwa was.

Hongjoong stopped you, raising his hands and marking the men- there were 4 of them, and Seonghwa was barely holding, his face etched into a pained expression.

"Stay back," you said, "I'll handle this."

With that, your eyes glowed as you raised your hand and swiped it, knocking all of them unconscious in seconds and Hongjoong made an impressed face.

"That's certainly handy," he commented, and you shrugged, rushing to Seonghwa who was out of breath.

"I felt it- are you okay? Was I late?" You asked as you grabbed Seonghwa by the shoulders, examining him. He laughed a bit, patting your cheek.

"I'm fine, but you definitely could have arrived earlier- I was losing hope. But I guess the fire you put in my necklace definitely works."

"Sorry," you muttered but Seonghwa told you he was joking and that it was fine.

"Are all of them water mages?" Yunho frowned as he looked at the fallen bodies, "I don't think I recognize any of them."

"Seems like it," Hongjoong sighed, "We should do something about this before people notice."

Which was how you ended up with the 4 men tied to the chairs in your basement, waiting for them to wake up so you could start questioning them. When one of them stirred, you all met eyes and Seonghwa wrapped his dark magic around the man's hand, rendering him unable to use his magic. The man blinked a few times, adjusting himself to the surroundings, looking around and then ended up laughing like a maniac, which had you nervously bite your lip as you looked at Hongjoong.

"I didn't expect such a weird group of friends, Princess," he looked at each of them, "keeping friends close and enemies closer, aren't you?"

"And why would I need to keep my enemies closer? I'm sure you must have an answer to that?"

"I must say, I didn't expect the Ice Prince in your company," he scanned Hongjoong, his lips curling in a devilish smile, "Had a good time with my friends in the mountains?"

Hongjoong got up, circling around the man, "Who's behind this uprising?"

"Wouldn't you love to know," the man practically spat, his dark hair falling on his face, and when Hongjoong's eyes glowed in anger, you stepped in.

"If you value your life, you'll answer my questions," your eyes glowed and your voice was steel, "You do know I was framed for your Prince's death, don't you?"

His eyes flashed, "Is that an excuse for burning him to death? Is this how you're going to save your hide now?"

"Were you present 5 years ago when all of that happened?" Yunho asked, "Did you see the Princess burn him to death?"

"Who else could have?" The man scoffed, "What's your point, girl?"

"I don't care whether you believe me or not," you leaned in front of him, "Do you have any knowledge of the incident that drowned the rest of the original fire bloodline?"

Hongjoong called your name in warning while Seonghwa and Yunho gasped in realization, the man staring at you, thinking, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please," you scoffed, "All of Wonderland knows exactly how the last of the fire bloodline died, and you don't know what I'm talking about? Tell me, do you know the water mages that were on board? Or..." your hand was on fire now as you threatened to burn him, "Were you on board?"

"I wasn't!" He cringed away from the burning sensation that neared his hand, "I don't know the water mages who were!"

"I can smell the lies on you," you whispered, bringing your hand closer to his, "Would you like to burn to death like your Prince?"

Hongjoong called your name in warning again but Seonghwa stopped him and Yunho too, who looked like he would get up any second now. You waited until the man sighed, giving in.

"I may know one of the water mages who were on board- not personally. I'm not sure, but I think I have an idea- he goes by the name of Kwangsoo."

You nodded, taking a step away from him and he sighed in relief, Hongjoong making you back away further as he took over.

"Who sent you and who is behind this stupid idea to end the original bloodline?" Hongjoong's voice was as icy as his magic, making you shiver a bit as you joined Seonghwa and Yunho, Seonghwa rubbing your back.

"Does it matter?" The man asked, "It's been going around for decades now, longer before you were born, the both of you. It's only rising in magnitude now, that's why you noticed."

That was news to all of you- it seemed like the ones who were a part of the uprising were taught about how it began and all that too. Hongjoong made the man talk, learning some history and their plans with him and you, finally stopping and standing back with you.

"Shall we kill them or let them go?"

"I don't kill people," you raised your hands in surrender, "be my guest, do whatever you'd like."

So Hongjoong let them go with a message to convey to their little gang- do not mess with the Ice Prince and the Fire Princess, who're living in peace and will continue to do so unless provoked.

Later that night, Hongjoong joined you when he found you sitting bare-feet in the ice again, shivering a bit. He shook his head at you, "You know, you don't have to do this every time you feel as if you're burning- I'm here. I'm here for you."

Something about the way he said that made you look up and stare at him for a good minute, "I didn't want to bother you- plus, it's awkward to ask you to do that."

"So you're considerate and shy?" Hongjoong grinned, making you roll your eyes and throw a fistful of snow at him, "But really, it's not gonna be awkward if we don't make it."

"I'm not quite sure if I understand," you muttered, watching Hongjoong sigh and offer you his hand.

"Walk with me?"

The two of you walked with hands joined as he sent his magic to cool your insides down, and you suddenly felt wary of how it would look like to anyone else who noticed. Hongjoong looked like he was comfortable with this- you, however, were both comfortable and nervous.

"Earlier today... would you really have burned the man for answers?" Hongjoong finally asked you.

You pursed your lips, "I would say no but now that I think about it... I'm not quite sure."

"That's okay, you know?" Hongjoong squeezed your hand, "I think it's a bit suspicious- your parents' death. We should make sure, just in case, but... are you sure you can handle the truth?"

"That's exactly why I was out there in the snow thinking," you smiled sheepishly, "It would be ugly if I lose control again."

"Again?" Hongjoong asked, "When did that happen last time?"

"I suppose you should know," you looked at him, "When the Prince of Water was burned to death, I was the obvious suspect. I was... imprisoned, like you, for a while. That's how it happened- I ended up burning my own shackles and the very ground I sat on. They had to let me go- if it weren't for my father, I would have set Wonderland on fire."

"Ah," Hongjoong realized there really was a reason you were so considerate when you first saw him- he must have reminded you of yourself, "How do you think that happened, the Prince?"

"A simple trick of fire and an air mage is the most probable answer," you said, "We fire mages tend to burn a man from the inside out- not the outside, like setting a person on fire. Fire mages have a bit of a... dramatic flair, you could say."

Despite the seriousness of the topic, Hongjoong was grinning, "I heard ice mages make it dramatic too- slowly freeze a man."

"What a spectacle," you muttered bitterly, sharing a laugh with Hongjoong, noticing your still joined hands realizing you were okay now, "You can let go of my hand- I'm normal now."

"And if I want to keep holding on?" Hongjoong looked at you, his long lashes casting a shadow on his eyes in the strong moonlight.

"I really don't get you," you laughed, flushing despite yourself, "Do you have a thing for holding hands?"

"I like how warm your hands are, actually," Hongjoong raised your joined hands as if looking at them, "I may be the Ice Prince but I like the warmth, just like you like the cold."

"We're polar opposites," you stopped walking, "crazy how we fit with each other, isn't it?"

Hongjoong smiled warmly at you, tucking your hair behind your ear, patting your cheek, and you stood with lips parted, watching him scan your face until his smile grew into a smirk. "Flirting back, are we?"

"I really should have left you in that damned tower," you muttered, beginning to go away but Hongjoong pulled you back to him, wrapping his arms around you, never letting go of your hand. You tried wriggling out of his embrace as you groaned, but he only held you tighter, laughing a bit, and you couldn't tell if he was being playful or what.

"I'm gonna set your ass on fire if you don't let me go, Hongjoong," you warned, though you were smiling.

Hongjoong shifted so he could whisper in your ear, "It's been a while since I've hugged a human and not a snowman, Princess, let me be."

You weren't sure if he was joking or not, so you only stood awkwardly, finally melting into the hug after a few seconds. "You feel like a snowman."

"And you feel like home- warm and safe."

You finally wrapped your arms around him after that, letting him get his share of hug that he had craved so much, stealing warmth and cold from each other.

-----------------

"Either you go with me or you don't go," Seonghwa gave his verdict, turning back to cleaning the library while you stood with the broom in your hand and jaw clenched.

"It's dangerous, why don't you understand that if something happened to you, I won't be able to take it?"

"As happy as I am to hear that," Seonghwa let out a short laugh, "I'd rather we go together. I may not be an original but you know I can look after myself better than the others. And you're taking Hongjoong with you, someone you only met a few weeks ago. That hurts my pride."

That was a fact you could not deny, "But... Seonghwa, I wouldn't be too sad if something happened to Hongjoong now, would I?"

"I hear you loud and clear, Princess!" Hongjoong shouted from the other row where he and Yunho were arranging books, and you heard Yunho's breathy giggles, "Back at you!"

You pointed a thumb backwards, looking at Seonghwa smugly as if your point was proven, "See? We won't be sad if something happened to one of us."

"But Yunho's going too!" Seonghwa started cleaning furiously.

"We're using him as a guide and we're going to drop him off afterwards- maybe even earlier if the situation calls."

"I can look after myself too!" Yunho shouted.

"I'd be sad if something happened to you!" You shouted back.

"Hey, what's with the discrimination!" You heard a furious shuffle as Hongjoong came to you, laughing in disbelief, "You wanna go, Seonghwa? Let's go, all of us."

"Hongjoong," you warned, but you were cut off by him.

"They're adults, good with their magic and can take care of themselves," Hongjoong's voice was not sarcastic anymore, and you knew you were being unfair about this. You sighed, shaking your head as you went back to cleaning, and Seonghwa stifled his laugh when he saw steam rise from your head, deciding to not comment on it in case you really did burn his ass like you always threatened to.

The four of you shut the café and Seonghwa met with the grandma next door to tell her they'd be gone for a few days. Hongjoong didn't need to be told to wear a hoodie and cover his head- silver hair like his could be seen and recognized from quite a distance, and with the threat hanging on his head and yours, you guys were better off safe than sorry.

It was quite a week that you travelled- constant bickering between you and Hongjoong in the day but in the nights when both of you had trouble sleeping, you'd sit watch and get to know each other. You didn't realize how it became a routine- something you were beginning to look forward to, when the two of you weren't Prince and Princess but Hongjoong and... you.

Yunho and Seonghwa had been the most cooperative, as if they were afraid you'd both ditch them because it was dangerous and go on your own. Yunho learned his magic with you and Hongjoong while Seonghwa practiced his deadly magic as well- there really was a lot you could do with shadows and phantoms. But you realized with every passing day that the four of you got along really well, and that you were going to miss them when you would part ways. You secretly wanted to keep them all to yourselves, and you were going to offer them the mundane life of running the bookstore café with you before you'd part ways.

You were on your way to the coast where most of the water mages dwelled, having passed as a group of friends travelling. You all had ditched the idea of carriages after people started to notice Hongjoong and you- you supposed it was just the aura you both gave that caught people's attention. You and Seonghwa were just bickering over something stupid when Hongjoong heard an arrow whoosh your way and pushed you both to the ground, an ice shield automatically forming around the four of you.

You heard the distant yells of 'ice prince' along with the loud buzzing in your ears as Hongjoong shook you from your initial shock, and you pushed Seonghwa and Yunho behind you as you stood beside Hongjoong.

"There are 6," Hongjoong muttered, "They must have been following us for a while now. What do we do?"

"I'll handle this," Seonghwa stood up, and you watched a black smoke seep out of him as he sent phantom hands, knocking the men off their feet, but one of them sent a strong light your way which negated Seonghwa's magic and he shook his head.

"Drop the shield, Hongjoong," you said, "take cover, you two."

With that, you sent arrow after arrow of fire while Hongjoong both defended and attacked, Yunho yelling half in surprise and victory when he managed to create an ice shield of his own, Hongjoong sharing a grin with him. Seonghwa sat with his knees on the ground, sending an imperceptible thread of shadow and blinding the men.

"Should we run or should we do something about them?" Yunho asked.

"I say knock them unconscious and run," you muttered, "I'm not killing if you're not."

So you did that, tying the men together and leaving them in the middle of the forest to their fate while you continued travelling.

"This is exactly why I did not want you along with me," you glared at Seonghwa, "You could have been hurt and I could have done nothing about it."

"You could have been hurt too, if it weren't for Hongjoong," Seonghwa glared back, "What I'm saying is that we're in this together, whether you like it or not."

"I don't," you said, "and you both are staying with Yunho's family until we come back with information."

You and Seonghwa argued for a bit until Hongjoong intervened, telling you both to shut up. You huffed in anger and started walking a bit behind, Yunho joining you while Hongjoong gave you a knowing look- he'd made Seonghwa understand.

"You know she loves you a lot," Hongjoong said, "She wants you safe, and she doesn't want to worry about you."

"She thinks of me as a burden," Seonghwa sighed.

"No, she doesn't. She thinks of you as someone precious enough that she would lose herself if she lost you," Hongjoong smiled as he said that, "I think that's better than taking me as a scapegoat."

Seonghwa laughed, shaking his head, "She cares for you too, more than she'd like and would ever admit. I understand why she's comfortable with you- she thinks of you as an equal, someone who'll have her back without worrying the hell out of her- but she worries about you too- not the same reasons as me."

"Good to hear," Hongjoong was grinning and Seonghwa scanned his face, a knowing smile creeping on his face.

"You like her, don't you?"

"Me? Her?" Hongjoong barfed, "ew, no."

"You keep telling yourself that," Seonghwa laughed knowingly while Hongjoong brought his icy hands to cool his now warm cheeks.

Meanwhile, Yunho was patting your back. "I understand why you want us to stay, but... the way you talk to Seonghwa, I'm not sure he understands your intentions. Or if he does... he just doesn't like the way you voice them."

"And how do I talk?" You asked.

"Aggressively-caringly," Yunho laughed, "It's like watching siblings fight- they'll never admit they love each other but they'll also give their life for the other."

You finally smiled at that, "We'll be fine too, Seonghwa needs to understand. I know he understands, it just.... you said it," you laughed in defeat.

You reached the village where Yunho's uncle lived, recognizing the group of men you'd met that day during the mountain hike, and they welcomed all of you, including Hongjoong. They shut the windows, telling you all that you could be comfortable.

"Is there a reason why they aren't a part of the uprising like most of the mages?" You asked Yunho out of genuine curiosity as you examined the group of men who were playing board games, Hongjoong joining them in a game of chess and Seonghwa watching them excitedly.

"They really don't agree with the ideology," Yunho told you, "What's the point in killing the originals? There's always gonna be someone who's more powerful than the rest of us- it all comes down to whether they wield their power with the wrong intent or not."

"Exactly," Yunho's uncle propped down on your table, "The Prince of Water was my friend- he always thought of himself as superior. He had this planned for a while, and what happened to him... he had it coming."

"You do know who I am, don't you?" You asked, "you don't think I killed him?"

"You were just a little girl," he sighed, "I wasn't there, but my friends over there-" he pointed to Hongjoong's table, "they saw it, saw the whole thing. There was no way even an original could stop a flood and burn a man at the same time- plus I know how dramatic fire mages are. They don't set fire like that."

You smiled knowingly at Yunho, who smiled back, "Thank you for having us. It must be risky even for you- we won't be long here, just take care of my friend Seonghwa till we come back."

"Are you going to inquire about the ship accident that drowned your parents?" He asked, and you nodded- he was quick. "There's no use inquiring around. I know it was done on purpose- there were water mages on the ship, but they aren't to blame- it was one of the Illusioners."

"Illusioner? As in people who can make you think your magic isn't working and stuff like that? Aren't they extinct or something?"

"They live in a close community, the few remaining ones. I heard one of them was aboard. That's the only explanation that makes sense as well."

He was right, and this changed everything. After a quiet meal where you sorted your thoughts out, you hugged Seonghwa and Yunho, telling them to stay safe and wait patiently.

"I don't know how long it's gonna take, but if I'm dead, you'll know it. So don't go back before that."

"Don't say things like that," Seonghwa scolded, hugging you tighter, "You better come back."

With a kiss to your forehead, he let you go, and Yunho ruffled your hair, the two of you waving at and thanking everyone for their hospitality, donning your cloaks and setting out, the salty tinge of seawater in the air hitting your nostrils now that you had been inside for a while. Upon the instructions, you both took the ship that lead to Mist Island, where the Illusioners should be.

You told Hongjoong all about what you'd learned, and he agreed with that theory- it was the strongest lead you had so far. You had to find the person responsible for the accident, but...

"I don't know what I'm going to do once I find the Illusioner," you told Hongjoong when night time fell and you sat at the edge, watching land fade away.

"If you want me to... I could kill him for you."

You looked at Hongjoong in surprise, but his eyes were steel. He really meant it. You shook your head, "Would that solve anything? It would only fuel the uprising if people learn we killed one of the rarest mages."

"What are we going to do about the uprising anyway?" Hongjoong asked, "They're gonna keep coming after us. I don't want to leave Wonderland, even if it feels unsafe."

"You have a home with me, Hongjoong," you looked at him, "You don't have to go anywhere."

"I thought you couldn't stand me, Princess," Hongjoong scoffed, "Are you really offering that?"

"As long as you stop being a pain," you told him, making him laugh, "but really. Isn't it cool, us 4 running the café and just living life? We could expand the business. You could open an ice-cream truck right outside, maybe go around town, grow a beard like Santa."

Hongjoong shook his head at you, "You really enjoy my suffering, don't you?"

"Can't say I don't," you grinned.

"Thanks for the offer," Hongjoong sighed as he looked at the sky, "I'll think about it."

"Look at you pretending to think about it- you even left your stuff back there!" You slapped his arm, and he gasped in realization, "Should we make a detour and go to the tower, get the rest of your stuff too?" You teased, "I'd like to bring home the ice chandelier-"

Hongjoong flicked your forehead, making you howl in pain and try to flick his forehead but he leaned back, making you lean further in until you were almost on top of him and he had to hold your waist to keep you from falling. "If you wanted to be on top of me, you could have asked nicely."

You rolled your eyes, going back to sitting and Hongjoong only laughed at your embarrassed state, putting an arm around your shoulder and bringing you closer, cuddling into your side. "You're very clingy, Prince."

"You love it, Princess."

You made a face but you were too tired to argue further, so you put a head on his shoulder as the two of you watched the calm waves of the sea pull you further away from Wonderland.

The next evening, you reached Mist Island, the mountains large enough to make you shiver a bit- it had an eerie feel to it, just like its name. "Funny that it's called Mist Island," you said, "I really can't see much."

Hongjoong nodded- there was a strange fog spread over the surface of the ground, making the place seem haunted, the only reason you weren't scared being that it was day and it felt okay. "You think someone make this fog on purpose?"

"Definitely," you grinned, "If I had an island to myself, I'd have an eternal fire burning somewhere too- for the people to recognize it from far away."

Hongjoong laughed at that, "How dramatic."

You narrowed your eyes at him, "Have you forgotten how you built a freaking ice palace? With the ice chandelier? You're seriously gonna call me dramatic when you look like that? Have you dyed your hair, Prince?"

"I have not!" Hongjoong pouted, "Stop giving me shit about my appearance!" You grinned- you actually were pretty sure that you had a thing for Hongjoong's hair now- it was just such a beautiful shade of white and silver and the faintest hint of blonde, and it went so well with his icy blue eyes. "You can stop staring at me now, Princess. I'm not even sure what you're thinking, and I'm not sure I wanna know."

"Come on," you poked his arm before putting yours around his, "you know I like your hair."

"Do you now?" Hongjoong smirked.

"Nah, I just said that to make you feel better," you rolled your eyes, "Can we move now?"

Hongjoong pouted and was muttering some curses while you dragged him further into the island, trying to formulate a plan but getting distracted whenever Hongjoong pointed at something or teased you over something, and you wished you had Seonghwa with you- he was the only one who could shut Hongjoong up.

You were just walking through the forest following the sound of the city when a woman stepped in front of you all of a sudden, seemingly appearing from the fog, making you bite your tongue to keep from screaming.

"The original fire and ice mages," the woman scanned you both and you instinctively held on to Hongjoong tighter, "to what do we owe the pleasure?"

You couldn't feel any magic from her, and she looked normal enough- dark hair and darker eyes- but something about her was making the magic in your blood scream. "We come in search of the Illusioners. Just some questions to ask- all in peace," Hongjoong assured, and you nodded.

The woman let out a short laugh, "In peace? Questions? I don't think those two go well together," she suddenly put her hands up and you reacted instinctively, creating a shield, but-

You failed.

Your magic wasn't working.

"You're an Illusioner," you muttered, and she grinned, making you both drop to your knees, and you had no time to look how Hongjoong was holding up, seeing more people join the woman before everything went black.

-----------------

You woke up in chains again.

You weren't sure if this was a dream or reality, but when you saw Hongjoong chained in front of you, his skin going paler and frost spreading on his lips and eyelids, you realized this was real. You really were chained, yet again.

Just like 5 years ago.

"No, no, no," you mumbled, staring at your gauntlets, preventing you from using your magic, and you panicked. You had no time to think, no time to plan, you just panicked as memories crept up your mind-

You were burning, and you would die.

There was nothing left in this world anymore. Just burning, hot fire. You were going to set Wonderland on fire before burning from the inside out.

You shook your head- there was no time to dwell on the past memories that always triggered you, now was not the time to be triggered and start burning from the inside out, but-

You couldn't help it. You could feel your magic roiling restlessly inside you.

You were going to burn from the inside out, and there was no Seonghwa to help you-

"Hongjoong," you almost whispered, looking around- you were in a basement, of all the places, just like that time, "Hongjoong!"

He didn't stir. He was out cold, and he was probably freezing from the inside too, just like you were burning. His head was hanging painfully to his side, chains around his waist holding him half-up like yours were.

You couldn't burn- not without getting Hongjoong out. You had to save Hongjoong, just like he had saved you so many times without even knowing. Just like you had saved him when you first met him.

You shut your eyes, trying to stop your restless magic from clouding your brain as you tried to think- these gauntlets were somehow presenting you from using magic altogether. Five years ago, you didn't have the ability to use magic without your hands, but this time it seemed it didn't matter.

You were so scared- for Hongjoong, more than yourself. For the innocent people on this island. For the destruction you'd cause if you lost control. Just what was the Illusioner thinking when she tied you both like this? Did she not know the amount of destruction you were capable of if you lost control?

Illusioner. Makes you think you are unable to use your magic.

Was this an illusion? Or were your gauntlets an illusion?

You looked down at your gauntlets, wondering if they were real. It certainly felt real- especially since it weighed your hands down, but... were they just for show? Could you somehow use your magic itself to break through the illusion?

You concentrated the magic to your hands- to hell with it if the metal would burn and melt the flesh on your hands. This was your only chance at making it out alive and saving Hongjoong and the rest of the island.

I am the Princess of Fire.

You brought your hands to the siphon, struggling to turn the notches down so you could have access to your full powers.

I am the Princess of Fire, and I will not be afraid of my own magic.

You shut your eyes in pain, willing your magic to travel to your hands, melting the gauntlet.

I will not be afraid of my magic, because it cannot burn me.

These were the last words your father, the original fire mage, had told you to keep close to your heart, because as soon as you were scared of your magic, it would start hurting you. You never understood why and how you could not be scared of the magnitude and hazard of your magic, but now it was starting to make sense.

Your mother had always told you that there needed to be something you wanted to protect- if not your own self (which should be the case), something so precious to you that you would risk your life to protect that. As you opened your eyes and looked at Hongjoong, you understood what she meant.

It was crazy how you had such a soft spot for the Prince of Ice you'd met only a few weeks ago. You'd never expected him to care about you either, but he clearly did. You'd learn how his family had left Wonderland in the fear of their life, but Hongjoong felt at home here- despite the threat to his own life. Despite going through something similar than what you had- what had broken you down completely. You were in awe of how strong he was- he embraced his magic, even when it hurt him like it was hurting him now. He only needed someone who believed in him to be okay.

You recalled your conversation from one of the nights when you were on your way to the coast and couldn't sleep, Hongjoong with you for 'night watch' as you both stared at the full moon. You finally asked him how long had he been imprisoned, since the winter season had come naturally enough but it only had gotten prolonged.

"5 months," Hongjoong sighed, "give or take."

"5 months?" You gaped at him, and he only smiled, "That's crazy, Hongjoong. How did you not, I don't know, freeze from the inside out, become an ice statue and shatter while engulfing Wonderland in some crazy blizzard that would freeze everyone too?"

Hongjoong laughed at your panicked state, "I think it's because I came to terms with my magic or something like that. I used to hate my magic too- people always said I felt too cold, even to the touch. My hair wasn't always white as well, believe it or not-"

You let out a scandalous gasp and Hongjoong slapped your arm before continuing, "People started to hate me, and I first thought I was the problem, but then I realized that I really wasn't. Those who actually care stick with you, whether you look like and feel like a snowman or not."

"Well," you grinned, "you make a pretty snowman. But, Hongjoong, you know I was imprisoned too. I barely made it three weeks before I started to melt everything around me. It's impressive that a prolonged winter was the only thing you really caused."

"You really should love yourself more, Princess," Hongjoong caressed your hair with a sad smile, and you noted how this time he didn't have that sarcastic tone every time he called you princess, "You should know that you matter, if not to anyone else, than to yourself. If no one's gonna love you, you have to love yourself."

"I have Seonghwa," you said, "And I had my parents- I know they loved me... but- then why was I so weak?"

"You weren't weak," Hongjoong shook his head, "Don't ever think of yourself as weak. The fact that you didn't set Wonderland on fire but only started burning from your own self before anything else, that means you didn't believe in yourself. Sometimes it happens- no matter the amount of people who love you and believe you, you end up doubting yourself."

"And I suppose in your case, since no one believed in you... you believed in yourself?"

Hongjoong nodded, "Well, you have one more person who believes in you now. Give yourself some credit, Princess. You're stronger than you think you are. Know why? Because despite the fire in your body, that fire doesn't drive people away- it attracts them. The people in your town know that you are the Princess, they just don't show it- because they believe in you. You keep them warm. I have heard them talking about you and how their homes are always warm. You heal the people's hearts without even realizing."

You gaped at Hongjoong- you had never realized the people knew. But... they had always been good to you. You had sometimes suspected that they knew, but now that Hongjoong confirmed it...

You stared at the gauntlets, watching it melt away and fall apart with a crack- it didn't hurt you. You stared at the broken gauntlets in confusion, your mouth opening in surprise when the gauntlets faded into smoke-

The gauntlets were an illusion.

You looked at Hongjoong- he probably didn't realize this was an illusion and was fighting with something inside his head- he was frowning. Perhaps he was battling with his magic. You melted the chains- those were real, and rushed to Hongjoong, touching his face and flinching away at first, because he was beyond ice cold.

You cupped his face, holding it up as you drew his hair back, "Hongjoong, listen to me. Everything is an illusion. You can break free. Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong groaned in response- he didn't seem well. You joined your foreheads, spreading warmth on his body through the skin contact, whispering his name again and again, drawing back when his groan went louder, your hands never leaving his face.

He finally opened his eyes, the frost on his lashes melting away as he looked at you in confusion. "Those gauntlets aren't real," you told him, "it's an illusion, Hongjoong. You can break free. Come on, you can do it."

"Help me," he looked down at his gauntlets and you understood, sending your magic through them, just like that time, while Hongjoong sent his ice magic, making the gauntlets crack and fade away, and he flexed his now free hands, looking at you in surprise as his vision became clearer, as if the mist on his eyes was now gone.

"That was quick," you muttered, laughing, and Hongjoong- still in his chains- bent forward to cup your face, his hands now warm, joining your foreheads again.

"You melted my frozen heart, Princess," he breathed, "exactly how I wanted you to."

You don't know who did it first, but you were kissing each other, quick and good before drawing apart, "We have to get away first, Prince."

With that, you broke apart his chains and melted the door knob, "As long as you realize that the only thing stopping your magic is you, you can break free of any illusions, understand?"

Hongjoong nodded, and the two of you went up the stairs, knocking out two mages before ascending, finding yourself in a dark lobby, instinctively holding on to each other. You heard some movement at your back and lit a fire around the source, trapping the same woman that you'd met. She panicked for a second, and then the fire went out-

"It's still there, the fire," Hongjoong whispered, "she's just making it seem like it isn't."

"Well, well," the woman scoffed, "Didn't expect you two to be so... chummy."

"I need answers, or you burn to death," you left Hongjoong's hand to bring the fire closer to the woman, inch by inch, "Which one of you Illusioner bitches was on board on the ship that killed my parents?"

"You can't kill me- you won't. Just like you couldn't kill the Prince of Water. Just like you couldn't kill the people who imprisoned you. Because your heart is soft, Princess."

"Her heart may be soft," Hongjoong was seething, "But mine isn't."

Your circle of fire burned blue- the hottest of flames, and the woman let out a scream as the fire spread barely inches away from her, "Tell me, Illusioner. Who is responsible for her parent's death?"

"Would you let me go if I told you I was?"

You narrowed your eyes, "Is this your way of saving your friend- or whoever it is you're taking the blame for? Because I don't think you should be doing that when you could burn to death."

"It was me," she glared at you both, "It's true that it was a natural accident- there was only one water mage aboard and he minimized the damage, but some people were bound to die. I just made sure your parents were one of them- I wouldn't have noticed there were fire mages aboard if they hadn't used their magic to try and save people."

You expected your knees to go weak and fall, maybe cry, but you only nodded absently, Hongjoong putting a hand on your shoulder, whispering your name.

"Leave her here, like this," you said to Hongjoong.

"NO!" The woman screamed, putting her arms around herself, her forehead glistening from the sweat, but you smirked.

"You're an Illusioner huh? Maybe make yourself believe there's no fire surrounding you and try stepping through it?"

With that, you turned and grabbed Hongjoong's hand, going outside, noticing a circle of blue fire around every Illusioner and you gaped at Hongjoong. He grinned, "Didn't want anything interrupting you, Princess."

"I didn't even notice," you sighed, "Let's get the hell out of here."

------------------

"I win," Yunho announced, raising his arms in victory as he slumped back on his chair, making the three of you gape.

"Not fair!" Hongjoong looked at him in disbelief, and so did you.

"He's one lucky guy," you scoffed, sharing a laugh with Seonghwa.

"Play games with Yunho, 10 out of 10 times you lose," Seonghwa laughed, all of your attention drawing to the door when the bell sounded and customers entered. Seonghwa got up, gathering the dices and cleaning the table, Yunho going to the counter to take their order.

"Walk with me?" Hongjoong asked, and you smiled, telling Seonghwa you'd be back in a while.

"I could get used to this," Hongjoong smiled as you two walked the empty path to the river, no one out so early in the morning.

"This?" You raised your joined hands, wriggling your eyebrows.

"I was talking about us running your bookstore café and living such a mundane life, but-" Hongjoong brought you closer with a smirk, "I could also get used to this."

It had been a couple of weeks since the encounter with the Illusioners on Mist Island- the fire circles that had trapped the mages were actually hot enough to make them sweat but cool enough to not burn them, leaving them confused and panicked until one of them would take the risk and realize it was only a trick- an illusion. You had both left with a simple message- do not bother us. Don't try to interfere in our lives, and we won't interfere in yours. It was relatively peaceful now- the uprising had died down a little since the mages you'd encounter so far had all made it out alive, which sent a clear message- you meant no harm.

You'd gone back to Wonderland and Seonghwa had almost cried when he saw you unscratched, and Yunho had decided to join you after all- but he joined you a week later, after wrapping up everything back home. The bookstore café was your home now- you'd clear up the store room so the boys could have an extra room, but you guys tended to fall asleep wherever you liked- you loved that it was so comfortable.

It was also really, really comfortable with Hongjoong- ever since that day, you guys were back to your routine of teasing each other until one of you screamed in frustration, but then finding comfort in each other's arms too, sharing light kisses every once in a while as you tried to figure out the change in your relationship and what exactly it meant.

You shook your head at Hongjoong who was muttering sinful things in your ears- something to rile you up and make you blush furiously, but you knew he'd never even touch you without your permission.

"I really, really want to kiss you right now," Hongjoong whispered in your ear, "And cover you in frost."

"You could do that," you said, "And I could cover you in ashes. I'm sure the black soot would look great on you."

"So romantic," Hongjoong laughed, the two of you sitting down by the river, and you looked at Hongjoong- his skin looked warmer now that winter was gone, his white shirt making his hair shine even brighter. Hongjoong turned to look at you, "What are you looking at?"

"You," you bit your lip as your hands travelled to his neck, bringing him in for a kiss.

This time it wasn't the light kisses and pecks you'd been sharing for weeks now- you wanted to dive further. You did as you leaned into him, a groan of surprise leaving him as his hands snaked to your waist, shifting you on top of him so he could meet the fervour of your kiss better, smiling into it.

"You're burning hot right now, you know that?" Hongjoong laughed a bit, your pink cheeks looking lovely to him.

"Good thing I have you to cool me down, isn't it?" You almost whispered.

"Gosh, I think I love you, Princess," he smiled widely as he caressed your face.

"You think?" You laughed, pushing him back on the soft grass as you kissed him, "I think I can tolerate you now, Prince."

"See? This is why I like you," Hongjoong muttered, and you slapped his cheek lightly.

"Shut up and let me kiss you."

"Make me."

You did. And as you pinned his hands on the ground, frost in the shape of flames sketched itself on the grass, leaving a trace of all things good.

You were the Fire Princess, and he was the Ice Prince. And you couldn't have been more perfect for each other.

Reblog this if you’re in the Welcome to Night Vale fandom and you’re gay/lesbian/bi/pansexual/queer.

work friends (miruko x reader, part 1)

summary: Suddenly, her blood felt too hot and steamy. Like lava that devoured roads. She wanted to pinch the woman’s cheeks. The thought caused a light red cloud to drift across the hero’s face. A brush felt foreign on her face. Usagiyama’s cheeks burned; hot blood that scorched her veins.

xxx

basically based off of a prompt i found on tumblr, “we’re not friends and you fucking know it.” (you’ll eventually find out why, am big horny 4 this stupid bunny!!)

word count:  1731

my ao3 for more shitposts

my inbox is open 4 requests~!

Keep reading

omgggg can you share ur list of things you’ve read ? 😭 i feel like i’ve hit rock bottom thinking i’ve read everything

Alright, here we go, these are a few of my favorite reader-inserts I have saved on my AO3:

Multi Ships (collection of one shots/love triangles)

Dear Diary: Bakugo VS Midoriya VS Todoroki. Reader had her heart broken by Bakugo, moves on and develops feelings for Midoriya that might be mutual?, and now Bakugo likes reader but is a fucking dick about it and Midoriya is an oblivious green bean. Meanwhile Todoroki is just a sweety, acting like a real friend and being there for reader during the drama (that he sometimes causes). Angst alert, just pure angst. I love it as much as i want to pull out all my hair cause of these idiot children. (Wordcount: 77415 Status: Incomplete)

The Void You Left Behind: Past Kirishima/Reader, Bakugo/Reader. Reader was married to Kirishima who sadly died while on the job. Bakugo and reader mourn together and help each other to move on. The grief in this was so realistic and well done, you will feel like you were hit by a truck. I cried and had to take breaks. (Wordcount: 71016 Status: Complete)

Million Reasons: Past Bakugo/reader, Midoriya/Reader. Bakugo and reader were married, but Bakugo (a total dick) cheats on reader and was abusive towards reader who ends up leaving him, changing jobs, and now working for the current number one hero Deku. Warning: Domestic violence, abusive and manipulative behavior. (Wordcount: 55693 Status: Incomplete)

MULT-FANDOM COLLECTION (my-american-hero): Multiple story collection, not just bnha. Author’s tumblr account.

BNHA College Reader Inserts series: 5 works, all in college. Really like the Bakugo/Reader centric fics in this one, reader doesn’t take his shit. (Wordcount total of all works: 62691 Status: Series incomplete,  but only one of the works isn’t complete.)

Baby no Hero Academia: Multiple stories of our favorite characters being parents. (Wordcount: 72822 Status: incomplete)

My Hero Academia Images: multi story collection. If you like these, look at the other works by this author. Some are choose your own route stories with different endings for each ship. (Wordcount: 240426 Status: incomplete)

My hero academia one-shots!: smutty and fluffy one shots with multiple characters. (Wordcount: 155424 Status: complete)

Boku no Hero Academia One-Shots/Imagines~! (lady-Bakuhoe): one-shot collection. Didn’t realize right away that I had been reading lady-bakuhoe’s stuff for months on AO3. (Wordcount: 39963 Status: complete)

Ship Centric:

Bakugo/Reader

Bakugou, Katsuki ( Alpha!Bakugou ; Omegaverse )(AO3 Link) (Tumblr Link): Smut one-shot, omegaverse, alpha/omega, daddy kink. (Wordcount: 5087)

Wolves Among Us: I’m pretty sure everyone knows this one, still putting it down. Werewolf!Bakugo x Human!Reader, Fantasy AU. (Wordcount: 334465 Status: Incomplete)

Bakugou Household: Domestic Bakugo just being the best dad. (Wordcount: 37867 Status: incomplete)

Types of Love: A bunch of one-shots about different types of love with Bakugo as the center subject. (Wordcount: 10243 Status: Complete)

Sex is a learning, even for shitheads.: Porn with Plot. Focuses on the evolution of the relationship between reader and Bakugo and their sex lives together, from first learning how to do the sex and controlling quirks during to exploring kinks, likes and dislikes. (Wordcount: 73453 Status: Complete)

Speak (Katsuki Bakugou x Reader): Soulmate Au- first words tattooed on body. Reader isnt too thrilled about the resident gremlin of 1-A is her soulmate. Smut included. (Wordcount: 153848 Status: Complete)

Knockout: I just started this one today, but I like it so far. Underground kickboxer au, kickboxer!Bakugo meets card girl!reader. (Wordcount: 85297 Status: complete)

His Tyranny: Fantasy au. Barbarian King Bakugo is power hungry, looking for anything to boost his strength, takes reader, a girl with a strong and dangerous magical ability, from the tower she was locked away in. (Wordcount: 76038 Status: complete)

Dakimakura: Bakugo develops a crush. Porn with plot. (Wordcount: 48657 Status: Complete)

Secret Admirer: Reader leaves Bakugo love letters. Things get steamy when reader gets caught. (Wordcount: 2278 Status: complete)

Kirishima/Reader

How to get a boyfriend?: Reader is Bakugo’s little sister and wants a boyfriend, she has her eyes set on her brother’s manly best friend. (Wordcount: 22431 Status: complete)

A Helping Hand (author’s tumblr https://thetrashyartwitch.tumblr.com/): No quirk au. Reader wants to better herself by going to the gym and develops a crush on Kirishima who was just being himself and being kind to reader. This gets a gold star from me, I read this over and over and I still love it so much. (Wordcount: 5707 Status: complete, one-shot)

Rising Sun (Btw, don’t bug the author about updating, they already get hounded about this one and other fics. The wait will be worth it.): Fantasy au and arrange marriage between princess!reader and dragon!Kirishima. Reader is in an entirely new environment and culture, getting to know her new kingdom and husband. (Wordcount: 14667 Status: incomplete)

Crimison|Ink (Kirishima x Reader) : I know I posted about this one before, but I will post about this again. I read this so many times, I have it downloaded on my phone to read offline. I don’t even know where to begin to describe this one, I just love it so much and can’t wait for it to come back. I don’t want to say I have a favorite, cause I love all of these… but if I had to choose *cough* this one *cough*. Summary: “Kirishima and his band of heavily tattooed brothers own and run a very well known tattoo shop together. One day a girl wonders into the shop in search of a tattoo to mark the start of her new life. Soon enough she’ll learn that this ‘family’ business is more than just buzzing tattoo guns and ink, and finds herself caught up in the middle of it, all while having to deal with a certain sharp-toothed pain in the ass.” Warning: violence, blood and gore, toxic past relationships. (Wordcount: 119179 Status: incomplete)

Oranges: Omegaverse, alpha!female!Reader/Omega!Kirishima. Mutual pining childhood friends who are oblivious towards each other’s feelings while everyone notices. (Wordcount: 19695 Status: Complete)

Anger Management: smut one-shot, reader is pissed about something at work and uses Kirishima to get rid of the rage by riding him till she’s no longer angry. (Wordcount: 1509 Status: Complete)

The Pizza Delivery Guy: Modern and College Au. Reader’s roommate Mina puts in to send the cutest delivery boy over. Best customer service experience ever. Pure fluff and flirting. Wanna see more. (Wordcount: 1607 Status: Complete)

Better Late Than Never: Dumb dumbs pining over each other both thinking they are just friends. (Wordcount: 2996 Status: complete)

Boyfriend Me: Short and simple, i live for the fluff and awkward kirishima. Accidental confessions and lack of words when around your crush. (Wordcount: 701 Status: complete)

The Heat of a Dragon: Pure smut with fantasy dragon!kirishima… who has two dicks. (Wordcount: 2464 Status: Complete)

All in his head: Reader has a mind reading quirk and Kirishima has a surprisingly dirty mind, sexy times ensues. (Wordcount: 1415 Status: Complete)

Fatgum/Reader (warning: all are smut fics)

First Time: This was my first fatgum fic I ever read and it’s still one of my top faves. Reader and Fatgum finally take steps into becoming intimate. Fluffy porn with plot. Size difference, totally a size queen’s go to fic. (Wordcount: 5394 Status: complete)

Sugar : Another first time fic, this time with a baker!reader in the middle of her kitchen. Size difference. (Wordcount: 6241 Status: Complete)

Dine and Dash: Celebratory public sex. (Wordcount: 2883 Status: complete)

Brick Walls are Great Support: Public sex in an alleyway. (Wordcount: 3006 Status: complete)

Drizzle: Valentine’s day sexy times with food. (Wordcount: 3017 Status:Complete) 

Temporary: Omegaverse, Omega!reader goes to a heat/rut house and meets alpha!Fatgum. (Wordcount: 3367 Status: Complete)

Not a typical Office Romance: office sexy times. (Wordcount: 2006 Status: complete)

Midoriya/Reader

Warmth of You: collection of Deku/reader one-shot smuts. I actually love this author a lot, does some of the best bottom Bakugo fics I have ever read. If you like bakudeku, check out their other works.

“Just Friends” : Jealous Midoriya doesn’t like being called just friends and reminds the reader that they are way more. Smut. (Wordcount: 3492 Status: complete)

Sero/Reader

Hero Santa: Best friends become something more during movie night in a blanket fort. Fluffy smut that makes me smile. (Wordcount: 4936 Status: complete)

Hoodie [SeroxReader]: post-break up, the only thing left behind was one of Sero’s hoodies that Reader still wears. Angst. (Wordcount: 3284 Status: complete)

Sour. Sweet. Gone.: no quirk and college au. Sero and reader are both pining idiots who go from friends to enemies to lovers. (Wordcount: 10448 Status: complete)

Tape residue: fluff smut, friends to lovers. Sero misread some signals but it all ends well. (Wordcount: 3410 Status: Complete)

A Seronade of Misunderstandings: Sero plans the most romantic and cheesy way for the first time but reader thinks his secretive behavior means he’s cheating. (Wordcount: 3420 Status: Complete)

La Regina

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

Summary: a girl raised at her father’s knee goes from rising star to princess to queen (or in which becoming a legend runs in the Schumacher family)

You bounce excitedly in the passenger seat of your papa’s car as he pulls into the parking lot of the karting track. At 5-years-old, you’re too young to race officially, but he promised to let you drive some practice laps after the scheduled competition today.

“Remember, Maus, listen closely to the instructors and stay safe out there,” Michael says, ruffling your hair affectionately before getting out.

You scramble out after him, having to jog to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. You reach to take his hand, but freeze when a small crowd starts converging around your papa. Men in bright vests are rushing over, cameras flashing rapidly.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” You ask, startled by the commotion.

Before Michael can respond, a curly-haired woman thrusts a baby into his arms. “Oh my god, can you just hold her for one second? I need a picture!”

Your papa looks bewildered but graciously cradles the infant, giving an awkward smile as more and more people start shoving pieces of paper and pens in front of him.

“Excuse me, please, I have my daughter with me today,” he tries saying over the chaos, but no one is listening.

You shrink back, overwhelmed by the pushing crowd and flurry of voices pleading for autographs and photos. Where did all these people come from? This has never happened before when you’ve gone karting with your papa.

Sensing your unease, Michael gently passes the baby back to its mother and kneels down in front of you. “Hey, it’s okay, Maus. Why don’t you wait for me over there?” He gestures to a bench off to the side.

Part of you wants to cling to him, scared of all the strangers crowding around so aggressively. But you also don’t want him to have to worry about you on top of everything else. You nod bravely and make your way through the throng to the little bench, watching apprehensively as your papa tries politely handling the requests.

After what feels like forever, the crowd finally starts dispersing, though a few linger behind like stubborn cats begging for scraps. Michael shakes the last few hands and accepts some papers to sign before gratefully escaping over to you.

“I’m so sorry about that, Maus,” he says, looking apologetic as he plops down on the bench. “I didn’t expect such a scene on what’s supposed to be our fun day.”

“It’s okay, Papa.” You lean against his side, still a bit rattled but comforted by his familiar warmth. “Who were all those people? Why did they want your … uhh …“ You can’t quite remember the word for the scribbles people ask famous people for.

“Autographs,” Michael supplies with an amused chuckle, wrapping an arm around you. “And they wanted photos too, I suppose. I’m … well, I’m quite a famous racecar driver.”

You cock your head, trying to process this concept of your papa being some kind of celebrity. As far as you’re concerned, he’s just your goofy, loving dad who takes you karting and makes the silliest voices for all your stuffed animals at home.

“Really? Like the famous famous people on TV?” You’ve seen the paparazzi swarming the actors and musicians during awards shows, but you’d never imagined that could happen to your own papa.

Michael nods, drawing you closer with a squeeze. “Yes, somewhat like that, though it’s a bit excessive at a small karting event.” He laughs again and brushes some of your wayward hair from your face. “But you’re right, to you I’m just Papa. I don’t expect anything more from my favorite Maus.”

You beam at the affectionate nickname, all the earlier stress melting away. Who cares if strangers want your papa’s autograph or photos? All that matters is you two spending the day together like always.

“Can we go get our karts now?” You ask eagerly, bouncing a little on the bench. “I want to show you how fast I can go!”

“Of course!” Michael jumps up and scoops you into his arms with a playful growl, making you shriek giddily. “My little speed demon is going to leave me in the dust.”

He swings you up onto his shoulders and you cling on tightly as he strides toward the pit area. A few more people spot him and make a move closer with cameras and sharpies extended, but seem to think better of it when they see you perched up high.

The two of you spend the next couple hours karting together, trading places taking warm up laps and cheering each other on. At one point, a young attendant working the pit area approaches Michael somewhat nervously.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Schumacher?” He’s clutching a crumpled baseball cap in one hand, ducking his head shyly. “I’m just such a huge fan, would you mind taking a photo and signing this for me after your session?”

Your papa smiles kindly at the young man and takes the cap. “Not at all, no problem.” As the attendant walks away, looking elated, Michael turns to you with a wink. “See? That’s how you politely ask for an autograph.”

You giggle and mime zipping your lips. “Don’t worry, Papa, I won’t let the fame go to my head when I’m a famous racecar driver too someday.”

Scooping you up once more, Michael presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “That’s my girl. Now, last few laps — let’s see who can go the fastest without ending up in the grass!”

As evening starts falling, the two of you make your way back through the now nearly deserted lot after returning the rental karts. Most of the other karters have cleared out, leaving just you two strolling unhurriedly back to the car.

“Well Maus, despite the, uh, overexcited fans, I’d call this day a success,” Michael says, swinging your joined hands idly. “We both had our fun on the track, and I think you handled that crowd back there like a champ.”

You smile up at him, still so proud just to be his daughter. “I don’t care about all those other people, papa. As long as I have you, that’s all I need.”

Stopping beside the car, Michael crouches down and cups your face in his calloused racing palms, looking at you with such fierce adoration.

“Maus, you have me, always. No matter what happens out there,” he gestures vaguely at the empty track, “When I’m with you, I’m just Papa. My greatest accomplishment, my biggest award, is being your father. Verstanden?”

You launch yourself into his arms, hugging as tightly as you can. “Verstanden, Papa. I love you.”

“Ich liebe dich mehr, Maus,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your hair. “Now, what do you say we go get some victory ice cream?”

As the two of you climb into the car, you can’t keep the smile off your face, practically glowing with contentment. Sure, maybe your papa is some big famous racecar driver that everybody wants a piece of. But really, he’s just your papa — and you’re his whole world.

***

The ringing of the house phone cuts through the tense silence like a knife. You shrink further into the couch cushions as your mother rushes to answer it, shoulders visibly taut.

“Hello? No, I cannot make any comment at this time. Yes, I understand there is interest but-” Corinna breaks off, rubbing her temples wearily. “Please respect our privacy as a family right now. Thank you.”

She hangs up and leans against the wall, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. Before she can even draw a full breath, the phone rings again, shrill and insistent. With a muffled curse, your mother snatches it up.

“What? I told you, I cannot give any statements! This is a private matter. How did you even get this number?”

You watch apprehensively as she responds again, her voice rising in distress. In the days since your papa’s skiing accident, it seems like the entire world has been hounding your family, desperate for any scrap of information.

On the TV across the room, the endless cycle of news reports drones on lowly. Images of your papa’s broken, still body being rushed from the slopes into a helicopter. Flashing advancer texts speculating on his chances of recovery from the traumatic head injury.

It makes you feel ill.

Beside you on the couch, Mick sits blank-faced, looking nearly as pale and worn as your mother. At 14, he understands the gravity of the situation all too well. Your big brother has always idolized your papa, hoping to follow in his racing footsteps one day as well. The thought of him not being there to see the realization of that dream is devastating.

Gina is curled up in the armchair, her shoulders shaking every so often with muffled sobs. At 16, she’s arguably been taking this the hardest of all you kids. She keeps her face stoically dry in front of your mother, but you can see how red and puffy her eyes are from constant crying.

As for you, at 11-years-old, you’re somehow both numb and feeling everything all at once. Part of you still can’t fully process that this nightmare is real. That your hero, your papa, could be lying comatose in a hospital, hovering between life and death. The other part of you is overwhelmed in a tsunami of terror, panic, anger, sadness — any and every emotion crashing through you at all hours.

“Kids, I’m so sorry about this,” your mother says, defeated, as she rejoins you in the living room after ending her latest call. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened further overnight. “I know this is incredibly difficult and intrusive. But your papa is … he’s a public figure. People are concerned.”

“Incredibly insensitive is what they’re being,” Gina spits, uncurling herself from the chair enough to shoot your mother a resentful look. “We’re going through actual hell and all these people care about is getting a sound bite for the evening news!”

Corinna looks pained but doesn’t rebuke her. “I know, liebling, I know. But your papa has millions of fans all over the world who have followed his career for decades. Whether we like it or not, they care about him … and about us by extension.”

You think back to that day at the karting track all those years ago when you first realized your papa was what people called “famous”. How all those strangers clamored around him so aggressively just for a photo or an autograph. That level of fandom seemed exciting and novel at the time, when you were just a naïve 5-year-old. Now you see it for how intrusive and violating it is, this sense of entitlement people have to the private life of a public figure.

The phone starts ringing again, shattering the fragile quiet. Your mother squeezes her eyes shut and makes no move to get it this time. After four rings, the call goes to voicemail. A moment later, the tinny sound of an Italian voicemail being left blares through the speaker.

“Scusi, scusi, please, if there is any update on the condition of the great Michael Schumacher, any information at all! We are all holding vigils and saying prayers, but we must know how he fares! The world is watching and waiting!”

The words, pleading and demanding all at once, are like a slap across your face. The man’s voice is laced with such desperation, as if your papa’s life is mere entertainment to be consumedby the masses. You feel abruptly furious, incensed that a stranger’s morbid curiosity is given the same weight as your family’s anguish.

“Turn it off,” Mick mutters through clenched teeth, hunching over on the couch. “Just turn it off, Mama.”

Corinna nods numbly and reaches to end the voicemail, her mouth set in a grim line. Buzzing fills the room again as the TV drones on, the reporters’ voices a dull roar that you can no longer discern actual words from as your ears ring with white noise.

The shrill ringing of the phone cuts through once more, like a record scratching in your brain. Your mother flinches violently, hands coming up to clamp over her ears as she squeezes her eyes shut, finally at her breaking point.

Unable to watch this torture anymore, you surge to your feet and storm across the living room. You rip the phone from its cradle and hurl it against the far wall, the plastic casing shattering loudly. The ringing blessedly ends, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.

Mick and Gina stare at you with wide, stunned eyes. Your mother simply deflates, sliding down the wall to the floor as the adrenaline drains from her body. For several beats, no one dares breathe too loudly. Then, Gina starts to shake her head slowly, tears slipping free.

“Brava,” she murmurs, the barest hint of approval in her voice.

Your mother doesn’t scold you for the outburst. She merely reaches out a hand, silently beckoning you closer until you slowly cross the room again and sink to your knees in front of her. She cups your face in her palms, her own cheeks glistening with fresh tears.

“You’re right, liebling, you’re right,” she whispers brokenly. “This is about our family, not … not the world thinking they’re owed something.”

She pulls your head against her shoulder and you cling to her tightly as she begins to weep in earnest, great shuddering sobs wracking her whole frame. Gina scrambles over and tucks herself against your mother’s other side, and soon all three of you are tangled in each other’s arms, letting the tidal wave of grief crest over you.

Mick stays frozen on the couch, watching over your huddle with dark, haunted eyes. For the first time since this ordeal began, the four of you are united in simply feeling, truly letting yourselves shatter. No more putting on brave faces or pretending to be okay — from this moment, you can finally grieve as a family behind closed doors, blockading out the rest of the cruel, prying world.

Later that evening, after crying yourselves into an exhausted stupor, you drift up the stairs and sequester yourself in your bedroom. You bypass the framed photos of your papa on your nightstand, the sight of his bright smile and twinkling eyes too searing at the moment. Instead, you sink to your knees in the middle of the floor and clasp your hands tightly, bowing your head to murmur desperate pleas.

“Please, please let my papa be okay. I don’t care about all his fame or the stupid reporters. I just want him to get better and come home to us. He’s not just the famous Michael Schumacher to me. He’s Papa. He’s my whole world.”

The words spill out in a torrent, all the fear and longing you’ve been bottling up for the better part of a week erupting forth. You plead to any higher power that may be listening, bargaining away your future, your dreams, anything — as long as your papa pulls through this nightmare.

How many times had you taken for granted those moments of him just being your dad — making you pancakes on Saturday mornings, dozing on the couch during family movie nights, playfully tossing you into the pool when you grew too whiny in the summer heat? You’d give anything to have those simple, precious daddy-daughter moments back.

“The world can have his trophies and titles,” you whisper fiercely, tears slipping free to patter on the carpet. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want my papa. Please, please bring him back to us.”

You curl in on yourself, forehead pressing into the floor as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. All the adoring fans, the fawning media, the hangers-on clamoring for a piece of his glory — they only know the manufactured public persona of Michael Schumacher, legendary racer and famous celebrity. But to you, he’s always just been the quiet hero tucking you into bed at night, the gentle presence reading stories in funny voices, the mighty protector pulling you in for all-encompassing bear hugs.

You miss that wonderful, silly, tender father more than anything in the world. You don’t give a damn about his racing accolades or his fame. You just desperately need your papa back home where he belongs — with his family, the people who loved and treasured him most as simply Michael.

Just Michael. Your one and only papa.

The raw ache of that longing consumes you utterly. You lay there amid the fading light from your bedroom windows, dreams and memories of your papa flickering behind your eyelids as you plead to any benevolent force that may be listening. All you want is the chance to make more joyful memories with him, to hear his rich laugh, to keep basking in his unconditional love for years and years to come.

Please, you beg the universe silently, one last time. Please let this nightmare end. Don’t let the brightest light in my world be extinguished before its time.

Let me have my papa back.

***

A tense hush has fallen over the dining room table, the clinking of utensils against plates the only sound cutting through the thick silence. Gina avoids everyone’s eyes, pushing food around her plate listlessly. Mick stares down at his half-eaten dinner, jaw working like he’s chewing over something weighty. You pick at a bread roll, too knotted with anxiety to muster much appetite.

Your mother is the one to finally break the stifling quiet, clearing her throat. “Kids, I know these last few weeks have been … incredibly difficult for us all.”

You risk a glance up at Corinna. Her eyes are tight at the corners, her mouth a taut line. Just like all of you, the constant vigil at your papa’s bedside, combined with the relentless badgering from the media, has clearly taken its toll.

“But we have to keep trying to be a family, yes?” She reaches across the table to grip your hand. “We’re all Michael has right now. We have to … to stick together for him.”

You nod numbly, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat at the reminder of your papa’s unchanged condition. The waiting, the not knowing if or when he’ll wake up, is a special kind of torment you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Mick abruptly shoves his plate away, the porcelain scraping loudly across the wood. You all flinch a little at the harsh sound.

“I’ve been thinking ...” he starts, then seems to reconsider his words, shoulders tightening fractionally. “Well, Y/N, you know how I … how I race under Mama’s last name?”

You frown slightly, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Betsch, yes. Because you wanted to make your own name without the expectation and pressure of being Michael Schumacher’s son.”

He dips his chin once, looking almost pained. “Exactly. And I think … I think maybe you should consider doing the same.”

The words sit heavy and convolulenting between you all like a sack of wet cement. You blink dumbly, hardly comprehending what he’s suggesting at first. When the implication hits you, you actually recoil as if he’d slapped you across the face.

“What? No. No, absolutely not, Mick. How can you even say that?”

“Y/N, just hear me out,” he pleads, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “With Papa … with what happened, the paparazzi and the fans, they’re going to be watching our every move even more than before. Especially you since you’re planning to continue competing-”

“Don’t you dare make this about his condition,” you spit, fury thrumming through your veins like struck lightning. “And of course I plan to keep racing — it’s what Papa would want! I’m not going to hide from his name like it’s some shameful thing!”

Gina is watching the exchange with wide, startled eyes, her food forgotten. Mick runs an agitated hand through his hair, shaking his head firmly.

“It’s not about hiding or shame, it’s about protecting yourself! Don’t you see how crazy things have gotten? All the reporters harassing us, the fans leaving awful messages online hoping for updates ...”

He leans forward, expression almost desperate. “If you race as Betsch, you can compete without having that extra spotlight. You can just be a normal kid on the track without people peering in.”

Heat rushes up the back of your neck in waves of humiliation and rage. How dare he insinuate that inheriting your papa’s legacy is some kind of burden to be shrugged off? That the name Schumacher is a burden to bear rather than a badge of honor?

“I’m not you, Mick,” you bite out, fists clenching beneath the table. “Maybe racing under Mama’s name helped you deal with the pressure better and that’s fine. But I’m proud to be Michael Schumacher’s daughter! And if people can’t respect that, if they think it means they own a piece of me, then they can go to hell!”

“Language!” Your mother gasps, both appalled and slightly impressed. But you ignore her admonishment, too fired up to rein it in now.

“What, you think pretending to be someone else is going to spare me from living in Papa’s shadow anyway?” You shake your head adamantly, leaning across the table towards Mick. “It’s not, and you know it. Even if I raced under a fake name, everyone is still going to know exactly who I am and make comparisons.”

Slamming your palms on the table, you surge to your feet, chair screeching harshly against the floor. All the pain and uncertainty of these past few weeks is bubbling over into bitter, biting words.

“So why should I hide it? Why can’t I take pride in my name and my heritage? Maybe it’ll mean more scrutiny, but it’s a million times better than feeling like I have to be ashamed! Like I can’t fully honor Papa and make him proud!”

Chest heaving, you stare down a wide-eyed Mick, almost daring him to challenge you further. He seems to read the conviction blazing in your eyes, features softening into chagrin.

“You’re right ...” he murmurs with a wince. “You’re right, Y/N, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

You hold his repentant gaze for a long moment before deflating back into your chair with a muted thud. In the ringing silence, you can hear your mother’s soft sniffles from the far end of the table. When you look over, she has her head bowed, hands pressed to her eyes as she cries quietly.

“M-Mama?” Gina ventures in a small voice, reaching across to grasp her mother’s wrist. “What’s wrong?”

Corinna lowers her hands, swiping at the tears streaking her cheeks. When she meets your bewildered gaze, her expression is a complicated brew of pride and heart-wrenching sadness.

“Nothing is wrong, liebling,” she assures Gina with a watery smile, before turning back to you. “Y/N, you’re so much like your papa, do you know that? So brave and determined … so full of that same fighting spirit.”

She dips her chin, lips trembling faintly. “He would be so proud to hear you defend his name like that. To see you ready to take on the weight of wearing it, regardless of what the world throws at you.”

More tears spill forth, but she brushes them away impatiently with the backs of her hands.

“But liebchen, you have to understand … Michael spent decades bearing that scrutiny and expectation. People analyzing his every move, always under a spotlight so harsh it burned. I never wanted that for any of you.”

Sliding her chair back, your mother crosses to kneel before you, cradling your face gently between her palms. Her eyes are shining but intensely serious, almost pleading with you.

“The Schumacher name casts such a long shadow, one so great that your own light can be eclipsed before you ever have a chance to properly shine. I don’t want you smothered by that burden, mein schatz. I want you free to make your own amazing mark on this world, completely unchained.”

You feel your throat grow tight at her words, the weight of them ringing so true and terribly sad. You reach up to circle your fingers around her wrists, holding her hands to your cheeks like vices.

“I know, Mama, I know,” you whisper roughly. “But that light you want me to shine? Papa is the one who sparked it inside me in the first place.”

You meet her watery gaze steadily, willing her to understand the conviction taking root inside you.

“The joy and passion I have for racing doesn’t come from some anonymous dream. It comes from him — from the nights he spent giving me a play-by-play of his biggest victories, from the days we spent at the karting tracks making memories, from everything I want so desperately to honor.”

Leaning forward until your brows nearly touch, you let the pleasing words spill out directly from your heart.

“So please, please don’t ask me to race as anyone other than your daughter, yes, but also proudly as Michael Schumacher’s daughter. That name isn’t a burden or a shadow to me. It’s something I want to carry forward and make blaze even brighter.”

Your mother’s eyes slip shut as she draws in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, she simply holds your face cradled in her palms, seeming to bask in your impassioned words. When her eyes finally open again, they are overflowing with a fierce tenderness.

“Oh liebchen,” she murmurs, voice thick with an odd mix of grief and wonder. “You are your father’s daughter through and through. So determined, so unafraid to face the world head on ...”

She strokes her thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, swiping away the dampness there. “I only hope he knows just how brightly his fire still burns in you. How it is living on in the most brilliant way.”

Surging up onto her knees, your mother pulls you into a fierce embrace, tucking your head beneath her chin. You cling to her tightly, drawing strength from her warmth, her tireless support and love. Over her shoulder, you can see Mick and Gina watching silently, their own eyes overly bright.

When your mother finally leans back, cupping your face once more, her expression has regained some of its usual firmness and resolution.

“Very well, then,” she nods, offering you a watery but determined smile. “If you truly feel ready to take on the world, to claim that name and legacy as yours, then we will face it together. As a family.”

She rises lithely to her feet, drawing you up along with her. Gathering Mick and Gina in with the sweep of her arms, she folds you all in her protective embrace, holding your foreheads together in the center.

“You may be Schumachers, but that name does not define or limit you,” she declares, quiet but firm. “It is simply one part of your identity, one piece of the incredible legacy you inherited. What you choose to make of it, how brightly you make that legacy burn, is up to you alone.”

She pulls back just enough to meet each of your eyes in turn, her own gleaming with resolute pride.

“So let them watch, let them scrutinize and sneer and make their judgments. You will simply keep chasing your passions and living your truths. Yes, the world may know you as Schumachers, but you alone will define what that name represents, now and for generations to come.”

***

The roar of the engines fades as you cross the finish line, taking the chequered flag. The broadcast team erupts in excitement.

“Unbelievable! Y/N Schumacher has done it — the daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher wins the Formula 2 championship in her rookie year!”

You can hardly believe it yourself as you start your cooldown lap, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The pit crew is cheering wildly, holding up the #1 sign. Your race engineer is on the radio, his voice cracking with joy. “You’re a champion, Y/N! A first-year champion!”

“What an incredible drive from the young German. Shades of her father with that relentless determination and racecraft. She’s carried on the Schumacher name proudly.”

As you return to the pit lane, you spot Mick getting out of his own car. He has a huge smile on his face, eyes shining with pride. You take a moment to drink it all in as you bring your car to a stop and he’s the first one there, ripping off your helmet so he can hug you tightly.

“You did it! I’m so proud of you!” He’s beaming as he pulls back to look at you.

“Aww, Mick ...” You blink back happy tears, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what you’ve accomplished. “I couldn’t have done it without you pushing me every single race.”

Mick shakes his head dismissively. “This was all you. You were the faster driver this season, plain and simple.” His face falls a little. “I really thought I had you there at the end, but you just wouldn’t give up.”

You grin cheekily. “Of course not! I’m a Schumacher — we never give up.”

“What a beautiful moment between the siblings. You can see the immense pride Mick has for his sister, despite coming up just short of winning the championship himself.”

The rest of the team surrounds the two of you, lifting you both up onto their shoulders as the celebrations kick into full gear. You lock eyes with Mick over the sea of smiling faces and he winks at you contentedly.

Later, after you’ve returned to the garage, you find a quiet moment alone with Mick. He pulls you into another hug, this one more lingering.

“I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You’ve worked so incredibly hard for this.” Mick’s voice is thick with emotion.

You squeeze him tightly. “Thank you, Mick. That means everything coming from you.”

He pulls back, cupping your face fondly. “I remember when we were kids, dreaming of following in Papa’s footsteps. And now look at us!”

You laugh, a few happy tears spilling over. “I know, it’s crazy! I couldn’t have done this without your help, you know. You’ve been by my side every step of the way.”

“A storybook ending for the Schumacher siblings. Y/N cementing herself as a future star, with her older brother not far behind.”

Mick shakes his head adamantly. “No, Y/N, this was all your talent and determination. I just got a front row seat to watching greatness in the making.” His eyes are shining with sincerity.

You throw your arms around his neck, struck by how lucky you are to have such an amazing brother. “I love you, Mick. Thank you for always believing in me.”

He hugs you fiercely. “I’ll always believe in you. You’re a champion now, but I know this is just the beginning for you.”

The team arrives then, champagne bottles in hand and ready to continue the celebration. You pull back and grin at Mick mischievously, cracking open the first bottle with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you … for now.”

The bubbly liquid sprays everywhere as you both dissolve into laughter, reveling in this perfect moment of sibling bonding and love. Mick pulls you into a wet hug, so proud and grateful to share this with you.

“And an iconic image — the Schumacher children celebrating a Formula 2 title just like their father did in the upper series so many times before. A changing of the guard, with the name Schumacher set to dazzle racing fans once more for years to come.”

Later that night, after you’ve showered off the champagne and slipped into comfy clothes, there’s a soft knock at your hotel room door. You open it to find Mick standing there, shifting awkwardly.

“Hey, you’ve got a second?” His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, like he’s been crying.

“Of course, what’s up?” You gesture him inside, concerned by his demeanor.

Mick enters slowly, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He seems to be struggling to find the words.

You rest a hand on his arm. “Mick, you can tell me anything, you know that.”

He nods jerkily, finally meeting your eyes. “I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You have no idea how much it means to me to see you accomplishing your dreams.” His voice catches with emotion.

“But?” You prod gently.

Mick’s eyes water again. “But … it’s also really hard for me. This was my dream first, you know? To become a champion like Papa.” He swipes at the tears angrily. “And now you’ve beaten me to it. I’m just … I’m struggling with that a bit.”

Your heart clenches at his quiet admission. You pull Mick into a tight hug, rubbing his back soothingly. “Oh, Mick … I’m so sorry. I never wanted to take that away from you.”

He shakes his head against your shoulder. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all. You earned this, fair and square. I’m just … dealing with some complicated emotions, I guess.”

You push him back by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes intently. “Mick, listen to me. You are one of the most naturally gifted drivers I’ve ever seen. This is not the end for you, not even close. You’re going to be a champion too, I know it.”

Mick seems to deflate slightly at your words, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you state firmly. “We’re going to take this to the top level together. And we’re going to make Papa even more proud than he already is.”

A slow smile spreads across Mick’s face. “Together,” he repeats, reaching out to take your hand and give it a squeeze.

You squeeze back reassuringly. “Always together. You and me, just like when we were kids. We’re a team, remember?”

Mick nods, the brightness returning to his eyes. He seems lighter now, the melancholy cloud lifted by your words of encouragement.

On impulse, you throw your arms around him again, nearly knocking him over with the force of your hug. Mick laughs delightedly, squeezing you just as tightly.

“Thank you, Y/N. I needed to hear that from you,” he murmurs shakily into your hair.

You pull back just enough to grin at him cheekily. “What are little sisters for?”

Mick lets out a surprised bark of laughter, warmth and affection shining from every part of his expression as he gazes at you fondly. “You’ll always be my little sis, champion or not.”

It’s your turn to laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “Well this little sis just kicked your ass this season, so show some respect!”

Mick’s eyes crinkle with mirth. “I’ll remember that for next year, believe me.”

***

It’s a crisp autumn evening at the Schumacher family home in the Swiss Alps. You’re curled up on the plush couch in the living room, flipping through a magazine while your brother paces back and forth anxiously.

“Will you please sit down?” You ask, eyeing him over the top of the pages. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Mick runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Sorry, I’m just … worked up, I guess.”

You set the magazine aside. “About what? We haven’t had a race in weeks.”

He stops his pacing to face you. “You know the season’s almost over, right? And Haas still hasn’t said anything about re-signing me for next year.”

“Oh, Mick.” You offer him a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. You’ve had a solid season.”

Mick flops down next to you, deflating a little. “I don’t know. There are so many other options on the table. What if Haas decides to go a different direction?”

“Then you’ll find another seat,” you say firmly. “Any team would be lucky to have you behind the wheel.”

He manages a half-smile. “Thanks. I just wish I had your confidence sometimes.”

“What can I say?” You flash him a cheeky grin. “It’s a gift.”

The peaceful moment is shattered as both of your phones start ringing in unison. You exchange a puzzled look before digging them out.

“My manager,” Mick says, furrowing his brow as he answers. “Hello?”

You do the same, pressing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Nicolas, what’s up?”

For the next few minutes, you and Mick are silent, listening intently with rapidly changing expressions — yours elated, his crestfallen. When you finally hang up, Mick is staring at the floor, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Well?” He asks, voice tight. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

You take a deep breath, trying to tamp down your surging excitement. “Ferrari wants me for next season.”

Mick’s face falls even further, if possible. “You’re kidding.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this!” You can’t keep the grin from overtaking your features. “Can you believe it? Driving for the Scuderia! It’s a dream come true!”

“Yeah, for you maybe,” Mick mutters darkly.

You blink at his tone, smile fading slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He drags a hand down his face wearily. “Haas declined to re-sign me for next year.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What? No, that can’t be right!”

“Afraid so.” Mick’s voice is flat, resigned. “They said something about … needing to bring in fresh blood or some bullshit excuse.”

You scoot closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Mick, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

“Don’t be.” He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it comes off as dejected. “At least one of us is moving up in the world.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” You protest. “We’re teammates! We were supposed to take on Formula 1 together!”

Mick snorts humorlessly. “Looks like that’s not going to happen after all.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between you. You open your mouth, searching for the right words of reassurance, but come up empty. How can you comfort him when your own dream has come true at his expense?

“Hey.” Mick’s somber tone breaks the quiet. “I’m happy for you, you know. Really, I am.”

You meet his sincere gaze, feeling your eyes start to well up. “I know. But that doesn’t make this any less shitty for you.”

He manages a rueful smile. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

“So what are you going to do now?” You ask quietly.

Mick lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Keep grinding, I guess. Look for another seat, any seat, even if it’s not in F1 next season.”

“You can’t give up on F1!” You protest instantly. “You’re too good for that, Mick.”

“Am I, though?” He lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Face it, Y/N, you’ve always been the better driver. This just proves it.”

You shake your head adamantly. “That’s not true at all! You’re every bit as talented as me.”

“Then why did Ferrari pick you instead of me?” There’s no accusation in his words, just weariness.

You falter, mind churning as you search for an answer that won’t come. “I … don’t know.”

“Exactly.” Mick closes his eyes briefly. “Maybe it’s for the best. At least this way, one of us still gets to live out the Schumacher legacy and race for Ferrari. Carry on the family name, you know?”

“But you’re a Schumacher too,” you say, feeling your throat start to tighten with unshed tears. “It should be both of us out there, not just me.”

Mick reaches over to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Hey, don’t cry about it. I’ll be okay, really.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” You swipe angrily at the moisture gathering in your eyes. “It’s not fair, Mick. It’s just not fair at all.”

He levels you with a look that’s decades older than his years. “Life rarely is. You know that as well as I do.”

You fall silent, unable to formulate a response. He’s right, you realize with a pang. The two of you, of all people, should understand that success and failure often go hand-in-hand, even for the most talented competitors.

Pursing your lips, you lean forward and pull Mick into a fierce hug. He tenses for a split second before wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I’m still so proud of you,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be my incredible big brother.”

Mick lets out a shaky exhale against your hair. “And you’re the most badass little sister a guy could ask for. Ferrari has no idea what they’re in for.”

You pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, emboldened by the warm affection shining in them.

“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.

He arches an eyebrow quizzically. “What’s that?”

A mischievous grin tugs at your lips. “That you’re not going to take it easy on me whenever you’re back on the grid.”

***

You take a deep breath as you pull your sleek new Ferrari up to the iconic factory in Maranello. This place holds so many memories — some joyful, others bittersweet. Your father cemented himself as a legend here, and you can’t help but feel the weight of that legacy on your shoulders now more than ever.

The door swings open and there stands Fred Vasseur offering you a warm smile. “Y/N, welcome home.”

You return the smile, unable to mask the flood of emotions. “It’s good to be back, Fred.”

He gestures for you to follow him inside. “I’m sure this place brings back quite a few memories.”

“You have no idea,” you murmur, taking in the familiar sights and smells. The rosso corsa that coats every surface, the scent of machinery and high-octane fuel … it’s intoxicating.

A tiny you runs through the hallways, giggling madly as your frantic mother tries to catch up. “Mick! Y/N! Get back here this instant!”

Mick peeks out from behind a workbench, sticking his tongue out at Gina, who playfully swats at him. You spot the perfect hiding spot — a massive green recycling bin tucked in the corner ...

“Y/N? Are you still with me?” Fred’s voice breaks you from your reverie.

You shake your head. “Sorry, got a bit lost in thought there. This place just … feels like stepping into the past.”

Fred nods knowingly. “I can only imagine. But today is about your future with the team.” He leads you through the winding corridors, pointing out various departments. “Over here is aerodynamics, that hallway takes you to the design labs ...”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Your father’s voice echoes down the corridor, his tone playful but tinged with desperation. You stifle a giggle from your hiding spot as his footsteps draw closer.

“Michael, any luck?” That’s Paolo, one of the mechanics. You chance a peek and see half the team has been enlisted to search for you.

Your dad scrubs a hand over his face. “She’s too good at this game. Should’ve known better than to play hide-and-seek in a place this size.”

You chuckle softly at the memory, prompting a curious look from Fred. “Sorry, just … reminiscing again.”

He gives you an easy grin. “By all means, feel free to share. I’d love to hear some of those old stories.”

You take a breath, composing yourself before launching into the tale. “Well, there was this one time when I was maybe … four or five? Mick and I were causing an unholy ruckus as usual, and Papa suggested a game of hide-and-seek to wear us out. Big mistake on his part.”

Fred’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Let me guess, you proved to be a master hider?”

“You could say that.” You grin mischievously. “I found this big recycling bin, crawled inside, and stayed completely silent while the whole team tore the place apart looking for me. Papa was just about to call in the overalls for backup when Paolo finally peeked in the bin.”

Fred throws his head back with a hearty laugh. “I can just picture your poor father’s face when they found you! He must’ve been both relieved and completely exasperated.”

You nod. “Oh, he wore that particular blend of emotions often when we were young terrors around here.”

The two of you continue chatting amicably as Fred shows you around the various facilities — the simulator room, the engine workshop, even the gym and physiotherapy center. With each new area unveiled, another flood of nostalgia washes over you.

You and Mick sprint into the wide-open workshop, engines and miscellaneous car pieces scattered all around. Gina is closing in, her longer legs giving her an advantage.

“Got you now, you little gremlins!” She scoops Mick up with one arm, then turns her sights on you.

You let out a shriek of laughter, dodging around a massive piece of equipment as your mother joins the chase. “Come here, Maus! It’s time for your nap!”

You shake your head furiously. “No nap! No nap!”

Corinna’s hand finally snags the back of your shirt, and you erupt into a fit of giggles as she pulls you into a hug ...

“That’s some smile you’ve got going there,” Fred notes with a wry grin. “I take it another happy memory?”

You give an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Just … remembering how this place used to be our personal jungle gym. Mick, Gina, and I would run absolute loops around Mama while she tried to wrangle us for nap time.”

Fred chuckles fondly. “I can picture three tiny terrors leaving chaos in their wake.” His expression softens. “It must be incredibly special to be back here after all these years. To follow in your father’s footsteps like this.”

You swallow hard against the swell of emotions. “It’s … overwhelming, if I’m being honest. But in the best possible way.” You glance around at the familiar setting with new eyes. “These halls practically raised me. And now … now I get to write my own chapter here.”

Fred gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You’ve got a long road ahead, but I have complete faith you’ll make us all proud, Y/N.”

You straighten your shoulders, giving him a determined nod. “I’m ready.”

As you follow him further into the factory, you can’t help but revel in the rush of coming full circle. Yes, this team, this place, is indelibly woven into your childhood. But now … now it’s time to create new memories.

To race.

To win.

To become a legend.

***

The crowd outside the Ferrari headquarters swells as you emerge from the famous red doors for the first time as an official Scuderia Ferrari driver. Shouts and cheers erupt from every direction, fans pressing forward eagerly with pens and photos clutched in their hands.

“Over here, Y/N!”

“Un selfie, per favore!”

“Can you sign this for my daughter?”

You plaster on a polite smile, trying to graciously oblige as many autograph and photo requests as possible. But the throngs only grow more insistent, hands grabbing at you from all angles as the crowd closes in. Your heart races and you feel yourself starting to panic at the lack of personal space.

“Per favore, let her breathe!” An insistent voice cuts through the commotion in lightly accented Italian.

The crowd parts slightly as a familiar, lean figure pushes through — your new teammate. His green eyes meet yours with a reassuring look as he plants himself firmly by your side.

“Give her some space!” Charles barks out in English this time. “She can’t breathe!”

You shoot him a grateful glance as the fans reluctantly take a step back. Charles gently takes your arm and pulls you out of the scrum.

“Sorry about that,” he says with an apologetic smile, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I know how intense they can be around here.”

“No, thank you,” you reply earnestly. “I was about two seconds away from an anxiety attack.”

Charles chuckles. “Well, we can’t have the new driver cracking under pressure on day one.”

You make a face at his teasing remark. “Watch it, pretty boy.”

Laughing, Charles puts his arm around your shoulders in a friendly gesture. “Come on, I know just the place to escape the madness for a bit. Dinner’s on me.”

He guides you across the plaza and down a side street to a cozy trattoria — Ristorante Montana, known as the unofficial “Ferrari restaurant” frequented by team members. As you enter, a stout woman with a warm, welcoming smile emerges from the back.

“Ah, Charles! Welcome back. And this must be ...” Her eyes widen as they land on you. “Oh, la piccola principessa is all grown up!”

Flustered, you open your mouth to respond, but the woman has already swept you up in a tight embrace.

“Rossella, you’re smothering the poor girl!” A elderly man’s voice calls out in amused rebuke.

“Hush, Maurizio, and pour us some wine!” Rossella releases you and holds you at arm’s length, beaming. “Michael’s little girl, all woman now. I’ll never forget the first time your father brought you in here as a bambina.”

She gestures to a framed photo hanging on the wall of a much younger Rossella standing next to Michael, who is holding a grinning toddler — unmistakably you.

“He was so proud,” Rossella continues misty-eyed. “Just like I know he would be of you today, following in your father’s footsteps.”

You swallow hard, touched by the warm welcome and memory. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Charles watching you with a soft smile.

Rossella shifts gears abruptly, all business. “Now, what will you two have? The usual for you, Charles? And for you, la principessa, I insist you try the gnocchi al ragú. Just like my nonna used to make it.”

As Rossella whisks off to the kitchen, Maurizio appears with a bottle of deep red wine and two glasses.

“To new beginnings,” he toasts with a wink, pouring for you and Charles.

You raise your glass to clink against Charles’ with a smile. “New beginnings.”

Over pasta and wine, you and Charles fall into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth as the weight of the evening’s earlier stress dissipates. You find yourself repeatedly distracted by the dimpled grin that lights up his face whenever he laughs at one of your quips.

“So is this a regular hazing ritual you put all the rookies through?” You ask innocently. “Get them away from the crowds and ply them with wine so they’re too drunk to be nervous on day one?”

Charles barks out a laugh. “You’ve found me out! Although I do seem to recall my own initiation being a lot harder. Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.”

“Old age? You’re what …12?” You retort, eyes dancing with mirth.

The waiter arrives with the dessert menu, but Rossella shoos him away.

“No, no menu. I’m bringing you the tiramisu to share. My secret recipe.”

Charles groans in delight. “You’re a legend, Rossella.”

She pats his cheek affectionately before disappearing again. A comfortable silence falls between you and Charles as you each take a bite of the rich, velvety tiramisu.

“Mmmm, this is literally heaven,” you murmur happily.

Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.

Your eyes catch movement out of the corner and you turn to see Rossella returning, carrying a large framed photo under her arm. She sets it down on the empty chair next to you with a proud grin.

It’s a glamor shot of you from a recent photoshoot for Vogue Italia — hair and makeup impeccable, lips parted in a secret smile as you gaze directly at the camera.

Rossella rests a hand on your shoulder. “For me, bellissima? So we can hang la principessa right next to il padre.”

Touched, you take the proffered sharpie and scribble out a quick inscription before signing your name with a flourish at the bottom.

“Grazie mille,” Rossella breathes, throwing an arm around you to squeeze you against her ample frame. “You’ve made this old heart very happy tonight.”

When she finally releases you, you see Charles watching you both with a soft, almost wistful expression. You raise your eyebrows at him in question, but he just shakes his head with a smile.

As you and Charles prepare to depart, Rossella calls out once more. “You come back soon, eh principessa? I have more pictures to collect.”

You throw her a wink over your shoulder. “D’accordo, d’accordo. We’ll be back soon!”

Out on the street, you pause, conscious of the evening rapidly drawing to a close. You turn to Charles, studying him properly for the first time. His deep green eyes crinkle at the corners as he meets your gaze.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t swooped in to rescue me back there.”

Charles shrugs nonchalantly, but his expression is kind. “We look out for our own in Ferrari. That’s what teammates are for, no?”

A beat passes, the momentary tension thickening between you. Then Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, I should let you get going before your handlers send out a search party. Need me to call you a car?”

“No, no I’m good,” you reply quickly, trying to mask your disappointment at the night ending. “My performance coach has the car around front.”

You start to turn away, then impulsively pivot back. Rising up on your toes, you throw your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a brief, platonic hug.

“Seriously, thank you,” you murmur in his ear. “For everything.”

As you pull back, your faces are just inches apart. Charles’ eyes are warm, his gaze intense. For a dizzying moment, you’re certain he’s going to kiss you. Then just as suddenly, the moment passes and he steps back with a friendly smile.

“Anytime, princesse. I’ll see you bright and early next week for our first time running the SF-23 on the simulator.”

With a wink, he turns and saunters off down the street, hands shoved in his pockets in that effortlessly cool way of his. You let out a long breath, flustered and exhilarated all at once.

Your performance coach has indeed been waiting with the car, looking mildly concerned. “Everything alright?”

You flash her a bright smile, practically skipping to the car. “It is now, Mara. It absolutely is.”

Your first day as a Ferrari driver was certainly more than you bargained for. But as you settle into the plush leather seats, you can’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Something tells you this new chapter with the Scuderia is going to be an adventure — in more ways than one.

As Mara pulls away from the curb, you catch a final glimpse of Charles striding confidently down the street. Even from a distance, you can make out the dimpled smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back against the headrest, you think back to the memory of his arm slung casually around your shoulders and sigh contentedly. Yes, you have a feeling this is just the beginning of what’s shaping up to be a very interesting partnership with Charles Leclerc.

***

Sebastian looks over the wine list, pretending to be engrossed in selecting the perfect vintage as he peers over the top of the menu. His eyes are fixated on the entrance to the upscale Italian restaurant, waiting for Charles and you to arrive.

This had better work, he thinks to himself. The two of you have been making googly eyes at each other for months now, but are both too stubborn to make a move.

Finally, the hostess leads Charles and you into the dining room. Sebastian ducks down, pulling the brim of his fedora lower over his face and adjusting the fake mustache he’s wearing as a disguise. He watches as the hostess shows Charles and you to an intimate table for two by the window, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your faces.

“There must be some mistake,” Charles says, looking around in confusion. “I was under the impression we were meeting Sebastian here for dinner?”

You look equally perplexed. “That’s what he told me too. He said to meet at 8 o’clock sharp.”

“Well this is just awkward,” Charles runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Should we wait for him or ...”

Before you can respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of bread and butter. “Good evening, my name is Gerardo and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Actually, we’re still waiting on-” Charles begins, but the waiter cuts him off.

“Ah yes, Mr. Vettel asked me to inform you that he will be unable to join this evening after all. A last minute obligation came up. He insisted I take excellent care of you both and that the evening is on his treat.” Gerardo smiles broadly. “So what will you have to drink?”

Sebastian smirks to himself at his cleverly orchestrated ruse from his secluded table in the back corner. He watches with bated breath as a flustered Charles and you exchange an awkward look.

“I’ll have a glass of Chianti,” you say finally, breaking the tension.

“Make that two,” Charles adds with a resigned sigh.

As Gerardo heads off to grab your drinks, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. “You know, we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Charles says, ever the gentleman. “I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, offering him a warm smile that makes Sebastian’s heart melt a little. “It would be rude to ruin the evening Sebastian so carefully planned, even if he’s not actually here to enjoy it.”

Charles visibly relaxes at your acceptance of the situation. “You’re right, of course. If it’s a free dinner, we would be fools to turn that down!”

You both share a laugh, finally breaking the ice. Sebastian feels a swell of pride watching the two of you start to let your guards down around each other.

Over the next hour or so, Sebastian is delighted to see Charles and you become more at ease, trading jokes and stories over several delectable courses of pasta, veal, and freshly baked focaccia. He’s never seen either of you look so lighthearted and carefree, nor has he witnessed two people connect on such an organic, genuine level before. It’s positively magical to behold.

Gerardo arrives once more, this time bearing a decadent slice of torta della nonna for you to share for dessert. “Compliments of the house,” he announces with a wink before departing.

You immediately dig into the lemony confection with gusto. “Oh my god, this is dangerously good,” you moan through a mouthful of pastry cream and flaky crust.

Charles tries and fails to stifle a laugh at your unabashed enthusiasm. “You’ve got a little ...” he gestures vaguely at the corners of your mouth.

“What? Where?” You ask, attempting to wipe the stray crumbs and smears of powdered sugar from your cheeks.

“Here, let me,” Charles says softly, reaching across the table with his cloth napkin.

Sebastian watches with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as Charles tenderly swipes the napkin along your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek in the process. The moment seems to last an eternity, the two of you locked in each other’s smoldering gaze.

Then, ever so slowly, Charles leans across the table towards you. Sebastian can scarcely breathe as he witnesses the magnetic pull drawing the two of you together. This is it, this is finally happening, he marvels silently.

Sebastian lets out an inadvertent yelp of glee and instantly slaps his hands over his mouth. A table of nearby diners turns to gawk at the strange mustached man.

“Ahem, sorry! Hairball,” Sebastian rasps out in a terrible Italian accent. He slinks down in the booth, burning with embarrassment as the other patrons slowly turn away with disgusted looks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles and you also turn towards the commotion, the heated moment effectively ruined. Damn it, he was so close!

You and Charles eventually turn back towards each other, the awkwardness having returned. “We should, uh, probably ask for the check soon,” Charles mumbles, unable to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve got an early training session in the morning anyway,” you reply, the disappointment evident in your voice as you stare down at the table.

Inwardly cursing his rotten luck, Sebastian motions for the bill and slips his black credit card into the folder when Gerardo brings it. He knows the only way to redeem this night is to insist you and Charles stay for one more drink. Maybe add a little more wine confidence to help reignite that spark you both nearly combusted over just moments ago.

As Gerardo whisks away to process Sebastian’s payment, the older German steels his nerves. He removes his ridiculous disguise, straightens his tie, and makes his way over to your table with purpose.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sebastian asks with an exaggerated wink as he reaches you. “It appears Mr. Leclerc and Miss Schumacher were stood up this evening. For shame!”

“Ah, Seb!” Charles laughs in surprise at seeing his friend and former teammate. “We should have known you were behind this madness.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “You’re a menace! I can’t believe you tricked us like that.”

Sebastian claps his hands together and flashes you both a devilish grin. “What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic who cannot abide two clearly smitten people tiptoeing around each other any longer. Now, Gerardo is going to bring you the finest Barolo they have, on my dime, and you are going to remedy this sexual tension situation once and for all over another bottle or three!”

Charles opens his mouth to protest, but you laugh delightedly and nod towards Sebastian. “You know what, I could go for another drink. What do you say, Charles?”

The older Ferrari driver seems to wilt under the weight of your brilliant smile, Sebastian can’t fault the man for that. “Ah, what the hell,” Charles shrugs, throwing his arm around the back of your chair. “Let’s see where this night takes us!”

Sebastian settles in, pouring you all generous glasses of the deep ruby wine when Gerardo delivers it. He may be getting on in years, but his matchmaking job has only just begun. One way or another, he’s determined to ensure his two protégés quit stumbling over each other and finally discover the romance that’s been blossoming under their noses all along.

Sipping his wine, Sebastian gazes at you and Charles, sees the tenderness flickering in both your eyes as you lean in closer together over the candlelight. He smiles contentedly to himself.

Mission accomplished.

***

The paddock is mostly deserted at this late hour, the muffled sounds of the teams packing up drifting in from the garages. You linger near the Ferrari motorhome, watching Charles sitting alone on a stack of tires, shoulders slumped. He’s been increasingly withdrawn these past few days leading up to the Japanese Grand Prix.

You approach slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Charles? You okay?”

He looks up, managing a small smile when he sees you. “Hey, mon amour.”

There’s a weariness to his voice that tugs at your heart. You take a seat beside him, letting your arm brush against his in a subtle show of support. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Charles is silent for a long moment, pulling his helmet off and turning it over in his hands. “It’s Suzuka,” he finally says, so softly you have to lean in to hear him. “Being back here … it’s difficult.”

Your brow furrows. Right, this is where Jules Bianchi crashed, his accident eventually proving fatal. Charles had been incredibly close with his mentor and godfather. “I can’t even imagine how painful this must be.” You cover his hand with yours. “Having to race on the same track ...”

“I relive that day over and over.” Charles’s accented voice is thick with emotion. “I can still see the footage of his car slamming into the crane, like it’s burned into my mind. He was my friend, my godfather, like a brother to me. And now every year, I have to come back to this place that took him from us far too soon.” He squeezes his eyes shut, a stray tear escaping.

“Oh, Charles ...” You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is rigid at first before melting against you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him tightly as his breath hitches with suppressed sobs, your own eyes stinging. How many times has he bottled up this grief, putting on a brave face for the world?

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve carried all these years. But Jules wouldn’t want you torturing yourself like this.” You pull away enough to frame his face with your hands, meeting his reddened eyes. “He’d want you to keep living, to keep pursuing your dream that he helped nurture. He’d be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

Charles manages a watery smile, covering one of your hands with his. “You’re right. Thank you, chérie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours with a shuddering sigh. “I just miss him so much some days. Like an ache I can’t shake.”

“I know.” You brush away the dampness on his cheeks with your thumbs. “Believe me, I understand that ache all too well.”

A crease forms between Charles’s brows as he regards you intently. “Your papa.”

You give a solemn nod. “Everyone talks about him like he’s gone. But he’s not, he’s still here, still breathing. It’s just … he’s not the same man I grew up with anymore.” You blink back tears of your own. “Sometimes I’ll see flashes that remind me so much of how Papa used to be. And then that illusion is shattered and I’m grieving all over again for the person he was.”

Charles’ arms wrap around you fully, tucking your head under his chin. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be. Seeing those glimpses of the man he was, only to have that hope ripped away.” He presses his lips to the crown of your head. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, definitely doesn’t feel like it most days.” Pulling away, you try for a smile. “But we Schumachers are fighters. We don’t stay down for long.”

“That’s my girl.” Charles grins, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m lucky to have you by my side through all of this craziness. I don’t know what I’d do without your support, especially this weekend.”

“Are you kidding?” You turn to fully face him, clasping his hands in yours. “Charles, you’ve been my rock too, you know that? Signing with Ferrari this year, following in my father’s footsteps … the pressure has been immense. But you’ve never let me crumble under it. You’re always there with a laugh or a hug or some silly joke to make me smile even on the hardest days.”

Charles’s grin turns lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart flutter. “Well, someone has to keep that ego of yours from inflating too much, future champion.” He leans in until his lips are a mere breath from yours. “But in all seriousness, we’re in this together, okay? No matter what the future holds, I’ll always have your back.”

“I know,” you murmur, feeling his words like a soothing balm over the parts of your heart still aching for your father as you once knew him. “And I’ll always have yours. We’re a team, on and off the track.” You close the distance between you, kissing him deeply.

Charles returns the kiss with fervor, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you close. The worries plaguing you both seem to temporarily fade into the background amid the warmth and solidity of his embrace. When you finally break apart, breathless, his emerald gaze holds an intensity that steals the air from your lungs in the best way.

“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, the endearment like a vow falling from his lips. “No matter what happens out there tomorrow, or any other race day, that will never change. You and me against the world, princesse.”

You flash him a coy smile, feeling desire begin to simmer low in your belly. “Is that a promise, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Mmm, I can make it one if you’d like.” Charles waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle as his hands roam freely over your back and sides, pulling you flush against him. His voice drops to a husky whisper. “Maybe I can find more convincing ways to pledge my devotion once we’re back at the hotel.”

“I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that,” you say breathily, leaning in to nip at his lower lip in a way that makes him groan. “Though if memory serves, I seem to recall you saying something about honoring the team’s curfew tonight?” You trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. “Wouldn’t want to be … sleep deprived before the race.”

Charles’s fingers flex against your hips as he lets out a shuddering breath. “You’re really testing my willpower here.”

“Payback for all those times you’ve tortured me.” You punctuate the statement with a sharp nip to the sensitive skin below his ear, making him jerk against you with a strangled sound. Pulling back, you smirk at the glazed look in his eyes. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

He blinks slowly, then his gaze narrows in a way that makes heat flare across your skin. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that later.” His voice is low, almost a growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“I look forward to it.” You lean in until your lips are nearly brushing his again.

“Tease,” Charles accuses, though his kiss quickly swallows any further retort.

You lose yourself in the press of his mouth, the exploring glide of his hands over your body, the undeniable chemistry that still sometimes takes your breath away. When you finally break apart, gasping for air, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads resting together.

“Thank you,” Charles murmurs after a long beat of comfortable silence. “For always knowing how to pull me out of my own head. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That’s what partners are for,” you say simply, brushing back the silken strands of chestnut hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are so warm, so full of love and adoration, you feel it envelop you like a cozy blanket. “I’ll always be here to lean on, just like you are for me.”

Charles catches your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. “And I’m grateful for that every single day. Facing the good times and bad, together.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles. “I know Suzuka will never be easy, not with the weight of the memories here. But you make the burden feel lighter. Like no matter what, I’ll be okay as long as I have you by my side.”

You lean in, brushing a featherlight kiss across his lips. “Always. No matter what the future holds, you’re stuck with me, Leclerc.”

A slow, utterly content smile spreads across his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He steals another lingering kiss before glancing toward the pit area, where the last few stragglers are packing up for the night. “As much as I’d love to keep you all to myself, I suppose we should try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

Sliding off the tire stack, he offers you his hand, that warm gleam still dancing in his forest-colored eyes. “Though maybe we could indulge in a long, hot shower first? You know, to … unwind after such an emotionally draining evening.”

You raise an eyebrow at his transparent attempt at nonchalance, but can’t help a smirk from tugging at your lips. “Why, Mr. Leclerc, are you propositioning me?”

“Would that be so terrible?” He tugs you into his arms, leaving a trail of teasing kisses along your jaw. “After all, we did have quite the … charged conversation just now. I’d hate for all that pent-up tension to distract us on track tomorrow.”

You let out a breathless giggle as his wandering hands and lips leave tingles across your skin. “Well, when you put it that way … I suppose a nice, relaxing shower could be just what we need to clear our heads.” Looping your arms around his neck, you meet his heated gaze through lowered lashes. “Lead the way, liebling.”

Charles’ responding grin is nothing short of wolfish. “With pleasure.” Scooping you up in his arms, he heads for the parking lot at a swift pace, leaving the weight of Suzuka and its ghosts behind for the night.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you bring your Ferrari across the finish line, tires smoking from the incredible pace. Your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio, congratulating you, but the words are drowned out by the thunderous cheers echoing around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.

You can hardly believe it. Your first season with the Scuderia and you’ve just won the Italian Grand Prix — on the hallowed ground that your father once ruled. The sea of fans decked out in red is a sight to behold, celebrating wildly as you complete the cool-down lap.

Pulling into parc fermé, you kill the engine, the high-pitched whine slowly dying away. Undoing the straps, you clamber out, still trying to process what just happened. This is really real.

“You!”

The familiar voice makes you turn. It’s Charles, beaming from ear-to-ear despite settling for second place today. He pulls you into a massive hug, squeezing you tightly.

“I can’t believe you just did that! Amazing drive!”

You laugh, giddy with joy and adrenaline. “I still can’t believe it either! Everything just … clicked.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Charles chuckles, ruffling your sweat-damp hair. “You were incredible out there. Absolutely brilliant.”

Hearing the praise from your boyfriend means everything. You know how hard he’s worked, how much he’s sacrificed to get this far. And he’s still your biggest supporter.

The two of you finally pull apart as the rest of the team makes their presence known, congratulating you with bearhugs and massive pats on the back. You did it — you brought the victory home for Ferrari at the Temple of Speed.

After the chaos of the post-race celebrations dies down a little, it’s time for the podium ceremony. You can’t wait to stand up there, basking in the adulation of the wildly passionate Tifosi. As you make your way out with Charles and the third place finisher, the crowd’s cheers swell to a new eardrum-bursting level.

Climbing the steps, you take your spot on the top level, heart racing as you look out over the endless sea of fans. The air is filled with brilliant red smoke, passionate flag-wavers creating mesmerizing patterns. You’ve seen Grands Prix in Italy before, but being up here, having actually won — it’s on another level entirely.

Speeches are made, anthems are played, and then it’s time to crack open the podium champagne. As the bottles are picked up, a rolling chant starts building in the grandstands:

“La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

The sound shakes you to your core. Tears instantly spring to your eyes.

Charles, beside you on the second step, grins and nudges you. “Listen to them! You’ve done it — you’ve made them fall in love with you just like they did with your father.”

Looking down at him with misty eyes, you mouth, “Thank you,” so overwhelmed that you can’t speak. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The two of you share a soft kiss as the chanting grows louder and louder.

As you pull back, gazing out over the surging tide of humanity, faces beaming up at you in adoration, it finally sinks in. This moment — winning at Monza for Ferrari, with Charles by your side, the Tifosi embracing you wholeheartedly — is beyond anything you ever could have dreamed.

The emotions pour out in waves of joy and pride and disbelief. You raise your bottle high, echoing the chants and cheering your heart out to the crowd. They roar back even louder, feeding off your energy in the way that only this group of diehard fans can.

Once the champagne showers subside, giddy fans whistling at you and Charles canoodling on the podium, it’s time to head back down. But the celebrations are just getting started. The team wants to keep the party going.

On the drive over to Maranello, you find yourself sandwiched in the backseat between Charles and your race engineer, Ricky. Everyone is grinning like maniacs, high on the thrill of victory, singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs.

“Solo per lei! Principessa di Monza!” Ricky bellows, gently elbowing you. The rest join in, filling the car with the chant of “Only for her! Princess of Monza!” You can’t stop giggling, leaning into Charles, deliriously happy.

Once you finally roll up to the factory, the party spills out of the car and into the streets. The entire workforce has turned out, waving huge Ferrari flags, beating drums and sounding air horns in celebration. You’re immediately swarmed, being passed from hug to hug as champagne is sprayed in joyful arcs.

They finally manage to sweep you, Charles, and most of your garages inside the factory, where long banquet tables have been set up in the main hall. An enormous cheer goes up as you enter, sparkling wine sloshing from hastily poured glasses all around you.

The meal that follows is a total blur — amazing food, flowing alcohol, raucous toasts, and the happiest pandemonium you’ve ever witnessed. You keep getting tugged from conversation to conversation, everyone wanting to hear how the race played out from your lips. Charles sticks by your side the whole time, looking on with sheer pride.

At one point, you end up going shot for shot with Fred Vasseur, the team principal pouring vodka like his job depends on it. “La mia principessa!” He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy. “You’ve made us all so proud today!”

He hoists his glass. “To our Princess! The Princess of Monza!”

The chant starts up again all around you. “La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

You beam at them all, squeezing Fred’s hand. No words can describe this feeling, being embraced so completely by your team — your family. This is what you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl. Following in your father’s footsteps, bringing glory to Ferrari, carrying on the legend.

The party rages on long into the night. At some point, you lose track of time completely, delirious with exhaustion from the whirlwind of emotion.

You come around for a moment, blinking in the dim glow of the factory lights. There’s quiet rumbles of laughter around you, echoing off the walls. Looking around blearily, you realize you’ve been tucked into a makeshift bed fashioned from a pile of Ferrari t-shirts, nestled in one of the car assembly spaces.

Charles is there too, cradled against your side, one arm wrapped protectively around you. The rest of the team — your PR officers, engineers, mechanics, everyone — is strewn about in similar nests, all of them totally conked out.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle deeper into Charles’ embrace, feeling his lips brush the top of your head. This bizarre, wonderful scene seems to encapsulate everything about being part of the Ferrari family. It’s chaotic and overwhelming and unlike anything else in the world.

But most of all, it’s home.

As you start to drift back to sleep, savoring the lingering scent of champagne and motor oil, one final chant echoes in your head:

La principessa di Monza.

La principessa di Ferrari.

***

11 Months Later

The last few laps feel like they’re happening in slow motion. Every turn, every gear shift, every tiny input to the steering wheel is magnified tenfold as the circuits count down. The pressure is immense, but you’ve been here before. You can do this.

“Stay calm, stay focused,” your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “The calculations look good. Just bring it home steady.”

Nodding to yourself, you downshift entering the stadium section, the roar of the massive crowd surrounding the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez swelling in your ears. This is it — your chance to join the likes of motorsport’s greatest heroes by winning the Formula 1 World Championship.

Your first victory at Monza, being crowned the “Principessa di Ferrari” by the adoring Tifosi, was a dream come true. But this … this is what you’ve worked towards since you were old enough to understand what your father achieved. To etch your name into the history books forever.

The laps tick by agonizingly. Every time the pitboard comes into view, your heart rate spikes. But you’ve got a comfortable gap to second place, managing the race perfectly. Just a few more corners now.

“Final lap, final lap,” your engineer calls out. “Looking brilliant. Stay comfortable and you’ve got this!”

You suck in a deep breath to steady your nerves. Out of the sweeping Curve 3 and onto the pit straight, the crowd’s thunderous cheers are reaching fever pitch. You can see the seas of red-clad fans absolutely losing their minds, knowing the woman they idolize is about to achieve immortality.

Crossing the finish line, you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding for what feels like ages. The emotion is overwhelming — a combination of pure elation, disbelief, and total exhaustion.

You did it.

World Champion at last!

You cruise around, yelling unintelligibly into the radio as the celebrations kick off around the circuit. There’s confetti in the air, smoke flares going off in brilliant shades of red, and a full-throated roar that could probably be heard all the way back in Europe.

Pulling into parc fermé, you switch off the car, letting the weight of the moment sink in. Tears of joy prick at your eyes as the magnitude of your achievement hits home. Ever since you were a little girl, running around watching your papa, this has been the ultimate dream for you.

And now, it’s finally happened. You’re a World Champion. Just like him.

The first person to reach you is Charles. He comes sprinting over from his own car, bounding past the marshals without a second look. One glimpse of the huge smile plastered across his face is all it takes for you to dissolve into giggles and delirious tears.

“You did it! You brilliant, brilliant woman, you did it!” He shouts, grabbing you up in his arms and spinning you around in a whirlwind hug.

“I can’t believe it, Charles! It felt like a dream … like it wasn’t really happening!”

You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, drunk on the euphoria of the moment. Clutching each other tightly, you press your foreheads together, trying in vain to compose yourselves.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles murmurs, gazing at you with adoring eyes. “You worked so incredibly hard for this. You deserve everything.”

Surging forward, you capture his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. For a few brief moments, the two of you are alone, lost in the depth of your emotions and your all-encompassing love for each other. Nothing else in the world matters but this perfect second frozen in time.

You finally break apart, breathless, when the rest of the team sweeps in to congratulate you. They swarm around in a laughing, whooping mass, jumping up and down, hugging, chanting your name over and over.

“To our champion! The Queen!”

The cry comes from Antonio, one of the veteran mechanics who’s been with the team since your papa’s days. He clasps your hands tightly, gazing at you with pride.

“Sei la regina! The Queen of Ferrari!” He hollers over the raucous din, tears shining in his eyes. “Just like your father, you’ll reign forever!”

Your eyes start brimming over again, overwhelmed. The tears roll down your cheeks, smearing streaks of sweat and grime from the race. But you can’t stop beaming.

All at once, the rest of the crew picks up on Antonio’s declaration. Their cheers and chants coalesce into one booming refrain:

“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”

The sheer adulation washes over you in waves, every face beaming up at you in utter reverence. You find yourself struggling to take it all in. In a few incredible seasons, you’ve elevated yourself into the realm of legend in their eyes.

Charles wraps his arms around you from behind, steadying you as your knees start to go weak. You can feel his smile radiant against your neck as he cheers and whoops right along with the rest of them.

“You hear them?” He chuckles, kissing your temple. “It’s all for you, mia regina! My Queen.”

Hearing your love, your partner, your other half call you that sets off a fresh round of giggles and sobs. Turning in his embrace, you loop your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply.

When you finally part, you look out over the still-roaring crowd, many of them carrying elaborate signs with intricate drawings depicting you as a regal sovereign. Some have fashioned ornate crowns out of random merch and foam, holding them high. Others set off flares and smoke bombs in Ferrari red.

For a moment, their euphoric cheers fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears. Closing your eyes, you let the enormity of the moment wash over you, embracing the pride and humility and disbelieving joy.

This is your coronation. The new ruler of the Scuderia — la regina di Ferrari.

“La Regina di Ferrari! La Regina del Mondo!”

You can only chuckle in disbelief, Antonio and Ricky carefully taking your hands to hoist you up onto their shoulders in throne-like celebration. Charles is right by your side, standing vigil as your King Consort.

As the party spreads out around you, confetti and smoke filling the air, you look out across the ecstatic crowd. All you see are fervent faces, worshiping you as their new Queen of the World.

It’s a delirious scene that you never, ever could’ve imagined. And yet it feels so natural, so right. Like you were born to be in the center of this storm of jubilation. This is your true home.

And now, you’ve taken your rightful place as its ruler.

Mexico City burns long into the night in tribute to the newly-coronated Queen. Tomorrow, the party will likely continue all the way back to Maranello. But in this moment, you’re lost in the swirl of ecstasy, allowing yourself to be swept up in the currents of adoration.

La Regina di Ferrari.

La Regina del Mondo.

***

Eight Years Later

Jules can barely contain his excitement as you and Charles help him into the little red race suit. He’s practically vibrating with energy, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Easy there, petit coureur,” Charles chuckles, ruffling Jules’ hair affectionately. “We’ll get you suited up and on the track soon enough.”

“I’m gonna beat everyone!” Jules declares confidently. You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“That’s my boy,” you say with a wink. “Just like your Papa and me.”

Charles grins and pulls Jules into a hug. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Today’s just for fun though, remember? No official points or anything.”

“I know, I know,” Jules says impatiently. “But I’m still gonna win!”

You laugh and swing him up into your arms, peppering his face with kisses until he squeals with delight. “Whatever you say, liebling. Now let’s get you out on that track!”

The three of you make your way out to the karting circuit, hand-in-hand. You can already see a small crowd starting to form along the fences, phones and cameras at the ready. A familiar scenario, even at such a low-key local event.

“Mama, Papa, look!” Jules points excitedly. “Those people want to take pictures!”

“That’s right, schatzi,” you say gently. “Your Papa and I are pretty well known in motorsports.”

“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.

Charles laughs. “Something like that, I suppose. More like … really famous racecar drivers.”

“Whoa ...” Jules seems to be processing this new realization. “You’re the best ever, right? The bestest?”

You share an amused look with Charles. “Well, we’ve had our fair share of success,” you hedge.

“Your mother is a multi-time World Champion,” Charles says proudly. “As am I. We did pretty okay, I think.”

“Woooaahh!” Jules looks absolutely awestruck, like his little mind has been blown. It’s both adorable and bittersweet — your own child, only just now grasping the level of your accomplishments and fame.

The crowd has grown considerably by the time you reach the pit area, people pressing against the barriers in hopes of getting a glimpse of the royal family of Maranello. A small team of event staff try valiantly to keep order, but it’s a losing battle.

“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”

“Charles! Over here, please!”

“Oh my god, is that little Jules? He’s so cute!”

Jules clings a bit closer to you and Charles, startled by the commotion. You pull him protectively against your side.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just some fans who are excited to see us.”

Charles gives the crowd a regretful smile and a small wave before ushering you both past the security team and into the pit area. The calmer, more controlled setting seems to ease Jules’ nerves.

“Why were all those people yelling and taking pictures?” He asks with a small frown.

“Like I said, we’re pretty famous racers,” Charles explains patiently. “A lot of people know who we are and want our autographs or photos with us.”

“Like celebrities!” Jules says, the admiring light returning to his eyes.

You laugh and ruffle his hair again. “Something like that, yeah. Your Papa and I have had a very successful racing career over the years.”

“The best careers,” Charles amends with a wink at you. “Multiple world titles each.”

“World titles?” Jules looks utterly baffled by the concept. “Like … the best in the whole world?”

“Exactly,” you confirm, feeling that familiar swell of pride. “We were the fastest drivers in the world, for a few years at least.”

“Whooaa ...” Jules seems torn between awe and disbelief. “You’re like … superheroes!”

You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Charles laughs, “but I suppose to some we come pretty close, eh?”

He scoops Jules up and swings him around, making him shriek with laughter. You watch them with a content smile, suddenly aware of how blessed you are to have this life — your incredible husband, your precious son, the career successes you both achieved. It’s more than you ever could have dreamed.

“Alright,” Papa says, setting Jules back down. “Why don’t you go grab your kart and we’ll get you out on the track? Think you can take on the world champions?”

Jules gives a determined nod, that familiar fire blazing in his eyes — the same look you’ve seen in your husband’s familiar green ones a thousand times over the years. “You bet! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

With one last hair ruffle, you send him scampering off excitedly. Charles slides an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” He murmurs against your temple. “So much like us at that age. I can already tell he’s going to be a hell of a driver someday.”

You lean into his embrace with a contented sigh. “He is … and just look at how the crowd reacted to him. He’s barely grasped that we’re famous, and now he’s already getting mobbed himself. Our little star in the making.”

Charles makes a rueful sound. “We’re going to have to get used to that, I suppose.”

“Oh, I think we can handle it,” you say lightly. “We’ve had plenty of practice being in the spotlight, after all.”

He laughs and drops a kiss to your hair. “That’s true enough. As long as we stick together, we can get through anything.”

“Exactly.” You turn in his arms to face him properly, cupping his jaw tenderly. “You, me, Jules … nothing else matters as long as we have each other.”

Charles’ eyes are warm with devotion as he gazes down at you. “My soulmate. My family. How did I ever get so lucky?”

He leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet, the rest of the world temporarily fading away. You lose yourself in the familiar comfort of his embrace, the love you share-

“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”

You break apart with a laugh to find Jules making over-exaggerated gagging noises nearby.

“And the moment’s ruined,” Charles teases, keeping an arm looped around your waist.

You bend down to Jules’ eye level with a mock stern look. “You just wait until you’re all grown up with a sweetheart of your own. Then you’ll understand.”

He scrunches up his nose theatrically. “Never! Girls are gross!”

You and Charles share an amused look.

“If you say so,” Charles chuckles. “Now let’s get that kart fired up.”

Jules’ entire demeanor shifts in an instant, that fierce competitiveness surfacing once again. He scrambles into the cockpit of his little kart and takes firm hold of the wheel, looking suddenly years beyond his age.

“You’re going down!” He declares brazenly. “I’ll leave you both in the dust!”

And just like that, the proud parents are replaced by your familiar racing mentalities — the thrill of competition, the desire to win. You share a conspiratorial grin with Charles.

“Is that so?” He taunts playfully. “In that case, no more taking it easy on you two.”

You bend down to kiss Jules’ forehead, unable to resist a parting quip. “Promise you won’t be sad … because Mama always wins.”

With that, Charles heads off to grab his own kart, leaving you and Jules alone for a brief moment. He looks up at you with shining eyes.

“You’re my hero, Mama,” he says simply. “And Papa too. I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

You feel your heart swell fit to burst, filled with more love than you could possibly put into words. Bending down, you pull your beautiful little boy into a fierce hug, eyes shining with unshed happy tears.

“Oh liebling … you already are. You’re everything we could have dreamed of and more.”

You press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed with affection. When you finally pull back, there are indeed tears shining in your eyes.

“Now go show your parents what you’ve got, baby,” you say with a watery smile. “I can’t wait to see you out there.”

Jules gives you a determined nod, eyes blazing with that trademark fire. “You got it, Mama! Get ready to lose!”

With that, he slams down the visor on his helmet and revs the little engine. You step back with a laugh, watching him peel out onto the track with all the confidence and flair of a seasoned pro. Like parents, like son indeed.

By the time Charles rejoins you, his own kart idling beside yours, Jules has already completed a couple of warm up laps. You can’t resist shooting Charles a smug grin.

“Well, well … looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He drives just like you.”

Charles snorts, clearly trying to downplay his obvious pride. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s all your genes coming through.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a sudden commotion from the fences draws your attention. The crowd has grown even larger, people pressing against the barriers with raised phones and voices calling out excitedly.

“Oh my god, it’s them!”

“They’re so cute together!!”

“Over here, please! This way!”

You share a resigned look with Charles as event staff rush to try and control the growing swarm.

“This is what it’s going to be like from now on, isn’t it?” You murmur. “Our little family, constantly in the spotlight.”

Charles shrugs, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he watches Jules blaze by. “What else is new? We’ve been there our whole careers. At least this time, we get to share the fame together … as a family.”

You lean into his side with a contented smile. Out on the track, Jules whips past in a blur of determination, completely unbothered by the fawning crowd. Just a little boy living out his dream, regardless of who his parents might be.

“You know what?” You say softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Charles drops a kiss to your hair as the roar of the crowd and engines swells around you. “Me neither, mon amour. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

His smiley EYES😭😭😭😭

Daichi’s baby sister is a Kawaii~Girl YouTube sensation. Everyone adores her innocence and adorable personality. She’s the embodiment of baby, even more so than Hinata and Yamaguchi. So when you mix a tiny kawaii babie with daddy issues and a tall dominant cat with a fuckboy personality you end up having the perfect recipe for chaos. It doesn’t help when the Babie has the worlds most over protective family.

••••••••••••••••••••

💚Ask And I’ll Add You To The Taglist💚

🖤Relationship: Kuroo x Reader🖤

💜Authors Note; (1) Specials are random silly little scenarios I will be posting to keep up with the plot (2) Not all chapters are SMAU some of them are genuine writings- SOMETIMES THE SPECIALS WILL BE THE WRITING CHAPTERS- [Also if there are any ⚠️Warnings⚠️ for chapters they will be posted at the top of each chapter don’t worry]. (3) Please bare with me, this is my first SMAU and first real story in general. (4) I hope you enjoy this and please comment and share <3💜

~When The Captain Meets The Babie~

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📱The Accounts📱

•The Crows Nest•

•The Cats Cradle•

•The Independents•

•Fans & Other•

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Mid-Summer

~When The Boys Find Out About His Sister~

~When His Sister Is A YouTuber~

~When The Prince Takes The Babie Shopping~

~When The Babie Meets The Crows Nest~

~When Babie Meets The Cats Cradle~

~When YouTubers Collab~

~When The Captain Cant Meet The Babie~

~When They Take Her To The Training Camp~

~When They Meet Babies Daddy~

~When The Captain Meets The Baby~

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Autumn

~When The Captain Meets The Babie~

~When Babie Isn’t Really Baby~

~When Babie Is Smart~

~When Babie Helps The Team~

~When Babie Has Secret Admirers~

~When Babie Becomes Popular~

~When They Celebate Her Favorite Holiday~

~When The Prince Is With The Babie~

~When The Captain Is Jealous~

~When The Captain Has A Crush~

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Winter

~When The Captain Has A Crush~

~When The Ex-Girlfriend Returns~

~When Babie Isn’t Straight~

~When The Ships Are Made~

~When They Can’t Go Home~

~When Babie’s Family Doesn’t Approve~

~When The Captain Is Heartbroken~

~When She Says He Said~

~When The Plot Thickens~

~When The Captain Falls In Love~

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Spring

~When The Captain Falls In Love~

~When The Captain Has A Secret Admire~

~When Babie Doesn’t Approve~

~When Babie Has A Crush~

~When Babie Breaks The Rules~

~When They Sleep Together~

~When Babie Has A Broken Heart~

~When Babie Leaves Daddy~

~When It’s Graduation~

~When Babie Is In Love~

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Summer Again

~When Babie Is In Love~

~When The Adults Move Out~

~When The Captain Is Daddy~

~When Babie Has A Nightmare~

~When Mom and Dad Find Them~

~When Babie and The Captain Fall In Love~

~When The Lolipops Love It~

~When The Family Approves~

~When The Babie Meets The Captain~

~Babie Girl~

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Specials

~When You’re Not Your Best Friend’s Favorite YouTuber 🤡~

~Nines And Dabi~

~“Oh My Gosh I Have A Pink Fridge!”~

~Turning My Boys Into Aesthetics~

~Training Camp Mini Series~

~Prince and Princess Photoshoot~

~But Like Imagine Halloween~

~Meeting Babie’s Family~

~Meeting The Captain’s Family~

~When The Old Choose The New~

~“I’m Sorry, Daddy!?”~

~When Daddy Is The Sugar Baby~