#first time finishing something in a. Long time

[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.

[plutoslastwords]

I see lando as a single dad too and I was wondering if you’d ever write daughter!reader when she’s a teenager and is going through, well her first menstrual cycle and he’s so completely lost lol

shark week

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: lando has no idea how a woman's body works, baby norris doesn't listen in health class. the outcome? chaos.

warnings: your first period?

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: okay so i know that it may be unrealistic that a 12 year old would have never heard of a period but idc. it works in the story. sorry for being so mia!! school is terrible atm 😩😩 love you all!! promise i am working on the requests xx

~~~

Going to high school in Monaco was not fun at the best of times.

Everyone says that surely it must be great! It’s Monaco! But when you don’t speak the language fluently - though you have got quite good after living there for 12 years of your life - and have just transferred to a new secondary school where you know no one, life isn’t great. 

Everyone in Monaco has one or two parents who are rich and famous in some way, meaning you can’t even pull the famous dad card to get yourself some friends. You’re stuck sitting alone at lunch, and being picked last for every team.

Lando hates it. He hates it so so much. He doesn't think he can stand seeing his baby coming home sad every afternoon, and he hates how sometimes he can’t be there to comfort you when life is feeling especially tough. He’s debated many a time just sending you to a boarding school back in England, where at least you could speak the same language as the kids there, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with being apart from you for that much of the year.

Therefore, both you and your dad just have to cope with the unfortunate situations, hoping and wishing that soon enough you’ll find your own feet and make some friends. 

Back to the fact that school in Monaco isn’t great on the best days, school in Monaco is absolute hell on the worst days.

On this particular day, you were sitting in Maths class, your least favourite, how were you meant to be able to understand maths in French when you didn’t even understand it in English. It was whilst the teacher was going on about something to do with algebra that you decided that you’d had enough, you put your hand up and quickly asked to go to the bathroom, you weren’t bothered about this anymore.

You took your normal long route around school to get to the bathrooms, having no intention of going back to your maths class anytime soon. You finally get to the bathrooms and it is there that you learn that you’re going to die.

You know that it is not normal to have blood in your pants. It can’t be normal. You must be dying. You sit there in shock for a moment, before starting to hyperventilate and presume the worst. 

When looking back, Lando knows that it is probably his fault that you got yourself into this situation. You never really listened in your Health classes, as they were all in French, and so it was probably his responsibility to educate you on what was going to happen at a certain point, but he’s still just a young guy, that was not top of his list of what he wanted to talk to his preteen daughter about!

You sit in the bathroom stall sobbing and shaking, surely this is the end, you were practically waiting for the Grim Reaper himself to come and pluck you away. In your disorientated mind the only thing that you can think to do is call Lando.

“Daddy I’m dying!” You bawl into the phone, the words barely coming out through your intense sobs.

Immediately Lando drops everything he was doing, freezing at your distressed tone, his mind going straight to the worst. “Baby?!? What’s going on, are you okay?!?” He practically shouts down the phone.

“No!!” You sob, “I’m dying!!!! Daddy please pick me up I-” You don’t finish your sentence because enough intense sob comes in the way and you fall back into hysterically crying.

Lando doesn’t even think twice before leaping up from his desk and rushing to grab his car keys. “I’m on my way, my angel, you’re gonna be okay, daddy’s gonna look after you.” He tries to soothe, but the worry in his voice is evident. 

When he arrives you’re still a sobbing mess, but you have to drag your tear stained body out of the cubicle and to the front office in order to be dismissed. When you see Lando you immediately jump into his arms, sobs wracking your body.

“Oh darling…”  He says, brokenly, he hates seeing you like this, “What’s happened, my love?” 

You don’t respond, too distressed, he seems to get the message and manoeuvres you to the car, where he drives home as quick as he can, to get you someplace familiar, hoping that that will soothe you slightly.

It works, partially. By the time that you’re home your sobbing has lessened, but you’re still nowhere near stable, still almost shaking with the fear that you’re feeling. Lando sits you down on the sofa with a glass of water, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I’m dying!! I’m bleeding and I’m dying!” You sniffle.

Suddenly everything clicks for Lando and then his mind goes completely blank. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. He was not ready for this day, not ready whatsoever. 

“I-uhm-oh.” He stutters, not knowing what to say. “Y-you’re not dying, sweetheart, okay?”

“Yes I am!!! I’m dying!!!”

He has no idea what to do. He was hoping he had a year or two left before today came, but apparently luck was not on his side. He sits there, staring blankly at you, as you continue to cry. 

“Baby, I promise you you’re not dying, why don’t you go change your clothes and I’ll come up to your room in a sec and we’ll chat, okay?”

You shuffle to your room, still sobbing but if you’re dad seems so confident that you’re okay, then surely that means something…?

Lando paces around in a panic downstairs, waiting for his sister to answer the damn phone. There is no way that he can be doing this with no help.

After a horrible phone call, with a lot of him being laughed at by his sister for having a 12 year old daughter and still knowing fuck all about the menstrual cycle, he feels more prepared to actually talk to you.

You’re sitting in your bed, covered in blankets and watching a movie when he knocks at your door.

“Darling, can I come in?” 

You hum in response, tired from all of the sobbing and therefore not bothered to actually speak. He enters, with a shopping bag in his hand.

“How're you feeling, my angel?”

You shrug, curling up smaller in your blanket ball.

“Oh, baby, you’re okay, I promise, it’s all natural, okay?”

“Doesn’t feel natural…”

“It’s your period, angel. It’s your body getting ready for pregnancy”

You pull a face of absolute horror at that, “I’m pregnant?!??!”

His eyes widen and he backtracks immediately “No, no, no, no, you’re not pregnant, absolutely not.” He shudders at the thought, “It’s just so that maybe, at some point in the future, if you do get pregnant, your body is gonna be prepared…”

“So I’m gonna bleed until I get pregnant?”

“No, no, just for a couple days every month…”

“For how long?”

“Uhm, I’m not sure about that… like until your 40? I don’t know…”

“40?!??!?! I don’t want to bleed every month until I’m 40!!!!”

“I know, baby, but it’s just something that all women have to go through, it’s just a natural part of life, you’ll learn to cope with it…”

You pause, taking in his words, before eventually nodding in understanding, but that doesn’t mean that you’re done talking, much to Lando’s dismay, who’d quite like to get this conversation over and done with.

“So why do I need to bleed to be ready for pregnancy?” You question.

Lando knows this one, he practised it on the phone with his sister, “It’s the wall of your uterus shedding-”

“Ew.”

“Because your body got itself ready to be pregnant, and then obviously the egg was never fertilised.”

“So if I did get pregnant then I wouldn’t get my period?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Hm.”

“It’s all very normal, sweetheart, this just means that you’re healthy, okay?”

“Mhm…”

“Good..” He smiles, “You all good?”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What am I gonna do now..? With, you know, uhm- I don’t wanna ruin all my underwear…”

“Oh! Yes, that..” He reaches into his bag, “So, uh- these will stick on top of your underwear, and like uh- catch the blood, I guess.. And then you throw them away after wearing them for like 5 hours or so… That sound okay?”

You nod, slightly sceptical, but oh well.

Eventually, Lando leaves to go and do his own thing, and you stew in the knowledge of your new life. After getting yourself showered and cleaned up, as well as trying your new items, you shuffle downstairs, just needing a hug.

“Hey, baby…” Your dad smiles, as he sits on the tv, watching some nonsense reality show.

You don’t reply, just nestling yourself next to him, needing his comforting touch. He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“My baby… getting so big… daddy loves you, more than anything…”

~~~

a/n: fank you for reading!!11 send in any requests xx

[kazumist]

SWEETLY BAKED WITH LOVE .ᐟ

✩ — in which zayne finds himself in a problem with his older patients relentlessly introducing and telling him about their daughters and granddaughters to him because he's single. what's a good way to shoo them off? perhaps wearing a keyring and fake dating your friend would do the trick!

✩ — includes: zayne x f!baker!reader. fluff. fake dating trope (not executed properly sorry i dont think i gave it justice), not much drama and confession scene is a bit boring imo :/, pace is a bit messy, based of that one part in the cdrama "the best thing", cw: food mentioned (baked sweets and wine), they're both idiots in love, wc: 7,166. i went insane Yes so what.

✩ — note: hi babes @koiukiy-o it's finally finished like can u believe it. i finished it in one fucking day initially but i woke up at 6am in the morning today (its around half past 7am by the time posting this) and added a bit more.

for zayne, being a young, famous, and favored doctor in akso hospital isn’t as pleasing as it sounds. only because the majority of his older patients try to match him up with their daughters with every given chance during their appointments scheduled with him. 

at first, it wasn’t all that serious. zayne even initially thought that maybe elderlies these days have started to grow accustomed to sharing stories of their children—of their daughters, specifically, who are coincidentally in the same age range as him. perhaps it was a new thing; yeah, that was probably it.

until the introductions became more frequent. 

ONE: AS SURPRISING AS A SUDDEN BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE AT YOUR DOOR.

from a father whose daughter is a successful certified public accountant (CPA) to a mother whose daughter is currently a cardiology resident in a nearby hospital, the names and positions of these women have started to jumble in his head. all zayne could do is take a deep breath and smoothly deflect the questions of his patients regarding his current relationship status.

“dr. zayne, you know, i have this daughter..." here we go again. zayne tunes out whatever the old woman was saying, nodding every now and then to convince her that he was interested. the old woman’s daughter was something of a business owner, though it’s not like zayne is actually paying that much attention to the description his patient was giving him. his focus is solely on the results that are in his hands.

“do you have someone special in your life right now, dr. zayne?” zayne pauses; the shuffling of the lab reports in his hands stopped as he processed the question. 

does he?

zayne doesn’t think that he does.

he has a few people that he cherishes in his life, yes. but does he think of himself settling down with someone by his side? well… not really—not yet, at least. zayne hasn’t given it that much thought himself. “before i answer that question, let’s discuss what your results have given us…” this method of zayne changing the subject works like a charm every time he does it. and with a blink of an eye, the old woman forgot her question and left after getting her new prescriptions from him.

zayne leans back on his chair, taking off his specs and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. he takes a deep breath, until his peace is interrupted by a knock at his door. the old woman should’ve been the last one; yvonne just came in and told him so not so long ago. he sits up right, fixing his posture as his professionalism starts to take over.

yet when the door creaks open to reveal you, zayne’s shoulders relax as he sits back once again.

maybe his peace wasn’t interrupted after all.

“what brings you here?” he asks you, eyeing you suspiciously as you’re obviously hiding something from him behind your back. “i come bearing gifts—one sweet little blueberry cheesecake from your favorite bakery! tadaaaa!” you say, revealing the little box to zayne and settling it on his desk, hoping he’d also envision the imaginary jazz hands you were doing before putting a plastic fork on top of it for him to use.

zayne has a sweet tooth and that’s practically common knowledge to you. and with you owning a bakery... well, let’s just say that the youngest heart surgeon in linkon city plays his favorites when it comes to shops that sell sweet pastries. 

a smile cracks onto his face as he sees the box. gently removing the fork on top and opening the box, zayne inspects the blueberry cheesecake before him as if contemplating if he should eat it now or save it when he gets home. “you don’t have to eat it now, silly. i just wanted to drop it off before your work ends today,” you say.

“no, it’s alright. i’ll eat it now. the toppings could get ruined when i travel back home.”

as he starts taking a few bites, you propped your chin onto your palm and lean on it, staring at the sweet dessert that’s slowly being consumed right in front of you. “sooo, do you have someone in your life right now, dr. zayne?” you asked him, putting emphasis on the way you called him as a sign of mockery.

zayne deadpans at your question, suddenly stopping himself from getting another bite. his expression is clearly conveying a message to you wordlessly: are you being serious right now? but zayne just sighs and continues on getting another bite before replying. “how did you know about that?”

“i heard you two through the door. and when your last patient came out—she was a delight, by the way, greeting me so kindly—she suddenly asked me if i was your girlfriend! i obviously didn’t answer her properly and good thing yvonne came in to save the day and escort her out of the cardiology department.” you told him.

the sweetness of the small piece of blueberry glides across his senses as he listens to you. zayne finds himself sighing deeply for what seems like the nth today, twirling the fork in his hand as he thinks. he doesn’t like burdening this problem of his with you, especially when you have nothing to do with it. “seems like you’re thinking about a lot there. are your thoughts being consumed by the numerous names that got mentioned to you?” you teased.

“i beg your pardon?”

“i was only kidding! you looked so deep in thought there. is everything alright?”

zayne doesn’t know either. he doesn’t know how long he could keep deflecting and changing the topics when his patients try to pry into this part of his life. he has a soft spot for his patients, sure, and he’s satisfied with his job. though zayne didn’t know that he would be signing up for this when he became a cardiac surgeon.

“yes, my apologies. i seemed to have spaced out for a moment there.”

you glance over him, observing his mannerisms and his habits. whenever zayne twirls or plays with the item in his hand, it means he’s thinking. whenever he sits back on his chair, that means he’s relaxed. yet you never seen him space out—not until now, at least—and that’s what’s different.

odd.

but you didn’t push the topic further, as you’re well aware that zayne isn’t the type to express himself so freely. and as if a light bulb literally just gained it’s light inside your brain, the gears inside your head started turning as you suddenly got an idea. “i think i just got the greatest idea of my life.” you asked him.

“and what would that be?” he asks back. should i be scared? he thinks.

“you’ll see! just you wait and look forward to the next time i’ll drop by and visit.” you flash him a grin as zayne finishes the last bit of the blueberry cheesecake.

TWO: AS ENTICING AS SIX MACARONS SERVED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.

the next time you saw each other, you didn’t visit zayne. zayne visited you, striding towards you sitting behind the counter. today was a saturday. and during saturdays, you open your shop a bit later than your usual opening time during weekdays. 

seeing the doctor visit your shop sometimes gives you a pinch of nostalgia coursing through you. you never would’ve expected to form a connection with a praised doctor in linkon in your life. but you don’t really have any regrets about it. you enjoy the surgeon’s company and he seems to enjoy yours.

“and what brings you here today, dr. zayne?” you say, greeting him as his eyes scan the pastries displayed before him. “please, refrain from the formalities. do you have anything new to recommend?” he replies.

your gaze follows his as you join him in looking for a pastry to offer. “hmm… oh! i know! you could taste test a new macaron flavor i’ve been trying. would you mind taking a seat while i got get them for you?” zayne nods before finding himself a seat and you take that as your cue to start running towards the kitchen located at the inner part of your establishment. 

when you got out, you joined him at the two-seater table he decided on, sitting across from him. “lately, i’ve been indulging myself in making macarons, right? and i wanted a different flavor for a change so i paired two ingredients together! take a bite and guess what it is.” you said, pushing the box of macarons towards him.

zayne inspects the macarons in front of him, attempting to deduce the flavor. it has a light brown color, with the filling having a deeper shade of brown. could it be two types of chocolate? he thinks. 

“staring at it will get you nowhere if you don’t actually taste it, you know.”

he snaps out of his thoughts at your words. he awkwardly coughs into his fist, avoiding your gaze. you stifled a laugh at him but zayne noticed it, feeling his ears grow hot. “ahem. pardon me for that. i’ll taste them now.” he says, grabbing a piece of the pastry. as soon as he takes a bite, the familiar taste of coffee beans (perhaps roasted?) and nutella washes over his tongue.

you were right; this was a different flavor that you don’t see often. “it’s delicious. were the coffee beans roasted? or were they grounded?” a small gasp escapes your lips at his question. “it was roasted, yeah! i’m surprised you noticed that; i didn’t think anyone would.”

“i felt the small chunks of the coffee beans as i chewed. and nutella as a filling balances the taste of the beans. i’d say it’s a good product to endorse.”

“really?”

zayne hums in agreement, finishing the macaron in his hand before grabbing another one from the box. “i recall that you haven’t told me your “idea” yet since the last time we saw each other.” he says, before taking another bite.

“oh! sorry about that; i keep forgetting to stop by akso hospital lately. but worry not—i didn’t forget about my idea!” you replied, fishing something out of your pocket. it was a keyring, though it wasn’t that obvious at first glance. “your idea is... a keyring?” he asks.

“wrong, the keyword is ring!” you say, grabbing his hand to check if it fits on his ring finger.

you seemed unaware of the effect of your actions, suddenly taking zayne by surprise by your sudden touch. he feels the cold metal wrap around the ring finger of his dominant hand. “look, it’s a perfect fit! just remember to always have it on, especially when you have appointments and surely those introductions would be gone, right?”

zayne inspects the keyring around his finger, flipping his hand as he takes it in. “i never would’ve expected that a keyring could act as a marriage ring.” he states. “m-marriage ring?!” you exclaimed. i never really thought of it as that. you thought, mentally sweatdropping. “is it not supposed to be?” zayne’s gaze at you shows obvious confusion. “well… i guess it could serve as that. i just thought of it as some fake promise ring that you could use at most.”

“the purpose is the same. i don’t think it matters what it stands for—the main purpose of this is to show my older patients that i’m taken, right?”

“yup! it’s nothing much, really, but i feel bad for what you have to endure when you have your appointments. do you think it would work?” you reply.

“we just have to play our cards right and then we’ll see.”

“mhm! wait—we?”

“yes, we. did i say something wrong?” there he goes again with the confused look.

“what do you mean… we?” this better not be what i’m thinking. you hoped, bracing yourself for whatever bomb he was about to drop.

but just as your luck to that runs out, zayne replies. “i thought we were both going to be wearing keyrings?” fuck, i knew it. you thought. inside your head, you can envision yourself on all fours, punching the ground as you also try to think of something—anything to reply with. 

“but you’re the only one who has this... conflict. what use would it be if i also wore one?”

before zayne could even realize it, he already took a step and started sailing in dangerous, uncharted waters. “you told me a few times, including the time that you last visited, that my patients have wondered and asked if you were my significant other. wouldn’t it be more convincing if we were to uphold that sentiment?”

you swore you could feel your soul drain itself out of your body.

“so you want us to... fake date, basically? so we could stop your older patients from introducing their endless amount of daughters and granddaughters? did i get that right?” you ask again, just to be sure if what you’re hearing is actually right and real.

“yes, you’re quite spot-on.” 

“you’re lucky that i have two keyrings by coincidence.”

well, it’s not like it’s going to be anything serious. and it’s also beneficial for me because they also pester me with their questions every time i visit. the offer is way a bit enticing for it’s own good—but everything should be fine.

with a soft sigh and one macaron left on the box (you and zayne were snacking on them as you had your discussion), you spoke again. “you’ve got yourself a deal. you better start wearing that keyring, dr. zayne.”

“i don’t think you should be calling me that when we’re supposed to portray ourselves like a couple.” he remarked.

you choke on your own saliva at his statement. “w-we’ll talk about the other details another day! how does the next time i visit—which i actually promise to do now—sound?” cursing yourself for stammering (but how could you not when he caught you so off guard?), you try your best not to embarrass yourself any further. “that sounds good.”

as the last macaron on the box you served gets consumed, you find yourself securing a peculiar deal with a certain heart surgeon.

THREE: AS SOUR AS A BITE OF STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MELTING ON YOUR TONGUE.

staying true to your promise, you visited zayne a few days after his visit to your bakery. you had the same keyring wrapped around your ring finger, hoping to find zayne the same. “are you busy?”

he glances at you from his monitor and you notice that his shoulders relax again when he realizes it was you in the doorway. “what pastry do you have in store for me this time?” he asks you as you approach to have yourself a seat on the small couch.

“sadly there’s no pastry today; i accidentally forgot to grab one from the bakery’s fridge before i left but next time i’ll bring you some strawberry shortcake!”

“i’ll take note of that.”

zayne then continues to speak. “about where we stopped our discussion last time... would it be okay with you to completely drop with the formalities in general? you don’t have to call me dr. zayne, especially when we’re in the hospital.”

“what do i call you then?”

“zayne would be just fine. almost no one calls me that here.”

“zayne, huh… zayne, zayne… zayne.” you repeat his name to get yourself used to it. “alright then, doct—i mean, zayne.”

he nods at you in acknowledgement as you shift your gaze at his dominant hand. surely enough, you saw that keyring on his finger. “i see you’re wearing the keyring. did it work so far?” you ask him. “actually, yes, it did. the introductions lessened and i found myself at peace with most of my appointments today.”

“so my plan does work. huh, i never would’ve thought.” zayne takes this as an opportunity to reply. “how about you? did your keyring work?” 

“not yet, i guess? when i arrived, yvonne told me that your appointments and checkups were done for the day. so i didn’t really encounter any of your patients today. maybe next time.”

-

zayne visited your bakery during the weekend again. although unfortunately, you weren’t there. one of your employees said that you were busy with an errand today so zayne just got a slice of yet another blueberry cheesecake on the go and quickly made his leave.

(he doesn’t see why he would stay when he isn’t sure of what time you’d return.)

-

the next time you and zayne saw each other, you had forgotten to bring the strawberry shortcake you told him back then. but what did happen is that you encountered a few familiar patients of zayne’s. they were all women who looked like they’re in their mid-sixties in a group of three. they were chatting nearby the entrance to zayne’s office when they spotted you.

and apparently, one of them recognized you.

“hello, dear. you’re the one who brings dr. zayne snacks, right? i remember seeing you here before.” she says, approaching you. “ah, yes! that would be me.” you let out a soft chuckle at her. “how kind of you to do so! are you perhaps his girlfriend?” another woman asks. the woman who approached you (who introduced herself as violet), shushes her friend. “don’t throw sudden questions at the lady! sorry about her, dear.”

the third woman in their group suddenly perks up and points at your hand. “look violet, her ring looks familiar... where have i seen it before, i wonder?” as soon as she said that, all three of the women’s attention was now all on your hand with the keyring on it. 

“isn’t that like the ring on dr. zayne’s hand?”

there was then a moment of silence before they all realized what that question meant. 

after escaping the clutches of their neverending queries (that you tried to answer as much as you could, and you never could’ve escaped without yvonne’s help of escorting them out), you finally got to knock on zayne’s office.

“come in.” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

once you settle down yourself inside, you let out a huge and relieved sigh. “was there a commotion outside? i heard multiple voices through the door, one of them being yours.” zayne asks.

“ah, well it turns out that your patients are really observant. did you know i had to make up some fake story on the spot of how we met?”

“is that so? do you mind telling me what this story is? they might ask about it the next time they come for a checkup.” he replies. 

the actual story of how you and zayne met wasn’t really that far off from the one you told the small group of old ladies. 

(it was dusk when you encountered zayne on the sidewalk; you accidentally bumped into him and he noticed you were seemingly in a rush. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i wasn’t looking where i was running.” zayne waves his hand dismissively. “it’s alright, are you hurt?” 

“not at all—” you checked the time with your wrist watch. “crap! uhm, excuse me, sir. do you know if there’s a flower shop nearby here? i’m in a terrible need of dried flowers at the moment.” you ask him.

zayne thought about it for a moment, trying to recall if there is one. he then tells you the directions to the flower shop he has seen in the area and you immediately thanked him. “thank you, thank you so much! feel free to drop by the cozy oven. my treat for helping me! thank you again, kind sir!” you say before running off in the direction he told you.

that was first time you met him and you were sure that was also the first time he met you.

but what if it isn’t?)

“oh, you know, i just told them some silly old cliche where i bumped into you while holding two bouquets of flowers and decided to treat you to some coffee as an apology. nothing that out of the ordinary, really.”

“noted. they’ll probably ask me about which bouquet it was next time.” this time it was his turn to let out a sigh.

“oh yeah! one of my staff members said you visited the bakery last weekend. sorry, i was busy that time. my friend ordered a cake for this event and i was also invited to it so i had to leave the job of handling the bakery to my employees.” you told him. “it’s alright, don’t fret.”

that day ended with zayne offering you a ride home.

-

the next few times you and zayne were together after that, you swear something was changing.

you never thought zayne could be the touchy type; he grabs ahold of your hand, going as far as interlocking your fingers together. hell, he even puts his hand on your waist when you’re walking in public.

you knew what you were getting into when you both agreed on that deal. but it’s just so... strange. scary, if you think about it.

how is he so good at this? no, more like—

why does it feel so real?

zayne is an attractive man, and that was certainly a fact. smart, rich, handsome, and well-mannered—he’s even soft spoken for goodness sake! that man has got it all, which is no wonder why some of his patients would want to set up their daughter with him. any woman would be lucky to experience what it’s like to be loved by him.

but is this what it feels like?

perhaps.

that was all you could say—after all, this is all just a fake setup so you both could shoo away his patients.

yet if it was all fake, why were your faces suddenly so close to one another right now? your lips were close to brushing against each other; one small nudge and you’d find out what it was like to kiss zayne.

the sudden phone ring echoing somewhere in the room snaps the both of you out of it.

as you both pull away out of surprise, zayne picks up the phone. “this is zayne speaking.” he says.

you just sat there on his couch, wondering many things.

it’s just a fake stunt. don’t get sidetracked, (y/n).

but why is it that whenever you remind yourself that it is fake, an uncertain pang hits your chest? you never could tell zayne this; he might think you suddenly have a heart condition and be concerned (and you wouldn’t be surprised because he is someone who is under cardiology).

this could be nothing. no, scratch that; it is nothing. zayne is an impossible man to reach, and he is only a friend to you.

nothing more, nothing less.

-

the next time you visited zayne at akso hospital, you finally had a slice of strawberry shortcake stored safely in a box for him.

you were still distracted by the time you two almost kissed, but you couldn’t let zayne know that for obvious reasons.

at this point in your fake dating plan, his patients are all convinced that you both are together, finding it cute and squealing in awe when you see each other in the hallway where his office is located. you were surprised at how well you and zayne were pulling this off. 

“special delivery for dr. zayne?” you say, peeking through the door to check if he’s busy. “and what did i order this time?” he asks back. you take that as your cue to step inside. “one slice of a promised and long overdue strawberry shortcake!” you told him, setting down the small box and another plastic fork on top of the box.

“about time you remembered.” he says, taking the fork and opening the box. the familiar scent of strawberry shortcake then circulates around the two of you, which made zayne take a bite almost immediately. “are you planning on visiting the bakery this weekend?” you then ask him.

zayne swallows before he speaks. “i have thought about it, yes. and i was actually planning to ask you about your weekend plans today actually.”

“oh? why?”

“i was just wondering if you’d like to make plans with me since i’m usually off-duty during weekends.”

you become a bit awkward as soon as zayne says that. and zayne, being as observant as ever, obviously noticed it. “is there something wrong? it’s okay if you’re busy.” you waved your hands at him, “no, no! it’s not like that. well, kinda i guess? ugh, it’s just that…”

“i may or may not have agreed to go on a blind date this weekend.”

if zayne hadn’t listened that carefully, he would’ve missed it. but no, he caught every single word that slipped out of you. the sour taste of the sliced strawberry, along with the spongy texture of the cake, suddenly felt like sand in zayne’s mouth. and as ironic as that, he suddenly feels iffy as soon as you say that—like he was also sour. “is that so… that’s alright. you should enjoy your plans instead.”

“wait. you’re not mad?”

am i mad? zayne mentally asked himself. he doesn’t think he is, but he does somewhat feel disturbed by the idea of you going on a date with another man, and that doesn’t feel right to him either. “i’m not. why would i be mad?” a lie.

you stiffen at your seat, trying to come up with an explanation. that question just slipped off of your tongue; you didn’t mean to ask that. “well, uhm.. you know, because we’re in this fake dating thingy, i just thought it would be weird to you if i were to go see someone else and all that, yeah.”

“you said it yourself; this is all fake. so i’m not stopping you if you want to do that.”

ouch? why does his confirmation that it’s nothing serious get a kick to it? you thought. “really? okay then, thanks for letting me know.” 

zayne couldn’t shake off the sourness of the strawberry from his tongue. and the thing is—the strawberries that you use for your products aren’t even that sour. it was more sweet than sour in the first place. so why? why can’t he get the sourness off?

why does he suddenly feel so bitter at the thought of you seeing someone else?

the rest of the hour felt a bit suffocating after that.

FOUR: AS BLAND AS MISSING THE DELECTABLE TASTE OF YOUR COMPANY.

when the weekend rolled around, zayne didn’t visit your bakery. he didn’t find a need to because you weren’t there. he wasn’t close to your staff and he doesn’t really want to get close to them. and zayne isn’t that close with a lot of people in general, so he decided to spend his weekend at home.

he thinks about the conversation he had with you when you brought up the topic of having a blind date scheduled today.

and he still feels sour about that. he doesn’t know why. 

then he suddenly remembers the one time when he was so close to feeling your lips on his. zayne hoped that he wasn’t obvious but this moment had perhaps made him short circuit. your face was so close—he could take every little detail of your features with the distance.

but you just had to have this blind date today.

zayne feels even more sour after that.

he was a doctor, yes, but he obviously isn’t an expert in psychology or emotions. so as he unlocks his phone, he opens the web browser installed and types in the search bar.

now, jealousy was a foreign concept for zayne. 

he stares blankly at the results his search shows him, a part of him refusing to believe that what he was feeling was jealousy and the rational part of him telling himself that if this isn’t it, what else could it be?

but another question puts him in a dilemma. why is he even jealous in the first place? 

of course you can go see other people. he doesn’t have the right to be mad about that. zayne didn’t own you, and you didn’t own zayne. if he were in your position, you’d just let him go on that blind date.

yet the idea of you falling in love with another makes him uneasy.

oh.

oh.

zayne wasn’t stupid. he didn’t need to drown himself in any more thoughts on this matter to realize what was happening to him.

he was falling.

falling for you, to be specific.

and there’s nothing that could help him.

-

being forced into a blind date never goes well. and you swore that you'd strangle your friend who forced you into this in the first place.

“so, what do you do for a living?” your date asks before sipping from his glass of red wine. “oh, i’m a baker. i run a bakery, actually. it’s located nearby akso hospital.” 

“is that so? what do you usually bake?”

“i bake all sorts of things! from cakes to macarons—“ you pause when you say macarons. you suddenly recall the day when you asked zayne to taste test your new macaron flavor. you cleared your throat to regain composure.

“sorry about that; something just came to mind. but like i said, i bake a whole lot of cakes and pastries. i like to experiment with new flavors, you see. what about you?”

“oh, i’m currently a resident at akso hospital actually!” the man before you says. “really? under which department?” you ask him. “cardiology. i always found the heart a fascinating thing to study.”

you tried to hold yourself back from choking on your wine. “c-cardiology, you say…?” hearing the term come out of your date’s mouth has something uncomfortable bubbling up inside of you. your mind finds itself drifting back to zayne—

what am i even thinking? get a grip (y/n)! you’re on a date for fuck’s sake!

“mhm. one of my mentors is really nice, a bit cold but i know he’s just really like that. his name is dr. zayne, by the way.” and as if the universe is mocking you right now, your date just had to say that his mentor was zayne of all people.

“i think i’ve heard of him once or twice, yeah. he’s a good heart surgeon, right?”

as time seemed to pass by, you could feel yourself feeling more distracted. when the waiter came to ask if you’d like any dessert, your mind immediately thought of zayne.

while looking through the dessert menu, you wondered if zayne would like what this restaurant is offering. what would zayne’s opinion be on this? 

and your date continues to speak, the sole fact that he’s a resident under zayne, was enough to sidetrack your mind towards him. 

zayne, zayne, zayne. this whole date has done nothing but remind you of the doctor.

by the time the date was over, you entered the door to your apartment complex (which is located above your bakery) and slid against the door as soon as you closed it.

removing your heels as you were on the floor, you let out a sigh. “what the fuck is going on with me tonight?” you asked no one in particular.

the date wasn’t even bad but nothing about it felt right for you. like there was something clearly wrong with the whole principle of you going on a blind date in the first place but you didn’t know what it was.

you try to recall what happened before the blind date happened, trying to see if something would have triggered your current state.

your recollection brings you to the time you told zayne about the blind date a few days ago. 

something felt off about him when you dropped the bomb on him that time. it’s as if something shifted in the air when you revealed your plans for the weekend to him.

“oh, god. you have got to be kidding me.” you facepalmed when the realization dawned upon you.

your thoughts were running. how could’ve i been so stupid? it was written all over my face in the first place! i like zayne. holy shit i actually—

but it all stops there when you then realize what you just said. 

-

you didn’t visit zayne after your blind date. and when he visits your bakery, you hide yourself from him in the kitchen (and you also told your employees to not spill a word about your actual whereabouts, making them form excuses on what you’re up to). 

simply to say, you were avoiding zayne.

it scared you. you didn’t know what to do with your new feelings, especially when the whole fake dating thing was still ongoing for the both of you. 

how can you keep faking it all up when everything just feels so real? when you couldn’t help but wonder if you’re still friends after everything you’ve done?

zayne: Are you going to visit today?

zayne: I miss getting my special delivery.

you stared at his message, trying to process it. why did he have to say it like that? what does he mean by that? you thought.

(y/n): sorry, i can’t. 

(y/n): i need to prioritize some cake orders for now. maybe next time.

zayne: Oh, alright then.

you know full well that there most probably won’t be a next time. you’ll just keep denying and deflecting as much as you can—and as long as you can.

however, zayne knew you were avoiding him and he most definitely didn’t need to be a genius to notice that. 

but he doesn’t know why. was it something that he did? were you alright? perhaps you haven’t been feeling well as of late. were you overworking yourself lately?

zayne thinks about the time you two almost kissed again. maybe he should’ve gone for it. maybe he shouldn’t have answered that goddamn phone call. maybe—

maybe he shouldn’t have let you go on that blind date.

your phone vibrates against the pocket of your apron. you pull it out to check the notification and go blank at the sender.

zayne: Have you been well?

zayne: We haven’t seen each other lately.

his clinic hours are not the same as of late. zayne got so used to you visiting him at akso—to seeing you in general—that it just feels... bland now that you’re not present.

zayne misses you. and he wonders if you miss him too.

FIVE: AS SWEET AS KNOWING THAT I WASN’T TOO LATE.

(before you bumped into zayne on the sidewalk, you two had actually met.

once in a cafe, and once in the grocery store... zayne had noticed that since you two lived in the same community, it was bound that you’d encounter each other a lot—although you don’t really seem to notice him.

when zayne met you in the grocery store, the first thing that he noticed about you was that your shopping cart was halfway filled with baking ingredients. there were at least three (or was it four?) dozen of eggs stacked, two packs of all-purpose flour, a small bottle of sprinkles (both the colorful and chocolate ones), and a whole lot more.

at first glance, any other person would ignore you. zayne would be one of them—he had no clue why he noticed you and your shopping cart. he was only in the aisle because it’s the way to where the bread was located.

that was the first time zayne sees you.

the second time he saw you, zayne encountered you in a cafe this time. weeks passed since he saw you while he was out for groceries and you had papers sprawled all over the small table in front of you. zayne didn’t really get a good look at them but he assumed that it was all sorts of cake design from the single glance he got to have.

wedding cakes, birthday cakes, anniversary cakes. there were a whole bunch of designs. perhaps you baked for a living.

again, at first glance, any other person would ignore you. and zayne would still be one of them—though would this become a lie because isn’t it strange that it has happened twice? not like there’s anything bad with noticing you. it’s just... out of his character, per se.

the third time zayne meets you, it was the time you also recall—the encounter on the sidewalk. now, what were the chances that zayne would meet you there that late afternoon? he didn’t know. 

and with that small conversation between the two of you happening, zayne’s assumption was correct. the baking ingredients, the cake designs, and now you telling him to visit your bakery—

maybe he should visit the cozy oven during the weekend.)

around three weeks have passed since you started ignoring him. you were surprised at how well you were doing so far. not like it was hard doing so. the real challenge was to ignore his texts and make yourself reply late. 

and when he visits the bakery, which is what’s going on right now.

it was almost nine in the evening when you finished closing up your bakery. you heard footsteps getting louder, signaling that someone is walking towards you. 

“there you are.” you knew that voice anywhere.

“zayne? what are you doing here at this hour?” you ask him out of surprise. “well, a certain someone seems to be hiding from me, so i thought it was time to change my strategy and do a surprise attack. it looks like it worked.”

“ah. sorry about that... work has been a bit busy. you know?” you take in zayne’s appearance before you, eyes slightly widening at the keyring that is still on his finger.

(how ironic because you were also wearing yours at the moment. your excuse would be “it was out of pure habit.”)

“so busy that even when i visit you hide yourself from me?”

he got you there. “i—no, no! it’s just that—“ zayne cuts you off with another question. “did i do something wrong?”

“what?”

“you heard me. (y/n), did i do something wrong? i understand that you’ve been busy but something feels different. like there’s something more to it than just you being busy.” he then says. why does he have to be always so observant?

the guilt of your decisions as of late started to eat you up inside. “i… i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?” zayne asks again.

“i mean, it’s not like i literally don’t know but it’s just... did we even do the right thing? you know, fake date and all of that.”

zayne could feel the unease creeping up on him with your question. “the plan worked, did it not?”

“no, zayne. what i mean is that did we do the right thing with fake dating in the first place? because for the love of god, we almost kissed! and—and we’re both old enough to realize that friends don’t just... kiss.”

“is this about your blind date a few weeks ago?” you don’t know what he means by that. because you never met up again with that blind date, telling him that as much as it was nice to know him, you’re not really interested in giving romance a whirl for now. 

you didn’t know what to answer to that. “so it is.” he then says. you wanted to say no, but no words came out of you. it was as if your lips felt like they were sewn closed. “i guess i was too late then.”

too late?

“wait—what do you mean too late?”

zayne’s look in his eyes confused you. you couldn’t decipher the emotions that were present in his gaze. “aren’t you still seeing your blind date nowadays?”

then it all made sense to you.

zayne thinks the reason you started avoiding him was probably because he thought you hit it off with your blind date. before you could answer his question, he speaks again. “to be honest with you, recently, especially during your absence, i have come to the realization that i like you, (y/n).”

wait. what?

too speechless to cut in, he continues. “i felt off when you first said that you agreed to that blind date of yours. i just brushed it off back then but later i realized that it was because i was jealous. i soon regretted not doing anything about it—and when you started ignoring me, i couldn’t help but think that maybe you didn’t want to visit me anymore in my office as a sign of respect to your new lover.” in other words, i missed you.

you try to process everything that he just came clean about. but there is only one highlight in everything he said—he likes you. zayne likes you.

and you like him too.

“first of all, i’m really sorry for ignoring you, zayne. i honestly only did it out of fear because i recently realized that i like you too.” zayne was about to speak up when you raised a hand to shush him. “let me finish first. i never met with my blind date again after our first meeting. i told him that i kindly told him that i didn’t want to try romance for now—though that was partially a lie because i only find myself wanting to try romance out with you.”

zayne also only got one highlight out of that—you like him too. that’s all that matters to him.

“so i wasn’t too late?” he then asks.

you take a few steps closer to him. “no, zayne. you’re just in time.”  zayne’s hands find themselves on your waist. “then can i kiss you?” you shoot him a playful glare. “are you sure a phone call isn’t going to interrupt us this time?” you then say, arms wrapping themselves around his neck.

“i’m sure.”

“then you can.”

and without hesitation, zayne leans in to capture your lips with his. he could feel you smiling in the kiss, and zayne savors the faint taste of your lippie—not minding that it might have smudged on his lips now.

when you both pulled away, you couldn’t help but giggle. zayne’s lips were covered in some of your tinted lip gloss. you reach out a hand to smudge it away before pecking him a quick kiss to his nose and asking him, “do you want to come inside? i have a new macaron flavor for you to taste test.”

“is that so? what is it this time?” he replies, hands not leaving your waist.

“salted caramel! but not the ones that are sweet; i made sure that this one actually has a salty kick to it!”

zayne definitely has a sweet tooth.

yet there’s nothing more sweet than knowing that you like him too.

[ldydeath]

Don’t Look Back | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Jiyong is stressed on tour and says something he can’t take back

Warnings: mild language 

Author’s Note: Hi guys! This is a part one of a two part collab fic. My best friend, the lovely and talented @wcnderlnds wrote part two, go check out her post to see how it ends!

PART TWO HERE

Everything was too much. You knew that, Jiyong knew that, but you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t protect him. He should’ve never taken on this tour so close to his enlistment. You knew he wanted to do this one last thing for his fans, something to remember him by. But the stress was about to swallow him whole and there was nothing you could do to stop it. You glanced down at your buzzing phone and sighed.

Jiyong’s face appeared on the screen, you knew he was calling because you weren’t in Japan yet. You were two hours away by flight and the show was still hours away, but you’d promised you’d be there. You answered the call, his voice filling the line before you could even say hello.

“Are you coming to the show tonight?” Jiyong’s voice whined through the phone and you let out a sigh, your hand rubbing your temples.

 You had hours of work to finish in order to get to the airport and you weren’t sure you were going to make it. The tour was nearing the end and you’d promised you’d be there for the last leg. Japan, the Europe dates, and the final night in Taiwan but work wasn’t letting you get away easy.

“I’m going to be getting in right as the show starts at this rate.” You sighed before slamming your hands down on your keyboard.

“You’re still at work?” You could hear the disappointment in his voice and slowed your typing. “I just have to finish some things before I’m gone for three weeks.” He let out a sigh and you chewed on your bottom lip, waiting for him to tell you not to come. 

“Okay, I’ll let you go. I miss you.” the phone went dead before you could reply. 

You slammed your phone down in frustration, trying your best to clear your thoughts so you could at least get to the airport in time to not miss your flight. You missed him too, you hated being apart for as long as you had been.

 At least he hadn’t told you to not bother, that was a step in the right direction, unlike his dates in North America. An ongoing theme throughout this tour was his back and forth on wanting you there. You knew he was going through a lot, but it didn’t excuse his behavior towards you. 

Deciding they could finish the rest without you, you left, making it to your plane just before doors closed and sat down in your first class seat. Of course he had gotten you the best seat money could afford. As you were getting situated, your phone buzzed and you stilled, almost afraid that it was work calling you back. A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you saw who it was from. That sigh turned to a groan when you read his words. . 

If you can’t make it, just stay home. I’ll be back before I head to Europe and we can just fly out together.  

You didn’t know why he was pushing you away so much, you knew how lonely he’d been all tour. At least you’d be there in time for the show to start, you could hang out and see Japan after. He was there for a couple days anyway and you’d already made plans to sight see before you headed home. 

I’m on my way. Plane taxiing now. See you soon. You hastily replied back before shutting off your phone and sliding your eye mask over your face. 

You had just enough time to catch a nap before you’d be whisked off to the show. In true Jiyong fashion he’d had a car sent for you once he’d realized he couldn’t pick you up himself. You turned your phone back on once you were in the car to see several missed calls and texts from Jiyong, Daesung, and his management team. 

Well, that wasn’t good. You ignored everyone else blowing up your phone and dialed your boyfriend's number. Straight to voicemail. He was probably just getting into costume for the show. That was all. Everything was fine. It didn’t stop your heart from racing, the nerves settling in the closer you got to the stadium. 

One of Jiyong’s managers met you outside and led you backstage. It wasn’t hard to find Jiyong, he was standing by his entrance spot, his shiny jacket sparkling in the lights, your nerves settled as you saw him. 

“Hey” You grinned, that grin faltering as soon as your eyes met his. 

He looked exhausted. When was the last time he’d slept? Or eaten? He was so thin. You should’ve been here sooner, you could’ve forced him into a bed with a bowl of soup and not let him get up for a few days. You hadn’t seen him this bad off since that night he’d fainted over a year ago. Your heart dropped into your stomach and you reached for him, wanting to beg him to cancel the show. You knew he wouldn’t though and he smiled at you before turning away, your arms falling pathetically to your sides. 

You hesitated before following his crew to the side stage, your favorite spot to watch Jiyong. It always amazed you how quickly he could transform from the exhausted man you saw a few minutes ago to the king of the stage. His fans were none the wiser to how he was truly feeling as he used up every ounce of energy he had on that stage. But you knew, and you caught every stumble, every large inhale, how many times he looked up towards the ceiling. 

Once the show was over Jiyong headed over towards you, grabbed your hand and led you towards his sitting room. He looked up, eying the team of people following behind the two of you closely and shook his head before leading you inside and closing the door on them. He took one swift step towards you before his lips were on yours, his arms winding around you tightly. You could almost feel the weight of the day falling off him as you kissed him back. 

This is what he needed, after all the long days and sleepless nights. You. He knew he was being needy and a bit all over the place with his emotions but now that you were finally here he was going to do everything in his power to make it up to you. 

“Jiyong” You whispered as you broke the kiss, your hands sliding up his chest as you looked into his tired eyes. “Come on, let's get you changed and get some dinner. I’m putting your ass in bed tonight.”

The annoyance that crossed his face was alarming, he’d always appreciated you being the one looking out for him. He’d been off all day though, you reminded yourself as you stepped around him, moving to collect his hoodie. He took it from you wordlessly, stripping out of his sparkly red suit jacket and sliding the hoodie over his head in one swift movement. 

“I don’t want you to be here if you’re just going to baby me.” Your eyes widened as you looked over at him. Surely you’d heard him wrong.

“I’m not babying you, Jiyong. You’re clearly not sleeping and when was the last time you ate?” He glared at you, folding his arms across his chest. 

“This morning. I’m fine.” 

“That’s bullshit, Jiyong. You’re not fine.” You pulled out your phone, pulling up the various missed calls. “If you were fine you wouldn’t be crying out for help when I’m on an airplane. What’s going on with you?”

He glanced down, running his hand through his already messy hair and let out a sigh. “You were supposed to be here for this, not come at the end and start worrying about me.” He glanced up, all the pain you thought maybe you’d imagined was visible on his face. “I needed you here.”

“I had to work!” it was a lame excuse and you knew it but it was all you had. They wouldn’t just let you take months off work to let you follow Jiyong around the world. 

“I told you I’d take care of you. What do you think that fucking ring meant? You don’t have to work.”  His icey tone caused you to flinch, he’d never been this angry with you before. You glance down at your ring, absentmindedly twisting it on your finger.  

“We talked about this, Jiyong. I’m not going to quit my job and sit at home worried about you for the next two years. After the wedding, we agreed to revisit that topic. Don’t throw it back in my face now. I’m here. I’ve been here for you every night regardless of the distance.” 

You two had had your share of fights before, but this felt different. Like you were both toeing a dangerous ledge and if you weren’t careful someone was going to get hurt. You held his gaze daring him to say something. Anything.

“Maybe it’s not good enough.” Your eyes widened in shock, your heart thumping so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it.

He didn’t mean that. You knew he didn’t mean that, but all rational thoughts had seemed to exit your brain as his words cut you so deeply. All you wanted to do was hurt him back.

“Not good enough? Being awake at three in the morning when I have a meeting at seven to make sure you’re ok, that you’ve eaten, isn’t good enough? Hopping on a flight to be here with you wasn’t good enough? I have supported you through everything, Jiyong. I have loved you through all of it. If that’s not good enough then I don’t think anything will be. Maybe you should take this back, if I’m no longer good enough.” Your voice cracked and you willed yourself not to cry, he wasn’t going to see your tears today.

You slid the ring off your finger, holding it out for him. He blinked, looking down at the ring. This isn’t what he wanted, he had always wanted you. He’d be damned if he broke in front of you right now, though. If you were just going to give up on him because of one bad day, then fine. He moved over to you, snatching the ring out of your hand and slid it onto his pinky. 

You shook your head, moving towards the door. “If you walk out that door don’t come back.” His sharp voice broke the silence in the room and without looking at him, you opened the door, walked out and slammed it behind you. He closed his eyes, letting out a long exhale. He’d really fucked this up, hadn’t he?

tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren

[awardenandacrow]

I don’t know why it took as long as it did but all of a sudden I remembered this gifset Lucanis swap from @forsakenwitchery and I had a snippet idea! I hope y’all enjoy :3

SNIPPET 48: [Spite is looking for doors]

CW/TW: suggestive dialogue

[PLEASE NOTE: this snippet occurs before Taash comes out to the team as non-binary. As such, she/her pronouns are used for Taash in this snippet.]

——————————————————————————

Naimeryn started down the stairs, but a crash in Taash’s room caught her attention. Hadn’t she gone to Minrathos with Neve? She retreated back up the top step and set down the basket of laundry before turning down Taash’s hallway instead.

“Taash?” She asked at the door, pushing it open slowly. “Are you already ba — oh.”

A pile of weapons and other gear lay on the floor just inside the door, where they’d been knocked off the table. Lucanis — or, rather, *Spite* — was maneuvering around the room half-crouched, apparently searching for something.

“Spite?” She said, stepping fully into the room and shutting the door behind her. “Whatcha looking for?”

“DOORS,” he growled. “WANT. OUT.”

“You keep saying that,” Naimeryn said, picking up a heavy pair of axes and setting them back on the table. “But it’s not fair for you to just take Lucanis wherever you feel like. It’s… strange, for a mortal to wake up somewhere they didn’t fall asleep.”

“IT’S STRANGE. BEING. TRAPPED!” Spite snapped at her, moving around to the other side of the room. Naimeryn’s heart ached as she finished returning the gear to its rightful place.

“I imagine it must be,” she said gently, walking further into the room opposite him. “I really *am* sorry that this happened to you.”

“LUCANIS. PROMISED.”

“Promised what?” Naimeryn asked him. He suddenly spotted the broken Eluvian and headed for it. She quickly stepped into his path.

“Spite, this Eluvian is broken. It won’t work,” she said, holding up her hand, but stopping short of touching Lucanis’s chest. She didn’t know how Spite would respond to being touched while in control of Lucanis. “Why don’t you just talk to me?”

“ROOK.” Spite looked up at her as though seeing her for the first time.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m here.”

He straightened up and started walking fast, and Naimeryn, startled, instinctively stepped backwards. Her back *thud*ded against the cold, dead surface of the Eluvian a moment before his forearm, next to her head. Spite leaned in close and sucked in a deep gulp of air through his nose.

*Blight and… lavender* he’d said. Did she smell like that now? Or did being clean erase the scent of Blight? Spite was studying her face, curiously, it seemed. Naimeryn took a slow breath, unclenching her jaw and relaxing her shoulders. She didn’t want to give him any reason to think she was afraid — and therefore weak — or combative. Regardless of their history when he was Determination, he was a demon now.

“LUCANIS SAYS. KEEP HANDS. TO. OURSELVES,” Spite said, lifting Lucanis’s other hand and looking at it intently as he flexed his fingers. Naimeryn reached up tentatively put her hand over his newly clenched fist.

“He’s right,” she said gently. “We don’t want to hit people who aren’t our enemies.”

“NOT. HIT,” Spite said, his tone strange. Before he could say anything else, Lucanis stumbled, his eyes squeezing shut. Naimeryn released his hand immediately. He pushed away slightly, though his hand and wrist still rested on the Eluvian, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Naimeryn held her breath, afraid to startle him as he awoke. As his eyes fluttered back open, he winced.

“Stop yelling,” he murmured, she could only assume to Spite. His nose began to bleed, and on impulse, Naimeryn shuffled her sleeve over her hand and reached to wipe it away.

Oops.

Lucanis’s hand snapped down from by her head to grip her shoulder in a crushing grip. She sucked in a breath, but by the time she had, his eyes had focused on her, and he released her with a startled step back.

“Rook?” He croaked.

“I’m all right,” Naimeryn said quickly. “Spite was… looking for doors.”

“I could have hurt you,” he said stiffly.

“I shouldn’t have startled you,” she shook her head. “But you’re in control.”

“Am I?” He snorted out a half laugh.

“Lucanis…” Naimeryn frowned, worried she’d said the wrong thing.

“*Please* tell me I didn’t move into your secret hookup room,” Taash said from the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

“What? No!” Naimeryn felt as though her whole body had turned red. Lucanis cleared his throat and excused himself, all but running past Taash to leave. Naimeryn blew out a breath and rested her head back against to Eluvian. Great going, Naimeryn.

“You reek,” Taash was smirking when she looked back at her.

“What?” Naimeryn straightened up, pulling her collar to her nose. “But I just bathed…”

“No, dummy, not that,” Taash laughed, putting a bag down on top of the gear Naimeryn had set on her table before. “*Adaari.*”

“I’m sorry?”

“Let’s just say I now know *exactly* what Lace was talking about,” Taash chuckled. “Seriously, you guys do it here?”

“*No!*” Naimeryn flushed again. “This room wasn’t even here until you moved in. That’s kind of… how the Lighthouse works.”

“So you guys go into our rooms once they show up and use ‘em?” Taash asked. “That’s messed up, Rook.”

“*No!*” Naimeryn squeezed her eyes shut and waved her hands, flustered. “It’s not — we’re not — he doesn’t — I —“

She ground out a frustrated growl.

“*That* sounds true,” Taash chuckled again. Laughing at her.

“How was Minrathos?” Naimeryn decided changing the subject was the only way she was going to get through this.

Taash to Lucanis swap

Looking at it know I feel like maaaaybe I should have put Spite here... idk I still think a threesome with Spite should have been an option 😂

All my DATV gifs

Bonus gif:

[iconbyunghun]

first time

Pairing: Lee Byung Hun x virgin!reader

Summary: After a failed attempt to take the step into intimacy with your beloved boyfriend, you finally feel confident enough to give yourself to him. He couldn’t long for anything more than making you feel desired and showing you how amazing making love can be.

Warnings: Smut 18+, MDNI, age gap (early-20s/50s), virginity loss, oral (fem receiving)

Word count: 3.9 k

a/n: I wish I had more time during the week to finish my drafts (work and adult life sucks) :( so this is one of them. I tried to make it kinda fluff, but I’m not sure if I succeeded.

From the beginning, sincerity was the foundation of your relationship with Byung Hun. Despite the significant age difference, the chemistry between you made everything flow wonderfully during the six months you had been together. You loved being able to talk to him about anything, sharing your doubts and concerns, and feeling how his maturity and experience always had the perfect answer for everything. But, although you never hid anything from each other, there was one topic that, up until that point, had never been addressed.

Intimacy.

It wasn't a lack of desire. You felt it in the way he looked at you when he thought you didn’t notice, in the way his hands lingered a little longer on your skin, in how his kisses, at certain moments, became more demanding. And, of course, you weren’t oblivious to how attractive he was—his presence, his gaze, the tone of his voice—he was every woman’s dream.

The breaking point came one night after you attended an event as his guest. When it ended, he suggested going to his apartment, and there, with a few glasses of wine in your system, you both let yourselves be carried away by the rhythm of your lips meeting. His jacket ended up on the floor as he positioned himself over you, supporting his weight on his knees and his left arm beside your head. Without breaking the kiss, he deepened it, making it more intense. Your hands, tangled in his hair, gave him gentle squeezes as his free hand slid down your thigh, caressing your skin before slipping under your dress. He smiled against your lips as his fingertips brushed against your warm, damp center, confident that you were ready for him.

And suddenly, you broke the kiss—and the moment. The instant you felt him move your underwear aside and attempt to slide a finger inside you, you snapped out of the trance immediately. As a reflex, you tried to close your legs and pushed his shoulders with a startled gasp.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, concern evident in his voice as he gave you the space you seemed to need. He was worried he had done something wrong.

You curled your legs against your chest, resting your arms on your knees. Your face burned with embarrassment. You didn’t know how to explain it, and all you wanted was for the ground to swallow you whole.

Since you had started dating, you had thought about this topic many times. You had never had sex before, and it wasn’t something that had particularly interested you. Not until you started your relationship. You knew he was experienced and that, at some point, he would expect to take that step with you, as any couple would.

In your limited romantic experience, you had never gone beyond kissing and a few touches with an ex. Most of your friends had already done it, and from listening to their stories—almost always disastrous—you couldn’t help but feel a certain aversion to the idea of being naked, exposed, and vulnerable in front of someone else.

Even if that person was your beloved boyfriend, someone who loved you devotedly and would never hurt you, you simply needed more time to feel safe.

"I-I’m sorry..." was all you could say before rebellious tears welled up in your eyes.

Byung Hun, still trying to understand the situation, shifted on the couch and focused his attention on you. Feeling a pang in his chest at seeing you so vulnerable, he lifted a hand to gently stroke your face and wipe away your tears.

"Baby, you don’t have to apologize for anything," he said softly, searching for clues in your gaze.

The lump in your throat grew bigger. You felt like a fool for not being able to do something so “normal” and for not even being able to explain it without breaking down in tears.

"I-I’ve never..." You bit your lip, searching for the right words. "I’ve never done it... and I don’t want you to think I don’t want to, but I need more time..."

Covering your face with your hands, you rested your forehead on your knees. You couldn’t bear to look at him.

Byung Hun raised his eyebrows, surprised, and then he understood everything. He felt bad for assuming you already had experience.

"Sweetheart, I’m the one who should be apologizing," he said tenderly, taking your arms and pulling you into his embrace. "Come here."

With gentle movements, he slid one hand along your back and the other under your thighs, effortlessly guiding you onto his lap. Wrapping his strong arms around your waist, he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You curled up against his chest, feeling his warmth envelop you completely.

"I should have been more mindful of this. You don’t have to feel bad."

For a moment, the thought that he might love you a little less for not giving in scared you, but his warm embrace and words of understanding dispelled that fear.

"Doesn’t it bother you to wait a little longer?" you asked in a trembling voice. "I... I don’t want you to get tired of me..."

He let out a soft chuckle before placing another kiss on your head, lingering there for a few seconds as he inhaled the sweet scent of your hair.

"Sweetheart, I’m completely in love with you," he said seriously. "I want it to be special for you when it feels right."

That night, you fell asleep in his arms, letting his warmth surround you.

After that, the topic was never brought up again. You both continued with your routine, but the thought lingered more persistently in your mind.

You started analyzing your body in the mirror after showering, wondering if he would like you enough, if you were attractive enough when fully exposed. The thoughts forming in your head told you no—not when he had been with stunning models and actresses you could never compare to—and that only discouraged you more.

You searched for information online, though it wasn’t the most reliable source, but you didn’t have the confidence to ask a friend about your doubts. Most advice said that to avoid discomfort, your partner should prepare you well and that you should know your own body. You wondered what they meant by "knowing yourself better." It wasn’t as if you had never masturbated before, but it wasn’t something habitual for you. And now, when you tried following the advice, you only ended up frustrated—rather than letting the sensation flow, you just felt stressed.

Byung Hun, for his part, made sure not to make you uncomfortable again. His touches were completely innocent: his hugs purely comforting, accompanied by kisses on your cheek, forehead, and soft pecks on your lips.

You started sleeping over at his place more often, which allowed you to spend more time together. Even if your schedules didn’t always align during the day, you could always see each other for breakfast, lunch, and, without fail, at night to rest.

That Sunday night, as had become routine, you two picked—or rather, you picked—a movie to watch before bed.

"Are you paying attention?" you asked, turning your head to look at your boyfriend.

He smiled before placing a soft kiss on your temple.

"It’s Twilight, baby. I don’t think I need one hundred percent of my focus to understand it," he teased, earning a light slap from you on his shoulder.

You laughed, adjusting yourself slightly before returning your attention to the movie, which was nearing its end. Both of you were curled up in bed, the sheets covering half of your bodies. He was dressed in pajama pants and a white T-shirt, while you wore a silk top with thin straps and matching shorts—ones he had gifted you. Your head rested on his left arm while his other arm wrapped around you, holding you close.

His fingers began to trace barely-there caresses on the exposed skin of your abdomen. At first, it seemed like an unconscious gesture, but you noticed. The sensation became hypnotic, completely capturing your attention. Suddenly, you became more aware of the heat of his body against yours, of his masculine scent enveloping you—intoxicating and consuming.

Almost without thinking, you pressed yourself closer to him. The movement made his touch stop, leaving you with a subtle sense of emptiness. Your gaze slides sideways toward his face. He seems focused on the end of the movie. The dim light from the TV casts shadows over his features. His hair was longer now—at your request—and you loved how a few strands fell over his forehead. His glasses, always present, gave him an intellectual air you adored. His strong jawline and well-defined nose were the perfect combination, and when he ran his tongue over his lips to moisten them, the simple gesture sparked something inside you that you hadn’t felt before.

Without thinking too much, you placed your hand on his chest in a casual attempt to get his attention. His eyes lowered until they met yours, and a smile formed on his lips.

"Everything okay, princess?" he asked curiously.

You didn’t say anything. You simply leaned in and brushed your lips against his in a soft kiss. Your hand moved up to his cheek, and he responded immediately, returning the gesture with the same tenderness.

He leaned slightly over you, shifting his weight carefully as his lips moved over yours with patience, exploring you without rush. His glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose, and noticing your breath fogging them up, he took them off with a smile before setting them on the nightstand. You took the opportunity to grab the remote and pause the movie just as the credits started rolling. The dim light from the screen was the only thing illuminating you both.

His attention returned to you. He leaned in, his lips barely inches from yours. Your hand found his cheek again, caressing him in a silent invitation.

“We're feeling affectionate tonight, huh?” His tone was playful.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Yes, you were fully aware of your need for contact that night, but you didn’t need him to make it so obvious.

“Shut up…” you whispered, giving him a light smack on the cheek, which made him laugh.

“Sorry,” he murmured before kissing you again.

This time, his lips moved slower, deeper, making you want more. Your tongue barely grazed his upper lip, and the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by him. He felt the warmth spread inside him. He understood your silent permission, and without hesitation, let his tongue explore the kiss with more intensity. A muffled moan escaped your lips as he invaded your mouth, the touch of your tongues sending electric currents through your body.

His hand settled on your waist before naturally sliding over your skin. You felt it slip under your pajama top, and a shiver ran through you as his palm cupped your breast, squeezing it gently. A gasp left your lips when his thumb brushed over your nipple, hardening it.

The pleasure took you by surprise, making you break the kiss as you tried to catch your breath. He stopped immediately, his eyes searching for approval in your flustered expression.

"Sorry, I got carried away…" he admitted, his voice deeper, huskier than usual. He withdrew his hand gently, bringing it to your cheek, caressing you tenderly.

But frustration filled you. You didn’t want him to stop. Yes, there was a flicker of fear in the back of your mind, but at that moment, your body craved his touch more than anything.

“Byung Hun…” his name slipped from your lips in a whisper, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

You took his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and guided it back to your chest. “I want you to continue.”

Your voice was a little firmer now, and he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. “Baby, you know we’ll only go as far as you want, right?”

You nodded, and he sighed in relief. He didn’t want you to feel any pressure.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you again.

This time, when his hand slipped under your pajama, it moved with confidence. His thumb traced slow circles over your nipple, and your muffled moans were swallowed by his mouth.

And you felt it. His hardness against you, even through the fabric, his hips unconsciously pushing against your center, sending a wave of pleasure through you. You knew that if you wanted to stop, now was the time. But your body responded instinctively—your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Baby, I need you to help me with this…” he murmured against your lips, grasping the hem of your pajama.

You hesitated for a second, and with a slow breath, you sat up and pulled the garment over your head, but as you lay back down, your arms instinctively crossed over your chest. Byung Hun remained on his knees, watching you with desire.

“I think we should be in the same conditions,” you muttered, noticing that he was still dressed.

“Well, that seems fair,” he replied with a nod before pulling his shirt over his head and letting it drop to the bedroom floor.

Your eyes roamed over his bare chest, down his torso, following the faint veins disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. His body still held its athletic definition, and you were completely captivated by the sight.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll be the embarrassed one,” he teased.

Your gaze returned to his face, finding him with an amused expression. He loved seeing you like this—expectant, eager. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about being the first man to have you. He wanted to show you how good making love could feel and ensure you never forgot your first time.

He placed his hands on your thighs, caressing them softly before leaning down to press a kiss on the inside of each. Then, propping himself up on his forearms on either side of your abdomen, he began trailing small kisses along your skin.

His hands reached the waistband of your silk shorts, slowly sliding them down as his kisses followed the path. He left a lingering one at the top edge of your underwear.

“No… you don’t have to…” your voice trembled slightly with nervousness, stopping him.

He looked up at you and pressed a final kiss to your stomach. “Baby, if you want this to be easier, you have to let me prepare you.”

You wondered how he could speak so naturally while you could barely nod. But you trusted him.

“Okay…” you whispered. And you mentally thanked yourself for always keeping that area bare for comfort.

He placed another kiss just below your navel before sitting up and, with both hands, slid your shorts and panties down together. You lifted your hips slightly and then your legs to help him remove them completely.

When he tossed the garment aside and looked at you again, he swallowed hard.

The sight before him was sublime—you were naked and completely exposed to him. Your arms instinctively tried to cover your chest, your legs remained pressed together, and your skin burned with a blush he wasn’t sure was from heat or embarrassment. He didn’t know if paradise existed, but he had an angel right in front of him.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He reached out, parting your legs and settling between them. A stifled moan escaped your throat as you felt his heavy breath against your most sensitive area. His grip on your thighs was firm, his eyes gleaming with hunger as he took in the glistening evidence of your arousal.

You bit your lower lip, trying to hold back a moan—but it was useless. The moment his tongue traced a slow, deliberate path along your center, working its way up to your clit, a shudder ran through your body. He groaned softly against you, savoring your taste like a drug that left him craving more. His tongue moved with precision, teasing and exploring, while your breathless moans filled the room.

When he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit, your hands, which had been clutching the sheets, shot up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responded eagerly, his mouth devouring you as if you were the most exquisite thing he had ever tasted. He sucked on your most sensitive spot, making you arch against him, and when you tugged at his hair in desperation, he only groaned in approval, the vibrations making your whole body tremble.

Lowering his mouth, he let his tongue glide down to your entrance while his fingers gathered your wetness. A shiver coursed through you as he pressed them gently against you.

“Fuck… you taste so damn sweet,” he murmured against your core before slowly easing two of his long, thick fingers inside you.

Your body tensed at the new sensation, but he kept you distracted, his tongue never ceasing its movements. His fingers moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, sliding in and out, curling slightly to brush against a spot inside you that made your thighs tremble. He spread his fingers just enough to stretch you, coaxing your body to open up for him.

The pleasure built quickly, a tight coil forming in your stomach. His free hand rested on your lower abdomen, feeling the way your body quivered beneath his touch. Your hips instinctively began to move in time with him, chasing the mounting pleasure. His mouth latched onto your clit once more, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue with fervor. His fingers quickened their pace, thrusting deeper, and then—

A sharp, blissful tremor surged through you as the wave of pleasure crashed over you, pulling you under.

“B-Byung Hun,” you moaned, his name escaping your lips as he licked and kissed you through the aftershocks of your release. Your chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, your body still tingling in the aftermath.

“My sweet princess,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet adoration. You slowly opened your eyes, finding him hovering above you, his face mere inches from yours. Your gaze drifted to his lips—swollen and glistening from his efforts.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You swallowed, still trying to steady your breathing. “Y-yeah… that was incredible,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satisfaction flashed across his features, pride evident in the way he smirked. “Give me a second,” he murmured before pulling away and standing up.

Your legs still trembled as you watched him cross the room, his broad back a perfect view. He rummaged through a drawer in the closet before turning back toward you, a small silver packet in his hand. Your eyes widened slightly. He had condoms here?

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said with a sheepish chuckle. “At some point, we were going to do this, so I had to be prepared.”

There was nothing hesitant in the way he carried himself. He was calm, confident, utterly sure of what was about to happen. Standing beside the bed, his gaze roamed your body as he reached for the waistband of his pants. Without another word, he let them drop to the floor.

Your breath hitched.

Even through the fabric of his boxers, you could see how hard he was. The sight sent a new rush of heat through you.

Climbing back onto the bed, he knelt between your legs. With deliberate slowness, he slid his boxers down, freeing his length. Your stomach clenched at the sheer size of him. This was definitely going to hurt.

Tearing open the silver packet, he rolled the condom down his length with practiced ease. You couldn't take your eyes off him.

Noticing your gaze, he let out a small laugh and cleared his throat to get your attention. He winked at you, amusement and desire shining in his eyes.

“We’ll take it slow,” he assured, his voice raspy. “But if you want me to stop at any point, just say the word.”

You nodded. “I trust you.”

A slow, reassuring smile tugged at his lips before he shifted closer. One hand slid between your thighs, fingers gliding along your oversensitive folds, while the other guided himself to your entrance. He brushed against you, coating himself in your arousal before pushing in—just the tip at first.

A sharp, stinging sensation made you gasp, your fingers digging into his arms. He immediately leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck, his lips soft and soothing against your skin.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint. “Taking me so well.”

He pushed in deeper, inch by inch, letting you adjust. You sucked in a deep breath, trying to relax, feeling every stretch of him as he buried himself to the hilt.

A low, guttural groan left his lips. “Fuck… you feel so, so good.”

The tremor in his voice sent a jolt straight to your core, making your walls tighten around him. His arms trembled slightly from holding back, from trying not to lose himself in the overwhelming heat of you.

You swore you had never heard anyone sound so damn sexy in your life.

“Please… keep going,” you whispered.

You gasped as your body gradually adjusted to his intrusion, the discomfort melting away into something deeper, more intoxicating.

He started with slow, careful movements, rocking his hips in a steady rhythm. His lips found yours, swallowing your soft moans as your hands clung to the back of his neck. Little by little, the lingering pain faded, replaced by waves of pleasure that built with each thrust.

A particularly sharp moan tore from your lips when he hit a precise spot inside you, making your vision blur with white-hot pleasure. You needed more.

“Go… go faster,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

Byung Hun didn’t hesitate. Almost instantly, he picked up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. The room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, of breathless moans and the sheer bliss of being completely filled for the first time.

Your walls tightened around him, the pressure almost unbearable. He knew you were close—so was he. He wouldn’t last much longer.

“Cum for me, baby,” he murmured against your ear, his voice thick with desire before trailing wet kisses down your neck.

“You’ve done so fucking good,” he panted. With one last ragged breath and a few uneven thrusts, he spilled into the condom, his body trembling against yours.

His breathing was still uneven as he carefully pulled out, disposing of the used condom before collapsing beside you. Without a word, he wrapped you in his arms, your overheated bodies molding together in a lazy, intimate embrace.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he shifted onto his back, pulling you onto his chest. The tension in your body slowly unraveled, replaced by a warmth that settled deep in your bones.

Still floating on the lingering high of pleasure, you felt your eyelids grow heavy, your breathing slowing as sleep crept in.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice laced with adoration as his fingers traced lazy patterns down the curve of your back.

A sleepy smile ghosted your lips as you nuzzled closer. “I love you too,” you whispered against his skin, before surrendering to the pull of sleep.

[k-germsworld]

Special Encounter

Sowon x M! Reader x Eunha x Yuju

4.2k words

Gfriend just finished their schedule in Japan. After the schedule, their manager gave them an extra day to travel in Japan. That night, Sowon, Eunha and Yuju were dining at the hotel restaurant and discussing their usual schedules or their own problems; while Yerin, Sinb and Umji were on a shopping spree. They discussed it while having dinner. At this time, an enthusiastic foreigner recognized them as Gfriend and walked over to say hello. Since Yuju is the only one who speaks English better among the three of them, most of the conversations are between Yuju and the foreigner. Originally, the foreigner just wanted to have dinner in the hotel restaurant, but he didn't expect that the restaurant was full today. He wanted to leave the hotel and go to the restaurant outside to settle his dinner, but just when he was about to leave, he found Gfriend so he came over to say hello. Knowing this, Sowon asked Yuju to invite him to sit down for dinner. They introduced themselves briefly to each other. The foreigner's name is Nick.

Nick asked them many questions enthusiastically, and Yuju also helped to translate and answer his questions. Because of the chatter, he proposed to order a bottle of red wine, which of course was served by him. The members also agreed. They've been chatting for almost an hour, and they've ordered a second bottle of red wine. They were already getting a little drunk but Nick didn't feel it at all.  At this time, Eunha blushed and added some food. Three of them didn't speak much because they were a little drunk. "Oppa, do you want to have some fun with us?" At this time, Yuju said something unexpected with drunkenness. “How?” Nick was intrigued by Yuju's sudden words. “We want to get fucked by big cock." Sowon answered Nick in non-standard English. "We never tasted big cock before, do you want to fuck us all at once?" Eunha continued to say. Nick heard their answer, and nodded with a lewd smile. Sowon asks the waiter for the bill. Afterwards, they took Nick to their room. Once inside the room, Nick shows his sexual desire and kisses Eunha directly. He has seen all the performance videos of them. He especially likes Eunha Bloom's stage performance. That performance showed her sexy thighs and cuteness yet sexiness.. He also likes Sowon's stage at NYEL the most because Sowon's cleavage is perfectly displayed on that stage and Yuju is her pole dancing in Mago MV. He has lots of fantasies about Yuju's pole dancing and about fucking all three of them someday.

Eunha was startled by his sudden kiss, but his kiss gave her a sexual desire that Asian boys don't have. Sowon and Yuju couldn't help but start touching his cock. They were intimidated by the length of his cock while stroking it. They only hear that foreigners have very long dicks, but they don't know how big they actually are. But after they touched it today, they realized that foreigners indeed have big dicks. He saw Sowon and Yuju keep touching his cock, so he took off his pants and he took out his non-erect cock.  Eunha continued to be tongue-kissed by him. Her mouth was already full of Nick's saliva and a little saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth. Sowon and Yuju touched Nick's still-erect cock in amazement. The two of them spat on his cock and distributed their saliva evenly over every part of his cock. His cock was getting bigger and bigger because of their stroking until it was fully erect. They are surprised together. Nick says his dick can be as long as 25cm. At this time, he pressed Eunha down. Now the members are all kneeling in front of Nick's cock. Sowon took his cock in her hand and fondled it, while Yuju had already started putting the cock in her mouth. Yuju slowly put the first half of his cock into her mouth. It's only the first half, but the cock is already up her throat. Eunha, who was watching from the side, could only lick his testicles with her tongue. Three Gfriend members are lasciviously sucking their foreign fan. Nick put his hands behind his back, silently enjoying their blowjob. For an open foreign country, 3P is a very common thing but now he gets his cock blown by three girls at the same time, which makes him so excited .

Yuju spat out the cock in exchange for Eunha putting it in her mouth. Because of Eunha's unskilled movements, he wanted to tease her. Nick grabbed her hair and thrust his whole cock into her mouth. He stuck his long and thick cock in her mouth, his cock was completely deep in her mouth and even up to her throat. He couldn't let go of her mouth in excitement, until she patted his leg. He was willing to take his dick out after she patted his leg. She was able to breathe now.  Sowon watched he fuck Eunha's mouth and excitedly expect him to fuck her too.  Sure enough, he stuffed his cock into Sowon’s mouth this time. He thrust her mouth so hard that made her drool so much from being thrust. However, she didn't feel any suffering and his cock like it disappeared in her mouth. After a while he took his cock out, his cock had her drool on it. Sowon continued to lick his cock head while Eunha and Yuju each licked the side of his cock. In addition, the two of them stroked his testicles with their hands. He felt three warm, horny mouths at the same time for the first time.

"Ding dong..." The doorbell of the room suddenly rang.  Eunha saw that the three of them were busy, so she went naked to answer the door. "Room service..." said the waiter when he saw the door open. She saw the waiter's nameplate with "Bill" and knew he was a foreigner and pulled the waiter into the room. Bill saw her standing naked in front of him, and also saw Sowon being fucked and Yuju being licked on the bed after he entered the room. When he came to his senses, Eunha had already taken off his pants and his cock was being held by her. She licked the head of his cock and slowly put his cock into her mouth. After a while, Eunha was already being thrust into her mouth by Bill's cock although he was still dazed just now. After grasping the situation, he was already thrusting her.  He took his cock out and slathered his cock with Eunha's drool as lubricant.  He saw that her pussy was soaking wet and put his cock in it. He slowly thrust into her, but since his cock was also big, Eunha moaned as soon as he went in. At the same time, Yuju was also licked to orgasm.  Nick decides to put her aside and concentrate on fucking Sowon. His cock was already halfway in Sowon's pussy, but he kept pushing it in even deeper.

Sowon stops her action and strips her clothes off, revealing her hot body and her huge tits.  Eunha and Yuju followed her steps and took off their clothes too.  Although everyone has their clothes off, Eunha's and Yuju's figures look a bit underwhelming compared to Sowon's, but he doesn't mind. "Woah! What a nice bodies!!" He was amazed by their hot figures.He then pushed Eunha and Yuju down on the bed and fingered their pussy. Sowon was standing between them and Nick was licking Sowon's tits. Three of them moaned louder the harder Nick moved. Sowon buried his head into her chest, motioning for him to continue licking. While Eunha and Yuju's panties were teasingly drenched by his fingers. At this moment, Eunha stood up and pushed Sowon away. She spread her legs open for him and asked him to lick her pussy. He took off her wet panties, and kept stroking the periphery of Eunha's pussy with his fingers. "Faster come in please" Eunha already can’t wait. After he heard it, he inserted his fingers in and used his mouth to lick her cunt.  His powerful blowjob makes her cum in no time. The bed sheets in the hotel are full of her horny juices.  Her body was shaking constantly, and she praised his skill. He gives her a break and turns his target to the other two. At this time, Sowon and Yuju had already taken off all their clothes, waiting for him to enjoy them.  He pushed them down. He fingered Yuju's pussy, and Sowon was licked by Nick's mouth. Yuju couldn't help but climb onto Sowon's body. Once she gets on top of Sowon, she kisses her. Both of them have a passionate kiss. Watching two beauties kissing made him very horny.  He looked at Yuju's perfect ass and couldn't help but spank her hard. The spanking made the two beauties stop the kissing. "Yes..... spank me harder and fuck me first." Yuju was so desperate to get fuck right now. "Shut up bitch..... Don't you ever command me!" He then attacked her ass. He kept licking her asshole.  "Oh ..... fuck .... you are so good in licking my ass ." Sowon couldn't bear to watch Yuju get her ass licked, so she took Nick's cock with her hand and put it in her pussy. His cock felt her soaking wet pussy and began to pump her slowly.  He was now licking Yuju's asshole while fucking Sowon and Eunha slowly recovered from her orgasm.

Nick was fucking Sowon fast. He watching her delighted in being fucked hard by the huge cock.  "Sowon , you are so tight ....... Fuck!" He picked her up and lay on the bed with her straddling on him.  She searched for his cock with her hands and adjusted her position so that his whole cock went straight into her pussy.  "Fuck, your cock fill me up so full !" Sowon swayed her body and put her hands on his chest.  He put his hand on her ass and controlled her to move up and down. When he gets excited, he slaps her ass, and her ass shows a palm print visible to the naked eye. He started to pump Sowon rapidly. "Oppa, I am gonna cum !" She was getting closer and closer to climax. "Me too. So where you want me to cum, you little slut ....." He also wanted to cum soon. "Just cum inside my horny pussy please ." She answered without shame. “As you wish.” He said with a smirk.  With that, he shot his first load into her pussy. “I can feel your hot semen is filling my pussy so well !” Her pussy is now full of his semen. Sowon was too tired so she laid on top of him to rest but he felt like he has not fucked them enough so he laid her on the bed while he leaned towards Yuju. At the same time, Eunha's hands were pinned to the ground while Bill fucked her in doggy style. Her cute moans made him want to fuck her harder. He started fucking her fast. Her groans grew louder with his strength.  He lifted her up and straddled her on him, and her view was on Sowon being fucked.  Eunha was bouncing up and down on his cock while watching Sowon being fucked. Soon, he cums because he hasn't had sex for a long time.  He cums in her pussy. She also got off him happily and fell asleep on the ground.

“Hey, slut. Are you resting enough? Suck my cock." Nick has no mercy on Yuju. She gets ordered by him and starts licking his cock. She sucked the cock that he had just fucked Sowon and sucked all the remaining semen. She was working his cock with her mouth and hands, her hand on the back of his cock while she licked the head of his cock with her tongue.  Instead of feeling tired from his cock just now, it was made bigger by her. She pushed his cock all the way down her throat, making his moan a little off guard. "Fuck..... Yuju, you are so good." Her drool completely covered every part of Nick's cock as she stroked it repeatedly. Seeing her working so hard, he decided to reward her. He touched her tits and teased.  Her tits are provocatively hard and wet. After that, he lay on the bed and let her on top of him. They are in 69 positions now. His tongue quickly stuck into her pussy while Yuju continued sucking his dick. His skill made her moan. They continue suck each other. After a while, she was bored of sucking his dick so she got down from him. "Oppa. fuck my ass please... " She knelt on the bed and raised her ass high. After seeing her sudden action, he didn't hesitate at all. He just patted her ass and started rubbing his cock head around her asshole. Nick spanked her ass hard and started pushing his cock up her asshole. "AHhhhhhhhhhh...... Why is your cock is so big? It feels so great inside my ass." He fucked her ass slowly. He grabbed her tits with his hands. She moaned excitedly as she got her ass fucked by a foreign cock for the first time. He also pumped faster because of her moans. She was so fucked that she couldn't hold herself up and fell onto the bed with her ass high in mid-air being fucked hard by him. "Fuck me harder oppa ahh......." He heard and fucked her even faster.  Before long, he cums in her asshole. Thick semen came out of her asshole and he took the semen from her asshole and sent it into her mouth with his hands. "It tastes so good," She tasted his semen. He smiled with satisfaction.

At this time, Bill and Nick exchanged glances and understood what the other was thinking from the eyes.  So, Bill walked in Yuju's direction, and Nick walked in Eunha's direction.  Yuju took a break, but was suddenly fucked by Bill's cock in her pussy.  Nick thrust his cock into Eunha's pussy and he grabbed her thigh and lifted her into the air. Bill pushed his cock all the way into Yuju's drenched pussy, and it was so wet that Bill pushed it all the way to the deepest. And because Eunha was held in the air, Nick's cock was completely pushed into her pussy, and she was fucked hard. "Fuck... your cock so good in me..." The girls said in unison. The mans keep fucking the girls. The girls have been fucked out of their minds. The girls were fucked so hard that they couldn't say anything and could only moan. It didn't take long for them to feel like they were going to cum because their pussy is so tight. Nick puts Eunha on the ground and fucks her in a missionary position.  After a few thrust in her tight pussy, he felt like he was going to cum so he took his cock out of her pussy and shot his semen in her mouth. Eunha opened her mouth wide to allow all of his cum to go into her mouth. Because there was so much cum, some of it went on her face, but she didn’t care. She swallowed his thick load and kissed his cock head as a thanks. His dick gets an instant boner after her kiss on his dick. The other side, Bill thrust Yuju quickly, grabbing her soft tits. He also followed his rhythm and kept pumping her pussy. Because of the continuous penetration of his big cock, she was very excited and kept moaning for him to continue fuck her until he came inside her. Her moans turned him on even more so he increased his speed. When he felt he was about to cum, he thrust deep into her and shot all his load into her. "Hey, slut. Clean my mess with your mouth." He pulled out his dick and pointed it at her face. Yuju doesn’t mind being humiliated and takes great pleasure in cleaning his cock with her mouth. "Fuck, your mouth is born to be licking my dick!"  He groaned because of her sloppy blowjob. When she felt that she had licked his cock clean, she spit it out. Then she let him see how much cum was in her mouth. Afterwards, she swallowed the cum and collapsed on the bed. 

The girls were twitching so hard as if their orgasm never stopped. Nick and Bill watched them gasping for breath. They still wanted to keep fucking because their dicks were still hard from the girls’ blowjobs. However, they seeing the girls are tired enough to sleep they didn't want to fuck them anymore.  At this time, the man noticed Sowon still lying on the bed. Because she was laying down, her tits looked very firm. Bill, who saw this, walked quickly to her and tasted her tits. His drool filled her tits.  He licked her nipples with his tongue too, making it hard and wet.  His hand was on her other tits and nipple. Then, Nick also comes over to her. He licked her pussy and kept teasing her clitoris with his hands. Her sensitive clit being licked making her pussy drenching. “Stop teasing me, I want both of your cock inside my holes right now.” The teasing from both of them made her moan involuntarily.

Hearing her request, Bill stopped playing with her tits and he straddled on her neck. Then, he put his cock in her mouth. "Your mouth is so deep, you can take my dick all the way in." He kept pushing his cock deep inside until it hit her throat. She choked up as she took all his length inside her mouth because she was laying. Then, Nick pushed his cock all the way into her pussy again. “Sowon, you are such a slut. Your pussy is still tight like just now.“ Her pussy was still as tight as before, making him moan. They  ignored her sensations and pumped her every hole. Nick held her long legs in mid-air. He smelled her feet. The smell of her feet was like an aphrodisiac to him. He even licked her toes. Her legs were covered by her saliva. He enjoyed her legs so much and pushed his cock inward until it reached the deepest of her pussy. 

Sowon was so enjoyed being fucked by two cocks at once. She wanted to let out a moan but couldn't make any sound because her mouth was still stuffing Bill's cock. "Sowon, you're such a slut. You feel so happy while two big cocks are using your holes.” Bill lets loose his wild side and continues to humiliate her while fucking her mouth. She couldn't say anything but nodded with a slight smile. “Do you like having both of your holes filled with two big cocks?"He pulled out his cock from her mouth and asked her. “Yes, please. Just destroy me with both of your cocks.” Sowon is already craving cock to the point of losing her mind. “How do you want to get filled by our cocks?” Bill asked with a smirk on his face and he lay on the bed. “Say no more.” Nick, the one who keep fucking her tight pussy know what Bill want to do so he put her on top of Bill. He quickly stuffed his cock into her drenched pussy while her ass is facing Nick. Then, Nick lubed his dick with his saliva and pushed his dick inside her ass. "Damn it, this is too much. I can't take it anymore." She moaned when the cock was put into her ass hole. The men pumped in and out of Sowon's hole in sync. Due to the continuous thrusting, her tits kept shaking, causing Bill, who was lying underneath, to involuntarily play with her tits. “You are better than your members. You are indeed a well-trained bitch who get fucked many times.”  Nick kept spanking her butt until it was covered with red marks and insulting her.“Yes, I am a well-trained bitch who craves for many dicks inside all my holes at once. Just fuck me harder as you like.” Sowon had already lost her mind and had many dirty talks. The room was filled with the sound of their body collision. 

Bill pulled her closer to him and had a passionate kiss with her. They are also sucking each other's tongues. The kissing sound made by them was so horny that Nick can only envy. Then, Nick pulls her up and her back is leaned against his body and he finally can have a passionate kiss with Sowon. They kissed so hard that their saliva was flowing out. The men took turns pulling her closer to them and kissing her, but they didn't stop pumping her continuously. “I am gonna cum.” The man says in unison. With that, they didn't even give her a chance to try and stop them before they cummed into the holes they were fucking. “Ah…. It’s so great, both of my holes can fill with so much semen!” She felt the warm cum fill in her hole at the same time. Her holes are flowing out with many semen after they pull out their dick. They look very satisfied after seeing Sowon was filled by their cum. She is laying down on the bed after the intense sex. “Wake up, bitch. You are still not yet done with us.” Nick pulled her up from the bed. "You still have one job, which is to help us clean our dicks." Bill said that while his hand was still stroking his dick. Sowon was already numb because of the intense sex she had just now but her action was different. She was already on her fours on the bed and each of her hands grabbing each dick and stroking on it. “Use your mouth to clean it, not your hands.” Nick instructed her. She started servicing their cocks with her mouth. While she had one cock in her mouth, she would stroke the other with her hands. Sometimes she would take both cocks in her mouth at the same time and lick their glans with her tongue. "Fuck... How can your mouth be so good in this?" They moaned. 

Nick can’t stand it anymore, so when she takes his dick in her mouth, he simply grabs her head and starts facefucking her. Bill can only watch as Nick fucks her face. Soon, when Sowon takes a breather from Nick's cock, Bill knows it's his turn. He quickly pulled her over and pushed his cock into her mouth as she gasped for air. He moved his waist so that his cock could penetrate her mouth. “So warm and fucking good!” He moaned. When she catches her breath again, it's Nick's turn to shove his cock into her mouth. They both take turns pounding her pretty face. After a while of fucking, Nick wanted to cum. So he grabbed Sowon's head and fucked her mouth quickly. When he felt like he was about to cum, he pulled out his dick. “Your pretty face deserved to be cum on it.” He shot all his cum on her face and she just closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of it on her face. “You still cum so much on my face. I fucking love it.” Sowon loved the feeling when the warm cum was cumming on her face. She helps him to clean his dick again. When she is finished with Nick, now Bill could have her mouth all to himself. He grabbed her head roughly and pumped rapidly into her mouth. Because of the rapid thrusting, her hole was dripping with semen, and the semen on her face was slowly dripping onto the bed. She couldn't make any sound, only the "gag" sound. It didn't take long for him to release all his cum into her mouth because of his rapid thrusting. “Oh Fuck, I just wanted you to clean my cock, but your mouth made me cum so fast. You're indeed a natural cum bucket. Just swallow my fucking cum." Sowon followed his instructions and swallowed all the semen he cum into her mouth. She also used her mouth to clean the semen left on his cock again. After doing these things, she collapsed on the bed and fell into a deep sleep. 

Seeing the three of them collapse on the bed and fall asleep exhausted, the men had no choice but to put their clothes back on and leave the room. "These Asian girls were too good to fuck .Their tightness , their wetness and their skill is better than my country girls." Nick said excitedly. “These three are truly the best women I have ever fucked. Especially the sexy woman we fuck together just now, she is so hot and skillful in the bed.” Bill agrees with Nick and quickly returns to his post. Sowon, Eunha and Yuju fell asleep tired and happy from being fucked so hard. Their bodies smelled of sweat and the sperm of the two foreigners. Waking up another day, they find themselves naked in bed and asleep.  They felt their bodies were very sore. Thinking back to yesterday, they remembered that they drank a lot of alcohol yesterday and had intense sex with the foreigner. However, they don't regret it because they loved it so much. After this incident, Sowon, Eunha and Yuju are all in love with foreign big dicks and they didn't tell the other three members.

[writingwithgeoffrey]

“What the fuck is a ‘temporal paradox’?” You remember asking that question to your friend at a garage sale years ago. Now, you had nothing. Nothing, in a time where you didn’t even exist. You had no parents, no way to get back home. You had lost your friend somewhere in the jump, and now you were all alone.

That didn’t curb your desire to return to your time. It didn’t hold back your rage, even as you were held in an orphanage until you were eighteen You scoffed at the absurdity of it all. An orphan in my own time and this one, you thought to yourself.

 In all honesty, you were prepared to spend the rest of your life full of hatred, working out a way to bring your friend back. Or, at least, get revenge on the asshole that sold you that “temporal paradox.”

One day, however, many years after you’d been ripped away from your own time, you found your attention captured by a man across the street. He wasn’t as clean as many of the other men in town. A drifter, from the looks of it, wearing ratty clothing but holding a smile on his face.

Something about him was captivating, and before you knew it, you had struck up a conversation. He didn’t talk at all about his past, and what he did talk about seemed full of confusing twists and turns. That didn’t dampen the love you felt for him, but it did melt away whatever anger and frustration you may have felt about your situation.

When you found out you were pregnant, the drifter vanished from your life. He made the usual claim of stepping out for work, only to never return. You resented the man that had done this to you, but knew that whatever love you felt for him was still some kind of real.

The baby was born perfectly healthy. She was all right in every regard. Breathing, crying, sleeping normally.

You, however, were not all right. The delivery had taken its toll on your body, and in the process of saving your life, the doctors made a discovery you’d been fighting to keep hidden your entire life. You were intersex, born with both sets of sex organs. They had never caused you any trouble up until this point, but now the doctors were telling you there was only one way to survive: they had to remove the damaged parts and stitch you up with whatever remained, hoping you’d live a normal life. As a man.

Whatever, you thought. As long as I live to raise my daughter.

Then the news rolled in. Although first presentation had been nominal, closer inspection had revealed that your daughter was also intersex. The doctors said they would be willing to try corrective surgery, but that your daughter’s chances of survival were low. You decided against it. After all, you had managed to live with it, and you could help her through it.

You were happy for the first time since the drifter had left. You were at peace. You had your daughter.

Until you didn’t even have her. One of the nurses shook you awake in the early hours of the morning, frantically telling you that your daughter was missing from the nursery. You tried to rise and chase after whoever had taken her, wherever they may have been, but you were too weak to take even a few steps.

Your life took a downward turn. You had lost everything, and your new status as a man—even if medically necessary—had labeled you as an outcast. You fell heavily into alcohol, which took up whatever funds remained available to you. You became a drifter, staggering from bar to bar, caring not if the clothes you wore become ratty and full of holes.

It was in year seven of your drunkenness that you stumbled into a bar beneath an overpass. It was dim and grungy, with a small neon sign that read “Pops’ Place.” There wasn’t anyone there besides the bartender, but that was good enough for you.

You staggered over to the bar, sat yourself down, and with a drink or two extra in your system, spilled your life story. The bartender—no doubt Pops—seemed to listen with only kindness in his heart, nodding along and offering comforting nothings here and there.

However, when you finished your spiel, the bartender said something peculiar, something about avenging the strange drifter that had left you pregnant and sent you on your downward spiral.

You perked up. Of course, you would leap at the opportunity. The condition, however, was that you join the Time Travelers Corps. You didn’t know what it was, and in your drunken state couldn’t remember the temporal paradox that had led you down this path long before the drifter had. You agreed without a second thought.

With a slight smile, the bartender led you to a time machine in his backroom. Your first stop was seven years back, according to the bartender. The year that the drifter had taken everything from you.

You shuffled out onto the street, finding almost nothing had changed, and you were about to question Pops, only to find the bar had vanished in its entirety.

Fed up by people ruining your life—or perhaps your drunkenness ruining your life, not that you would admit it—you started down the street. If this truly was seven years prior, you were ready to kick some drifter ass.

At least, that was you thought. She changed your mind. She was beautiful, young, full of such hope. Yet, at the same time, you could see a fury burning within her eyes. She had a mission, much like you.

When the two of you locked eyes across the street, you saw her hatred soften up, and you found your heart beginning to pound at the sight of a kindred soul.

One thing led to another, and your life took a turn for the better. You maintained your drifter ways, taking her along for the ride, but you made a concerted effort to get over your alcoholism.

When the news arrives about your lover’s pregnancy, you’re ecstatic. However, Pops returns then and tells you that you must leave. You try to push back, but he says that it’s time to fulfill your end of the promise. Up until that point, you had forgotten, and although you hadn’t yet gotten revenge on the drifter, you had found love.

You agreed, as much as it hurt you to leave behind your lover. Pops dropped you off almost twenty years after you vanished from your lover’s bedside. There, the Time Travelers Corps was beginning to grow, a burgeoning group of individuals striving to keep the timeline secure in both past and future.

You made a name for yourself in the Corps. Everyone respected you, and as you climbed through the ranks, you found a reverence that you hadn’t experienced once in your life.

You had three missions left. That was what you were told. The first was to take up the position of a lowly bartender, serving to recruit people to the Corps’ cause. You though it was odd but said nothing as they gave you the disguise and the necessary training.

Then, you were sent back in time. Your given name was Pops, which you considered odd, but you thought nothing else of it as you took up your place behind the bar.

Your first recruit, the only man to step foot in your “bar” since its opening day, was a drifter dressed in ratty, worn clothing. He shuffled over to the bar, plopped himself down, got a few drinks in him, and spilled his life story.

After listening, you gave him the information he needed to hear. You told him he could get revenge on whoever had wronged him, on one condition: that he join you in the Time Travelers Corps.

He agreed, and you sent him on his way. That was when you were given your next mission. Go back in time and take a lonely newborn from the nursery of a hospital, and drop her off in the future. You thought nothing of it as you scooped her up from her crib, and in a matter of moments, you had left her on the doorstep of an orphanage.

Only your final mission awaited. Go forward in time, carry with you a new state-of-the-art pocket-sized time machine, and make sure a young girl and her friend received it, disguised as an old man running an estate sale before he moved into assisted living.

You watched with a smile on your face as the target took the bait, picking up a small, translucent cube with a sticker on it that read, “temporal paradox.” Your smile widened into a grin as you heard what the girl asked her friend.

“What the fuck is a ‘temporal paradox’?”

You point at the ‘for sale’ sign. “What the fuck is a ‘temporal paradox’?” you ask. “I dunno,” replies your friend. “But it’s only 20 bucks. Let’s buy one.”

[larkingame]

so, it's 2025...long time no see.

I'll skip they hi, how are yous and get down to the real meat and potatoes of what I'm here to say. TLDR: Larkin is still being worked on (screenshots + such below) and it's always going to remain a free game, but it's under heavy construction atm. thanks for checking in 🫡

for the two people who want to hear the long sob story that usually comes with these type of posts from online creators: I fucked up my back majorly and was out of work for a long time. I went back to work pre-maturely and! I've fucked it up again. the stress of this, lack of income and the fact that i've been taking a lot of meds to help the injuries (but mess with my ability to stay coherent) has made it really difficult to consistently focus on larkin, writing, social media in general, but it is still getting worked on in bits and pieces.

that said, some back story: I started working on larkin in 2019/2020 and it was really really fun! loved it. had a great time. but then i started posting about it and showed it to other people (and to my surprise they??????? liked it????) which made me put a very large amount of pressure on myself that made it not so fun any more. over time i would go through cycles of it's fun! to it's not fun! and so on and so forth. throughout this time I also had pressure from a lot of people around me (irl) to somehow like. strictly monetize larkin somehow, and as someone who was like VERY INSECURE and obsessed with people like mishka making like insane funds off of her game of the same type?/genre? i gave in to that pressure (if you could not tell by all my occasional dirty deletes of shade towards twc. truly pathetic and if any of yall saw. apologies and thanks for ignoring it.) addressing that: i liked twc when it came out, it was fun for what it was and larkin would not exist without it. so thanks for that miss jenkins and i will probably still passively engage with it on my own time.

but, back to larkin. anyways, the looming pressure of this need to monetize made me hate everything that i was doing and constantly feel like i needed to re-evolve and rework and just, overall not have a fun time with it. throughout the months of november, december and january when i was really missing the days of larkin's existence as an idea when me and my sister would just like walk around our neighborhood and i would just infodump to her about my cowboy vampire ocs. so i found my old larkin notebook and the stickies i made planning plot stuff and avoiding tumblr i just. had fun working on my little cowboy vampire game. like not really thinking about other stuff. and that's essentially it.

so I came to a conclusion: larkin is something i love, and i want to continue loving it. so essentially, i won't be monetizing the game itself. episodes/chapters whatever they end up being in the end will always be free. yay. if you want extra content/want to support me in some way monetarily, feel free to join the patreon, however, I won't really be active on it until i have something substantial to show you game wise. that being said, you can still subscribe for access to the backlog of short stories and art etc. I'm turning off charges each month until i have like a real game for you to play that doesn't make me sick to my stomach to look at or think about. another note: pc players are going to be priority until it's finished. I will have a mobile version but i can't promise you she will be all that pretty.

another note, because larkin is free i can't promise quick turnarounds on anything but what i'll be offering on patreon when i start charging again and additionally: i'm back to making larkin a game for me. i really lost a lot of enjoyment for doing this stuff when i thought about that pressure i put on myself like i mentioned above but also, when i started writing it for other people in mind. first and foremost i am making larkin because i like cowboys, i like vampires, i like horror and religious trauma themes. i'm writing this for me: kc, so i can go on my computer and teehee at all the kissing scenes and make a cool cowboy character with fights. i'm going to make it gay and self-indulgent and basically just have fun with it because it's my game and i am making it and i said so.

all that said here are some of the major things i've done with larkin over this past little while:

updated the website so that it is now useable :)

done a lot of work on the ui:

and i have been rewriting a lot of stuff because I FEEL like it was not good and was not fun for me. THE DEMO FROM LAST JUNE ESPECIALLY. it hurts my stomach to look at.

visually, dan (@tapeworrmart ) has been on his fucking a-game with the art even through my crisis. here's the male ace portrait he put together for me last fall and the art for the main menu:

we also have some more art in the works that i am very excited for because they are in pursuit of new fun features :D

all that said. thanks for the continued support if you're still reading this, appreciate any interest you have in my game.

[munsonsmixtapes]

hi! i have a jayvik prompt for your consideration, with jayvik finding it difficult to concentrate in the lab while you are there, and keep making mistakes because of it. can be as spicy or sfw as you like ofc

This is the first fic I've written about Arcane so please be gentle with me!

cw: allusions to smut

You know how difficult it is for Jayce and Viktor to focus when you’re in the lab. You only end up there because you love to hang out with them and maybe you’re trying to get them to admit that they’re interested in you. You’ve been conducting an experiment of your own, to see how long it will take them to finally make their feelings known, but it seems that wearing low-cut tops and short skirts had only just made them drool instead of making a move. 

Viktor at least compliments you while Jayce just gets flustered when you get close. His cheeks turning bright pink as you shamelessly flirt with him as you back him up to the desk. You love making pretty men stutter. He wants you so bad, always staring at your lips when you talk to him. It’s pathetic but he doesn’t care. You actually find it to be adorable.

Viktor is very upfront about his feelings, though, making it very clear that he wants you. He’ll lean on you when he doesn’t feel like using his cane and he loves that you will hold onto him, letting him lean his head on your shoulder. 

And while Jayce does feel a little jealous, seeing you together ultimately just sends him into a bi panic. He loves watching the way your hand slides up and down Viktor’s back as he writes on the chalkboard and the way you’ll help Viktor sit on the desk when he gets tired then stand between his legs as he pulls you into his arms. How can he even be upset when the two of you look so good together? 

Today, though, you’re sitting on Jayce’s desk when he comes into the lab, kicking your legs back and forth as you eat the sandwich he had left there for you this morning. Your face lights up when you see him, finishing your last bite as you motion for him to come closer, holding your arms. 

“Hey, handsome,” you greet as your arms wrap around his shoulders, his wrapping around your waist, his face burying into your neck just like always. This is his favorite moment of every day that he sees you, he thinks, being wrapped up in your touch as you hold him for however long he wants. 

This is going to be a long hug. He’s been struggling with one of his Hextech inventions and just needs your reassurance to be able to fix it. You’re always so encouraging and he feels like he needs that to today. 

Once he reluctantly pulls away, he sits in his chair, having to turn away because he can see up your skirt and he knows that he shouldn’t be looking. He just turns every so slightly, picking up his screwdriver to work on one of the weapons he’s created, trying his hardest to not think about how badly he wants to bury his face between your legs and eat you out until you’re crying his name. 

Viktor can’t focus either having dropped his pencil more times than he can count as he’s been trying to work on a sketch of one of the newer projects. You just look so beautiful and he can’t focus, his eyes staying on your lips as you flirt with Jayce, leaning over ever so slightly, giving him the perfect view of your cleavage that he stares at for a few seconds before snapping out of it. 

It’s getting sad, you think, so you’ve finally got to do something about this whole thing, finally make a move on both of them. You love the longing looks, but this is just getting pathetic at this point. So you turn Jayce to face you and hold his face gently in your hands, pressing your lips to his. He gasps into your mouth but quickly melts into you, pliant under your touch, willing to let you do whatever you want to him. He’s putty in your hands. 

Viktor is becoming concerned with how much he’s enjoying watching the two of you kiss, concerned with the fact that he’s getting hard. He’s always been attracted to the two of you separately, but seeing you together is making him want you even more, desperately wishing he could be part of it.

Your hands slide into his hair and he’s moaning into your mouth as his hands slide up your thighs as your place a foot on each side of his chair. He’s trying to pull you into his lap when you pull away, watching his eyes fill with lust. He lets out a whine as you hop off the desk and you just shake your head at him. 

“There’s no need to be greedy, baby,” you tsk. “Viktor needs a turn.”

Viktor turns around fully and his eyes widen as you lean down over him, kissing him more hungrily than you had kissed Jayce and he’s eating it up, whining as your tongue slides into his mouth, roaming around as you put something in between his shirt and vest. You give it a pat then pull away, smiling down at him, seeing his parted lips as he stares up at you, his eyes filling with lust just like Jayce’s. 

You motion for both of them to come closer with your pointer finger and they’re quick to stand, Viktor moving slower as he has to reach his cane. You’re moving to the door and they’re both following you like lost puppies, desperate for more of whatever you just gave them. 

“Viktor has a key to my apartment where I’ll be waiting for the two of you after you’re done here. I think we all could have some fun together considering the chemistry we all have. If you don’t come, I completely understand, but I’d really like for you too.”

“I’ll be there,” they both say in unison, so quickly that you barely understand them, but your face lights up at their agreement. 

“Perfect!” You respond then press kisses to each of their mouths before fleeing the lab, leaving Jayce and Viktor, neither of them wanting to discuss the fact that this is going to turn their friendship into something vastly different and it will never be the same. Neither of them care, though, looking forward to spending the night with you and each other, counting down the hours until they’re done with their work.

[is-that-your-true-face]

Aww I love this so much, thank you! You even did what I ran out of steam to do and added his helmet back to the scene! Bless. 🙏❤️

Writing isn't my forte but, if I may, I think I can add just a little to that ending from Skull Kid's and Tatl's perspective.

-

Skull Kid noticed Tatl's wings stopped fluttering as soon as Link finished humming, if only for a brief moment, but he didn't think anything of it as he got up and began to recite the melody.

He couldn't work out why Link wanted to teach him a new song now. He should be doing something to help instead of playing music. But this was the Lost Woods. The Lost Woods in a more dangerous and hostile state than Skull Kid had ever known it could be. There was nobody who could help them here. And Link had grown. Skull Kid was too small be able to carry him, even if the Hylian could survive long enough to be reach help.

Skull Kid could do nothing. Making mischief and playing music was all he was ever good for. Immature. Selfish. Useless.

He had begged Link to teach him a song last time. Selfish.

Not again. Not for this. This time, it was his turn to grant Link's wish. And he would not deny his friend.

He would not be useless again.

As he played, he could see Link's remaining eye watching him from behind once-golden hair now stained and darkened. That kind, gentle smile had returned to his face and he seemed to relax and breathed deeper in the soft breeze. Skull Kid couldn't help but smile back as he continued to play.

The draft blew Link's hair across his half-closed eye, hiding it from view. The child took that as an opportunity to close his own eyes and concentrate on the tune to play it as perfectly as he was able. He had been playing the other song too quickly. He would get this one right.

The wind stopped not long after he finished playing and he looked back up, searching for that blue eye that seemed brighter than he remembered it being. All he could see now was a slit of lifeless sky.

He started forward but Tatl beat him to it. She flitted to Link's side, moving frantically like she was looking for something from the now still form.

Skull Kid ventured to speak. ". . . What is it?"

She rested onto Link's shoulder. Her usually loud and blunt voice now so cracked and quiet that Skull Kid strained to hear it.

"It- it 'n't work. . . It didn't work, Link."

Skull Kid could not bring himself to ask what she meant. But he knew what it did not mean. He picked up the helmet he had dropped earlier and set it in Link's lap as Tatl settled against the Hylian's cheek in what Skull Kid knew was her attempt at a hug.

He stepped to Link's other side and joined her. His arms were only long enough to comfortably wrap around Link's head but he hoped it was enough for his old friend that had helped him so many times.

He was too late to return the helmet. But, perhaps, he could protect Link from the darkness that had settled around them. The child shook with tears he could not shed as he held Link's head tighter to his heart.

The breeze slowly returned, stronger this time as it blew in from behind the stone Link rested against. The current that came through the hole in the stone somehow felt warmer than the rest as it brushed his face and enveloped him like an embrace of its own.

The wind continued to blow through the stone's opening in a pattern eerily reminiscent of Link's final gift.

It was soothing.

-

Well that came out about three times longer than I expected, but I hope it's a worthy addition!

Also a few notes people might like:

I can't recall if Skull Kid ever saw what Song of Healing does, but Tatl spent a whole game with Link, so she would recognize it.

MajorLink propped Link again a TP howling stone, not an OoT gossip stone. The gossip stones lack the hole in the middle.

Song of Healing is the first song Hero's Shade ever teaches TP Link (I like to think he was attempting to heal TP Link of his wolf form). TP Link gets that song at Death Mountain instead of in a forest, but, I mean, MajorLink put it right there in epi 1 for the taking.

Also thank you to everybody for your wonderful comments and tags! I'm so glad I was about to make something you enjoy. 🙏

"Can it be your favorite song?" A song that means a lot to you: > Song of Time > Song of Healing

A callback to the scene from episode 1, when Link chose to teach him Song of Time over Song of Healing.

Very much looking forward to seeing what MajorLink and his team actually do for this scene. ❤️

[multific]

A Love Awakened

Modern!AU

Count Orlok x Reader

Summary: In the modern world, he was an echo. But with you, he was a promise. Love awakened. Love eternal.

The night was still, heavy with the scent of autumn leaves and the faint hum of the city beyond your window. 

You sat curled on your couch, the only company a half-finished bottle of wine and the ache of solitude. The room was filled with shadows, lit only by the flicker of your laptop screen, and the work emails were long abandoned.

A sigh broke from your lips, a sound of longing and something deeper, an ache that no company had ever helped. 

The wine, warm and heady in your veins, loosened the lock on your heart.

"I just… I just want someone to love me," you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of loneliness. "Someone-anyone. Even if it’s… a monster."

The wind shifted outside and sent a whisper through the trees. 

You felt the chill of something unseen but said nothing more, your body sinking into sleep.

The dream was vivid, too vivid. 

A castle, ancient and covered in mist before you. 

From the shadows stepped a figure, tall, lean, and cloaked in the night itself. His eyes, pale and piercing, found yours. 

You felt the weight of ages in his gaze, and yet, beneath the terror, there was something familiar as though he had been waiting.

His voice was a rasp, deep and his breath terrified you at first. "You called for someone to love you." he spoke slow, it sent shivers down your spine.

You felt your heart stutter. “Who are you?”

“I am your Lord, Count Orlok,” he said simply, the name ancient, like him.

His fingers brushed your cheek, cold as marble, and you trembled. “You have stirred me from a long slumber, Little One. I have heard your heart’s weep."

You swallowed thickly, both terrified and entranced. “What… what do you want from me?”

His gaze burned into yours. “Come to me. Seek me, and you shall know love beyond the veil of time. But know this, if you do not come, you will never find me again.”

The dream shattered with your gasp as you woke with a start.

You dismissed the dream as wine-soaked fantasy, but the echo of his voice clung to your bones. 

You felt watched, shadows pooling where none should be.

Curiosity, or possibly madness, something unnamed drove you to your computer. 

You searched, digging deep into half-forgotten whispers and obscure forums. 

The world called him a myth, but the fragments you uncovered painted a map of impossibilities: sightings, a name whispered.

You found it, a place, hidden among mountains and woods. A private property which has been long untouched.

Your heart raced. “This is insane,” you muttered. Yet, the dream had felt more real than your life.

-

The journey was a blur. 

You remember buying the ticket, you remember getting on a plane and a train, you remember renting a car. You remember leaving said car in the nearby village.

You even remember an elderly lady warning you about the woods. 

But it all seemed to vanish when you saw the castle.

The castle stood ahead, a rough silhouette against the twilight.

The gates, rusted and heavy, groaned as they opened.

Inside, time had forgotten the walls, cobwebbed and cold stone. 

Your footsteps echoed as you wandered, drawn by something unseen. You didn't know how you knew which way to walk.

“You came."

Your breath hitched as Count Orlok emerged from the shadows. 

His form, monstrous and regal, seemed both part of the castle and apart from the world. Yet, his eyes softened as they met yours.

“You are real,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

A shadow of a smile, a movement so slight it seemed to flicker. “You crossed time to find me.”

His cold hand, hesitant, brushed yours. He was not used to the vulnerability of touch.

“I have watched centuries pass,” he murmured. “But never have I felt this pull.”

Your fingers, brave and trembling, entwined with his. “Then let me stay. Show me what love means to you.”

He stiffened a flicker of something old and wounded in his gaze. “You would give your heart to a creature the world has forgotten?”

You smiled, warmth against his cold. “You heard my heart when no one else did. You are not forgotten by me.”

The days became nights and the nights endless. 

Orlok, ancient and powerful, grew curious about your world, the flicker of your phone screen, the hum of music from your playlists. He watched the sky lit by the city glow and marvelled at the stars unchanged from his time.

He was a being of shadows, but with you, he learned light, not of the sun, but of laughter, of stories shared by candlelight. 

His touch, once cold and possessive, became tender, hesitant, and achingly careful.

And when you touched his face, tracing the lines of his features, you felt his tremble, the fear of breaking under something so fragile as your affection.

“I have lived without a heart,” he confessed one night beneath a sky with stars. “Now you have it.”

You leaned in, pressing your lips to his, his cold meeting your warmth, ancient meeting fleeting. 

But in that kiss, there was eternity.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 149 (A New Pet - And a New Landgraab Problem?)

Captain Whitaker made himself right at home at the Gordon house on Sable Square. When Lavender returned from daycare on his first day as a reanimated dog, the Captain was thrilled to meet the energetic toddler who loved pets.

He also celebrated discovery of the chicken coop in the backyard, and he loved to chase the cats. It had been a while since Heather and Conrad needed to train bad habits out of a new pet, but they were happy to do it, because Captain Whitaker fit their family like a glove.

Heather's sister, Hazel, dropped by for breakfast one morning, on her way to help Alexander Goth put together his application to run for mayor.

"It's a long process and the town hasn't had an election in close to forty years, but Alex has a lot of really great ideas to make the Bay even better," Hazel said. "I really believe in him, and he needs more help with his campaign now that he's doing midnight feedings with baby Carina."

At the mention of Alex and Lydia Goth's second child, newborn Carina, Heather rubbed her belly as she felt her own baby kick. "I'd love to see this town running smoothly with a real mayor at the helm. The water shut-offs we've had to deal with lately make it so much harder to get the kids bathed, and the dogs, let alone us!"

"I hate to sound like Dad, but get a dew catcher. It rains enough on the coast you could collect enough water to last for weeks!"

"What's a dew catcher?" wondered Lavender.

"It stores water for when there's drought or the pipes freeze in winter. It's kind of like recycling the rain," Hazel explained, and Lavender nodded along thoughtfully.

"What's recyclig?"

"It's when you take something and use it again for something else, rather than getting something new, because it's better for the environment. Like new toys. If you bought a used toy, it would be recycled, as opposed to a new toy from a store."

"Used toys are better for the envi-erment?"

Hazel nodded. "Yeah, because new production uses a carbon footprint, and you want that carbon footprint to be as small as possible to help the planet."

Heather glanced pleadingly at Hazel, launching into one of her public policy talks with a four-year-old. "Why don't you get your Aunt Hazel to read you a story before she goes to work?"

Lavender smiled, dragging Hazel to the living room and picking out a book. "Can you do the voices again, too?"

"Of course, Lava. I can't read you a story without doing the voices!"

"No you can't!"

Lavender wasn't the only one in the household interested in books. Ash had picked up as many books on time travel from the library as he could, and he'd barely put them down since. If he was supposed to invent time travel, he had to understand it first.

Heather and Conrad were wary of what he was learning, but they'd encouraged Felix and Lilith to pursue it before they knew what Marco had said. Ash promised to leave the actual time travel to the adults, so they allowed him to study books like Theoretical Electronics and A History of Time Travel to offer assistance to Felix and Lilith - but only if they needed it.

Conrad accompanied him to the local library to return a few books he'd finished and check out a few more, bringing the dogs to run around. They sat in bright inflatable chairs that seemed out of place in the old wooden building. But the local historian and librarian, Gunther Lynx-Munch, said they'd been dropped off by an anonymous donor and he didn't want them to go to waste.

As he thumbed through the books on the shelves, Conrad turned to his stepson. "Are you really interested in all this time travel stuff?"

Ash shrugged. "Felix and Lilith say Emit's nice. What if changing the future changes him, too? I don't want to change the future too much, but I don't want to be feared. If I do help Felix and Lilith, I don't mind people not knowing I did it."

That night, Heather prepped fruit for Ash's school lunch while Conrad was bent over the sink to repair the plumbing. "Malcolm called again," she groused. "He's so interested in Ash's counseling sessions all of a sudden."

"I think this time travel and seeing ghosts stuff freaks Malcolm out a bit."

"He doesn't even think it's real!" She closed the fridge door with a heavy thud to put away the sliced fruit. "I think he's plotting something. With his mother."

Conrad finished with the plumbing and dried his hands, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her stomach. "Like what?"

"He's acting like I can't take care of our son, as if he wasn't flirting with Miko instead of watching Ash when he was taken. He actually said 'It can't be easy to move around that small house with all those animals.' They have a dog!"

"Don't get upset," he pleaded gently. "Has Malcolm ever been worth it?"

She forced herself to breathe, letting herself fall into his embrace. "I love you. I just worry about Ash all the time lately."

"I love you, too. Let's get some sleep; the baby needs it. We can worry about everything again in the morning."

Despite her fear and worry, the days were busy and long. Pregnant Heather was easily fatigued, and she soon fell asleep in Conrad's arms. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

[00valentina-writes00]

I JUST REMEMBERED IT'S MY BIRTHDAY IN LESS THAN TWO WEEKS (March first)

Can I get a hc or something about ambess on your birthday please?i LOVE YOUR AMBESSA

RAHHH ONE DAY LATE (but Ambessa AND Grayson)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY (late, but…I tried guys, and yes I’m braking hiatus to post this)

♡♥︎ Birthday with Ambessa and Grayson ♥︎♡

….i wrote drabbles for you!!!

♡ Ambessa ♡

It was your birthday, and you couldn’t have asked for a better celebration. Ambessa, in all her fiery elegance, had planned everything with precision—something she rarely let others see. It was one of the first things you learned about her: beneath the sharp exterior and the commanding presence, Ambessa had a soft side, a side she only revealed to a select few. You, being one of those few, got to experience it all today.

The day started early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, casting the world in soft shades of orange and pink. You’d been awoken by the sound of her voice, low and soothing, calling your name from the other side of the room. She stood in the doorway, a slight smirk playing on her lips as she held up a tray with your favorite breakfast on it: pancakes, fruit, and coffee.

“Happy birthday,” she said, her voice hushed but warm.

You smiled, sitting up in bed, your long curls tumbling over your shoulders as you stretched. Your fingers grazed the soft tray she placed in front of you.

“Ambessa… you didn’t have to do this,” you murmured, reaching for the coffee cup.

“I wanted to,” she replied, her eyes softening as she watched you take your first sip.

Ambessa never was one to do things without thinking them through. She always had a plan, whether it was strategizing in battle or crafting the perfect morning for you. As you ate, you could feel the weight of her gaze, always so intense, always so focused. But this time, it was different. This wasn’t the gaze of someone plotting or preparing for something—this was the gaze of someone who was simply enjoying your company, who wanted you to feel loved and cherished.

Once breakfast was finished, Ambessa stood, offering her hand. “There’s more. Come with me.”

Her grip was firm yet gentle, guiding you out of bed and toward the window. Outside, the city stretched before you, and the sunlight danced on the buildings. The air was crisp, a perfect spring morning. Ambessa’s plan was clear now: she had made sure this day would feel like a celebration from the start.

Your hair was still a little messy, curls not fully tamed yet, but Ambessa didn’t mind. She never minded how you looked. To her, you were beautiful no matter the state you were in. You chuckled softly as she adjusted a loose curl that had fallen over your eyes, her fingers brushing gently against your temple.

“You’re always so meticulous,” you teased.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” she smirked, her voice playful.

The day unfolded in the most charming way. Ambessa took you to a small, intimate café that overlooked the city, the two of you seated at a corner table with a clear view of the streets below. She didn’t need to do anything extravagant—no large crowds, no loud music—just the two of you, enjoying each other’s presence. You had noticed, after all this time, how Ambessa never cared for the flashy displays of wealth or power that others might expect from someone of her status. What mattered to her, in these moments, was the quiet comfort of being with you.

Later, after the café, she whisked you away to a small garden tucked away behind the café. It was quiet, peaceful. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the air smelled of blooming flowers. Ambessa had arranged for a small picnic in the garden, complete with candles that flickered softly in the dimming light. You sat together on a blanket, the world quiet around you. There was no rush, no pressure, just the calm of the evening settling in.

As you sat, Ambessa leaned back, her arm casually draped over your shoulders. She smelled faintly of sandalwood and something sweet, a scent that was uniquely hers. You couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through your chest as you settled into her side. It was simple—just the two of you, the stars beginning to dot the sky—but it felt like everything. You could hear the distant hum of the city, but here, in this moment, it felt far away. It was just you and Ambessa, and that was enough.

She took a deep breath, her fingers brushing against your hair. “You know,” she started, her voice low, “when I first met you, I never thought I’d find someone who made everything feel… softer. Everything was always about control, about power, about winning. But you… you make me want to just stop, breathe, and enjoy the simple things.”

You looked up at her, your heart swelling at her words. “Ambessa… you’re making me blush.”

“Good.” She smirked, her fingers gently tugging at a loose curl that fell over your shoulder. “You deserve to feel special today.”

You rested your head on her shoulder, your curls falling around you like a soft curtain. The warmth of her body next to yours was comforting, and you could feel her heartbeat, steady and strong, beneath the fabric of her clothes. It felt like everything had slowed down, the world fading into the background as you simply existed together.

Later, she presented you with a small, carefully wrapped gift. The box was delicate, the wrapping paper pristine. “I thought this might suit you,” she said, her voice a little quieter now, more serious.

You carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a beautiful necklace—simple, with a small pendant in the shape of a crescent moon. You gasped.

“It’s beautiful… Ambessa, I love it,” you said, your eyes wide. “Thank you.”

Her eyes softened as she watched you. “I wanted something to remind you that no matter what happens, I’m always with you. You’re never alone, not with me.”

You smiled up at her, your eyes sparkling in the dimming light. “I don’t think I could ever be lonely when you’re around.”

She chuckled, a deep, rich sound. “Good. That’s how I like it.”

As the night drew on, the two of you stayed in the garden, talking and laughing, sharing stories, and simply enjoying the time you had together. It was everything you had wanted—no grand gestures, no overwhelming celebrations—just a quiet, intimate birthday spent with the woman who made you feel truly seen and cherished.

When the time came to leave, Ambessa stood and offered her hand to you once more. “Shall we go home?” she asked.

You nodded, taking her hand. As you walked back to her private quarters, you couldn’t help but feel content—like this moment, this day, had been perfect.

Ambessa, ever the fierce protector, had found a way to soften her edges just for you. And in return, you had found someone who would never let you go.

“Happy birthday,” she whispered as you reached the door.

You smiled, brushing a stray curl out of your face. “Thank you, Ambessa. This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll make sure every one is just as good”.

♡ Grayson ♡

Grayson stood in the kitchen, a faint smile playing on her lips as she glanced at the clock. The evening was approaching, and she had spent the entire afternoon preparing for tonight—your birthday. She knew better than anyone that you didn’t need grand gestures or elaborate plans; what mattered was the thought behind it all, and she wanted to give you something truly special.

She had picked out your favorite cake—vanilla with strawberry frosting—and set it on the table, carefully decorated with candles that she’d lit only moments before. The living room was dimly lit, soft string lights twinkling above, casting a cozy glow throughout the room. A movie had already been queued up on the projector, one of those comfort films you both enjoyed watching on lazy nights.

You weren’t home yet, but Grayson had made sure everything was perfect. She wanted tonight to feel intimate—just the two of you, no distractions, no stress.

When the door finally opened, her heart skipped a beat. You stood there, a little tired from the day but smiling nonetheless. Your long hair was a bit messy, and your eyes lit up when they landed on her, the warmth in your gaze making her chest tighten with affection.

“Happy birthday, my love,” Grayson said softly, walking over to you. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. You smelled like your favorite perfume, and for a moment, Grayson just stood there, holding you. She felt the quiet comfort of being home with you, the weight of her armor and responsibilities falling away. This was her sanctuary—being with you.

You pulled back slightly, giving her a playful look. “What’s all this?” you asked, motioning toward the setup in the living room.

“It’s a surprise,” Grayson replied, her voice filled with affection. “I know you don’t like big celebrations, so I thought we could have a quiet night together.”

Her fingers gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, and you smiled softly, your heart fluttering at the way she always knew exactly what you needed.

You followed her into the living room, where the atmosphere was serene, just as you liked it. Grayson poured you both a glass of wine, handing you one as you settled on the couch, the flickering light from the projector casting shadows around the room. The film was one you both loved—one of those nostalgic, feel-good movies that always made you laugh.

For a moment, you both just watched in comfortable silence, sipping wine and laughing at the movie’s silly moments. Grayson kept glancing over at you, her eyes softening every time they landed on your face. You were her world, and the joy of seeing you so content on your birthday made her heart swell.

After a while, Grayson turned to you, her voice quieter now. “I have something for you.”

You looked at her, surprised. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Grayson.”

“I wanted to,” she said, smiling with that gentle warmth you adored. She stood and walked over to the small table she’d set up, picking up a small, elegantly wrapped gift. She handed it to you, her hands lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift. Inside was a delicate necklace—a simple gold chain with a small, heart-shaped pendant. The heart was etched with intricate designs, a subtle nod to the mark of a protector that Grayson had earned over the years.

“Grayson, it’s beautiful,” you whispered, running your fingers over the pendant.

She sat beside you again, her gaze soft and earnest. “I thought it would be something you could wear always. Something to remind you that no matter where I am, I’m with you. Always.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. You leaned over and kissed her, gentle but full of love. “I love it,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

Grayson smiled, her hand reaching up to gently wipe a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re everything to me.”

After a moment, Grayson gestured toward the cake sitting on the table. “Now, how about we cut the cake?” she asked, her voice teasing, though there was a warmth in it.

You nodded eagerly. “I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

Grayson stood, and with a playful flourish, she cut the first slice and handed it to you. You both laughed as you dug into the cake, savoring the sweetness and the fact that you were able to enjoy such simple, beautiful moments together.

As the night went on, you watched the movie, ate the cake, drank the wine, and simply enjoyed the quiet rhythm of being with each other. There were no grand speeches, no huge surprises—just love, shared in the most perfect, effortless way.

Grayson eventually turned to you, her voice soft but sure. “Happy birthday, my heart. I’m so grateful for you.”

You smiled at her, feeling the weight of her words in the depth of her eyes. “And I’m grateful for you. Every day.”

With that, you snuggled into her side, and she wrapped her arm around you, holding you close. The rest of the world fell away, and all that mattered was this—this moment, this love.

As the movie ended and the night stretched on, Grayson kissed the top of your head, her hand brushing through your hair. She had given you everything she had—her time, her love, and her heart—and it was more than enough.

It was perfect.

[shianis]

@creepysmlile

"Oh have you try the seekers claustrophobia? I love all the lore the fandom created for the seekers"

"Caged Sky"

The pirate vessel never stood a chance.

Megatron had ripped through it like a storm, scattering its pathetic crew to the void. The Decepticons had moved with precision, cutting down every mercenary that dared raise a weapon against them. It had been an execution, not a battle.

Because no one—absolutely no one—stole from him.

And Starscream?

They found him in a dimly lit cargo hold, curled into himself, optics dim, frame battered. He hadn’t spoken much when they pulled him out—just muttered something weakly sarcastic about Megatron taking his time. But even that had lacked its usual venom.

Megatron hadn’t dwelled on it at the time.

They had won. The Seeker was back. Everything should have gone back to normal.

Except it hadn’t.

---

Starscream refused to leave the landing pad.

At first, it had been easy to dismiss. Maybe he was just sulking, milking the situation for sympathy or attention. It was Starscream, after all.

But then a cycle passed.

Then another.

And he was still there.

Sitting on the edge, wings twitching, staring out into space.

Megatron had ignored it as long as he could.

Now, he had had enough.

---

The Nemesis was a warship, not a Seeker’s personal perch. Megatron stormed onto the landing pad, optics burning with frustration.

“Starscream,” he growled. “This ends now.”

Starscream barely turned. “Oh? What ends?”

Megatron’s patience frayed. “Your pathetic stalling. Get back inside the ship.”

Starscream shifted, still not looking at him. “I will, Megatron. I just need a little more time. The—ah—the atmospheric recalibration is—”

Megatron’s optic twitched. “Enough.”

He grabbed Starscream’s arm.

And then—

Starscream panicked.

The Seeker shrieked, thrusters kicking in as he fought, wings flaring wildly. His talons scrambled for purchase, yanking his arm away with a desperation Megatron never expected.

“Let go!” Starscream’s voice was sharp, nearly frantic.

Megatron did.

Starscream stumbled back, vents heaving, optics wide—too wide. His claws gripped his own arms, shoulders hunched. His wings trembled, betraying tension, fear.

Megatron frowned. “What is this?”

Starscream ex-vented sharply. “Nothing.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “You—”

“I just need more time,” Starscream snapped, though his voice wavered. “That’s all.”

Megatron studied him.

The way he avoided looking at the entrance.

The way his frame coiled like a cornered animal.

The way his optics flickered—not at Megatron, but at the walls of the ship.

Understanding dawned.

“…The pirates,” Megatron said slowly, testing his theory. “They confined you.”

Starscream stiffened.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

---

Megatron dragged the truth out in fragments, each one like shattered metal pried from a wound.

The pirates had beaten him, sure. That was expected. But they hadn’t known what to do with him. He was valuable—too valuable to kill outright.

So they had caged him.

Not a brig, not a cell.

A crate.

A shipping crate, small, cold, dark.

They had folded his wings to shove him inside, forced him down, locked him in. No room to stand. No room to move. Just metal walls pressing in on all sides.

He had screamed—at first. Kicked, cursed, threatened. But no one had answered.

The air had grown stale.

His vents had struggled against the thick, unmoving atmosphere.

And for the first time in a long, long time—Starscream had believed he was going to die.

Alone. In the dark. Crushed in a box.

No sky. No escape.

Just metal, choking the life out of him.

And now?

Even Nemesis’ walls felt like a cage.

---

Megatron listened.

He said nothing.

When Starscream finished—when he finally ran out of words, voice tight and fragile—there was silence.

Then—

“…If I could,” Megatron said, voice low, dangerous, “I would kill those wretched parasites again.”

Starscream’s optics flickered toward him.

Megatron’s gaze burned.

“But this time, it would be slow. Painful.” His claws curled into a fist. “I would ensure they felt every agonizing second of their pitiful existence slipping away.”

Starscream stared at him.

Megatron met his gaze evenly.

A long moment passed.

Then, softly—softer than Megatron had ever heard from him—Starscream ex-vented.

“…I would like that.”

Megatron nodded once.

Then he turned toward the ship.

“Come,” he said, without demand or force.

For a moment, Starscream hesitated.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward.

And, step by step, he followed Megatron inside.

[sturnslutz]

back to friends.

angst, suggestive, friends with benefits, unresolved, being drunk, use of y/n wc: 1.7k listen to this song on repeat while reading.

matt walked into the room, stumbling onto your bed, his eyes heavy. you were laying down on your bed, aware of what had happened to him and kept both your doors unlocked for him to come inside without problem.

he let his body fall to the edge of your bed, barely hitting your feet. he grumbled, mumbling incoherent words into your sheets. you leaned up, scratching through his brown locks softly, matt letting out a small sound.

"y'need some water?" you ask softly. he nods, lifting his head up from your blanket, fully allowing you to see his drunk, tired face. "here. drink." you handed him a bottle of water that was on your side table, matt happily accepting it.

the last time matt was actually in your bed was not even 3 nights ago where him and his brothers got into an argument, leading him to come to you, his best friend, sobbing into the pillow.

after finishing the bottle, he tosses it somewhere before crawling up closer to you, clinging to you like a small child. "missed you. shoulda' came."

"you know i don't like those parties. i can't be around all those people, especially ones who are drunk." matt snickered at this. "can't be around me, huh? damn." you slap his arm softly, rolling your eyes.

"not you, y'aren't a alcoholic. you drink sometimes and go overboard at times." matt scoffed. "no i don't. y'just saying that so i'll stop." you get taken aback a bit by matt's sudden defensiveness but dismiss it. "you need to take a shower and sleep, you're being a bitch."

matt sat up on his forearms, his face hard as stone. "i'm not. fuck you." he stood up wobbily, heading to your bathroom, slamming the door in the process. you sigh, pulling out your phone and texting chris.

"matt's over again. wanna pick him up or just let him stay here?"

"fuck im sorry nick's staying over w a friend tn and im staying w a girl, ill pick him up tomorrow morning tho. hope he isn't too much of a hastle :/"

"nah hes good just a bit cranky"

matt walked in again, his shirt off but still remaining in his sweats. it looked like he had washed his face and ran his wet hands through his hair before he slid back into your bed next to you, letting his arm fall over your waist.

"y'texting chris?" he mumbles into your shoulder. you nod, humming. "yeah, just let him know you're here." he scoffs a bit. "like he cares. you guys worry way too fucking much. 'm a 21 year old man. fuck outta here with that "caring" bullshit." he sits up, grumbling.

matt had never really spoken to you this way, or even this loudly ever and you wondered where it all suddenly came from.

"you need to chill, matt." you say while playing with the ends of your hair, your eyes flickering to matt's silent self every few seconds. "shut the fuck up, y/n. you don't know shit. we hooked up, what 2 times? been friends for god knows how fuckin' long and you think you know shit about me. you don't. stop actin' like you my girlfriend." matt snaps, turning his upper body towards you.

"i'm just trying to help out-" "i don't need your fucking help. not you, not chris, not nick, not anyone." matt interrupts. he fully looks back at you, his eyes meeting your eyes for the first time that night, genuinely.

you see his eyes glance down to your lips before his eyebrows furrow a bit as it seems like he's searching every part of your face for something neither of you are quite sure of.

"what?" you ask simply. he meets your eyes again, his tough act growing once again. "nothing." he leans back down onto the bed, turning his body facing the other wall. he scoots himself back a bit subconsciously to let his back touch your arm, even slightly.

he doesn't move, and neither do you as the sounds of your breaths filling the quiet room. "im sorry, y/n. i don't mean to be mean. i just don't feel good." he says softly, after some time. he turns his body to face you, his eyes looking over at your figure that was being illuminated by your lamp on your sidetable.

you look over at him, seeing his low eyes examine your face a bit, before he leans in, kissing your lips softly, searching for anything. you kiss him back a bit before turning your head. "you reek of tequila." you laugh a bit and he rolls away, letting out a breathy laugh also.

"whatever. c'mere." he grabbed your jaw a bit tight, bringing your face back to meet his. you kissed back almost immediately, disregarding the reek. he lets his hand fall to your cheek, rubbing it softly.

after some time, matt pulled away. "remember the first time we kissed? when we were 14?" matt said while kissing your neck, bringing up the memory. "yeah, at summer camp. and we promised not to tell anyone or do it again then we made out in your tent later." you giggled, remembering the memory.

-flashback-

summer of 2017. best friends with the sturniolo triplets who invited you to their camp they've been going to since they were 6. it was lunchtime, and you and matt had picked a table somewhat far away from everyone else, something that became normal for the both of you.

this day, matt had taken a red marker from the arts and crafts station. "can i draw on you? just little hearts." matt said, fiddling with the marker in between his fingers. "yeah, go ahead." you said, taking a sip out of your chocolate milk that was somewhat good.

matt began drawing little red hearts and then coloring the inside of them with a bit more pressure to create a darker color against your skin. "i wanna try something." he whispers before leaning down and kissing each individual heart on your arm with such softness.

the movement caught you by such surprise, leaving your breath hitched in your throat, but you couldn't move your arm away. the feeling of him kissing your body felt so nice.

he leaned back up, with a clear marker stain on his lips. "was that okay?" he muttered, to which you immediately nodded to. "yeah, yeah. y'just got a little stain right there. i'll take it off." you pointed to his lips to which you leaned in, kissing him and him kissing back immediately.

you pulled away after a little bit, seeing that the stain had now been on both your lips, yours and his. he giggled seeing this, before leaning in once again.

-flashback over.-

"good times, i'm telling you y/n." he said before snuggling into your neck, wrapping his arm across your waist, pulling you in tightly. "turn off the light, would you?" he muttered. you nodded, leaning up and flicking the off switch.

the night went on smoothly, soft words and giggles being thrown into the air, eventually leading you two to fall asleep, wrapped up in each other, a lot more close and personal then "best friends" should be.

the sun peeked through your curtains, a low groan being emitted from your throat. you stretched, your knuckles hitting your headboard, causing another groan to be made.

you let your eyes open up a bit and noticed a certain emptiness next to you. you knew matt had come over last night and you two did fall asleep next to one another but did he really leave like that? a decision he's made countless times even after sex, promising he wouldn't do it again?

you leaned over to his side to look for anything of a sign of him. a note, a sock, anything. nothing. nothing was left, and it was almost like he wasn't there. you leaned back over, picking up your phone that was still attached to the charger, the time showing 8:37am.

he hadn't even left a text. he just left like the numerous times he had done before. you pulled up your texts with chris, the last being a text from you last night telling how matt had been "cranky."

"hey has matt left to your house? he js left without a word"

chris responded 3 minutes later.

"he left already? i was supposed to pick him up. lemme check his loc hold up"

"he turned it off lemme ask nick gimme a sec"

"nick said matt turned his location for him off too. all at 4:37am ig"

you checked your messages with matt, and it said the same thing.

"matt has stopped sharing their location with you at 4:37am."

he left 4 hours after he had came? where the fuck did he go?

"hey did u get home safe? left without saying anything lol"

matt responded 13 minutes later.

"ya"

"alr just text me later when ur less hungover"

"k"

throughout the day, matt still hasn't said anything. you had seen a couple clips of him from peoples' stories taking shots, smoking, and making out with random girls.

these stories were all on close friends or private stories of these influencers because if the internet had saw, matt would've been fucked.

seeing matt kiss other girls irked something in you, a feeling you know you shouldn't feel. but you did feel it, whether you liked it or not. matt and you were strictly only friends, a relationship was something the both of you couldn't commit to.

matt was known for being a "loverboy" and "the shy triplet" to the internet, but he was the complete opposite off of the screen. he would fuck you like no other, he would make you cry like no one else had, and he would make you laugh the hardest you ever have.

that's what you loved and hated about matt.

you had learned from before not to talk about your place with matt to him, and learned that he literally couldn't care about "aftercare" or whatever that shit was.

the feelings you felt for him had never changed and you continued to look past the toxic self he put on himself. you continued to see him as the guy you used to love when you were a teenager, and the adult who's back you always had, whenever he needed the support.