#don’t get me started on how long I starred at this

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: Your Next Cutest Moment With Your Crush ⋆.𐙚 ̊

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How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

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˙⋆✮PILE I

Cards pulled: 8 of swords, 4 of wands, the moon, 8 of cups, 10 of wands

DAMN PILE 1. First of all, let me say this: you are not expecting this moment to be as soft and emotionally charged as it’s gonna be. Like, this gives "oops I didn’t know you cared like that" energy. Baby, we’re starting with confusion, and overthinking from your side. You think you're stuck in the friend zone or on the outside of their world, but honey, you have no clue what’s simmering under the surface. 

So, picture this: It’s a casual hangout—maybe a small get-together, birthday, or group thing (4 of Wands is like the party card, but lowkey, cozy vibes). There’s laughter, chatter, but you? You’re kind of in your head, unsure of where you stand. And that's when they notice. Oh yes. They clock that you’re feeling distant. And guess what? They do something about it. This moment becomes special because your crush sees you — like, really notices you. The 10 of Wands is screaming that they are carrying a lot too — probs crushing hard but holding it in because they think you wouldn’t be into them like that (plot twist: wrong). So here you both are, lowkey struggling under all these feelings you think the other one doesn’t have — until bam, the vibe shifts.

 BABY. They are shooketh. Like, this person has been holding back so much again, 10 of Wands. They are Carrying all these feelings and not telling anyone (Relatable content). And in this moment, seeing you? It hits different. Their feelings are rising to the surface, even if they don’t confess right away. You’ll probably catch their eyes lingering a little too long, voice softer, body turned toward you like you’re the only person in the room. After? They’ll be thinking about this moment on repeat. Like, analyzing everything you said, everything. You’ll live rent-free in their mind, okay?

If we talk about how they’ll feel after that, then, Honestly? Shook but in a good way. Like, "Hold up, are we having a moment right now?" maybe pretending to be chill but internally screaming because finally, there’s proof that this connection is not one-sided. And here’s the kicker: You’ll feel lighter because finally, someone sees you beyond what you present to the world. To give you a hint, Maybe someone even mentions the moon? Also, I’m hearing soft, nostalgic songs — think "Until I Found You" by Stephen Sanchez or something giving "you’re my secret crush I didn’t know how to say it" vibes.

Okay babe, listen up: Don’t run from this moment. When they open up to you or give you that look, you know the look, lean into it. You don’t have to give in everything, but give them something back. Smile a little longer. Touch their arm when you respond, . Say something real like, "I didn’t think you noticed, but I’m glad you do." (i sound like a relationship coach right now😭) if you do this, BOOM door opened for more.An advice is, stop overthinking your worth in their eyes (I say this lovingly). You are so much more seen and adored than you realize. The moment will be so much better if you allow yourself to believe that.

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˙⋆✮PILE II

Cards Pulled: the world reversed, the star, 8 of pentacles, 7 of swords reversed, the devil

Ooooh okay, babe, pile 2 — let me just say, the energy coming off this spread is intense but kinda sexy, like that moment in a movie when two people accidentally brush hands, but you know it's not that accidental. So let’s dive in because this is tea you need to hear.

So first of all—The World reversed sitting next to The Star? BABY, this cute moment is about to hit you like unfinished business meets healing energy. I’m seeing a vibe where either you and your crush haven’t really gotten to that “real talk” moment yet OR there’s some tension under the surface — like, y’all are low-key circling each other but haven’t admitted that this connection is a little too charged to be just casual. And then bam, the moment happens. 8 of Pentacles is giving me “mundane but magical,” so imagine, you're both focused on something else, but in the middle of all that, something shifts. Maybe you’re working on a project, helping a friend, or just caught in conversation when suddenly, it gets weirdly deep. Like… you drop a vulnerable comment without realizing, and they catch it. 7 of Swords reversed says the mask slips — for both of you.

Now here is when The Devil enters the chat. And listen, when I say chemistry off the charts, I mean red flag, green flag, I-don’t-even-care-I-wanna-touch-you kind of tension. It’s giving lingering glances, leaning in a little too close, breath hitching in your throat kinda moment. Like, someone says something stupidly flirty (maybe joking to cover it up😶‍🌫️), but you both freeze because why does it feel like you're standing too close in a crowded room? What makes this moment special, though, is that mix of vulnerability and raw attraction. The Star softens The Devil’s intense vibe—so instead of this being some flirty joke you move past, it's gonna feel like "I see you for real" energy. And The World reversed says this is a long time coming. Y’all have been dancing around this for a hot minute, and finally, the tension snaps—but in a cute, sweet way that makes your heart flutter and leaves you questioning if that just happened.

Now here’s the fun part: how they feel during and after? Okay, babe, they're SHOOK. Like full-on rethinking their life choices shook. They didn’t mean to be that obvious, but 7 of Swords reversed says they can't hide it anymore—your vibe gets under their skin in a way they can't explain. And after? Obsessing. Low-key watching your socials, replaying what was said in their head, wondering if you picked up on their feelings. Meanwhile, you're out here also spiraling in the cutest way, like “Did they mean that touch? Was I imagining it? Why did I blush so hard?” Symbolic signs? Omg, Devil + Star combo tells me music is important. Either a song plays right as this moment happens, or you’ll hear a song that reminds you of that exact vibe afterward—like those songs that make you feel like you're the main character having a slow-burn love story. And also, I’m seeing mirrors or reflections—maybe you catch them staring at you through a window, or you glance at each other in a reflection and realize the eye contact is a little too intense.

Just be in the moment. If you wanna drop a little "Hmm, interesting..." smirk, do it. If you wanna linger a little longer in the conversation, do it. You’re safe to explore this tension. There might be aa shift in your dynamic where y’all go from casual/crushing to "oh, we’re really a thing, huh?" Even if it’s unspoken at first, trust me, you’ll both walk away from this moment knowing something changed.

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˙⋆✮ PILE III

Cards pulled: 9 of pentacles, 8 of wands, 3 of pentacles, 2 of pentacles, 6 of cups

Omg! my dear PILE 3 when I say your next cute moment with your crush is giving rom-com in real life, I’m not exaggerating. The way these cards are laid out, I swear it’s like watching the scene of a movie where the tension builds, something adorable (and chaotic) happens, and suddenly, you’re both realizing there’s something more here. And yes—so many pentacles—like HELLO? Stability, vibes. 

 So first off, HONEY, this isn't just a fleeting, "oops we bumped into each other at the coffee shop" type of moment. No no. With the 9 of Pentacles, 3 of Pentacles, and 2 of Pentacles, this moment is happening in a space where you're both comfortable but lowkey performing for each other, like a mutual friends’ gathering, a casual group project meet, or some type of shared task/event where you both gotta show up and work together. BUT—here’s the tea—the moment you two are in the same space, it's like everything starts moving fast, because of the 8 of Wands energy, and suddenly you're both matching each other’s energy, bantering, and doing the most to lowkey impress each other, while pretending you're totally chill.

it’s going to feel sweet and natural. Maybe you’ll bring up an inside joke from the past, or one of you will recall a cute memory you shared before—something that softens the whole moment and makes you both realize how comfortable you are together. Like imagine you’re laughing over some dumb joke only the two of you get, and suddenly there’s that pause—that eye contact where you’re both like, “Wait, why is my heart doing this?” Also, side note—there’s this energy of playful competition here, like maybe you're teasing each other, or working on something and "accidentally" brushing hands, you know? Very romantic tension building under casual vibes.

2 of Swords popping out from the deck when i was done pulling out the cards, tells me they’re gonna be a mess internally, but trying SO HARD to keep cool. Like, on the outside, they’ll be laughing and vibing, but on the inside? Full on omg why do I suddenly feel so into them? panic mode. And here’s where 8 of Wands comes in—this moment will hit them fast and hard, like they didn’t expect to feel this level of attraction or connection, and suddenly it’s just there. You’ll feel on top of the world, like "damn, I was cute today" energy. You'll notice them noticing you—like, actually noticing—and it’ll give you such a boost. But also, there will be a part of you that’s like, "Hmm, should I play this cool? Or should I risk showing I’m into them too?"—2 of Pentacles struggle—balancing that playful energy with your real feelings.  

I see someone saying something about “balance” or “juggling” or even a song playing in the background that's all about realizing feelings for someone you’ve known for a while—think "You Belong With Me" vibes but less dramatic. Also, food might weirdly pop into this moment? Like casually offering each other snacks or talking about food. Idk why, but I’m seeing it. 

 This moment is a stepping stone—like, after this, your dynamic is gonna shift. Your crush won’t be able to unsee the way they felt around you. Expect them to be a lil' awkward in the days after, like trying to “figure out” why they suddenly feel so drawn to you. And babe, let them stew in it a bit—you’ve got the power here.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

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[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four Five

Eddie smells fresh and clean, his hair is fluffy and...really quite long now. Steve is vaguely aware that cutting curly hair is like, a separate thing to cutting straight hair. Like a totally different thing that needs to be learned. But still, Eddie doesn’t want to get an actual hair cut, and he seems to have a strong aversion to the idea of going outside and dealing with strangers, but his bangs are really getting in the way now, so Steve just carefully snips, a little at a time, not taking too much off. Steve uses his fingers to fluff Eddie’s bangs, snipping again at the curls that are longer than the others, “what do you think?”

Eddie stands, inspecting himself in the mirror, “yeah. Thanks Steve.”

He uses the towel to flick stray hairs off his face, wafting his shirt a little, scars showing at his midriff. He catches Steve looking, so Steve shuffles away, making an excuse, “I’ll get a broom.”

Steve sweeps while Eddie wipes stray hairs off the counter. “Anything else I can help with?” Steve offers.

Eddie sighs, looking a little squirely for a second, before he clearly comes to a decision, “I, the kids have been...asking me to run a game?”

“Right,” Steve starts slowly. He knows Eddie has the books out sometimes, knows he’s planning campaigns when he has the energy to do it, but he blows the kids off every time and they don’t push, clearly able to sense Eddie’s still...recovering.

“I think I want to try...I’ve got an idea for a campaign, just a little one. Just an afternoon.”

“Of course, I think...that’s good. If you feel up to it. Do you need my...help?” Steve has no idea how he could possibly help.

“Yeah...could I...talk you through the campaign, see what you think? And on the day, would you help me set up?”

“Yeah, yeah of course. Anything you need, okay?”

“Okay...thank you.”

“They won’t concentrate if they’re hungry, trust me.”

Eddie just watches as Steve makes up a tray of sandwiches. Some deli meat and cheese, some just cheese, and some he pushes his luck with, adding lettuce and cucumber to the mix. Who knows, they might eat it.

He has eggs boiling, and when the timer dings he cools them in the sink, tipping away the boiling water and running cold over them so he can peel them, “want an egg?” He offers one to Eddie, who, surprisingly, takes it, eating it in small bites.

Eddie’s more of a grazer, and he rarely sits and eats a full meal with Steve. Steve just keeps making extra of whatever he’s having, just telling Eddie where it is. It’s at least half gone most of the time, so Steve takes it as a win.

There’s a bowl of boiled eggs, a tray of sandwiches, a big serving bowl of chips and jugs of fruit juice out on the side by the time Steve is done. “I dilute the juice a little,” Steve confesses, “too much sugar in it. Those kids are hyper enough.”

Eddie actually smiles.

Steve moves the table and chairs while Eddie watches, “you got your map? And your shield thingy?”

Eddies goes, coming back laden with his books and his notes. A second trip brings out the hand drawn map, the shield thing that he unfolds in front of the seat at the head of the table.

“I think you’re going to do great,” Steve tells him. Eddie just nods, extra quiet today.

Maybe he’s saving his energy up for the kids. Or maybe it’s nerves, who knows? Either way he’s fiddling with his hair, starring at nothing, free arm wrapped tightly around himself. Steve can’t leave that.

Eddie almost startles, when he gets close, not realizing until the last second that Steve’s in front of him, “hey, come on, it’s okay,” and Eddie accepts the hug easily. Eddie sighs big in Steve’s embrace, settling, “you smell different to him,” Eddie whispers.

“Better or worse?”

“Neither...just different.”

Steve swallows thickly, giving one last squeeze before they part. Steve finds things to do in the kitchen while he tries to gather himself together, the kids will be here any minute.

The kids are watching a movie. Steve’s pretty sure the evening went well; whenever he stuck his head in the dining room, they all seemed engrossed, at least. Every now and again, there would be raised voices, or cheering, so, yeah, Steve figures they had a good time.

When Nancy’s car pulls up in the drive, Eddie tells Steve, “I’ll be a minute,” and then sheepishly slips out the front door.

Steve sees him in the passenger seat, talking to Nancy. He figures something emotional. Probably. Something Steve is too stunted to handle. Steve’s glad really, that Eddie has the girls to talk to about all this stuff. And then immediately feels a little guilty for escaping the burden of whatever that conversation is.

Steve knows there’s something up, from the quiet way Eddie’s watching him. He has something on the tip of his tongue, Steve can tell; it doesn’t come until the next day.

“I’m...moving back in with Wayne. Nancy said she’d help with my stuff, tomorrow, probably.”

It feels out of left field, Steve made unsteady by it for a second before he redirects. Eddie is an adult, and Wayne is family, Steve can’t keep him here.

He remembers the state of Eddie’s room, the stench of alcohol and stale sweat and fresh vomit, “will you be alright?”

“Yeah I...I’m pretty sure I’m done with the drink now, if that’s what you’re asking?”

It kind of is what Steve’s asking, but also, it isn’t, “well. Kind of. But...besides that, will you be okay?”

Eddie shrugs, “I think I need to...find some work, or something. Start standing on my own two feet, if I can. Be a...person.”

Two days ago Eddie couldn’t even face getting a haircut because he’d have to speak to a stranger, so it all kind of stinks of bull to Steve, “if that’s...what you need to do. But...you know you can always be here right? No matter what? Don’t feel like you have to go, or anything.”

“No...I know. You’re...you’re a really good guy Steve. And I...appreciate everything, you know? Really.”

“Yeah, I mean, yeah, no worries.”

It happens way too fast. Eddie’s meager belongings are boxed, his clothes are in trash bags, and apparently Wayne has redecorated Eddie’s room at the new trailer.

“I could have taken you?”

“It’s fine...Nancy’s good to help,” Eddie pulls a pensive face, "I really gotta’ get my van sorted, she hasn’t even been started for...months. Hell, I don’t even know if she will start. I should...go and deal with that.”

“Okay.”

Steve carries out two boxes and then makes himself scarce, doing a final once over. It’s not like Eddie’s going far; if he leaves something here by accident, Steve can just drop it out to him, it’s not like it would be an issue.

Still, he finds some last bits of clothes, forgotten in the dryer. Steve folds them before he carries them from the utility, stopping at the corner of the lounge, just out of sight. He shouldn’t listen to Eddie and Nancy’s hushed conversation, but he does.

“Wayne’s fine,” Nancy’s voice is low enough Steve has to strain to hear it, “he’s fine if you’re here or there. You need to do what’s best for you Eddie.”

“I can’t...I want to stay here.”

“Then-”

Eddie cuts her off with a frustrated noise, speaks with a fierce whisper, “I love him. I love him so much it hurts because I don’t know if it’s him I love or some magical Steve I dreamed up, okay? He keeps, doing things Nancy. You don’t understand. He keeps being so nice, and good and just...Steve. He’s just so much like my Steve and I can’t fucking stand it any more, okay?”

“Okay,” she shushes him, comforts him, “hush, okay, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, whatever you need.”

Steve takes the clothes back to the dryer; he’ll pretend to find them in a couple of days.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Scoring Points with You | psh

pairing: bballcaptain!sunghoon x studcopres!reader

wc: 5.1k

synopsis: As a dedicated student leader, Y/N never expected Park Sunghoon, the school’s star basketball player, to turn his playful pursuit into something deeper. Between late-night practices, unexpected gestures, and growing tensions before the championship, their connection becomes impossible to ignore. With the biggest game of the season approaching, one thing is certain—win or lose, everything is about to change.

Y/N had always been busy. As a student leader, her schedule was packed with meetings, events, and academic responsibilities. But she thrived in it. She loved making a difference in their school, even if it meant sacrificing some personal time.

On the other hand, Park Sunghoon was the school’s star basketball player. Tall, talented, and undeniably handsome, he was practically the heartthrob of the entire campus. But for some reason, despite having a fan club of his own, he only had eyes for Y/N.

He had been trying to win her over for months now. Casual conversations turned into playful teasing, small gestures became grander ones, and no matter how much Y/N tried to brush off his advances, Sunghoon never backed down.

It wasn’t that Y/N disliked him—far from it. She just wasn’t sure if she had the time to entertain romance when her responsibilities demanded so much from her.

That was, until one particular afternoon.

Y/N and Sunghoon were sitting under the large tree near the school gym, a usual spot they’d found comfort in whenever Sunghoon insisted on walking her to her next meeting or whenever he found a way to steal time with her.

"You seem more stressed than usual," Sunghoon noted, taking a sip from his sports drink as he leaned against the tree trunk.

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. "It's this school clean-up drive this Saturday. I barely have any volunteers. People signed up initially, but half of them backed out because of weekend plans."

Sunghoon raised a brow. "What about the student council members?"

"They’re helping, but we need more people to cover the entire school grounds. And we also have to clean the gym and fields, but…" Y/N groaned. "No one really wants to do that part."

Sunghoon hummed in thought before flashing a teasing smile. "What if I help?"

Y/N scoffed. "You? Park Sunghoon? Mr. Star Athlete? Are you really going to waste your precious rest day cleaning up the school?"

"Why not?" he shrugged. "If I do, will I finally earn some points with you?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile forming on her lips. "You’d earn more points if you could magically get a whole team of volunteers for me."

Sunghoon’s smirk widened. "That’s a challenge, isn’t it?"

Before Y/N could question him, he stood up and stretched. "Don’t stress too much, Y/N. You never know, things might just work out in your favor."

She watched him jog back toward the basketball gym, shaking her head. "That boy is up to something…"

Y/N arrived at school just as the sun began to rise, expecting to see only a handful of volunteers. With gloves on and a checklist in hand, she mentally braced herself for a long, tiring day.

But as she reached the school gym, she nearly dropped her clipboard.

Instead of just a small group of student council members, there stood not only the entire basketball team but also the soccer team, all dressed in casual athletic wear and stretching as if they were about to start practice.

Kim Sunoo, the ever-energetic soccer captain, grinned and waved. "Morning, Y/N! Where do you need us?"

Y/N blinked rapidly, still processing the sight in front of her. Her brain couldn't keep up. "W-What—?"

Then, as if on cue, Park Sunghoon strolled over with his signature smug grin, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Surprised?"

Y/N turned to him, gaping. "Sunghoon… what did you do?"

"I just did what a good suitor should do," he said casually, as if organizing an entire sports team for a clean-up drive was no big deal. "Got you the volunteers you needed."

Sunoo leaned in with a chuckle. "He bribed us with pizza."

"Hey," Sunghoon shot back, "I just gave a little motivation. They showed up because they love their school."

Y/N pressed her lips together to hide her smile. "Unbelievable," she muttered.

Sunghoon leaned in slightly, voice low and teasing. "Admit it, you’re impressed."

She sighed, shaking her head. "Just a little."

Sunghoon beamed like he had just won a championship.

With the extra hands, the clean-up drive moved smoothly. The basketball and soccer players split up into groups, handling the heavier tasks like cleaning the gym, repainting the old bleachers, and clearing the fields. Meanwhile, the student council members focused on classrooms, hallways, and organizing supplies.

Y/N moved from group to group, making sure everything was going well. Every now and then, she found herself watching Sunghoon.

Despite being an athlete, he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. He worked alongside his teammates, scrubbing the gym floors and hauling trash bags without complaint. Even when his hair was damp with sweat, he never lost his usual confidence.

At one point, Y/N noticed him sitting on the bleachers, wiping his forehead with his shirt.

Without thinking, she walked over and held out a clean towel. "Here."

Sunghoon blinked in surprise before smirking. "Aww, are you worried about me?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Just take it."

Chuckling, he took the towel and let her dab at his forehead. His heart raced slightly at how close she was, her face serious and focused.

"You’re really into this, huh?" he teased.

"I just don’t want you passing out on me," she replied.

Sunghoon grinned. "If I do, will you give me mouth-to-mouth?"

Y/N smacked his arm, making him laugh.

A few hours in, Y/N called for a break, setting up a snack table with drinks and sandwiches she had prepared earlier.

"Come and eat before we continue!" she announced.

The teams eagerly lined up, grabbing food and drinks. Y/N watched with satisfaction as they all dug in, chatting and laughing.

Sunghoon plopped down next to her, biting into a sandwich. "You made these?"

She nodded. "Figured you guys would need the energy."

He hummed in appreciation. "You really think of everything."

Y/N shrugged. "It’s part of my job."

Sunghoon nudged her lightly. "It’s also part of why I like you."

Y/N nearly choked on her drink. "Park Sunghoon—"

"Just saying," he said with a wink before grabbing another sandwich.

By late afternoon, the school grounds were spotless. Everyone was exhausted but proud of their hard work.

Sunghoon, true to his promise, had ordered a ridiculous amount of pizza. Y/N, feeling grateful for his efforts, secretly contributed half of the cost without telling him.

As the pizzas arrived, the teams cheered, gathering around to feast.

Sunoo took a huge bite and groaned. "Best. Volunteer work. Ever."

Jake,one of Sunghoon’s teammates, grinned. "We should do this more often if we get free food."

Sunghoon, sitting beside Y/N, leaned close. "You didn’t have to help pay, you know."

She looked at him in surprise. "How did you—?"

He smirked. "I have my ways."

Y/N sighed. "Well, I couldn’t let you do everything alone."

Sunghoon’s smirk softened into something more genuine. "That’s why I like you, Y/N. You always think of others."

She stared at him for a moment before smiling.

Maybe he really was more than just a star athlete trying to impress her. Maybe… he was someone worth giving a chance.

As the pizza party wound down, the sky turned a soft orange, signaling the end of the day. The volunteers stretched and yawned, satisfied with their work.

"Alright, I think it’s time to head home," Y/N said, gathering the leftover trash from the tables.

Sunghoon, who had been watching her closely, immediately stood up. "I’ll drive you."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"

"You’ve been running around all day," he said, grabbing the trash bag from her hands before she could protest. "You're exhausted. Let me take you home."

She hesitated. "Sunghoon, I can just take the bus—"

He raised an eyebrow. "After all this effort, you’re going to reject one simple ride home?"

Y/N sighed, knowing he wouldn’t let it go. "Fine. But only because my legs feel like jelly."

Sunghoon smirked in victory.

The car ride was surprisingly peaceful. Sunghoon had rolled down the windows slightly, letting the cool evening air fill the space. The hum of the radio played softly in the background, mixing with the faint sounds of the city.

Y/N leaned her head against the window, letting out a content sigh. "Today turned out better than I expected."

Sunghoon glanced at her. "Because of me?"

She scoffed but smiled. "I won’t give you all the credit, but… yeah, you helped a lot."

His grin widened. "I like hearing that."

Y/N shook her head, amused. "You really enjoy getting on my nerves, don’t you?"

"More than you know."

They both laughed, the conversation settling into something light and familiar.

When they finally reached Y/N’s house, Sunghoon put the car in park but made no move to leave.

"You sure you’re good?" he asked, his usual teasing tone replaced with something softer.

Y/N smiled at his concern. "Yeah. Thanks for the ride, Sunghoon. And… for everything today."

Sunghoon leaned back, looking pleased with himself. "Anything for you."

Something about the way he said it made her heart skip a beat.

Impulsively, before she could overthink it, she leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Sunghoon froze.

When she pulled back, his eyes were wide, his ears turning red.

Y/N smirked at his rare speechless expression. "Goodnight, Sunghoon."

Without waiting for his reaction, she quickly stepped out of the car and headed inside, feeling her own cheeks heat up.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon sat there, unmoving, replaying the moment in his head.

Then, a slow, stupid grin spread across his face.

"Oh, I’m so winning this."

Sunghoon barely remembered the drive back home. His hands were on the wheel, but his mind was completely elsewhere—stuck on the feeling of Y/N’s lips against his cheek.

It wasn’t even a big kiss. Just a small peck.

But why was his heart still racing?

As soon as he parked in his driveway, he leaned back against his seat, exhaling loudly. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the heat still lingering on his skin.

"Aish…" He groaned, shaking his head with a dazed smile. "She really got me this time."

His phone buzzed.

Y/N: Get home safe, Sunghoon.

Sunghoon grinned, typing back immediately.

Sunghoon: You didn’t have to kiss me to make sure I’d drive safely, but I appreciate the encouragement.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Finally, she replied.

Y/N: You’re never gonna let this go, are you?

Sunghoon: Nope ;)

Sunghoon arrived at school with an extra spring in his step.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, Jake whistled. "Well, someone’s in a good mood."

Sunghoon smirked. "Just a great end to a great day yesterday."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Does this have anything to do with Y/N?"

Sunghoon didn’t answer, but the smug look on his face said it all.

Unfortunately, before he could escape, Jay slung an arm over his shoulder. "Okay, spill. What happened?"

Sunghoon clicked his tongue. "I don’t kiss and tell."

"HAH! So there was a kiss!" Jake pointed at him dramatically.

Sunghoon groaned. "Not like that. Just a little—" He tapped his cheek.

Jay and Jake exchanged looks before whistling teasingly.

"Our boy’s making moves!"

"Y/N kissed him first? Wow, that’s a power move."

Sunghoon rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the satisfied smirk on his lips. "Laugh all you want, but this means I’m winning."

Jake snorted. "Dude, you’re the only one keeping score."

Sunghoon didn’t care. To him, Y/N’s small kiss meant something. She was opening up to him, little by little.

And if he had to work even harder to win her heart completely, he was more than ready for the challenge.

Because, at the end of the day, Park Sunghoon never backed down from something he wanted.

And what he wanted… was her.

After the clean-up drive, Y/N thought things would go back to normal. But Sunghoon had other plans.

It started with a simple text.

Sunghoon: Come to my practice after class today.

Y/N: Why?

Sunghoon: Because I want you to.

Y/N: That’s not a reason.

Sunghoon: Fine. Because you should witness how good your suitor is at basketball.

Y/N: Cocky much?

Sunghoon: Always ;)

She rolled her eyes at his confidence but, for some reason, found herself agreeing.

And that was how it began.

Y/N entered the gym hesitantly, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor and the rhythmic dribbling of basketballs filling the air. She spotted Sunghoon immediately—he was impossible to miss.

Effortlessly weaving through defenders, he executed a perfect fadeaway jump shot, the ball swishing cleanly through the net.

A whistle blew. The coach clapped his hands. "Nice one, Park!"

Sunghoon turned, grinning when he saw Y/N standing near the bleachers. He jogged over, grabbing his water bottle on the way.

"You actually came."

"You sound surprised."

He chuckled, taking a sip of water. "I figured you’d come up with an excuse."

"I was going to," she admitted. "But I had nothing better to do."

Sunghoon smirked. "So, you wanted to see me?"

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. "Don’t flatter yourself, Park."

"Oh, I absolutely will."

Before she could reply, the coach called him back.

"Stay and watch," Sunghoon said before jogging back to the court.

And she did.

She found herself drawn to the way he moved—the sharp turns, the precise shots, the way he led his team effortlessly. He wasn’t just some popular athlete; he was good.

By the end of practice, when he jogged over to her again, sweaty but grinning, she handed him a towel before he could ask.

"See? You like watching me," he teased.

Y/N rolled her eyes. "You wish."

But from that day on, it became a habit.

Sunghoon started inviting her to every practice.

And the problem? She actually started looking forward to it.

She told herself it was just a break from her hectic student leader duties, but deep down, she knew better.

She liked watching him. Not just because of his skills, but because of the way his eyes lit up when he played.

Sunghoon, in turn, always made sure to show off whenever she was there. He’d steal glances at her between plays, sending her smirks whenever he made a difficult shot.

Jake noticed first.

"You’re working extra hard these days," he teased.

Sunghoon wiped his sweat with a towel, grinning. "Gotta impress a certain someone."

Jay chuckled. "You mean Y/N, who’s literally here for every practice now?"

Sunghoon glanced at her sitting on the bleachers, focused on her notes but still looking up every now and then.

He smirked. "Yeah. That one."

One evening, after a particularly intense practice, Sunghoon walked over to her, towel draped around his neck.

"You stayed the whole time again," he pointed out.

"Well, I had to make sure you didn’t trip on your own ego," she replied.

Sunghoon laughed. "Admit it—you’re turning into my biggest fan."

"In your dreams."

Sunghoon grinned. "Then why do you keep coming back?"

Y/N hesitated. "Because… it’s fun. Watching you play."

His teasing smile softened. "That’s all I wanted to hear."

Before she could process the flutter in her chest, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Let’s get food," he said casually.

Y/N blinked. "Huh?"

"You always wait for me after practice. I should return the favor by feeding you."

She narrowed her eyes. "You’re bribing me with food?"

"Is it working?"

A pause.

"...Unfortunately, yes."

Sunghoon laughed, reaching out to ruffle her hair before leading the way.

And just like that, post-practice hangouts became a thing, too.

After weeks of attending Sunghoon’s practices, Y/N found herself settling into an unexpected routine.

She never planned to become a regular, but at some point, it just happened. The team expected to see her on the bleachers, Jake always gave her an exaggerated wave, and Sunghoon—well, Sunghoon always played better when she was there.

And without realizing it, she had started preparing for these practices, too.

Which was why, instead of waiting for him to grab his usual towel after a grueling scrimmage, she pulled one from her bag.

The gym smelled like sweat and victory as practice wrapped up. Sunghoon, drenched from head to toe, was about to reach for his towel when Y/N stepped forward.

"Here," she said, holding up a clean one.

Sunghoon blinked. "That’s not mine."

"I know," she said, rolling her eyes. "I brought it for you."

For a second, he just stared at her.

"You brought me a towel?"

"Yes, genius. Now take it before you start dripping sweat on me."

Sunghoon took the towel but didn’t use it immediately. Instead, he looked down at it, then back at her, a slow smirk forming.

"You really like me, huh?"

Y/N groaned. "Oh my god, it’s just a towel!"

"But it’s a towel just for me," he teased, dabbing his face dramatically. "How thoughtful of my favorite fan."

"You are so annoying," she muttered, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.

After that, Y/N always brought her own towel for Sunghoon.

At first, she told herself it was just because he always forgot to bring a clean one. But the more she did it, the more she realized it was just… part of their thing now.

Sunghoon, of course, milked it for all it was worth.

"Y/N, my towel queen," he would joke every time she handed it over.

"If I’m the towel queen, then you’re the sweat king," she shot back.

But no matter how much she acted like it was a chore, she never once forgot to bring one.

And Sunghoon never let anyone else use it.

One particularly rainy evening, Sunghoon finished practice looking more exhausted than usual. Y/N waited for him as always, towel already in hand.

"Rough game?" she asked as he walked over.

Sunghoon sighed. "Coach was brutal today."

Without thinking, Y/N reached up and wiped his forehead for him instead of just handing the towel over.

Sunghoon froze.

Her fingers were gentle as she dabbed away the sweat, completely focused on what she was doing.

For once, he was the speechless one.

"You should take it easy," she murmured. "You’ve been overworking yourself lately."

Sunghoon swallowed. "You noticed?"

Y/N stopped wiping, finally looking up. "Of course I did."

His heart skipped a beat.

A drop of rain landed on her cheek, and he instinctively reached up to brush it away.

Y/N blinked at him.

The air felt… different. He wasn’t sure if it was the rain or just her, but suddenly, he had the strongest urge to close the space between them.

And maybe—just maybe—she felt the same way.

Because instead of stepping back, she stayed right where she was.

Jake’s voice from across the gym broke the moment.

"Oi, lovebirds! We getting food or what?"

Y/N immediately stepped back, clearing her throat. "You should change before you get sick."

Sunghoon exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah. I’ll meet you outside."

But as Y/N walked away, towel still in hand, he touched his forehead where her fingers had been.

And despite the rain, he felt warm all over.

After every practice, Y/N and Sunghoon always ended up getting food together. It wasn’t planned at first—it just sort of… happened.

Jake and the others usually tagged along, but on nights like this, when the rain kept most people away, it was just the two of them.

"This is fine dining at its peak," Sunghoon joked, picking up two instant ramen cups from the shelf.

Y/N scoffed, reaching for some kimbap. "Says the guy who once ate plain rice because he was too lazy to cook anything else."

Sunghoon placed a hand on his chest. "I was in survival mode!"

"Survival mode? You live in a nice house, Park."

Sunghoon grinned. "Doesn't mean I know how to use the stove."

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled as they brought their snacks to the counter.

The rain was still falling lightly when they stepped outside, so they settled under the store’s awning. The warm glow of the streetlights reflected on the wet pavement, and the quiet hum of the city at night made everything feel a little softer.

Sunghoon peeled the lid off his ramen. "You know, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten with a girl after practice this often."

Y/N sipped her drink. "That’s because most girls would rather go on actual dates, not eat convenience store food with a sweaty basketball player."

He smirked. "Yet, here you are."

She paused mid-bite.

"...Touché."

Sunghoon chuckled, nudging her knee lightly under the table. "So, does that mean I’m special?"

Y/N scoffed. "More like persistent."

"Same thing."

She shook her head but didn’t argue.

They ate in comfortable silence, the occasional sound of raindrops against the roof filling the space between them.

Eventually, Sunghoon leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. "You know… I kinda like this."

"Like what?"

"This. You. Waiting for me after practice. Bringing me a towel. Eating food together."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Wow, Park Sunghoon. Are you sentimental right now?"

He clicked his tongue. "Shut up. I’m being serious."

Y/N stared at him for a moment. He looked… different. Not just the usual cocky, confident Sunghoon, but something else.

Something softer.

She smiled, just a little.

"Yeah," she admitted. "I like it too."

Sunghoon’s lips curled into a slow grin, one that made her heart do an annoying little flip.

"Damn," he said. "Now I really don’t wanna take you home yet."

Y/N laughed. "Too bad, because it’s getting late."

Sunghoon sighed dramatically but stood up anyway. "Alright, alright. Let’s go, princess."

Sunghoon’s car smelled like fresh rain and a faint trace of cologne.

Y/N leaned against the window, watching the streetlights blur past. The quiet hum of the engine and the soft music playing from the speakers made her eyelids grow heavier.

Sunghoon glanced at her. "Tired?"

She hummed. "A little."

"Should’ve let me carry you to the car, then."

Y/N scoffed. "I’m not letting you bridal-carry me in the middle of a parking lot."

Sunghoon chuckled. "One day, Y/N. One day."

A comfortable silence filled the car again. Sunghoon tapped his fingers lightly against the wheel, his gaze flickering to her every now and then.

As they pulled up in front of her house, he shifted into park and turned to her.

"Made it home safe, princess."

Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, pausing for a moment before looking at him.

"...Thanks, Sunghoon."

"For what?"

"For… everything. Driving me home, treating me to food, dealing with my rants, being annoying—"

"Wow, so heartfelt," Sunghoon deadpanned.

Y/N laughed. But before she could think twice, she leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sunghoon froze.

Y/N pulled back, looking slightly embarrassed. "Goodnight, Sunghoon."

Then, before he could recover, she slipped out of the car and disappeared inside.

Sunghoon sat there, completely still, hand hovering over the cheek where her lips had been.

"...What just happened?"

His heart was still hammering in his chest when he finally pulled out his phone.

Sunghoon: What was that for??

A few seconds later, she replied.

Y/N: Consider it a thank you gift.

Sunghoon grinned, running a hand through his hair.

Sunghoon: Well, I’d like another one. Preferably on the lips next time.

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Sunghoon chuckled.

"She’s never gonna admit it," he muttered to himself.

But he knew.

And that was enough for now.

Practice was supposed to be routine. Sunghoon had been in a good mood all day, texting Y/N between classes and even sneaking a snack into her bag when she wasn’t looking.

But by the time the basketball team wrapped up their scrimmage that evening, the air in the gym was tense.

Something had gone wrong.

And Sunghoon was furious.

“Say that again,” Sunghoon growled, shoving one of his teammates back.

The other player—Minho, the team’s shooting guard—scowled, wiping sweat from his mouth. “I said you’re acting like this is a damn solo sport. You’re not the only one on this team, Sunghoon.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Sunghoon snapped. “You think I don’t bust my ass for this team? Don’t come at me like I’m not pulling my weight.”

Minho scoffed. “You’re so obsessed with being the best that you don’t even see when you’re messing up. Not everything is about you.”

Sunghoon saw red.

Before anyone could react, he lunged.

Jake and the others scrambled to hold him back, barely managing to drag him away before he could do something reckless.

Coach yelled at them to cut it out, but Sunghoon was still livid, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

The only problem?

He wasn’t listening to anyone.

“Somebody call Y/N,” Jake muttered. “He’ll listen to her.”

Y/N was halfway through finishing her notes when her phone buzzed.

Jake: SOS. Sunghoon got into a fight. Come to the gym.

She blinked.

Then immediately grabbed her things and ran.

By the time she arrived, the tension in the gym was still thick, but Sunghoon was no longer trying to fight Minho. Instead, he was pacing near the benches, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

“Sunghoon.”

At the sound of Y/N’s voice, his head snapped up.

Everyone watched as he exhaled sharply, his whole body losing some of its tension.

Jake nudged one of the freshmen. “See? Told you he’d only listen to her.”

Y/N walked straight up to him, crossing her arms. “What happened?”

Sunghoon hesitated, still visibly agitated. “It’s nothing—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “Minho was talking shit.”

“Sunghoon.”

“Fine.” He rolled his shoulders. “He said I was playing selfish. That I was trying to do everything myself and messing up.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Were you?”

Sunghoon frowned. “I was just trying to push myself harder.”

Y/N sighed, grabbing the towel from her bag. She reached up and wiped the sweat from his forehead—something she always did after practice. This time, though, she was softer.

Sunghoon stilled.

His frustration didn’t completely fade, but his breathing slowed.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Sunghoon,” she said quietly.

He swallowed. “I just… I don’t like messing up.”

“I know,” she murmured, still dabbing his face. “But fighting your own teammates isn’t going to help.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced at Minho, who was still sitting on the bench, watching them.

Y/N followed his gaze. “Talk to him. After you cool down.”

Sunghoon let out a slow breath. “…Fine.”

Y/N finally lowered the towel, looking up at him expectantly. “Good?”

Sunghoon stared at her for a second before sighing in defeat. “Good.”

Jake, watching from the sidelines, smirked. “Damn. He really only listens to Y/N.”

Sunghoon shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

Y/N giggled, nudging him playfully. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Sunghoon muttered something under his breath, but the fight in his posture was gone.

And just like that, practice finally ended.

Sunghoon was lying on the bleachers after their last practice before the championship game, staring up at the gym ceiling as Y/N sat beside him, twirling a water bottle in her hands.

“You nervous?” she asked.

He turned his head slightly to look at her. “Nah.”

She gave him a look.

He sighed. “Okay, maybe a little.”

She laughed, nudging his knee. “You’ll do great, Sunghoon.”

He smirked. “Of course. I am Park Sunghoon.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I take it back. You’re insufferable.”

Sunghoon chuckled, but then his expression softened. He hesitated for a moment before turning to her fully.

“Hey, let’s make a deal.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What kind of deal?”

Sunghoon tapped his fingers against the bleacher. “If we win tomorrow… we make this official.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly.

“This?” she echoed.

Sunghoon tilted his head, his smirk turning into something more genuine. “Us. You and me.”

Y/N swallowed. “And if you lose?”

His eyes twinkled mischievously. “We still make it official.”

She laughed. “So it’s not really a deal, is it?”

Sunghoon grinned. “Nope. Just an excuse to make you mine.”

Y/N shook her head, but her cheeks were warm. “Fine. If you win, we make it official.”

Sunghoon smirked. “Then get ready to be my girlfriend, Y/N.”

Y/N almost didn’t make it.

Her professor had kept her class overtime for an important discussion, and by the time she was able to leave, the game had already started.

Heart pounding, she practically sprinted to the gym, pushing past the crowd gathered outside. The moment she stepped inside, the sound of squeaking sneakers, the sharp thud of the basketball bouncing against the court, and the deafening cheers filled her ears.

She scanned the court frantically—there he was.

Sunghoon was moving with precision, his brows furrowed in deep concentration as he dribbled past a defender. He didn’t notice her yet, too focused on the game.

Y/N quickly found a spot near the front, catching her breath as she gripped the railing.

“Half quarter left!” the announcer called.

She made it just in time.

Jake, who was about to pass the ball, caught sight of her first. He smirked and nudged Sunghoon.

Sunghoon barely glanced his way. “What?”

Jake only nodded toward the stands. “Look who finally showed up.”

Sunghoon turned his head, and the moment he saw Y/N, something shifted.

His eyes lit up, and even with the noise of the crowd, she swore she saw the corners of his lips twitch upward.

Y/N waved slightly, mouthing, I’m here.

That was all he needed.

Sunghoon smirked, rolling his shoulders before refocusing on the game. If he had been playing well before, now he was unstoppable.

He moved with newfound energy, weaving through the defenders effortlessly, making every shot with pinpoint accuracy. Jake chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Damn, love really is a performance booster.”

With just seconds left, Sunghoon stole the ball, sprinted to the three-point line, and—with one smooth motion—launchedit toward the hoop.

The entire gym held its breath.

Swish.

The buzzer blared.

They won.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the entire team rushing to celebrate—except Sunghoon.

Because Sunghoon only had one destination.

The Deal is Sealed

Y/N barely had time to react before Sunghoon jogged toward her, eyes locked onto hers.

“You made it,” he said, still catching his breath.

She smiled. “Told you I would.”

He huffed a laugh, stepping closer. “And?”

She tilted her head. “And what?”

Sunghoon smirked. “Our deal.”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered.

Oh. Right.

If we win, we make it official.

Her heart pounded as she reached up, gently tugging him down by his jersey.

“Congratulations, boyfriend.”

Before he could respond, she pressed a quick but firm kiss on his lips.

The entire gym exploded with screams and cheers.

Jake whistled. “Finally!”

Sunghoon, still grinning against her lips, whispered, “Say that again.”

Y/N laughed. “Boyfriend.”

And just like that, the deal was sealed.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

[ssentimentals]

hi baby! i’m a new follower here and i don’t know if you’re still doing the prompt game but i would absolutely loveeee 17 and 25 with seungcheol please :)

hi love! welcome-welcome :') prompt game is still ongoing, thank you for requesting, hopefully you will like it!💜

prompt: 'tending to an injury/wound/illness' + showing up injured at the enemy's house'

'what the fuck?' you mumble when someone starts banging at your door at - you squint at numbers on your laptop screen - at two freaking am.

there are lots of things you expected to see when you open that door. maybe some neighbor kids pulling a joke, a delivery guy who got here by mistake - not seungcheol, who's clutching at his left side, trying to stop the bleeding. your grip on the knife that you managed to grab on your way tightens and you repeat again, louder this time: 'what the fuck?'

seungcheol glances at the knife in your hands and weakly chuckles: 'you're late for that,' he mutters and lets presses harder on the wound. 'already got stabbed.'

you squint at him. there are millions questions on the tip of your tongue but what comes out first is: 'what the fuck are you doing here?' and it's a valid question, because you and cheol are enemies. you work for different people, you gather data on one another, you set up traps for his team and he tries to gain the upperhand on yours.

'i just need-' he pauses, wincing at the pain. he looks pale and worn out and his voice shakes a little as he continues: 'just- twenty minutes. that's all i need. rest up and i'll go. they won't find me here.'

accepting a guy in your house who is a) your enemy, b) has people looking for him and c) is injured, is not a smart move. but the more he stands there, the higher is the risk of someone else noticing and you doubt that he can go back on his own legs, so: 'get in, asshole.'

you push him towards the bathroom, cringing at the metallic smell of blood that fills your nose as soon as he takes off his coat and gets rid of his t-shirt. the cut is not very deep to be extremely risk for his health, but it's still a cut deep enough for- 'you're staining my carpet with your blood.'

seungcheol looks down and huffs, rolling his eyes. 'i'll buy you new one.'

you hand him soap and point towards the bath: 'get undressed and wash that wound in the bathtub. i'll come back with bandages and antiseptic.' you look him over and add: 'don't die in my bathtub.'

'bossy,' seungcheol notes but it's clear how he's barely holding himself upright. 'gonna stay here while i'm undressing?'

you should've never let him in. but people say that best defense is attack, so: 'why? do you want me to?'

seungcheol reaches for his belt, pauses and looks up at you. 'yeah. maybe then you'll like me.'

you both freeze. the way he said it - the tone - was different. not the usual teasing or rude comments, but something serious, something.. sincere. 'i won't like you,' you mutter, puzzled.

'won't? or can't?' seungcheol asks in a quiet whisper.

it's too much. an unknown territory for you that you're afraid to breach. without saying anything you walk out to get bandages and antiseptic, not noticing how seungcheol looks at you with longing that only a person who loves someone he can't have feels. and he knows it's complicated; it's the story as old as time itself - star crossed lovers who are doomed for tragedy. but when he climbs into the bathtub and tries his best to wash the wound carefully, he can't help but hope. because you let him - that has to mean something, right? you help him - that has to mean something. and maybe with enough effort seungcheol can make that turn into something beautiful, not tragic.

a/n: cheollie is so popular for requests lately, i hope i'm managing to keep up with everyone's expectations :/ hope you liked it! - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[nabiracha]

Bathroom secrets

Inspired by Pretty by Coco & Clair Clair (Shorter fic)

Synopsis: You decide to go out after getting cheated on just to see your ex there. After a fight, a stranger asks you to do something and you agree.

Warning: Unprotected sex, semi-public sex, first time meeting, Stranger!Hyunjin, fighting (y'all I'm so bad at writing fighting scenes but its okay), alcohol consumption, strangers to ???

(The picture makes me think of Fuckboy!Hyunjin, so I chose it)

Honestly, I thought being cheated on would hurt more. Sure, I was disgusted and angry. But hurt? Nah. He was a lowlife, a no good, leach. I mean for fuck’s sake, I should’ve seen it coming. All ugly men with hot girls end up cheating on them because they get an ego boost. But my girl’s insisted we do something fun, and honestly? I needed some good dick, not that three inch shrimp.

“Coco?” I called from my bathroom, holding the strings to my black  dress up. “Yert?” She slid in the room, wearing her sage green matching lace dress. “Can you tie this for me?” She did, tying it as tight as possible, using the excuse “Gotta show off every curve, girl.”

I didn’t argue, cause why would I when she’s right? “Is Clair ready? And Lis?” Speak of the two love birds. “Yeah, we are.” They come walking in, hand in hand. “Grab my purse, make sure that shit’s got a taser in it.”

By the time we got to the club it was packed. Yeah, glad I packed that taser. Coco came back with neon drinks, no idea the name but it fit the vibe. I took one from her, taking a sip. “Wow.” The strength of the drink was unexpected, making Coco laugh at my reaction. “Fuck, why do you like the sugary ones?” I took another sip, honestly liking it.

Clair dragged me on to the dance floor, Closer by Nine Inch Nails coming on. I laughed as Clar drug her hands down my body, going lower as she smirked up at me. I moved my hips, slip syncing the words. She shot straight up, her finger under my chin. I smirked, raising my chin at her. She laughed, letting me get swept away by someone. The guy wasn’t that attractive, but I danced. 

And then I spotted him, Mark. Of course he’d be here. I sent Lisa a text, since I knew she’d be the only one checking her phone tonight. I saw her in the distance as she read my message, eyes lighting up with slight horror. 

“What’s your deal, cheater?” My voice rang from behind him, his body tensing slightly. “What?” “You’re lucky i let you leave the house unscaved. But didn’t I tell you the next time i saw you, you’d leave with scars?” I smiled, innocently. 

He scoffed, like he had the power here. He was surrounded by women. If I start a fight, Imma make it look pretty. He threw the first punch, like an idiot. He, luckily, hit me in the arm. Why do I say luckily? Because now this fight is self defense. 

I dodged most of his hits, landing more myself. I grabbed my taser, getting him right in the balls with a twisted grin. “Now it’ll hurt when you fuck another woman.” 

I had a bruised jaw, a bloody lip, but I looked hotter than before. The girls ran over to me, mixed reactions. But I didn’t pay attention to them.

A man across the room caught my attention, a small smirk on his lips. He had buzzed hair, his face like a devil with angel eyes. I tilted my head, raising my eyebrow.

Next thing I knew, my dress was hiked up in the bathroom and said man was running his tip through my folds. How it happened? He simply asked to fuck and I said yeah. “I swear to god if you don’t–” My breath hitched when he slammed to the hilt, knocking the air out of me with a moan. “Such a bratty attitude for such a pretty girl.”

I had no time to react, he was moving and I was seeing stars. His dick was long, not super thick but long for sure. He had the hands of an artist, calloused but soft around my neck. He flipped me around, wrapping my legs around his hips so he could rut into me faster, deeper.

I’d never once whimpered during sex, but here I was. I swear I was about to cum, and I’d never cum this fast either. “You close, angel?” I nodded, biting my bottom lip. “‘M on birth control.” He responded by speeding up, pressing his thumb to my clit and rubbing in tight circles.

I was cumming, quick, hard, like a crash. He followed quickly, slipping a note in my bra, handing me a damp paper towel and leaving. After I cleaned myself up and walked out of the restroom, I grabbed the note.

Call me, angel. ***-***-****             -Hyunjin

[demigod-shenanigans]

Apologies for the rambles ahead Star Wars was my first proper fandom I ever wrote fanfic for, I was obsessed with it for years so I had a lot of thoughts here LMAO

So, this is never specifically mentioned because we get very little info on New Rome in general, but a part of me does wonder if they have a movie theatre. Demigods aren’t able to use phones and computers and whatever for plot convenience reasons but I don’t think that’s the case with regular non-communication technology, especially considering Leo specifically has a huge game station and sound system in his CHB room.

So there’s no reason why New Rome wouldn’t have a cinema.

No idea in what context Jason ever thought to take a break long enough to actually watch Star Wars, but I’m very fond of the idea that him and Reyna watched the movies together (1-6 because no one can convince me these kids would watch anything out of chronological order willingly)

Leo saw them 4-6 and then 1-3 because his mom told him that’s the only correct way to watch them and he still stands by this.

Piper thinks them arguing about this is stupid and that either way works which just means now they’re also arguing with her because clearly she’s incorrect (she probably decides to just come up with a completely random order to watch all the movies out of spite just to annoy them LOL)

Between the four of them, she’s also the only one who knows the TV shows exist—Leo hasn’t been keeping up with Star Wars super closely since his mom died and Reyna and Jason definitely didn’t take enough breaks to watch several seasons of TCW or Rebels (this is confusing as hell, when exactly are we in the Star Wars release timeline canonically the way time passes in pjo-verse is a mess)

Anyway, Piper literally couldn’t escape knowing the shows existed if she tried considering her dad works in the industry and probably at least knew people who worked in them even if he was never offered/never took up a role himself

If she did watch any of the shows she had a perfectly normal entirely heterosexual obsession with Ahsoka Tano and/or Sabine Wren growing up tho.

Aaaand now I’m thinking about them all watching Star Wars together. Leo hasn’t seen it in years because it was too painful to do without his mom but he deffo had a crush on Luke Skywalker and Piper teases the shit out of him over his baby queer crush being a blonde-ish sword fighter

Jason is the one who insists they sit through all of the shows tho. He learns the shows exist and gets stars in his eyes and once he realizes he’s actually allowed free time to do fun stuff with his friends? Oh they’re never gonna be free of this now. They feel so comforting and familiar and he’s probably also sort of remembering Reyna so there’s always this warm feeling in his chest when it comes to this even if he can’t tell why exactly. Leo enjoys it but is definitely not as into it as Jason is. However. Jason is excited and rambling and Leo loves that so much. I think Leo gets most excited about the droids and the ships and just the technology in general, he loves thinking through how these things could actually work (do not let the guy make a functional lightsaber that would end terribly for everyone involved)

Also thinking very fondly about Leo and Jason playing LEGO Star Wars together I think they’d have a great time

Also Jason and Reyna starting to become friends again and watching the movies together for the first time in forever…

Every time Nico and/or Leo need Will or Jason distracted for some reason they’ll just put them in a room together and bring up Star Wars. Leo jokes at one point that they could probably go on a whole quest in the meantime and their boyfriends wouldn’t even notice they left

I’m sorry why in the world does poor Jason not remember his own age or last name but know who Darth Vader is

[odileeclipse]

Steeped in Longing, Sweetened with Silence (Chai Latte x Reader) Chai latte POV

The morning hum of the dining halls is quieter than usual. Without the lively debates of Earl Grey and the thoughtful murmurs of Hazelnut Biscotti, the space feels softer, more intimate. It’s just us today just me and you, just the gentle clinking of porcelain and the low murmur of students too groggy to argue over breakfast. And maybe that’s why it feels different. I watch you from across the table, your fingers curled around the cup I set in front of you before you even sat down. It’s your favorite, of course. I don’t need to ask. I never do. Because I know you. The way you linger on the first sip, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment as warmth spreads through you. The way you exhale, tension slowly melting from your shoulders like sugar dissolving in hot tea. You always hold your cup a little too tightly in the mornings, like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the world before the day sweeps you away.

And I…well, I like to think I can be that anchor, too. I prop my chin in my hand, watching you with a lazy smile. “You know, I should start charging for this level of personalized service.” You crack an eye open, giving me a flat look. “I didn’t ask you to do this.” “Ah, but that’s the beauty of it!” I sigh dramatically, letting my curls cascade over my shoulder as I gesture vaguely with my cup. “I do it because I care. Because I, dear friend, am a generous and selfless soul, bestowing my tea-making talents upon the weary and overworked.” I bat my lashes. “All out of the goodness of my heart.” You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of fondness there. That’s enough for me. I take a slow sip of my own drink, letting the silence settle between us like a well-worn quilt. It’s comfortable. It always is. But then, because I am who I am, I have to ruin it. “So.” I drag the word out, swirling the liquid in my cup. “Tell me. How’s our beloved Sage of Truth?” The way you freeze beautiful. The way your fingers tighten around your cup, delicious. The way your face heats up as you turn a glare on me utterly divine. “Chai.” I grin. “Yes?” “Stop.” “Oh, come now.” I prop my chin in my hands, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t realized it.” You groan, rubbing your temples. “There’s nothing to realize.” “Oh, honey.” I sigh, reaching across the table to pat your hand. “Denial isn’t a good look on you.” You yank your hand back, scowling, but I don’t miss the way your ears are turning pink.

I tilt my head, watching you with the kind of amusement only a best friend can get away with. “You do know he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, right?” You scoff. “He does not.” “Mmm.” I hum, tapping a finger against my lips. “So he doesn’t linger when he speaks to you? He doesn’t look just a little too pleased when you finally understand something he’s explaining? He doesn’t find every possible excuse to keep you in his office just a little longer?” You open your mouth, but I cut you off with a knowing smile. “He does. And you let him.” Your lips press together, frustration flickering in your eyes not at me, but at yourself. And that’s how I know. You want to believe it. You just don’t know how.

I sigh, letting my teasing settle into something softer. “You know… it’s okay to let yourself have something good.” Your gaze meets mine, something wary in it. “I just…” You hesitate. “I don’t want to be a burden.” Oh, sweetheart. I place my cup down carefully, reaching across the table again, slower this time, until my fingers brush against yours. You don’t pull away. “You,” I say softly, “could never be a burden.” You swallow, looking down at our hands. I don’t squeeze, don’t push just let my touch linger, warm and steady, grounding. That’s always been my role, hasn’t it? The one who lingers. The one who stays. No matter who you look at, no matter where your heart goes, I will always be here. And if that means watching from the sidelines, nudging you toward happiness that isn’t mine to share, so be it. Because I get this. I get to know you inside and out. I get to see you in the quiet moments, when you’re too tired to pretend, too worn out to hold up the weight of your own expectations. I get to make your favorite tea before you even ask, to tease you until the weight on your shoulders feels just a little lighter. I get you. And for now, that’s enough. Later, when the morning rush has died down and the day is stretching long ahead of us, I find you again in the library, hunched over a book, your mind lost in another realm entirely. And I, shameless as ever, slip into the seat beside you. I don’t say anything. Just let my head rest against your shoulder, the warmth of you seeping through layers of fabric, grounding me in a way nothing else can. You don’t move. You don’t push me away. You just exhale, slow and steady, and shift the tiniest bit closer. And I know, in this moment, that I am where I belong. Even if your heart is drifting toward another. Even if I am only ever just a friend. I will stay. I will linger. And if, one day, you turn to me instead…I will be ready.

The quiet between us stretches, the only sound the occasional rustle of pages as you absently turn them. My head rests against your shoulder, the warmth of you seeping into me, anchoring me in a way I have no right to crave. I should move. I should. But I don’t. Because here, in this sliver of stillness, I can forget. Just for a moment. Forget that your heart leans toward someone else. Forget that every touch I give lingers just a little too long. Forget that I am always the one waiting, watching, wanting but never asking. And then…“You know,” you say, voice soft but carrying just enough amusement to break through my thoughts, “I don’t think the library is meant for napping.” I huff, tilting my head up just slightly. “I’m not napping.” “Uh-huh.” I hear the smirk in your voice. “So you’re just resting your eyes?” I sigh dramatically, shifting so that my cheek presses against your shoulder. “Mmm. No, no, this is strategic. A calculated moment of repose. Essential for maintaining my famously sharp wit.” You let out a breathy chuckle, one of those real, unguarded ones I love, one of the ones that makes me forget myself. I lift my head slightly, just enough to look up at you, watching the way your lips curl at the edges, the way your eyes crinkle just slightly when you’re genuinely amused. “Oh, look at you,” I murmur, teasing but fond. “You do know how to smile.” You roll your eyes, but you don’t stop. “I do smile.” “Mmm, debatable.” I shift again, just enough that I can tilt my chin onto your shoulder, staring up at you with exaggerated scrutiny. “You should do it more often. It’s very cute.” You freeze. And for a moment, so do I. Oh. I let that slip, didn’t I? But instead of pulling away, instead of breaking the moment…I let myself indulge. Just this once. “Actually,” I hum, tapping a finger against my lips, “I think it might be my new favorite thing.” You sputter, face turning a shade of pink I wish I could bottle up and keep forever. “Chai-” “Yes?” I blink innocently. “You-you can’t just-” You gesture vaguely at me, at us, at the space (or lack thereof) between us. I grin. “I can’t?” “No! You-you can’t just-” You take a breath, visibly composing yourself before exhaling sharply. “You’re doing this on purpose.” “Oh, darling.” I sigh dramatically, draping an arm over your shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Everything I do is on purpose.” You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I hate you.” I laugh, bright and bubbling over like over-steeped tea, tapping my fingers lightly against your arm eventually holding on. “Mmm, no, you don’t.” And I let my fingers linger there a little too long. But you don’t move away. And so, for this moment I let myself stay.

A/N She's such a beautiful person to my devoted chai latte lovers I'm sorry <3 I'll be kinder next time also this was done on a whim so if there are any mistakes my bad y'all!!

[madebyrolo]

𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘺

Jj Maybank x reader

she/her

Dating jj has its up and downs. Growing up with an abusive father and no mother figure had him feeling alone, never feeling comfortable or lovable. Once he meets y/n his walls slowly start to come down but it takes awhile for him to accept he matters.

Obx masterlist

⋆｡⋆｡° 𓆉*ੈ‧₊˚ ༘⋆

As y/n laid with Jj in the hamock of John Bs. chateau, Jj stared at her in awe. Taking in every inch of her. If you were to put a 13 year old boy right beside him you wouldn't know which was which.

He didn't have much but one thing he did have was you, and it was worth more than anything in the world.

Call him a kook because he was rich in love.

He was happy. You were by far the best person he’s ever met on Kildare island, though don’t tell John B that.

══════════════════════

Y/n and Jj limbs were tangled in the hammock

They have been laying together almost all afternoon, you would be surprised that Jj hasn’t taken a nap yet.

You guys were talking the day away, like how you were able to score more hours at the small boutique you worked at. How Jj almost convinced a kooks dog to go home with him (thankfully he called you to show the cute little guy and you were table to talk some sense into him.)

But mainly it was you doing the talking, Jj just watched and listened. But he was fine with that.

He watched you in awe, with love and lust filmed eyes

He knew your face too well. Every emotion, muscle movement, the “imperfections”. He practically studied it and Jj doesn’t even own a single book.

He knew the way your eyes lit up when you would get happy or excited. How your brows scrunched when you were confused. The bite marks on your lips when you would get confused.

You would tell Jj everything and anything

Telling the blonde every small little details about your day knowing Jj didnt have to know how long it took the duck to cross the street.

The way you couldn’t tell a story without forgetting a small detail and making it 10x more longer than it needed to be.

The way your tounge would slip and stuttered on words.

He just always looked at you with stars in his eyes.

As you continued to talk you mention about your encounter at the gas station earlier today.

“So after I dropped off my brother at practice I stopped to get gas, I just hate how he has to be good enough for a team all the way on Figure 8.” You huff

“The funny thing is that when I was filling up this dude pulled up with his truck right beside me.”

Jj immediately perked up.

“He was talking to me, making convo for some reason. It wasn’t too bad I guess he was nice, but then started making some flirty comments. He was trying to hint on taking me on a date but thankfully my tank filled up right on time.” You told Jj

“Oh um I bet that was uncomfortable for you I’m sorry.” He said as he was more uncomfortable with it.

“It wasn’t bad. He was nice with it unlike the others just straight up being douchebags” you rolled your eyes.

“He even offered to pay my gas but I wouldn’t let him. I should’ve tho it was like $80 bucks”’ you smile to yourself trying to make heart of the situation

“Did you get his name?” Jj asked starting to feel a bit queezy.

“Jj it doesn’t matter anyways. I don’t want you to get into fights, you know I hate it.” You knew what would happen if Jj were to find out

“Yea whatever come on tell me who it is. We’re supposed to tell each other everything yeah ?” He moved your chin to look at him, with his brow cocking

“Ugh fine. But don’t go starting something okay?” You said trying to plead with him

“it was topper” you say lowly

Just by hearing the first syllable he immediately started fuming

“Topper!? Really ? Oh my god that man has balls” he said removing you from him

“Jj please dont-” you winced

“he knows we’re together why would he even try it?” He said getting defensive

“His whole friend group is quite literally obsessed with us, he would’ve, should’ve know we are together? This wouldn’t even be his first time hitting on you, and yet still getting rejected!” the blonde chuckled while putting his shoes on

“He’s been trying even before we got together, hasn’t he gotten a clue?” Jj now walking out the hammock

“Jj where are you going ?” You complained

“Look we’re pouges? He clearly knows that. He hates us for god sakes. He a kook, why would they go after pouge, let alone one they hate. Are they bored with what they have? ‘anything they want yet, crave what’s not theirs.” jj said clearly angry and jealous.

You saw him headed towards the woods.

“Jj please dont go” you said attempting to get out the hammock without rolling off.

“Topper, the kooks in general, they don’t matter to us. They shouldn’t” you raised your voice as the boy disappeared in the trees.

Y/n finally gets out, she puts her shoes on trying to follow the boy she lost vision of.

As she followed the trail she ended up in deep in the middle of the woods but no sign of Jj.

She kept walking hoping to find him somewhere, it wasn’t hard to hide but how far can he go? She continued walking getting closer to the edge of the island near the bay.

After 10 minutes of walking though twigs and hopefully not poison ivy, she found him.

He was sitting on a small abandoned old boat, covered in grime on the outside but perfectly clean on the inside with blankets. Now knowing he’s been here before.

“Hey Jay” you said walking up to him. He was laying on the floor of the boat with his vape on his chest.

He didn’t say anything, he just gave a nod and just stared at the sky. Clearly lost in thoughts, sadness lingering his eyes.

“Jj please. Whats wrong ? Talk to me.” you asked

You joined him in the boat, sitting beside him. You placed your hand on his head, stroking his blonde locks.

He didn’t budge, just laid there hopelessly. She gave him a couple of minutes to wind down before she asked anything.

“Jj we promised to tell eachother everything.” You pleaded with the boy grabbing his hands tangling your fingers putting them into your lap.

“I just find it funny that they want everything. Even when it’s not theirs.” He said with his jaw locking.

“They claim to hate us pouges. Treat us like scum, yet they are so obsessed with you. I don’t get it?” He said with a breathily laugh

“Make it make sense am I right?” He tried to mask he sadness with humor like always does.

“Jj they’re kooks, they’re hungry for anything they can put their hands on.” You said trying to ease him

“It doesn’t matter-”

“but it does ! It matters y/n?!” He raised his voice.

Jj sits ups

“They absolutely hate us, especially me and John B. I don’t know if them flirting with you is just to get me but if it is, it’s working.”

“Jj you know I would never, ever leave you. Not for money, not for looks, not for anything.” Now you grab his heading turning it to you.

“I love you Jj. I would never let anything or anyone come between us, and I know you wouldn’t too.”

He searched your eyes looking to see if you were just saying that to shut him up or telling the truth.

And you were.

but he just couldn’t bare the fact that other people had eyes on you. On His girl.

Jj loved you. He made sure to tell you every second he could.

He was greatful to have you in his life.

He felt like he was in denial or living in his dreams knowing that you wait for me just outside of his sleep.

Just trying to understand his fucked up life.

He didn't have much but he had you.

He was happy for a spilt second. He believed you. You loved him and he loved you. Everyone saw it.

John B and Sarah were sick of how in love you guys were, and they were engaged.

Thoughts now lingering in his head what he would ever do if he lost you.

Knowing you had the eyes of everyone including kooks on you.

You reassured him everytime something bother him.

He knows how easy it is for people to leave him.

But it ripped his soul out knowing you could leave him. That it was an option.

He knew topper, and hell even Rafe had eyes at one point had eyes on her. On his Y/n.

They were rich, smart, handsome, confident, even going to church every Sunday. The “safe”option.

They were everything he wasn’t.

“Can’t even blame him” jj said putting his head down, whipping his mouth with his tounge sticking his cheek.

“What? Jj what do you mean?” you ask him

“Look at you y/n…” he started

“You’re so smart, you’re like at the top of our class. So nice it’s literally giving me a sweet tooth just sitting here. You’re just so perfect.”

“You help take care of your brother when your mom either works days shifts so she’s home when you guys are. You literally volunteer anytime you can. You can get a paycheck but you don’t care about the money when you know how much it can help others. You are the most kind hearted person I know, you don’t take anyone’s shit. You stand up for yourself, I even saw you smack John b for making a joke about Sarah his own girlfriend .”

“Fiancé, She’s still a human, fucking or not it was disrespectful.”

“You aren’t like me. You’re loving and caring, you spend your time helping others. I just can’t understand how you can even consider me the person you love.”

“Jj i don’t believe any of the stuff-”

“Why me? Am I just a charity cost? A bet between you and topper who is just teasing me, or-“

“Jj enough! I’m not going to sit here and hear you talk so terribly about yourself !”

“You may not think you’re a good guy but I see it everyday! When my car breaks down you fix it, when I need help with my brother you come swooping in. When I’m sick you’re immediately at my door step with snacks and medicine. Hell you even made me the most delicious homemade soup and we all know you can’t cook for shit. You pick me up,offer me rides, watch movies I know you hate.” You give him a soft smile just adoring the boy

“And you love me. I hate to admit but I was jealous of all the hooks up before me” you say embarrassed

“But I know how hard it is for you to open up and just to let people in. I know how hard it is for you to trust anyone and yet you gave me the chance”

Jj now looks at you with guilt in his eyes

“We may not give each other silver jewelry, but you gave me your heart. That’s worth more than anything in the world.” You caress his face

“I love you Jj, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind being stuck with you forever” you joke

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, I just want to make sure you’re happy with, or without me. I love you i truly do. I just have a hard time accepting it.”

“It’s okay. I just don’t need you changing up on me. Just remember that you can always talk to me” you push his hair out his face.

“What if I were to change your last name” he smirks looking down at your lips

“See, there’s the Jj I know.” You were relieved that he was happy again

“I’m sorry for making you think we weren’t okay. I just can’t help that -”

“That you were talking nonsense? That you equally obsessed with me as them, what if you guys are in love with each other and I’m the joke?” You joke with him

“Please, he would be lucky to to get with me” Jj says grabbing your hands

“Guess im the luckiest of them all huh?” You look down at his lips

“Just like a beautiful boy with Steve Carrel” Jj joked making a reference from when you made him watch the film.

“My beautiful boy.” you say leaning in for a kiss

But before Jj could connect your lips he backs up.

“Wait you never answered me. What if I were to give you the title of Mrs.Maybank ” He smiled

“Doesn’t sound too bad” you said leaning back in

“Might have to do. I like it a lot.” you smile

“Good because you didn’t have a choice either way….”

══════════��══════════

Ahh sorry for being not posting anything in months !!

Haven’t had any motivation or ideas but here’s a cute little Jj Maybank story :)

[redwinedulac]

i cackle at how antis echo chamber “louis hates larries” as if that’s so moving oh wow 1. most of it is pr drivel slobbering down his mouth and 2. even if there is truth to it and he doesn’t like that we know too much—being silent is something i can’t do. this is bigger than louis.

this is knowledge and knowledge is safety. knowledge is how you become aware of situations so you don’t fall victim to them and end up controlled by a tyrant like simon FOUL. knowledge is what louis & harry didn’t have as preyed upon CHILDREN that were eaten alive. bcos of that lack of knowledge (FOR ME) larry is more than a ship. it is a goddamn lifestyle (and no asshole) not in the way that it’s a cult, but in the way it literally teaches you the horrors of life and how to navigate those horrors and find power in community.

do you really think the larries didn’t play a factor (A FACTOR NOT EVERY FUCKING FACTOR READING COMPREHENSION) where harry felt safe enough to be more open and explore himself after 1d? do you think larries were not the backbone for louis while he was in that slave contract for 5 years after 1d? and no i’m not crediting solos bcos most of y’all believe the bullshit.

LARRIES are one of the FEW fandoms to recognize, dissect, and expose the insidious shit that goes on bts in the music industry. call us sleuths, detectives, free journalists whatever the fuck i’m sure they’ll teach a class on us one day about the dedication & power a fandom can wield and how those who are threatened by that power use gaslighting and bullying tactics to silence it. larry is not a conspiracy. it is the fucking truth in your blind eyes that your comfort and privilege won’t allow you to see. it wasn’t too long ago the general public thought britney spear’s fans were crazy for noticing shit was off with her FOR YEARS, but despite all the bullying they never gave up and the free britney movement happened. MANY of the people who joined the movement were og deniers btw but again people only join when it’s comfortable or brings clout.

and JEEBUS britney was the biggest fucking pop star in THE WORLD and yet she was being heavily controlled and abused and it was so unfathomable to you? so many of you were so fucking suprised but HOW? HOW WERE YOU SURPRISED??? you thought her breakdown was for shits and giggles? you thought she shaved her head and smashed a window bcos she was having a good time? but let me not even get started on how GROTESQUELY some of you treat addicts and then you fucks will say “ok so it happened to her but that doesn’t apply to your conspiracy loser blah blah” ok brainwashed fool—it is literally a copy of a copy of a copy, a p a t t e r n, a vicious cycle, A SYSTEM. what makes you think if the biggest pop star in the world wasn’t exempt the biggest boy band in the world was? the biggest boy band who again were manipulated and groomed as CHILDREN by the devil himself. and simon never hid he was the devil btw. when you have knowledge and life experience (god forbid trauma) these people can never hide who they are but so many of you still close your eyes to them?

like omfg supporting larry is so simple??! it is fighting for QUEER JUSTICE and QUEER LOVE and making space for queer artists to be themselves openly and not have their love be the thing weaponized against them to destroy them. queer artists should NEVER have to choose between their souls and their dreams. NEVER. THAT is why i became a larrie in 2012, am a larrie now, and will always be a larry truther. their relationship status and the decisions they make i might disagree with is irrelevant to this. the history is what’s important.

[aust-een]

SEND HELP I AM UNWELL

The way I would go after Benny in every way possible this is absolutely ruining me

[remxedmoon]

You should tell us about color psychology that sounds cool as hell

YES… HA HA HA… YES!

GGGOD I WISH I WASN’T OUT OF THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW. but i’ve been thinking about colors literally all day so you all get to be subject to my madness! sorry this is long and rambly wauaua. nightmarishly long post under the cut.

okay. first things first, a few basics. color theory and color psychology tend to get confused a lot in discussions, but they usually refer to different things. color theory is more about we physically perceive colors (color wheels and color schemes the like), while color psychology focuses on our emotional response to colors. if you’re familiar with the children’s hospital color theory post, that poster wasn’t actually talking about color theory, but color psychology (and also it’s incredibly surface level and heavily misunderstands the subject because in what fucking universe does the quantity of positive associations with a color matter more than the context it’s used in and sorry i have personal beef with this tumblr post).

color theory is also a special interest of mine but i’m not gonna touch on it too much here because it’s not entirely important. mmmaybe another time…

essentially, certain colors (and color combinations) have associations in our brains and that affect our behavior and emotions. these associations are also very much affected by the context a color is used in. colors don’t exist in a vacuum! so while red can symbolize passion and love when used in something like a dress or a bouquet of flowers, it has a very different connotation when it’s, say, splattered on the walls or smeared on the ground in a snail trail.

or for a less Children’s Hospital Themed example, i’ll put my euphrasie and king designs here!

(of course the saturation and brightness of these blues play a massive part in how they’re perceived but this is not a post about color theory this is n)

and, of course, combining colors in a piece can also change their meanings!! i’m about to get real fucking normal.

i’m gonna be focusing on the color combo of red and yellow here because it’s the one that’s most relevant to my art (and also it’s really interesting.) basically, seeing these two colors together activates the part of our brain that controls our appetite, making us actually feel hungry. this is why so many food companies use red and yellow in their branding! it’s neat stuff!!

also, if you’re familiar with it, this is why the mv for butcher vanity uses this color palette!! along with red’s general associations with danger and blood, the color combo also physically induces hunger. pretty fitting for a song about cannibalism!

(there is also red’s association with lust and passion and how that intersects with the double meaning in the lyrics but i cannot derail this post into being an analysis of butcher vanity i’m sorry. we’d be here all week. maybe another day... wipes a tear from my eye)

and i think this might be the reason why some people feel hungry when they see my art, even when i’m not drawing food. while i don’t tend to use red outright, most of my art has very warm undertones (red-oranges and yellows especially), which could be activating that hunger response??

(ah fuck color theory managed to weasel its way into this post again)

admittedly this part is just speculation on my end. i think my rendering style and Shapes also play a role in it, but it’s interesting for me to think about!!

this is only scratching the surface of how complicated colors can get. i was going to go on an entire tangent about color grading and how green lighting can make a scene feel unnerving but this post is already Too Fucking Long. aaaa super sorry if this is Rambly or hard to understand!! i’m not Entirely sure how much the average person knows about color theory and psychology so if there’s any confusing terms here i’m fine with adding stuff for clarity!

wauauuaa thank you so much for asking!!!! i love talking about colors.

tl;dr colors have a bunch of different emotions and meanings tied to them, but you’ve gotta pay attention to the context in which it’s being used. so maybe take a step back before you put that thick red trail on the floor of your children’s hospital.

[thirsty-4-ghouls]

Do you get more “rarer” potions or whatever the higher you get in alchemy levels? Because I stg it wasn’t this hard to get green or yellow when i was ten levels lower >:\

“You transmuted blue sludge” I don’t fucking need more blue sludge! I’m out of yellow!!! I keep transmuting one and two star items and the last one I did (2 stars) gave me red sludge!!! I like having purple, red, and blue, sure, but I need yellow!!!

[obstinaterixatrix]

my memory’s pretty spotty but surprisingly I remember a fair amount of lyrics from a song I haven’t listened to since… at minimum 7 years

[screampied]

Hitting it raw for the first time with JJK men?

‘ DON’T BE SHY, HIT IT RAW ! ★

starring ꒱ gojo, sukuna, toji, choso, nanami !?

@ WARNINGS : fem! reader, unprotected, brēeding kink, size kink, praise, manhandling, mating press, dōggystyle, prone bone, hair pulling, degradation, spit, biting, pússy drunk men, 18+

CHOSO ✰ KAMO.

“r…raw?” he inhales, staring at you with a cute quivering lip. you looked so pretty underneath him, sprawled all out and gazing right back into his eyes. you’d just got done playing with yourself in front of him, showing him just how easy it was to make you wet.

truthfully, choso’s had little to no experience— he gulps, wrapping a broad hand around his length before moving it towards your slick entrance. “like without the little rubber thing?”

you giggle, watching as his sculpted abs tense all up. he feels so hot, burning up. the entirety of his body shudders with a scorching breeze that runs against his skin.

“yes, baby. ‘s okay. i want you to,” and oh your voice, he could have came from just the sound of your sweet voice alone. doughy soft tips of his fingers brush against the skin that sticks against his dick like glue, a few simple strokes and he whines. “get a little closer, you remember missionary, right?”

“yeah,” he intakes a hollowing breath. by now, he’s hovering on top of you with his leaky tip fluttering against your sloppy slit. you merely slip off a moan yourself, syrupy liquid coating against his cockhead with such ease. “the position where i hold your hand ‘n stare into your eyes?” as you nod, he moans once he feels the way your dripping cunt starts to gradually devour the head of his dick in such a indecent way. “o-ohhh, okay.”

biting his lip, he starts to slowly sink his way in.

choso’s breath hitches from being engulfed with your sweet warmth. “y-you’re so warm inside,” he stammers, throwing his head back in utmost pleasure. choso’s so cute—a chastened grin purses against his lips, just a few solid inches in and he was already pussydrunk. “princess, ‘m not gonna last,” he furrows his brows, grabbing one of your hands, squeezing it tightly. “not gonna last when you’re s-so wet, i- i feel hot, oh.”

“don’t say that,” you tease, rubbing your ankle against his back. any kinds of touch from you made his heart race.

choso was firmly still—he’s been intimate with you plenty of times but never raw. this was an entire new feeling, he could just feel the lewd texture of your gummy walls grip around him securely. “you’re doing great, baby. just fuck me, like you always do.”

“i can fuck you, i … i can fuck you,” he’s chanting to himself cutely, trembling on each individual word.

a barrier, as he’s going inside raw— it feels like a barrier that’s shoved directly between your pussy and his cock. as choso’s hooded eyes start to get heavy, it doesn’t take long for him to start up a vicious pace.

languidly,

he feels the intensity of it all. the searing friction being created against both mounds. choso’s thrusts became more rapid by the second and your mouth pries open ever so slightly..

“oh m-my,” he hiccups, his grip between your fingers getting tighter. he loves holding your hand, especially whenever you were underneath him. choso’s voice was so adorable— every few seconds it croaks or cracks, it feels so tactile. the touch, the way your cunt takes every inch of him, he’s so big that the stretch was simply immaculate. choso presses his body against your chest, he’s leaning before he gently sinks his canines into your neck. “gonna c-cum already, hold me baby,” and then he swallows, a short gasp following out of his glossed-spit lips. “i… i mean, can i cum inside? never stuffed you full before.”

“go ‘head, baby,” you whisper, and he cutely whines once you run a soft finger down his brief undercut. whenever you called him baby, he could feel himself melting right into you—you feel choso move his glossed lips towards you, pulling you into a deep, sensual kiss. it was passionate, warm breaths violently crashing into each other at such a quick pace that he feels the strain rise up in his lungs.

your pretty cunt’s holding him hostage— choso’s slowly thrusting into you before right when he’s about to cum, he’s whimpering into your mouth. “it’s okay, ‘cho. it’s okay, you can do it,” and you cup his face, watching his darkened eyebrows furrow. his face softens at your sweet reassurance before he feels the incoming wave brew up within him. “you wanna be my messy boy, huh?”

he shamelessly nods. “so b-bad,” and his words were trembling upon each syllable. once he shoots into you, dumping you with a sweltering hot load of cum, his mind goes blank. you’ve never felt more stuffed—so packed up. his dick now flaccid—choso whines into your neck. the mucilaginous strings of cum that spurt into you was so filthy. squelches that reverberated against your cunt, just the quiet sound of it makes his mouth salivate.

he wants more, he wants you.

“feels so good,” he pants, lying on top of your chest— he grows quiet, hearing the sloshes of your cunt get stuffed with more parching ropes and ropes of cum. it feels tenderly, it shoots deep into your womb and your arms throw around his shoulders. choso’s sweating profusely, he feels like each pant that leaves his lips was gonna be his last. you smile, kissing the bridge of his nose where he scar lays before he slowly pulls out. gluey strings of cum depart from your hole and he can’t help but run a thumb against it. “i— oh my god,” he sniffles, and his voice was a bit more pitched. “are— are you okay? did i do okay?”

you kiss the side of his mouth and he moans, staring as your tummy was all swollen after being filled to it’s very peak. “i’m okay, you did amazing baby,” and he snuggles up against you. his head hitting against your chest, his personal favorite pillow. with a relaxing sigh, you strum your fingers through his ponytails before speaking in a soft voice, giving him a head pat. “always such a good boy for me, choso.”

“thank you,” he snivels, and you don’t expect for him to get back up again. his eyes—they’re more feral now, beads of sweat running down his brow before he pouts. “not done though. can- can we fuck raw again? pretty please, ‘m not done being messy for you.”

NANAMI ✰ KENTO.

“take it off, ‘kennnn,” you mewl out a desperate whine, pawing clammy hands at your husband’s halfway exposed chest.

he had barely just made it back from work, needing someway to rewind from his usual respective nine-to-five and you offered. an offer that was located nowhere other than between your legs, though he never complained. your cunt was easily the best way to unwind from a long day. with his work clothes still on, pants halfway down, drooping toward his knees, he hums.

you had him amused, his boxers were halfway down—cock sprung out and he swallows, stroking the rubbery condom that’s sheathing over his erect length. “wanna feel you from the inside, please.”

he gruffly chuckles, body jolting briefly in response he laughs. whilst he had you promptly sat on his lap, you were so close up to him— his heat purely radiates against yours, making the feelings of his touch ten times more sensitive. “you’re in a playful mood today, huh. no condom, my love? and why is it that you want to ‘feel me from the inside’, hmm?”

with exasperated breaths, you’re just so close to him stuffing you full. your soaking entrance rubs against his tip—so leaky, your mouth merely starts to water at just envisioning him flooding your pussy up with so much of his ropy cum. “i jus’ wan’ it,” you whine, and he titters once you take measures into your own hands—tugging the loosely fit rubber before his cock was finally out in the open. “wanna be your cum dump, kento.”

“cum … dump?” he repeats, scratching the basal part of his pointed chin. nanami smirks, a big hand giving your ass a gentle yet firm squeeze. he’s so tender, caressing the sides of your rear before giving it a brief spank. nanami was always sweet, you liked whenever he’d take a little more control at times. “that really what you want? to be my ah, cum dump?”

you tell him yes and that’s all he really needs to hear from you.

you’re scrupulously rocking your hips against nanami, sucking your teeth at the hot feeling pooling inside of you. the grip, oh the grip—you feel dizzy, without the condom felt like a whole new world. nanami groans, leaning back against the headboard whilst he’s letting you ride, take the wheel on his lap if you will. “mhm. loosen up for me, love,” he’d grunt, blond strands of his running down the sides of his face. it’s cute, the way his usual perfect hair was now all ruffled and feral. “fuck me jus’ like that, ride me good, okay?”

moan after moan drags past your lips, flimsy arms throw around his stiff shoulders before the stretch had you gasp. the stretch—so elastic.

his cock vigorously pummels in and out with such girth making your cunt profusely spasm.

facing directly in front of him, you probably looked a mess—abashed facial expressions tugging against your features, mouth dangled all open, you were a sight. yet, you didn’t care—you cared about being filled to the brim. you craved it like you crave a succulent pastry. as your hips rotate and rock in collision, he’s got both hands on your waist, slamming you down further and further. you’re whining, feeling the tip of his dick reach deep—each time it delves into you, it smothers your g-spot with various french-tip kisses. your eyes roll back, feeling his honey-dew eyes take in your pretty jerking hips every and single second. “oh, look at that face right when she’s gettin’ ready to make a mess,” and his voice was a deep whisper, he brings you towards his neck, chuckling once you sniff him. “feel it too, darlin’? wanna be my good little wife ‘n finish with me, hm?”

“y—yes, please ‘ken, hngh,” you whine, feeling the sharp edges of your teeth shatter against each other. his thick cock punctures something deep within your walls, causing you to spasm all over him. “wanna cum with you, please pleaseee.”

he sneaks a kiss against your lips, it’s wet and it’s got you hungry for more. nanami never fails to coat you with a few of his tenderized kisses. it his thing, soft padded lips that press against your skin always had you weak in the knees. speaking of knees, your own knees start to buckle as you’re rotating your hips against his. “messy girl, go ‘head then. i wanna see just how messy my pretty baby can get.”

nanami’s voice was so soothing, all up against your ear. alluring pheromones surge all through you as you’re taking every inch of his cock. every few seconds your stomach seizes, a repetitive motion that has your toes curling up in utter temptation. “cum, ‘m gonna cum ‘ken, cumming, nghh.” the positioning couldn’t have been more perfect. rough hands of his squash against your derrière before your breath literally gets snatched away. with your jaw dropping, you tense up, convulsing with his twitching dick inside of you. compressing against his length, you clench down on your maw before whining out a sweetened sob. “inside, shoot inside ‘ken. don’t miss.”

“i’ll never miss if it’s with you, sweetheart,” he whispers— the gravel in his voice turning a bit shaky.

fat full balls of potential seed thwack and thwack against your skin, with the ricochet of skin slapping, it rings throughout your ears—having your mind going stupid.

with a grunt, he clings onto your swiveling torso tightly, a hefty arm wrapping around you. so close, he’s so deep inside that the tip of his cockhead reaches the most secretive depths stored inside your cunt. “mhm. ‘s gonna get a little messy, hold onto me, my sweet.”

GOJO ✰ SATORU.

gojo’s got a sheepish simper, having you bent over for him in such a way has his heart pounding. he heard the individual beats pulse through his ears before he inhales. “raw.. raw as in you want the real thing? heh, can ya even handle me raw?”

“shut up,” you whine, your ass wriggling in response against his length—he was just as aroused as you, he gives your ass a long stare before huffing out a breath. “jus’ fuck me, ‘toru.”

“well excuseee me,” he replies back, aligning himself against your saturated folds. so pretty, the way your pussy was even warmer from the inside, so moist. he feels his breath start to shake before he thrashes his tip against your outer entrance. “ooh, s-so much tighter than i thought.” and he grows quiet once your pussy starts to accept him inside. slowly, you’re swallowing every inch that he provides—gojo moans, the tight clamp that your gummy walls give him merely makes him fold. the sensation was almost too much to bare. pap pap pap, the sounds your cunt make in retaliation only made him more feral.

gojo’s panting, your cunt’s got him in a tight grasping chokehold that he knows he can’t get out of— it’s simply spontaneous.

“fuck, you’re so h-hot,” he sighs, you let off a soft mewl, feeling him bring a palm towards your right ass cheek to spank it, gripping it toughly and you bite your lip. even though you couldn’t directly see his expression—you just imagined gojo would be as pretty as he’s always been. messy, ruffled hair, panting, muscles tightening and flexing. even that thing he does whenever he’s bottoming out inside of you. where his eyebrows furrow all up and his face becomes utterly flustered.

so cute.

after a few sloppy hits against your heat, it doesn’t take much to make him into a pure, whiney mess. he’s just babbling whilst you’re on all fours for him, so tense—his muscles ache for more of you. gojo starts to feel the tip of his tongue salivate with little droplets of his own syrupy saliva. oh, it was just the way your pussy effortlessly wraps around him like a vice. he grunts in a hoarse tone, witnessing how your hips just ferociously grind and hit back against him so good to where his head’s spinning.

as he accelerates his hips, gojo’s so needy—he can’t help but grab your waist with calloused fingers, driving his fat cock into you at a more swift speed. he’s so big, so fucking big. filling you full of girthy inches each time, you’re moaning repeatedly, feeling how his hips start to stutter and his thighs ache already. he’s close.

the more he pants, the more raspy it becomes. gojo’s thumbs were practically piercing into both sides of your hips—indenting in them as he’s allowing the cockhead of his shaft to freely rummage all throughout your gripping walls. the feeling of being inside of you, raw, he found himself drooling. something about the way you clamp down against his base each time, feeling the slimy strings of pre-cum stick against your ass and his base each time you smack back onto him.

“f-fuuuck, ‘toru. right there, hngh. right there, fuck fuck.” you hiccup, and he’s feeling his breath start to hitch in due time. with his hands still grabbing onto your waist as he’s pounding you ruthlessly from behind, you moan. “ughhh, ‘toru, ‘m gonna cum. fuck don’t stop, please.” and as you speak to him in that sweet tone, he only gets harder. cerulean blue eyes of his stare down your back— your breathtaking spine, the way it had a few drops of excess sweat gliding down. he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why but that simple detail as he was drilling such amounts of dick into you—he found it adorable. “touch me more.” you whine, a sudden pitch in your tone. “slow, f-fuck me slower baby.”

“i- i amm,” he whimpers, his voice growing shorter and shorter. it was just something about fucking you from behind. it gave him a perfect excuse to stare at your ass, kiss it with the palm of his hand with rude mean spanks, getting hard from the recoil. speaking of hard though, gojo was quite hard, painfully so—you feel his hips snap into you at such a pace that it’s like he’s not human. each thrust, each deeper angle he creates with his hips has you going stupid. with how loud he’s whimpering—you can’t tell who’s louder, him or you. “fuck, ‘m really gonna cum inside, angel. oh fuck, ‘s the way you squeeze on me s-so good, don’t stop fuckin’ me back, please.”

he turns into a babbling mess, the stretch of his cock buries so deep into you—constricting freely around his length, he then lightly shoves your head against the pillow. “s-sorry, angel,” he swallows, tracing his fingertips against the edges of your ass. “ah, ‘m gonna have to give you all of me. ‘s gonna spill out but you’ll be a good girl ‘n keep it in for me, yeah?”

“yes, yes yess,” you whimper, and he then grabs onto your hair for leverage—he’s pumping you full of thick inches of dick, you stare at yourself in the reflection of a mirror and gojo still looks pretty. his pace was brutal, you could barely keep up and your legs felt like they were hanging onto the final hinges. “inside, ‘toru. don’t spill a d-drop.”

“take it then, t-take it for me,” he moans, and each time he hits against your ass with his own hips, you feel the swollenness of his balls brush up against your pussy. total breeder balls, you whine before it takes him a moment to finally cascade such stripes of cum right into your womb. “listen to that, f-fuck, sloppy pussy’s jus’ my favorite,” he pants, heaving out a single strained breath. gojo’s hips precipitously stop, and he’s just feeling himself spew such ropes—so warm, it’s sticky too. you feel the texture spurt into your cunt, giving you more than enough. with a hand still gripping onto your hair, he then brings a hand to gently wrap around your throat. “mhm, baby. we should— we should start thinkin’ of baby names by this point heh.”

you moan, feeling him slowly pull out— once he does, leftovers of his cum that plugged you full starts to seep out of your hole. he licks his lips, inserting a thumb inside before spreading your folds open up. “don’t stop, ‘toru. want more,” you sigh, arching your back up again for him. “give me twins.”

“fuck i’ll give you triplets,” he grunts, re-aligning his throbbing tip—he inhales deeply, still feeling sensitive before it swipes against your messy painted up entrance. as he’s close up to your ass, he runs a hand down your spine before getting up close to your ear. in a low, husky whisper, he replies. “keep up with me, angel. ‘m gonna be showin’ this pussy the new me all n-night.”

SUKUNA ✰ RYŌMEN.

“careful now, woman,” sukuna hisses, and he’s got you in a secure mating press—you moan, feeling his tip skim against your sopping pussy. his tone was a mere warning, red-shot eyes of a curse—in which he was, stares right into you as he holds back. “askin’ me to do somethin’ like that ‘s gonna end up with ya pregnant.”

with a pout, you sling your arms around him, smelling his intoxicating scent roam through your flared up nostrils. “don’t care,” you chastise, and he’s such a tease. grabbing ahold of his fat length, brushing his angry leaning cockhead against your entrance. he snickers against your neck, hot breath fanning against your collarbone. “finish in me, ‘kuna. wanna feel it s’bad,” and you didn’t even care how pathetic you sounded. desperate was the perfect word for you. it was always a dream to have the king of curses feed your sweet forlorn cunt with such delicious ropes of cum. you’ve only ever tasted his flavor, never exactly feeling it shoot inside,

such amounts of his sticky, stringy ropes pour into your womb—you craved it, you could care less of the consequences that would follow. as a single throb from the inside of your clit pulses you back to reality, you feel sukuna’s fangs teasingly bite into your neck. “m-mmph,” he suppresses his moans, an almost whimper being dragged out of his throat. your legs instinctively wraps around his waist, feeling his cock start to introduce its way into your welcoming, greedy walls. your moan rings through his ears, he’s so thick that you feel the head of his cock mold your cunt open, it’s so warm. so tight, a twinge within the undersides of your thighs sting for a moment before you start to succumb into the inevitable pleasure.

“ah ah, don’t shy away now,” he rasps—voice sounding almost hoarse like. once he makes haste with his hips, slam after slam against you, he grips your chin. with hollow cheeks scrunched all up, he sneaks a wet kiss onto your mouth, watching you moan for more affection—more of his sweetly sacred taste. “want me to go in raw?you better stare into my fuckin’ eyes while i claim this meaningless cunt,” and he’s so mean, his entire delivery has you pulsating. the curse’s eyes stare down your body before he starts to present you with jagged, thorough thrusts. with a hand still attached to you chin, he lowly cackles a “heheh,” leaning in to kiss you again. “needy baby. can’t go a second without a kiss,” and in the meanwhile, he’s viciously pounding into your wretched insides. an entire mess, it doesn’t take sukuna long for him to bottom out completely inside of you. “stick out that tongue.”

you’re too dumb to even comprehend anything. just the rhythm of his cock has you in shambles. it’s too good, you comply quickly before lolling out your pretty pink tongue. “such an obedient woman, look at that sloppy tongue, desperate for more of my taste,” he slyly says, and that’s when he leans forward to suck near the pointed tip of your tongue. you’re caught by surprise, expecting him to do something more erotic and filthy such as spitting on your tongue but he just … sucks on it. “always taste sweet for me.”

each time he smacks into you at full force, your ears pop. slow yet steady, this time he nibbles on your tongue—the inner edges of his fangs tickle before he wraps a hand around your throat. “fuck. gonna milk me,” and then he lightly taps against your cheek with his other hand. “is the dumb baby still with me? look at me, girl,” and with hooded eyes, you meet the curse’s gazed his hips were sharp, unlike anything you’ve ever felt. it’s tantalizingly slow, each time he pulls out he purposely shoves himself back in—causing your mewls to only pitch louder. “that’s it. scream. let everyone ‘n this palace know how much of a nasty girl you are for me. louder.”

your whines grow louder, with your ankles rubbing against his back you start to feel his pace come to a slow halt. “k-kuna,” you whimper, his tip smooching against your most sweetest spots again, and again, and again. he feels how warm you are from the inside. the grip was so lewd, his jaw tightens as his weight slams into you countless times until you’re in a looping trance. “inside, finish inside pleasepleaseplease.”

“kiss me first,” he snarls, and almost immediately do you pull him into a sloppy kiss. with breaths heaving, tongue’s tangling, you whine into his mouth as he’s stuffing your cunt full of staggering lengthy inches. he’s so deep that your stomach briefly caves in, the sharp tips of his fingernails tickle against your skin before his thrusts grow deeper. moaning into his mouth, your legs still wrap around his waist before within three more solid pumps, he cums.

sukuna groans into your mouth, hot breath pouring into your mouth as he swipes a tongue against your bottom lip—biting it afterwards. it shoots out so quick, lightening speed. he’s shaking, and since he’s a curse—it’s so much more that he gives you. a plethora of satiny ropes, it trickles into your womb to where it starts leaking out of your sweet hole once he pulls his cock out. “how nasty,” he phews, beefy muscles flexing as his arms stood near the sides of you. despite him heaving in and out, he doesn’t even look remotely tired—instead, sukuna gives you another kiss before you watch as he starts to flip you over. “not done. ‘m gonna have to clean it out of you with my tongue,” he growls, making you chest hit against the plump cushioney pillows. “bend over, princess. let me get a better taste from this angle.”

TOJI ✰ FUSHIGURO.

“yeah yeah, i got you,” he grumbles, cutting off your sentence before arching you all the way over. you gasp at how blunt he is, giving your ass a spank before dragging a fat thumb down your pre soaked cunt. “didn’t plan on wearin’ that shit anyway. they never fuckin’ fit, doll. thanks for the concern though, heh. i’ll be extra careful, promise.”

with toji’s size, condoms would break easily.

if they didn’t break, they were on the very verges of shattering into a zillion pieces. with two riotous hands, he spreads your ass before smacking his fat tip between your folds. “f-fuuuck me already,” you whine out, feeling the naturally provocative arch in your back only stretch further. even his tip, his angry pinkish tip that never fails to split the insides of your pussy open with just a few thrusts, he’s such a tease. chewing on your lip as if it was a substitute for gum, you moan once he leans his face down to slowly spit near your cracking entrance between the crevices of your rear. you shudder, feeling the coldness of his saliva run down your slick, smearing calloused fingertips beneath your dampening folds. “y-you’re so nasty, toji.”

“girl i’ve been called worst but okay,” he gruffs, swiping a tongue against the scar near his lips. despite how you weren’t even facing him, you could just tell he gave you the most sassiest eye roll imaginable. as you’re on all fours, he makes the right side of your cheek hit against the cushioned comforter. “ya sure you wan’ me ‘ta go in raw? ‘m all for it but this ain’t y’er pussy talkin’ instead of that little brain of yours, is it?”

you nod, desperate for him to resume—and he does, but once toji fucks, he fucks mean.

toji fucks like he hates you—of course he doesn’t, but with hips of his, he wasn’t fooling anyone.

just seconds of taking backshots from him and you’re already drooling, the back in your arch couldn’t have been any more slutty. “fuck,” he groans, feeling his dick stretch—extending throughout the gummy areas of your pussy. he reached everywhere, you’re clinging onto the bed before you cutely make an attempt to crawl forward. “oh. where d’ya think y’er goin’?” he groans, giving your ass a spank. you gasp, feeling him drill his thick cock into you so precisely as if his occupation was a construction worker. the only thing he was hammering was your cunt though. with a hand snaking its way into your hair, he gives it a firm tug to make your ass plop back against him. “nah get the fuck back here. no runnin’ today baby. still got a lot more ‘ta give.”

he’s so stuffed into you that you feel your cunt gape around him, your jaw idly dangles open as he’s got your hair in a tight grip. “f-fuuuck, ‘s so big. stretchin’ me, toji, hngh,” and your sweet moans were melodic—simply music to his ears. you felt the pulse from his cock that was buried into you—fat swollen balls of his contour to kiss up against your bare ass, the sounds so loud it sounds like smacks. “a-ah ah ah,” you’d repeat, barely able to keep up with his relentless pace. “gonna cum, ‘toj. gonna c-cum, oh my goddd.”

“oh my goddd, i’m gonna cum too,” he mimics your whine—and by now, his entire body is pushed up against your ass. with a sly piston of his hips, he’s got you right where he wants you. toji chuckles against your ear, choking you with just a tiny amount of pressure before he hums. “you like bein’ fucked raw, don’t’cha? you feel me deep ‘n y’er womb, gorgeous?”

you nod again, your cunt just continues to mend and form around his length sloppily. heavy breaths tear out of your filled up lungs before he bends you way back against the bed. “y-yes, please. cum in me toji, want you to shoot in me, f-fuck please.”

he’s got a firm grip on your hair, yanking it back as he’s jackhammering his thick cock — you feel the jagged edges around him piercing through your insides and he’s just so fucking big.

you whine, sloshes of your own honeyed slick coating toji so well from the very base down. a pretty white ring, “yeah, c’mon. cum with me babygirl, cum on this dick,” and he growls darkly, the incoming build up coursing through his veins. a raw hoarse emits from the back of your throat before you’re cumming. it takes so much out of you, his tip ruthlessly mashing against your g-spot so good. your eyes are ogling, drool seeping from the corners of your lips before he ends up finishing too. never inside, but now—he’s shot a thick load into you raw. it was simply appetizing, toji slows his jerking hips down and he grows quiet. he’s pouring into your cunt with strings of hot balmy cum. with how quickly it is to fill you up, you feel how it just stuffs you to the brim.

that same white translucent ring coats around his fat base and a rough hand of his grips onto your waist. “take it all, fuck,” and you continue to clamp around his dick. it’s so much that it starts to ooze out of your folds, velvety pretty ropes of cum paint the crevices of your thighs—running down your folds and it’s got you so dizzy. his balls that plugged you full remain inside of your sopping cunt, slowing his thrusts down completely before momentarily taking his dick out. “got myself a nasty little bitch, milkin’ me like that,” he gruffs out, smearing a thumb down your now swollen clit. you’re panting, feeling a throbbing sensation pool into your abdomen before he flips you over. “where’s my thank you, doll?”

“t-thank you, toji,” you mewl out, feeling him position himself between your legs now—you’re laid on your back, gasping for air before he cups your chin. with dark coy eyes, he rubs a thumb against your lip. “thank you for finishing in me.”

“y’er welcome, sugar,” he groans, realigning himself against your saturated folds—so soaked, there were still many remnants of hot stringy semen that stuck against your entrance. he pauses, feeling your legs lock around his slim waist before he pauses. with a husky voice, toji plants a single kiss against your lips. “heh. ya are on the pill though, right?”

“…….”

[webism]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎HOT ROD !

After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.

pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two

cw; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.

The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to develop—instead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too high—which isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soul—and the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you. 

That being said—something sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better. 

“Cold feet?” You ask. 

His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though it’s pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.

“I don’t get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. “I'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."

Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."

Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin.  Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.

Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.

And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoru’s agent– an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again. 

The rising sun makes him squint against the road— he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day. 

“With how much they’re paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,” Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway. 

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months. 

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.”

You smile. “Mhm, talk.”

“Ready to get fucked for cash?” Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and you’re closing your door behind you. 

You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments. 

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture— this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you can’t help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing? 

You aren’t sure what’s worse— the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end. 

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.”

You grin. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one here—maybe you’re earlier than you realised. 

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask. 

“Yes, love,” Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. “Fuck, maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong date, even. Maybe—

The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo. 

His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both.  His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.

“Long time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."

It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in. 

“Mhm,” Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. “The city is too… busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt he’d blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you don’t know if he’s just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks it’s clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.

You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye – the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone – if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."

You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?" 

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."

Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."

Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."

Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside. 

"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."

You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere – to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.

The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips. 

There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything – your feelings, your career, your sexual desires – and now, in your current situation, you’re downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again – you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless – you'll do anything to achieve it. 

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.

So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.

“Jeez, didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. “Though I wouldn’t mind that… another time maybe.”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"

You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when it’s just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.

It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.

And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.

You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re a fucking lucky man, Suguru,” Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. You’re hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. “Don’t know how you can do porn when you’ve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"

"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"

Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as you’re known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you. 

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera,” you hum. “It’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.

He hadn’t realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.

Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoru’s chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguru’s touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru can’t help but lift his arms and help move the process along — he’s feeling beyond restless. 

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired man’s chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You study them both through the camera’s screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear.

He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isn’t going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. She’s obsessed."

You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is." 

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.

For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.

And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.

Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty and—"

This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."

"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."

His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin. 

Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think I’m happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.

Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position — your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you. 

Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe. 

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock. 

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault.  He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours. 

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."

You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.

"Holy shit," Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. “My head’s spinning, I think I’m in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?”

He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.

You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers. 

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum. 

Though, you don’t want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him — “you didn’t finish,” you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently. 

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing, from both of you.”

“You haven’t had both of us,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Don’t lie, or you won’t enjoy this as much as you could.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers. 

A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse — a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember. 

“I need to be inside of you, need. You’re fuckin’... god I can’t think.”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going. 

"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone. 

Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."

And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.

It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.

"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn. 

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him. 

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you. 

This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless. 

And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.

"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours. 

"M—fuck—me too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. You—"

"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her — watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."

You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.

His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag — ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.

"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life. 

You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear. 

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next. 

Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguru’s stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’s spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.

And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess he’s made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. 

Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, he’s gone and fucked you lovestruck.

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. “It’s not even fucking recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. “I…. can explain? I think I’d rather die than share the two of you with the world. But I’d really die if I didn’t get my hands on you both.”

You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anyway— not when such strong… feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. “I just, you enjoyed it, right?”

You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed. 

“Let’s get you both cleaned up, then,” Suguru hums. “I’m not fucking either of you again until we’ve shared a shower.

TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine

cont in comments !

[pucksandpower]

The One Left Behind

Max Verstappen x Lewis Hamilton’s ex!Reader

Summary: your first love was a seven-time world champion with a chip on his shoulder who would stop at nothing to finally get that eighth … even at the expense of you. Your second (and last) love is a five-time world champion with racing in his blood who proves, once and for all, that he would give it all up for you without even being asked … and regret absolutely nothing

Based on this request

The rain taps softly against the glass walls of the penthouse. The lights of Monaco shimmer beyond the windows, reflections dancing across the polished floor like scattered stars.

You sit cross-legged on the oversized couch, Lewis sprawled beside you, his legs stretched out, an arm slung casually over the backrest. He’s scrolling through his phone, something about sector times and telemetry, but his attention isn’t fully there. Not tonight.

“Lewis,” you say, gently nudging his side with your foot.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up.

You nudge him harder, and this time he glances your way, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “What’s up?”

“I need you to focus for, like, five minutes.”

“I am focusing,” he says, holding up his phone as evidence. “Race prep.”

“On me, Lewis.”

That gets his attention. He sets the phone down on the coffee table, screen still glowing with data, and leans back, giving you his full, undivided gaze. “Alright, I’m all yours. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitate for a moment, fingers curling into the soft fabric of your sweater. The words are there, sitting heavy on your tongue, but saying them feels like stepping off the edge of something solid. Still, you’ve been together for almost six years. If you can’t have this conversation with him now, when can you?

“I’ve been thinking,” you start, your voice steady but quiet, “about us. About the future.”

Lewis tilts his head, curiosity flickering across his face. “What about it?”

You take a deep breath. “I want to get married, Lewis. I want to have a family. With you.”

His expression shifts, not into shock or annoyance, but something harder to read. He doesn’t respond right away, which only makes the silence stretch uncomfortably between you.

“I know the timing’s not perfect,” you add quickly, trying to fill the gap. “I know you’re in the middle of-”

“The most important season of my career?” He finishes for you, a wry smile softening his tone.

“Yeah, that.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Babe, it’s not that I don’t want those things with you. I do. You know I do.”

“Do I?” The question slips out before you can stop it, and you see the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Of course you do,” he says, his voice low, almost defensive. “Six years. That’s not nothing.”

“I know it’s not nothing. But sometimes it feels like we’re stuck in the same place. Like we’re … waiting for something that never comes.”

Lewis scrubs a hand down his face, the faintest hint of frustration breaking through his calm demeanor. “It’s not that simple, love. You know how much this season means to me. Winning an eighth title, it’s history. Legacy. Everything I’ve worked for my whole life.”

“And what about after that?” You press, leaning closer. “What happens when you get it? Then what?”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, he looks almost … unsure. It’s a rare thing, seeing Lewis Hamilton unsure of anything.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve never really thought about it. Not in detail.”

“Well, maybe you should,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “Because I have. And I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with just being … your girlfriend forever.”

Lewis winces at the word, like it stings. “That’s not what you are to me. You’re everything. You know that.”

“Then prove it.”

He leans back again, running both hands through his hair as he exhales sharply. “God, you don’t make this easy, do you?”

“It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s supposed to be real.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching your face like he’s trying to solve some impossible puzzle. Then, slowly, he nods.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steady now, resolute. “When I win this season — when I get that eighth title — I’ll retire.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I’ll retire. I’ll hang up my helmet, put a ring on your finger, and we’ll start trying for that family you’ve been dreaming about.”

You stare at him, equal parts stunned and skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Lewis, you can’t just say that to shut me up.”

“I’m not trying to shut you up,” he says, reaching for your hand. His fingers are warm, steady, and when he looks at you now, there’s no hesitation, no uncertainty. “I’m saying it because I mean it. When I win, it’ll be the perfect ending. The perfect time to step away. And then it’s just us. No races, no travel, no distractions. Just you and me.”

“And a baby,” you add, because if you’re going to dream, you might as well dream big.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich, and pulls you closer until you’re half in his lap. “And a baby,” he agrees.

It feels like a promise, one sealed with the way he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you like they’re anchoring you to him.

But somewhere, deep down, a small, cautious voice whispers: what if he doesn’t win?

***

The suite is silent except for the faint hum of the minibar fridge and the muffled sounds of celebration filtering in from somewhere outside. It’s as if the entire world is rejoicing, but here, in the confines of this hotel room, everything feels like it’s crumbling.

Lewis hasn’t said a word since you got back. He walked in, dropped his helmet bag by the door, and slumped onto the edge of the bed, still in his team gear. His shoulders are hunched, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.

You stand a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest, unsure whether to approach him or leave him to his thoughts. The weight in the room is unbearable, pressing down on your chest until it’s hard to breathe.

“Lewis,” you say softly, testing the waters.

He doesn’t move.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

You take a tentative step closer. “I know it hurts-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, cutting you off. His voice is hoarse, raw from the screams and protests he let out over the radio hours ago. He still hasn’t looked up.

You flinch but press on, refusing to let the conversation die. “I’m just trying to help.”

“There’s nothing to help,” he snaps, finally lifting his head. His eyes are bloodshot, his expression a mix of devastation and barely restrained fury. “It’s done. Over. What’s there to say?”

Your heart twists at the sight of him like this — so broken, so unlike the unshakable man you’ve always known. “I just thought-”

“Don’t you get it?” He interrupts, his voice rising. He stands abruptly, towering over you, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to sit here and dissect how it all fell apart. I want to forget.”

You step back, your own emotions starting to fray at the edges. “You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. You need to face it.”

“And what good would that do?” He shoots back, pacing the room now like a caged animal. “Would it give me my title? My win? Would it change the fact that I got robbed tonight?”

His words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Me too.”

The silence stretches again, but this time it’s different. More fragile. You can feel it cracking under the weight of what you need to say next.

“Lewis,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “About what we talked about. Before …”

He stops pacing, turning to look at you with a frown. “What?”

“A few weeks ago,” you clarify, taking a shaky breath. “You said when you won, you’d retire. That we’d start … building a life together.”

His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as he stares at you.

“I know you didn’t win,” you continue hesitantly, “but does that really change anything? Can’t we still-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, holding up a hand. His expression is hard now, a stark contrast to the vulnerability he showed earlier. “Don’t do this right now.”

“Why not?” You ask, frustration creeping into your tone. “Because it’s not convenient? Because it’s easier to bury yourself in racing than deal with what’s happening between us?”

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice rising again.

“Isn’t it?” You challenge, taking a step closer. “You made me a promise. And now, what? You’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen because things didn’t go your way?”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You don’t get it. You’ve never understood. Racing isn’t just something I do — it’s who I am. Walking away now, without that eighth championship … I can’t. I won’t.”

Your chest tightens, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “So what about me? What about us? Do we just stay on pause forever while you chase this thing that might never happen?”

His face twists with something you can’t quite place — anger, regret, maybe both. “This isn’t just about you,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “I’ve given everything to this sport. Everything. And I’m not quitting until I finish what I started.”

“So I’m just supposed to wait?” You ask, your voice cracking. “How long, Lewis? Another year? Two? Five? When is it going to be enough?”

“I don’t know!” He shouts, the words bursting out of him like a dam breaking. “I don’t know, alright?”

The room falls silent again, the weight of his outburst settling over both of you.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters after a moment, shaking his head. “Not right now.”

Before you can say another word, he grabs his jacket from the back of a chair and heads for the door.

“Lewis, wait,” you plead, your voice trembling. “Don’t walk away from this. From me.”

He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn around. “I just need some air,” he says, his tone clipped.

And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that makes you flinch.

You stand there for a moment, frozen, staring at the door as if willing him to come back. But the only sound is the muffled celebration outside, a cruel reminder of everything that’s been lost tonight.

Finally, your legs give out, and you sink onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears come. They’re hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wrack your body.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of it. You were supposed to be celebrating together, planning your future, looking ahead to the life you’d been dreaming of for so long.

But instead, it feels like everything is slipping through your fingers, and no matter how hard you try to hold on, it’s all crumbling around you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into the silence, but when the tears finally stop, you’re left with an emptiness that feels even worse.

And for the first time in six years, you wonder if maybe Lewis Hamilton isn’t the man you thought he was. Or maybe he is, and that’s the problem.

***

One Year Later

The glass facade of the clinic looms above you, pristine and intimidating. Every time you glance at the sign — Centre de Fertilité de Monaco written in bold looping letters — your stomach churns. You’ve been standing outside for almost fifteen minutes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed tightly against the chill in the air.

The city is alive around you, luxury cars humming down the streets, the faint sound of waves crashing against the marina in the distance. But you feel like you’re in a bubble, trapped in your own swirling thoughts.

This is what you want. You’ve thought about it a hundred times, planned every detail, read every article, and filled out every form. And yet, your feet refuse to move.

“Just go inside,” you whisper to yourself, though the words feel hollow.

You take a step toward the door, but your hand falters just shy of the handle.

“Y/N?”

The voice is familiar, low and slightly accented, and it stops you in your tracks. You turn to see Max Verstappen standing a few feet away, a look of surprise etched across his face. He’s dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, but there’s no mistaking him.

“Max,” you breathe, startled.

He takes a step closer, his brows knitting together. “What are you doing here?”

You glance at the clinic sign and then back at him, your heart hammering in your chest. “It’s, uh … personal.”

Max’s eyes narrow slightly, curiosity and concern mingling in his expression. “Personal enough that you’re standing outside looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Your face heats, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself, as if that could shield you from his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He pauses, studying you. Then his eyes flicker to the sign again, and something seems to click. “Wait … are you-”

“Yes,” you blurt, cutting him off. There’s no point in pretending now. “I’m here to get artificially inseminated.”

Max blinks, clearly not expecting that answer. “Oh.”

You look away, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal. Lots of women do it.”

“Without anyone here to support you?” He asks, his tone soft but pointed.

You shrug, your voice defensive. “It’s my decision.”

Max doesn’t respond right away, and when you finally look back at him, he’s frowning. “Why?”

The question catches you off guard. “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want a baby,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And you can’t … I don’t know, meet someone?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right, because it’s that easy.”

Max shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re serious about this?”

“Yes, Max,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. “I’ve been serious about this for a long time. Just because my relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean I should have to give up on what I want.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he says quietly, “So you and Lewis really broke up.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The mention of Lewis still feels like a punch to the gut, even after all this time. “Yeah. A while ago.”

Max hesitates, his hands shoved into his pockets. “And now you’re just … what? Picking a random donor from a catalog and hoping for the best?”

The words sting, and you glare at him. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He presses, his voice still calm but insistent. “You deserve more than that. You deserve more than a child fathered by some random man you only know as lines of descriptions on paper.”

That’s the moment you break. The tears you’ve been holding back for weeks, maybe even months, come flooding out. You cover your face with your hands, trying to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use.

“Hey,” Max says quickly, stepping closer. “Hey, don’t-”

But you can’t stop. It’s all too much — Lewis, the clinic, the choices you’ve had to make on your own.

“I just want-” you choke out, but the words dissolve into another sob.

“Come here,” Max says softly, wrapping an arm around your back and gently tugging you closer. You collapse against him, your face buried in his shoulder as the tears keep coming.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles over your back. His hoodie smells faintly of cologne and something clean, like fresh laundry.

After a while, your sobs start to quiet, and you manage to pull back, wiping at your face. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” Max says, his voice low. He tilts his head, his blue eyes soft but serious. “You’re clearly not in the right state of mind to be making life-changing decisions.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“Look,” he says, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this. I’m saying maybe today isn’t the day. You’re upset. And I don’t think you should do something this big while you’re feeling like this.”

You hesitate, his words sinking in.

“My apartment is just around the corner,” he continues. “Why don’t we go there? We can talk, or not talk. Whatever you want. But at least give yourself a little time to think.”

You hesitate, glancing back at the clinic. The weight of the decision presses heavily on you, but so does the thought of going through with it now, like this.

“Okay,” you whisper finally.

Max nods, a small, reassuring smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Come on.”

He keeps his hand on your back as he guides you down the street, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel entirely alone.

***

Max’s apartment is modern, sleek, and surprisingly warm. The large windows overlook the Monaco skyline, the twinkling lights of the city reflecting off the sea in the distance. You sit on the plush gray couch, clutching a mug of tea Max handed you just moments ago. The ceramic is warm in your hands, grounding you as the weight of everything presses down on your chest.

Max settles in the armchair across from you, his long legs stretched out, one elbow resting on the armrest as he watches you carefully. He hasn’t said much since you got here, and you’re grateful for it. But now, with the tea steeping between your fingers and his steady gaze on you, you feel the urge to fill the silence.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max shrugs lightly, a faint, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Start anywhere.”

You exhale shakily, staring into the dark liquid in your mug. “Lewis and I were together for six years. Six years of my life … and for a long time, I thought we wanted the same things.”

Max’s brows knit together, but he stays quiet, letting you continue.

“I thought we were building something together,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I wanted to get married. I wanted kids. He said he did, too. But there was always something in the way — another season, another championship, another goal. And I kept waiting because I believed in him, in us.”

Your voice cracks, and you take a sip of the tea, letting the warmth soothe your throat. Max leans forward slightly, his blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that’s both comforting and unnerving.

“And then last year …” You pause, trying to steady your voice. “He promised me that if he won his eighth title, he’d retire. That we’d finally start the life we talked about. And I believed him. I really believed him.”

Max’s jaw tightens, his knuckles pressing against his chin as he listens.

“But he didn’t win,” you continue, the memory still fresh, still raw. “And instead of keeping his promise, he said he couldn’t walk away. Not without that eighth.”

“Unbelievable,” Max mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

You glance at him, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “I thought maybe I could wait. Maybe I could put my dreams on hold for him a little longer. But it wasn’t just about the title — it was about him always choosing racing over me, over us.”

Max leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “So you broke up.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say, your voice trembling. “I couldn’t keep waiting for someone who would never choose me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken. You’ve said them to yourself before, in the quiet of your bedroom, in the midst of sleepless nights, but saying them out loud now feels different. More final.

“And now you’re here,” Max says after a moment, gesturing faintly toward the direction of the clinic outside the windows.

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes again. “I still want a family. I’ve always wanted that. And after everything with Lewis, I realized I can’t keep putting my life on hold for someone else. If I want a baby, I have to make it happen myself.”

Max stares at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I get it,” he says finally. “I do. But … I don’t know. It just feels wrong. Like, you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you say, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Not everyone gets a happy ending. Some of us just have to make do with what we have.”

He shakes his head, leaning forward again. “That’s not what I mean. I mean someone like you shouldn’t have to settle for this. You’re smart, beautiful, caring. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Hell, if it were me-”

He stops abruptly, his face coloring slightly as if realizing what he’s about to say.

“If it were you, what?” You ask, your voice softer now, curious.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “If it were me, I wouldn’t have made you wait. I wouldn’t have let you go, period. I would’ve dropped everything the second I got out of the car in Abu Dhabi.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut — not because they hurt, but because they’re so unexpected, so honest.

“You don’t mean that,” you say quietly, though your heart betrays you, fluttering in your chest.

Max’s gaze is unwavering. “I do. You deserve someone who sees you as their priority, not as something they’ll get to when it’s convenient. If I had someone like you …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t need anything else.”

The room falls silent, and you don’t know what to say. Your hands tighten around the mug, and you feel your cheeks flush under his intense stare.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, leaning back. “That probably crossed a line.”

“No,” you say quickly, surprising even yourself. “It’s … nice to hear. I guess I just don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” He asks, his brows furrowing.

“Because if that were true, Lewis wouldn’t have left,” you admit, your voice breaking. “If I were really worth all that, he wouldn’t have walked away.”

Max shakes his head vehemently, leaning forward again. “That’s not on you. That’s on him. He couldn’t see what he had. That’s his loss, not yours.”

You blink back tears, his words cutting through the doubt and self-blame you’ve been carrying for so long.

“Look,” Max says softly, his voice gentle now. “You’re not alone in this, okay? I know it feels like it, but you’re not. And whatever you decide to do, just … don’t rush into it because you think you have to. You’ve got time, and you’ve got people who care about you.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks you all over again. You nod, unable to speak, and Max offers you a small, reassuring smile.

“Finish your tea,” he says, standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab us something stronger. Tea’s good for a talk, but this feels like a whiskey kind of conversation.”

You laugh softly, the sound surprising you. For the first time in a long time, the weight on your chest feels just a little bit lighter.

***

The first time you showed up at Max’s apartment unannounced, it was a particularly bad day. The ache in your chest had been unbearable, the quiet of your own place suffocating. You hadn’t even thought twice before texting him: You home?

His response came within seconds. Always. Door’s open.

You found him lounging on the couch, his two bengals sprawled out lazily beside him. When he saw you, he didn’t ask questions. He just stood, grabbed two Red Bulls from the fridge, and let you curl up on the floor to play with Jimmy and Sassy while he sat nearby, chatting about nothing in particular until the knot in your chest loosened.

It became a ritual after that. On the days when life felt too heavy, you’d make your way to Max’s. Sometimes you’d talk, sometimes you wouldn’t. But more often than not, you’d end up on the floor with the cats while Max watched with quiet amusement.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Jimmy pounces on the feather toy you’re dragging across the rug, his sleek body moving with a precision that reminds you of Max on the track. Sassy, the more aloof of the two, lounges nearby, watching her brother with disdain until she decides to join in.

You’re lying on your back now, laughing as the two cats leap over you, chasing the toy you’re holding above your head. It’s the first time you’ve laughed all day, maybe all week, and it feels good.

“Careful, Jimmy,” Max calls from the couch, his voice warm with affection. “She’s not a scratching post.”

You tilt your head to look at him, still holding the toy above you. He’s sitting sideways, one arm slung over the back of the couch, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Jimmy would never hurt me,” you say, grinning as the cat lands lightly on your stomach before darting off again.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Max warns, shaking his head. “He’s a menace.”

“He’s perfect,” you counter, turning your attention back to the cats.

Max chuckles softly, but he doesn’t respond. You’re too distracted by Sassy’s sudden burst of energy to notice the way his gaze lingers on you, the way his smile fades into something softer, something deeper.

After a while, you sit up, your hair slightly disheveled and your cheeks flushed from laughing. Jimmy jumps into your lap, purring contentedly as you stroke his fur.

When you look up, Max is staring at you.

“What?” You ask, your brow furrowing.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are warm, almost tender, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Nothing,” he says finally, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re just … happy. I like seeing you like this.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance away, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s the cats,” you say lightly, trying to brush it off. “They’re good for my mental health.”

“It’s not just the cats,” Max says, and there’s something in his tone that makes you look at him again.

He’s leaning forward slightly now, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on yours. You feel your breath catch, the air in the room shifting, thickening.

“Max …” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.

“You don’t see it, do you?” He says softly, his voice almost reverent.

“See what?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“How incredible you are.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unshakable. You stare at him, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“Max, I …”

Before you can finish, he’s on the floor in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, and you don’t pull away.

“You’re amazing,” he says, his eyes searching yours. “You’re strong, and kind, and funny, and … God, Y/N, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you forget how to speak.

“Max,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “This … this is a bad idea.”

“Why?” He asks, his hand still resting against your cheek.

“Because I don’t want to ruin this,” you admit, your eyes filling with tears. “You’ve been my rock these past few months. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly. “I promise you, you won’t. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

You’re silent, your heart warring with your head. But when he leans in, his lips brushing softly against yours, all your doubts fade away.

The kiss is gentle at first, hesitant, as if he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand sliding into your hair as he pours everything he’s been holding back into the kiss.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

Max chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Yeah. Wow.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. This wasn’t what you expected when you came here tonight, but now that it’s happened, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

“Max,” you say softly, your voice filled with uncertainty.

“It’s okay,” he says, cutting you off. “We’ll figure this out, whatever it is. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I promise.”

And to your surprise, despite the broken promises still shattered beneath your feet, you really do believe him.

***

The bedroom is bathed in the soft golden glow of the evening lights spilling through the windows. The Monaco skyline twinkles faintly in the distance, but you’re not paying attention to it. You’re wrapped up in Max’s arms, his warmth seeping into you as his fingers draw lazy patterns on your back.

You’re lying on your side, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His free hand brushes through your hair, the motion slow and soothing. Every so often, he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head or your temple, murmuring something sweet against your skin.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, his voice low and gentle.

“I’m just … content,” you reply, tilting your head to look up at him. “This is nice.”

He smiles down at you, his blue eyes soft with affection. “Yeah, it is.”

His fingers trail up to your jaw, tilting your face up so he can kiss you. It’s slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl and sends warmth blooming in your chest.

When he pulls back, his lips linger near yours, his breath fanning against your skin. “You know, I could get used to this,” he says, a playful lilt in his voice.

“You mean you’re not used to it already?” You tease, nudging him lightly.

“I mean forever,” he says, and the sincerity in his tone makes your heart skip a beat.

You smile, your fingers idly tracing the lines of his collarbone. “Forever sounds nice.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled with the soft sounds of your breathing and the occasional distant hum of the city below.

After a moment, you glance up at him, your heart beating a little faster. “Max?”

“Hmm?” He hums, his fingers still trailing along your back.

“Have you ever thought about … kids?” You ask hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stills for a moment, his hand pausing mid-motion before he shifts slightly to look down at you. “Kids?”

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly nervous. “Like, have you ever thought about having them?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his brows furrowing slightly as if considering your question. Then, to your surprise, he lets out a soft laugh.

“Honestly?” He says, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I’ve thought about it pretty much daily since I met you.”

Your eyes widen, and you push yourself up onto your elbow to look at him more closely. “Seriously?”

He chuckles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it before. But now? With you? I think about it all the time.”

“Max,” you whisper, your heart swelling at his words.

“I know it sounds crazy,” he continues, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “We haven’t been together that long, but … I don’t know. When you know, you know, right?”

You nod, unable to speak, your throat tight with emotion.

“And I know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re it for me, Y/N. There’s no one else. There’s never going to be anyone else.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and you laugh softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re really something, Max Verstappen.”

“I mean it,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “So … what do you think? Would you want to have a baby with me?”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The question is so outlandish, so unexpected, and yet it feels right.

“You’re serious?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“Dead serious,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re going to be an amazing mom. I can already see it.”

You laugh, covering your face with your hands as the weight of his words sinks in. “This is insane.”

“Maybe,” he says, pulling your hands away from your face. “But it feels right, doesn’t it?”

You look at him, at the way his eyes shine with hope and love, and you know he’s right.

“It does,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He beams, his grin so wide it’s almost boyish. “So … is that a yes?”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him. “Yes, Max. Let’s have a baby.”

He kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you closer. The kiss is different this time — deeper, more urgent, filled with the promise of what’s to come.

When you pull back, you’re both grinning like fools, your foreheads pressed together as you laugh softly.

“This is happening,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

“It is,” you reply, your heart swelling with joy.

“And just so you know,” he adds, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. “I’m not leaving this bed until we make it happen.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he counters, flipping you onto your back as his lips find yours again.

The night stretches on for what feels like forever, filled with laughter, whispered promises, and the kind of love that feels like forever.

***

The moment you see the two pink lines on the test, your heart stops. For a second, you don’t breathe, don’t blink, don’t move. Then, a rush of emotions crashes over you all at once — joy, disbelief, terror, excitement. You sit on the edge of the tub in your bathroom, staring at the test in your shaking hands, trying to make sense of it.

“Max,” you whisper to yourself, and the thought of him steadies you.

He’s in the kitchen when you step out, his back to you as he busies himself with something at the stove. The faint smell of eggs and toast fills the air, but you can barely focus on it. Your hand tightens around the test in your pocket.

“Morning,” he says when he hears your footsteps, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile. “Hungry? I made breakfast.”

You don’t answer, your feet rooted to the floor.

“Y/N?” He says, turning fully to face you now. “Everything okay?”

You nod, though you’re pretty sure you don’t look convincing. Your chest feels tight, and suddenly, you don’t know how to say the words.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

His hands find yours, grounding you in the way only he can. You take a deep breath and pull the test out of your pocket, holding it up between you.

Max stares at it for a moment, his eyes wide.

“Is that-”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “It’s positive.”

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Then, a slow, disbelieving grin spreads across his face.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You nod, your own tears welling up as you watch his expression shift from shock to pure, unfiltered joy.

“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, the words finally sinking in.

Max lets out a breathless laugh, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground. “Oh my God, Y/N, we’re having a baby!”

You laugh through your tears, clinging to him as he spins you around. When he finally sets you down, his hands frame your face, his eyes searching yours.

“Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need anything? Oh my God, we need to call the doctor, right? That’s what we do next?”

“Max,” you say, cutting him off with a laugh. “I’m okay. We’ll figure it all out.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding quickly. “Okay. But, wow … we’re having a baby.”

The way he says it, like he can’t quite believe it, makes your heart swell.

From that moment on, Max is all in.

***

Max surprises you at every turn. Where you once thought the worlds of racing and family couldn’t coexist, he proves you wrong with every thoughtful gesture, every sacrifice, every time he puts you first.

At first, you hesitate to bring it up. You know how important racing is to him, how much of his life has been dedicated to it. You don’t want to be a distraction, don’t want to pull him away from something he loves.

But Max is quick to shut down any of those thoughts.

“You and this baby come first,” he says one night, his hand resting gently on your still-flat stomach. “Always.”

You blink at him, your throat tight. “You don’t have to say that, Max. I know how much racing means to you.”

“And I know how much you mean to me,” he counters, his voice firm. “This doesn’t have to be one or the other. We’ll make it work. I promise.”

And he does.

***

You don’t feel ready to travel yet, and Max doesn’t push you. He understands when you tell him you’re not ready to face the paddock, to face him. It’s still too raw, too soon. Max doesn’t question it.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing your forehead. “You don’t need to explain. You do what’s best for you. I’ll come to you.”

And he does.

Even in the middle of the season, when his schedule is packed and his commitments are endless, Max never misses a single appointment. He’s always there, whether it’s for the early check-ups or the first ultrasound.

“Can you believe that’s our baby?” He whispers during the first scan, his voice filled with awe as he watches the tiny flicker of the heartbeat on the monitor.

You can’t answer, your own emotions overwhelming you. Instead, you squeeze his hand, and he leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

***

The weeks pass, and soon it’s time for the big ultrasound — the one where you’ll finally learn the baby’s gender. Max is in São Paulo for the Brazilian Grand Prix, and you’ve convinced yourself he won’t make it back in time.

“It’s okay,” you tell him over the phone the night before. “You’ve got a race to focus on. I’ll record everything for you.”

“Y/N,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not missing this.”

“But-”

“I’ll be there,” he promises. “Trust me.”

True to his word, Max walks into the clinic the next afternoon, still in his favorite set of sweats for traveling, his hair slightly disheveled from the flight.

“Max,” you say, standing up from your chair in the waiting room, your heart swelling at the sight of him. “You made it.”

“Of course I did,” he says, pulling you into his arms. “I told you I would.”

The ultrasound room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the machine and the occasional click of the technician’s keyboard. You’re lying on the examination table, Max sitting beside you, holding your hand tightly.

“Are you ready to find out?” The technician asks, her eyes crinkling with a warm smile.

You glance at Max, and he nods, his excitement barely contained.

“Let’s do it,” you say.

The technician moves the wand across your stomach, and a moment later, the screen lights up with the image of your baby.

“Congratulations,” she says, her smile widening. “It’s a girl.”

A girl.

Max lets out a laugh, his hand flying to cover his mouth as he stares at the screen. “A girl,” he repeats, his voice filled with wonder. “We’re having a girl.”

You laugh through your tears, your heart full to bursting. Max leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose, your lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” You ask, your own voice shaky.

“For this. For her. For everything,” he says, his eyes shining as he looks at you.

You don’t have the words to respond, so you just squeeze his hand, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.

And in that moment, you realize: Max was right. Racing and family don’t have to be at odds. They can coexist, as long as you have someone who’s willing to make it work. And Max? He’s more than willing. He’s all in. Always.

***

It’s been a long start to the season, and the 2024 championship is already shaping up to be a nail-biter. The RB20 is much more unwieldy than its predecessor, the points gap narrowing with a DNF in Australia. The pressure is on, and you know it. Max knows it too.

But despite everything — the late nights, the media frenzy, the endless travel — he never wavers in his commitment to you and the baby. Even as the world watches him fight for the title, Max’s focus always returns home.

As your due date approaches, the Japan Grand Prix weekend looms closer on the calendar. Suzuka is pivotal, everyone says. The kind of race that could determine the championship. The team is counting on Max to deliver.

But Max doesn’t seem fazed by any of it when you bring it up one evening in bed, your hand resting on your swollen belly while his fingers gently trace circles over the skin.

“You know Suzuka’s right around the corner,” you say hesitantly, watching his expression.

“Hmm,” he hums, his eyes focused on your stomach, his lips quirking into a small smile when he feels a kick.

“Max.”

He glances up at you, his gaze softening. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate, unsure how to phrase it. “I just … I know it’s an important race. And my due date is so close. What if-”

“I’m not going to Japan,” he says firmly, cutting you off before you can spiral.

You blink at him, startled. “What?”

“I’ve already told Christian and Helmut. They’re putting Liam in the car for the weekend.”

“Max,” you whisper, your heart swelling. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he says, his voice steady. “This is our daughter we’re talking about. There’s no way I’m missing her arrival, not for any race, not for anything.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and you blink them back quickly. “But the championship-”

“Doesn’t matter as much as this,” he interrupts again, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Y/N, I love racing, but you and our baby? You’re everything. You’re my world. If I have to miss a race, so be it.”

You stare at him, your throat tight, and you can’t stop the tears this time. “I love you,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I love you too. More than anything.”

***

When the weekend of the Japanese Grand Prix arrives, you’re still pregnant, and Max is at your side, refusing to let you lift a finger.

The race plays out on the television in the background while Max spends most of the day doting on you. He rubs your feet, makes you tea, and checks on the hospital bag for the millionth time, making sure everything is in order.

“Max, sit down,” you say, laughing softly as you watch him double-check the contents of the bag again.

“I just want to make sure we’re ready,” he says, zipping it up and placing it neatly by the door.

“We’re ready,” you assure him, patting the space next to you on the couch.

He finally sits, pulling you close and resting his hand on your belly. “You’re sure she’s not coming today?”

“She’s not on your schedule, Verstappen,” you tease, and he laughs, leaning in to kiss your temple.

***

But she does come.

Two days later, in the early hours of the morning, the first contraction wakes you. At first, you’re too groggy to register what’s happening, but when the second one hits, you gasp, clutching at the sheets.

“Max,” you manage to get out, shaking his shoulder.

He bolts upright, his eyes wide and alert. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think … I think it’s time,” you say, your voice trembling.

Max is on his feet in an instant, grabbing the hospital bag and helping you out of bed with remarkable calmness for someone who was sound asleep just seconds ago.

“You okay?” He asks, his arm around your waist as he guides you to the car.

You nod, though your breaths are shallow. “Yeah. Just … hurry.”

***

The hours in the delivery room pass in a blur of pain and anticipation. Max never leaves your side, his hand gripping yours tightly through every contraction, his voice steady and reassuring as he encourages you.

“You’re amazing,” he says, brushing the hair from your sweaty forehead. “You’ve got this. Just a little more, liefje. You’re so strong.”

When the moment finally comes, and the sound of your daughter’s first cries fills the room, both of you dissolve into tears.

“She’s here,” Max whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s really here.”

The nurse places the tiny, wriggling bundle in your arms, and you look down at her, overwhelmed by a love so powerful it takes your breath away. Max leans over your shoulder, his face close to hers, his tears falling freely now.

“She’s perfect,” he says, his voice breaking.

You glance up at him, your heart swelling as you see the pure adoration on his face. “She looks like you.”

“She looks like us,” he corrects, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her cheek.

***

When the nurse takes her to be weighed and cleaned up, Max stands frozen for a moment, watching her with wide eyes. Then, when they bring her back, he hesitates.

“You want to hold her?” You ask, smiling through your exhaustion.

He looks at you like you’ve just handed him the most precious thing in the world. “Can I?”

“Of course,” you say, carefully passing her to him.

Max cradles her in his arms, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving her face. He looks utterly awestruck, his tears still streaming down his cheeks as he rocks her gently.

“Hi, little one,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m your papa. And I already love you more than anything.”

Your heart clenches as you watch him, the way he holds her like she’s the most fragile, most important thing in the world.

“You okay?” You ask softly, reaching out to touch his arm.

He nods, but when he looks at you, his expression is serious. “Y/N,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “If you or she ever said the word, I’d stop. I’d walk away from racing tomorrow and never look back.”

“Max-”

“I mean it,” he says, cutting you off gently. “I don’t need any of it. All I need is right here.”

Tears spill down your cheeks as you reach for his hand, your fingers lacing through his. “You don’t have to stop, Max. I don’t want you to. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” he says, his gaze dropping back to your daughter. “You and her — you’re everything.”

The three of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other and the overwhelming love that fills the room.

And as you watch Max rock your daughter, his eyes shining with tears and joy, you realize that this is it — this is the life you always dreamed of.

***

The Australian Grand Prix marks the beginning of the 2025 season, and the paddock is alive with its usual chaos: reporters shouting questions, cameras flashing, and engineers rushing to and from garages. But for you, it feels like an entirely different world as you step onto the paddock with your daughter perched on your hip.

She’s bundled in a tiny Red Bull jacket Max had custom-made, her baby blue eyes wide as she takes in the flurry of activity around her. She giggles as a gust of wind tousles her fine blonde curls, and you can’t help but smile, brushing them back into place.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask Max, who stands beside you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back.

He glances at you, his expression soft but resolute. “You’re my family. I want everyone to know.”

Your chest tightens, equal parts touched and nervous. “It’s just … people are going to talk.”

“Let them,” Max says simply, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Then he shifts his attention to your daughter, gently tickling her chin. “Aren’t they, prinsesje? Let them say what they want.”

Her delighted squeal pulls a laugh from him, and for a moment, your nerves melt away.

But the attention is immediate. As soon as you cross into the paddock, a ripple of recognition sweeps through the crowd. Photographers pause, their lenses snapping up. Team personnel do double takes. Whispers spread like wildfire.

You’re prepared for it — at least, as much as you can be. What you’re not prepared for is running into Lewis.

You spot him before he sees you, standing just outside the Ferrari hospitality area in conversation with Fred Vasseur. Your stomach twists as you consider turning around, but before you can move, Lewis glances up.

He freezes.

His gaze locks on you, then drops to the baby in your arms, and his expression shifts from shock to something darker. He mutters something to Fred and strides toward you, his movements purposeful and tense.

“Y/N,” he says, stopping a few feet away. His eyes flicker to Max, who hasn’t left your side, and then back to you. “What … what’s this?”

You take a steadying breath. “Hello, Lewis.”

He ignores the pleasantries, his attention fixed on the child in your arms. “Is that your-” He stops, his jaw tightening. “Is that his?”

Max steps forward slightly, his hand now firm on your back. “Yes,” he says evenly, his voice calm but unyielding. “She is ours.”

Lewis’s eyes narrow, his gaze darting between you and Max. “How long has this been going on?”

“Lewis, I don’t think-”

“How long?” He snaps, his tone sharper now.

You glance at Max, who gives you a reassuring nod. Turning back to Lewis, you say, “A little over two and a half years.”

Lewis exhales sharply, shaking his head as if trying to process the information. “Two and a half years. So, what? You moved on that fast?”

“Don’t do that,” you say quietly, your grip tightening on your daughter. “It wasn’t fast. You know that.”

“Do I?” His voice is bitter, his expression unreadable. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks like you didn’t waste any time replacing me.”

Max stiffens beside you, but you place a hand on his arm, silently urging him to let you handle it.

“I didn’t replace you,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I moved on. There’s a difference.”

His gaze softens for a moment, flickering with something like hurt. But then he looks at Max again, and the hardness returns. “With him?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, your chin lifting.

Lewis laughs bitterly, running a hand over his face. “Unbelievable.”

“Lewis,” Max interjects, his tone measured but with an edge of steel. “This isn’t about you. It’s about her. And our daughter.”

“Your daughter,” Lewis repeats, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. And you think this is going to work? Bringing her into this circus?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “It’s already working. She’s happy. We’re happy.”

Lewis scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “You think this is happiness? Dragging a baby into this environment? Do you even understand what kind of life you’re giving her?”

You step forward before Max can respond, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Don’t you dare judge me. You don’t get to do that. Not after everything.”

Lewis falters, his anger giving way to a flicker of guilt. “I’m not trying to-”

“Yes, you are,” you interrupt. “I get it, okay? You’re hurt. But you don’t get to stand there and act like you know what’s best for me or my family. Not anymore.”

There’s a long, tense silence. Finally, Lewis looks away, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I just … I didn’t think it would end like this,” he mutters.

Neither did you. But you don’t say it. Instead, you adjust your daughter in your arms, her tiny fingers clutching at your jacket, grounding you.

“It’s not about how it ended,” you say softly. “It’s about how we move forward.”

Lewis looks at you, and for a moment, you see the man you loved — the man who promised you a future he could never give. His eyes drop to your daughter, and his expression shifts, softening in a way that makes your heart ache.

“She’s beautiful,” he says quietly, almost reluctantly.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Max steps closer, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. “We should go,” he says, his voice low but kind.

You nod, giving Lewis one last look before turning away.

***

In the Red Bull motorhome, you sink into a chair, your emotions crashing over you. Max kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he studies your face.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, though tears blur your vision. “It’s just … hard. Seeing him. The way he looked at me.”

Max leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t owe him anything. Not your guilt, not your sadness. Nothing. You’re here with me now, with our daughter. That’s all that matters.”

His words soothe you, and you reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice unwavering. Then he glances at your daughter, who’s dozing peacefully in her stroller. “And I love her more than anything.”

You smile through your tears, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. No matter what challenges lie ahead, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

Nine Months Later

The final race of the 2025 season is a sea of chaos and celebration. The Yas Marina Circuit glows under the floodlights, the air electric with cheers as Max steps onto the top of the podium for the fifth time in his career. Champagne sprays from the bottles, glistening under the lights, but Max barely seems to notice.

His eyes search through the crowd, scanning the blur of faces until they land on you. There you are, cradling your daughter in your arms, her little Red Bull ear protectors sitting snugly over her head. She’s clapping her hands in that uncoordinated, infant-like way that makes his chest ache with love. And you — God, you. Your smile is soft but radiant, tears glinting in your eyes as you look up at him.

Max feels his heart tighten, his grip on the champagne bottle slackening. He’s been chasing dreams for as long as he can remember — titles, wins, perfection on the track. But now, looking at you and the life you’ve built together, he knows none of it compares to what he has waiting for him off the podium.

He knows what he has to do.

As the podium ceremony winds down, Max fumbles at the inside pocket of his race suit. His fingers brush over the small velvet box he’s carried with him for weeks, waiting for the right moment. This is it. There’s no better time.

Lando Norris, standing to Max’s right after clinching second place, notices his movement and raises a brow. “What are you up to?”

Max doesn’t answer, too focused on what’s coming next. His fingers close around the box, and his pulse quickens.

He steps forward, champagne still dripping from his suit, and motions to the crowd below. “Can we … can someone help her up here?” He calls, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

You blink, confused, as several Red Bull mechanics glance at each other before moving to you. One of them gestures toward the podium. “Come on,” he says, grinning. “You’re part of this moment.”

“What? No, I-” you stammer, clutching your daughter closer. “I’m fine here-”

“Y/N,” Max says from above, his voice carrying across the noise. His tone is warm but insistent. “Please. Come up.”

Your heart races as you glance around, overwhelmed by the attention, but the mechanics are already helping guide you to the platform. Before you know it, you’re being hoisted onto the podium, your feet landing on the cool metal as you steady yourself.

Max steps toward you, his eyes locked on yours. His gaze is tender, but there’s a flicker of nerves there, too. The crowd’s roar dulls in your ears as he takes a deep breath, his focus entirely on you.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice trembling slightly. He drops to one knee, the champagne bottle rolling away unnoticed. In his hand is the small velvet box, now open to reveal a sparkling diamond ring.

The crowd erupts.

Your breath catches.

“Y/N,” Max says again, louder this time, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I once thought winning a championship would be the best moment of my life. But then I saw you. Holding our daughter, looking at me like that, and I realized the best thing I’ve ever done has nothing to do with racing. It’s us. It’s you. It’s her.”

Tears blur your vision, your hand covering your mouth as you stare down at him.

“I love you,” he continues, his voice cracking. “I love you more than anything in this world. You’ve given me everything I never knew I needed. You’re my family, Y/N, and I don’t want to wait another second to make it official.”

He swallows hard, his hands shaking as he holds the ring toward you. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, everything seems to stop. The crowd, the cameras, the other drivers — it all fades away. All you can see is Max, his face open and vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen. The man who’s always so composed under pressure, the fierce competitor, is looking at you with nothing but love and hope.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice breaking. Then, louder. “Yes, Max. Yes!”

The crowd explodes into cheers as Max lets out a breathless laugh, his face lighting up in relief and joy. He stands quickly, wrapping one arm around your waist while slipping the ring onto your finger with the other. It fits perfectly.

Before you can say anything else, Max cups your face and kisses you, his lips warm and urgent against yours. The kiss is met with an even louder roar from the crowd, but all you can focus on is him — the way his hands tremble slightly, the way he pulls you closer as if afraid to let go.

Your daughter giggles in your arms, and Max pulls back just enough to glance down at her. He grins, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “What do you think, prinsesje? Did Papa do okay?”

She babbles something incomprehensible, and the three of you laugh.

***

Later, in the quiet of his driver’s room, the chaos of the podium ceremony behind you, Max pulls you into his lap as you sit together on the small sofa. Your daughter sleeps soundly in her stroller nearby, her tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm.

Max toys with the ring on your finger, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he says, his voice soft, “I’ve won a lot of things in my life. But this … this is my greatest victory.”

You smile, resting your forehead against his. “You’re pretty good at making me cry today, Verstappen.”

He chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Get used to it. I plan on spending the rest of my life making you cry happy tears.”

You hum, leaning into his touch. “Good. Because I plan on spending the rest of my life loving you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you. “Deal.”

And in that moment, with Max holding you close and your daughter sleeping nearby, you realize that this — this is your podium. Your victory. Your forever.

***

The night is impossibly quiet for Abu Dhabi, the hum of the city dulled by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite. The celebrations are over, the crowds dispersed, and now it’s just the three of you. Your daughter sleeps soundly in her cot near the foot of the bed, her tiny face relaxed in peaceful dreams.

You’re wrapped up in Max’s arms, the weight of the day finally catching up with both of you. His chest is warm against your back, his heartbeat steady as his fingers lazily trace patterns on your arm. The ring on your finger catches the faint glow of the bedside lamp, a small, perfect reminder of the life-changing moment you shared hours ago.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, shifting slightly to glance up at him.

Max’s gaze is soft, his blue eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “Just thinking,” he says, his voice low and a little hoarse from the day’s shouting and champagne sprays.

“About?”

He pauses, his fingers stilling on your skin. You can feel the hesitation in him, the way his body tenses ever so slightly. It’s not like Max to be unsure — he’s always been decisive, charging into life with the same fearless determination he has on the track.

“Max?” You press gently, turning fully to face him now. “What’s on your mind?”

He exhales a long breath, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he starts, his accent curling warmly around the words. “But after today … I think I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

His hand moves to yours, thumb brushing over the ring he gave you just hours earlier. He stares at it for a moment before meeting your gaze, his eyes clear and steady.

“I’m going to retire,” he says softly.

The words hit you like a jolt. For a second, you’re sure you misheard him. “Retire?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his expression unwavering. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“Max,” you say, your brow furrowing. “You just won your fifth title. You’re at the peak of your career. Why would you …”

He shifts slightly, sitting up so he can look at you more directly. “Because I don’t need it anymore,” he says simply. “I’ve achieved everything I ever wanted in racing. More than I ever thought I could. But now …” He pauses, his gaze flicking briefly to the cot where your daughter sleeps. “Now I have something I want more.”

Your chest tightens, emotions swirling in a chaotic mess you can’t quite untangle. “Are you sure? I mean, Max, this is huge. Racing has been your entire life.”

“I know,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “And I’ll always love it. But I don’t want to spend the next ten or fifteen years chasing something I don’t need, not when it means missing out on moments with you. With her.” He nods toward your daughter, his face softening.

You sit there in stunned silence, trying to process what he’s saying. “But what about the team? And your fans? You love the thrill of it, the competition-”

“Y/N,” he cuts you off gently, reaching for your hand again. “I love you more. I love our family more. And I don’t want to be the kind of dad who’s always gone, always distracted. I’ve seen what that does. I don’t want that for her.”

His words hit you square in the chest, a wave of emotion crashing over you. Tears prick at your eyes as you search his face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all you see is love and certainty.

“You’re really serious about this,” you say softly, your voice trembling.

He nods. “I’ve thought about it for months. After last season, I told myself I’d give it one more year. One more title. And then I’d walk away. Today, seeing you and her in the crowd, knowing everything we’ve built together … it made me realize I’m ready.”

You reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “Max … I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’re okay with it,” he says, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Say you’ll let me stay home and annoy you every day.”

A laugh escapes you, watery but real. “I think I can handle that.”

He leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because this is what I want, Y/N. You, her, our life together. That’s enough for me. More than enough.”

For a while, you just sit there in the quiet, wrapped up in each other. Your mind is still racing, but your heart feels full, overflowing with love for the man beside you.

“So,” you say after a moment, your voice lighter, “what’s the plan? Are you going to call Christian in the middle of the night and drop this bombshell on him?”

Max chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I’ll give him a day or two to recover from the title celebrations first. Then I’ll tell him.”

“And how do you think he’s going to take it?”

“Oh, he’ll try to talk me out of it,” Max says, rolling his eyes. “He’ll tell me I’m too young, that I’ve got years left in me, that I can win even more. But I’ve already made up my mind.”

You smile, resting your head against his chest. “He’s going to miss you. They all will.”

“I’ll miss them too,” he admits. “But this isn’t goodbye forever. I’ll still be around — just not on the grid.”

“And me?” You ask, your voice teasing. “What if I’m not ready to have you home all the time?”

Max grins, his hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

As the night stretches on, the weight of the day starts to fade, replaced by a quiet sense of peace. Max lies back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you’re nestled against his side.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice drowsy but warm, “I used to think racing was everything. That I’d be lost without it.”

“And now?” You ask, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

“Now I know it was just a part of me. A big part, yeah, but not the most important one. Not anymore.” He pauses, his hand brushing over your hair. “You and her … you’re my everything now.”

Tears sting your eyes again, but this time they’re tears of joy. “Max,” you whisper, your voice catching. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he says, his words a soft promise against your skin.

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together.

***

The room buzzes with an electric energy, the kind that only the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony can create. It’s a night to honor champions, to toast to a season of victories, and to revel in the highs of motorsport. The crowd is a mix of drivers, team principals, engineers, and journalists, all dressed to the nines. You’re seated in the front row, a place reserved for the most important people in the room.

Max is on stage, holding his freshly polished World Championship trophy, the applause still roaring from the moment his name was called. His tuxedo fits him like a glove, and there’s a boyish grin on his face that makes him look impossibly proud — and a little nervous.

In your lap, your daughter wiggles, her tiny hands clutching at the hem of your sparkling gown. She’s too young to understand what’s happening, but the excitement of the room has her wide-eyed and curious. You adjust her slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as you watch Max step up to the microphone.

“Wow,” Max begins, his voice carrying over the hushed murmurs of the crowd. “What a year. What a … career.”

There’s a ripple of surprise at his choice of words. You feel it too, a sharp intake of breath as he pauses. He hasn’t told anyone outside of your family and a select few about his decision yet, and it hits you that this is the moment.

“I want to start by saying thank you,” Max continues, his accent thick with emotion. “To everyone who made this season possible. To my team at Red Bull — Christian, Helmut, GP, the engineers, the mechanics — every single person who has been part of this journey. We did this together. Five championships in the last five years … it still feels surreal.”

The room breaks into another round of applause, but Max raises a hand to quiet them.

“But tonight isn’t just about this trophy or this season,” he says, his voice steady despite the emotion creeping into it. “It’s about something bigger. About knowing when it’s time to close one chapter and start another.”

Your heart races, and you tighten your hold on your daughter as Max’s words hang in the air.

“When I was a kid, all I ever wanted was to race,” Max says, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “I grew up at circuits, watching my dad, dreaming of being in Formula 1. And for the last decade, this sport has been my whole life. It’s given me everything. It’s taught me more than I ever imagined — about hard work, about resilience, about pushing beyond what you think is possible.”

He pauses, his eyes flicking down to where you’re sitting. The faintest smile plays on his lips as your gazes meet, and you see the love and certainty there.

“But these past two years,” he continues, his voice softening, “I learned something else. That as much as I love this sport, there’s something I love more. Someone I love more.”

The murmurs in the crowd grow louder, heads turning to you. You feel your cheeks flush, but you keep your focus on Max, your heart pounding.

“Last season, I became a father,” Max says, his tone warming with pride. “And it changed everything. It changed the way I see the world, the way I see myself, and the way I think about my future. I realized that as much as I love racing, I don’t want to miss the little moments … the things that really matter.”

The room falls completely silent, everyone hanging on his every word.

“So,” Max says, his voice unwavering now, “tonight, as I accept this trophy, I also want to announce that this was my last season in Formula 1.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by stunned silence. Your daughter squirms in your arms, oblivious to the magnitude of what’s just been said.

Max smiles faintly, taking in the shocked faces in the room. “I know it might seem sudden,” he says, “but this is something I’ve thought about for a long time. I’ve achieved everything I could have dreamed of in this sport. I’ve worked with the best team in the world, competed against the best drivers in the world, and I leave with no regrets. But now, it’s time for me to focus on the next chapter of my life. On my family.”

He glances down at you again, and this time his gaze lingers. “Y/N, you and our daughter … you’re my everything. You’ve given me a reason to look beyond the racetrack, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Your vision blurs with tears, and you can’t help but smile up at him. The crowd erupts into applause, some people rising to their feet in admiration and respect.

After a moment, Max raises a hand again, signaling for quiet. “I want to thank the fans,” he says, his voice growing steadier. “You’ve been with me through every win, every loss, every crazy overtake and late-breaking move. You’ve pushed me to be better every single day. And while I won’t be on the grid next season, I’ll always be part of this sport. It’s in my blood, and it always will be.”

The applause grows even louder this time, the room filling with a wave of emotion and admiration. You clap along, your daughter bouncing slightly in your arms at the sound.

When Max steps down from the stage, he comes straight to you. The cameras follow his every move, the flashes almost blinding as he crouches in front of you.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, your throat too tight with emotion to speak.

He reaches for your daughter, lifting her into his arms with ease. She giggles, grabbing at the shiny lapel of his tuxedo, and Max laughs softly, the sound breaking through the tension in the room.

“We did it,” he says, his eyes locking with yours.

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “We did,” you whisper back.

***

The rest of the night is a blur of congratulations, handshakes, and emotional farewells. But through it all, Max stays by your side, his arm around your waist or his hand in yours.

As the event winds down, you find yourselves back in the car, your daughter sleeping peacefully in her car seat. The city lights blur past the windows, and Max leans back against the seat, exhaling deeply.

“That went better than I thought,” he says, his voice tinged with relief.

“You were incredible,” you tell him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He glances down at you, his expression soft. “Are you happy?”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his. “More than I ever thought I could be.”

And as the car carries you through the quiet streets, you realize that this is just the beginning of a new adventure — the one Max always knew was waiting for him.

***

Two Years Later

Lewis doesn’t plan to be on this street. He’s never liked taking the busy Monaco thoroughfares, even after all these years of calling the principality home. But a morning run had turned into aimless wandering, and now he’s here, jogging along the promenade, music blasting in his ears, trying to clear his head.

The past two years since Max retired have been strange. No fierce wheel-to-wheel battles with Verstappen, no reminders on the track of the rivalry that defined his career for so long. And yet, Max still lingers in his thoughts — like an echo, a shadow, a specter. Every headline about the Verstappens pops up in his feed: Max is spotted at home with his family. Max is thriving in retirement.

But it’s not Max that Lewis thinks about most. It’s you. It’s always been you.

Lewis slows his pace as he nears the bakery that used to be your favorite. He has no idea if you still come here, or if Monaco even feels like home to you anymore. He shakes his head, chastising himself for thinking like this. You’re gone. You’ve been gone.

But then, he hears it. A child’s voice, high-pitched and sweet, chattering happily. He instinctively looks over, and his feet stop moving altogether.

There you are.

You’re walking hand-in-hand with Max. Max, who looks completely at peace, a little older but no less recognizable. Beside him, a little girl. She’s animated as she talks to him, her tiny hand curled securely around his. And then, there’s the stroller. A navy blue, high-tech design Lewis recognizes from catalogs. Inside is a baby boy, fast asleep, his chubby face serene as he snoozes against the soft fabric.

Lewis feels the air leave his lungs.

You don’t see him. You’re busy talking to Max, laughing at something he says. You’re dressed casually, a flowy sundress swaying around your knees, sunglasses perched on your nose. Your free hand rests on the stroller handle, the gesture almost instinctive. The sight of you like this — effortless, happy, and surrounded by a family — sends a sharp pang through Lewis’ chest.

It’s everything he could’ve had. Everything he pushed away.

His feet are rooted to the spot. He should turn around, jog in the other direction, forget he ever saw you. But he can’t. He watches, transfixed, as your daughter stops mid-sentence to look up at you. “Mama,” she says brightly, tugging Max’s hand. “Can I have a croissant?”

Max chuckles. “You already had one,” he tells her, his voice gentle.

“But they’re so good!” She says, throwing her head back dramatically.

Lewis can’t stop staring. The little girl is Max’s spitting image, but there’s something about her smile, the way her nose scrunches, that reminds him of you.

And then, she notices him.

Your daughter’s bright eyes land on Lewis, and she grins like she’s just seen a new friend. “Hello!” She says, waving enthusiastically with her free hand.

You glance up, confused at first, following her gaze. Lewis freezes.

But it’s not him you’re looking at. It’s a man unloading bags from his car in front of him, and you nod politely before turning back to Max and your daughter.

Lewis exhales shakily, a mix of relief and a pang of disappointment. He steps back, half-hidden by the awning of a nearby café, watching as you and Max resume walking.

The little girl waves once more, still beaming, before Max gently nudges her along. “Come on, prinsesje,” he says. “Let’s not keep your brother waiting for his nap to be over.”

Lewis stays there, unmoving, as you all walk away. He watches the way Max leans toward you, saying something that makes you laugh again. He watches the way your daughter skips a little ahead, still clutching Max’s hand, her voice bubbling with excitement as she points to a pigeon fluttering by. And he watches you look down at the stroller, adjusting the blanket over the baby boy who sleeps so peacefully, oblivious to everything around him.

It’s a picture-perfect scene. A life filled with love and joy, one that Lewis now realizes — painfully, completely — he could have been part of.

The memories flood in uninvited.

The nights spent on this same Monaco promenade with you, your hand slipping into his as you admired the lights reflecting off the water. The quiet mornings when you’d sit at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and talking about what life might look like after racing. The promises he made and didn’t keep.

He thinks about the last time he saw you, about the anger and hurt in your eyes, about the way he walked out that night because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words you needed to hear. And now, here you are — walking down this same street with someone who isn’t afraid to put you first.

Lewis sinks onto a nearby bench, running a hand over his face. His chest feels tight, his breathing shallow. He thinks he’s moved on, that he’s made peace with the choices he’s made. But seeing you, seeing your family — it’s a wound he didn’t even realize was still open.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the spot where you disappeared from view. Minutes? Hours? Long enough for his playlist to loop back to the beginning.

A group of tourists wanders past, laughing and snapping photos of the marina. Lewis doesn’t look up. He stays on the bench, shoulders slumped, the weight of what he’s lost pressing down on him.

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, the sun is setting over Monaco, casting the city in hues of orange and gold. He heads straight for the balcony, leaning heavily on the railing as he stares out at the water.

It should be a beautiful view, but tonight it feels empty.

For years, racing has been his everything. It’s been his escape, his purpose, his identity. But now, for the first time, he wonders if it was worth it.

Because no trophy, no title, no amount of glory could fill the space you once inhabited.

And for the first time, Lewis feels like the one who’s been left behind.