#how do i say that i would give away my soul and my heart and everything i have if that meant they could be happy

[areislol]

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎"WANT A (HERSHEY) KISS?" — with JJK men

pairings. satoru gojo, suguru geto, choso, yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, yuta okkotsu x gn! reader

warnings. all sweet mushy stuff, fluff, can be seen as an established relationship or mutual crushing. geto is written to be taller than you (sorry to all my tall ladies), sukuna calls reader "human" (his weird little pet name.), characters might be ooc.

a/n. i overheard my friend ask my best friend if she wanted a kiss and i immediately thought about this hershy kiss idea.

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎synopsis. asking the jjk men if they want a kiss, but not that kind of kiss.

wordcount. 3.4k

— satoru gojo

gojo straightens up, his posture suddenly becoming theatrically grand. he places a hand dramatically over his heart, his eyes wide with mock seriousness as he gazes deeply into yours.

“oh, you have no idea what you’ve just unleashed,” he declares, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “i’m more than ready for your kiss!”

with a flourish, he takes a step back. he raises his other hand to his forehead as if swooning, his usual confident smirk replaced by an exaggerated look of faux vulnerability.

“oh, how could i have known today would be the day? the day my heart would finally be captured by an unexpected proposal!”

he lowers himself slightly as if preparing for the grand finale of some romantic play, his eyes never leaving yours.

you quirked an eyebrow, confused by your gojo's reaction. he takes a deep breath, his expression shifting to one of resolute determination. "what—"

“i accept your kiss with all the fervour of a thousand lifetimes!” he exclaims, his voice rising to a dramatic crescendo.

before you can react, he swoops in closer, closing his eyes as if truly expecting a romantic kiss. his lips are slightly puckered, and he holds the pose for a moment, the room filled with anticipation of his over-the-top performance.

"....what are you doing..." is all you manage to say while staring at gojo like he was a madman. at your words, he lets out a faint "huh" before peeking with one eyes open. you cocked your head to the side, reaching your palm out with a... hershey's kiss?

gojo's eyes travel between your face and the chocolate treat on your palm. both his eyes open as he resumes his old posture. "what's that?" he asks, confused. where was his kiss?

you nudge him with your hand, "take it, it's the kiss." you responded. there was a pregnant pause as gojo felt his soul being crushed and crumbling away.

he pouts as he usually does when things don't go his way. "so i won't be getting the kiss?" his expression shifts to one of exaggerated disappointment.

“you won't be getting any kiss other than the chocolate kiss in the palm of my hands! if you don't want it then just say it, i'll give it to someone else.”

gojo immediately felt a stab to his heart at your words. "so... no kiss..?" he asked once more, pushing his luck a bit too much. you turned around, beginning to walk over to maki.

"wait wait wait! no— wait! i'll take the kiss, come back! i thought we had something special!!"

safe to say gojo chased you around the courtyard wanting that kiss so badly. (p.s. he never got it)

— suguru geto

he looks up from his tea, his eyebrows raising slightly in mild surprise. his calm demeanour doesn’t waver, but you can see a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

“a kiss?” he repeats, setting down his cup with a gentle clink. “well, that’s unexpected.”

his eyes scan your face, you approached him with a playful smile, unbeknownst to him, holding a small hershey’s kiss hidden in your hand.

his response is measured, his tone light yet sincere. there’s a slight tilt of his head as he considers your offer, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. his curiosity is clearly piqued.

“are you sure you want to do this right now?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

you can see the gears turning in his mind. he stands up gracefully, his tall frame now towering over you slightly. his presence is both calming and commanding, and he steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“if you’re offering, who am i to refuse?” he says, his voice soft and gentle, yet with a hint of playfulness.

as he leans in, his eyes close slightly, and his movements are slow and deliberate. his face is inches from yours, his lips poised as if expecting a tender kiss on the cheek or lips.

his breath is warm against your skin, just as his lips are about to meet yours, you can’t hold it in any longer. you burst out laughing, the sound breaking the tension. geto’s eyes snap open, and he pulls back slightly, a look of mild confusion and surprise on his face.

“wait, suguru,” you manage to say between giggles, holding up the small, foil-wrapped hershey’s kiss. “i meant hershey’s kiss!”

geto blinks, taking in the sight of the tiny chocolate in your hand. for a moment, he’s taken aback, his calmness cracking just enough to show his genuine surprise. then, a slow smile spreads across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.

“oh, i see,” he says, chuckling softly, the sound low and rich. “you got me there.”

his surprise melts into good-natured acceptance as he reaches out to take the hershey’s kiss from your hand, his fingers brushing yours gently.

“i should have known there was a twist,” he says, his tone filled with amusement. he unwraps the chocolate with ease, the foil crinkling softly as he reveals the sweet treat inside.

“well, i can’t say no to chocolate,” he continues, popping the hershey’s kiss into his mouth with a graceful motion. “but i might still want that other kiss later.”

you shake your head, still laughing, "you’re too much, suguru.”

he smiles, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "that’s what makes life interesting,” he replies, his tone affectionate. “you always manage to keep me on my toes.”

geto leans in slightly, his expression turning more playful, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. “but just so you know, i'm expecting a real kiss next time,” he says softly, his voice filled with a gentle warmth that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. “no more tricks.”

you nod, your smile matching his. “alright.”

— choso

choso’s dark eyes widen slightly, and he looks at you in surprise.

his usually stoic demeanour softened by your unexpected offer. choso blinked in surprise, his dark eyes widening gradually. "a kiss?" he spoke, uncertain of what he had heard. "from you?"

your playful smile widened a fraction as you nodded. "that's if you really want one," you replied.

choso's expression softened ever so slightly, a flicker of happiness crossing his features. he continued to sit down on the chair, his eyes, usually so guarded, were fixed on yours with anticipation.

"well since you asked," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nodded again, containing your joy as you held out the small chocolate treat. but choso, his attention solely on you, didn't notice your extended hand.

instead, he leaned in a fraction closer, his breath brushing against your cheek as he waited expectantly.

time seemed to slow, the air thick with anticipation. and then, as he continued to wait, you couldn't hold back any longer. with a gentle chuckle, you revealed the hershey's kiss, holding it between your fingers.

"wait, choso," you said, your voice soft. "i meant a hershey's kiss."

for a fleeting moment, confusion clouded choso's eyes, his brows furrowing slightly as he processed your words. the disappointment that followed was palpable, a subtle shift in his demeanour as he withdrew slightly, his gaze dropping to the chocolate in your hand.

"oh," he murmured quietly, a faint flush colouring his cheeks. "i see. i misunderstood."

regret tinged your amusement now, your heart squeezing at the sight of his crestfallen expression. you held onto whatever you could to stop yourself from apologising (despite it not being your fault in the first place) but his saddened face had a deadly grip on your aching heart.

letting out a soft sigh, you decide to make up for this misunderstanding. "i'll make it up to you," you promised, offering him the hershey's kiss with a gentle smile.

he looks back at you, his eyes searching yours for lord knows what. you step closer, closing the distance between you. “here,” you say softly, holding the hershey’s kiss in one hand and reaching up to gently cup his cheek with the other. “you can have both.”

you lean in and place a tender kiss on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your lips. as you pull back, you see the love in his eyes, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"how was the kiss?"

"amazing."

— yuji itadori

yuji sat relaxed on the couch, flipping through a magazine with casual interest before you asked him the question.

he looked up from his magazine, his expression momentarily puzzled before a flicker of curiosity crossed his face. "a kiss?" he repeated as his head cocked to the side, intrigued.

"yeah," you continued, your smile widening as you extended the small chocolate towards him. "i thought you might like one."

a hint of confusion lingered on yuji's features as he accepted the chocolate from you. "oh, thanks!" he exclaimed, unwrapping the chocolate with a grin. he popped it into his mouth, savouring the sweetness with an appreciative nod.

however, as he finished the chocolate, his gaze turned back to you with a playful look on his face. "that was good," he remarked casually, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

"but you know, i was actually hoping for a different kind of kiss."

you couldn't help but laugh softly at his playful teasing, feeling a warmth spread through you at his easygoing nature. "oh really?" you replied teasingly, pretending to consider his request. "what kind of kiss were you hoping for?"

yuji's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "hmm, how about…" he trailed off, leaning in closer with a twinkle in his eye.

before he could finish his sentence, you leaned in swiftly and gently kissed his warm cheek. his skin was soft against your lips, radiating a faint warmth.

yuji blinked in surprise, his hand instinctively touching his cheek where your lips had just been.

"like that?" you asked with a playful smirk, teasing him lightly.

yuji chuckled softly, his cheeks dusted with a faint blush. "yeah," he admitted, his voice softening. "that was nice."

the room fell into a comfortable silence, filled with a newfound ease. yuji glanced at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"thanks for the chocolate, and the kiss," he said sincerely, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. you shake your head, "it's fine, i enjoyed the kiss."

yuji immediately brightens up at your words before speaking. "can i get another kiss?" he looks at you with those pleading, puppy eyes. ugh. you let out a soft sigh and nod. "of course, on the cheek or lips?"

"lips please!"

— megumi fushiguro

he pauses. did he hear you correctly? a kiss? why now, as he's training? did you need to distract him after doing something wrong (you had a tendency to do that)? thousands of thoughts whirled around in his head.

"a... a kiss?" he repeated, his voice betraying a hint of confusion and something else—perhaps a flicker of vulnerability.

you nodded, feeling giddy for absolutely no reason. "yeah, a kiss. what do you think?"

for a moment, megumi seemed to be at a loss for words. he glanced around, as if checking to see if anyone else was watching, then looked back at you.

"why are you asking me that?" he said, his voice low and slightly nervous.

you couldn't help but chuckle softly at his reaction. "just answer the question, megumi. do you want one or not?"

his cheeks took on a faint tint of pink, a sight that made your heart skip a beat. he struggled with his thoughts for a moment before he finally nodded, his gaze steady on yours. "sure," he said quietly.

you pulled the small hershey's kiss from your pocket and held it out to him. "here," you said, waiting for him to take the treat.

megumi stared at the chocolate in your hand, his expression shifting from confusion to realization and then to mild embarrassment. he let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, shaking his head with a wry smile.

"oh, yeah. thanks," he muttered, feeling completely and utterly embarrassed by the thought that he would actually be getting a different type of kiss.

your eyes focus solely on megumi as he stares at the chocolate in your hand. he seemed disappointed but tried his best to hide it, but he knew better.

"you look disappointed. why?"

there goes your attentiveness.

"nothing's wrong. i just thought that.." he paused, taking the chocolate and unwrapping it, popping it into his mouth. your brows raised at his abrupt pause, indicating for him to go on.

you wait for him to finish the chocolate, and when he does you notice a faint blush on his cheeks. he seems to consider something for a moment, his eyes growing more contemplative.

megumi let out a soft sigh, eyes downcast as if embarrassed to say whatever he was about to say. "if..." he began slowly, "i was hoping that you would give me the other kind of kiss,"

his words took you by surprise, and you felt a warm flush creep up your cheeks. "oh?" you replied, your heart fluttering at his unexpected words (though you haven't fully comprehended it yet). after a few seconds, the realisation hit. "OHHH!! was that the type of kiss you were expecting?"

"shut up."

— kento nanami

nanami raised an eyebrow, curiosity was evident on his face. "a kiss?" he repeated. you nod your head.

"yes, a kiss. what do you say?"

he studied your face for a moment, his sharp eyes searching for any hint of a joke. but seeing your expression, he relaxed. "alright," he said with a small, gentle smile.

"i suppose i could indulge."

to your surprise, nanami stood up and closed the distance between you with a few steps. gently, he cupped your face in his warm, calloused hand. leaning in, he placed a small, chaste kiss on your forehead, his lips soft against your skin.

"there," he said, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. "now you can give me a kiss."

your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, and you felt a flush rise to your cheeks. you fumbled for a moment, holding up the small hershey's kiss that had been concealed in your grip.

"i-i meant this kiss," you stammered, your voice flustered. "but this works too."

nanami's eyes flicked to the chocolate in your hand, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "ah, i see," he said, a rare glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "a hershey's kiss."

he took the small chocolate from your hand, unwrapping it with practised ease, he popped the chocolate into his mouth, savouring the sweetness. "delicious," he remarked, his gaze never leaving yours.

you couldn't help but laugh, still feeling flustered by his actions as you shook your head. "i didn't expect you to actually kiss me like that," you admitted, a grin creeping onto your face, tugging at the corner of your lips.

nanami's smile widened slightly, a gentle warmth in his eyes. "you asked if i wanted a kiss," he said simply. "i saw no reason to decline."

— ryomen sukuna

the room was thick with tension as the king of curses lounged on his throne-like seat, his piercing red eyes flickering with a dangerous mix of boredom and disdain.

the king of curses rarely indulged in the mundane pleasantries of human interaction, yet when it comes to you, it becomes tolerable.

you approached him, chocolate clutched in your hand. "hey, sukuna," you called out, trying to keep your voice steady.

he shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded you with a mix of curiosity and contempt. "what is it, human?" he growled, his voice dripping with disdain.

taking a deep breath, you mustered your courage and offered him a tentative smile. "do you want a kiss?"

for a moment, sukuna stared at you, his expression unreadable. then, a mocking scoff escaped his lips, and he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "a kiss?"

"i don't want your disgusting lips on mine, or on my skin at all. foul. don't you ever ask me that stupid question ever again."

you let out a sigh, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at his words. "i didn't mean that kind of kiss," you said softly, revealing the small chocolate in your hand. "i meant a hershey's kiss."

sukuna's eyes flicked to the chocolate, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—passed through his gaze. he snatched the chocolate from your hand, unwrapping it with a sneer.

"pathetic," he muttered, popping the sweet treat into his mouth. he chewed slowly, his expression shifting from contempt to thoughtful consideration as he continued to chew.

you observed him, noticing the subtle change in his face. despite his harsh words, there was a part of him that seemed to enjoy the small gesture, though, he'd rather allow himself to be killed than admit his feelings.

after swallowing the chocolate, sukuna's eyes returned to yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "that was tolerable," he admitted grudgingly, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "is there anything else?"

you shake your head. "no... what else would you want?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

he leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours. "another type of kiss," he said, his tone both commanding and taunting. "show me if you dare."

you hesitated, the weight of his demand on your heart. his earlier insult still lingered in your mind, but there was something in his gaze—a challenge, a test—that compelled you to step forward.

sukuna's eyes gleamed with a predatory anticipation as you drew closer. when your lips brushed against his cheek, his skin was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to his cold behaviour.

the kiss was brief, a soft and tentative gesture that seemed to surprise even him. as you pulled back, you searched his face for a reaction. sukuna was silent, his expression neutral. then, a slow, almost imperceptible smile spread across his lips—a smile that was equal parts dangerous and intrigued.

"not bad," he murmured, his voice softer but no less commanding. "perhaps you're not as foolish as i thought."

sukuna's eyes darkened, his smirk widening slightly. "don't think this changes anything," he warned, his voice regaining its edge. "but i might tolerate your presence a bit longer."

— yuta okkotsu

yuta's eyes widened, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink almost immediately. he seemed caught off guard by your question, his book slowly slipping from his grasp as he tried to process your words.

"a-a kiss?" he stammered, his voice shaky. "you mean… like… a real kiss?"

you couldn't help but chuckle softly at his flustered reaction. "yes, a kiss," you spoke, watching as his blush deepened.

his mind seemed to be racing, a mix of confusion and excitement flashing in his eyes. "i… well… um… sure?" he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

he looked down, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, clearly trying to gather his composure.

you held out the small hershey's kiss, the silver foil catching the fading sunlight. "i meant this kiss," you said softly, a knowing smile on your face (yuta was always very easy to read).

yuta stared at the chocolate in your hand, his blush was still prominent but now mixed with a look of realization and slight embarrassment. "oh," he breathed out, his shoulders relaxing a bit. he let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "o-oh! yeah, totally—a chocolate kiss."

you handed him the chocolate, watching as he took it from you with a shy smile. "yeah, a chocolate kiss," you confirmed, your voice gentle.

as yuta unwrapped the chocolate, he glanced up at you with a sheepish grin. "i thought you meant the other kiss," he admitted, popping the treat into his mouth.

after a while, yuta turned to you, his blush returning slightly. "do you think you can give me another kiss?"

your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt your own cheeks warming. "you mean like the physical kiss? not the chocolate" you replied softly, already knowing the answer. he nodded, feeling a little nervous. "yeah. i mean… if you feel like it. no pressure of course!!"

you smiled, laughing softly. "i'll keep that in mind," you said gently. "you're too sweet."

yuta's smile widened, his eyes shining with happiness. "you're the one that's sweet here," he replied, his voice soft and filled with warmth.

rika is fuming right now

a/n: divider credits @/v6que // my first-ish post for jjk ^-^ if there are any pronouns other than GN please tell me, either in messages or on this post! thank you for reading 💕

[as-rare-as-trees]

There is a specific kind of tragedy in coming to terms with how little you can do, no matter how much you wish it was more

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[suiana]

yandere! officer who holds a rather high rank in the military. he's proud of it too! i mean, it's the 1800s. how many men do you know that hold the rank of an an officer? and a high ranked one too at that! not many, that's for sure.

yandere! officer who's ALSO your childhood friend. how convenient is that, huh? you would hate it if he was also your fiancé, huh? 😂😂😂 i mean, what an absolute COINCIDENCE that would be... oh yeah, did i mention he was the one who proposed marriage? not your father, not his father. him.

"father, must i really get married to him? he's just my friend!" yet, your words fall on deaf ears as your father merely lets out a sigh and shakes his head. damn it, there's no getting through to him. it's like he's already made up his mind. "I've already told you, he's a good man to marry. you should be happy that such a noble man wants you." yeah, noble status. that's all there is, huh? it's not like you can say anything though. you're just the child of a small no name noble, who are you to reject someone who's highly respected in the military? but hey, at the very least it's your childhood friend that you're close with. you're sure that he just wants your friendship out of this. it's not like he's madly in love with you or anything...

yandere! officer who's definitely in love with you. you don't even have to be a genius to know that, just looking at him will tell anyone and everyone that he's madly enamoured. and as always, everyone but you knows it.

"you love me?" your breath hitches, eyes widening as you feel a warm flush creep up your cheeks. no way... he... likes you? your childhood best friend who's been showing obvious signs of a crush ever since the two of you were kids? "yes... i would think that was obvious by now." his words are flat, face deadpanning at you. despite the exasperation in his tone, his eyes are soft and the corner of his lips are upturned. "you are the only one in my heart, mein liebling."

yandere! officer that has a different side he shows to others and one reserved specifically for you. he only ever bears his heart and soul to you, his future spouse. he could care less for others, you come first and foremost. sure he might have pledged allegiance to the nation but you're his one and only. he'd betray the country if it's for you, throw away everything he's worked for just to make you happy.

yandere! officer who has discovered your... apreciation for his uniform. he finds it interesting to say the least. oh, so you think he looks attractive? he doesn't get what's so good looking about his uniform but he'll gladly wear it more often if you like it so much.

"schatz, i need to change out of my uniform-" "just give me a minute..." your fiancé could only look down in silence as you stared intensely at his attire. you're doing it again. he doesn't even know what you're doing, just staring at his uniform with your pretty eyes and serious expression. he thinks you're appreciating him but he's not quite sure. you never say anything after all. all you do is simply stare quietly. you don't even as much as touch him! "you can... touch, y'know? you don't need to just stare." he sure hopes you do. what he'd give to feel your hands on him... and he's pretty sure you want to touch him too. or maybe you want him to touch you? "can i?" "of course you can. we are to be married anyway." "nah... i think I'll just... look..." man. looks like he's going to be just standing here for a while, huh? oh well, as long as you're happy. it's not like he has anything better to do anyway.

[shigarakisstalker]

hardcore launches with the boys

in which neither of you take a… soft approach, to announcing your secret relationship

todoroki didn’t expect for it to go the way it did. it was a normal training day when suddenly he turned only to see you straight on your back, air knocked out of you from the move bakugo had just pulled on you. he lost his shit.

suddenly there he was, right next to you as bakugo found himself as a human ice cube. he gently pulled you up and dusted you off.

“you okay, love?” he gently placed his hand on your cheek.

“shoto, while i appreciate the gesture,” you slowly pushed his hand down, “we’re in training and it’s bound to happen. you can’t ice anyone just because they’re doing their assignment.”

“i know, but i dont care. you’re my girlfriend nobody has the right.” he simply shrugged.

a few gasps were heard, they turned their heads to find an unintended audience. the entire class.

“you’re together?!” everyone yelled.

“HALF AND HALF BASTARD!”

◡̈

bakugo wasn’t exactly discrete, especially when it was agreed you guys weren’t going to hide it anymore. it was a nice sunday morning when he came down,

only to see you wearing his favorite shirt and sweatpants that had been missing for days.

there you sat next to mina and tsu, they took took notice of the shirt but decided not to say anything.

that was until mina couldn’t hold it anymore, “aren’t those bakugos clothes?” you looked down, taking notice that you forgot to change before coming down, “uhhh-”

“yeah, aren’t those my fucking clothes?” you heard from behind you. you jumped up and darted for an escape, only to be grabbed by the hips and pinned to his front.

“you know i’ve been looking for my shit for days now, right?” he whispered in your ear.

you wordlessly shook your head, words gone and heart beating a million times a second. he knew exactly how to get a rise out of you.

your cheeks flushed as he turned you around to face him, before he could see your face you quickly shoved your face in his chest.

he chuckled, “you’re so fucking lucky you’re pretty.”

“EEEEKKKK!” they both looked over to see mina and both squads starring at them with wide eyes, “YOU GUYS ARE DATING?!”

◡̈

sero would do it in a funny way, you’d be arguing about some stupid shit in the common room. you, mina, and jirou would be ripping their asses for doing some dumb shit.

the girls were too heated to even realize you were yelling at sero, except for kaminari and kirishima.

they looked at you both strangely, which caught the attention of the girls. and shortly enough it was only you yelling at sero.

“you’re so fucking dumb! i swear you give me a headache every single goddamn day, yet i-” you were soon cut off by lips touching yours gently, all anger seemed to diminish and your brain went fuzzy.

when you both pulled away his hands still remained on your face, “y’know you’re so pretty when you’re angry?

“oh my god?!”

◡̈

denki would find it fun to mess with everyone, he’d go on and on about this mystery girlfriend.

“she’s soooo pretty”

“i want her so bad right now”

“she thinks i’m funny”

“guys where should i take her for dinner?” he whispered, hoping not to attract your attention from the girls.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP DUNCE FACE WE KNOW SHES NOT REAL!” bakugo screamed, getting everyone’s attention.

“YES SHE IS!” denki yelled back.

“THEN WHO WHOM?” he paused, “HM?”

“me.”

everyone snapped their head towards you, full of shock.

you lazily walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck from behind, laying a small kiss on his cheek.

“WHAT?!”

◡̈

kirishima would do it completely on accident while admirning you.

everyone was stuck on their own task of the day, beating their opponents ass.

you specifically were never one to back down, something kirishima absolutely adored about you. you were a hardass and stubborn as a mule, sometimes biting him in the ass.

you were now going up against mina, and odds weren’t in her favor, bless her soul. you were a tough girl. and as of right now you had her in a chokehold on the ground.

kirishima stood there in awe.

not because his friend was getting her ass beat, but because his girlfriend was so, manly.

“damn, that’s my girlfriend.”

everyone snapped their heads to him,

“what.”

◡̈

midoryia wasn’t very sneaky about it in the first place.

so when the class woke up one sunday and found you two cuddling on the couch after a failed movie night, it really was no surprise.

instead of being abrupt and waking you guys up (like bakugo offered) they layer a blanket on the top of you two. nicely and gently.

“they’re a cute couple.” tsu commented.

“oh for sure,” sato started, “they’re both hard working and very very sweet.”

“this is unacceptable on school property though-”

a joint “shut up iida” ensued.

[mytheoristavenue]

Shy Makeouts with Your Fav!

Summary: You initiate a makeout as a confession and he's just putty in your hands!

Warnings: Just fluffy stuff, makeouts, sub!character, dom!reader, gn!reader

"H-Hold on..." He said, staring up at you shyly. He'd always had the softest spot for you and no matter how confident he could be, no matter how resilient- he never could tell you no. That's what had him sitting on his own bedroom floor with you in his lap, kissing down his jaw without any shame for knowing neither had confessed yet.

"Sh-Shouldn't we talk about this first...?" He asked weakly, swallowing thickly as his head rolled to the side to give you more room. This felt so taboo, and yet he had no intent to stop it. "Hey..." He shuddered while your lips brushed his throat, but his palms stayed planted on the floor.

He could never pinpoint what it was about you that made him so shy. Maybe it was you dazzling smile or the mischievous glint your eyes would have when you had an idea that would get him in trouble. Kinda like right now. You were smirking at him for above, peppering his face with kisses, giggling at his blushed cheeks and furrowed brows.

"I'm seriou- ahh..." He sighed, melting when your lips brushed the shell of his ear. Your playful giggle rang in his ears as he tried to muster the willpower to stop you, to make you talk things out with him. "W-Wait, please-" He begged, trembling under your touch, but his arms betrayed him, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away. "Just talk to me, you know I hate it when you get all cryptic..."

"What would you like me to say, big guy?" You finally mused, breath hot on his ear.

"That you like me...?" He confessed with red cheeks. "T-That you keep kissing on me because you want be my..." He didn't have the heart to finish his thought, the embarrassment becoming too much to bare.

"Oh, but I do like you..." You smirk deviously. "And I do want to be whatever it is you want me to be." You didn't miss how his infectious, dopey grin cracked across his face at your confirmation. "There's that cute smile..." You giggled, settling back into his lap as he melted against your touch like butter in a pan. "Now, where where we?"

Mezo Shoji, Fumikage Tokoyami, Mashirao Ojiro, Eijiro Kirishima, Tamaki Amajiki, Izuku Midoryia, Tenya Iida, Hanta Sero, Shoto Todoroki, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, Juzo Honenuki, Shihai Kuroiro, Iguro Obanai, Inosuke Hashibura, Tanjiro Kamado, Gyomei Himejima, Tomioka Giyuu, God Usopp, Roronoa Zoro, Vinsoke Sanji, Cyborg Franky, Portgas D. Ace, Spirit Albarn, Soul Evans, and whoever else you'd like!

I hope you guys like this format! I wont be doing this like this all the time, but I thought it might be a way to give yall something when I'm away for a few days at a time!

[monstersholygrail]

Wild Domination

Lion Hybrid bf x Antelope Hybrid fem!reader— exhibitionism, voyeurism, rough sex, aftercare

Your Lion Hybrid bf not choosing a Lion for his mate had been a very controversial choice within his pride. But he had stuck by it. Stuck by you, his Antelope Hybrid mate.

And you were gonna stick by him through it all too. No matter how often the other lion hybrids looked at you like you were their next meal. But not in the way your bf always did. Or how they whispered cruel words as you passed them by.

Though while you were determined to make friends, thinking if they loved you they’d be more accepting of you, your bf knew only one thing would work.

Dominance.

He had to show them all who was still leading his pride and that no disrespect to his mate would be tolerated. Because you were his love and the one who would be leading alongside him. So in a way you had to show your dominance. Or be dominated.

You shyly follow behind him as he gathers everyone to address his pride. The entire lot of you all standing in the large dining room of his home.

“I hear there is some uncertainty on the claim I have made to my mate,” your bf rumbles out, a subtle threat to his tone. They all avoid his gaze.

You blush as he brings you to stand in front of him. His hands on your shoulders and the comforting presence of his heat on your back helping to calm you. His hands draw down your body with desire, sliding along and groping at your delicious curves, feeling the flesh give away under his intense affection.

You don’t mean to but you end up meeting the eye of everyone at the other end of the table, seeing varying degrees of displeasure.

“I’ve brought you all here to clear any remaining doubt.”

You feel a light pressure on our back and you instantly submit, following your bf’s silent instructions. But your eyes widen as you find yourself bending over on top of the table, cheek squished against the glass.

“Love, what’re you doing?”

He doesn’t respond and for a moment you worry he hadn’t heard your breathless question. Then he flips up your dress and kicks your knees a part so that he can fit snuggly between your legs even with your tail. Any lingering questions fly out of your head the second he pushes your panties to the side and you feel his wet tip pushing through your folds.

“So that you know her heart is mine, her soul is mine, her body is mine, and most of all her perfect pussy is mine,” your bf says with a blissful sigh and he pushes into you.

With a growl he refuses to hold back, wanting everyone to understand the claim he has on you and that you have on him. His hands return to your shoulders as he starts pounding away at you, tail flicking furiously. You moan wildly, struggling to push back against his every thrust when he’s pinning your body down. But knowing you need even more of him.

The other Lion Hybrids look on, acceptance and denial in their expressions. Yet no matter what the smell of arousal was clear from both sides of the room. Your own bliss grows at the sight of them all enjoying the show and you cry out when your bf starts hitting those special spots inside of you, his length spearing through your gummy walls till your toes curl.

“Look at how well she takes my cock. Made for me to be inside of her. No one else- no one else can make me feel like this,” your bf snarls loudly, his voice echoing throughout the room as he keeps pumping his cock inside your tight cunt.

By now you can see just about everyone at the other end of the room touching themselves to the sight of you and your bf. It makes your skin buzz and your pussy flutter around your bf’s dick.

Your bf growls again and a second later you feel his hot breath on your neck. You shiver, leaning into him and his relentless thrusts. The new angle hitting even deeper inside you.

“You like this, sweetheart? Having our pride watch as I take your soaked cunt and stretch it with my cock,” He whispers in your ear and you can’t help but clench down on him, moaning raggedly.

He chuckles as if your reaction had given him all the answer he needed. His thrusts start to turn sloppy and erratic and you know he’s close. Wanting to feel you milk his cock, your bf grips your sensitive horns and guides your body back. You cry out, jerking in his hold but not wanting him to stop.

“Now I want you to cum and prove how much of a slut you really are for me.”

You immediately explode over his cock, your orgasm crashing through you as if just waiting for him to let you release. A long mewl leaves your lips as you unnaturally bend so you can feel him as deep inside you as possible. Your body shakes as your bf continues to snap his hips into your squeezing cunt and with how damn tight you are he can’t hold back his own climax for long.

It only takes a couple more snaps of his hips before he’s following after you, filling your pussy with every last drop of his cum he can. Moans from the other end of the table echo down the way but neither of you pay them any more mind.

He sits down in a nearby chair and pulls you into his arms. Cradling your plump frame in his broad chest and sagging against the piece of furniture. Your bf dares to relax before remembering the rest of the pride down the room. He gruffly dismisses them and as soon as you two are alone he sighs and buries his face in your neck.

“You’ll probably have to give a different version of that speech again. I don’t think anyone heard you,” you comment, lazily reaching up to brush your hands through his mane. A gentle rumble passes through your mate’s chest.

“Oh, I plan to rehearse this speech as many times as you can take me…”

[nerdycheol]

Hint. Hint. HINT!!!

Pairing: Lee Seokmin (DK) x Reader

Genre: College AU, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Crush

WC: ~2.5k

Lee Seokmin was either the dumbest person you had ever met or just truly, utterly clueless.

For months now, you had been dropping hints—glaring, neon-sign-worthy hints—but he still hadn’t caught on. It was ridiculous. Actually, no—it was painful.

How else were you supposed to let him know you liked him? Spell it out in the sky? Get a marching band to parade through campus?

Today, you were determined to make it even more obvious.

Hint #143: Movie Night

“You know,” you started, casually scrolling through Netflix as Seokmin sprawled out on your dorm bed beside you, “watching a movie together like this is basically a date.”

He snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Pfft, nah. Friends do this all the time.”

You shot him a look. “Yeah, but do friends do this?” You shifted closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

Your heart thumped. Any second now, he’d get it—he had to.

Seokmin, the human golden retriever that he was, just hummed happily. “You’re so comfy, Y/N.”

You closed your eyes. “Seokmin. Be honest. Are you acting dumb or are actually dumb?”

He blinked. “What?”

You sat up, exasperated. “I’ve been dropping hints left and right, and you—” You pointed at his forehead. “Are. Not. Getting. It.”

He looked genuinely confused. “Hints? What hints?”

You gaped at him. “Oh my god.”

---

Hint #157: Borrow My Hoodie

One of the surefire ways to get a guy’s attention was the classic borrow his hoodie move. So when you saw Seokmin in his oversized, soft-as-a-cloud hoodie one morning, you knew what had to be done.

You tugged at his sleeve as he sat across from you in the campus café. “Hey, can I borrow your hoodie?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Of course! Are you cold?”

Success.

You pulled it over your head, inhaling the faint scent of his detergent and something undeniably him. “Wow, this is so comfy. I might just keep it forever.”

Seokmin grinned. “That’s fine, I have others!”

You sighed. “No, Seokmin. This is where you’re supposed to say, ‘If you keep my hoodie, you have to give me something in return.’”

His brows furrowed. “Like what?”

“Like…” You leaned forward, staring into his very soul. “A kiss, maybe?”

For a moment, just a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes. Then he laughed. “Ohhh, that’s funny! You almost got me there!”

You groaned, flopping onto the table. Why is he like this?

---

Hint #200: The Almost Confession

Enough was enough. If he couldn’t figure it out on his own, you were just going to have to spell it out for him.

The two of you were sitting on the campus lawn after class, enjoying the golden sunset. Seokmin stretched, his shirt riding up slightly, and you nearly forgot your entire train of thought.

No. Focus.

You took a deep breath. “Seokmin.”

“Hm?” He turned to you, all bright eyes and sunshine.

“I like—”

RIIING.

His phone buzzed loudly, and he scrambled to answer it. “Oh! Sorry, give me a sec—hello?”

You closed your eyes, mentally counting to ten. Of course.

When he finally ended the call, he turned back with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

You exhaled. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

---

Hint #250: The Breaking Point

It was getting ridiculous. Everyone in your friend group knew you liked him. Even strangers could probably tell. Everyone except Lee Seokmin himself.

You decided to try one last time.

“Seokmin.” You stopped in the middle of the campus quad, grabbing his hand.

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Do you think I’d make a good girlfriend?”

He tilted his head. “Of course! You’d be amazing. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

You squeezed his hand tighter. “What if I wanted to be your girlfriend?”

Silence.

A beat passed. Then another. You watched as his brain visibly tried to process the words.

“…Wait. What?”

You groaned, pulling your hand away. “Seokmin. Oh my god.”

And then—finally—it clicked. His eyes widened, his mouth parting slightly in realization.

“Wait. Wait. Are you saying—”

“Yes!” you practically shouted. “I’ve been saying it for months!”

His face turned red. “You like me?!”

You threw your hands up. “YES, GENIUS.”

For a second, he just stared at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Then, all at once, his face broke into the brightest, happiest smile you had ever seen.

“You like me?” he repeated, this time with so much joy that your frustration melted away.

You rolled your eyes but smiled back. “Yes, Seokmin. I like you. And I’ve been trying to tell you this entire time.”

He laughed—loud, full, and infectious—before suddenly wrapping you in a tight hug. “I like you too! I just… I didn’t know if you liked me back.”

“You—” You groaned, resting your forehead against his chest. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

Seokmin grinned, holding you tighter. “So… does this mean I get to call you my girlfriend now?”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “You better.”

And finally, finally, Lee Seokmin got the hint.

Bonus:

Jeonghan sighed, watching from a distance. “Took them long enough.”

Joshua nodded. “I was starting to think we’d have to force them into a closet or something.”

Seungkwan shook his head. “Nah, even then, Seokmin would probably think it was just ‘friend bonding.’”

And honestly? They weren’t wrong.

[pucksandpower]

Good Girl

Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader

Summary: Max wants to take care of you in every way possible, so you let him (much to your father’s displeasure)

Warnings: 18+ content

The muffled sound of raised voices catches Max’s attention as he walks past the back of the Mercedes motorhome. He slows his pace, straining to make out the words.

One of the voices unmistakably belongs to the Austrian team principal but the other is higher-pitched … feminine. Max’s curiosity is piqued as a snippet of the argument reaches his ears.

“But I hate it, Papa! I’m miserable!”

He knows that voice, even though it is now fraught with anguish. Max stops in his tracks, hesitating. He knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but his concern for you overrides his better judgment.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Liebchen,” Toto Wolff’s gruff tones reach Max’s ears. “This is for your own good. You need to finish your degree and make something of yourself.”

“I don’t want to make something of myself!” You cry out, your words laced with despair. “I just want to be happy!”

Max’s heart clenches at the pain in your voice. He’s never seen you anything less than perfectly composed, always carrying yourself with the poise expected of a team principal’s daughter. To hear you so distraught tugs at something deep inside him.

“Don’t be absurd,” Toto scoffs. “Happiness doesn’t come from idleness. It comes from hard work and achievement.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just marry rich then!” You retort, defiance tingeing your tone.

A surprised laugh bursts from Toto. “Is that what you think? That some wealthy man will sweep you off your feet and give you everything your heart desires?”

“Why not?” You sound small and vulnerable now. “At least then I wouldn’t be so miserable all the time.”

“I didn’t raise you to be some man’s ornament,” Toto snaps, his voice taking on a hard edge. “You’re my daughter — strong, intelligent, and capable. Finish your studies and make your own success. That’s an order.”

There’s a bitter silence, and Max can picture the imperious set of Toto’s jaw, the fire in his eyes when he’s crossed. He feels for you, truly, but he also knows how stubborn and uncompromising your father can be.

You sniffle, and Max’s heart twists imagining your lovely face crumpled with tears. “I … I can’t, Papa. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“Enough of this nonsense!” Toto’s voice is like a clap of thunder, making Max flinch. “I’ll hear no more. Get it together, Y/N. That’s final.”

There’s a flurry of footsteps, and Max instinctively steps back into the shadows as Toto storms out from behind the motorhome, his expression thunderous. He brushes past without sparing Max a glance.

Only you remain, your soft cries tearing at Max’s soul. Before he can overthink it, he rounds the corner towards you.

You’re a vision even with your eyes reddened and cheeks stained with tears. Max has admired you from afar for years, secretly yearning for more than your warm smiles and friendly small talk. Seeing you so undone breaks his heart.

“Y/N?” He murmurs, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. You jump, gasping at his sudden presence. “I … I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Heat floods your cheeks as you hurriedly wipe at your face. “M-Max? I … you shouldn’t have ...”

“Hey, it’s alright.” His thumb strokes your shoulder in a soothing gesture. “I’ve been there too — feeling crushed under the weight of expectations. It’s okay not to be okay sometimes.”

You shake your head, a watery laugh escaping you. “You don’t understand. My father, he’s … it’s complicated.”

“So uncomplicate it for me,” Max says simply, holding your gaze. “Let me take you to dinner tonight. Get your mind off everything for a little while.”

Your eyes widen, and you nibble at your full lower lip — a gesture Max finds utterly captivating. “Oh, I … I couldn’t. Papa would be furious if he found out.”

“He doesn’t have to know.” The words slip out before Max can reconsider their forwardness. Heat prickles at the back of his neck, but he refuses to look away. “Just take a night for yourself, Y/N. You deserve it.”

You worry at your lip, internal conflict playing out on your expressive features. Max can practically see the warring thoughts flitting through your mind.

“Please,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck an errant curl behind your ear. Your breath catches at the gentle contact. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Something sparks in your eyes — acceptance, resignation … or perhaps a hint of excitement? Max couldn’t say. But when you nod, his heart stutters in his chest.

“Okay,” you whisper, sending Max’s pulse racing. “I’d like that.”

A slow smile curves his lips. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up outside your hotel at 8 tonight.” He takes a chance, reaching up to trace the line of your jaw with his knuckles. “Wear something pretty for me?”

The corner of your mouth ticks up in a small grin, and Max feels like he could float away at the sight. “It’s a date.”

With a dimpled wink and a last caress of your silken cheek, Max turns and saunters away, already counting down the hours until he can sweep you off your feet — however briefly. He only hopes one night in his company provides a respite from the burdens weighing you down.

You watch Max stride away, a curious fluttering taking wing in your stomach. Despite the turmoil still lingering from your fight with your father, you can’t deny the thrill that courses through you at Max’s tender attention.

There was a heat in his eyes that had your breath catching — a scorching intensity you’ve never noticed from him before. Like he was seeing all of you, the pain and insecurities you typically hide from the world, and accepting it all without judgment.

His gentle touches had set your skin tingling, leaving you flushed and flustered in a way you’re unaccustomed to. You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you the way Max did — like the weight of all his focus was centered on you alone, searing into your very soul.

Despite the circumstances, you find yourself unexpectedly … excited for tonight. To temporarily shed the burdens your father is so intent on piling onto your shoulders. To let someone else take the lead for once, absolving you of responsibility and expectations.

To let Max take care of you.

The thought sends a delicious shiver down your spine. Allowing yourself a moment of selfishness, of disregarding your father’s disapproval, you relish the delicious sense of anticipation unfurling within you.

For once, you think as you head inside to prepare yourself for your clandestine date, you’re going to indulge your own desires — if only for a few hours. Your father may call it idleness, but you call it sanity.

And if Max’s heated gaze is any indication, he seems more than happy to oblige you.

***

Precisely at 8 PM, Max idles his sleek Valkyrie hypercar outside your hotel’s entrance, eagerly scanning the revolving doors. He doesn’t have to wait long before you emerge, and the sight of you has his breath catching in his throat.

You’ve opted for a slim-fitting cocktail dress in a deep burgundy hue that clings to your curves in all the right places. The plunging neckline and thigh-grazing hemline leave just enough to Max’s imagination, stoking a slow burn of desire low in his belly. Your hair tumbles in artful waves over one shoulder, and you’ve accentuated your lips with a sultry red stain that makes Max’s mouth go dry.

He barely registers popping the passenger door and rounding the car until he’s standing before you, drinking in every delicious detail from your smoky eye makeup to the skyscraper heels lending those gorgeous legs an endless line.

“Y/N,” he rasps out, voice thick with undisguised appreciation. “You look … incredible.”

A becoming flush steals across your cheeks at the naked admiration in his tone. Ducking your head shyly, you murmur, “Thank you, Max. I wasn’t sure if this was too much or ...”

“Not at all,” he cuts you off firmly, unable to tear his hungry stare away from you. “You’re stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

Offering his arm, he escorts you to the car and helps you inside before joining you in the driver’s seat. As he pulls away, he has to force himself to keep his eyes trained on the road rather than drifting hungrily over every dip and swell of your body.

Max selects one of the finest restaurants in the city — an intimate establishment where the lighting is dim and romantic. The maitre d’ leads you to a secluded table in the back, discreetly ensuring your privacy.

Once seated across from you, Max can’t resist reaching across the table to take your hand, marveling at how tiny and delicate your fingers feel engulfed in his calloused grip. It’s a heady sensation, being so close and allowed to touch.

One he wants more of.

You go to take a leather-bound menu with a shy smile, but Max simply slides it aside and shakes his head.

“Don’t strain yourself tonight, schatje,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Let me take care of everything.”

Surprise flits across your lovely features, but then understanding and gratitude replace it as you nod mutely. He can sense the relief in you at being temporarily absolved of responsibility, even over something as simple as choosing your meal.

A subtle tilt of his head summons the waiter, and Max orders a selection of the finest dishes and robust wine for you to share — decadent fare perfectly suited to indulging your every whim this evening.

As the waiter departs, Max leans back and simply drinks you in, admiring the elegant line of your neck and curve of your jaw. You seem to bask under his appreciative scrutiny, almost … preening for him. It’s utterly intoxicating.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” He asks lowly, searching your face. “After everything with your father earlier ...”

Your eyes shutter briefly at the mention of Toto, but you regain your equilibrium swiftly and offer Max a patently forced smile. “I’m alright. Just … trying not to think about it too hard tonight.”

“Good.” He strokes his thumb over your knuckles soothingly. “Because tonight is about forgetting all your cares and letting someone else handle everything for once.”

The promise in his words has your pulse fluttering wildly in your veins. You know you shouldn’t indulge this … whatever this is … with Max. That it could court disastrous consequences. But there’s something about him — about the way he looks at you, touches you, and speaks to you — that just saps your will to resist.

Perhaps it’s the bone-deep weariness you’ve been carrying from your ongoing battles with your father. Or the guilty craving you haven’t allowed yourself to admit to — the need to simply surrender control for once and let someone else bear the burdens weighing you down.

Whatever it is, you find it impossible not to fall headlong into the solace Max is offering so freely.

The waiter reappears with a bottle of bold Cabernet, carefully filling your glass before departing again. Max lifts his in a silent toast, and you mimic the gesture, reveling in the rich notes that flood your senses.

From there, the evening slips into a blissful cocoon of easy conversation and succulent food that Max deftly applies himself to serving you bite by bite. Each time his long fingers brush your lips as you accept a morsel, a frisson of electricity zips through you.

He pays immaculate attention to your smallest reactions, quickly discerning your preferences even before you voice them. It’s uncanny — and utterly disarming — how seamlessly Max seems to anticipate your every need without fuss or demand.

You can’t recall the last time you felt so … cherished. So indulged and seen. Like Max’s entire world revolves around you and you alone in these stolen moments.

It’s heady and intoxicating, this total surrender of control. And as the hours wind down over lingering sips of wine and heated looks, you find yourself all but drunk on the experience … on Max.

Eventually, once the dining room has emptied and the candles burned low, Max summons the waiter to settle the check with an imperious wave of his hand. He declines your attempts to assist, fixing you with a look that brooks no argument.

“Tonight is my treat,” he says simply, dropping a small fortune onto the tray with a casual air. “I’m not done taking care of you yet, schatje.”

A delicious shiver races down your spine at his words, your thoughts growing hazy and unfocused under the scorching weight of his stare. You can only nod numbly, incapable of voicing even token protest.

Pushing back from the table, Max rounds it in two long strides and pulls you to your feet, linking hands with yours. He holds your gaze as he brushes a kiss across your knuckles, letting his lips linger in a way that has heat pooling low in your belly.

“Back to my hotel?” He husks, voice gone rough in a way that steals your breath. “Or shall I take you home, printsesse?”

For a long, dizzying moment, the two of you simply stare into each other’s eyes, the intimate moment stretched taut like a tightrope. Then, as if in a trance, you find yourself shaking your head slowly.

“Your hotel,” you whisper before you can reconsider. It’s utterly mad, this reckless pull you’re surrendering to. But God help you, you can’t bring yourself to care.

A slow, heated smile curves Max’s lips as he nods sharply. Without a word, he tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow and escorts you from the restaurant.

You move almost in a fugue state, allowing Max to lead you with a surety you envy as he bundles you into his gleaming sports car once more. The ride to his hotel passes in a blur, punctuated only by the possessive weight of Max’s palm on your thigh and the fevered glances he keeps sending you from the driver’s seat.

By the time the valet has whisked his car away, all you can clearly process is the burn of Max’s fingers tangled with yours and the thrumming weight of his presence at your side. Everything else — anxiety, obligation, expectation — fades into insignificance under his piercing gaze.

He tugs you into the shadows of the hotel atrium and crowds you against a corner, his free hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw reverently. You go pliant against the hard plane of his chest, tilting your head back to maintain the searing lock of your gazes.

“Still with me, Y/N?” Max rumbles, the rough velvet of his voice sending sparks of need ricocheting through you.

You nod slowly, unconsciously wetting your lips — an action which has Max’s eyes riveting on your mouth hungrily. “Yes, Max. I’m here.”

His thumb brushes over the fullness of your lower lip with maddening tenderness. “Good girl.”

Those two words should not affect you the way they do — like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath while simultaneously stoking a raging inferno within. You can’t even begin to process the riot of sensations they provoke.

You simply let yourself be swept away in the wake of Max’s intensity, melting into the solid shelter of his embrace as he claims your mouth in a devouring kiss.

Max’s kiss quickly grows fevered and consuming, his tongue delving hungrily to explore the honeyed depths of your mouth. You melt against him, fingers clutching at the hard planes of his back as you surrender to the dizzying haze of desire he’s stoked within you.

He walks you backwards without breaking the molten seal of your lips, until your back meets the wall with a muffled thump. Emboldened by your soft whimper, Max pins you there with the solid weight of his body, hips tilting into yours as his hands roam feverishly over your curves.

You’re drowning, overwhelmed by the potent storm of Max’s passion. It sweeps away every stray thought, every lingering worry about duty and obligation, leaving you delirious and pliant in his arms. All that exists is the scorching brand of his mouth, the iron strength of his embrace, and the maddening friction of him pressing you into the unforgiving wall.

It’s everything and nothing like you imagined. More intense, more explosive, more overwhelming in its ability to strip away every pretense and doubt until there’s nothing left but raw need.

Max finally releases your lips with a ragged groan, pressing his brow to yours as you both gulp down air in harsh pants. His palms smooth over your hips, up your sides, cupping the underside of your breasts through the thin material of your dress.

“God, printsesse,” he rasps, voice wrecked in a way that has you clenching with fresh desire. “You’re so fucking perfect, do you know that?”

You can only whimper, thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind as he ducks to mouth wet, open kisses along the column of your throat. Every brush of his lips is like a brand, searing into your very core.

“And tonight ...” Another nip at your racing pulse has you arching shamelessly into him. “Tonight you’re mine. All mine.”

His hands slide beneath the hem of your skirt, bunching it around your waist as his fingers trace the lace edges of your stockings. You keen softly at the electric jolt of sensation, nails scoring down his shoulders and back.

“Max ...”

“Shhh, schatje ...” His tongue laves at the hollow of your throat, lips trailing a heated path up the line of your jaw until he’s devouring you again. The demanding sweep of his tongue robs you of breath, of thought, of everything but the exquisite present of his touch. “Just let go. No thinking. I’ll take care of everything.”

His words are like a mantra, a siren’s call urging you to surrender utterly to the exhilarating oblivion he offers. To shed every burden and float away on the current of his undivided devotion.

So you do. With a broken whimper, you sag in his arms, giving yourself over completely to Max’s intoxicating command. The doors of your suite can’t come soon enough.

Max can barely keep his hands off you during the agonizing elevator ride up to his penthouse. As soon as the doors close, cutting you off from prying eyes, he has you pinned against the mirrored wall, hands roaming feverishly over your body.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps against the slick column of your throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this. Of having you.”

You whimper shamelessly as his teeth graze the thundering pulse under your jaw, hips rocking helplessly against his muscled thigh that’s wedged between your legs. The delicious friction has sparks of pleasure-pain arcing through your nerves in dizzying waves.

With deft motions borne of practiced skill, Max strips you of your dress, leaving you clad in only a scrap of wine-colored lace before lifting you easily. You lock your legs around his narrow hips as he mouths hungry kisses along the swell of your chest, callused palms kneading the generous curve of your backside.

The elevator judders to a halt and the doors slide open, but neither of you pay it any mind. Max simply shifts you higher in his arms and carries you down the hallway, your shared gasps and muffled groans echoing off the plush carpets and paneled walls.

Finally, he’s nudging open the door to his suite with his shoulder, barely waiting for it to click shut again before slamming you against the nearest surface. You scarcely register that it’s a sturdy oak desk before Max is divesting you of the remaining flimsy barriers between your bodies with sharp tugs and deft fingers.

He stands you before him, towering and scorching with building intensity as his gaze tracks from your flushed face down to where your thighs are already starting to grow slick in anticipation. A punched-out groan tears from his chest.

“Fuck, printsesse,” he growls, palming the rigid length straining against his slacks as he drinks in the sight of you laid bare before him. “So fucking gorgeous. Made for me.”

With a sharp nip of his teeth against the swell of your breast, he urges you back until you’re bent over the desk’s edge. Cool wood presses against the heated flesh of your belly and breasts, making you gasp.

“Max ...” you keen, reaching for him with shaking hands.

But he bats them away with a low rumble, pinning your wrists against the desks’ burnished surface. His lips scald a path down your spine as he looms over you from behind, thick cockhead prodding teasingly at your entrance.

“So responsive, schatje" he praises in a gravelly rasp, free hand gliding down to pluck at your engorged nipples. “Always so ready for me, aren’t you?”

You can only whine wordlessly, squirming against the delicious torture of his touch as he takes his time mapping every dip and swell of your body. Marking you as his own by searing himself into your senses through each languid caress.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of exquisite torment, Max sheaths himself in one powerful thrust that punches the air from your lungs. He stills for a long moment, buried to the hilt, broad chest plastered to your back as you both shudder and gasp for air.

“Max … oh fuck, Max please ...”

With an animalistic growl, he complies — withdrawing nearly all the way before snapping his hips in a punishing grind that has your nails scoring the desk’s glossy veneer and guttural cries tearing from your throat.

From there, it’s a haze of sweat-slicked skin and desperate keens, of Max taking you apart with lavish, calculating precision. He’s utterly relentless, wringing every ounce of pleasure from your joined bodies until you’re hovering in a blissful state of oblivion.

It’s everything and yet not enough all at once. You’re ruined for anyone else, forever branded by his ferocious intensity. You’re addicted to the escape he offers from your doubts and burdens.

And as Max’s harsh grunts and increasingly erratic thrusts signal his impending release, you welcome the sweeping wave of darkness that accompanies your own shattering climax.

You’re his now. Utterly and completely. And you’ve never felt so free.

Later, with the tangled sheets pooled around your waists, Max gathers you close and strokes idle patterns over your flushed, sweat-slicked skin. Sated and boneless in the aftermath of his lovemaking, you curl into the strong circle of his embrace with a contented sigh.

Idly, Max’s fingers trail through your tousled locks, nails scraping lightly over your scalp in a way that tingles with delicious sensation. You make a soft sound of pleasure, earning a rumbling chuckle from deep in his chest as he presses a kiss to your brow.

“Feel better, printsesse?” He murmurs, voice a low rasp that strokes over you like velvet.

You manage a lazy nod, humming into the heated dip of his throat as you nuzzle closer. “Much better. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, schatje. Truly.”

You lapse into a comfortable silence, savoring the steady thud of his heartbeat under your ear and the soothing drag of his fingertips over your skin. For the first time in ages, your thoughts are utterly quiet, every worry burned away by the man beside you.

It’s like floating in a warm sea, cradled and buoyed by Max’s strength and devotion. Every breath comes easier, your soul unburdened and free in a way you can’t recall experiencing before. You want to bottle this precious feeling forever.

Eventually, Max breaks the tranquil quiet with a murmured, “Tell me why you hate university so much.”

You tense reflexively at the simple question before letting out a shuddering breath, curling closer to Max’s solid frame.

“It’s just … not me. Not who I am,” you mumble, struggling to articulate the turbulent storm of emotions your father’s demands have been stirring within you. “I’m expected to act and think a certain way, to follow rules and meet standards that I can’t bring myself to embrace. It’s suffocating.”

You pause, sifting through your scattered thoughts for the right words. “I’ve never known anything but expectation and obligation, Max. It’s like … being slowly crushed under this ever-increasing weight of being someone I’m not while being denied any chance at discovering my true self.”

Max’s arms tighten around you protectively, his lips brushing over the crown of your head. “So stop,” he says, the simplicity of his words at odds with the complex web of anxiety and disappointment your life has become.

You shake your head wearily. “I can’t. You know my father — he’ll cut me off without a second thought if I so much as breathe about dropping out again.”

Despite the hefty inheritance awaiting you, Toto has always been resolute that his children earn their share through grueling hard work and achievement. To do anything but, even for a moment, is a grievous failure in his eyes.

“No,” Max’s tone brooks no argument, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “Don’t you see? You don’t have to live like that anymore.”

One corded arm slips beneath your waist, rolling you until Max is looming over you, his chiseled features grave and intense. “You have me now,” he states with quiet certainty, words ringing with the weight of a solemn vow. “I’ll take care of you, schatje — no matter what. Even if your father cuts you off.”

The conviction in his voice steals your breath, your heart clenching almost painfully at the naked promise in his eyes. “Max ...” you start to protest weakly, but he quiets you with a brush of his fingertips over your lips.

“Hear me out,” he says, tone gentle but uncompromising. “What if … what if you just dropped out? Quit this half-life that’s slowly killing your spirit and let me take care of you?”

He leans in until his brow is resting against yours, eyes searching the depths of your own. “I know this is new between us. But I’ve wanted you for so long, printsesse. And I know — down to my very soul — that we’re meant for each other.”

A tremulous exhale escapes you, your chest tightening as Max’s words wrap around your heart in a heated embrace. It’s insane, surely — to take such a risk based on attraction and a single incredible night in his arms. But the vision he paints of safety and freedom sings an inescapable siren song you can’t resist.

“I … I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, suddenly afraid to break the delicate spell woven around you both.

“Say yes.” He kisses you reverently, until your lashes flutter shut at the tender onslaught. “Say yes, and let me take care of you, printsesse. The way you deserve to be cherished.”

God help you, but you can feel your resistance crumbling in the face of Max’s single-minded intensity and undeniable allure. He’s everything you’ve been missing — freedom, passion, and hope for something more than the crushing prison of expectation.

So with one last, shaky exhalation, you give in.

“Okay,” you breathe, the dam finally bursting as tears of bewildered relief prick your eyes. “Yes, Max. Yes.”

He claims your lips in a searing, triumphant kiss that leaves you lightheaded and clinging to him. When you part, his smile is brighter than a thousand suns.

“Tomorrow morning,” he vows fiercely against your swollen mouth. “First thing — you’re calling your university and withdrawing. No arguments.”

Your chest clenches sharply at the directive, fear and anxiety lancing through you at the enormity of what you’ve just agreed to. The crushing weight of your father’s disapproval already feels like a lead shroud.

But Max is there, holding you close and peppering your face with soothing kisses. “Shhh, schatje,” he croons, stroking your hair. “Don’t overthink it. This is what you want, isn’t it? To finally be happy and free?”

You manage a jerky nod, melting into the safety of his solid strength. “Y-yes. But ...”

“No buts,” he reproves gently, capturing your gaze again. “It’s you and me now, Y/N. I’ll handle everything else, I swear it. All you need to focus on is finding what makes you happy again. The rest is my problem. Understand?”

You suck in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, wrestling your scattered thoughts into a semblance of order. What Max offers — this safe harbor from all the pressures slowly drowning you from without and within — is everything you’ve been desperate for. Your own private rebellion against the rigid expectations suffocating you at every turn.

If nothing else, you owe it to yourself to take this lifeline.

With a tremulous smile, you curl into Max and nod against his chest. “Okay. I understand.”

“Good girl,” he praises, satisfaction and triumph ringing in his tone as he cradles you tenderly. “Everything’s going to be alright now, printsesse. You’ll see. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

His fingers stroke through your tresses again, the repetitive sweep quickly lulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep. The first of what you hope will be many where you don’t fret and stew over responsibilities and failures.

The last coherent thought that drifts through your mind as you let Max’s strong heartbeat under your ear lull you under is one of bone-deep contentment and relief.

You’re finally, blissfully free.

***

The first faint rays of dawn filter through the gauzy curtains, rousing you from the most restful sleep you’ve had in longer than you can remember. For a blissful moment, you simply bask in the cocoon of warmth and safety enveloping you — the solid weight of Max’s arm draped possessively over your waist, the clean, musky scent of him surrounding you.

Then the gravity of your decision the previous night comes crashing back in a dizzying wave. Your breath hitches in your chest as apprehension and anxiety spark to life once more.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Max stirs behind you with a quiet rumble, nosing aside the tumbled locks at your nape to press a hushed kiss there.

“Morning, printsesse,” he murmurs, voice still roughened from sleep in a way that has something inside you clenching with need. “Sleep well?”

You can only nod, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in your throat as you twist in the circle of his arms to face him. His brow furrows at the clear trepidation playing over your features.

“Hey now,” he soothes, brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone. “None of that, schatje. You know what you need to do.”

Your teeth snag your lower lip in a nervous gesture as you give another jerky nod. Yes, you know. You agreed to call your university this morning and make your break official by withdrawing.

It should be a relief — knowing you’re finally free of all those crushing expectations and obligations. And yet ...

Max must read the swirling doubts and fears etched into the tense lines of your body. Because he simply gathers you closer, cradling the back of your head against his broad chest as his free hand strokes over your hip in a soothing caress.

“I know it’s scary, letting go of everything you’ve been groomed for,” he murmurs, the steady thump of his heart under your ear already working its magic in calming your turbulent emotions. “But this is what you want, isn’t it? To be happy?”

Another nod, this one more decisive. Because despite the trepidation gnawing at your resolve, you know deep down that it will be worth escaping the slow atrophy of your spirit.

“Then trust me. Let me take care of you, just like I promised.”

He tilts your chin up until your gazes lock, his eyes burning with so much intensity and conviction that your breath catches.

“Make the call,” he urges in a low rumble, searing you to your core. “Be brave and take the first step towards your freedom. Towards us.”

Us.

The word reverberates through your veins with dizzying potency, stoking the blossoming embers of hope and longing that have been kindled to life under Max’s tender, all-consuming attentions. He’s right — you do want this. Want him and the scorching promise of something more that he offers.

So with a shuddering exhale, you reach for your phone with trembling fingers and scroll through your contacts. It’s only when you tap the university’s number that the vise around your chest constricts.

You’re really doing this. Cutting ties with everything that’s suppressed your true self for so long.

Before you can lose your nerve, you hit call.

Max soothes you through every stumbling assurance and confirmation that yes, you’re formally withdrawing from your degree program, effective immediately. When the call ends, he cradles your face in his large, calloused palms and simply holds your gaze as you struggle to get your breathing under control.

Then, slowly, a smile blooms over his striking features.

“Well done, printsesse,” he praises, the rough timbre of his tone reverberating through your very bones. “So brave for me.”

And then his mouth is on yours, claiming you in a drugging kiss that swiftly banishes any lingering doubts or regrets thrumming through you. His taste, his scent, his unbridled passion — all of it combines into an intoxicating force that strips everything else away until only sensation remains.

He murmurs silken endearments to you as the desperate, frantic press of his lips gentles into something softer and infinitely more tender. Until finally, he’s simply cradling you close, peppering whisper-light caresses over your brow, your lashes, the flushed apples of your cheeks.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, gleaming with pride as he drinks in your dazed, thoroughly kissed expression. The profoundly peaceful one you haven’t witnessed on your own features in ages. “My brave, beautiful girl.”

And in that suspended moment, everything else — your father’s disappointment, your uncertain future, and the world at large — fades into irrelevance compared to the serenity of being in Max’s arms. Of having his full attention and accepting the release he offers so freely.

A few hours later, Max is escorting you through the familiar paddock with a possessive hand cupping your lower back. There’s a bounce to your strides that hasn’t existed for longer than you can recall, a giddy sense of lightness like all the burdens you’ve been carrying were finally, blissfully lifted away.

You’re practically glowing, the radiant joy suffusing your every pore in a stark transformation from the tense young woman who fought so hard to hide her unhappiness under a brittle veneer.

So caught up are you in the heady exhilaration of your new lease on life that you very nearly don’t register the familiar, thunderous bellow ringing out over the motorhomes.

“Y/N Wolff! Just what in the hell is going on here?”

The blood drains from your face as your father’s irate voice cleaves through the peaceful moment. Beside you, Max stiffens, his palm searing a brand against the small of your back as he half-turns to face the oncoming storm that is Toto Wolff.

Your father is stalking towards you both with the implacable force of an enraged bull, features contorted into a mask of fury that would cow most grown men into instant submission. But not Max. If anything, his shoulders go back as he shifts incrementally in front of you in a subtle, shielding motion.

“Papa, please let me explain-”

“Explain?” Toto roars as he draws up mere feet away, face mottled and spit flying as his blistering glare swings between you and Max. “Explain why I received an email this morning informing me that my own daughter has willfully withdrawn from the university without so much as consulting me!”

You flinch bodily as if struck, guilt and dread roiling sickeningly in the pit of your stomach. No matter how much he’s stifled you or how right this decision feels, your father’s disapproval is every bit as crippling as you’d feared.

“But Papa ...”

“I have half a mind to cut you off without a cent to your name for this unseemly lack of respect!” Toto’s massive hands are clenched into meaty fists at his sides as he fights visibly to regain control over his temper. “You spoiled, selfish girl. All that I’ve sacrificed to give you every opportunity is being thrown back in my face!”

Beside you, Max has gone rigid with rage at the verbal assault being levied upon you. The set of his jaw and rapid flaring of his nostrils are the only outward signs of the barely leashed fury trembling through his frame.

“Toto,” he bites out in a tone of forced calm that still somehow comes laced with subtle menace. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? Y/N is an adult making her own choices ...”

“Enough!” Toto cuts him off with a contemptuous slash of his hand, bristling with scorn as he glares daggers at the younger man. “I should have known you’d have something to do with this blatant disregard for responsibility. Just like a driver to think only with what’s between his legs rather than his brain!”

A shocked hush falls over the paddock as mechanics and crew alike abruptly still at the team principal’s uncharacteristic loss of composure. Never before have they witnessed Toto’s infamous ire directed towards his own daughter and her … well, whatever Max is to you now.

But Max remains supremely unbowed before the fury radiating from the much larger man. If anything, Toto’s words seem to enflame his quiet indignation into something hotter. His hands clench into white-knuckled fists as he takes a bristling half-step forward, fully inserting himself between you and your irate father.

“No, Toto,” he growls, the timbre of his normally lilting accent gone dark and thrumming with promise. “That’s quite enough. You’ll not speak to Y/N like that again — not while I’m here.”

Toto blinks, seeming caught off guard by Max’s outright challenge … before a bark of disbelieving laughter rips from his chest.

When he speaks again, his words are bitten off and cruel. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose,” he sneers in your direction, mouth curled in an ugly sneer. “You’ve become the useless little trophy that I always dreaded having for a daughter. Just another parasite leeching off a wealthy man’s success while contributing nothing of value herself.”

Your breath leaves you in a painful wheeze, like you’ve been gut-punched. Tears of shame and wounded pride prick hotly at the corners of your eyes. Is that really how your own father sees you?

That’s the final straw for Max. With a vicious snarl, he very nearly lunges for Toto — only stopped by your panicked grasp around his rigid forearm and a breathless cry for him to stay back.

“Max! Please!”

The naked anguish bleeding into your voice seems to penetrate his haze of seething fury. He pauses, still trembling with scarcely restrained wrath, but nods once in silent agreement to your desperate plea. Behind his unflinching glower, you can glimpse the simmering promise that your father will face severe retribution in his own due time.

But for now, he forces himself to remain impassive and immovable by your side. No longer antagonizing but issuing a clear warning all the same.

The elder Wolff eyes Max with open disgust before shaking his head violently and spitting onto the concrete floor. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Verstappen. Just you wait. And you!” He wheels on you with fresh outrage blazing in his gaze. “Don’t think for a second I won’t make you regret this ridiculous, childish display! You’re cut off, Y/N. Not a single cent until you return to your senses!”

His final scathing words slice into you like a blade, reopening all the wounds of disappointment and failure that have long festered under his stringent demands. You curl in on yourself with a soft, pained noise, unable to even raise your head properly.

Until Max is there.

Cocooning you protectively in the scorching circle of his arms, he gathers you to his chest and simply … holds you. One hand cradles the back of your skull while the other strokes over your back, soothing and petting until some of the rigid tension seeps from your frame.

“It’s alright, schatje,” he murmurs against your hairline, voice rough yet infinitely tender in a way that has tears stinging hotly against your lashes. “There’s no need for this. I’ve got you, printsesse. You’ll never want for anything, not while I’m here.”

His fierce promise rings with so much conviction, so much quiet authority that it bypasses all your ingrained doubts and hesitancies straight to the hollow pit of worthlessness that’s been carved out within you over the years. Soothing that profound ache and filling it with the warmth of Max’s oath.

Because somewhere in the eye of this turbulent storm, you’ve found your shelter.

“I won’t let him hurt you anymore,” Max continues in that same low, reassuring tone. One hand cradles your nape while the other settles against the small of your back, grounding you against the solidness of his strength. “Never again, I swear it.”

So you let yourself unravel against him, forehead pressed to the steady thrum of his pulse as years’ worth of tears flow unchecked down your cheeks. For the first time, you don’t feel shame or weakness in surrendering so utterly to another’s care and protection.

He murmurs wordless endearments and soothes your disheveled tresses as the storm breaks around you both. Making promises as uncompromising and eternal as the rising of the sun itself.

“Everything will be alright now, printsesse. You’ll see. I’ll sort it all, whatever it takes. This is our new start together. And I’ll never let you go.”

***

For the remainder of the weekend, you’re practically glued to Max’s side in the Red Bull garage. A permanent fixture nestled against his solid bulk, soaking up the quiet strength and support he provides like a soothing balm over the raw, aching wounds left by your father’s scathing vitriol.

With Max, none of the biting insecurities and self-doubts that have plagued you for so long can gain purchase. He simply won’t allow it — not with the way he gathers you up in his embrace at every opportunity, lips constantly seeking out your brow, your temple, the sensitive skin of your ear as he murmurs reassurances too low for anyone else’s ears.

And when it comes time for the lights to go out, Max doesn’t so much as compete as utterly dominate, blowing the rest of the field into the weeds. You watch with breathless awe from your spot in the garage as he carves through the field lap after punishing lap, pulling out a lead that turns him into a missile disappearing over the horizon in a blur of ear-splitting power.

By the final lap, Max is so far ahead that he simply has to bring his car home for a staggering 42 second victory. You’re one of the first to greet him after he clambers from the cockpit, all but throwing yourself into his sweat-slicked embrace with a joyful exclamation the second his boots hit the ground.

The cameras inevitably flock, capturing the moment Max lifts you clean off your feet in a bone-crushing hug as his team erupts into jubilant celebration around you both. But Max’s eyes only have focus for you, darkened and blazing with the same all-consuming intensity that’s been ignited behind his ribs since the first moment you let yourself surrender to him wholly.

Later, once the press obligations and podium formalities are complete, Max bundles you away with brisk efficiency — not even needing to explain where you’re headed. You simply follow his lead, gripping his hand tightly as he shepherds you to a private airstrip where his jet awaits.

Your heart skips erratically as you settle into the plush leather seats and Max seals you both inside the luxurious cabin, shutting out the rest of the clamoring world until it’s only the two of you in your own private oasis. Even after everything that’s happened between you in such a short span, you can’t quite shake the giddy disbelief that any of this is truly real.

But then Max is there, sinking onto the seat beside you and gathering you into his side like you’re made to nestle against him for the rest of time. His calloused palm curves over the nape of your neck, thumb stroking over the flutter of your pulse as he presses his brow to your temple and simply … breathes you in.

“That’s it, printsesse,” he murmurs, so low you feel the rumbling timbre in your bones more than hear it. “Just you and me now.”

The jet engines whine to life, as Max tips your chin up to capture your gaze. You go utterly breathless under the weight of his scorching stare, the fevered grey of his irises swirling with so much naked promise that your pulse kicks up several perilous notches.

“Where are we going?” You somehow find the means to whisper, unconsciously licking your lips in a gesture that has Max’s eyes riveting there hungrily.

Rather than answering right away, he nuzzles his mouth over the delicate line of your jaw until his lips are brushing the shell of your ear. “Home,” he rumbles, sending delicious shivers cascading through you. “We’re going home to Monaco, schatje. Where you and I can start our new life together.”

Your breath hitches audibly at the raw yearning, the adamant possession threaded through his words. The implication that you — his everything now, just like he is yours — will be shacking up in his private sanctuary away from prying eyes and unending scrutiny.

Just the thought alone has a molten thrill of anticipation blooming low in your belly. To be utterly alone with Max, isolated from the outside world and every toxicity that’s weighed down your every step until now. To finally spread your wings and breathe the first tendrils of long-denied freedom as his partner, unburdened of expectation or judgment for once.

Is there anything you crave more than that?

As if privy to your innermost thoughts, Max shifts until he can cup your face in his palms. The kiss he brushes over your lips is searing yet paradoxically soft around the edges — like he’s sealing an unspoken promise to cherish you wholly. To be your shield from a world too cruel and demanding when left to its own devices.

“Our new beginning,” he murmurs against your mouth, words scalding with the same intensity as his embrace. “I can’t wait to show you our home, printsesse. To have you all to myself for once.”

The plane surges into its takeoff run, leaving the ground behind as Max’s grip tightens incrementally, hands smoothing over the sloped curves of your neck and shoulders. There’s a sense of possession layered into his touch, a heady feeling that twines through your body until everything is gilded in need.

Languidly, he works his way across the cradle of your throat, painting the fragile hollows with the blistering heat of his lips and tongue. You shudder against him, nerves set alight and already keening for more of his undivided worship.

“I have the most gorgeous penthouse overlooking the marina,” he continues on a low purr, lips shaping endearments against your feverish skin. “Sweeping terraces with hot tubs and daybeds where you can lounge and not have a single care, schatje.”

Your lashes flutter closed in a dazed sweep, head tipping back against the plush headrest to allow Max easier access as he lavishes attention along the fragile dips of your collarbones. You can’t process anything beyond the raging heat blazing to life under his coaxing touch, exquisitely overwhelmed in the most delicious way.

“Mmm, and of course it’ll need some changes, no doubt,” Max rumbles, nosing aside the loose fall of your hair to trail open-mouthed kisses along the fragile column of your neck. “New furniture maybe. Whatever strikes your fancy to make it our space.”

He captures your wandering gaze with his own heated one then, a brow cocked in silent invitation. Somehow you gather enough mental function to nod breathlessly, surrendering control over yet another crucial element of your new life to Max’s steady and capable hands.

“Perfect. I’ll have the best interior designers come around to work their magic. That way you won’t have to strain yourself with all those pesky decisions.”

Relief crests through you in an almost dizzying wave at Max’s implicit assurance that he’ll handle everything, as always. That your only role in this brave new world you’ve embraced will be resting peacefully in the shelter of his care and devotion.

As if in reward, Max finally claims your lips in a kiss that scatters what few coherent thoughts still clung to your lust-drunk brain. His hands roam freely, mapping every sloping curve and silken plane as he lays you back against the buttery leather seats to hover over you.

“Don’t worry about a single thing from now on, printsesse,” he vows in a husky rasp, trailing smoldering kisses along the delicate skin over your thundering pulse. “Just let me take the reins and show you a life without all the endless strain and misery you’ve endured.”

His fingers drift up to wind through your tumbled hair, nails scratching lightly over your scalp as your eyes drift shut in blissful surrender. You’re floating, suspended in a state of hazy, unfocused euphoria with only Max’s low timbre washing over you.

“I’ll make sure you never want for anything again. That pretty head of yours won’t have to trouble itself over choices or tedious trivialities any longer.” A searing kiss is pressed to each of your fluttering eyelids, like he’s sealing each promise behind the delicate barrier of bone and flesh.

“No decisions, no worries,” he murmurs, nibbling a path down the delicate arch of your cheekbone. “Just bliss and contentment and pleasure as far as the eye can see. You’ll exist only for my warmth and protection from now on. To be cherished every second of every day for the rest of our lives.”

More kisses, like balms of heated adoration poured over your sensitized skin. You keen softly on each breath, body arching helplessly into his skilled caresses as he worships you with his hands and mouth.

“That’s it, printsesse,” he croons, slowly stripping you down to chase the slope and hollow of your form with his lips. Every fevered, burning press sears his devotion into your flesh, your consciousness spiraling inward until only Max’s raspy declarations anchor you in blissful desire.

“Let it all go. Forget everything but this — us, our love, our new start. Nothing but sweet oblivion from now until eternity.”

You shudder, boneless and needy in his cradling embrace even as serenity steals over your limbs. Max’s heated weight on top of you is an anchor keeping you grounded in a sea of molten liquid pleasure, his impossible heat seeming to bleed into your very bones with each passing moment.

“That’s my beautiful girl,” he praises in a voice like rumbling thunder, lips shaping words of adoration against the swell of your navel as your eyelids sag heavily. “So perfect and made for me alone. To take such good care of you from this day until my last, printsesse. To give you the world and then some.”

Unconsciousness beckons, cradling you in its downy soft embrace until only the sound of Max’s worshipful murmurs penetrates the enveloping cocoon of warmth and safety surrounding you. It’s the sweetest surrender imaginable, floating away on a sea of rippling, indulgent bliss with your beloved at the helm to guide you home.

The last threads of awareness slip from your grasp as Max shifts and settles behind you, pillowing you against his chest. With a contented sigh, you burrow deeper into the furnace of his solid strength and let the rhythmic thud of his pulse lull you under. His fingers stroke idle patterns through your hair, the rhythmic sweeps like a metronome steadying your descent into deepest slumber.

“Sleep now, printsesse,” he commands in that same soft, indulgent tone that wraps around your soul. “We’re headed for our paradise.”

His deep rumble quickly lulls you under again, cradled in the safety of his arms. The last coherent thought spinning lazily through the cozy haze enveloping you is one of profound gratitude and trust.

You know, deep in your bones, that Max will make good on his promise to cherish you without reservation. To shield you from expectations and disappointment alike.

So you let his softly murmured endearments and the steady cadence of his heartbeat under your cheek sing you into blissful, worry-free dreams of the life he’s vowed to craft for you both.

It’s everything you’ve ever yearned for yet been too afraid to reach out and claim.

Until Now.

Until Max.

***

The early morning sun filters through the curtains as Max stirs awake. His eyes flutter open and immediately drift to you, lying peacefully beside him. A soft smile plays across his lips as he takes in your features — the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair fans out across the pillow. In this moment, you look so beautifully unburdened, free from the worries that so often trouble your mind.

Max reaches out, tenderly brushing a few stray strands from your forehead. You don’t stir, lost in the depths of a dreamless slumber. Good, he thinks. You need this rest, this escape from the harsh realities that have been weighing you down.

His thumb traces along your cheekbone as his mind wanders back to the distressing news a few days prior — your father revoking your paddock access in a bitter act of retaliation. Max’s jaw tightens at the memory of the anguish clouding your eyes when you relayed the email to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Max had said simply, pulling you into his embrace. “You’re with me now.”

And just like that, the tension seeped from your shoulders as you allowed yourself to melt against him, letting his presence anchor you. Max knew then what he had to do — create an oasis for you where none of your troubles could penetrate.

Leaning closer, he presses a feather-light kiss to your temple. “Wake up, schatje,” he murmurs. “It’s a new day.”

You stir slightly, eyelashes fluttering as consciousness slowly trickles in. Max watches, transfixed, as awareness blooms across your features. For a suspended beat, there is only serene blankness, a clean slate unmarred by the demons that so often still haunt you.

Then your gaze finds his, and the corners of your mouth tug upwards in a soft, wondering smile. “Max ...”

“Morning, printsesse.” He brushes his knuckles along your jaw. “How are you feeling?”

You blink slowly, as if trying to grasp at fleeting tendrils of thought. But there is nothing there to catch, only a tranquil emptiness. “Good,” you murmur at last. “Really good.”

Relief washes over Max at the simplicity and peacefulness in your tone. He leans in, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. You melt into him, pliant and trusting, and he commits every little thing to memory — the warmth of your skin, the faint taste of sweetness on your tongue, and the way your fingers tangle in his sleep-mussed hair.

When you finally part, you are both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, searching your eyes. They are clear, untroubled pools reflecting back at him.

“That’s it,” he praises softly. “No worries, no stress. Just … here. Present with me.”

You nod, something vulnerable yet beautiful flickering across your features. Max recognizes it as the look you get when you fully surrender yourself to him, allowing him to take the lead, to care for you in the way you so desperately need.

Brushing his thumb across your lower lip, he holds your gaze. “What would you like for breakfast, hmm? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You nibble on your lip for a moment before shaking your head. “Don’t know. You choose.”

His heart clenches at the utter trust in your words. Nodding, he leans down to graze another deep kiss across your mouth before slipping from the sheets. As he pads across the plush hotel carpet to call room service, he can feel the weight of your eyes tracking his every movement.

Once the order is placed, Max returns to the bed, stretching out beside you as he pulls you against his chest. You burrow closer with a contented sigh, looping an arm around his waist.

“What do you want to do until breakfast arrives?” He asks, carding his fingers through your tousled hair.

You shrug one shoulder, nuzzling your cheek against the bare skin of his torso. “Don’t care,” you mumble drowsily. “Just … this.”

A profound sort of tenderness blooms in Max’s chest. He knows you would be amenable to anything, so long as it allowed you to exist in this carefree, thoughtless state a while longer.

“Alright, then just this,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to your crown.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, lazily trading soft caresses and occasional whispered endearments. Max finds himself lulled by the steady thump of your heartbeat against his ribs, the gentle ebb and flow of your breathing.

He has no notion of how much time slips by before there is a crisp rap at the door, jolting you both from the tranquil bubble. Your eyes widen slightly, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Max smooths his palm along the line of your spine. “Just breakfast, nothing to worry about.”

You seem to remember then, the tension melting from your frame as you peer up at him with trusting eyes. He brushes his thumb across the delicate arch of your cheekbone before carefully extricating himself from your embrace to answer the door.

While the server situates the laden cart inside, Max rejoins you on the bed, rearranging the plump pillows behind you so you can sit upright. You immediately slot yourself between his outstretched legs, reclining against his chest. His arms wind around your middle as you both survey the impressive spread laid out before you.

“What looks good?” He prompts, resting his chin atop your head.

You chew your lip for a moment. “I don’t know … everything?”

He chuckles, splaying one hand across your stomach. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want you to go hungry, now would I? How about we start with this-” He leans over, snagging a ripe strawberry from the platter and holding it to your lips. You part them obediently, eyes sliding shut as you savor the sweet burst of flavor.

Max nuzzles into the crook of your neck, letting his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Good girl,” he praises in a low rumble.

You shiver against him, tilting your head in a silent plea for more. He happily obliges, feeding you bite after bite until the platter is decimated. His free hand roams lazily, mapping every dip and swell of your form through the thin cotton of your oversized sleep shirt. All the while, his mouth works along the exposed column of your throat, peppering fervent, open-mouthed kisses against your flushed skin.

At some point, the scattered remains of your indulgent breakfast lay forgotten on the cart as Max rolls you beneath him, drinking in your breathy whimpers and sighs. He takes his time thoroughly ravishing you until you are both sated and deliciously disheveled.

Eventually, you find yourselves curled together amid the tangled nests of sheets, trading languid kisses and basking in the afterglow. Max strokes his fingers through your hair as your head lolls against his shoulder, expression blissfully serene. Your lashes are dark smudges against your flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted on shallow breaths.

“There she is,” he murmurs, drinking in your debauched beauty. “My sweet girl, all relaxed and happy ...”

Ducking his head, Max nuzzles his nose along your hairline, inhaling your comforting scent. “No thoughts, no cares,” he rumbles against your temple. “Just you and me in this perfect little world.”

You make a soft, wordless sound of agreement, snuggling closer in his embrace. He smiles, gathering you even tighter against his chest, relishing the sensation of your heartbeats falling into sync.

All too soon, however, the tranquil interlude must come to an end. Max glances at the clock, silently calculating how much time remains before he needs to head to the paddock. He heaves a reluctant sigh, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Come on, schatje,” he murmurs. “Time to get ready.”

You blink up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, still blissfully adrift in your peaceful daze. Warmth blooms in Max’s chest at your guileless expression. He would move mountains to keep you looking this way forever — soft and sated, basking in the afterglow with your head deliciously empty.

“Don’t worry,” he vows, thumbing away the crease furrowing your brow. “I’ll take care of you. You just let your thoughts stay nice and quiet, hmm?”

The worry lines ease from your features as you nod with implicit trust, allowing Max to guide you from the rumpled sheets. He quickly sets about straightening your mussed appearance, dressing you with unhurried tenderness. All the while, you remain pliant and completely biddable in his hands, seemingly unconcerned with anything beyond the present moment.

Once you’re both fresh and presentable, Max slips an arm around your waist, tucking you against his side. You go willingly, temple resting in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“My good girl,” he praises, mouth brushing your hairline. “Let’s go, keep drifting for me.”

You make a soft, affirmative noise, slipping your hand into his as you allow him to lead the way from the sanctuary of your hotel suite. Max is acutely aware of your body listing bonelessly against his own, of the feather-light brush of your lashes against his jaw every few steps.

He knows others might gawk, might question the almost trancelike state you’ve allowed yourself to sink into. But he couldn’t care less about their muttered judgments. His only priority is ensuring you remain in this safe, blissful headspace for as long as possible.

When you finally reach the paddock, Max ushers you towards a secluded alcove in weRed Bull hospitality. He settles you on a plush loveseat, ensuring you’re situated comfortably. Crouching before you, he smooths his palms along the tops of your thighs, holding your drowsy gaze.

“Wait here for me,” he says, keeping his tone low and soothing. “I’ll come get you before FP3, yeah? Just … stay relaxed. Let your mind stay beautifully empty.”

You blink at him, lips curving in an utterly trusting smile. “Okay, Max.”

His chest constricts powerfully at your dreamy, unguarded expression. Rising on his knees, he cups your face in his hands, claiming your mouth in a gentle kiss. You open for him without hesitation, kissing him back with languid strokes of your tongue.

When you finally part, you are both left slightly breathless. Max strokes his thumbs along the swollen curves of your lower lip as you gaze at him from beneath heavy lids, looking thoroughly ravished and compliant.

“I love you,” he whispers fiercely. “I love seeing you like this — free and happy without all those nasty thoughts plaguing you. It’s just us in our own world. Nothing else matters here, printsesse.”

You keen softly in response, nosing deeper into his touch like a touch-starved kitten. He chuckles indulgently, dropping another lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises. “Stay pretty and sweet for me.”

With one final caress along your jaw, Max tears himself away, walking towards the Red Bull garage with purposeful strides. He can feel the weight of your eyes tracking him until he rounds the corner, can picture the blissful emptiness clouding your features.

The thought bolsters him, lending an extra swagger to his step as he readies himself for the day ahead. For once, he finds himself relishing the familiar paddock chaos, eager to simply immerse himself in the visceral thrill of the sport he loves.

He knows his favorite reward will be waiting when the practice session concludes — your warm, pliant form and those trusting doe eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

***

The next morning, Max wakes with a familiar sense of tranquil purpose. Shifting onto his side, he brushes the tousled hair back from your forehead, drinking in the sight of you sleeping so peacefully beside him. A contented smile curves his lips as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, reveling in how relaxed and unburdened you appear.

He knows today will be demanding — race day always is. But that makes moments like these where he can simply bask in your presence all the more precious. With gentle reverence, Max trails his fingertips along the delicate line of your jaw, tracing the bow of your slightly parted lips.

“Time to wake up, schatje,” he murmurs. “Big day ahead.”

You stir with a soft, wordless hum, lashes fluttering. Max feels his breath catch as your eyes open, glassy and unfocused for a few beats before finding his own. Just like that, the furrow between your brows smooths out, leaving your expression blissfully untroubled.

“There you are,” he croons, heart clenching at the naked trust shining back at him. Cupping your cheek, he leans in to brush a soft, lingering kiss across your pliant mouth.

When he pulls back, you’re already chasing his lips with a small, plaintive noise. Max chuckles fondly, combing his fingers through your tousled hair.

“Needy girl,” he teases, though his voice is laced with undisguised affection. “I suppose I’d better take care of that before we have to leave, hmm?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond — not that he expects any coherent reply in your current state. No, better to let your thoughts remain deliciously empty as he claims your mouth again in a series of heated kisses.

Max loses himself in the familiar glide of lips and tongue, the quiet whimpers that spill from your throat every time he nips at that sensitive spot just below your ear. He maps every inch of your sleep-warm skin with devoted hands until you are both flushed and panting softly.

Eventually, however, the persistent ticking of the bedside clock drags him back to awareness of the rapidly dwindling time. With a regretful groan, Max tears his mouth from the juncture of your neck, nosing his way along your jaw until he can capture your lips in one final kiss.

“We should get going,” he murmurs against the swollen curve of your lower lip. Though his tone is tinged with reluctance, there’s an unmistakable rasp of command underlying the words.

You blink up at him, pupils blown wide and dark, but give a trusting nod. Max feels his chest constrict powerfully at the easy acquiescence. Brushing his thumb in a tender caress across your cheekbone, he slants his mouth over yours once more, coaxing you through several more drugging kisses until your lips are kiss-bitten and slick.

“Good girl,” he praises roughly when you finally part, both breathing heavily. “You’re going to keep feeling this relaxed all day, aren’t you? No nasty thoughts creeping in, just … blissful quiet waiting for me.”

Something like reverence flashes across your features as you nod jerkily, unconsciously worrying your already abused lip between your teeth. Max groans low in his throat, capturing your face between his palms and slanting his mouth over yours in a filthy kiss, all heat and slick friction and desperation.

When he finally manages to tear himself away, you’re rumpled and utterly debauched beneath him, chest heaving. He has to actively resist the urge to simply drag you back under his body, to lose himself in ravishing you until you’re both sated and boneless.

“Gonna make me late for my own race at this rate,” he chides gruffly, though his heated gaze roams indulgently over your prone form.

Levering himself off the bed with obvious reluctance, Max quickly sets about readying the both of you for the day, tugging you along in his wake with firm yet gentle hands. You follow easily, movements loose and languid and so very pliant under his ministrations.

By the time he’s dressed you and seen to your grooming, your features have settled into that slack, dreamy expression he loves so much — eyes glassy and lips slightly parted, not a single worry line creasing your forehead. Perfection.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he rumbles in approval, reeling you into his arms.

You go willingly, slumping bonelessly against his chest with a soft, incoherent murmur. He smiles, nosing into the tousled hair at your crown and inhaling your familiar scent. For a long moment, he simply revels in the sensation of your body melting trustingly into his own, of the steady throb of your pulse against his ribs.

All too soon, however, the hands of the clock continue their march forward. With a rueful sigh, Max presses one last lingering kiss to your hair before reluctantly disentangling himself.

“Come along then, printsesse,” he murmurs, catching your hand and giving a gentle tug. “Time to go.”

You make a soft, wordless noise of agreement, falling into step beside him without a shred of hesitation. Every few paces, you angle yourself closer until your shoulder brushes his bicep, seemingly seeking his solid warmth.

Max feels an indulgent smile tugging at his lips as he slips a possessive arm around your waist, anchoring you against his side. You immediately slot against him, temple resting in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He can sense the dreamy, unfocused quality of your gaze as it skims over your surroundings, can practically hear the blissful white noise filling your head.

As you exit the hotel and navigate through the throngs of people clustered outside, Max holds you even tighter, letting the murmurs and clicks of camera shutters wash over him in a dull roar. He’s hyperaware of every point where your body molds to his, of the trusting way you tuck yourself into his shelter without so much as a backwards glance.

By the time the two of you reach the circuit, your cheeks are flushed and there’s a becoming sort of dazed softness to your features. Max has to resist the urge to simply tuck you away in some quiet corner, to keep you insulated in this perfect bubble for as long as humanly possible.

But race days are nothing if not a whirlwind of demands and tight schedules. So instead, he ushers you along the serpentine corridors with a sturdy arm locked around your waist, relishing the way you move beside him in that lovely, blissed-out trance.

When you finally reach the motorhome, he deposits you on the leather couch with gentle reverence, taking a moment to situate you with utmost care. You gaze up at him, eyes glassy but utterly trusting as he smooths back the hair from your forehead.

“Wait here for me, hmm?” He murmurs, cupping the line of your jaw. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just keep that pretty head deliciously empty and let me take care of everything else.”

The corner of your mouth curves in a soft, wondering smile before you give a tiny nod of agreement. Unable to resist, Max leans in to capture that gentle upturn between his lips, kissing you deeply until you’re pliant and breathless and unfurling like a flower against his chest.

He has to tear himself away before his precarious restraint snaps. “Good girl,” he praises roughly, drinking in the sight of your dreamy, intoxicated expression before forcing himself to turn away, walking toward the garage with purposeful strides.

The familiar race-day chaos swirls around him in a torrent of noise and movement, but Max easily blocks the distractions from his mind, focusing intently on his preparations. There is something grounding about the rituals, the procedural drive to ready his car and equipment. By the time he emerges onto the grid, he is centered and assured, every ounce of his concentration honed on the inevitable green light.

The race itself is, as always, a heated blur of adrenaline and split-second reflexes. Every nerve ending thrums with that singular focus until he’s drunk on the scream of the engine and the smear of color whipping past his visor.

When he finally returns to parc fermé, it takes Max a disorienting moment to recognize the distant clamor bleeding in from beyond the paddock. Handing his helmet off to a mechanic, he makes his way towards the steadily amplifying sound, chest still heaving from the lingering effects of the endorphin high.

Rounding the corner towards the pits, he’s abruptly met by a scene of utter chaos. People — crews and spectators alike — seem to be converging in a jumbled knot near the Red Bull garage, a strange sort of bristling tension in the air. Max falters for a moment, brow furrowing in bewilderment, when a familiar figure finally emerges in his line of sight.

You.

Your expression is one of naked distress, red splotches staining those beloved cheeks as you seem to shrink in on yourself. Though he can’t make out the words, it’s clear you’re pleading with the imposing figure looming over you.

Your father.

Something protective and ferocious ignites in Max’s chest at the realization. Surging forward, he shoves his way through the ranks of onlookers until he’s at your side, reaching out to splay a steadying hand at the small of your back. You automatically angle into his touch, small tremors wracking your frame. Up close, he can make out the tear tracks streaking your flushed face, the way your lips are bitten and swollen from worrying them raw between your teeth.

“What the hell is going on here?” He demands, shooting a scathing look at your father.

Before Toto can answer, another man steps forward, one Max recognizes as a FIA official. “Perhaps we should take this discussion somewhere more private,” he suggests in clipped tones, eyes darting around at the milling crowd.

A muscle ticks in Toto’s jaw, but he gives a curt nod of assent. Without a word, he turns on his heel and stalks away, clearly expecting the rest of them to follow. Max feels your fingers fisting in the back of his sweat-damp suit, clutching him like a lifeline.

Squeezing the nape of your neck in a silent gesture of comfort, he tucks you against his side before falling into step behind the two older men. It galls him to follow their lead instead of simply spiriting you away, but something in your father’s demeanor warns against open defiance. Better to hear them out.

You’re shown to a secluded room just off the main garage bay, fluorescent lights buzzing harshly overhead. The moment the door closes behind the four of you with a hollow thud, Toto whirls with an expression carved from thunderclouds.

“Get your filthy hands off my daughter,” he bites out, eyes flashing dangerously in Max’s direction.

White-hot fury races up Max’s spine, setting every nerve alight. His grip tightens fractionally where his palm is splayed against the dip of your lower back.

“Like hell,” he growls, edging closer until your slight frame is fully bracketed against his own. “She’s trembling because of you.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sure this has nothing to do with her being half out of her mind with Lord knows what substances,” Toto sneers. “A fine state to be wandering around the paddock in, isn’t it?”

Max feels you flinch violently against him at the blistering accusation, a wounded sound catching in the back of your throat. Something bright and violent surges in his chest at your obvious distress.

“How dare you,” he grits through clenched teeth, voice low and dangerous as he pulls you flush against his body. “She was perfectly content until you came along and started spouting such vile nonsense. She hasn’t touched anything, you miserable bastard.”

The insult hangs in the airless space as Toto’s complexion darkens several shades. He opens his mouth — no doubt to unleash a scathing volley — when the FIA official hastily interjects.

“Enough,” he cuts in sharply. “This behavior is unacceptable. If there has been some egregious violation, I must ask you both to lay out the facts as you know them so we might get to the bottom of this affair.”

Max’s nostrils flare sharply as he draws a steadying breath. He needs to keep a level head if only for your sake, to prevent this from spiraling any further out of control. Dipping his chin, he angles his mouth against the crown of your bowed head.

“Breathe, schatje,” he murmurs, one hand stroking soothingly up and down the quivering line of your spine as he holds your father’s shrewd gaze.

“There’s been no violation apart from Toto coming at his daughter completely unprovoked,” he asserts, voice steady and clipped. “Her current state is simply the result of being relaxed and free of negative thoughts, something I’d think any parent would want for their child.”

Toto scoffs indelicately, folding his arms across his chest. “Is that what you call completely zoned out and unresponsive? Don’t be absurd. I know perfectly well what that vacant look signifies — early morning drinking or worse. Trying to numb whatever guilt she’s wallowing in after throwing away her entire future like a petulant child.”

Max feels you stiffen, your nails digging half-moons into his bicep. Before he can retort, however, the official clears his throat once more.

“Ms. Wolff,” he addresses you directly. “I’m going to need you to confirm the situation from your own perspective. What is the cause of the … condition your father is alluding to?”

For a tense moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing filling the suffocating silence. Then, warm and tremulous, comes your voice muffled against Max’s collarbone.

“I … haven’t had anything. Really,” you insist shakily. “Max was just … helping me relax. Taking care of me like he always does.”

Toto makes a disgusted, disbelieving sound in the back of his throat, mouth already twisting in preparation to unleash another attack. But Max simply holds up a preemptive hand, wholly engrossed in studying the lines of strain bracketing your expression. His thumb grazes the flushed, tear-stained hollow of your cheek as he murmurs a gentle plea, voice dropping into that soft, honeyed register reserved solely for your ears.

“Tell me what you need, printsesse. How can I help chase those nasty thoughts away again?”

You blink up at him, pupils blown wide and irises over-bright, clearly struggling to hold his gaze. Max feels his heart clench at the naked torment written across your features as you falter, gnawing anxiously at that already mangled lower lip.

“I … can’t,” you whisper tremulously, a broken quality entering your tone. “It’s too loud. I can’t keep them quiet when he’s like this ...”

The vulnerable little admission lands like a physical blow, momentarily stealing Max’s breath. Gathering you closer, he brushes his mouth along the worry line creasing your forehead.

“I know, schatje, I know,” he soothes, cradling the back of your skull. “But you’re doing so well. So good for me, my sweet girl.”

Slanting his head, Max claims your lips in a slow kiss, trying to lose himself in the familiar glide of skin and breath. When he finally breaks away, you’re already chasing after him, eyes glazed and lips prettily swollen. He feels some of the knots in his gut begin to uncoil as he traces the delicate sweep of your cheekbone.

“Better?” He prods gently.

You make a soft, affirmative sound, nuzzling further into his palm. Max’s lips quirk despite the tension still coiled in his shoulders, relief trickling through him warm and heady.

“Let’s get out of here, hmm?” He suggests, punctuating the question with another lingering press of his mouth against your brow. “Back to the motorhome, just the two of us. You can fully relax again, keep your thoughts quiet and happy.”

Slowly, giving you ample time to pull away, he begins walking you backwards towards the exit, keeping his motions unhurried and soothing so as not to trigger another spiral.

“No,” Toto barks in a tone like shattered granite. “She is not going anywhere with you, Verstappen. If she is seriously this mentally addled, then she requires proper treatment, not … whatever sick fantasies you’ve allowed to fester in that depraved mind of yours.”

Max feels you shake like a leaf caught in a violent gale against him at your father’s harsh words. Clenching his jaw, he pivots to put himself bodily between you and that callous glare.

“You’re the one who’s sick if you think for a second I’d ever let anything hurt her,” he bites out in a tone laced with venom. “All I’ve done is try to give her the peace and respite she so desperately needs. If that’s a crime, then throw me in a fucking prison.”

Toto sneers, eyes glinting with undisguised contempt. “Don’t play the martyr with me. We both know exactly what kind of sordid games you’ve been playing while her mind is so clearly compromised.”

Max feels his face flush in outrage, desire to throttle your father warring with the need to keep you sheltered away from any further vitriol. He opens his mouth, another blistering retort balanced on the tip of his tongue, when a warm weight presses against his back.

Looking over his shoulder, he finds you peering up at him beseechingly, tears clinging to those thick lashes. Max’s expression immediately crumples into something infinitely softer, gentler around the edges.

“Please … I j-just want to go,” you stammer in a tiny voice, fingers bunching in his race suit. “No more yelling. I can’t … I c-can’t ...”

Your breath hitches in a wounded sound as your eyes skitter away from his, clouding over once more with panic and distress. It’s like a physical blow to Max’s ribs, stealing what little oxygen remains in the claustrophobic space.

Spinning on his heel, he crowds you backward until your trembling frame is braced against the wall. With an approximation of tenderness he hoped you’d find grounding, Max frames your face between his palms as he ducks his head, searching out your skittish gaze.

“Shh, hey … look at me, printsesse,” he croons, ducking to burrow his nose against your hairline. “Just focus on me, alright? That’s my good girl.”

He can feel the fine tremors wracking you even as he gentles your head into the crook of his neck, splaying one broad palm over the rapid flutter of your pulse. Max shushes you through another hiccuping sob, rocking your pliant weight against his as he whispers nonsensical endearments into your hair.

“You’re okay, it’s okay,” he soothes without ceasing the soothing motions. “I’ve got you. Deep breaths for me, there we go ...”

Gradually, he feels some of the tension ebb from your rigid muscles until you sag fully into his embrace, boneless and pliant once more. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Max finds Toto watching you with an inscrutable expression, frustration and something else he can’t quite name churning in those flinty eyes.

Uncaring of his scrutiny, Max returns his attention to mapping the curves of your face with reverent fingers, gentling you back into that headspace of tranquil bliss.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmurs against the seam of your lips. “Let everything else just … drift away. We’re going back to our sanctuary, yeah? Nice and peaceful, with all those thoughts gone quiet where they belong.”

He can see the worry lines slowly beginning to smooth from your brow, tension bleeding from your frame as his words seep in like a balm. Smiling softly, Max dips his head to capture your mouth in a series of deep, lingering kisses, savoring the addictive little sounds you make against his questing tongue.

“Mr. Verstappen,” a gruff voice cuts in, effectively shattering the lush, private bubble.

Tearing his lips from yours with obvious reluctance, Max twists to slant a scathing glare at the FIA official. He keeps one arm locked securely around your waist, refusing to relinquish an inch of the soothing skin-to-skin contact despite the interruption.

The official holds up a placating hand. “I’m going to have to ask you both to exit the premises for the time being. At least until whatever … this situation is has been resolved to a reasonable degree.”

Max opens his mouth to protest, but you choose that moment to whine softly, nosing against his jaw in search of his lips once more. A hot lance of protectiveness surges through his core. Swallowing back the words on the tip of his tongue, he gives a terse nod.

“We’re leaving. Don’t try to touch her again.”

He punctuates the thinly veiled warning by curling possessively around your smaller frame, tucking you against his side as he propels you towards the door with urgency. You keep up easily enough, still deliciously pliant and soothed by his touch if the lingering glazed look in your eyes is anything to go bye.

As the heavy door clicks shut behind you, Max doesn’t spare a backwards glance. His sole focus is getting you back to the sanctity of his private quarters, away from the scrutiny and toxicity currently swirling in the paddock. One hand splays protectively over the dip of your waist as you move, the other coming up to shelter the back of your head.

“Nearly there, schatje,” he murmurs into your hairline as he blankets you in the solid warmth of his body. “Just a bit further and we’ll be all alone, just how you like it.”

You hum in what he chooses to interpret as agreement, pushing up onto your toes to nose along the sharp line of his jaw. Max groans low in his throat, slowing his strides so he can tug you abruptly into his chest. Your mouth falls open on a soft gasp, which he eagerly swallows with a filthy slide of his tongue.

When he finally wrenches himself away, you’re panting and glassy-eyed, lips bitten and swollen to a lush pout. Tutting under his breath, Max traces the abused swell with the pad of his thumb, pupils darkening to fathomless black pools as he drinks in your wanton appearance.

“Need to stop doing that, sweet thing,” he chides in a low rasp. “Don’t want to tempt me into having my way you right here in the corridor, now do we?”

Twin spots of color immediately bloom in your cheeks as you emit a strangled little sound, thighs clenching convulsively for a dizzying heartbeat. He chuckles, low and wicked, before slanting his mouth over that sinful jut of your lower lip, sucking the swollen flesh between his teeth.

“Soon,” he vows roughly, nipping at the tender skin. “We’ll be alone and I can take care of that delicious ache properly. Would you like that, printsesse? To let me coax all those nasty thoughts back into pretty oblivion?”

You make a small, wanting sound against the sweep of his tongue, fingers clenching convulsively in the fabric of his race suit. Max hums in wordless approval, momentarily losing himself in reacquainting his senses with every lush corner of your mouth.

It isn’t until Max feels the hard planes of his driver’s room door against his back that he bothers dragging himself from the sensual haze. Panting harshly, he brushes a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your flushed brow, unable to resist dipping in for one more searing, open-mouthed kiss.

“Inside,” he growls when you part with a trembling inhale. “Now.”

You nod jerkily, eyes glassy and unfocused even as you chase his lips with a tiny, needy noise. Max gentles you backwards over the threshold with firm, steadying hands until you’re situated within the blessedly muffled quiet of his temporary sanctuary.

Distantly, he registers the faint sounds of celebration filtering up from the track, but they seem muffled and inconsequential compared to the rapid beat of your pulse beneath his palms.

Trailing one hand up the slender column of your throat, Max tilts your chin until your gaze meets his own. “You’re alright now, sweet girl,” he soothes, tracing the line of your lower lip. “Just us, safe and sound away from all the noise.”

You make a soft sound of agreement, instinctively pressing closer until your bodies are flush, every pliant curve molded to his hard planes. Max groans at the exquisite friction, hands spanning your waist to tug you even tighter against his burgeoning arousal.

“That’s it, stay right here with me,” he rumbles against the swell of your parted lips. “Let everything else drift away until there’s nothing left but my voice in that pretty head.”

Slanting his mouth over yours, Max proceeds to chase every lingering thread of tension from your frame with deep, indulgent sweeps of his tongue. He maps every intimate detail until you’re pliant and breathy in his arms once more, limp and trusting as a ragdoll.

“Good girl,” he praises roughly when you finally part, resting his brow against yours. “You’re doing so well, staying nice and floaty for me even after … everything.”

You blink up at him, that soft, dreamy haze already stealing back over your features. Max’s chest constricts powerfully at the naked adoration shining back at him, the implicit trust written in every fluid line of your body.

“Max ...” you breathe, the single syllable somehow encompassing a wealth of devotion and longing.

He hushes you gently with another toe-curling kiss, reveling in the way your mouth instantly softens and opens for the insistent sweep of his tongue. When he finally pulls back, the rigid lines of strain have melted from your expression, leaving only that beloved, blissful tranquility in their wake.

“There you are,” Max rumbles in approval, thumbing away the dampness still clinging to those long lashes. “My sweet, gorgeous girl. Nothing but beauty and peace between those lovely ears.”

You make a small, incoherent sound of agreement, already drifting back into that lush, thoughtless headspace under his ministrations. Unable to resist, Max ducks his head to mouth along the line of your throat, laving hot, openmouthed kisses over the wildly fluttering pulse point.

“I’ve got you, schatje,” he mutters between kitten licks and nips. “Not going to let a single ugly thought spoil this lovely blank canvas. You’re perfect like this, all soft and sweet with nothing rattling around in that pretty head but oblivion.”

His words seem to spur a full-body tremor that ricochets through your slender frame. You whimper brokenly against the crown of his hair, hips stuttering forward in mute pleading as your nails score desperate half-moons against the taut cords of his biceps.

“Please,” you whisper in a wrecked tone that goes straight to Max’s groin. “Need you ...”

“Soon, printsesse,” he promises in a low rasp. Though it takes every ounce of his negligible restraint, he continues blazing a scorching path down the exposed column of your neck and across the elegant jut of your collarbones instead of hauling you against him. “Let me take care of you properly first, yeah? Want you floaty and boneless for me.”

You make a whimpery sound of agreement, one hand uncurling to fist in the damp hair at his nape. Max hisses at the sharp sting, retaliating by capturing the pulse fluttering in the hollow of your throat between his teeth. He nips at the tender flesh until your breath is coming in shallow, hitching gasps, every muscle turned liquid and quivering in his arms.

“Good,” he croons in approval once you’re thoroughly debauched, sparing a moment to take in your wrecked appearance with heated appreciation. “My perfect girl, so prettily unraveled for me already.”

With exquisite care, he traces the bow of your lips with the calloused pad of his thumb until they part on a shuddery indrawn breath.

“Stay just like this,” he rumbles in that same dark timbre. “Let your mind drift. Never been more beautiful than when your thoughts are gone all hazy like this.”

You blink up at him, plush lower lip caught between your teeth in that completely docile way. Max rewards your compliance by angling your head to the side, nosing at your neck as he breathes deep of your tantalizing scent.

His hands skate down in blazing trails until they settle with light possessiveness at your waist, bracketing you fully against the solid wall of his chest. You keen softly at the contact, arching on pure instinct as you go pliant in his embrace.

“That’s it,” Max praises, hot and heated against the sensitive hollow below your ear. “Just let it all drift away while I make you feel good.”

Dipping his chin, he seals his mouth over yours in a series of drugging kisses, spine going liquid at your breathy whimpers. He loses track of everything — time, the muted noises of celebration filtering in from outside, even his own name — as his entire universe narrows to the slick glide of your tongue, the warmth of your body twining insistently around his own.

When he finally drags himself back from the precipice of mindless want, you’re boneless in his arms, flushed and trembling and so exquisitely unraveled. Max rakes his teeth over his lower lip as he takes in the picture you make — hair hopelessly tousled, lips swollen to an obscene pout, eyes glassy and dazed as they struggle to focus on his face.

“Look at you,” he husks in mingled awe and possessive pride. “Gone all sweet and floaty again, hmm? Not a single thought left in this little head of yours.”

As if in confirmation, you slur out a low, affirmative hum, butting your flushed cheek against his sternum in search of more contact. The sight sends a hot pulse of want ricocheting through Max’s veins. He barely tamps down a groan as he crushes you closer, driving your pliant body into the solid surface at your back.

“Beautiful, inside and out,” he rasps against the slick curve of your throat. “Every inch of you is perfect like this, schatje, and I’m the luckiest bastard alive to be the one allowed to see you come so utterly undone.”

***

Three Months Later

Toto rounds the corner onto one of Monaco’s picture-perfect side streets, the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the canopy of leafy trees lining the cobblestones. His strides are clipped and purposeful as he navigates the throngs of lingering brunchers and slack jawed tourists.

He’s due for a terse meeting with several FIA officials in half an hour’s time to hash out the latest regulatory adjustments for next season. Not exactly how he’d envisioned spending his free weekend in the principality, but such was the relentless reality of his position.

As he approaches a charming little bistro tucked into a sunlit alcove, something within the open-air seating area snags his peripheral attention. Toto’s steps falter as a very familiar figure swims into focus — a beautiful young woman with features he knows better than his own.

You.

His stomach churns violently as he instinctively follows your line of sight to the man tucked intimately against your side. Max freaking Verstappen, of course, lounging there like he hasn’t a care in the world with one arm slung proprietarily across the back of your chair.

Toto feels his jaw clench harder with every passing second as he reluctantly catalogs the scene playing out not twenty paces away. You’re turned towards the Red Bull driver in clear invitation, chin tilted up and lips slightly parted in apparent submission as he lifts a forkful of food to your waiting mouth.

Despite the simmer of nausea roiling in his gut, Toto can’t seem to tear his gaze away, some morbid fascination taking hold. He watches, bile burning at the back of his throat, as Verstappen tips the bite between your lips with a gentleness that borders on reverence. A blissful sort of smile curves your mouth as you chew, eyes drifting to shut in an expression of utter serenity.

When you finally swallow, Verstappen leans in to chase the lingering crumbs from your lips with a series of indulgent, smoldering kisses. You allow it with blasé ease, cheeks flushing prettily as he nuzzles deeper into the cradle of your throat.

“Sickening,” Toto mutters through gritted teeth, only to have the words choked off as your breathy giggle floats across the open space between you.

He’s frozen in place, jaw clamped shut and eyes blazing, as Verstappen captures your face in one broad palm with a wicked curl to his lips. Leaning in until your noses brush, he appears to rumble something too faint to carry over the ambient chatter.

Your responding smile is incandescent enough to momentarily steal Toto’s breath. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such pure joy light up those beloved features — not since those early summer afternoons when you were barely tall enough to see over the mechanics’ workbenches, giggling as he spun you in looping circles around the garage.

The imagery dissipates like smoke in a strong wind as Verstappen slants his mouth over yours, mercilessly chasing every last vestige of warmth and innocence until you’re left utterly ravaged. You drink him in with all the unrestrained fervor of the desperately parched, breaths coming in harsh little pants between every slick glide of lips and tongue.

Toto can only look on in mute revulsion as the Red Bull bastard sets about methodically staking his claim. One broad palm spans the curve of your jaw to better angle your head while the other strokes in bold caresses down the line of your arm and hip, searing brand of possession seared across every inch of skin. You arch into the contact, boneless and malleable beneath his sure ministrations.

When Verstappen finally releases you, your lips are bright and bitten, pupils blown wide into unfocused pools. Max clucks his tongue in wordless approval, thumbing away the dampness clinging to your lower lashes before dipping in for one more lingering peck.

A strangled noise startles from Toto’s throat despite his best efforts. Instantly, those predator’s eyes swing towards him, glittering with something perilously close to challenge.

Your gaze follows a moment later, drifting over Toto’s rigid stance in lazy, disinterested consideration. He expects a flicker of chagrin, even fleeting shame to ripple across your expression at being caught so indecently compromised. Instead, your lips curve into that same serene, soppy beam as you burrow deeper into Verstappen’s side.

The world seems to tilt sickeningly sideways as Toto watches his own flesh and blood regard him like a stranger, a foreign entity to be blithely disregarded. Verstappen, for his part, tilts his head in an almost confrontational motion as his fingers begin carding through your hair with a revolting air of indulgent possession.

Toto wants to scream, to rage and howl until someone — anyone — understands the utter travesty of what he’s just witnessed. But something has knotted itself viciously around his vocal cords so that all he can seem to produce is a low, garbled rasp.

So he turns on his heel instead, gritting his teeth against the swell of fury threatening to choke him from the inside out as he stalks away. Every step rebounds through his hollow ribcage with echoing finality, punctuated by the sickly sweet chime of your laughter ringing in his wake.

He can’t even recognize his daughter anymore. And, much to his disgust, you seem to prefer it that way.

[skyrigel]

Tell me again [ AB ]

Pairing ~ Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Plot ~ after a long day at work, Anthony tells you how much he missed his wife <3

Warning: pregnant!reader, little teasing, shy!reader

Words : 0.8k

My other fic

Anthony bridgerton angst

" I thought you would be asleep..." Anthony murmured, words soft as melody spelled in the dark, hands crossed around his chest, his cuffs rolled up like usual after every tired night in his office, he smiled at you, a glint in his eyes.

" Why would I ? " I would wait for you at the worlds end, You turned to look at your husband, after a hard day, his eyes looked so tired and yet, they were sparkling, always when it was you.

" Oh my dearest wife." He moaned as he crossed the distance in two long strides, wrapping his hands around your waist all the while dropping to his knees,

"I missed you so much baby." He said, kissing your baby bump gently as he looked up with stars in his eyes.

" You didn't miss me Anthony ?! " You fake gasped, watching the slow chuckle make its way through the rings of his cartilage as he plucked the book you were holding.

" Oh you have no idea ! " He growled, taking both your hands in his and guiding them to his face, his eyes shutting as your fingers traced the face you adored so much, he hummed in response, kissing the soft skin of your wrist as watched you, one knuckle at a time, eyes never leaving yours.

" you think I haven't missed you ? " His asked, almost blazing, " you? " He said again, " There wasn't a moment when my soul didn't want to crawl and come to you, not a moment when i wanted to be anywhere but in your arms love." He squeezed your hand gently as you smiled, because you knew, knew how much he loved you.

" Have i told you how much I love your hands ? " He traced the lightening like green nerves that made it ways across your skin, he loved every bit of you, body, soul, mind and heart.

" You haven't," you replied, feeling your breath knocked out, heart punching against your ribs.

Anthony's lip quirked at your dazed eyes, he loved every and each version of you but he so much adored when you made your needs known, how much Anthony loved giving you what you wanted, you just have to say it for me, my sweet love, he had told you.

" This," Anthony said, his lips grazing at the slight raise of vein of your wrist, following it upto the crook of your arm, smiling in triumph as a strangled noise made it's way out of your throat.

" You like it ? " He tilted his head, brows raised in question, " mmm" you hummed softly but being the Viscount and smug bastard lord bridgerton was, he smirked.

" Say it in words my lady." He gazed up, you gave him one eye roll but opened your mouth anyway, " I do." You said ans Anthony resumed his venturing.

" And I have told you how much I love your collarbones ? " He hummed, planting open mouthed kisses all way to to dip of your neck, his breath lingered like a tattooed kiss, you dropped your head back on the couch as Anthony nipped at the raw skin of your neck.

You felt his smile the way his teeth tore into your flesh, his hand soothing your belly in circular patterns, the other cupping your breast and kneading it with all the time in the world, " You aren't telling me." He complaint, mouth fixed several inches away from yours as he looked deeply into yours eyes, your breath were uneven as you whined at the lack of lips on you, he understood and caressed your cheeks, leaning until a thread of wind was between you, you waited for touch to burn you, waited for his lips to crash into yours but alas!

" An..thony " you whimpered and he shaked his head, mouthing a small, No.

" You haven't " you whispered, closing the inches as his mouth pressed against yours in warm fuzzy music, like everything the poets talked about, Anthony smiled as pulled for a second away, his eyes peicring yours, mischief dangling through the corners and oh, how much you loved this man.

" I think I have..." He trailed, nose nuzzling at the dark reds and blues of your neck, he loved his little vicious games, loved to tease you, loved to drive you crazy.

" You have." You told him, " Tell me again."

That was all Anthony needed to you tell you again, and again and again, how much he loved you.

Rigel's note🪩: This has been in my drafts for so long<3

[ijustbewriting]

A man who yearns is a man who earns

Wolfstar X fem!reader

Summary - In which Remus and Sirius quietly ( not really) yearn for the reader

Warnings : none, (delusional Sirius), shy reader I guess

A//N My first Wolfstar fic !

Word count: 1.2k

“ I want her so bad” Sirius groans softly watching as you laugh along with Lily and Marlene. Remus who had been reading had promptly stopped as he had watched his boyfriend look at the girl who they had both been crushing on as of late. You were in the same year as them, a beautiful and smart Ravenclaw who just so happened to waltz in the boys life and change them forever.

“If you keep starting at her she’ll think you’re a creep” Remus tells his boyfriend

“She’ll think about me !” Sirius gasps, Remus shakes his head at his gasp

“ You really need to stop”

“Why won’t she look at us “ Whines Sirius sitting next down next to Remus who was quick to wrap his arm around his waist and pull him closer.

“Don’t know love” He plants a kiss on his neck making Sirius shiver.

“Do you think she even knows our names” The young Gryffindor pouts.

In all honesty Y/N did know Remus and Sirius, how could she not? The famous group, the marauders. Known for pulling pranks and bringing fun to Hogwarts, it was hard to miss such a group.

Remus and Sirius especially, god were they gorgeous. Remus with his beautiful brown eyes that seemed to be lit by the sun itself, his curly hair that was always curled to perfection, his old soul which was so kind and oh Merlin’s beard was he so smart. The few classes she had with him where she would hear him answer the professors question’s correctly and even sometimes add even more information made her Ravenclaw heart swoon.

Sirius Black, oh Sirius Black. He captivated everyone’s heart. His unique grey eyes and long hair, and that smile. That Sirius Black smile. Charming is what he is, suave with his words having anyone flustered and blushing when Sirius would flirt with them. Everyone wanted him or wanted to be him. But only Remus Lupin was lucky enough to have a slice of whatever Sirius was offering but god did he want top give a piece to you.

You the beautiful creature who captured their hearts when Lily walked into the common room that fateful day. You both were working on a project for Potions. Both of them were awestruck by you. Swearing they had never seen someone as beautiful as you. They knew then and there that they wanted you, the question was how?

It seemed like any time that they wanted to see you, you were scurrying away, off to the library, your dorm or somewhere else where they could not reach you.

One time when Sirius was walking with James after heading back from quidditch practice. Then a sudden figure zoomed right past them, it was you. Sirius blinked and he turned to look at you as you left, he wanted to say something but by gods were you quick. As you turned the corner and disappearing from his sight he promptly fell to his knees.

“Come back my love PLE-“

As you had turned the corner, you stopped swearing that you had heard something

“Must of been the wind” you muttered to yourself.

It was not in fact the wind but none other than Sirius Black dramatically on his knees clutching his chest, the other hand reaching out for you.

“Mate get up this is embarrassing” James muttered

Truth is- you’re painfully shy. Having a crush on Remus Lupin and Sirius Black the it couple right next to Lily and James was painful, for so many reasons. One being the most obvious, they’re both together and you were no home wrecker. Two you could not imagine even being friends with them. They were so different from you, in a good way.

While you were more quiet and reserved, staying in your dorm to read and study. You enjoyed your me time more than anything. Parties at Hogwarts were something you rarely attended, given the fact that you didn’t drink or dance. The few times you did go was because a friend’s or Lily had dragged you. You would see both boys at these parties and they were the life of the party there was no way they would look over at you and want you, at least that’s what you’ve told yourself thus far.

It was far from the truth. Remus and Sirius both yearned for you silently or at least remus did, Sirisu was alwasy loud about those he cared about.

But enough was enough, both of them decided that they were going to get your attention one way or another.

As you exited you class, you sighed as you slinged your bag on your shoulder, the bag was heavy a reminder of all the homework you had to do.

"Ok I finish reading chapters one through twenty and then I can start my essay and give my self enough time-" you muttered to yourself but promptly stopped as your eyes landed on two figures. Remus and Sirius. Quickly and without blinking you turned your heel and began to walk the other way.

"No wait- hold on love" you heard Sirius voice as he catched up to you, now this is the one time you cursed Sirius and Remus's great hieght becasue with a couple of strides they had already caught up to you.

"Dove please" Remus said almost pleadingly. The nickname made you stop walking. The boys both next to you.

"Merlin's beard, your worse than a snitch, I don't even think James would be able to catch you" Sirius huffed in light laughter, Remus smiled soflty.

"We've been looking for you " said Remus

"You have?" you responed in a quiet voice

"yes love, for what feels like an eternity-"

"two months" Remus corrected

"felt like forver to me" huffed Sirius his lips almost pouting

"what for?" you ask

"well we wanted to ask you something actually" Remus started

"We want you so bad" blurted Sirius, now that made you completely freeze up.

"Sirius we said we were going slow" hissed Remus, swatting his partner gently on the shoulder.

"I can't- this will not be a slow burn love, I will not allow it" He shakes his head before grabbing your hand.

"Love, please we've been going crazy without you, you drive us insane and we want you in all ways possible, please let us treat you right, we won't ever hurt you and your days will be filled with love and passion-"Sirius's love declaration was cut of by his boyfriend.

"Pads you're scaring her" He says as he had been wacthing your reaction and it was all wide eyed and he wore you had stopped breathing for a moment. Sirius quickly shut up, the quickest Remus had ever seen him. After a moment of silence you finally spoke.

"You want me- you both want me ?" you sputtered finally breathing again

"Most ardently" Remus answered. You look between both boys, whom you've had been crushing onf for so long, who you had never ever in your life believed that they would ever look at you in that way but here they were. Sirius basically on his knees begging you to talk and Remus with his beautiful eyes asking, no pleading for a positive response. You drew in a deep breathe before answering.

"I want you guys too" You confess

"Praise Merlin and David Bowie she said yes Remus!" exclaimed Sirius.

"Yes I heard her love thank you" chuckled Remus who was now looking you fondly. Sirius who was still holding your hand gave it a small squeeze.

"Did you hear how Remus pulled a Mr. Darcy on you "

[kissitbttr]

nobody understands how you did it.

how you managed to swept him off his feet, breaking the walls he had built pieces by pieces, how the fuck did you get him to be comfortable with you? to be open with you? and only with you.

‘never seen him this happy or loose in a long time, lass. what’s your trick, eh?’ the captain pulls a joke, making the rest of the team laugh. ‘i think I speak for everyone when i say, he never brings a girl out. let alone introducing her to us.’

that one is true. years of being friends with ghost, the captain nor his closest friend ‘soap’ has ever seen him out on a date. they encouraged him though, since there have been so many women tried their ways to get close with the big guy, yet none of them succeed.

the masked men would often just shrug them off and give one hard cold answer. they would back away immediately

“guess i just have my ways” is what you always say. even soap couldn’t register how it happened. he couldn’t figure it out himself, he knows the lad way longer than you do.

they don’t believe you. because there is no way in hell that all you did was to bat your lashes, show him your adorable giggle and he was in. there’s gotta be more to it.

so what is it about you that draws him close? what is it about you that makes ghost’s eyes light up each time you step into the room? what is it about you that makes ghost’s heart skip a beat every time he talks to you?

certainly not because how you’re so patient in getting to know with him, right? not because how you trace his scars ever so lightly and call them pretty every single time he’s doubtful about himself. not because how you console him with ‘I’ve got you, baby’ each night a nightmare comes back to haunt him while rubbing his back soothingly. not because how you shower him with soft, gentle kisses to remind him that your love for him is bigger than anyone could have offered. not because how you understand why he can’t say the three letter words to you, just yet. still, you stick around.

definitely not, right? there’s no way. he’s simon ghost riley. no one or nothing could ever be good enough to make this man come out of his shell. it’s impossible, right? you’ll need a miracle for that.

“love?” you hear a voice calls, along with the sound of keys being tossed into a ceramic bowl. heavy boots thumping against the marble floor,

you step out of the kitchen. long hair tied up into a messy updo, clear frame glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. dressed in one of his favorite sleeping gown as your eyes locked with his brown ones. the balaclava still attached to mask his handsome face.

scarred lips stretch into a smile the moment his beautiful fiancé emerges from the kitchen.

he drops his bag onto the floor, pulling the mask off of him slowly. revealing his disheveled blond hair as he takes slow steps towards you.

“hi, baby” your voice brings him home. no soul could ever take away from him. he longs for that angelic tone each time he gets deployed. three or six months without listening to you speak to him is just insanity.

he’d rather lose his hearing entirely than not having to hear you at all.

he’s quick to embrace you in his arms. your face hiding in the crook of his neck, inhaling that signature scent of his that you had missed, dearly.

“what are you making?” he mumbles into the crown of your hair, giving it a peck before pulling away slightly to take a good look at you. “it smells good”

“your favorite” you kiss his chin, causing his cheeks to redden at the affection. “i even bought those lumpias down the 112th street. i know how much you love them. pretzels bites from the deli for snacks aaand, black pepper beef with rice for your dinner. sounds good?”

simon leans against the doorway as he watches you plate everything. rambling about everything. his smile widens even more at your domestic antics. the way you talk with your hands as you mention another annoying co-worker that keeps bugging you and the way you roll your eyes when a splash of gravy spill from the plate.

truly is a sight.

“why are you looking at me like that?” your lips raise into a curious smile, finger moving a dark lock that sticks into your forehead,

he gives you a small shrug. gaze not leaving you neither does his smile.

“you’re just so beautiful”

something so simple yet it makes your stomach fills with butterflies.

you chew on your lower lip to prevent you from smiling too much, but a hint of blush is dusting your cheeks betrays you.

“come, papi… don’t want the food to get cold now, do we?” you change the subject while you nod your head towards the empty seat across. “eat with me”

the two of you sit there while making a small talk. stealing glances every second. feeding each other’s food. soft laughs fall upon both of your mouths when one make a terrible joke.

something you’d see when two people are in love. c

so yes, the answer to that question. it is possible. because you made it possible. you made it possible for him to love again. even if he had to start all over. you made it possible for him to be vulnerable. you gave him a purpose the moment he thought things were looking bad for him.

he found a solace within your existence.

only you made it possible to bring the simon in him.

vbecause you. are his home

[theyluvpeach]

¨your vibes are off.¨

chris needs a good high to sleep, so he hits you up. dealer!reader x client!chris blurb. ⋆ ★

Chris can't sleep.

He's been awake for 72 hours now. Every single time he watches the clock change to a new number, measuring the amount he hasn't had his head shoved between his pillow. He kisses teeth. His usual strain of weed from his dealer just isn't doing it for him anymore.

He doesn't like having his business all out there, but this is ridiculous. So he turns to Matt.

When Matt sends your Instagram he thinks he's tripping, why would you be a dealer?

He knows you, not personally but he's seen you around. bright outfits, big jewelry, small bottoms, tight shirts, bold makeup—He's sure everyone on campus knows your name. You're at frats everyweekend, clubs every other week.

You look like you hang out with unicorns and fairies in your free time, why on earth would you be a dealer?

He takes Matt's word though. He finds out that you're gonna be at their frat later tonight for one of his frat brother's birthday, which ultimately is perfect because he didn't feel like chasing you down.

You're not hard to spot.

Almost mesh white top, brown mini skirt, knee-high black boots, gold chains dance along your waist, and gold bangles on your arms to match. You're a sight alright.

When he comes up to you, you're leaning against the wall, hair splayed out behind you, 2 drinks in hand, and a dazed look on your face.

"Hi." You say glancing up to him with a small smile. "Chris, right? Youngest of the triplets?"

He gives a nod in return. "Mhnp..." You let out of a soft noise that leads to him locking eyes with you. The glitter that's on your lids clumps in your mascara and makes your eyes sparkle, your lips tinted in a cherry shade. He blinks at you.

You just look at him. You stare at him like you're trying to read his soul. He hates it. But he can't bring himself to look away from you.

He begins to pull out his wallet, "Matt already paid for you, s okay." He quickly shoves his wallet back into his pocket, "Hold this." You say handing him 1 of the 2 drinks you're holding, and he does. For some reason.

You reach into your bra and pull out a small glitter baggie. "Are you serious?"

You blink. "S just a bag." You roll your eyes. Chris is starting to get annoyed at how long this interaction is taking. He's been awake for far too long, and his eyes are starting to burn like crazy. He practically snatches the small bag from your hand.

Chris is pissed. "What the—?" Okay, the pink rolling paper is pushing it, but a bow wrapped around a joint?

"What is your deal—! I.." The more he stares down at the joint, the more he notices. He can see light purple and pink sprinkled throughout the joint. "What's in this?"

"Weed."

He scoffs. "Obviously, dumbass— what other shit did you put in here?"

If music wasn't blasting hard enough for you to feel it in your heart, everyone would hear how loud Chris is yelling at you.

You glare at him—The dazed look on your face slowly disappearing. "Lavender and rose. They help calm anxiety," You say, clutching the drink in your hand tighter, causing it to spill over. "It's a free joint, man, your brother already paid for it, he specifically asked for this one," You step away from the wall and maintain eye contact, you're close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

"But if my glitter bag and my bow bother you so much, you don't have to take it. So. Do. You. Want. It. Or. Not?" You hit the center of his chest with your acrylic nail repeatedly, as each word files out of your mouth. If Chris wasn't sleep deprived, he'd probably do something about it. Like dragging you off to his room and showing what else you could do with that big mouth. But right now, all he wants to do is smoke, get high, and pass the fuck out.

"I'll take it." He grumbles, staring directly down at you, refusing to be the one to break the eye contact you guys have been holding for so long.

"Yeah." You roll your eyes and step back. "That's what I thought." You say, snatching back the drink you gave him to hold and walking off.

He thinks you're an annoying little piece of work, but that doesn't stop him from staring at your ass as you walk away.

When you're finally out of his sight is when goes off to his room.

He lets out a deep sigh sigh as he closes his door behind him, the music of the party slightly muffled by his door. He feels his phone go off.

matt: yo

tf you say to n/n???

chris: ?

matt: she said your vibes are off

Chris scoffs. If he doesn't get high enough from your little mythical fairy joint he's finding you, immediately.

Chris sleeps like a baby that night.

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel

[suiana]

✎ yandere! demon who is absolutely enamoured by you. you're his perfect little angel, so kind, so innocent, and oh so caring. how could you even care for a demon like him?

✎ yandere! demon who is absolutely distraught when you tell him you have to leave him, to go do some angel duties or something... what? you're just leaving him like that? after showing him what kindness feels like? oh that won't do. not at all.

✎ yandere! demon who rips out your wings, ripping you away from your divinity that you cherished with all your heart. he knows it hurts, he knows you'll hate him for a bit. but it was justified, obviously. you were going to leave him. ...not to worry! he's sure you'll love him again soon, and maybe he'll even give you some demonic wings to match with him?

✎ yandere! demon who will do anything to keep you by his side. right beside him, that's where you belong and that's how it's going to stay.

"you ruined me!"

"yeah? and I'm a demon, sweetheart. I'm selfish and i take what i want."

your chest heaves heavily, your face absolutely distraught as the demon coos at you, cheeks flushed and a lovesick expression on his face as he holds your face in his hands. you lock eyes with him, staring straight into his deluded ones, and you can't help but let out a shaky breath.

you feel disgusting.

violated.

and most importantly, naked.

you felt absolutely naked without your wings, the wings you cherished and loved over anything else. the very wings that even god himself praised. the wings that you loved with all your heart.

and you'd never see them again.

all because this demon you showed kindness to had fallen and wanted to be selfish. all because he had wanted to keep you with him. but you suppose you couldn't expect anything different. i mean, he was a demon after all.

"oh... don't cry anymore, would you? my beautiful angel shouldn't waste their tears over some lost wings. in fact... i could give you new ones. you'd look much more alluring with some demon wings."

you freeze at his words, disgust running up your throat as you register his words. why would he even suggest such a thing?!

you glare at him venomously, eyes staring straight into his soul as you let out some irritated mumbles. the demon merely purses his lips, staring back at you before cooing once more.

"why are you looking at me like that? don't like the idea?"

duh. of course you didn't like it. why would you ever want demon wings?

you were an angel for god's sake! not a demon!

you continue to glare at him, tears rolling down your cheeks as the demon hums happily, as though he didn't just tear you away from everything you loved.

"ah... my pretty angel... i really adore you with all my heart, i do. it's just, you're so... naive sometimes."

he pauses, wiping away your tears as his thumb caresses your cheek. you say nothing, not wanting to engage with him at all. what was there to say to a man who locked you out of what you called your home?

"i love you, i made that quite obvious, didn't i? yet you were still so oblivious and decided to leave. you were going to leave me alone, baby."

he mutters, tone lowering as his eyes narrow at the memory of you telling him that you were going to return back to heaven.

he hated it. hated it oh so much. in fact, he'd get rid of your ex-home in the clouds if he could. he absolutely despises all the other heavenly beings that never spared a single glance at the lower realms of earth.

"how could you do that to me hm? don't you care about me? i know you love me too... somewhere in that heart of yours, you know you do."

he mutters, looking at you with the most obsessed eyes the world could ever imagine. you felt a shiver run down your spine, your raw wounds aching as you suddenly feel your body grow cold.

"come on darling... i know you're not like those other hypocrites up there. you're leagues better than them. really don't understand why you'd want to return back-"

"well at least they didn't rip away my wings!"

you suddenly interject, feeling your annoyance building up as you chew on your bottom lip. god damnit, was this guy emotionally dense or what?

"they didn't take away the one thing i loved the most, did they? they didn't brutally mutilate my body or defile me! they didn't take me away from ny home!"

you hiss, giving it your all against him as your eyes dart all over his face for a response. you wanted to see how he would react to it. hopefully nothing too bad though. maybe just a little bit of anger, a little irritation to help you feel slightly better.

but of course, it was as though you were no longer graced with heaven's blessings, for he was more than just 'a little bit angry'.

"baby, when have i ever defiled you? i only took away your wings, didn't i? it's not that bad. you'll learn to live without them."

he mutters, glaring back at you as his grip on your face tightens considerably. you let ot a wince, eyes shutting from the intensity he held you at. but he doesn't let up, why would he when you've got him all fired up?

"i just did what i thought was necessary. i just did what i had to do to keep you with me."

the demon states firmly, looking at you as his nails start to dig into your skin, drawing blood from how hard he was gripping. but that doesn't stop him. of course it wouldn't. he first needs to get it through your head that you and him were meant to be. that he was yours just as you were his. completely, utterly, his.

"darling don't you understand? we were meant to be together. you and me, us. we fit together perfectly like a puzzle. you can't ever leave me."

with how he was repeating that, it was really starting to get to you. it was like he was drilling it into your head like some military sargent.

"and your home is with me. not with them, not up there, not anywhere else. me. got that?"

he finally lets go, sighing softly before rubbing your shoulders gently, a total 180 from how he was acting just seconds ago. you watch as the demon goes back to cooing over you, gently rubbing your arms as he sings praises about you.

all you could do was stare at him, chewing on your bottom lip as you think of how you'd critically approach this problem, just like how you always would before you had your wings torn from you.

...

none.

zero solutions come to mind.

maybe you should simply pass away? because there's no way in hell you're resigning yourself to a fate with him. both angels and demons never die after all.

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

NCT Dream as crybaby tops (M) ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

wrote this while procrastinating instead of working on learning curves 2 hehehe.

These will give you whiplash how fast the tone changes from each member LOL. inspo from this tiktok (If you don't have tiktok anymore it just says “who actually likes crybaby tops who apologize mid thrust?”)

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, toxic relationship, cock ring, mature, MDNI

Mark

Mark was a sentimental man who cherished every little moment. This year, for your anniversary, you didn’t do much; you simply spent the entire day together, spoiling each other and watching movies. Later that night, he prepared dinner for you, and while you showered, he decorated the room. Rose petals adorned the new silk sheets, and candles flickered along the windowsill and dresser.

As soon as you stepped out of the shower, smelling heavenly, he laid you back against the mattress. He wanted you to feel all of him—his heart, mind, soul, and body—it was all yours.

“I love you.” The words were passed back and forth between you two as he showered you in adoration.

He didn’t realize he was crying until his vision started to blur, your face becoming fuzzy behind a veil of tears. He loved the way you looked beneath him, believing you were the prettiest person in the world. He moans, the sound coming from deep in his chest. He wanted to be closer, needed to merge with you, to feel you deep inside his very being. The depth of his love moved him to tears, and he couldn’t stop crying.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled, and you couldn’t help but giggle at him through your own moans of pleasure. He wiped at his tears in embarrassment, but you cupped his face and kissed him deeply.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe with me,” you said, your voice breathy as he continued to thrust into you, not slowing down despite his tears. “I love you.”

He vowed to make sure you would never forget it.

Renjun

Renjun liked to think of himself as a patient man, but the truth was, he had no tolerance for games. You, on the other hand, thrived on them. You drove him crazy, always pushing him to the edge, seeing how far you could get beneath his skin. Your relationship was rocky, constantly on again off again. You two had a long and messy past but couldn’t keep away from each other long enough to heal from it.

You were perched on the edge of his counter, swinging your legs and flashing a dazzling smile as he raged at you. "You think this is funny?!" he shouted, frustration etched on his face. You shrugged nonchalantly, and he gripped his hair in exasperation. He blew out a breath, trying to calm himself down. “You can’t take shit seriously.”

Renjun cried when he was frustrated and that was why you do what you do. You laugh as you see the tears begin to well up in his eyes. You loved seeing him break down, loved the way his entire demeanor changed when he was humiliated. His chest huffs in annoyance but you notice the bulge straining against his sweats, he loved this just as much as you did. He loved being humiliated.

He yanks you off the counter and into his room, tossing you onto the bed roughly. 

“You come into my life again and again and you ruin everything,” he complains while undressing you. His lips connect to yours in a hot breathy kiss. His words were angry, but his eyes betrayed a different story – a hunger that burned bright.

There were times when Renjun swore he was done with you, that he'd finally had enough of the games and the drama. Times when he vowed to block you, to move on. You knew it was all just a show to make you think he was serious but you knew he'd always come crawling back.

He moved over you, his body hot to the touch when you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. You moaned, feeling him sink deeper into you. You moan desperately in his ear, the way you clenched around him had him gripping your waist tighter. 

Other times he loved you, despite the chaos you brought into his life. In these moments, he was helplessly, hopelessly yours.

And when his anger settled, he would apologize, his body still moving with a rhythm that left you breathless. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please don't leave me. I take it back – I didn't mean it." Tears fill his eyes as he apologizes over and over again between each thrust.

You would always have him exactly where you wanted him.

Jeno

He didn't like being mean, and he truly hated yelling, so he felt terrible for getting onto you. The way you immediately deflated and your smile faltered almost made him want to jump off the balcony.

“I’m sorry, baby. Just let me get it for you,” he said, helping you down from the counter. It was partly his fault; you had asked him to stop putting the flour on the top shelf. It was all the way in the back of the cupboard and you were so proud of yourself for not needing his help. You had climbed up to get it while you were cooking together. You didn’t notice the hot stove right next to you, and nearly burned yourself in the process.

He just didn't want you to get hurt, so he apologized throughout dinner. You had assured him a hundred times that it was fine, but he felt the need to make it up to you. He showered you with affection, peppering your face with kisses, offering an apology with each one. You were having ice cream for dinner, and when you offered him some, he cheekily replied that he wanted you for dessert. You didn’t stop him when he dropped to his knees.

He eagerly tasted you, his mouth full but still managing to mumble “sorrys” against you. As your hand moved through his hair, sweeping his bangs back, you watched him devour you. Warm tears streamed down his face, smudging against your thighs. He could taste the salt of his tears mixed in with the sweet juice of your pussy.

“What’s wrong, baby?” 

He didn’t know why he was crying; he just hated that you looked so hurt earlier, and it was because of him. 

Later, when he had you pinned against the mattress beneath him, it was you who was crying, as he took you again and again.

Haechan

Haechan didn’t know what the word “enough” meant. He was never satisfied and could never get enough of being buried deep between your warm walls. After a long day at work, all he wanted was to unwind and lose himself in you. When you looked up at him, leaning above you, it was clear he had achieved just that.  He was completely gone, caught in a trance from the way you sucked him in. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out. 

Overstimulation sent tremors through your body, but you welcomed everything he gave you, knowing how much he needed this.. His eyes were glazed over as he fucked  into you, mumbling incoherent praises against your shoulder when he hid his face between your neck and shoulder. He had cum already but couldn't stop, you felt too good. 

“I’m sorry, baby. Please… it feels so good,” he begged, feeling you start to squirm as the overstimulation became overwhelming.

He had fucked himself to tears between your legs, shaky moans escaping his lips in embarrassment. His eyes watered, his bottom lip trembled, and yet he couldn’t stop. He looked so pathetic that you couldn’t help but clench around him even harder.

He looked surprised for a moment before a smirk spread across his face, sniffing back the tears. “Pervert,” he teased. “You like seeing me cry, don’t you?”

You showed him just how much you enjoyed it by flipping him onto his back and riding him until he was gripping the sheets.

Jaemin

Jaemin loved coming over to your apartment just to be with you. Whether you sat in comfortable silence for hours, watched movies, or yapped away, he didn’t mind as long as he got to spend that time with you. Tonight, there was nothing on the agenda—just an old Lifetime movie playing on TV while you both scrolled through your phones. His head rested in your lap as you sat up against the headboard, one hand scrolling through your phone while the other played gently in his hair.

“Can I tell you something?” you asked, setting your phone down.

Jaemin tossed his phone onto the bed and looked up at you with curiosity. “Go for it.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” you warned.

Jaemin already had a smile breaking through, and he chuckled softly.

You tugged on his hair playfully. “Stoppp! I’m being serious.”

He sat up, grinning. “Of course I’m going to laugh if you specifically tell me not to!”

“Are you done?” you asked, half-smiling.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“I think it’s hot when guys cry in bed,” you admitted.

Jaemin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise; he wasn’t expecting the conversation to go that way. A look of confusion crossed his face. He couldn't imagine crying in bed—why would he feel sad getting fucked?

“Am I weird?” you asked after a pause.

“No, I guess I just don't understand,” he replied genuinely. “Why would I be crying in bed?”

“Because it feels so good,” you explained.

He tilted his head, considering your words. “I don’t think that’s possible. I doubt I would cry.”

“Bet?” you challenged. “I could so make you cry.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he teased back.

The next time he came over, you sent him straight to the bedroom. You had sat him against your headboard, grinding down against his clothed cock as you slowly built him up. You stop your makeout to undress and to pull out your surprise. He shuddered as you put the cock ring on him. Stubborn like a Leo, he insisted that a cock ring wouldn’t make him cry, but you shushed him and pulled him on top of you. As you kissed him, your hands roaming over his skin, you raked your nails softly down his back to coax him into letting his guard down. You were going to ruin him.

As he slipped between your legs, the cock ring seemed to fade from his mind. He was focused on thrusting into you and the way your hips were grinding against him. You pulled him down into another kiss, this one deep and slow as you swirl your tongue around his distractingly.

You slyly reached for the remote under your pillow and turned the cock ring up to the second notch. Instantly, his hips jerked in response, and his mouth dropped open. “Shit! Fuck princess,” he moaned desperately, grinding against you. He bites down on his bottom lip and a shiver runs down his spine.

“Come on, Jaem, don’t stop,” you encouraged, gripping his waist, pushing his hips back and forth to help him find his rhythm.

He buried his face in your neck, trying to pick up speed. Broken moans filled your ears, sending heat through you. Each time he bottomed out, the cock ring buzzed against your clit, making your toes curl. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you and pinning him down.

The cock ring vibrated deliciously, pushing tightly against him, and the sensations left Jaemin dizzy. As you reached your climax, you squeezed around him, and he lost himself in the moment, eyes rolling back as he came too. His body trembled, and when he looked down at you, tears filled his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” He slurs. “Fuck I couldn’t hold it.” Voice sounds wrecked as he thrust weakly, riding out his high. 

Once he had enough, he finally tapped out, and you stopped the vibrations. You unwrap your legs from around his waist, allowing him to pull out, breathless and spent. You watch as he collapses next to you, his chest heaving with each ragged breath, a mixture of shock and pleasure etched across his face.

“I told you so.”

[edenesth]

The Paradox of Us

Pairing: Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: Relationships are rarely as simple as they seem. It becomes heartbreakingly complicated when two souls, bound by a love that still burns bright, come to realise that sometimes, love alone may not be enough to keep them together.

A/N: Seonghwa's 踊り子 (odoriko) cover has been on repeat since the moment it came out. I couldn't get it out of my mind and just knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't write anything inspired by it.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"I don't love you."

Strangely, those words would have been easier to bear. But instead, you heard the ones that shattered you in ways you never thought possible: "I love you so much... but we can't go on like this anymore."

The ache was unbearable, as if your heart was tearing itself apart with every replay of his broken voice in your mind. You would have preferred if he had said his love had faded, that the spark was gone. At least then, you could grieve, accept, and move forward. But no—he still loved you. Deeply. And that cruel truth left you stuck in a purgatory of emotions, unable to let go.

Yet, you understood him. You always did. And perhaps that was the most painful part of all—knowing he was right. You had felt it too, this growing divide neither of you could bridge. But you hadn't been brave enough to say it aloud, to admit that love wasn't enough to hold together two people who simply weren't meant to be.

So, he said it for you. And now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been, and the love that would never quite fade.

"It'll be alright, sweetie. Time heals everything," your mother murmured, her hand gently rubbing your back as you blinked away tears and refused to meet her gaze. Her tone was soft, even comforting, but you couldn't stand it—not when she sat there pretending she hadn't played a pivotal role in this heartbreak. You could almost feel her satisfaction simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind her facade of concern. After all, hadn't she always believed he would never measure up? That he was never good enough for you?

You hated it—hated her.

Hated how she had turned your relationship with him into a battlefield, her disapproval so loud, so ever-present, that it became impossible for him to feel at home in your life. How dare she sit beside you now, feigning sorrow, when her constant criticisms had planted the seed of doubt that grew into the conclusion you dreaded? How dare she, of all people, offer comfort when she had made you believe that love—your greatest love—wasn't enough?

Her words echoed in your mind, the ones she'd repeated time and time again: "Love and compatibility aren't the same. Love is powerful, yes, but relationships are more than just feelings—they require shared values, aligned goals, and practical compatibility." She had said it so often that it became a mantra, one you tried to ignore until it became impossible.

And then there was him.

You hated him too—hated him for giving in, for not fighting harder, for agreeing with everyone else. For being too selfless, too considerate, too good. He'd always told you, "Family comes first. Everything else—including me—comes second." You hated that he meant it. Hated that he let you go because he believed it was the right thing to do, the thing that would hurt the least.

But most of all, you hated yourself.

Hated yourself for knowing, deep down, that they were all right. That maybe love really wasn't enough. You hated yourself for being too afraid to defy them, too afraid to risk it all for him. While he was brave enough to let you go, and your mother was relentless in her convictions, you had been the coward. You let everyone else make the choice for you because you couldn't bear to make it yourself.

And now, you were left with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of what-ifs and the haunting ache of knowing you had lost not because you didn't love enough, but because you hadn't been brave enough to fight for that love.

"The right person will come along," she said softly. You pressed your eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Without another word, you pushed yourself up from the dining chair, leaving your barely touched meal behind, and headed to your room.

Before you could step through the door, her voice followed you, cutting through the air like a knife. "You'll thank me one day when you meet a man who can give you all the things that boy never could."

Your fists clenched as you slammed the door shut behind you. Sliding down to the floor with your back against the wood, you let her words fester. Maybe she was right. You weren't getting any younger. Around you, friends and cousins were all settling down with partners your mother would call 'suitable.' And you hated it—hated that, in her eyes, Seonghwa could never be that person for you.

But then, the thought struck: you were your mother's daughter. How much of this was truly her fault? At some point, hadn't you begun to believe her? Slowly, insidiously, her words had taken root in your mind. You did this. To him, to yourself.

You remembered watching others build their perfect, storybook lives with partners who ticked every box society demanded. And you wondered—quietly at first, then louder—if you and Seonghwa could ever achieve the same. Could he be that for you? Could you be that for him?

It wasn't fair. Not to him, not to you. You hated yourself for the way doubt crept in, for how your mother's voice echoed in your head, pointing out the cracks and differences you had tried so hard to ignore. You hated yourself for wishing things could be different, for swallowing those thoughts because you loved him too much to ask him to change. He was who he was—his own person.

How could you ask him to mould himself into someone your mother would approve of? Someone society deemed 'right' for you? And if he did, would he even be the man you fell in love with?

It was those questions, those doubts, that began to live rent-free in your mind. Bit by bit, they widened the gap between you. And Seonghwa wasn't blind. He saw it. He felt it.

"You deserve someone better—someone who can give you so much more," he had said that final night, his voice breaking under the weight of goodbye.

It was your fault—your doubts, your actions, your silence. They had pushed him to that conclusion. And now, as the door behind you trembled with your suppressed sobs, you wondered: How dare you blame your mother for what you had done to him? To yourself?

How dare you?

"Gaming at San's place next, you coming?" Wooyoung asked, tossing a napkin onto the table as everyone scrambled to leave. The ridiculous game they'd invented—where the last one to leave had to pay the bill—had everyone laughing and darting for the exit.

Seonghwa's smile barely touched his lips as he shook his head and reached for his wallet. "Go on with them. I'll cover it."

The younger man hesitated, glancing at him before blurting out, "Dude, you can't always give in like this. Your poor financial planning skills are exactly why she left you."

The table fell silent, the air suddenly heavy. Wooyoung's grin faltered as he realised what he'd said, too late to take it back. Seonghwa didn't flinch outwardly, but the words sliced deep because they were true. Partly, at least.

It wasn't like he made much, not compared to the rest of his friends with their steady corporate jobs. And yet, he wasn't careful with what little he had. You had always been the one saving, planning, building a future he could barely contribute to. People his age were buying cars, investing in property, making strides toward a stable life. But he wasn't like them. He had chased his passion as a figurine crafter—a dream that didn't come with a steady paycheck—and he'd known the risks. Your mother was right: you deserved someone who could offer you the stability he never could.

"Hey, man," Wooyoung said quickly, guilt colouring his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I got the bill already, so don't worry about it. Just come with us tonight, yeah? Relax a little."

But the eldest only gave a faint shake of his head. The apology didn't soften the truth of the remark. He was the reason things fell apart. Not because he didn't love you enough—he loved you too much—but because love wasn't enough.

He'd failed you. Failed to provide the kind of life you deserved. He couldn't believe you'd even agreed to be with him in the first place, so different were your worlds. Your family background, your education, your values, your ambitions—they all set you apart. He had nothing to offer someone like you. And yet, he had been selfish enough to hold on, to want you despite knowing he could never measure up.

He should have worked harder. Should have tried to step up and be the man you needed. But he hadn't, because deep down, he knew he couldn't. Perhaps he had always known it wouldn't last. That one day, you'd wake up and realise the same.

You didn't leave right away. You stayed longer than he deserved. And when you finally began pulling away, when the signs became impossible to ignore, he had to let go. It wasn't courage that made him end it—it was inevitability.

"Come with us, hyung," Wooyoung tried again, his voice gentler this time.

But Seonghwa shook his head once more. "You guys go ahead without me. I... I have somewhere to be."

It was a lie, and they all knew it. He had nowhere to be. Nowhere that mattered, at least. Just his empty apartment, where the echoes of your absence would greet him like old, familiar ghosts.

He didn't care if they saw through the lie. What mattered was that he deserved this—the loneliness, the self-pity, the regret. He had almost broken you apart from your family because he was selfish enough to believe his love was enough. He had almost stolen your future because he couldn't face the truth.

But now, it was over. You had given him the courage to do what was right in the end. He was grateful for that. Grateful you'd started pulling away. Grateful you'd given him the signs. Grateful you'd broken his heart with the words he couldn't bear to say himself.

It's time.

Time to stop pretending.

Time to let you go.

Time to let the misery end.

Yes, let it all go. Let the misery end.

He repeated the words in his head like a chant as he drove, gripping the steering wheel tighter with each mile. The familiar streets blurred past him, their lights shimmering in his tear-filled eyes. He swiped at his face with his sleeve, but the tears kept coming, warm and unrelenting. He hated himself for it. Hated that, even now, he could almost see you sitting beside him, your laughter echoing faintly in his memory.

These night drives had been your sanctuary. Just you and him, wrapped in the quiet of the world, as if nothing else mattered. Not the expectations, not the disapproving glances, not the relentless whispers about how you two didn't belong together. It had always been just you and him against everything.

But now, it was just him.

He didn't dare glance at the passenger seat. He couldn't bear the sight of its emptiness, couldn't face the truth of your absence. His mind played cruel tricks on him, filling the silence with phantom conversations, fleeting glimpses of your smile.

Everything around him reminded him of you. The way the streetlights hit the pavement, the faint smell of your favourite perfume lingering in his car, the songs on the radio you'd sing along to when you thought he wasn't paying attention. He wanted to escape it, but he knew going home would only make it worse.

Home.

The word felt hollow now. How could it be home when you weren't there? Every corner of that apartment held traces of you—the books you'd stacked neatly on the shelf, the coffee mug you always left on the counter, the sheets that still carried the faintest scent of your shampoo. He knew he should let those remnants go, pack them away, make it easier to move on. But the thought of erasing you felt like losing you all over again.

As the weight of it all pressed down on him, he slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road. His hands trembled as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the cool leather grounding him for just a moment.

Is this hurting you too?

He wondered if you were struggling as much as he was. Part of him selfishly hoped you were, that you missed him the way he missed you. But another part—the part that loved you more than he loved himself—hoped you were finding peace. Hoped you were happier without him, that his decision to let you go had given you the chance to find the stability, the life, you deserved.

Clutching a hand to his chest, he finally let the tears fall freely. The ache in his heart felt unbearable, like a piece of him had been ripped away and might never grow back. Would he ever be okay again? Would he ever know happiness without you?

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. But he told himself, over and over, that this was the right thing to do. It didn't matter if he was happy. It didn't matter if he felt whole again. All that mattered was you. And as he sat there, broken and lost, he prayed you were finding the happiness he couldn't give you, even if it meant he would never find it again.

It's okay... she'll find the right person now.

The right person. Who even decided what that meant? Who had the authority to label someone as right or wrong for you?

Maybe it was the lingering ache for Park Seonghwa, the way his name still carried the weight of memories you hadn't yet learned to let go. Or maybe it was the frustration bubbling inside you, resentment toward your parents for tricking you into meeting this man—the son of your father's business partner—the one they couldn't stop praising.

Jung Yunho, the perfect man, as they called him. He was everything they'd ever wanted for you, a textbook example of stability, charm, and success. But the problem wasn't him. It was you. You weren't ready, not yet. Maybe not ever. Years had passed since the breakup, but the ghost of what you had with Seonghwa still clung to you, a shadow that even time couldn't chase away.

"Hey," Yunho's voice pulled you back from your spiralling thoughts. His gaze, warm and sincere, met yours as he leaned in slightly. "You feeling alright?"

Caught off guard, you glanced down at your untouched plate of steak and managed a small nod. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

But he didn't look convinced. Instead, his lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile—the kind that could probably disarm anyone, just not you. "How could I not, when such a pretty lady is sulking before me?" he teased gently. Before you could reply, he reached across the table, taking your plate without hesitation. "Here, let me help you."

With careful precision, he began cutting the steak into neat, bite-sized pieces. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, and yet it left you feeling hollow. It wasn't the act itself—it was the way it lacked the weight of familiarity.

Seonghwa used to do the same thing, but it had always been different with him. He'd grumble playfully about how you'd never learn to do it yourself, though he never minded doing it for you. His hands were smaller, more delicate, and you'd always find yourself staring at the faint scars from his crafts. Yunho's hands, while steady and practised, didn't hold the same history.

"All done," Yunho said cheerfully, sliding the plate back to you. "Now you have no excuse not to eat."

You forced a polite smile, murmuring a quiet "thank you" as you picked up your fork. Yunho didn't seem to notice the distant look in your eyes, or perhaps he was kind enough not to point it out.

He was wonderful. Thoughtful, patient, and sincere. By all accounts, he was the right person. But as you sat there, forcing yourself to chew, you couldn't help but wonder:

What if the right person wasn't the one who checked all the boxes? What if they were the one who didn't, but still felt like home?

The rest of the night crawled by like a snail, every passing second stretching unbearably long. You shifted in your seat, wishing you were anywhere but here. Yunho was a great guy—attentive, charming, and genuinely kind. But that only made it worse. He deserved someone who could meet his enthusiasm with equal fervour, someone who didn't have her mind wandering to someone else entirely.

You sighed quietly, pushing your barely touched drink to the side. What the hell was wrong with you? This was what you'd agreed to, wasn't it? This was what you'd sacrificed so much for. Years ago, you walked away from the love of your life because it felt like the right thing to do, to pursue the kind of stability and compatibility everyone insisted was more important than love alone. And now here it was, right in front of you.

The right person.

Yet, as you glanced at Jung Yunho's radiant smile, so effortlessly warm, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him felt less like the happy ending you'd envisioned and more like a cage. A beautiful, gilded cage that offered everything a woman could ever ask for—security, stability, admiration. Everything except the one thing your heart still longed for.

All you could ever find inside yourself was the same man you'd tried so hard to let go of.

Park Seonghwa.

Your chest tightened at the thought of him, your mind betraying you with memories you'd worked so hard to bury. You wondered how he was doing, though it wasn't as if you hadn't heard. Mutual friends kept you updated more than you cared to admit, their words painting glimpses of a life that no longer included you.

You'd heard he was finally making progress with his work, his passion—the very thing you'd once defended but later doubted. He'd opened a small store, modest but filled with so much of himself. It sold various collectable art pieces: action figures, miniatures for tabletop games, and custom character figurines crafted with meticulous care. Fans of Star Wars and Animal Crossing flocked to him, drawn to the detail and love that radiated from every piece he touched.

And you were proud of him. God, you were so proud of him.

He'd stayed true to himself, despite all the judgement, all the whispers about how he'd never make it, how he'd never be good enough. He'd proved them wrong. He'd built something meaningful, something entirely his own. You were happy for him, truly, but beneath that happiness lay an ache you couldn't ignore. You regretted not being there to witness it, to cheer for him when he finally achieved what he'd always dreamed of.

But maybe that wasn't what he wanted. For all you knew, he'd moved on, found someone who stayed by his side through all the highs and lows. Someone who loved him openly and without reservation, who didn't make him feel like he'd never measure up.

Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd sworn off love entirely after the way things ended between you two.

Either way, you couldn't blame him. You wouldn't blame him. Not after the pain you'd both endured.

Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. "Is... everything okay? You've been quiet tonight." His concern was genuine, his eyes soft with worry, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

But deep down, you knew you weren't fine. And you didn't know if you ever would be.

"How much for that one?"

The tiny voice drew Seonghwa's attention, and he glanced down at the little girl standing on tiptoes, her small finger pointing eagerly at the figurine encased behind the counter. It was the only one displayed under glass, like a prized treasure—and in a way, it was.

He hummed, his eyes softening as he turned to look at the figure in question. The Kuromi figurine sat proudly on the top shelf, right next to the LED sign that glowed softly with his store's name: Star Mars. The design was intricate, every detail was carefully crafted with love and precision.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said gently, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "That one's not for sale. It's reserved for someone very special."

The little girl pouted, her lips forming a perfect curve of disappointment, and his heart melted a little. But no amount of adorable pouting—or even persuasive whining—could ever convince him to sell it.

That Kuromi figurine wasn't just a piece of art; it was a promise, a memory frozen in time. It was one of the first figurines he'd perfected, the culmination of years of practice and the relentless pursuit of his passion. He'd made it as a gift for you—his favourite girl.

It still is yours, if only you wanted it.

The child's father stepped forward, lifting her into his arms as he gave Seonghwa an apologetic bow. "Don't worry about her, Mr Park. I'll convince her to go with the Isabelle one instead."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, standing upright as he waved off the father's concern. "No problem at all. Isabelle's a great choice," he said, though his eyes lingered briefly on the Kuromi figurine.

As the father and daughter moved on to browse the other displays, Seonghwa found himself lost in thought. He didn't display that piece out of pride or for show—it was there because it reminded him of you. Of the nights you'd spend sitting cross-legged on the floor of his studio, playfully teasing him about his obsession with getting every detail just right.

"She looks like you," he'd said when he showed it to you for the first time. You'd laughed, brushing it off, but the glint of affection in your eyes told him you secretly loved the comparison.

He'd planned to give it to you on your birthday, but the timing never felt right. And then, before he knew it, you were gone.

The bell above the door jingled, the familiar sound slicing through the haze of his thoughts and yanking him back to the present. He straightened up, plastering on the polite smile he reserved for customers, though the weight in his chest never eased.

"Good evening! Welcome to…" His voice faltered mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat as his entire world screeched to a halt.

There you were.

It had been years, but time seemed to melt away the moment his eyes landed on you. You stood there in the soft glow of his store lights, more beautiful than he remembered—if that were even possible. Your silk dress shimmered gently with each subtle movement, an elegant coat draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The once long hair he used to run his fingers through was now cropped to your shoulders, framing your face in a way that made you look older, wiser—but still you.

Even after all this time, his heart betrayed him. It thundered in his chest, each beat screaming your name. He clenched his fist tightly at his side, willing himself to stay rooted where he stood. Every fibre of his being ached to run to you, to close the distance, but he couldn't. He shouldn't.

Slowly, shakily, he mustered a smile, though it felt like his heart might burst from the sheer force of its racing. Then, to his astonishment—and heartbreak—you returned it. A soft, familiar curve of your lips that nearly undid him.

But then, it fell apart.

The moment shattered as a tall, striking man stepped in behind you. He moved with easy confidence, his presence commanding attention as if the universe itself had tilted slightly to make room for him. Without hesitation, his hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

"See anything you like?" the man asked, his deep voice carrying the warmth of intimacy as he looked down at you.

You blinked, startled, as if shaken from a dream. "Oh… I was just…" Your voice trailed off as your gaze flicked back to your ex-boyfriend, lingering for a moment longer than it should have.

Seonghwa's smile faltered, but he quickly schooled his expression, burying the ache that clawed at his chest. He nodded politely, forcing himself to focus on the customer standing in front of him—the both of you.

The Kuromi figurine sat silently on its shelf, bathed in soft light, waiting for a moment that might never come. The air inside the store suddenly felt stifling. Seonghwa stood behind the counter, his hands gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Welcome to Star Mars," he said, his voice steady but his smile trembling under the weight of emotions. He forced it wider, hoping it would mask the whirlwind within. "It's been a while. How have you been?" His heart clenched as the words left his mouth. He wanted to sound casual, as though you were just another customer, but he couldn't. You weren't just anyone. You never had been.

You gave him a hesitant smile, one that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I've been good. How about you?"

Before he could answer, the man beside you—tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding warmth—stepped forward, his curiosity evident. "Oh, you two know each other? What a small world!" His voice was friendly, his smile sincere, and Seonghwa's chest tightened further.

He should feel relief. This man, presumably your boyfriend—or worse, your fiancé—seemed perfect for you. He was everything Seonghwa had wanted for you when he stepped away, believing he could never give you the life you deserved. And yet, it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, this is Seonghwa. He's... an old friend of mine."

Old friend. The words landed like a punch to his stomach, but he kept his composure.

The man extended a hand toward him, his smile unwavering. "I'm Yunho. It's nice to meet you! Next time my nieces and nephews need new toys, I'll know who to come to."

Seonghwa took his hand, shaking it firmly while managing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too." His gaze flickered back to you, catching the way you avoided meeting his eyes.

As if on cue, Yunho's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he excused himself, stepping outside to take the call. For the first time since you'd entered, the air felt heavy with unspoken words.

You turned back to your ex, your eyes meeting his briefly before dropping to the counter. "Congratulations... Seonghwa," you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a fragile memory. "It's good to see how far you've come."

He nodded slowly, his smile softer now, though the ache in his eyes remained. "Thank you. And... congratulations to you as well," he said, glancing toward the window where Yunho stood. "He seems amazing."

The kindness in his tone made it hurt even more.

"No," you blurted, shaking your head. "He's not... we're just... friends. I don't..." Your words faltered, your voice trembling. "I'm not with anyone."

His brows lifted in surprise, but he stayed silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. You wished he'd say something, anything, but the way his eyes softened, brimming with a mix of emotions—relief, hesitation, and something deeper—was answer enough.

Your breath hitched when your gaze landed on the figurine behind him. Kuromi. Encased in glass, displayed on the highest shelf. You remembered the countless hours he'd spent perfecting it, the way he'd proudly shown you the finished piece.

He still kept it.

Before you could find the courage to ask why, Yunho reappeared, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. "Hey, sorry to cut your little catch-up session short, but something urgent came up at work, and I—"

Seonghwa straightened, his polite smile snapping back into place. "Of course, don't let me keep you."

Your heart sank as he turned to you, bowing slightly. "It was nice seeing you again."

You forced a smile, though your chest ached with everything left unsaid. "It was nice seeing you too."

As you followed Yunho out, you couldn't resist glancing back one last time. Your eyes met Seonghwa's, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as though a thousand words passed between you.

Regret. Longing. Love.

The bell above the door jingled again as you stepped out, your heart heavy with the weight of the encounter. Yunho was quiet as he drove, his hands steady on the wheel. The silence between you felt thick, almost suffocating, but you didn't know what to say. How could you explain the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you without sounding selfish or ungrateful?

"It's him, isn't it?" Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, soft but resolute.

Your head snapped toward him, your heart pounding in panic. "What… what do you mean?" you stammered, the guilt already clawing its way to the surface.

He sighed, pulling the car to a gentle stop in front of your home. Turning to face you, he gave you a small, knowing smile. "The man from the store. Park Seonghwa, right? He's the one you've been thinking about all night. Tell me if I'm wrong."

Your breath caught, your hands fumbling with the seatbelt as you tried to come up with a response. But the look in his eyes told you that lying wasn't an option. "I…" You paused, finally managing to unfasten the seatbelt, but your words seemed caught in your throat. "I'm sorry, Yunho. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He leaned back with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologise. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I knew from the beginning that you weren't exactly thrilled about this arrangement, but I still went along with it, hoping… I don't know, that maybe something would change."

You felt tears sting your eyes, and you turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "You deserve better than this," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Hey." He reached out, his hand covering yours with a comforting warmth. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you turned back to him, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You don't owe me anything," he said gently. "This… whatever this was supposed to be, it wouldn't have worked if both of us weren't fully in it. And that's okay. You know why?"

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

"Because this decision—choosing who you want to be with—it's for you, not for your parents, not for me, and certainly not for anyone else. It should never be about what people think or what they want. It's your life. Live it for yourself."

His words struck you like a bolt of lightning, unravelling years of self-doubt and regret. He was right. How had you allowed yourself to be swept up in everyone else's expectations, losing sight of what truly mattered to you?

You sat back in your seat, letting his words sink in, feeling a strange mix of guilt and liberation. After a long moment, you nodded, your voice steadier now. "Thank you, Yunho. For everything."

He smiled, his eyes kind and understanding. "Go on," he said, tilting his head toward your house. "And don't let fear hold you back this time."

As you stepped out of the car, his words echoed in your mind, igniting a spark of courage you hadn't felt in years.

You turned back, watching as Yunho drove away, his figure disappearing into the night. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sliver of clarity.

It wasn't too late. You still had a choice to make. And this time, you'd make it for yourself.

The shop was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of paper as Seonghwa meticulously wrapped the Isabelle and Grogu figurines the pair of father and daughter finally agreed on getting. His movements were precise, his focus seemingly sharp, but his mind was elsewhere—stuck on the brief yet piercing encounter that had just walked out of his life again.

"That Kuromi one… it's for the pretty lady earlier, isn't it?"

The father's voice broke through Seonghwa's haze, and his hands froze briefly before resuming their task. He didn't look up, focusing instead on folding the edges of the wrapping paper with unnecessary care. "You might be right," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than intended. "But it doesn't matter if it is."

The man tilted his head, a subtle frown forming as he cradled his daughter closer. "And why's that? It clearly still means a lot to you both."

Seonghwa finally glanced up, forcing a polite smile, though it faltered almost immediately. "You saw it yourself... she's with someone else. Someone better." The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, laced with a resignation he didn't quite believe in.

The man sighed, shifting the little girl in his arms so she could hold her new Grogu figurine. He regarded your ex with a look that felt far too knowing. "I also saw how she looked at you," he said softly. "And she didn't look like someone who's better off."

Seonghwa blinked, caught off guard, but the customer wasn't finished. His gaze drifted toward the cute purple figurine that was not for sale, and for a moment, his expression softened into something fragile—something etched with pain.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "my wife used to love Sanrio too. She had this little Cinnamoroll keychain she carried everywhere." He chuckled faintly, the sound bittersweet. "I always thought I'd have more time to make her smile, to give her the little things that made her happy. But time doesn't wait for anyone. One day, it was just… gone."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Seonghwa felt something tighten in his chest.

The man glanced at him then, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that seemed to pierce through Seonghwa's carefully built walls. "I don't know what's between you and her, Mr Park. But I do know this: regret is a heavy thing to carry. Don't let it weigh you down, not if you can still do something about it."

He gave Seonghwa a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of lessons learned too late, before taking the bag of purchased items. "Sometimes, all it takes is one step in the right direction. Don't let the chance slip away."

And then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling faintly as father and daughter disappeared into the night.

Seonghwa stood motionless behind the counter, his gaze drifting back to the Kuromi figurine in its glass case. The light reflected off it, casting faint shadows on the shelf behind it. It was meant for you. It had always been for you.

The father's words replayed in his mind, unrelenting in their simplicity and truth. He leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on the figurine made just for you, but his thoughts were elsewhere—back to you, back to all the moments that had led to this one.

Back then, he'd convinced himself he was doing the right thing, letting you go so you could find the happiness he didn't think he could give you. He thought he was being selfless, noble even, sacrificing his own heart so you could find someone better—someone who deserved you. But now, the cracks in that logic were glaringly obvious. What had any of this accomplished? Neither of you had found happiness in the way he'd hoped.

The truth was harsh: he hadn't even tried. He hadn't fought to be better for you, to grow into someone worthy of your love. Instead, he'd accepted the version of himself the world seemed to see—a man with dreams too small and ambitions too impractical. He'd let himself believe that you deserved someone like Yunho, someone who fit the mould of what your parents and society thought was 'right.'

But things were different now. He wasn't that man anymore. He'd worked hard, not for anyone else but for himself. Every step he'd taken to build his store, every figurine he'd crafted with his own hands, every small milestone he'd achieved—it was proof that he could create something meaningful. And if he could do that, maybe he could create a life with you.

His heart clenched at the thought of you with Yunho, not because he doubted the man's worth, but because he knew Yunho could never hold your heart the way he still did. Yunho was everything society said you should want—stable, charming, perfect on paper. But love wasn't about paper. Love was about the way you used to light up whenever he showed you his newest creation, about the quiet nights you'd spent talking about everything and nothing, about the way your hand had always felt right in his.

Suddenly, the idea of the 'right person' seemed so absurd. There was no such thing. The right person wasn't someone who ticked all the boxes. The right person was the one you chose to love, again and again, flaws and all.

And you had chosen him once.

The real question now was whether you still would.

He straightened, his resolve hardening like molten metal cooling into steel. What kind of love was it if he could stand by and watch you settle for less than what you deserved? Not less in status or wealth, but less in the kind of happiness that made life worth living. What kind of love let you spend the rest of your days with someone who could never truly make your heart race?

Seonghwa wouldn't let that happen—not if he could help it.

His gaze lingered on the Kuromi figurine one last time before he moved toward the back room. He needed to think, to plan, to figure out how to tell you everything he should have said years ago.

If there was even the slightest chance that you still felt the same way, he would take it. Because this time, he wasn't letting fear or pride or anyone else's expectations get in the way.

This time, he was going to fight for you.

"Well...? Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" you asked, your voice sharp, as you stepped into the house. Your mother flinched, bowing her head slightly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her apron. She hesitated for a moment before coming up to you slowly, her eyes brimming with guilt.

"Yunho called," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said he wishes not to force you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humour. "Of course, it took an outsider's words for you to finally see how exhausting this has been for me," you said, your tone cutting. "All this talk about marriage, about finding the right man... who is it really for? Who am I doing this for, hm? Is it for my own happiness? Or... oh, right." You smiled grimly. "It never was about my happiness, was it? It was about keeping up appearances, about pleasing everyone but me."

Your mother's face crumpled as her gaze fell to the floor. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken truths.

Your father, who had been sitting silently at the dining table, let out a long, weary sigh. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as though trying to steady himself. "We thought we were doing what was best for you," he said, his voice low, burdened with regret. "We thought... if we guided you toward someone like Yunho, we were ensuring a future where you'd be safe, secure."

"Safe?" you repeated, your voice breaking. "From what? From being myself? From choosing the person who actually makes me happy? You never trusted me to make my own decisions. You never thought I was capable of knowing what I want, what I need."

Your mother reached for your hand, her touch tentative. "It wasn't like that," she said, though her voice wavered. "We were scared. Scared that you'd make a mistake, scared that you'd regret it later, scared that—"

"You mean you were scared," you interrupted, pulling your hand back. "Scared of what people would say. Scared of what the neighbours, the relatives, society would think. But you never stopped to ask me what I thought. What I felt."

Tears glistened in her eyes now, spilling over as she shook her head. "You're right," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're absolutely right. We were selfish. We thought we knew better, but we didn't. We never meant to hurt you, but we see now that we did. We hurt you by not listening, by not trusting you."

Your father stood, his movements deliberate, his face sombre. "If he's the one you want, if he's the one who makes you happy, then we'll support you. No more pushing, no more trying to control your life. It's your choice. It always should've been your choice."

For a moment, the room fell silent. The tension that had loomed for so long finally began to dissipate, leaving behind a tentative sense of relief.

You inhaled shakily, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. It wasn't a perfect resolution—there was still so much to work through—but this was a start. A start you'd been longing for. "Thank you," you said softly, the words fragile but sincere. "Thank you for finally understanding."

And as your mother pulled you into a trembling embrace, you allowed yourself to hope that things could finally change. She smiled softly, brushing a hand against your cheek as if to assure you it was okay now. Your father stood behind her, his expression a mixture of pride and something deeper—perhaps the weight of finally letting go.

They exchanged a glance before your father nodded toward the door. "Go," he said quietly, his voice firm but warm. "Go where your heart tells you to. We'll always be here."

You blinked, stunned by their words, and for a moment, you couldn't move. But then, the weight in your chest lifted, replaced by an urgency that made your pulse race. Without another word, you turned and rushed out, barely remembering to grab your keys on the way.

Your car roared to life as you sped through the streets, your destination clear as day in your mind. Star Mars. The silly name you'd suggested in passing all those years ago, never imagining he'd actually use it. Your heart pounded harder with every turn, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. Would he still want you after all this time? Did it matter? Even if he didn't, you needed him to know. You needed to tell him how you felt—how you still felt.

Parking haphazardly in front of his store, you didn't waste a second before bolting toward it. But as you reached the doors, your heart sank. The store was dark, the lights off, the doors locked. "Closed" hung starkly on the door, though the shops around it buzzed with life.

You froze, staring through the glass, confusion and dread pooling in your stomach. It's not even closing time yet... Had seeing you earlier bothered him that much? Had you pushed him away again, without even realising it?

Slumping against the door, you bit back tears, the overwhelming sense of missed chances clawing at your chest. Sure, you could come back another day. But you'd already lost so much time, wasted so many years pretending you didn't want this, pretending you didn't love him. You didn't want to waste another second.

Your gaze drifted inside the store, scanning the shelves. Your breath caught when you noticed something was missing. The Kuromi figurine—the one you'd lingered on earlier—was gone. You frowned, stepping closer to the glass. It had been there before. Where had it gone?

"Looking for this?"

The familiar voice made you spin around so fast you nearly stumbled. There he was, standing just a few feet away, the Kuromi figurine clutched in his hand, still encased in its protective plastic.

Your breath hitched as tears filled your eyes. "You took her off the shelf?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you took a tentative step toward him. "Where were you planning to take her?"

He smiled softly, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears of his own. "I was going to take her to her rightful owner," he murmured, his voice steady but tender.

Your heart stopped at his words, and you whispered shakily, "Was? So you're not taking her anymore?"

He shook his head slowly. "No."

"Why not?"

He hesitated, the weight of years of longing and regret pressing against his chest. But then, the words of the customer from earlier echoed in his mind. Don't wait until it's too late. He looked at you—really looked at you—and knew, without a doubt, that this moment was the answer he'd been waiting for.

Taking a careful step forward, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing softly against yours. His breath hitched when your fingers instinctively curled around his, holding on as though letting go would shatter everything.

"Because you're already here," he murmured, his voice trembling with unspoken emotion.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, your heart felt whole again. The ache of countless nights spent longing for him, convinced you'd never feel his love again, melted away. Here he was—right in front of you—just like all those years ago. Yet, it felt different now. It felt... right. Because this time, neither of you would let fear or doubt stand in the way. This time, you were both ready to fight for it, to grow, to compromise, and to hold on.

"Hwa, I... I need to tell you something," you began, your voice shaking, each word heavy with the weight of years spent in silence. Your eyes searched his, desperate to convey everything your heart had been screaming in his absence. But before you could say more, he smiled—a small, trembling curve of his lips that held every ounce of love and pain he'd been holding back.

His eyes glistened as he leaned in, his forehead gently meeting yours, grounding you, binding you in a way that no words ever could. The moment felt infinite, a pause in time where your souls met in unspoken understanding.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion, raw and honest. Before you could process the words, his lips found yours, soft and warm, carrying all the unspoken promises, all the years of longing, all the love you thought you'd lost.

The world blurred and softened around you—the hum of the street and the glow of the city lights dissolving into nothingness. All that remained was him, the familiar scent of his cologne, the steady warmth of his hands cradling your face, the way his heart seemed to beat in perfect rhythm with yours.

In that kiss, you felt everything: the heartbreak, the yearning, the hope, and, most of all, the love that had endured time, separation, and pain. It was as if every broken piece of your heart was mending, every crack filled with the warmth of his love.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads remained pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet night. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen, his touch tender and sure.

"This time," he murmured, his voice steady but full of emotion, "I'm not letting you go."

And you knew—you both knew—that this time, nothing would keep you apart.

Istg, this wasn't meant to be so long. I wasn't even sure I wanted to give it a happy ending at first, but then I just kept getting carried away and voila. I swear I am working on Yunho's chapter of By Order of the Black Pirates bit by bit hehe just had to get this out of my system first.

As always, thank you for reading and hope y'all liked this one! Do let me know your thoughts! <3

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