Pairing: Max Verstappen x Original Female Character
Summary:
Jimmy Verstappen has fallen in love.
Unfortunately for Max Verstappen, the love of Jimmyâs life lives on the balcony next door, which means Jimmy keeps escaping to visit her.
Even more unfortunately, her owner is very pretty.
(Sassy thinks everyone involved is an idiot.)
Warnings and Notes:Â
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble.
Jimmy knew love.
He knew it in the way he knew the sunny spot on the rug moved three times a day.
He knew it in the way he knew Maxâs suitcase meant betrayal, but Maxâs hoodie left on the chair meant forgiveness.
He knew it in the way he knew Sassy was going to hit him before she hit him, because her tail did a particular twitch first.
And he knew it because the most beautiful creature in the world lived on the balcony next door.
She was white.
She was fluffy.
She was round in the way expensive pillows were round.
She had a face like she had been disappointed by every human alive and was simply enduring the world until someone finally presented her with the appropriate throne.
She was, Jimmy had decided, a goddess.
The first time he saw her, she was sitting on the neighbouring balcony while the late afternoon sun made her fur glow.
Jimmy had been minding his business.
He had not been doing anything wrong.
He had merely been standing on the back of the sofa, pressing his nose against the glass door, while Max said, âJimmy, donât even think about it.â
Jimmy had not been thinking about anything.
Then she appeared.
White fur. Blue collar. A little gold bell. Eyes the colour of rainwater.
Jimmy forgot how to breathe.
Sassy, from her place on the armchair, opened one eye.
âDonât,â Max said from the kitchen without looking up.
Jimmy placed one paw against the glass.
The white cat blinked at him.
Jimmy made a very soft, very dignified sound.
Sassy lifted her head.
Max looked over.
âOh no,â he said.
Jimmy did not know what that meant, but Max sounded like he had just lost a race before the lights had even gone out.
The white cat turned, showing him the full glory of her tail, then disappeared behind a curtain.
Jimmy remained frozen.
Sassy yawned.
Max came over, crouched beside him, and looked through the glass toward the empty balcony.
âNo,â Max told him.
Jimmy looked at Max.
Max narrowed his eyes. âI know that face.â
Jimmy did not know which face Max meant. He had several.Â
âNo escaping,â Max said. âNo dramatic Romeo and Juliet balcony situation. I donât have time for this.â
Jimmy understood only three words in that sentence.
No.
Escaping.
Balcony.
All deeply concerning.
He pressed his paw harder to the glass.
Max sighed.
Behind him, Sassy jumped down from the armchair, walked over, sniffed Jimmyâs ear, and then smacked him on the head.
Jimmy accepted this. Sassy was his sister. She had been smacking him on the head since they were kittens. It was one of her love languages, probably.
âShe is right,â Max said.
Jimmy did not think Sassy was right. Sassy was never right. Sassy once hissed at a cucumber. Sassy had no authority here.
The next day, the goddess returned.
This time, Jimmy was prepared.
He had positioned himself on the dining chair closest to the balcony door after breakfast. He had ignored Sassy when she called him pathetic with her eyes. He had ignored Max when Max walked past and said, âStill? Mate.â
Jimmy was not still.
Jimmy was devoted.
The goddess appeared just after noon, carried out onto the balcony by a woman with soft hair and a long cardigan.
The woman was not Max.
Jimmy knew most humans were not Max. Humans had different smells and voices and levels of competence. Max was his human, which meant he was the best human, even when he left for loud weekends and came home smelling like champagne, rubber, and other peopleâs hands.
The woman next door smelled faintly of vanilla, laundry soap, and something floral. She spoke gently to the goddess as she placed her on a cushion in the sun.
âThere you go, princess,â the woman said. âFresh air.â
Princess.
Jimmyâs ears went forward.
Yes.
Correct.
The goddess was a princess.
Maybe a queen.
Maybe something above queen.
The goddess settled onto the cushion and looked across the gap between balconies.
Jimmy stood.
Sassy made a disgusted little noise from the back of the sofa.
Jimmy ignored her.
He lifted one paw.
The goddess blinked slowly.
Jimmy nearly fell off the chair.
Max, who had been drinking coffee, looked up from his phone.
âWhy are you making that noise?â
Jimmy had not realized he was making a noise.
He closed his mouth.
Sassy swatted his tail.
Jimmy did not even care.
The goddess had blinked slowly at him.
That meant something.
Jimmy did not know what, exactly, but it meant something.
For three days, Jimmy watched her.
For three days, the goddess appeared on the balcony in the afternoon.
For three days, the woman in the cardigan spoke to her in a warm, amused voice.
âCareful, Cleo.â
Cleo.
Her name was Cleo.
Jimmy had a name now.
A real name.
Not just goddess, though goddess still applied.
Cleo liked sleeping in the sun. Cleo liked turning her face away when her human tried to take photos of her. Cleo liked batting lazily at the leaves of the potted olive tree on her balcony. Cleo did not chase bugs because bugs came to her. Cleo did not run. Cleo reclined.
Jimmy admired this deeply.
Sassy did not.
On the fourth day, when Jimmy climbed onto the sideboard for a better view, Sassy joined him.
For one hopeful moment, Jimmy thought his sister had come to support him.
Then she shoved him.
Jimmy landed on the floor with a soft thud.
Max looked up from where he was stretching on the mat.
âSassy.â
Sassy sat down exactly where Jimmy had been and looked at Max like she had done him a favour.
Jimmy got up and shook himself.
Sassy began washing one paw.
Max sighed. âYou deserved that, probably.â
Jimmy did not deserve that.
Jimmy was a lover.
Sassy was a criminal.
The problem was the door.
The door was glass.
Glass was unfair. Jimmy could see through it, but he could not pass through it. This was one of the great cruelties of the universe, along with empty food bowls, closed bathroom doors, and Max refusing to let him sit inside the suitcase.
But Jimmy was not stupid.
Sassy thought he was stupid because Sassy thought everyone was stupid except herself and sometimes Max, depending on whether Max had fed her recently.
Jimmy was clever.
Jimmy had observed the humans.
The balcony door opened when Max pushed the handle down and slid it across. The handle was high. Jimmy could not reach it.
But sometimes Max left the door not quite closed.
Max had a habit of doing this when he came in after watering the plants. He would slide it mostly shut, then get distracted by his phone or a call or the other human who sometimes came over and made him laugh in the soft voice.
Jimmy waited.
He was patient.
He was a hunter.
He was a romantic hero.
He was also, according to Sassy, extremely annoying.
On the fifth afternoon, the opportunity came.
Max had been on a phone call for a long time, pacing barefoot through the apartment.
âNo, I know,â Max said into the phone. âBut itâs stupid. Why would we do that?â
Jimmy did not know what was stupid. Many things were stupid. Vacuums. Rain. Sassyâs attitude.
Max went onto the balcony with his phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, watered the plants, argued with someone named GP, then came back inside.
The door slid almost closed.
Almost.
Jimmyâs heart began to pound.
Cleo was on her balcony.
She was sitting on her cushion, watching him.
This was a sign.
Jimmy crouched.
Sassy, from the sofa, lifted her head.
Her eyes narrowed.
Jimmy ignored her.
He pushed his nose into the tiny gap between door and frame.
It moved.
Not much.
Enough.
âJimmy,â Max said.
Jimmy froze.
Max was still on the phone, looking directly at him.
Jimmy looked back.
Max pointed at him. âNo.â
Jimmy considered this.
Then he ran.
âJimmy!â
The gap widened under his shoulder. The balcony air hit his whiskers. The floor was warm under his paws. Behind him, Max swore.
Jimmy darted across the balcony.
There was a gap between his balcony and Cleoâs balcony.
It was not enormous.
It was, however, a gap.
Jimmy stopped at the edge.
Cleo watched him.
Jimmy looked down.
That was very far.
Jimmy looked back.
Max had dropped his phone somewhere inside and was coming toward him with the expression he wore when someone on television said something stupid about his driving.
âDonât,â Max said.
Jimmy looked at Cleo.
Cleo blinked.
Jimmy made his decision.
He did not jump across the gap.
Jimmy was romantic, not suicidal.
Instead, he discovered something better.
There was a low dividing wall at the far end, where the two balconies met around the corner. It was narrow. It was slightly ridiculous. It was absolutely climbable.
âJimmy, I swear to Godââ
Jimmy climbed.
Max lunged.
Jimmy was faster.
He scrambled onto the wall, tail high, paws careful, heart full of purpose.
The world became ledge and air and Max saying words Jimmy was probably not supposed to understand.
Sassy appeared at the open balcony door.
She did not look concerned.
She looked entertained.
Traitor.
Jimmy crossed the little wall and dropped onto the neighbouring balcony.
Cleo did not move.
Jimmy landed, shook himself, and looked at her.
He had done it.
He had crossed kingdoms.
He had defied glass.
He had escaped.
He had proven his love.
Cleo stretched one front paw luxuriously, then the other. Her bell gave a tiny, perfect chime.
Jimmy approached slowly.
Cleo did not hiss.
Cleo did not swat him.
Cleo leaned forward and sniffed his nose.
Jimmyâs entire soul left his body.
From the other balcony, Max said, âOh, you little idiot.â
Jimmy did not care.
Cleo had touched noses with him.
Jimmy was never going home again.
Then the balcony door behind Cleo opened.
The woman in the cardigan stepped out.
For a second, everyone froze.
Jimmy looked up.
The woman looked down.
Cleo sat beside him, serene and innocent, as if she had personally invited him for tea.
âOh,â the woman said.
Max, from the other balcony, said, âI am so sorry.â
The woman looked across.
Jimmy turned his head.
Max was standing on his own balcony with one hand braced on the railing, hair messy, wearing an old Red Bull T-shirt and the expression of a man whose cat had just ruined his life.
The woman blinked.
Then she smiled.
It was a nice smile.
Jimmy noticed because Max noticed.
Max always noticed things like apexes, tyre degradation, and people smiling at him.
âIs he yours?â the woman asked.
Max looked at Jimmy.
Jimmy sat down beside Cleo.
Cleoâs tail curled around her paws.
Max exhaled through his nose. âUnfortunately.â
Jimmy did not know what unfortunately meant, but Max used it often when talking about people he loved.
The woman laughed.
Maxâs expression changed.
Not a lot.
A little.
Jimmy knew Maxâs faces. Max had many faces even though humans often thought he only had three. There was angry Max, sleepy Max, race Max, cat Max, soft Max, and the very rare Max who had just realized someone pretty was laughing at something he said.
This was that one.
âHe seems very sweet,â the woman said.
Max looked at Jimmy again.
Jimmy looked back with dignity.
âHe is not,â Max said. âHe is a menace.â
The woman crouched and held out her fingers.
Jimmy sniffed them politely.
Vanilla. Laundry soap. Flowers. Cleo.
Acceptable.
âOh, he is sweet,â she said.
Max snorted. âHe waited five days to break into your balcony.â
âDetermined, then.â
âStubborn.â
âRomantic.â
Max paused.
Jimmyâs ears twitched.
The woman smiled down at Jimmy. âHe came to visit Cleo.â
Cleo lifted her chin.
Yes. Obviously.
Max dragged a hand through his hair. âI should come get him.â
âI can pass him over.â
âNo, no. He will act like you are murdering him. Better if I come around.â
The woman stood. âIâm in 42B.â
âI know,â Max said, then immediately looked annoyed with himself. âI meanânot in a weird way. It is just next door.â
The womanâs smile widened.
Jimmy thought Max was doing badly.
This was surprising. Max was usually good at things. Driving. Cats. Looking angry at people. Opening food pouches.
Ălise looked amused. âNot in a weird way. It is just next door.â
Max stared at her for half a second.
Then he laughed.
Jimmy had heard Max laugh many times. Loudly, with his friends. Softly, at his phone. Breathlessly, when Sassy fell off the sofa and pretended she had meant to do it.
This laugh was different.
It came out surprised.
Jimmy was very proud of himself.
He stayed beside Cleo while Max disappeared from the balcony and reappeared a few minutes later at Ăliseâs front door.
Jimmy heard the bell.
Then footsteps.
Then Ălise opening the door.
Then Max saying, âHi.â
Then Ălise saying, âHi.â
Then nothing for a moment.
Humans were so inefficient.
Jimmy leaned toward Cleo and sniffed her cheek.
Cleo allowed it.
Best day of his life.
Max appeared on the balcony through Ăliseâs apartment, looking around like he was trying very hard not to look around too much.
âNice place,â he said.
âThank you,â Ălise replied. âCleo has allowed me to decorate it.â
Max glanced at Cleo. âGenerous of her.â
âSheâs very strict.â
âI have one like that. Her name is Sassy.â
âIs she the one who judges everyone from the window?â
Max nodded gravely. âThat is her main job.â
Jimmy was offended. Sassy had other jobs too. Hitting him. Sitting in boxes. Refusing food until Max became concerned, then eating it when he turned around.
Ălise crouched beside Jimmy again. âAnd this one is?â
âJimmy.â
Jimmy lifted his head.
The way she said his name was nice.
âJimmy,â Ălise repeated, stroking one finger gently between his ears. âYou are very handsome.â
Jimmy closed his eyes.
Yes.
Finally.
Recognition.
Max muttered, âDonât encourage him.â
âI think he has excellent taste.â
Cleo, as though she understood that she was being admired, tucked her paws under her chest and became a cloud.
Max looked at Ălise.
Ălise looked at Max.
Jimmy opened one eye.
Ah.
There.
The thing.
Humans had it too, apparently.
The slow blink.
Only with more awkwardness.
Max cleared his throat. âSorry again.â
âItâs fine. Cleo enjoyed the company.â
Jimmy perked up.
She did?
Max picked Jimmy up.
Jimmy considered protesting.
Then he remembered he was in Maxâs arms, which was one of the safest places in the world, and chose magnanimity.
Ălise walked them to the door.
Cleo remained on the balcony like a queen receiving departing guests.
âMaybe next time he can come through the front door,â Ălise said.
âI can give you my number,â Ălise said. âIn case he escapes again.â
Maxâs hand shifted under Jimmyâs paws.
âYes,â Max said. âThat would be good.â
Jimmy purred.
He was a genius.
When Max carried him back into their apartment, Sassy was waiting in the hallway.
Her tail flicked.
Max shut the door behind him, still looking faintly pleased with himself.
Jimmy wriggled until Max set him down.
Sassy walked up to him.
Jimmy lifted his chin.
He had touched noses with a goddess.
He had crossed a balcony.
He had helped Max acquire a number.
He was untouchable.
Sassy sniffed him.
Then she smacked him so hard he sat down.
âSassy,â Max said, distracted, still looking at his phone.
Jimmy shook his head and glared at her.
Sassy turned and walked away, tail high.
She was jealous.
Obviously.
Over the next week, Jimmy escaped three more times.
The second time was through the window above the balcony doors, which Max had not realized opened far enough for a cat until Jimmy proved that it did.
The third time was when a delivery man arrived and Jimmy slipped between Maxâs feet with the grace and determination of a professional criminal.
The fourth time was, admittedly, Sassyâs fault.
Jimmy stood by this.
Sassy had pushed a throw blanket off the sofa, distracting Max for exactly four seconds.
Jimmy used those four seconds to slide through the balcony door and make his way to Cleo.
Sassy later denied involvement by pretending to be asleep.
Max did not believe her.
âI am being outsmarted by cats,â Max said that evening, standing on Ăliseâs doorstep with Jimmy tucked under one arm like a furry handbag.
Ălise leaned against the doorframe. She was wearing soft trousers and a jumper with the sleeves pulled over her hands.
Jimmy liked her. She always smelled kind. She always scratched his chin properly. She did not speak to him in a silly voice unless she thought no one was listening.
Cleo liked him too.
Probably.
She allowed him to sit near her. Sometimes she touched his tail with her paw. Once she had groomed his ear for six full seconds before deciding he was beneath her again.
Jimmy was prepared to be patient.
Great love required sacrifice.
âYou look very defeated for someone who drives cars very fast for a living,â Ălise said.
Max gave her a flat look. âThe car usually listens to me.â
âDoes it?â
âNo,â Max admitted. âBut more than Jimmy.â
Ălise laughed.
Jimmy purred in support.
Max looked down. âYou are the reason I am here.â
Jimmy blinked innocently.
Ălise reached out and stroked his head. âMaybe he just misses Cleo.â
âHe saw her two hours ago.â
âLove has no schedule.â
Max opened his mouth, then closed it.
Ăliseâs smile became smug.
Max huffed. âYou are enjoying this.â
âA little.â
âYou could pretend to be annoyed.â
âI could,â Ălise said. âBut then you might stop coming over.â
Max went still.
Jimmy felt it.
A tiny shift.
A change in breathing.
A moment where Max, who was usually so fast at everything, needed a second.
Ălise looked suddenly less smug.
Jimmy looked between them again.
Humans.
Hopeless.
Max said, âI could come over without him escaping.â
Ăliseâs cheeks changed colour.
Jimmyâs ears flicked.
Oh.
Interesting.
âYes,â Ălise said. âYou could.â
Max nodded once, like he had just received important strategy instructions.
âI could bring wine,â he said.
âI like wine.â
âGood.â
âGood.â
Jimmy waited.
Max waited.
Ălise waited.
Cleo appeared behind Ăliseâs legs and gave a small, delicate meow.
Jimmy immediately forgot the humans existed.
He wriggled.
Max tightened his grip.
âNo,â Max said.
Jimmy wriggled harder.
âAbsolutely not.â
Cleo meowed again.
Jimmy made a desperate little sound.
Ălise put a hand over her mouth.
Max looked personally betrayed. âDo not laugh. He knows when people laugh.â
âIâm not laughing.â
âYou are.â
âIâm smiling supportively.â
âYou are enabling him.â
âI am supporting love.â
Max looked at Jimmy.
Jimmy looked at Cleo.
Cleo blinked.
Max sighed. âFive minutes.â
Jimmy loved Max.
Max put him down.
Jimmy trotted to Cleo with great dignity.
Behind him, Max and Ălise remained near the door.
âSo,â Ălise said. âWine?â
âTomorrow?â Max asked.
âIâm free tomorrow.â
âIâm free after training.â
âIs that afternoon or evening?â
âDepends if my trainer wants to kill me.â
âShould I be concerned?â
âNo. He usually fails.â
Ălise laughed again.
Jimmy settled beside Cleo.
This was excellent.
The following afternoon, Max spent too long choosing a shirt.
Jimmy knew this because Max changed three times.
Max did not usually change three times. Max usually wore the first thing that did not smell unacceptable. Sometimes even that standard was flexible.
Sassy sat on the bed and watched him with cool disdain.
Jimmy sat beside her.
They were united, briefly, in judgment.
Max held up a dark shirt.
Sassy blinked.
Max held up a lighter one.
Jimmy yawned.
Max looked at them. âYou are no help.â
Sassy began washing her shoulder.
Max wore the dark shirt.
He smelled nervous, though he would have denied this under oath.
He picked up the wine bottle from the counter, then put it down, then picked it up again.
Jimmy followed him to the door.
âNo,â Max said immediately.
Jimmy sat.
Max pointed at him. âYou are not coming.â
Jimmy looked wounded.
âYou are the reason this is happening,â Max said. âYou do not also get to attend.â
Jimmy meowed.
Max crouched. âNo.â
Jimmy meowed again, softer.
Maxâs face changed.
Jimmy knew this face.
Victory was close.
Then Sassy walked over and smacked Jimmy on the back of the head.
Max stood. âThank you, Sassy.â
Sassy accepted this praise with the regal indifference of someone who had done it for herself.
Max left.
Without Jimmy.
This was unforgivable.
Jimmy sat by the door for three minutes.
Then he went to the balcony.
Sassy followed him.
The lights were on next door. Through the glass, Jimmy could see Max standing in Ăliseâs kitchen while Ălise poured wine. Cleo was on the bar stool, which Jimmy admired because Max never let him sit on the bar stools unless Max did not see him do it.
Max looked more relaxed now.
Ălise was smiling.
Cleo flicked her tail.
Jimmy pressed one paw to the glass.
Sassy sat beside him.
For once, she did not hit him.
They watched.
Max laughed at something Ălise said. Ălise touched his arm. Max looked down at her hand, then back at her face.
Jimmy did not understand everything humans said.
He understood tone.
He understood warmth.
He understood Max looking like the apartment had become a little less empty while he stood in someone elseâs kitchen.
Sassyâs tail brushed his.
Jimmy leaned into her side.
She allowed it for seven seconds.
Then she bit his ear.
Normal.
Max came home very late.
Jimmy was waiting in the hallway.
Sassy pretended she was not.
Max opened the door quietly, stepped inside, and looked down at them.
âYou two are creepy,â he said.
Jimmy smelled Ălise on him.
Wine. Vanilla. Flowers.
Also Cleo.
Jimmy immediately forgave him.
Max locked the door, kicked off his shoes, and bent to scratch Jimmy under the chin.
âShe asked if you can come over tomorrow,â Max said.
Jimmy perked up.
âFor Cleo,â Max added.
Jimmy purred.
Max smiled faintly.
Then he looked at Sassy. âShe asked about you too.â
Sassy stared at him.
Max grinned. âYes, I told her you are horrible.â
Sassy turned and walked away.
Jimmy thought this was fair.
The visits became regular after that.
Sometimes Jimmy went to see Cleo.
Sometimes Cleo came over to see Jimmy, carried in Ăliseâs arms like royalty visiting a lesser court.
The first time Cleo entered Maxâs apartment, Sassy acted as though an enemy nation had invaded.
She sat on top of the bookshelf and glared down at the white Persian with magnificent hatred.
Cleo did not care.
Cleo walked directly to Jimmyâs favourite blanket, sniffed it, and sat on it.
Jimmy nearly fainted.
Sassy hissed.
Cleo blinked slowly.
Sassy seemed offended by the elegance of the response.
Max, standing beside Ălise, whispered, âThis is going better than expected.â
Ălise whispered back, âSassy looks like she is planning a coup.â
âShe always looks like that.â
âHas she ever attempted one?â
âSeveral.â
Ălise laughed softly and leaned into Maxâs side.
Max went still for one tiny second before his arm moved around her waist like he had been doing it for years.
Jimmy saw.
Sassy saw.
Cleo probably knew already.
Cleo knew many things.
Later, when Ălise and Max sat on the sofa with wine glasses on the coffee table, Jimmy lay on the rug beside Cleo. Sassy remained on the bookshelf, refusing to participate in diplomatic relations.
Ăliseâs voice was soft.
âIâm glad he escaped,â she said.
Max hummed. âJimmy?â
âYes.â
âHe is very pleased with himself.â
âHe should be.â
Max looked at Jimmy.
Jimmy closed his eyes and pretended not to listen.
âHe is still a menace,â Max said.
Ălise said, âMaybe. But a useful one.â
Max was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, âYes.â
Jimmyâs chest warmed.
He did not know what useful meant, exactly.
But Maxâs voice was soft.
That was enough.
Cleo shifted closer until her side touched his.
Jimmy stopped breathing.
Sassy, from the bookshelf, made a noise of disgust.
Jimmy ignored her.
His sister could be mean.
Max could be stubborn.
Humans could be very slow.
Glass doors could be cruel.
But Jimmy had known love when he saw it.
White fur glowing in afternoon sun.
A gold bell.
A slow blink from a balcony.
And now, Max laughing softly beside Ălise while Cleo slept next to Jimmy on the rug.
Jimmy had crossed kingdoms for this.
He had escaped four times.
He had been smacked by Sassy, carried by Max, praised by Ălise, and blessed by Cleoâs presence.
Worth it.
Completely worth it.
Then Cleo opened one rainwater eye and gently placed her paw on top of Jimmyâs.
Jimmy purred so loudly Max looked over.
Ălise smiled.
Sassy jumped down from the bookshelf, marched across the room, and smacked him.
Heyy could I request something ? I got this idea from a video I saw where the guy said he didnât want to wear the wedding ring because it felt uncomfortable. Maybe Max tells reader this and the reader gets upset and kinda does the same to provoke him ?
Thank you đ·
A Matter of Principle
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: Max says his wedding ring doesnât matter in order to symbolise your love, but when yours disappears too Max learns that jealousy has a way of making symbols feel very real.
5.2k words / Masterlist
Max stopped wearing his wedding ring so casually that at first you thought he'd simply forgotten it.
You noticed it over breakfast, his left hand wrapped around a mug while he scrolled through something on his phone, his thumb moving absently across the screen. The pale band of skin around his finger was still there, a faint outline where the ring usually sat, but the gold itself was missing.
âWhereâs your ring?â you asked.
He glanced down at his hand as though he hadnât noticed until you pointed it out.
âUpstairs I think.â
âYou think?â
âOn the bedside table.â Max took another drink, entirely unconcerned. âI took it off last night.â
You waited for him to explain, but he returned his attention to his phone, forehead creasing at whatever message he was reading. You told yourself there was nothing unusual about it. He sometimes removed it when he trained, and once or twice heâd forgotten to put it back on before leaving the house, although usually he noticed within an hour and sent you a message about it.
This time, however, the ring remained on the bedside table.
It was still there when he left for the factory the following morning. It sat beside his watch, placed neatly on the dark wood rather than abandoned carelessly, which somehow made its absence from his hand feel more deliberate.
âYouâve forgotten this again,â you said, holding it out to him as he came back into the bedroom to retrieve his wallet.
Max looked at the ring, then at you.
âI didnât forget.â
Your fingers slowly curled around it. âYouâre not wearing it?â
âNo.â The answer came too quickly, without the sheepish smile you had expected, and something unpleasant tightened beneath your ribs.
âWhy not?â
Max sighed, already sensing that the conversation was becoming more serious than he believed it needed to be. He stepped closer and placed his hands on your waist, rubbing his thumbs over the soft fabric of your jumper as if affection alone would smooth the concern from your face.
âItâs uncomfortable, it catches on everything,â he explained. âEspecially when Iâm driving or training. I keep noticing it and I donât really like wearing jewellery anyway,â flexing his fingers as though the ring had been causing him some terrible physical hardship rather than a faint inconvenience.
âYouâve worn it for nearly two years.â
âYes and itâs annoyed me for nearly two years.â
You stared at him but he just smiled, trying his best to make it sound harmless. âNot because itâs our wedding ring⊠just because itâs a ring.â
âIt never seemed to bother you before.â
âIt did. I just didnât say anything because I knew you would take it personally.â
âIâm not taking it personally.â
âYou are.â
âWell you never said anything.â
âBecause I knew you'd be upset.â His answer came too easily. You looked at him for several seconds, waiting for some awareness of how unhelpful that confession was, but Max merely took a small step back.
âSo you knew it would hurt me, and you decided to do it anyway.â
His expression tightened. âThatâs not what I said.â
âItâs very close.â
âI just told you.â Max lifted one hand to your cheek. âIt has nothing to do with you. I love you. I am married to you. I am completely committed to you and a ring does not change any of that.â
âIt represents it.â
âTo other people maybe.â
âTo me.â
His hand fell away from your face and he looked briefly frustrated, although he tried to conceal it. Max had never understood attaching enormous significance to objects. He cared about actions, loyalty and the things that existed privately between you, the parts of your marriage that did not require an audience. To him the ring was a symbol of something he already knew with complete certainty and symbols had always mattered less to him than facts.
The fact was that he loved you.
The fact was that he came home to you.
The fact was that he had stood in front of everyone who mattered and promised that there would never be anybody else for as long as he lived.
He didnât understand why a narrow band of gold should carry more weight than all of that.
âIt doesnât make me more married when I wear it,â he said carefully. âAnd taking it off doesnât make me less married. You know that.â
âI know.â
âThen what are you asking?â
âI suppose I was asking you to care that it means something to me.â
Maxâs expression faltered, but only briefly. He stepped back towards you and placed both hands on your waist again, drawing you close despite the stiffness in your body. His voice softened as he kissed your forehead, evidently believing the affection should reassure you more effectively than any further discussion.
âI care about everything that matters to you,â he murmured. âBut I think youâre taking this personally when it has nothing to do with you.â
You pulled back enough to look at him. âYou keep saying that as if it helps.â
âIt should help. I love you.â
âI know.â you repeated
âThen trust that.â
You did trust it. That was almost the most irritating part.
Itâs not like Max was trying to appear single. He wasnât ashamed of you, nor was he concealing your marriage from anybody. He spoke about you constantly, often without realising he had done it, heâd developed a habit of beginning stories with my wife even when your marital status had absolutely no relevance to what followed. There was no hidden intention behind his decision as far as you could tell.
Still, it hurt.
Perhaps because you remembered how heâd looked at the ring on your wedding day, turning your hand beneath the light with a tenderness that had made your chest ache. Or maybe because heâd spent weeks before the ceremony pretending not to care about the design only to privately contact the jeweller three separate times to ensure the engraving was exactly right. Possibly because after the wedding youâd caught him looking down at his own hand with a small, private smile, as though the ring proved something heâd once been afraid he would never have.
It had meant something then.
You didnât understand why it suddenly meant nothing now.
âI donât want to argue before you leave,â you said, placing the ring back on the bedside table.
Max studied your face. âThen donât look at me like that.â
âLike what?â
âLike Iâve hurt you.â
You gave him a thin smile. âYou should go. Youâre already late.â
He kissed your forehead before leaving, lingering for a moment as though reluctant to end the conversation there, but he still left the ring behind.
Over the next week you tried to let it go. You reminded yourself repeatedly that he hadnât changed. There no secret motive for you to uncover, no suspicious behaviour hiding beneath his decision and no sudden reluctance to acknowledge your marriage. Max spoke about you constantly, often with an unmistakable pride that made even strangers aware of how thoroughly his life had rearranged itself around you. He introduced you as his wife when everybody in the room already knew who you were, kept photographs of you tucked into places he thought youâd never noticed and called you after almost every meeting, flight or race because he seemed to measure the passing of his days by when he could speak to you again. He still reached for your hand beneath restaurant tables, and he still pulled you against him in his sleep as though even unconsciousness made him possessive of the space between you. He continued to behave exactly like your husband.
He simply did it without looking like one.
Other people noticed.
His mother asked whether his fingers had swollen from training. One of the mechanics jokingly asked if heâd already lost it. A journalistâs gaze dropped conspicuously towards his hand during an interview before she carefully rephrased a question about how married life was treating him.
Max answered every comment with the same calm explanation.
He didnât like jewellery.
The ring was uncomfortable for his style of work.
It did not mean anything.
You smiled whenever somebody looked towards you for reassurance, unwilling to admit that each repetition made the irritation beneath your skin burn a little hotter.
The final push came at a sponsor dinner in Monaco.
You were standing beside Max while he spoke with a group of executives, only half following the conversation as you watched a woman at the edge of the group look him over. She was subtle about it, but not subtle enough. Her attention lingered on his face, his shoulders and then, predictably, his bare left hand.
Her smile changed.
She stepped closer.
You watched her direct questions exclusively at him, laugh too brightly at comments that were not particularly funny and touch his forearm while making a point. Max remained oblivious, answering politely and occasionally glancing towards you, but he didnât move away from her touch until he saw your expression.
Then he shifted immediately, placing a hand at the small of your back and drawing you closer.
âThis is my wife,â he said, although youâd already been introduced.
The woman looked briefly embarrassed. âOf course.â
Maxâs hand remained firmly against you for the rest of the conversation.
In the car afterwards he glanced towards you several times before eventually saying, âYouâre quiet tonight.â
âIâm tired.â
âYouâre annoyed.â
âIâm apparently always annoyed now.â
âShe knew I was married.â
âAfter you told her.â
Max frowned.
âShe looked at your hand, saw no ring and thought she could try.â
âAnd then I told her you were my wife.â
You turned towards the window. âExactly.â
He exhaled sharply through his nose. âYouâre making this into something itâs not.â
âIâ I, maybe.â You stuttered slightly, and then looked back out the window.
The ease of your agreement made him suspicious, but he decided to let it go as you said nothing else.
The following morning you removed your wedding ring.
You didnât announce it, you didnât leave it pointedly on his side of the bathroom counter or place it somewhere he would be forced to notice. You simply slipped it from your finger while getting dressed and put it inside the small jewellery box in your wardrobe.
For the first few hours Max didnât realise. He kissed you goodbye, left for a meeting and sent you two irritated messages about traffic. When he returned home in the afternoon he found you in the kitchen arranging flowers that had been delivered earlier that day.
He walked behind you, wrapped both arms around your waist and kissed the side of your neck.
âWho sent these?â
âThe foundation.â
âFor what?â
âThe charity dinner next week.â
He reached around you to examine the card, and his gaze fell upon your hand.
His entire body went still.
You felt the change immediately, although you continued trimming the stem of a flower.
âWhereâs your ring?â
The question sounded remarkably similar to the one youâd asked him a week earlier, except there was none of your tentative confusion in his voice. Max sounded sharp, alert and instantly displeased.
âIn my jewellery box.â
âWhy?â
âIt was uncomfortable.â
He released you slowly. You could almost feel him arranging his response, separating what he wanted to say from what he was allowed to say. When you finally turned around, his jaw was set and his eyes were fixed on your bare finger.
âYour ring has never been uncomfortable. Youâve taken it off because I stopped wearing mine.â Max sighed frustrated.
âI thought you said it didnât matter.â
âThat doesnât answer the question.â
âPerhaps itâs annoyed me for years and I never said anything because I knew you would take it personally.â
His gaze lifted to yours. âYouâre doing this to prove a point.â
âIâm just doing the same thing you are.â
âNo you arenât.â
âWhy does the reason matter if the ring doesnât? How is it different?â
âBecause you like wearing yours.â
âYou donât get to decide whether I like wearing it.â
âI know you like it.â His voice tightened. âYou play with it when you are nervous. You touch it whenever somebody asks about the wedding. You never take it off unless youâre showering or sleeping.â
âMaybe I changed my mind.â
âYou didnât change your mind. Youâre trying to irritate me.â
You returned your attention to the flowers, choosing another stem. âWhy would it irritate you? A ring doesnât make me more married, and taking it off doesnât make me less married. You know I love you. You know Iâm committed to you. I shouldnât need jewellery to prove that.â
Max stared at you in silence.
Hearing his own reasoning returned to him should have ended the argument. Instead, it seemed to make something darker and more complicated move behind his eyes.
âI donât like it,â he said eventually.
You tried not to smile. âThat sounds personal.â
âIt is personal.â
âInteresting.â
âPut it back on.â
You looked at him then, unable to conceal your disbelief. âYou cannot be serious.â
âI am serious.â
âSo you can decide that you donât want to wear yours, but I have to wear mine because youâve told me to?â
âI didnât tell you that you had to.â
âYou just said, âPut it back on.ââ
Max looked increasingly frustrated, not with you so much as with the fact that he had walked directly into a trap constructed from his own words. He rubbed a hand across his mouth, glancing again at your empty finger.
âYouâre my wife.â
âAnd youâre my husband.â
âI know.â
âPeople canât tell that when they look at your hand.â
âIâll tell them.â
âAnd Iâll tell them,â you shot back quick.
âThatâs not the point,â The words escaped before he could stop them.
Your eyebrows rose. âNo?â
Max closed his eyes briefly.
He knew he was being hypocritical. He knew every argument he wanted to make could be dismantled with something heâd already said to you, and more importantly, he knew you knew it too.
You waited, but he had nothing else to offer. He couldnât admit that the sight bothered him without giving validity to everything heâd dismissed, and he was too proud to concede the argument when he still believed his original reasoning made sense.
âAll right,â you said eventually. âThen it shouldnât be a problem.â
The following days became a quiet war.
Neither of you wore your ring and neither of you mentioned it. Maxâs discomfort however, became increasingly obvious.
At dinner with friends he watched the waiter smile at you for a little too long while describing the specials. When you thanked him, Maxâs hand immediately settled possessively on your thigh beneath the table. At a party an acquaintance youâd met only once before touched your elbow and asked whether you were attending alone. Max appeared at your side before you could answer.
âNo,â he said, sliding an arm around your waist. âSheâs here with her husband.â
The man blinked. âI didnât realise.â
You pressed your lips together to hide your amusement.
Max did not find any of it amusing.
Without your ring every innocent interaction seemed to catch his attention, he noticed men looking at you in bars, strangers finding reasons to start conversations and old friends becoming slightly too familiar. Most of them likely would have behaved exactly the same way had the ring been there, but Max no longer had that immediate, visible claim to comfort himself with.
It made him restless.
It also made him clingy.
His hand rarely left your waist in public, he introduced you as his wife with unnecessary frequency. He kissed you more openly, sometimes in the middle of conversations, and stood so close behind you that the front of his body remained pressed to your back.
You knew precisely what he was doing.
He was replacing the symbol he had dismissed with constant physical reminders that you belonged together.
The hypocrisy was so obvious that you expected him to surrender.
Instead, the disagreement became something neither of you could address without reigniting the original argument. Max refused to wear his ring, and you refused to wear yours, while both of you quietly resented the other for making the same choice.
The situation finally broke at the next race weekend.
A set of images from a sponsor dinner appeared online showing you and Max standing several feet apart during a conversation. In one photograph his bare left hand was visible and in another, so was yours.
The speculation began almost immediately.
Most people dismissed it, but enough accounts repeated the suggestion that your marriage might be in trouble for the rumour to reach journalists. A reporter asked Max about it during a media session, disguising the question as casual concern.
Maxâs face hardened instantly.
âMy marriage is fine,â he answered.
The journalist began to clarify, but Max interrupted.
âItâs more than fine. My wife and I are very happy and thereâs no story.â
When he came back to the hotel that evening, he was furious. You were sitting on the sofa when he entered, his phone clenched in one hand. He tossed it down on the table and began removing his jacket with agitated movements.
âTheyâre saying we separated.â
âI saw.â
âWe couldâve released something.â
âA statement announcing that our marriage is intact but neither of us likes wearing jewellery?â
Max looked at you sharply. âThis is not funny.â
âI donât think itâs funny.â
âTheyâre saying youâve moved out.â
âIâm sitting in our hotel room.â
âThey donât know that.â
You held his gaze. âYou can tell them.â
The reminder of his own words made his jaw clench.
âI did tell them.â
âThen there shouldnât be a problem.â
âThere is a problem when thousands of people think my wife has left me.â
âWhy do you care what they think?â
âI donât care about them.â
âThen who?â
Max turned away, pacing towards the window before facing you again.
âI care that somebody might believe youâre available.â
There it was again, the truth he kept revealing in pieces without ever allowing himself to examine it fully.
âYou know Iâm not.â
âThatâs not the point.â
You stood slowly. âThatâs exactly what you said to me.â
âI know what I said.â
âDo you?â
âYes, and I still believe it. I know youâre committed to me. I know a ring doesnât change that.â
âBut you hate other people not knowing.â
Max didnât answer.
âYou hate the possibility that someone might look at my hand and think thereâs space for them in my life,â you continued. âYou hate having to explain that Iâm your wife after theyâve already approached me, and you hate that people are looking at photographs and questioning whether our marriage is secure.â
âObviously.â
The answer was quiet, but it came without hesitation.
âThatâs how I felt when you took yours off.â
âItâs not the same.â
Your frustration finally broke through. âWhy do you keep saying that?â
âBecause I didnât take it off to hurt you!â
âAnd I didnât take mine off to make people think Iâd left you, I took it off because you made me feel foolish for caring about it.â
Max stopped. You had said versions of the same thing before, but never so directly. His anger faltered as he looked at you.
âYou treated the ring like it was meaningless,â you said. âYou made me feel shallow.â
âI never said you were shallow.â
âYou kept telling me that your love should be enough, as though wanting the symbol as well meant I didnât trust you. I never thought you were going to cheat on me. I never thought you wanted to look single. I only wanted you to understand that it meant something to see you choose to wear it.â
Maxâs eyes lowered towards your hand.
âAnd when you refused,â you continued, your voice less steady now, âI started looking at mine and feeling stupid. Every time I wore it beside you, it felt as though I was publicly claiming something youâd decided was too inconvenient to acknowledge in the same way.â
âThatâs not what I was doing.â
âI know⊠logically I know, but itâs how it made me feel.â
He came closer, but you stepped back before he could touch you. The movement seemed to wound him more than anything else youâd said.
âI need some air,â you murmured.
âItâs late.â
âIâm going downstairs, not leaving the country.â
âIâll come with you.â
âIâd like to go alone.â
Maxâs face changed. His protective instinct battled visibly with his awareness that following you would only make the situation worse.
You picked up your phone and left before he could decide.
The hotel bar was quiet, occupied mostly by guests finishing late drinks after the event. You found a seat at the far end of the counter and ordered water, wanting space more than alcohol.
Youâd been alone for less than ten minutes when a man took the seat beside you. You recognised him vaguely although you couldnât remember his name. He worked for one of the sponsors and had spoken to you earlier in the evening while Max was occupied.
âEscaping the crowd?â he asked.
âSomething like that.â
He smiled. âI was hoping I might see you again.â
The intention behind the comment was clear enough to make you straighten.
âIâm married.â
His gaze dropped predictably towards your hand.
âI heard there might be some uncertainty about that.â
âThere isnât.â
The firmness of your answer should have ended the conversation instead he leaned one arm against the bar. âThen your husband is a very lucky man.â
âWe both are.â
âDoes he know youâre down here alone?â
You turned towards him fully. âI donât need my husbandâs permission to sit in a hotel bar.â
âThat isnât what I meant.â
âIt sounded like it.â
Before the man could respond, a familiar voice came from behind you.
âShe also doesnât need to explain herself to you.â
Max stood several feet away, his expression too controlled to be anything but anger. His sleeves were rolled unevenly, the top buttons of his shirt undone like he had followed you before he could stop himself.
The man rose. âWe were only talking.â
âI heard enough.â When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but unbridled jealousy sat beneath every word.
âMax,â you warned.
His gaze shifted to you, softening for only a second before returning to the man.
âShe told you she was married.â
âI wasnât doing anything.â
âThen leaving should be easy.â
The man muttered something beneath his breath but walked away. Max watched until he disappeared through the doors, then turned towards you. His restraint was already fraying.
âWhat were you thinking?â
Your disbelief was immediate. âExcuse me?â
âSitting down here alone without your ring while people are saying we separated.â
âI told him I was married.â
âHe didnât care.â
âAnd thatâs my fault?â
âI didnât say that.â
âThen what are you angry about?â
âThat he looked at you as if he had a chance!â
His voice rose enough to draw attention from the other end of the bar. Max noticed it too, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to lower his voice, but the emotion was still there, sharp and impossible to hide.
For a second neither of you said anything more. Then Max looked around the room, like he had only just remembered where you were.
âWeâre not doing this here,â he said.
You should have argued. Part of you wanted to, just to make him stand there a little longer with all that jealousy burning under his skin, but the truth was, your own chest felt too tight, and you hated the idea of strangers pretending not to listen.
So you walked past him towards the lifts.
Max followed half a step behind you, close enough that you could feel him there, but not touching you. That somehow made it worse. He was usually all hands when he was like this hand on your waist, fingers at your back, some small claim disguised as care. Now he seemed to know he had lost the right to do it.
The lift ride was silent.
The moment the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, the argument picked up exactly where it had left off.
âYou donât get to be angry at me for this,â you said, turning on him.
Max was already facing you, one hand still on the door handle. âIâm not angry at you.â
âYou are.â
âNo Iâm angry because he thought he had a chance, he sat beside you because he thought you were alone and when you said you were married he looked at your hand and decided he didnât have to respect it.â
âThat is exactly what happened to me when that woman approached you.â
âI know.â
âYou dismissed it.â
âI know.â
âThen why are we still having this argument?â
Max stared at you, breathing hard as the anger gradually drained from his face. In its place came something far more exposed.
âBecause I was wrong.â
The admission was not enough to soothe you immediately, particularly after weeks of stubbornness.
âYou could have said that days ago.â
âI always understood that it upset you,â he continued. âI guess I just didnât fully understand why.â
âAnd now?â
Max looked down at your hand. âNow⊠I still think a ring doesnât make us married,â he admitted. âI still think what we have is more important than whether other people can see it.â
You waited.
âBut I hate that they canât see it.â
There it was, not quite an apology, but close.
You leaned back against the table. âWhy?â
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if the answer should have been obvious.
âBecause youâre mine.â
You gave him a warning look laced with a smirk.
âYou know what I mean,â he said quickly. âNot that I own you, but youâre my person. Youâre my wife, and I donât like somebody looking at you and thinking that place beside you might be available.â
âIt isnât.â
âNo.â Max stepped closer. âBut I like that it tells them before they ask.â
You studied him for a long moment Max came to stand between your knees, his hands settling on your hips. Unlike all the other times heâd touched you over the past week there was no performance in it now, no deliberate need to show anybody what you were to each other. It was only the two of you in the small room.
âIâm sorry,â he said.
âYou made me feel ridiculous.â
âIâm really sorry.â
He bowed his head towards yours, âI thought you were putting too much meaning into an object when you should already know how I feel. I didnât really consider that wearing it was one of the ways I showed you how I feel.â
âAnd?â
âAnd I have been an enormous hypocrite.â
A laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
Maxâs mouth twitched. âI knew that would make you happy.â
âA little.â
He brushed his thumb over the place where your ring usually rested.
âI donât like jewellery,â he said. âThat part is true. I still find the ring uncomfortable sometimes.â
You gave him a flat look.
âBut I would rather notice it a hundred times a day than make you believe I donât value what it represents.â
âThen we can find one that isnât.â
He looked at you. âWhat?â
âA thinner band. A different material. Something you barely notice. I never said it had to be the exact ring we bought for the wedding.â
Max frowned as though this practical solution had somehow never occurred to him. âYou wouldnât mind?â
âThe ring matters because youâre choosing to wear it. I donât care whether itâs gold, silver, silicone or something you found inside a cereal box.â
âA cereal box?â
âPerhaps not that.â
He smiled properly then, his shoulders finally relaxing.
âIâll wear the original when we go somewhere important,â he said. âAnd we can find something more comfortable for every day.â
âThat sounds fair.â
âBut you have to put yours back on.â
You lifted an eyebrow.
Max corrected himself reluctantly. âI would very much like you to put yours back on.â
âAnd not because you nearly had an aneurysm when a man assumed I was single?â
He slid one hand around the back of your neck, leaning closer until his forehead rested against yours.
âI trust you,â he murmured. âI donât trust other people to behave properly around you.â
âYou canât be angry with them for not knowing Iâm married when youâre the one who said I shouldnât need a ring to show it.â
âI can be angry about whatever I like. I simply canât blame you for it.â
You smiled. âGrowth.â
His mouth found yours the kiss beginning soft before deepening with the same possessive edge that had coloured his behaviour all week. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, and you felt the last of the tension in his body finally ease when your arms settled around his neck.
When he pulled back, he kissed the corner of your mouth once more.
âWill you wear it tomorrow?â
âI havenât brought mine,â you said.
âItâs here.â
You blinked. âWhat do you mean?â
âI put it in the hotel safe.â
âYouâve known where it was this entire time?â
âYes.â
âAnd you brought it with us?â
His expression became faintly sheepish. âI didnât like leaving it at home.â
The confession was so painfully hypocritical that you stared at him.
âYou carried my wedding ring across countries while insisting it did not matter?â
âHey, Iâve already admitted I was wrong donât I get some credit for that?â
âWill you wear yours?â
âYes.â
âEven if itâs uncomfortable?â
Max sighed dramatically. âUntil we replace it.â
You pretended to consider it.
âThen yes.â
The relief on his face was almost comical.
Later he retrieved your ring from the safe and placed it in your palm without immediately asking you to wear it. He sat beside you on the edge of the bed, his knee pressed against yours while he waited.
He held out his hand.
You took his ring first.
For a moment you simply turned it between your fingers, tracing the engraved date hidden along the inside. Then you slid it slowly back onto his finger. Max watched you with an intensity that made the moment feel strangely reminiscent of your wedding, stripped of the ceremony and the guests but not of its meaning.
He picked up yours next.
âI donât need this to know you love me,â he said, looking at you rather than your hand.
âI know.â
âAnd you donât need mine.â
âNo.â
âBut I will wear it because it matters to you.â
You softened. âAnd Iâll wear mine because it apparently keeps you from glaring at every innocent man who speaks to me.â
âNone of them were innocent.â He growled.
âMax.â You laughed as he slipped the ring back onto your finger.
His thumb passed over it once, then again, and you watched the familiar satisfaction settle over his face. He lifted your hand to his mouth, kissing directly above the band before lacing your fingers together.
The rings didnât make you married. They didnât create the loyalty between you nor did they guarantee it. They couldnât carry the full weight of every promise you had made or every private thing your marriage had become, but as Max stared down at your joined hands, both bands finally returned to their places he seemed to understand that symbols did not have to replace the truth to matter.
Change my mind so much itâs exhausting - Dean Winchester (smut)
It only feels right to return to posting with a Dean fic. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. Xxx
Summary: Dean is the best friend of readerâs dad. Sheâs in love with him, he canât stay for longer than one night. Tonight, they decide to spend one last night with one another before ending things
Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral(f), some angst, age gap, dbf Dean, Dean having commitment issues
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.3k words)
It became a pattern before either of them admitted it. Dean would disappear for weeks. Sometimes months. No calls. No texts. Nothing but the occasional update her father would mention over dinner.
âDean and Sam are in Montana.â
âTheyâre chasing a case in Oregon.â
âDean said heâll stop by when theyâre back.â
Her father never noticed the way (y/n)âs heart skipped at those words. Because he always came back, not for the bunker, not for the hunt. For her.
The soft rumble of the Impalaâs engine outside her apartment had become a sound she knew by heart. She would tell herself not to look through the window. But she always did. There heâd be, leaning against the driverâs door with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, looking exhausted. Like heâd spent weeks carrying the weight of the world.
He never knocked twice.
âYou awake?â heâd ask when she opened the door.
âYou knew I would be.â
And just like that, the distance between them disappeared for a night. Pizza boxes left open on the coffee table, old movies neither of them actually watched. Conversations that wandered from stupid jokes to childhood memories, to hunts that almost went wrong, to dreams neither of them dared believe could ever happen.
Sometimes heâd fall asleep on her couch before making it to her room. Yet, their bodies would always find together some time throughout the night. Heâd wake before sunrise, already pulling on his boots. Every single time.Â
âYou donât have to leave yet,â she would whisper, still wrapped in a blanket. Dean would pause and for one impossible second, sheâd think he might stay. Then heâd force that familiar crooked smile onto his face.
âI do.â No explanation, just those two words.
Heâd press a lingering kiss to her lips, grab his keys, and disappear before the sun had fully risen. The only proof heâd been there was an empty coffee mug in the sink and the faint scent of leather and motor oil that lingered long after heâd left.
She tried convincing herself not to wait for him anymore. She dated other people when he was gone for months. Ignored his messages. Promised herself that the next time the Impala rolled into her street, she wouldnât answer the door.
Then, weeks later, headlights would sweep across her curtains. And despite everything, her feet would carry her to the door. Because somehow Dean Winchester always knew exactly when to come back. Just never how to stay.
One rainy night, as he stood in her doorway with damp hair and shadows beneath his eyes, she looked at him for a long moment before speaking.
âYou only ever come here when youâre running from something.â His jaw tightened.
âIâm not running.â
âNo?â She folded her arms. âThen why do you always leave before morning?â
Silence stretched between them. The rain tapped against the windows. Finally, Dean looked down at the floor.
âYou know this is complicated.â Her chest ached.
âBecause of my dad?âÂ
Dean was her fatherâs best friend. The man who had carried her on his shoulders when she was little. The one who taught her how to throw her first punch, change a tire, and drive stick in the Impala after weeks of relentless begging.
He wasnât supposed to look at her differently. (Y/n) wasnât supposed to notice the gray beginning to dust his stubble. Or the way his voice dropped when he said her name. Or how lonely he looked when he thought nobody was watching
He kept quiet, ran a hand through his hair, and stared at her with those green eyes until she sighed and let him in; once again. An hour later, empty takeout containers littered her coffee table. Dean sat with one arm stretched across the back of the couch, his head tipped toward her as she talked about her week. He listened more than he spoke, smiling at the parts she didnât even think were funny.
âYou disappeared for five weeks,â she eventually said quietly.
âI know.â
âNo call.â
âI know.â
âNo text.â
Dean rubbed a hand across his face.
âI know.â
Her frustration had been simmering for weeks, and now it spilled over. It felt ugly, too cutting, too intense. âYou vanish, Dean.â
He looked away.
âI had a job.â
âYou always have a job.â
âYou know what my life is.â
âAnd what am I?â Her voice cracked despite her best effort. âSome place you stop when you get tired of running?â
His jaw tightened at her words. âDonât.â
âNo.â She stood, putting space between them while anger began to drip from her words. âAnswer me.â
Dean rose too. The apartment suddenly felt too small, the room too cold
âI come here because itâs the one place I donât have to think, donât have to play some role. Donât take this from me.â His eyes finally snapped back to her. They were full of something heâd spent months trying to bury. âIt matters too much.âÂ
The words stole the air from the room. She laughed once, bitterly. âYou keep pretending this is easier than it is.â
His shoulders sagged. For the first time since sheâd known him, Dean looked defeated, head hanging, hands balled into fists.
âYou make me forget,â he admitted. âFor one night I forget all the things waiting for me out there. And then morning comes and Iâm reminded of the years between us, the memories, the promises.â
She reached up before she could stop herself, brushing her fingers lightly over the bruise on his jaw. His hand found hers, almost cautiously, as though he expected her to pull away. She didn't.
âYou know I donât care about the age gap or you being my dadâs best friend. All I care about is you, Dean.â A long silence stretched between them.
âSo simple,â he murmured.
âIt could be.â
He gave a small, sad smile. âNo.â
The word hurt more than she expected. She started to step back, but Dean caught her wrist. His thumb brushed against her pulse.
âIâm sorry.â His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest moment before snapping back to her eyes.
âWe canât keep doing this,â she spoke quietly. âThis has to end, Dean. I wonât survive otherwise.â
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His grip loosened, giving her every chance to walk away. Instead, she closed the distance. The kiss was hesitant for exactly one second. Then weeks of distance, missed phone calls, unsaid apologies, and impossible feelings crashed together all at once.
His hand slid to her cheek, and hers tangled in the front of his shirt as if she was afraid heâd disappear before she could convince herself he was still real. When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, both of them breathing a little harder. Dean closed his eyes.
âOne last night is all Iâm asking for,â he whispered.
She didnât answer. (Y/n) stared at him for at least ten seconds before nodding her head, hoping to cover the hurt laced in her gaze. He followed her to the bedroom, the familiar path he had walked too many times to count.Â
It didnât take long for their clothes to hit the floor, one by one the layers were stripped away. Lips found skin, fingers found roots to tug on, hearts found a similar beat. One last night. One last high. One last kiss. The house of cards was about to collapse, and there would be nothing but hurting memories afterward.Â
âDean,â she panted his name, pressing herself closer to him while he lingered between her thighs. He cherished her taste, let it linger on his tongue while his arms had a tight grip around her thighs. He was set on pushing her over the edge with his mouth first, needing to watch her fall apart without being distracted himself.Â
She shook as her orgasm rose, pulsing through her like a second heartbeat. His name left her, her fingers tugged on his roots, but his gaze never wavered. It stayed glued to her trembling body until her first high let go of her.Â
âCondom?â She shook her head at the question.Â
âNot if itâs our last time.â She had always asked for extra protection, not daring to wonder if he spent his weeks away around other women. But tonight she couldnât care, tonight she needed all of him.Â
Dean kept quiet at that. He moved up her body, lips leaving kisses every now and then, and then entered her, slowly, cautiously. Both moaned at the sensation, bodies adjusting after all that time apart.Â
âFuck,â it was a deep breath leaving him. He moved slowly, taking his time while she kept her legs wrapped around him. Their bodies met with every thrust, he was set on leaving marks as if he wanted to make her remember this for the next weeks. But (y/n) was sure her heartbreak would do a good job of reminding her anyway.Â
âAtta girl, fuck, my pretty girl, you feel so good like this.â Tears gathered around her lashes, she tried to blink them away, but without luck. They began to drip down her cheeks while he kept moving, oblivious to them at first. It felt as if watering a grave, an empty home with a soul no longer there, yet the love remained, like it always would.Â
The second he looked down at her, eyes no longer closed, his pace began to falter. He wiped the tears away with his thumb, but he kept quiet, not speaking words she needed to hear, confessions, promises, nothing.Â
Her walls fluttered around him, even though she fought against the sensation. She didnât want to cum yet, didnât want to end it this quickly, but his fingers began to circle her bundle of nerves, pushing her over the edge once again.
Dean fucked her through the high, eyes not leaving hers while chasing his own release. He pulled out of her seconds before letting go, painting her stomach white with a deep groan. Both were heavily breathing, staring at one another until he closed the gap for another kiss.Â
âŠ
Morning arrived too soon, sunlight slipping through the curtains in thin stripes across the floor. Everything felt strangely still, as though the world outside had agreed to wait just a little longer.
She lay on her side, watching Dean pull on his T-shirt in silence. Neither of them mentioned what had happened. Neither of them needed to.
The air between them had changed. He sat on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots, elbows resting on his knees for a moment before he let out a slow breath.
âSo,â he started quietly.
âSo.â
His lips twitched into a tired smile.
âWeâre really bad at âone last time.ââ
She smiled despite herself. Dean reached for his jacket from the floor, turning it over in his hands before finally slipping it on.
(Y/n) wondered what would happen after today. She imagined Dean leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer while her father complained about a hunt. Sam would probably notice the silence first. He always noticed; her dad wouldnât. Heâd clap Dean on the shoulder, laugh too loud at one of his jokes, maybe even say something about how good it was to have everyone together again. The thought made her stomach twist.
âYou think heâll know?â She asked, eyes not meeting his.Â
Deanâs expression hardened.
âNo, he trusts me.â The words landed between them like broken glass. Dean closed his eyes for a brief second before crossing the room until he was right in front of her again. âI donât regret you.â
Her eyes lifted to his.
âNot for a second.â
His thumb brushed gently across her knuckles.
âI regret the position it puts you in.â She had no answer to the words, aware that there was no use in fighting Dean Winchester on a decision like this.
âIâll see you tonight.â
It sounded strange. Not like a promise, more like a warning.
âTonight,â she began, unable to finish while her throat grew tighter.Â
âWe go back to pretending.â The words seemed to hurt him too, making his face harden.Â
Dean looked toward the apartment door and then turned from her. He opened the door, hesitated with one hand on the frame. For just a second, she thought he might come back. Instead, he looked over his shoulder.
âYou deserve more than stolen nights.â
Before she could answer, he was gone.
âŠ
By seven that evening, the bunker looked exactly as it always had. The smell of burgers drifted from the kitchen. Classic rock echoed faintly from the garage. Her father was laughing before she even stepped through the door.
âThere she is!â he called. âPerfect timing.â
She forced a smile while greeting her dad.Â
Dean was already there, leaning against the counter, beer bottle in hand. He looked up as she walked in, just for a heartbeat. There was no smile, no lingering glance. Nothing anyone else would notice.
âHey, kid,â he said as casually as if heâd last seen her weeks ago instead of hours.
Her father tossed Dean another bottle from the fridge. âDean was just telling me about that hunt in Wyoming.â
Dean smiled with practiced ease. It was the same smile everyone knew. The same one that hid everything. Across the room, their eyes met for the briefest moment. No one noticed. No one could.
But in that fleeting glance lived an entire night neither of them could take back and no answer to what came next.
I started using Head and Shoulders ten years ago for itchy scalp and dandruff, and then for ten years I have not had itchy scalp and dandruff, so I thought âwhy do I still buy shampoo to combat itchy scalp and dandruff when I do not have itchy scalp and dandruff,â so I stopped buying the shampoo for itchy scalp and dandruff and can you guess I have now? Can you predict what currently afflicts me? Itâs alright if you canât because apparently I fuckin couldnât either
Cutting something out of your life because you think you donât need it any more only to realize that it was in fact working as intended and preventing a problem that will return should you stop doing this is a good experiment to run periodically with something small like dandruff shampoo, lest you start to think it would be a good idea to do this with like letâs say public health and the social safety net and vaccines
I had a liver transplant when I was 14 and like six months later I was chatting with my surgeon and he said âthereâs gonna come a time, probably when youâre a teenager, where youâre gonna think, âI feel great, why am I still taking all this medication? I havenât needed it in years.â and youâre gonna want to stop taking all this medication. Guess whatâs gonna happen then? Youâre gonna go into rejection and your liver is gonna start failing, and youâre gonna be dying again, and weâre gonna have to find you another liver. So donât do that.â And I said âwhy the fuck would anyone do that?â and he said âpeople are stupid.â
every once in a while when I get annoyed by a pharmacy or donât wanna get out of bed to do my drugs I think âugh, this is dumb, why do I do this?â and that conversation slams into me like a truck and I remember that I am, in fact, stupid
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