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cuteandhughesy · 2 days ago

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Met You At The Right Time, This Is What It Feels Like | Quinn Hughes (Headcanons)

summary: falling in love with quinn through your shared years at college (umich!quinn x reader)

[word count] 3.3k

a/n: based off this request! this was so fucking fun and cute to write and now I want quinn as my boyfriend ! so hope you all feel the same

🎵 feels like by gracie abrams

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ღ bf! quinn hughes who you first met at the rink. one of your good friends was dating another one of the wolverines and asked you to accompany her to his game.

quinn had spotted you during the warm-ups. your smile wide and amused as you watched all the athletes warm up in their own routines. you were joking with chloe—your friend—while her boyfriend tossed you both pucks over the glass. quinn almost passed out when you glanced his way—sending him a sweet, reserved grin. he forced himself to smile back, and when that made you blush and look away, quinn knew that he had to know you.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who asked his teammate about you as soon as the game finished—a victory for the wolverines, thankfully. he attempted to sound nonchalant and uninterested, but his teammate knew quinn too well. he wrapped quinn up in a firm, annoying side huge and gave him a nugie, all while saying 'does huggy bear have a crush on y/n?'

quinn thought the name suited you perfectly. thankfully quinn doesn’t need to ask again before his teammate is getting your number from chloe.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who texted you the following night. at first you were confused—a random number sending you a message with no identification other than a simple 'hey, is this y/n?' curious and intrigued, you responded immediately; 'this is she. who's this?'

quinn's response was immediate, 'shit, sorry. it's quinn hughes.'

and of course that made you giggle into your palm, feet kicking like you're an oversized excited child. because quinn fucking hughes was texting you. quinn hughes, the cutie who sits two rows back from you in kinesiology class. quinn hughes who was stupid good at hockey and was looking at you during warmups the day before.

you don't even care how he got your number (he told you regardless though, obviously), all you cared about was him wanting to text you in the first place.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who after a week and a million shared text messages later, you run into at a local coffee shop—where you merely miss spilling your entire iced chai down the front of his light coloured hockey hoodie.

he freezes and stutters at the sight of your flushed face, and his nerves only build when he sees that you're not nervous to talk to him. quinn quickly realizes he has some sort of infatuation with you, and before he can sike himself out he asks you on a date.

quinn asks in the middle of your scentence, but you don't even care. he's cute—he's dorky. 'would you wanna get dinner together sometime? like maybe thursday, if you're free?'

you are so free.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who picks you up at your dorm room before your first date. he lives off campus with his friends, and he borrowed his roommates car to come and get you. he brings you flowers—which you put in an empty orange juice bottle that you filled with water—and hugs you at the door. it’s kinda awkward and so perfectly quinn.

he lets his hand hover your lower back as you walk to the car, and of course he opens the door for you. quinn lets you play your music in the car, and he lets you talk his ear off—he can’t help but admire how comfortable you are around him. he thinks you’re like sunshine.

quinn takes you to a local italian restaurant, where you order chicken alfredo and he orders spaghetti bolognese. the conversation flows between you easily, and by the time desert rolls around, you’re sharing a lava cake—your respective spoons swiping at each others while playfully fighting for the same bites.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who after bringing you back to your dorm, grabs your wrist before you can walk in. your roommate isn’t home yet, and you can smell the peonies quinn brought that you left in the jug by the door.

you blink at him curiously, because you’ve already shared your pleasant goodbyes and made plans to see each other again. ‘you okay?’

quinn’s palm is sweaty where it wraps around you. he’s nervous, and he swallows roughly—eyes darting around your blushing face like he can’t get enough. ‘can I kiss you?’

your answer is pushing up to your toes and wrapping you arms around his neck. that’s when quinn leans down, kissing you timidly but also firmly. he’s never felt lips softer than yours, and you’ve never had a kiss turn your stomach inside out the way quinn’s did.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who asks you on a second date, and then a third, and then a fourth. each date is accompanied by a kiss, and another kiss—until all it feels like you’re doing is giggling and kissing like teenagers.

he’s a gentleman, and never makes advances that you aren’t comfortable with. quinn brings you to the beach for sunsets, kissing you under the glow of the setting sun. he takes you to the movies and to a local pottery class—sneaking kisses anytime your eyes meet.

he asks you to be his girlfriend on your fourth date while you’re both still in the car, hands twitching against his pants nervously. you’ve never smiled bigger, and you squeal in excitement, leaning over the centre console and kissing him.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who has never had a serious girlfriend before, only stupid month or so situationships and meaningless hookups. so now that he’s got you, an actual girlfriend, he’s enamoured by all the little ‘girlfriend’ things you do.

quinn goes feral when you wear his clothes. the sight of you waking up in his cozy bed, blinking tiredly while his shirt rides up your body, revealing your underwear…quinn just about dies.

you cook dinner for him, and you always tickle his back when he’s falling asleep. you want to watch all his favourite movies, and you want to learn about hockey—which leads to him teaching you how to skate, where you inevitably fall and bring him down with you.

you’re the perfect girlfriend. and even though quinn stresses he doesn’t need you to fold his laundry or pick up his shampoo when you notice he’s out, he appreciates it more than he could ever express.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who always is getting you flowers. whether it’s a pre-made bouquet from the grocery store, an arrangement he picked out at the florist, or a bunch of wild flowers from the park beside his house, quinn is giving you flowers.

when he’s at the grocery store he always picks up your favourite ben & jerry’s ice cream, as well as your favourite drink. quinn always makes sure you have water before he gets in bed himself, because you’ll be upset if you don’t, and he lets you tuck your feet under his legs because they’re always cold.

quinn is the sweetest boy you’ve ever known and he is constantly making sure you’re content before anything else.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who takes your virginity. you’ve only had one boyfriend and that was back in highschool—the farthest you’d gone with him was kissing and a little groping. when you tell quinn that you’re a virgin, he’s a little nervous—especially because he’s already hovering over you, painfully hard while your bare tits are starring at him. the only reason he’s nervous is because he wants you to be comfortable and sure. he wants it to be perfect for you.

but when you assure him in a breathy whisper, your small nimble fingers reaching out and squeezing his dick, quinn can’t hold himself back any longer. he fucks you soft and sweet, bucking into you at a pace that has your breath hitching. quinn checks on you through the whole thing, scattering kisses along your face and neck while you’re moaning in pleasure.

it’s perfect for you, and that makes it perfect for quinn.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who plays a little extra hard when you’re in the crowd. there’s something so special about having you watching him in the stands during his games, cheering him on and jumping up and down with excitement. quinn swears he can hear you over the crowd, and that always pushes him a little bit more.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who always makes sure to comfort you when you’re stressed—and vice versa.

you often get overwhelmed with your school work. you’re very smart and have a jam packed schedule, and a lot of the time if you want to spend time with quinn, you’re bringing your textbooks and laptop so you can get some work done. quinn hates the way you sigh shakily when you reach a difficult question. you’re tired and done with school, and most of the time it makes you emotional.

when you begin to cry quinn darts to you, wrapping you in a hug while you sob into his shoulder. he rubs your back soothingly, squeezing your arms and sides comfortingly. he whispers words of reassurance in your ear until you’ve calmed down, and when you inevitably get back to work, quinn helps you. even though he has no fucking clue what you’re working on, the effort makes you melt.

quinn is always the most stressed when he’s dealing with an injury or illness—because that puts a pause on hockey. you know how much hockey means to your boyfriend, and seeing him so broken about not being able to play just wrecks you. in times like that, it’s the little things you do that help quinn feel better.

making him food and making sure he’s stocked up on drinks and getting his electrolytes. massaging his shoulders and giving him head scratches. if he’s injured you make sure he’s got everything in reach so he doesn’t have to move, and if he’s sick you make sure you’re in reach, because all quinn ever wants is you.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who isn’t a huge party guy. he prefers staying in—watching movies and hockey highlights until he’s falling asleep, preferably with you tucked into his side.

you’ve always been more outgoing than quinn, and mingling is one of your favourite things to do. so every now and then when you go out, quinn joins you. he loves watching you in your element—dancing with your friends and talking to anyone who will listen. and when you’re wrapping yourself around quinn, blinking and pouting up at him all pretty asking him to dance with you, quinn never declines.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who has a few lovey dovey nicknames for you—lovey being one of them. there’s a few more common terms of endearment like babe, baby and beautiful that often slip from his lips like second nature. they’re the safest ones, the nicknames he’ll call you around his friends and yours like it’s no big deal. but then there’s the nicknames he reserves for when it’s just you both—honey, his girly, and your personal favourite: lovey.

your nicknames for quinn are simple—usually just babe or baby. but on the odd occasion when everything feels really soft and intimate, you’ll can him bubba.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who’s love language is words of affirmation. he didn’t realize it until after he met you that it was his love language, but anytime you praise him or reassure him, quinn’s stomach swoops and his heart flutters excitedly. he’s obsessed with the way you speak to him, and he’ll never get tired of it.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who knows your love language is physical touch. you love being close to quinn. if you’re not sitting next to him, you’re sitting on him—trying to get as close as possible at any means necessary. you love wrapping your hands around his arm, and throwing your leg over his hips when you’re in bed together.

quinn can be a bit awkward when it comes to physical contact, especially in public, and you understand and respect that. so when you’re out together and he kisses your cheek or wraps you in a hug, it makes it just that much sweeter.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who may not always go out to parties with you, but will always drop you off and pick you up if you need a ride. it could be a local bar or a random sticky frat house, quinn will be there if you need him.

he’s the most patient human in the world. guiding you to the car while you babble about nonsense—completely hammered. quinn pulls over if you feel sick, even if you has to pull over 15 times in a 5 minute ride. he helps you shower if you’re sticky, and he puts you in pyjamas before you get in bed—no matter who’s place you’re at. quinn makes you chug water and take advil, and he makes sure you’re sleeping on your side incase you get sick.

and he doesn’t even mind doing it either. as long as you’re safe and okay, quinn will do whatever he needs to.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who says I love you first. you’ve been dating for 6 months, and spring is blooming in michigan. it’s the first really warm day of march, and he’s taken you to the pier for a afternoon date.

you walk the pier and have shitty boardwalk food—laughing, kissing and talking about anything and everything. dates like this are always your favourite. just you, quinn and the comforting atmosphere.

you had been mid talking about the book you were reading, a book that was making you angry because you claimed the plot was ‘stupid’. you were telling quinn about the main character, hands moving animatedly as you talked when quinn just said it.

‘I love you so much, y/n’ he said quitley. but you heard it, and your previous ramble comes to a halt. you blinked once, and then again, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. and then tears begin forming in your eyes, and quinn smiles. ‘don’t cry lovey’ he said, pulling you into his chest.

but of course you continue to cry, holding onto quinn like your life depended on it. and when you look up at him and say it back, lashes all wet and nose running, quinn thinks you’ve never looked prettier.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who has to be almost sneaky when it comes to having sex with you. you live in a dorm room with a roommate, and he lives in a house with four other teammates. quinn doesn’t have his own car, and neither do you. having sex is like trying to curate a spy mission.

you have to plan times you’ll be alone, which is usually in your dorm room between 5 p.m and 6:30 p.m while you’re roommate is in a clinical lab. that’s always the best sex with quinn because he doesn’t have to hold back. he holds you against the mattress with his body, and there’s a pillow shoved under your hips while he slips in from behind. quinn pounds you into the mattress until it’s creaks, and he has to cover your mouth to muffle your moans. after all, it’s still a dorm room and you have neighbours.

but there are times when you’re both too impatient and horny. his roommates are scattered through his house, half downstairs and the other only a room over. quinn’s simple and innocent kisses soon turn more heated, and before either of you can think logically, you’re exposing only the essentials so quinn can slip into your heat while he holds your legs open.

your moans are muffled with his lips, and he shoves a pillow between the wall and headboard to not give away what you’re doing.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who gets really stressed once scouts starts checking him out for the upcoming draft. you notice in the way his shoulders are tighter, and he starts to get a little distant.

of course it hurts your feelings, but you understand the pressure he’s feeling. so like the sweet girlfriend quinn knows you to be, you reassure him. you’re not too pushy, and you’re not overwhelming. you kiss him gently and whisper your confidence in him when it’s just the two of you, facing each other in bed—nothing but the moonlight illuminating you.

it helps him more than you’ll ever know.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who is a silent jealous type. he knows you’re social, and he also knows that guys love that. when you’re at parties and mingling your little heart out, lots of guys will try and make advances on you.

you ooze confidence, and your smile is so fucking pretty that quinn almost understands these guys. but you’re his girlfriend, and the sight of these boys trying to touch you and flirt with you makes his blood boil.

of course you don’t entertain them, but that doesn’t stop the jealousy that stirs within your boyfriend. you can always tell when quinn is feeling jealous because his body gets tense and he pouts like a little boy. it doesn’t matter where you are—could be the beach and strangers are checking out your body, or a grocery store and a man compliments your smile, quinn always has the same jealous reaction. and that’s no reaction at all expect that frown.

when you see it you’re instantly moving, wrapping yourself around quinn and giving his pulse point a little kiss. and when you murmur that you love him, quinn always cracks.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who even when you’re fighting, never raises his voice at you. it doesn’t matter how frustrated he is, or how pointless your argument is, quinn would never yell. most of the time is just makes you angrier, because why can’t he just put you in your place—especially when you know you’re being annoying and stupid. but quinn always just tries to problem solve in a calm, soothing voice.

but don’t worry, he puts you in your place in other ways ;)

ღ bf! quinn hughes who asks you to stay with him for a few weeks in the summer at the lake house before the draft.

if quinn wasn’t in love with you already, seeing you with his family would’ve had him falling. you always cook breakfast with ellen in the morning, the two of you giggling and chatting like you’ve known each other for ears. you go golfing with quinn and his dad, and even though you suck at it, jim has nothing but praise and encouragement for you.

jack and luke tease you like you’re their sister. they push you into the pool and steal your fries when you’re not looking, which always makes you laugh. you blend in with his family so well, quinn can’t do anything but smile and admire it all as it unfolds.

you sit with quinn during bonfires and movie nights on the couch, sharing quick kisses when you both think nobody is watching—news flash, somebody is always watching, which usually ends with his mom cooing or his brothers teasing. you and quinn both wake up a little extra early, stifling moans as quinn pushes into your heat in the uninterrupted hours of the morning. you swim like kids, go grocery shopping with his brothers, dance in the moonlight as taylor swift songs, make out on the boat when everyone else stays back. it’s perfect. its simply just you and quinn.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who you sit beside at the nhl draft. he’s nervous, your hand clutched in his clammy one while his thumb runs over your knuckles absentmindedly. just before the draft starts, you squeeze his hand three times, a silent I love you. and quinn squeezes back.

his name gets called and you feel like crying. he hugs his parents first, and then quinn turns to you, a smile on his face while your eyes begin to go misty. he kisses you, in front of the cameras and the crowd because he knows you’re going to be together for the rest of your lives, and the nhl might as well get used to you now, because you’re not going anywhere.

#🤍⊹˚₊ cute and hughesy fic #quinn hughes headcanons #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #nhl headconons #nhl smut #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hockey headcanons #hockey smut #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #hockey x reader

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anonymousmarshmallow · 1 day ago

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Also, this happens during the hiring games. Every one of them believes it. Only after asking around (and not just the big 3 either, everyone, the nurse staff, janitors, legal, long-term patients). Most of the hospital staff is like 'yeah that makes sense,' and 'they sure do act like it.' Also due to many convoluted reasons they somehow either just miss Wilson or something always comes up right before they mention it. The big 3 deny it cause they don't have to put up with as much House's shit now. But, the contestants all believe both of them were in the closet for reasons and were forced to come out to avoid jail or a lawsuit, which is horrible. Sooooo cut to part of the team trying to be kind and understanding, thinking 'maybe this is why he's such a dick unable to be yourself, and watching other openly express their love while he can't. Of course, he would be bitter. Maybe he's like this to avoid getting close to people because someone he trusted outed him or bullied or blackmailed him once, and he never fully healed. Their all doctors, and they want to help and show support.' This is completely wrong. The other part mainly decides to leverage this situation and "supports" House and Wilson to (hopefully) get cookie points. Chaos ensues.

The nice ones: looking up support groups for the LGBTQ+ and googling how to support someone who just came out, because coming out like this must be upsetting at the very least

House: Stop kissing my ass. That's Wilson's job

Also House: [milking it for all its worth especially during secret Santa] What you'll get your other STRAIGHT co-workers gifts but not me. Is this a hate crime must be?

House: Now that I'm out, it's so difficult with all the patients in the clinic so many homopophobes :(

The nice ones: Covers clinc duty to stop House being exposed to so much hate

The suck ups: mentions how they like Beyonce and RuPaul. Went to a musical once, definitely has a gay cousin or friend, and makes everything go back to being gay and overly defending House fellow people who are equal to them and deserve support. They always supported LGBLT people.

House: [Let's them talk and enjoying them making asses if themselves] Wow, you are so supportive

The suck ups: [says/does something really offensive]

House: [staring in surprise/and a little horror] Little impressed actually going to remember that for later. But I had reasons for medical reasons to what I said, and you don't. Also, you'll get me in trouble with Cuddy, and if you do that, you're fired. [Makes the couple who sued him give a lesson on the LGBTQ+]

The truth doesn't come out until someone catches Wilson on a date and confronts him, either because 'cheating isn't okay he needs to come clean' or 'I can use this and have him talk me up to House' and Wilson is like "What no! I only said that to keep House out of trouble. We never dated. I'M STRAIGHT! N-n-n-not that there's anything wrong wi... I didn't... Look, it was either a small white lie or House goes to jail, and you lose a job. Besides, it's not like I really lied. House is my friend, and he is a boy. He's a boy friend. Yeah, House, he was just messing with you.

The ruse comes to an end with House announcing he had fun and fires someone.

Also, House knows Wilson's dick size because both of them were drunk, and Wilson was shitting on House about not having a girlfriend or whatever making a joke about being bad in bed. Later, at one of their homes, Wilson passed out drunk. House is curious and takes a look and measures.

House would treat two gay patients like shit and get sued for being homophobic and cuddy would go "he's not homophobic, he treats everyone like that!" which does not hold up in court so instead he's like how can I be homophobic when I have a boyfriend? Wilson stand up. Everyone would turn to Wilson (who had ZERO warning about this) and he'd stutter before glaring at House and stand "yes, House is unfortunately my boyfriend"

Then they'd walk out of the courtroom and Wilson would chew him out which House ignores. Cue 3 days layer when Wilson says House needs to clear up they lied about being gay to get him off (ha) and they're not actually dating because he is NOT getting any dates like this. House would walk into the hospital cafeteria and yell "ATTENTION EVERYONE. Doctor Wilson is not my boyfriend." Wilson would nod for 2 seconds before House follows up with "because we're engaged!" and Wilson can't even be mad because why did he think for 2 seconds that House would make it easy for him

House would try to use this as an opportunity to demand less clinic hours (think of it as a wedding gift) which he does not get because Cuddy knows exactly what's going on and she thinks it's hilarious but she needs his ass working

Cuddy: yeah? You two are a thing? How big is he?

House: 5.3 inches

Wilson: how the FUCK do you know that

#house md #gregory house #james wilson #hilson #lisa cuddy #this is poetry #10/10 post #13 #Cuthroat Bitch #Amber

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kayhi808 · 2 days ago

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I am curious what does Abby’s v-day look like? Does she get something with mama and Bucky before their date? Does she get a date out of Steve? Is Nat her date because mama and Bucky and Steve are having a double date with ms. Grace?

Happy Be-lated Valentine's, Anon! 😍 Abby, enjoyed her Galentine's Day with her daycare besties, Chloe & Mia. Her Valentine's was a little rough. 😟 She asked Bucky to be her Valentine, but he already made plans for a romantic evening with you.😬

You picked Abby up from daycare, Abby is chattering nonstop, telling you all about her Galentine's breakfast and the crafts she did. "I mades you a Balentine card, but I cants gives you until tomorrow. Ms. Grace let's me make two," holding up 2 fingers. "I mades Papa Bear one."

"Did you? He's going to be so surprised."

"Really, Mama? You tink he be 'prised?" Abby grabs your hand and starts skipping. As you turn the corner, you see Bucky walking up the stairs. "Papa! Papa!" She waves crazily to catch his attention. She looks up at you for permission. You give her a smile and let go of her hand. She runs towards Bucky & you see a smile on Bucky's lips.

He picks her up and tossed her in the air. It always makes you catch your breath because he tosses her a little higher than normal people. You know she's in no danger, but to see your baby so high...yeesh. Abigail loves it! She asks for another one as soon as he catches her. She's all squeals and giggles.

"Hey, Doll." Bucky kisses you before guiding you inside. He's such a sweet man, and so handsome. You really got lucky with him. You love him so much.

********

While you're in the shower, Abby's with Bucky playing Legos. "You knows what?"

Bucky smiles before putting down his Legos and turning to Abby. "No, Abigail. What's on your mind?"

Abby crawls closer to Bucky & nervously plays with his hand. "Will you be my Balentine?"

Surprised, "Oh...Abby." All the plans he had for you and him and your Valentine together flash through his mind. Bucky takes a little too long to answer. Abby pulls her hand back & stands up but not before Bucky sees the hurt in her eyes. "Abby..."

"Um...I's just kidding."

"Abby, baby," reaching for Abby, but she hops out of his reach.

"I's trick you. Ha-ha. It just tricks," her voice getting softer. "I think Pu'a is calling me. I gots to go."

She runs to her room, passing you in the hallway. You're towel drying you hair, "Ready for your stories?' Abby slams her door. The next second, Bucky crashes into you. "Ow!"

Seeing Abby's closed door, Bucky curses under his breath, "Shit."

"What happened?"

"I messed up. She asked me to be her Valentine, and she took me by surprise. I didn't answer her immediately, and hurt her feelings. I was thinking how to juggle the plans I made with you, to fit Abby in." You cringe. "I'm sorry, Doll."

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about. These things are going to happen."

Bucky knocks on Abby's door, "Abby Baby? Can I come in?"

You hear her muffled voice through the door, "I's sowwy, Abby not at home. You got the wrong number. Come back later." You giggle as Bucky leans his head against the door.

"It's ok. I got this."

******

Nothing helps heal a heartache like ice cream. You return with a bowl and softly tap on the door. "Abby? Can I come in?" The door opens a crack, and your baby is looking up at you with little tears stuck to her thick lashes and Pu'a her pig, clutched in her arms. "Aw, baby."

You close the door, picking your daughter up and take her to bed. You hand her, her ice cream. "It got sprinkles? I needs sprinkles." She smiles at her bowl when she sees the rainbow of colors. "Tank yous."

"Want to tell me what happened with Bucky?"

"I ask him to be my Balentine but he...he no want to," little tears track down her cheek.

"Did he say no? That he didn't want to?"

She stops and thinks, "He didn't say yes."

You give a small laugh, "Ok. That's fair. Remember when I told you Natasha was going to be here on Friday to babysit you?"

"Ooh yes! N'asha and I having a dance pawty."

"Tomorrow is Friday. She's coming over so Bucky and I can go out for our Valentine's date."

"You his Balentine already??"

"See, so it's not that Bucky didn't want to be your Valentine. He was already thinking how to change his plans with me, to fit you in. Bucky loves you very much."

"I so 'barresed!" Abby falls dramatically back on the bed, and you scooping up her ice cream bowl before it spills. "I thought him no wants to be my Balentine, but he already yours."

"He'll always be ours. He's my boyfriend and your Papa Bear."

Sitting up shocked, "But Mama, you can't has more than one Balentine!"

Laughing at her outrage, "Am I not your Valentine, too? Did you not just tell me on our walk home that you made me a Valentine card at school?"

Hugging her back, "I'm glad baby. And you know, Bucky feels very sad that he hurt your feelings. He's sorry."

"I dids! For you and Papa, two."

"See, it ok to have 2 Valentine's. And I bet if you had more time, you'd make a whole bunch more for Uncle Steve, Natasha, Sam..."

"And Diwector Fuwy!"

"Exactly! All the people you love in your life."

Giving you a hug, "Tank you Mama. I feels better in my heart."

Abby pulls away and covers her face, "I's so 'shamed."

"There nothing to be ashamed about. It was a misunderstanding. We fixed it easily, right?" Abby nods. "Maybe you can go tell Bucky you understand and you're not sad anymore."

Running to find Bucky, "I tells him, now!"

*******

Bucky left work early to decorate your apartment before you got home with Abby. You each got flowers and candies. Abby's on a smaller scale, but he also got her a Stitch stuffie. She's been talking so much about the new Lilo & Stitch movie, Bucky just had to get it.

Bucky was taking you to dinner and a Broadway show but switched it to a late dinner after the show so he could spend some time with Abby first. He still felt bad that her feelings were hurt.

Hearing the jingle of keys and Abby's chit-chat through the door, Bucky leans against the kitchen counter waiting to see the looks on his girls' faces.

You didn't disappoint. No one ever has taken so much effort to making Valentine's Day so special. Your surprised look made Bucky smile. Abby is squealing and giggling and dancing around with her new toy. "Papa, this...this is like, The Best! Tank you!"

Bucky walks over, wrapping his arms around you and giving you a kiss which held promises of so much more.

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood @jvanilly

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #abigail rose #valentine's day

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freshl6ve · 2 days ago

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𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒. 𝐒 | 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 & 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄¹⁰

⭑.ᐟ : 𝐀𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧, I was greeted by the early morning sunlight streaming in through the curtains, casting soft, warm light over the room. The memory of the night before came flooding back to me, the feel of Matt’s skin against mine, the sounds of pleasure filling the air. I turned my head, finding Matt lying on his stomach beside me, his arm under his pillow, his back bare as the sheet only covered his waist and down.

My head was throbbing as I slowly rose from the bed, each movement sending a wave of pain through my skull. I fought the ache as I made my way over to Matt’s closet, grabbing a baggy shirt and putting it on. The fabric fell loosely around my body, providing much-needed comfort. I then shuffled over to his dresser, grabbing a pair of his boxers and pulling them on.

With each step, the pain in my head grew more intense, but I powered through, shuffling out of Matt's bedroom and down the hall toward the kitchen. My only goal was to find some water and something to ease the headache that was making my temples pulse. The cool wood under my feet provided some relief, and I silently prayed that there would be hangover medicine in one of the cabinets.

As I entered the kitchen, still rubbing tiredness from my eyes, I was taken aback to find someone already there, leaning against the counter and scrolling on their phone. “Oh, sorry,” I muttered, stepping carefully into the room. The person looked up from their phone, a warm smile on their face. “You must be Y/N,” they said, their tone light and curious.

I nodded, my head still throbbing, feeling a little bit awkward standing there in Matt's boxers and oversized shirt. The stranger gave me a once-over, no doubt noticing my disheveled appearance and choice of clothing. “Rough night?” they asked, their tone light and amused. I nodded in response.

Suddenly it clicked to me, “You must be Nick right?” I asked, my voice laced with surprise and confusion. Nick chuckled and nodded, his smile widening as he continued. “Yeah, I’m Matt’s and Chris’s older triplet,” he repeated, adding, “Matt had told me a lot about you.”

Nick took a step closer, still leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossing over his chest. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you after three years of hearing about you,” he repeated with a chuckle, his eyes flickering over my disheveled appearance once more. I cringed internally, feeling a rush of embarrassment at my current state. “Oh god, I am so sorry,” I apologized, my cheeks burning as I realized how unprofessional this must look.

“This is such an unprofessional way to meet me,” I tried to explain, running a hand through my messy hair, feeling a spike of anxiety. But Nick only laughed, waving off my apology with a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured me, his voice warm and easy-going. “I’m just happy to finally put a face to the name.”

Nick pushed himself away from the counter, gesturing for me to take a seat at the table. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and a bottle of pain killers from the cupboard, setting them in front of me with a smile. “Here you go,” he said, “You probably need this.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, accepting the water and painkillers gratefully. My head throbbed with every move I made, and I just wanted the ache to go away. “I’m so sorry you had to meet me like this,” I repeated, feeling a mix of embarrassment and apology.

But Nick just chuckled again, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he took in my disheveled appearance. “Believe me,” he said, his tone light, “You look better than both my brothers do when they’re hungover.”

Nick took a seat across from me as I finished my water and the painkillers. We sat in silence for a moment. Just then, I heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and a moment later, Chris appeared in the kitchen, a girl following closely behind him. They quickly walked through the living room and towards the front door.

Once Chris walked the girl out, he made his way back up the stairs and entered the kitchen. Grabbing a water from the fridge, Nick and I watched in silence. Nick couldn’t help but take a jab at his younger brother, asking, “Isn’t that the third one this week?” Chris shot him a glare, replying simply, “Shut up, Nick.” Before Nick could say anything more Chris walked over to the stairs, down to his room, and Nick called out after him, “Good morning to you too, sweetheart!”

Nick chuckled at his own comment, his eyes flickering back to me. “Ignore him,” he said, his tone easygoing. “He’s always grumpy in the mornings after one of his hook-ups, especially if they didn’t pleasure him right.”

I took a sip of my water, watching as Nick leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face. “Don’t you get tired of seeing random girls in your house?” I asked, trying to hide my curiosity behind a casual tone.

Nick shrugged, a mix of frustration and resignation in his expression. “Yeah. Me and Matt can’t really do anything though, because he won’t listen,” he explained. “He just does what he wants.”

I nodded, understanding his predicament. Dealing with someone who always did what they wanted was never easy. “I see,” I replied, my voice soft. “It must be tough dealing with someone like that.”

Nick chuckled, shaking his head in mild exasperation. “Oh yeah, Chris is a real pain in the ass,” he agreed, but his tone was affectionate, his expression fond. “But I love him no matter how annoying he is. He’s my brother, y’know?”

I nodded again, a small smile curving my lips. I knew what he meant. No matter how aggravating a family member could be, the love was always there. “I get it,” I said. Sibling relationships can be complicated and frustrating, but at the end of the day, there’s always that unbreakable bond.

Nick leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, a curious glint in his eyes. “How about you?” he asked, his tone casual.

I blinked, surprised by the question. “How about me what?” I repeated, unsure where this conversation was going.

Nick chuckled, elaborating his question. “Do you have any siblings?” he asked.

I shook my head, a little pang of loneliness filling my chest. “No,” I replied, my voice soft. “I’m an only child.”

Nick’s expression softened, his usually playful demeanor replaced by something more understanding. “An only child, huh?” he mused, his tone gentle. “Must have been pretty lonely at times.”

“Yeah, really lonely,” I agreed, my voice quiet. My parents’ absence had always been a gaping hole in my life, leaving me feeling isolated and alone. “Even more lonely when both parents aren’t around anymore,” I added, my words tinged with sorrow.

Nick’s surprise was evident on his face, his eyebrows raising slightly. “What happened to them?” he repeated, his voice now softer, laced with concern. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“My mom abandoned me when I was little,” I stated, my tone matter-of-fact. “And my dad died due to cancer.” The words weighed heavily on my tongue, even more so as I looked at Nick’s sympathetic expression.

His eyes widened, a mixture of shock and sadness. “Oh wow,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must’ve been really rough.”

I waved off his sympathy, not wanting to dwell on the topic. “It’s fine,” I assured him, my voice calm and composed. “It’s not your fault.” I took a deep breath, preparing to continue. “I don’t really like talking about it, but you asked.” It was difficult speaking about my past, but there was something about Nick’s gentle demeanor that made it somewhat easier.

Nick quickly changed the subject, sensing my discomfort. “You know,” he said, a smile reappearing on his lips, “We should hang out sometime. You’re really interesting.” There was a hint of genuine fascination in his tone, as if he really did find me intriguing.

I could feel the tight knot in my chest loosen a little at his words, and a small, soft smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “I would love that,” I said, my voice gentle and sincere.

Just as the conversation fell silent, we heard someone walking up the stairs once more. Chris appeared, tossing an empty water bottle into the recycling bin before his gaze landed on me. I averted my eyes, feeling a slight tension between us.

Nick, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere, broke the silence by questioning Chris. “Feeling better now, princess?” he teased, injecting some lightness into the air.

Chris rolled his eyes at Nick’s comment and checked the fridge for food, only to find it empty. He let out a sigh and leaned against the counter, his attention drawn to his phone. Nick shook his head, his voice firm. “I don’t wanna repeat myself about bringing girls into the house again, Chris.”

Chris responded coldly, not looking up from his phone. “Then don’t.” He continued to scroll through the food delivery app before asking, “I’m ordering food. What do you want?”

Nick’s voice took on a serious tone as he spoke to his brother. “I’m being serious, Chris,” he reiterated, his expression stern.

Chris shot back, a defiant edge to his voice. “If you don’t want any girls in this house, those rules should apply to Matt as well,” he emphasized, not backing down.

Nick furrowed his brow, genuinely confused. Matt wasn’t the type to bring girls around, so what was Chris insinuating? But I knew the answer. It was me.

Nick tried to understand his brother’s words, his confusion evident. “What are you implying?” he started, his voice trailing off as he tried to make sense of the situation.

Chris’s response was blunt, his tone sharp. “Well, it’s pretty obvious,” he retorted. Nick finally caught on, his expression hardening as he realized what Chris meant.

Nick finally seemed to catch on, understanding what Chris was getting at. “Y/N isn’t just a random girl,” he said, defending me. “She’s a friend of Matt’s, and a friend of Matt’s is a friend of mine,” he snapped, his words firm. “I don’t know what your deal is, but try taking your head out of your ass for once in your life.”

Chris’s cold glare lingered on me for a moment, his jaw clenching visibly. But there was a slight softening in his eyes, a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface.

Nick stood his ground, his voice firm. “I mean it,” he asserted. Chris responded with a nonchalant, “whatever,” his expression turning dismissive. He rolled his eyes and pushed away from the counter, his shoulders tense. “I’m going to go back down to my room,” he announced, before adding, “Text me your order or whatever” then he walked down the stairs and disappeared into his room.

Nick looked at me, the tension in his face dissolving into an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry about him,” he said, his voice gentle. “I don’t know what got into him.”

I shook my head, brushing off his apology. “It’s fine,” I assured him softly. “It’s not your fault.” I paused, a pang of guilt in my chest. “I’m probably the one to blame for him acting like that, to be honest.”

Nick’s confusion showed on his face as he listened to my explanation. “We had a thing going on a couple of months ago,” I confessed softly. “Well, I wouldn’t say thing…like…we kissed?”

My heart clenched in my chest as I continued, my voice quiet. “I don’t know what it was, but... I just didn’t wanna get hurt so I pushed him away. And ever since then I haven’t heard a word from him.” I paused, the weight of my actions weighing heavily on me. “I guess that explains the tension between us, I suppose.”

Nick’s eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and realization on his face. “So you already knew Chris?” he repeated, his voice tinged with curiosity.

I nodded, my expression becoming sheepish. “Yeah,” I affirmed softly.

Nick’s concerned expression melted into a small smile as he suggested, “You should head back to bed. I can tell you’re really tired.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of fatigue settling in my limbs. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I admitted. I stood up from the table, feeling the need to lie down again. “It was nice meeting you,” I said softly, a weary smile on my face. With that, I turned and made my way into the hallway, disappearing into Matt’s room.

I entered the room, finding Matt still in the same position I had left him earlier. His arms tucked under the pillow, his bare back exposed, leaving his defined shoulders and muscular arms on display and the blanket draped over his waist.

His breaths came slow and soft, his rising back in time with each measured inhale. His hair was tousled, a mess from the night before, yet there was an endearing softness to his appearance.

This was a normal occurrence for us. It was an unspoken agreement between us, a secret known only to ourselves.

We were friends with benefits, a relationship based purely on mutual pleasure and satisfaction, no strings attached. It was a simple arrangement, a way to fulfill needs without the complexities of commitment.

It was a mutual understanding between us. Matt wasn't ready for a relationship, and neither was I. We had both come to the agreement that if we ever needed pleasure, we could turn to each other. It was a simple arrangement, devoid of romantic feelings or expectations, just the fulfillment of a desire.

Matt’s eyes fluttered open, his mind slowly stirring out of sleep. He felt the weight of my presence against his back, my arm draped over him. He shifted slightly in the bed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

I spoke softly, my voice low and tender. “Good morning,” I murmured, my fingers tracing patterns on his bare skin.

Matt’s voice was groggy but warm as he replied, “Morning.”

I moved closer to him, snuggling my face into the crook of his neck, my fingers still tracing featherlight patterns on his back. I inhaled deeply, taking in his scent before whispering softly, “Did you sleep well?”

Matt hummed in response, signaling that he slept well. Then, he shifted his body, turning onto his back, facing me directly. His gaze met mine, his eyes still half closed with sleep, but there was a soft smile on his lips.

As Matt repositioned himself to face me, my eyes traced over his features. I propped myself up on one arm, my gaze fixated on him with a tender expression. I softly laid my hand on his chest, my touch lingering as my fingers found his chain. Almost absently, I began to fiddle with the chain, my fingers gently gliding over the familiar metal links.

Matt reached up lazily, his hand finding its way to my face. His fingertips gently brushed against my skin, moving a stray piece of hair out of my eyes. His touch was soft, his movements slow from the remnants of sleep.

Our lips met in a soft and tender kiss, a sweet moment shared between us. Just as the kiss deepened, a knock on the door jolted us apart, breaking the intimate bubble we were in.

Nick's voice carried through from the other side of the door. “Matt, can you go get breakfast? Chris ordered it but he's being a bitch and won't go get it.”

Matt let out a long sigh, reluctantly agreeing. “Yeah, I got it,” he muttered. We heard the sound of Nick’s footsteps fade away as he walked off.

I chuckled softly, my gaze dropping down to Matt. “You’re the best brother ever,” I teased gently.

Matt rolled his eyes playfully, his cheeks flushing slightly. He poked my side jokingly before replying, “Shut up.” But before I could playfully respond, he suddenly leaned up and pecked my lips once more, a slight smirk on his face.

With a smirk, I reminded him, “You’re still naked. Get dressed.” I climbed off the bed, my feet finding the ground.

Matt’s question came next, his voice groggy but amused. “Where are you going?”

I replied, “I left my purse in the car. I have makeup wipes and face wash in there, I need them.”

I walked out of Matt’s room and made my way through the hallway, heading downstairs and passing by Chris’s room. I entered the garage and walked over to the car, quickly opening the door and reaching for my purse. I rummaged through the bag, finding the makeup wipes and face wash I had just in case.

I closed the car door and started to walk towards the garage door, ready to head back into the house. Just as I was about to pass by Chris’s room, I was abruptly stopped by someone grabbing my wrist. I turned to look, discovering that it was Chris who was holding onto my wrist.

I was taken aback by his sudden action, confusion and surprise evident on my face. “What are you doing?” I managed to ask.

But Chris didn't answer, his grip still firm on my wrist as he pulled me into his room, closing the door behind us.

TAGS: @st6rify @jetaimevous @certifiedstarrr @slvtf0rchr1s @l3sbiancvnt @wh0remikasas @r0s3luvr @emely9274 @mimiluvzpicklez @courta13 @talia-unknown @ivysturnss @kissesfromkitty

A/N: posting this before i change the theme — v-day oneshots out today! also new title soon

── .✦ MASTER—LIST ⭑𓂃

#★┊[𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒.𝐒] .ᐟ 🦌₊˚⊹#₊ 𖦹﹕𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 & 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 ₊˚꒰🏁꒱‧#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x y/n #chris x you #chris x reader #chris sturniolo series #freshl6ve #street racing au #street racing

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23victoria · 5 hours ago

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7/11

ꨄ༊*·˚ pairings: f1 drivers x fem!reader

₊✩°｡⋆ authors note: this was in my drafts but it’s based of the tiktok challenge!! this is format is a bit different lmk if you like it!! i hope you guys enjoy!! also let’s pretend seb and jenson have tiktok and use it….well seb at least jenson def has a secret tiktok

ꨄ༊*·˚ synopsis: doing the 7/11 Beyoncé song challenge on tiktok “in secret” not realizing your man was standing there watching the whole time!

₊✩°｡⋆ wanna be tagged in my works?! CLICK HERE!

ꨄ༊*·˚ F1 MASTERLIST

You’re alone in your room, music blasting, focused on getting every move perfect as you record yourself doing the 7/11 dance challenge. The rhythm flows through you effortlessly, your body moving with precision and confidence. After finishing, you stop the recording, catching your breath as you play the video back. A grin spreads across your face as you watch yourself.

"Oh, I ate that up."

Satisfied, you post it without a second thought.

Then—

"Oh my god!"

You yelp, nearly dropping your phone when you turn and find him standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Did I scare you?" he chuckles.

"What are you doing just standing there?!" you demand, clutching your chest.

"I was coming to ask what you wanted me to cook for you," he says casually, tilting his head. "But I saw you looking at your phone smiling really hard and got curious."

Heat rushes to your face. "Oh... well—nothing. It’s nothing."

He raises a brow. "Mhm. Nothing, huh?"

You swallow nervously. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," he shrugs, stepping closer. "Just enough to see you smiling at yourself like you just changed the world."

You roll your eyes, trying to brush it off. "Anyway, I want [random food] for dinner."

He grins. "Alright then, let’s go, baby." He takes your hand, leading you to the kitchen.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*:･ﾟ✧·̩̩̥͙

Two Hours Later

You’re curled up on the couch with him, eating and watching a movie while your phone charges. Eventually, you reach for it and notice an insane amount of notifications.

"What the hell?" you murmur, unlocking it. Your jaw drops as you see your TikTok video has blown up. Thousands of comments flood in—

"Look at how he’s looking at her." "OMG, he’s so in love with her." "I need a man to look at me like that." "This just made me feel so single." "She’s so hot, he’s lucky."

Your stomach drops as you quickly rewatch the video. That’s when you see it—

Through the mirror’s reflection, he had been standing in the doorway the entire time, completely mesmerized by you.

"Oh my god."

Then, just as your embarrassment peaks, you see his comment:

"Oh, she’s definitely getting it tonight 🤤"

Your phone nearly slips out of your hand.

Lewis

You gasp and slap his arm. “Lewis!”

He lets out a deep chuckle, eyes twinkling with amusement. “What?”

“Did you really have to comment that?!” you exclaim, face burning.

He smirks, leaning closer. “Why? It’s true.”

You shove his face away, groaning. “Oh my god, I’m going to delete it.”

“No, you’re not.” He swiftly takes your phone, holding it above his head while you struggle to grab it.

"Lewis, give it back!"

"Nope," he grins, "you should be thanking me for hyping you up."

You narrow your eyes. "You're insufferable."

He leans in, lips brushing against your ear. "And yet, you love me."

Damn it. He’s right.

Charles

Your face burns as you shove his shoulder. “Charles! Why would you comment that?!”

He bursts into laughter, completely unbothered. “What? It’s the truth, no?”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “The whole world didn’t need to know that!”

He tilts his head, smirking. “You’re acting like they don’t already know how much I love you.”

Your heart skips a beat.

Charles leans in, whispering, “Besides… now they know what to expect tonight.”

You smack his arm again, but he only grins wider, completely enjoying your flustered state.

Max

Your stomach drops. “Max, please tell me you did not just comment that.”

He shrugs, fighting a smirk. “I mean, it’s not a lie.”

You groan, covering your face. “I hate you.”

He chuckles, wrapping an arm around you. “No, you don’t.”

You glare up at him. “What if my parents see that?!”

Max snorts. “Your mom already likes my comment.”

Your eyes widen in horror. He laughs even harder, pulling you closer. “Face it, schat, you’re stuck with me.”

Oscar

You nearly drop your phone, whipping around to face him. “Oscar! Seriously?!”

He bites his lip, barely holding back a laugh. “What?”

You gesture wildly at the screen. “That comment! ‘She’s definitely getting it tonight’—are you insane?!”

He chuckles, playing innocent. “I’m just stating facts.”

You groan, throwing a pillow at him. He catches it with ease, grinning. “Don’t be mad, babe. It’s kinda cute seeing you all flustered.”

You glare. “You are never living this down.”

Oscar smirks. “That’s fine. As long as I get to prove my comment right.”

Your face burns as he winks at you.

Lando

Your jaw drops. “Lando, WHAT THE HELL?!”

He bursts out laughing, falling back on the couch. “Oh my god, your face right now!”

You smack his arm repeatedly. “That was NOT funny!”

He’s wheezing at this point. “Babe, you should see the comments. Everyone’s obsessed with how I look at you.”

You pout. “That’s not the point, Lando.”

He grins, wrapping an arm around you. “Fine, fine. I’ll make it up to you.”

You narrow your eyes. “How?”

He smirks. “Let’s just say… my comment won’t be a lie.”

You groan, pushing his face away while he laughs.

Carlos

You turn to Carlos, horrified. “Carlos! Did you seriously just post that?!”

He smirks, leaning back with a satisfied expression. “Sí. Why?”

You groan. “You’re so embarrassing!”

Carlos shrugs. “It’s true, though.” He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “And I don’t lie, cariño.”

Your breath hitches. “I hate you.”

He grins. “No, you don’t. Now, finish eating, so we have energy for later.”

You blush furiously while he chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Jenson

You clutch your chest. “Jenson, why would you comment that?!”

He smirks, sipping his drink. “Because it’s true, love.”

You glare. “Do you have any shame?”

“None whatsoever.”

You sigh dramatically. “I can’t believe I’m dating you.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “And yet, you are. Lucky me.”

Damn it. You can’t even stay mad.

Sebastian

Your heart races as you read his comment. “Seb, what is WRONG with you?!”

He grins innocently. “Nothing, why?”

You wave your phone. “‘She’s definitely getting it tonight’—DO YOU HAVE NO FILTER?!”

Seb shrugs. “Should I delete it?”

You nod frantically.

He smirks. “Too late. It’s already viral.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands.

Sebastian chuckles, pulling you into his arms. “Don’t worry, liebling. If anything, now everyone knows just how much I adore you.”

You sigh, defeated. “I hate you.”

He grins. “I love you too.”

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*:･ﾟ✧·̩̩̥͙

ꨄ taglist! : @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @Ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @Blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @teti-menchon0604 @bxtosa @fadingcloudballoon @whatevenisthisxxxxx @anamiad00msday @luula @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eoduuung @eternoangel @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @flowerpetalk @oledoledoffen @jimcarreyfann42 @revolutionsingingintherain @acesbakery @oliviah-25 @matcha—-matcha @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris18-blog @armystay89 @paucubarsisimp

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multiheadcanons · 2 days ago

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WHAT IF I INTRODUCE YOU TO THE BLU TEAM

scout: meet the original jeremy willis. always known as a quiet, but emotional kid by his family and friends, and he carried that awkwardness well into his teen years before he started to try to break out of that. but it never came out… right. always too aggressive, too guarded, too insincere. so the operation actually did make him feel better. he doesn’t feel a need to be that guy anymore. that guy’s on the other team, so if you want the jeremy who’s gonna swing first and ask questions later he’s over there. he would still consider himself a quiet, guarded guy, but the team will tell you it doesn’t take much to open him up, and when he’s open he will never close himself off to you again. so he’s just a guy who likes to talk, who seems to talk a lot about nothing, but somehow always manages to get to a point. he lets the red jeremy handle the family. it makes him feel a little better to know that his family thinks he’s doing okay. the red jeremy will keep him in the loop though on what’s going on. it doesn’t feel right to just leave him out of it entirely.

soldier: meet the original jane doe. a quietly disturbed man, is how he would’ve been described by people from his past. he would probably still be described that way by his team. awkward, and forceful, jane doe has never been a man of anything past military refinement. his father said he needed structure and committed to that. he was in and out of military schools until he was grown, and made it to basic training. but there was something about him that his battalion just didn’t trust. it broke him, in a sense. he didn’t give people reasons to not trust him. he didn’t think he did, anyway. he just had this air about him. intense, and draining. the operation certainly changed him. but it was less the actual operation and more what came after. he never really felt “whole”; but now he certainly doesn’t. it’s the seeing of clones that is wrecking him. it’s the killing of them that is breaking him. he’s starting to understand why his battalion could never trust him. only dangerously paranoid a third of the time, though. generally okay to be around, if not dry in conversation.

pyro? meet pyro! a curious creature of a faux-mechanical kind. carefree, inquisitive and certainly human, medic does not know which pyro is which. he flipped a coin and took the opposite. it’s kind of sad, considering he watched one of them grow in a test tube and was in the other’s grey matter, but when he’s requested to cut through the mask and conceal the other the moment the body begins to form, he will respect it. so don’t judge. pyro is an enigma to most on the team, save the medic, the engineer, and the spy; and pyro is a wonderful friend to have. steadfast, good natured (for the most part), and dumbly loyal, pyro is always down for a good time. pyro’s equally down for a bad time! pyro doesn’t run from fights. in fact, they thoroughly enjoy running into a difficult tussle. they find joy in coming out on the other side alive. and if you think they look bad, you should see the ashes. fire is warm. fire is comforting. fire will only grow if you feed it. and pyro is much like their elemental affinity. it takes a lot to turn pyro against you. but why would you do that?

demo: meet tavish. tavish doesn’t think very often about where his family could be. tavish doesn’t know if he’d even have anything to say to them. very work oriented. never out of his room very often except to grab a drink. tavish desperately misses the flair his counterpart has. he simply does not have that same charisma. but he has drive, he is determined, he is prompt and punctual and truly an asset to the team. serious guy unless he’s drunk. he can loosen up when he’s drunk. it’s a big reason as to why he drinks. makes him easier to be around. he’s not a terrible guy sober, he’s just not right sober. quiet, contemplative, hyperfocused. an intense man with an intense gaze. he’s more social when he’s tipsy. though his humor is dry, and dark at times.

heavy: meet mikhail. what a man. seemingly kind, it’s easy to look past the fresh blood on his hands as he asks you about your morning plans, and preps your plate in the mess hall. a man who knows how to make himself seem smaller than he is. allegedly easygoing, heavy doesn’t have a problem as long as everything is going exactly how he expects it to. and any issue or snag is met with calm, quiet confidence. problem solver. problem annihilator, may be a more fitting term. also: problem starter. does things to others just to see the domino effect. never allows a problem to fester, unless it’s interesting enough. always has the slightest of smiles on his face. always so relaxed. makes his counterpart look neurotic in comparison. manipulative in that sense. less of a glue to the team and more of a bored puppeteer. only interacts to glean information or get something. otherwise he’s not interested. perceptive and conniving. normally a step ahead of others, unless consumed by the blood of battle. there comes a point his brain does shut off and he basks in violence; those are the optimal times to catch him off his guard. but it is never seen away from the battlefield. so there’s never an opportunity to truly get ahead of him. first one up for the day in the base.

engineer: meet the original dell conagher. eternally optimistically exhausted. it’s hard to catch dell on a high energy day, when he’s willing to chat. most, if not all of his energy is spent on the field. the most low energy mad scientist you’d meet. less of an evil laugh and more of an evil snort. this doesn’t derive dell of his humor. always in need of a laugh; his humor is odd, and niche. childish, almost. dell allows his counterpart to overtake his personal life so he can focus on his work. and it’s because of that dell is rarely seen outside of his workshop, which he moved off of the main base to work comfortably and have truly private meetings with pauling when needed. the only people on the team he really interacts with is the doctor and pyro. he is left empty by the end of battle. but he is always ready for the next one. his hermitic nature is somewhat disappointing, because when you get to know him he’s actually quite good natured. he steals blueprints from the red dell. you gotta work smarter, not harder when you’re in a position like his.

medic: meet fritz. a man wracked with guilt and in horrifying need of a therapist; fritz is just a man with a dream. and if that dream happens to include the death of his creator and the subsequent creation of a lovely leather jacket from the skin of the carcass, can you truly blame him? you’ve seen that guy, right? a liar, a hater, a manipulator, and a brute if/when the opportunity presents itself, fritz is working on himself the only way he knows how— through manipulating others and seeing how he’s supposed to feel when he gets caught. asking what he’s supposed to feel. it makes him hard to be around because he is a chronic vibe killer. though he is charming, in his odd little way. master of a hypothetical. puts a lot of thought into any and every decision he makes. god tier idle chatter. his awkwardness is a charm he quickly learned to harness. it’s very easy to tell a guy who seems he can barely handle the needles he uses about your deepest secrets. if he had the true amount of time his creator did, he too could be a god. but he’s having to learn on the fly. his attempts to be easygoing feel forced to all who experience it, it’s almost cute. it falls just short and lands in uncanny. softer stare than his counterpart. funnier than his counterpart, without meaning to be! fritz does everything he can to be as different as possible from the man who created him, and in his effort to make a 180 degree turn he just did a 360. shines in battle. falters in social settings.

sniper: meet mick. mick is the notably “chiller” of the two snipers; and frankly it helps keep the balance not just of his own team, but both teams in general. certified problem avoider, and to him that is a problem solved! easygoing, if only marginally off-kilter; mick can find a laugh in most anything thrown at him, and can find his way through various sticky situations that he finds himself in, through no fault of his own. that is a mostly true statement, mick doesn’t invite hardship into his life where he feels it’s not needed, but mick is a bullshit attractor. even on the field he will be minding his business and he pulls away from the scope to look around and somehow he is standing directly in the middle of the frontlines. he could be tucked into the smallest corner of the smallest room he could find with the barrel of the rifle stuck through a hole just big enough and he’s pulling the trigger and praying and somehow half his team ends up exactly where he’s at. he doesn’t know how he keeps doing that to himself. mick and his counterpart switch off who talks to the parents; and they haven’t figured out if they can tell a difference. mick thinks they should just tell them anyway, if they liked the first one he’s sure they’d love to have two of him. he’s even an adult! mick is friendly in a way that nobody else on his team is. mick will not only spare you a few words, but you can feel like you’re genuinely getting to know mick and realize the next day you actually don’t know anything about him at all. good with words in that way.

spy: meet the spy. he’s constantly changing his name since he doesn’t like any of them, so it’s best to refer to him as spy. he responds to it. spy is an enigma nobody cares enough to uncover, and he likes it that way. smooth, charming, empathetic, even kind in a sense, spy is the glue holding the blu team together. nobody notices that spy is actually the guy keeping food in the fridge. nobody registers it’s only spy who tells the team to congregate in the mess hall. the blu spy, unlike his red counterpart, makes regular rounds in the base, and can be easily located and found during off times. one of the only members of the team who has seen the inside of everyone’s room consensually. spy is an idle chatterer, and a chronic homemaker. and he has no home to make, so the base will have to do. the team, though they don’t know it’s him, are grateful for whoever is the one putting the care into making sure they can come to a clean, comfortably warm/cold environment. another eternally exhausted man. he’s doing his best on a day to day to fulfill the job he’s paid for while keeping the rest of the team alive and employed. but he’ll spare you a smile if you keep his nerves calm. it’s easy to get on his good side, and easier to get on his bad side. itchy trigger finger, he loves his revolver. loves word play, and loves starting shit on the enemy team. and he won’t let himself get caught by that red doctor again. now, he just starts worse shit in the red team.

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 pyro #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 spy #tf2 demo #tf2 demoman #oh! by the way!#we’ll see you in ten posts ;)#thanks for appreciating my hcs if you got this far!

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jjmbbg · 1 day ago

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"In the quiet"

cw: dean winchester x fem!reader, mentions of sa, process of grieving after it (every process is different for every person), fear of talking about it, self-hatred thoughts. just an attempt to give comfort for whoever needs it.

a.n: the person who sent me this as an ask, begged to keep it anonymously. remember that if anything like this happens to any of you, it's not your fault. y'all are loved. <3

(pics from pinterest)

Dean had been quiet for hours now. He had noticed your distance, the way you pulled away from him even when he was close, the way your eyes lost focus during conversations. He knew something was wrong, but he didn’t press. Because he never did. But you could feel him watching you from the corner of his eye, waiting for the moment you'd be ready to talk.

He didn't know the depth of the silence, the depth of your hurt, but you could feel it closing in around you, an invisible weight pressing down.

He didn't know what was going on, but was the first to notice your changes in attitude. The emotional and physical distance you put between the two of you was enough to make Dean curious, but he had to approach you very carefully and cautiously, because every time he brought up the subject, you always seemed to get defensive.

Today, on a quiet night in one of the many motels you usually stay at, you were lying with your back to Dean, after putting on a pair of pajamas that he no longer wore. The air in the motel room was thick with silence, interrupted only by the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rattle of the blinds as the wind outside pushed them against the window.

It was late —later than you'd intended to be awake— but sleep was a foreign thing tonight. Your eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster like they held some sort of answer. But no answer came. Not tonight.

You tried to push the thought of it out, but it was still there, like a ghost. The memory, too sharp to escape, too painful to forget. You hadn't spoken to anyone about it —not fully, not like this. It was a wound you weren’t sure you were ready to expose.

But Dean... he wasn’t just anyone. He was the one who had been by your side through so much already. The thought of him getting close to that pain made your chest tighten, but part of you wanted him to be there, to help you carry it, even if you weren't sure how.

He shifted on his spot, propping himself on his elbow and looking at you, the warm light from the bedside table illuminating your pretty face, marked by a sombre feeling that he has yet to decipher. He scooted closer to you, his chest barely touching your back, his hand brushing the fabric of the blanket as if it were the only thing he could touch. The room was dim, the only light coming from a half-burned lamp on the nightstand. His voice broke through the stillness.

"You okay?" he asked, his tone softer than usual, like he was trying to keep from breaking you.

You didn’t answer immediately. What could you say? Could you even speak the words? You felt his presence close behind you, but it only made you feel smaller, more exposed. You could hear his steady breathing, his chest rising and falling as if it, too, was waiting for you to speak.

"Yeah" you muttered, the word escaping your lips in a soft breath. And it sounded empty. Even to you. "I'm fine"

Dean didn't believe it. He never did, not when you said that, with that tone. A tone that sounded too dead for his own taste.

He was too familiar with the walls you built, the way you hid things, even from him. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his hand found its way to your shoulder. It was gentle, his touch a soft reassurance that you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

It was soothing, and heartbreaking. He wouldn't touch you if he knew the truth, he would be disgusted by you. Or at least that's what you think.

He didn’t push, but his thumb brushed across your covered shoulder in a way that said he wasn’t letting you go, that he wasn’t giving up on you.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Dean's voice was quiet now, low but full of that steady calmness you recognized, the one that always seemed to be there when you needed it the most. His fingers slid from your shoulder, his hand pausing just above your arm as if unsure whether to move any closer.

A deep, really deep, breath left your chest, shaky, as you curled into yourself, suddenly feeling too vulnerable. Your heart was racing, like it had never slowed down since the night everything had changed. You hadn't told anyone what had happened. Not in detail, not like this.

Dean's voice, so full of care, was the only thing that kept you tethered. "You don't have to talk about it yet... whenever you're ready. But don't think you have to carry this alone, okay?"

The honesty in his words, the raw openness and the softness of his voice —something that wasn't so common, made you ache. You didn't want to tell him, not now, not like this, but the way he looked at you... you knew he was ready to hear whatever you were willing to give him. He wasn't rushing you. He was patient. So patient that it made you want to give him more.

You wanted him close.

"I…" you faltered, swallowing hard as you fought the lump in your throat. "I've just been… distant, haven't I?" you let a broken laugh abandon you.

Dean's fingers squeezed gently, but there was no judgement in his touch. His eyes studied you, as if looking for answers in the delicate lines of your face.

"I know you’re going through something" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. "But you don't have to shut me out"

You let out a shaky breath. His proximity, the warmth of his body so near to yours, made everything feel too heavy, too overwhelming, but in a way that also gave you permission to breathe, to just let go for once.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts. The pain, the weight, it all seemed to be building inside you, demanding release.

"I don't know how to let you in" you confessed in a voice barely audible, a whisper to the room. "I don't know how to talk about it, Dean"

His hand was on your stomach now, rubbing small circles, trying to ease the tension from your muscles. You could feel his patience, his unwavering presence, and it gave you the courage to continue.

"It's just… it's been hard" you said, swallowing again as tears stung the back of your eyes. "Something happened. Something I never thought I'd have to deal with"

Dean's grip tightened, but he didn't rush you. He simply waited, his eyes never leaving your face. It was as if he was willing to stand there forever, waiting for you to let him in.

You hesitated for a long moment before speaking again, each word feeling like it was being pulled from deep within you.

"I was… I was attacked, Dean. I don’t know how to explain it. It feels like it was someone else, but at the same time, I can’t escape it"

Dean's face softened, his heart aching for you. He didn't speak at first, but his hand continued to move gently against your stomach, as if trying to soothe the pain he couldn't see, the pain that was buried too deep to touch.

"God" he muttered under his breath. "I'm so sorry. I should've—"

"No," you interrupted his words, quickly, your voice barely a whisper, but it was enough to stop him. "You couldn't have known. No one could. I didn't know how to tell you"

Dean's fingers brushed the side of your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. His expression was one of quiet devastation, but his gaze held a tenderness that was almost too much to bear.

"I wish I could take it away, you know that, right?" his voice was thick, his own pain evident in the way he spoke. "But I can't, and I'm sorry for that. But I'm here, okay? I'm here for whatever you need. Whenever you need me"

You looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time in so long, you felt the walls around you start to crack. Slowly, inch by inch, they began to crumble. Maybe it wouldn't all be fixed in a night. Maybe it would take time. But with Dean by your side, his hands steady and warm against your skin, you realized something: you didn't have to carry it alone anymore.

And maybe—just maybe—that was the beginning of healing.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester post #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester drabble #x fem!reader #dealing with grief #supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles

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saythenametotheworld · 1 day ago

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Long Story Short | (preview)

genre: college au, smut pairing: childhoodfriend!Na Jaemin x afab!reader notes: i tried to finish this on time before I leave for a three-day conference out of town, but I couldn't. so here's a preview for everyone waiting for part 5 of Campus Confessions! Full fic will be posted on Monday, 2/24!

Nana: You’re fine with getting new housemates, right?

You frowned at your phone. You asked him to get groceries, and he’s talking about getting housemates?

You: No. Nana: Not even gonna ask who they are first? You: Doesn’t matter. The answer is still no. Nana: That’s unfair. You should at least meet them before deciding. You: It’s my apartment. I get the final say. Nana: you mean, OUR apartment.

You: I still get the final say. Nana: What if I just bring them over for a quick dinner? No pressure, just introductions. You: I don’t see how that changes anything. Nana: You might change your mind. You: I won’t. Nana: … Nana: So that’s a yes to dinner?

You sighed, already regretting your decision.

You: Fine. But it’s still a no. Nana: Noted.

About an hour later, you heard the front door open and close, followed by the unmistakable sound of Jaemin kicking off his shoes. You looked up, expecting to see him with, what? Two guys? A couple of friends in need of a place to crash? Instead, Jaemin stood in the doorway, grinning like a kid who had just done something he wasn’t supposed to.

In his arms was a fluffy cat with wide, curious eyes. Another poked its head out of the bag slung across his chest. And at his feet, a third cat rubbed against his legs like it had already claimed him as its personal human.

You blinked. “Jaemin.”

“Yeah?” he asked, completely nonchalant as he set the cat in his arms down on the floor.

You gestured at the trio of kitties now sniffing around your apartment. “What the hell is this?”

Jaemin crouched to scratch behind the ears of the one that had been circling his ankles. “This,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “is Luna, Lucy, and Luke. Our new housemates.”

You stared at him. “Excuse me?”

Jaemin finally looked up, smiling at you in that sweet, boyish way that usually meant he had done something ridiculous but wanted you to let it slide. “They needed a home.”

“That’s not an answer.” You pointed accusingly at the one sitting on the couch now, making itself comfortable. “Jaemin, we never talked about getting a cat. Let alone three.”

“I know.” He stood, brushing off his jeans. “But a senior from our department is graduating and she couldn't take them home with her. She was looking for someone who could adopt them, and I was only gonna get one but then she told me they’re siblings and have to stay together. And I just can’t leave them, can I?”

“So you thought bringing all three of them home was a good idea?” you asked, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to that soft, coaxing tone he always used when he was trying to win you over. “You love cats.”

“That’s not the point.”

“They love you already,” he continued. “Look.”

You felt something nuzzle against your leg. Looking down, you saw Luna—Luke? Lucy? Whatever—purring up at you, their big round eyes full of innocence. Your heart softened, but you refused to let it show.

Jaemin noticed anyway. His smirk was triumphant. “Oh, they are sooo staying.”

You sighed heavily, pouting with your shoulders sagging in defeat. “I hate you.”

Jaemin laughed, leaning in to kiss your temple. “No, you don’t.” Then he pulled back, hands on his hips as he watched the cats now making themselves comfortable in their new home. “So, should we get them matching collars, or is that too much?”

#jaemin x reader #nct x you #jaemin fanfic #jaemin imagines #nct fanfic #nct x reader #nct dream #nct dream x reader #jaemin x you #jaemin fluff #nct dream fanfic #nct dream imagines #jaemin au

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wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos · 2 days ago

Note

hey bestieee how about prompt 41 with darren vapes and josh king?

PIBE Fanwork Week Day 4: DARREN VAPES THURSDAY!!

Josh…wasn’t supposed to be in this house…mansion…whatever.

He was technically breaking and entering, though to be clear he hadn’t broken in really, he’d just…entered. Whether or not he’d been avoiding the cops when he’d done so was beside the point.

It’s not his fault the city had no sense of humour regarding silly string and public monuments.

He and Kat had lost track of each other and he’d ducked into the open door of a big house he was almost 98% sure was empty.

Based on previous experience the cops would give up and he’d go on his merry way.

But then Josh heard a noise in the room to his left.

78% sure.

Josh knew he should probably just sit quietly in the hall and hope it was just a squirrel or a mouse. But he’d always been too curious for his own good.

Creeping slowly to make sure he didn’t alert whatever it was with the creaking of the floor boards, Josh advanced.

Just as he was about to peer into the room, Josh froze, interrupted by a voice.

“Sometimes you don’t quite know where you are, whether you’re up or down, or left or right. It’s the choice between staying where you are or movie forward,” said a deep gruff voice from the other room, pitched up like he was asking a question, and then inexplicably Josh smelled cotton candy vape.

Perplexed Josh leaned forward to see who was speaking, peeking just around the hallways.

It was a man. Taller than Josh, at least six foot with dark brown hair, covered by a grey fedora that matched his long grey trench coat, which was not so successfully hiding broad shoulders and a muscled physique.

The man was rifling through the contents of one of the desks which allowed Josh to look uninterrupted at his profile.

His square jaw was accented by a five o’clock shadow, which completed the chiaroscuro effect on his face. The man’s nose was slightly crooked, as though it had been broken at least once, breaking the completely clean-cut illusion, this man had probably been in at least one fight.

Josh swallowed.

He should just go, the cops had definitely given up by now. But his luck had run out. The flood boards creaked underneath his feet and the man whipped around, facing Josh and pointing dramatically.

Josh’s head held three thoughts.

One: Fuck fuckity fuck

Two: This man was extremely handsome.

Three: Josh recognized him?

This man was Darren Vapes, famed detective, who as far as Josh knew wasn’t real.

Like yes Josh knew that the character Darren Vapes was based on a real guy from the 40s, but this wasn’t that guy.

This was Darren Vapes, famous detective and fictional character Josh had worshipped when he was younger.

He’d also, looking back, probably should’ve been clued into his bisexuality at that point and not twenty years later when his girlfriend had pointed it out. But that was beside the point.

Right now Darren Vapes was here in front of him, and he didn’t know what to do.

So of course he said something stupid.

“What are you doing in my house?” he asked, crying to look like he hadn’t been creeping around as well.

“I was in his house,” Darren Vapes said not looking directly at Josh and instead on a wall on the other side of the room “Was the house part of the mystery? Was he part of the mystery? Could he be the key? Maybe to inside the mystery, I needed to get inside of him…inside of his head.”

Josh blushed. He couldn’t help it.

“What’s your name? Where am I?” Darren Vapes asked, looking at Josh with piercing green eyes.

“I’m Josh,” he replied, still trying to suss out if this guy was a super in character cosplayer “You’re in Mountport…in my house.”

“Mountport,” Darren Vapes began to monologue again, Josh watched as his focus slide away “The name was a contradiction, mountains near the sea? Was this a trick? Was this a trap? Josh meant to confuse me. To confuse Darren Vapes. He’d succeeded, of course, a feat not achieved by many.”

With a lightning-quick move, Josh found himself pinned up against the wall, one trench coat-clad forearm forcing his chin up. His mouth went dry, and he swallowed again.

“Why are so nervous, Josh? Darren Vapes asked again “Have I fallen into your trap? Have you conspired to trap me in Mountport?”

“No! Absolutely not,” Josh panicked, clearly, it was time to come clean “Listen this isn’t my house, I’m not trapping you, I didn’t even know you were here. Just trying to avoid the po-some people chasing me.”

“You lied?” Darren Vapes narrowed his eyes, at him.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Josh stammered, he couldn’t help it. His face was So Close To His. And Josh had eyes. “It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

Darren Vapes suddenly turned, letting Josh go.

“Is a lie really a lie if you don’t want to tell it?” Darren Vapes said “or does it get smaller, smaller and smaller like a worm. And do we really think about worms? Do we care about their actions? Do we take offense?”

Josh was pretty sure his childhood gay awakening had just called him a worm…which was weird.

“You’re forgiven, Josh,” Darren Vapes said before striding out of the room “Perhaps I will see you again, but for now, the mystery awaits!”

Josh heard the front door open and slap, once again leaving him alone, with no proof of his encounter but the remnants of cotton candy vape.

What the fuck had just happened?

He sighed, thoroughly convinced that he had just met a fictional detective in real life, and it had been kinda hot.

About on par with time lords and elevator curses.

At least Rachel and Kat would believe him. Janice would probably make fun of him.

Mountport was so fucking weird, man.

#play it by ear #pibe #pibe fanfic #i fully did this one last #because i didn't know what to do #thank you cj for the ask because omg #anyway don't think about it too hard #darren vapes was josh's gay awakening #pibe fanwork 2025 #darren vapes thursday

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fictionadventurer · 1 year ago

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It sounds like Joe and Ken focused on telling stories, stories that being stories focused on the world and characters they knew. While Pete's were more focused on delivering a message with story flavored wrapping.

This is very much the case, but the difference seems to go even deeper than that, to a fundamental difference in worldviews that affect how they approach story.

Episodes written by Joe Fallon and Ken Scarborough respect children as people. Children have been shaped by their experiences and have unique personalities. Children are curious and have brains--they are driven to explore new things and can draw conclusions from what they see and do. Children are already people who deserve respect, and like all of us, they're growing into different people as they learn new things and have more experiences. The child characters can thus be the drivers of their own stories and come to learn lessons for themselves. The child audience can relate to those characters, be drawn into the story, and learn what it's trying to teach without having every detail explicitly spelled out.

Episodes written by Peter Hirsch seem to approach children as people-in-training. They might have one or two personality traits, but instead of coming from and interacting with other elements of their background, they're just pasted on, like a sticker you can put on your Generic Child Prototype. These blank-slate children need to have knowledge poured into them so they can become Properly Educated Adults. So in his episodes, these child characters will go through their story with a question, and the adults--the real people--will tell them the information in great detail so these characters--and the watching audience--can go off into the world knowing what the writer has decided they need to know.

In Joe and Ken's episodes, flaws are funny, and can create funny conflicts that will teach the children better ways to approach problems. In Pete's episodes, flaws are horrible things that need to be pointed out, labeled, and sanded away, so these children can grow up into the perfect model of what a Good Adult should be. The first approach is engaging, and celebrates diversity of personality in a community, while the other becomes bland in the interests of shaping all the members of a community into the desired mold.

Comparing the two approaches provides a shockingly thorough lesson in how one should and should not approach writing and education. Story and character and message are all intertwined. Trying to force the message onto the story and characters makes for something bland and generic and unrealistic. Letting the characters shape the story and letting the story bring out the message makes for something much more unique, organic, engaging, and real. And yes, maybe I've come to this conclusion by spending far too much time thinking way too deeply about a bunch of shows for elementary-aged chlidren, but that doesn't mean it's not fascinating to see how, even within the same show, an writer's personality and approach to the audience can make such a vast difference in the quality of a story.

#answered asks #arthur #curious george #it has gotten to the point that i inspired the brother i usually talk to about these things #to google peter hirsch's biography #he couldn't find it #but we thought there has to be *some* explanation for why his work is the way it is #has he ever been outside a city?#has he ever left the east coast?#i didn't even get into the different approaches to class between the writers #joe and ken write episodes that happen in a world with working-class people #francine's family can't afford things the other kids can for instance #whereas in later arthur those real-world concerns are erased in favor of upper-middle-class discourse #i don't think i would have descended to this level of analysis except seeing all these people write for multiple shows #is really making it clear which elements come from the writer's personality regardless of the show #oh also the main post wasn't the place to mention this #but it's fascinating to see this message vs story thing applied to completely secular issues #because it drives home that it's not just the religion that makes some christian fiction so awkward #but how they approach it #message needs to come from story no matter what the message is #and you can have cringy preachy content even in completely secular works

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sincerely-sofie · 1 year ago

Note

Hey, this might be someone seriously dumb, but I saw the lore about Twig’s name and Grovyle’s lost name and thought of this dumb angst: Grovyle telling Twig (and the others) that he has decided to go by a different name and asking to be called by that. Twig doesn’t really think much about it, but later on finds out it was the name she gave Grovyle back before she lost her memories. There’s the fact that he wouldn’t tell her about that and the miscommunication that causes some issues. This is seriously dumb tho I just wanted to get it off my chest tho. ^^;

Anon when I tell you there's a scene in the fic where it goes much more fluffily but still with oodles of angst I—

#SUPER NOT DUMB I LOVE THIS ANGST VARIETY #originally it was going to be a separate and much shorter fic #where Grovyle desperately doesn’t want to force the previous closeness he had with Twig #but he also wants to be more familiar in his speech with the Future Trio #so he asks them to call him The Name.#Twig is curious why he chose The Name out of all other names to be called by and asks Celebi about it.#Celebi (after a lot of trying to redirect the conversation) admits that The Name is the same one that Twig gave Grovyle as a kid.#Twig immediately develops a complex about this and Grovyle also does the same.#That's not how it goes in the fic as I'm writing it now but it was how I originally planned it!#But then we needed some fluff to space out the later angst #hence the rewrite #sofie answers asks #the present is a gift au #pmd #pmd2 #pmd au #pokemon mystery dungeon

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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

Text

Little Star

Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

Summary: you’ve grown used to being overshadowed by your older brother, merely a distant star that seems dull in comparison to the sun of Maranello … and then Max happens

Based on this request

The sun dips low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the paddock of the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. The air still buzzes with excitement from the day’s race, but behind the Ferrari hospitality unit, a different energy permeates the air.

You lean against the cool metal wall, sliding down until you’re sitting on the concrete, knees pulled to your chest. Tears stream silently down your face as you struggle to catch your breath between sobs. The sounds of celebration echo in the distance, a stark contrast to your solitude.

Footsteps approach, and you hastily wipe at your eyes, hoping to erase any evidence of your breakdown. A familiar figure rounds the corner, stopping short when he spots you.

“Hey,” Max Verstappen says, his brow furrowing with concern. “Are you alright?”

You force a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you insist, your voice wavering slightly. “Just ... needed some air.”

Max doesn’t buy it for a second. He crouches down beside you, his blue eyes searching your face. “You don’t look fine,” he says gently. “What’s going on?”

You bite your lip, debating whether to confide in him. After a moment, you sigh. “It’s stupid,” you mumble.

“If it’s making you cry, it’s not stupid,” Max counters. He settles down next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “Come on, talk to me.”

You take a shaky breath. “It’s my birthday,” you admit quietly.

Max’s eyebrows shoot up. “Today? Why aren’t you celebrating?”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Because everyone forgot,” you explain, fresh tears welling up. “Charles won the race, and ... I’m happy for him, I really am. But it’s like I don’t even exist when he’s around, you know?”

Max nods slowly, understanding dawning on his face. “That must be really tough,” he says softly.

You nod, sniffling. “I’ve always felt like I was in his shadow, but today ... it just hit me harder, I guess. Even my mom forgot.”

“That’s not okay,” Max says firmly. “Your birthday should be special, no matter what else is happening.”

You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your jeans. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“No, it’s not fine,” Max insists. He stands up suddenly, determination etched on his face. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Before you can protest, he’s gone, jogging away towards the paddock. You’re left alone again, wondering what he’s up to.

True to his word, Max returns a few minutes later, slightly out of breath and holding something behind his back. “Close your eyes,” he instructs with a grin.

Curious, you comply. There’s a rustling sound, and then Max’s voice rings out, clear and slightly off-key: “Happy birthday to you ...”

Your eyes fly open in surprise. Max stands before you, holding a small cupcake with a single candle stuck in the frosting. His face is illuminated by the flickering flame as he continues to sing.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Y/N, happy birthday to you!”

Emotion wells up in your chest, a lump forming in your throat. “Max,” you whisper, overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He crouches down, carefully balancing the cupcake. “Of course I did,” he says softly. “Everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday. Now make a wish and blow out your candle.”

You close your eyes, thinking for a moment before leaning forward to extinguish the tiny flame. When you open them again, Max is beaming at you.

“What did you wish for?” He asks, settling back down beside you and offering you the cupcake.

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”

Max laughs, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Fair enough. So, twenty-two, huh? How does it feel to be so old?”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help chuckling. “Says the guy who’s practically ancient at twenty-six.”

“Hey!” Max protests, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I’m in my prime.”

The banter feels natural, and you find yourself relaxing for the first time all day. You take a bite of the cupcake, savoring the sweetness. “This is really good,” you mumble around a mouthful of frosting. “Where did you even find it?”

Max grins mischievously. “I have my sources. Can’t reveal all my secrets, can I?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you, Max. Really. This ... it means a lot.”

His expression softens. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry the rest of your family forgot. That’s not fair to you.”

You sigh, your momentary happiness fading slightly. “It’s not their fault. Charles had a big win today, and-”

“Stop,” Max interrupts gently. “You don’t have to make excuses for them. Your feelings are valid.”

You blink, surprised by his directness. “I ... I guess I’m just used to it,” you admit. “It’s always been about Charles. Even before he got into F1, he was the golden child. I love him, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes ...”

“Sometimes you want to be seen too,” Max finishes for you. You nod, grateful that he understands.

“Exactly. And it’s not just Charles. Arthur’s always been following in his footsteps, and Lorenzo ... well, he’s the oldest. I’m just ... there.”

Max frowns. “That’s not true. You’re your own person, with your own talents and dreams. Have you talked to them about how you feel?”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to make them feel bad. Especially Charles. He works so hard, and he deserves his success.”

“His success doesn’t diminish your worth,” Max says firmly. “You deserve to be celebrated too.”

Tears prick at your eyes again, but for a different reason this time. “Thank you,” you whisper. “I don’t think anyone’s ever put it quite like that before.”

Max smiles softly. “Well, it’s true. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty amazing.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks. “You barely know me,” you point out.

“I know enough,” Max counters. “I know you’re kind enough to put your family’s happiness before your own. I know you’re strong enough to handle being overlooked without becoming bitter. And I know you’ve got a great taste in cupcakes.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest. “Well, when you put it like that ...”

Max grins, clearly pleased to have made you smile. “So, birthday girl, what do you want to do now? The night is young, and I happen to know where they keep the good champagne around here.”

You hesitate, glancing towards the paddock where you can still hear the sounds of celebration. “I don’t know ... I should probably go find my family.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “On your birthday? Come on, live a little. They can wait.”

A spark of rebellion ignites in your chest. “You know what? You’re right. Let’s do it.”

Max jumps to his feet, offering you his hand. “That’s the spirit! First stop, champagne. Then, who knows? Maybe we’ll steal a golf cart and go joyriding around the track.”

You take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. “Is that even allowed?”

Max’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Probably not. But it’s your birthday, so I think we can bend the rules a little.”

As you follow Max towards the paddock, a warmth spreads through your chest that has nothing to do with the lingering summer heat. For the first time in years, you feel seen. Appreciated. Special.

“Hey, Max?” You say, causing him to pause and look back at you.

“Yeah?”

You smile, genuine and bright. “Thank you. For everything.”

Max’s expression softens. “Anytime,” he says softly. “Now come on, birthday girl. Let’s make this a night to remember.”

As you walk side by side into the fading light, you can’t help but feel that this birthday might just be the start of something new. Something exciting. Something uniquely yours.

And for once, you’re not thinking about Charles, or Arthur, or anyone else. You’re just thinking about you, and the possibilities that stretch out before you like an open road.

Happy birthday indeed.

***

The Ferrari hospitality suite thrums with energy, laughter and music spilling out into the warm Italian night. Charles Leclerc stands at the center of it all, a wide grin plastered across his face as he basks in the glow of his hard-fought victory. Champagne flows freely, and the air is thick with the scent of celebration.

“To Charles!” Someone shouts, raising a glass. The room erupts in cheers, and Charles feels a swell of pride in his chest.

“Speech! Speech!” The crowd chants, and Charles laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, clearing his throat. “I just want to say thank you to everyone here. This win ... it’s not just mine. It’s ours. The team, the mechanics, the engineers, the strategists ... we did this together.”

More cheers erupt, and Charles feels a hand clap him on the back. He turns to see his teammate grinning broadly.

“Well said, amigo,” Carlos says, slinging an arm around Charles’ shoulders. “You drove like a champion today.”

Charles beams, the praise from his teammate adding to the euphoria of the moment. “Thanks, Carlos. Couldn’t have done it without you pushing me.”

Carlos laughs, taking a swig of his drink. “Always happy to provide motivation. Oh, hey, before I forget — can you pass on my birthday wishes to Y/N? I meant to find her earlier, but things got a bit crazy.”

The words hit Charles like a bucket of ice water. His smile freezes, his eyes widening in horror. “W-what?” He stammers, hoping he’s misheard.

Carlos frowns, noticing the sudden change in Charles’ demeanor. “Your sister? It’s her birthday today, right? Her 22nd?”

Charles feels the room spin around him. How could he have forgotten? His little sister’s birthday, on the same day as his big win. The realization crashes over him in waves of guilt and shame.

“Charles?” Carlos prompts, concern evident in his voice. “You okay, mate?”

Charles shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of shock. “I ... I forgot,” he whispers, more to himself than to Carlos. “How could I forget?”

Carlos’ eyes widen in understanding. “Oh, shit,” he mutters. “You didn’t remember?”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, panic rising in his chest. “I was so focused on the race, and then the win ... God, I’m such an idiot.”

He scans the room frantically, hoping against hope that he’ll spot you among the partygoers. But of course, you’re not there. Why would you be, when your own family forgot your birthday?

“I need to find her,” Charles says, already moving towards the exit. “I need to apologize.”

Carlos nods, squeezing Charles’ shoulder supportively. “Go. I’ll cover for you here if anyone asks.”

Charles barely hears him, his mind racing as he pushes through the crowd. He bursts out of the hospitality suite, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stuffy interior.

“Y/N!” He calls out, his voice echoing in the near-empty paddock. But there’s no response.

Panic rising, Charles pulls out his phone, fumbling with the screen as he opens his contacts. He hits your name, holding the phone to his ear as it rings.

Once. Twice. Three times. Then, your voicemail.

“Hey, this is Y/N. Leave a message!”

Charles swears under his breath, ending the call. He tries again, and again, but each time it goes straight to voicemail.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters, pacing back and forth. Where could you be? Who would you have gone to when your family let you down?

A thought strikes him, and he quickly dials another number.

“Hello?” Arthur’s sleepy voice answers.

“Arthur!” Charles practically shouts. “Is Y/N with you?”

There’s a pause, then confusion in Arthur’s tone. “No? Why would she be? Aren’t you guys celebrating?”

Charles feels his heart sink even further. “Arthur, it’s her birthday. We forgot.”

“Shit,” Arthur breathes. “How did we ... God, we’re terrible brothers.”

“I know, I know,” Charles says, the guilt eating away at him. “I’m trying to find her now. Can you call Maman and Lorenzo, see if they’ve heard from her?”

“Yeah, of course,” Arthur agrees quickly. “I’ll call you back if I hear anything.”

Charles ends the call, his mind whirling. Where else could you be? He tries to think back to earlier in the day, wondering if he’d seen you at all after the race. But everything is a blur of champagne and celebration, and he realizes with a sickening jolt that he can’t remember the last time he actually spoke to you.

He’s about to start knocking on motorhome doors when another idea strikes him. Quickly, he opens the Life360 app on his phone. The family had started using it a few years back, mainly to keep track of each other during race weekends.

Charles waits impatiently for the app to load, praying that it will show your location. But when the map finally appears, his heart sinks. Your icon is greyed out, with a message underneath: “Location permissions turned off.”

“No, no, no,” Charles mutters, refreshing the app desperately. But the result is the same. You’ve deliberately turned off your location tracking.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut. You didn’t just disappear — you chose to be unfindable. And it’s all his fault.

Charles slumps against the nearest wall, sliding down until he’s sitting on the ground. He puts his head in his hands, overwhelmed by the magnitude of his mistake.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers into the night. “I’m so, so sorry.”

As he sits there, memories flood his mind. Your proud smile when he won his first karting race. The way you’d curl up next to him during thunderstorms, seeking comfort. Your unwavering support through every step of his career, even when it meant less attention for you.

And how had he repaid that loyalty? By forgetting the one day that was supposed to be about you.

Charles’ phone buzzes, and he snatches it up eagerly. But it’s just a text from his mother:

Haven’t heard from Y/N. Is everything okay?

He stares at the message, unsure how to respond. How can he explain that he’s lost his little sister on her birthday?

Another text comes through, this time from Lorenzo:

No luck here either. What’s going on?

Charles takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He has to tell them the truth, no matter how much it hurts.

He creates a group chat with his mom, Lorenzo, and Arthur, his fingers shaking slightly as he types:

We forgot Y/N’s birthday. All of us. She’s not answering her phone and her location is turned off. I can’t find her anywhere.

The responses come in rapid succession:

Maman: Oh no. How could we forget?

Lorenzo: Shit. Have you checked with her friends?

Arthur: I’m on my way to the track now. We’ll find her.

Charles feels a mix of relief and shame. At least now everyone knows, and they can all work together to make things right. But the fact remains that they let you down in the first place.

He’s about to reply when he spots a familiar figure walking across the paddock. Max Verstappen, looking slightly disheveled and ... was that a touch of glitter on his cheek?

Without thinking, Charles jumps to his feet and runs over to his rival.

“Max!” He calls out, slightly out of breath. “Have you seen Y/N?”

Max turns, surprise evident on his face. Then, something else flickers in his eyes. Anger? Disappointment? It’s gone too quickly for Charles to be sure.

“Why?” Max asks, his tone cooler than usual. “Suddenly remembered she exists?”

The words sting, but Charles knows he deserves them. “Please, Max. I know I messed up. We all did. But I need to find her, to apologize.”

Max studies him for a long moment, as if weighing his options. Finally, he sighs. “She’s safe. That’s all you need to know right now.”

Relief washes over Charles, quickly followed by confusion. “You’ve seen her? Where is she?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Max says firmly. “She needed space, and after what happened, I don’t blame her.”

Charles feels a flare of frustration. “She’s my sister. I have a right to know where she is.”

“No,” Max counters, his blue eyes flashing. “You had a responsibility to remember her birthday. You didn’t. So now, you don’t get to demand anything.”

The words hit Charles like a slap. He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. Max is right, as much as it pains him to admit it.

“Is she ... is she okay?” Charles asks quietly, all fight leaving him.

Max’s expression softens slightly. “She will be. Eventually. But Charles, you really hurt her. All of you did.”

Charles nods, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “I know. God, I know. I just want to make it right.”

“Then give her time,” Max advises. “And when she’s ready to talk, really listen to her. Don’t make excuses. Don’t try to justify it. Just listen.”

Charles nods again, feeling utterly defeated. “Will you ... will you tell her I’m sorry? That we’re all sorry?”

Max hesitates, then nods. “I will. But Charles? You need to do better. She deserves better.”

With that, Max turns and walks away, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts and regrets.

Charles pulls out his phone again, looking at the group chat with his family. He types out a message, his heart heavy:

Y/N is safe. A friend is looking out for her. We need to give her space, but when she’s ready to talk, we all need to be there. Really be there. We’ve got a lot to make up for.

As he hits send, Charles makes a silent promise to himself and to you. He’ll do better. He’ll be the brother you deserve. And somehow, someway, he’ll make this right.

But for now, all he can do is wait, and hope that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive them all.

***

The city lights twinkle below as Max leads you into his penthouse suite, the door clicking shut behind you. The space is modern and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of Milan’s skyline.

“Make yourself at home,” Max says, gesturing around the room. “Are you hungry? I can order some room service if you want.”

You shake your head, still feeling slightly overwhelmed by the events of the day. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

Max nods, studying your face with concern. “You sure? It’s been a long day.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah, you could say that again.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence before Max clears his throat. “So, um, you can take the bed. I’ll crash on the couch.”

“Oh, no,” you protest immediately. “I can’t kick you out of your own bed. I’ll take the couch.”

Max shakes his head firmly. “Absolutely not. It’s your birthday. You get the bed.”

You bite your lip, an idea forming. “We could ... share? I mean, if that’s okay with you. The bed looks plenty big enough.”

Max’s eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure,” you say, surprising yourself with your boldness. “Unless it makes you uncomfortable?”

“No, no,” Max says quickly. “I’m fine with it if you are.”

You nod, and another silence falls. Max runs a hand through his hair, looking suddenly unsure of himself.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he suggests. “Or we could just talk, if you prefer.”

“Talking sounds nice,” you admit. “I’m not really in the mood for a movie.”

Max nods, gesturing towards the bed. “Shall we?”

You both settle onto the massive king-size bed, sitting cross-legged and facing each other. It’s oddly intimate, and you feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach.

“So,” Max begins, his blue eyes fixed on you. “Tell me something about yourself that isn’t related to racing or your family.”

You pause, caught off guard by the question. It’s been so long since someone asked about you, just you.

“Well,” you start hesitantly, “I’m actually studying to become an astrophysicist.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? That’s incredible! Why astrophysics?”

The enthusiasm in his voice makes you smile. “I’ve always been fascinated by space, you know? The idea that there’s so much out there we don’t understand ... it’s exciting.”

“That’s amazing,” Max says, genuinely impressed. “What kind of stuff are you studying right now?”

You laugh softly. “Are you sure you want to know? I might bore you with all the technical details.”

Max leans forward, his expression earnest. “Try me. I want to hear all about it.”

Encouraged by his interest, you begin to explain your current research project. As you talk, your hands move animatedly, your eyes lighting up with passion. Max listens intently, asking questions and showing genuine curiosity.

“... and that’s why understanding dark matter is so crucial,” you finish, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, I kind of went off on a tangent there.”

Max shakes his head, smiling warmly. “Don’t apologize. It’s fascinating. I had no idea you were into all this. Why haven’t I heard about it before?”

Your smile falters slightly. “Oh, well ... it doesn’t really come up much. Everyone’s usually more interested in talking about racing.”

Max frowns. “But this is incredible. You’re studying to unravel the mysteries of the universe. That’s way cooler than driving in circles.”

You laugh, but there’s a hint of sadness in it. “Try telling that to my family. I think they see it as more of a hobby than a career path.”

“What?” Max looks genuinely shocked. “How can they not be incredibly proud? This is huge!”

You shrug, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. “I guess it’s just not as exciting as F1? It’s okay, though. I’m used to it.”

Max shakes his head firmly. “No, it’s not okay. Y/N, you’re brilliant. Your family should be shouting it from the rooftops.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them back hastily. “Thanks, Max. That ... that means a lot.”

He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand over yours. “I mean it. And for what it’s worth, I think what you’re doing is incredible.”

You look up, meeting his gaze. There’s a warmth there, an understanding that makes your heart skip a beat. Without really thinking about it, you shift closer to him.

Max seems to take this as an invitation, because he moves closer too. Soon, you’re sitting side by side, your shoulders touching.

“So,” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “What about you? Any secret passions outside of racing?”

Max chuckles. “Nothing as impressive as astrophysics, I’m afraid. But I do enjoy sim racing in my spare time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t that just more racing?”

“Hey, it’s completely different,” Max protests with a grin. “In sim racing, I can drive any car on any track. Even ones that don’t exist in real life.”

“Okay, okay,” you concede, laughing. “Tell me more about it.”

As Max launches into an explanation of his favorite sim racing setups, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and playful debates.

Without really noticing, you both shift positions throughout the night. Max leans back against the headboard, and you mirror him. Your shoulders are pressed together, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“... and that’s why I think pineapple absolutely belongs on pizza,” Max finishes, looking at you expectantly.

You shake your head, grinning. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from a world champion. Your taste buds clearly can’t be trusted.”

“Oh, come on,” Max laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“I have tried it,” you insist. “It’s an abomination.”

Max clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Y/N. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

The word ‘friends’ sends an odd pang through your chest. Is that what this is? It feels like more, somehow.

As if reading your thoughts, Max’s expression softens. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is so gentle, so intimate, that it takes your breath away.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

You swallow hard, your heart racing. “Me too,” you whisper.

There’s a moment of charged silence, and then Max is leaning in. You meet him halfway, your lips meeting in a soft, tentative kiss.

It’s brief, just a fleeting press of lips, but it sends sparks shooting through your entire body. When you pull back, Max is looking at you with a mixture of wonder and uncertainty.

“Was that okay?” He asks, his voice husky.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Instead, you lean in again, capturing his lips in another kiss. This one is deeper, more assured. Max’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you melt into his touch.

When you finally break apart, you’re both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, a smile playing at his lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he admits.

You laugh softly. “Even when I was insulting your pizza preferences?”

“Especially then,” Max grins. “You’re cute when you’re indignant.”

You swat at his arm playfully, but you can’t keep the smile off your face. For the first time all day, you feel truly happy.

As the night wears on, you and Max continue to talk, trading stories and stealing kisses. Gradually, your positions shift again. Max lies down, and you curl up against his side, your head resting on his chest. His arm wraps around you, holding you close.

“Y/N?” Max says softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

“Hmm?” you mumble, feeling drowsy and content.

“Happy birthday,” he says. “I know it didn’t start out great, but I hope it got better.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, a warm smile spreading across your face. “It did,” you assure him. “Thanks to you.”

Max kisses your forehead gently. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs. “We can figure everything else out in the morning.”

As you drift off to sleep, wrapped in Max’s arms, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this birthday wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it might just be the start of something wonderful.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You stir slowly, awareness creeping in as you feel a strong arm wrapped around your waist. For a moment, confusion sets in before the events of the previous night come rushing back.

You’re in Max Verstappen’s bed. And Max Verstappen is currently spooning you.

A smile tugs at your lips as you nestle back into his warmth, not quite ready to face the day. But fate, it seems, has other plans.

A sharp knock at the door jolts both of you awake. Max groans, burying his face in your hair.

“Room service?” You mumble, still half-asleep.

Max shakes his head, his voice gravelly with sleep. “Didn’t order any.”

The knock comes again, more insistent this time. With a sigh, Max untangles himself from you and slides out of bed.

“I’ll get it,” he says, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You stay here.”

You nod, pulling the covers up to your chin and watching as Max pads to the door in his t-shirt and sweatpants. He opens it a crack, peering out.

“Can I help you?” He asks, confusion evident in his tone.

There’s a muffled response, and then Max is stepping back, opening the door wider. A hotel staff member enters, carrying an enormous bouquet of red roses.

“Delivery for Y/N Leclerc,” the staff member announces, looking around the room.

You sit up in bed, eyes wide. “That’s ... that’s me.”

The staff member nods, moving to set the bouquet on a nearby table. “Sign here, please,” he says, holding out a clipboard.

Still bewildered, you climb out of bed and make your way over, scrawling your signature on the form. The staff member thanks you and exits, leaving you and Max staring at the ostentatious display of flowers.

“Well,” Max says after a moment, “I guess your brother remembered after all.”

You let out a rueful laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, I guess he did.”

Max frowns, noting the lack of enthusiasm in your voice. “Aren’t you happy about it?”

You sigh, reaching out to touch one of the velvety petals. “It’s just ... I’ve told Charles a hundred times that I don’t like roses. They’re not my favorite flower. But every time he needs to apologize or wants to do something nice, it’s always roses.”

“Oh,” Max says softly, understanding dawning on his face. “So it’s less about you and more about what he thinks you should like.”

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. “Exactly. It’s like he doesn’t really listen, you know? He just does what he thinks is right without considering what I actually want.”

Max moves closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against his side. “That must be frustrating,” he says gently.

You lean into him, grateful for the support. “It is. And I know I should be grateful. It’s a beautiful bouquet, and he’s trying. But ...”

“But it’s not what you want,” Max finishes for you. “And that matters.”

You look up at him, surprised by how well he understands. “Yeah, exactly.”

Max turns to face you fully, his blue eyes serious. “Y/N, listen to me. It’s okay to be upset about this. It’s okay to want your family to actually listen to you and consider your feelings.”

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill over. “But they’re trying now. Shouldn’t I just forgive them and move on?”

Max shakes his head firmly. “No. You don’t have to forgive them right away just because they made a grand gesture. It’s okay to make them work for your forgiveness.”

“Really?” You ask, your voice small.

“Really,” Max assures you. “They hurt you, Y/N. They forgot your birthday and made you feel invisible. One bouquet of flowers — flowers you don’t even like — doesn’t erase that.”

You nod slowly, processing his words. “So what do I do?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, thinking. “Well, what do you want to do? How do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, considering. “Honestly? I’m not ready to see them yet. I know I’ll have to face them eventually, but right now ... I just can’t.”

“Then don’t,” Max says simply. “Take the time you need. They can wait.”

A weight lifts off your shoulders at his words. “You don’t think that’s selfish?”

Max cups your face in his hands, his gaze intense. “It’s not selfish to prioritize your own feelings and well-being. You matter, Y/N. Your feelings matter.”

Tears spill over then, and Max pulls you into a tight embrace. You bury your face in his chest, letting out all the hurt and frustration you’ve been holding in.

“Shh,” Max soothes, rubbing your back. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

After a few minutes, your sobs subside. You pull back slightly, wiping at your eyes. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I got your shirt all wet.”

Max chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think I’ll survive. Feel better?”

You nod, offering him a watery smile. “Yeah, actually. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Max says softly. Then, a mischievous glint enters his eye. “So, what should we do with the roses? I vote we throw them off the balcony and watch them scatter in the wind.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest. “As tempting as that is, I don’t think hotel management would appreciate it.”

Max shrugs, grinning. “Their loss. We could always donate them to a hospital or something. Brighten someone else’s day.”

“That’s ... actually a really good idea,” you say, impressed. “We could do that.”

Max beams, clearly pleased with himself. “See? I’m not just a pretty face and fast driver.”

You roll your eyes fondly, but can’t suppress your smile. “Careful, Verstappen. Your ego’s showing.”

“You love it,” he teases, pulling you close again.

As you stand there in his arms, surrounded by the cloying scent of roses you don’t even like, you’re struck by how safe you feel. How understood.

“Max?” You say softly.

“Hmm?”

You pull back slightly to meet his gaze. “Thank you. For everything. For making my birthday special, for listening to me, for ... just being here.”

Max’s expression softens, a tender smile playing at his lips. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I ... I care about you, Y/N. A lot.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. “I care about you too,” you admit.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the air charged with unspoken emotions. Then, slowly, Max leans in. His lips meet yours in a soft, sweet kiss that makes your toes curl.

When you break apart, you’re both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, his thumb tracing circles on your cheek.

“So,” he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “What happens now?”

You take a deep breath, considering. “Honestly? I’m not sure. This is all happening so fast, and with everything going on with my family ...”

Max nods, understanding in his eyes. “We can take it slow,” he assures you. “There’s no rush.”

Relief washes over you. “Thank you,” you say softly. “I do want this — us. I just need some time to figure everything out.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” Max says, pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. “For now, how about we get some breakfast? I’m starving.”

You laugh, grateful for the shift in mood. “Breakfast sounds perfect. But maybe we should change first? I’m not sure I want to face the paparazzi in yesterday’s clothes.”

Max grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I don’t know, I think you look pretty good in my t-shirt.”

You glance down, realizing for the first time that you’re indeed wearing one of Max’s shirts. A blush creeps up your cheeks. “When did that happen?”

“You got cold in the middle of the night,” Max explains, looking far too pleased with himself. “I offered you my shirt. You were very insistent that it was the most comfortable thing you’d ever worn.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh god. Please tell me I didn’t say anything else embarrassing.”

Max laughs, gently prying your hands away from your face. “Nothing too bad. Though you did mention something about my waist being ‘unfairly perfect’. Your words, not mine.”

“Kill me now,” you mutter, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

Max pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Never. I’m rather fond of you, embarrassing sleep talk and all.”

As you stand there in Max’s arms, the morning sun warming your skin and the scent of roses filling the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of hope. Yes, there’s still a lot to figure out — with your family, with Max, with your future. But for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

And that, you think, is the best birthday gift of all.

***

The private terminal of Milan Malpensa Airport buzzes with activity as the Leclerc family waits to board their chartered jet. Charles paces back and forth, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, eyes darting to the entrance every few seconds.

“Charles, honey, please sit down,” his mother, Pascale, says gently. “You’re making me nervous.”

Charles shakes his head, running a hand through his hair for what must be the hundredth time. “I can’t, Maman. Where is she? She should be here by now.”

Lorenzo exchanges a worried glance with Arthur. “Maybe she got held up in traffic?” He suggests, though his tone lacks conviction.

“For three hours?” Charles snaps, immediately regretting his harsh tone. “Sorry, I just ... I’m worried.”

Arthur stands up, placing a comforting hand on Charles’ shoulder. “We all are. But Y/N’s an adult. She can take care of herself.”

Charles lets out a frustrated sigh. “I know that. But after yesterday ... we really messed up.”

“We did,” Pascale agrees softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “But we’ll make it right. We just need to talk to her.”

“If she ever shows up,” Charles mutters, resuming his pacing.

The minutes tick by agonizingly slow. Charles alternates between checking his phone and staring out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of you arriving. But the parking lot remains stubbornly devoid of your presence.

Finally, a staff member approaches the family. “Mr. Leclerc? The jet is ready for boarding. We need to depart soon to maintain our flight slot.”

Charles feels panic rising in his chest. “No, we can’t leave yet. My sister isn’t here.”

The staff member looks uncomfortable. “I understand, sir, but we have a schedule to keep. Perhaps your sister could take a commercial flight?”

“Absolutely not,” Charles says firmly. “We’re not leaving without her.”

Lorenzo steps in, ever the diplomat. “Is there any way we could delay for just a bit longer? It’s really important that we wait for our sister.”

The staff member hesitates, then nods. “I’ll see what I can do. But please understand, we can’t hold the slot indefinitely.”

As the employee walks away, Charles resumes his pacing with renewed vigor.

“This isn’t like her,” he mutters. “She wouldn’t just disappear without telling us.”

Arthur bites his lip, looking guilty. “Maybe ... maybe she’s still upset about yesterday?”

Charles stops in his tracks, turning to face his younger brother. “What do you mean?”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably. “Well, we did forget her birthday. And then when we remembered, we didn’t exactly handle it well. Those roses you sent? Y/N hates roses.”

Charles feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “She ... what? No, she loves roses. I always get her roses.”

“Because you always get her roses,” Lorenzo chimes in, realization dawning on his face. “Not because she actually likes them.”

Charles slumps into a nearby chair, head in his hands. “How did I not know that? What kind of brother am I?”

Pascale moves to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “We’ve all made mistakes. But we can fix this. We just need to talk to her.”

“If she’ll even talk to us,” Charles mumbles.

Just then, his phone buzzes. Charles nearly drops it in his haste to check the notification, hope flaring in his chest. But it’s not from you.

“It’s Max,” he says, frowning in confusion.

“Verstappen?” Arthur asks, leaning over to peek at the screen. “What does he want?”

Charles opens the message, his eyes widening as he reads it aloud:

“Y/N is with me. She’s safe and we’re flying back to Monaco together. She needs some space right now. Give her time.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Charles reads and rereads the message, trying to process what it means.

“She’s with Max?” Lorenzo finally says, breaking the silence. “Since when are they even friends?”

Charles shakes his head, still staring at his phone. “I don’t know. I ... I saw him last night. He knew where she was, but I thought it was just a spontaneous thing.”

“Well, at least we know she’s safe,” Pascale says, always trying to find the silver lining. “That’s the most important thing.”

But Charles can’t shake the feeling of unease settling in his stomach. “Why didn’t she come to us? Why Max, of all people?”

Arthur places a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Maybe because he was there when we weren’t,” he says softly.

The words hit Charles like a physical blow. He knows Arthur is right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

“So what do we do now?” Lorenzo asks, looking around at his family.

Charles takes a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. “We do what Max said. We give her time.”

“But for how long?” Pascale asks, worry evident in her voice. “She’s our little girl. We can’t just leave her alone.”

“She’s not alone, Maman,” Charles says, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. “She’s with Max. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I think ... I think she might be better off with him right now.”

The family falls silent again, each lost in their own thoughts. The weight of their collective mistake hangs heavy in the air.

Finally, Charles stands up, squaring his shoulders. “We should board the jet. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

As they gather their belongings and make their way to the plane, Charles can’t help but replay Max’s message in his head. You’re with Max. You’re safe. You need space.

He tries to imagine you and Max together, and finds that he can’t. What could have happened in the span of one day to bring you two together? And more importantly, what had driven you away from your own family?

As he settles into his seat on the jet, Charles makes a silent promise to himself and to you. He’ll give you the space you need, but he won’t give up. He’ll find a way to make things right, to be the brother you deserve.

The jet takes off, carrying the Leclerc family back to Monaco. But for Charles, it feels like they’re leaving a piece of themselves behind in Milan. A piece that, he fears, might be harder to reclaim than he ever imagined.

Meanwhile, across the airport, you and Max are boarding his private jet. The contrast between the two scenes couldn’t be more stark.

“You okay?” Max asks softly as you settle into your seat.

You nod, offering him a small smile. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for ... well, everything.”

Max reaches over, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Anytime. You know that.”

As the jet prepares for takeoff, you can’t help but think about your family. Are they worried? Angry? Do they even care?

“Max?” You say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?”

You turn to look at him, vulnerability shining in your eyes. “Did I do the right thing? Leaving without talking to them?”

Max considers your question carefully before answering. “I think you did what you needed to do for yourself. And that’s never wrong.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension in your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “For understanding. For not pushing me to do what everyone else thinks I should do.”

Max smiles, a soft, genuine expression that makes your heart flutter. “That’s what ... friends are for, right?”

There’s a hesitation in his voice, a question in his eyes that makes you wonder if ‘friends’ is really the right word for what’s developing between you.

As the jet takes off, carrying you away from Milan and the chaos of the past day, you find yourself feeling something you haven’t felt in a long time: hope. Hope for a future where you’re seen, heard, and valued for who you are.

And as you glance at Max, his profile illuminated by the setting sun streaming through the window, you can’t help but wonder if he might be a bigger part of that future than you ever imagined.

The jet climbs higher, leaving the ground and all its complications behind. For now, at least, you’re free. Free to breathe, to think, to feel without the weight of expectations pressing down on you.

You close your eyes, letting out a long breath. Whatever comes next, you know one thing for certain: things will never be the same again. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you need.

***

The sun is setting over Monaco, shining warmly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s penthouse apartment. You’re curled up on the plush sofa, a book in your lap, trying to lose yourself in the pages. But your mind keeps wandering, replaying the events of the past couple of days.

Max emerges from the kitchen, two steaming mugs in hand. “Thought you might need this,” he says, offering you one.

You smile gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma of hot chocolate. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, settling down beside you. “I wanted to. How’re you holding up?”

You’re about to answer when the doorbell rings. Max frowns, glancing at his watch. “I’m not expecting anyone. Are you?”

You shake your head, a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach. Could it be your family? Are they here to confront you?

Max squeezes your hand reassuringly before getting up to answer the door. You hear muffled voices, then the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.

“Um, Y/N?” Max calls. “I think you might want to see this.”

Curiosity overcoming your apprehension, you make your way to the foyer. Your jaw drops at the sight that greets you.

The entire space is filled with bags. Not just any bags, but the kind that comes from the most exclusive boutiques in Monaco. Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuitton, Chanel — the logos stare back at you from every direction.

“What ... what is all this?” You stammer, looking to Max for explanation.

He hands you a small envelope. “This came with it. It’s addressed to you.”

With trembling fingers, you open the envelope and unfold the note inside. You’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

Y/N,

I know I messed up. We all did. I’m so sorry for forgetting your birthday and for not being the brother you deserve. I hope these gifts can begin to make up for it. Please come home. We miss you.

Love,

Charles

You read the note twice, then a third time, disbelief turning to anger with each pass.

“He’s got to be kidding,” you mutter, crumpling the paper in your fist.

Max steps closer, concern etched on his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “This,” you say, gesturing at the sea of designer bags, “is my brother’s idea of an apology. He thinks he can just ... buy me back with expensive gifts.”

Understanding dawns on Max’s face. “Ah. And I’m guessing that’s not going to work?”

“Not even close,” you say, shaking your head. “God, it’s like he doesn’t know me at all. I’m not one of his girlfriends who can be placated with a shopping spree.”

Max winces. “Ouch. Has he done this before?”

You nod, sinking down onto the nearest clear spot on the floor. “Every time he messes up with a girl, it’s the same routine. Flowers, jewelry, designer clothes. And it usually works, because the girls he dates ... well, they tend to be into that kind of thing.”

Max sits down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “But you’re not.”

“No,” you confirm. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate nice things. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about him actually listening to me, actually seeing me as a person and not just ... his kid sister who can be bought off.”

Max is quiet for a moment, then says softly, “You know, it’s okay to be angry about this. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

His words break something open inside you. Tears well up in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. “I just ... I thought he knew me better than this. I thought they all did.”

Max wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You lean into him, letting the tears fall freely now.

“It’s like they don’t even see me,” you choke out between sobs. “They see this idea of who they think I should be, but not ... not who I actually am.”

Max rubs soothing circles on your back, letting you cry it out. When your sobs finally subside, he hands you a tissue.

“Feel better?” He asks gently.

You nod, wiping your eyes. “A little. Sorry for breaking down on you like that.”

Max shakes his head firmly. “Don’t apologize. That’s what I’m here for.”

You offer him a watery smile, then turn back to survey the mountain of bags. “So ... what do I do with all this?”

Max considers for a moment. “Well, what do you want to do?”

You bite your lip, thinking. “Honestly? I want to send it all back. Show him that he can’t just throw money at the problem and expect it to go away.”

Max nods approvingly. “I think that’s a great idea. It sends a clear message.”

“You don’t think it’s too harsh?” You ask, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice.

“Not at all,” Max assures you. “You’re standing up for yourself, setting boundaries. That’s important.”

Emboldened by his support, you start rifling through the bags, curiosity getting the better of you. “I wonder what he even bought ... oh.”

You pull out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate tennis bracelet. The diamonds catch the light, sparkling brilliantly.

“Wow,” Max breathes, leaning in for a closer look. “That’s ... that’s something.”

You nod, mesmerized by the way the bracelet shimmers. “It’s beautiful,” you admit softly.

Max watches you carefully. “You like it,” he observes.

You sigh, closing the box with a snap. “It doesn’t matter. It’s going back with everything else.”

“Why?” Max asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. “If you like it, why not keep it?”

You look at him, surprised. “But ... I thought you said sending it all back was a good idea?”

Max shrugs. “It is. But that doesn’t mean you can’t keep one thing if it genuinely makes you happy. You’re allowed to like nice things, Y/N. That doesn’t invalidate your feelings about the situation.”

You turn the box over in your hands, considering. “I don’t know ... wouldn’t keeping anything send the wrong message?”

“I think,” Max says slowly, “that the message you send depends more on what you say than what you keep or don’t keep. If you like the bracelet, keep it. But make sure Charles understands that a pretty piece of jewelry doesn’t fix the underlying issues.”

You nod, his words resonating with you. “You’re right. I’ll keep the bracelet ... but everything else goes back.”

As you start sorting through the bags, separating out what will be returned, you can’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Max asks, a smile tugging at his lips.

You hold up the bracelet box. “I was just thinking ... it would be a shame to let something this pretty go to waste, right?”

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “Absolutely. It’s practically your duty to keep it. For the sake of the bracelet, of course.”

“Of course,” you agree, giggling. “I’m being completely selfless here.”

As you continue to sort through the gifts, occasionally showing Max particularly outrageous items (“A fur coat? In Monaco?”), you feel a weight lifting from your shoulders. For the first time since this whole ordeal began, you feel like you’re taking control of the situation.

“You know,” you say, folding a designer dress back into its bag, “I think I need to have a real conversation with Charles. With all of them, really.”

Max nods encouragingly. “I think that’s a great idea. What do you want to say?”

You take a deep breath, organizing your thoughts. “I want them to understand that I’m my own person, with my own dreams and desires. That I need them to see me, really see me, not just as Charles Leclerc’s little sister or as an extension of the family name.”

“That sounds perfect,” Max says softly. “You deserve to be seen for who you are.”

You smile at him, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without you.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand in his. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. But I’m glad I could help.”

As you sit there, surrounded by discarded luxury goods, your hand in Max’s, you feel a sense of peace settling over you. You know the road ahead won’t be easy — confronting your family, establishing new boundaries, figuring out exactly where you stand with Max — but for the first time in a long time, you feel ready to face it all.

You slip on the tennis bracelet, admiring the way it catches the light. It’s beautiful, yes, but it’s also a reminder. A reminder that you’re worth more than grand gestures and expensive gifts. You’re worth being truly seen, truly heard, truly understood.

And as you look at Max, his blue eyes warm with understanding and something that might be more, you think that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found someone who sees you for exactly who you are.

***

The afternoon sun beats down on the streets of Monaco as Charles leans against his Ferrari, fidgeting nervously. He’s parked across from the International University of Monaco, his eyes fixed on the entrance. Students stream in and out, but none of them are the one he’s looking for.

He checks his watch for what must be the hundredth time. Your last class should be ending any minute now. Charles takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s rehearsed what he wants to say a thousand times, but now that the moment is approaching, all his carefully prepared words seem to evaporate.

A group of students emerges from the building, laughing and chatting. Charles straightens up, his eyes scanning the crowd. And then he sees you.

You’re walking with a couple of friends, your bag slung over your shoulder, a smile on your face. For a moment, Charles is struck by how ... normal you look. How at ease. It’s a stark contrast to the tense family dinners and stilted conversations of recent months.

Before he can second-guess himself, Charles pushes off from his car and starts walking towards you. He sees the exact moment you spot him — your smile falters, your steps slow.

“Y/N!” He calls out, waving awkwardly.

Your friends notice him too, their eyes widening in recognition. You say something to them that Charles can’t hear, and they nod, casting curious glances between you and your brother as they walk away.

Charles reaches you, stopping a few feet away, suddenly unsure of himself. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Charles,” you reply, your voice carefully neutral. “What are you doing here?”

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’s never been able to shake. “I ... I wanted to talk to you. In person. You haven’t been answering my calls or texts, and I just ... I needed to see you.”

You sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I’ve been busy with classes. And I needed some space.”

“I know,” Charles says quickly. “I know, and I’m sorry for ambushing you like this. I just ... can we talk? Please?”

You glance around, noticing the curious stares from passing students. “Not here,” you say finally. “There’s a café around the corner. We can talk there.”

Charles nods eagerly, relief washing over him. “Yes, of course. Whatever you want.”

You lead the way to the café, a small, cozy place tucked away from the main streets. As you settle into a booth in the back, Charles can’t help but wonder how often you come here, how many parts of your life he knows nothing about.

A waitress approaches, and you order your usual — an iced latte with an extra shot. Charles fumbles with the menu before ordering a simple espresso.

An awkward silence falls over the table as you wait for your drinks. Charles fidgets with a napkin, trying to find the right words to begin.

“So,” you say finally, your tone clipped. “You wanted to talk. Talk.”

Charles takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/N. For forgetting your birthday, for not being there for you, for ... for everything.”

You raise an eyebrow, your expression unreadable. “Is that it?”

Charles blinks, thrown off balance. “I ... what do you mean?”

“I mean,” you say, leaning forward slightly, “is that all you have to say? You’re sorry?”

Charles feels a flash of frustration. “What else do you want me to say? I messed up, I know that. I’m trying to make it right.”

The waitress returns with your drinks, and you take a long sip of your latte before responding. “Charles, this isn’t just about my birthday. This is about years of feeling invisible, of being overshadowed, of not being seen for who I am.”

Charles feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “What? Y/N, I ... I had no idea you felt that way.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s kind of the point, Charles. You didn’t know because you never asked. None of you did.”

Charles sits back, his mind reeling. “I ... I don’t understand. We’ve always been close. At least, I thought we were.”

“We were,” you agree softly. “When we were kids. But as you got more and more successful, it was like ... like I faded into the background. Everything became about you, about your career.”

Charles feels tears pricking at his eyes. “Y/N, I never meant for that to happen. I love you. You’re my little sister.”

“I know you love me,” you say, your voice gentler now. “But loving someone and seeing them are two different things.”

Charles nods slowly, realization dawning. “The gifts,” he says. “That’s why you sent them back. Because I was trying to fix things without actually understanding what was wrong.”

“Exactly,” you confirm. “Charles, I don’t need expensive clothes or jewelry. I need my brother. The one who used to listen to me ramble about constellations for hours, who’d sneak me extra dessert when Maman wasn’t looking.”

Charles reaches across the table, hesitating for a moment before taking your hand. To his relief, you don’t pull away. “I want to be that brother again,” he says earnestly. “Tell me how. Please.”

You take a deep breath, considering. “Well, for starters, you could ask me about my life. My studies, my friends, my dreams. And actually listen to the answers.”

Charles nods eagerly. “Yes, of course. Tell me everything. What are you studying? How are your classes going?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I’m majoring in Astrophysics, remember? This semester I’m taking a course on Stellar Evolution that’s absolutely fascinating. We’re learning about the life cycles of stars, from their formation to their eventual death.”

As you continue talking, passion lighting up your eyes, Charles feels a mix of pride and shame wash over him. Pride in your intelligence and enthusiasm, shame that he’s missed out on so much of your life.

“That sounds incredible,” he says when you pause for breath. “I had no idea you were studying something so complex. You must be really good at it.”

You shrug, a hint of your old shyness creeping in. “I do okay. It’s challenging, but I love it.”

“I’m sure you do more than okay,” Charles insists. “You’ve always been the smartest one in the family.”

You laugh softly. “I don’t know about that. But ... thanks, Charles. It means a lot to hear you say that.”

Charles squeezes your hand. “I mean it. And I want to hear more. About your classes, your friends, everything. I’ve missed so much, and I want to make up for it.”

You nod, a cautious hope in your eyes. “I’d like that. But Charles, it can’t just be today. This has to be a continuous thing. I need to know that you’re genuinely interested in my life, not just when you’re trying to make amends.”

“Absolutely,” Charles agrees immediately. “What if we set up a regular call? Once a week, we can catch up properly. No distractions, no racing talk unless you want to. Just us.”

A genuine smile spreads across your face. “I’d really like that.”

Charles feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. It’s not fixed, not completely, but it’s a start. “There’s something else,” he says, suddenly remembering. “Max ... are you and Max ...”

You blush slightly, looking down at your latte. “We’re ... figuring things out. He’s been really supportive through all of this.”

Charles nods, pushing down the instinctive surge of protectiveness. “He’s a good guy. If he makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

You look up, surprise evident in your eyes. “Really? You’re not going to go all overprotective big brother on me?”

Charles chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll have my moments. But Y/N, you’re an adult. You can make your own choices. I trust you.”

Tears well up in your eyes. “Thank you. That ... that means more than you know.”

As you both finish your drinks, the conversation flows more easily. Charles asks about your friends, your hobbies outside of studying. You tell him about the astronomy club you’ve joined, the research project you’re hoping to get involved with next semester.

When it’s time to leave, Charles stands up, hesitating for a moment before opening his arms. “Can I ...”

You nod, stepping into his embrace. Charles holds you tight, realizing how long it’s been since he’s really hugged you like this.

“I love you, little sister,” he murmurs into your hair. “And I promise, I’m going to do better.”

You squeeze him back. “I love you too, big brother. And ... I’m willing to give you the chance to prove it.”

As you part ways outside the café, Charles heading back to his car and you towards your apartment, there’s a lightness in the air that wasn’t there before. It’s not perfect, not yet. There are still conversations to be had, bridges to be rebuilt. But for the first time in a long time, there’s hope.

Charles watches you walk away, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Pride in the amazing person you’ve become, regret for the time he’s missed, determination to be the brother you deserve.

He pulls out his phone, creating a new reminder: Call Y/N — every Sunday, 7 PM.

It’s a small step, but it’s a start. And as he drives home, Charles finds himself looking forward to getting to know his little sister all over again.

***

The auditorium of the International University of Monaco buzzes with excitement as proud families and friends gather to celebrate the graduating class. In the front row, an unusually high-profile group draws curious glances and whispered conversations.

Charles fidgets in his seat, craning his neck to scan the sea of graduates. “Do you see her?” He asks, nudging his older brother.

Lorenzo chuckles, placing a calming hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Relax. She’ll be here. Alphabetical order, remember?”

On Charles’ other side, Arthur rolls his eyes fondly. “You’d think he was the one graduating, the way he’s acting.”

“Can you blame him?” Max chimes in from the end of the row, a warm smile on his face. “It’s a big day.”

Pascale, seated between Lorenzo and Arthur, dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “My baby girl, graduating university. I can hardly believe it.”

Max reaches across to pat her hand. “She’s amazing, Pascale. You should be very proud.”

Charles turns to Max, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Look at you, all calm and collected. I remember when you were a nervous wreck asking her out for the first time.”

Max blushes slightly, but grins. “Hey, your sister is intimidating. All that brainpower.”

“Shh!” Arthur hisses suddenly. “I think it’s starting!”

The auditorium falls silent as the ceremony begins. The family watches with rapt attention as the graduates file in, searching for that familiar face among the sea of caps and gowns.

And then, there you are. Your eyes scan the crowd until they land on your family, a bright smile spreading across your face as you wave discreetly.

“There she is!” Charles whisper-shouts, practically bouncing in his seat.

Lorenzo chuckles. “We see her. Try to contain yourself, yeah?”

The ceremony progresses, with speeches from the valedictorian and various dignitaries. Charles fidgets impatiently, earning amused glances from his family and Max.

Finally, the moment arrives. “Y/N Leclerc,” the announcer calls.

Charles jumps to his feet, letting out a whoop that echoes through the auditorium. “That’s my sister!” He shouts, drawing startled looks from nearby attendees.

Lorenzo and Arthur quickly join in, their cheers mixing with Charles’. Max and Pascale stand too, clapping enthusiastically.

You walk across the stage, accepting your diploma with a graceful nod. As you turn to face the audience, your eyes lock with your family’s, and your composed expression breaks into a radiant smile.

Charles, caught up in the moment, continues cheering even after you’ve left the stage. “That’s right! Astrophysicist in the house! Watch out, universe!”

Max, noticing the irritated glances from other families, reaches over and claps a hand over Charles’ mouth. “Okay, Charlie, I think she heard you,” he says, laughter in his voice.

Max feels something wet against his palm and jerks his hand away.

“Ugh, gross!” Max yelps, wiping it on his pants. “What are you, five?”

Charles grins unrepentantly. “You started it.”

Pascale sighs, shaking her head. “Boys, please. This is Y/N’s big day. Try to act like adults.”

“Sorry, Maman,” Charles mumbles, properly chastised.

As the ceremony concludes, the family makes their way outside, eagerly scanning the crowd for you.

“There!” Arthur calls out, pointing.

You’re making your way towards them, diploma in hand, your face glowing with happiness. Max reaches you first, sweeping you into a tight hug.

“Congratulations, liefje,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

You beam up at him, about to respond when Charles practically tackles you both.

“My sister, the genius!” He crows, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. “I always knew you’d take over the world someday.”

You laugh, hugging him back just as fiercely. “Put me down, you goof! You’re making a scene.”

“Let him have his moment,” Lorenzo says, stepping in for his own hug once Charles releases you. “It’s not every day your little sister graduates top of her class in Astrophysics.”

Arthur’s turn comes next, his hug gentler but no less heartfelt. “Congrats. You’ve officially made the rest of us look like underachievers.”

Finally, you turn to your mother, who’s openly crying now. “Oh, my darling,” she says, cupping your face in her hands. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

You feel tears welling up in your own eyes as you embrace her. “Thanks, Maman. For everything.”

As you pull back, wiping at your eyes, Charles slings an arm around your shoulders. “So, what’s next? Going to discover a new planet? Name a star after your favorite man?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “First of all, I still have to get through graduate school. And second, bold of you to assume you’re my favorite.”

“Ouch,” Charles clutches his chest in mock pain. “After all we’ve been through?”

Max chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Face it, Leclerc. I’ve got you beat in the favorite department.”

Charles narrows his eyes playfully. “Is that a challenge, Verstappen?”

“Boys, boys,” you interject, laughing. “There’s plenty of me to go around. Now, how about we get out of here? I’m starving, and I believe someone promised me a celebration dinner.”

“Ah, yes!” Pascale says, clapping her hands together. “I’ve made reservations at La Maree. Your favorite, chérie.”

As the family starts to move towards the parking lot, Max hangs back, tugging gently on your hand. “Hold on a sec,” he says softly. “I want to give you something.”

Curious, you turn to face him. Max reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your eyes widen. “Max ...”

He opens the box, revealing a delicate necklace. A small white gold star pendant hangs from the chain, a tiny diamond twinkling at its center.

“I know it’s not much compared to your usual study subjects,” Max says, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “But I thought ... well, you’re my star, Y/N. My brilliant, beautiful star.”

Tears well up in your eyes again as Max fastens the necklace around your neck. “It’s perfect,” you whisper. “I love it. I love you.”

Max’s face breaks into a radiant smile. “I love you too,” he says, before leaning in to capture your lips in a tender kiss.

You melt into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands settle on your waist. For a moment, the world fades away, and it’s just the two of you.

The spell is broken by an exaggerated gagging sound. You break apart to see Charles pretending to retch, while Lorenzo and Arthur laugh.

You break apart, laughing. “Real mature, Charles,” you call back.

Charles grins, unrepentant. “Hey, someone’s got to keep an eye on you crazy kids.”

Max rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Your brother, the chaperone,” he mutters.

You giggle, taking Max’s hand as you rejoin your family. “Don’t worry,” you whisper conspiratorially. “We’ll ditch him at the restaurant.”

As you all pile into the waiting cars, the air buzzing with excitement and plans for the evening, you can’t help but feel overwhelmed with happiness. A year ago, you never would have imagined this scene — your family truly seeing and celebrating you, a wonderful man by your side who loves and supports you, and a bright future ahead in a field you’re passionate about.

The cars pull away from the university, carrying you towards your celebration dinner. As you watch the familiar streets of Monaco roll by, you find yourself filled with an incredible sense of anticipation. This isn’t just the end of your university journey — it’s the beginning of something new and exciting.

You glance around the car — at Charles and Arthur bickering good-naturedly in the back seat, at your mother chatting happily with Lorenzo who’s driving, and finally at Max beside you, his hand warm in yours. Your family, in all its chaotic, loving glory.

“Hey,” Max says softly, noticing your pensive expression. “You okay?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “More than okay. I’m perfect.”

And as the car winds its way through the streets of Monaco, towards a future bright with possibility, you know that it’s true. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, surrounded by love, with the stars stretching out endlessly before you.

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