#I love this man but im too tired to write better

[mrswrightreal]

Hello!! I was wondering if I could request a Ticci toby x ASPD!(Sociopath!)GN!reader. Basically that reader is in a rage episode at the moment, which for me can look like screaming and breaking things, which was a build up of stress for Days and then they just snapped and toby helping them through it

-Sincerely, 👾 anon

MY FIRST EVER NAMED ANON HELLLOOOO :))) and yes I love this. I struggle with a disorder similar and it is so comforting to write and read about it, much love and I hope you're doing okay! also PSA to everyone!!! requests are open so please request things! I need motivation to write so bad!

REALIZATION AFTER POST I DID NOT SEE THE SOCIOPATH THING IM SORRY ILL DO A BETTER ONE SOON!

you're okay.

pairing: tobias rogers x GN!reader

category: angst/fluff

synopsis: you're retractive, suffering with anxiety. not like being anxious, like you are suffering, angry, snappy. you seem to be off recently. your aggression worsened today, finally snapping as you're in your room screaming and smashing belongings. toby finally finds you and helps you.

warnings: sensitive topics, anxiety, social anxiety, aggressive behavior, mention of substance abuse

as if the week could not get any worse. the pain and regret building up in your stomach with every hour that passed by, every minute, every second. your life of current shut outs and mood swings. staying away and distancing so it wouldn't hurt others when you didn't show up for them. you were isolated, completely different than normal. what even is normal? did anyone truly know?

the week started off slow, a night of no rest, getting up and doing your same routine, working day in day out, secluding yourself in your room, friends constantly asking you to come out with them. but all they got was a 'I'm busy'. you truly were busy, finally laying in bed, away from everything. the thought of even leaving the house made your stomach bubble with this sick feeling.

the next day, you had been at work, and suddenly were asked to speak to your boss. you swallowed that thick rock in your throat and thought of every scenario that could go by. your palms sweat and shook as you walked to the man's office. you knocked quietly and entered.

he had sat you down and talked about your lack of effort recently, and you tried to explain to him your recent life, hut you only recieved the; "separate work life from home life" and "everyone is tired" speech. now that's just great. you've made an embarrassment out of yourself and will probably never be good enough for another job. your thoughts spiraled.

and then the next day, stepping out of your car, a group of teenage girls walked past, laughing at what you could only assume was either you or your outfit. the entire day, you felt tears stinging your waterline. looking in the mirror every hour and telling yourself, "you know the outfit was ugly. wociety would be ashamed to know a person like you. you felt like everyone's eyes were on you. when in reality, those girls were laughing about a funny post online they saw. you went home and cried about how you looked all night.

the next few days were of the norm, sitting at your job for hours, coming home, sleeping, job, home, sleep. the only person you even cared to try and see was toby. he had been your boyfriend for quite some time now, understanding what you go through, as he suffers from multiple disorders too. but last night, you two had gotten in an argument about simply nothing. a petty bicker that only left you sitting at your table, thinking back to your old days of forgetting.

you used alcohol to forget about the anxiety that filled your head and body to the brim, thinking it'd wash everything away. you fell to addiction, and you'd finally climbed back out. atleast you weren't there anymore. atleast you're able to manage normally now. normal? what is normal?

that brings you to present, current, the now. staring at the unopened glass bottle of beer, glaring at it like it can understand how I feel. the pent up anger that clouded your mind made hot tears fall down your cheeks and hands tug at your hair. your voice was hoarse from yelling at nothing, only the walls able to withstand everything you had to say. everyone else leaves, no one wants you, no one stays. you have nobody. nobody wants you. no one stays. no one ever stays.

you stood up and picked up the bottle of beer, screaming as you chucked it against the tile of your kitchen. the bottle shattering and foaming beer spilling everywhere. the screams and cries tore at your throat, hands coming in contact with the plate left out and chucking it at the wall, leaving a dent before shattering. you tangled your hands into your hair, covering your ears to stop the ringing.

you screamed, the pounding in your head growing more and more prominent. as you walked to your room, slamming the door so hard behind you, you swore the frame cracked, you picked up the nearest thing. it was a picture frame of you and toby, a cute photo of you two on the Faris wheel. you cried at it, knowing he'd probably leave you too. you held it so hard it shattered, the glass piercing into your fingers and drawing blood.

you just cried, yelling and ripping apart your room. little did you know, toby was coming back to apologize, and when he found the front door unlocked, he knew something was wrong. he walked into your home, noticing the shattered plate and bottle. he then heard your screams and cries, random bashing and clanging to the ground. his heart pounded in fear of what you were doing to yourself.

he slipped running so fast, trying his best to get to you as soon as possible. he busted through your door and spotted you sitting on the ground, crying. your room was shredded, clothes stripped everywhere, atinques and collected figure thrown and broken, pictures ripped or cracked, and dents in the walls. the most important thing, of course, was you.

you looked up and met his eyes, your teary ones only sobbing out more when you saw him. he hurried over, gently holding his arms out for you. as he sat down and helped you into his lap, you squirmed around, trying to shove him off.

"toby go away! stop it! Just go!" you screamed at him, your fists slowly stopping their attempts to hit on his body, slowly turning to grip his shirt and sob.

he cradled you and held your head in his chest. he rubbed his tumb over your cheek and squeezed you, knowing the pressure eased the anxiety.

"hey, shh, hun you're okay. I've got you" he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and rocking you gently. he let you sob, hit, and thrash at him all you want, "hun, cmon you can hit me, I can take it." he tried to laugh a bit but just gave a sympathetic smile when you sobbed harder.

I repositioned his grip, holding you under your knees and back and lifted you. he maneuvered his way to your bed, gently climbing in and letting you rest on him. he pulled your blanket over the two of you, his arms returning to hold you steady to his chest. his shirt was stained with tears, the blood from your fingers, and probably your snot, but he didn't care, he loved you, and was there for you. he wasn't leaving. he'd never leave you, he loves you.

"hey, love, open your eyes please" he hummed, placing his hands on your cheeks and making you look him square in the face, "I ain't goin anywhere, I'm right here, always will be. don't worry about a thing, you've always got me." he measured you, pressing a kiss to each tear stained cheek, then your forhead and nose.

he let you settle back down against him, your breathing calming a bit and tears stopping. your arm wrapped loosely around his torso, head resting against his chest. you grounded yourself by listening to his heart beat. steady and sound. knowing toby was alive, and that he was here. he didn't judge you for any of this, always understood, always let you sob and hit, always helped. maybe he was lasting forever.

"thank you" you mumbled quietly before fluttering your wet lashes closed and falling asleep, the episode tiring you out.

"always, hun, I've got you" I kissed your head again, holding you a bit closer and watching you fall asleep.

toby stayed awake for a little longer, rubbing small circles on your back and cheeks. he loved the way your eyes twitched when you were sleeping, or the way your lips parted softly, or when you sprawled out and snored like a chainsaw. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. and he simply was staying. you couldn't get rid of him even if you tried.

and yes, he'd wake up, make you food and coffee, and help you clean everything up. he'd do it all for you, never make you lift even your pinky. giving you reassuring whispers and kisses through the day, checking up and smiling at you. he did everything in his power to make sure you knew he loved you. it's the bare minimum of what you deserve.

___________________________

author notes: I have no idea what your experience is like but based on research this is what I had taken from it! I hope it's okay. I hope you know you are loved and please reach out to me if you need to talk! I'm always here THST GOES FOR ALL OF YALLL much love <3

[onlyfrags]

Yoru with a male s/o who's radiant powers give him draconic features and powersof the elements. Their on a date but people keep pointing out and staring at reader features like his horns, eyes or tail etc..

A/N I apologize for this taking forever! Yoru might be a bit OOC and I did not proof read this well, apologies. Its 4:30 AM and I have not slept so :D

Yoru with a Draconic Male Significant Other | Yoru x Male Radiant Reader

Yoru had always been a very prideful man. He took pride in everything. Be that his looks, his skills, and his ancestry. So of course, his pride would further extend to his relationship.

That extended to you.

Initially, he had little interest in you when you first joined the protocol. Sure, your appearance was definitely one of the more shocking or jarring Radiants he had ever seen, but you were just another teammate to him.

For a while, he listened to Phoenixs comments about you. About how odd your eyes were to him and how your stare gave him the creeps. How unnerving it was when he saw how your skin seemed to have visible scales. How your nails almost seemed like claws, and the many many questions about why you would have a tail. It was all so much for the poor man when all he wanted was to get some extra training in.

Then he went on a mission with you. He saw your powers in action. You in action. How you were able to aid Phoenix in guiding his fire a bit farther than before. How you took some of the water from Harbors wall to blind the enemies. How you joined Jett in dashing across the air. How the ground shook to reveal the people who hid.

He was entranced, though he would never admit that out loud.

As more and more missions happened, Brimstone was able to identify how well you both worked together. With you to aid in distractions, Yoru could thrive. You had a deep trust in the rift walker, and you had gained Yorus respect. Something that many weren't able to achieve.

You became inseparable. A duo that the omega universe would theorize about in hushed whispers that sent chills down fellow agents spines.

It was thrilling for Ryo. Exciting. Something that kept his heart racing and spirits high out on the battlefield.

Soon enough, The friendly banter turned to teasing jokes and witty remarks. Competitions would break out between the two of you to see who would achieve more on the field, and then it bled into training as well.

It was only a matter of time truly before someone had made the first move.

You had been relaxing with Yoru in his room, watching the other man from his couch with a mischievous look that he knew all too well. Before he could question it, you flicked your finger in the air causing a small spray of water into his face from the cup he had been holding. The poor man sputtered and coughed as he shook his head. His wet hair fell into his eyes which only further irritated the man.

Next thing you know, he was on top of you. The cup long abandoned as his knees dug into the cushion that was next to your thighs. He pushed you back against the couch, starting a playful wrestling match the same way he had many times before. All the while he loudly complained about his hair having been messed up, and about how he had to change clothes all while trying to pin you to the couch.

Somehow, with a few squirmy movements, you knocked Yoru off balance so he landed in your arms. Trapping him in an embrace, you couldn't help but grin as the smaller man tried to free himself before eventually giving up. His damp hair now pressed under your jaw as you felt him relax a little in your arms. A few moments later, he wrapped his arms around your torso and rested his hands above your tail.

It was silent. Though you knew Yoru could hear your heart pound against your chest. Despite this, not a word was spoken.

Instead, you felt something feather light against your collarbone. And then again. And once more a little farther up against your throat.

Your own breath hitched when you realized that Yoru was peppering you with gentle kisses where your scales met exposed skin. Hearing your little noise only made the man let out one of his signature chuckles before he moved to press one last kiss against your jaw.

His hands gave your waist a little squeeze before he mumbled, "You always were cute when you have your guard down~." His ego showed as he pulls away to admire you with a look of pride. Pride at how he had you flustered, and pride from his own actions.

After that day, you were an unspoken couple. In front of the others, nothing had seemingly changed. The competitiveness remained between the both of you as did your trust in each other. But behind closed doors you found yourself at the mercy of Ryo. A man who struggled with words but showed he cared about you with his actions. A man who was proud of the work you did together. A man who was proud of you.

Eventually, you and Ryo had managed to acquire a few days off. Perfect timing since he had been wanting to take you to Japan for a while now. He wanted you to see his homeland and experience the place he loved.

Yet the trip didn't go exactly as Ryo had hoped it would.

By this time, he had completely forgotten that your appearance made you stand out a bit. Your horns, tail, scales, and slitted eyes had others staring.

Some whispered in hushed voices. Some pointed at you and grimaced, throwing judgmental glances before turning away when you looked back at them. A few people even ran up to ask for pictures with you, asking about your appearance or how you did your makeup. It was an uncomfortable experience. Uncomfortable for you, and uncomfortable for Ryo.

After about half an hour of the stares and whispers as you walked with him to various different places in Tokyo, Ryo was done with it. He huffed loudly, taking your hand in his as he drags you down several different alleys and streets until he stops in front of a small building. A little hole in the wall place that seemed to be fairly empty from the looks of it.

Ryo, also noticing this, took a deep breath and sighed before squeezing your hand a little. A sign that he was there for you despite what all happened, before he let go. Giving you a reassuring head nod, he goes to open the door for you and follows you inside.

Ryo explained that this was his favorite place to come to, a small family owned restaurant that he claimed made the best cold soba noodles to help relax after a long day of being in the sun

"…or dealing with idiots who stare." He grumbled under his breath

And he was right. The noodles and dumplings were easily some of the best you had ever had, and the lack of people around made Ryo much more comfortable as well. The man who usually doesn't say much, babbled. He talked about the different foods he shared with you, the memories he had with the restaurant, and even told you about the history of each dish.

By the time you both finished your food, had a beer or two, and paid for it all, the sun had already began to set. Ryo would hum a little before carefully taking your hand in his own once again. Little actions like this were so uncommon that you couldn't help but feel your heart race.

His fingers laced with your own before looking back at you with a small smile. Taking a step forward, he did the unthinkable. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips and gave your hand another squeeze.

He would smile gently at you before he began pulling you down the street once more. This time, he was taking you to the place you'd both be staying so you didn't have to deal with prying eyes, and he could hold you close without fear of others seeing.

[fxnker]

added some outfits for both of ma boyes..........👍 wanted to draw them chilling idk. quality bonding or whatever really. <:-j

here's them in other outfits ive put together. theyre so................................................ARCK!!!!! i'm ill!!!!!!!!!! 🛌 hopital

ok. thank you for reading sorry about all that. lol

[bonnieisaway]

seven's the best protag ever because i could make a million "get you a man who" jokes about him. get you a man who looks at him the way thirteen does. get you a man who has undefeated whimsy and love for the world like seven. get you a man who holds his friends above everything else. get you a man who'd rather go broke and hungry rather than tear apart the bonds between people. get you a man who'd get himself killed for someone who barely knows him. get you a man who'd get himself killed for an island which he's barely familiar with. get you a man who'd dress up as you and settle the arguement between you and your girlfriend including a really long serenade. get you a man who could both save the girl in white like that and also let thirteen save him like that. get you a man who's driven purpose in life is loving others

[sunrizef1]

Milk and Sugar

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not edited, cursing maybe, the ex gf isn’t anyone specific don’t @ me

Summary: Max is tired of his persistent ex girlfriend and friends that are maybe a little too empathetic about his breakup. What better way to scare them off than getting a new girlfriend? But he doesn’t actually want a new relationship. Enter: you. The perfect (fake) new girlfriend.

Word Count: 9.6k

Authors Note: this fic was kicking my ass im gonna be so fr. It took forever and I just couldn’t write the ending for some reason. Hopefully now that this is up, I can do something else lmfao

You were just doing a favor for a friend.

Or that’s what you had told yourself when Max had originally asked you to go along with his stupid idea. You hadn’t even really wanted to agree, by the way. He had just needed your help so badly and that’s what friends are for, right?

So that’s how you’d ended up in his garage, Red Bull hat pulled tightly over your head as you watched his car sail around the track in Brazil, the season well under way.

You’d met Max a few years back. You’d moved into the apartment next to his, not even blinking as your eyes scanned over the future world champion, too focused on your dog trying his best to distract you from the heavy box in your hands.

“Apollo! Stop!” You sighed at the dog as he jumped at your legs, trying his hardest to knock the box full of dog food and treats out of your arms. The dog, not knowing English, didn’t listen, of course, continuing his assault on your calves.

The box tilts in your grasp, coming dangerously close to falling out of your arms. But suddenly, the weight is lifted away and Apollo seems to turn his attention to whatever had relieved you from your struggle, giving you the opportunity to pull the small dog into your grasp, trying your best to calm his rowdiness down.

Once you’ve gotten the dog to calm down a significant amount, you look up to see who’d saved you from hours of cleaning loose dog food off the floor during your first day in your new apartment. You’re met with bright blue eyes staring back at you, a concerned look on the strangers face.

You’re too worried about the pretty man in front of you to even worry about Apollo as he starts to nibble lightly on your jacket.

“Are you okay?” And then he speaks for the first time and you’re captivated. Not in a love-at-first-sight way, of course. More of a this-guy-might-be-perfect kind of way.

You nod, gently separating your dogs mouth off your hoodie string, petting his, most-likely, empty head warmly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. This little guy just really wanted that food, I guess.”

The stranger laughs, moving the box in his arms to rest against his hip, “I’m more of a cat person, anyway.”

You fake a wince, shaking your head with a frown, “Ahh, guess we can’t be friends then, mysterious stranger. Im a dog person all the way.”

He laughs again, grinning warmly, “Any way I could help you with this? Can’t imagine it’s easy moving in with a dog running around.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your hand fumbling to fish the key to your new apartment out of your pocket, “Only if you’re free! I wouldn’t want to bother my new neighbor on my first day.”

Your neighbor shakes his head, light brown hair falling down on his forehead, “It’s no big deal, I’m surprisingly free today.”

You smile, pushing the door to your apartment open, setting Apollo down as you enter. The dog immediately starts to scope out the area, bounding up and down the halls, his collar jangling loudly as he does. You hear the man enter behind you, watching as he walks over and places the box of dog food on the counter in the kitchen.

“Usually I learn a man’s name before I invite him into my apartment,” you smirk, laughing as a blush coats your neighbors face. He takes the few steps back over to close the gap between you, sticking out a calloused hand toward you.

“I’m Max.”

You smile, repeating his name before reciting your own, clasping your hand in his much rougher one, tilting your head up at him as you shake, letting go after a few moments.

“It’s nice to meet you max,” you say, smiling as you see Max’s face light up happily, “How inclined would you be to helping me get the rest of my boxes?”

Max laughs as he sees the sweet grin on your face, shaking his head as he moves toward the door, “I’d love to help, y/n. Can’t have my new favorite neighbor moving in alone, can I?”

Your face splits into a grin as you follow him toward the exit, turning to make sure Apollo was comfortably inside the apartment so he wouldn’t try and run away before closing the door behind you.

Max did help you that day, the moving in process going substantially quicker with the help of the athlete. He even invited you over to his place for dinner, explaining that it’d be too much of a hassle for you to make dinner after moving in all day. You didn’t bring up the fact he’d been moving all day as well, simply following him next door instead.

That had been three years ago and you’d been friends ever since. It was a casual friendship, more moved by the proximity than anything else.

He’d had to explain f1 to you, you being completely unfamiliar with the sport despite having moved to Monaco, probably the place with the most connection to it. Now, you’d casually watch his races as you worked or ate dinner, not entirely sure what was going on but supporting your friend anyway.

He’d also eventually asked you to watch his cats for him, Jimmy and Sassy being surprisingly friendly with your puppy. Max had been scared about introducing them, prefacing with many statements about how much the cats hated dogs and that it really wouldnt be a problem if you couldn’t watch them if they hated each other.

All that talk went out the window when the first thing the pets did when they met each other was take a nap.

It was January when it happened. You had been sitting calmly in your apartment, watching Bridgerton and eating pasta, your work computer abandoned to the side of the couch. You had a blanket pulled over your lap, a hot mug of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Rare snow fell softly outside your window, albeit not very much snow but snow nonetheless.

You were very content.

This, of course, all came crashing down when you heard the sound of your apartment door banging open, heavy footsteps signaling the arrival of your neighbor. You’d given him a key for emergencies, although you couldn’t possibly imagine what could warrant an emergency at this time.

You roll your eyes as you hear him approach, setting your pasta down on the table and grabbing the remote to pause your show, turning as Max throws himself down on the couch next to you.

“Hello, Max. Can I help you?” You sigh, trying to force a smile onto your face. Max seems to catch your discontent and grimaces, wincing away slightly.

“Bad time?”

You let out a breath, not able to stay mad at the Dutch man for very long, “Maybe a little, but it’s fine, really. Did you need something?”

Max nods, sitting up straighter, “I may or may not have a formal request. Neighbor to neighbor.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his response, noting his slightly nervous behavior, “Okay?”

He takes a deep breath before speaking, his eyes trailing over toward where your tv was currently paused, “You know how I just went through that breakup, right?”

You hum, all too familiar with the aforementioned breakup, having had Max barge into your apartment for comfort food and movie marathons more than a few nights in the wake of his, now ex, girlfriends departure.

“Well,” Max starts and you can sense the hesitation in his tone but considering he had interrupted your night, you opted to let him flounder, “It’s been weird on the grid since then.”

“Okay,” you hum, eyes glancing over his face and catching the way he grimaces.

“Ever since the break-up, all the guys have been looking at me like I’m a child, you know? Like I might fall apart any second. Even though I’m completely fine!”

You stare, knowing more than anyone else, that he wasn’t very fine for a while, although he’d miraculously recovered over the past few months. You also stared in hopes he’d soon get to the point of the conversation.

“They also keep trying to set me up with their friends as if I need a rebound when I would really rather stay single,” Max groans, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Your furrow your eyebrows, wondering where this could be going.

Max glances up, eyes avoiding yours at all costs, “I was wondering if you could, maybe..”

Max trails off, wincing slightly. You stare straight ahead at him blankly, waiting for him to finish his request. He does eventually mumble something under his breath and you lean forward, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry?”

Max grumbles, annoyed and you roll your eyes at the attitude of the man disrupting your own night.

“Could you pretend to be my girlfriend for a while?” Max rushes out, hands carding through his hair nervously, “Just long enough for the guys to leave me alone, you don’t even have to do anything, maybe just come to Brazil and Monaco-“

Max continues to ramble on for a few seconds, words seeming to fall out of his mouth unceremoniously before he’s cut off by you interrupting him.

“Max!” You raise your voice slightly in an attempt to talk to over him. Max freezes, looking at your face for the first time since he’s crashed through your front door, “I’ll do it.”

He stares at you blankly for a few moments, trying to process your words, “Really?”

You shrug, teeth digging into your lip as you turn your head toward the large window across the room that overlooked the darkened city of Monte Carlo, “Why not? You’re my friend. Plus I work remotely and who doesn’t want to travel around the world to all those different cities?”

Max’s face lights up at your response, his lips forming a huge grin. He rolls over into a lying position, practically star-fishing on your couch, “Thank you so much! I owe you one.”

You hum, fighting the smile on your lips as you watch him close his eyes calmly. You slip up from the couch quietly, padding over to the kitchen to grab something.

“Where are you going? Did I scare you off already?” You hear Max call as you walk away. As you walk back over, his eyes are still closed though, signaling that he didn’t really think he’d scared you off.

He does open his eyes as you set the bowl of leftover pasta and a fork on his chest before grabbing your own and sitting down, grabbing the remote to press play. He glances over as you settle into the couch and move your blanket over your lap before he sits up. You take a bite of your pasta as you continue to watch your show. Max takes a second but he eventually digs in as well, sitting up in order to grasp the bowl better.

Even after the pastas finished, you both sit back on the couch in order to finish the show. You glance over at Max, his eyes still locked onto the screen.

What had you gotten yourself into?

————

“Are you ready?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you sit in the passengers seat of Max’s car, the hoards outside having no idea what was waiting for them inside. You slide your sunglasses onto your nose, hoping they’d hide at least a little bit of the anxiety flowing through you.

You nod, turning your head toward Max in the drivers seat, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Max hums, not entirely convinced but also aware he had no other option but to believe you considering he’s the one who’d asked you to do this. He opens his door, stepping out and sliding his own sunglasses on. You watch as he walks around the front of the car before stopping in front of your door and pulling it open. You pause for a moment but eventually step out, trying not to wince as the bright sun hits you.

You immediately step into his path, falling into stride next to him as you both walk toward the entrance. You hear the car lock behind you and watch Max pocket the keys.

The bright Miami sun beats down on your skin, causing you to wish you’d opted for a thinner shirt. Max had originally proposed for your first race to be Monaco but you had decided it was better to appear earlier than later for his sake. Plus, you’d always enjoyed Miami and were up for the idea of traveling there. You’d also originally planned to buy your own plane tickets but Max was quick to shut that one down.

As you both approached the turnstiles, Max pulls his lanyard out of his pocket. You don’t even notice as he pulls you inside the paddock, too busy trying not to notice the cameras surrounding you. Flashes come from all around you, the incessant clicks echoing through your head.

You finally do notice that Max hasn’t let go of your hand after he pulled you into the paddock. You grasp his hand a little tighter and he pulls you closer into his side as a response. When heat starts to rise to your face, you decide to blame it on the Miami sun.

As you both walk toward the Red Bull hospitality, heads turn to watch you walk by. You can feel people’s eyes trailing after you, locked on your unfamiliar form. Everything new in the paddock very quickly became a spectacle. Especially when it involved the current world champion.

You’re sure you’ll see pictures of yourself splashed all across the internet when you wake up in Max’s hotel room the next day. You’re sure your mom will send you whatever article they’ll attach your name to, no doubt hounding you for information about your new celebrity “boyfriend”.

You’d been curled up in Max’s hotel room the whole weekend, occasionally dipping out to get food with him between events. He’d wanted you to come to the track since Thursday but you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to step out as “Max Verstappens new girlfriend” until you’d woken up Sunday morning.

You’d woken up before Max, somehow. As you laid in your plush hotel room bed, you could hear Max’s soft breathing from the other bed filtering through the silence of the morning. Just outside the window, the city of Miami was waking up. At least, the early birds were.

You and Max had slept in the same room enough over the years, Max randomly crashing at your place pretty often, that when he suggested you getting a different room, you’d immediately turned him down. You were telling yourself it was just because it was nice to have the comfort of a friend but something deep down knew that that wasn’t the only reason.

You let the only sounds be his breathing and the light hum of the air on unit for a few more minutes while you woke up. You slid out of the bed as silently as possible, your feet padding quietly against the carpeted floor. You pull the door open to the balcony slowly, stepping out before closing it behind you. The sun is still pretty low in the sky but it still makes you flinch as it seeps into your eyes.

You sink into one of the two chairs out on the balcony, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on top, letting your thoughts run wild.

You watch Miami move below you, the sun slowly shining down brighter and brighter, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

You weren’t entirely sure why you’d agreed to this idea so quickly. With every day that passed, you wished more and more that you hadn’t. Doubt seeped through you with every second you watched Max from the hotel television. He was just so good at his job and such a cool, wonderful person and athlete. How could you keep up with him? The press would be insistent and non-stop invasive. Fans would, no doubt, dogpile on you as well, both warning to know everything about you as well as rip you apart. You start to wonder if there was a single positive of this for you.

The door slides open behind you and you can hear Max moving onto the balcony beside you. You don’t glance over, only moving your gaze away from the skyline as a mug is held in front of your face. You glance down at it, spotting the coffee inside before you grasp the mug out of his hands gently. The ceramic warms your hands, the steam from the liquid splaying across your face.

“There was only those little creamer pods,” Max hums as he takes a sip of his own mug, leaning against the bannister in front of you, “Hope that’s okay.”

You chew at your lip, taking a sip of your own mug, humming lightly as your gaze locks on his back, “That’s fine, thanks.”

You’d usually take your coffee with milk and a spoonful of sugar but you’d had enough gas station or hotel room coffee that you’d be able to survive with just the creamer pods.

You watch Max’s side profile as he stares out at the city, the sun bouncing off the edges and planes of his face and perfectly lighting up his eyes. You bask in quiet that settles between you, sipping at your coffee periodically. You don’t quickly forget the kindness of his gesture. Actually, the action stays in your head for longer than it probably should, mind running wild as you think about his motives.

You dismiss it, though, not wanting to linger on something that probably meant nothing.

“You coming to the race today?” Max turns around to face you, his back leaning against the rail he’d just been looking out over.

Your eyes trace him as he turns, evaluating his early morning form. As you look at this man, your friend, you think about the coffee in your hands. You think about the times he’d dogsat Apollo despite hating dogs, the days he’d come over just to keep you company when you were homesick, when he’d attempted to cook you soup when you’d been sick despite his complete inability to cook soup, you even think back to the first day you’d met when he’d helped you move in despite having known you for all of thirty seconds.

As all those memories passed through your mind, you suddenly remember why you’d agreed to do this in the first place.

“Yeah, I am,” you reply, taking a long sip of your coffee and hiding your grin as one of his own makes its way onto his lips.

————

That had been earlier that morning and know you were sat in Red Bull, watching as Max’s car passes the finish line in second. You’d been biting your nails the whole time, worry seeping through you. You weren’t the biggest formula 1 nerd but Max had forced you to watch enough old races for you to get what was going on. You’d even started watching his races when he was gone, something that had taken you months to admit.

Because of Max’s insistence, you knew enough to grimace as the safety car came out. You were right to grimace, of course, as Lando was quick to pass your friend, taking the lead and the win. Max, for what it’s worth, didn’t seem too angry about the result. You were aware of Landos lack of wins, seeing why his winning would make everyone happy, even the losers. Not that you were too happy, you’d only ever and only ever would cheer for Max, even if Lando was deserving of a win of his own.

Max doesn’t get asked about you during interviews. At least, not directly. He gets asked how life had been and he answers with a vague answer about love and how great life has been. You know he’s talking out of his ass but you’re grinning anyway, not able to hold back you mind from thinking about a world where everything he was saying was true.

“Landos gonna have a big celebration,” Max starts as he gets back to you after the podium, walking you both back toward his room so he can change, “He’ll probably be awake for the next 72 hours.”

You smile lightly, resting a tired head against his sweaty shoulder, “Good for him, seems like he really deserves it.”

Max nods with a pleasant look on his face, “Yeah, I’m not even that mad about losing. Nothing I could’ve done really. Im just glad he got his win.”

You nod, taking a breath in order to hold back the yawn threatening to leave your mouth, “You should go to his party, I’ll just go grab some dinner and head back to get some sleep.”

You both stop as you reach his room, Max facing you as he leans back against the door to open it. You notice the deep furrow in his eyebrows as he locks eyes with you, “What are you talking about?”

You furrow your own eyebrows as a response, tilting your head to the side, “You should go celebrate with your friend? Go have fun, Max!”

He shakes his head as he enters the room, quickly gathering his things to go take a quick shower, “Why would I celebrate a loss with a coworker when I can get some quality time with a friend instead? I’d rather celebrate a win with you instead of a loss without you. Trust me, you’ll be there to see me win.”

You’re already at a loss for words at his response but your rendered speechless as Max pulls his fireproofs off, tossing the shirt to the side passively. He turns away from you and you watch his muscles ripple under his skin, your face hearing greatly. His arms flex as he reaches for something and you have to bite your lip to keep your mouth closed. Your eyes are wide as he turns to glance over his shoulder at you, “That okay?”

At the risk of sounding like an idiot if you attempt to respond with words, you simply nod, eyes moving toward the floor. You don’t notice the smirk that forms on his lips as he catches your stare.

“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave,” he calls out over his shoulder as he walks into his bathroom. Your eyes are still locked onto the floor. You hear the sound of water pattering against the floor just after the door shuts.

You take a large sip of your water bottle, trying to wet your drying throat and keep the heat in your face at bay. You feel like you might be going crazy, the image of Max’s shirtless back etched into your mind.

Jesus Christ.

————

“What do you wanna watch?” Max mumbles through a mouth full of pizza, his hand coming up to covering it as he speaks.

You shrug, “I don’t know.”

Max shrugs as well, grabbing the remote off the nightstand and passively flickering through the channels as he swallows his bite of pizza, “Come get some food.”

He gestures toward the box of pizza on the edge of his bed with the remote, glancing toward you sitting in your own bed, watching him instead of the tv. You slide off the bed, taking the few steps it takes to get to his own and gently settling on the side he wasn’t currently sitting on.

Max watches you move, humming as you grasp a piece from the pizza box before he turns his attention back to the screen. You don’t notice as he settles on a movie, too busy trying not to absolutely scarf down the food in your hand.

Your eyes do leave the slice to glance over at Max, legs outstretched with his back firmly against the headboard. He’s wearing a Red Bull hoodie, even managing to wear team merch in his own bedroom. He’s also got some old basketball shorts, a faded logo sitting on the upper thigh that, no matter how much you try, you can’t understand.

You look away when you hear the familiar sound of Lightning McQueen echoing out of the television speakers. You quickly catch sight of the Italian formula car, deducing that Max has chosen Cars 2, of all movies.

You try your best not to laugh but a giggle escapes you anyway, causing you to bury your head in your shoulder to try and hide your grin.

“What?” Max asks you and you look forward again, eyes locked onto the movie, “What’s so funny?”

Your head turns toward the driver who’s grin is now matching your own, “You chose probably the only movie on here that uses the words “Grand Prix” can’t even get away from racing in your hotel room.”

He feigns offense for a few moments before reaching forward to grab another piece of pizza and sliding down into more of a lying position, “It’s a good movie.”

You both turn to the screen for a few moments but the second Lewis Hamilton’s voice rings out in the silence, you laugh loudly, Max groaning beside you.

You quickly dissolve into giggles, trying your hardest to reign it in but when you look over and see the amused frown on Max’s face, you’re right back into it again, Max laughing in response.

You both do eventually settle down, watching the movie and eating your food together. Even after the pizza box is empty and max moves to set it on the table, you don’t move from your spot, using the reasoning that it’s just easier to see the screen from his bed.

You try not to notice the proximity between you. You’d been holding hands all day and you’d pressed several kisses to his cheeks and forehead, being near him shouldn’t bother you. But when you shift slightly closer just to get more comfortable and Max’s arm falls down over your shoulder, you freeze, keeping as still as you can.

He doesn’t move his arm through the rest of the movie. Not that you’d know, considering you drift off with about half an hour to go. But Max doesn’t notice that either, considering how he fell asleep just after.

You wake up before him again the next morning, don’t the same thing you’d done the day before and walking out to the balcony. Max does the same thing he did as well, walking out with two mugs grasped gently in his grip.

When you take the mug from him, you try not to think about the fact you’d woken up limbs tangled with his and your face pressed into his chest.

————

The São Paulo Grand Prix.

It had been 6 months of this charade with Max. That’s right, you’d managed to suffer through 6 whole months of pretending to be his girlfriend. There’s been countless headlines from various news sites, trying their best to figure out every single detail about your life and relationship with Max.

The only thing keeping your mind together was the root of the problem himself and your prolonged roommate, Max.

He was actually really lovely. Every time you suggested a different room for his sake, you’d end up right where you were the week before, in a bed across from his. You’d also kept the same morning routine every day, waking up before Max and sitting out on the balcony until he brought coffee out for both of you.

He’d eventually gotten to a point where he sat in the chair next to you as opposed to standing up and leaning against the railing. There was still little conversation, though, you both enjoying the silence of an early morning instead.

This specific morning, you were watching the city of São Paulo move along below you. Goosebumps raised slightly as the wind-chilled November air nipped at the skin on your arms. The sun hadn’t completely rose yet and the previous nights rain had left the air colder than it should’ve been. You found yourself rubbing your hands over your arms and wishing you’d worn something other than a t-shirt.

The door slides open behind you and you take the mug as it’s placed in your eye line, grateful for the heat of the mug to warm up your cold hands. You lower your face toward the mug, letting the steam warm up your wind-chilled skin. You go to take a sip but it burns at your lips when you tilt the mug, causing you to set it down on the small table in order for it to cool for a few moments.

After you set it down, something lands in your lap. You look down, holding the item up and quickly recognizing it as one of Max’s Red Bull hoodies. You glance over at him but he’s still looking out over the city below, sipping passively at his mug of black coffee.

You look back down at the item of clothing, glancing between it and the owner for a few seconds before deciding to slip it on, your cold skin winning out over any reasonable thought that would tell you not to wear it.

The hoodies too big for you and it smells like Max but you don’t really seem to mind either of those things. Especially as your skin heats as the fabric passes over it.

Once you’ve got the hoodie on, you pick up your coffee again, blowing on it slightly to cool it down. You raise the cup to your lips, letting the warm liquid flow into your mouth.

You hum at the taste, quickly noticing that it tastes different than usual. You furrow your eyebrows, taking another sip. The oh-so wonderful taste that you’d missed so dearly over the past 6 months takes over your tastebuds. The taste of real milk and sugar.

You hum pleasantly, grasping the cup tightly. You glance over toward the man who’d handed you the drink, “Is this milk and sugar?”

Max glances toward you for a split-second before he looks back over the city, taking a sip of his own coffee, “Yeah, that’s how you like it, right? You always drink it like that back home.”

You ignore the jolt in your stomach when Max refers to the Monaco apartments as a shared home. You bite your lip with an affirmative hum, “Where’d you get milk and sugar?”

“Couldn’t sleep last night, went for a walk. There’s a corner store down the block and I picked some up,” Max says it casually, like it’s not the most considerate anyone had been of you, maybe ever.

You stare at him for a few moments, trying to ignore the warm feeling in your chest as you imagine him thinking about you enough to buy coffee ingredients the way you liked them.

As you sat outside, in his hoodie, sipping on the coffee he had made and handed to you, you finally accept what you’d been trying to deny for six months, if not longer.

You were in love with Max Verstappen.

You longed for the domesticity that was so present on mornings like these. You wanted to live this life with him all the time. You didn’t just want to fall asleep beside him after a race but you wanted to be able to press your lips against his when he won instead of the light touches you’d flutter against his cheek. You wanted to wear his hoodies all the time, not just when you were cold and forgot one of your own. You wanted to stop pretending in front of his friends. You wanted the hushed whispers to be sweet nothings instead of scheming and planning.

You wanted this life with him. All the time.

“Max-” you start but you’re quickly cut off by Max as he speaks instead.

“My ex is going to be at this race,” he states and you close your mouth, deflating slightly as you look away, “Just wanted to prepare you in case we run into her. You could also, um, probably stop coming once you scare her off.”

You nod meekly, taking a sip of your coffee. What had once been your idea of a sanctuary with the silence of the morning is now too quiet, allowing your thoughts to be the only noise in your head, images of Max’s ex rolling around aimlessly.

You stand up quickly, taking rushed steps back into the room. You down the last sips of your coffee and slide it onto the table, moving hurriedly around the room to gather your things for a shower. You vaguely notice Max walking back into the room with a confused look but you don’t even look up as you rush into the bathroom, “I’m taking a shower.”

“Okay?” Max says as you close the door behind you. You don’t notice the frown on his face as he disappears from view.

You’re too busy throwing off his hoodie and turning the shower to practically scalding heat, trying your hardest to rid yourself of thoughts about a life with Max, thoughts of his ex-girlfriend or thoughts about the stupid coffee he’d handed you and how stupid you were to be reading so much into it.

For a moment there, you’d thought that Max was enjoying this as much as you were. But his words were quick to remind you that you were only there to do a favour for him. He is only there to get his friends and his ex off his back. After that, you were free to go. It even vaguely sounded like Max didn’t want you to come back around the next weekend.

Why else would he have said that? Why else would he have suggested you stop coming? Especially just after talking about his ex. It was a stark reminder that you were only a tool for him to mess with his ex. She was the one he’d loved, you were just a girl he knew.

You stay under the scalding water long enough for the mirrors to fog and your fingertips to prune. Your cuticles sting from where the hot water had made its way into the raw skin, the cuts still fresh from where you’d been anxiously picking at them.

You only pull yourself from the water when you start to sway from the heat, your head going light and an ache echoing through your skull.

————

A few hours later, you’re by Max’s side again, although there’s a slightly larger distance between you than usual.

That would change soon, no doubt, when Max spotted his ex, pulling you close to attempt to show his devotion to your fake relationship.

But for now, you're an arms-length away, hoping that pushing him away would also push away your own feelings.

Max can't grasp even an idea as to why you were acting like this. Did you really want this to be over that badly? He knew he'd mentioned the idea of your… situation ending but he didn't think you'd be this eager to get away from him.

At the first camera flash, you take a step closer to Max, knowing how even the smallest hint of discontent between you would be twisted for headlines and it would end with your concerned mother calling you fifty times to check on your relationship after seeing an article on Facebook.

So you step closer, reaching over to intertwine your hands. Max doesn't resist and you try not to read into the gentle squeeze he replies with.

Brazils nice. Or at least, you assume. You'd been too distracted to take much notice. But you do notice the fans yelling from all around. Lively crowds sway and shout in the distance, hues of blue and black and orange all represented amongst the groups.

Max leads you through the paddock, determination clear in his steps. It was most likely just his own determination not to talk to anyone, especially a certain ex-girlfriend.

You both get to Red Bull without an unwanted interaction and the second you're out of the public eye, you're dropping his hand, none the wiser to the confused look on the driver's face.

The tension's palpable in his small room. Awkward conversation flows, your words biting and curt. Neither of you wants to address the obvious undertones your words contain. One of hostility and unshared secrets. But you manage to survive until Max has to leave to get ready for the race and you follow just a few minutes later, making your way to watch said race.

The race is fine. Max wins, but you were never in doubt about that. He was starting from pole, it'd be pretty hard for him to lose. Lando finished just a few seconds behind him, having closed the gap a bit after getting past George.

As the team starts to leave to go greet Max, Christian Horner pulls you along, saying something about Max wanting you at the barrier after the race. You're sure its just so he can put on a show for his ex.

But you follow along anyway, trying not to stumble in your heels as Christian walks along a lot faster than you'd want to.

You pass through other teams and friends and guests or the drivers, waving slightly at people you’d gotten to know over the past six months. The thought of not seeing any of these people again after you and Max faked a breakup made your stomach hurt but you ignore it, trying to tell yourself it was for the better.

When Christian reaches the team, he guides you both through the crowd, smiling politely at the engineers as he slides by.

It seems you both reach the barrier just in time, as Max is parking when you come to a stop. You watch as he pulls himself out of the car, cheering a bit to the fans around as he stands atop it. When he pulls off his helmet and balaclava, you try your hardest not to smile at the pure joy on his face.

He glances over his shoulder at something you can't see before he turns and catches your eye, quickly moving in your direction. Before you can even say a word, he's set his helmet down and wrapped both his hands around the sides of your face, pulling it toward his own. His lips are warm, the heat of the race still emanating off of him. You dismiss the sweat in his hair as you wrap a hand softly around the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his locks. Your other hand rests on the side of his face, your thumb tracing the marks his helmet had left around his eyes.

You pull away first, glancing up into his eyes with a gentle smile, “Good job, you did amazing Max.”

His face heats and he glances away with a light chuckle, “Thank you, baby. I'm glad you're here.”

You wish he'd stop calling you that. At least for the sake of your heart jumping in your chest every time he does.

He looks away but your eyes are still firmly locked on the side of his face, tracing the familiar path around his features that they'd forged over the past six months. The same path they took every morning when you watched him look out over whatever city you were in that weekend. The same path they took when he fell asleep first during a movie in hopes of memorizing every detail before you slunk back into your own bed to fall asleep, the image of his face still etched into your mind.

But as you stare up at Max, trying to memorize the puzzle pieces of his face while he talks to Christian, you realize how futile of an endeavour it is. Not matter how hard you try, you'll never get the slope of his nose just right in your memories. You'll never get the right shade of turquoise for his eyes. The sandy-dark-blond of his hair will fade away until it was nothing in your mind but the shade of your coffee in the morning instead of the colour of his hair.

Maybe you should find a different apartment. Surely, Monaco had a different apartment complex that was far enough away from Max to rid yourself of the incessant thoughts of him that constantly plagued your love-adled brain.

Throughout all of that, you’d almost forgotten you were in love with him.

But when Max turns back to you, a glint in his eyes and a bright smile gracing his lips, you're suddenly all too aware of that fact.

“I’ll see you in a minute, yeah?”

You nod, smile slowly drifting as he walks away to get weighed and do all the usual post-race theatrics.

Christian pats his hand on your shoulder firmly, smiling as you turn around, “Let’s get to the podium, kid.”

You let Christian lead you away, yet again making his way through the crowd to get you both to the front.

The podium celebration is cute, Max’s happiness practically contagious. Lando and George are enthralled as well, the Brits both happy to back on the podium once again.

But when Max leans over to spray the champagne on the team, you put your hands over your face as Christian laughs beside you, both of you trying to avoid the sticky liquid as much as possible.

You peel away from the crowd after Max walks off, trying to find your way to wherever Max had gone.

As you'd left, you'd wandered away from Christian, who knew the paddock much better than you did. This was your first time here and you found yourself looking around for any sign of the Red Bull driver or, at least, a familiar face who could point you in the right direction.

It takes you a few minutes to gain your bearings but when you hear the familiar sound of Max’s voice, you go that direction, turning a corner to see his face.

And you do see him, post-race glow and all. But it's not just him you find. Standing entirely too close to him with her hand resting on his shoulder, is Max’s ex-girlfriend. She's smiling warmly, nodding animatedly at whatever it is Max is saying. Which, from constantly talking to him, you know is not worth the reaction she's giving him.

He's glancing around, clearly not comfortable with the situation. You huff, looking around before conceding and walking over to the pair. Were you maybe taking your time a little bit? Yeah, but you really didn't want to do this.

You roll your eyes when you catch Max’s eye and a relieved look rolls over his face, “Hey, baby.”

Max uses your arrival as an excuse to take a step back, swinging his arm around your shoulder. He's still covered in champagne and sweat but you ignore it, “Hey, Max.”

You finally glance up to meet the eye of the woman in front of you, her eyes narrowed as she looks between you, “Oh my god, hi! You must be Max’s ex!”

She rolls her eyes before smiling tightly with a nod of her head, “Yeah, I am. You must be his new girlfriend.”

You hum affirmatively, smiling wide as you glance over to the man beside you, “I am, yeah. He's just so perfect. We’re so happy together!”

She narrows her eyes again, glancing you up and down before her eyes stop on your face. You roll your head to the side to rest your temple on his shoulder, resting one of your hands against his chest.

“Well, I’m happy you moved on, Max,” She says, turning her entire attention to the man in question, “You seem… perfect together.”

Max gleams, nodding as he leans in to kiss your cheek, “Yeah, I’m really happy.”

His ex chews on her bottom lip for a few moments before huffing and moving away, turning to shout over her shoulder as she walks away, “Have a great life, Max!”

“Thanks, I guess!” Max replies, laughing as soon as the woman is out of earshot. He pulls away from your side, turning to fully face you.

“Thank you!” Max cheers, grasping your shoulders with his hands, “Did you see her face? She was so pissed that I'd moved on.”

You hum, letting him be happy by himself while you stood quietly, “Yeah, you're welcome.”

You peel away from Max, turning to go back to the car park so you can leave. You don't say anything to Max before you walk away, leaving him to jog to catch up to you.

“You okay?” He asks once he's by your side again. You glance over, catching the concerned look on his face.

“Yeah,” you nod curtly, looking back ahead, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

He doesn't seem convinced but he leaves it be, turning away as well.

He pretends not to notice when you coincidentally step away after he tries to grab your hand.

While Max debriefs, you text one of your friends to ask if you could stay with her for a few days when you got back to Monaco. After this fake relationship was over, you needed to get away from Max for a while just to try and push away the growing feelings you have for the Dutch man.

And with the departure of Max’s ex, you'd served your purpose and you could finally get out of Max’s life and give him the solitude he so longed for.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the only noise being the sound of your nails tapping against the screen of your phone. Max glances over periodically but you eventually set your phone down, choosing to stare out the window as the dark streets of Brazil pass by quickly.

When you get back to the hotel, you open the car door before Max can get it for you like he usually does. He sends you another glance, trailing passively behind as you walk in front of him. You both pass through the lobby and the elevator, your steps determined and much quicker than Max really wanted to be walking.

He's still riding the high of his win and the defeat of his ex-girlfriend but you're in your own mind, too sick to your stomach to be happy for him.

You pull out the spare room key when you arrive at the room, pressing it against the sensor before shoving the door open roughly, letting it fall against Max behind you who catches it.

You toss the key on the table by the door and set your phone down beside it. You still don't turn around as you throw the jacket he had let you borrow down on his bed.

"What is your problem?" You hear Max’s voice ring out in the otherwise quiet room. Annoyance paints his words, causing you to pause for a split-second.

"I don't have a problem." You say, cringing when you catch how much of a lie it sounds. You move on, though, pulling your suitcase out from under the bed and unzipping it.

Max scoffs, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, "Are you sure? Because it really feels like you do."

"It's nothing, Max." You reply sharply, walking into the attached bathroom, grateful to get away from his gaze for a second.

You come back out, your toiletry bag in hand. You set it down in your suitcase and stand up, walking over to the closet and pulling your clothes off the rack. The sound of the hangers hitting together echoes through your head, only contributing to the headache that had been growing since your revelation that morning.

Max finally catches onto what you're doing and speaks, his voice almost panicked, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"What, already? Why?" You try not to be swayed by the hurt in his voice, turning around and walking past him to set your clothes down in your case.

He follows you over, stepping closer as you stand up. You try and step past him but he puts his arm out, stopping you in your tracks. You concede with a sigh, finally looking him in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter, Max.”

"But it does! What's wrong?" You finally step past him, on your way to go gather the rest of your things but his question makes you turn your head as you walk away.

"Max! It doesn't matter!" You immediately regret how loud your voice is but this wasn't exactly the time to be thinking about the people next door.

Max shakes his head, following you as you walk toward the doot in order to grab your shoes, "No, no, no. You've been like this all day and I can't think of a reason why. Do you really want to get away from me that badly?"

Your face twists, causing you to shake your head as you walk away, praying he wont follow you this time, "No, Max, that's not-"

He doesn't completely follow you but he does step a bit closer, shaking his head with a loud groan, "Then enlighten me! What could possibly happened in the past day that's making you act like this? Why are you leaving? Why won't you tell me? I thought we were supposed to be in this together! Why are you-"

"Because I'm in love with you, Max!" You shout, finally turning to face him as you say it, making eye contact with him for the first time since you'd walked in.

Silence falls between you and you toss your shoes down, covering your face with one of your hands. For a second, you think that Max might never respond, your stomach turning at the thought.

How hard could it be to find a different apartment in Monaco?

"What?" Max’s voice is soft and you look back to him, trying to will your frustrated tears not to fall.

"I'm in love with you! I fell in love with you and I know you don't feel the same. You only wanted me to do this to placate your friends and scare away your ex and now im getting out of your hair. I'm leaving you alone like you wanted in the first place,” Tears finally drip down your face and you don't bother to wipe them away, knowing there was only more where they came from. You look away as you explain, eyes locked onto the carpet beneath you, not wanting to face your embarrassment head-on.

"What are you talking about?" At Max’s purely confused tone, you look back to his face, teeth digging sharply into your bottom lip.

His face is soft, confusion etched into the furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips and you swallow, trying to rebuild the confidence you’d had at the start of your outburst.

The hotel room suddenly feels too cold, the air causing you to rub your hands over your shoulders in order to suppress the goosebumps that had started to rise. When you do speak again, your voice is soft, volume just above a whisper.

"This morning. You said I could stop coming after this race. And I did my job, I scared away your ex. You don't need me,” you trail off at the end of your statement, your voice breaking slightly as you shake your head, tears streaming out of your closed eyes and down your cheeks.

You expect Max to agree, to send you away, to end your friendship out of pure embarrassment after your decleration.

But he doesn't.

His voice is soft, just as yours was. His words are hushed but the emotion behind them seeps through every single word.

"I do, though. I do need you."

You look up, eyes widening at his statement. You can do nothing but stare as he steps closer, his hands grasping the sides of your face. Your own hands reach up to hold his wrists, just wanting to hold him someway.

He raises an eyebrow gently, quirking his head to ask for silent permission. You nod and its only a split-second before he's leaning down, pressing his lips against yours.

His hands cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, his kiss causing your brain to practically melt. You mold together, leaning as close to him as you can as your hold conveys months and months of pent-up and hidden emotions.

As he pulls away, your lips want to chase his but you hold back, your eyes flickering open as he leans his forehead against yours. Neither of your speak for a few moments, silence settling between the two of you ask you bask in the adoration between you.

Max’s hand drifts back to your jaw, his thumb drifting across your cheekbone passively. You see his eyes look up and you glance up as well, catching his sparkling gaze in yours.

“I love you,” the words tumble out of his mouth, falling smoothly out of the lips you oh-so wished he would press against your own once again, “I'm in love with you. I fell for you during this whole thing, everything about you.”

You go to respond but he cuts you off, shaking his head lightly.

“I only told you that you could stop coming because I thought you'd grown tired of all this,” he takes a deep breath before continuing, leaning slightly into your hand that had drifted into his hair, “But I'm kind of glad I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, quirking your head. Max pauses, allowing you the chance to admire every feature of his face, turning his freckles into constellations that you'd willingly stargaze in for hours. His hair is tousled from where your fingers had tangled in it and his lips are red from being pressed against yours. His teeth dig into said lip as he thinks before responding. You'd honestly be fine if he never finished his thought and you got to just look at him forever.

But he does finish his thought, the look in his eyes making your heart jump, "Because I don't want to pretend anymore."

You wait a moment, giving him the chance to take it back in case this was a joke, in case he didn't really mean it. But he doesn't take it back, he doesn't laugh.

And so you nod, "I want to do this with you for real, Max. I don't want to lie to anyone anymore, I want to celebrate with you after a race, not because people expect me to, but because I love you."

Max lights up, his face splitting into a wide grin at your words. Before you can react, his arms are around you and your feet are lifted off the ground as Max basically throws you onto the bed beside you.

Your laugh echoes through the hotel room, punctuated by the sound of Max flopping down next to you. You continue to giggle, glancing down to meet Max’s eyes, a special glint shining through.

You calm down after a few seconds as Max continures to gaze at you. When silence finally comes over you, Max leans up to rest on his elbows as you sit up slightly to look down at him.

“I love you too, by the way,” He says softly, “Dont know if you noticed.”

You hum, biting your lip to hold back your laugh, “I assumed so, yeah.”

You laugh as Max huffs, reaching a hand up to pull you down beside him, “Shut up.”

And you do, going quiet as your lips meet his. Later that night, as your both lying in bed, together this time, you fall asleep with your head against his chest, basking in the long-lastint but newly-confessed love between you.

The next morning, you wake up before Max, as you'd done so often. You slip out of his hold and pad over softly to the balcony, sliding on one of his hoodies before you open the sliding door.

You sink into one of the two chairs, looking out over the city of Sao Paulo as it slowly wakes up. The sun peeks out over the horizon, adding light to the previously dark morning.

Eventually, the door slides open behind you and you don’t even have to look to know it’s Max. But you look anyway, happy to take any chance to observe the man.

You take the mug from his offering hand, grasping the warm ceramic tightly. Max doesn’t walk over to the railing, instead moving toward the chair next to you. Before he sits down, he slides it over, pushing it as close to your chair as it could go. He sits down and you twist to sit sideways, leaning your legs over the arm of the chair. Max gently pulls your ankles over his chair to rest in his lap before he takes a long sip of his coffee.

You take a long sip of your own mug as well, letting the taste of the coffee coat your throat and warm your heart.

Milk and sugar, just the way you like it.

——————

Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej

[yukioos]

SPARKS

SUMMARY: jayce talis x reader // jayce gets off work early because he wants to spend more time with you at home. once he comes home, you tease him consistently, knowing he is still nervous around you. a power outage then makes the whole city dark, and as it is winter time, jayce becomes nervous. he bundles you up in blankets, scared of the severe weather that reminds him of a traumatic experience when he was a kid.

AUTHORS NOTE: happy new year, everyone! i wish you all the best of luck, love, and happiness. i hope you guys enjoy this oneshot, i have an ask of jayce comforting reader so im working on that too :) also, what do you guys think of me writing a part 3 of bed chem/part 2 to espresso? tysm for 450 followers too

WARNINGS: not proofread, reader is referred to as jayce’s wife, pet names

“i believe that’s enough work for today, viktor. we should continue tomorrow,” jayce persuaded, not telling his science partner his true intentions. he bounced his leg anxiously as if he was on edge. viktor noticed and tilted his head, showing a peak of interest as he raised his eyebrow and narrowed his eyes. “it’s becoming late, it would be better for us to come back with a new perspective for this problem.”

viktor stared at jayce as if he had stated the dumbest thing ever. he glared at the man and objected, “it is five in the afternoon! we have much more work to do, jayce, a whole city depends on us and our work! what could possibly be more important than this?” he referred to the projects and items they had created with years of research and experience. the shorter man appeared frustrated with his partner, wondering how he could say such a thing.

“my wife.” jayce responded, the corners of his lips turned downwards. he knew his best friend wouldn’t take the comment kindly, after all, he was dedicated to his work, and jayce was too. however, he didn’t expect the shorter man to react in a harsh and degrading way. it made his body feel hot, and he balled his fists up. viktor grumbled and averted his eyes. he knew how important you were to jayce, and he, being the clingiest partner ever, never liked being away from you for long periods of time.

but the desperation on jayce’s face made him hesitate, he put his feelings on hold. the taller man was known as the man of progress, everyone knew his name, and he was working himself to death. he confided in viktor once, saying he knew he was working his ass off, and he was tired, but the one thing that kept him going was you. the pale man sighed and rubbed his eyes, then surrendered, “tell her i said hi.”

he was met with a beaming smile and a chirpy voice. jayce grinned, “i will, vik. thank you.” he then grabbed his luggage and waved goodbye to the scientist, and was more than ecstatic to hear your sweet voice again.

so he smiled as he walked down the hallways of the academy and the streets of piltover, having to pause every couple of minutes to greet someone along the way. he huffed once he was close to your shared home, and by the time he was at the front steps of your house, his cheeks were freezing. it’s a good thing you, his precious wife, told him to bundle up before leaving for work this morning. if he didn’t, his whole body would be freezing! he thought, he was so thankful to have you.

he reached his hand into his coat pocket and grabbed a pair of keys, which were decorated with a keychain of a cute ‘i love you’ note from you. he smiled at the sight, then placed the key into the keyhole and twisted. he twisted again, tugged the key out, and placed it back into his soft pocket.

quickly, he was met with warm air and the smell of cupcakes invading his senses. he greeted, “darling, i’m home!” hoping to call you out from wherever you were. he glanced around before shrugging off his coat and scarf and placing it onto a hanger. he then heard little footsteps and guessed you were walking toward him from the kitchen.

“you’re home early,” you commented, by every step you took closer to him, he became more and more nervous. he started avoiding your intimidating gaze, you noticed and grinned, deciding you were going to tease him a bit more. his cheeks began to flush, and you mumbled, “you look good, baby,” he nervously chuckled and averted his gaze away, eyebrows furrowed upwards as he couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

he chuckled, “i didn’t do anything different to my face… or my outfit,” he began to stutter when you gently grabbed his tie and pulled him down to your height, “well, besides— besides the coat and— um… scarf…” he was then face-to-face with you. you tilted your head slightly to the right and tapped his cheek, wanting him to look at you.

he eyed you once he felt the touch on his face and quickly felt your lips on his in a matter of seconds. he smiled into the kiss and wrapped his large arms around you, always wanting to be as close as he could to you. you placed your hands on his shoulders, then gently massaged his scalp with your freshly manicured nails. he groaned into the kiss and his shoulders felt less tense.

suddenly, the lights in your house turn off, causing both of you to pull away from the kiss. his hands still stayed on your hips, but you let go of his body and unlocked the door, checking outside. the streets were dark. you spoke about what you were thinking, “power outage? that’s rare, isn’t it?” then turned to your husband, frowning as you realized you couldn’t see him.

he replied, “there’s never been a power outage in piltover,” he paused, eyes widening, “what about the hexgates? they’re probably out of power too, i need to fix them—“ he reached his hand out for the doorknob, but you grabbed his hand and cradled it in yours.

you interjected, “jayce, it’s not your job to make sure all the electrical stuff is working. let the other citizens handle it, it’s their job, anyway. how about we grab a flashlight from the nightstand and go read some books?” before he could respond, you walked over to the pantry and grabbed some snacks and drinks. he followed you and slowly guided you to the stairs, escorting you to your shared room.

after you grabbed your flashlight, jayce grabbed a book from a shelf and asked you to read it to him as he pointed the light at it. you were both cuddling on your large bed, his head laid comfortably on your side. as hours passed, the house became cold, and goosebumps formed on your skin.

jayce placed his hand on your arm and gently rubbed it before realizing goosebumps were a sign that the weather was severe and cold. his eyes widened and he put the flashlight down, causing you to call out his name. he shuttered and mumbled, “you need more blankets— i’ll— i’ll go get some, please change into something warmer.” but before you could tell him you felt fine, he grabbed another flashlight and headed to the linen closet. there, you stored extra blankets, and he managed to carry around seven, which was all of them.

his mind went straight to when he was a child and in a snowstorm. his mother passed out, and he was scared for his and her life. he was soon diagnosed with ptsd once he went to a therapist and told them that he always became nervous when the weather dropped. you knew about this but never wanted him to overreact, as you most of the time, were feeling fine heat-wise.

as he placed the blankets over you and grabbed a long-sleeved t-shirt from your drawers, you reached out to him. he flinched and his eyes were red, almost watering, and wide. you stated, “jayce, come back to bed, please.” and rubbed his arm comfortingly, hoping to soothe your husband.

he tried to deny your command, “but you’re cold— your goosebumps— you need something warmer—“ he continued to rummage through your drawers.

“jayce.” you harshly said, grabbing his attention quickly. he shrunk under your gaze, almost feeling ashamed of himself. he averted his gaze, but you softened your tone, “let’s head back to bed, okay? i promise you everything is fine, we’re perfectly healthy and warm.” you didn’t know exactly what to say, but he sighed and closed the drawer.

he walked to his side of the bed and laid down, and you did the same. you were both on your sides, and he had a worried expression on his face. his mind wouldn’t rest anytime soon until he knew you were safe. you hoped to comfort him, and your heart ached, never having seen this behavior from him. you scooted closer to him and kissed his forehead, causing him to slowly slip into your arms. he laid on top of you, hoping to keep you warm with his large frame.

you kissed his forehead and rubbed his back, mumbling praises and ‘i love you’s. you whispered, “we’re both safe, honey, i promise.”

as you were about to close your eyes, he mumbled, “thank you,” he was on the verge of falling asleep, then he continued, “i don’t know what i would do if you weren’t in my life. i love you.”

your heart warmed at his words, and you kissed his head once again. his breath evened out and he didn’t say much, but even as his eyes were closed, you knew deep down, he was still a little boy afraid of losing people he loved.

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙make you mine | CL16 LN4 ˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader y/n (she/her) x lando norris

genre: social media au, polyamorous relationship

warnings: just polyamory & fluff

summary: in which you never censor yourself online but your boys wouldn't change you for the world

a/n: i luv the polyamory reqs lollll

request!!!: I've been obsessed with Charlando recently so I was wondering if you could maybe write a smau for them with singer!reader, I don't have a plot other than the fact that they are dating someone like Renée Rap with zero PR training, can you imagine the chaos

fc: madison beer

my masterlist

twitter ->

instagram ->

charles_leclerc posted a story

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, and 432,054 others

landonorris you're telling me

liked by charles_leclerc

user1 omg aw

user2 awww our precious girl

user3 still not used to u dating her

landonorris posted a story

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 389,766 others

user4 charlando looking after y/n <3

charles_leclerc only if we feed her 🤔

landonorris well..... true

user5 yummm pancakes

francisca.cgomes i miss her

landonorris i told her and she literally squealed at the mention of your name..

francisca.cgomes heheheee that's my girl

landonorris and here we were, thinking she was ours

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by francisca.cgomes, lilymhe, and 982,712 others

user6 omg

user7 i am no better than a man

user8 what have they done this time

liked by yourusername

landonorris baby please we said sorry it was an accident

charles_leclerc ma belle please we're begging

francisca.cgomes posted a story

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 134,927 others

charles_leclerc she's with YOU?

landonorris return her to us this instant

francisca.cgomes idk what you're talking about 🤷‍♀️

user9 make em squirm

user10 😍

yourusername 📍 paris

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 1,043,365 others

yourusername the boys forgot about me but she never would

tagged: francisca.cgomes

view all 8,943 comments

francisca.cgomes i wouldnt dream of it sweetheart 😍

yourusername stop im blushing....

landonorris stop flirting where we can see it charles is distraught

yourusername so was i when i realised you'd both forgotten to include me in your travel plans

user11 LOL is she being serious😭

user12 the most beautiful wags by far

pierregasly go away back to monaco and free my girlfriend

yourusername YOUR girlfriend? huhhh i know you aint talking about my girl kika

pierregasly @.landonorris @.charles_leclerc please make her forgive you so i can live in peace

charles_leclerc you don't think we're trying 😢

francisca.cgomes try harder 😋 (or dont) (i love having her around)

user13 LOL y/n always brings the chaos to social media 😭

user14 i just know lando & charles' PR team are tired

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by francisca.cgomes, carlossainz55, and 671,346 others

lilyzneimer deserved

yourusername right?!

user15 hahaha what a fun spectacle to watch unfold via instagram

carlossainz55 you guys are crazy

yourusername 😘 perhaps true

carlossainz55 no, definitely true

user16 i know this was charles' idea

charles_leclerc 📍 monaco

liked by pierregasly, yourusername, and 844,971 others

charles_leclerc time to get serious for the home race

tagged: yourusername, landonorris

view all 7,375 comments

pierregasly thank god

charles_leclerc 🤨

user17 OMG THEY R SOOO CUTEEE TOGETHER

user18 im so jealous of them

yourusername get my boys on the podium!!!! 🥇

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris

user19 she gets it

landonorris us going back to being rivals on the track: 😢

charles_leclerc my heart isnt in it, dont worry

user20 omg why is the cutest thing ever

yourusername posted a story

liked by francisca.cgomes, lilymhe, and 612,854 others

lilymhe bored much?

yourusername they are too busy and serious to entertain me. send help

lilymhe im coming to collect you immediately

francisca.cgomes they bored you into becoming an impromptu artiste?

yourusername pretty much 😂 lily said the same thing

francisca.cgomes ok good cause me too. On my way!

user21 trust y/n to supply us with the charlando content 😻

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername 📍 monaco

liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri, and 1,024,736 others

yourusername congratulations to my boys on p1 and p2 🩷✨🎀🥰🌸💘🌷🩰 never been so proud in my life!!! by the way i just dropped a new song called make you mine .. this one's for my boys:))) ily all

tagged: landonorris, charles_leclerc, lilymhe

view all 14,827 comments

user26 NO WARNING?????

user27 what the fuck

lilymhe i screamed tbh

alex_albon can confirm

yourusername oh stop it you guys 🤭

francisca.cgomes IIIII WANNA FEel the RUSHH

yourusername real 👀

user28 SCREAMMMMMM

user29 our chaotic queen 👸

landonorris oh my god baby

charles_leclerc no way

messages ->

instagram ->

landonorris posted a story

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, and 716,826 others

user30 oh god i love these three

oscarpiastri cute

lilyzneimer love her <33

user31 sickly sweet😭

charles_leclerc posted a story

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, and 801,626 others

user32 the hand drawn hearts is too cute

user33 y/n is the luckiest girl in the world

user34 giggling and kicking my feet over them

pierregasly you guys are crazy

charles_leclerc crazy in loveee 😎😎😎

yourusername posted a story

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, and 974,626 others

user35 the red and orange hearts😭😭😭

user36 them all posting each other celebrating i could die rn

user37 idk who i wanna be more

francisca.cgomes my fav throuple

yourusername how many others do you know

francisca.cgomes not the point!

landonorris

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 837,907 others

landonorris live inside my mind you can see the shrine got you on my walls ..

tagged: charles_leclerc, yourusername

view all 11,737 comments

user38 omg🥹🥹🥹🥹

user39 omg they are sosososososo cute together i cant cope

user40 oh to be y/n y/l/n

francisca.cgomes a moment for make you mine song of the year 🙏

landonorris pinned 🧷

yourusername iktr 😎

charles_leclerc my honeys 🍯

yourusername hehe

landonorris i love you

charles_leclerc i love you ❤️

yourusername i love u sweeties

user41 the little nicknames🥹🥹🥹

user42 i'd die for them

landonorris same

THE END ❤️🧡

[i-am-married-to-keith-kogane]

Keith dating hcs please!! and im so glad that their is people still doing voltron! i love that show so so much and I feel like the fandom is dying so quickly😭

hiii!!

ofc i can do keith dating headcanons lovely! im so glad you like voltron too, its taken over my life once again and its sad coming back to the fandom with just a little of us left but i want to continue posting/writing about voltron to keep it alive on tumblr with some other talented creators!!

✦KEITH KOGANE DATING HCS✦

✦before confessing his feelings to you, he had to ask lance for some help

✦it took a lot of contemplating and hyping up but he finally got there!

✦keith would struggle a little at the beginning of the relationship since he's worried you'll leave him for someone better. he would spend nights just staring at his ceiling and thinking how much better off you would be with someone else.

✦though overtime those thoughts would fade away but not completely.

✦he would try to flirt with you, but he'd become very flustered and awkward but you thought it was very adorable by the effort he'd put into it!

✦he is very against PDA (aka public display of affection)!!

✦if you break it, expect a very grumpy, pouty and flustered keith.

✦keith is VERY clingy in your relationship, he’ll just want to constantly be near you especially in social situations.

✦keith gets jealous, he just does. he's scared people are gonna steal you from him.

✦once while on a mission with him, this alien took it upon themself to start flirting with you (because who wouldn't😍), keith caught up on this and let me tell you, he was mad.

✦he completely broke the 'no PDA' rule. he wrapped you around in his arm and said "excuse me, but she's taken" with a deadpanned face. man was not having it.

✦i feel like his galra side would make him very territorial, which includes things that belong to him and his personal space.

✦your his and he's yours.

✦surprisingly the only thing that he let pass from his 'no PDA' rule is hand holding, ONLY if he knows that no one else notices (especially Lance or Pidge, they just love to tease him).

✦but they know, they're just snickering quietly to themselves, but shiro keeps them quiet for keith's sake(space dad!!)

✦okay if you guys sleep together, keith demands morning kisses. its the first thing he needs wants. when he wakes up don't be surprised to be showered in kisses!

✦this man does NOT care about morning breath, he just loves you so much!!

✦though, if you sleep in your own beds let say, he'll just brush his teeth (as will you🫵)

✦i feel like keith's hugs will be super comforting and long, especially if he's feeling a little sleepy (and he may just hug you around the other paladins if he is really tired)

✦(yk sometime you just got to break the rule, he just can't resist hugging you. it just makes him feel so warm and comforted.)

✦we all know that keith loves you to bits but he does get embarrassed about what the others will think when they see him so lovey dovey and intimate.

✦he needs to keep the tough guy act okay, its a full-time job (its really not)

✦but just keep reminding him to be himself ☻!!

OKAY WE'VE MADE IT TO CUDDLING!!!!

✦(im sorry i just love cuddles💗 ahhhh)

✦this man would sell his soul for a cuddle from you. IN PRIVATE sadly.

✦he loves little snuggles before drifting off to sleep after an exhausting day.

✦he loves when you pepper kisses all over his face, neck, collarbone and shoulders

✦he also loves when you play or run your fingers through his hair, he finds it so soothing.

✦also don't deny any of his affection! IT WILL SEND THIS DUDE INTO SEVERE POUTY-NESS.

✦he just loves you so so so much!! so it will break his heart (not literally).

✦your the definition of the sun to his moon.♥︎

(i dont think i used that correctly ☹︎ but trust the thought process)

✦you always have to remind him that if he dies, you die too. in hope to make him less reckless on missions (he's still reckless).

✦also before he leaves for a mission he always gives you a sweet little kiss at the forehead/temple and definitely expect a kiss when he gets back!!

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

✦in the end he loves you dearly and would do anything for you ☻♥︎

★。＼｜／。★

-love,

. marra✧˖*°࿐

★。／｜＼。★

[sixosix]

kissing lyney awake doesn’t really work. wc 600. fluff, established relationship, more lyney content bc i need him to come home im so desperate its not funny

lyney sleeping is the only moment you see him at ease. he portrays a convincing act—laid-back, too friendly, performatively elegant, and it’s these that help you forget lyney is nothing like that at all on quiet days.

seeing him breathe slowly, eyes shut, and body language openly comfortable, makes your chest grow inexplicably warm.

there are no curtains. no cards, doves, or leather gloves. just you, him, and the bed with your legs tangled. you’re unable to help yourself, placing a delicate kiss on the apple of his cheek. it’s barely there: just a faint brush of your lips.

so it’s your surprise when lyney’s eyes fly open and a hand reaches for the back of your head before you can pull back.

“did i wake you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

lyney opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a quiet, hoarse groan.

“sorry,” you laugh gently, cupping his face.

“mm… no, don’t be,” lyney says, his eyes threatening to flutter shut from their sluggish weight. the consonants don’t form perfectly in his state. “it seems as… as if even in sleep my body reacts to your kisses eagerly.”

“you sure? it seems like your body seemed rather alarmed, actually.”

lyney smiles tiredly, that alone expressing more than his words could ever try. “if i were alarmed, i would’ve pushed you away. couldn’t you tell that i’m…” his eyes wander down. he makes an indecipherable noise.

“are you going to wake me up like that every morning?” he asks with a slow smirk.

“you told me to wake you up around this time to prepare,” you say, covering your mouth, much to his displeasure. “focus on the clock, not my lips.”

lyney almost whines, like the drama queen he is.

“up, lyney. and let go of my head.”

“no.” he pushes you closer, but his mouth only collides with the back of your fingers. “the cruelty. you’re heartless. kicking a man when he’s down—does this make you happy? do you derive pleasure from making a pleading fool out of this great, renowned magician?”

you successfully slip out of his grasp. he ends up clawing at air. “if you have the energy to complain needlessly, you have the energy to get up.”

lyney sighs heavily. he pulls himself up and pouts at you, like you’ve kicked a stray puppy in front of his eyes. he might be the stray puppy in question.

“if you can kiss me awake, you can also kiss me to stand up.” he yawns halfway through the sentence.

“we won’t get much done if you get your hands near me.”

instead of grinning smugly like you expect him to, lyney’s eyes crinkle alone with his soft smile. he pulls you in by your hips, pressing his forehead against yours and breathing deeply.

“hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, brushing a cheek as his eyes fall shut once again. it doesn’t take even a second before he melts back into the sheets. “you’re still tired, huh? good job performing yesterday. must’ve been exhausting. you can sleep for five more minutes.”

“mmh,” is what he replies with, pawing your waist to ask for something.

you kiss his nose, and his smile widens just a fraction—just enough of what his lax body can do. he later reveals that it was all a trick to make you kiss him awake all over again, but you know him a little better than that.

a/n ok anyway THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVE LYNEY LIKERS im glad u all like reading for lyney as much as i do writing for him

[cyberm4n]

HI I LOVED UR HYPERSEXUAL FEM READER HEADCANONS UR WRITING IS SO GOOD

Soo I'm here to request the vees (mainly vox but idc) x hypersexual Fem reader pleasee 😭🙏

if not that's okay and I hope you have a nice day/night!! feel free to delete this lol

-xoxo, Ari

THANK YOU <3333 i love the vees and ive been looking for an excuse to write them so this is perfect

vees with hypersexul reader

going with the same scenario as last time- you've just finished a round and (char) is spent but you're already ready to go again

《— vox —》

■ he seems like a 2 rounds kinda guy so after that second round and yall are just laying there he is SPENT

■ so when you roll over to lay on his chest like "one more time?" with a little smile on your face, as if yall did not just violently fuck it takes him a moment

■ he's spent, so spent. but he really wants to please you

■ he'd get used to it tbh. like he's mentally prepared everytime now but maybe sometimes he can do a round 3

■ he'd resort to toys i think, only the best for his girl <3

■ there's also something he loves about getting to hold you and watch you writhe in pleasure and he just gets to watch

■ he'd always take your preferences into mind with toys too. like if you want smth specific he's got it for you

■ i feel like he might prefer if yall are spent at the same time so the foreplay goes CRAZY

■ like it's not just foreplay it's actual rounds of getting you to cum before the main event yk

■ or sometimes he'll just ask if it'd be okay to be done for the night when he is

■ he doesn't mind either way but he'd definitely want to communicate about it

■ so yeah it might take him a little bit to adjust bit he'd be just fine!

《— valentino —》

■ okay let's be real this man fucks A LOT so he can probably do like. 3 or 4 lengthy rounds before he's tapped out

■ it's making me giggle about it but like okay val is a kinky guy, and like especially if the first time yall do anything it's a little bit rougher he is SHOCKED when you're down for more

■ he's prly into something like overstim where normally you kinda gotta reel from it after so when he's done and it takes you like. a minute or two to be like "do you wanna do it again?" he judt looks down at you so confused

■ he takes a moment, blinking. he'd definitely ask if you're kidding or smth and then finding out you're not he has to take a moment

■ like, he finds it fucking awesome but jesus christ he's finally met hsi match

■ he might use toys on you or go down on you, depends how he's feeling tbh

■ i think he'd lean towards going down on you, idk he just seems like he'd be a bit of a munch.

■ and if you're okay with it when yall fuck in the future he's constantly just seeing how far you can go before you're spent

■ long story short he's totally chill abt it when he gets used to it and thinks it's fucking great

《— velvette —》

■ okay im literally giggling and kicking my feet while typing this

■ she seems like a 2 or 3 round kind of gal

■ idk femxfem sex doesn't really go in rounds ime but like. yk.

■ so after she's spent, she's like so ready to cuddle up and sleep. but then you're caressing her cheek, nuzzling into her neck. "again?" you murmur and she has to take a moment

■ cause like, she's just super surprised you're still ready for another.

■ she'd ask the most questions abt it. like she'd want to just know more so she can support you better

■ she'd go down on you tho! anytime! she definitely has toys but she seems like the type to be more inclined to eat you out

■ if she gets tired of that she'd use a toy on you. but she stays engaged the whole time, super attentive.

■ she's a service switch so like getting to keep you pleased like this makes her feel good and she doesn't mind at all

■ once again, all of them would embrace it and they do not mind at all!

■ if you guys with the poly hc for the vees i think it just makes it so much better for them to know it's really hard to burn you out

■ i loved this request ty <3

taglist: @reaper-of-light-12 @mxxny-lupin @wisteria-songs @t3llas @concentratedconcrete @pansexual-opera-house @dionysusismypatrongod

taglist form

[stsgooo]

moonlit goddess.... maybe jinshi is wondering why his dear maid continues to pull away from him... and maybe gao shun lets it slip that "they shouldn't have been close that day anyway".... and jinshi pesters him until he folds n explains.... IDK I JUST WANT A HAPPY ENDING FOR THOSE TWO :((((( (not forced ofc!! i jus love ur writing!)

Bridge the Gap.

✩࿐ summary: life and death really makes a girl wonder.

warning(s): idiots in love, chapters 61-65 manga spoilers, master/servant like relationship, description of near drowning, suggestive content, ambiguous ending. wc; 9.3k

pairing(s): jinshi/fem!reader.

a/n: tysm for reading my fics means the world to hear ppl actually enjoy them, anon!!! ;') i wasn't really going to make a 2nd part of moonlight goddess as i thought it was okay to leave off there, but i love jinshi sooo i'll take any excuse to write him. this was initially going to be a part 2 of clumsiness, but i figured my plans worked better with what you were envisioning! im not entirely sure how to feel about this, but i hope this lives up to the standards! i apologize for any mistakes, this was written mostly in the early mornings when i had time!

part i. m.list

"Are you sure I'm not hurting you?"

"Y/N, please, stop asking me that."

"Oh, yes. My apologies, Jinshi-sama. Sorry."

This were, admittedly, not going well. Both of you soaked, hair dripping, and standing in the cave behind a rapid waterfall, and a dull ache in your chest as you recovered. Partly your fault, partly the fault of some crazed marksman that was hiding in the forest, trying to slaughter Jinshi and, by proxy, you.

To understand how you two ended up in this situation, we would have to back up a bit.

"Oh? Y/N, I didn't know you'd be attending this as well?"

"It was a last minute switch with Suiren and I."

"You... enjoy these hunts?"

"I've done everything I could to avoid them in the years past."

Your lack of excitement was apparent and clear. It appeared to bring no ease of mind to Maomao who dragged her rather disgusted eyes from you towards Gaoshun. The older man just kept his attention on the moving scenery outside, a distant glaze over his eyes.

Maomao obviously wasn't optimistic. Just like you. You were almost proud that she had caught on so easily.

The sweltering heat outside seemed to seep into the carriage, cooking you alive in your rather formal wear. Something that you were spotted in far and few, having been years that you truly cleaned yourself prim and proper. You had been on the edge of declining even going when Jinshi, with a grin and a certain glitter in his eyes, had too happily informed you that it was a direct invitation from Shishou.

Your fate had been sealed.

Maomao peeked at you from the corner of her eye, head tilted, "Do you mind me asking why you avoided these events?"

You don't even spare her a glance, "I fear if I spoke my honest opinion, I'd stain Jinshi-sama's reputable name with my foul mouth." You reply flatly in return.

"Please don't." Gaoshun said softly from his seat, looking particularly tired.

You decided to ignore the slump of Maomao's shoulders as if disappointed by the swift interruption and decline on Gaoshun's part. Turning your eyes towards the shifting world outside.

It'd been exactly five months since Jinshi had danced under the moon and you came to the conclusion that any impure thoughts you held for your master would be safely tucked away in the back of your mind (and heart). Forever your secret. Only to be heard in your dreams and upon your death, when you repent for any ill thoughts to the Great Man above.

Everything had returned to its normal routine. You would get up in the morning, prepare breakfast alongside Suiren, eat, then proceed with any chores the woman gave you for the rest of the day, then repeat. Equally, your relationship (or lack thereof) with Jinshi had remained the same. Conversations filled with pleasantries. Simple things that had always lingered between the two of you since you were children. Pleasant and simple. As the world shall ever be.

It got a bit ruffled with Jinshi had cornered you and practically ordered that you come to the hunt instead of Suiren.

In the middle of scrubbing away at the floors, he had found you. Stood above you with that grin, “Y/N, you’re one of my most loyal servants, hm?” He’d begun with an inflection in his tone that made you horribly hesitant.

You had faltered in your scrubbing to stare up at him with confusion, “Uh…well, I suppose, Jinshi-sam’s.”

“Why don’t you join me for the Hunt this up coming week?”

Your had heart dropped. And, by the look Gaoshun had dawned, his had too. The Hunt, in your humble opinion, was a glorified weekend for the men in high positions to rub one off while killing animals. It wasn’t something you found interesting in or much grace. That’s why you had declined Suiren’s question on whether or not you’d like to take her place only three days prior. You had no interest in watching anyone, even Jinshi, size each other up while a defenseless animal bled.

“Jinshi-sama, I believe Suiren—“

Ever the gentleman, he had cut you off, “No worries, Suiren agreed to take over matters while you’re gone! She’s the sweetest, right?” He had appeared all to eager and all too himself for you to ignore.

So, with a heavy heart, you’d sighed, accepting defeat and his invitation.

Now, you would find your torture for a multiple day retreat with a bunch of men with their c—

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, bringing an unruly end to your thoughts as you all carefully exited and were greeted by the sunshine. The humid air heavy with the condensation of the area and already making a sweat appear on your brow. But, ever the lady, you pleasantly tuck your hands into your sleeves and follow behind Gaoshun and Basen.

You were a little surprised as Maomao stuck closely to your side; but not all too surprised to find her attention on your surroundings, vague surprise in her eyes. The area was as equally as beautiful as it was a burden to you.

The buildings weren't anything for you to revel at. Spending an entire lifetime within palaces and in buildings as equally or above standard to those, it just wasn't anything special. The nature surrounding the area, however, was something to stare in awe at. Lucious trees, beautiful grass, and beautiful array of plants and flowers. It almost made you regret all the time you had spent away from this place.

But it wasn't like you had the chance to truly return since the last time you were here. Nothing could bring back that little girl.

You deterred your thoughts away as Gaoshun slid the door open. Immediately, you were hit with a wave of heat that you made you tense up. It was apparent that you wouldn't find your much needed cool down you were desperate to find since you were confined in the carriage days prior.

You were the last to enter and when you did, you faltered at the sight before you.

Jinshi was sprawled across the couch, wisps of his dark hair framed his sweat glistened face, eyes closed in contempt. A small dent appeared between his eyebrows and a frown adorned his face. However, your attention was caught on a drop of sweat that made its way from his hairline, down his cheek, his jaw, his long slender neck, and past his— his collar.

His modesty was of no worry, apparently, as he laid with his robes parted open to reveal his chest. Itself was glistening with sweat. Delicate skin on showcase for all to see. It brought a soft blush to your cheeks, as you blatantly ogled him. Pressing your lips together to contain whatever thoughts you had about him from burst from your seams.

"Y/N," Jinshi's voice hit your ears, tender and smooth. You're suddenly hyperaware that he's staring at you with raised brows, lids peeked open to stare at you.

You straighten your back and offer a bow, "Jinshi-sama. Do you require anything?" You had to get it together. It was inappropriate to behave in such a scandalous way. "Request for ice? Tea?"

Jinshi shook his head, sitting up, "No, rather I'd like for you to rest after such a long journey."

You falter, your arms wavering from their position in front of your face, "Uh.... Wouldn't the room be more tolerable with some ice?" You spare a glance around the room and grimace. The windows are shut tight, only bits of sun peeking through the cracks. Basen looks rather miserable, but trying to appear his usual stern self. While Gaoshun and Maomao seem rather okay with showcasing their small discontent with the heat. A nice cube would help at least cool down a bit.

You also couldn't stand another second seeing Jinshi like that. As if he were some type of nymph testing your faith.

"Really, it's fine—" Jinshi attempted, but you were already turning on your heel.

"I will return with ice." You didn't miss the way Jinshi's face fell and his eyes cut to Gaoshun who shook his head in return.

Your fast paced adventure led you to the main hall, where people were moving in and out. Various officers and servants filled the area, finding their rooms or helping their masters and fellow officers to their own rooms. Everyone appeared to be feeling the heat as they wiped their brows. Much like you, they appeared to be attempting to defeat the heat.

You found your way towards an attendant who helped you get something situated for Kousen. Something that brought you both distaste and irritation. Something to be addressed at a later time.

Joy filled you as you turned around, ice would soon be in the room and you could crowd around it like it was a new lover.

As you were about to make your way back to the room, you ran into someone.

You were about to apologize when they whirled around and you let out an audibly sigh that conveyed your unwavering exhaustion for them.

"Hey, watch where— Oh, hey, " Lihaku blinked, kind face twisted up in vague recognition. “You’re that lady-in-waiting. What are you doing out here?”

“I’m on loan from Jinshi-sama,” you answered rather flatly, not missing the small frown accompanying the man’s face.

You were vaguely familiar with Lihaku. What with Maomao getting involved in the problems within the inner and rear palace, you were bound to make new acquaintances when she was dragging you around. Lihaku was the first one you had ran into. On orders to accompany the girl from Suiren, you had gotten to see her investigative skills firsthand. You were impressed, surely, when she had made the discovery about the potatoes. But the impression was overshadowed by Lihaku, who had spent the entire time chatting your ear off.

He was kind, handsome, and smart when it called for it. But you could tell that, like most officers, he had an airheaded vibe to him. One that deterred you from making things too complicated with him.

Friendly enough, and one of the few people that didn't seem to disinterest Maomao, you accepted his very vague and shadowed feature in your life.

"Well, that's nice of him." He said, clearly disinterested in where this conversation was going. "I'm glad to see a friendly face, though."

You offered a small smile, "As am I. Not many kind faces around here often."

"You can say that again." You hear a loud inhuman snort and a tug on your gown, taking a large step back, you look down. A large dog with drool leaking out from the sides of its mouth stared back at you. "Oh, hey, boy, no!"

"O-Oh my." You uttered, slightly breathless as you looked at the large beast.

Lihaku glanced at you, offering a withering smile, "Eh, sorry, he gets excited around new people— not a great trait in a dog like this, you would think, but he's a real gem. Just has his moments. Hey, now—"

Lihaku pulled out something metal and brought it to his lips, then blew. It emitted little to no sound, at least, any you could truly hear, making your perk up when the dog tilted his head and sat respectfully before the officer. He blew again and the dog laid. Again, and the dog stood on all fours.

You smiled softly, watching in wonder as it obeyed whatever silent orders it was getting from Lihaku.

"He's very smart." You observed as the dog sat down again.

"Right?" Lihaku beamed, "I can get him to come running from kilometers away if need be."

"Useful when you're in a bind."

"For sure!" Lihaku's demeanor reminded you of a proud father as he puffed his chest and looked distastefully towards the cages lined up outside. "He's real smart, yet they still want to use those birds in the end."

You didn't want to point out the various problems that could come with using a dog; as there were probably another list of various pros to actually use the dog. The hawks had been used for years and you doubt that some dogs would be taking their place any time soon. It'd probably be a long time before these arrogant men came to their senses and found better means. Despite dogs being loyal and determined to their cause, the hawk would always be chosen.

Or, the better alternative, they didn't do this hunt anymore.

But you knew that was a longshot.

It wasn't long after that you bid Lihaku a farewell and good luck on his duties, making your way back to the room. You exchanged pleasant smiles and greetings with familiar faces, but nothing that kept you from relaxing much longer.

When you returned to the room, everyone had found their own areas and activities to occupy themselves. Gaoshun and Basen were playing Go near the windows, Maomao was reclining on the floor where a sliver or air was flowing through (from where, you weren't completely sure). Jinshi was back to sitting on the couch, a book in his hands. Something that was quickly disregarded as you gently closed the door behind you.

"The ice should be up soon." You informed the room with a respectful bow.

Jinshi didn't look at all interested, "What took you so long?" It sounded like contempt. Irritation if you had to really dig. Something that made you falter.

You look up and see the pout on his lips— childish, as always. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jinshi-sama. I happened to run into a friend and got caught up in conversation." You apologized softly. The last thing you wanted to do was bring him more annoyance and disturbance.

He straightened considerably, "A friend?"

You didn't like the way it was spoken. A touch of disbelief was enough for you to eye him with your own distaste. Even if you and Lihaku were nothing more than strangers with vague familiarity with one another.

"Yes, a friend." You confirmed with thin lips. Despite your inner voice telling you to reign in your attitude, you upturn your nose and decide to join Maomao— whose eyes were shooting between the both of you with trepidation and vague sympathy. "He was being kind."

Jinshi huffed, "I didn't know you had any secret friends."

"Not a secret. Just don't find any time to speak about it with you, Jinshi-sama."

That made the man falter, a darkened shadow over his face. "I suppose." He frowned heavily now, squinting at you with something unreadable. "Who is this friend of yours?"

You, finding no reason to lie, continued on, "Officer Lihaku."

In an instant, three heads snapped to you with varying degrees of emotions. Maomao looked shocked, but welcomed the information with a shrug. Gaoshun looked pale and overwrought, for whatever reason you weren't entirely sure, but you had an itching feeling it had to do with Jinshi.

The same Jinshi that was now face down on the couch, letting out a miserable sound. Speaking into the fabric of it all, unintelligiable. But you swore you heard something along the lines of— "that second rate, again?!" As he continued to rant and cry.

With that, you decided it best to not involve yourself with whatever Jinshi was battling. You wouldn't win anyway.

You'd always hated Kousen-sama.

He almost always seemed to loom in the shadows. An masked man who held no personality or words of his own. Pleasantries offered out of necessity and not because that was simply the right thing to do. He was mysterious. He hardly appeared, but he was always there. A reminder for what things would return to one odd day. A symbol for exactly where your loyalties and master lied.

Kousen-sama was to always appear before others with his mask on. To avoid them seeing the ghastly sight of scars and blemishes that adorned his skin because of his sickness (whatever that may be) and spare him the indecency of stares. He was unmoving. Stone amongst he lively environment that ate away at their lunches and softly conversed with one another.

Prince. The respectable Kousen-sama. The great son of the empire. The brave prince against all odds.

Oh, how much you hate Kousen-sama.

But you still had woken up early to help him pin his hair back. To slip his robes on. To delicately place the mask on, fingering the bangs out through the slits to allow some type of familiarity. You were his confidant. His reliable and kind servant.

As always, you and Basen stood behind Kousen-sama with your backs straight and eyes ahead. A pleasant servant on loan and stern guard, you both were familiar faces against the unrecognizable figure in front of you. It reminded the people exactly who was before them. Exactly who had decided to grace their presence.

Still, it brought you discomfort.

You still eyed Gaoshun in the corner of you eye. The older man sat at the other end of the table. Maomao standing behind him with a distant look in her eyes, obviously not paying attention to the things happening around her. Not entirely surprising, but you felt the overwhelming urge to scold her for her lack in etiquette.

Oh, you're starting to think like Suiren, aren't you?

Suddenly, Basen is tensing up beside you and Kousen-sama is turning his head away from a scowling Shishou. Your eyes snap between the two with a scowl of your own. Whatever that man had said—

Kousen-sama's hand clenches. So tightly that his knuckles turn white and he shakes. You know something isn't right. You had missed something. Something so obvious and you were too concerned about Gaoshun.

The man stands from his chair, the legs loudly clattering against the tiled and stone floor. You watch uneasily as Kousen-sama raises, takes a moment to collect himself, then practically speeds away from the room. You don't waste a moment to bring your sleeve covered hands to your mouth and make your own exit.

As you pass a concerned Maomao and Gaoshun, you hear a barely uttered whisper from the girl— heat. Food.

You try to hide your confusion and worry as you follow behind your master.

It doesn't take you long to find him.

Down the path, up against a tree, the masked figure was hunched and obviously breathing heavily. You draw closer, outstretching a hand to gently press it against the large expanse of his back.

"Kousen-sama, are you quite alright?" You ask softly, hunching slightly to capture a glimpse of his eyes from that slit in the fabric.

When you do, you're almost breathless. His violet eyes are alight with something distant and scornful. Eyebrows furrowed as he meets your own gaze.

"Y/N...?" He sounded vaguely surprised under it all, breathless himself. As if he couldn't quite believe that you were here in front of him.

You nod once, reaching out and grabbing ahold of one of the ties keeping the mask all together. "I'm going to remove this. No one is around."

His hand is suddenly wrapped around your wrist. Not tight or unrelenting, but enough to make you freeze. Warm and clammy skin against your own to make you feel scorched. You don't need to see his entire face to know that his jaw was clenched now.

"I can't," he said in all his self-assuredness, "Someone might still come."

What a pain. You thought to yourself as you draw in a heavy breath.

You don't waste a second to slip under his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders and allowing him to lean most of his weight against you. "No worries, sir, I'll just find us some place where no one else is around."

You gently guide Kousen-sama from the line of trees and deep within it. Finding an oddly familiar path created within your mind to follow that takes you towards an overflowing waterfall. A loud crash of water hitting the rocks and body of water below that brought you a distant sense of comfort. The refreshing smell of the water hits your nostrils and you take a deep breath.

With Kousen-sama against you, you felt the sweltering heat hit you tenfold. But the mist from the waterfall brushed against your skin like a gently caress from an old lover.

This is it.

You stumble over to one of the few trees next to the waterfall and gently guide Kousen-sama to sit up against it. The man took a heavy breath and you finally felt a little at ease. Reaching forward, you moved to take the cloth off once again and then—

A loud thud and chunks of dirt hit your cheek.

You frowned, looking to the ground only a could feet away and saw a small crater. A sharp smell filled your senses and you stiffened. It was an unkind and almost putrid scent. The smoke from the small crater was the main cause.

"Eh—?"

You were suddenly cut off as Kousen-sama wrapped his arms around you, jerking you upwards and away from the tree. You would've basked in the way his body was pressed against your back or the way his fingers seemed to mold into your abdomen— you would've if it weren't for the loud crack in the air then the pieces of bark that flew through the air around you.

The tree that he had been pressed up against only moments ago was now split open with a piece of metal imbedded into the wood. It looked eerily similar to the same that had been in the ground moments ago.

"Is that a feifa?!" His voice pierced through your thoughts, oddly frantic and uneasy as he moved quickly from the tree and towards the river.

You glanced up at him and found him already staring down at you. Eyes narrowed and, if it weren't for the mask, his entire face would be scrunched up in that familiar distaste and panic. Yet he seemed eerily calm as he dragged you through the trees and into the water.

"Sorry, but this is gonna get a bit dramatic." His voice was soft against your head, warm breath caressing your hair as he wraps a protective arm around your head.

Your eyebrows raise, "Dramatic— WHAT?" You should've known his tone and choice of his words were a warning for what was to come, but you were still caught off guard.

He gave no indication that he was going to jump off the cliff.

"Jinshi, you goddamn idiot!"

You mustn't get ideas above your station.

The water was oddly clear. Even with the mix of the overflowing waterfall, under it all was peaceful and calm. Fishes and water like insects lived in harmony.

Cool and calm. Always.

You are there to serve your master.

The little boy's head burst from the water with a big grin, short hair flat against his head and dripping. The sun reflecting off his violet eyes and almost blinded the little girl curled up on the side shore. Her face set into a scowl, clothes drenched, and a looming unimpressed older man behind her.

"It's so nice out, why don't you come in!" Beckoned the boy from the water.

The little girl shot him a nasty look, "You know why, you jerk!"

The boy's grin faltered, tilting his head at his friend, "Eh? Why are you being mean?" His voice wavered on the ends, still just floating in the middle of the basin.

"I'm not mean! You're mean! You're the biggest meanie!" The little girl stood up to throw an accusatory finger at the boy, her sleeve heavy and uncomfortable as she moved.

The boy's face reddened, eyebrows scrunched together, "I'm not mean! You're mean!" He repeated.

"No, you are! You're the biggest meanie in the whole wide world!"

"No, you are!"

"You are! You pushed me into the water!"

"You are! You should swim!"

"I hope you drown, meanie!"

The boy's expression fell completely. A heartbroken glint in his eyes flooding them. His lips trembled. But, before he could do something like cry, he was already swimming deeper

Nothing less, nothing more.

"Now, now," a large hand rested on the little girl's shoulder and gently tugged her back, turning her around to face the man. He seemed to be trying to appear as tender as he could to try calm down the girl's high nerves. "No need to get angry."

"But, Gaoshun—" The little girl whined.

Gaoshun shook his head, patting her shoulder, "No, we don't argue. Try to forgive and forget, yeah?" He reminded the lessons that he'd attempted multiple times to teach the two children. "No reason to walk around with resentment for others, right?"

The little girl scoffed her shoe against the ground, a pout on her lips, "Do I have to, Gaoshun?" She knew what this would call for. Exactly how this would end for her.

The man heaved a sigh, nodding, "Yes, you do. Now, go reconcile. I'll wait here."

The girl faltered as the man raised to his full height, cupping his hands behind his back. She dragged her feet through the soft soil and found her way towards the boy once more. He was grasping onto the edge of the bank, sniffling and snorting. His shoulders shook and his face was stuffed into his arms.

The little girl frowned. "Um... Are you okay?"

The boy stiffened, not turning around as he answered, "No."

"I'm sorry, I said something real mean." The little girl uttered, stepping closer as she clutched her wet clothes. "I just... You pushed me into the water, I can't..."

"I thought you were my friend!" The little boy whirled around on her, face red and eyes filled with big tears. He looked enraged but incredibly disheartened. The girl blinks in return as the boy glares. "You say such mean things to me. Friends aren't supposed to be mean!"

The girl clenched her jaw, "You were mean to me first!" She accused.

The boy sniffled, wiping under his nose with his forearm. "You're my friend." He repeated as if that cleared up any anger.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The little girl slowly sat beside him, her feet dipping under the water. "It is nice." She whispered.

The little boy dragged his eyes upwards, looking hurt but hopeful. "Right?" he asked, equally as quiet.

"You're my friend too, Jinshi." The little girl nudge him with her leg.

Jinshi's eyes twinkled, wide and all too bright, "Really?"

"Really." The little girl confirmed with a toothless grin. "My friend forever and ever!"

Jinshi positively beamed, the water sloshing as he jumped happily. "Forever and ever, and ever!"

"And ever!"

"It's no longer... appropriate for you and Jinshi-sama to be friends."

"I don't... I don't understand. He's my friend."

"His mother no longer finds it appropriate for you to concern yourself with Jinshi."

"But, Gaoshun—"

"No, Y/N. It's over. Come along. Suiren has a present for you."

"He's.... He's my friend...."

"I'm so sorry."

You are to give your life to your master.

The woman paused, back pin straight, as she entered her master's office, finding him curled up in the corner, muttering nonsensically to himself. The guard of said master was watching on with a pitiful expression of his own, only breaking his eyes away when the woman entered the room. His expression only seemed to deepen.

She didn't need to ask. There was an unspoken understanding as to what their master's breakdown was regarding. The Apothecary. The one that had gotten the attention of everyone in the palace as of late. The one that had been causing her great grief as of late— and was about to create more.

"Jinshi-sama?" The woman called softly, stepping closer.

Jinshi's lifeless eyes continued to stare at the floor below him. A gentle rocking seeming to soothe himself from the rages of his mind. "I don't need anything, Y/N. Thank you, kindly." He uttered just as lifelessly.

The devoted servant's chest clenched. Her face flushed as she reached out a wavering hand. To place it delicately against his hunched back. To offer her best comforting words that she could. To distract him away from her.

Any inappropriate behavior will be punished, severely.

She faltered. This wasn't her place. This wasn't a part of her duties unless Jinshi said so. Inappropriate behavior wasn't called for. It will be punished severly.

Retracting her hand, she stands, and offers a respectful bow. "Please call me if you need anything, Jinshi-sama." And left him in his dark corner.

"Gaoshun, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, Jinshi-sama."

"You have been in my life for as long as I can remember. You remember more than I possibly could about my younger years. Whatever happened to cause me and Y/N to fall apart?"

"...."

"It had to be around the time I was eight that I noticed we were growing apart. Even now, I see it so clearly."

"It's been a long time, Jinshi-sama. You're no longer children."

"All the more reason to know, isn't it?"

"I don't know...."

"Gaoshun, nothing will come of it. I'm simply curious."

"..."

"I'm sorry to put you in this position. Please return to what you were doing."

"Jinshi-sama.... you might not like the truth..."

"I usually don't."

"Where to begin.... Before her eighth birthday—"

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"H....E—"

Everything felt so muffled. Faraway. Featherlight.

Was that a pressure against your chest? A thump that came into quick successions, then stopped. For something soft and ever so delicate to press against your lips?

Everything was distant. So far away from your grasp. From your state of being. As if you were already long gone from whatever reality you were in moments ago.

"H—"

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It was almost like floating. A gentle sway and a crack.

A joyful gliding against the sky that soothed you away from worries and woes.

Thump. Thump. Lips.

Repeating endlessly. Happily. Wetly?

Thump. Thump. Lips.

You welcomed it. Whatever it was. Whatever kept the rhythm. The wonderful rhythm.

Thump. Thump. Lips.

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Thump. Thump. Lips.

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Thump. Thump. Lips.

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Thump. Thump. Lips.

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Thump. Thump. Lips.

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Thump. Thump. Lips.

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THUMP. THUM—

You shot up with a cough.

Your throat burned and head ached terribly. Your eyes almost felt like they were about to pop out of your head and roll away. You felt horrible.

It didn't help that you were drenched from head to toe either.

Beside you, there was a heavy and loud sigh of relief as he fell to his backside. He let a silence fall over you both as you recovered, hand pressed against your throat and heaving.

Jesus. Had you almost...

The thought alone almost made you sick.

"I'm sorry. I thought.... I didn't think you still couldn't swim." His voice was soft, barely heard over the waterfall. Kind and cautious, worried and terrified. Things that seeped from his tone as if it were bleeding out and bearing all its insides to you.

Exposing him to you.

You peeked over your loose strands of hair to glare viciously at him. "When would I have the time to learn to swim?" You shot back ruthlessly, not entirely caring from etiquette in this moment. "You've lost your mind."

"Right." Jinshi immediately agreed, almost looking fearful as he watched you.

You push yourself up and take in a deep breath, coughing slightly at the burn of your throat. Taking in your surroundings, you swore that this was that—

"Are you really alright?"

You glanced back at the man and found him still sat on the damp ground. His eyebrows are furrowed and a small frown on his lips as he stared up at you. It made you uncomfortable. To see such a glittering violet staring back at you earnestly. Honestly.

You instead clutch onto your dress, "Suiren is gonna kill me." You scoff, tugging the garments apart.

You could hear Jinshi sputter behind you. The gravel and dirt below him crunching as he probably scrambled up from his spot.

You spared a feeble look over your shoulder to find him with his eyes clenched slowed, hand covering your body from his gaze. You snap your gaze back around and tug the fabric a little too hard as you scoff.

You wouldn't deny the pang of hurt that clenched your chest.

"Don't worry, Jinshi-sama, you won't have to see my unruly body of mine for long. I just want to make sure Suiren doesn't slaughter me when we return."

"I— No, I'm just— okay." He finally muttered.

You are stripped down to your underthings, placing the dress and various pieces on the ground as delicately as you can to avoid too much dirt being stained into the fabric.

As you place the last bit of clothing down, you hear the flutter of fabric behind you.

Jinshi is a bright red, gently tossing his robe down behind him. His back is facing you and you know its for whatever mock sense of modesty he wants to give the both of you. You instinctively reach out and take his robe in your grasp, twisting it and squeezing it to watch out a fair amount of water drip out.

"You worry about mine later. Take care of your things first."

Yeah, right, You think as you twist it with an unrelenting grip. You are there to serve your master. It's one of the first things you learn. His needs came before your own. His needs were your needs.

Jinshi snatched the robe away and squeezed the fabric tight, an overflowing amount of water released from the cloth and into the ground.

Okay, so maybe he was better at it than you.

You nod, turning your attention towards your own garments and try to ignore the overwhelming feeling that you had eyes on your rear.

"So, um—" Jinshi cleared his throat when his eyes dragged away from you, cheeks a bright red. "What now?"

"Well, we could attempt at trying to swim back—"

"You can't swim."

"I was going to say that."

"Oh, sorry."

There's a soft silence between the both of you as you finish up. Gently redressing, you make your way towards the entrance of the cave, where the waterfall is blocking it from any negative eyes. You press your lips into a thin line and regard it bitterly. You remember this waterfall.... you could recall the times you whimsical pondered what it'd be like to ride down it like in those stories.

Jinshi had promised such when you both were too young and too dumb to realize how naïve dreams like that were.

You couldn't really judge that mini-you, for you had your own dreams of—

"Remember when Gaoshun first brought us here?"

You hadn't realized that Jinshi made his way over until he was standing beside you. Robes lose over his shoulders and tugging on his top layer. Violet eyes were watching the water as if it were a canvas of memories in the long distant past. Something to be admired and viewed with daisies and smiles. Not to be addressed as anything but good or amazing. Not to see the truth of it all.

You press your lips together, drawing in a heavy breath, "I remember you pushing me in the water and Gaoshun having to pull me out."

Jinshi's face screws up slightly, a faint blush on his features as he almost looks around with shame. "Right...." He straightens, "I'm sorry."

You blink, "Huh?"

Jinshi glances at you with a small smile, "I, uh, never really apologized back then. Made you apologize like you did something wrong." He explains weakly.

You raise an amused brow, "I told you I wished you would drown."

"I kinda deserved it!" Jinshi counters, his lips cracking into a grin. That charming grin he gets that makes your heart flutter. Make you hopeful for terrible and wistful. "I'm real sorry."

You smile softly, eyes kind and soft as you regard him, "I forgave you a long time, Jinshi-sama."

Jinshi's expression faltered, "Don't call me...." He trailed off awkwardly, turning his attention back to the unrelenting waterfall. You watched him for that moment. That split second where it looked like he was actually going to say something that would make you lightheaded. His jaw working and the muscle jumping as he seems to contemplate his next words.

Say anything and I'll cling to it, You think, watching his lips part, I always have. I always will.

"I'm surprised you were the one that followed me out. I thought the Apothecary might've done it."

You tense. That was certainly not what you expected him to say. Of all the things he could say? The Apothecary.

The waterfall in front of you is suddenly much too loud and violent. The cave seems to darken and your eyes drag from Jinshi to stare at your bare feet. Of course. Of course. Why wouldn't he want Maomao? Why had you even came here? Who were you to get between whatever silent signal he was trying to send to the other girl.

Him and Maomao. It was nicer than him and you. Jinshi and Y/n.

You straighten, pushing down any ill thoughts and heavy feelings into the dark pits of your chest and mind. "I apologize for the intrusion. I thought it'd make more sense for me to accompany you, Jinshi-sama."

"Why are you apologizing....?" He trailed off and then made a noise that sounded eerily similar to that of a caught man. "No, wait, I'm really glad that you're the one who came! Like really glad!"

"You don't have to spare me, Jinshi-sama. I'm a woman now, not a little girl."

"I'm not—" He visibly slumps, closing his eyes and trying to collect whatever thoughts he has and place them appropriately. He draws in a breath and faces you, looking oddly serious compared to his usual self. "I'm not trying to spare your feelings. I was just trying to say that— Well, it's not— I want you here, Y/n."

He's sparing your feelings. He's being kind. He doesn't actually want you there. You can't be friends.

You don't spare him a response. Instead, walking further into the cave. You raise your eyebrows, looking at the gaping hole above you where light and the sounds of nature filtered in. What could possibly get you both out of there...?

Whistle. Sit.

Of course. Him.

Jinshi sighs, "I spoke to Gaoshun before we—"

You place your fingers in the corner of your mouth and blow. A loud whistle bounces off the cave walls and out of the hole. You wait and hope to hear a bark or see the familiar tall man, but there's nothing.

"What are you doing?" Jinshi asks slowly, glancing between you and the hole above.

"Hello?" You cup your hands over your mouth and shout as loudly as you can. "Is anyone out there?"

Jinshi frowns, staring at you uneasily, "Y/n, please, we don't want to attract them this direction."

In the mess of almost drowning and seeing peeps of Jinshi's bare skin, you'd almost forgotten that you both had been chased down here by some violent assassin. Rather foolish, if you were honest.

You place the tips of your fingers against your lips and try to force the blush spreading across your cheeks off. "Sorry." You offer a bow of your head, despite the position you both find yourselves in.

You receive no response which causes you to peek at him. The stare that he's leveling you with doesn't bring you any type of comfort. It usually meant he was about to say something that—

"Hop on my back and see if you can reach up there."

—you wouldn't like.

Your eyebrows shot upwards and you stared at him with wide eyes. If Suiren was here and knew what he just proposed, she'd positively lose her mind. No matter how long she had known you— she'd think it improper. He was your boss and you were his lowly servant. To be in an position above him or treating him like a mat, it was...

It was simply ridiculous.

"But—"

"If you're the one below, you'll get crushed." He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "Do it."

And that's how you ended up here. Legs wrapped around Jinshi's shoulders and heads, hand reaching out for the dirt above. You dig your fingers in and glance down at the man below you.

"Are you sure I'm not hurting you?"

Jinshi sighed for what seemed the hundredth time that day, his hand on your thigh squeezing gently. "Y/N, please stop asking me that."

You grimace, "My apologies, Jinshi-sama. Sorry." You shakily raise from your place, ignoring the soft and deep grunt Jinshi gives as you stand on his shoulders.

You dig your nails into the damp dirt and begin to tug yourself up.

This is it. Finally, you could get into the open forest once again. You're not going to be suffocated by his presence. Everything will return back to its rightful places—

You froze when it smacked you in the forehead.

You tried to keep calm as you felt the slimy breathing thing rest on your skin. Body tensed up and eyes staring widely at the bright sky above.

"Y/N?" Jinshi softly called, noticing the way you tensed.

"F—Frog." You utter, jaw clenched tight and you felt it shift as you take a deep breath. "A frog."

Jinshi blinked, looking up at you with his own wide eyes, "Hey, don't-don't freak out! Just shake your head and it'll hop off."

You shake a little, but follow his instructions. However, you may have overestimated the shake as you lose your grip on the dirt and begin to fall back.

"Hey!"

The tumble down is short and not all that hurtful, like you had been expecting. You had closed your eyes in anticipation, fear of having to watch the ground quickly approach too much for your tiny heart. You expected to feel the damp mud to be seeping into your clothes and little bits of stone and bark digging into your skin. However—

Nothing.

There was nothing except the soft silk under your fingers. The scent that resembled a sweet fruit, one that you had smelt quite often in the mornings. In the noons, the evenings, the nights, repeat. You knew that smell and that familiar beat against your own chest.

Peeking your eyes open, you find that Jinshi is already staring back at you. The first thing you notice is that you both are extremely close to one another. His breath fans against your dewy face, making goosebumps raise off your skin and a shiver sent down your spin. Next is his tender expression, Eyes gentle and twinkling. His expression isn't filled with pain or anything that would indicate that he was uncomfortable with the very short distance between you both. The last thing you notice is the fact that your body is pressed against his.

Your complexion flushes and you blink down at him.

He's warm. Incredibly warm. A sharp contrast to his damp clothes, which are open and pooling under his shoulder blades, revealing his bare chest to you. Your breath is ripped from you as you stare at the plump skin. You've seen it a million times. Every day as you help him get ready for the day. It should be normal. Should be something that doesn't make you lightheaded.

But it does.

He's right there. Right against you. You can feel his heartbeat ramming against his chest and into yours. You can feel every small breath he takes—as if hanging onto this moment with, what? Trepidation? Unease? You weren't entirely sure but you knew that you felt light.

Was it so bad that you felt nice in this moment? That this warmth was wrong? Was it so out of your reach that you simply couldn't imagine a man wanting to embrace you in a way?

You are to give your life to your master. Any inappropriate behavior will be punished, severely.

Yes. It was.

You clenched your jaw, ignoring the tender look in Jinshi's eyes as you try to bring your mind into the present.

The frog.

It wasn't anything that you wanted to touch, but Jinshi was your master. Your discomforts and fears must be pushed away for his sake and needs.

Reaching down, you feel for any signs of the frog. It wasn't large, but it wasn't entirely small either. It wouldn't be hard to find in all it's slimy and— There it is.

Your hand brushed it and you feel almost elated to find it. Your hand cupped around the bulge from Jinshi's robes. It feels much bigger than the average frog that'd been on your forehead. It was unmoving to, except for the small twitch it gives as you rest your palm down. You gripped it.

"Hng," Jinshi grunts, his eyes close. You're a little shocked as his hips shift, his hands at your hips dig into your flesh, almost too eager. You snap your eyes upward to his suddenly sweating and flushed face. "I-I'm sorry, but... but could you move your hand? It's making things, um, rather difficult."

Difficult?

You grip onto the twitching frog below you—

"U-Uh—" Jinshi moans in a deep and guttural way that would make anyone, especially you, malfunction. It doesn't help that his hands latch onto you harder, pressing you closer and releasing a stuttering breath against your ear.

Why was he squirming so much? Why was his face so red and dripping with sweat? Why was his chest heaving and his hands flexing around your skin? And why was this thing twitching and getting bigger in your hold....

Oh.

Oh.

You are to give your life to your master. Any inappropriate behavior will be punished, severely.

You felt a little sick at your intrusion. At the gall. You couldn't believe yourself. You had violated one of the single rules you were ever given. You violated Jinshi's space. His entire being. You were to be punished and hated— ousted from your position.

Disgusted with yourself, you slowly stand up. Jinshi's softly panting from his position on the ground, running a hand through his mused hair.

"S-Sorry, I haven't— I'm a bit—" Jinshi's obviously embarassed and uncomfortable. Look what you've done. You've ruined it all. "Hey, where are you going?"

Before you could think much more as his hands grip your hips once again and pull you down.

You're sat on his his lap and you could feel it.

"J-Jinshi-sama, I'm so-I'm so sorry!" You tucked your head down, shaking with trembling lips.

Jinshi's hands fall to your thighs, limp, "Eh...?"

"What I did was truly inappropriate and-and I will take any and all punishment!"

"Punishment...?" He sounded terribly confused, still a bit breathless. You keep your head ducked and he remains unmoved. "Why would I... you're not getting punished."

"I give my life to you. Any inappropriate behavior will be punished." You repeated softly under your breath, tucking your hands against your face to hide away from his gaze. From the judgement and hatred. "It's only just."

There's a longstanding silence between the both of you and you're hopeful that he's coming to his senses. That you'd be released and freed. That you would finally accept the gap and space between them. To fall away, finally, to the shadows.

It was tarnished the moment Jinshi wraps your hands around your own, gently prying your hands away from your face.

He doesn't look vengeful or angered. No. No, he looks kind. As he always has been. Kind and considerate. Honest and open. He'd always been so...

He'd never really been angry with you. Not without sadness being overbearing. Always so quick to forgive you. To push everything away with a smile and crinkle of his eyes.

"Y/N..." His words are as soft as his expression.

Your hands shake, "Please... Please hate me." You pleaded quietly, pressing your forehead against his hands as if he were a monk to be begged to.

"I'm not going to punish you or... or anything of the sort. Why would you want that?"

You draw in a watery breath, shoulders shaking, "It's easier to let go that way." You admitted.

"Let go of what?"

"Of my love for you."

"What?!"

His shout echoed off the cave walls. Your humiliation and embarrassment was quick to follow once it bounced back at you. Made you flinch back and try to push yourself back from his lap. Why did you say anything? Fool. Disgusting fool.

"Hey, hey, hey," Jinshi's hands wrap around your wrists and tug you forward a bit. You refuse to meet his eye. You refuse to be humiliated and demeaned— "Don't do that. Don't close off."

You clench your jaw and try to push the humilation deep within you, taking a deep calming breath as you stared at his bare collar. "You're so kind and so... you. I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable or disgusted, but I need to tell you. And then I would hope that you would let me go."

Jinshi's eyebrows shot up. "Let you go?"

You've been thinking about this for some time. That it all would be better if, in the end, you were to serve someone else. That you were pawned off for some soldier instead of this slow torture. This uncomfortable, unbearable tiptoeing.

"I would like for you to offer me to a soldier or anywhere else."

The reaction is instant. The way Jinshi's complexion darkens and he stares at you with wide eyes. He slumps into the damp ground and almost turns into putty. His hold on you slackens and gives you ample opportunity to move away. But you're frozen in your spot.

"Why would I do that?" Jinshi's voice is quiet, slow, "You're... You're mine."

A blush takes over your cheeks, "Jinshi-sama, It's not appropriate! I shouldn't be like this with you."

"What if I like it?"

You blink at him. "Huh?"

Jinshi leans forward, his thumb gently skirting against your skin. "What if I have some love for you too? What if I don't care about what's appropriate or follows the rules."

I would ask who you are. You were tempted to say but your mouth was clamped shut in shock. Following the rules had been completely him. He was put in his current position now to ensure the rules in the rear palace were being followed diligently. The thought that he would love someone like you when there were people like Maomao or princesses out there. People much more deserving of his devotion. It wasn't right.

As if sensing you're not believing him, he pulls away and presses his lips thin. "Okay, I'll convince you." He straightens up and takes a breath. "I spoke to Gaoshun not too long ago. Before we came here and I know everything now."

A pause. Everything. He knew everything now? Everything is so much. Everything is... well, everything. What exactly had Gaoshun told him?

"What's everything?"

"That my mother didn't want you around anymore. That Gaoshun told you that you weren't allowed around me anymore. That you stopped being my friend and became my employee."

Your stare up at Jinshi with wide eyes. "That's not...Us being friends wasn't right anymore."

Jinshi frowned, shaking his head and his hands slide up to your arms. "If I had my way, I would've had you by my side all that time. Not as some lady-in-waiting, but as my equal."

You shake your head, ignoring the erratic beating of your heart against your chest. "Don't say that. Don't say things you don't mean, Jinshi." You beg softly.

Jinshi reaches out, wrapping his hands around your own, pressing it against his chest. "I mean it with everything in me. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have ever been separated from you. Forget what my mother said." His words were sweet, tempting. They made you lightheaded. So did the sudden brightness and tender smile on his face. "That's the first time you've called me Jinshi since we were kids."

"What? I've always called you Jinshi."

"No, you've always called me Jinshi-sama."

"Oh."

You suppose you had.

"Jinshi," You utter, unsure of what else you both could say.

Jinshi's expression, if possible, softens further, leaning forward an inch. "Yes?" He whispers back just as softly.

Your eyes trail between his eyes before moving to his lips, parted and glistening, "Jinshi..."

Jinshi's hand slides up your thigh and his lips are ghosting against yours, "I'm here. I promise." He whispers before pressing your lips together delicately.

Your heart soars. Your hands shakily press against his cheeks, drawing closer as his own press your hips together. He's soft. He's tender. He's cautious and all encompassing. Filling your senses and making you lightheaded.

As you both part for a breath, he flips you onto your back. His hand grips the underside of your thigh and presses you close enough that he lets out a soft and broken sound.

His eyes are heavily lidded as he gazes down at you, lips pink. "I just want you. No one else. I promise." He utters.

You twist your hands into his hair, eyes fluttering. "You're it." You pass back.

His lips are back on yours. Wet and eager. This is sudden. Fast. But you've been waiting for so long. Had been clinging onto the smallest of things. Desperate to have this closeness that you had now. To feel his skin against yours. His breath mixing with your own. Everything him and everything you intertwined.

You just wanted to cherish this—

WOOF!

You and Jinshi both tense up, jumping. Looking over his shoulder, your eyes widen upon finding a familiar dog staring down at you both, wagging tail eager and happy to see you.

Jinshi's eyebrows furrow, "Huh...?"

There's not much warning before the dog is jumping down. Landing straight on Jinshi's back, causing the poor man to let out a pained sound. He's squishing you against the ground as the dog stands on his back, happily lapping his tongue against your cheek.

Vague disgust and disappointment wash over you, but you smile all the same. "Oh, boy!"

He barks again. A greeting you're sure.

Above, Lihaku and, surprisingly, Maomao appear. Both of them stare down at you with varying degrees of emotions. Lihaku looked excited and kinda like his dog, while Maomao.

Well, Maomao looked all too knowing.

"Well, you look rough!" Lihaku called down with a grin, "Glad to see you're not dead."

"As am I!" You huff out a laugh, then look to Maomao. "Hello, Xiaomao!"

"Hello." Maomao said flatly, she looked lower and her face screwed up distastefully. "Is Jinshi-sama okay?"

Lihaku then he spots his dog and slightly pales, letting out a sharp whistle. "C'mon, boy!"

The dog eagerly jumps off Jinshi, going to sit by your head and wag his tail. The man above you sighs in relief, pushing up off you. He sits up and you try not to focus on the bright blush on his face.

"Why did he do that?" The royal asks.

"Must've thought something was wrong." Lihaku rubs the back of his neck, frowning down at you both. "What... exactly where you two doing?"

You and Jinshi glance at one another, furious blushes flushing over you both. Despite anything that Jinshi said, there were things that you weren't allowed to do. Rules and laws that forbid something like this form happening the public eye. For a man like himself from being with a woman like you. A servant with a beautiful prince.

Protecting him was the priority.

"Nothing!" You shout back, ignoring the eyebrow raise that garnered from both Jinshi and Maomao.

Everything was better left alone. A secret between the both of you. To cherish and hold for however long it may need. You could deal with the anger and longing later.

[gloxk]

just sitting here high asf thinking about getting the sloppiest head from aot guyzzz…*HEAVY ASS SIGH* let me wish upon a star hoping someone could write about this for me…*LONG HEAVY EXTREME SIGH.*

⁺ 　 . ✦ Favorite eaters ⁺ 　 . ✦

(Eren Y. Armin A. Connie S.)

A/N: ugh yes girl ik the feeling … im to sitting here wondering how nasty eren would eat the kitty…BUT ANYWAYS TYSM FOR 600!!! NEXT STOP 700!!! AHHH!

Synopsis: Aot men as your favorite eater.

━━━━━━━⚥━━━━━━━

♡ Eren ♡

Ughh omg..Eren giving you nasty head after he pissed you off…The type of head that makes you run away in shame!!!

“Givin me an attitude ain’t gonna get you anywhere, you know better den that.” Eren scoffed, while tossing a blunt over to you.

Oh boy how he was so undeniably wrong.

You could tell Eren was unamused with your bullshit. He wasn’t taking you ignoring lightly at all.

“You gon fix it or am I, figure it out.” he whispered in your ear. You stood on what you dished out, you weren’t fixing shit.

You chuckled at him in response, how stupid he was to think you were going to pipe down.

That was until he found his way between your thighs..

One hand tangled in his brown locs and the other one holding a blunt. Best combo..

You lazily rutted against his tongue while his piercing twirled against your puffy clit.

It was so hard to look him in the eyes after he made you cum on his tongue 3 times.

“Still got an attitude baby?”

Let’s just say..you ain’t had one after that.

♡ Armin ♡

Oh..lawd. I said this once i’ll say it A FUCKING AGAIN. Armin is a pussy eater expert. He’s VERY talented in that ‘field’..

This man has no problem eating it for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Hell, he will wake up and decide he’s hungry and start going crazy.

That’s how your morning starts..with Armin stuck between your thighs eating it so you can wake up.

Eyes barely opened and you’re already on the verge of cumming..his way of saying ‘goodmorning’.

He so eager to do it too. Sometimes yall could just be watching netflix and he will insist on eating you out.

“Well, I mean, the show is kind of boring. Just come on, it will be quick.” He’ll beg and beg, “Please, I know you’re tired, I can help you go to sleep faster!”

His contact name is NyQuil in yo phone! (If you know. you know .)

When he say fast..oh baby he mean fast. That tongue can move at speeds you didn’t even know existed.

But his favorite time to get to munching is before you go to work.

“We got 10 minutes Armin.” He don’t need even need 10 he will make you cum in 5.

♡ Connie ♡

Ex! Connie getting fucking wasted and coming back home and eating you till your cummin everywhere…

I just know he eats it with his grillz on..I just know.

You want nasty head? Connie is your man for it. He gonna make it SLOPPY SLOPPY.

“Baby whatchu mean, we supposed to be in love..” his words slightly slur, he had a fuck boy grin plastered over his face. “stop acting like you ain’t happy to see me.”

He wasn’t supposed to be there and he knew that. But you couldn’t stay mad at him for long, especially when he was telling you how much he missed you. “Cmere baby i’ve been missin you..” & “I know you mad at me lemme change that.”

if ‘Let my face be yo chair’ was a person…

Sitting on his face is a pleasure to you and him. He gets to see his (ex) girlfriend and you get some head.

A win win in your books!

You grinding against his golden grills while his hands rub your waist up and down. “You got such pretty moans, lemme hear em baby.” & “Uh-huh, let it out mama.”

He’s looking you dead in your eyes while doing it too…

“You made such a mess baby. Don’t worry go to sleep, ima clean it up.” UGH THIS MAN….

best ex ever!

━━━━━━━⚥━━━━━━━

going absolute feral for these men it don’t even make any sense.

[sheyfu]

pairing: itoshi sae x gn!reader

synopsis: sae turns into a child boohoo (ik impossible but why not idk)

cw: none except my dookie writing skills HAHAHAHHAA IM RUSTY AND IM JS MUCH BETTER W WRITING CHAT AUS’!/&;@/& tbh it kinda lost its plot in the middle but wtv; not proofread HAHAHAAH; swearing

notes: this thought occurred in the midst of me fighting against nature and its worst call (TMI IM SO SORRY); will fix format later cuh i did this on my phone HAHAHAHA; ITS FLUFFY I PROMISE

wc: 781 (LONGER THAN EXPECTED WHAT)

you love itoshi sae. you really really do.

you love him to the point where youre willing to fight anyone and anything just for him even, if it would cost you something.

you wonder how youve come to love him; was it because of his “nonchalant demeanor” that had ticked every time bomb you had in you, or was it his athleticism—yes, i know, boring—that quite literally fixed you in more ways than one? orrr was it actually his cleanliness and (n)-step skin-care routine that would probably do the opposite of what it actually does with how uncooperative your skin is?

youre actually not sure.

but what youre sure about right now, at this time and day, the itoshi sae you fell in love with was definitely not present.

“saeeee” you call out to your husband from the kitchen.

silence.

“saeeeee” calling out much louder, youre met with even more silence that quote on quote, ticked every time bomb you had in you.

weird.

“underlashes?” entering the dining room with your already-running-thin-patience, youre met with a sight to definitely behold.

“what do you want?” your husband—question mark x2–now reduced to a child perfectly mirroring his own features grumbles out from his seat at the table—a half-eaten slice of blueberry cheesecake slathered all over his mouth and some even getting onto his shirt.

what the fuck actually???

“ummmm” you question aloud as confusion paints itself on your face—your eyebrows visibly furrowing as you try to process what’s currently going on.

“you—“

“dont say anything. i dont wanna hear anything.” another grumble—albeit high pitched—comes from the seated man (the boy? child? manchild?) with his signature scowl planted on his face.

you watch with curious eyes as the manchild (youll call him that for now) reaches up for the fork on the “high-ass table counter thingy” (his words, not yours) attempting to feed himself.

heading off to the kitchen to grab your phone (for blackmail), you hear a sudden clank and a scoff from mr. manchild.

turning your head once more to face him, youre once again met with a sight youd definitely want to keep in your book of memories forever.

there, right in front of you, was the itoshi sae, mr. idgafer, the prodigal son™, the man of many names, and the love you call your life, staring down at the fork with the meanest mog and scowliest (is that even a word) face the world has ever seen.

thats right. the itoshi sae that was present right now, at this time and day, was not only the itoshi sae you fell in love with, but also the itoshi sae youd want to spoil, protect, and care for with your whole life.

“sae…” you try to stop yourself from laughing. you really do.

but in that moment, all hell seems to break lose, and that hell was your own laughing hell.

“pfft— hahahaha!” as you laugh your ass off, you miss the subtle shift in the red head’s expression.

your itoshi sae may not have been currently present, but you definitely there; the person he fell madly and deeply in love with. you and your bright smile that could light up all the emo shit inside him, your laughs that seemed to make everything much better, and your—

oh right. his blueberry cake.

ignoring your laughs, the little boy proceeds to hop off the high chair to retrieve the fallen fork.

hes almost tempted to leave you to your laughing trip, but hes too tired to clean up himself. so he does what every child would do; call a trusted adult.

and that trusted adult nearest to him was you, who so happened to be his spouse.

shaking his head, underlashes jr. starts telling you off and bossing you around like the chill guy he is.

“oi stop laughing and help me with this mess.” he slurs out, unable to resist the grin on his face.

“bu- but.. its your- your mess!” taking a deep breath, you wipe away the tears that had appeared on your eyes. “that was a nice laugh! right, underlashes jr?” grinning from ear to ear, you ruffle his hair, receiving multiple complaints and “punches” to your arms.

“yeah yeah whatever. now get off me and help me!” the mini guy successfully swats your hands off his hair, a faint blush blooming on the apples of his cheeks.

“alright, alright! right away, mister mini!” letting out a couple chuckles, you drag the little guy with you to the site of the (his) mess. “im not letting you off the hook though, little guy. you have to clean with me. ‘kay?”

“tch. whatever.”

he wouldnt have it any way though.

[inosukijiro]

✮⋆˙ cuddles with giyuu  

𝙨𝙮𝙣. ━ its late at night and giyuu feels safe in your arms.

━ 𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. i just want to tuck him into bed so bad and give him lil forehead kisses. i won’t stop saying it I LOVE THIS MAN 🗣️🗣️.

━ 𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. AHH IM SORRYYY ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚ PLS i went on vacation and got the covid,, it was SO bad i couldn’t function. buuuut moving on — i’ve said it before but ill say it again, thank you soo much for all the love and support ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ seriously, all the likes and reblogs have me very humble. i only ever write for myself so seeing you all enjoy my little stories make me so happy !!

━ 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨. fluffy fluff. cuddles! probably v short, and v bad omg. gender-neutral reader. giyuu-centric. assumed but not mentioned, modern reader in kny. crochet mention ah! 0.9k words.

   ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───

It always starts like this when Giyuu can’t think straight. His brain is fuzzy and worn out from the day. He often wonders how he gets into these positions, but he’s aware that you just know him too well. Probably because you do know him better than he knows himself.

He always thinks about the time before it became you and him. Where the thought itched at his brain constantly. He fantasized about it. It was so hard not to in every waking moment, he even wondered if it was going to be the death of him.

But here he was, nose buried in the crevice of your neck, laying onto you just enough that he didn’t crush you; but you’d never complain if he did. His free arm wrapped around your midsection just enough to allow his hand to grip your side. The pads of his fingers barely dig into your skin. You could probably feel the tension in his body, his hands are firm and rigid against you. Perhaps he’s just a bit nervous you’d disappear if he didn’t hold onto you tight enough. He might apologize for that, or the fact that his hair is definitely in your face.

Oh, but you might giggle. He can hear it. It’s soft and light. You're so amused by him sometimes. You might call him silly, or you might not say anything at all. You might give the sensitive part of his scalp a good scratch to shut him up. You might, and you always do. The feeling of your nails dig into his head makes him squeak. The way your fingers brush against the strands of his hair. It’s heavenly. He buries his head deeper because he’s so embarrassed. His face is hot, and after all this time he’s still so touched-starved. The smallest bit of your attention destroys any functioning brain cells he has left.

It’s just so good being in your arms. It’s just as good as when you're in his. It’s rare, but when that happens he loves the weight of you on top of him. It grounds him back down to earth. And you’re so cute. Somehow you always end up holding his hand, holding it close to your chest and nuzzling yourself against him more. He can’t get over that you want to be around him as much as he wants to be around you.

Giyuu lets out a sigh in contentment.

He’s so tired but he’s so excited. It’s not his fault that he views you as perfection and it’s also not his fault for taking advantage of the attention you desperately want to give him. You’re so generous, and Giyuu had been looking forward to this for days. His mission had been taking too long for his liking and he wondered if this was some sick torment the universe enjoyed toying at him with. All he wanted was to be at his estate, with you.

But you were such a night owl and that was something that Giyuu found out pretty quick. You spent more time awake in his presence than he did with you. Giyuu thinks, and he wouldn’t be wrong, that you try to savor as much time as you can with him. It’s true, you wouldn’t deny it. But you had sleeping problems long before being with Giyuu; though, it makes him feel guilty that he somehow makes it worse.

You were crocheting something, as always, trying to tire yourself out mentally. Your hands working on the project were raised just above his face, and your elbow could be found resting against his upper back. It was so soothing, the way he could feel you working your hook in and out of the stitches. And every so often a stray piece of yarn might’ve brushed against his cheek or nose, tickling him ever so slightly.

It felt nice. The way you had him caged in your arms. He felt so protected and Giyuu couldn’t remember the last time he felt so safe.

He doesn’t know what you’re making; but he’s sure whatever it is will be perfect.

One day he’d get you to sleep though. Yes, he’d get you to drift off so peacefully and do the same to bring you just as much comfort that you do for him. He’d play with your hair. He knows you’d like that. He can almost see it now. The cute noises you’d make and the content, sleepy sigh you’d give as he has you wrapped up in his arms.

He’s in and out of sleep now, drifting off for a few minutes at a time. But he really can’t stay awake anymore. Even though he really wants to. He feels you put your crochet things to the side. However, he barely registers the mumble under your breath when the metal hook makes a ‘TINK’ sound when it’s placed.

It wasn’t too loud but it was too loud for you. You apologize, softly whispering to him but honestly, Giyuu doesn’t know what for. It didn’t disturb him, though he doesn’t worry too much about it when you give a little kiss on his forehead.

He snuggles closer, if that is even possible at this point. He’s on auto pilot as you bring the covers up more over the both of you. You tuck the material right up near his chin and the only thought he has is how cruel it was to make him get up tomorrow morning. Maybe you give him a few more kisses. They’re delicate and you even give him a gentle squeeze as you bring your arms around him; a small ‘love you’ is drowsily whispered through your lips as you rest your head on his.

And Giyuu is out, just like that.

thank u for reading, luv u (◍•ᴗ•◍)

[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k  

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

[itsthatmff]

helllooo, can you write boyfriends headcanons with other men like flashy flash and amai mask please? ~

IM FINALLY BACK WITH MORE HEADCANONS! writing for these was so hard- it was my first time doing amai mask too- I hope they turned out well 😩

Please keep the requests incoming I’ll try to work through them! I’m sorry for taking so long and Thank you so much for the patience.

Boyfriend Headcanons on OPM men Pt. 2

Fem!reader

Included: Flashy flash, Amai mask, Saitama, Zombie man

Flashy Flash

Having him as a boyfriend sure isn’t for the weak

He’s definetly the leader of the sassy man apocalypse

He takes his night routine SERIOUSLY like you will have a 20 step hair routine and a spa session

He gives great hair care tips though

Lets you braid his hair when you’re bored or does your hair when you’re tired

Gossiping with him is super fun

When he’s annoyed or jealous he scoffs a lot

Tiny bit reluctant over physical affection but his hugs and kisses feel so gentle, you could melt into them.

He goes all out when you’re on your period, like he knows exactly what you need and what to do.

Gifts you hairclips on random occasions !

Doesn’t like you touching his katana cuz he’s worried you’ll hurt yourself.

You get the best dates with him because he knows the best spots, prefers staying at home with you though in case one of his opps are after him.

He does bicker with you from time to time because he knows you too well and can’t be bothered to deal with your overdramatic ass

"Yeah fine we get it you’re just angry because you’re craving some desserts. Stop whining and lets go get it.“

Amai Mask

Might seem like a narcissistic and selfish bastard at first but he really just has issues

As a boyfriend he might not be able to spend much time with you since he is a hero AND a celebrity with a filled schedule

Makes sure to spoil you rotten tho

You get expensive gifts from him on a weekly basis and he takes you out to the best restaurants

He has to be very discreet with your relationship since it could cause him a bad reputation and backlash from the media

Whenever he’s overwhelmed or had a bad day he seeks comfort in your embraces

Feels like you’re the only one who understands him

Genuinely opens up to you and shows you his vulnerable side from time to time

He gets VERY jealous like he better not catch you admiring some other hero

At first he’d laugh it off not wanting to believe such a thing but slowly the jealousy would start creeping up

“You’re mine understood?”

Is just scared of u leaving him

He calls to tell you there’s a new magazine out that features him and wants you to buy it.

Thinks you’re his biggest supporter and likes to brag about you.

Saitama

Dates consist of gaming or getting deals at different supermarkets

I can totally imagine that he’s willing to try some new things at the convenience store with you and do taste tests.

Never rates the food a 10/10 cuz he thinks Genos could do it better.

YES sometimes Genos DOES make dinner dates for you two, he goes all out making a 5 star dinner for his sensei and his girlfriend.

Saitama secretly loves it when you come and sit on his lap as he watches tv.

He may not look like it but he really notices the small details, like he’ll ask if you put on different perfume or shampoo. Does it so sleek too.

He’d lean in to your neck and WHISPER INTO YOUR EAR

"Hm..you smell so good, got a new perfume?“

This guy just knows how to get you flustered

Is very nonchalant about most things, doesn’t really get jealous. (Unless you’re being overly nice to someone that has like really good hair)

“Yo genos. How much do you think a hair transplant costs?”

“Why are you asking sensei?”

“No reason really..” as he GLARES at the guy you’re talking to.

Doesn’t call you often, more like he randomly texts you what he’s doing and if your schedule matches his you both hangout.

Wants to climb up the ranks in order to impress you and loves to tell you about his day when he gets home.

Gets the most expressive around you.

He kicks out Genos when you two need your private time.

Gives the best piggy back rides.

Zombieman

Hands down the best boyfriend out there

He’s so chill about everything

Likes to take you everywhere with him, especially on shooting ranges, coffee shops or jazz bars

Respects your boundaries a lot, if you don’t like the smoke from his cigarettes he’ll try not to smoke around you, if you’re a smoker yourself he always looks forward to smoke some with you.

You both have a very casual relationship, there’s no awkwardness at all nor the cheesiness and pampering

That also includes physical affection. Cuddling on the couch or holding hands seems natural to you.

As nihilistic as he is, he can’t hide whenever he’s jealous.

“Was it fun chatting to that human?” He’d ask whilst pressing down the last remaining of his cigarette onto the whiskey glass. He wasn’t upset, more like curious of what you saw in another man.

Only calls you in the evenings after he walks you home. Likes to hear your voice before he goes to sleep.

He loves to get you roses

Asks childish emperor for advice on what to get you. Doesn’t even realise himself that he slips in your name in every conversation.

Is the kind of boyfriend that is happy enough to just watch you from afar.

Never ever gets aggressive with you. In fact you’ve never seen him angry.

Likes to polish his guns while you sit on his lap.