#so we can all just bask in Them ❤️

[danggirlronpa]

At last they r....together 🥺......

Reminder that @drwlwzine is still running leftover sales through February, including both individual mix-and-match charms and/or the zine itself!

[sinofwriting]

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

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Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.” Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.” He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.” “Not gonna tell me it gets easier?” He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know. “I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs. She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.” He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back. “You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head. “Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go. She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.” He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his  wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t now. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.” He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly. “You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.” He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.” “Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.” His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.” Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.” He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock. “He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.” “Madelyn and Daniel?” She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.” One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.” Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.” “Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.” “Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table. “Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.” She makes a humming noise. “C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.” Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle. He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.” “Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.” He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?” Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?” She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.” Logan both blushes and preens at the same time. Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?” She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.” He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.” She laughs, “good gin and tonic?” He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.” She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,” “Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.” Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.” “We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts. “Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused. “Ah.” “Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.” She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases. The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.” “Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?” She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.” Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.” “Your work allows you to do that?” Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.” “You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.” “I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious. “No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.” “Manager?” “God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.” “Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.” “Of course.” “Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.” “Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?” “Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him. He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?” “It’s nice.” She smiles. Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.” Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him. “You seemed a bit more relaxed.” “No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.” Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.” Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?” He shrugs as best as he can. “I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.” “You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs. Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.” “What happened?” “She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.” Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.” The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies. “What?” “I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.” “Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar. “I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.” Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?” Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?” “The one that gave Fred shit.” “I thought she died?” The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?” “Mate, you didn’t hear about that?” “No!” “She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.” “How do I not remember this?” Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,” “No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.” “Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.” Logan groans, “Os, no.” “Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.” “Oscar, please, it’s my mom.” “She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush. He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.” “Lando was looking.” Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.” He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.” “He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns. “I saw that too.” “But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?” Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.” “Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?” “I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.” Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.” “We all want to age like her.” George agrees. “What are you saying?” Fernando frowns. A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.” Fernando frowns, “Lines?” Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank. Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.” The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.” “Fuck.” “Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,” “He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her. “He did it! He did it!” She cheers. The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.” “Got it. Where’s Alex?” She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.” It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.” Both of her hands fly up to her mouth. “Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.” She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control. “What? What do you mean?” “You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.” “Holy fuck.” The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes. “You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.” She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.” “Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.” “I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried. “You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.” She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?” He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.” “He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her. His smile widens as he takes the seat. “I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear. “I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?” She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.” “Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.” She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?” “You did.” “Sweet.” “Very. How’s the head?” Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.” She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.” “Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it. She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.” “True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.” “I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.” “Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.” “I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.” “Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?” “It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.” His brows press together. “Max?” “Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?” Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.” “You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.” “I go on dates.” “Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.” She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists. “Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?” “Yes.” “Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?” Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,” Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?” “Oh.” Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.” “I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!” He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces. “Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?” He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press. “But how are you feeling about it?” Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.” He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.” Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.” “P10 and P9.” He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.” Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.” “Not yours?” He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.” Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?” Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.” “Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.” “And if I go into the wall?” Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?” Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.” “Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.” Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.” He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him. “And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his. “So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say. “I’m a mom.” He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.” “Logan is important to me.” Oh, god, did Logan not like him? “The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.” “Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?” She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.” “I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?” Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.” He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.” “His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right. “His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?” “No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.” She stares at him, lips pressed together. He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.” She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?” “The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears. “I am his mother, just adopted.” “Not that either of you see it that way.” “No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.” “Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?” She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.” “How old are you?” “I’m twenty-nine.” He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.” “Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.” “How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch. “Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun. Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach. “What?” “How was your date last night?” Her smile widens. “It was good.” “Yeah?” She nods. “Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?” “No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.” “About what?” “Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well. She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.” “What about Max?” She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.” “You know, I’m okay with it.” “I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.” Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.” Logan flushes at the words. “He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age. He flushes even more. “Really?” “Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.” “I am an adult.” “You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.” He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.” “Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?” She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?” “Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?” “First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder. “Am I late?” “Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen. “Can I,” She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.” “Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.” “Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her. “Logan and you are both going to get on too well.” “Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye. “You both don’t like when I lift anything.” “What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back. Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.” “One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.” “See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head. “I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.” Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.” He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.” “Are you sure?” Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage. The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at. “Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.” “Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely. “Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?” The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.” “Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member. “Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?” He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.” “And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases. “No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.” “I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.” “Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.” “Oh?” Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room. “Hi, schat.” “Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats. His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.” “Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask. “He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.” Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?” She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.” “Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?” “Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.” “Anything I can help with?” She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops. “Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.” “Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?” His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.” “The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.” “They have to be not performing well.” “They’re a rookie in a back marker team.” “They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about. “They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.” His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?” “Nine.” “I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.” She shakes her head. “Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?” She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.” “I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.” She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “The driver’s Logan.” “What?” “Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.” Max stares at her. “How?” “I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.” “He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.” “I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.” “It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it. “Why’s that, honey?” He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team. “I guess you are a bit spoiled.” He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle. “That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.” He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more. “I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.” She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.” “It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends. “Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder. “How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner. She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.” He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?” “I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.” “I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside. “I know.” “Logan still wanting to do his new routine.” She nods, lips pursed. He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?” She throws him a look. “Us?” “You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that. “Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.” “Will Logan be joining us for Florida?” “Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.” Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,” “You go to Milton for a day after.” He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.” “Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.” “Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.” “Yes?” “Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend. He freezes. “Max.” “I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙just say yes | CS55˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: father!carlos sainz x y/n reader (she/her)

genre: social media au, established relationship

warnings: so much fluff 0 angst just lovey dovey cuteness & fun ! idek if there's much of a plot tbh lol

summary: in which you, your boyfriend and your daughter are the target of everyone's jealousy & you bask in it 😊

a/n: hiii i luv this request so cute & i havent done any carlos fics yet!! i love it he's soo beautiful fr! i've done the baby faceless tbh i felt a bit weird looking for pics hahahah anyway hope u like it 😊😊

request!!!: Can you do like a smau where carlos has a daughter and it's just fluffy as HELL !! And ofc we need lando and charles being goofy in the comments!

fc: various blonde girls from pinterest

my masterlist

instagram ->

carlossainz55

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 682,674

carlossainz55 vacationing with my girls

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yourusername im soo lucky

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carlossainz55 sorry lando but she's right

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yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, and 218,426 others

yourusername he wont even put the ferrari merch down in the off season

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yourbff

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, and 121,376 others

yourbff babysitting duties

tagged: yourusername, carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 am i in trouble in that pic of us

yourbff she was explaining to u that u brought the wrong pickles home for her

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landonorris wtf is the wrong pickles a pickle is a pickle

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twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, and 302,748 others

yourusername happy first race of the season i love my boys so much

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scuderiaferrari ❤️❤️

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55

user11 omg i love her

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liked by yourbff, scuderiaferrari, and 121,847 others

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yourusername posted a story

liked by carlossainz55, danielricciardo, and 98,183 others

carlossainz55 come back here

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f1wags

liked by carlossainz55, user6, and 73,294 others

f1wags carlos after the race with his longterm girlfriend y/n y/l/n today 🥹

tagged: carlossainz55, yourusername

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user19 she needs a ring asap

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user21 like 8 years lol

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user24 do u think they know how much everyone loves them & is jealous of them

user25 absolutely & they love it lol

user26 if they ever break up im done with love

user27 idk who's luckier her or him

user28 they're the definition of soulmates

user29 the world will stop on their wedding day fr

carlossainz55

liked by yourusername, yoursister, and 728,193 others

carlossainz55 my perfect family

view all 13,438 comments

user30 stop it 😭😭😭

yourusername how did we create somebody so gorgeous😭

landonorris not you asking this as if you both aren't the most conventionally gorgeous people to ever exist

yourusername HAHAH shutup lando you are always slithering around to ruin our sincere moments

landonorris SLITHERING?!

user31 omg slithering 😭😭😭??

user32 lol at lando's comments he's like us

charles_leclerc let me babysit soon

yourbff why you coming for my job

carlossainz55 dont fight over my child

yoursister miss you guys!!

carlossainz55 we will have to come visit soon

yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

user33 put a ring on it carlos

liked by yourusername

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, yourbff, and 231,023 others

yourusername night off from baby

view all 6,173 comments

yourbff everyone in the world is in love with you

carlossainz55 right well they need to back off

yourusername tehehe

user37 wow she's unreal

user38 wifeee

carlossainz55 you are so beautiful

yourusername 🥹🥹🥹 i love u

carlossainz55 i love you

landonorris Y/N?? YOU DIDNT INVITE ME??

yourusername ...girls night

landonorris BUT YOU ALWAYS SAY IM ONE OF THE GIRLS

charles_leclerc i wasn't invited either mate

yourusername im so sorry. you guys are grown men though

landonorris no im one of the girls

user39 one of the girls 💀

user40 i love lando & y/n's friendship so bad

carlossainz55

liked by yoursister, yourusername, and 733,984 others

carlossainz55 our week off so far

view all 17,293 comments

user41 i want her

user42 join the club

charles_leclerc is y/n available for brunch tomorrow

carlossainz55 yes

yourusername i am?

charles_leclerc that is fantastic y/n we will pick you up at 11am

yourusername we?

charles_leclerc yes!! see you then

yourusername ?? WHAT

yourbff aww i love my y/n

carlossainz55 yours?

yourbff yes she is mine! tyvm carlos

yourusername hahahahaha

yourusername i love u both

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted stories

liked by carlossainz55, danielricciardo, and 334,756 others

yourbff pretty pretty girl

yourusername yup

carlossainz55 i told you you'd enjoy yourself 😊

yourusername yup

user43 omg the brunch with charles?

user44 so effortlessly cool

user45 looks delicious tbh. you not the food

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by carlossainz55, yourbff, and 123,284 others

user46 brunch & then the beach??

user47 hmmmm

user48 wuu2

user49 charles forcing her to brunch & then this???

carlossainz55 posted a story

liked by yoursister, landonorris, and 892,293 others

yourbff 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

user50 MY PARENTS

yoursister AHHH!!!!!

landonorris heeheehee

charles_leclerc ur welcome mate

user51 OMG FINALLY

user52 OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

user53 OMG IT'S REAL!!!!

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, and 792,673 others

yourusername luckiest girl alive

tagged: carlossainz55

view all comments

landonorris congratulations parents

yourusername aww love u our little lando

charles_leclerc congratulations beauties

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55

yourbff my gorgeous girl with her beautiful daughter and some guy

yoursister the most beautiful amazing woman you've ever seen and then.....carlos

yourusername mean girls!!

carlossainz55 no they're right perhaps?

user54 LOL barbie & ken vibes

danielricciardo CONGRATULATIONSSSS 🥳

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55

lewishamilton congratulations ❤️

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55

user55 😭 so happy for them

user56 im obsessed with them.

user57 best couple on the grid period

user58 the most beautiful family ever. SO JEALOUS!!!

THE END ❤️

[silkythewriter]

Hello! New anon here, um, so we have the headcanons for Vox x extravert reader. But what are your headcanons for Vox x introvert reader?

Got me curious :3

Vox x introvert reader!

Warnings!: Non!

Fandom!:Hazbin hotel!

Author note!: AH I WAS WAITING FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS (≧▽≦) TYSM FOR REQUESTING THIS! Hazbin hotel has my mind running and my hyperfixation on this show is actually wild. IM SO GREATFUL FOR ALL THE REQUESTS TRUELY

Summary!: Vox with a introverted reader!

❤️Written by silkythewriter Do not steal or repost on any other platform please! <3❤️

꧁𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹꧂

꧁𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹꧂

★📺✨!Vox!✨📺★

First things first, he always makes sure the paparazzi’s back off. Being with one of the more popular and powerful overloads is definitely going to come with some press!. But don’t worry you’ll little head off he can always just zap the equipment or threaten them.

As the show shows us he’s one little show off! But as much as he’d love to show what’s his and who’s he’s with he’d keep it private if your uncomfortable with the sudden spot light.

Depending on your personality behind closed doors, like if your more on the calmer side, or on the but more ecstatic side, it will determine what he prefers to do with you!

If your on the calmer he’d love to wind down in your arms and just lay for a bit! Maybe put on the latest news. Or show you the good press he’s getting for his latest invention. He likes having someone to listen like actually listen as much as he likes having power and using it to scare people. It does effect his daily conversation with people since they want to get one his bad side, so he adores the calm conversations with you! Even if your more a listener then a talker.

Now if you were more on the hyper side behind closed doors, he’s gonna be so confused. Where was all this energy when you guys were in the building?! ヘ（° □°）ヘ!!

Once you explain your a bit more introverted in-front of people you don’t know. Which he has to admit he gets it to a degree.

Most of the time he handles any social interaction and takes the lead if someone approaches you not that he’s jelly of them or anything! Yk that meme where it’s like

“They said no pickles” that’s quite literally you and him

Sometimes holds your hand or links pinky’s with you if your ever feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the workers in the building, or the camera shoved into your face. He hates seeing so stress so he dose his best to figure something out, which he always does!

If your not a busy demon like him and are just with him for most of the day which he will admit in secret he absolutely loves he has your own little space in the three Vs building for you to chill out and not get interrupted. He filled it with whatever you said you’d like, even stuff you didn’t tell him… weird…(💧゜^゜)

Sometimes teases you, just because he doesn’t like seeing you upset doesn’t mean he’s gonna let you get away that easy!

Like one time him you and the two other Vs were ordering over phone and rang up the place. Before handing you the phone hurriedly as they picked up making you stammer and stumble over your words from surprise. He cracked up over this, now your always alert when he has a phone around you…

He’s devious, sometimes he makes you go up and ask for straws or something you always end up getting a bit freaked out only for him to laugh as he calls the waiter himself and does it. Yea he’s foul.. -_-

On the brighter note! He always with you in a second if your having trouble with a person and are to nervous to speak up. He dosent mind doin it for you!

Makes you steer clear of the other Val and velvet, their chatter boxes, also he just prefers you to not have to talk to them.

Sometimes he basks in the pure knowledge that your more comfortable with him then others

Overall! He does tease!, he loves the expressions you make!, but in all honesty even with his personality and attuned he’s a sweetheart! Does whatever makes you uncomfortable for you!, he’s a gentleman after all.

꧁𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹꧂

AHHHH TYSM FOR REQUESTING!!! I LOVED WRITING THIS AND I LOVE SEEING WHAT I CNA DO WITH CONTRASTING HEADCANONS LIKE THESE I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! ☆ ～('▽^人)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You walk along the halls of the garishly large house. You suppose anything compared to your apartment is huge. Former apartment? You mourn the loss of your previous life as it starts to sink in. No long distracted by the bristly mustache of its delightful effect on you, you can’t help but descend slowly into despair. 

You narrow your eyes at the fabric strained over shoulders blades in front of you. All he had to do was say please and be polite. He couldn’t even give you his order then blamed you for not knowing.

How on earth are you supposed to know who he is? It isn’t your fault no one told you. Now you’re starting to get mad at them too. Bre really put you in it, didn’t she?” 

“Are you growling?” Lloyd asks over his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” you answer honestly. 

“At me?” He snickers. 

“No... I should,” you grumble, “so, did you think about that sweater? Maybe a blanket? My nipples are so hard, they’re starting to hurt.” 

He stops and turns to face you. You walk straight into him and he grabs your shoulders, pushing you back to stand at arm’s length. He looks you up and down with a squint, his mustache slanting with his mouth. 

“I don’t negotiate but if I give you a blanket, do you promise to stay out of the way?” 

“Sir, if you opened the front door at this very moment, you would never see me again.” 

“Noted,” he says grimly, “go in here and stay.” He points to the door next to him as he releases you, turning the handle slowly, “don’t break anything. There should be a blanket, just don’t get too cozy.” 

“If I may, I think we would both be much happier if you let me go. Look at it this way, you got your rocks off, I got mine jangled, and now we both know a lot more about ourselves. You don’t have to ever see me again--” 

“Be quiet,” he reaches to pinch your lips shut, “Christ Almighty, you don’t shut the fuck up.” 

You try to talk past his fingers but just make a weird noise between your sealed lips. You shrug and raise your hands in surrender. He lets you go and sighs, waving through the open door. 

“Shutting fuck up,” you lift a hand in a salute and he quickly smacks it down. You shake your fingers out and hiss, “ow.” 

“Stop doing that,” he demands. 

“Fine,” you make a face and turn past him. At this point, you don’t care. This house is too cold and you don’t think he’ll take your advice about his central air bill. Looks like he can afford it, even if the ozone might suffer. “Erm, thanks?” 

“Whatever,” he grabs the door and shuts it behind you with a snap. 

You turn to it as you hear the lock click. His footsteps march off swiftly and you wiggle the handle. Drats. You could try a window but you’re hardly equipped for the descent. 

You face the room and look around. It’s nice. For New Jersey, which this isn’t. Amid the golden lamps, the velvet chaise, and the safari statues, a fluffy leopard print throw calls your name. You bound over to the clamshell chair and swipe it up, wrapping your shivering figure in the faux fur. At least you hope it’s not real. How would Floyd like it if someone skin his lip for, er, well... what could you even do with that? 

You sit and bask in the warmth. Oh, you almost feel human. If you didn’t smell of sweat and sex. What a pervert!  

It’s all so twisted the more you think of it. Worse is how much you enjoy it. Even if he’s a big dodo head, you have to admit, he knows what he’s doing. Well, compared to you, who doesn’t? You’ve seen it all but haven’t done so much. 

You peer around. It’s really tempting to play with that wooden tiger figurine or that metal orby thing with all the rings. You close your eyes and resist. How can he put you in this room and expect you not to go wild. Literally. It’s like being in a jungle. You gave him the benefit of the doubt about the mustache but this room alone assures you he’s living in some 70s exploitation fantasy. 

You curl up on your side in the chair and sigh. You close your eyes and think. This morning, everything was normal. Kind of. You almost long for the beginning of the spiral now that you’re spinning in it.

How long is he going to keep you here? And what happens after? Do you get your money back? Your apartment? Definitely, not your dignity. 

You don’t remember falling asleep but it’s a happy relief until consciousness breaks through like a nail through paper. You wake up with a lurch and nearly fall out of the chair, gaping up at the blue eyes boring down into you. You give Floyd with no F a sheepish smile. 

“Oh, hello, sir,” you sit up cautiously, “I’m happy to report I kept my hands to myself.” 

“You snore. Loud.” 

“Ah, well, I’ve had quite the day. I guess I really needed a nap--” 

“Get up,” he grabs you by the back of the neck and forces you to your feet. 

“Ow, eek,” you pull at his wrist, “did your meeting go okay?” 

“Why the fuck do you care?” He snarls. 

“I don’t, I was being polite,” you try to wriggle free, “judging by the attitude, it didn’t--” 

“What the fuck do you know about my business?” He snips. 

“As much as I wanna know. Nada,” you roll your eyes and manage to break free. “Ouch, bro.” 

“Bro?” He grimaces. 

“Dude, sir, whatever,” you huff and catch the blanket as it slips, “I’ve been nothing but nice, you know, but you’re starting to piss me off.” 

“I’m pissing you off?” He tilts his head and crosses his arms, “you--” 

“Got it. You can’t stand me but it didn’t stop you from diving into my southern hemisphere,” you sniff. 

The air roils with his agitation. You hug yourself defiantly as you cling to blanket and stare him in the face. He looks down at you, bringing a hand up to rub his chin. He sucks his teeth and reaches with his other hand to yank the blanket away. You cry out, hanging onto it as he lurches you.  

The blanket stretches between you in a tug-of-war. He nearly takes you of your feet as he gives it a hefty pull. You hold onto it, planting your feet but he easily keeps hold of his end. You use all your strength to add to the tension and as you see him go to yank again, you let go.

Lloyd staggers back as the blanket drops from his grasp. He flails and hits the chaise, crashing over it as he bounces off the cushion onto the other side. He groans as his feet remain atop the velvet. You inch over to look at him, his shoulders to the floor as his face strains. 

“You stupid little bitch,” he growls. 

“Sir,” you bite down on a smile as you stand over him, “why are you so mad? You won.” 

[danikamariewrites]

I LOVE your Feysand & Reader fics. Especially the housewife series. Could I please request a fic that takes place shortly after Gone Girl where they've been overprotective for a few months and it's really starting to grate on her nerves. She needs a break from them in Velaris. One of her solo shipping trips. Something where she purchases presents for both of them. Maybe she stops at a cafe for crepes and hot chocolate. And she knows that she's being tailed but takes it as the big step it is.

Over My Shoulder

Feysand x reader

a/n: I'm so sorry requests are taking so long, I think I've hit a bit of a writing slump. I love this idea so much and they would def be very overprotective of reader. Also, I've seen all your kind comments and want to say thank you❤️.

warnings: none

For the first few weeks after the incident you didn't leave the house. It was your choice at first. Feeling more comfortable under Feyre and Rhys's watchful eyes. You wouldn't even walk Nyx to school unless your mates or other members of the Inner Circle were with you.

Hell, you wouldn't even go to the farmers market. You sent Cassian and Azriel once which was a huge mistake. As you had unpacked the bags with them the warriors were so proud. That was until you had to educate them on the differnce between cabbage and lettuce.

Azriel was giving his brother a look that said I told you so. Cassian had pursed his lips dropping the cabbage on the counter. He the proceeded to hold out a yam, asking if it wasn't a special potato.

When the weather started to turn you started to go stir crazy. Just sitting in the garden and going on short walks wasn't cutting it anymore.

"I think I'm ready to go out. Like in town and stuff." You bring up that night as the three of you lay in bed. Feyre and Rhys freeze next to you. You didn't need the bond to feel the nervous energy radiating from them.

They didn't need to say they were scared of letting you out of their sight. Rhys has always been terrified to be away from you and Feyre. But after somethig like this. Your kidnapping still felt fresh to them.

Rhys pulls you tightly to his chest, rubbing your hair soothingly. You feel Feyre move, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her head against your back. Before they can say anything you add, "Not alone, not for awhile. But with you guys or the family." Your mates seemed to relax at that.

"Ok," Feyre mumbled. "Why don't we go to the cafe you like after we walk Nyx to school." "I'd like that." You mumble into Rhys's chest.

It took you a few weeks to get comfortable. Then some more time to trust anyone who wasn't Feyre and Rhys. It broke Cassian's heart to see you so jumpy.

Months later you finally gained the confidence to venture out on your own. Feyre and Rhys were hesitant to let you go. You wanted your independence back, it's been driving you nuts having them breathe down your neck. It started feeling like you were a kid they were babysitting.

You wanted to get back to your routine. It is Thrusday, meaning it's family night. And what better way to get into your routine than food shopping and setting up for game night.

You decided to pull out all the stops for tonight. On your to do list is find a new board game and make a dessert you found in a new recipe book the House of Wind so kindly gifted you on your last visit.

Leaving the house you gave them each a kiss goodbye. You couldn't leave fast enough honestly. It felt like they were letting you go a little too easy. Stepping onto the porch you shrugged the feeling off, basking in the mid-morning sun before starting the walk into town.

With an iced coffee in hand you set out on your little shopping adventure. After your stop in the toy store for a new game you ran into Mor. Instead of just saying hello she continued walking with you until the farmers market.

Picking up an apple you swear you see a shadow quickly slink to the ground. Tilting your head your eyes wander across the fruit selections, watching for any other shadows. You continue with shopping for ingredients for tonight.

After the farmers market you take a detour on the way home, stopping at your favorite bookshop. It's been months since you've been here. Relying on the library at the House of Wind. As much as you love the endless selection you miss getting your own books.

Looking down at the cobblestone street you notice soemthing off about your shadow. Like something was tariling you. Stopping you quickly look around the street, paranoid that it could be something more.

Something blue catches the sun at the entrance to an alleyway to your left. It disappears into the unsual darkness for this time of day. As you keep staring the blue gem reappears, followed by three more and then a face only you would be able to see in the darkness. Azriel gives you a nod as a small, calming smile crosses your lips.

You continue walking, the bookstore only a few paces away. You couldn't believe your mates were having you followed. You thought you were at a point where you didn't need to be looked after. You let out a mental groan hoping it was loud enough for Rhys to hear.

The bell above the door to the shop rings and you shake it off. Marcy greets you cheerily, "Y/n! It's been so long, how are you." The female rushes over to you, embracing you in a warm hug. "I'm good honey, how are you?"

The two of you fall into easy conversation as she shows all the new books she got in. You periodically glance out the window to see if Azriel was still watching you. You shake your head, letting out a small chuckle. "What's up?" Marcy gives you curious look.

"Nothing," you wave her off, "just remembering something Rhys and Feyre said earlier." New customers come in Marcy leaves you to wander.

It's hard to focus on the titles in front of you with the thought of Azriel outside, waiting for you to make your next move. It's not so bad, you think. At least Azriel isn't standing right next to you. If this is what it takes for them to have peace of mind then you'll let it slide.

[tarjapearce]

soccer family

how did miguel propose 👀💍

The serious questions yo ❤️✨

Hope you like 🥹✨

Time and life were funny. Sometimes funny in the good kind of way, sometimes in the oddest sorts. If someone would have told Miguel those three years ago, in that evening at Peter's carneada that he would meet his future wife, he'd surely would've just rolled his precious mahogany eyes at cuss in spanish at whoever speaking such nonsense.

He wasn't in the look for someone, yet there you were, his serendipity. Coming into his life like an unforgiving hurricane of things and emotions he had never had the time nor the interest in experiencing at their fullest.

Yet, there you were.

Blatant, not giving two shits on his scary nature, fascinated by him through and through and brazen for making a move. That had surely sealed the deal for him.

He wasn't one for backing away from difficulties, he knew much the challenge he represented to others. And still, you did not only pass it with flying colors, but had actually enjoyed it. Enjoyed him; and in all truth, he enjoyed you too.

Enjoyed the push and pull you offered, the demented moments that certainly earned his brain another wrinkle since he was learning so much from you. Enjoyed your attention and how willingly you'd bask him into it. You were his nepenthe.

How gentle and patient you were with him, when everyone expected so much out of him. Of course he was a genius, or else he wouldn't be into the Lab's head division back in Alchemax. But the way you made him experience things felt surreal, and the feeling increased ten times fold when you shared your first kiss.

The way your lips had tasted and devoured each other was engraved into his core memories. The way you both had explored and shared your emotions was exciting, thrilling yet oh so scary for him.

He wasn't one used to be taken care of. He was the caretaker. A self imposed role he always seemed invested in. But your little ways of weaving into his heart and mind showed him a new perspective of the world he often ignored.

He'd never forget how gentle and careful your tiny fingers were, when helping him patching up in that dirty soccer game. How shameless you were enjoying his reactions. How gorgeous you looked when your eyes wrinkled when laughing your ass off at his suffering. Cruel, but so so hypnotizing.

You'd soon become his wonderwall. His obsession and the only reason he'd go to social gatherings really. If you were there, everything was as it should be. Wonderful, the world would keep spinning normally, but in the few times your absence said present, he'd go home early. Bored out of his mind, the rest was too simple and unworthy of his attention.

Of course, women threw themselves at him. Appearance wasn't something he indulged too much neither care. He was aware of his looks, specially on his little pair of abnormal fangs you loved to feel, for whatever reasons.

"I just do." You'd tell him. And that was more than enough motive to stop worrying over them. You loved them. You loved him.

Every bit of his unwanted self, you made sure he'd know how much you enjoyed it, how much you cherished that certain part he had grown uncomfortable with through his younger years and he'd do the same for you.

After you had shared your bodies, there was no turning back for him. He gave everything of himself into you. His flesh, his scent, his energy and love to you. Something so raw yet pure that turned you into his inspiration, his muse.

You always strived to be better, for yourself mostly.

"How can one be the best version of oneself if we don't grow ourselves as individuals? I want you to have the best of me."

You'd shared in between giggles and drunken thoughts.

He adored your drunk self but would never admit it out loud. You'd come up with the most random yet brain eater questions you could imagine.

He'd fear that day that nearly lost you completely over his stupid pride. A fight ignited by your family. A reason to rarely and never visit them.

He loved your mind. And as months passed on you both, he learned how to love your flaws as well.

And now, three years after, you had given him one of his most precious gifts. His firstborn. His daughter. His child. The result of his unbridled love towards you.

You were his. But of course you had no ways to prove it to the world.

He'd spend hours if possible, watching you through loving yet stoic eyes, feed his little bundle of love, that was overjoyed whenever he held her.

A little Gabriella that was now deep asleep into her crib, in her own room, under his roof. Of course you'd move in with him when Gabi was born. It was the right thing to you.

Six months had passed since her birth, and three years with six months had passed since he met you.

You crawled under the sheets, quanked, yet with the little bits of energy you had left, curled into his chest. Seeking his blanketing warmth. His chest your safe space.

"Took me longer this time to make her fall asleep"

"Yeah. Maybe we should take her to the doctor."

His brows knitted together briefly before kissing your forehead.

"I'm pretty sure she'll be fine."

Silence crawled on you both as you just relished into each other's company. His heartbeat kept pounding in his ears.

The past year and a half had gone through but a certain question was always present. Why hadn't he ask you sooner? It didn't matter.

You remained at his side. So ever loyal, so brave, so rident and brisk. You were exactly what the hypothetical cupid delivered him after his secret longings.

"Mi reina?" (My queen)

An endearing term he only used when discussing serious matters. Despite the exhaustion taking your body hostage, you inquired him with a small and sleepy 'Hm?'

"Would you marry me?"

Eyes looked up at him, a mix of surprise and anger. Surprise that he'd ask such thing out of the blue and anger for the question to be so... powerful and simple that left you speechless. And still, you couldn't help but chuckle out of nervousness.

"It's not a laughing matter corazón. I mean it. Would you marry me?"

You felt your left ring finger being adorned with a golden band that against all odds was perfect in your finger. Like he had forseen this for quite the time.

But it also made sense. All those little moments of him touching and examining your hands resumed into this moment.

"Of course I wanna marry you, tontito" (dummy)

He chuckled as he caressed your hair in his own self grounding and reassuring touch.

"Good. Good."

"Te amo."

His heart wasn't raging anymore, but soaring into this quiet and maddening joy. You had said yes. The words he so yearned for you to say , finally spoken to his heart.

"También te amo, preciosa."

Your own heart soared in bliss at the words you had been secretly practicing over and over. You no longer had to practice, since one of your secret and wildest dreams had came true.

[gretavanlace]

Sugar II (part 9)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, angst, language, the tiniest amount of alcohol consumption, digital penetration, masturbation, oral sex (fem rec), anal play, unprotected sex, etc

Okay, sweet peas, we’ve got one more chapter to go (maaaaybe two idk), but all your favorites will be back! Plus an epilogue. Thank you so much for sticking with me after I did sugar jake so dirty the first time around ❤️

The air is lush and fragrant with herbs, sizzling eggs, and Jake when you wake - though his side of the bed has already cooled.

He’s all around you. Clothes and scuffed boots tossed about the room. Guitar case propped open sans Gibson - where has she gone? The scent of his skin clinging to yours. The gentle bustle of him milling around in the kitchen. You roll over and shamelessly bury your face in the pillow he rested his pretty head upon last night. Drawing him in with a shiver of content…he is home and you are basking in the comfort that is the great return.

He’s humming something to himself, and though you can barely hear - and you certainly can’t place the song - you try to hum along, laughing quietly to yourself when it comes out sounding muddled and strange as you search for a melody you don’t know.

It doesn’t matter. If he’s humming, you want to hum along. You’d like to walk beside him always, twisted and tangled together like a silken braid of devotion.

Seduced by his silly siren’s song, your feet hit the floor as you search for something to throw on. You settle on the black blazer he’s tossed over the back of a chair and pad down the hallway. Lulled and lured by his quiet chaos.

You find him, back to the doorway, gingerly shaking a pan with one hand and tossing what looks to be diced veggies with the other, totally at ease and at home. A gorgeous, disheveled chef complete with yesterday’s sweats, t shirt that’s torn at the neck, and tangled hair.

Should you stand and watch him awhile? It sounds tempting…to watch him work, a sneaky, head over heels fly on the wall. The way he moves, every shift of muscle is intoxicating. Yes, you are bewitched, but even standing here bathed in his presence, you miss him, and that wins out.

”Morning, Jakey,” you smile, breaking his concentration.

”There’s my sugar,” he tosses you a look over his shoulder that stops your heart. “I’m making you breakfast, my love. Would you like coffee or tea?”

Bare feet dancing over chilled tile, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek between his shoulder blades, “Whatever you’re having.”

He backs up a little, no doubt worrying about your arms - though they are protected by his jacket - being too near to the stove, and turns, pulling you closer while walking you backwards towards the island, “How about we share a cup of tea? You hungry?”

Flashes of memories burn through your brain…last night, in the foyer wrapped up together on the floor while he kissed your body and wept. On the couch while you talked about how exactly this all might work. Later, in a bed that wasn’t yours, in sheets you wouldn’t wash.

You should be thoroughly sated, but yes…you are hungry.

”How’d I get so lucky, little girl?” His lips curve into a grin that derails your thoughts and replaces them with something much softer. Your heart is weak for the look in his eyes…the unapologetic, worshipful love that blazes there. “How did I manage to earn this?”

”Earn what?” You smile back, praying that the emotion pounding in your heart is as evident in your gaze as it is in his, “Us?”

His eyes duck away with a shy nod, “I just never thought I’d have you like this again. In my arms, not going anywhere. Staying.”

Your fingertips are at his cheeks, sweeping over the perfect warmth of his skin, soft as air, “Jake, you didn’t earn anything. You’ve always held my heart.”

Still unwilling to meet your gaze, he rests his forehead on your shoulder. “You took it away.”

”No,” you argue in a hush. Can he really not see? “I left it with you. You’re the only reason it beats, anyway. But if you don’t feed me soon, I fear I may perish.”

”Drama queen.” He grins, pecking your cheeks each in turn, grateful that you’ve eased his mind and calmed his tender nerves.

The kettle begins to scream and you patter off to the table tucked into the corner, homey and quaint, to watch him work to take care of you. Soon, you’re gifted a steaming mug along with another kiss dropped atop your head. “Splash of rum and a sprinkle of cinnamon, sugar. It’s 9 o’clock in the morning, you lush.”

”Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me, Jake?” You tease back, watching as he moves to finish things up at the stove, throat seizing with aching affection…he remembers how you take your tea.

”I don’t have to get you inebriated for that,” he sounds gravelly and full of himself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I could fuck you however and wherever I so felt the inclination, my lovely little doll, and you would grace me with your gracious and enthusiastic appreciation.”

You bat your lashes wildly at him as he presents two plates heaped with brightly colored, expertly sautéed vegetables and fluffy, scrambled eggs like cheery, sunny clouds. A bowl of swollen, fuschia raspberries deposited between your plates like a pile of sweetened jewels steals the show. “Oh, be still my heart…you know how I enjoy it when you speak like a dictionary.”

”I know, sugar,” there’s that beaming smile of his again as he offers you a berry, lightly teasing it at your lips until you open up for him. “plenty more where that came from.”

A comfortable quiet sparks to life as you both dig in and pass the teacup back and forth. He finally breaks it, speaking up around a bite of potatoes and peppers. “I spoke to Josh this morning.”

”And how is your missing piece?” You quirk an eyebrow over the top of the cup you have now commandeered.

He leans back in his chair and settles his gaze upon you, clocking your expression closely, searching for a reaction. “Obnoxious as ever. He’s annoyed with me because I haven’t looked over the lyric revisions he sent me, and I certainly couldn’t care less if I actively tried. However, he’s very excited to see you. Cross though he might be with his dear brother.”

”Hello, Oliver,” you wink, “Let’s have Jacob back, shall we?”

You haven’t forgotten Jake’s tendency for trotting out Mr. Reed when he’s dipping a toe or two into the waters of vulnerability.

“Do you miss him?” He asks quietly, “Do you want things to be the way they were before? Because I can live with that if it means you’ll stay.” He rushes on as if he fears he may lose his nerve. “I want you to be happy, whatever it takes, I just want you to be happy.”

Fork clinking lightly against your plate as your focus zeros in on his lovely face, you lean forward and reach for his hand “Did he tell you he came to see me? After I ran into Danny that day?”

His fingers slip into your waiting palm with a soft squeeze, “He mentioned that he found you and asked you hide away until we’d gone. I’ve never wanted to hurt him as badly as I did then. Not even when we were young and stupid. Not even that night, when he forced me to let you go.”

“He was only trying to protect you, jake.” Your head tilts, watching residual pain flare to life in his eyes. “I’ve done a great many things to hurt you, it’s a wonder he doesn’t hate me for it.”

“He could never hate you, sugar. Don’t say things like that, it would break his heart to hear them.” The conviction in his words is fierce, and that makes sense…they share a life force at times, it seems.

“He did ask me to hide away, yes…” you nod, wrapping your free hand around his knuckles, warming his touch with your own, “But did he tell you anything else about our visit? Did he tell you how easy it was for us? How we caught up and laughed and looked at each other like very old friends that had been lost to each other for too many years?”

His shoulders tense as though he’s bracing for a gentle impact, but on you march, whispering to him in this unfamiliar kitchen that feels fat full of love.

”Did he tell you that it didn’t even hurt, our being in the same room with everything so fucking different? Did he know that all I could do was sit there, falling silently apart and searching for you in his eyes?”

“But you loved him.” Now it’s his turn to search your eyes, but for what you’re not sure. “I don’t want you to have to tamp that out. Not ever. You love so beautifully, sugar. I can share.”

”I did love him,” you nod. “Very much. A long time ago. I love him still. Differently. And not the way I love you. I have never loved anyone the way I love you. You don’t have to share. Not anymore.”

His grip is pulling at you now, tugging you to your feet and into his arms, creaking the worn wood of his chair beneath the weight of you both as he buries his face into your bare chest, hiding his tears in the lapels of his blazer as he weeps into your skin.

“Shh, baby,” you soothe, stroking through his hair, holding onto him as he clings to you as if you might vanish like a sigh.

His face tilts upward, lips brushing over your chin and jaw, licking and tasting you through his tears. “I love you, sugar. Sometimes I feel like all this love I have for you is just going to break me into pieces, like I can’t hold it all inside. There’s no room for it. I’m too small.”

”Jake,” you feel like you could break into pieces right alongside him as he begins tugging his jacket away from your shoulders.

He shakes his head, hushing you silently, “So, I’m going to take all this love and I’m going to give it all to you. And I’m gonna fill our house with it, press it into the walls and let it seep into the floorboards. Every nail and every window is going to feel it. The pipes and hinges. The chimney is going to breathe it into the night when we light fires in the winter. And we’re going to have babies and I’m going to love them just as much, and I can’t wait to watch you love them…”

You feel baptized in his tears and the wet, warm press of his mouth as he tattoos beautiful promises into your flesh. How could you ever have believed that you wanted anything other than this?

“I’m going to exist for you every single day, sugar…” a sob escapes him, though he tries so hard to bite it back, “I already do…I always have.”

“I know, baby…it’s okay,” you’re kissing adoration into his hair, combing your fingers through the tangles, coddling him and cooing the softest endearments, desperate to mollify his soul, fraught to offer him peace. “Please don’t cry, jakey. You know I can’t stand it.”

Hearing his own words lilting off of your tongue, he pauses and gazes up into your eyes like he sees everything he’ll ever need in them, “When I said that to you, I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be…gone. I didn’t want to live in a world where you wore his ring on your finger with tears in your eyes. Will you miss him?”

Should you lie? Perhaps. But wouldn’t he see the untruths lying bare? Wouldn’t that hurt even worse? Your deception?

“Yes,” you nod, petting him as he presses in closer, “he was kind to me, and sweet. He made me laugh. He made me half-way happy enough to pretend. I’ll miss him sometimes…but never enough to look back and regret chasing after you.”

“I’m glad he was kind to you,” he whispers, kissing a drunken, winding path across the tops of your breasts, “you deserve kind. He loved you, I could see that. I didn’t want to, but I could. And maybe I hated that, but I would have hated the alternative so much more. I’m sure he loves you still.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you laugh softly, “he wasn’t very pleased with me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sugar,” he stares up at you with eyes laced heavily in adulation, “you don’t leave a man alone so easily. You linger and overstay your welcome in the worst way. Learn to leave a room, sweetheart.”

He has pulled another laugh out of you, louder and bell like this time…it twists his heart with heated, pulsing adoration.

”Jake,” you pause, waiting for him to give you his honey brown eyes, “You were right when you said none of it matters. This matters.” Your palm finds your heartbeat for a moment, and then his own.

”I know, my love…” tears skate along his lash line like blissful, shimmering quartz, “I know.”

~

His mouth is at your throat, gentle hand splaying out across your abdomen, holding you down against the cool, polished wood of the table.

Fingers playing at your lips, he breaks a raspberry apart between his fingers before sweeping it over your waiting tongue. “You’re so beautiful, sugar. Aren’t you? Aren’t you my pretty, pretty girl?”

His shirt has landed on the tile, forgotten and worthless to this task at shaking hand.

“Yes,” nails digging into his shoulders to remind him of where you’ve been, of where your touch belongs, you nod fervently beneath his kiss, “I’m your pretty girl, Jakey. I’m your girl.”

Lips beginning a path up your cheek to your temple, he hums euphorically and grasps at your ankles, tugging gingerly until your heels are resting on the table. “Will you show me?” His voice is silken and inquisitive, tongue fluttering over your earlobe to bring chills to life inside you. “Hmm? Will you show me how pretty you are for me?”

”Anything,” you pant, arching away from the table, desperate to be closer to him as he pulls back.

You watch on, body throbbing and screaming for him while he pops a raspberry into his mouth and settles back into his chair, legs spread wide, hands fisted into flexing balls at his knees, “Touch yourself for me, sugar. Rub your sweet little clit, nice and slow, just for me.”

Maybe you’d like to say your body protests, maybe you ought to say that you shy away, maybe if you weren’t so indescribably in love with him you’d do both of those things, but as it stands….

….as it stands, you give him what he’s asked for without thought. There isn’t a breath of hesitation. You simply roll two fingers over your tongue, reach down between your thighs, and begin.

The hushed moan that tumbles off the tip of your tongue tugs a sigh from his lungs that sets you further on fire. He sounds so beautiful, so wholly under a spell that you can’t fathom having the ability to cast over this deity of a man.

“There’s my good girl,” he is so quiet, you’d scarcely hear him were your focus not so completely honed in on jake jake jake, “Does that feel good, little girl? Is my sugar making that pretty pink pussy feel just so nice?”

He is an obscene angel staring you down with snarled hair and wicked sin in his wild eyes.

A trembling sound is all you’re able to manage as your touch dips inside yourself to draw slick back up to your clit.

”Yeah?” he tilts his head, watching you reverently, “It looks like it does. You’re dripping all over the table. I want to lick it up.”

“Please,” your fingers circle faster, but something is missing. He, close though he might be, is missing.

”Please, what?” He sounds as needy and hungry as you feel. “Tell me what you want me to do to you and I’ll do it, baby. Whatever you want…I’ll fucking do it.”

”Your mouth,” your legs spread wider until your hips protest, and then you spread a little wider in offering. “I’d like to have your mouth please, Jakey. Please. lick me, please, please.”

A groan rumbles out of his chest like pained thunder as he wraps his arms around your thighs, tugging you in and burying his mouth exactly where you’ve so politely begged for it. Another anguished sound pushes from his lungs as he drinks down his first mouthful of you.

The tip of his tongue teases over your shivering clit, and then slinks down to dip inside you, and then down farther still to lap against that heavenly little spot where it shouldn’t be.

He hums against you while you whine and yank at his hair, pulling his kiss in closer as your hips lift away from the wood you’re making such a mess of.

“Fuck,” your fingers lace through his hair perhaps just a bit too tightly, but a quiet grunt signals his appreciation, “right there.”

“I know where you like my mouth every now and then, sugar,” his words are hot against you as his thumb slides, warm and thick, inside your cunt “Dirty girl.”

Watching you shy away so endearingly squeezes at his chest. You have always given yourself to him so completely. You have always been his girl. His mouth has known every breathtaking inch of your body in a hundred different lifetimes. His heart has known your heart in a thousand more.

Your fingers search out your clit, neglected and crying out for attention, completing that lovely trifecta as you rock your hips, fucking his face without shame.

He is yours and you will take him.

Your belly is burning, white hot and tight, coiling and churning as your body begins to tremble and flush.

“Gonna cum…” A complete sentence seems an impossible task “I— oh, please, please, please,”

His fingers replace his thumb with a feral growl low in his throat, tucking up in behind your clit as you watch his arm begin to move rhythmically below the table.

”Don’t cum,” you order through whimpers and whines that sound anything but authoritative. How difficult it proves to be to be bossy when his tongue is warm and wet where you shouldn’t adore it so damn much.

”I won’t,” his promise is beautifully muffled. “But I want you to do it. Cum for me, fuck doll…give it up pretty.”

You tighten deliciously around his searching tongue and delving fingers as it crawls through you like sinking into a warm bath that swirls with glittering, lilac goldfish. They kiss your skin soft as monarch wings; strange, swimming beings in the waters that are Jacob. It is lovely, though given the filth that has ushered you into this state, maybe that makes no sense.

He works you carefully until your breathing begins to stutter and gasp uncomfortably, and then there is his striking and stunning face - cheeks blazing with desire - kissing and licking up your body as you squirm languidly.

“Was that good, baby?” His teeth are dragging against the swell of your breast now, igniting a fire within you anew.

Jacob, always so cocksure and confident, sounds famished for your approval. How strange.

You hand it over willingly and honestly, on a silver platter of affection, “So, good, Jakey…I love you so much.”

“You taste like fucking candy everywhere,” his praise is little more than a whispered murmur as he buries into the crook of your neck, “I want you in my mouth and under my fingertips forever, for fucking always.”

The tip of his cock, full and hot like velvet, sweeps across your entrance, teasing inside just a breath before pulling back and then nudging in all over again.

“Put it in,” your fingers are clawing lazily at his hips, silently trying to guide him into action, “Fuck Jake, please baby, just slip it inside and—“

He grinds his hips forward, cutting you off, filling you up, pulsing and slick and hot and…

”My girl,” his words are humid at your throat as he whimpers through a physical shudder. “My sugar, my love. That’s my baby, that’s it…taking it so well. You feel so fucking good.”

His wandering fingers find and sweep over your clit with a glide as sweet as satin, and it has you clenching down around him so wildly his eyes snap shut with a furrowed brow, mouth hanging open in a silent moan.

Buried to the hilt now, those eyes lull open to stare down where your bodies connect. “Looks so pretty stretched around my cock. How’d this little cunt ever get so beautiful?”

Your cheek turns to meet the cool of the oak you're draped across, embarrassed in the most blissful way, but he is positively weak for the way his words cause your thighs to tighten around his waist.

His name begins to burn out of your lungs, smoking into the sun-soaked kitchen like a prayer.

”That’s it,” he sounds faraway, like he’s crooning to you from across the room, “My name, sugar…always my name.”

And then, there is his thumb, soaked in your need and brushing against that spot just below where his cock is dragging in and out of your cunt.

A wanton cry for more bleeds out of you, bringing forth another knit of his brow as he sinks inside you to follow the deep thrust of his cock, “‘Oh my’, right sugar? Isn’t that how my fuck doll reacts? All sweet like a lady, to being filled up so full?”

His loving, mocking tone snatches you back full circle to that very first night with him that seems so long ago…he has been all you’ve ever wanted, ever since. He is all you will ever want.

He is every direction, the night and the day, every song ever written…every poem ever wept onto pages, every star that will light the skyline tonight and all the ones that came before. He is every beat of your pulse, every breath in your lungs - and when you breathe your last, it will be his name on your lips.

White explodes behind your eyes as fireworks detonate down deep inside you, sparkling a crackling-like frenetic energy throughout your nervous system until you are tightened up and writhing with it…cumming so hard, so fucking hard, that you nearly force his beautiful cock right out of your body.

He follows your lead and pulls away, tugging at himself violently as you shower down over him like the filthiest, most exquisite drops of summer-of-love rain.

“Oh fuck, sugar, please,” he’s whining as his release lands hot and frantic against your quivering stomach, but for what, neither of you know.

You’re lost in his faraway expression, watching him fight for a deep breath as you search for your own composure when your fingers sweep through a milky ribbon painted across your navel…you want to taste him, but his grip is wrapped firmly around your wrist in an instant, with your fingers nestled against his cashmere tongue.

“I’ll clean my pretty girl up myself, if she doesn’t mind.” His mouth brushes soothingly at your hip just before he begins licking up his own release, eyes cast upwards to your own as you shake, stunned and blissfully shellshocked.

At last, you find your voice as his bubblegum pink tongue curls over the last drop, “You taste good, don’t you, Jakey?”

“Not as good as you, sugar,” His mouth is on yours now, kissing far too sweetly for what you know him to be capable of. “not even close.”

“Shower?” He pops another raspberry into your mouth and then nuzzles against your nose.

”Bath.” You correct, nearly melting into the table beneath his love.

~

A sponge, fresh out of its package and now smothered in body wash, drags across your chest as his chest rests against your back.

”We leave tonight?’ Your voice sounds unfamiliar…too content, too relaxed. It’s been such a long time since you’ve sounded this way. Since you’ve been so completely happy.

”I wish we could stay longer,” he kisses at your drenched, now squeaky clean hair, “just you and me.”

”Me too,” you sigh, settling back into his embrace even more, “but I’m also excited to see those idiots you call brothers. Especially the baby.”

”He’s missed you.” More kisses to clutch at your already stolen heart. “Nothing was the same without you, sugar. Time to come home.”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @lvnterninthenight @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie @hugorobinson @jaketlove

[wannabehockeygf]

cut my hair - matthew tkachuk

part of the think later fic series

"Just wanna cut my hair Lose myself Make you sweat Go out and get messed up Find myself in your bed"

***

request: “heyyyyy me again. Would you be able to do another Matthew Tkachuk for cut my hair? a lil angsty and smuty with a happy ending. Thank you!”

summary: after being dumped, you make it your mission to have him regret everything. word count: 9.2k pairing: matthew tkachuk x fem!reader warnings: 18+ NSFW! Unprotected sex, talk about sex in the past, a lot of slightly kinky shit (biting and stuff like that, not too crazy), creampie, alcohol, sex in public (but sort of hidden?) degradation & degrading talk, toxic relationship. notes: - i actually started this a few days ago & then i got a request for something similar so i tweaked it. girl u read my mind.

-^ my loyal requester. please don’t worry about sending too much in, trust me I love you for it, but don’t expect things too quickly ❤️ - ^^ this is barely edited or proof read. i tried but there's gonna be repetitive shit & i'll probably end up tweaking it but here it is yayyy - haven't written smut in a while 😋 - guys as much as i love chucky & quinn i really would like to write about people from the team i support the most...(the leafs if you somehow couldn't tell?) so i'm gonna be focusing on them for a bit & if you would like to request one (or clayton keller, he's my exception) please do! - ^ that being said, i will start working on qhxga pt.3 soon. - in light of everything going on, i would like to clarify matthew has not drinken anything in this despite him being in a bar & this being fiction. PLEASE don't drink and drive. ***

You’re mad.

You’re mad about a lot of things. Which is weird, because usually, you’re not mad, you just bask in your misery all day.

You’re too touchy-feely for your own good. The sad girl act is getting old, and you know it.

At least, that’s what he told you.

“You’re so fucking dramatic! Like, holy shit, can you just let go for once and have fun? Because that’s it. That’s all we’re doing, we’re having fun. I don’t give a fuck about your feelings, I’m not the guy you’ll marry!”

The lump in your throat seems to grow by the second as you try to speak. “So what, you’re saying we should break up?”

Matthew scoffs over the line, and you can basically imagine him pacing his apartment, tugging at the curly strands of his hair as if it could make him think more clearly. “We were never dating! But if you really want to see it that way, then, fuck yes, let’s break up.”

The phone call ends with a click, but the sound echoes in your head like a slammed door. Matthew’s words hang in the air, and for a second, you just stand there, staring at your phone screen as if expecting an apology to pop up. But it doesn’t. Because he never does that.

You feel the burn of unshed tears behind your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not this time. His voice still rings in your ears, mocking you. You’re so dramatic. Maybe he’s right, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. You chew your lip, pacing your small apartment. Your reflection catches your eye in the hallway mirror—your long hair falling in waves past your shoulders, the way Matthew always said he liked it. Suddenly, the sight of it makes your stomach twist with resentment.

He doesn’t care about you. He never did.

The anger rushes through your veins, fueling you, pushing you towards the scissors in your bathroom drawer. You grip them tightly, the cool metal biting into your palm as you lift them to your hair. He liked it long, huh? A bitter laugh escapes your throat. Without giving yourself time to overthink, you hack off the first chunk, watching it fall into the sink. It feels… freeing. With every cut, it’s like you’re snipping away the pieces of yourself that he’s picked apart. The version of you that wanted him to love her. Gone. The version that begged for scraps of his attention. Gone.

When you’re done, you barely recognize yourself. The hair that once framed your face is gone, leaving behind a sharp, choppy cut that makes you look fiercer, harder. It feels good.

The little black dress hangs in the back of your closet, practically taunting you. You haven’t worn it in months—Matthew hated it. Said it was too much, too revealing, that it would draw attention. But tonight, that’s exactly what you want. You pull it on, the soft fabric clinging to your curves in all the right places. You glance in the mirror once more, a smirk curling your lips. Let him see what he’s missing.

“Let’s see who’s too dramatic now,” you mutter, grabbing your purse. The night is still young, and you know exactly where he’ll be. The bar on 5th Street, right near your apartment—his favorite, your least favorite. It always smells like spilled beer and desperation. Fitting, considering that’s where you met him.

Your heels click against the pavement with each determined step outside. You’re buzzing with anticipation, nerves, and spite. It’s like electricity under your skin, the kind that makes your hands shake but your heart pound in excitement. There’s something so satisfying about this, about showing up like this, looking like you don’t give a damn when, really, you give so many. Too many.

You try not to think about what he’ll say when he sees you. You can already imagine his eyebrows shooting up, that condescending smirk tugging at his lips. “What the hell did you do to your hair?” he’d say, because that’s Matthew—always focusing on the superficial, on the surface, never diving deeper. But tonight, you don’t want him to dive. You want him to drown.

The bar looms ahead, its neon sign flickering like some kind of cheap welcome–you know he’ll be here. You hesitate for only a second before pushing the door open, the familiar smell of alcohol and sweat hitting you like a wave. Your eyes scan the room, searching, until you find him. He’s leaning against the bar, laughing with some girl, unopened Corona in hand. He doesn’t see you at first, but you see him.

Your stomach twists in knots, anger and nerves swirling together. For a brief moment, you wonder if this was a mistake. If you’re being too... well, dramatic. But then his voice from earlier echoes in your head: “I don’t give a fuck about your feelings.”

Your spine straightens, resolve hardening like steel.

You walk toward him, every step feeling like an eternity. He turns, and there it is—his eyes widen, confusion flashing across his face before that stupid smirk settles in. He looks you up and down, taking in the dress, the hair, the new you. You can feel the anger bubbling up again, but there’s something else lurking beneath it—a twisted satisfaction at the way his mouth hangs open slightly, like he doesn’t know what to say. You arch a brow, waiting for the inevitable comment. He doesn't disappoint.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”

There it is. Just like you predicted, and somehow, it still stings. Of course, he’d focus on that first. Not the fact that you showed up here looking like a goddamn queen in the dress he hates, not the fact that you’ve changed in a way he can’t even begin to comprehend—no, it’s always the surface with him.

You cross your arms, throwing every ounce of defiance into your stance. “I cut it,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks for noticing.”

Matthew’s eyes narrow, his smirk faltering just for a second before he recovers. “Yeah, I noticed. What, you having a meltdown or something?”

There’s the laugh. The one that makes you feel small, like you’re just a joke to him. Your blood boils at the sound, but you force yourself to keep your expression steady, hiding the tremor in your voice as you reply. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I just got tired of pretending to be the version of me that you liked. Ever think of that?”

He blinks, thrown off by the venom in your words. For a second, you wonder if he’ll apologize, if he’ll say something that softens the sharp edges of this moment. But no. Matthew is Matthew, and his pride won’t let him back down.

“Jesus, you’re really something, huh?” His smirk deepens, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes now—something like recognition, like maybe he’s starting to see the version of you he never bothered to notice. The one that’s done waiting for him to care. “You don’t have to get all dramatic about it. We were just having fun, that’s all.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, each beat like a drum, loud and insistent. He’s standing there, smug and arrogant, as if he still holds some kind of power over you. Like you’re a joke. Like you haven’t just hacked off your hair and thrown on the dress that makes you feel like a goddess in defiance of everything he’s ever said.

And yet, despite the burn of his words, you can’t deny the pull. That stupid, magnetic draw that he has over you. You hate it. You hate him. But there’s something intoxicating about the way he’s looking at you now, a flash of something dangerous in his eyes. Something you recognize all too well.

“I’m dramatic?” Your voice rises, thick with sarcasm, but the pain seeps through, like a tear you can’t stitch up fast enough. “You’re the one who just broke up with me—or, sorry—broke up with me from the relationship that apparently never existed. So excuse me if I’m a little dramatic, Matthew.”

He leans back against the bar, taking another sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving yours. There’s that look again. You know it well—half-annoyed, half-amused, like you’re entertaining him somehow, like this whole mess is just another game to him. His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smirk. "Well, if you're gonna throw a tantrum every time something doesn’t go your way, maybe this is for the best.”

Your hands ball into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as the anger bubbles beneath your skin, ready to burst. You want to scream at him, to tell him he’s an asshole, that he’ll never deserve you. But the words lodge in your throat, tangled up with the hurt, and instead, all you can do is glare at him. God, you hate him. You hate how he knows exactly what to say to get under your skin, to make you feel small, even now.

But as much as you want to storm out, to prove that you’re better than this, you can’t. You’re rooted to the spot, locked in place by the storm brewing between you. The air feels electric, like something is about to snap, and you can feel it—this pull between the anger and something else, something darker and heavier.

You take a step forward, closing the distance between you two. The smell of his cologne—woodsy, warm—hits you, and it pisses you off even more because it brings back memories you don’t want. Late nights tangled in his sheets, the way his lips felt against your neck, the stupid, tender moments that don’t match this Matthew standing in front of you, smirking like none of it mattered. Like you don’t matter.

“God, you’re such a prick,” you mutter, your voice low, barely more than a whisper. But he hears it. His smirk falters for just a second, and in that moment, you see it—something cracks behind his eyes. A flicker of uncertainty, maybe even guilt. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Oh, I’m the prick? That’s rich coming from the girl who’s been throwing herself at me for months,” he fires back, his voice dripping with mockery. His words sting, but you don’t flinch. You’re done letting him hurt you. Not tonight, but then he keeps then talking. “You wanna know why I never saw this as anything more than fun? Because you pull this shit. Every time. You get all clingy and needy, and it’s fucking exhausting."

You stand there, staring at him, his words a knife twisting deeper and deeper into your chest with every syllable. Clingy. Needy. Exhausting. They echo in your head, bouncing around like cruel little taunts, each one sharpening your anger until it feels like it’s going to spill out of you, red-hot and uncontrollable.

Clingy? You’ve been "clingy?"

You almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it, but instead, the sound that escapes you is more of a strangled scoff. How dare he? How dare he act like you’re the problem? Like you’ve been the one hanging on too tight, when all you ever did was try to be close to him. All you wanted was to feel wanted by him, but apparently, that made you exhausting.

The room feels smaller, the air heavier, like the world’s closing in on you. Or maybe that’s just your body’s way of processing the tidal wave of rage, hurt, and—goddamn it—desire that’s pulling you in too many directions at once. You can barely think straight, your heart pounding in your ears as his smirk only deepens, like he knows he’s hit a nerve and is more than happy to twist the knife in further.

Exhausting? You can feel your blood boiling beneath your skin, heating you from the inside out. No, you’re not exhausting—you’re furious.

He has the audacity to stand there, cool as ever, his gaze sliding down your body as if this entire thing is nothing more than a minor inconvenience for him. You want to slap him. You want to scream at him. You want to walk out of this bar and never see him again. But instead, you’re rooted to the spot, because there’s something else simmering beneath the rage—a sick, twisted pull that’s keeping you here, stuck in this toxic mess of a situation, and it’s only getting harder to ignore.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you swallow hard, trying to compose yourself before you lose it completely. “Clingy, huh? Is that what you call wanting a fucking relationship? Needing someone to actually give a shit about you?”

Your words are sharp, biting, but there’s a tremor beneath them, the anger barely masking the hurt that’s been clawing at you since the phone call. Matthew doesn’t miss it. His eyes flicker, just for a second, like he almost feels bad, but then his expression hardens again, that irritating, cocky grin sliding back into place as if he’s made of stone.

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t act like the world’s ending every time I don’t text you back, we wouldn’t be here,” he retorts, his voice laced with mockery. He takes another step closer, his body towering over you, the heat of him pressing into your space, but you stand your ground, refusing to be the one to flinch first. “You get so goddamn dramatic about everything. I didn’t sign up for that shit.”

His words should make you snap, should make you storm out of this bar with your dignity intact, but instead, you’re frozen. Your heart is hammering in your chest, but not just from anger. No, it’s that stupid, horrible, unbearable attraction. The one that makes you want to punch him and kiss him all at once. The scent of his cologne strengthens, the same one that used to cling to your sheets after he’d sneak out in the morning. The same one that’s tied to every bad decision you’ve ever made where he’s concerned. And God, you hate him for it.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, voice low and tight, but your throat is closing in around the words. “I’ve been throwing myself at you? Right. Like you weren’t the one showing up at my place at two in the morning, wanting to ‘hang out’ when we both know what that meant.”

His smirk falters again, but not for long. He steps even closer, close enough now that you can see the flicker of something darker in his eyes. A spark that you know all too well. The same one that got you into this mess in the first place. You shouldn’t still be here, you shouldn’t still be entertaining this bullshit, but it’s like your body and mind are at war, and your body’s starting to win. Your fists clench at your sides as he leans in, close enough that his breath brushes your skin when he speaks.

“You loved every second of it,” he says, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “Don’t act like you didn’t. Like you didn’t beg for it.”

That’s it. That’s the final straw. Something inside you snaps, and before you can think better of it, your hand lashes out, shoving him hard in the chest. He barely stumbles, but the shock in his eyes is enough to make you feel a small, fleeting victory. “Fuck you, Matthew,” you spit out, your voice trembling. “I didn’t beg for shit. You’re the one who kept coming back, like some... like some goddamn parasite!”

The second the words leave your mouth, you expect him to snap back, to yell, to argue. But instead, his eyes darken, his jaw clenches, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at you now—like he’s two seconds away from either tearing into you or kissing you. And you hate that you can’t tell which one you want more.

The air between you is thick, suffocating. You’re breathing hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and he’s right there, barely inches away, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. And then, as if some invisible thread snaps between you, he moves.

In an instant, his hands are on you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward, and before you can protest or even think, his lips crash into yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s desperate, angry, a mess of teeth and tongues and heat. You want to push him away, to scream at him, to throw something, but instead, you find yourself kissing him back just as hard, your body betraying every rational thought in your head. It’s like everything inside you is on fire, all the rage and hurt and lust combusting into one reckless, overwhelming need.

His hands are rough as they grab your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasp into his mouth, your fingers tangling in the front of his shirt as if you’re trying to ground yourself, to keep from getting swept up in the tornado of emotions swirling around you. But it’s no use. You’re already lost in it.

The kiss deepens, and you can taste his signature mint gum on his breath, can feel the urgency in the way he’s touching you, like he can’t get enough. Like he needs you as much as you hate needing him right now. Your back hits the bar, and he presses into you, his body solid and warm, and it feels so familiar, so maddeningly familiar that you could scream.

This is wrong. This is so, so wrong.

But you don’t stop. Neither of you do. Because even though you know this is a bad idea, even though you know you’ll regret this in the morning, right now, it feels like the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping tightly, and you moan into his mouth, your body arching against his. The sound makes him groan, low and rough, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild, his lips swollen from the kiss. “You wanna get out of here, princess?” he whispers, his voice rough, “Or did you want to put on a show for everyone? You were obviously planning on it, with this slutty little thing.” he punctates his last words by snapping your visible bra strap against your shoulder, making you gasp.

Your breath hitches at the sting of his words, but there’s a part of you that thrills at the edge of humiliation, at the way he’s using your vulnerability against you. It’s twisted, but it’s like a key unlocking something deep inside you. You’ve been fighting so hard, trying to stay in control, but with him so close, with him touching you and talking to you like this, everything unravels.

“Get a grip, Matthew,” you manage to snarl, though the tremor in your voice betrays you. “You don’t get to act like you’re above this when you’re the one who dragged me into this mess.”

His eyes flash with something dark, almost predatory. “Dragged you? You came running. Don’t pretend you didn’t want this, didn’t want me to notice you. This whole act—” he gestures vaguely at your dress and hair, “—is just you trying to get me to see you. Well, guess what? I see you. And you know what? I don’t fucking care.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you can’t back down now. You’re in too deep, and the anger mixing with your lust makes you reckless. “I don’t need you to care,” you snap, grabbing his collar and pulling him closer. “I just need you to fuck me right now. Show me how much you don’t care.”

His lips are on yours again before you can even think, stealing your breath and your sanity all at once. You hate him for it. God, you hate how easily he can undo you, how quickly he makes you forget why you’re angry in the first place. But even as the thought crosses your mind, you’re kissing him back, harder this time, as if the sheer force of it will somehow knock sense into both of you. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

Your body presses up against his, the heat between you almost unbearable, and you can feel him smirking into the kiss, the bastard. You want to wipe that cocky look off his face, but at the same time, you want to see just how far he’s willing to push you. It’s like every nerve in your body is buzzing, caught between wanting to slap him and wanting to strip him down and ride him until neither of you can remember your own names. The worst part? You’re not sure which one you’ll end up doing first.

He bites down on your bottom lip, sharp and deliberate, and you gasp, the pain only fueling the fire inside you. "That all you got, princess?" he mutters against your mouth, his voice a low, mocking growl. It’s the same tone that’s always driven you insane, always made you want to throw something at him—and now, it’s making you wet. Great.

You narrow your eyes, wrenching yourself away from his mouth long enough to glare at him. “Don’t call me that,” you spit, hating how breathless you sound, hating how much you’re giving away with every ragged inhale.

He just grins, the kind of grin that makes you want to slap him, but instead, you find your hand curling into the front of his shirt, yanking him closer. “What, don’t like your cute little nickname? I thought you loved attention, baby.”

“I don’t need your fucking attention,” you shoot back, though the lie burns your throat on the way out. “I just need you to shut up and make yourself useful for once.”

He chuckles darkly, his fingers digging into your hips with bruising force, and something about the way he’s looking at you makes your stomach flip. You hate how easy it is for him to get under your skin, how quickly he can strip away all the walls you’ve built up around yourself. “Useful, huh?” he repeats, his voice dripping with mockery as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Funny, I don’t remember you complaining the last time I had you screaming my name.”

Your breath catches in your throat, but you refuse to let him see how much that rattles you. “That was a fluke,” you mutter, though your voice wavers. “Let’s not pretend it meant anything.”

That was a fluke? Did you really just try to sell that lie? The memory of his name leaving your lips—no, leaving your throat in a desperate, pleading gasp—burns behind your eyelids. You can still feel the ghost of his hands on your skin, the way he pulled sounds from you that you didn’t even know you were capable of making. And now, here you are, trying to convince him, and yourself, that it didn’t mean a thing.

Pathetic.

The silence stretches for a beat too long, your throat tight with the effort of holding back all the things you want to say, all the venom you want to spit right in his smug, infuriating face. He’s just standing there, practically vibrating with amusement, like he knows he’s won this round. And that—that’s what sends your anger spiking again, turning into something molten.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear, and you shiver despite yourself. “Fluke, huh?” His voice is low, dangerous, and you hate that it sends a ripple of something dark and wanting straight through your core. “So, if I touched you right now—if I slipped my fingers under that pathetic excuse of a dress—I'd find you soaking wet by accident?”

You hate him. You hate him so much, it hurts.

Without thinking, you pull back just enough to whisper, “Let’s get out of here.” Your voice is rough, breathless, and you hate that he’s the reason for it.

His eyes flash with something dark, something feral, and he smirks down at you, his lips swollen and red. “Yeah?” he taunts, his hands still tight on your hips. “You want me that bad?”

You grit your teeth, hating how he twists everything, how he always knows exactly where to hit. “Fuck you,” you bite out, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Take me somewhere, or I’ll find someone who will.”

His grip on you tightens dangerously, his eyes flashing with anger and something else, something possessive. “Over my dead fucking body.”

Before you can blink, he’s pulling you away from the bar, his hand gripping yours tightly, practically dragging you through the throngs of people. You stumble after him, your head spinning, your body still buzzing with adrenaline and anger and lust. The music pounds around you, the heat from the crowd suffocating, but all you can focus on is the way his hand feels in yours, the way your heart pounds in your chest like it’s trying to break free.

It’s reckless. It’s insane. And it’s exactly what you need.

The air outside should be cooler–but it’s not. It’s humid, sticky, and uncomfortably warm, Florida summers coming into full effect. The night threatens to swallow you both whole as he hauls you down a side alley, the noise of the club fading but the adrenaline still roaring through your veins. Every step you take feels like it’s leading you further into the eye of the storm, and even though you know there’s no going back now, you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

“What’s the rush?” you sneer, yanking at his hand, though not hard enough to actually break his grip. “Afraid I’ll change my mind?”

He glances back at you, that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his swollen lips. “Nah, princess. I’m just getting us somewhere quiet so I don’t have to listen to your whining while I fuck the attitude out of you.”

Your throat tightens, a hot flush crawling up your neck as you realize where this is headed. A dingy alley behind a club, dimly lit and reeking of stale beer and cigarette smoke—this is where it’s going to happen? Your body is screaming at you to care, to turn around and leave, but your legs keep moving forward, drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

He pulls you into a narrow alcove, barely wide enough for both of you, and the second you’re tucked inside, he’s on you. His body presses against yours, firm and demanding, and it’s all you can do to keep your knees from buckling as his hands grip your waist like he owns you.

This is ridiculous. How did you end up here? Again. Every damn time. You swore after the last time that you were done—that you wouldn’t let him crawl back into your space, under your skin, and wrap his filthy, bruising grip around your heart. But here you are, yet again, like some stupid moth drawn to the inferno that is Matthew Tkachuk.

You want to shove him away, to scream in his face that you’re not the girl who falls for this. Except, you know better. You are exactly the girl who falls for this. The one who caves when he looks at you with those maddening blue eyes. The girl who lets him wreck her in alleyways behind clubs in the sticky heat of a Florida night, knowing damn well how this will end: messily.

“Still pretending, huh?” His voice rumbles low against your ear, mocking and sharp. He’s pressed so close you can feel every word vibrate through you, igniting your nerves like a lit fuse. "You keep telling yourself you hate this, but you're so fucking obvious. Look at you—" he pauses, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls your body tighter against his, "—practically melting into me. If you were any more desperate, you’d be begging."

The insult should sting. It should make you slap him, curse him out, anything—but instead, a fire blooms in your chest, fierce and hot, because the bastard’s not entirely wrong. And isn’t that just the worst part? He knows how to press every button, dig under your skin like it’s his damn playground, and worse yet, you let him. Every. Single. Time.

“You’re so full of yourself, you know that?” Your voice is breathless, each word shaky and ragged, but at least you still manage to get them out. “You think you’ve got me figured out? Please. The only reason I’m here is because no one else in this godforsaken place knows how to shut you up.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you regret them—not because you don’t mean it (you do)—but because it only serves to fuel him. That cocky grin spreads across his face, slow and deliberate, like he knows he’s won something. His eyes flicker with amusement, the kind that makes you want to punch him in the throat.

“Shut me up?” he repeats, one brow arching. He leans in, lips brushing your ear as he speaks, voice low and dripping with arrogance. “Funny, you didn’t seem so eager to shut me up the last time I had you moaning my name loud enough to wake up half the fucking city. So, what’s the plan this time? You gonna play hard to get until you’re dripping for me again?”

Heat rushes to your face, your pulse racing at the way he’s goading you. The memory of that night comes rushing back with startling clarity—the way he made you unravel piece by piece, the sounds he dragged out of you, your body shaking in his hands. No. Not again. You grit your teeth, fighting back the whirlwind of feelings that threatens to consume you.

“God, you really are delusional,” you bite out, shoving at his chest, though it’s mostly for show. His body barely moves under your weak attempt to push him off. “I’m not here because I want you. I’m here because I pity you. You always need someone to tell you what a good job you’re doing, don’t you, Tkachuk? Can’t go five minutes without being validated.”

It’s a low blow, you know it. But you’re playing dirty, because that’s what this is—dirty, ugly, and twisted beyond recognition. His expression darkens for a split second, and you think maybe you’ve gotten through that thick skull of his. But then his grip on your waist tightens painfully, and suddenly you’re pinned against the wall, your back pressing hard against the brick harder, the air punched out of your lungs by the force.

“Oh, I don’t need validation from you, princess,” he snarls, his face inches from yours now. His lips curl in that infuriating smirk, all teeth and malice, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “I get that plenty from everyone else. You’re just the one who can’t seem to keep your legs closed when I’m around.”

You hate that his words stirs something in you, some deep, primal urge you’d rather ignore. He can see it too, the way your breath catches, the faint flush that creeps up your neck. Every scathing insult, every venomous remark felt like a bruise that you both pressed harder into because neither of you could seem to stop. And worse, some traitorous part of you doesn’t want to stop. You’re furious—at him, at yourself, at how easily you let him turn you into someone else entirely. Someone who gets off on the ugly, spiteful mess you make together.

But what do you do when that mess feels so fucking good?

Your thoughts swirl, a chaotic storm, as his eyes bore into yours, dark and predatory, daring you to do something—anything. God, how do you always end up here? You swore you were done. You told yourself that the last time he fucked you against a wall like you were something to be used and discarded. You’ve never been able to stay away, though, and the worst part? He knows it.

“You’re disgusting,” you hiss, the words tearing from your throat as if that could somehow free you from the pull he has on you. “You think you can talk to me like that and I’ll still—” But your words die in your throat as his hand slides up your side, fingers pushing over the straps of your dress. The sensation makes you jump, a sharp gasp escaping before you can bite it back. Goddamn him.

His lips curve into a wicked grin, eyes narrowing like a predator who’s caught the scent of blood. “Still pretending you don’t like this?” he breathes, his voice a slow, dangerous drawl that rakes over your skin. His other hand trails lower, brushing the inside of your thigh, and your body betrays you—your legs quiver, and he feels it. Of course, he does. “Tell me again how much you hate this,” he mocks, his lips grazing your ear, the words sending a shudder down your spine. “Go ahead. Convince yourself you don’t want my hands all over you right now.”

I hate this. I hate him. You keep repeating it, as if the words could solidify and become truth, as if you could convince your traitorous body to listen. But no matter how hard you try to summon any real anger, all that rises is a wave of heat that feels like it's going to swallow you whole. You feel him smirk against your skin, his breath hot on your neck, and it makes something in you snap.

"God, you're so fucking predictable," you sneer, even though your voice trembles. "Always gotta prove you're the big man, huh? Does it get tiring, being this pathetic?"

You’re trying, trying so hard to dig your heels in, to maintain some sense of power in this wretched game you’ve both played a hundred times before. But you know—he knows—it’s crumbling fast. His hand is already inching higher, under your skirt, rough fingers ghosting along the inside of your thigh, and every ounce of resolve you cling to feels like it's slipping through your fingers.

Don’t react, you tell yourself. Don’t give him the satisfaction. But then his fingers brush the edge of your panties, and your whole body jerks involuntarily, a shuddering gasp escaping your lips before you can stop it. And there it is. The crack in your armor, the proof that despite all your sharp words, your body is already begging for him.

"Still got that smart mouth, huh?" His voice is velvet laced with venom, a dangerous drawl that makes your skin tingle. "It’s funny, you talk such a big game, but I’m pretty sure I can feel how much you want this. You’re soaked."

His words slam into you, making your cheeks burn with humiliation, but there’s no denying it. You can feel it—the heat pooling between your legs, the dampness that betrays everything you’ve been trying to deny. It’s pathetic, really. How he can reduce you to this, turn you inside out with just a few touches and that goddamn voice.

“I fucking hate you,” you hiss, pushing at his chest again, but the movement is weak, half-hearted. You’re shaking—whether from rage, lust, or some twisted cocktail of both, you don’t even know anymore. But he doesn’t move, not even an inch. Instead, he presses closer, so close you can feel every inch of him against you, hard and insistent.

“Yeah?” His lips curl into a smirk, eyes dark and glinting with amusement. “Funny how hate looks a lot like you grinding on me, sweetheart. You sure you don’t want to rethink that?”

Your body answers before your brain can. Without meaning to, your hips roll against him, just a slight shift, but enough to make his breath hitch. And God, the satisfaction that flares in your chest at that tiny victory is intoxicating. But it’s short-lived, because suddenly you’re hyper-aware of where you are—pressed against a brick wall in the sticky heat of a dimly lit alley, where anyone could walk by at any moment.

Your pulse spikes with a new kind of anxiety. “Wait,” you breathe, suddenly feeling exposed, raw. You push at him again, harder this time. “Not here. Someone could—”

But Matthew doesn’t even blink. If anything, his grin widens, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he leans in closer, his breath hot on your ear. “Oh, what’s this? Now you’re getting shy? That’s cute.” His fingers rub your thigh, a deliberate, maddening slowness that makes you want to scream. “Don’t tell me the idea of someone catching us is what’s really got you worked up.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, a dizzying mix of arousal and panic swirling in your veins. You’ve never been this close to losing control in public before, and the idea of someone seeing you like this—needy, desperate, coming undone under Matthew’s hands—it sends a jolt of fear straight to your core. Although you’d deny it, there’s a tiny part of you, buried deep, that doesn’t hate it.

“Matthew, I’m serious,” you manage, though your voice is strained, shaky. “We can’t—”

“Oh, now you care about getting caught?” he cuts you off, amusement dripping from every word. “Come on, don’t act like this is the first time we’ve done something reckless. Admit it—you like it.” His hand slips underneath your panties, pressing against the heat there, and your knees nearly buckle. “You like knowing someone might see what a filthy mess you are for me.”

A soft, involuntary whimper escapes your lips, and it’s like throwing gasoline on a fire. His grip tightens, his body pressing harder against yours, pinning you firmly in place. You can feel him—all of him—and it only makes the ache between your legs worse. Your body is betraying you at every turn, no matter how much your mind is screaming at you to stop.

“Filthy mess?” You force out a bitter laugh, your chest heaving, trying desperately to regain some sense of control, but your body is betraying you at every turn. You can feel the wetness between your legs, undeniable, a humiliating testament to just how much he affects you. “Coming from the guy who begged to get his dick sucked the last time? Please. You’re so easy, Matthew. One touch and you’re practically falling apart like a teenager.”

His eyes darken at the insult, that dangerous spark flaring behind them, and you know you’ve hit a nerve. But instead of backing off, he leans in, his lips grazing your ear as he speaks, his breath hot and ragged. “Keep running that mouth, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and lethal. “Let’s see how long you last before you’re begging me to fuck you.”

Your pulse quickens, your stomach twisting at the way his words seep into your skin like venom. You hate that he’s right—hate that he knows exactly how to unravel you with just a few touches, a few sharp words. His hand moves again, slipping further down, his fingers sliding over your slick folds, and you can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes your lips. It’s involuntary, humiliating, and the satisfaction that flickers in his eyes makes your blood boil.

His fingers press harder, slipping inside you, and a sharp jolt of pleasure surges through you, your knees nearly buckling from the intensity of it. You bite your lip, hard, refusing to let him hear how much it affects you, but the way your body trembles against his tells him everything he needs to know.

His lips curl into a wicked smile as he watches you fall apart, his thumb brushing over your clit with a gentle, almost mocking pressure. The sensation sends a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you, your knees buckling under the weight of it.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You're all bark, no bite. Always talking like you're too good for this, but look at you. Practically fucking yourself on my hand."

Your breath comes in ragged gasps now, your body shaking with the effort to hold back the moans threatening to spill out. The shame and arousal twist together in a tangled mess, leaving you dizzy and disoriented.

“I fucking hate you,” you spit again, but the words sound weak, hollow. You’re losing this battle, and you know it.

“I know, baby,” he coos, his voice soft and patronizing, fingers curling inside you just right, and fuck, you can feel yourself slipping. “You hate me so much you’re about to come on my hand.”

Your vision blurs, the world around you narrowing down to the feel of his fingers, the press of his body against yours, and the way every filthy, degrading word he speaks sends heat pooling low in your belly. You’re so close, teetering on the edge of something dark and all-consuming, and you know—God, you know—you’re not going to last much longer.

But Matthew isn’t done with you. Not yet.

His free hand slides up your body, fingers brushing over the fabric of your dress, tugging it down just enough to expose the curve of your breasts. His mouth is on you in an instant, teeth grazing your skin as he sucks a bruising mark into the delicate flesh. The sensation is enough to send you over the edge, a sharp, desperate moan ripping from your throat as your body convulses around his fingers.

“There it is,” he growls, his breath hot against your skin as he presses you harder against the wall. “There’s my good girl. You can pretend all you want, but this is who you are. Mine.”

The word echoes in your mind, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re nodding, breathless and trembling under the weight of his touch.

“Yes,” you gasp, barely able to form the word, your body still trembling. “Fuck, yes.”

You’re still reeling from the orgasm he ripped out of you, your legs barely able to hold you up as Matthew unbuckles his belt with that smug smirk never leaving his face. The sound of the metal clinking should send alarm bells through your mind, but all you can focus on is the throbbing ache between your legs, the way your body is still trembling in the aftershocks of what just happened. You can feel your own wetness on your thighs, sticky and undeniable, and it’s infuriating how much you want him again already.

Your breath is still ragged, and there’s a knot of panic building in your chest as you realize what’s happening next. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before—Matthew getting you worked up, wrecking you with just his fingers or his mouth, then leaving you raw and aching. But this? This is different. It’s so public, so reckless, and you’re spiraling, caught between the shame and the all-consuming need that makes you feel like you’re drowning.

His hands are rough, impatient as he slides the leather through his belt loops, and the sight of him makes something inside you twist. “What, can’t wait to get your hands on me?” He mocks.

“Shut up,” you snap, the words sharp, but your voice is ragged, breathless. You’re trying so hard to hold onto some semblance of control, but it’s slipping through your fingers faster than you can catch it. “Just—do you have a condom?”

For a second, you think maybe, just maybe, you’ve managed to cut through that smug, self-satisfied exterior. His hand stills on his belt, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at you, and then he snorts, a low, condescending sound that makes your stomach twist. “A condom? Really?” He leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck as he speaks, voice dripping with arrogance. “I don’t give a fuck.”

You blink, taken aback by how blunt he is. The rational part of your brain is screaming at you to push him away, to tell him to go to hell, but the rest of you—the messy, broken part that always falls for his shit—is already caving. There’s something dangerous about the way he says it, like he knows you won’t stop him. And God, isn’t that the worst part? He’s right.

“Of course, you don’t,” you hiss, trying to muster up some semblance of dignity even as your body betrays you, heat pooling low in your belly again at the thought of what’s coming. “But we both know you don’t want me to have your demon babies.”

His laugh is low, dark, and filled with derision. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, fingers working the zipper of his pants. “You’re still going to let me fuck you raw in this goddamn alley, though.”

Your mouth opens to protest, to tell him he’s wrong, that you’re not some pathetic, needy thing desperate for his attention, but the words die in your throat when his hand slips back under your skirt, gripping your thigh and hooking your leg around his hip–then pushing your panties to the side. You bite back a moan, your body trembling with the need for more, and the smug look on his face tells you he knows exactly how close you are to breaking again.

Before begin to think anything else, he’s lining himself up, his breath hot against your skin, and without warning, he thrusts into you, hard and fast, burying himself to the hilt. The sharp, overwhelming sensation rips through you, a gasp tearing from your throat, and for a moment, all you can feel is him—filling you, stretching you, claiming every inch of space you swore you wouldn’t give him again.

It hurts. It always does with him, at first—he’s too rough, too insistent, too much—but you’ve always liked the pain, haven’t you? That’s the sick, twisted truth of it. The burn, the way he takes without asking, the way he knows exactly how to push you to the brink—it all leaves you breathless, dizzy with need.

You dig your nails into his shoulders, trying to hold onto something, anything, but you’re unraveling, piece by piece. His hips slam into yours with a brutal, unrelenting pace, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing in the narrow alleyway. You can feel the dampness of your sweat mixing with the sticky night air, your skin slick against his, and it’s filthy. All of it. Filthy and wrong, but God, it feels so good.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you spit out between breaths, voice trembling from the force of his hips slamming into yours. His pace is punishing, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body, and you can’t help the way your nails dig deeper into his skin, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

Matthew grunts in response, his breath ragged against your neck. His lips skim over your ear, and his teeth nip at your skin, making you shiver despite the oppressive heat. “Says the girl getting fucked against a wall like a desperate little slut.” He’s ruthless with his words, throwing them like knives that slice straight through you, but the sharpness only spurs you on.

You bare your teeth and bite down hard on his shoulder, not holding back, feeling the satisfaction of his skin giving way beneath your teeth. It’s a desperate, feral reaction—your body’s twisted way of regaining some control. He hisses, his muscles tensing as your bite sends a shockwave through him. You know it hurts, and you want it to. You want him to feel a fraction of the chaotic mess he’s making of you.

But it only makes him rougher.

His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back hard enough that it stings. “Oh, you like playing rough now, huh?” His voice is a growl, low and dangerous. His grip tightens painfully on your leg as he slams into you harder, forcing you to choke on your next breath. “Biting me, clawing me like a desperate little whore—pathetic. You’re just pissed ‘cause you know how much you want this.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you lie, gasping as another wave of pleasure courses through you, your body responding despite your brain screaming at you to stop. It’s pathetic, truly—how your body betrays you, how you’re falling apart in his hands, coming undone at the same pace that he’s pulling you tighter against him.

He laughs, breathless and cruel. “Liar.” His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles, and you’re instantly undone by the sensation, your hips bucking against his despite yourself. “You’re squeezing me so tight, it’s like you’re trying to keep me inside you.” The smugness in his voice makes you want to slap him, but you can’t even think straight, not with his body driving into yours, his fingers working you over like you’re nothing but a puppet on strings.

Your response is unintelligible, more of a broken moan than actual words. You try, desperately, to hold on to some part of yourself, to remember who you are beneath all this anger and lust, but it’s slipping, unraveling with each thrust, with each word he spits at you. Your nails drag down his back again, harder this time, drawing a hiss from his throat, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter.

“You can keep trying to hurt me, sweetheart,” he says, voice rough, “but it just makes you tighter for me. Keep going—I can take it.”

You bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood, trying to stop the sounds that are escaping you. The alleyway feels suffocating, the heat of the night clinging to your skin, making everything feel more intense, more raw. The smell of sweat and sex mingles in the air, and you’re hyperaware of every sound—the way your bodies slap together, the wetness between your legs, the soft, desperate gasps that you can’t control.

“You’re going to regret this,” you manage to say, your voice trembling as you try, for the millionth time, to regain some semblance of control. It’s a weak threat, and you both know it. Matthew’s grin stretches wider, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“I’ve never regretted a thing with you,” he growls, his pace quickening. He’s relentless now, hips snapping into you with a force that makes your head spin, his thumb working over your clit faster. "Keep biting, sweetheart," he says through a tight grin, his pace never faltering, "I’ll make you scream for it."

And God help you, you do. Every thrust has you trembling, gasping, barely able to think beyond the white-hot pleasure searing through you. It’s too much, too fast, but you can’t stop yourself—you’re pushing against him, meeting every punishing stroke like you’re trying to match him in this sick, twisted game of dominance.

Your breath hitches, your body arching against his as that familiar, unbearable pressure starts to build low in your belly. You can feel it—feel yourself slipping, unraveling, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. His name slips from your lips, ragged and broken, and you want to hate yourself for how desperate you sound.

"Already?" he taunts, his voice low and dripping with condescension. "Didn’t take long this time, did it? Always so damn easy for me."

"Fuck you," you manage to gasp out, but it’s weak, barely above a whisper, because he’s right. You’re already falling apart around him, your body betraying you in the worst possible way.

"Too late for that," he growls, thrusting into you harder, and the sharp slap of his hips against yours sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through you. "You’re already fucked, baby."

And that’s when it happens. That tight, coiling knot inside you snaps, and you fall—hard. Your whole body clenches, thighs shaking as a violent orgasm tears through you, your head tipping back against the brick wall as a choked, guttural moan rips from your throat. You’re shaking, barely able to breathe, and he doesn’t stop. Not even for a second.

Matthew’s grip tightens on your hips, bruising, and he’s still moving, driving into you with a brutal intensity that makes your whole body ache. "God, you’re such a fucking mess," he mutters, his voice rough and breathless, and you can hear the strain in his tone, the way his own release is close, just out of reach.

Your fingers scramble against his back, your nails raking down the muscles there in a desperate attempt to hold on to something solid as your mind spirals. You can feel the raw scratches your nails leave behind, but it’s not enough—it’s never enough to satisfy the gnawing need to make him feel this too. You can feel him, hard and throbbing inside you, and somewhere in the haze of it all, you hear him grunt, low and rough. “Where do you want it, huh?” His voice is breathless, but there’s still that edge of arrogance in it. “Tell me. Where should I come?”

You should tell him to pull out. You should tell him you’re not that stupid, that you know better. But the words that come out of your mouth aren’t the ones you intended.

“Inside,” you gasp, before you can stop yourself. “I don’t care. Just—fuck, Matt, do it. Please.”

His eyes darken at your words, and you swear you feel him twitch inside you, his grip on your hips tightening as he slams into you one more time, burying himself deep. With a rough, guttural groan, he lets go, his body tensing as he spills inside you, the warmth flooding your core in a way that makes your already oversensitive body shudder.

For a moment, neither of you move, both of you breathing hard, the sticky heat of the night settling back in around you. You’re still pressed against the wall, your legs trembling, his body heavy against yours, and for a second, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he’ll say something that makes this less horrible. Maybe he’ll apologize or admit that this is as fucked up for him as it is for you.

"Need a ride home?" he asks, his tone almost casual, like he’s offering you a lift after a night out with friends and not after he just fucked you against a wall without even a second thought.

You blink at him, still too stunned to answer right away. "Are you serious?" you snap, your voice laced with disbelief. "After everything, that’s what you say?"

He shrugs, unbothered by your tone. "What? You wanna walk?" His eyes flick over you, taking in the disheveled state of your dress, your mussed hair, and the bruises already forming on your hips. "Thought you might want to clean up a little before you try to get into an Uber looking like that."

The nerve of him, acting like this was nothing, like he didn’t just wreck you in every possible way. "You’re such a piece of shit," you hiss, shoving him hard in the chest, though it feels more like an afterthought than anything else. You’re drained, physically and emotionally, but of course, Matthew doesn’t care.

He just laughs, low and dark, brushing off the shove like it’s nothing. "Yeah, well, you still let me fuck you, so what does that make you?"

You hate him. You hate him so much you can barely breathe through the anger, but all you can do is be dragged by him out of the alley, with a promise of nothing.

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 39

Synopsis : Simon comes over for dinner and Reader makes a mistake.

Tags : angst

Author's Note : I want to take a second to thank my dear @shady-577 who has the role of Very Important Reader ❤️. I usually run my ideas by her and she kindly reads my stuff ! Thank you so much ❤️

Y/N’s POV

Your friends made you delete the social media apps from your phone, for your own good. In hindsight, you were grateful, because seeing everyone comment and bring back your photos was doing a number on your mental health. Another thing you were grateful for was the presence of everyone who took the time to check in with you. Everyone around you made sure to show their support, even Marshall’s close friends and his family. When they first called or visited, you half expected them to encourage you to talk to him and patch things up but they didn’t. Porter even suggested that you let him bask in it for a couple of days. They were truly disgusted by the track and it made you feel a little better. It didn’t really change anything - what was done was done - but at least you felt valid in your feelings. 

The incident even prompted an unexpected reunion with none other than… Simon. Since the whole thing had gone viral, you weren’t surprised that he heard about it but you did not really expect him to call you. However, he did and he was really sweet. He showed support and even sent you a big bouquet of peonies to cheer you up, as soon as he learned that you were staying at Talia and Jamal’s. In fact, he called you practically everyday and made sure to get your mind off things. Every time you mentioned the incident, he encouraged you « not to think about it » and you had conversations about everything else. Back when you were first dating, you were impressed by the fact that he was very well-read, knowledgeable on a lot of topics. You spent at least an hour on the phone everyday, discussing politics, art, movies… what you enjoyed the most, though, was his humor and the fact that, even after all this time, you had a couple of inside jokes left. Talia saw what a breath of fresh air it was for you, and decided to extend a dinner invitation to him. She thought it would be good for you to socialize with someone you knew, that wasn’t a close friend or acquaintance of Marshall. Jamal wasn’t too keen on the idea, though. He had made his opinion of Simon quite clear in the past, and didn’t care for the way your ex had treated you, especially after the miscarriage. That being said, his fiancée didn’t give him too much of a choice on the matter and he ended up agreeing that, at least, it would be good to see you smile. 

When you brought it up to Marshall over the phone, you could tell he wasn’t too happy. However, he was in no position to tell you who to hang out with, after what he had put you through. 

Simon… Your ex, Simon ?! He asked. 

My friend Simon, you said in an annoyed tone. He’s been cheering me up. 

Ok, he sighed. So… when can I see you ? We need to talk. 

I don’t know, you replied. I think we should talk but… I don’t think I want to see you. 

There’s stuff I need you to see, he said. So that you… I don’t want to say you’ll understand but, yeah, i guess it’ll provide context. 

I guess I’m intrigued, you admitted. 

So… can I come and give it to you ? He asked tentatively. 

I don’t think it’s safe for you to come, you said. If Talia sees you, she will lose her shit. So will Jamal. Can’t you just… e-mail it to me ? 

I guess I can send it over, he said. Y/N, I… I miss you. So much. The cat misses you. Please come home. I need to see you. I need to talk to you, to-

It’ll depend on what you send, I guess, you cut him. I have to go. I have to get ready for dinner. Tell Wiz I love him. 

Sure, he mumbled. 

And hum… thanks for the public apology, I guess. 

You hung up the phone before he could respond. At first, you had been willing to call him but as soon as you heard his tone, his ever so apologetic voice… you were back to feeling angry. He was the one who had betrayed you and you were not about to give in to his own pain. You missed him, though. In fact, every night, you cried yourself to sleep and hated yourself for wishing he was by your side. But you were even angrier at him for what he had done. You knew he would hate the idea of you having dinner with Simon. And perhaps, on some level, it was exactly why you had been so quick to accept, when Talia suggested to have him come over. After all, Simon had been here for you this week. He had been the one to make you smile, laugh and regain a sense of self. He was the one who did what any loving boyfriend should have done. 

Dinner with Simon was fun. So much so that even Jamal laughed at his jokes and engaged in the conversation, in spite of his initial reluctance. No one spoke of the track that mentioned you, or pronounced Marshall’s name. It was just the four of you, talking about anything and everything, just like it had been, years ago. Talia and Jamal were your friends but they had always gotten along with Simon, for the most part, and you all shared some fun memories of your days in university. After dinner, Simon suggested the two of you go for a walk, after learning that you hadn’t really been out since the track leaked. 

I don’t feel like being the laughingstock of the neighborhood, you pointed out. 

It’s 9PM, there’s barely anyone out, he replied. And as long as you care about it, you’re not winning. 

I guess we can go out, you sighed. 

Talia seemed elated that you would finally go out. You went for a walk in some remote part of the neighborhood that had a small trail where people could go on walks. During the day, it was full of people who jogged or families with strollers. But at this time of the night, there was no one in sight. You walked in relative silence when Simon finally spoke. 

I had a lovely evening, he commented. Talia’s cooking is even better than I remember. 

She is quite skilled, you agreed. I had a great time too. Thank you for coming. And thank you again for reaching out. 

You don’t deserve what you’re going through, he said. You deserve the world. Nothing less. 

I doubt it, you sighed. I must have done something awful. If not in this life, a previous one. 

No one deserves what he did to you, Simon insisted. You deserve love, respect, safety… 

That’s what he gave me, you know ? You rambled. When I met him, after you broke up with me… Marshall became my safe space. He made me feel loved, seen, appreciated. He is the one who helped me overcome addiction… I thought I had found a good man.

You deserve to find one, he commented. You know… not a day goes by without me regretting what I’ve done to you. I should have been your safe space. I often wonder where we’d be if I had been there for you. If I had given you what you needed after you lost our baby… 

Married with a kid on the way, perhaps ? You wondered aloud. 

Boy or girl ? He asked. 

A girl, I guess, you shrugged. I always wanted a little girl. And to call her…

… Emma, he recalled. 

You remember ? You asked in surprise. 

Of course I do, Simon said. I remember everything. You are impossible to forget. I’ve been on dates with ladies but none of them compare to you. No one ever will. I know that now. 

Don’t say that, you said softly. 

No, it’s true, he said. No one is as funny as you. No one is as smart, as caring, as loving as you are. That’s why I can’t find anyone else. And that’s why I can’t stand to know he hurt you like this. I’m fine with the idea of you being with another man, but knowing that he is not worthy of you… it’s driving me crazy. I want to beat him up. 

You don’t have to defend my honor, you know ? 

I know, he said. I guess I just… I wish to give you what you need. What you deserve. 

That’s nice, you said shyly. Thank you, Simon. But I don’t think you could. 

What do you need ? He asked as he looked at you. 

I want to feel like myself again, you explained as you looked down. I want to feel loved and seen. But now… I feel dirty and ashamed. 

Simon stopped walking and cupped your cheek, before coaxing your chin so that you’d look him in the eyes. His thumb stroked your cheek and you felt an oddly at peace. He was staring at you with an affectionate gaze. 

You have nothing to be ashamed of, he said. And I’m here if you need anything. 

Thank you, you whispered underneath your breath. 

You stared at each other for a split second and you pressed your lips to his. Half of you hoped he would push you away and the other one hoped he would kiss you back. He did the latter, giving it his all. His lips were soft against yours and, for a split second, you didn’t feel as unworthy, as dirty or as ashamed. You could feel his affection for you, his desire, even. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his tongue found yours, the kiss growing passionate. It had been two years since the two of you last shared a kiss but you felt safe. It was comfortable, familiar. After your mouths parted ways, he grabbed your hand and looked at you. 

I should walk you home, he said. 

I’m sorry, you replied. I-I shouldn’t have… 

I’m happy you kissed me, Y/N, he clarified. But something tells me that what you need is a friend, right now. 

That’s right, you said. I’m mortified, Simon, really… that was wrong. I’m… with Marshall. 

You are, he agreed. For now. 

Yes, you said breathlessly. 

You weren’t too sure of what you wanted. Ten seconds ago, you had wanted to kiss Simon. You wished you could play dumb and say it was an accident but it wasn’t. You had initiated this kiss. You had asked for it. Simon walked you home in relative silence and you were almost mortified. As minutes went by, you absolutely regretted kissing him. Because, regardless of how good and familiar it had felt, it was still cheating. And no matter how mad at Marshall you were, cheating on him broke your heart. Maybe somewhere deep down, you hoped that kissing your ex would erase your feelings for your boyfriend and that you wouldn’t see Marshall as the love of your life anymore. But this didn’t have the desired effect and it only felt more wrong. Once you reached the front door of Talia and Jamal’s house, he kissed your cheek and promised to call you soon on Talia’s phone. It was the only way people could reach you since you’d had the excellent idea of throwing your phone in the staircase after reading one more headline about Marshall’s track. 

When you walked inside the house, your friends were waiting for you in the living room, with a big box sitting on top of the coffee table. 

What’s that ? You asked. 

It was delivered while you were gone, Talia explained. Marshall’s security dropped it off. 

He… Sent my stuff ? You asked anxiously. 

No idea, Jamal said. Might very well be yet another bouquet… As if the whole house wasn’t full of them already… 

You anxiously opened the box. You expected to find your stuff, thinking that maybe he had interpreted your silence as a breakup. But instead, you found a bunch of CDs and stacks of paper, as well as an envelope that read « Open this before the rest. ». Inside, you found a letter, in Marshall’s perfect handwriting : 

« Dear Y/N, 

I sent over the stuff I wanted to show you. I figures that maybe it would be better if you got to go through it alone. In this box, you will find everything I have ever written  about you since we met, as well as some letters I never sent while we were apart. I know it doesn’t change what happened with the track that leaked but I hope this will show you that you are always on my mind, always have been. When I wrote and recorded that silly track, I was sure you were going to leave and what you heard is my me venting on the microphone, letting my mid go to the darkest places, not because I actually think or mean everything but because it’s how I blow off steam. I know it doesn’t make the lyrics any more acceptable, but this is just me, being unable to get you off my mind for one second and trying to deal with it as best as I can. I never planned on you, nor anyone, hearing any of it. I realize this is not a healthy way to deal with my feelings, and I promise I’m never doing this again. Anyway, here is everything : things I wrote, stuff I recorded… I’m here if you want to talk about it. 

I’m sorry I hurt you, more than you’ll ever know. I miss you. (Wiz misses you too). 

Please come home. 

I love you, 

Marshall »

You sighed nervously and handed the letter to Talia, so that she could read it. Once she was done, she handed it to Jamal. After everyone was done reading the letter, you agreed that you should have a look to the content of the box. Your friends offered to give you some space but you were feeling a little overwhelmed. It was painfully obvious that your boyfriend was trying his best to make things bette with you and you had just repaid him by kissing your ex. You spent about three hours looking at every item the box contained. You got to read some letters Marshall had written to you while you were in France, that had your address on the envelope but he never sent them. I here, he was telling you about how much he missed you, how gloomy life was without you and how badly he wanted you to be happy, even if it meant that he would have to stay away from you. He also mentioned a couple of trips he had taken, mainly to California for some work, and how he wished he could have taken you on his travels. People, including himself, had told you how miserable he was while you were apart, but to read what he wrote during that time was gut-wrenching. There were so many writings that it was clear that you had not left his mind for a minute. Some of them even dated back to when you were dating Josh ! You were in tears by the time you were done reading the letters but the worst was yet to come. You listened to the CDs, that were full of tracks you never knew about. They were all about you and you could clearly see the pain in Marshall’s voice. By the time you were done listening, you were bawling like a baby. 

Are you ok, Sis ? Jamal asked. 

I… Guys, I… I don’t know, you hiccuped. 

Come here, babe, Talia said as he took you in her arms. 

You should call him, Jamal said. You guys need to talk. 

You looked at him, taken aback. In the past days, Jamal had not exactly been secretive regarding the disdain he had for Marshall, and you definitely did not expect him to encourage you to patch things up with him. What you read and heard definitely made you want to see him and talk to him face to face, but you knowing what you had done earlier in the night made you sick. You couldn’t face him and tell him you had cheated on him. Not when you knew he had spent months writing the most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking things about his love for you, how being without you was a fate worse than death. 

I don’t know, you said in a croaky voice. 

Baby, I know we’re still mad at him, Talia said. But… You’ve heard these songs, right ? You’ve read these letters… Shit, I’m crying too ! 

She’s right, Jamal said. He loves you. He’s an obsessive fucking moron but… It’s Em. And I know you love him. 

I thought you were mad at him, you pointed out. 

I am, he said. But he sent me an email to apologize, as well as a check. He’s stupid but he’s trying to make things right. You have to give him a little credit, Sis. And I know that you guys have been through a lot and I’m sure you can work things out. 

His last sentence has you burst in tears. After reading and listening to everything, you wanted nothing more than to « work things out », but you were afraid that you had ruined everything. How ironic. He was the one whose actions had led to you leaving the house but he would be the one breaking up with you because you were too dumb. Tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were crying so much that it made it difficult to breathe. It wasn’t just guilt or sadness, it was panic, as you realized you would have to tell Marshall what happened with Simon.

Baby, what’s wrong ? Talia asked as she stroked your back. 

I… I fucked up, guys, you said. 

What ? No ! Jamal said. What he did with that track sucked, you had every reason to leave for a few days ! 

No, it’s not that, you hiccuped. I-I… I kissed Simon… 

NO YOU DIDN’T ?! Talia almost screamed. 

You were virtually unable to stop crying, to the point where you were unable to form a coherent sentence and ended up hyperventilating. It felt like you had the weight of the world on top of you. Talia took you in her arms and tried to get you to calm down but you were having a full blown panic attack. You heard her talk to Jamal but, even though you could hear the words, they weren’t making much sense. You were trying to talk but only French words would come out of your mouth. 

Il va me quitter, you cried. Je l’ai trahi… Oh mon Dieu. J’ai trahi Marshall ! 

What…? Jamal asked confused. 

She’s having a meltdown, Talia sighed. We can’t leave her like this, babe ! 

What do we do, then ? 

Let’s call Em, she directed. 

Non ! You pleaded. Please… Non. 

Talia took your hands in hers and tried to reason with you. In her opinion, it was better for you to tell Marshall and have an actual conversation with him, about both the track and you kissing Josh. 

I fucked up, you cried. Oh my God. I fucked up. 

Look, Sis, Jamal said sheepishly. Cheating sucks, and I’m not going to say Em deserved it. But… You know. You probably wouldn’t have done it if things had bee alright in your relationship. 

True, your best friend chimed in. You were feeling betrayed and vulnerable. 

He’s going to kill me, you sighed. 

He’s not, Jamal said. Look, I already texted him. He should be here in about 20 minutes. We’ll let you guys talk but we’ll be right next door, in the kitchen, alright ? No matter how mad he is, I swear, you’ll be alright. 

But… I’ll have to move, I-

If he kicks you out, you’ll just move back in with us, babe, Talia said reassuringly. We got you. Always. 

You thanked them and tried to pace yourself by taking deep breaths. It was the middle of the night but it didn’t seem to matter to anyone. Twenty minutes later, Marshall was here. As soon as he spotted you, curled on the living room couch, reading one of his letters, he rushed to your side. 

Y/N, he said. 

Hi, you said as you tried to avoid his gaze. 

Have you… Been crying ? He asked as he took a look at your face ? 

You nodded sheepishly. Your stomach was in knots and you felt as if you were about to throw up. He was inches away from you, looking at you intently. You nervously glanced at him and it was safe to say that he looked absolutely terrible. From the looks of it, he had been missing on a lot of sleep. His face looked gaunt and had worry all over it. 

Is it the letters ? He asked. God, I didn’t mean to make you cry… I-I…

They’re beautiful, you said in a creaky voice. A lot to take in. But beautiful. 

And I meant every word, he assured you. These letters, these songs… that’s how I really feel about you. How I have always felt about you. Not that stupid leaked track. 

Yeah ? You asked. 

Swear to God, he said. That’s just… My mind goes to this dark place, sometimes, you know ? When I’m sad, when I’m hurt… I know it’s creepy as fuck, and I know it’s not… It’s not ok. I know it. But I swear, this is just fiction. No different than a book or some drawings, you know ? But it has nothing to do with you. It’s my feelings, my dark thoughts… None of it should matter. 

But you name-dropped me, you pointed out.

I shouldn’t have, he said. That was fucking wrong of me. I thought no one would ever hear it. It’s just… that’s the only way I know how to get things off my chest, you know ? 

You nodded. It hurt to be on the receiving end of it and to be the one who inspired such deranged lyrics but you could sort of see where he was coming from. After all, he had always resorted to music as a coping mechanism. He sat on the couch next to you and took your hand in his. The contact between you - the first in a week - almost made you shiver. He seemed to notice it and immediately placed his jacket on your shoulders. 

I know it sounds easy to say but… I recorded that before I agreed to do therapy, you know ? He said tentatively. I went and told my therapist about it the other day, and… I’m going to do better, Y/N. I promise. I know I’ve hurt you, but I need you to know that I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. And I want us to get through this. I’ll book more therapy sessions, I’ll work on myself, we can do couples therapy if you want… I’ll do anything for us. 

Marshall, I-, you began. 

Y/N… You’re the love of my life, he continued. You make me want to improve myself, put in some actual work so that we can have a future together. There’s nothing I want more than this. I need you with me. I know we can get through this. I just know it. Because it’s us. 

You were overwhelmed. You had told him he was the love of your life several times before but it was the first time he said it back. Tears started rolling on your cheeks and he pulled you to his chest. 

I’ll never hurt you like this again, he said. I love you, and if you still love me, we can get through anything. 

Marshall, I need to tell you something…, you started nervously. 

Do you love me ? He asked as he ignored your sentence. 

I do, you replied. Of course I do, but-

No but, he said. I swear, I’ll do anything you want, honey. I have already gotten rid of the studio equipment but if there’s anything I can do, anything you want… I’ll do it. Just come home, and we work things through, ok ? 

I need to tell you something first, you said nervously. 

Ok, he said as he still held your hand. Anything, baby. 

It’s… It’s about Simon, you started with tears in your eyes. 

What about him ? He asked. It’s not like you cheated, right ? 

You knew he was resorting to humor to try and diffuse tension but you immediately started crying, giving everything away. You immediately saw the color drain from Marshall’s face, his eyes instantly turning dark. 

[bg3-stole-my-soul]

❤️Tall Fem! Tav x Astarion Headcanons❤️

So— Tall Fem!Tavs— we need more love and I am going to attempt to play with the idea because in fandom spaces I only ever see fem Tavs that are shorter than Astarion and it makes my tall self’s heart ache.

I also know in game it doesn’t matter if your Tav is taller than Astarion…. But like what if it did— 👀

I am going to keep this as racially, background, and class ambiguous as possible however it is very clear the short races like halflings, dwarves, and gnomes this is most certainly not applicable to. I love them, don’t get me wrong, but this is for us 🤌😌

So on that note physically this Tav is tall, muscular, and probably a lil physically intimidating— and like almost every character I write is of Chaotic Good alignment. Tav is a big, sweet, mischievous muscle mommy with big hands—

This is my first time doing a post like this so please be gracious. I did my best to keep this in character for Astarion, while also sweet and mostly focused on his POV.

Being taller than most of your companions wasn’t a bad thing exactly, just a thing. You had outgrown many of your peers ages ago and while it had embarrassed you for a long time, you eventually embraced it. The stares of others became empowering instead of making you try to shrink yourself in any way you could. However this did not save you from being nabbed by mind flayers and infected— damn. It also surprised you when an elf shorter than you managed to catch you by surprise and hold a knife to your throat.

I don’t think Astarion is the type to be insecure regarding his height, man’s petty enough to climb the counters to the top shelf if he damn well feels like it. However upon meeting a female Tav who’s taller than him, stronger than him, he is ever so slightly worried. It makes him want to spur his plan of manipulation for protection into action quickly. Only because he doesn’t want to run the risk of getting snapped like a toothpick—

On that note, watching you fight absolutely does something to this man. Being able to see your muscles all the way from his perch on the other side of the battlefield is certainly something he can appreciate. He can absolutely admit that you are fine af, especially covered in blood.

At first he would be annoyed if you did things like pat him on the head with your huge hands- after all he puts a lot of work into his hair that he can’t see— but comes to realize it’s your way of gentle support. And he supposes it’s better than other things… Eventually he grows to love you resting your big hands on his head or shoulders. And even further down the line holding your hand, his slender fingers tangled in yours.

When this man chooses to try and bite you in your sleep it is absolutely out of sheer desperation because he is terrified of those arms staking him. But when you accept what he is without any real complaint.. he is pleasantly surprised. He likes you’ve got a good heart in that big chest of yours.

When he gets downed in a fight and wakes up to find himself in your arms being carried back to camp OH BOY that might be the first moment he realizes he’s in trouble.

The next time is absolutely the morning after the tiefling party. He wakes up at the crack of dawn snuggled into your tiddies— and as the old meme states “World hard and cold, tiddy soft and warm”. If he weren’t so excited to bask in the sun he would have stayed there all morning. Post confession it is his favorite way to cuddle.

He believes your arms are the safest place to be, and he is probably right. Being held by you makes him feel like he is surrounded in warmth, and if he sleeps there he usually has less nightmares. Drinking your blood with your arms wrapped around him is genuinely sweet and euphoric for this man.

❤️⚜️❤️⚜️❤️⚜️❤️⚜️❤️⚜️❤️

~ ❤️18+ HEADCANONS BELOW❤️~

He also enjoys the two of you just snuggling and admiring one another’s appearances, it’s intimate, and it feels right. He loves being able to take his time tracing his hands everywhere on your larger body, finding the places that make you laugh and squirm for him.

He also doesn’t mind a little manhandling if it’s from you, because he knows despite your size you will happily let him move you where he wants or stop if he’s no longer comfortable.

Back at the tiefling party he let you top, and while he does enjoy that, he enjoys it just as much if not more when he does. He enjoys getting to look down at you, and see you come undone at his touch. Call it vanilla, but this man loves being able to watch your face during sex, being able to look into your eyes is a BIG thing for this man.

[thecameronchronicles]

On Display

TW: Smutty actions between Fem!Reader and Sarah Cameron. Language. Minor exhibitionism and hints at voyeurism. Masturbation.

SUMMARY: You and Sarah become invested in exploring a mutual attraction, only to learn rather quickly you aren’t alone…

WORD COUNT: 1600

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

Hey can I request essentially Sarah x Reader, she’s single.. you are all best friends (her, JJ and John B.. ) hanging out at the chateau, you and her start to make out.. the guys catch you, they stay and touch themselves after you and Sarah encourages them to do so. They watch you and Sarah touch each other, Lots of smut pls. thank you much, I love your writing, it’s so amazing! If you want to add anything you can too ❤️❤️❤️🎉

On Display

You didn’t have to be under any influence to be under hers. How could you not wonder what it would be like to feel her kiss made up behind such full lips or her fingers running down your curves as she pulled you into her? It was almost as irritatingly distracting as it was frequent, and it only worsened every time you saw her. Everytime she got close. And she was impossibly so now as you stood before the mirror in John B’s room. 

“I told you, you’d look so hot!” Your cheeks flushed. 

“I don’t know-”

“If I have to go to midsummers, you’re coming with me so I keep from dying of boredom…You wouldn’t want me to die now would you?” She teased, moving the hanger from away from your shoulders, no longer pressing the silk into your skin. 

“Are you still going with Kelce?” She asked you as you shrugged. 

“I don’t want to…” You confessed.

“Could you just imagine if we brought one of the guys? They would absolutely lose their shit if we walked in with a pogue…” You smiled widely, noticing how her eyes fell to your lips, as if in consideration, before ultimately pulling away. 

“Or each other?” She teased. “The stiff necks would absolutely die…if we were all…” She led her hand to your hip as you had now joined her on the edge of the bed, your body chilling beneath her touch. 

“Could you imagine the scandal of the two Kook princesses attending together? Hanging all over each other?” She leaned in to you. 

“Kissing?” Your hand now moved to her leg, a natural reaction to her seductions. 

“Maybe we should…” You spoke this thought aloud. 

“I would DEFINITELY have more fun with you than ANYONE else…But I don’t know if I could behave with you…”

“Then let’s misbehave…”

You cocked a brow as she bit her bottom lip as you led your lips to meet with hers. The softest of kisses you’d ever experienced had met your smile that broke to the interaction. Once either of you were certain that this was more than a laughable exchange, your hands led further to one another. Her fingers ran the length of your curves until coming to your cheek whereas yours were already eager at her face. 

“You have the most beautiful tits I’ve ever seen…” You explained to her while kissing down her neck. 

“I want you to touch them…” You basked in how she gasped to the sudden force of her tee pulled to expose her lace clad breasts. You knew she would have the most beautiful lingerie, but it did nothing in comparison to the soft skin beneath. 

“I want to taste them…” She nodded, her head falling back as you lowered against her, freeing her breasts by simply extending the bra and revealing one at a time to your eager mouth. You validated you would savor her in opposition to ravaging her, taking her nipple behind your puckered lips and sucking it into your tongue, running it over her new pebbles as you repeated the process to the other. 

“I’m so wet right now…”

“You?” You scoffed as she bit her bottom lip as you kissed up her neck and to her ear. 

“Fuck…” You heard a voice in the doorway at your back as you and Sarah broke from your lustful haze for only a moment to find John B and JJ in the doorway. 

“We made them so hard…” Sarah teased. “It really doesn’t take much for you guys, does it?”

“Are you fucking kidding? That is so hot…”

“Should we let them watch us?” You asked Sarah. “I mean what kind of friends would we be if we didn’t help them out with their…” Your eyes dove to their seams. “Problem?” You chuckled as she nodded. 

“We SHOULD be good friends…but I don't want anyone else to touch you…” She moaned as JJ nodded. 

“Not a problem, sweethearts...Just watching…”

“Then start stroking boys, you interrupted us just before I needed her to touch me.”She led your hand within her shorts as she would set her own in yours. 

“She is SO wet…” Sarah explained as you nodded. 

“You're worse…”

“Oh my God…” John B groaned as they made their way into the room, JJ already half cocked and stroking, as John B took a second to get comfortable with the idea. It would only take the connection of your lips coming together for him to begin, however, as the soft moans and beautiful sight had become too much to bear. 

“Go down on her…” JJ pleaded as Sarah moved her lips from your neck. 

“You just get to watch, JJ…You don’t get to make commands. Besides…she is more patient than I am…”

“I want to taste you…” You confessed as she nodded. 

“I’ll be so sweet for you.” You pulled your fingers from her shorts, sucking off your digits. 

“You’re not joking…” The boys groaned as you chuckled. 

“Lay down…” You guided her softly, moving her further on the bed but angling her to where the boys could see her. 

“Oh fuck…” John B grunted, the sound of self gratification adding to the eroticism. 

“I don’t want to drown you…” She chuckled. 

“I don’t mind…Not when I know you’re feeling good for me, Sarah…So feel good…” You began to pleasure her, tongue acclimating to her violent motions that you soothed with hands rising beneath her shirt and pulling her breasts into greedy fondlings. 

“FUCK!” She breathed sharply as you set a middle finger inside of her. 

“Please tell us how it feels…” John B requested as she looked over to him, eyes heavy with lust as she nodded. 

“She’s right there! Oh my God! How did you find it so fast?!”

“I know what you need…” You spoke arrogantly, returning your tongue to her clit. 

“I’m gonna come on her face…I am so close already!’

“Come for her, Sarah!” JJ grunted behind clenched teeth. 

“And then make HER come…” John B added as you nodded. 

“I’m coming!” She called breathlessly, rising up to her elbows to watch you. 

“Oh my God!” She gasped. “That was the best anyone’s ever eaten me out!”

“I don’t want to think of anyone else that has.” You shot. 

“Nobody else fucking matters…” She spoke back. “But now it’s your turn…” She crawled over you, but only to tease. 

“But you need more than just my fingers or my tongue. You need more…” She slipped to her purse set on the floor, pulling out a vibrator. 

“Shit, you just carry that around?!” John B cursed behind her. 

“Can’t help it…always a bit horny.” She winked towards him as she pulled the travel bullet in your direction. 

“I want you to look at them while i make you shake for me…But is it okay if she comes on your bed, John B?”

“Hell yeah…You already did.”

“You’re right.” She teased, pressing the lowest setting forward on the bullet as she took it over your panties. 

“Undress for me, would you?” You were quick to oblige. 

“You thought I was wet? Oh my God! You don’t even need any foreplay-”

“You ARE my foreplay.” She smirked. 

“My moans have that effect on you?”

“YOU do.” You corrected as she pulled the vibrator over your clit, your body trembling beneath her as she took a second hand to your breast. 

“So soft…”

“I’m gonna come!” JJ called from the sidelines as John B was quick to explain the same. 

“Should we let them?”

“Come with me…” You ordered as they both groaned. 

“How close are you?” John B inquired as Sarah would answer for you, a finger inserted into you as she curved it to your g-spot. 

“Oh, she’s already close…”

“Fuck…” Both boys breathed in unison as they watched you grip a hand around her wrist. 

“You need all of it, sweetie…take it for me-”

“SARAH!” You belted. 

“Yes?” She teased. 

“I’m gonna come!”

“Already?”

“Please!” JJ growled. 

“Aww, your audience wants it…so I’m not stopping…” She teased over you, kissing you softly as she quickened her other motions. 

“Ahhh! AHHHH!”

“That’s it sweetheart…oh, that sounds so good….”

“I’m coming! I’M COMING!” You explained, the waves of pleasure expanding your moans into near shrieks as she continued the vibrator through your high, bringing a second immediately after. 

“FUCK!” You breathed sharply as she retracted, both boys having now been spent as well. 

“Now we have to clean up…got a bit messy…” Sarah teased, sucking you off of her vibrator. 

“Hot tub?” JJ offered as you all looked at each other. 

“Can’t promise I’ll behave…” You teased Sarah due to her words before as she undressed and moved to the direction of the hot tub as you followed. 

“Then let’s misbehave…” She teased your lips as you crawled into the water, the boys looking to each other in disbelief before joining you for a rather eventful afternoon of their wildest dreams having come true as you and Sarah were on full display for them. 

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @sweetestdesire

[are-you-still-writing-that]

What kind of Yandere are Bonten?

Request of @study-milk : HII it's not so much of a scenario as more of a question. So of the tokyo revengers guys (for ex. Bonten) which ones would you categorize as affectionate obsessive vs territorial obsessive.

Like those who's obsession falls under love sick who will pursue you openly and quicky vs territorial type who play a slow game of winning your sole attention.

Sorry if I ask too much❤️

First of all I have to apologize for taking so long! You request was so interesting, but I was so busy with everything else, that I could barely dictate some of my time do it! Also, if you wanted something differently please tell me! <3

(I also decided to do a bit more for you, though if you want me to elaborate on someone, just tell me...)

PS: You don´t ask too much. I actually very much enjoyed writing this request. It was a lot of fun!!

So first of all, I gotta figure out, who of the guys is obsessive and not only possessive. What is the difference?

The guys with the possessive trait want to own you, want to be the single thing your world revolves around. Incredibly jealous and will disturn and shut down conversation he ain´t a part of. He feels entitled to you.

The obsessive trait is more focused on getting to know his darling. Every little piece of information is carefully squirrelled away, to come out again in the right moment. He will bask in the warmth that your attention brings him. Always watching, always learning more.

Though both of these things are not incompatible. They can happen at the same time. The same guy can be both obsessive and possessive.

Obsessive: Matsuno Chifuyu, Hanagaki Takemichi, Shiba Hakkai, Akashi Takeomi, Hanma Shuji

Possessive: Kurokawa Izana, Sanzu, Draken, Angry, Hanemiya Kazutora, Haitani Ran, Shiba Taiju, Smiley, Baji Keisuke

Both: Kakucho, Tachibana Naoto, Kokonoi Hajime, Haitani Rindou, Mikey, Mitsuya Takashi, Kisaki Tetta

As you can see, that we have 5 boys for the exclusive obsessive traits, most of them, with 10, are in the possessive category. And at last, we have another 7 in the mixed category. These guys present clear traits in my opinion of both categories. So it isn´t quite clear if they´re being possessive or obsessive. This is also where most of the Bonten members are in, who are by the way all in bold. I left out Mochizuki, because I can´t quite grasp his character.

In the request, there was made a difference between affectional and territorial obsessive. And I think, I might be able to draw a line for those things as well. If you look at the request the terms were actually very nicely explained already.

Affectional seems to align more with being so in love, that it makes him sick, and you as well. Constantly draped over you, talking about things that you can connect over. He puts in a lot of effort to be seen in a very positive light by you.

Territorial on the other hand is intent to whisk you away from any other person. He tries to become your focus as well, but instead of him enforcing it like the possessive trait would, he wants you to choose him over and over again.

Affectionate: Matsuno Chifuyu, Hanagaki Takemichi, Haitani Rindou, Mikey, Mitsuya Takashi, Sanzu, Draken, Hanemiya Kazutora

Territorial: Shiba Hakkai, Akashi Takeomi, Hanma Shuji, Kakucho, Tachibana Naoto, Kokonoi Hajime, Kisaki Tetta, Kurokawa Izana, Angry, Haitani Ran, Shiba Taiju, Smiley, Baji Keisuke

At the last moment, I decided to sort the possessive traits also into affectionate and territorial, even though like I predicted most of them landed in the territorial category. Only Sanzu, Draken and Kazutora got into the affectionate category, because I felt like it was needed to point out, that these guys are majorly affectionate. I also decided against using a middle ground between affectionate and territorial, because I felt like I wouldn´t be able to decide if not making definite choices.

Well, enough of that! Instead I would like to focus on what we have. The affectionate trait is carried by 8 guys, which only makes it more obvious that most of the guys are territorial, with 13 guys.

So I think it is pretty easy to say, that possessive and territorial are the more popular traits with the Tokyo Revengers guys.

I come back to Bonten again though:

Sanzu is affectionate possessive. He uses his affection to possess his darling completely. He will enforce his rules, but he tends to act quite lovesick and overly affectionate most of the time. He will whine and cry, and fuss over his darling, being intimate without chasing other people away, bodily at least.

Kakucho is territorial obsessive and possessive. While he wants to know everything about you, he tends to use this information to keep you better for himself. He has also the bad habit of infantilizing his darling, for which he will use the collected knowledge. He also tries to keep everyone, hence being territorial.

Takeomi is territorial obsessive. While he wants to know his darling as well, he kind of uses them as an emotional crutch. He became dependent on them without him realising. He needs to keep them as close to him as possibly, without being able to show them how he feels for them, which is what makes him so territorial, while being obsessive.

Koko is like Kakucho territorial obsessive and possessive. He wants to know you to better win you over for himself. It will point him in the right direction, to talk about the right things, to get you the right things. Though his main goal is territorial at its core. He wants you to be dependent on him, that you will always run back to him, because you simply can´t live any more without him. And he will ensure, that this will happen.

Rindou is affectionate obsessive and possessive. He is very affectionate with his darling and constantly wants to spend time with them. This also leads to him learning a lot about them, and his darling being constantly on his mind. His possessive trait comes from him growing dependent on them, and being afraid of them being taken away from him. So he will ensure, that this won´t happen. It´s fed from his separation anxiety.

Ran is territorial possessive. He wants to own his darling, and doesn´t want other people getting their grubby paws on them either. He feels entitled to the affection and time of his darling, and doesn´t really care for their opinion of him.

Mikey is again affectionate obsessive and possessive. In a manner he is very similar to Rindou. They have the same problems. He is dependent on his darling, wants to desperately keep themself and fears the thought of being separated from them. He tries to hide it though, and some days he comes across as more territorial than affectional, though other days he will cling desperately to you the whole time, unwilling to let you go.

I think that this is it from me. I hope it doesn´t sound as formal as it looks to me at the moment, which can be attributed to me writing a lot of essays these past few months. A lot..., so many... Sometimes I could really hate what I study...

So @study-milk, I hope you and the rest of the guys enjoy this request! I had a lot of fun writing this, and hope you will have just as much fun reading it!! <3

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Late night scenario: Dennis and wifey sitting on the beach shore late at night 🧜🏽‍♀️❤️🤍🌊🌊

Hi Nonnie!!!

I love this scenario and I have some ideas!! So very many ideas...

Dennis arranges a sitter for DJ so you two can get away for the weekend

DJ is still small enough to not be too fussy when you leave

But you still manage to miss him as soon as you get in the car to leave

"Just for the weekend, sweetheart. We'll come back early if you're not having fun"

He knows damn well that what he has planned will keep you entertained

He rents a beach house that sits close to the water but far enough away to have a little privacy from others

The first night you are there, he busies himself with going back and forth between the beach and the house

You know your husband too well to think he doesn't have something up his sleeve

After the sun goes down a bit, Dennis tells you that he has a surprise waiting for you on the beach

Once you get out there, you see a bonfire going and a blanket with a picnic basket set out for the two of you

If you weren't already married, you'd be thinking he was gonna propose to you

The salty sea air rolls in with the tide but the heat of the bonfire keeps you from catching a chill

Dennis watches you as you tuck into the food he prepared

Grapes, figs, apple slices, chocolate, different cheeses, soppressata, prosciutto, and a variety of crackers

He enjoys the sounds of satisfaction you make, smiling at you when you do your "happy food dance"

You take turns putting different meats and cheeses together on crackers and feeding them to each other

If anyone could see you basking in the glow of your love, they would either be swooning or wishing you two would just get a room

But neither of you could keep your love a secret, you'd shout it from the rooftops if you could

After you've had your fill on everything, Dennis takes you for a walk along the water's edge to burn off some calories and get your feet in the cool water

Holding hands as you look out over the ocean, you think about how you and Dennis haven't had a moment to yourselves in the past few months since DJ was born

And you don't want to waste it

When you make it back to the bonfire, it's properly dark, and the stars are so bright that you can see them for miles along the coast

You sit back down and cuddle up next to Dennis and he puts his arm around you, holding you close

The glow of the fire casts a reddish-orange glow on your faces as you talk and Dennis stops in the middle of his sentence and just stares at you with a goofy grin on his face

"Den, you're staring again"

"I can't help it, sweetheart. Sometimes your beauty stops my brain from working"

You wanted to come up with something snarky or sarcastic to say but instead, you swoon and lean in for a kiss

Once his lips capture yours, it's on like Donkey Kong

As the kiss deepens, you let out a whimper and he only pulls you closer as his hands wander along your body

Dennis breaks the kiss, much to your chagrin, and you both struggle to catch your breath

"What do you say we put out this fire and continue this inside?"

"I say that sounds amazing, Mr. Baker"

"I agree, Mrs. Baker. You go inside, I'll be right in"

He sends you off with a quick smack on your bottom and you giggle while you run back to the house

You freshen up and put on a slinky, short nightgown and settle yourself in bed, waiting for your husband

Once he walks into the bedroom and sees you, he all but jumps onto the sheets to join you

You welcome him with open arms as he slots himself next to you

Your legs entangle and he turns your bodies so you straddle him

Reveling in the fact that his glasses are getting a little foggy, you roll your hips against the hardening bulge in his pants

Dennis' eyes darken and you see his demeanor change, knowing that he is about to rock your world but before he does, he makes you swoon yet again

"I love you so much, sweetheart. Thank you for loving me back"

If you weren't so horny, you'd have started crying at his expression of love

But, again, horny is winning this battle of emotions

You spend the rest of the night in each other's arms, whispering sweet nothings with your lips while your bodies move together in harmony

OMG, I can't believe I still have so many thots but I will save them for later. 😉

[yandere-wishes]

Opinion on the absolute ANCIENT history of Star Wars legends? Meaning Tulak Hord, Marka Ragnos and such

Anon I am SO SO SO SORRY this took me forever to answer. I loved the ask so much that I wanted to have the perfect mood and ambiance for when I answered it. Suffice it to say that that hasn't happened for a good while now. But I sincerely hope that you are still lurking around this blog and get a chance to see my response. I cannot express how excited this ask has made me!! I harbor an extremely unhealthy obsession with ancient Sith lords and their lore

I'm going to start off by saying that, if we were in the Star Wars universe I would have already become a Sith lord. Due SOLELY to how much Darkside lore I read~🖤❤️

I swear whenever I see a new Sith lord my brain goes: "Omg he's so ugly." Then he proceeds to live in my head rent-free for three days and on the third night, I find myself dreaming of making out with him... this has happened one too many times...It might be a little bit concerning. XD

Tulak Hord gives off major samurai vibes so I feel like he does follow some sorta Sith honor code. That being said he most likely acquires his darling as either a war trophy from some rival or conquered planet. Or she's a wide-eyed Acolyte who he can twist into his perfect darling. 

He's also so pretty and I want to kiss him so badly!!

 I'd love to be his little darling, a war trophy won in battle. Kept locked away within his fortress. A prize none but him are worthy to see. 

After each bloody campaign, he returns to you, his starlight. A dividend that keeps him fighting, keeps him tethered to the dark side of the force. He fights to provide you with an empire, to win your praises at his many accomplishments. 

 Little does he know of the aversion you harbor for him.

Tulak Hord the monster who took everything from you.  

No, but to be fair, I'd still be MADLY in love with him. Just imagine Lord Hord coming home from the battlefield, bloodied and still high off his bloodlust. 

Imagine straddling him as you lovingly peel off his bloodied armor. Kissing his flesh every time it appears from under his armor. He'd run his clawed gauntlets over your back tracing your spine. Making you shiver from the frigid steel. Your warmth feels welcoming, innocent, he longs to corrupt it. 

Then obviously kissing when you get to his helmet. Deep and passionate. Filled with hate and love. Out of fear, you've learned to play your role as a doubtful lover, a devoted wife, to a fault. 

"The universe is more complicated than you could ever imagine, starlight. Be thankful that I've shielded you away from all its inconsistencies."

It's getting harder and harder to remember why you resist him so much. Why push him away when his presence is so overwhelming? Consuming you wholly. 

"Thank you, my lord." 

NOW...

If you were his Acolyte things would play out a bit differently. He'd have trained you for so many years. Building you up to be the ultimate weapon and simultaneously his ideal darling. You're too far gone, mistaking toxins for affection. You've learned to cherish every bruise and broken bone that comes from him.

You were such a naive little girl when he first took an interest in you. Now he's morphed you into the scourge of the battlefield. The mere mention of your name sends generals running away in fear. 

He finds you after every campaign. Permits you the honor of washing his armor and tending to his wounds. Basking in the way your nimble fingers apply bacta to what little scars he may have received. 

Tulak is such a tremendous master. Personally seeing to your wellbeing and recovery. 

He pulls you onto his lap, kissing your open wounds as he stitches them for you. Sometimes he pulls his helmet up and plunges his tongue into the trauma lapping at the blood and broken muscles as he ravishes in your delightful moans. He'll whisper sweet praises into your ears, telling you how proud he is of all you've accomplished, what a stupendous sith lord you shall make someday, ruling by his side. All while his iron-clad fingers work bruises into your soft flesh. 

You are his perfect little doll.

Tulak Hord's perfect little acolyte.

Would it be wrong to say that I kinda want to be Marka Ragnos' concubine? Or just his pretty little princess who's always at his beck and call!! Look he's literally a giant hulking red alien with golden horns... what's not to love!! 

Plus I'd give anything to just sit on his lap as he holds court. Tracing patterns across his chest and relishing in the feeling of his claws scraping across your flesh, leaving his mark even when he's focused on galactic domination. 

Prior to that Marka would totally dress you in the most ethereal dresses!! All lavish golds and blood reds. Somedays they'd be full-blown multilayered dresses and other days (when he wants to show a bit more dominance) he'll have you wearing danity silk dresses that show more skin than you are comfortable with. 

He'd also shower you with praises throughout the day. Calling you his "sweet little princess" and "pretty girl". look getting called "pretty girl" by a sith lord is free therapy and I am HERE for it😤😍😤😍. 

I also have this random headcanon that Marka Ragnose is (in some ways) a father figure to Vitita/Valkorion/Tenebrae. That being said it's only logical for Marka Ragnos' darling to be (younger) Vitita's mother figure. In a twisted forceful way, they're kinda like a happy family. Also forced Yandere family is one of my fav tropes, so I had to reference it here lol. 

Okay, guys seriously this ask has made me so happy since the MOMENT I got it!! If anyone wants to send in asks for any Star Wars Sith lords (well-known ones, obscure ones, hated/loved ones) my ask box is wide open. 

In conclusion, I've been collecting Sith Lords to simp over like an 8-year-old collects Pokemon cards. Sith lords are unconventionally HOT and I'd totally be down to be there sweet little darling !! Like please just let me be a Sith Lord's cute little side piece, the eye candy that hangs off his arm. His pretty little bunny girl that'll do anything to please him.

(*Concerningly looks down at the pride and self-respect I just smashed.* "Whoops...that wasn't supposed to happen") 

Anon I think I answered your question with these little stories. I am very much IN LOVE with the ancient Sith lords. And it doesn't just stop at Tulak and Marka. I literally NEED a harm of Sith lords. Look they may not be conventionally handsome, but there's something about "the dark forces warping their appearance" that makes me go absolutely feral!! 🤣🤣😍😍

[vasito-de-leche]

Your writing is my new craving. It’s some of the best stuff I’ve read for headcannons & analysis on here.

Can you please do Tennant if you can ?🙏 Just anything about her would be great!

❤️❤️❤️

;R1999 TENNANT - "when morning comes"

Tennant x Reader 1.4k words fluff You are Tennant's most precious diamond -- if you won't take care of yourself, then it is up to her to set things right. Nevermind her ulterior motives, nor the desire to keep you all to herself. She promises that her intentions are pure, and you believe her. The world can wait, you deserve some rest.

this was gonna be a little longer, with tennant disappearing and you running off to find her because That's Your Wife And Youre Very Stubborn but I chose to keep this fluffy instead o7

consider this tennant's part of the sleepy time fic saga <3

Life feels like a dream.

No, that is much too vague. It feels like the fluffiest cloud you could ever imagine. It's the softest silks and rich, velvet fabrics enveloping your bare skin, protecting you from everything and anything that could harm you. The perfect temperature of a sunny day, not too cold and not too hot, but just right.

To any outsiders, your glee and happiness are nothing but the byproduct of madness, the folly of a delusional mind. And you laugh at this notion, because you don't need any rose-colored glasses to delude yourself, not when your eyes are so occupied staring at the love of your life.

You'd gladly go blind if it meant looking at her until darkness overtakes your vision, the memory of her face being the last thing you'll ever see. This is a tragedy that can be easily remedied with your hands, exploring her features and committing them to memory once again. When your hands can no longer move, you will have your ears to follow after her sweet voice. When your ears clog up with those words of love, you will have your mouth to speak them back to her. See? It is all planned out; you are ready to live and die for love.

You are ready to drown in the fantasy Ada Tennant has built for you.

Ada, your Ada, lays beside you. The sun glows behind her, outlining her figure with an angelic glow as she slides one hand to the back of your neck, cradling you closer as to protect you and your sleep from the light. Little does she know, you're wide awake, basking in her presence. The moment your face presses ever so gently against her chest, you breathe in her perfume -- she's wearing the one you gifted to her, many months ago -- and her scent -- a subtle musk, followed by sage, patchouli and nutmeg.

Your little ruse is up when you find yourself unable from nuzzling her, the little sounds of giddy joy giving you away. Ada tuts, and you feel the low vibrations of her voice in her throat, your favorite spot to cover in kisses.

"Tsk, tsk… My liege, it is much too early for you to be this playful," she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, "Don't open your eyes just yet, the world can wait. Sleep with me just a little longer."

But you were never the docile type to do what you're told -- one of your eyes opens, sneaking a glance at your lover, and you hide your face in her shirt once you're met with the full force of her gaze. Ada is right; it's too early for you to face the intensity of her affections, those red eyes of hers are a dangerous asset. They pierce straight to your heart.

"Ah, what have we here?" With one of her fingers, she traces the outer curve of your ear, the gentle feeling of her nails on your skin making your body tingle. "What a lovely shade of red, my liege. Are you cold? Hm, perhaps a little too hot?"

Scratch that, the most dangerous thing of hers is that cunning tongue of hers. It takes all of your willpower to detangle yourself from the pile of covers and blankets, if only to glare at her with feigned anger. She gifts you with her smile, one that has just the right amount of adoring and teasing to it -- it's enough to soften your resolve, and you lean forward to kiss her forehead.

"What time is it?" Ada catches your chin with her fingers as you speak, locking you in place.

There's those eyes again, looking into yours for something that you're not privy of -- this is something she does often, and it is always a gamble. More than often, you will see that smile you've come to love, but lately, something wretched, something sad and miserable, will take over Ada's features. It's subtle (you curse her perfect poker face) and it leaves as soon as it comes, but it weights heavily on your heart. What does she see that you cannot? And is it something that you can fix, for her sake? What are you lacking that is making her look so unbelievably lonely?

It doesn't matter today, because she seems to find it and she rewards you with a taste of heaven; her lips on yours, as light as a feather.

"If I told you, what do you think will happen?" When she reaches out with an open palm, you hurry to return that precious hair tie of hers, safely kept around your wrist each and every night you spend together. It is a wordless exchange, part of the domestic routine, and yet it means so much to you.

She continues speaking, your silence urging her forward.

"You will rush and scramble out of bed, tripping over everything. You will ask that I help you get dressed before anyone finds out I'm here, and you will scold me for taking so long helping you button up your shirt -- I, of course, will pretend to be innocent, stealing a kiss here and there as payment for my services. And as soon as you're the embodiment of prim and proper beauty, you will leave through that door, leaving me all alone until nightfall."

"That's -…!" The need to apologize and justify yourself builds up in your chest in the form of a sharp inhale, and then, you notice the way she's purposefully making those sad, lonely eyes at you. She got you, for a moment, she had you right where she wanted. "…That's only partially true -- you're the one who leaves, and I'm the one who waits."

"Ah, but you only say that because you know nothing of my yearning, darling. Would you like to know? The way you've made a home out of my heart and mind, rendering my pride to dust?"

This is one of her tricks, you know this. You can feel it in the way she rests a hand on your thigh, as if she's not even trying to hide it. Her true colors are on full display for you to admire, a snake tempting you to sleep in and remain in her grasp. Oh, how could you resist? Tennant shifts and moves closer, cupping your face with one hand while the other finds the small of your back. She meets no resistance from you, already at the verge of giving in to her love -- you can't deny how good it feels to be coveted, to have someone as amazing as her want you, keep you safe, like all of the diamonds and jewels under her name. This is the moment you close her eyes and allow her to dip you back onto the mattress so she can kiss you to her heart's content.

She only does the former, however; your body bounces unceremoniously as you fall back onto the pillow, your lips still puckered up uselessly, waiting for a kiss that never came. Ada laughs at this, muttering a small apology.

"I mean it, sleep a little longer." Even her command is gentle, her thumb rubs circles on your cheek. "You've earned it, my liege. Or rather, you need it. Who will keep me company should you fall ill from exhaustion? How will I sneak into your bedroom with the whole house staff alert for your sake? Fighting for your honor comes as easy as breathing, and giving you the world is as easy as snapping my fingers, but I fear my most ferocious opponent is that stubborn temper of yours."

You're done for the moment she says your name -- Ada has played all of her cards and this can only mean one thing: it is a very serious matter. But you don't understand, have you truly been overworking yourself these past few days? You don't feel tired, not at all.

But then again, there's no space for any other feeling other than love whenever you're with her. A long, drawn out and exhausted sigh escapes your lips.

"…Fineeeee. I suppose I can take a day off, as long as you spend it with me. Ada Tennant, I spoil you too much for your own good."

"Then might as well spoil me a little more -- wouldn't you say, my love?"

There is a frown on your face, one that aims to conceal your flustered state rather than show any sort of anger towards your lover. This contradiction is obvious in the way you open your arms towards her, allowing Ada to lay on top of you with her full weight and warmth. She smiles, eyes closed, like a child getting everything she's ever wished for, like someone who has finally returned home after being away so long. Her legs tangle with yours, her arms wrap around your waist, desperate in their grip.

In the early days of your relationship, you would've been in her place, begging her not to go, making her promise that she'll return safe and sound from whatever secret endeavors she commits her life to.

But now she's yours, all yours. And in turn, your heart is all hers.