SUMMARY: You and Max are both professional athletes with insane stamina, something you never really thought about… until your friend casually asked how many rounds you two could actually go before tapping out. One conversation with your friend, one deal with Max later…
PAIRING: max verstappen x reader
WARNINGS : 18+ ONLY!! MINORS DNI , Explicit smut, overstimulation, edging, switching (dom!reader & dom!max), oral sex (m & f receiving), deepthroating, gagging, praise kink , begging, competitive sex, unprotected sex , established relationship.
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The conversation with your friend refused to leave your head.
“You two have never actually tested it? How many rounds those insane athlete bodies can really handle before one of you taps out?” she’d asked, eyes wide with curiosity. “You’re both elite. You’ve never just kept going until one of you physically can’t anymore?”
You’d been shocked. “What do you mean?"
That question followed you home. The next evening, Max came up behind you in the bedroom, pressing his chest to your back and kissing your neck slowly , his silent “I need you” signal. You were needy too, and the curiosity burned hotter than usual.
You turned into his arms. "Max... about that thing my friend asked. I want to test it but let's turn it into a challenge"
His competitive grin appeared instantly. “Yeah?”
“Whoever taps out first has to be the other’s personal servant for the next two months. Whatever they want, whenever they want. No excuses.”
“Deal,” he said, eyes gleaming. “But I’m not losing, schatje.”
You both loved sabotaging each other. You had secrets to make him lose his mind. He knew your weak spots too. Game on.
You started slow, saving energy. He peeled your shirt off, you did the same to his. Clothes dropped piece by piece until you were naked. He rolled a condom on carefully, then pulled you into soft, deep kisses, hands gentle on your waist as he laid you down.
It was sweet, slow rolls of his hips, lazy making out. Until Max pulled an ace from his sleeve.
While still moving inside you with that unhurried rhythm, his thumb found your clit and started rubbing tight, perfect circles. He knew how easily you got overstimulated there. The gentle session turned electric in seconds. Your breathing grew heavy, hips jerking.
“Max— fuck...” you gasped.
He didn’t stop. He kept the slow thrusts going and rubbed your clit relentlessly until the orgasm hit you like a wave. You cried out, clenching hard around him, thighs shaking. He didn’t let your poor clit rest, drawing out every aftershock until you were panting and dizzy.
It took you a moment to recover. Then you remembered: you had to fight back if you wanted to win.
You pushed him onto his back and straddled him, sinking down onto his cock in one smooth motion. You were in control now.
“No hands,” you ordered, grabbing his wrists and pinning them beside his head.
You rode him exactly how you knew he liked: deep rolls of your hips, then faster bounces, then slowing down cruelly when he got close. Max’s eyes started rolling back, fingers gripping the sheets tightly.
“Please… please let me come,” he murmured, voice strained.
You slowed even more, teasing. “What did you say? Say it louder if you want it.”
Max was too desperate to fight his pride. “Please, Y/N… just let me come, pleasee”
“Good boy,” you whispered, riding him hard and fast until he came with a deep groan, filling the condom.
It was obvious this was only the beginning. Normally you would have stopped here, but your friend was right: pushing limits was addictive. And neither of you liked losing.
Max reached for another condom. You stopped him.
He raised an eyebrow until you slid off the bed and knelt between his legs. His cock twitched at the sight. You rarely did this ,maybe twice in five years, and he knew you weren’t a big fan. That made it even more effective.
“Don’t put it on yet.”
Max needed a bit longer to get fully hard again. You used the time to tease him with your mouth.
He hardened instantly when you kissed the tip. You teased with soft kitten licks and kisses, drawing it out. Soon his hand rested on the back of your head. You let him guide you, relaxing as he pushed deeper.
You gagged and pulled back for air. “Sorry… I’m really inexperienced with this.”
He just stroked your hair gently, breathing hard. You went back in more determined. Your eyes watered, tears slipping down your cheeks as he grew frantic. The ache between your legs became unbearable, so you slipped a hand down and rubbed your clit while sucking him.
Max groaned at the sight. You looked up at him through wet lashes and cupped his balls and that broke him. His eyes rolled back and he spilled into your mouth with a broken moan.
“You don’t have to swallow if you don’t want to,” he rasped.
But you did. You pulled off, opened your mouth to show him, then swallowed.
“Fuck… such a good girl,” he murmured, voice wrecked. His cock twitched hard at the sight.
He noticed your hand still between your legs and grinned. “Is my pretty girl horny? Want me to help?”
“Yes please,” you whispered.
He pulled you back onto the bed, spread your legs wide, and settled between them. He spread your soaked folds, admiring how your pussy clenched around nothing. He toyed with you, circling your clit, sliding fingers along your labia, dipping one finger in only to pull it out.
“Please Max, do something,” you begged, hips humping his hand.
“Naughty girl. Be patient,” he said, then gave your pussy a light slap.
Your whole body jolted and a strangled moan escaped. Max looked surprised but pleased, he’d never done that before. He did it again, a little harder. Your hips jerked and another moan tore from you.
“I see… we’re learning new things about each other,” he said, voice low. He gave one more light slap, then dove between your legs with his mouth, making you see stars.
“How about a 69 if we’re experimenting?” Max suggested with a wicked grin, still catching his breath.
The night became a blur of exploration. You tried positions you’d never bothered with before. Max took you from behind while you gripped the headboard. You rode him reverse cowgirl, grinding back against him. He fucked you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist. You switched dominance constantly : sometimes you pinned him and edged him until he begged, sometimes he held you down and made you come over and over until your voice went hoarse.
You both lay there for a minute, catching your breath, sweaty and laughing softly.
“Still good?” he asked, competitive glint still in his eyes.
“Better than you,” you shot back.
“Oh my god, Max, you and your stupid 69 jokes,” you laughed.
“Please?” He gave you the softest, subby eyes and sweet talk until you gave in.
It wasn’t a joke. He was obsessed, eating you out like a man starved while you took him back into your mouth. The mutual pleasure was overwhelming. You both came hard again.
Round… you’d lost count.
You were both exhausted, bodies covered in sweat, legs trembling. But neither would quit. You wanted to break him.
“Don’t take a condom this time,” you said, voice hoarse. “I want you raw.”
Max’s eyes darkened with surprise and lust. You were both clean and you were on birth control. He was more than happy to agree, but you could see he was fighting exhaustion too.
He slid into you bare and you both moaned at the feeling. He found your g-spot almost immediately and hammered into it relentlessly, trying to make you tap out. The raw friction felt incredible, too good. You were sore, overstimulated, and felt like it had been hours, but the pleasure kept building.
You came once more, but this time the overstimulation was bordering on too much. Your muscles were tired. Max chased his own release, thrusting deep until he spilled inside you with a guttural groan. He pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip from your pussy for a moment before collapsing beside you.
You both stared at the ceiling, chests heaving.
You turned to look at each other, shocked, then started laughing weakly.
“I’m quitting,” you said at the exact same time as him.
“So… we both lose?” you asked.
“Technically yes,” Max grinned tiredly. “This time. Rematch in two days?”
You groaned but smiled. “Deal.”
He pulled you into his arms and kissed your temple. You stayed there for a while, enjoying the warmth.
“Okay, I need to go clean up,” you said eventually, trying to stand.
Max reached for you. “Sit back down, I’ll clean you up—”
Too late. Your legs gave out the second you stood. You started falling. Max tried to catch you but when he stood up, his own legs buckled too. Both of you ended up on the floor in a tangled, exhausted heap.
You burst out laughing. “I was just… searching for something on the ground.”
“Sure thing,” Max chuckled, pulling you on top of his chest right there on the floor.
SUMMARY: Oscar has to follow a frat tradition ( take a photo with a girl he hooked up with as proof) to prove he belongs, but when you become the challenge, he’s forced to choose between fitting in and doing the right thing.
PAIRING: oscar piastri x reader
WARNINGS: toxic frat culture, alcohol/drug use, suggestive (no explicit sexual content)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wrote this because I was missing those old fics I used to stay up all night reading when I was like 12.
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Oscar had never truly considered himself one of them, despite the fact that from the outside, everyone would have easily grouped him with the same people.
He was constantly seen around the frat boys: Lando, Max and George, attended the same parties, sat with them during lectures when they actually bothered showing up, and was occasionally dragged into situations that felt so absurdly far from his own personality that even he sometimes wondered how he had ended up there in the first place.
The answer was embarrassingly simple: proximity and convenience.
What had initially started as a random interaction during his first year quickly turned into something much more beneficial for both sides.
Max, Lando and George had realized almost immediately that Oscar’s academic obsession, paired with his frankly ridiculous ability to understand engineering concepts could be extremely useful.
Having him around meant easier access to notes, help before exams, and someone capable of translating incomprehensible lectures into actual human language.
For Oscar, however, the arrangement came with its own advantages. Their social influence opened doors he could have never reached on his own. Suddenly, he was being introduced to people with connections in companies he had spent years dreaming of working for, landing internship opportunities so far beyond what most students could realistically access that even he had to admit the situation felt almost unfair.
As strange as the friendship was, it worked.
Or at least it had, until their stupid traditions became his problem.
The frat had always had a bizarre culture around validation, one Oscar had found ridiculous from the moment he learned about it but had never directly challenged, mostly because he preferred not involving himself in things that did not concern him.
Hookups were treated like achievements reduced to some bizarre competitive sport where every successful conquest needed visual proof to be considered legitimate enough to brag about later. The group chat dedicated to this was infamous enough that almost everyone on campus knew about it, even if no one openly addressed how disturbing it actually was.
Oscar had managed to avoid participating in it for an embarrassingly long time, mostly because while the others found the whole thing entertaining, he found it deeply uncomfortable, invasive and, if he was being honest, slightly pathetic.
This, however, had made him an increasingly easy target.
At first, the teasing had been harmless enough, small comments thrown his way whenever someone else sent another photo, jokes about him dying a virgin.
But over the past two weeks, what had once been playful had become noticeably more persistent, their amusement slowly evolving into genuine irritation.
Which was why, somewhere in the middle of another unbearably loud frat party, Max had finally decided to address the issue directly.
“This is getting ridiculous, mate,” he had said casually, leaning against the kitchen counter while drinking something suspiciously fluorescent. “It’s tradition. We can’t just let you ignore it forever.”
Oscar had stared at him, already knowing he was about to hate wherever this conversation was going.
“So either you do it,” Max continued, with the same tone one might use while discussing weather conditions, “or you’re out.”
The words should not have unsettled him as much as they did, but the reality was far more complicated than simply caring about a frat membership.
Being “out” did not just mean losing access to parties or whatever superficial benefits came with social affiliation.
It meant losing the network attached to it, the recommendations, the introductions, the opportunities he had quietly benefited from more than he liked admitting.
“You’re serious?” Oscar asked, his voice flatter than intended.
Max shrugged as if he had just asked whether the sky was blue.
George, who had been listening nearby with the particular expression that usually preceded him suggesting something terrible, suddenly leaned forward with obvious interest.
“Actually,” he said, dragging the word out slightly, “I have a better idea.”
Oscar immediately disliked that.
“How about we make it interesting?” George continued, smiling in a way that felt deeply concerning. “We choose for you. If you manage it, we let this whole thing go permanently. No more expectations, no more stupid pictures, no more rules. You’re set until graduation.”
Lando seemed to find this proposal brilliant almost instantly.
“Oh, I like that.”
Oscar opened his mouth, likely to reject the idea before it could become real, but unfortunately for him, the decision had already moved beyond his control.
Lando’s eyes began scanning the room with alarming concentration until they abruptly stopped.
Oscar followed his gaze.
And saw you.
You were standing near the edge of the room, visibly less interested in the actual party than the people around you. While your friends danced with a level of energy that suggested either genuine enthusiasm or questionable alcohol tolerance, you remained mostly stationary, smiling occasionally.
“Her,” Lando announced.
Oscar frowned. “Who?”
George squinted for half a second before recognition hit.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“What?” Max asked.
“That,” George said, pointing subtly in your direction, “is the dean’s daughter.”
For a brief moment, even Max looked impressed.
Then he smiled.
“That is genuinely perfect.”
Oscar felt something unpleasant settle in his stomach.
“No.”
The word came out sharper than intended.
Three heads turned toward him.
“No?” Max repeated, mildly amused.
“This is stupid,” Oscar said, already feeling irritation rising in his chest. “Pick someone else.”
“Why?” Lando asked innocently, clearly enjoying this far too much.
Because you looked normal.
You did not look like someone who would fit into any of this. You looked soft in a way he could not quite explain, the kind of person who probably apologized when other people bumped into you.
And more importantly, he knew exactly what could happen if this went wrong.
Everyone did.
The group chat was not some secret hidden in the shadows of campus life. It was a known issue, an ugly stain most people pretended not to acknowledge directly. Girls talked.
Reputations had already been damaged because of it. You should have been completely off-limits.
Which, unfortunately, only made the challenge more appealing to everyone except him.
Max extended his hand toward Oscar, grin already forming.
“Two weeks.”
Oscar stared at it. Then at you. Then back at Max.
This was idiotic. A genuinely terrible decision.
And yet, with a level of self-sabotage he would spend the next several weeks regretting, Oscar shook his hand.
“Deal.”
The moment their hands separated, he knew with complete certainty that he had just made his life significantly worse.
Oscar had every intention of handling the situation carefully.
That was what he told himself the morning he walked into the shared lecture hall, trying to ignore the uncomfortable weight of the deal sitting at the back of his mind like something inevitable.
If he approached this rationally, if he kept things controlled, distant, manageable, then maybe he could find a way out of it without actually hurting you.
At least, that had been the plan.
It fell apart the moment he saw you.
You were sitting a few rows ahead of him, your posture slightly hunched over your notebook, pen moving quickly across the page in a way that suggested effort rather than confidence. Every now and then, you paused, staring at the board for just a second too long before writing again, as if you were trying to keep up with something that was already moving too fast.
Oscar noticed things like that. He always did.
The results were posted at the end of the lecture, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. People crowded around the list, reactions ranging from relieved laughter to quiet disappointment. Oscar didn’t need to check his own name; he already knew where he stood.
He always did. What he didn’t expect was to notice you still sitting in your place long after most of the room had emptied.
At first, he assumed you simply hadn’t checked yet.
Then he saw the way your shoulders moved slightly, the subtle, almost imperceptible way you tried to wipe at your face while keeping your head down.
If anything, approaching you now would only complicate things further, blur lines he was already struggling not to cross. It would make everything more personal, more difficult to detach from later.
Which was exactly why he should have left.
He didn’t.
He walked toward you before he could overthink it.
“Are you okay?”
The question came out softer than he intended, careful in a way he hadn’t planned.
You looked up immediately, clearly startled, as if you hadn’t expected anyone to still be there. For a second, you seemed almost embarrassed to have been caught like that, quickly brushing at your eyes even though it was obvious it wouldn’t make much of a difference.
“Yes… no. I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice uneven despite the attempt to sound composed.
Oscar nodded slightly, not pushing, but not leaving either.
“Can I help with something?”
You let out a quiet, almost humorless laugh, shaking your head.
“Unless you can somehow put all of engineering into my brain in, like, a day, I don’t think so.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your brain,” he said immediately, the response almost automatic. “You just don’t understand the way it’s being explained. I can help you.”
You looked at him then, properly this time, studying him with a mix of confusion and caution.
“Why would you help me?”
The question wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t naive either. Oscar felt it settle somewhere uncomfortable.
“Because you need help,” he answered, aware of how insufficient that sounded even as he said it.
“That’s not really a reason,” you replied, your gaze not leaving his. “You don’t even know me.”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, because the truth was far more complicated than anything he could reasonably say.
Because I made a deal that involves you. Because I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now. Because I’m already regretting all of this.
Instead, he exhaled quietly and settled for something simpler.
“Do I need one?” he asked.
The question lingered between you for a moment, and something in your expression shifted, not fully convinced, but not entirely dismissive either.
Oscar reached for your notebook before he could second-guess himself, flipping to the last page and writing down his number with quick, precise movements.
“If you change your mind,” he said, placing it back in front of you.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
***
You didn’t call him immediately.
Oscar told himself he hadn’t expected you to.
Still, he caught himself checking his phone more often than usual over the next couple of days, a quiet, almost irritating awareness settling in every time a notification appeared that wasn’t from you.
When you finally showed up on his screen, it took him a second longer than it should have to answer.
“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral and failing slightly.
“Hi… um,” you hesitated, clearly unsure, “is the offer still available?”
There was something about the way you asked that made it sound like you expected him to say no.
“Yeah,” he replied immediately. “Of course.”
***
You sat across from him, your notes spread out in front of you in a way that made it painfully obvious how overwhelmed you felt by them.
Oscar noticed that too.
“Okay,” he said, pulling the notebook slightly closer to him. “Show me what you don’t understand.”
You stared at the page for a moment before letting out a small sigh.
“All of it?”
“Let’s start with something specific.”
You asked questions, a lot of them, sometimes repeating the same concept in different ways just to make sure you understood it properly, and instead of getting frustrated, Oscar found himself… enjoying it.
And that made teaching you feel less like an obligation and more like a conversation.
Time passed faster than either of you noticed.
“Wait,” you said, frowning slightly, “so it’s not that complicated, they just explain it in the most confusing way possible?”
“Pretty much,” Oscar admitted.
You stared at your notes again, then back at him.
“I actually get it,” you said, sounding almost surprised. “Like… actually get it.”
The smile that spread across your face was small, but genuine enough to make something shift unexpectedly in his chest.
“See?” he said quietly.
You rolled your eyes slightly, but the tension in your shoulders had eased.
“Don’t get used to it, professor Piastri.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Professor?”
“You literally just taught me more in two hours than that course did in two months. I think it fits.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“Come on,” he said after a moment, standing up and starting to gather his things. “You did good. We’re getting ice cream.”
You blinked at him. “We are?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He paused for a second, as if the answer was obvious.
“Because you did good.”
It became a pattern after that which was exactly the problem. Because while you were starting to trust him, Oscar was running out of time.
Two days. And he hadn’t made a single move. Not because he couldn’t. But because, at some point, he had stopped wanting to.
By the time the last day arrived, Oscar had already accepted, at least on a rational level, that he was going to lose.
There was no version of this situation anymore in which he could win without crossing a line he had very clearly, and somewhat stubbornly, decided he would not cross.
And yet, that didn’t stop him from showing up to the party.
It was almost ironic, really, how predictable everything felt. The same house, the same overwhelming music vibrating through the walls.
Oscar leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter, his drink untouched in his hand, barely listening to whatever Lando was saying next to him. He didn’t need to. He already knew what was coming.
“So,” Lando started, glancing at him with that familiar, knowing look, “you’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately.”
Oscar didn’t react immediately.
“Yeah,” he answered eventually.
“And?” Max added, stepping closer, his tone light but his eyes sharp in a way that made the question feel anything but casual.
Oscar forced himself to shrug slightly. “And what?”
“Don’t do that,” George cut in, clearly unimpressed. “You know exactly what we mean.”
The expectation.
The pressure he had been avoiding for two weeks, now condensed into a single moment he could no longer delay.
“Not yet,” Oscar said, choosing his words carefully. “But I will.”
Lando smirked. “You better. Time’s up tomorrow.”
“I know.”
Lando’s attention suddenly shifted past him, his expression lighting up in a way that immediately made Oscar uneasy.
“Oh, look who’s here.”
Oscar didn’t need to turn around to know.
But he did anyway. And there you were.
At first glance, everything seemed normal. You were with your friends, laughing, moving slightly off-beat to the music, clearly less composed than usual but not entirely out of place. It took him a few seconds longer than it should have to realize something was wrong.
Your balance was off in a way that went beyond simple drunkenness, your reactions just slightly delayed, your focus unfixed, like you were trying to stay present and failing.
Something in his chest tightened immediately.
“What did she take?” Oscar asked, more sharply than intended.
Lando glanced at him, confused. “What?”
Oscar was already moving.
By the time he reached you, you were trying unsuccessfully, to steady yourself.
“Hey,” he said, reaching out instinctively.
Your entire expression shifted the moment you recognized him.
“Oscc…” you slurred, your face lighting up with a kind of unfiltered relief that made his stomach twist. “Oh my God, hi—”
You didn’t even finish the sentence before your arms wrapped around his neck, your body leaning into his for support, your balance clearly gone.
“I’ve got you,” he said quietly, steadying you before you could fall.
You laughed softly, completely unaware of the way your weight shifted against him, your hands gripping his shoulders as if he was the only stable thing in the room.
Which, right now, he probably was.
“Come on,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, already guiding you away from the crowd.
From them.
He didn’t miss the look Lando gave him as he passed, the subtle grin, the approving nod, the silent understanding of what this looked like from the outside.
Oscar ignored it. He had bigger problems.
The room upstairs was quieter, the noise from the party reduced to a dull vibration through the walls. Oscar closed the door behind him with his foot, barely managing to keep you steady as you clung to him.
“Okay,” he said, trying to assess the situation. “What did you take?”
You frowned slightly, your focus clearly struggling.
“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice softer now, almost confused. “Something… they said it’s fine.”
Of course they did.
Anger flared, sharp and immediate, but he pushed it down because right now you mattered more than whatever stupidity had led to this.
“Sit,” he said gently, guiding you toward the bed.
You didn’t.
Instead, you shifted closer, your legs moving instinctively until you were half on him.
“Oscar,” you mumbled, your hands sliding slightly as you tried to adjust, your body pressing against his in a way that made his brain short-circuit for a fraction of a second.
This was bad. This was really bad. He needed to fix this. He needed to think.
But thinking became significantly harder when you were sitting in his lap, your movements slow and uncoordinated.
You moved on his lap and Oscar inhaled sharply, his hands instinctively gripping your waist just to keep you from falling, his entire body going rigid as his brain tried to process the situation without completely shutting down.
This was the moment.
He knew it. Everything aligned perfectly for the worst possible decision.
You were here. You were vulnerable.
His phone was in his pocket. All he had to do was take it out. Just one picture.
He pulled his phone out, his thumb unlocking it almost automatically.
You shifted slightly again, your head dropping against his shoulder, your breath warm against his neck as you mumbled something incoherent.
And suddenly, all he could think about was the aftermath.
The way this would follow you, stick to your name, become something people whispered about without ever saying it directly.
The way you trusted him. Without hesitation. Without doubt.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
Just press it. That was all it would take.
Instead, his grip tightened. He threw the phone across the room.
The sound of it hitting the floor felt louder than it should have.
You moved again on his lap , closer, your breath uneven, your voice barely there when you spoke.
Oscar exhaled shakily, his hands moving immediately to steady you as you looked at him, confusion slowly replacing the haze in your expression.
“Oscar…?” you murmured.
He shook his head slightly, more to himself than to you.
“I’m not doing that,” he said quietly.
You blinked at him, clearly not understanding..And then, slowly, your expression changed.
Your eyes filled with tears so quickly it caught him off guard.
“Oh,” you whispered, your voice breaking in a way that made his chest tighten painfully. “Right.”
It took him a second too long to understand.
And when he did, it hit harder than anything else that night.
“Omg… not you too,” you continued, your words slurring slightly but your hurt painfully clear. “Nobody wants me.”
“That’s not...” Oscar started immediately, panic replacing everything else.
You pulled back slightly, even if your balance didn’t fully allow it, your expression crumbling in a way that made something inside him snap.
“That’s not what this is,” he said again, more firmly this time.
You didn’t look convinced. Of course you didn’t. From your perspective, he had just rejected you.
Just like everyone else probably had.
“Hey,” he said softly, his hands moving carefully to hold your face, forcing you to look at him. “Look at me.”
It took a second.
But you did.
“I want you,” he said, the words leaving his mouth before he could overthink them. “Just not like this.”
Your brows furrowed slightly, trying to process.
“Not when you’re like this,” he added, quieter now, his thumb brushing gently under your eye to wipe away a tear. “Not when you don’t even know what’s happening.”
The room felt still for a moment.
Then slowly, very slowly, you relaxed again, your body leaning into his in a way that felt less chaotic, more tired.
Oscar exhaled quietly, his arms wrapping around you instinctively, one hand resting on the back of your head as he pressed a soft kiss into your hair.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE: I need a really honest opinion on this. If you’ve read anything from me before, you’ve probably noticed the shift in my writing style. And I can’t tell if I like this one more or if I still prefer my old style.
