#but like??? i dropped it on the counter for them so i could get my card???

[alygator77]

just a little drabble for my current wip. arranged marriage with clanhead gojo.

warnings: mdni, smut, breeding kink, lots of breeding, praise, creampie, bit of angst.

arranged clanhead! satoru who still isn’t used to sharing his space, even after months of marriage. the grand Gojo estate, once his sanctuary, feels smaller with you in it—your scent lingering on the furniture, your soft hums echoing in the halls—not unpleasant, but… unfamiliar.

arranged clanhead! satoru who notices how your shampoo smells so sweet, clinging to his pillow. how your hair clogs his drain and it drives him fucking insane, yet he still finds himself instinctively reaching for your favorite brand of conditioner while he’s out, tucking it into his basket without a second thought. he doesn’t know why—it’s not like he cares… right?

arranged clanhead! satoru who steps into the kitchen late one evening to find you leaning against the counter. your hair falls in loose strands around your face, messy but still maddeningly pretty, and you sip tea from a mug—his favorite mug. you’re draped in one of his shirts, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh—your bare legs illuminated by the dim glow of the overhead light.

for a fleeting second, he freezes. you look… almost at home. he doesn’t want you to look at home. or does he? he shakes the thought away.

“couldn’t sleep?” he drawls, his eyes lingering on the curve of your legs. “or… were you waiting up for me? ‘cause I could really blow off some steam.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who emerges from the bathroom later that night, his snowy hair damp and tousled, a towel slung lazily over his broad shoulders. he’s wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants, the defined lines of his abdomen on full display as he rubs the towel through his hair, his gaze sliding over to you lying on the bed.

“ready for tonight?” he asks, tilting his head with that signature nonchalance, as though he isn’t about to fuck the hell out of you, as though his sole intention isn’t to fill you so full of his cum that there’s no question the Gojo Clan will get their heir.

arranged clanhead! satoru who pushes you into a mating press the moment he’s on top of you, his large hands gripping your thighs as he folds your legs back against your chest, pinning you beneath him. his cock slides against your slick folds before splitting you apart, and his breath shudders as your cunt swallows him greedily.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, panting through thrusts. “always so good f’me. always takin’ me so fucking well.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who hates himself for the shameful thrill that bubbles up within him, the sick satisfaction of watching you come undone beneath him. the way your pussy clenches around his dick, the way your gasps and moans echo in his ears, drives him to thrust harder, deeper, as though his very existence depends on filling you—which it does.

arranged clanhead! satoru who’s pace is merciless, hips slamming into you with an almost feral hunger. he tells himself it’s just biology, but deep down he knows better.

“good fucking girl…” he smirks, pushing your legs higher as you squirm beneath him—your nails digging into his arms, but the sting only spurs him on. “don’t worry sweetheart—haaa—this time, for sure, m'gonna breed that pretty pussy. gonna make you drip with my cum ‘til you can’t hold it all…”

arranged clanhead! satoru who watches your eyes roll back as his cock slams into you, the bed shaking beneath you as his focus narrows on the way your breasts bounce with every forceful thrust.

“you’re mine,” he groans, the words slipping out before he can stop them, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you—hot, thick ropes of cum painting your walls. his body trembles against yours as he buries himself to the hilt.

“fuuuck, take it…” he rasps, his forehead dropping to press against yours. “so fucking good f’me.”

arranged clanhead! satoru who doesn’t move for a long moment, his chest pressed to yours, his weight pinning you to the mattress. your breath mingles, warm and uneven, and for a fleeting second, he almost forgets why he’s here. why you’re here. but then reality creeps in, sharp and cold, and he pulls out slowly, watching as the mix of his cum and your slick drips onto the sheets.

arranged clanhead! satoru who remembers his duty as clanhead, as the leader of the Gojo Clan. like a good husband—like a good leader—he doesn’t waste a single drop. he shifts, his fingers dipping between your legs to scoop up the cum leaking from you.

“can’t let this go to waste, sweetheart,” he mutters as he pushes the thick mess back into you. his thumb presses against your clit, and he smirks when it earns a soft gasp from you—his fingers sliding deeper. he watches, transfixed, as his cum disappears inside you again, his cock giving a weak twitch at the sight.

arranged clanhead! satoru who rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling as his chest heaves with the effort of catching his breath. he doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t hold you, and you don’t reach for him. the silence afterward is louder than any moan you could make. he tries to ignore the ache in his chest, something he refuses to name.

arranged clanhead! satoru who lies awake long after you’ve drifted off, his arm slung over his eyes as he tries to ignore the ache in his chest. he won’t admit it—not to you, not to himself—but he’s starting to crave more than your body. he craves the softness in your voice when you call his name, the quiet way you laugh when you think he’s not listening.

but this is just obligation. just duty. just… fucking. right?

full fic in the works 🫶🏻 lmk if you wanna be tagged.

[burrowdarling]

He Really Knows Me

Summary: It’s your first time meeting Joe’s siblings. With your nerves evident, Joe gives you something to calm them. I also just had to listen to Call It What You Want - Taylor Swift

Pairings: boyfriend!Joe Burrow x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: A bit of talk about sex, otherwise just some fluffy boyfriend Joey

Note: Hi everyone! I hope you all enjoy this request from this anon, I thought the idea was absolutely adorable. I'm excited to have some more frequent content out for you all. As always, my ask box and messages are always open to requests or to chat! 

Word Count: 1.3k

Check out my Masterlist here!

Taglist: @burrowbarbie @definitelynotdomanique @one-sweet-gubler @plushkhiii @enchantedinfinity @iosivb9 @hellsingalucard18 Feel free to comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

To say you were nervous was an understatement - tonight would be the night that you were meeting Joe’s brothers along with their wives for the first time. The two of you have been dating for a few months now, deciding it was time to take things a step further. You knew how important family was to Joe and were excited at the opportunity to meet those close to him. You’d heard loads about them already, excited for the chance to get to know them. To keep things casual and low pressure for you, Joe decided to invite everyone over for dinner at his place. Joe knew you felt safe there, being able to step away for a breather with ease if needed. 

You’d like to think you were a fairly confident person, believing that was part of the reason you were with Joe in the first place. The one thing that could knock you off kilter was a lack of control. You were serious about Joe, wanting to make a good first impression with his family and hoping that they would like you.

Joe had offered for you to come get ready at his place while he got a workout in at the gym, knowing you couldn’t say no to getting ready in his bathroom. It was something you were jealous of, wishing you had this type of lighting back at your place. Being in his space offered you a sense of relief, feeling like . You had music playing off your phone speaker, your makeup products were strewn out across the counter, and your hair tools at the ready. You heard the faint sound of shuffling downstairs, signalling Joe had finished his workout. You paid no mind to it, focusing on perfecting your look. 

You were in your own little world, dancing off your nerves when you just about jumped out of your skin.

“Jesus Joe, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” you said with a hand pressed to your chest trying to catch your breath. He only chuckled at you, slightly shaking his head at your comment. 

Your temper simmered once you took in his appearance. He was leaned against the door frame, hair tousled with sweat as his sleeveless shirt hung off of his torso. The holes for the sleeves were ripped so low, you could see a preview of his abs creating a spark inside you to have your hands on him. His cloth shorts were hung low on his hip and his whole demeanor had you wanting to drop to your knees before him.

“Not my intention, sweetheart, though I was enjoying your little show. It looks like I was giving you one right back based on the drool on your chin” Joe said with a smirk. You reached for your chin, falling for his joke which only made him laugh harder, causing you to give him a glare.

“You can’t expect me not to look when you come up here like that” you said as you gestured to him at a loss for any further words.

“Look as much as you like, but I’d much rather your touch. I just came to wash up before dinner, baby. I’ll take my distraction elsewhere, don’t worry your pretty head” he said moving off the door to drop a kiss to your head. He walked to the shower, turning the handle and starting to strip. It took everything in you not to watch him from the mirror and keep your focus on getting ready. You watched his silhouette through the steamy glass door, admiring his profile. You’d have time to have him later, it would help to ease your mind.

“Do you think they’re gonna like me?” you asked out of nowhere. Your voice wavered more than you expected, needing to speak up over the shower.

“They’re gonna love you because I do, there’s nothing to stress about I promise,” Joe said as his cutt of the shower. He stepped out and wrapped a towel low on his waist, walking over to meet you. “You did great with my parents, this will be a cakewalk in comparison. You’re so sweet, amazing, and funny, I’m going to have to hope they don’t like you more than me”.

He leaned down, ghosting his wet forehead above yours causing you to giggle when droplets from his hair fell to your nose and cheeks. 

“I can’t get my face wet, I just finished my makeup” you said as you gently pushed him away, letting your hands linger on his wet chest.

“You’re right, I’d much rather get something else wet instead” he spoke as he turned out of the bathroom, bracing for your reaction preemptively.

“JOSEPH! Get your mind out of the gutter” you yelled out as his laughter carried into the bathroom from his bedroom.

Once you felt that your look was perfected, you took one last look in the bathroom mirror before making your way into the bedroom. You expected Joe to be downstairs, but were surprised to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with a small gift wrapped box in his hands.

“What’s that for?” you questioned, pointing to the gift in his hands.

“It’s for you, I was gonna wait to give it to you, but this seems as good a time as any” Joe said as he patted the spot next to him.

You sat down, joining him as you felt a fresh wave of nerves course through you. Joe placed the small box in your hands as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into him. His smell offered a sense of comfort, remembering there was nothing to be worried about, this was your Joey.

You pulled the bow loose and slipped it from the box, you unwrapped the small bit of paper and removed the top from the box. A small gasp came from your lips as you took in the small piece of jewelry in front of you. It was small ‘J’ strung on a delicate gold chain, bringing a well of tears to your eyes.

You turned to face Joe, his eyes already on you as he reached up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek before it caused a streak in your makeup. Your mind was reeling, overcome with an influx of emotions and adoration for the man beside you. He always knew exactly what to do and when, having a knack for his small gestures having a big impact on you.

“Joey, I absolutely love it. Will you put it on me?” you asked, getting a soft nod in response as he moved his finger in a circular motion for you to turn away from him.

He stepped behind you, placing the delicate chain across the top of your chest as he brought the two ends together to clasp them. He softly released the ends, letting it fall naturally onto your chest. The dainty ‘J’ stood out against your skin, his initial looking nice around your neck. You looked up and turned your head to meet his gaze over your shoulder, the look of pure love in his eyes was unmistakable. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I got the idea from that taylor song you listen to all the time. I knew you were feeling some nerves about tonight so I wanted to give you something as a way to let you know I’m always there. Thank you for all that you do for me, you’re truly amazing and I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

“I swear you always know the right things to say and do, you never cease to surprise me” you said with a smile from ear to ear.

You placed your hands to his cheeks as you pulled him in for a passionate kiss, feeling things began to heat up rather quickly. You felt him pull back as he rested his forehead against your properly. 

“Now as much as I’d like to have you with this new addition, it’ll have to be later. We got dinner to eat and you have people who want to meet you.”

[revelboo]

pulled double starscreams today. do not regret it

Nice!

Even If It Kills Me Pt 12

Armada Starscream x Reader

• You’d called it a cold, but why is your skin so warm to the touch when normally you’re shivering? Sprawled back on his berth with your nest of blankets and you on his chassis alongside his canopy, he keeps his palm cupped over you, a servo against your spine. Feeling every time you cough and hating it. And for once, the mini-cons hadn’t piled on him, too. Keeping their distance and unsettled by your obvious discomfort.

• Sweating, you kick your leg out from under the sheets and want to cry when Starscream immediately covers you again. You’re burning up and know he means well, but you’d been a lot less miserable on the cold floor, because he’s warm under you. And you just don’t have the heart to ask him to put you down. Wondering how offended he’d be if you strip down to your underwear on him just to cool off. Most likely, he wouldn’t care. It’s not like you have anything he’s the least bit interested in anyway.

• Hears you mutter something that sounds like ‘eff it’ under your breath and before he can try to figure out what that means, you’re sitting up on him and peeling off your outer coverings. Staring owlishly down at you as you ignore him and pointedly kick your blankets off of him. And then sprawl against him on your belly with a shiver. What just happened? Maybe you’re getting worse? “I could carry you to a human medic,” he grumbles, servos hovering over your spine, but entirely sure if he should touch you now. Or why you’d taken off your coverings.

• Cheek pressed against his canopy since it’s the only part of him that’s not as warm, you look up at his serious frown. Still worrying over you? “Really. I’m fine.” Absolutely miserable and feverish, but fine. “If I start hallucinating, then you can carry me to a doctor.” And that frown deepens, apparently not taking your joke well. “I’ve been worse.” Venting at you, one of his servos touches your bare shoulder and slides down your spine. Slides over a bit and stops there. Eyes closing, when he gently rubs against what feels like a bruise. Know you’re covered in them.

• Wants to ask about the mark on your skin, but now that he’s looking, they’re everywhere. Little splotches of color. Some purple, some yellow or green. Bruises. “I’ve always bruised easily. It’s no big deal,” you tell him sensing where his thoughts have gone, and he grimaces. Are these from him handling you? There’re smaller ones that must be from the mini-cons. Your soft skin marking so ridiculously easy. Hurting you when he’s trying to protect you. “You didn’t hurt me so stop frowning like that.” Chin lifting as those tired eyes narrow and you start coughing again. Letting his head fall back against the berth, he covers his face with a hand. Even when he’s trying to do good, he still destroys. Maybe Megatron’s legacy of pain is too much a part of him. Maybe it’s all he’s good for.

• Great. You made him depressed, his optics staring up at the ceiling. Again. Groaning at yourself and your giant, melancholy guardian, you shakily stand and his big hands immediately cage you. Not touching you, but hovering nearby like he thinks you might fall. Reaching to grab a servo, you lean into his huge palm. And drag that servo to your side, pressing it against the jagged scar there. “I dropped a plate. My fault. He was behind me, already mad and I just dropped it. Hit me with his bottle and it broke. Cut me,” you tell him, expression twisting with the memory of the fear. Can’t look at his face right now, because even knowing these things weren’t your fault, part of you still feels like they are. Like if you’d been better you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. That the pain was because you’d done something wrong. Deserved it. Lifting your arm, you touch another smaller scar above your elbow. “Argued with him. I don’t even remember what it was about, but he shoved me. Banged it on the counter when I fell.” Your voice and hands are shaking, want to blame it on the fever, but telling someone this is like bleeding the poison out.

• Servo gently tipping your chin up, his spark aches when you offer him a tremulous, broken smile. Runs his glossa over his denta as he carefully shifts under you. Willing himself to reach out in return. Knows you only meant to drive home that he’s not hurt you, that you know pain, but he understands that empty look on your face. Recognizes the look of someone resigned to pain and blaming themselves for deserving it. His own servos lifting to touch a discolored weld hidden under his jaw on the sensitive mesh of his neck. “Questioned a foolish order,” he whispers. And you take turns through the night. Each showing a scar and the reason for it. Sharing the pain to halve it, bound together by the same trauma.

Previous

[steddieas-shegoes]

new toy, new boy

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘new’

rated e | 517 words | no cw | tags: anal plug, semi-public sex, getting together, friends to lovers, coming in pants, coming untouched, super light implications of Dom/sub, Dom Steve, sub Eddie

🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕🆕

Eddie bites his lip as he tries to move his legs under him. He needs a buffer, some distance between his ass and the couch. The plug keeps rubbing against his prostate every time he breathes.

Steve keeps looking at him over Robin’s shoulders, clearly trying to figure out why Eddie is so squirmy.

Eddie feels like a dumbass for even trying this tonight. He got the new toy a few days ago in Indy and he’d been waiting for the right time to try it out. Today, he was alone for an entire afternoon, and it felt right, and he was horny, and he was too busy thinking about what Steve’s fingers would look like going inside him to remember that they had movie night. He’d also forgotten he was in charge of pizza, so when Steve called to ask if he could grab some soda on his way over, Eddie already had the plug as deep as it could be inside him.

And now he was here suffering with every move he made, or any move anyone else on the couch made, or sometimes even just a slight breeze. Which shouldn’t even be possible inside. Maybe it’s everyone’s breath? He barely holds back a whine as his ankle brushes against the base of the plug.

Steve pokes his shoulder and he turns to glare at him. Steve widens his eyes to silently ask if he’s okay.

No, he’s not okay. He’s going to come in his pants surrounded by his friends because he’s an idiot and if Steve keeps looking at him like that, he’s gonna do it sooner rather than later. He needs water or beer or weed.

“Eddie, help me get refills for everybody,” Steve says quietly enough that only the people closest to them hear. They mostly ignore him.

When Eddie stands, he has to bite his hand.

When Eddie walks to the kitchen behind Steve, he has to dig his nails into his palm.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” Steve rounds on him, pushing him against the counter and making everything so much worse.

“I had too much soda?”

“You’re sweating, man.” Steve reaches up to brush hair from Eddie’s forehead, and Eddie’s surprised that he’s as sticky as he is. “Are you sick?”

“I bought a new plug!” Eddie says just a little too loud.

Steve’s brows furrow as he tries to figure out what Eddie’s talking about.

And then he realizes.

He smirks.

“Poor thing. You’ve been so close all night, haven’t you?” Steve’s voice drops low and Eddie’s cock twitches.

“Fuck. Yeah,” Eddie nods, gripping the edge of the counter.

“Turn around.” Steve shoves one of Eddie’s shoulders gently, turning him around.

Eddie yelps. Steve’s leg brushes against his ass, searching for-

“Fuck!” Eddie gasps, rocking back for more friction.

“Get yourself off. C’mon. It won’t take much,” Steve demands. “Use my thigh.”

Eddie’s never done it like this, but that doesn’t matter. He comes quickly.

“You’re…?” Eddie starts.

“Go up to my room and take the plug out. Borrow some pants. You can stay the night.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To Those Who Wait 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn’t resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

'Morning, sunshine.' 

The sarcasm burns into every letter. You stick your tongue out and type your reply. You lay in the dim of your drawn curtains, still half-nestled in your bed. 

'Morning, sparky.' 

Curtis' response makes you giggle. 'Sparky?' 

No emojis. He's not the type. You laze despite the minutes ticking by. Your thumbs flick over the digital keys. 

'Give it but can't take it.' 

The next bubble has you breathless; 'oh I'm more than willing to give'. Oh, okay. You don't know how to answer that. You send a wink emoticon then prompty groan at your own cluelessness. 

You lock the screen and sit up. Is this what life is? Torturous obligation and cringey efforts to be normal. You want to send a message telling Curtis it's okay if he just gives up. You're a mess.  

You drag yourself out of your room. As you try to empty the reusable filter for the coffee grounds, you spill it everwhere. You need to start emptying it after use. Another missed checkbox. 

Your phone buzzes again. Great. You're sure it's just him calling you lame. You snatch the cell and go to swipe away the message but it isn't Curtis. 

WhatsApp. 

Hm. Maybe another recruiter cold messaging? 

You tap with your thumb, resolved to finally delete the app and wipe the slate clean. You just need to forget that mistake. If you can. 

The message waiting for you doesn’t bode well. 

‘Feeling thirsty yet?’ 

You stare at it. You can’t be sure it’s Hugh. The number isn’t the same, you would recognise the last few digits at least. The coffee machine spits out the last few droplets. You turn to grab your cup, the phone buzzing in your hand. 

You read with dread, ‘ah come on, just one more go.’ 

It has to be him. Who else could it be? What else could they be referring to? 

A video pops up and plays automatically. You click it to make it bigger as you try to make out what’s going on. Your heart drops and your phone nearly does too. You stare at the recording of yourself on the bed, undressing as you huddle near the top of the hotel bed. 

A cold splash sends a chill through you. You remember him turning on the speaker. He must have connected his phone but then you didn’t see what he did with it after that. You didn’t think to pay attention to that, you were too swept up in your own catastrophe. 

‘Let’s talk.’ 

Those two words spike your panic. What did you do? You’re so stupid and yet how are you surprised? Nothing ever goes right. How dare you even try to believe things could get better? That maybe Curtis could be something more than a disappointment. 

Loser. Loser. Loser! 

You want to bang your head on the counter. You want to scream. You want to crumple into a heap in cry. 

You don’t do anything of that. You simply key into the screen; ‘why?’ 

He sends a laughing emoji. Then a real message. ‘That’s what we’re going to talk about.’ 

Your eyes glaze with tears and you shake your head. He’s taunting you. Toying with you. This is all just an ego stroke for some narcissist that gets off on himself. Why else would he do what he does? Well, who are you to judge? You paid for his services. 

‘That cafe near your office. 12:30.’ 

You toss the phone on the counter like it’s acid. What the hell? How does he know where you work? How does he know there’s a cafe there? No, no, no. How does he know anything about you? Why does he care? 

You pace around hectically. You can’t stay still. You scratch your skin as if you might peel it off. An unbearable itch burns through you. You make a noise somewhere between a sob and a wretch. 

You reel in your doom, just enough to retrieve the cell from the floor. You shakily send a thumbs up. That’s all you can manage. Not a good job, just a confirmation. You’ll be there because you have no other choice. 

⛅

Your morning is frantic. You have a thousand things to do at once. The phone calls are endless and Shania double-booked another reservation. Don’t you always get the happy job of informing the guests they have to rebook. Fun, fun, fun. 

The demanding customers are the least of your problems. Work at the Travel Agency can be downright agony but right now you prefer it to the alternative. It’s the rare instance where you curse the clock for going too fast. 

Usually, a trip down to the cafe is your relief. An indulgence on an especially stressful day. That day is more nerve-wracking than any but you don’t think a dose of caffeine would make it any better. You’re already rattling through to your bones. 

You reluctantly leave your desk. Your phone is firmly in your purse, where it’s been all day. You don’t want to look at it, even if it’s Curtis making it buzz. You just want to shut down. 

You take the stairs. You don’t want to be around other people though you realise the cafe will be busy with the lunchtime rush. You wonder if that’s deliberate. You get to the ground floor and make your way outside. 

You stop before the cafe. You peer along the tinted windows and your eyes stop on the singular familiar figure. There he is. Hugh. Somehow, he looks different than that night. How, you can’t say. He’s wearing a similar swear, a light robin’s egg blue, luxurious even. The sweater can’t be cheap given the small logo embroidered on one side of the chest. 

You enter and skip the line. You go straight to the table and stop behind the chair opposite...him. You cross your arms and glare at him. Hugh casually lifts his chin and smiles up at you. Your forehead wrinkles in disgust. 

“You look wound tight,” he sits up completely, the last consonant sharp. “Need help with that?” 

Your nostrils flare and you drag out the chair. You drop into the seat and push your elbows into the table. You lean across it and snarl, “what do you want?” 

He snorts, “I like that about. Always straight to the point... even when you have no idea what you’re doing.” 

Your cheeks tingle with heat and you look away. You push your shoulders back and shift in discomfort. Even as the bruises fade, if you think hard enough, you can feel that night still. 

“That boyfriend know about me yet?” He sips from the tall porcelain cup in front of him. You shake your head and put your eyes to the table. 

“Aw, well, I can’t blame you,” he clinks the cup down. “He wouldn’t be able to handle the competition. Would he?” 

“I have to get back to work so whatever you want, just say it.” 

He chortles again and hums, “I said I wanna talk. We’re talking. Isn’t it nice?” 

“I don’t have money if that’s what you’re getting at--” 

“Money? Hm, that’s real funny. Oh, you think... you think I’m desperate? I wanted some Balenciaga.” He flicks a finger up and down the mug handle. “Thanks for that, by the way.” 

You huff and shake your head, “and it’s better that you get off on embarrassing me? Well, I hope you’re enjoying it because you’ve done a great job.” 

You peek up at him and his grin slants. He leans an elbow on the table as he sits forward. His eyes crinkle as he considers you. 

“It’s not about money, not even about a joke,” he says. “It’s the way you squeezed me. The way you whined for me,” his voice lowers to a sultry rasp. “The way you drained me fucking dry. You know how many princesses I’ve had on my dick and they just lay there and--” He makes a motion with his hand, “dead fish.” 

You frown, “you’re gross.” 

“I’m secure in myself,” he argues. “Real rich of you to act like you didn’t like it when you came all over my fucking fingers. Didn’t even take much.” 

You rub your neck and stare out the window. Your stomach is boiling. You just want him to get his kicks and go. 

“It’s how I know you didn’t lie. About being a virgin, or whatever,” he says. “You know, you could’ve sold that yourself but I guess you were having some trouble finding a buyer--” 

“My lunch is almost over,” you grit out. “Get to it, Hugh.” 

He laughs louder than before. He scoops up his cup and drains it. “You’re so funny. Really. You make me laugh.” You glower and his smirks widens. “Alright, alright. Pretty simple, you probably already know what I want. Just one more time. I just need to feel it again. That grip--” He makes a fist and you scoff. 

“I told you I’m not interested--” 

“No? Not interested at all in your porn debut,” he taps his phone and you reach across to swat his hand back. 

“Why did you do that?” You hiss. 

“Woah, I gotta be safe. I record in case something goes wrong,” he pushes your hand away. “Lucky me, it went so fucking right. You know how many times I’ve watched it?” 

You groan and rest your head in your hands. You’re fucked. Utterly and totally. Likely literally. 

“Tonight,” he says. “Tell the goth boy you’re doing overtime.” 

You sit back and stare at him. Your chest pits and your eyes glimmer. It shouldn’t hurt so much but it does. You don’t want to lose Curtis, not yet. 

This is exactly why you didn’t want to get attached. 

☕

You don't text Curtis. You can't bring yourself to do it. You just leave him hanging. He'll probably assume your busy. You're sure he has something better to do. 

Just like most things in your life, it's over before it begins. Why did you let yourself believe it could be anything? After tonight, it definitely won't be. 

That time is different. You don't primp yourself or preen over whether you look good. Instead, you toss all those things you bought to do yourself up the first time in the trash. Everything but the condoms. 

You pace restlessly around your apartment. That's another violation. You offered another hotel. 'Your place.' The argument was short. Fuck. 

He can't come here. He can't do this. You can't do this. Not again. 

Your legs wobble and you teeter to the couch. You sit down and fold over your knees. You can feel the dull pain already. Back in that room, bawling as he pumps into you, scraping out your guts. 

You're going to be sick! 

You lurch up and run to the bathroom. You spew into the toilet and pant through the acidic saliva left in your mouth. You shut the lid and flush. 

You should leave the residue in your mouth. It might repulse Hugh enough to get rid of him. Yet if you don't rinse out the acidic flavour, you'll just hurl again. 

You brush your teeth slowly then look at yourself in the mirror. You look scared. You are but you look utterly terrified. Why is this happening to you? 

You're not stupid enough to think you're special. No, you're weak. He's a shark and he smelled blood in the water. He set you up for this. You were too nervous, too desperate, and too stupid to see through his ploy. 

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it, even as it thrums against the table noisily. If it's Curtis, you might just cry. 

The door buzzer chirps. Right. You push away from the sink and shudder.  

Your feet hit the floor clumsily and you walk as if you're wadding through thick mud. You hit the button as your stomach churns again. His voice adds to the broil of sickness. 

"Baby, I'm here." 

You press the button down without as response. You stagger away and linger by the door. You hear him coming down the hall. You open the door at the first knock. 

"Someone's eager," he snickers. 

You don't say a word. You step back. He enters and whistles. 

"Not bad. Cozy," he says. "Bouta get real cozy, huh?" 

You shut the door and lock it. He turns and examines the walls. You stare at him. 

"Jeez, baby, you got a knife or something? Looking like you're about to crack up over there," he taunts. 

That might have been a good idea if you weren't nervous of stabbing yourself in an attempt. Besides, he's a lot stronger. You remember how thick his muscle was, how easily he ignored your pleas. 

"Hospitable too," he sniffs and slips off his velvet loafers. "Whatcha got going on?" He struts further into the apartment. "Wine? Beer?" 

He goes to fridge and pops it open. You loom like a shadow against the wall as you tiptoe after him. He sucks his teeth as he examines the contents on the racks. 

"Ugh, boring," he remarks.  

"Don't drink," you croak. 

"You didn't seem to mind the wine," he shuts the fridge without his bounty. "Fuck, well, it'll be good. You'll like it better sober. Although I do prefer a sloppy fuck." 

You grimace. He makes no pretense as he continues his exploration. He strides past the living room and head through your bedroom door. 

"No cute jammies tonight, huh?" He calls through. 

You waft into the doorway like a ghost. That's what you are. You are hollowed out. You resign yourself, surrender yourself to ruin. It's all over. 

Goodbye, Curtis. 

"Looks like you don't got much in mind but don't worry, baby, I planned ahead," he faces you with a wink. "Wanna try something new?" 

No. You don’t want to do any of this. You glower. 

“Shit, baby, you keep looking at me like that and I’m going to have to wipe that look off your face... along with something else,” he grabs his crotch and growls. “Hard already, you know? Just thinking about what I’m about to do.” 

Your lip curls as disgust crawls up your back. “Just get it over with,” you murmur. 

“Trying,” his eyes flash dangerously. The retort makes you think of Curtis but he never spoke to you so harshly. 

You step out of the doorway before you can fall apart. Your breath clouds in your chest until it feels like someone’s standing on you. You let it out slowly as plays with the black cat figuring on your bookshelf. He scoffs, unimpressed. 

“So,” he faces you and tugs at the hem of his sweater, inching it up, “why are your clothes still on?” 

You glance away angrily. “Your phone goes in the drawer,” you point to the night stand. 

“Pfft, come on. I already got the good shots. What’s another dirty movie, baby? I gotta say, you look good on film--” 

“Put it in the drawer,” you insist.  

“Damn, don’t gotta be so mean, baby.” He snickers and wiggles his phone at you then puts it in the night stand. 

“I’m not your joke, so stop laughing at me.” 

“Lighten up. I’m not laughing at you, baby. I just...” He pauses as he pulls his sweater over his head. He wears a thin white tank underneath, his reddish chest hair peeking out the top. “How many women do you think hold my attention once I’ve been in ‘em? Let’s just say, we both had our first that night.” 

“Don’t try to flatter me,” you snip. 

“Girl,” he squares his shoulder and the humour flickers from his expression, “get your clothes off.” 

Your mouth twitches. You take a breath and turn away. You look down at the wrinkled blouse you wore to work. You’re sure he’s full of hot air, he’s just mocking you, especially since he’s wearing Calvin Klein and you’re in Walmart clearance. 

You unbutton it as you hear his clothing rustle softly. A shiver speckles across your back as you throw it in your hamper. Your pants go just as easily as you push down the elastic waistband. Another wave of nausea threatens but you keep it down. 

You unhook your bra as your bed squeaks. You keep your eyes down and step out of your panties. You pause as you dangle them over the basket. You blink away the heat in your eyes. Why did you run away from Curtis all those times? Why does it have to be Hugh? 

You spin and march over to him. He sits on the end of the bed, naked, knees wide. You reach for him, intent to be done with him, but he catches your hands and holds them away from him. 

“Uh uh, you really think it’s going to be that easy,” he sneers. “Oh, baby, I didn’t get any of that mouth.” 

Your lip quivers and your nose scrunches, “what?” 

“Don’t worry, it’s fun, baby. I can train you up for the sad boy,” he chuckles. 

“Shut up,” you twist away from him. “Don’t talk about him.” 

“Aw, what’sa matter? He don’t make you wet like I do, huh?” 

You stomp away and snatch the box of condoms from behind your dresser. You take one and bring it to him. He snorts. 

“You like the taste of rubber?” 

“Put it on.” 

“You think I’m dirty? You saw my test results.” 

“I don’t care,” you shove it into his chest. 

“Be a lot nicer if you tasted the real thing,” he huffs. 

You cross your arms and wait. He rolls his eyes and peels the wrapper open. He pinches the thick ring then presses the rubber to his tip. 

“Well, get on your knees. You’re the one so anxious to get this done with. Is the boy toy on his way? Scared he’ll catch—woah!”  

He lets go of himself and the condom rolls up just to his tip. He catches your hand before you can make contact with his cheek. “I told you not to talk about him.” 

“I like this zest,” He stands and raises your arms above you, “but you won’t like mine.” 

He spins you and pushes you onto the bed. You fall heavily and bounce, your teeth snapping down on your tongue. You whimper as he slides his fingers around his dick, pushing the rubber to his base. He climbs up on his knees, straddling you as he advances up your body. 

You push on his thighs as he gets higher. Once more, he has your wrists. He clasps them against the mattress, locking them above your head. You flail your legs and he laughs again. His other hand goes to his length and he strokes himself as he presses the lubed condom to your lips. 

“Open up for daddy,” he jeers and pushes until he meets your teeth. “I feel the hint of a nip and I’ll skip the kitty and go straight for the peach. Understand that, baby girl?” 

Your eyes widen as your bottom puckers. Your fear radiates from your gaze and draws another pleased hum from him. You open your mouth and close your eyes, gagging as the rubber smears lube across your tongue. 

He angles as he dips down, touching your reflex as he invades your throat. You choke and spasm under him as he wiggles his hips, testing your limits. You can’t breathe. 

He rears and you heave in before he blocks your airway again. He groans and tilts again. Thrusting in and out as you writhe. Tears crest along the brims of your eyes and your saliva smears around your mouth. Each time, he pushes a little further. 

“Fuck, baby, how is it just as good as the pussy?” He purrs as he clutches your hair, rocking over you as the smell of the condom adds to your revulsion. 

He pumps into you until you’re raw with agony. He lets go of your hands and you push on his hips, begging for him to stop. He doesn’t care. He just keeps going. He quakes and groan, grasping the blankets around your head as he fucks you your head into the bed. 

“Gahhh,” he pulls out of you so quickly you gag. 

You cover your mouth as he bounces over you. He rolls the condom off and keeps stroking himself. You’re surprised as he spurts his cum onto you, the slimy mess string over your knuckles and onto your nose and cheeks. You put your hand out to shield yourself as he grunts and sits back on his heels. 

“The hell?” You gasp. 

“I couldn’t fucking hold it, woulda split the damn thing in half,” he puffs as he cups his balls. “Speaking of splitting things in half--” 

You lift yourself on your elbows, trying to drag yourself out from under him. He snags you around your ribs and pushes you flat. “Where are you going?” 

“You just--” 

“Finished? No, that’s round one,” he snickers. “You don’t think I got a few tricks? I mean, a blue pill keeps me in business.” 

You curl your lip again and he laughs even louder. You glance up at the night table at the box of condoms. He sighs. 

“Fucking tight ass,” he hisses. “Want me to see if that’s literal?” You look at him and bare your teeth. He waves you off and climbs off you to grab the box. “Whatever. At least you had the good sense to get good ones.” 

You slowly sit up and wipe your face. He leans on one knee and slides on another condom. He quivers and exhales through his nose. He grabs your shoulder and nudges you. 

“Wouldn’t mind it from the back,” he says. 

You resist and he snarls, “relax. If I go through the back door, I might not get it out with you being so uptight.” He pinches your nipple cruelly. “Go on, show Ransom that booty.” You tilt your head curiously. Ransom? His eyes dart away, “you gonna listen to daddy or you want some spankings while I’m back there?” 

You move reluctantly. You roll over and he grabs your hips, guiding your ass higher as he jostles behind you. He drags his hands around your ass and down your thighs, then up again. He smacks you harshly so you feel the jiggle. You yelp and he guffaws. 

“Oh, fuck, should flipped you over the first time.” He gropes your ass and rubs himself against you. 

Your insides curdle. You hide in yourself. You try not to think about reality. Not about the desecration of your home, your safe space, of the place you made all your own. Nor the same being done to your body. To your relationship. 

Whatever, it was never going to last. 

He glides down between your cheeks, lingering as if considering it. You twitch and he snorts. He trails further down and presses against your cunt. He groans as he stretches you slowly. It isn’t easier. Not better. Not like they say. 

No, they say the first time is the worst. No, this is. This is torture. This is hell. 

He leans into you, grunting as you squeeze him, as your body resists his intrusion. He bends over you, his torso flush to your back, and thrusts. He impales you complete and you cry out. You push against him as your body racks in agony. 

He pumps again and you squeal louder. Fuck. Your fingers curl until your knuckles hurt. You hang your head and shudder. He rocks into you, playing with your hair as he nuzzles your nape. He puffs into your skin and it sends a roil of disgust through you. 

You sink down until your face is in the blankets. You crush your arms beneath you and drone into the bed. He hooks his arm under you to keep your ass up, rutting faster and faster. Your flesh claps like thunder, a never-ending cacophony. 

He growls and brings a hand under your chin, then his other. You wriggle as he squeezes your face and hooks his fingers in your mouth, pulling taught your lips. You arch your back and whine as he keeps his callous pace. 

You grab onto his arms as the strain in your lips feels as if it might tear. He lifts your head and you deepen the curve in your back, trying to balance him at both ends. His nose tickles the back of your ear. 

“Yeah, baby, squeeze me just like that. Ugh, that pussy knows what it wants better than you do,” he taunts. “Ugh, you latched on tight.” 

You can’t speak, you can’t shake your head, you can’t deny him in any way. 

“You feel so good,” he snarls. “The way you go me... fuck I feel it in my gut... I’m gonna...”  

He slides his hands from your mouth and wraps his arms around you instead; one at your neck, the other around your middle. He pulls you up with him and pounds relentlessly. The bed rocks furiously beneath you as your addled voice gurgles from your throat. The headboard knocks into the wall in a frenetic tempo. 

“Yeah, so good,” he rasps between deep breaths. “So good. Never... think I’d let you go, huh?” 

You hang from his embrace. Defeated. You did this to yourself. So take it. 

[soleilpinto]

DRS = Defining Relationship Status?: Epilogue °‧🫐𐙚⭒

“Defining Relationship Status Zone” 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

Synopsis: Motorsport fan and model, Y/n, and her thirst-filled tweets about Franco catch his attention, sparking a hilarious online banter that goes viral. As their playful exchanges become real connections, fans and media can’t get enough—will their chemistry survive offline?

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Slowburn, (Slight) Angst

AU: Social Media AU!

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Note: And…Scene! That’s it from Franco and Y/n everyone! Thank you all so much again for getting this far, the support has been amazing and I had so much fun writing this. Wait for a bit because I have a Lando fic coming out soon so watch for that after this!

DRS Masterlist. (PREV.)

liked by francolapinto, francisca.cgomes and others

ynbardot holá argentina 🇦🇷

francolapinto te amo mucho mi vida (i love you so much my life)

— ynbardot yo también te amo (i love you too)

elenavalor MY PARENTS

elenavalor I LOVE YOU BOTH

@argentinangrid y/n is literally in franco’s home country WITH HIM. this is a W for him, for her, for us, for EVERYONE

@f1chaoss so y/n went straight from abu dhabi to argentina??? love that she’s wasting ZERO time

@paddocktea y/n in argentina??? the girl didn’t even wait a week post-abu dhabi to show us she’s with franco. WE LOVE IT

The golden hues of the setting sun painted the Buenos Aires skyline as you and Franco strolled through the cobblestone streets of San Telmo.

The bustling chatter of street performers and the distant sound of tango music set the scene, but your world felt quiet, intimate, as if it were just the two of you.

Franco reached out, lacing his fingers through yours, his grip firm yet gentle.

You looked up at him, and he gave you that signature boyish grin—the one that always seemed to melt your resolve, no matter how stubborn you were feeling.

“Do you want to stop somewhere for dinner?" he asked, nodding toward a quaint little café glowing with soft, warm lights.

You shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"Not yet. I want to enjoy this a little longer."

His thumb brushed against your knuckles as you both continued to walk, the air warm and fragrant with the scent of flowers and fresh empanadas from a nearby vendor.

Then, the unmistakable sound of tango music floated toward you from a street performer nearby.

Franco stopped in his tracks, his ears perking up like he’d just heard the world’s best idea.

“What are you doing?” You asked, laughing as he dropped your hand and took a dramatic step back, bowing slightly.

“May I have this dance, señorita?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock formality as he extended a hand toward you.

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin.

“Franco, we’re literally in the middle of the street—”

“Exactly,” he interrupted, stepping closer to take your hand before you could protest further. “Live a little, mi amor.”

Before you knew it, he spun you under his arm, causing you to stumble and laugh uncontrollably. “You’re ridiculous!”

“Ridiculously good at this,” he countered with a smirk, pulling you closer and swaying dramatically to the music.

It wasn’t graceful or even remotely close to an actual tango, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The two of you laughed until your cheeks hurt, Franco occasionally twirling you for the sheer fun of it.

The people passing started to watch, some clapping along to the beat, and a few even took out their phones to record.

“Franco, people are staring!” you whispered, half-embarrassed, half-thrilled.

“Let them,” he said, grinning down at you. “They’re just jealous they’re not dancing with you.”

You playfully shoved his chest, but he caught your hand and pressed it to his heart, the teasing glint in his eyes softening.

“You’re having fun, admit it.”

You sighed dramatically, letting him spin you one last time.

“Fine. Maybe just a little.”

As the music slowed, he pulled you into a mock-dip, nearly making you fall before catching you at the last second.

Both of you dissolved into laughter, leaning on each other as the street performer gave a theatrical bow in your honor.

“You’re impossible,” you said, breathless from laughing as you both straightened up.

“And yet, here you are,” he teased, leaning in close. “Still putting up with me.”

The rest of the evening felt lighter, freer, as if all the weight of the world had been left behind on that cobblestone street.

When Franco whispered, “I’m keeping that dance forever,” you couldn’t help but smile, knowing you would too.

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[cypherbxbe]

fluff boyfriend!satoru forgets your birthday. ♡

♡ ♡ ♡

The storm outside couldn’t hold a candle to the one inside you. Calling it a tornado might’ve even been generous. You were furious, and rightfully so.

Satoru had forgotten your birthday. Again. The second year in a row.

You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let it get to you this time. He was busy, after all. Between mentoring the kids, keeping the jujutsu world from crumbling, throwing himself into dangerous missions, and carrying the weight of everyone’s safety on those broad, infuriatingly confident shoulders, of course something as mundane as your birthday wouldn’t make the cut.

And yet.

You’d hoped.

Just a text, you’d told yourself. A little acknowledgment that you mattered enough to cross his mind for one second.

But the day came and went, and there was nothing. No call. No text. Not a single hint that he’d even realized what he’d done.

Now, as the hours ticked past, the texts and calls finally started to roll in - like the storm only hit him a day late. Each buzz of your phone, each notification lighting up the screen, only added fuel to the fire simmering beneath your skin.

You ignored them all. Some might call it petty. Stubborn, even. But your mind was set, even though deep down you knew you could never stay mad at him for long..

The door creaked open, and you froze. Unease prickling at the back of your neck. Unlocked? And then a strange mix of vanilla, something sweet, and a hint of burned almonds wafted through the air.

Before you could react, a familiar voice rang out from the kitchen. “Hello, sunshine! Finally home?”

Your eyes widened as Satoru’s unmistakable head of white hair peeked out, his grin annoyingly smug. A million questions flooded your brain, but the loudest one was: What the hell is he doing here?

Wary, you edged toward the kitchen. The sight that greeted you nearly made your jaw drop.

There he was, piping icing onto a lopsided cake, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He looked up as you entered, flashing you his signature smirk.

“Well,” he said, gesturing at the cake. “What do you think? Nailed it, right?”

You stood there, speechless, disbelief etched into every line of your face. The anger that had been boiling inside you moments ago now shifted, replaced by something softer - something you weren’t ready to name just yet.

Still, you didn’t say a word, your eyes darting from the cake to him. The furrow in your brow eased, almost without you realizing.

Satoru noticed. He always did.

“I know I messed up,” he murmured, stepping closer. The space between you disappeared, and before you could react, he gently took your hands in his. His touch was softer than you’d ever felt it.

“Happy birthday, Sweetheart,” he said, voice quieter now. “Please stop being mad… It breaks my heart.”

And just like that, your heart melted. A soft sigh of defeat escaped your lips, your shoulders sagging as all the fight drained out of you. It was ridiculous - how whipped you were. One word from him, and you were done for.

“My birthday was yesterday…” you mumbled, voice quiet and devoid of its earlier edge. You tried for a pout, but it lacked conviction, and you both knew it.

Satoru’s grin only widened. Without missing a beat, he slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. One hand snuck under your shirt, tracing slow, featherlight patterns along the smooth skin of your back.

“Better late than never, right?” he teased, his tone soft enough to make your stomach flip. You let out a soft huff, but before you could muster anything more, his lips were on yours. The kiss was unhurried and warm, filled with an apology he couldn’t quite put into words.

Your resolve crumbled entirely as his hands pulled you closer, the tenderness of his touch melting away any lingering frustration.

The faint smell of vanilla lingered in the air, the cake sitting forgotten on the counter. In his arms, with the world fading away, you realized this was the only gift you truly needed.

[galaxysupreme17]

The Quiet One

Y/n = Your Name

Agatha Harkness x daughter!reader!

AgathaRio

Y/n adjusted the lens of her camera, sitting cross-legged on the school's front steps. The late afternoon sun bathed the courtyard in a warm glow, perfect for capturing the cheerful faces of her classmates. Madison and Dani, her two closest friends, posed in front of the school banner, their laughter ringing through the air.

"Make sure you get my good side!" Madison teased, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder.

"Every side's your good side," Dani quipped, nudging Madison playfully. Her red curls bounced as she struck a dramatic pose, earning another round of giggles.

Y/n smiled softly and snapped the shot, capturing the carefree energy of the moment. Photography came naturally to her-being behind the camera was her comfort zone, where she could observe without being seen.

"Got it," Y/n said, lowering the camera.

"Let me see!" Madison bounded over to peek at the screen, Dani following close behind.

"These are amazing!" Madison exclaimed, scrolling through the images. "You've got to use these for the pep rally article!"

Y/n nodded, slinging the camera strap over her shoulder as she stood. "That's the plan."

"Are you coming to the rally tomorrow?" Dani asked, walking backward with a grin. "You can't just take pictures-you have to cheer with us!"

Y/n hesitated. "I'll be there, but... I'll probably stay on the sidelines."

Madison and Dani exchanged knowing looks. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us!" Madison called as they walked away, already chattering about face paint and posters.

Y/n lingered for a moment, watching them go. She often felt like the observer in their trio-the one who captured the memories but rarely made them. It wasn't that she minded; she just wasn't sure where she fit into the bigger picture.

When Y/n got home, the scent of Agatha's cooking greeted her as she stepped through the door. The comforting aroma of herbs and spices filled the air, blending with the faint sound of classical music playing in the background.

"Sweetheart, is that you?" Agatha called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, it's me," Y/n replied, dropping her bag by the door and heading toward the noise source.

Agatha stood at the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. She wore her usual workday outfit-trousers and a tailored blouse-but her sleeves were rolled up, and her hair was slightly out of place from a long day of lecturing at Westview University.

"Hey, Mija!" Rio greeted warmly from the dining table, where she was jotting notes on her clipboard. Unlike Agatha, Rio seemed to thrive in the chaos of multitasking. Her short, dark hair was tied back, and her sharp brown eyes flicked between her notes and Y/n as she set down the clipboard to open her arms.

Y/n walked over, enveloping herself in one of Rio's hugs. "How was school?"

"Fine," Y/n mumbled. "I took pictures for the pep rally article."

"Ah, our budding journalist," Agatha teased, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. "And how are Madison and Dani?"

"They're good. Excited about the rally," Y/n replied, pulling away from Rio to sit at the table.

Rio leaned her hip against the counter, watching Y/n discerningly. "You seem quiet today, mija. Everything okay?"

Y/n shrugged, her fingers playing with the strap of her camera bag. "It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm always on the sidelines. Everyone else is so confident and loud, and I'm just there, taking pictures."

Agatha set down the spoon and walked over, her hand rubbing Y/n's back softly. "Oh, darling, you're much more than 'just' anything. You have a gift for seeing the world in ways others can't. That's not something to underestimate."

Rio nodded, sitting beside Y/n and taking her hand. "You have a way of making people feel seen, mija. That's powerful. You don't need to be loud to make an impact."

Y/n looked between her moms, feeling the familiar warmth of their reassurance. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice soft.

"Now," Agatha said, clapping her hands, "wash up and come eat. You'll need your energy for tomorrow."

The next day, Y/n arrived at school early to set up her camera for the pep rally. The gym was already bustling with activity as students decorated banners and rehearsed their routines. She found a spot near the bleachers to see the action clearly.

Rio was already there, clipboard in hand, as she supervised the basketball team's setup. As both the science teacher and the girls' basketball coach, Rio was a familiar presence in the gym. Her easygoing nature made her popular with the students, who often sought her advice on everything from plays to lab reports.

"Y/n!" Rio called, waving her over.

Y/n jogged across the gym, her camera bouncing against her side.

"Need any help setting up?" Rio asked.

"No, I'm good," Y/n replied. She adjusted the camera bag strap, glancing at the banners the team was hanging. "Looks like the team's excited."

"They're ready to put on a show," Rio grinned. "You should come sit with us later-unless you're too busy being a superstar photographer."

Y/n laughed. "We'll see."

As the rally began, the gym filled with the sounds of cheers and drumbeats. Y/n stayed at the edge of the action, snapping pictures of the cheer squad's high-flying stunts and the football team's antics as they hyped up the crowd. The energy was infectious, even from the sidelines.

Agatha arrived midway through the rally, sliding onto the bleachers beside Rio. Her tailored jacket and calm demeanor stood out in the sea of energetic students. She waved discreetly at Y/n, who smiled and waved back before focusing on the cheerleaders' routine.

"You didn't have to come," Rio said, leaning closer to Agatha and wrapping an arm around her waist.

Agatha raised an eyebrow. "What kind of fiancée would I be if I missed my family's big day?" Her lips quirked into a soft smile as she added, "Besides, someone has to document how ridiculously invested you get during these things."

Rio chuckled and turned away, looking at the court and watching the students. "Fair enough."

Toward the end of the rally, Rio joined the cheerleaders and football players in leading a chant, her booming voice carrying across the gym. Agatha clapped along a mixture of amusement and pride on her face. Y/n couldn't resist snapping a picture of her mom's mid-cheer, their enthusiasm lighting up the room.

After the rally, the gym slowly began to empty, with students and faculty heading home or off to the local diner to celebrate. Madison and Dani waved to Y/n as they left, still excitedly buzzing.

"See you tomorrow!" Madison called, her voice echoing in the now quieter gym.

"Don't forget to send me those pictures for the article!" Dani added, giving Y/n a thumbs-up before following Madison out.

"Got it!" Y/n called back, giving them a small wave before turning her attention to her camera.

She knelt on the floor near the bleachers, carefully packing away her lens and other equipment into her bag. The rally had been a success, and she was pleased with the shots she'd captured-the cheer squad mid-flip, the basketball team's energetic entrance, and even a few candid moments of the crowd's excitement.

As she zipped up the bag, she glanced across the gym and spotted her moms. Agatha and Rio were chatting with a few students, their easy laughter carrying across the room. Y/n smiled softly. No matter how big the event, her moms always had a way of making everything feel personal and connected.

Throwing her camera bag over her shoulder, Y/n made her way across the gym. Agatha noticed her first, her sharp blue eyes lighting up.

"Finished with your pictures, darling?" Agatha asked, slipping an arm around Y/n's shoulders as she approached.

"Yeah," Y/n replied, leaning into the touch. "I think I got some good ones."

"Of course you did," Rio said, her grin wide as she finished her conversation with a student. "You're a pro at this now, mija."

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. "Hardly, but thanks."

"Are you ready to head home?" Agatha asked, her hand lingering on Y/n's shoulder.

"Definitely," Y/n said with a tired smile.

The ride home was quiet and comforting. The rhythmic hum of the car was soothing as Rio drove, and the familiar warmth of her mom's presence filled the space. They made a quick stop at their favorite Italian restaurant. Agatha efficiently placed the order while Rio added dessert, much to Y/n's amusement.

By the time they reached home, the comforting scent of garlic bread and marinara filled the air as they unpacked the food onto the coffee table in the living room.

"Couch dinner is the best," Rio declared, sinking into the cushions with a contented sigh.

"Only when I don't have to cook it," Agatha teased, setting down plates and utensils before joining her fiancée.

Y/n chuckled as she settled onto the couch, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around herself. "Thanks for letting me crash your night."

"Letting you?" Rio snorted. "This is your night, mija. Besides, it wouldn't be the same without you."

Agatha smiled, leaning over to kiss Y/n's temple. "She's right. Now dig in before the pasta gets cold."

After dinner, Y/n leaned back against the couch and sighed, contented. "This was perfect."

"Good," Agatha said, setting their empty plates on the coffee table before gesturing Y/n over. "Come here, darling. You've had a long day."

Y/n didn't hesitate, curling up on the couch and resting her head in her mama's lap. Agatha's fingers immediately found their way into her hair, combing through it in soft, soothing strokes.

Rio leaned back into the couch, her arm draped casually over Agatha's shoulders. Agatha shifted slightly, leaning into Rio with a contented sigh of her own, her free hand resting lightly on Rio's thigh.

"What are we watching tonight?" Rio asked, glancing at Y/n.

Y/n smiled, her voice muffled by the blanket. "Something fun. What about Mamma Mia?"

"Oh, you just want to hear Rio sing," Agatha teased, her fingers never pausing in Y/n's hair.

"Excuse me," Rio said with mock offense, "I have an excellent singing voice, thank you very much."

Y/n laughed softly. "You're not bad. A little loud, maybe, but not bad."

Rio chuckled, grabbing the remote and turning on the movie. "Well, get ready for the performance of a lifetime."

As the opening notes of "Honey, Honey" filled the room, they settled in. Agatha leaned more fully into Rio, her head resting lightly on her fiancée's shoulder.

Y/n closed her eyes, the soft rhythm of her mama's touch and the sound of her mom's laughter making her feel safe and content.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Agatha asked softly, noticing the peaceful look on Y/n's face.

Y/n nodded, her voice drowsy but happy. "Yeah. Just... glad I came home with you two."

Agatha smiled, bending down to kiss Y/n's forehead. "We're glad too, darling. Always."

Rio kissed the top of Agatha's head, her voice warm as she said, "Family nights like this are the best."

As the movie played on, the room was filled with warmth, laughter, and music-a perfect end to the day and a reminder that the home was always where her moms were no matter what.

[imtryingbuck]

My world

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x plus size!fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky’s relationship with Y/n becomes public knowledge.

Word count: 1,371

Warnings: fluff. Bucky’s in love. slight angst (mean people commenting on Y/n’s weight.)

A/N: thank you so much for the request! I am so so so so sorry that this took forever for me to do. I hope you like it🤍

Masterlist

“Just a few more questions and then I’ll let you go, your latest song, is there anyone in particular it’s about?” The interviewer smiled softly at the man whose rock band Avengers Assemble that had taken the world by storm, the leader singer Bucky, smiled shyly before moving his shoulder length hair out of his face.

“Y/n.”

“And who is that?”

“My world.” His eyes shot to the side where she was standing, a grin on his lips as her cheeks began to go red.

“A thousand of hearts have just broken all over the world.” The interviewer laughs, Bucky does too and shrugs. “How long have you two been dating?”

“Coming up to five years.”

“That’s sweet.”

Bucky gives the woman a warm smile and after saying their goodbyes and the woman thanking him for sitting down to talk, he rushes straight towards Y/n.

“Hello beautiful.”

“Hello, you did amazing.”

“You think?”

“I do.”

“Why thank you my love.” Releasing his arms from around her, he makes her giggle when he bows.

Bucky’s arm was around Y/n’s shoulder as she snuggled further into his warmth as the film continued to play, pressing a kiss to her head his phone lit up and began vibrating as notification after notification began to hide the photo of Y/n and their cat Alpine snuggled up on the very sofa he was currently sitting on.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not… oh, that interview came out and fans are going crazy.”

The film was long forgotten about as Bucky and Y/n scrolled through social media giggling like schoolchildren at the posts and comments surrounding their relationship, with everyone wanting to know who she actually was - the second they figured out who she was her instagram account had hundreds of follower requests.

Then came the mean comments, ranging from accusing her of using Bucky for fame to making comments about her weight and appearance. The “fans” were shocked to find out that a man like Bucky was dating someone like her, they said that he should be ashamed and dating a model and not someone plus sized, before she could even let the nasty comments get to her she smiled at seeing people defending her and their relationship.

“Baby, are you alright? Please don’t listen to them, I don’t want anyone other than you.”

“I’m alright, I promise.”

“But you know that, right? That it’s only you that I want.”

“I know.” She beamed up at him.

Bucky came back from the store with a skip in his step as he proudly showed the cupcake mixer box to Y/n, and that’s how Steve found the couple, in the kitchen with Bucky sitting on the counter swinging his legs as he licked the whisk clean as Y/n put the tray in the oven.

“Buck… are you having fun?”

“We’re making cupcakes.” He said happily.

“I want one, also has Tony rang you?”

“Only one! And I don’t know, my phones in the living room, why what’s up?”

“We’ve been nominated for a Grammy.”

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m not.”

Bucky jumped down off the counter, picking Y/n up and spinning her around before wrapping his arms around Steve. “This is amazing!”

The night of the Grammys had Bucky pacing around the house with nerves as Y/n got dressed - he begged and pleaded with her to come with him as his date, cheering when she finally caved and said yes.

His pacing only stopping when their bedroom door came open, his jaw dropping as he laid his eyes on her. There weren't enough words in the world for him to describe her, nothing could ever truly do her justice and he had tried, way too many times, even going as far as making up words - much to her amusement.

“My love…”

“D-Do I look okay?”

“Okay? My love you are the most stunning thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.” His heart tingles as she blushes at his words. “You’re a goddess and I am so lucky to call you mine.”

As her blush deepens she smiles shyly up at him and whispers. “Thank you. You look very handsome.”

“As always.” He laughs with a wink.

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off of her as the camera flashes blinded the both of them, his hand never leaving her waist as they posed with the rest of the band. His hand clung to hers as they sat down, his leg bouncing up and down with nerves only stopping when she squeezed his hand.

“And the winner is… Avengers Assemble!”

Bucky looked straight at Y/n as to ask if he had heard right, her beaming, proud smile had him laughing before kissing her passionately.

The speech had the audience laughing and clapping, with Bucky ending it by holding up the award and looking straight at Y/n. “This one is for you, my love.”

They all agreed that they wouldn’t go to the after party that they had been invited to, instead choosing to go back to Y/n’s and Bucky’s to celebrate their win just on their own.

Grabbing her glass Y/n stood in front of the band, her family. “I am so proud of all of you, I knew you guys would win and if it was up to me you would have won every award.” They all laugh. “I’m being serious! But anyway, you all deserve it and I know there’s going to be so much more to come.”

After each of them hug and thank her for everything Bucky takes her hand and leads them outside.

“I love you.” He whispers as he rests his forehead against hers.

“I love you.”

His hands trail down her arms until they find hers. “You’re my world, my everything, my light and my love.” Getting down on one knee and pulling out a small box out of his pocket, he smiles up at her as her eyes widen. “Will you continue to make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

“Yes! Yes I’ll marry you!”

As he slides the ring onto her finger the back garden erupted in cheers and applause as the band - their family - watched the whole thing, all gathering around them to offer their congratulations.

In every interview Bucky did he always mentioned Y/n, whether or not he was asked about her, from the moment their relationship become public knowledge he was finally allowed to post photos of her on his public account.

When he got asked about why he kept their relationship private he simply replied. “It wasn’t, my family and friends knew we were together.”

“Some people think that you were ashamed-“

“Ashamed? No.” Bucky cuts the interviewer off. “I simply chose to keep my relationship away from the world because it has nothing to do with anyone other than me and Y/n.”

“So why now? Why after five years?”

“For what? To make my relationship public?” The interviewer nods. “Because I can. Because I got fed up of people thinking I was dating Natasha who by the way is my best friend.”

“Does it not bother you that Y/n’s overweight?”

“Are you joking?“ He looks straight at Tony - the bands manager - and even his eyes were wide. “My fiancée is perfect in my eyes, and at the end of the day that’s all that matters. I’m done here.”

When that interview came out the bands fans were angry at the interviewer and praised Bucky for handling that question without getting angry - not like they could blame him. Obviously what they didn’t know is that Bucky was calling that interviewer all the names he could think of as the car took him back to the hotel where Y/n was waiting for him, the second she was in reach he burst out crying - he couldn’t understand why people couldn’t see her the way he did, he couldn’t understand why people had to be so nasty for no reason about a person they didn’t even know.

The band had just won their fifth Grammy, Bucky beaming proudly at Y/n as he held up the award. “This is for you, my beautiful wife, I love you.”

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[vodika-vibes]

Who Is Dad? You. You is Dad.

Summary: You tell Mereel you’re pregnant.

Pairing: Mereel Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 859

Warnings: Reader is pregnant, Reader mentions having gotten drunk before finding out that she was pregnant and freaks out about it

A/N: So, this was supposed to be a headcanon list written for @sweater-sloot but the plot bunnies had a different idea, and this was born instead. Uh...sorry. I promise I'll write that next week, probably.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

While your relationship with Mereel isn’t new, you and he have been dating for well over a year now, there are still some things that you and he haven’t talked about.

Marriage and children top that list.

And, as you stare at the four plastic sticks sitting on the counter in your bathroom, that’s starting to seem like something of an oversight.

Because all four of those sticks are blinking the same thing.

Pregnant.

Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.

This is…fine.

You have a good job and work from home, so having a baby wouldn’t change too much. In theory.

Not to mention, your parents are going to be thrilled. They’ve been hinting about grandbabies for years now.

You reach out with one shaking hand and pick up the closest stick to stare at the word blinking innocently up at you. Your heart drops and you swallow hard to try and keep the bile down.

Maybe…just one more test. Maybe this batch has a lot of false positives.

Blindly, you reach for the box of pregnancy tests, intent on taking just one more. Only to pause when there’s the familiar sound of your front door opening. 

Your gaze darts to your comm, and you muffle a curse.

4 pm.

Mereel’s home.

“Cyare~” He calls from the front of the house, “We’ve been invited to a party—”

And, suddenly, you’re struck with the reminder that just the other day, you went out drinking with your friends. Your hand falls to your still flat stomach and your other hand presses against your mouth.

Your baby isn’t even here yet, and you’re already failing them.

“Cyare?” Mereel’s voice sounds closer now, and you hear a light knock on the bathroom door, “You alright?”

You’re silent for a moment, and then slowly, you admit, “Not really.”

“Can I come in?” Mereel asks though he doesn’t wait for you to answer before he pops the lock and slides the door open. He ignores everything in the room, save for you, his dark eyes flickering across your face and down your body, likely looking for injuries. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

The words stick in your throat. 

So, wordlessly, you gesture to the four sticks on the counter. 

He steps closer to you and settles a hand on your shoulder before he leans over and peeks at the sticks. And you watch as his brows shoot up in surprise.

“You’re pregnant?”

“I’m sorry! I should have been more careful—”

“Woah, hey,” He turns and sets his free hand against your cheek, “What’s this ‘I’ business? Last time I checked, it takes two people to make a baby.” He pauses, “Well, when you go about it the normal way, at least.”

“We never talked about it!” You blurt, your voice wavering.

“Yeah, that was dumb of us, wasn’t it?” His other hand comes up to press against your cheek, “But it’s not the end of the world.”

“You’re not mad?”

He scoffs, “I’m the one who asked if I could stop wearing condoms, cyare. What kind of asshole would I be if I blamed you for that?” Mereel absently sweeps the four sticks into the trash and guides you into the bedroom to settle you on the edge of the bed, “Besides, I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t been considering it.”

“Considering babies?”

“Considering you having my babies.” He kneels in front of you, and one of his large hands settles on your stomach, “A baby. Your baby. You’re going to be a great mom.”

At that, a sob falls from you. “I literally went out drinking the other day—”

“Oh, cyare—”

“They’re not even here yet, and I’m already fucking them up.”

“Hey, no. None of that.” He gets up and sits on the bed next to you, “You didn’t know you were pregnant, cyare. You can’t blame yourself for not treating yourself like you were pregnant before you knew it. That’s just silly.”

“Why aren’t you mad? You should be mad!”

“I’m not going to get mad at the mother of my child. Especially when she also happens to be the love of my life. And even more especially for something she did before she knew she was pregnant.”

“But—”

“We’ll do better.” Mereel reassures you with a kind smile and a press of his forehead against yours, “This is a learning experience for the both of us, and that’s okay.”

You sniffle and nod. “You’re really not mad?” You ask, your voice small.

“You’re giving me a baby. A baby that’s half you. How could I possibly be mad?” Mereel gently presses his lips against yours, “Now, how about tonight we celebrate, and tomorrow we tell everyone about the baby?”

“I need to make an appointment—”

“Tomorrow, cyare. Tonight we’re ordering out and celebrating our family.”

And, finally, a smile lifts your lips. You reach up and cradle his face between your hands, “I love you, Mereel.”

He grins, wide and boyishly, “I love you too, cyare.” Then he, carefully, tackles you back on the bed, raining kisses all across your face as you giggle under him.

Everything will be alright. You know it.

@kimiheartblade

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@bb8-99

@falconfeather23435

@dukeoftheblackstar

@continous-mistakes

@0revna0

@trixie2023

@mira-loves-star-wars

@adriennelenoir

@rebell-ious

@silly-starfish

@heidnspeak

@maniacalbooper

@padawancat97

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@bekah_curlygirl

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@cc--2224

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@tiredbi-peach

@badbatch-bitch

@sweater-sloot

@etod

@bekahcurlygirl

@lonewolflupe

@bad4amficideas

@clones-cyare

@kiss-anon

[virtueofsanityx]

ross isn't given much time to say anything at all before the other end of the line goes dead and he's listening to static air. something in his chest feels tight, heavy, like he just heard the drowning confessions of a dying man, but something else tugs at his subconscious, too, something about maksim that he isn't understanding completely. there's sorrow for him, of course. that story likely would have tugged at anyone's heart the same way, unless that heart was just shriveled and black. unfortunately, ross' heart was too big and too full and too loving to let something like that go. moisture pools at the corners of his eyes and he quickly wipes it away.

it isn't his story to cry about.

instead, he's headed off to the garage after looking at his phone for a moment too long, off to get someone to come tow his car and get it fixed it, mind swirling with far too much to settle. tonight might be a night where the only thing that gets him any sleep at all is one of those little secret gummies stashed away in the top cabinet, the extreme emergency ones. his mind is far too wired for anything close to natural sleep to hit him.

he also feels the sudden urge to call his mother, though she doesn't answer when he tries and just pings back a message about how she's 'busy with work, honey, chat later!' which is so typical for the woman that he doesn't even feel that hollow sensation in his chest anymore. fingers tap against that place just under his ribs, a steady pattern, and he lets it flow off of him, just like he always does, just like everything else.

--

and time marches on, as it will. he's still sleeping like shit. he's still going to work every day and getting far too wrapped up in the lives of his middle schoolers. he's moved on from his poetry section to a three week study of a book that he loved as a child. they've gotten through the first few chapters and he has a stack of essays sitting on his kitchen counter, slowly pouring through them with his trusty red pen when his phone pings.

he isn't sure who he expects it to be. maybe his mom, maybe one of his sisters. the name that flashes across his screen is more surprising than that, though.

maksim.

to say that he hasn't thought about the man in the last few weeks would be the biggest lie he's ever told, but he had assumed that their time was over, brief as it had been. so the messages surprise him. make him look at the phone a little too long before he finally starts moving his fingers across the screen to reply.

[ mr. tough guy (maksim) ⟶ ✉︎ ] i'm upstairs, if you wanna drop in. [ mr. tough guy (maksim) ⟶ ✉︎ ] could definitely go for some tacos, if you're offering. [ mr. tough guy (maksim) ⟶ ✉︎ ] nah, this is my ghost, i learned how to make my hands corporeal enough to handle the phone, and i still eat tacos as a ghost. it's some major magic bullshit.

but that does mean that maksim is coming over, which does mean that ross needs to do something about the state of his apartment. it's not a total wreck, but a few clothes are scattered everywhere. a handful of dishes rest in the sink, untouched. he catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the microwave as he passes it, and wonders if he has time for a quick shower. probably not. though why he's freaking out over this guy is still a mystery. (or at the very least, he's pretending it's a mystery so he doesn't have to admit to anything, even to himself).

by the time he hears the knock on his door, he's managed to splash come cold water on his face, though it's done next to nothing for the dark circles still living permanently under his eyes. the scruffy facial hair he's let grow in over the last few weeks feels silly for some reason, but he doesn't exactly have time for a full shave. and a steeling breath is the only thing he manages before pulling the door open and flashing that smarmy, shit eating grin that he hopes invokes how absolutely and totally chill he is about all of this.

"i knew you'd miss me eventually. i'm quite the charmer." body shifts away from the doorway to wave the other man inside, eyes darting around at the not quite but somewhat less cluttered space. "don't mind the mess. we're getting close to midterms, i don't have a lot of time to do much but focus on the kids."

"Oh, just what I always wanted," Maksim drawled, voice a dark, gravelly timbre. "To hear all about your thrilling sex life and be compared to your sleazy excuse of a co-worker." The words were cutting, but the undertone in his voice revealed something deeper, something vaguely bruised. A hollow yearning. The thought of someone else circling Ross awakened heat in his chest, a restless hunger he couldn't afford to name. Ross could handle his own personal drama, he knew that. Maksim could very well tear that man apart if he wanted, rip him limb from limb... yet, exposing himself like that? Too dangerous and foolish. And this thing already felt like it was slipping from his control. Protectiveness was one thing, but this----- this felt dangerously close to possessiveness, and no human deserved that from him. No human was meant to be his. He shouldn't even be having long conversations like this. Shouldn't be letting Ross's voice crawl under his skin, into places he'd long since locked away. However... he couldn't remember the last time he'd talked to someone outside the pack just to talk. To be heard. His voice softened a degree, though the tension remained coiled beneath it. "You're right, though. My family raised me with far better standards than whatever low-life you’re comparing me to. If anything, they raised me too well. If I ever let my guard down... showed interest in the wrong person... they’d have torn me apart for it. ...Anyway, affection isn’t something you take. It's earned. What kind of pathetic fool believes forcing it could ever make it real?" Some wolves gave in to their primal urges without restraint, taking what they wanted, consequences be damned. Maksim had seen it------ felt the echo of it thrumming inside his own skin. That savage hunger, untamed and all-consuming. He told himself it wasn’t his way. Refused to believe it could be. But deep down, the fear coiled tighter; the terror that one day, the beast would break free completely, tearing through reason, leaving him nothing but a mindless, feral thing----- lost to madness, lost to himself...

In terms of lust and companionship, Maksim found himself stifled, unable to truly choose a partner of his own. There were no formal arrangements or oppressive expectations, yet anyone in the pack would likely offer someone they cared for just to please him. He could probably take one of his servants without resistance, but that thought left him hollow. The idea that someone might submit to him solely because of his rank, rather than out of true love and desire, unsettled him deeply.

He spoke suddenly, his voice distant, as he gazed at the amber liquid swirling in his glass. A faint, melancholic smile tugged at his lips, though it never touched his eyes. "You know," he began, his tone rough with an ache he couldn’t quite suppress, "your kind probably wouldn't understand... You're... what you are," he muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him, the unspoken word "human" hanging heavy in the air------ a rather harsh reminder of what they lacked. "...But a long time ago, my mother died trying to protect my father," he went on, voice thickening as the memory forced its way into the present, vividly painful. "He was broken... couldn’t defend himself, couldn’t defend anyone. He told her to run, to try and save herself. But she----- stayed with him, even though he was begging her with the last of his life slipping away. Can you imagine that? Someone choosing to die for you? To stay with you, knowing it meant their end?" His burning blue eyes darkened, and for a moment, he seemed lost in the past, lost in the image of them, his parents, locked in that final, desperate embrace. The fierce, consuming love they shared struck him with a violent intensity. "It used to kill me inside," he nearly whispered now. "Because... maybe if they'd been smarter, listened... one of them, at least... maybe I would’ve had a mother or a father just a little longer." Maksim paused, swallowing hard, as if wrestling with something far heavier than the words. "But now? Now, I think, maybe it could be wondrous to be loved like that." There was no joy in his voice, no hope, just the dark weight of something he could never have. The brutality of what he had witnessed, their devotion, their sacrifice------- had carved a scar into his soul, one that never fully healed. He could never escape the barrenness that came with knowing such love existed, yet never having it for himself.

There’s an uncomfortable pause, the kind that stretches too long, before an icy, undeniable truth settles in----- he’s said far too much. Maksim blinks rapidly, desperately trying to hold back the storm of emotion threatening to spill from his eyes, his throat tight as he clears it, attempting to regain control. He pretends not to notice the worried Omega standing in the doorway, watching him with concern. "...Anyway, yeah, so you don't have to worry about me being another Rick," his voice is all business now, as he straightens up in his chair, jaw tight, pushing the emotions aside. "I’m here to repay my debt, that’s all. Get your vehicle fixed and let me know if anything else comes up, especially if you feel unsafe. Goodbye." He ends the call with haste, finger swiping quickly across the screen to ensure Ross can’t say another word, or, God forbid, bring up anything about his parents------ about that kind of devotion. Maksim knows that a mere human would never understand it, and he has no interest in hearing any more from that little creature. But as the call disconnects, he stares at his phone for a moment longer than necessary, the severity of what he just shared suddenly crashing down on him. A strange, uncomfortable feeling tugs at his chest, a sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time. Vulnerable. Open. Something he hasn’t been with anyone in ages, not since the pack was supposed to be his everything. He shakes it off, trying to dismiss the awkward mix of emotions by shoving them down, down, until they're nothing but a dull roar once more.

---

Over the next few weeks, Maksim's so absorbed in his duties that, thankfully, he doesn’t have a moment to think about checking in on the human. Ross hasn't called him in a screaming panic, so Maksim doesn't feel an ounce of guilt for shifting his focus from an absurd debt he never should’ve owed in the first place to the pressing matters of pack business. He helps out with some of the younger pups, offering a hand to the women, and spends long hours on patrol, searching for any sign of lurking enemies. The days blur into one long stretch of meetings with the Elders, and before long, he falls into a constant rhythm. But the meetings begin to take a dark turn, escalating rapidly when a proposal is put forward: Maksim should marry another member from a neighboring pack to solidify an alliance. This would give them the numbers they’d need should another war arise. It was ridiculous. Archaic. Maksim had always respected the traditions of his people, but this? This was a step too far. But, predictably, his mother and father's "Great Sacrifice" was brought into the conversation, as though their legacy should force him into decisions that didn’t align with his own heart. The implication of 'how dare he disrespect their memory by not doing whatever was necessary to secure the future of the pack' pushed him over the edge.

After a while, Maksim couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his keys and hopped on his motorcycle, a sleek black Triumph Bonneville T100, and tore down the road toward the inner town. He didn’t fully understand it, but something inside him longed------ an unshakeable craving for contact that felt both foreign and familiar. Maybe he should reach out to that human. The thought made no sense, was utterly insane, and yet he couldn’t shake the tension, the strange, tight pull deep within him. The wind whipped through his messy dark hair as he rode, lost in thought. Was a surprise visit rude by human standards? Probably. At least from Maksim, it would be. So, he parked his bike a little ways down the street, far enough to be inconspicuous, and sent a few tentative messages through his phone.

[ Human Ross ⟶ ✉︎ ] I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d do a courtesy check in. [ Human Ross ⟶ ✉︎ ] Want me to bring over something to eat? [ Human Ross ⟶ ✉︎ ] If you’re still alive, that is.

[pibsboots]

I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.

Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.

It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.

When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.

Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.

Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.

I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.

But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.

With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.

If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.

Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.

Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.

It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.

All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.

There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.

[dalishthunder]

Committed a social faux pas today and I hate it

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Sex in the suit (Wolverine)

Description: Y/N wants Logan to fuck her in the Wolverine suit

Warning: Smut, Wade

Word Count: 1,123k

Logan looked so hot in his suit. Y/N couldn’t keep her eyes off him. So much so that Wade teases her about it anytime he sees her staring at him. “Ya know I don’t blame you, Peanut looks hot af in that suit.” Wade says, making Y/N giggle. Logan looks over and sees her giggling. He walks over to them, “You making my girl laugh?” He asked jokingly. Wade raises his eyebrows under his mask, “Listen Friendo you have no reason to be jealous. Little Y/N over here has a mask kink.” Y/N’s jaw dropped at that and looked over at her friend shocked. Logan didn’t really have a reaction which worried her even though they were dating. She looked at him worried but he didn’t even look mad or upset. “Wow, are you turning her down? I’ll take you up on that, cupcake.” Logan glared at him. 

“So the suit turns you on?” He asked them as she ate dinner. She chewed slowly and looked at him. “Wrong time to ask, don't ya think?” She asked. He shrugged, “You’re almost done.” He had a point but she was thinking about food not him fucking her in the suit….well shit now she was. “But yeah, especially the mask.” She says. He raises his brows, “really?” He asked.

She can’t think straight when thinking about it. He looked so sexy in it and all she wanted to do was fuck him. She finished her last bite and quickly took the plate from her. She looked at him as he set it on the table. He came over to her and picked her up, making her giggle. “You keep giggling like that, I’ll fuck you right here on the table babygirl.” He growls. “As long as you wear the suit I don’t care where you fuck me.” She purred. He set her on the counter, “stay right here.” He runs out of the room leaving her in her thoughts. She bit her lip just thinking about what was in store.

She decided to help him out by taking off her sweats leaving her in her shirt and panties. Her panties were lace and yellow fitting the vibe. Her panties were nearly soaked. It wasn’t  too much longer that he walked in the kitchen in the suit and he had the mask on as well. Her jaw dropped as if it was the first time seeing him in the suit. He walked up to her and she wrapped her legs around him pulling him closer, “You look so hot baby.” She said and kissed him. The mask made it a little harder but it was still enjoyable. His large hands moved up her thighs to her wet panties.

She gasped in the kiss as he rubbed over her clothed clit. “Fuck you’re wet.” He groaned. She moaned and threw her head back. His finger sped up the pace and his other hand gripped her hip hard, probably leaving a mark. She tried to move her hips but he stopped her, making her whine. “Relax baby. I want to fuck you on my cock.” His deep voice said. She whimpered at his words and he stopped rubbing her. He pulled down her panties and threw them somewhere in the kitchen. He picked her up and turned her around so her ass was up in the air.

“This beautiful ass is just begging for it.” He said, slapping it. She moaned and shook her ass for him. He pulled down his pants and stroked himself a few times before lining up with her wet hole. He rubbed himself against her a few times before sliding in. He was bigger than anyone she’s had sex with prior but so she still was getting used to his size. It took him a minute to fully be inside of her. Her gasps as she got used to him always got him. Once he was in her, he let her adjust before gripping her hips. His grip was tight as he fucked her back on his cock. He wasn’t joking when he said he was gonna fuck her on his cock.

It was long before she was making the loudest noise possible. Luckily Wade wasn’t staying over like he usually would so they both could be as loud as they wanted. “Fuck Wolvy your dick hits all the right spots.” She whines. Never had she called him that before. But by the speed of him slamming her onto his dick increasing, she knew he liked it. “Fuck sweetheart your pussy is so warm and made for me.” He groaned. Her hands had nothing to grip onto, so her fingers dug into the table.

“Right where we eat letting me take you like the dirty whore you are.” She moaned at that and clenched around him. “Fuck baby girl if you do that again I might cum.” He moaned. He rarely ever moaned, just grunts and groans so she almost fell over the edge hearing that sound. “I’m close.” She whined and he grunted. His pace was inhuman fast as he had her fucking him and basically  rearranging her organs. He twitched inside of her and they both knew that words didn’t and couldn’t be said. Her eyes rolled back and she nearly screamed his name as she came all over his cock.

He slowed the pace to let her ride out her orgasm. Little breathy moans left her mouth. He picked up the pace again making her whine out of sensitivity. “I know, baby. Daddy’s almost there.” He grunted. His hands squeezed her hips hard and he came inside of her not caring about protection. She gasped feeling his cum fill her up for the first time. He pulled out of her and watched as his cum spilled out of her. He took his hand and swirled her hole and pushed some of it back in her. She whimpered and he chuckled, “Be kinda hot to see you pregnant with my baby.” He said.

“Yeah that would be hot, Peanut.” They both turned to see Wade in his Deadpool suit sitting on the window. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Logan growled. Y/N hid her body the best that she could from Wade. “Relax. I nearly missed the climax.” Logan growled and stormed up to him after pulling up his pants. “Why are you mad, Peanut? You at least got some action.” He said in defense. “Wade go home.” Y/N whined, annoyed that he saw them like that. “Not the kind of whining I want to hear.” He said and Wolverine’s claws came out. “Leave.” He growled at Wade and he sighed. “Fine. But next time invite me will ya?” “WADE!”

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Vegas Baby | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: After winning his fourth world championship, Max Verstappen stuns the world with a live radio proposal.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @altxanna idea so good it made me get over my writer's block and write this 4.2k monstrosity.

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen crossed the finish line in fifth place, but that didn’t matter. The entire world was fixated on the fact that he had just won his fourth World Championship.

“AND MAX VERSTAPPEN DOES IT AGAIN! FOUR WORLD TITLES!” David Croft shouted, his voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. The Las Vegas skyline lit up like a fireworks display on overdrive, the crowd roaring in approval.

“Forget where he finished—he’s a four-time world champion!” Martin Brundle yelled, equally excited. “This is history!”

Max, however, barely seemed to notice he’d crossed the line in fifth. He was just… Max. Calm. Collected. His voice came through the radio, steady as always, but with a hint of amusement.

“Thanks, guys. It’s been an incredible season. I’m so proud of the team. Huge thanks to GP, Christian, everyone.”

“You’ve done it, Max! Four-time champion, man!” GP screamed, clearly unable to keep the excitement in. “This is massive, mate! You’ve earned this!”

“Yeah, I know,” Max said, his voice deadpan. “But listen, there’s one more thing.”

The radio went quiet for a second.

“Uh… What’s that, Max?” GP asked, his tone suddenly cautious.

Max didn’t respond right away. Then, he casually dropped the bomb.

“Y/n, a bet’s a bet. We’re getting married tonight.”

“WHAT?!” GP exploded. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?”

Max’s tone didn’t change. “We’re getting married. Vegas chapel. Tonight.”

The entire Red Bull garage froze. Even the other engineers looked around in total confusion.

Max continued, his voice as if he were discussing the weather. “It’s been planned. I won the fourth title, she agreed to the bet, so… wedding time.”

GP sputtered. “Max, you—WHAT? No, no, no. You can’t just say that on the radio! You can’t just—”

“I’m doing it,” Max said, already tired of the conversation. “It’s happening. Vegas. Tonight.”

The radio was dead silent for a long moment, then GP finally spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “Max, I—What in the world did I just hear? Are you seriously making your wedding announcement over the team radio?”

“Of course, I’m serious,” Max replied. “She said if I won my fourth title in Vegas, I could pick the wedding date. So, I picked tonight.”

“Max, you can’t—you—what the hell is wrong with you?!” GP spluttered.

Back in the commentary booth, David Croft could barely hold it together. “Did Max Verstappen just announce his wedding on live radio after winning his fourth world championship? Is that what I just heard?!”

“I think that’s exactly what you heard, Crofty,” Martin Brundle said, voice dripping with astonishment. “This is pure, unfiltered Verstappen.”

David Crofty just stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. “Honestly, I can’t even process this. We’ve seen some wild moments in F1, but this... this might just take the cake.”

“Yeah,” Brundle said with a chuckle. “You can’t script this stuff. Not even in Vegas.”

Meanwhile, in Red Bull’s hospitality area, Y/n was standing stock-still, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. The radio call still blaring in her ears.

“Did—did he just announce our wedding? Like… right now?!” she hissed, her hand gripping the counter in disbelief.

A Red Bull mechanic standing nearby looked just as stunned. “Uh, I think he did, yeah.”

“He’s lost it,” one engineer muttered under his breath, his face pale.

“I don’t even know what’s happening anymore,” another whispered.

The others weren’t any better off, most of them looking like they might faint. A PR rep came over, trying to maintain professionalism but clearly in shock. “Y/n, um… Max just… did he just announce your wedding?”

“Don’t look at me,” Y/n groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t even… He’s the worst.”

“Vegas, baby!” another joked, only to get smacked in the arm by Y/n as she stormed past.

Back on the track, Max, utterly relaxed, parked his car in parc fermé and stepped out, throwing his helmet in the air before catching it like it was no big deal.

“So, yeah,” Max said, grinning at the cameras. “Got my fourth title, and now I get to marry my girl. Vegas chapel, let’s go!”

The reporters and photographers surrounding him stared at him in utter confusion.

“Wait, what? You’re—what?!” one reporter stammered.

Max smirked. “Yep, Vegas. I won, she lost, and now we’re getting married.”

He tossed a thumbs-up to the camera as if it were a completely normal thing to say.

“Max,” one reporter finally managed, “you’re serious about this, right? You’re really getting married in Vegas?”

Max’s grin widened. “I’m serious. A bet’s a bet. No turning back.”

Back in the Red Bull garage, chaos had officially set in. Christian Horner, who had been pacing for the last five minutes, finally stopped and glared at a nearby mechanic. “What am I supposed to do with this now?!”

“I don’t know, Christian,” the mechanic said, holding up his hands in defeat. “Maybe we start picking out flowers?”

“Someone get me a drink,” Christian muttered, walking off, leaving a sea of confusion behind him.

Y/n stormed through the paddock like a woman possessed, her face a mix of disbelief, panic, and barely contained rage.

She spotted Max leaning casually against a barrier in parc fermé, looking like he had no care in the world—despite having just announced their impending Vegas wedding to the entire world. He was surrounded by Lewis, Fernando, George, and Carlos, who were all still there congratulating him and clearly trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“MAX!” Y/n screeched as she closed the distance.

Max turned, his smug grin stretching even wider. “Oh, there she is! The future Mrs. Verstappen. Took you long enough.”

Y/n planted herself directly in front of him, glaring. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Max blinked, his expression far too innocent. “What? I kept my promise.”

“Your promise?” Y/n echoed, incredulous. “You hijacked the championship celebration to announce a fake wedding! On LIVE TELEVISION!”

“It’s not fake,” Max said matter-of-factly. “A bet is a bet.”

Carlos, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, wait, wait. You bet your wedding on the championship?”

“Of course,” Max said with a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m a man of my word.”

George choked on air. “You’re a menace.”

“Exactly,” Y/n said, throwing her hands in the air. “Max, this is insane! You can’t just—”

“Relax, schatje,” Max interrupted, his tone annoyingly casual. “It’s Vegas. This is what people do here.”

“Not normal people!” Y/n snapped.

Lewis, still dabbing at his face with a towel, gave a bewildered laugh. “I’m sorry, are we actually talking about a real wedding right now?”

“Yes,” Max said confidently. “Tonight.”

“No,” Y/n shot back.

“Yes.”

“MAX!”

“Yes, Y/n,” Max said, leaning forward slightly. “We are getting married tonight, and that’s final.”

“Final?!” she spluttered. “How is this final? There’s no plan, no venue, no—”

“Vegas has plenty of chapels,” Max interrupted smoothly.

“I don’t have a dress!”

“You’ll look great in anything,” Max countered.

Y/n groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even have someone to walk me down the aisle!”

Max tilted his head, clearly unbothered. “Oh, that’s easy.” He turned to his left, where Lewis stood mid-sip from his water bottle. “Lewis! Can you walk Y/n down the aisle tonight?”

Lewis froze, the bottle halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Can you walk her down the aisle?” Max repeated, as if this were a completely reasonable request.

“I—” Lewis blinked, looking between Max and Y/n. “Uh… sure?”

“What?! No!” Y/n shouted.

“Why me?” Lewis asked, baffled.

Max shrugged. “You’re a world champion. She deserves someone of high status.”

Before Y/n could combust, Fernando Alonso stepped forward, a sly grin on his face. “Hold on,” he said, raising a hand. “If anyone is walking her down the aisle, it should be me. I’m the most appropriate for the role.”

Lewis turned to him, visibly confused. “How do you figure that?”

Fernando gave a dramatic shrug. “Experience. I’m wiser, more distinguished. A father figure, if you will.”

Y/n groaned, “Oh my God, Fernando—”

Lewis snorted. “Father figure? Please. More like grandfather figure.”

The group exploded into laughter. George doubled over, wheezing, while Carlos clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his own cackles.

“You wound me, Hamilton,” Fernando said, his tone mock-offended.

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong,” Lewis quipped, smirking.

“This is not happening,” Y/n muttered, covering her face with her hands.

Max leaned closer to her, his grin pure mischief. “See? Problem solved. You have two excellent candidates to walk you down the aisle.”

“This is NOT solved!” Y/n screeched.

George finally spoke up, still chuckling. “You know, for the record, this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen”

“Agreed,” Carlos said, shaking his head with a grin. “But I can’t look away.”

Max clapped his hands together. “Alright, then. We’re all set! Lewis or Fernando—it’s Y/n’s choice.”

“I CHOOSE NEITHER!” she yelled, clearly on the verge of a breakdown.

Max leaned back, entirely unfazed. “Suit yourself. But one way or another, schatje, we’re getting married tonight.”

Y/n turned to the other drivers, her eyes pleading. “Can someone PLEASE talk some sense into him?”

Lewis shrugged. “I don’t know, Y/n. He seems pretty set on it. You might just have to roll with it.”

Fernando smirked. “And let me know when you decide. I’ll be practicing my ‘giving away the bride’ speech.”

George buried his face in his hands again, mumbling, “This is a fever dream.”

Y/n, meanwhile, was contemplating her life choices as Max grinned at her, utterly pleased with himself. This was going to be a nightmare—and she was the star attraction.

Suddenly, Lando came sprinting out of nowhere, practically skidding to a stop in front of Max. His curls were a chaotic mess, and his face was split into an ear-to-ear grin that made him look like an overexcited puppy.

“MAX!” Lando yelled, throwing his arms up. “FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION! YOU LEGEND! Also mate, what the hell?! Are you really getting married?!” 

Max turned, his ever-present grin widening. “Obviously.”

“I thought it was just a rumor!” Lando said, flinging his helmet onto a nearby table. “I mean, come on, you say insane stuff on the radio all the time! I figured this was one of those things.”

“Nope.” Max popped the “p” for emphasis. “It’s happening. Tonight.”

Y/n, who had been pacing nearby in a futile attempt to process her life choices, groaned audibly. “I hate all of you. All of you.”

Lando glanced at her, then back at Max. “Wait, so this is real? Like… actually real?”

“As real as it gets,” Max replied, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “And since you’re here…”

Lando squinted. “Since I’m here, what?”

Max’s grin turned sly, his hand still on Lando’s shoulder. “How do you feel about being my best man tonight?”

Lando froze, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Max said, still looking far too pleased with himself.

“Me?!” Lando gestured wildly at himself, his voice rising an octave. “Why me?!”

“Why not you?” Max countered smoothly.

“I don’t know!” Lando threw up his hands. “You could ask your trainer, your engineer—anyone! We’ve been rivals this entire year!”

Max tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “Exactly. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs this year, yeah? Fighting for the championship and everything. But at the end of the day…” He paused, his grin shifting to something more genuine. “You’re a good friend, Lando. One of the best. And I’d like us to bury the hatchet. Tonight.”

The sudden sincerity hit Lando like a truck. His eyes widened, his lip quivering just a little as he stared at Max. “Max…”

The group went quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with the chaos of the paddock swirling around them. Even Y/n stopped pacing to stare, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You really mean that?” Lando asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Of course,” Max said, giving Lando a firm pat on the back. “You’ve been there through all of it, mate. Who else would I want standing next to me tonight?”

Lando’s hand flew to his face, his bottom lip wobbling. “Oh my God. I think I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t cry,” George mumbled, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “This is ridiculous enough already.”

“Shut up, George!” Lando snapped, though it lacked any real venom. He sniffled, blinking rapidly. “Max, you big idiot. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Max smirked. “Well, don’t get used to it.”

Y/n, watching this entire exchange with her arms crossed, muttered under her breath, “I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

Carlos, standing nearby, leaned over to George and whispered, “Do you think Lando will actually cry at the altar?”

“Oh, 100%,” George replied without hesitation.

“I’M NOT CRYING!” Lando shouted, wiping furiously at his eyes.

“Sure, mate,” Carlos said, grinning.

“Shut up!” Lando whirled back to Max, pointing a slightly wobbly finger at him. “Fine! I’ll do it. I’ll be your best man. But only because that was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Good.” Max nodded approvingly. “We’re gonna have a great time. Bring tissues, though. You’ll need them.”

Lando groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re emotional,” Max teased, clapping him on the back again.

“Can I leave now?” Y/n interjected, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Nope,” Max said cheerfully. “We’ve still got wedding planning to do. And Lando needs to rehearse his speech.”

“Speech?!” Lando exclaimed, his face paling. “No one said anything about a speech!”

“Oh, come on,” Carlos said, grinning. “Just wing it.”

“This is a nightmare,” Y/n muttered.

“See, schatje?” Max said, turning to her with a mischievous smile. “Everything’s settled”

“Kill me now,” she groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

“Not before the wedding,” Max quipped. “I need my bride alive, schatje.”

Carlos, grinning, nudged George. “Do you think she’ll kill him before they even make it to the altar?”

“I actually might” Y/n snapped, making everyone laugh—except her.

Max clapped his hands together, cutting through the lingering laughter. “Alright, boys, fun’s over. See you after the podium, yeah?”

Carlos snorted, throwing an arm around George. “Come on, hombre. Let’s get out of here before they decide to do something crazier.”

Max turned to Carlos, his grin turning devious. “Speaking of you, Carlos, I need another groomsman. What do you say?”

Carlos blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Me? Really?”

“Obviously,” Max said, rolling his eyes. “You’re good at standing around looking pretty. Perfect for the job.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos said, puffing out his chest dramatically.

Y/n, standing a few feet away, raised her hand. “Dibs on George for my side, then.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”

“I called dibs,” Y/n said firmly, crossing her arms.

“That’s not how this works!” Max exclaimed, glaring at her.

“It is now,” she shot back, grinning.

Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You are impossible.”

“You’re marrying me,” she said sweetly. “This is your problem now.”

Before Max could argue further, he grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the group. “We need to pick more people. Properly.”

As they walked through the paddock, Max started listing names under his breath. “Alright, I want Charles on my side.”

“No way,” Y/n said immediately.

Max frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I’m picking him,” Y/n declared, speeding up her pace as soon as she spotted Charles standing by his car.

Max groaned. “You can’t just steal all the good ones!”

“Watch me.”

By the time they reached Charles, Y/n was already stepping in front of Max, her grin wicked. “Charles! You’re going to be my maid of honor.”

Charles looked up, his face blank with confusion. “Wait, what?”

Max shoved Y/n aside, scowling. “Ignore her, Charles. You’re going to be one of my groomsmen.”

“No, he’s not!” Y/n snapped, stepping back in front of Max.

“Yes, he is!” Max shot back, sidestepping her.

Charles blinked between them, his brows furrowing. “What is happening right now?”

“You’re gonna help me with my wedding,” Y/n said, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “It’s happening tonight.”

Charles just stared at her, still not sure if he was in a dream or being pranked. “Uh… are you serious?”

“Charles, listen to me,” Y/n said, grabbing his hands dramatically. “I need you on my side. You’re the only one who understands how insane Max is.”

Max pulled her back by the shoulder. “He does not understand that! He’s my friend, not yours.”

Charles raised a hand. “Guys, what—”

“Do you really want to stand next to Max?” Y/n asked, cutting him off.

Max glared at her. “Do you really want to be stuck with her?”

“I feel like I don’t want to be stuck with either of you,” Charles said cautiously, his confusion growing.

“Charles,” Y/n pleaded, gripping his arm. “Please. You’ll get to wear something cool”

Charles blinked, still completely befuddled. “I… I don’t know what’s happening. Am I even invited to this wedding? Because you’re asking me to do a lot without any context.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Max interjected, gesturing wildly. “You’ll have more fun on my side. I’ll let you hold the rings.”

“No we’re letting Yuki hold the rings!” Y/n shouted.

Charles blinked again, looking between them like they’d both lost their minds. “Are you two seriously fighting over me right now?”

“Yes!” they yelled in unison.

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Say yes to me, Charles,” Y/n said, batting her eyelashes.

“No, say yes to me,” Max countered, practically growling.

Charles threw his hands up. “Fine! I’ll be on Y/n’s side. But only because she asked first.”

Y/n cheered, sticking her tongue out at Max. “Suck it!”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Max muttered as Charles smirked at him.

The wedding was somehow happening. In the span of a few hours—thanks to an intense series of last-minute phone calls, frantic text messages, and a team of Red Bull employees being worked to the bone—the ceremony was set to begin. And despite the fact that no one really knew how they’d gotten here, the whole thing had turned into the weirdest Formula 1 event in history.

Y/n stood in the back, adjusting her dress, eyeing the people around her in disbelief. Max had somehow managed to throw together an entire wedding in record time, which was somehow both impressive and terrifying. She was walking down the aisle with Lewis and Fernando—two of the most iconic figures in F1. She couldn’t decide between them, so she’d invited both to walk her down the aisle. Because, why not?

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Lewis asked, smoothing out his jacket. His suit was impeccable, of course. He was an icon of style, so a last-minute wedding wasn’t going to stop him from looking good.

“I’m just trying to survive this,” Y/n muttered

“We’re in Vegas. Anything goes,” Fernando quipped, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “At least the wedding's got personality."

“You both know I’ll never live this down, right?” Y/n said, shaking her head. "This whole thing is so Max, I feel like I should apologize to everyone for being part of it."

“You’ll be fine,” Fernando added with a smile, adjusting his cufflinks. “It’s Max. You know he doesn’t do anything half-heartedly. He’s probably already planned the honeymoon.”

Y/n laughed nervously. “I’m pretty sure he has. You’ve both seen what happens when Max gets an idea in his head. And somehow... this is actually happening.”

“You’ve got this,” Lewis said. “We’re here for you.”

Before Y/n could respond, the doors swung open, signaling that it was time. The aisle was a bit too short for a proper procession, and the whole thing had a sense of hurried chaos as they started walking down toward the altar.

At the front, Max stood there waiting, looking like he was about to burst with excitement. His best man, Lando, had been fighting tears all night and was now sniffling into a tissue. "I swear this is the happiest day of my life," Lando muttered to Carlos, wiping his eyes.

Carlos, looking slightly concerned, just shook his head. “It’s their wedding Lando, not even your own. stop bawling.”

“Yeah, but it’s their wedding,” Lando said, eyes still damp. “There’s too much love in the air.”

Max had his hands tucked in his pockets, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. When he spotted Y/n, he gave her an exaggerated wink, as if to say, “We made it.”

“You good?” Fernando asked, glancing at Y/n as they reached the front.

“I’m questioning every life choice I’ve made,” Y/n muttered under her breath, feeling the full weight of the absurdity of the situation.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Max said, grinning.

At the back of the room, Oscar and Franco stood with baskets of flowers, both looking thoroughly confused in their roles as flower boys. Oscar had been dragged into this because of his unwillingness to protest. Franco, on the other hand, was too amused to care about the situation and just went along with it.

“Oscar, why are we doing this again?” Franco whispered, furrowing his brows as he sprinkled petals on the floor.

“Because Yuki said we had to. And I’m not arguing with him,” Oscar muttered, holding his basket as if it were a grenade about to go off.

“Who cares? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Attending Max Vertsappen’s wedding?,” Franco said with stars in his eyes, “I’ll tell my grandkids about this.”

Yuki, holding the rings, couldn’t contain his excitement as he gave them instructions. “Guys, you’re doing great. Just, uh, try not to look confused. I need this to look professional. Oscar throw the petals properly! more passion! more energy! more footwork!”

“I’m already questioning my entire existence,” Oscar said, looking at Franco for solidarity. Franco just smiled and threw a handful of petals into the air.

The Elvis officiating the wedding was already in full swing, not entirely sure of the gravity of the moment but having a blast nonetheless.

"Y’all ready to get hitched?" Elvis said, his voice more vibrant than Y/n could’ve imagined.

Max, barely containing his excitement, looked over at Y/n. “Ready for this, love?” he asked, his voice low, though it carried a hint of playfulness.

Y/n smiled, glancing at him for a moment. “More than ever.”

Then, in front of everyone, they exchanged their vows.

Max spoke first, his voice unwavering, but there was an undeniable tenderness in his words. “Y/n, you’ve turned my world upside down. You’ve made every race, every moment, better just by being there. I promise to keep being the person you’ve decided to stand at an altar with, the person you love—even when I’m an absolute nightmare. I’ll always fight for us, for this. I love you.”

Y/n could feel her heart in her throat as she spoke. “Max, you’ve always been… Max. But you’ve shown me that you are a person with the biggest heart. You’ve made me laugh, cry, and love harder than I thought I could. You’re my best friend, and I can’t wait for the next chapter of this crazy life with you. I love you.”

There were no grand gestures or over-the-top theatrics; instead, it was just them—raw, honest, and completely present in this moment.

Max smiled at her, the kind of smile that made everything feel right, before turning to the officiant.

“Elvis, hit me with that ‘you may kiss the bride’ line,” Max said, giving a wink.

And so, amidst the madness, they kissed, sealing their vows with a moment that felt right in all its simplicity. The crowd cheered, some clapping and others, like Lando, wiping away happy tears. It wasn’t the wedding anyone had expected, but it was exactly what Max and Y/n had needed.

As they pulled away, Y/n’s gaze met Max’s, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of them, everything else fading away.

As the ceremony ended and the newlyweds turned to leave, the crowd of friends and teammates erupted into applause, some of them still trying to process what had just happened.

Lando was grinning, wiping his eyes. “This is so perfect. I’m still not sure how we managed to get here in two hours, but it’s amazing.”

Charles was smiling too, giving Y/n a thumbs up. “Congrats, both of you. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Max is married now.”

Lewis patted Max on the back. “She’s got you now. Good luck with that.”

Y/n smiled at him, a little breathless. “So, are you planning to annoy me for the rest of our lives?”

Max grinned back, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Absolutely. You’ve signed up for it, so no turning back now.”

Everyone laughed, but there was a deep sincerity in the air. This was their moment—imperfect and hurried, but beautiful in its own way.