#hope everyone else is holding up well

[enellee]

hope you enjoy my art of the deadliest motherfucker in limited life!

truly, a force to contend with.

congrats to ladders! with too many kills to count. the real winner of limited life <3

[happyendingsong]

🍤

[wereflamingo-in-thai-dramaland]

Since when do you celebrate a goal in a team sport with your friend in the audience instead of with your teammates who helped you make that goal?? That's rude and antisocial.

SaintShin were always fucked up. We were just too busy awwing at the cuteness to see it.

[phagodyke]

god what a fucking terrible country this is to be trans in. it rly just keeps getting worse huh

[naivety]

this doesn't even have to do with the holidays really but i don't think people realize what kind of supreme loneliness trans people can experience, especially trans people trapped in isolated rural areas. i didn't even fully grasp it myself until i thought of myself as trans, not just nonbinary, despite my many trans friends. suddenly news headlines and articles and comments from coworkers don't just feel horrible because they're directed at people i care about, but now furthermore so severely something that's hard to put into words. over time, without really noticing, i've begun to experience a deeper kind of existential fatigue than i was used to due to so many other parts of life as we know it. as the new year approaches, it feels all too easy to despair at how many of our trans brothers and sisters and siblings won't be facing 2023 with us, and how hard it is still to face it ourselves. at this point survival alone is rebellion and the fire of that is one of the things getting me through this winter, and i can only hope the same can be said for others, but please don't forget to check in on your trans friends and family this time of year. whether or not the holidays are celebrated, many are still with or think of family and community and find themselves too often alone. if you're one of them, i can only say i see you, and i think of you often. we are not alone even when we're most alone, there are so many of us reaching out in our hearts and minds to lift each other up, those still here with us now and those who came and went far before us. we will find our people and we will feel at home, and most of all we are worth the struggle and more to keep putting one foot in front of the other until the sun rises on a new year, and the next one, and the one after that. remember that we are divine and we divinely love and we are divinely loved. remember that we belong here just as much as anyone else, not by any condition but being here in the first place. you are here, we are still here, and we always will be, and that's something worth celebrating if nothing else as this year comes to a close and a new one opens, and at every moment you remember it.

[bo0zey]

my manager has kids:(😕 but i have a new resident doctor crush soooo;)😳

[bowsers-sweaty-asshole]

.

[sunni-stuff]

P2 P3

Reader who gets pregnant off of a one night stand with some soldier during armed forces day, showing your appreciation for his service a little too well.

You had a support system, friends who joked about you having way too much fun, hence your predicament, others already offering to buy things for the baby and your parents who couldn't be happier to meet their grandchild.

But what about the father?

Well, it's not exactly like you could track him down. Fuck, you didn't even know the man's name, only how he made you feel, his filthy words strumming in your ear, big hands tight around your waist, hips slamming away in a desperate chase.

Let's forget how you leg-locked him.

When your daughter was born, everything changed, and time slowed down. She was a quiet baby, barely crying or having any outbursts like a normal child would but outspoken in her own little way. That chunky thing came out of the womb with a glare. Brown eyes staring down anyone and everyone but you.

That's something she definitely got from her father. You vividly remember how his umber eyes watching you from across the bar. He was like an eagle waiting for the perfect moment to strike his prey. A perfect soldier.

So, you named your daughter Adira in memory of his strength. That's one thing he could have.

Adira loved to be by your side. Her chubby cheeks pressed into the nook of your neck, holding you close with strength of a thousand babies. Your clingy little thing was a koala, always by her mommy's side, never straying far no matter how curious she got. When she learned to walk, her favorite thing became to hug your leg, especially while in stores. She hated people, wearing a tiny scowl whenever customers passed by tucking herself closer to you.

Maybe it was a good thing her father wasn't around. Having to compete for her first words would've been a bloodbath.

You spent two years in bliss. The fact that you were a single mother an afterthought to raising what you considered a blessing.

With Adira's second Christmas coming up, you wanted to do something special. She loved trains and found them absolutely amusing, often mimicking the honk as she ran around your apartment. Thankfully, there was a train ride for kids around the park during this time of year.

Here, you stood in line, bundled up to the nines. Big poofy coat, warm gloves, and fuzzy boots. As the crowd moved, Adira clung close, arms wrapped around your leg, glowering at any passerby with an annoyed look on her rosy cheeks.

That one was new. Maybe something else she got from her father.

The two of you took steps in tow, keeping Adira close and comfortable as the train came into view. Her expression shifted, excitement palpable. "Twain!" She squealed, jumping up and down.

Before you could respond to Adira's childlike joy, a man bumped into you by accident, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He turns to look at you, blue eyes meeting yours, but you were too focused on the weird ass Mohawk on his head.

People wore still those?

"Sorry bout that lass." The man starts to apologize, a Scottish accent lacing his voice.

That breaks your stare, laughing awkwardly to mask your wandering gaze. "Oh no, it's fine. You should be careful. you might slip on ice."

He nods, giving you a kind smile. The Scottish man starts to leave, but the look your kid was giving him sent shivers down his spine.

Little Adira was giving him a fierce stare down from behind your leg before ultimately cutting her eyes at him as if he were merely a nuisance.

"Next in line! Mctavish!"

The man doesn't stay after that. You assume that it was him they were calling with the way he hurried off. Hope he doesn't fall, seemed like a nice guy.

Soap can't help but do a double take when be gets to the front. The little rascal was wearing his Lieutenants face, hawk eyeing anyone who dared got to close. It was like looking in a mirror.

He nudged Gaz, making a gesture to look back without making it obvious. "See the lass and her bairn in line?"

Gaz gives him a raised brow, looking back for a second before turning around. "There's a lot of kids with their mother's, Johnny."

Soap glances back, double checking to make sure you were still in line. “The lass with the wee one—she’s got the same wicked look as Lt. You cannae miss her.”

Gaz rolls his eyes but humors Soap by looking once more, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on a little girl already mean-mugging him from a distance. He swiftly turns around, blinking in surprise, trying to comprehend what he saw. "Uh..."

Soap only nods in agreement. That was Ghost's face, on a kid no less. He wastes no time, elbowing Roach and getting him to look back as well, leaving the other Sergeant in the same shock as Gaz. "That is not a face a kid should have."

"Agreed." Gaz added, shuddering at the thought.

"Where's the cap?" Soap asks, the train ride no longer feeling like fun now that he’s discovered the jackpot.

"Market place with Lt. for cigs," Gaz knowingly remarked, remembering that Price had run out on their way here.

"Well, let's go show them a Christmas miracle," Soap shot up from his seat all too eagerly.

The sergeants just got their Christmas present.

[slimeylee]

why have these last years fucking sucked ass

[adelheidvonschicksal]

The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[etfrin]

⤷❝Can't be Shared | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | somnophilia, mentions of prostitution (Snow was going to 'share' you) cunnilingus, pinv sex, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), possessive af Snow, impact play (he slaps your thigh once), ruined orgasm (you do cum in the end) | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: Snow was going to share you with the elite of the Capitol but changed his mind halfway through only to have his way with you and make you the First Lady of Panem

⇢☾A/N: hehe, the longest fic I have writing so far, hope y'all enjoy this and reblog ;)

<masterlist> < bc: @cafekitsune >

He thought he would be okay with it. He was sure he would be okay with it. But he wasn't. Snow's blood boiled when the rich elitist of the capitol had begun to touch you, whisper you praises, and whatnot. The only thing that was going in his mind was his, his, his.

When had he gotten so attached, he wasn't supposed to be. Letting them touch you, and play with you was a strategic decision to get them hooked and you weren't meant to be his Queen but something had changed. Something snapping in him when the Capitols’ richest eyed you like a meal.

His jaw was clenched and he cleared his throat, “I changed my mind.” He said, “I am not sharing after all.”

You are his. His property. His bird locked in his cage and now his Queen. He pulled you closer, away from prying hands. He glared, memorizing the face of any and everyone displeased, thinking of plans of how to dispose of them quickly because even if briefly they had touched you that was a sin. No one taints the Queen but a King.

He cordially finishes dinner, keeping in mind he was a president, a newly appointed one at that even if he wanted to he couldn't drag you into his room and have his way with you. But he wanted to. His free hand is on your thigh, gripping it hard enough to leave a small bruise. His hold gets tighter the more he has to smile pretty and act polite.

You hadn't said a word, you weren't sure what to say. You were ready to be shared, used, and then discarded. Snow had told you of this beforehand, but he had changed his mind and you were grateful.

Even as he marked you, made you whimper with his grip, giving your thigh a warning squeeze to be quiet. You were relieved that he decided not to share. You were his, you liked that you were his.

Dinner took longer than you would have preferred, but when it finally came to an end, Snow leaned into you and whispered, “Be on my bed wearing my shirt and nothing else, my bird.”

You didn't reply. You get up, walking into his room, heat choking your veins and making your pussy ache and wet. You close the door as you reach the master bedroom of the manor.

Going into his closet you picked on a red shirt, knowing that it would match your skin tone well. You had taken everything else off, your panties and previous clothes on the floor. You were in full display as you didn't even button up the shirt. Your breasts are exposed to the cold air making your nipples harden.

You sat on the bed, waiting for him to come. One minute bleeds into ten and you laid down on the bed. One hour turns to several and your eyes close up. Sleep catches up with you.

You woke up with a gasp. Sleep at the edge of your mind but your mouth lets out a moan wantonly as several things hit you at once.

One. Snow was here.

Two. Snow was between your thighs, his hands keeping your thighs wide and spread for him.

Three. His lips were on your clit, sucking it vigorously making you arch your back and wanting to flinch away from the intensity.

And you tried to move away, your bud sensitive more with pain than in pleasure. How long was Snow like this, sucking at your clit. Your pussy was now impossibly slick and throbbing, wanting to be filled.

A slap was delivered onto your thigh, a hitched moan leaving your lips because of the delicious pain. “Behave,” Snow sneers at you, his blue eyes looking ravenous, his face smeared with your arousal. This was Snow? You thought for a brief second. For once he felt like a man brought down to his knees by a woman instead of something untouched.

“Sorry,” you gasp out as he dives into your cunt. His tongue drew circles onto your clit as your cunt clenched around nothing. You never thought Snow would be sloppy at anything, you thought wrong because his breathing was loud, warn air of his pants grazing your sex. His stubble brushed against your sex as all of his attention was overstimulating your clit.

He finally lost interest as you cried out that you were close just by him playing with your clit for who knows how long. It hurt. It felt good. Perfect, delicious pleasure and pain. You were dizzy, your eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He leaves your clit alone, but his tongue finds its way to the rest of your pussy. His tongue traces your folds, your slit, and the inside of your walls. Leaving no parts of your cunt untouched by his mouth. He was licking every drop of your juices, all the while he made you wetter.

Your hands were fisted into the sheets, your hips subtly moving for friction. A notion that was stopped with a squeeze of his hand on your thigh. You were brought to your high, so close to the edge you would fall in a second as moans spilled from your lips.

Only for that to be snatched away as Snow moved away. You cry out, “No! Please!” But Snow merely raised an unamused eyebrow while his hand wiped his mouth. “Snow, please,” you whispered, feeling the heat and the high of your lost orgasm.

He lets out a scoff as he sees your desperate state. “My meal is finished,” he merely said. His hand takes off the red suit, the same color as your (his) shirt. His fingers unbutton his white shirt, revealing his toned physique. Those same hands now unzipped his pants, his boxer down to the floor revealing a hard cock. The well-rounded tip leaking pre-cum.

“But I am not done with you yet,” he muses, as he moves in closer. You were sitting up now and his hand was on your nape.

“I don't think I'll ever be done with you,” he whispers, the words sealing a promise of forever. “Don't be,” you whispered back, leaning to catch his lips. Your arms around his shoulders to pull him on top of you, to feel his weight, his skin against yours.

Primal instincts take over you both as you kiss. Desperate whimpers and deep groans could be heard and his teeth sank into your bottom lip. Making it bleed and making him suck your blood into his mouth. He pulls back with a gasp, his eyes wide, his lips swollen. His taste was of a dessert you couldn't name. Addictive and delicious.

His left hand was on your cheek, another still on your nape. His thumb brushes your cheek in a manner of caring. “You're the Queen of Panem now,” he announces, making your heart jump in surprise. “The First Lady of Panem.”

With that, he seals his words with a kiss. Soft and ravishing, his tongue explores your mouth. Your hand is in his hair, the blonde locks between your fingers as you kiss back with everything you have.

“You're mine,” he whispered, his lips brushing with yours, “My bird in a cage. My property.”

“I'll make sure everyone at Capitol knows it,” he said, his eyes looking at you with the ferality of an animal stripped to his bare instincts. “Is that understood, my bird?” He asked.

The answer couldn't be anything but yes. So you replied exactly that and he grins. He looked beautiful in that moment, his charms coming out making you even more needy.

You pulled him in for another kiss, his lips smiling against yours as both of your tongues tangled. His hand lowered itself and cupped your cunt. His fingers trace your entrance and you whimper into his mouth but he doesn't breach in.

He gathers your arousal on his digits, and he pulls back from the kiss to take the digits into his mouth. After sucking his fingers clean, he kisses you again, letting you taste yourself.

His hands pushed you down on the bed, your legs on his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, taking you in, his bird being such a pretty mess.

He placed a kiss on your thigh that was unbelievably soft that for a moment you didn't believe it was action done by Snow's lip but the harsh bite of his mouth marking the skin of your inner thigh proved otherwise.

He leaned down, his hand in your hand above your head. Your free hand dug into his shoulder, forming crescent marks that made him groan, a choked-off desperate sound that you wanted more of.

All the while he placed his cockhead right at your entrance. You gasp as you feel the tip slip inch by inch into your velvety warmth. You wondered if he was going so slow because he wanted you to adjust to his length. However, one look at his face told you were wrong. His blonde strands clinging to his forehead, his lips parted and letting out hot breaths all the while his eyes closed shut, his eyebrows furrowed as he buried his dick into your cunt with the slow pace.

The reason he was going slow was because he wasn't sure if he could last and fuck, that got into your head. Birds are little teasers and you were no different so you clenched around him. His length half pushed in and felt your pulsing cunt wrapping itself tighter around him.

His eyes fall open as he lets out a grunt of surprise and pleasure, “Fuck.” His icy eyes glare at you, “Don't.” Your pussy only clenched further in reply and his hold gets harder, pressing your hand into the mattress as he sank in completely without a warning. “Ah!” You let out in surprise, the stretch painfully perfect.

“Take it,” he whispered to you, his lip biting your earlobe before he dragged his mouth to the pulse of your neck to mark you up properly as his property. His hips now beginning to move, calculated and controlled just like every other action of Snow. Every thrust hits your g-spot relentlessly, making you gasp and moan, back arching in pleasure.

“Gentlemen make their women cum but you're not a woman. You're my property but I am merciful so cum. Cum on my cock untouched, my bird.” He groans into your ear as his pace gets faster, a tad bit of desperation creeping in as his hips slam into you without a care. You could only moan in reply, truth is you didn't need to be touched to cum. His cock, his skin against yours, his mouth sucking your neck, and placing love bites were enough. More than so.

The heat was already forming in your stomach, waiting to be released and spread all over your body. The final push hadn't come long after. As you and Snow shared a filthy open-mouthed kiss, he had thrust so hard and deep, a small bulge had formed, your cervix being kissed with his cockhead.

You cry his name and your pussy comes on his cock, milking his length with repeated squeezes. “That's it, my bird,” he praises as he continues to abuse your cunt with his dick. Your nerves are oversensitive making you whimper and teary-eyed. He found his release with a whimper, his hot cum filling your womb. He pulled out with a small gasp and you wanted him again.

His hand ran through his hair, pushing the sweaty strands up. “First lady of Panem,” he stated, looking at you and then your body, his cum falling out of your cunt.

“First Lady…” you whispered, in disbelief and for whatever may come in the future.

[fastandcarlos]

"She's In Labour...Now?" : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: it wasn't supposed to happen yet, especially with max preparing for a race...

Your body froze, hand coming down to the side of your bump as yet again you felt a stab of pain against your side, struggling to keep yourself balanced. A heavy breath came from you as Sophie’s eyes glanced to your side, immediately moving closer to you. 

Your eyes shut in horror as another twang of pain arrived, leaning against anything that you could find to try and support yourself. Sophie’s hand landed on your back as she watched you, her eyes full of concern. 

“Everything alright?” She asked, although she already knew the answer to the question. “You don’t think you’re going into labour...do you?” 

Your shoulders shrugged, feeling your heart begin to race. “I don’t know, I hope not, Max is about to race any second and I need to be there to watch him.” 

Sophie’s head shook as you spoke, knowing that Max didn’t need to be your priority right now. Before you could argue she had a member of Max’s team rushing around the garage to try and find you, not giving you the chance to protest and assure her that you were fine. 

In a matter of moments Max’s figure came sprinting through the garage, his eyes searching for you. Sophie waved over to him, standing to one side as soon as Max arrived at your side, his arm moving around you to try and support you. 

“Is it happening?” Max nervously asked, looking between you and his mum. 

Just like his Mum, Max didn’t need an answer, already being able to tell for himself. As you went through another stab of pain you grabbed on tightly to Max, letting go of a groan. Max quickly moved to hold you tighter, keeping you against his chest. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered, kissing against the top of your head. “I’m right here with you, I’m not going anywhere,” he added, feeling your eyes glance up at him. 

Your head shook as you tried to step away from Max, but he was far too strong. He kept his hold despite how hard you tried to wriggle out, quickly remembering where you were and what he was supposed to be doing. 

“You can’t be here,” you murmured, “you need to be getting ready to race, you’re on pole, you can’t lose such valuable points Max.” 

“Do you really think I’d leave you right now, like this?” He asked you. 

You immediately felt guilty as Max asked a member of the team to come over, informing them to pass onto Christian that the reserve driver would need to step in for the race. 

“The team aren’t going to be happy,” one of the PR team told him in reply, scratching over the top of their head, “but I guess given the circumstances they’re just going to have to deal with it. We’ll put out a statement and tell everyone that you’re feeling unwell as the reason you’re not there.” 

You looked to Max once more, eyes pleading with him. “We don’t know for sure whether I’m in labour yet, why don’t you at least race? It’s only a couple of hours, I’ll be alright.” 

He didn’t even bother listening to you, his mind was well and truly made up and you wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. Max didn’t want to miss a thing, and he certainly didn’t want to not be by your side whilst you were in pain too, regardless of whether you were in labour or not. 

Everyone else went to carry on prepping for the race, with you and Max left alone after his mum told you that she’d head off to go and get your things. “I’m not willing to risk anything,” Max whispered, holding onto you as you began to walk over to the car park. “We’re going to the hospital whether you like it or not, I’d rather be safe than sorry.” 

You smiled weakly across at Max; his eyes filled with concern. “I’m not due for another three weeks Max, let’s just wait and see how the next hour goes, it might be nothing.” 

“But it could be something,” he corrected, still full of worry. Max was proven to be right as after taking a couple of steps you felt a pain that you couldn’t describe course over your bump, leaving you doubled over, biting down on your bottom lip to stop yourself screaming. 

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, relying on Max to keep you from falling. Your eyes screwed tightly shut, breathing as well as you could to try and ride out the pain. It took a few moments, but just as it passed, another stabbing pain hit your bump. 

Call it father’s instincts, but Max knew in that moment what was happening. He called for his car to be brought over as soon as it could be, wrapping his arms around you so that he could carry you, doing anything that he could to make life a little easier for you. 

Your arms wrapped around Max’s neck, allowing him to scoop you up. “Turns out, you might’ve been right,” you joked, feeling Max’s eyes glance down at you, as if he knew all along. 

“It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about getting you to hospital now.” 

The car barely stopped before Max opened the passenger door and sat you in, buckling your belt. The valet passed him the keys as his mum arrived, passing your bags over to Max before shouting that she’d catch you up. Max quickly climbed into the car, putting his foot on the accelerator as fast as he could. 

“Turns out I’m in a different race now, the race with all this traffic.” 

“I’d like to get to the hospital in one piece,” you laughed, struggling to get yourself comfortable in your seat as Max drove as quickly as he could, weaving around the cars on the road that were queueing to get into the paddock and see the race, “and I think our child would also vouch for that too.” 

“I’m not driving like a maniac,” Max told you, but even he was a little doubtful. “Well, maybe I am a tad, but I think I can be forgiven considering the circumstances.” 

His eyes were only half on the road, with Max watching over to you too every time a contraction greeted you. Each one made his heart race, filled with him with nerves as you assured him that you were alright, even though you were far from it. 

It wasn’t exactly how you planned your day, ready to sit and relax whilst watching Max, struggling to believe what was about to happen. 

“I'm so proud of you,” Max whispered as he noticed you staring out of the window. "I don’t quite know what’s about to happen, and if I’m honest, I’m terrified, but one thing I know is that I’m going to be so in awe of you.” 

You smiled weakly back across at Max, “however scared you’re feeling right now, double it and you might feel as scared as I do. But the one thing that I know is that you’re there for me, so that means I’m going to be alright.” 

“I won’t let anything bad happen,” Max promised you, matching your smile. “I’m not going to leave you alone for a second, no matter what it takes.” 

Neither of you quite knew how the next few hours were going to unfold, but as a team, you knew you were going to be alright. The race was soon forgotten as the two of you looked to the future and the thrill of knowing that your first meeting with your daughter was right around the corner. 

“Can you believe we’re about to be parents?” Max smiled across at you. 

“I don’t think it’ll ever truly sink in.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[imaginedisish]

Modern Love (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! Here's something short and sweet. This is based on a request, so I hope the requester enjoys :) No song references here, but "Modern Love" by David Bowie seems appropriate. It's 80s, New Wave-y, and we're in an arcade in this fic, so it fits.

Summary: The team goes out to an arcade, and Logan is his usual grumpy self...but his soft spot for you is more clear than ever.

Warnings: Suggestive content (would totally write a second part with some true smut), tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, cursing, f!reader/afab!reader, grumpy!Logan, Jubilee is a cock block LOL, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,685 short and sweet indeed

“I do not want to be here,” Logan complains, rolling his eyes as the team strolls into the arcade. 

Jubilee skips inside, twirling with excitement. “Well, that’s just too bad, Logan!” She calls, running over to the arcade’s version of Dance Dance Revolution. Kurt is laughing, following at her heels. “Because everyone else is going to have a great time!” 

“Gambit’s winning big tonight,” Gambit says, taking Rogue’s hand in his. “Gambit’s winning chere a prize, he is.” Rogue blushes, letting Gambit pull her to one of the fake slot machines. 

Jean and Scott walk over to an older machine—Pac-Man or something similar, probably. Storm and Charles head towards the seating area near the snack bar in the back, leaving you and Logan to yourselves. Of course. You’re alone with Logan. The person you want but you know you can’t have. 

You’re friends—just friends. You’ve accepted that he’ll never see you as anything more, but it still hurts. 

“So…” You say, trailing off as Logan looks around the arcade. “Not your kind of place, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he says back, his eyes finding yours. You can’t help but smile at that stupid, grumpy look on his face. “You like this shit?” He asks, smiling back at you. 

You shrug your shoulders, noncommittal. “I think you’d have fun if you tried,” you say, nodding towards the crane machine, and walking over. You can hear Logan’s footsteps against the carpet, following you close behind.

You peer into the glass, looking at all the stuffed animals filling the machine. Your smile widens when you spot the cute little turtle in the back—green and brown, wide eyes, and extra plush and round. Logan leans against the machine, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “Which one are we going for?” He asks. We—you can’t help but replay the word in your head. There’s a “we” in this. You and Logan. 

You point to the turtle in the back row. “We’re going for that one,” you say, and his eyes find the green little thing. “Isn’t he cute?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear, his grumpiness seemingly gone now. “Sure, princess, sure he is.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of the familiar pet name. You lean down to put a quarter in the machine, trying your best not to overthink the situation. The crane starts up, whirring to life, giving you three tries to win the stuffy. 

You maneuver the crane to the back row, just above the turtle. “Do you think that’s good?” You ask, looking towards Logan. But he isn’t looking at the machine; he’s looking at you, smirking. “What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes incredulously. 

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” Logan says, his smirk unwavering. You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he peers into the machine. He nods, his eyes finding yours again, changing the subject before you can respond to his comment. “Looks good to me.”

You swallow nervously, pressing the button on the top of the stick, sending the crane down to the stuffy. It grabs the turtle, holding it up. It looks like it’s going to make it, but it falls in the center of the glass box. You groan, annoyed as the crane moves back to position. You try again, bringing the crane to the center of the machine, just above the turtle, and dropping it again. The silver claws grip the plushy, but it’s a bad grab—the turtle slipping right out of its grasp. 

 “Fucking rigged,” you mutter, moving the crane over the turtle for the final time. “This is it,” you say, looking at Logan. He’s suddenly shifting closer to you, standing behind you and pressing his front to your back. His arms rest on either side of the crane machine’s controls, caging you in. 

“Much better view from here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. You’re distracted by how close he is. You can smell him—tobacco and pine and musk. “Let’s see if it works, princess.” This is too much. Far more than you can possibly handle. 

You take a deep breath, your eyes surveying the crane’s distance from the turtle carefully, and you press the button. The crane drops, grabbing the stuffy, and picking it up successfully. “Yes!” You say, looking back at Logan. His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips. Your noses are so close, brushing together softly. He leans in, lips parted. 

“Game over!” A robotic, automated voice rings out, the crane whirling back into position. It snaps you back to reality, and you look inside the machine. There, off to the side just next to the machine’s drop box, is the turtle. 

“Shit,” you mumble, shoulders slumping with disappointment. You know it’s just a game, and you are an adult after all, but you can’t help the frown that forms across your face. “I really wanted him. I was gonna name him Bernie.”

Logan chuckles. “Bernie?” he asks, and you nod. He’s centimeters away from you again, leaning in. “Don’t sweat the loss, princess. You’re cuter than that little thing is anyw—"

“Look what Kurt and I got with our tickets!” Jubilee is suddenly in front of you, a stuffed, sparkly blue dinosaur in her hand. She’s tugging you away from Logan and across the arcade before you can protest. “You gotta dance with me!” You look back at Logan, who’s standing alone in front of the crane machine, arms tucked against his chest. 

Have fun, he mouths. And good luck. He winks at you as Jubilee whisks you off to Dance Dance Revolution. You let her pick the song, and you struggle through the round, your feet tapping to the beat. You and Jubilee are a laughing mess. You know you look absolutely ridiculous, but it’s fun. 

And yet, your mind still wanders to Logan. You think about how close he was to you, the way his lips practically brushed against yours—the ghost of a kiss. You think about the way he caged you in, pressed against your back. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realize how badly you’re fumbling all the moves; you don’t hear Jubilee calling your name. 

“Hey!” She shouts, finally bringing you back to reality. The round is over; you missed the entire second half of the dance. “Where’d you go just there?” She asks, concern hidden within her smile.  

You look over to the crane machine, expecting to see Logan, but he’s gone. In fact, you can’t find him anywhere. “Sorry Jubes, but I gotta go see about something,” you say, stepping off the platform. 

Your eyes search the arcade. Gambit and Rogue are at the ticket redemption counter, picking out a big stuffed bear. Kurt is fooling around on one of those motorcycle racing games. Storm and Charles are—uncharacteristically—sharing a soft pretzel, while Jean and Scott share a milkshake. Everyone is here and accounted for except Logan. 

That is, until you notice the puff of smoke in the corner of the glass door at the front of the arcade. You smirk, walking towards the entrance and pushing the door open. 

Logan leans against the brick wall of the building, cigar in his mouth. His head turns towards you, and he immediately takes the cigar out, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot. 

“Hi,” you whisper, standing next to him. 

He looks down at you, smiling widely. “Hi.” He’s leaning in again—so close—and a shiver runs up your spine. “Cold?” He asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket before you have a chance to answer. He helps you into the jacket one arm at a time, his eyes drinking you in once it’s on, trailing up and down your body. “Looks good on you,” he hums. “Way better than it does on me.”

You shake your head, letting your shoulder brush against his. You look over at him and suddenly notice something green and round in his hand. “What’s that?” You ask. But you already know. You recognize the little brown spots and the wide eyes. 

Logan smirks, lifting the turtle up. “Couldn’t let you go home without him,” he says, holding it out towards you. 

“No way!” You shout, ignoring the turtle and throwing your arms around Logan’s neck. It’s instinctive, natural. He tugs you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you so much,” you mumble into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe you ended up playing a game at an arcade.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your temple. The sudden vulnerability of his words makes your heart tighten in your chest. You stay like that for a while, his lips ghosting your forehead, your chests pressed together. You finally lift your head, looking up at Logan. 

“Lo?” You whisper, and his gaze meets yours, flitting between your eyes and your lips. He drops the plushy onto the bench next to him and walks you back into the brick wall, caging you in, hands on either side of your waist. 

He leans in. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He brings one hand to your hip, gripping gently. “What do you need?”

“Y-you,” you stutter. “I need y—"

His lips swallow your words, fitting against yours like a puzzle piece. The kiss is slow, languid, but you can feel his need in the way he moves against you, hands slipping underneath the borrowed jacket and your shirt to explore your skin. His fingertips drag along your back, relaxing you into his touch. 

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Logan mumbles against your lips. 

Your heart flutters in your chest. “But what about the others?” You ask, nodding to the arcade.

Logan smirks, stealing another kiss. “All the more reason to get back to the mansion before they do.”

“But how are we going to—”

He grips your waist, tugging you towards the parking lot. “I took my bike, pretty girl.”

Oh?

Oh. 

tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Harvest Moon

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 3,100 Summary: It's Joel's birthday and you're going to make sure he has a good one. Warnings: smut, fluff, dancing in the kitchen to neil young, unprotected p in v, public-ish sex (but under a blanket), talking to neighbors while sitting on joel miller's cock, apocalypse birth control (pulling out), fingering, riding, joel has a filthy mouth, no use of y/n, not beta read.

A/N: I spent most of tonight adding 2,500 words to this barely written piece. Now it's two hours past my bedtime, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOEL MILLER!!! This can absolutely be read as a standalone, but, this is yet another singular smut entry for my Elks babies. This was originally going to be posted as a birthday celebration chapter for that, but I really wanted to give Joel his gift on his actual birthday. Happy birthday you gorgeous old man, you. Hope you like the porn I wrote about you. ❤️🥴

Masterlist

🌕🌕🌕🌕

You’ve been looking for the CD since you learned of Joel’s love of the song. Tommy did it, he actually did it. Somehow by some miracle he found the CD. 

“Not a problem,” he gives you that same shy Miller lopsided grin. “Milt had it. Told me to tell you it’s yours to keep… said he owes you since you were his daughter’s favorite teacher ‘n all.”

“Thanks Tommy,” you say, barely being able to contain your excitement, “this is going to be amazing.”

“Of course. Should be thanking you really,” he shrugs. “It’s about time he had a good birthday.”

—

Joel said he’d be helping fix one of the greenhouses today, but you’re still scared to ruin the surprise as you unlock his door. 

“Joel?” you yell out into the quiet, seemingly empty house. 

No answer. Perfect.

Quick steps lead you to his CD player, the same one he first showed you how much he cared for you with. Now, it’s your turn to show him just how much he means to you. The disc tray opens and you place the CD into the system, you can’t wait to surprise him. 

—

“More coffee?” you ask, holding up the percolator.

He nods and smiles, happily sitting at the table full from the steak, potatoes, and cornbread you made him. He had insisted on sharing the meat, but you refused, happy to let him enjoy the first taste of steak in over twenty years.

Your friend Helen got her boyfriend Greg to cut a small filet of steak from the newly butchered cow. She handed it to you with a knowing smile. It’s nice to see everyone accept yours and Joel’s relationship. 

You lean over his lap, and top his coffee cup off. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love seeing you in a dress? Can’t believe you got yourself all dolled up for me.” He surprises you by pulling you onto his lap. 

“Careful!” you shriek, quickly placing the carafe on the table. “Yes, you have… many times. That's why I wore it.”

“Hmph,” he hums happily, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping securely around you. “Thank you for dinner–and everything sweetheart.” He presses a soft kiss to your skin. 

“That’s not all,” you giggle as he nips at a sensitive spot under your chin. 

He chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re so good to me.” 

You clutch his chin tilting his head up to meet your eyes. “You deserve a happy birthday.” His big brown eyes search yours, like he’s forcing himself to believe it. “Joel, you do.” 

He rests his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he sighs warmly.

“I love you too. Now, I have something else for you,” you slip off his lap and head towards your backpack. “It’s something small, I promise.”

You return with a bundle of fabric held behind your back. 

“Remember when you tore your favorite flannel and you tossed it in the rag bag?”

You place the flannel in his hands.

“Well, a certain girl named Ellie grabbed it for me. I mended it, reinforced the buttons, and sewed up a couple holes. It’s not perfect, but it’s fixed.”

He holds the flannel up and inspects it. “This is–wow–this–I can’t believe it.” He looks up at you, his eyes wide with adoration. “I was wearing this that first day I saw you, y’know? This is so sweet sweetheart, thank you.” 

He likes it, you thank your lucky stars. Your handsome Joel, here with you on his birthday, allowing himself to be taken care of. 

You know the story of his birthday, you’ve retold the tale to yourself every night as you anticipated this day. Afraid to upset him, afraid to cross a line, but all you’ve wanted to do is give him the world he so deserves. 

It wasn’t just you who thought of him today. It’s Tommy finding the CD. It’s Helen getting you the steak. It’s Ellie grabbing the flannel from the rag bag. He deserves all of it. 

“You’re welcome,” you say with a kiss to his forehead. “Now, put it on. I have one more surprise.”

He slips the flannel on as you head to the living room. The CD waits in the stereo. You turn it on.

The soft guitar and brushes of a drum fills the air as you turn the volume up.  

Joel’s huge smile greets you when you walk back into the kitchen.

“You– how?” he asks, unbelieving. 

“Asked Tommy and he found it for me. Milt had his greatest hits. Now,” you reach your hand out to him, “may I have this dance birthday boy?”

He chuckles and takes your hand, pulling you into him. The two of you sway along to the music, his strong arms enveloping you as your cheek rests against his warm chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear. Your hands slip around his broad back, one of them trailing up to play with the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He sighs deeply before placing a tender kiss against the top of your head. 

“This is my favorite song,” he murmurs.

The sun has long since set, the singular lamp above the sink casts a warm dark amber glow across the kitchen Your shadows dance across the walls as you sway. He smells of coffee and sweet corn bread, like home and comfort. 

He starts to hum then softly sing along. His deep voice reverberates through your ear, pressed against his heart. 

“Because I’m still in love with you,  I wanna see you dance again,  Because I’m still in love with you,  On this harvest moon”

You can hear the contentment in his voice as he holds you closer. Moving in synchronicity with each other, gently stepping across the small kitchen as the harmonica solo plays. If you could stay in this moment forever you would.

You tilt your head up, and his eyes meet yours. The smile he gives lights his face. Lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes, dimple sitting deep on his cheek, mustache curving with his plush upturned lips. He serenades you with the same lyrics as before, looking deep in your eyes. 

“Because I’m still in love with you,  I wanna see you dance again,  Because I’m still in love with you,  On this harvest moon”  

His lips meet yours, thanking you with a gentle kiss. The man you love and adore, feels good on his birthday all because of you. 

The song plays on repeat, the two of you dance together, Joel gently hums and sings along as the harvest moon rises above the mountains. 

You gently pull away, unclasping his arms from around you.

“Come on birthday boy,” you say with a playful smile, “let’s go watch the stars.” 

—

You and Joel sit beneath a large plaid comforter on his porch. The early fall breeze that rolls down the mountainside leaves a chill in the air. The night sky is lit bright with the orange full moon. Most of Jackson is at the Harvest Moon Festival tonight, you can just make out the distant sounds of laughter and music flowing through the air from the main street on his porch. Ellie was especially thrilled about the teen sleepover happening at the Bison tonight, giving you both this rare moment of solitude in his backyard. She told Joel she knew he was in good hands with you for his birthday. 

And he is–or at least you’re in his good hands. 

“Oh, god,” you softly whisper into the night, you’re so tense from keeping yourself quiet. The stars are a little harder to see tonight thanks to the ambient glow of the bright moon, and yet you see stars whenever you squeeze your eyes shut while fighting the urge to moan. Joel’s deft, large thumb rubs circles against your clit while you ride two of his thick fingers. 

He’s driving you crazy like this. His large body and the blanket wrapped around you, overheating all of your senses in this chilly night. You’re completely covered, nobody would know that your legs are spread wide, one draped over his thick thigh while his hand is stuffed up your dress making you quake as he finger fucks you.

“Easy now, easy now,” he says nuzzling against your neck, his large nose charting a course across the sensitive skin. “Gotta remember where we are. You're the sweet, innocent teacher 'n librarian here. Lotta people look up to you, can’t have them knowin’ what my girl really likes when she’s with me.” Your hips slow their movement, he makes up for it by pumping you harder. “See, I can help, just gotta let me know you want it baby.” 

“Want to take–neyugh–care of you,” struggles out of your mouth. 

“You’re taking care of me right now, sweetheart, touching you is my favorite thing to do.” 

“Want to go inside… w-want to–want–to, want to feel you in my mouth,” you grip the straining bulge underneath the fly of his jeans. 

“Not yet,” he sighs deeply when you squeeze harder. “Like seeing your skin glow in the moonlight. What you’re doin’ now is enough, want to enjoy my night with you.”

Your hold tightens around his cock as you fight harder to suppress the urge to scream into the night. His fingers angle up hitting your most sensitive spot and you feel like you could explode. You’ll be the fireworks to celebrate Joel’s birthday. A whimper is fought by biting your lip, it’s so hard to not scream. His brown eyes look almost black in the low light as he watches you struggle and blink rapidly. 

“Shh baby, you’re doing so good, bein’ so quiet, don’t ruin it now. If anybody was out right now they could walk right on by and they’d have no idea what I’m doing to you under here.”

You’ve never done anything like this, so out in the open. Jackson is a peaceful town full of law abiding citizens, and right now you’re sitting on the back of the porch of Joel’s house getting felt up by him. 

“Joel… I–I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me baby.” His hot breath hits your lips before sealing his mouth against yours. Your cunt spasms against his thick fingers, you feel set alight by your orgasm, overheated and burning. Maybe you’re glowing just as bright as the moon. His tongue dances with yours, swallowing all of your gasps and cries. You’re sure at this point, anybody that walked by would know exactly what was happening between the two of you. You don’t care, all you want is to feel Joel’s cock inside you.

“Want you, Joel, want you so bad,” you mew as his fingers rub against your sensitive folds. 

“Okay baby, okay.” His fingers slip from your warmth before he brings his soaked digits to his lips. His eyes flutter shut when he tastes you. 

“Sweeter than birthday cake,” he declares before raising his hips and pulling his jeans down with a grunt. “Come here. Come sit on me.”

Your legs spread wide as you straddle his large lap with your back pressed against the warmth of his chest. He grips himself and moves the half hard heft of his cock against your soaked core, swirling his tip back and forth across your clit. 

“Tell me you want my cock,” he whispers against your neck, licking a line up to your ear. “Tell me baby.”

“I-I want your cock–I need your cock Joel,” you beg. 

“I know you do darling,” he chuckles deeply, lining himself up to your entrance.

The sounds of the festival go silent and the bright orange moon fades as you slowly sink down on his cock. Taking all of him, thick and throbbing into your tight cunt. 

“That’s my good girl,” he grits. “Your sweet pussy is taking me so well, isn’t she?”

Clutching your bottom lip tightly between your teeth, you try to fight the moan his words bring up.

“Oh, you must like that. You’re squeezin’ me so hard sweetheart.” 

You set a pace, riding him gently under the moonlight, his fingers gripping your hips tight. 

His hot breaths hit the back of your neck as your back molds even tighter to his front. His hand snakes down to rub your clit, small circles making your body meld even more against him.. The rhythm of his fingers and cock spearing you pulls another orgasm down from the ethers of space. Shivering, sweating, and stuttering Joel’s name, you’re trying to be good for him, trying to not scream into the night. 

“That’s my girl, grippin’ my cock so good, cummin’ all over me. Getting yourself nice and slippery so I can fuck you real good, huh?” 

“Mmf,” is the only response you can muster. Your cunt flutters around him, and he doesn’t relent, slowly fucking into you while his finger pulses against your clit. 

The sound of two people conversing approaches. Your movements come to a halt, Joel stays still, his finger still resting against your sensitive bundle of nerves and his cock sitting deep inside you. Hank and Billie, the nice couple that lives three houses down from Joel, walk past the porch. Both look over and wave a greeting. Fuck.

“Beautiful moon, isn’t it?” Hank says with a smile. 

“Quite.” Joel responds. The rumble of his loud voice radiates through you.  

“You guys get any barbecue tonight?” Hank asks. “It was really go–”

“We stayed in,” Joel gruffly responds. He subtly knocks his hips into you causing a wave of sensation to hit against your already cock-drunk pussy.

Your nostrils flare with a deep exhale.  

“Oh, well, there will probably be leftovers tomorrow,” Billie offers. “Tell them I sent you and they’ll give you the good stuff.”

“Thanks Billie,” you breathlessly reply, wishing on every star you’ve seen behind your eyelids, they’ll leave. “We appreciate it.”

“Best be getting home,” Hank says, grabbing Billie’s hand. “We both had a bit too much to drink!” 

Oh thank god.

“Enjoy your night,” Joel says plainly as he starts to slowly rock into you once they turn away. 

To the eyes of your neighbors, you and Joel just look like a normal couple enjoying the night sky cuddled together under a blanket… little do they know he’s filling you with his thick cock under the shield. 

“That was close,” he whispers against your ear before nipping it. 

Your giggle is cut off by a moan when he fucks into you harder. 

“Guess we shouldn’t take our time, don’t want to get caught, now do we?” he asks. 

“We can just–nyuh–go inside,” you plead, wanting to be able to moan and scream Joel’s name in the comfort of his home. 

“Gimme one more baby, gimme one more,” he grunts against your neck. “And then I’ll take you into my home and fuck you.”

His hips pound against your body, his thrusts bucking into your core harder. “That’s it baby, you really want me to take you in and lay you down ‘n fuck you, don’t you?” 

“Mmhmm,” you moan, your stomach tightening and thighs trembling as the universe splinters around you. Your orgasm rockets through your body. Color turns to black and white, noise falls silent. All that exists is Joel Miller and his big cock shattering you into a million pieces like your own personal big bang on the back of his porch. 

“Good girl,” he groans, “let’s take this party inside.”

—

The plaid comforter is laid out on the kitchen floor. Your wobbly legs move your still blissed-out body to Joel’s stereo, starting “Harvest Moon” on repeat all over again. 

You lean against the kitchen entrance, admiring Joel as he rests atop the blanket, naked and supporting himself on his elbows. No man over fifty should ever look as good as him. Broad shoulders frame his strong arms, his chest has a smattering of dark hair that trails down to the slight bulge of his stomach. His cock rests in between his legs, still hard and shining with your slick. He’s so gorgeous, and he’s all yours. 

“Come here sweetheart,” his voice is gruffer. “Lay down next to me.”

His dick twitches as you walk to the blanket and settle beside him. 

He moves over you, covering you with his warmth as he engulfs himself in your slick heat. Your legs instinctually wrap around his waist allowing him to take more. 

“Joel,” you moan. The angle allows his cock to push farther in and your walls to tighten harder against him. 

“Ooh, you’re so fucking wet, you hear that?” he asks incredulously. The squelch of your pussy soundtracks along to the song quietly playing in the background. “Sounds so fucking good baby.” 

He gasps when buries himself to the hilt, soaking the curly hairs around the base of him with your wet.

Your body trembles as your hips meet his, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt at a brutal pace. 

He takes no time to own you now behind the walls of his home. Your hands clutch at his wide back, sobs and screams of his name echoing out into the air as Neil Young softly sings in the background. 

You’re so full of him. His body surrounding you, his lips against yours, his cock pounding into your accepting cunt, his name chanting out of your mouth. 

“You want it baby?” he growls against your neck, his cock pumping in and out of your hole at a speed no man over fifty should be able to ever reach. “You want my cum?” 

“C-cum Joel,” you cry, tears sprouting from your eyes as your fourth orgasm launches through you. 

He gasps your name, pulling out of your tremorous pussy and shooting thick white ropes of cum across your pussy and stomach. 

His sweat is slick against your overheated body, you’re a mess of sweat, orgasm, and love. 

He kisses you, his tongue licking against yours before he rolls off you. His chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. “Fuck,” he pants, stretching his limbs out. “Gonna feel this tomorrow.” 

“Well, you are another year older, old man,” you tease, curling up next to him. 

“Yeah,” he turns his head to look at you. “I guess I am,” he sighs. “Thank you for–my birthday and–all of this. I can never put into words how much it all means to me.” 

“So I guess you’re still in love with me?” you tease.

“Always. Especially on this harvest moon,” he returns your smile. 

---

Tagging a couple people who had asked about this piece earlier this month: @almostfoxglove, @sawymredfox, @burntheedges, and @littlemisspascal 🩷🌝

[k-hotchoisan]

body language

<yunho x fem!reader>

well, pining after your brother’s fucking attractive best friend isn’t a sin if he doesn’t know right? nobody has to know.

nobody has to know that you're lodged in his fantasies when the nights deepen.

nobody has to know what happens when you're forced to share a room with Yunho.

Genre/Warnings: smut, big dick! X Perverted! Yunho, unprotected sex, low key corruption kink, mutual pining, cream pies, fingering, orgasms, overstimulation, oh no they are forced to share a room!, sexual tension, dirty talk

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee

🩷 back to staying perverted

A/N: send me to jail for being so inactive TT I know life happens and I shouldn't apologise for going mia for a bit but I still feel so bad! Nonetheless, please continue giving my works as much love as you all always do, and that ya'll are my source of motivation. Thank you for waiting ❤️

Undoubtedly, it’s either your brother has good taste in making friends, or you just have interesting taste in men, because out of all men you had a crush on, it had to be the one closest to your brother—Jeong Yunho. Something about him made your heart flutter uncontrollably. Maybe it was the way he would lean in towards you when he wanted to whisper something in your ear, keeping your brother an arm’s length while his voice tickled perfectly as it reverberates in your brain. Maybe it was the way he would hold your stare for a couple of seconds before his pretty smiles spreads across his lips, as if he was keeping a secret that he wants to tell you. Maybe it was the way he would bump his arm against yours when he wants to ally with you to piss your brother off. 

Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny that the feelings you had for him were growing exponentially. How you managed to keep said feelings in bay was a mystery. You could attribute it to knowing Yunho for as long as you did. Maybe he treated everyone nice and politely like that. It was hard not to keep your hopes up sometimes and it really made you frustrated. 

“A chalet?” You repeat. “What’s the occasion?” 

“Just a weekend out”, your brother replies. “A couple of friends will be coming. You know them, including Yunho.”

“Are you going?” Yunho suddenly asks. 

You break eye contact with Yunho, going back to your phone. “No. I’m going on a date.”

Yunho’s eyes widen. There is a flash of panic that flickers in his eyes. His words spill out of him before he realises it. 

“With who? How come I didn’t know?” 

You cast a confused glance at him. “Why would you need to know?”

That was when Yunho realises, and he simmers down, going back to hiding behind his phone screen. He bites his tongue, hoping you nor your brother ha caught on. But thankfully, no one else questions him. In fact, your brother doubles down.

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me?” Your brother echos. 

“As if you’re interested in my love life”, you playfully retort, rolling your eyes before you disappear into your room, before Yunho starts to hear your heartbeat right in your ears again. 

Yunho stares blankly at his phone, still processing that you’ll be going on a date. Something sits uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He’s running his brain, thinking of a million ways to make you cancel the date, half of it under the pretence of your brother. How could he do it without making it obvious? 

“And why would I cancel my date, Jeong Yunho?” You ask, your arms crossed. For some reason, your brother and Yunho were suddenly way too interested in your date. Especially Yunho. He would not get off your back about it. 

“It’s dangerous? Who knows he might be a serial killer!” He was really dramatic about too, might you add. 

You scoff, and an amused smile tugs the corner of your lips, as your hand reaches out to pat his cheek. “I’ll be fine, Yun. You’re on my speed dial if anything happens okay?” 

For a moment, you feel his gaze piercing right into you, as if time didn’t exist—the both of you caught in between each other’s gazes, Yunho looking like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. You quickly break the eye contact, remembering that he’s your brother’s best friend, and that Yunho is just being as worried as your brother. Nothing more than that. Yunho wants to hold the gaze longer. He almost wants to break the imaginary boundaries then both of you set, but he snaps into to reality when he watches you leave, his voice trapped in his throat. 

Fuck. Looks like he’s the one losing now. 

It doesn’t help that during that night, you slip into his dreams, and instead of you leaving, he has your face in his hands, and your lips are on his. He feels you in your entirety, and you feel so fucking good pressed against him. Yunho wants so badly to mark every part of you, to remind you he could do so much better than whoever you’re supposedly going out with. He could kiss you better, fuck you better. Then it switches—to you in front of him, your ass bouncing off his cock, loud smacks echoing from the walls as he sinks into your pussy with a broken sigh.

That’s when he fucking jolts awake, warm fluids streaming down his thighs, as he swallows an imaginary mass in his throat because what the fuck just happened? He stares blankly at the white ceiling of his room, mind as blank. 

How fucked is he?

Yunho reaches to the doorstep of the chalet, almost close to midnight. Dance practice had bleed past the time, later than he thought. He greets his friends at the barbecue pit, still grilling chicken and seafood, stealing a stick and getting playfully hit before he enters the chalet itself. 

Your brother sat there, comfortable with his girlfriend’s legs crossed over his lap as they had joycons in their hands, playing some kind of co-op game together. His friend turns to him, before his eye dart back to the screen once he acknowledges Yunho, much too engrossed with the level he and his girlfriend was at. 

“Your room’s to the left of the stairs. I hung your lanyard there”, your brother says, before his attention goes right back to the game. For a spilt second, he suddenly remembers that he wanted to tell Yunho something, something important, but when his girlfriend squeals at clearing the level, the thought is completely erased from his memory.

Yunho climbs up the stairs, pushes the door open, and completely stops in his tracks as his gaze locks with yours. You’re seated on the bed, relaxed and on your phone until the door suddenly pushes open, and Yunho stands there, looking as bewildered as you. 

There is a long moment of silence between the both of you. 

“Can I help you, Yunho?” You break it. 

“No…isn’t this my room?” Yunho clarifies. You glance around and shrug. 

Yunho drops his bag, his heart beating loudly in his chest. 

His eyebrows furrow, confusion sprawled across his face. 

“Hold on. Weren’t you suppose to be on a date?” 

You shrug again. “Yeah. It ended early. I thought of finding my brother and he asked me to use this room since it was vacant. I supposed he forgot to tell you? I could leave if-“

“N-no. You can stay, since you’re already here”, Yunho cuts you off. No fucking way is he wasting this chance. Somehow the thought of you within the same, close proximity is making his head dizzy. “You’re okay with sharing the bed? I can sleep downstairs.”

Your face starts to heat up. As much as it was the elephant in the room, for Yunho to bring up so straightforwardly like that was making your mind wander a little too close to the sun. 

You force a small smile. “It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.” Well, not a lie, the only thing was that the both of you were blacked out drunk when it happened that one time. 

Yunho’s signature smile appears. He looks comforted, at least. “Right. Then I’ll use the bathroom to wash up.” He grabs a spare towel on the rack, then walks back to dig for his clothes in his duffle before he disappears into the bathroom, leaving you with your messy thoughts. Your hand is over your heart, and you feel it beating a little too wildly. 

Nothing’s gonna happen. Two people of the opposite sex can share a bed just fine, is what you tell yourself. Yeah, that would have been the case, if the opposite gender wasn’t Jeon Yunho. 

Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen years in all honesty. The anxiety wouldn’t simmer down, so you end up burying yourself underneath the cold sheets, hoping that you’d end up falling asleep. 

And by some miracle, you did. That is, until you feel the mattress weigh down, and shuffling on the sheets, then something bumping against your leg. You stir slightly from the disruption.

“Sorry. The bed’s a little…cramped”, you hear Yunho’s voice tickling your ears as his legs press against yours. 

You stay silent, the only things that you hear are the whirling of the air conditioning and the sound of your heart about to fucking burst from your rib cage. 

“It’s fine”, you finally reply, your body completely still, unsure how actually close the male is against you, only his legs pressed up against the back of your knees and his arms are barely touching your back as a gauge. Well, you weren’t in the mood to find out. The myriad amount of assurances you repeat to yourself that he’s just a friend, that he’s just Jeon Yunho, does nothing to comfort you to say the least. 

You hear his voice ring a little to close to your ears again. “How was your date?”

You don’t want to answer, your eyes are focused onto the darkness of the door in front of you. You fear that he might hear your thoughts if you speak, even though that’s literally impossible. 

“It was fine”, you curtly reply, squeezing the spare pillow in your arms. 

“What did you think of him?” 

“I think he’s okay. He’s quite a decent guy. Then again, it’s just the first date”.

The mattress shifts suddenly and you freeze when you feel him inch even closer to you. You have no clue what expression he’s making but from the way he suddenly shifts rather dramatically, you would assume that he seemed shocked? 

Oh, you were definitely about to find out. 

“You’re planning to see him again?” He’s closer now. You feel his chest almost pressing against your spine. You feel his gaze piercing daggers into the back of your head. You feel his agitation. But over what?

“I haven’t decided on that yet”, you reply. But you cut him before he says anything, “but what’s it to you? You usually don’t care about the things I do. Let alone my dates.”

This time, it’s Yunho’s turn to fall silent. The weight of the mattress beneath you shifts once more it stills. For a moment, you assume that he’d shifted away from you, and maybe he’d let the matter die off.

“Who said I didn’t?”

Now he’s completely pressing his body against you—you feel his lips just a hair’s length from the back of your neck, his chest completely flat against your back. 

His crotch right against your ass. 

“Yunho-“, you try turning to face him before the both of your start making any mistakes, but his hand presses your waist down, halting any movements you were about to make. Heat is flushing your cheeks.

“I’ll stop if you don’t want to, and I’ll turn away, and sleep downstairs. I won’t force you if you don’t want to.”

Shit, shit, shit. The more words Yunho speak, the more they aren’t registering in your damn head. His voice is melting in your ears, low and dangerous. The consequences that once rang like alarm bells in your head slowly grow muted, and now it’s just your carnal desire to let Yunho do whatever he wanted to you.

“I’m not doing this without your consent, my dear”, he reminds , and his hand is slowly trailing off your body. 

All the repercussions, completely wiped off when your feelings that you once tried to fucking hard to suppress behind to bubble up to the surface, and for Yunho to just summon them so easily when he says it so gently and with such  temptation.

But you should still probably stop this-

From the way you’re staying quiet, Yunho is ready to just cut his advances. After all, he’s not interested in making you feel uncomfortable, as much as he wants to just ruin you all for himself. He keeps his breathing light, but his heart is still beating loudly in his chest, bracing himself for the rejection, his hand gradually lifting from your waist, very much reluctantly-

Until he feels your hand cup his. 

“I wanna feel you, Yunho”, you answer him, loud enough for him to hear, even though it was only the two of you within the confines of the room. 

Yunho feels like he’s not close enough to you, even though the both of you are squeezed together, and his erection is evident—pressing shamelessly against the curve of your ass. It’s driving up the wall. 

Another thing he doesn’t expect is the way your fingers curl around his wrist, and you bring him to your braless tits, and he short-circuits when his fingers press against your hard nipples. You curse softly when he rolls them gently against his fingertips, and you lean back against his chest. Yunho takes the chance to kiss your neck down to your shoulders, making you melt all over again. 

But he doesn’t want to stay there for long. His cock is just throbbing and it’s overtaking his rationale. 

You always offhandedly complimented that Yunho had such long, slender and pretty fingers, and that he made mundane actions—writing, typing—look so attractive.

And now, his fingers are prying your legs to spread open for him.

His fingers dip into the wetness of your soaked folds, and his mind almost completely blanks out for the second time at the way you’re drenched for him. 

“Fuck. All of this for me?” He asks rhetorically, as he easily sinks two fingers in, hearing you choke from how his fingers are filling you up so well. The tip of his fingertips press against a spongy spot, and your head tilts back, face so flushed from the pleasure when he begins curl his fingers while in you and while he fucks your wet cunt. 

He’s not letting you form any coherent thoughts in your head, not while he’s finger fucking the thoughts right out your poor brain.

“You’re so fucking soft. Shit. I really want to fuck you so fucking bad”, he grunts in your ear, his hips grinding against your ass like a natural instinct to. 

“Your cock”, you mutter, struggling to keep your eyes open and mind clear. “Fuck. Need you to fuck me so good.”

Yunho inhales the scent of your hair wash as he peppers bites and kisses down the nape of your neck, smiling when he feels goosebumps spread across your skin.

He’s so tempted. But not yet. He desperate—desperate to see you fucking fall apart just with his fingers.

So he pulls his soaked fingers out, and for a moment, you whine at how empty your cunt feels, just ready to fucking beg him to fuck you with his fingers, his cock, whatever. 

He sits up, pushing the thick and heavy blankets aside, tugging your wet bottoms and panties off, giving himself a mental reminder to pocket your panties when he’s done with you. 

You’re spread open and perfectly wide for him to admire and drool over. By now, his eyes are pretty much adjusted the darkness, and the both of you are lazy to switch on the nightlight, so he’s definitely able to see your pussy in full view.

“Y-yu-“, your words completely cut off when he plunges two fingers right into your pussy again, filling you up completely. And this time, his other hand is on your clit, fingers rubbing, sending sparks flying beneath your eyelids. 

The pleasure makes you buck your hips, and it builds so dangerously quick in your abdomen. The sounds of your pussy growing so fucking wet only encourages Yunho to pick up the pace, catching a rhythm of fucking and rubbing your clit so perfectly that you realise the feeling is growing way too funny. 

“Y-Yunho-“ you try again. “Oh god. Feels weird.” Nonetheless, you don’t say it without your eyes rolling back and your abdomen flexing. 

“That’s it. Let it go for me, baby. It’ll feel so fucking good.”

Oh fuck. You don’t even register it before it happens—it totally washes over you, and you’re just helplessly submitting to how fucking good this feels as you squirt all over Yunho, your mind swimming in the depths of ecstasy, your moans drowned when Yunho seals your lips shut with his, greedy to just keep them all to himself, and well, also not trying to wake the whole chalet up. 

When Yunho pulls back and sees how flushed spent your face looks, he can’t help but sink deeper into his feelings for you. He goes in for another kiss, this time with your mind slowly clearing from the mind-blowing orgasm. Your arms wrap around his neck instantly, pulling him as close as you could, soft moans in between kisses only making him impossibly harder than he already was. 

He shifts to lie down on the bed with you again, this time the both of you facing each other. He tugs the hem of your shirt and lugs it over your head, before lowering himself slightly to face your chest. You don’t know how but his pants are somehow kicked off, somewhere on the bed, and he’s bare and so fucking hard when he presses his cock on your pussy. 

“Lift your leg for me, babe”, he says, palm sliding on the underside of your thigh as he feels you spread your legs open for him once more. 

Yunho rubs his cockhead along your wet fucking folds, before he pushes himself in, a whimper leaving his lips as he bites on your shoulder to stop any loud noises from slipping past his lips. 

He pushes himself in even more, and your arms are around his neck once more, light red imprints from your fingernails dig into his skin.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Feels like fucking heaven. So fucking tight and soft”, he mutters, eyes so glazed, and arms so tight around you when he finally buries himself into the hilt. 

Your mind is complete mush by then—combined with Yunho’s cock that’s stuffed in you and the scent of his hair wash, you swear you were gonna cum for the second time. You knew he probably packed something, but holy fucking shit, you just never thought it would fill you up this fucking good. The rest of your senses slowly start to dull, the feeling of Yunho’s cock almost taking them  all away. 

“Shit. You’re fucking squeezing me-fuck!-here,” Yunho says, but it comes off as a broken moan. His head is buried into the crook of your neck, and you hear him trying to steady his breath through a slew of curses. 

“You wanna move now?” You ask, your fingers combing through his messy locks. Yunho thinks he might have some sort of hair combing fetish with you now. 

“Fuck, yes, please,” is all he replies before he pulls out slightly, then thrusting right back in, projecting fucking stars into your eyelids when he fills you up again and again. 

You press your head against the pillow, eyes shut from the pleasure. When you find the strength to open them, Yunho’s glazed out expression is what comes into view. He’s looking at you like you’re his fucking treasure. 

“Does it feel good? You feel so fucking amazing, y/n.”

“You can’t be asking me that when you’re fucking the thoughts right out of me”, and you squeal when he thrusts into you once more, filling you up to the brim.

“Even better. So my cock will be only the cock you know, right?” He smiles, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when your walls clench around him again.

And when you don’t answer, his hand slithers to your neck, and he squeezes, making you gasp. 

“Answer me, pretty.”

“Yes, fuck yes. Don’t need anyone else’s when you’re fucking me so good”, you cry, relishing in the way he’s gradually cutting off your oxygen supply. 

His thrusts grow harder and faster, his hands slowly letting go of your throat.

“That’s my good girl.”

And that makes your cunt flutter and pulsate uncontrollably for the second time, only now it’s on his cock this time. 

“F-fuck. Oh, that’s it. That’s a good fucking girl, cumming all over my cock like that”, his voice ups a pitch when you fall apart again. “I’m gonna cum. Make sure you’re full and dripping when I’m fucking done with you.”

And when he does, he leaves a whole garden of bites on your chest and shoulders on top of filling your pussy up with his thick and warm cum. You never thought his face would get anymore attractive, but when he cums? You could get addicted to pulling that expression out of him, that’s for sure. 

The both of you are panting as your highs wear off, hands still not off each other despite the shared warmth. He’s the first to let go, and you’re about to say something until he turns you around, and it’s then when his cock starts to harden in you. Your heart is beating rapidly again when his cock is filling you up once more, as it slowly displaces his cum that leaks past your sopping hole.

Your hand grabs onto his arm that’s snaking around your waist. 

“W-wait. We need to talk about my broth-“, and he hears you whimper when he pushes himself deeper into you, throbbing in you. The way he’s littering kisses down your neck is sending you into a spiral, and now you’re nothing but weak against him, and his fat cock.

“That can wait to tomorrow, babe. I promised that I’ll make sure you’re full and dripping once I’m fucking done with you right? Well, I’m not done fucking you yet.”

[pucksandpower]

Little Star

Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

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

Based on this request

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

Happy birthday indeed.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, this is Y/N. Leave a message!”

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

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

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

“Hello?” Arthur’s sleepy voice answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another text comes through, this time from Lorenzo:

No luck here either. What’s going on?

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

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

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

The responses come in rapid succession:

Maman: Oh no. How could we forget?

Lorenzo: Shit. Have you checked with her friends?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” You ask, your voice small.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max?” You say softly.

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N,

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

Love,

Charles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feel better?” He asks gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a deep breath, organizing your thoughts. “I want them to understand that I’m my own person, with my own dreams and desires. That I need them to see me, really see me, not just as Charles Leclerc’s little sister or as an extension of the family name.”

“That sounds perfect,” Max says softly. “You deserve to be seen for who you are.”

You smile at him, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without you.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand in his. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. But I’m glad I could help.”

As you sit there, surrounded by discarded luxury goods, your hand in Max’s, you feel a sense of peace settling over you. You know the road ahead won’t be easy — confronting your family, establishing new boundaries, figuring out exactly where you stand with Max — but for the first time in a long time, you feel ready to face it all.

You slip on the tennis bracelet, admiring the way it catches the light. It’s beautiful, yes, but it’s also a reminder. A reminder that you’re worth more than grand gestures and expensive gifts. You’re worth being truly seen, truly heard, truly understood.

And as you look at Max, his blue eyes warm with understanding and something that might be more, you think that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found someone who sees you for exactly who you are.

***

The afternoon sun beats down on the streets of Monaco as Charles leans against his Ferrari, fidgeting nervously. He’s parked across from the International University of Monaco, his eyes fixed on the entrance. Students stream in and out, but none of them are the one he’s looking for.

He checks his watch for what must be the hundredth time. Your last class should be ending any minute now. Charles takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s rehearsed what he wants to say a thousand times, but now that the moment is approaching, all his carefully prepared words seem to evaporate.

A group of students emerges from the building, laughing and chatting. Charles straightens up, his eyes scanning the crowd. And then he sees you.

You’re walking with a couple of friends, your bag slung over your shoulder, a smile on your face. For a moment, Charles is struck by how ... normal you look. How at ease. It’s a stark contrast to the tense family dinners and stilted conversations of recent months.

Before he can second-guess himself, Charles pushes off from his car and starts walking towards you. He sees the exact moment you spot him — your smile falters, your steps slow.

“Y/N!” He calls out, waving awkwardly.

Your friends notice him too, their eyes widening in recognition. You say something to them that Charles can’t hear, and they nod, casting curious glances between you and your brother as they walk away.

Charles reaches you, stopping a few feet away, suddenly unsure of himself. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Charles,” you reply, your voice carefully neutral. “What are you doing here?”

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’s never been able to shake. “I ... I wanted to talk to you. In person. You haven’t been answering my calls or texts, and I just ... I needed to see you.”

You sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I’ve been busy with classes. And I needed some space.”

“I know,” Charles says quickly. “I know, and I’m sorry for ambushing you like this. I just ... can we talk? Please?”

You glance around, noticing the curious stares from passing students. “Not here,” you say finally. “There’s a café around the corner. We can talk there.”

Charles nods eagerly, relief washing over him. “Yes, of course. Whatever you want.”

You lead the way to the café, a small, cozy place tucked away from the main streets. As you settle into a booth in the back, Charles can’t help but wonder how often you come here, how many parts of your life he knows nothing about.

A waitress approaches, and you order your usual — an iced latte with an extra shot. Charles fumbles with the menu before ordering a simple espresso.

An awkward silence falls over the table as you wait for your drinks. Charles fidgets with a napkin, trying to find the right words to begin.

“So,” you say finally, your tone clipped. “You wanted to talk. Talk.”

Charles takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/N. For forgetting your birthday, for not being there for you, for ... for everything.”

You raise an eyebrow, your expression unreadable. “Is that it?”

Charles blinks, thrown off balance. “I ... what do you mean?”

“I mean,” you say, leaning forward slightly, “is that all you have to say? You’re sorry?”

Charles feels a flash of frustration. “What else do you want me to say? I messed up, I know that. I’m trying to make it right.”

The waitress returns with your drinks, and you take a long sip of your latte before responding. “Charles, this isn’t just about my birthday. This is about years of feeling invisible, of being overshadowed, of not being seen for who I am.”

Charles feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “What? Y/N, I ... I had no idea you felt that way.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s kind of the point, Charles. You didn’t know because you never asked. None of you did.”

Charles sits back, his mind reeling. “I ... I don’t understand. We’ve always been close. At least, I thought we were.”

“We were,” you agree softly. “When we were kids. But as you got more and more successful, it was like ... like I faded into the background. Everything became about you, about your career.”

Charles feels tears pricking at his eyes. “Y/N, I never meant for that to happen. I love you. You’re my little sister.”

“I know you love me,” you say, your voice gentler now. “But loving someone and seeing them are two different things.”

Charles nods slowly, realization dawning. “The gifts,” he says. “That’s why you sent them back. Because I was trying to fix things without actually understanding what was wrong.”

“Exactly,” you confirm. “Charles, I don’t need expensive clothes or jewelry. I need my brother. The one who used to listen to me ramble about constellations for hours, who’d sneak me extra dessert when Maman wasn’t looking.”

Charles reaches across the table, hesitating for a moment before taking your hand. To his relief, you don’t pull away. “I want to be that brother again,” he says earnestly. “Tell me how. Please.”

You take a deep breath, considering. “Well, for starters, you could ask me about my life. My studies, my friends, my dreams. And actually listen to the answers.”

Charles nods eagerly. “Yes, of course. Tell me everything. What are you studying? How are your classes going?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I’m majoring in Astrophysics, remember? This semester I’m taking a course on Stellar Evolution that’s absolutely fascinating. We’re learning about the life cycles of stars, from their formation to their eventual death.”

As you continue talking, passion lighting up your eyes, Charles feels a mix of pride and shame wash over him. Pride in your intelligence and enthusiasm, shame that he’s missed out on so much of your life.

“That sounds incredible,” he says when you pause for breath. “I had no idea you were studying something so complex. You must be really good at it.”

You shrug, a hint of your old shyness creeping in. “I do okay. It’s challenging, but I love it.”

“I’m sure you do more than okay,” Charles insists. “You’ve always been the smartest one in the family.”

You laugh softly. “I don’t know about that. But ... thanks, Charles. It means a lot to hear you say that.”

Charles squeezes your hand. “I mean it. And I want to hear more. About your classes, your friends, everything. I’ve missed so much, and I want to make up for it.”

You nod, a cautious hope in your eyes. “I’d like that. But Charles, it can’t just be today. This has to be a continuous thing. I need to know that you’re genuinely interested in my life, not just when you’re trying to make amends.”

“Absolutely,” Charles agrees immediately. “What if we set up a regular call? Once a week, we can catch up properly. No distractions, no racing talk unless you want to. Just us.”

A genuine smile spreads across your face. “I’d really like that.”

Charles feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. It’s not fixed, not completely, but it’s a start. “There’s something else,” he says, suddenly remembering. “Max ... are you and Max ...”

You blush slightly, looking down at your latte. “We’re ... figuring things out. He’s been really supportive through all of this.”

Charles nods, pushing down the instinctive surge of protectiveness. “He’s a good guy. If he makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

You look up, surprise evident in your eyes. “Really? You’re not going to go all overprotective big brother on me?”

Charles chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll have my moments. But Y/N, you’re an adult. You can make your own choices. I trust you.”

Tears well up in your eyes. “Thank you. That ... that means more than you know.”

As you both finish your drinks, the conversation flows more easily. Charles asks about your friends, your hobbies outside of studying. You tell him about the astronomy club you’ve joined, the research project you’re hoping to get involved with next semester.

When it’s time to leave, Charles stands up, hesitating for a moment before opening his arms. “Can I ...”

You nod, stepping into his embrace. Charles holds you tight, realizing how long it’s been since he’s really hugged you like this.

“I love you, little sister,” he murmurs into your hair. “And I promise, I’m going to do better.”

You squeeze him back. “I love you too, big brother. And ... I’m willing to give you the chance to prove it.”

As you part ways outside the café, Charles heading back to his car and you towards your apartment, there’s a lightness in the air that wasn’t there before. It’s not perfect, not yet. There are still conversations to be had, bridges to be rebuilt. But for the first time in a long time, there’s hope.

Charles watches you walk away, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Pride in the amazing person you’ve become, regret for the time he’s missed, determination to be the brother you deserve.

He pulls out his phone, creating a new reminder: Call Y/N — every Sunday, 7 PM.

It’s a small step, but it’s a start. And as he drives home, Charles finds himself looking forward to getting to know his little sister all over again.

***

The auditorium of the International University of Monaco buzzes with excitement as proud families and friends gather to celebrate the graduating class. In the front row, an unusually high-profile group draws curious glances and whispered conversations.

Charles fidgets in his seat, craning his neck to scan the sea of graduates. “Do you see her?” He asks, nudging his older brother.

Lorenzo chuckles, placing a calming hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Relax. She’ll be here. Alphabetical order, remember?”

On Charles’ other side, Arthur rolls his eyes fondly. “You’d think he was the one graduating, the way he’s acting.”

“Can you blame him?” Max chimes in from the end of the row, a warm smile on his face. “It’s a big day.”

Pascale, seated between Lorenzo and Arthur, dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “My baby girl, graduating university. I can hardly believe it.”

Max reaches across to pat her hand. “She’s amazing, Pascale. You should be very proud.”

Charles turns to Max, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Look at you, all calm and collected. I remember when you were a nervous wreck asking her out for the first time.”

Max blushes slightly, but grins. “Hey, your sister is intimidating. All that brainpower.”

“Shh!” Arthur hisses suddenly. “I think it’s starting!”

The auditorium falls silent as the ceremony begins. The family watches with rapt attention as the graduates file in, searching for that familiar face among the sea of caps and gowns.

And then, there you are. Your eyes scan the crowd until they land on your family, a bright smile spreading across your face as you wave discreetly.

“There she is!” Charles whisper-shouts, practically bouncing in his seat.

Lorenzo chuckles. “We see her. Try to contain yourself, yeah?”

The ceremony progresses, with speeches from the valedictorian and various dignitaries. Charles fidgets impatiently, earning amused glances from his family and Max.

Finally, the moment arrives. “Y/N Leclerc,” the announcer calls.

Charles jumps to his feet, letting out a whoop that echoes through the auditorium. “That’s my sister!” He shouts, drawing startled looks from nearby attendees.

Lorenzo and Arthur quickly join in, their cheers mixing with Charles’. Max and Pascale stand too, clapping enthusiastically.

You walk across the stage, accepting your diploma with a graceful nod. As you turn to face the audience, your eyes lock with your family’s, and your composed expression breaks into a radiant smile.

Charles, caught up in the moment, continues cheering even after you’ve left the stage. “That’s right! Astrophysicist in the house! Watch out, universe!”

Max, noticing the irritated glances from other families, reaches over and claps a hand over Charles’ mouth. “Okay, Charlie, I think she heard you,” he says, laughter in his voice.

Max feels something wet against his palm and jerks his hand away.

“Ugh, gross!” Max yelps, wiping it on his pants. “What are you, five?”

Charles grins unrepentantly. “You started it.”

Pascale sighs, shaking her head. “Boys, please. This is Y/N’s big day. Try to act like adults.”

“Sorry, Maman,” Charles mumbles, properly chastised.

As the ceremony concludes, the family makes their way outside, eagerly scanning the crowd for you.

“There!” Arthur calls out, pointing.

You’re making your way towards them, diploma in hand, your face glowing with happiness. Max reaches you first, sweeping you into a tight hug.

“Congratulations, liefje,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

You beam up at him, about to respond when Charles practically tackles you both.

“My sister, the genius!” He crows, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. “I always knew you’d take over the world someday.”

You laugh, hugging him back just as fiercely. “Put me down, you goof! You’re making a scene.”

“Let him have his moment,” Lorenzo says, stepping in for his own hug once Charles releases you. “It’s not every day your little sister graduates top of her class in Astrophysics.”

Arthur’s turn comes next, his hug gentler but no less heartfelt. “Congrats. You’ve officially made the rest of us look like underachievers.”

Finally, you turn to your mother, who’s openly crying now. “Oh, my darling,” she says, cupping your face in her hands. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

You feel tears welling up in your own eyes as you embrace her. “Thanks, Maman. For everything.”

As you pull back, wiping at your eyes, Charles slings an arm around your shoulders. “So, what’s next? Going to discover a new planet? Name a star after your favorite man?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “First of all, I still have to get through graduate school. And second, bold of you to assume you’re my favorite.”

“Ouch,” Charles clutches his chest in mock pain. “After all we’ve been through?”

Max chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Face it, Leclerc. I’ve got you beat in the favorite department.”

Charles narrows his eyes playfully. “Is that a challenge, Verstappen?”

“Boys, boys,” you interject, laughing. “There’s plenty of me to go around. Now, how about we get out of here? I’m starving, and I believe someone promised me a celebration dinner.”

“Ah, yes!” Pascale says, clapping her hands together. “I’ve made reservations at La Maree. Your favorite, chérie.”

As the family starts to move towards the parking lot, Max hangs back, tugging gently on your hand. “Hold on a sec,” he says softly. “I want to give you something.”

Curious, you turn to face him. Max reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your eyes widen. “Max ...”

He opens the box, revealing a delicate necklace. A small white gold star pendant hangs from the chain, a tiny diamond twinkling at its center.

“I know it’s not much compared to your usual study subjects,” Max says, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “But I thought ... well, you’re my star, Y/N. My brilliant, beautiful star.”

Tears well up in your eyes again as Max fastens the necklace around your neck. “It’s perfect,” you whisper. “I love it. I love you.”

Max’s face breaks into a radiant smile. “I love you too,” he says, before leaning in to capture your lips in a tender kiss.

You melt into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands settle on your waist. For a moment, the world fades away, and it’s just the two of you.

The spell is broken by an exaggerated gagging sound. You break apart to see Charles pretending to retch, while Lorenzo and Arthur laugh.

You break apart, laughing. “Real mature, Charles,” you call back.

Charles grins, unrepentant. “Hey, someone’s got to keep an eye on you crazy kids.”

Max rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Your brother, the chaperone,” he mutters.

You giggle, taking Max’s hand as you rejoin your family. “Don’t worry,” you whisper conspiratorially. “We’ll ditch him at the restaurant.”

As you all pile into the waiting cars, the air buzzing with excitement and plans for the evening, you can’t help but feel overwhelmed with happiness. A year ago, you never would have imagined this scene — your family truly seeing and celebrating you, a wonderful man by your side who loves and supports you, and a bright future ahead in a field you’re passionate about.

The cars pull away from the university, carrying you towards your celebration dinner. As you watch the familiar streets of Monaco roll by, you find yourself filled with an incredible sense of anticipation. This isn’t just the end of your university journey — it’s the beginning of something new and exciting.

You glance around the car — at Charles and Arthur bickering good-naturedly in the back seat, at your mother chatting happily with Lorenzo who’s driving, and finally at Max beside you, his hand warm in yours. Your family, in all its chaotic, loving glory.

“Hey,” Max says softly, noticing your pensive expression. “You okay?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “More than okay. I’m perfect.”

And as the car winds its way through the streets of Monaco, towards a future bright with possibility, you know that it’s true. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, surrounded by love, with the stars stretching out endlessly before you.